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THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 



or 



General Literature and Science. 



VOL. XL 
APRIL, 1870, TO SEPTEMBER, 1870. 



• • 



NEW YORK: 
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE, 

9 Warren StreeU 

I 870. 



• I 






•A 



& W. GREEN, 
i6 iDd'it Jacob St. I*. V. 



CONTENTS. 



if Andrelni, The, 60s. 



Ts God-child, llae, 5a. 

jd*» Sioty, A, aja. 

0:d. 260. 

Munr : its Peofde and its Poems, 390^ 
9tjy KefomMtorieB for, 696. 
Bhschard, Claude, Journal and Campaign o( 787. 

Cdncil of the Vatican, The First (Ecumenical, 115^ 

rj<K 4«2. S46» 701, 838. 
Qmnh and State, 145. 

Chfldren, The AsMxdation for Befriending, 350. 
Cttholkity and Pantheism, 377. 
Catht^KitT of the Nineteenth Ceatory, The, 433. 

Copcmtcus, NicnUus, 806. 

Chsith beyond the Rocky MounUms, The, 81s. 

Church of Christ, Dogmatic Decree on, 848^ 

Dioo and the SiIitIs, 15, 160, 306, 446, 623, 733. 
DereJopfsent of Religious Belief, Gould's, 70. 
Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ, 848. 

Emervm's Pnne Works, aoa. 
En^iand, Fnnide^s History ot, 389^ 577* 
Educilion, Religion in, 782. 
Emi^ant, l*he, 800. 

F^lon, 6i3« 

Gould's Origin and Derelopment of Religious Belief^ 

70. 
Gml.;*!! Knots. Untying, 77. 
Grilfin, Clerald, 398, 667. 
Crw-.w«^o«l, In the, 589. 
Gr-.f!ii\ C,^Ts\d, The works of, 398, 667. 
Gei>:u>, Hereditary, 7ai, 
Girlv, llie Wiilian, 775. 

Ha%-ana, Holy Week in, 58, aia. 

Iron y\v,k. The, 87. 

Ireltrrd's M viion, 193. 

Irish Fanners and Mr. Gladstone, a4S. 



Irish Churches, The Andent, 473. 
Inritation Hoeded, The, S4** 

Literary Notes, Foretgn, 130, 424, 7141 

Lothair, 537. 

Lourdes, Our Lady of, 75a. 

Mary, Qtieen of Scots, 3a, aai. 

Mechanics, Molecular, 54. 

** Moral Resulu of the Romish System,** Hie Ntw 

EMgiamUr on the, 106. 
Maundeville, Sir John, 175. 
Mary Stuart, 32, aai. 
Matter and Spirit in the I4ght of Modem Sdenee, 64a. 

Nrw Englander, The, On the Moral Results of the 

Romish System, 106. 
New England, Home Scenes m, 183. 
Nazareth, 653. 

Ochino, Fra Bernardino^ 253. 

Pope and the Council, by Jantia, 327, 520^ 6Sa 
Pole, Cardinal, 346. 
Protestantism, Phases of English, 48a. 
Paradise I.ost of St. Avitus, The, 771. 
Plutarch, 826. 

Religious Liberty, 1. 
Rome, Ten Years in, 518. 

School Question, The, 91. 

Science, Matter and Spirit in the Light of Modefn, 

642. 
St. Francis, Miracle o^ 834. 

Unbelief, The Superstition of, 691. 
Untying Gordian Knots, 77. 

Vatican Council, The, 115, 270, 546, 701, 838. 
Vermonters, The Young, 364, 509, 658. 

Wooden Shoe, The Little, 343. 
Wig, llie Sagacious, 495. 



POETRY. 

A M:iy Ca-ol, 174, 37^ 

Exuhent, Sion Filix, 24r; 

Hym') of Sl Paul's Christian Doctrine Society, 536. 

Lines. r>7- 

Legend of ihe Infant Jesus, A, 4801. 

Mary, 201. 

Car Lad'.'s Nativity, 825. 



Prayer The Unfinished, 411. 
Plange, Filia Sion, 76. 

Rainbow, To the, 115. 
Reading Homer, 666w 

Stabat Mater, 49* 
Sonnet, 193. 

Thorns, 22a 



ContetUs, 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



A]ger*s End of the Worid, 136. 
Auent, Grammar oC 144* 383, 4J6. 
Arithmetics, Felter*a, 575. 
Architecture, Wonders oi| 700. 

Brownson's Conversstioos on Liberalism and the 

Church, 135. 
Borromeo, St. Charles, Life of^ 430. 1 
Botany, Youman's First Book of, 431. 
Beech Bluff, 7aa 

Catholic Church, Rhodes*s Visible Unity oi; 14OW 

Chariestown Convent, The, 429. 

Oesar's Commentaries, 572. 

Criminal Abortion, 574. 

Catholic Cliurch, History of; 860. 

Qymer*s Notes on the Nervous System, 859. 

Dickens, Dialogues from, aSS. 
Day Sanctified, The, 57a. 
Dall's Alaska, 719. 

Eclipse of 1869, Sands^s Reports on, 14s. 
Economy, Bowen*s American Political, 571. 
Earth, Paradise 0^ yao. 

Ferryman of the Tiber, The, 144. 
FlemminKS, The, Mrs. Dorsey's, 431. 
Fasciculus Rerum, 576. 

Geology and Revelation, Molloy*s, 14a. 
Grammar of Assent, Newman's, 144, 383, 426. 
Geojcraphical Series, GuyoC*s, 286. 
Glass-MakiniU 288. 
Goodwin's Out of tbt Past, 860. 

Health and Good Lhring^ Hall's, 143. 

Holy Influence, 43a. 

Home Communion, Reflections and Prayen for, sya. 

Hawthorne's Note-Books^ Passages ftooi, 718. 

Hidden Sunts, 718. 

Ilaiiaa Art, Wondan o( 43s. 



Liberalism and the Church, Brownson, 135. 
Lindsay's Evidence for the Papacy, 141. 
Lacordaire's Conferences, 574. 
Lifting the Veil, 718. 

Marcy's Life Duties, 139. 

Molloy's Geology and Revelation. 14a. 

Medicine, Niemeyer's Book of, 143. 

Modem Europe, Shea's History oi^ 143. 

Krissale Romanum, 432. 

Marriage, Evans's Treatise of the Christian Doctxim 

of, 573. 
Marion, 719. 

Meagher, lliomas F., Life oi^ 719. 
Miles's Loretto, 720. 

Nature, The Sublime in, 288. 

Natural History of Animals, Tenney^s, aSS. 

Noble Lady, A, 574. 

Noetheu's History of the Catholic Church, 86a 

Papacy, Lindsay's Evidence for the, 141. 

Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Veith's Life Pio* 

tures of, 143. 
Paradise, Morris's Earthly, 144. 
Pilgrimages in the Pyrenees and Landes, 375. 

Rhodes's Visible Unity of the Catholic (liurch, 1401 
Ramiere's De I'Unit^ dans I'Enseignement de la 
Pliilosophie, etc, 284. 

Sacrifice, the Double, 144. 

Statutes of the Second Synod of Albany, 387. 

Stanislas Kostka, Life of, 575. 

Stations of the Cross, Album oC 576. 

Sacred Heart, Devotion to, 720^ 

The Sun, 288. 

Visible Unity of the Church, f4a 
Visitation, History of the Order of, 719. 
Vinard, Tb^phane, Life oC 858. 

Waldenses, Melia on the, 428. 

Wise Men, and wbo they were, Upham^i, 431. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD 



VOL. XL, No. 6i.— APRI U 187a 



RELIGIOUS LI 



\,o \<-:\v-v<»«K 



'^^n^y^p- 



LAST ARTICLE. "— *— ^ 



In our third article on the AbW 
Martin's exhaustive work on the fu- 
ture of Protestantism and Catholicity, 
we disposed of the pretension of Pro- 
testants that the Reformation created 
auod has sustained civil and political 
liberty in modem society. We pro- 
ceed in the present and concluding 
aitide to dispose, as far as we can, 
of the pretension that it has founded 
and sustained religious liberty, or the 
freedom of conscience. 

No fact is more certain than that 
the Reformation has the credit with 
non-Catholics, if not even with some 
half-instructed Catholics themselves, 
of having originated religious liberty 
and vindicated the freedom of the 
mind Here as elsewhere the formu- 
la of the age, or what claims to be 
enlightened in it, is. Protestantism and 
freedom, or Catholicity and slavery ; 
and it is to \Xsprestige of having found- 
ed and sustained religious liberty that 
Protestantism owes its chief ability in 

•De FAvenir du PrcUitantisfm ei du Caihcli' 
eisme. Par M. TAbM P. Martin. Paris: Tobca ft 
Haton. 1869. Svo, pfx 608. 

VOL. XL — I 



our times to carry on its war against 
the church. Protestantism, like all 
false religions or systems, having no 
foundation in truth and no vital ener- 
gy of its own, hves and prospers only 
by availing itself of the so-called spirit 
of the age, or by appealing to the 
dominant public opinion of the time 
and the place. In the sixteenth cen- 
tury, the age tended to the revival 
of imperialism or caesarism, and Pro- 
testantism favored monarchical abso- 
lutism, and drew from it its life, its 
force, and its sustenance. 

The spirit or dominant tendency 
of our age, dating from the middle 
of the last century, has been and is 
the revival of the pagan republic, or, 
as we call it, democratic caesarism, 
which asserts for the people as the 
state the supremacy which imder im- 
perialism is asserted for the emperor. 
Protestantism lives and sustains itself 
now only by appealing to and repre- 
senting this tendency, as we may see 
in the contemporary objecrions to the 
church, that she is " behind the age," 
•* does not conform to the age,**' " is 



Religious Liberty. 



hostile to the spirit of the age," " op- 
posed to the spirit of the nineteenth 
century." 

Every age, nation, or communit)' un- 
derstands by liberty, freedom to fol- 
low unrestrained its own dominant ten- 
dency; we might say, its own domi- 
nant passion. In the sixteenth and 
serentcenth centuries, liberty meant 
the freedom of temporal sovereigns to 
govern according to their own good 
pleasure, unrestrained by the church, 
on the one hand, and estates, diets, or 
parliaments, on the other. Liberty 
means now the freedom of the people, 
unrestrained either by the rights of 
God or the rights of princes, to govern 
as they or the demagogues, their mas- 
ters, judge proper. Hence, liberty, 
as the world understands it, varies in 
its meaning from age to age, and from 
nation to nation, and, indeed, from 
individual to individual. Whatever 
favors or is in accordance with the 
dominant tendency or passion of an 
age, nation, community, or individual, 
favors or is in accordance with liber- 
ty ; and whatever opposes or impedes 
it is opi>osed to liberty — is civil, poli- 
tical, or spiritual despotism. Protes- 
tantism never resists, but always fol- 
lows, and encourages and echoes the 
dominant tendency of the age or na- 
tion, llie church, having a life and 
force derived from a source indepen- 
dent of the age or nation, seeks not 
support in that dominant passion or 
tendency, does not yield or conform 
to it, but labors unceasingly and with 
all her energy to conform it to her- 
self. Hence, in the estimation of the 
world. Protestantism is always on the 
side of liberty, and the church on the 
side of despotism and slavery. 

The attempt to deny this, and to 
prove that the church favors liberty 
in this sense, is perfectly idle ; and to 
seek to modify her position and ac- 
tion, so as to force her to accept and 
conform to the dominant or popular 



tendency or pasaon of the age or 
nation, is to mistake her essential 
character and office, and to forget 
that her precise mission is to govern 
all men and nations, kings and peo- 
ples, sovereigns and subjects, and to 
conform them to the invariable and in* 
flexible law of God, which she is ^ 
pointed by God himself to declare ami 
apply, and therefore to resist wiA all 
her might every passion or tendency 
of every age, nadon, community, or 
individual, whenever and wherever it 
deviates from that law of which she 
is the guardian and judge. The 
church is instituted, as every Catholic 
who understands his religion bdieves, 
to guard and defend the rights of God 
on earth against any and every ene- 
my, at all times and in all places. 
She therefore does not and cannot 
accept, or in any degree favor, liberty 
in the Protestant sense of liberty, and 
if liberty in that sense be the true 
sense, the Protestant pretension can- 
not be successfully denied. 

But we have already seen that lib- 
erty in the Protestant sense is no lib- 
erty at all, or a liberty that in the 
civil and political order is identified 
with caesarism — the absolutism of the 
prince in a monarchy, the absolutism 
of the people or of the ruling majori- 
ty for the time in a democracy. This 
last might be inferred from the ostra- 
cism practised in democratic Athens, 
and is asserted and defended, or ra- 
ther taken for granted, by almost the 
entire secular press in democratic 
America, The most conservative 
.politicians among us recognize the 
justice of no restrictions on the will 
of the people but such as are imposed 
by written constitutions, and which a 
majority or three fourths of the voters 
may alter at will and as they will. It 
is the boast of our p>opular orators 
and writers that there are with us no 
restrictions on the absolute will of the 
people but such as the people volun- 



Religious Liberty, 



Urily impose on themselves, which, as 

idl^imposed, axe simply no restrictions 

It alL It is evident, then, if liberty 

means any thing, if there is any diffe- 

lence between liberty and despotism, 

freedom and slavery, the Protestant 

mderstanding of liberty is not the 

tnie one. 

Nor is the Protestant miderstand- 
ing of religious liberty a whit more 
tme. We have found that the basis 
or principle of all civil and political 
liborty is religious liberty, or the free- 
dom and independence of religion — 
that is to say, the spiritual order ; but 
from the point of view of Protestan- 
tism there is no religion, no spiritual 
order, to be free and independent. 
According to Protestantism, religion 
is a function, not a substantive exis- 
tence or an objective reality. It is, as 
we have seen, on Protestant princi- 
ples, a function of the state, of the 
community, or of the individual, and 
whatever liberty there may be in the 
case, must be predicated of one or 
another of these, not of religion, or 
the spiritual order. With Protestants 
the freedom and independence of re- 
ligion or the spiritual order would be 
an absurdity, for it is precisely that 
which they began by protesting 
against It is of the very essence of 
Protestantism to deny and make un- 
relenting war on the freedom and 
independence of religion, and the 
only liberty in the case it can assert 
is the freedom of the state, the com- 
munity, or the individual from reli- 
gion as law, and the right of one or 
another of them to adopt or reject 
any religion or none at all as they 
choose, which is irreligious or infidel, 
not religious liberty. 

Protestantism, under its most fa- 
vorable aspect, is not, even in the 
estimation of Protestants themselves, 
religion, or a religion ; but the view 
of religion which the reformers took, 
or which men take or may take of 



religion. At best it is not the objec- 
tive truth or reality, but a human 
doctrine or theory of it, which has no 
existence out of the mind that forms 
or entertains it. Hence, Protestants 
assert, as their cardinal doctrine, jus- 
tification by faith alone ; and which 
faith is not the truth, but the mind's 
view of it. Hence, too, they deny 
that the sacraments are efficacious ex 
opere operatOy and maintain that, if ef- , 
ficacious at all, they are so ex opere 
suscipientis. They reject the Real Pre- 
sence as a " fond imagination," and 
make every thing in religion depend 
on the subjective faith, conviction, or 
persuasion of the recipient. The 
church they recognize or assert is no 
living organism, no kingdom of God 
on earth, founded to teach and go- 
vern all men and nations in all things 
• pertaining to eternal life or the spi- 
ritual end of man, but a simple asso- 
ciation of individuals, with no life or 
authority except what it derives from 
the individuals associated, and which 
is not hers, but theirs. 

Some Protestants go so far as to 
doubt or deny that there is any truth 
or reality independent of the mind, 
and hold that man is himself his own 
teacher and his own lawgiver ; but all 
concede, nay, maintain, that what is 
known or is present to the mind is 
never the reality, the truth, or the di- 
vine law itself, but the mind's own 
representation of it Hence their 
Protestantism is not something fixed 
and invariable, the same in all times 
and places, but varies as the mind of 
Protestants itself varies, or as their 
views, convictions, or feelings change, 
and they change ever with the spirit 
of the age or country. One of their 
gravest objections to the church was, 
in the sixteenth century, that she had 
altered the faith ; and in the nineteenth 
century is, that she does not alter it, 
that she remains inflexibly the same, 
and absolutely refuses to change her 



Religions Liberty. 



faith to suit the times. They hold 
tjicir own faith and doctrine altera- 
ble at will, and are continually chang- 
ing it. Evidently, then, they do not 
hold it to be the truth ; for truth never 
changes : nor to be the law of God, 
which they are bound to obey ; for if 
tlie law of God is alterable at all, it 
can be so only by God himself, never 
by man, any body of men, or any 
creature of God. There is no Pro- 
testant ignorant or conceited enough 
to maintain the contrary. 

This fact that Protestantism is a 
theory, a doctrine, or a view of reli- 
gion, not the objective reahty itself, 
not the recognition and assertion of 
the rights of God, but a human view 
or theory of them, proves sufficiently 
that it is incompatible with the asser- 
tion of religious liberty. All it can 
do is to assert the right or liberty of 
the state to adopt and ordain any 
view of rehgion it may take ; of the 
community to form and enforce its 
own views, convictions, or opinions ; 
or of the individual to make a religion 
to suit himself, or to go without any 
religion at all, as he pleases. In 
none of these cases is there any reli- 
gious liberty ; and in them all religion 
is subjected to a purely human autho- 
rity — the authority of the state, of 
the community, or of the individual, 
one as human as another. Protes- 
tantism is really in its very nature and 
essence an earnest and solemn protest 
against religious liberty, and for it to 
assert the freedom and independence 
of religion, or the spiritual order — that 
is, of religion as law to which all men 
are bound to conform — would be to 
commit suicide. Even the suprema- 
cy of the spiritual order, which our 
old Puritans asserted, was only the 
assertion of the authority of their in- 
terpretation of the written word against 
the divine authority to interpret it 
claimed by the church, and against 
tlie human authority of the civil ma- 



gistrate claimed by Anglicanism, from 
which they separated, while it subj ect- 
ed it to the congregation, the brother- 
hood, or to the ministers and elders, 
no more spiritual than the civil ma- 
gistrate himself. 

In the beginning Protestantism 
made religion in nearly all Protestant 
nations a function of the state, as it is 
still in Great Britain, Prussia, the se- 
veral Protestant German states, in 
Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Holland, 
and the Protestant cantons of Swit- 
zerland. The progress of events, and 
the changes of opinion, have produc- 
ed a revolt among Protestant nations 
against this order, and Protestants 
now make, or are struggling to make, 
it a function of the community or 
the sect, and the more advanced par- 
ty of them demand that it be made 
a function of the individual. This 
advanced party do not demand the 
freedom of religion, but the freedom 
of the individual from all religious 
restraints, from all obligations of obe- 
dience to any religious law, and in- 
deed of any law at all, except the 
law he imposes on himself. Dr. Bel- 
lows, of this city, a champion of this 
party, proves that it is not the freedom 
of religion, nor tlie freedom of the 
individual to be of any religion he 
chooses ; for he denies that ho is free 
to be a Catholic, though he is free to 
be any thing else. He tells Catholics 
they are only tolerated ; and threatens 
them with extermination by the sword, 
if they dare claim equal rights with 
Protestants, and insist on having their 
proportion of the public schools un- 
der their own control, or on not be- 
ing taxed to support schools to which 
they cannot with a good conscience 
send their children. 

Evidently, then, the pretension that 
the Reformation has founded or fa- 
vored religious liberty is as worthless 
as we have seen is the pretension that 
it has founded or favored civil and 



Religious Liberty. 



ing in much the same way. Protes- 
tants came from Berne and other 
places to assist the citizens in a poli- 
tical rebellion against their prince, 
who was also their bishop, and after- 
ward drove out the CathoUcs who 
could not be forced to accept the Re- 
formation. 

We need not pursue the history of 
the establishment of Protestantism, 
which is written in blood. Suf- 
fice it to say, that in no country 
was the Reformation introduced 
but by the aid of the civil power, 
and in no state in which it gained 
the mastery did it fail to be estab- 
lished as the religion of the state, 
and to obtain the suppression by force 
or civil pains and penalties of the 
old religion, and of all forms even of 
Protestant dissent The state religion 
was bound hand and foot, and could 
move only by permission of the tem- 
poral sovereign, and no other religion 
was tolerated. We all know the pe- 
nal laws against Catholics in England, 
Ireland, and Scotland, reenacted with 
additional severity under William and 
Mary, almost in the eighteenth cen- 
tury. James II., it is equally well 
known, lost the crown of his three 
kingdoms by an edict of toleration, 
which, as it tolerated Catholics, was 
denounced as an act of outrageous 
tyranny. The penal laws against 
Catholics were adopted by the Epis- 
copalian colony of Virginia, and the 
Puritan colony of Massachusetts made 
it an offence punishable with banish- 
ment from the colony for a citizen to 
harbor a Catholic priest for a single 
night, or to give him a single meal of 
victuals. It was only in 1788 that 
the Presbyterian Assembly of the 
United States expunged from their 
confession of faith the article which 
declares it the duty of the civil ma- 
gistrate to extirpate heretics and ido- 
laters — an article still retained by their 
brethren in Scotland, and by the 



United Presbyterians in this coun- 
try. 

Indeed, toleration is quite a recent 
discovery. Old John Cotton, the first 
minister of Boston, took care to warn 
his hearers or readers that he did not 
defend " that deviVs doctrine, tolera- 
tion." Toleration to a limited extent 
first began to be practised among 
Protestants on the acquisition of pro- 
vinces whose religion was different 
from that of the state making the 
acquisition. The example was follow- 
ed of the pagan Romans, who tole- 
rated the national religion of every 
conquered, tributary, or allied nation, 
though they tolerated no religion 
which was not national, and for three 
hundred years martyred Christians be- 
cause their religion was not national, 
but Catholic. It is only since Vol- 
taire and the Encyclopaedists preach- 
ed toleration as the most effective 
weapon in their arsenal, as they sup- 
posed, against Christianity, or the be- 
ginnings of the French Revolution 
of 1789, that Protestants have ta- 
ken up the strain, professed tolera- 
tion, and claimed to be, and, in 
the face and eyes of all history, al- 
ways to have been, the champions 
of religious liberty and the freedom 
of conscience. It was not till 1829 
that the very imperfect Catholic Re- 
lief Bill passed in the British parlia- 
ment, and the complete disestablish- 
ment of Congregationalism as the state 
religion in Massachusetts did not take 
place till 1835, though dissenters had 
for some time previous been tolerated. 

Yet in no Protestant state has com- 
plete liberty been extended to Ca- 
tholics. The French Revolution, 
with its high-flown phrases of liber- 
t>', equality, brotherhood, and religious 
freedom, suppressed the Catholic re- 
ligion, and imprisoned, deported, or 
massacred the bishops and priests 
who would not abandon it for the 
civil church it ordained. We our- 



Religious Liberty » 



chres, though very young at the 
time, remember the exultatioo of our 
hotestant neighbois when the first 
Napoleon dragged the venerable and 
saintly Pius VII. from his throne and 
hdd him a prisoner, first at Savo- 
oa, and afterward at Fontaincbleau. 
** Babylon is fallen," they cried; " the 
nuuKhild has slain the beast with se- 
Ten heads and ten horns." The re- 
Tolutions, ostensibly social and poli- 
tical, which have been going on in the 
Catholic nations of Europe, and are 
still in process, and which everywhere 
are hostile to the church, have the 
vann sympathy of Protestants of 
every nation, and in Italy and Spain 
have been aided and abetted by Pro- 
testant associations and contributions, 
as part and parcel of the Protestant 
programme for the abolition of the 
papacy and the destruction of our 
holy religion. 

Protestants now tolerate Protestant 
dissenters, and allow Jews and infidels 
equal rights with themselves; but 
they find great difficulty in regarding 
any outrage on the freedom of the 
church as an outrage on religious 
k'berty. She is Catholic, not nation- 
al, over all nations, and subject to 
none ; therefore no nation should to- 
lerate her. Even in this country Pro- 
testants very reluctandy suffer her 
jMresence, and the liberal Dr. Bellows, 
a Protestant of Protestants, warns, as 
we have seen. Catholics not to at- 
tempt to act as if they stood on an 
equality with Protestants. It is only 
a few years since the whole country 
was agitated by the Know-Nothing 
movement, got up in secret lodges, 
for the purpose, lif not of outlawing 
or banishing Catholics, at least of 
depriving them of civil and political 
citizenship. The movement profess- 
ed to be a movement in part against 
naturalizing persons of foreign birth, 
but really for the exclusion of such 
persons only in so far as they were 



Catholics. The controversy now rag- 
ing on the school question proves 
that Protestants are very far firom 
feeling that Catholics have equal 
rights with themselves, or that the 
Catholic conscience is entitled to any 
respect or consideration from the state. 
Public opinion proscribes us, and no 
Catholic could be chosen to represent 
a purely Protestant constituency in 
any legislative body, if known to be 
such and to be devoted to his religion. 
Our only protection, under God, is the 
fact that we have votes which the 
leaders of all parties want; yet there 
is a movement now going on for fe- 
male sufirage, which, if successful, will, 
it is hoped, swamp our votes by bring- 
ing to the polls swarms of fanatical 
women, the creatures of fanatical 
preachers, together with other swarms 
of infidel, lewd, or shameless women, 
who detest Catholic marriage and 
wish to be relieved of its restraints, 
as well as of their duties as mothers. 
This may turn the scale against us; 
for Catholic women have too much 
delicacy, and too much of that retir- 
ing modesty that becomes the sex, to 
be seen at the polls. 

But the imperfect toleration prac- 
tised by Protestants is by no means 
due to their Protestantism, but to their 
growing indifference to religion, and 
to the conviction of Protestant and 
non-Catholic governments, that their 
supremacy over the spiritual order is 
so well established, their victory so 
complete, that all danger of its re- 
newing the struggle to bring them^ 
again under its law is past. Let 
come what may, the spiritual order 
can never regain its former suprema- 
cy, or Caesar tremble again at the bar 
of Peter. Caesar fancies that he ha* 
shorn the church so completely of 
her Catholicity, except as an empty 
name, and so fully subjected her to 
his own or the national authority, 
that he has no longer any need to be 



8 



Religious Liberty. 



intolerant. Why not, indeed, amnes- 
ty the poor Catholics, who can no 
longer be dangerous to the national 
sovereign, or interfere with the policy 
of the state ? 

For ourselves, we do not pretend 
that the church is or ever has been 
tolerant. She is undeniably intole- 
rant in her own order, as the law, as 
truth is intolerant, though she does 
not necessarily require the state to be 
intolerant. She certainly is opposed 
to what the nineteenth century calls 
religious liberty, which, we have seen, 
is simply the liberty of infidelity or 
irreligion. She does not teach views 
or opinions, but presents the inde- 
pendent truth, the reality itself; pro- 
claims, declares, and applies the law 
of God, always and everywhere one 
and the same. She cannot, then, 
while faithftil to her trust, allow the 
truth to be denied without censuring 
those who knowingly deny it, or the 
law to be disobeyed without con- 
demning those who disobey it. But 
always and everywhere does the 
church assert, and, as ^ as she can, 
maintain the full and perfect liberty 
of religion, the entire freedom and in- 
dependence of the spiritual order, to 
be itself and to act according to its 
own laws — that is, religious liberty in 
her sense, and, if the words mean any 
thing, religious liberty in its only true 
and legitimate sense. 

The nineteenth century may not 
Ibe able to understand it, or, if under- 
standing it, to accept it ; yet it is true 
that the spiritual is the superior, and 
the law of the temporal. The supre- 
macy belongs in all things of right 
to God, represented on earth by the 
church or the spiritual order. The 
temporal has no rights, no legitimacy 
save as subordinated to the spiritual 
— that is, to the end for which man 
is created and exists. The end for 
which all creatures are made and ex- 
ist is not temporal, but spiritual and 



eternal ; for it is God himself who is 
the final cause as well as the first 
cause of creation. The end, or God 
as final cause, prescribes the law 
which all men must obey, or fail of 
attaining their end, which is their su- 
preme good. This law all men and 
nations, kings and peoples, sovereigns 
and subjects, are alike bound to obey ; 
it is for all men, for states and em- 
pires, no less than for individuals, the 
supreme law, the law and the only 
law that binds the conscience. 

Now, religion is this law, and in- 
cludes all that it commands to be 
done, all that it forbids to be done, 
and all the means and conditions 
of its fulfilment. The church, as all 
Catholics hold, is the embodiment of 
this law, and is therefore in her very 
nature and constitution teleological. 
She speaks always and everywhere 
with the authority of God, as the final 
cause of creation, and therefore her 
words are law, her commands are the 
commands of God. Christ, who is 
God as well as man, is her personali- 
ty, and therefore she lives, teaches, 
and governs in him, and he in her. 
This being so, it is clear that religious 
liberty must consist in the unrestrain- 
ed freedom and independence of the 
church to teach and govern all men 
and nations, princes and people, ru- 
lers and ruled, in all things enjoined 
by the teleological law of man's exis- 
tence, and therefore in the recognition 
and maintenance for the church of 
that very supreme authority which 
the popes have always claimed, and 
against which the Reformation protest- 
ed, and which secular princes are 
generally disposed to resist when it 
crosses their pride, their policy, their 
ambition, or their love of power. Ma- 
nifestly, then, religious liberty and 
Protestantism are mutually antagonis- 
tic, each warring against the other. 

The church asserts and vindicates 
the rights of God in the government 



Religious Liberty. 



of men, and hence is she called the 
kingdom of God on earth. The rights 
of God are the foundation of all hu- 
man rights ; for man cannot create or 
(mginate rights, since he is a creature, 
not his own, and belongs, all he is 
and all he has, to his Creator. God's 
rights being perfect and absolute, ex- 
tend to all his creatures; and he has 
therefore the right that no one of his 
creatures oppress or wrong another, 
and that justice be done alike by all 
men to all men. We can wrong no 
man, dqprive no man of life, liberty, 
or the i^ursuit of happiness, without 
violating the rights of God and of- 
fending our Maker. ^ Inasmuch as 
ye did it to the least of my brethren, ye 
did it imto me." Hence, the church 
in asserting and vindicating the rights 
of God, asserts and protects in the 
lollest manner possible the so-called 
inalienable rights of man, opposes with 
di\ine authority all tyranny, all des- 
potism, all arbitrary power, all wrong, 
all oppression, every species of slavery, 
and asserts the fullest liberty, politi- 
cal, civil, social, and individual, that 
is possible without confounding liber- 
ty with license. The liberty she sus- 
tains is true liberty ; for it is that of 
which our Lord speaks when he says, 
** If the Son makes you free, ye shall 
be free indeed." The church keeps, 
guards, declares, and applies the di- 
vine law, of which human laws must 
be transcripts in order to have the 
force or vigor of laws. Man has in 
his own right no power to legislate 
for man, and the state can rightfully 
g«vem only by virtue of authority 
from God. Hence, St. Paul says, 
Nan estpotestas nisi a Deo, " There is 
no power except from God." 

The church in asserting the supre- 
macy of the law of God or of the spi- 
ritual order, asserts not only religious 
liberty, but all true liberty, oivil, poli- 
tical, social, and individual ; and we 
have seen that liberty, the basis and 



condition of civilization, was steadily 
advancing in all these respects during 
the middle ages till interrupted by the 
revival of paganism in the fifteenth 
century and the outbreak of Protes- 
tantism in the sixteenth. The Refor- 
mation did not emancipate society 
from spiritual thraldom, but raised it 
up in revolt against legitimate autho- 
rity, and deprived it of all protection, 
on the one hand, against arbitrary 
power, and, on the other, against an- 
archy and unbounded lawlessness, 
as the experience of more than three 
centuries has proved. There is not 
a government in Europe that is not 
daily conspired against, and it requires 
five millions of armed soldiers even 
in time of peace to maintain internal 
order, and give some little security 
to property and life. To pretend 
that the authority of the church, as 
the organ of the spiritual order, is 
despotic, is to use words without un- 
derstanding their meaning. Her au- 
thority is only that of the law of God, 
and she uses it only to maintain the 
rights of God, the basis and condition 
of the rights of individuals and of so- 
ciety. Man's rights, whether social 
or individual, civil or political, are 
the rights of God in and over man, 
and they can be maintained only by 
maintaining the rights of God, or, 
what is the same thing, the authority 
of the church of God in the govern- 
ment of human affairs. Atheism is 
the denial of liberty, as also is pan- 
theism, which denies God as creator. 
There is no liberty where there is 
no authority competent to assert and 
maintain it, or where there is no au- 
thority derived from God, who only 
hath dominion. The men who seek 
to get rid of authority as the condi- 
tion of asserting liberty are bereft of 
reason, and more in need of physic 
and good regimen than of argument 
Liberty is not in being exempt from 
obedience, but in being held to obey 



10 



Religious Liberty. 



only the rightful or legitimate autho- 
rity. God's right to govern his crea- 
tures is full and perfect, and any au- 
thority he delegates or authorizes to 
be exercised in his name, is legitimate, 
and in no sense abridges or interferes 
with hberty — unless by liberty you 
mean license — ^but is the sole condi- 
tion of its maintenance. God's do- 
minion over man is absolute, but is 
not despotic or tyrannical, since it is 
only his absolute right The autho- 
rity of the church, however extended 
it may be, and she is the judge of 
its extent and its limitations, as the 
court is the judge of its own jurisdic- 
tion, is not despotic, tyrannical, or op- 
pressive, because it is the authority 
of God exercised through her. 

The pretension of Protestants that 
Protestantism favors liberty, and the 
church despotism, is based on the 
supposition that authority negatives 
liberty and liberty negatives authori- 
ty, that whatever is given to the one 
is taken from the other; a supposi- 
tion refuted sogie time since, in the 
magazine for October last, in an arti- 
cle entitled An Imaginary Contradic- 
tion^ and need detain us no longer at 
present. Just or legitimate authority, 
founded on the rights of God, and 
instituted to assert and maintain them 
in human affairs, confirms and pro- 
tects liberty instead of impairing it 

Yet there is no doubt that the 
church condemns liberty in the sense 
of the Reformation, and especially in 
that of the nineteenth century. Pro- 
testantism denies infallibility to the 
church and assumes it for the age, for 
the state, for public opinion — that is, 
for the world. The most shocking 
blasphemy in its eyes is to assert that 
the age is fallible and cannot be relied 
on as a safe or sure guide. We differ 
from the Protestant ; we attribute in- 
&llibility to the church, and deny it to 
the age, even though the age be this 
enlightened nineteenth century. We 



do not believe it is always wise or 
prudent to suffer one's self to be carried 
away by the dominant tendency or 
passion of this or any other age. It 
is characteristic of every age to fix 
upon one special object or class of 
objects, and to pursue them with an 
excluslveness and a concentrated pas- 
sion and energy that render them 
practically evil, even though good 
when taken in their place and wisely 
pursued. Even maternal affection 
becomes evil and destructive, if not 
guided or restrained by wisdom and 
prudence. Philanthropy is a noble 
sentiment; yet men and women in 
our own age, carried away, dazzled, 
and blinded by it, only produce evils 
they would avoid, defeat the very 
good they would effect The spirit 
of our age is that of the production, 
accumulation, and possession of mate- 
rial goods. Material goods in their 
proper measure and place are need- 
ed; but when their production and 
accumulation become with an indi- 
vidual or an age an engrossing pas- 
sion that excludes the spiritual and 
the eternal, they are evil, and lead 
only to ruin, both spiritual and mate- 
rial, as daily experience proves. 

The church, then, instituted to teach 
the truth and to secure obedience to 
the law of God, directed always by 
her divine ideal, is forced to resist al- 
ways and everywhere the age, that 
is, the world, instead of following 
its spirit, and to labor for its cor- 
rection, not for its encouragement 
Hence always is there more or less 
opposition between the church and 
what is called the spirit of the age, 
and their mutual concordance is never 
to be looked for so long as the world 
stands. Hence the church in this 
world is the church militant, and her 
normal life one of never-ending strug- 
gle with the world — spirit of the age, 
der Welt'Geist — the flesh, and the 
devil. It is only by this struggle that 



Religious Liberty. 



II 



die makes conquests for heaven, 
and prevents civil governments from 
degenerating into intolerable tyrannies, 
and society from lapsing into pagan 
darkness and superstition. 

We have, we think, sufficiently dis- 
posed of tiie Protestant pretension, 
and if any of our readers think we 
have not fully done it, we refer them 
to the work before us. There is no 
doubt that the boldness, pot to say 
impudence, with which the Protestant 
pretension is urged, and the support 
it receives from the rationalistic jour- 
saJism and literature which form con- 
temporary public opinion in Catholic 
nations, coupled with the general ig- 
norance of history and the shortness of 
men's memories, accounts for the chief 
success of Protestant missions in un- 
making Catholics, which, though very 
limited, is yet much greater than it 
ispleasant to think. Yet gradually the 
truth will find its way to the public; 
cren Protestants themselves will by 
and by tell it, piece by piece, as 
they are now doing. They have al- 
ready refiited many of the falsehoods 
and calumnies they began by invent- 
ing and publishing against the church, 
and in due time they will refute the 
rest. 

The abbfc shows very clearly that 
the toleration now accepted and to 
some extent practised, and the liberty 
now allowed to the various sects, will 
most likely have a disastrous effect 
on the future of Protestantism. It 
must sooner or later, he thinks, lead 
to the demolition of the Protestant 
national establishments. National 
diurches cannot coexist with unlimit- 
ed freedom of dissent The English 
Church must soon follow the fate of 
the Anglican Church in Ireland. Its 
disestablishment is only a question 
of time. So it will be before long in 
all Protestant nations that have a na- 
tional church. Tlie doctrine of to- 
leration and freedom for all sects and 



opinions not only tends to produce 
indifference to dogmatic theology, but 
is itself a result of that indifference ; 
and indifference to dogmatic truth is 
a more formidable enemy to deal with 
than out-and-out disbelief or positive 
infidelity. A soul breathing fort^ threa- 
tenings, and filled with rage against 
Christians, can be converted, and be- 
came Paul the apostle and doctor of 
the Gentiles ; but the conversion of a 
Gallio, who cares for none of these 
things, is a rare event 

WiUi the several sects, doctrinal dif- 
ferences are daily becoming matters 
of less and less importance. Who hears 
now of controversies between Calvi- 
nists and Arminians ? Even the New 
School and the Old School Presbyte- 
rians, though separated by grave dog- 
matic differences, unite and form one 
and the same ecclesiastical body; 
Presbyterians and Methodists work 
together in harmony; Orthodox Con- 
gregationalists show signs of frater- 
nizing with Unitarians, and Unitarians 
fraternize with Radicals who reject 
the very name of Christian, and can 
hardly be said to believe even in 
God. One need not any longer be- 
lieve any thing, except that Catholi- 
city is a gross superstition, and the 
church a spiritual despotism, the grand 
enemy of the human race, in order 
to be a good and acceptable Protes- 
tant. A certain inward sentiment, 
emotion, or affection, which even a 
pantheist or an atheist may expe- 
rience, suffices. The dread presence 
of the church, hatred of Catholicity, 
the zeal inspired by party attachment, 
and the hope of finally arriving at 
some solid footing, may keep up ap- 
pearances for some time to come ; the 
eloquence, the polished manners, the 
personal influence, and the demago- 
gic arts and address of the preacher 
may continue for a while to fill a few 
fashionable meeting-houses; but when 
success depends on the personal cha- 



12 



Religious Liberty. 



racter and address of the minister, as 
is rapidly becoming the fact in all 
Protestant sects, we may take it for 
granted that Protestantism has seen 
its best days, is going the way of all 
the earth, and soon the place that 
has known it shall know it no more 
for ever. 

Protestantism, with all deference 
to our author, who pronounces it im- 
perishable, we venture to say, has 
well-nigh run its course. It began 
by divorcing the church from the pa- 
pacy and subjecting religion to the 
national authority, subordinating the 
spiritual to the temporal, the priest to 
the magistrate, the representative of 
heaven to the representative of earth. 
It constituted the national sovereign 
the supreme head and governor, th« 
pontifex maximus, after the manner 
of the Gentiles, of the national reli- 
gion, or the national church, and pun- 
ished dissent as treason against the 
prince. It was at first, and for over 
two centuries, bitterly intolerant, es- 
pecially against Catholics, whom it 
persecuted with a refined cruelty 
which recalled, if it did not surpass, 
that practised by paganism on Chris- 
tians in the martyr ages. 

Tired of persecution, or finding it 
impotent to prevent dissent. Protes- 
tantism tried after a while its hand at 
civil toleration. The state tolerated, 
to a greater or less extent, at first 
only Protestant dissenters from the 
established church; but at last, though 
with many restrictions, and with the 
sword ever suspended over their heads, 
even Catholics themselves. From 
civil toleration, from ceasing to cut 
the throats and confiscate the goods 
of Catholics, and of Protestant recu- 
sants, it is passing now to theolo- 
gical tolerance, or what it calls com- 
plete religious liberty, though as yet 
only its advanced-guard have reach- 
ed it. 

The state, unless in the American 



republic, does not, indeed, disclaim its 
supremacy over the church; but it 
leaves religion to take care of itself, 
as a thing beneath the notice of the 
civil magistrate, so long as it ab- 
stains fi'om interfering with state po- 
licy, or meddling with politics. To- 
day Protestantism divorces, or is seek- 
ing to divorce, the church fi-om the 
state, as it began by divorcing both 
her and the state firom the papacy ; it 
divorces religion from the church 
and fi'om morality, Christianity fh>m 
Christ, faith from dogma, piety fix)m 
reason, and it resolves into an af- 
fection of man's emotional or sen- 
timental nature. We find persons 
calling themselves Christians who 
do not believe in Christ, or regard 
him as a myth, and godly, who do 
not even believe in God. We 
have men, and women too, who de- 
mand the disruption of the mar- 
riage tie in the name of morality, and 
fi"ee love in the name of purity. 
Words lose their meaning. The churl 
is called liberal, things bitter are call- 
ed sweet, and things profane are call- 
ed holy. Not many years since, there 
was published in £ngland, and repub- 
lished here, an earnest and ingenious 
poem, designed to rehabilitate Satan, 
and chanting his merits as man's no- 
blest, best, and truest fiiend. In the 
mean time, every thing regarded as re- 
ligion loses its hold on the new genera- 
tions ; moral corruption of all sorts in 
public, domestic, and private life is 
making fearfiil progress throughout the 
Anglo-Saxon world, the mainstay of 
Protestantism ; and society seems tot- 
tering on the verge of dissolution. 
Such is the career Protestantism has 
run, is running, or, by the merciless 
logic to which it is subjectec^ will be 
forced to run. What hope, then, can 
Protestants have for its future ? 

As to the future of Catholicity, 
we are imder no apprehensions. We 
know that never can the church be 



Rdigious Liberty. 



13 



world the church triumphanty 
oat she and the world will al* 
be in a state of mutual hostili* 
ut the hostility can never harm 
dough it may cause the spiritii- 
Q of the individuals and nations 
vrar against her. The Frotes* 
forld have for over three hun- 

years been trying to get on 
fat her, and have succeeded but 
erently. Sensible and eamest- 
ed men among Protestants them- 
i boldly pronounce that the ex- 
tent has failed, which most Pro- 
its inwardly feel, and sadly de- 
; but like the poor man in Bal- 

novel, who has spent his own 
oiony, his wife's dower, the por- 
of his daughter, with all he could 
iw, beg, or steal, and reduced 
rife, his children, and himself to 
destitution, in the recherche 
iduy they are buoyed up by the 
ig that they are just a-going to 
*ed. But even this feeling can- 
last always. Hope too long 
erred maketh the heart sick." It 
be long yet, and many souls for 
n Christ has died be lost, before 
nations that have apostatized 
I wisdom enough to abandon the 
dve hope, and turn again to Him 
n they have rejected, or look 
I, weeping, on the face of Him 
n they have crucified. But the 
di will stand, whether they re- 
or not; for she is founded on a 

that cannot be shaken, on the 
lal truth of God, that cannot fail, 
le Protestant experiment has de- 
strated beyond question that the 

things in the Catholic Church 
h are most offensive to this age, 

for which it wages unrelenting 

against her, are precisely those 
gs it most needs for its own pro- 
on and safety. It needs, first of 
the Catholic Church — nay, the 
icy itself — to declare and apply 
law of God to states and empires. 



to sovereigns and subjects, kings and 
peoples, that politics may no longer 
be divorced firom religion, but be ren- 
dered subsidiary to the spiritual, the 
eternal end of man, for which both 
individuals and society exist and civil 
governments are instituted. It needs 
the church to declare and enforce the 
law, by such means as she judges pro- 
per, that should govern the relation 
of the sexes; to hallow and protect 
maniage, the basis of the family, as 
the family is of society, that great sa- 
crament or mysterious union, typical 
of the union of Christ with the church, 
which is indissoluble; to take charge 
of education, and to train up, or cause 
to be trained up, the young in the 
nurture and admonition of the Lord, 
or in the way they should go, that 
when old they shall not depart from 
it; to teach maidens modesty and 
reserve, and wives and mothers due 
submission to their husbands and 
proper care of their children ; to as- 
sert and protect the rights of women ; 
to train them to be contented to be 
women, and not to aspire to be men, 
or to usurp the functions of men, and 
to bid them stay at home, and not 
be gadding abroad, running over the 
country and spouting nonsense, free 
love, infidelity, impiety, and blasphe- 
my, at suffrage conventions and other 
gatherings, at which it is a shame 
for a woman to open her mouth, or 
even to be present ; and, most of all, 
to exercise a vigilant censorship over 
ideas, whether vented in books, jour- 
nals, or lectures, and to keep from 
the public those which tend to mis- 
lead the mind or corrupt the heart, 
as a prudent father strives to keep 
them from his children. 

The age needs for this the Catholic 
Church. A national church cannot 
do it; far less can the sects do it. 
These all depend on the public opin- 
ion of the age, the nation, or the sect, 
and have no power to withstand that 



14 



Religious Liberty. 



opinion. This is perhaps better un- 
derstood here than elsewhere. The 
sects, being creatures of opinion, have 
no power to control it, and their ten- 
dency is invariably to seize upon 
every opinion, excitement, or move- 
meHt that is, or is likely to be, popu- 
lar, and help it on as the means of 
swelling, when it is at flood-tide, their 
own respective numbers. A national 
church has undoubtedly more stabili- 
ty, and is not so easily wrested from 
its moorings. But it has only the 
stability of the government that or- 
dains it, and the most absolute go- 
vernment must sooner or later yield 
to the force of opirilon. Opinion has 
disestablished and disendowed the 
state church in Ireland, and will, as 
is most likely, do it ere long in both 
England and Scotland. The Protes- 
tant sects have no alternative ; they 
must either yield to the dominant opin- 
ion, tendency, or passion of the times 
and move on with it, or be swept away 
by it. 

k is only a church truly catholic, 
that depends on no nation, that ex- 
tends to all, and is over all, that de- 
rives not its being or its strength from 
the opinion of courts or of peoples, 
but rests on God for her being, her 
law, and her support, that can main- 
tain her integrity, or have the courage 
to stand before an age or a nation, 
denounce its errors, and condemn 
its dominant passion or tendency, or 
that would be heeded, if she did It 
was only the visible head of the Ca- 
tholic Churclr, the vicar of Christ, that 
could perform thccheioic act of pub- 



lishing in this century the Syllabus; 
and if, as we are confident they have, 
the prelates assembled in the Council 
of the Vatican have some share of the 
courage of their chief, their decrees will 
not only draw the attention of the 
world anew to the church, but go fSsur 
to prove to apostate nations and tru- 
culent governments that she takes 
counsel of God, not of the weakness 
and timidity of men. 

A few more such acts as the publi- 
cation of the Syllabus and the convo- 
cation of the council 'now sitting at 
Rome, joined to the manifest failure 
of Protestantism, will serve to open 
the eyes of the people, disabuse non- 
Catholics of the delusions under which 
they are led away to their own de- 
struction. The very freedom, though 
false in principle, which is suffered in 
Protestant nations, while it removes 
all restraints from infidelity, immo- 
rality, and blasphemy, aids the victo- 
ry of the church over her enemies. 
It ruins them by suffering them to 
run into all manner of excesses ; but 
she can use it without danger and 
with advantage where there are minds 
to be convinced or hearts to be won ; 
for she can abide the freest examina- 
tion, the most rigid investigation and 
scrutiny, while the indwelling Holy 
Ghost cannot fail to protect her firom 
all error on either side. The present 
delusions of the loud-boasting nine- 
teenth century must give way before 
her as she once more stands forth in 
her true light, and her present ene- 
mies be vanquished. 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



IS 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 



BT MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OP 

"HARDING, THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



DEDICATION. 

1 DEDICATE the following work to Edward 
Bahrer, Lord Lytton, not only in appreda- 
tion of one of the most searching, com- 
picbenuTe, independent, and indefatigable 
thinkers, and one of the truest and highest 
men of genius, of whom it has ever been 
the lot of his ovm country and of the Eng- 
Bsh-speaking races to be proud, and the fate 
of contemporary nations to feel honorably 
jeakms ; not only in admiration of a mind 
whidi nature made great, and which study 
has to the last degree cultivated, whose in- 
fluence and authority have been steadily ris- 
ing since be first began to labor in literary 
fiekls more varied than almost any into 
which ONE person had previously dared to 
carry the efforts of the intellect; but still 
more as an humble token of the grateful 
love which I feel in return for the faithful 
•nd consistent friendship and the innumera- 
ble services with which a great genius and 
a great man has honored me during twenty 
years. Miles Gerald Keon. 

Paris, Jan. iS, 187a 

INTRODUCTIOIf. 

The historical romance of Mr. Keon, now 
republished with the author's most cordial 
permission and his latest corrections, was 
first printed in London, in 1866, by Mr. 
Bentley, publisher in ordinary to the Qneen. 
The edition was brought out in a very hand- 
some style, and sold at the high price of a 
guinea. Notwithstanding the heavy price 
at which the work was furnished to our 
transpontine kinsfolk, (or at least to the " up- 
per ten thousand" of them,) it is at this 
moment out of print, and an effort made 
about two years ago to procure copies for 
sale in this country was unsuccessfuL The 
copy kindly sent us by the author was acci- 
dentally mislaid for several months, and this 
circumstance, together with the desire to 
give our readers the oppertunity of perusing 
the work as soon as their attention should 
be directed to it by a notioe such as its high 



merit demands, caused ns to delay the pro- 
per public acknowledgment to the author 
until the present moment. Its success in 
England, in spite of the nationality and re- 
ligion of the writer, is no slight proof of its 
intrinsic excellence, especially when we con- 
sider that he ventured into a field which the 
subject-matter of the book would turn into 
the very home and headquarters of English 
prejudice. 

To every effect adequate cause; and, in 
this instance, to those who take up the story 
of DioM^ one cause of its success will, be- 
fore they have gone half way through its 
events and adventures, speak for itself! Yet, 
however light to read, the work has, we 
feel convinced, been in the last degree la- 
borious both to plan and to execute. ** Easy 
writing," said Thomas Moore, "very often 
makes fearfully hard reading." We believe 
the converse has often proved equally true. 

We are glad to learn that Mr. Keon has 
recently received a fiu: more gratifying re- 
cognition of his distinguished merit than 
any other to which a Catholic author can as- 
pire. At a private audience granted him 
by Pius IX., His Holiness complimented 
him on his services to literature and reli- 
gion, and gave him a beautiful rosary of 
pearl as a token of his august favor. 

One word more, and we shall let the sto- 
ry itself begin to be heard. The epoch of 
Dion was the turning-point of all human 
history — the hinge of the fateful gates, the 
moment of the mightiest and most stupen 
dous transition our world has ever known, 
the transition of transitions; the moment 
on this earth of a superplanetary, super- 
cosmic drama. There were two suns in 
the heavens ; one rising, never to set ; the 
other going down to rise no more. At no 
epoch had human genius blazed so lumi- 
nous, or human pride poised itself on wings 
so wide, in a sphere so sublime ; but this 
genius was for the first time confronted in 
its own sphere by divine inspiration and a 
supernatural authority. The setting of a 
classic though pagan day saw the dawning 
day of Christianity. There were two suns 



i6 



Dion and tlie Sibyb. 



in one sky at the same moment The doubt- 
ful cross-lights of two civilizations over- 
arched the world with a vault of shifting, con- 
tending, contrary, and awful splendors — 
those of one order in the utmost intensity 
of their radiance, those of the other in their 
first, glimmering beginnings; a seeming 
confusion ; an internecine war ; a hazy min- 
gling of emlxattled glories as full of mean- 
ing as it was of mystery. 

Ed. Cath. World, 



CHAPTER I. 

It was a fair evening in autumn, 
toward the end of the year eleven 
of our Lord. Augustus Csesar was a 
white-haired, olive-complexioned, and 
somewhat frail-featured, though state- 
ly man of more than seventy-three. 
At the beginning of the century in 
which this was written, the face of 
the first Napoleon recalled to the 
minds of antiquaries and students of 
numismatic remains the lineaments, 
engraved upon the extant coins of 
Augustus. Indeed, at this moment 
there is in the Vatican a beautiful 
marble bust in excellent preservation, 
representing one of these two empe- 
rors as he was while yet young ; and 
this bust almost invariably produces 
a curious effect upon the stranger 
who contemplates it for the first time. 
" That is certainly a beautiful artistic 
work," he says, " but the likeness is 
hardly perfect." 

" Likeness of whom ?" replies some 
Italian friend. " Of the emperor," 
says the stranger. ** Sknro / But 
which emperor?" asks the Italian, 
smiling. " Of course, the first," says 
^le visitor; ^^ not this one." "But 
that represents Augustus Caesar, not 
Napoleon Bonaparte," is the answer. 
Whereupon the stranger, who, a mo- 
ment before had very justly pronounc- 
ed the resemblance to Bonaparte to 
be hardly perfect, exclaims, not less 
justly. What an amazing likeness to 
Napoleon! That sort of admiring 
surprise is intelligible. Had the bust 



been designed as an image of the 
great modem ' conqueror, there had 
been something to censure. But the 
work which, at one and the same 
time, delineates the second Caesar, 
and yet now after 1800 years recalls 
to mind the first Napoleon, has be- 
come a curious monument indeed. 

The second Roman emperor, how- 
ever, had not a forehead so broad 
and commanding nor so marble 
smooth as Napoleon's, and the whole 
countenance, at the time when our 
narrative begins, offered a more de- 
cisively aquiline curve, with more nu- 
merous and much thinner lines about 
the mouth. Still, even at the age which 
he had then reached — ^in the year 
eleven of our Lord — he showed traces 
of that amazing beauty which had 
enchanted the whole classic world m 
the days of his youth. Three years 
more, and his reign and life were to 
go down in a great, broad, calm, 
treacherous sunset together. 
r After the senate had rewarded the 
histrionic and purely make-believe 
moderation of its master—- and in 
truth its destroyer — ^by giving to one 
who had named himself Princeps the 
greater name of Augustus, the former 
title, like a left-off robe, too good to 
be thrown away, was carefully picked 
up, brushed into all its gloss, and ap- 
propriated by a second performer. 
We allude, of course, to Drusus Ti- 
berius Claudius Nero, the future em- 
peror, best known by his second 
name of Tiberius. The first and 
third names had belonged to his bro- 
ther also. Tiberius was then " Prince 
and Caesar," as the new slang of flat- 
tery termed him ; he was stepson of 
Augustus and already adopted heir, 
solemnly dcsignatus. He was verging 
upon the close of his fifty- third year 
of cautious profligacy, clandestine 
vindictiveness, and strictly-regulated 
vices. History has not accused him 
of murdering Agrippa Vespasianus; 



DioH and tlu Sibyls. 



17 



but had Agrippa survived, he would 
have held all Tiberius's present of- 
fices, ^lius Sejanus, commander 
of the praetorian guards, was occu- 
pied in watching the monthly, watch- 
ing even the daily, decay of strength 
in the living emperor, and was pan- 
dering to the passions of his probable 
successor. Up to this time Sejanus 
bad been, and still was, thus employ- 
ed. More dangerous hopes had not 
arisen in his bosom ; he had not yet 
indulged in the visiqn of becoming 
master of the known miid*-a dream 
which, some twenty yen afterward, 
consigned him to cruel and sudden 
destruction. No conspin^or, per- 
haps, ever exercised more 
patience in preparing, or 
more stupidity at last in exerting, 
an attempt at treason on so 
scale. It was forty-six years 
Sallust had expired amid the luxul 
which cruelty and rapine accumull|- 
ed, after profligacy had first brougl 
him acquainted with want. 

Ovid had just been sent into exile 
at Temesvar in Turkey — then called 
Tomos in Scythia. Cornelius Nepos 
was ending his days in the personal 
privacy and literary notoriety in which 
he had lived. Virgil had been dead 
a whole generation ; so had TibuUus; 
Catullus, half a century ; Propertius, 
some twenty years ; Horace and Mae- 
cenas, about as long. The grateful 
master of the curwsa filicitas verbih 
rum had foUowed in three weeks to— 
not the grave, indeed, but — the urn, 
the patron whom he had immortalized 
in the first of his odes, the first of his 
epodes, the first of his satires, and 
the first of his epistles; and the 
mighty sovereign upon whose youth- 
ful court those three characters — a 
wise, mild, clement, yet firm minister, 
a glorious epic poet, and an unsur- 
passed lyrist — have reflected so much 
and such enduring lustre, had faithful- 
ly and unceasingly lamented their 

VOL. XL — 2 



irreparable loss. Lucius Varius was 
the fashionable poet, the laureate of 
the day; and Maecenas being remov- 
ed, Tiberius sought to govern indi- 
rectly, as minister, all those matters 
which he did not control directly and 
immediately, as one of the two Cae- 
sars whom Augustus had appointed. 
Velleius Paterculus, the cavalry colo- 
nel, or military tribune, (chiliarch,) a 
prosperous and accomplished patri- 
cian, was beginning to shine at once 
in letters and at the court. The 
grandson of Livia, grandson also of 
Augustus by his marriage with her, 
but really grand-nephew of that em- 
peror — we mean the son of Antonia, 
the celebrated GermanicuSy second 
and more worthy bearer of that sur- 
name — a youth full of fire and genius, 
and tingling with noble blood — ^was 
preparing to atone for the disgraces 
and to repair the disasters which 
Quintilius Varus, one year before, 
amidst the uncleared forests of Ger- 
many, had brought upon the imperial 
arms and the Roman name. Ger- 
manicus, indeed, was about to fulfil 
the more important part of a celebrat- 
ed classic injunction; he was going 
to do things worthy to be written, 
" while the supple courtier of all Cae- 
sars, Paterculus, was endeavoring to 
write something worthy to be read** 
Strabo had not long before commenc- 
ed his system of geography, which, 
for about thirty years yet to come, 
was to engage his attention and dic- 
tate his travels. Livy, of the " pic- 
tured page," who doubdess may be 
called, next to Tacitus, the most elo- 
quent without being set down as 
quite the most credulous of classic 
historians — I venture to say so, pace 
Nielmhr—yfQS over sixty-eight years 
of age, but scarcely looked sixty. 
He was even then thoroughly and 
universally appreciated. No man 
living had received more genuine 
marks of honor— not even the em- 



18 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



peror. IIis hundred and forty-two 
books of Roman history had filled 
the known world with his praises, a 
glory which length of days allowed 
him fully to enjoy. Modem readers 
appreciate and admire the thirty-five 
books which alone are lefl, and linger 
over the beauties, qtiasi steilis, with 
which they shine. Yet who knows 
but these may be among the poorest 
productions of Livy's genius? A 
very simple sum in arithmetic would 
satisfy an actuary that we must have 
lost the most valuable emanations of 
the Paduan's great mind. Given a 
salvage of five-and-thirty out of a hun- 
dred and forty-two, and yet the whole 
of this wreck so marvellous in beau- 
ty I surely that which is gone for ever 
must have included much that is 
equal, probably something far supe- 
rior to what time has spared. 

There is a curious fact recorded by 
Pliny the younger, which speaks for 
itself. A Spaniard of Cadiz had, only 
some five months before the date of 
our stcry, journeyed firom the ends of 
the earth to Rome merely to obtain 
a sight of Livy. There were imperial 
shows in the forum and hippodrome 
and circus at the time; there were 
races on foot, and on horseback, and 
in chariots; fights there were of all 
kinds — men against wild animals, men 
against each other; with the sword, 
with the deadly cestus; wrestling 
matches, and the dreadful battles of 
gladiators, five hundred a side; in 
short, all the glitter and the glories 
and the horrors of the old classic 
arena in its culminating days. There 
was also a strange new Greek fence, 
since inherited by Naples, and pre- 
served all through the middle ages 
down to this hour, with the straight, 
pliant, three-edged rapier, to witness 
which even ladies thronged with inte- 
rest and partisanship. But the Span- 
iard from Gades (Cervantes might 
sorely have had such an ancestor) 



asked only to be shown Titus Livius- 
Which in yonder group is Livy ? The 
wayfarer cared for nothing else that 
Roman civilization or Roman vanity 
could show him. The great writer 
was pointed out, and then the travel- 
ler, having satisfied the motive which 
had brought him to Rome, went back 
to Ostia, where his lugger, if I may so 
call it, lay, (I picture it a kind of 
" wing-and-wing " rigged vessel ;) and, 
refusing to profane his eyes with anj 
meaner spectacle, set sail again for 
Spain, where his youth had been illu- 
mined with the visions presented to a 
sympathetic imagination by the most 
charming of classical historians. The 
Spaniards from an immemorial age 
are deemed to have been heroes and 
appreciators of heroes ; and no doubt 
this literary pilgrim, once more at 
home, recurred many a time, long 
pondering, to the glorious deeds of 
\hQFabia Gens, 

How many other similar examples 
Livy may have recorded for him we 
modems cannot say. Before his gaze 
arose the finished column iroux the 
firagments whereof we have gathered 
up some scattered bricks and mar- 
bles. Niebuhr had to deal with a 
ruin, and he who ought to have 
guessed at and reconstructed the 
plan of it, has contented himself widi 
trying to demolish its form. 

Long previously to the date of our 
tale, Augustus, trembling under the 
despotism of his wife Livia, had be- 
gun to repeat those lamentations (with 
which scholars are familiar) for the 
times when Maecenas had guided his 
active day, and Virgil and Horace 
had beguiled his lettered evenings. 
Virgil, as is well known, had been 
tormented with asthma, and ought 
possibly to have lived much longer 
but for some imrecorded imprudence. 
Horace, as is likewise well known, 
had been tormented with sore eye-lids 
-—and with wine; he was '^Uear- 



DioH and tht Sibyls. 



19 



* (Uppus,) Augustus, therefore, 
to say wittily, as he placed them 
ch hand of him at the symposium^ 
I had been recently borrowed in 
from the Greeks, but had not 
egenerated into the debauchery 
extravagance into which they 
rard sank more and more deep* 
ning successive reigns, "I sit 
sen sighs and tears." In sus- 
sedeo et in lachrymis. But he 
long lost these so-called sighs 
eais at either hand of him. The 
and tears were now his own. 

CHAPTER 11. 

T chronicle commences in Cam- 
, with the Tyrrhenian Sea (now 
outherly waters of the Gulf of 
a) on a traveller's left hand if he 
north. It was a fair evening in 
in, as we have remarked, during 
age and state of the world the 
1 outlines of which we have 
r given. Along the Appian, or, 
ong afterward came to be also 
I, the Trajan Way, the queen of 
, a conveyance drawn by two 
5, a carriage of the common 
ley description, not unlike one 
s of the vettura used by the mo- 
Italians, was rolling swiftly north- 
between the stage of Mintumae 
le next stage, wliich was a lone- 
t-house a few miles south of the 
sting town of Formioe — not Fo- 
4ppity or the Tliree Taverns^ a 
more than fifty miles away in 
rection of Rome, and upon the 
road. 

ide the carriage were a lady in 
e life, whose face, once lovely, 
till sweet and charming, and a 
)ale, beautiful female child, each 
d in a black ricinium* or 
ling robe, drawn over the top 
e head. The girl was about 
: years old, or a little more, and 



seemed to be suffering much and 
grievously. She faced the horses, and 
on her side sat the lady fanning her 
and watching her with a look which 
alwa)^ spoke love, and now and again 
anguish. Opposite to them, with his 
back to the horses, wearing a sort of 
dark lacema^ or thin, light great-coat, 
of costly material, but of a fashion 
which was deemed in Italy at that 
day either foreign or vulgar, as the 
case might be, sat a youth of about 
eighteen. The child was leaning 
back with her eyes closed. The youth, 
as he watched her, sighed now and 
then. At last he put both hands 
to his face, and, leaning his head for- 
ward, suffered tears to flow silent- 
ly through his fingers. The lacema 
which he wore was fastened at the 
breast by two Jihulce, or clasps of sil- 
ver, and girt rourtd his waist with a 
broad, brown, sheeny leather belt, 
stamped and traced after some Asiatic 
mode. In a loop of this belt, at his 
left side, was secured within its black 
scabbard an unfamiliar, outlandish- 
looking, long, straight, three-edged 
sword, which he had pulled round so 
as to rest the point before his feet, 
bringing the blade between his knees, 
and the hilt, which was gay with 
emeralds, in front of his chest. 

The Romans still very generally 
went bare-headed,* even out of doors, 
except that those who continued to 
wear the toga drew it over their heads 
as the weather needed, and those 
who wore the fenula used the hood 
of it in the same way. But upon 
the hilt of the sword we have de- 
scribed the youth had flung a sort of 
petasusy or deep-rimmed hat, with a 
flat top, and one black feather at the 
side, not stuck perpendiculariy into 
the band, but so trained half round 
it as to produce a reckless, rakish effect, 
of which the owner was unconscious. 

« Agatha," said the lady, in a low^ 

• Plutarch in Pompey. Seneca, Epii. 64. 



20 



Dion and tks Sibyls. 



tender voice, the delicate Greek ring 
of which was full of persuasion, 
** look up, beloved child I Your bro- 
ther and I, at least, are left. Think 
no more of the past The gods have 
taken your father, after men had ta- 
ken his and your inheritance. But 
our part in life is not yet over. Did 
not your parents too, in times past- 
did not we too, I say, lose ours ? Did 
you not know you were probably to 
live longer than your poor father? 
Are you not to survive me also ? Per- 
haps soon." 

With a cry of dismay the young 
girl threw her arms round the lady's 
neck and sobbed. The other, while 
she shed tears, exclaimed : 

''I thank that unknown power, 
of whom Dionysius the Athenian, 
my young countryHian, so sublimely 
speaks, that the child weeps at last I 
Weep, Agatha, weep ; but mourn not 
mute in the cowardice of despair! 
Mourn not for your father in a way 
unbecoming of his child and mine. 
Mourn not as though indeed you 
were not ours. My husband is gone 
for ever, but he went in honor. The 
courageless grief, that canker without 
voice or tears, which would slay his 
child, will not bring back to me the 
partner of my days, nor to you your 
father. We must not dishearten but 
cheer your brother Paulus for the bat- 
tle which is before him." 

"I wish to do so, my mother,** 
said Agatha. 

" When I recover my rights," broke 
in the youth at this point, " my father 
will come and sit among the iar^Sy 
round the ever-burning fire in the 
atrium of our hereditary house, Aga- 
tha; and therefore courage! You 
are ill ; but Charides, the great phy- 
sician of Tiberius Caesar, is our coun- 
tryman, and he will attend you. He 
can cure almost any thing, they say. 
And if you feel fatigued, no wonder, 
so help me 1 Minimi mirum meher- 



cUI Have we not travelled without 
intermission, by land and by sea, all 
the way from Thrace? But now, 
one more diange of horses brings us 
to Formiae, and then we shall be at 
our journey's end. Meantime, dear 
child, look up; see yonder woods, 
and the garden-like shore." 

And having first tried in vain to 
brighten the horn window at the side 
of the vehicle, specular cameum, (glass 
was used only in the private carriages 
of the rich,) he stood up, and calling 
over the hide roof of Uie carriage, 
which was open in fh)nt — the horses 
being driven from behind — ^he order- 
ed the rhedariuSy or coachman, to 
open the panels. The man, evident- 
ly a former slave of the family, now 
their freedman, quickly obeyed, and 
descending fix>m his bench, pushed 
back into grooves contrived to re* 
ceive them the coarsely-figured and 
gaudily colored sides of the travelling 
carruca, 

" Is pafvula better ?" he then cri- 
ed, with the privileged fineedom of an 
old and attached domestic, or of one 
who, in the far more endearing par- 
lance of classic times, was a faithful 
familiaris — that is, a member of the 
family. "Is the little one better? 
The dust is laid now, little one ; the 
evening comes ; the light slants ; the 
sun smiles not higher than yourself 
instead of burning overhead. See, 
the beautiful country I See, the sweet 
land ! Let the breeze bring a bloom 
to your cheeks, as it brings the per- 
fumes to your mouth. Ah! the /or. 
vuta smiles. Fate is not always an- 

gryr 

" Dear old Philip !" said the child; 
and then, turning to her mother, she 
added, 

"Just now, mother, you. waked me 
firom a frightful dream. I thought 
that the man who has our father's 
estates was dead; but he came from 
the dead, and was trying to kill Pau- 



Diom amd ths Sibyls. 



2K 



hzs, my brother there ; and for that 
purpose was striving to wrest the 
svord firom Paulus's hand; and that 
the man, or iar^ laughed in a hideous 
manner, and cried out, 'It is with 
Us own sword we will slay himl No- 
thing but his own sword 1' '' 

The old freedman turned pale, and 
muttered something to himself, as he 
stood by the side of the vehicle ; and 
while he kept the horses steady, with 
the long reins in his left hand, glanced 
awfully toward Faulus. 

** Brother," continued the child, " I 
Ibcget that man's name. What is the 
name?" 

** Never mind the name now," said 
Faulus; ** a dead person cannot kill 
a living one; and that man is not in 
Italy who will kill me with my own 
sfrotd, if I be not asleep. Look at 
die beautiful land! See, ;is Philip 
tells you, the beautiful land where you 
are going to be so happy." 

The river Liris, now the Garigliano, 
flowed all gold in the western sun ; 
some dozen of meadows behind them, 
between rows of linden-trees, olean- 
deis, and pomegranates, with laurel, 
hzT, and long bamboo-like reeds of 
dke arundo danax^ varying the rich 
beauty of its banks: ^^ Daphrones^ 
fkianofuSy et aeria cyparissiP A 
thin and irregular forest of great con- 
templative trees; flowerless and sad 
bccdi, cornel, alder, ash, hornbeam, 
and yew towered over savannahs of 
scented herbs, and glades of many- 
tinted grasses. Some clumps of chest- 
nut-trees, hereafter to spread into for- 
ests, but then rare, and cultivated 
35 we cultivate oranges and citrons, 
stood proudly apart. A vegetation, 
which has partly vanished, gave its 
own physical asp^t to an Italy the 
social conditions of which have van- 
ished altogether ; and were even then 
passing, and about to pass, through 
their last appearances. But much 
also that we in our days have seen, 



both there and elsewhere, was there 
then. The flower or blossom of the 
pomegranate lifted its scarlet light 
amidst vines and olives; miles of 
oleander trees waved their masses of 
flame under the tender green filigree 
of almond groves, and seemed to 
laugh in scorn at the mourning groups 
of yew, and the bowed head of the 
dark, widow-like, and inconsolable 
cypress. All over the leaves of the 
woods autumn had strewn its innu- 
merable hues. In the west, the sky 
was hung with those glories which no 
painter ever reproduced and no poet 
ever sang ; it was one of the sunsets 
which make all persons of sensibility 
who contemplate them dumb, by 
making all that can be said of them 
worse than useless. A magnificent and 
enormous villa, or casteUum^ or coun- 
try mansion — palace it seemed — show- 
ed parts of its walls, glass windows, 
and Ionic columns, through the woods 
on the banks of the Liris ; and up- 
on the roof of this palace a great 
company of gilt, tinted, and white 
statues, much larger than life, in va- 
rious groups and attitudes, as they 
conversed, lifted their arms, knelt, 
prayed, stooped, stood up, threaten- 
ed, and acted, were glittering above 
the tree-tops in the many-colored lights 
of the setting sun. 

" Ah ! let us stop ; let us rest a few 
moments," cried the child, smiling 
through her tears at the smiles of na- 
ture and the enchanting beauty of 
the scene ; " only a few moments un- 
der the great trees, mother." 

It was a group of chestnuts, a few 
yards from the side of the road ; and 
beneath them came to join the high- 
way through the meadows, and vine- 
yaids, and forest-land, a broad beaten 
track from the direction of the splen- 
did villa that stood on the Liris. 

Faulus instantly sprang from the 
carruca^ and, having first helped his 
mother to alight, took his sister in his 



22 



Dion and tie Sibyls. 



arms and placed her sitting under the 
green shade. A Thradan woman, 
a slave, descended meantime from 
the box, and the driver drew his 
vehicle to the side of the highway. 
I While they thus reposed, with no 
sound about them, as they thought, 
save the rustle of the leaves, the dis- 
tant ripple of the waters, and the ve- 
hement shrill call of the cicala, hid- 
den in the grass somewhere near, their 
destinies were coming. The freed- 
man suddenly held up his hand, and 
drew their attention by that peculiar 
sound through the teeth, ^x/,^ which 
in all nations signifies listeti / 

And, indeed, a distant, dull, vague 
noise was now heard southward, and 
seemed to increase and approach 
along the Appian road. Every eye 
in our little group of travellers was 
turned in the direction mentioned, 
and they could see a white cloud of 
dust coming swiftly northward. Soon 
they distinguished the tramp of many 
horses at the trot. Then, over the 
top of a hill which had intercepted 
the view, came the gleam of arms, 
filling the whole width of the way, 
and advancing like a torrent of light. 
The ground trembled; and, headed 
by a troop or two of Numidian ri- 
ders, and then a couple of troops or 
turmce of Batavian cavalry, a diou- 
sand horse, at least, of the Praetorian 
Guards, arrayed, as usual, magnifi- 
cently, swept along in a column two 
hundred deep, with a rattle and ring 
of metal rising treble upon the ear 
over the continuous bass of the beat- 
ing hoofe, as the foam floats above 
the roll of the waves. 

The young girl was at once start- 
led from the sense of sickness and 
grief, and gazed with big eyes at the 
pageant. Six hundred yards further 
on a trumpet-note, clear and long, 
gave some sudden signal, and the 
whole body instantly halted. From 
a detached group in the rear an offi- 



cer now rode toward the front; a 
loud word or two of command was 
heard, a slight movement followed, 
and then, as if the column were some 
monstrous yellow-scaled serpent with 
an elastic neck and a black head, 
the swarthy troop>s which had led the 
advance wheeled slowly backward, 
two instead of five abreast, while the 
main column simultaneously stretch- 
ed itself forward on a narrower face, 
and with a deeper file, occupying 
thus less than half the width of the 
road, which they had before neariy 
filled, and extending much further on- 
ward. Meantime the squadrons which 
had led it continued to defile to the 
rear; and when their last rank had 
passed the last of those fronting in 
the opposite direction, they suddenly 
faced to their own right, and, stand- 
ing like statues, lined the way on the 
side opposite to that where our tra- 
vellers were reposing, but some forty 
or filly yards higher up the road, or 
more north. 

In front of the line of horsemen, 
who, after wheeling back, had been 
thus faced to their own right, or the 
proper lefl of the line of march, was 
now collected a small group of mount- 
ed officers. One of them wore a steel 
corselet, a casque of the same metal, 
with a few short black feathers in its 
crest, and the chlamysy or a better sort 
oisagupn, the scarlet mantle of a mili- 
tary tribune, over a black tunic, upon 
which two broad red stripes or rib- 
bons were diagonally sewn. This 
costume denoted him one of the La- 
iulaviiy or broad-ribboned tribunes ; in 
other words — although, to judge by 
the massive gold ring which glittered 
on the forefinger of his bridle hand, he 
might have been originally and per- 
sonally only a knight — he had receiv- 
ed either from the emperor, or fh>m 
one of the two Caesars then governing 
with and under Augustus^ the senato- 
rial rank. 



DioH and the Sibyls. 



?3 



The chlamys was fieistened across 
die top of his chest with a silver clasp, 
ud the tunic a little lower down with 
another, both being open below as 
for as the waist, and disclosing a 
tight-fitting chain-mail corselet, or 
shirt of steel rings. The chlamys was 
otherwise thrown loose over his shoul- 
ders, but the tunic was belted round 
the corselet at his waist by a buff girdle, 
wherein himg the intricately-figured 
brass scabbard of a straight, flat, not 
Tery long cut-and-thrust sword, which 
he now held drawn in his right hand. 
In his belt were stuck a pair of 
manicct or chirotheca^ as gloves were 
called, which seemed to be made of 
the same material as the girdle ; buf^ 
fiilo-skin greaves on his legs and half- 
boots (the cakeiy not the soUa or san- 
dab) completed his dress. He was a 
handsome man, about five-and-thirty 
years old, brown hair, an open but 
thoughtful face, and ah observant eye. 
He it was who had ridden to the front, 
and given those orders the execution 
of which we have noticed. He had 
now returned, and kept his horse a 
neck or so behind that of an officer 
bi more splendidly attired, who seem- 
ed to pay no attention whatever to the 
little oi)eration that had occurred, but, 
shading his eyes with one hand from 
the rays of the setting sun, gazed over 
the fields toward the villa or mansion 
on the Liris. 

He was clad in ^t paludanuntum^ 
die long scariet cloak of a Ugatus or 
general, the borders being deeply 
(ringed with twice-dyed Tyrian purple, 
{7\'na bisfincfa, or dibapha^ as it is 
called by Pliny;) the long folds 
of which flowed over his charger's 
haunches. This magnificent mantle 
was buckled round the wearer's neck 
with a jewel. His corselet, unlike that 
of the colonel or tribune already men- 
tioned, was of plate-steel, (instead of 
lings,) and shone like a looking-glass, 
except where it was inlaid with broad 



lines of gold He wore a chain of 
twisted gold round his neck, and his 
belt as well as the hilt of his sword, 
which remained undrawn by his side 
in a silver scabbard, glittered with sar- 
donyx and jasper stones. He had 
no tunic His gloves happening, like 
those of his subordinate, to be thrust 
into the belt round his waist, left visi- 
ble a pair of hands so white and deli- 
cate as to be almost effeminate. His 
helmet was thin steel, and the crest 
was surmounted by a profuse plume 
of scarlet cock's feathers. But per- 
haps the most curious particular of his 
costume was a pair of shoes or half- 
boots of red leather, the points of the 
toes turned upward. These boots 
were encrusted with gems, which form- 
ed the patrician crescent, or letter C, 
on the top of each foot, and then 
wandered into a fanciful tracery of 
sparkles up the leg. The stapeda^ or 
stirrups, in which his feet rested, were 
either of gold or gilt. 

The countenance of the evidently 
important personage whose dress has 
been stated was remarkable. He had 
regular features, a handsome straight 
nose, eyes half closed with what seem- 
ed at first a languid look, but yet 
a look which, if observed more close- 
ly, was almost startling from the ex- 
treme attention it evinced, and from 
the contrast between such an expres- 
sion and the indolent indifference or 
superciliousness upon the surface, if 
I may so say, of the physiognomy. 
There was something sinister and 
cruel about the mouth. He wore no 
whiskers or beard, but a black, care- 
fully-trimmed moustache. 

After a steady gaze across the fields 
in the direction we have already more 
than once mentioned, he half turned 
his head toward the tribune, and at 
the same time, pointing to our travel- 
lers, said something. The tribune, 
in his turn, addressed the first centu- 
rion, (dux ligioms^ an of&cei whose 



24 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



sword, like that of the legatus, was 
undrawn, but who carried in his right 
hand a thin wand made of vine-wood. 
In an instant this officer turned his 
horse's head and trotted smartly to- 
ward our travellers, upon reaching 
whom he addressed Paulus thus : 

"Tell me, I pray you, have you 
been long here ?" 

" Not a quarter of an hour," an- 
swered Paulus, wondering why such 
a question was asked. 

" And have any persons passed in- 
to the road by this pathway?" the 
centurion then inquired. 

" Not since we came," said Paulus. 

The officer thanked him and trot- 
ted back. 

Meanwhile, Paulus and his mo- 
ther and the freedman Philip had not 
been so absorbed in watching the oc- 
currence and scene just described as 
to remove their eyes for more than 
a moment at a time from their dear- 
ly-loved charge, the interesting little 
mourner who had begged to be al- 
lowed to rest under the chestnut-trees. 
It was not so with Agatha herself. 
The child was at once astonished, be- 
wildered, and enraptured. Had the 
spectacle and review before her been 
commanded by some monarch, or 
rather some magician, on purpose to 
snatch her from the possibility of 
dwelling longer amidst the gloom, 
the regrets, and the terrors under 
which she had appeared to be sink- 
ing, neither the wonder of the spec- 
tacle, nor the amenity of the evening 
when it occurred, nor the loveliness 
of the landscape which formed its 
theatre, could have been more oppor- 
tunely combined. She had not only 
never beheld any thing so magnifi- 
cent, but her curiosity was violently 
aroused. 

Paulus exchanged with his mother 
and the old freedman a glance of in- 
telligence and of intense satisfaction, 
as they both noted ^e parted lips 



and dilated eyes with which the child, 
half an hour ago so alarmingly ill, 
contemplated the drama at which she 
was accidentally assisting. 

" TJiafs a rare doctor^* whispered 
Philip, pointing to the general of the 
Praetorian Guards. 

" No doctor," replied Paulus in the 
same low tones, "could have pre- 
scribed for our darling better." 

" Paulus," said Agatha, " what are 
these mighty beings ? Are these the 
genii, and the demons of the mistress- 
land, the gods of Italy ?" 

"They are a handful of Italy's 
troops, dear," he said. 

She looked from her brother to the 
lady, and then to the freedman, and 
this last, with a healing instinct which 
would have done honor to Hippo* 
crates, began to stimulate her interest 
by the agency of suspense and mys- 
tery. 

" Master Paulus, and Lady Aglais, 
and my little one too," he said, in a 
most impressive and solemn voice, 
" these be the genii and these be the 
demons indeed; but I tell you that 
you have not yet seen all tlie secret 
Something is ginng to happen. Attend 
to me well ! You behold a most sin- 
gular thing I Are you aware of what 
you behold ? Yonder, Master Paulus, 
is the allotted portion of horse for 
more than three legions: the Justus 
equitatus^ I say, for a Roman army 
of twenty thousand men. Yes, I at- 
test all the gods," continued Philip in 
a low voice, but with great earnest- 
ness, and glancing from the brother 
to the sister as if his prospects in life, 
were contingent upon his being be- 
lieved in this. " I was at the batde 
of Philippi, and I aver that yonder 
is more than the right allotment of 
horse for three legions. Observe the 
squadrons, the turnue; they do not 
consist of the same arm ; and instead 
of being distributed in bodies of three 
CMT four hundred each to a legion, 



Dion and ike Siiyls. 



2S 



they are all together before you with- 
out their legions. Why is that, Mas- 
ter Paulus ?" 

** I know not,** said Paulus. 

" Ah !" resumed the freedman, " you 
know not, but you wi// know pre^ 
sently. Mark that, little Mistress 
Agatha, and bear in mind that Philip 
the freedman has said to your bro- 
ther that he will know all presently." 

The child gazed wonderingly at 
die troops as she heard these mys- 
terious words. "Who are those?" 
asked she, pointing to the squadrons 
of those still in column. " Who are 
those in leather jeikins, covered with 
the iron scales, and riding the large, 
heavy horses ?" 

" Batavians from the mouths of the 
Rhme and the Scheldt," answered the 
freedman, with a mysterious shake of 
the head. 

"And those," pursued she, with in- 
creasing interest; "who are those 
whose faces shine like dusky copper, 
and whose eyes glitter like the eyes 
of the wild animals in the arena, 
when the proconsul of Greece gives 
the shows ? I mean those who ride 
the small, long-tailed horses without 
sayrfAififiia, (saddle-cloths,) and even 
without bridles — ^the soldiers in flow- 
ing dress, with rolls of linen round 
their heads ?" 

** They are the Numidians," replied 
Fhflip. " Ah ! Rome dreaded those 
horsemen once, when Hannibal the 
Carthaginian and his motley hordes 
had their will in these fair plains." 

As he spoke, a strange movement 
occurred. The general or kgattts dis- 
mounted, and, giving the bridle of 
his horse to a soldier, began to walk 
slowly up and down the side of the 
road. No sooner had his foot touch- 
ed the ground than the whole of the 
Numidian squadron seemed to rise 
like a covey out of a stubble field; 
with little dang of arms, but with 
one short, sharp cry, or whoop, it 



burst from the high road into the 
meadow land. There the evolutions 
which they performed seemed at first 
to be all confusion, only for the fact 
that, although the horsemen had the 
air of riding capriciously in every di- 
rection, crossing, intermingling, sepa- 
rating, galloping upon opposite curves, 
and tracing every figure which the 
whim and fancy of each might dic- 
tate, yet no two of them ever came 
into collision. Indeed, fantastic and 
wild as that rhapsody of manoeuvres 
into which they had broken appeared 
to be, some principle which was tho- 
roughly understood by every one of 
them governed their mazy gallop. It 
was as accurate and exact as some 
stately dance of slaves at the imperial 
court. It was, in short, itself a wild 
dance of the Numidian cavalry, in 
which their reinless horses, guided 
only by the flashing blades and the 
voices of their riders, manifested the 
most vehement spirit and a sort of 
sympathetic frenzy. These steeds, 
which never knew the bridle, and 
went thus mouth-free even into bat- 
tle — these horses, which their masters 
turned loose at night into the fields, 
and which came back bounding and 
neighing at the first call, were now 
madly plunging, wheeling, racing, and 
charging, like gigantic dogs at sport 
Presently they began to play a strange 
species of leap-frog. A Numidian 
boy, who carried a trumpet and rode 
a pony, or at least a horse smaller 
and lower than the rest of the barbs, 
(" Berber horses,") suddenly halted 
upon the outside of the mad cavalry 
whirlpool which had been formed, 
and flung himself flat at full length 
upon the back of the diminutive ani- 
mal. Instantly the whirl, as it cir- 
cled toward him, straightened itself 
into a column, and every horseman 
rode full upon the stationary pony, 
and cleared both steed and rider 
at a bound, a torrent of cavaliy rush- 



36 



Dion and tht Sibyls. 



ing over the obstruction with wild 
shouts. 

'< That is Numidian sport, Master 
Paulus,'' said the freedman; "but 
there is not a rider among them to be 
compared to yoursdf." 

"Certainly I can ride," said the 
youth ; " but I pretend not to be su- 
perior to these Centaurs." 

**Be these, then, the Centaurs I 
have heard of ?" asked Agatha; " be 
these the wild powers ?" 

The hubbub had prevented her, 
and all with her, from noticing some- 
thing. Before an answer could be 
given, the Numidians had returned 
to the highway as suddenly as they 
had quitted it, and the noise of their 
dance was succeeded by a pause of 
attention. The general was again on 
horseback, and our travellers perceiv- 
ed that two litters, one of carved 
ivory and gold, the other of sculptur- 
ed bronze, borne on the shoulders of 
slaves, were beside them. 

Two gendemen on foot had arriv- 
ed with the litters along the broad 
pathway already noticed, and a group 
of attendants at a little distance were 
following. 

This new party were now halting 
with our travellers beneath the far- 
spreading shade of the same trees. 
In the ivory litter reclined a girl of 
about seventeen, dressed in a long 
palla of blue silk, a material then only 
just introduced from India, through 
Arabia and Egypt, and so expensive 
as to be beyond the reach of any but 
the richest class. Her hair, which 
was of a bright gold color, was dress- 
ed in the fashionable form of a hel- 
met, (gaUrusJ and was inclosed be- 
hind in a gauze net. She wore large 
inaur€Sy or ear-rings, of some jewel, 
a gold chain, in every ring of which 
was set a gem, and scarlet shoes em- 
broidered with pearls. The lady in 
the bronze litter was attired in the 
si0la of a matron, with a ^clas^ or 



circular robe, thrown back from the 
neck, and a tunic of dark purple 
which descended to her feet Her 
brown hair was restrained by bands, 
viiUg, which had an honorable signi- 
frcance among the Roman ladies, 
(" Nil mihi cum vitta** says the pro- 
fligate author of the Ars Atnandi.) 
She seemed somewhat past thirty 
years of age ; she had a very sweet, 
calm, and matronly air ; her counte- 
nance was as beautiful in features and 
general effect as it was modest in its 
tone and character. 

Her companion,* in the litter of 
ivory and gold, was not more than 
half her age, was even more beauti- 
ful, with an immense wreath of gold- 
en hair, and with large blue eyes, 
darkening to the likeness of black as 
she gazed earnestly upon any object 
But she had a less gentle physiog- 
nomical expression. Frequently her 
look was penetrating, brief, impatient, 
sarcastic, disdainful. She had a be- 
witching smile, however, and her nu- 
merous admirers made Italy echo 
with their ravings. 

Lucius Varius, said the fashionable 
world, was at that very time engaged 
VL\>on a kind of sapphic ode, of which 
she was to be the subject 

Scarcely had these litters or palan- 
quins arrived and halted, when the 
general officer dismounted once more, 
and walked quickly toward the spot 
with his helmet in his hand At a 
few yards' distance he stopped, and 
first bowed low to the elder of the 
two gentlemen who had accompanied 
the litters on foot, and then, almost 
entirely disregarding the other gentle- 
man, made an obeisance not quite so 
long or so deep to the ladies. The 
man whom so splendid a personage 
as the legatus, wearing his flaming 
paludamentum, and at the head of 
his troops, thus treated with so obse- 

• Mother of dl-gtih, and graadmoCher of Kera^ 
bjr kor daughter Apipplna Julia. 



JOion and tie Siifk' 



a/ 



qaious a veneration, did not return 
the salute except by a slight nod and 
a momentary, absent-minded smile. 
His gaxe had been riveted upon our 
tzaveilers^ and chiefly upon the youth 
and his young, sufTering sister, upon 
both of whom, after it had quickly 
taken in Philip the freedman, the 
Thracian woman, and the Athenian 
lady, it rested long — longest and- last 
upon Agatha. 

"Sejanus," said he finally, '^who 
are these ?*' 

" I never saw them imtil just now, 
my commander and Caesar; they 
were here when we halted, and while 
we waited for our master, the fisivorite 
of the gods, these travellers seemed 
to be resting where you behold 
them." 

^ As those gods favor me," said the 
other, '' this is a fine youth. Can we 
not fdii * him ? And yonder girl- 
have you ever seen, my Sejanus, such 
eyes ? But she is deadly pale. Are 
you always thus pale, pretty one, or 
are you merely ill ? If but ill, as I 
guess, Charicles, my Greek physician, 
shall cure you." 

Before this man had even spoken, 
the moment, indeed, when first his 
e>'es fell upon her, Agatha had sidled 
dose to her mother; and while he 
was expressing himself in that way to 
Sejanus, she returned his gaze with 
panic-stricken, dilated eyes, as the 
South American bird returns that of 
the reptile; but when he directly 
questioned her, she, reaching out her 
hand to Paulus, clutched his arm 
with a woman's grasp, and said in an 
a&ighted voice, 

** My brother, let us go." 

Paulus, in a manner naturally easy, 
and marked by the elegance and grace 
which the athJetic training of Athens 
had given to one so well endowed 
physically, first, merely sajring to the 
stranger, '' I crave your pardon," 

^ To prodnot a gladiator in the arena was to tdU 



(vtniam posco^) lifted Agatha with one 
aim, and placed her in the travelling 
carriage. Then, while the fireedman 
and the Thracian slave mounted to 
their bench, he returned to where his 
mother stood, signed to her to follow 
Agatha, and^ seeing her move calmly 
but quickly toward the vehicle, he 
took the broad-rimmed petasus firom 
his head, and bowing slowly and low- 
ly to the stranger, said, 

"Powerful sir, for I observe you 
are a man of great authority, my sis- 
ter is too ill to converse. You right- 
ly guessed this ; permit us to take her 
to her destination." 

The man whom he had thus balk- 
ed, and to whom he now thus spoke, 
merits a word of description. He 
appeared to be more than fifty years 
old. The mask of his face and the 
fi-ame of his head were large, but not 
fat. His complexion was vivid brick- 
red all over the cheeks, with a deeper 
flush in one spot on each side, just 
below the outer comers of the eyes. 
The eyes were blood-shot, large, ra- 
ther prominent, and were closely set 
together. The nose was large, long, 
bony, somewhat aquiline. The fore- 
head was not high, not low ; it was 
much developed above the eyes, and 
it was broad. A deep and perpetual 
dint just over the nose reached half- 
way up the forehead. His hair was 
grizzled and close cut. His lips were 
full and fleshy, and the mouth was 
wide ; the jaws were large and mas- 
sive. His face was shaven of all 
hair. The chin was very handsome 
and large, and the whole head was 
set upon a thick, strong throat, not 
stunted, however, of its proper length. 
In person this man was far fit)m un- 
gainly, nor yet was he handsome. In 
carriage and bearing, without much 
majesty, he had nevertheless some- 
thing steadfast, weighty, unshrinking, 
and commanding. His outer garment, 
not a toga, was all one color and 
material ; it was a long, thick wadded 



28 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



silk mantle, of that purple dye which 
is nearly black — ^the hue, indeed, of 
clotted gore under a strong light He 
wore gloves, and instead of the usual 
short sword of the Romans, had a 
long steel stylus • for writing on wax 
thrust into a black leathern belt. This 
instrument seemed to show that he 
lived much in Rome, where it was 
not the custom, when otherwise in 
civilian dress, to go armed. 

As the reader will have guessed, 
this man was to be the next emperor 
of the Roman world. 

"Permit you to take her to her 
destination ?" he repeated slowly. 
" My Greek physician, I tell you, 
shall cure her. I will give directions 
about your destination." A slight 
pause ; then, " Are you a Roman citi- 
zen?" 

" I am a Roman knight as well as 
citizen," answered Paulus proudly; 
"and my family is not only eques- 
trian, but patrician." 

" What is your name ?" 

" Paulus /Emilius Lepidus.** 

The man in the black or gore-co- 
lored purple glanced at Sejanus, who, 
still unconcerned, stood with his splen- 
did helmet in the left hand, while he 
smoothed his moustache with the 
right; otherwise perfectly still, his 
handsome face, cruel mouth, and in- 
telligent eyes all alive with the keen- 
est attention. 

"And the destination to which 
you allude is — ?" pursued the man in 
black purple. 

** Formiae," said Paulus. 

"What relation or kinship exists 
between you and Marcus iEmilius 
Lepidus, fbrraerly the triumvir, who 
still enjoys the life which he owes to 
the clemency of Augustas ?" 

Paulus hesitated. When he had 
given his name, the younger of the 
two ladies had raised herself sudden- 
ly in the litter of ivory and gold, and 



fastened upon him a searching gaze, 
which she had not since removed 
The other lady had also at that in- 
stant looked at him fixedly. We have 
already stated that, when Sejanus ap- 
proached the group, he had not deign- 
ed in any very cordial manner to sa- 
lute or notice the second of the two 
gentlemen who had accompanied the 
litters on foot This gentleman was 
very sallow, had hollow eyes, and a 
habit of gnawing his under lip between 
his teeth. He had unbuckled his 
sword, and had given it, calling out, 
" Lygdusy carry this,' to a man with 
an exceedingly sinister and repulsive 
countenance. The man in question 
had now taken a step or two forward, 
and was standing on the left of Pau« 
lus, fronting the Caesar, his shoulders 
stooping, his neck bent forward, his 
eyes without any motion of the head 
rolling incessantly from person to 
person, and face to face, but at once 
falling before and avoiding any glance 
which happened to meet his. He 
looked askant and furtively at every 
object with an eager, unhappy, and 
malign expression. Paulus did not 
need to turn his head to feel that this 
man was now intently peering at him. 
Behind the two courtly palanquins, 
and beyond the shade of the trees, 
was a third litter still more costly, 
being covered in parts with plate 
gold. Here sat a woman with a face 
as white as alabaster, and large pro- 
minent black eyes, watching the scene, 
and apparently trying to catch every 
word that was said. -^ 

Paulus, as we have observed, hesi- 
tated. The training of youth in the 
days of classic antiquity soon oblite- 
rated the inferiority of unreasoning, 
nervous shyness. But the strange 
catechism which Paulus was now un- 
dergoing, with all this gaze upon him 
firom so many eyes, began to be a 
nuisance, and to tdl upon a spirit 
singularly high. 



Di4m and the Sibyb. 



29 



* Have you heard my question ?'* 
inquired Tiberius. 

** I have heard it," replied Paulus ; 
"and have heard and answared seve« 
lai others, without knowing who he 
is that asks thenu However, the 
former triumvir, now living at Circaei, 
about forty thousand paces from here, 
is my father's brother." (Circaei, as 
the reader knows, is now called Monte 
Circello, a promontory just opposite 
Gaeta.) 

When Paulus had given his last 
answer, the ladies glanced at each 
other, and the younger looked long 
and hard at Tiberius. Getting some 
momentary signal from him, she threw 
herself back in her palanquin and smil- 
ed meaningly at the stooping, sinister- 
ftoed man, who had stationed himself 
in the manner already mentioned near 
Fsuilus's left hand. 

"Your father," rejoined Tiberius, 
after a pause, '^ was a very distinguish- 
ed soldier, and, as I always heard 
when a boy, he contributed eminent- 
ly to the victory of Philippi. But I 
knew not that he had children ; and, 
moreover, was he not slain, pray, at 
Philippi, toward the end of the batde, 
which he certainly helped to gain ?" 

''I hope," said Paulus, somewhat 
softened by the praise of his &ther, 
" I hope that Augustus supposed him 
to have died of his wounds, and that 
it was only under this delusion he 
gave our estates — ^which were situat- 
ed somewhere in this very province 
of Campania, with a noble mansion 
like the castellum upon the river yon- 
der — to that brave and able soldier 
Agrippa Yespasianus." 

At this name a deep red flush over- 
spread the brow of Tiberius, and Pau- 
los innocently proceeded. 

^ Certainly, die noble Agrippa, who 
was to have been Caesar, had he liv- 
ed, never would have accepted so un- 
fiur a bounty had he known that my 
father really survived his woimds, but 



that-— despairing of the generosity, or 
rather despairing of the equity of Au- 
gustus — ^he was living a melancholy, 
exheridated exile, near that very bat- 
tle-field of Philippi, in Thrace, where 
he had fought so well and had been 
left for dead." 

" You dare to term the act of Au- 
gustus," slowly said the man in the 
gore-colored purple cloak, '^ so unfair 
a bounty^ and Augustus himself ungs- 
nerousy or rather unjust /" 

At this terrible rejoinder from such 
a man, the down-looking person whom 
we have mentioned passed his right 
hand stealthily to the hilt of the sword 
which he was carrying for his master, 
and half drew it Paulus, who for 
some time had had this person stand- 
ing at his left, could observe the ac- 
tion without turning his head. He 
was perfectly aware, moreover, that, 
should the other draw his weapon 
upon him, the very act of drawing it 
would itself become a blow, on ac- 
count of their respective places, where- 
as to escape it required more distance 
between them, and to parry it in a 
regular way would demand quite a 
different position, besides the needful 
moment or two for disengaging his 
own rather long blade. Yet the youth 
stood completely still ; he never even 
turned his head. However, he just 
shifted the wide-rimmed hat from his 
left to his right hand (the hand for 
the sword) and thereby seemed to be 
only more encumbered, unprepared, 
and defenceless than before. His left 
hand, with the back inward, fell also 
meantime in an easy and natural way 
upon the emerald hafl of the outland- 
ish-looking three-edged rapier, which, 
as he played with it, became loose 
in the scabbard, and came and went 
some fraction of an inch. 

" I never termed him so," said Pau- 
lus. ^ I said not this of Augustus. 
I am at this moment on my way to 
Augustus himself, who is, 1 am toVd, 



30 



0ion and the SibyU. 



to be at Formiae with his court for a 
week or two. I must, therefore, again 
ask your leave, mighty office-bearer, 
to continue my journey. I know not 
so much as who you are.** 

<* I am Tiberius Caesar," said the 
other, bending upon him those closely- 
set, prominent, bloodshot eyes with 
no very assuring expression. " I am 
Tiberius Caesar, and you will be pleas- 
ed to wait one moment before you 
continue the journey in question. The 
accusation against your father was 
this : that, after Philippi, he labored 
for the interests first of Sextus, the son 
of Pompey, and afterward of Mark 
Antony, in their respective impious 
and parricidal struggles ; and the an- 
swer to this charge (a charge to 
which witnesses neither were nor are 
wanting) has always been, that it was 
simply impossible, seeing that Paulus 
Lepidus, your fether, perished at Phi- 
lippi before the alleged treasons had 
occurred. Wherefore, as your father 
had done good service, especially in 
the great battle where he was thus 
supposed to have fallen, not only was 
his innocence declared certain, but, for 
his memory's sake, Marcus Lepidus, 
the triumvir, your uncle, was forgiven. 
Yet now we Icam from you, the son 
of the accused, that the only defence 
ever made for him is positively false ; 
that your father, were he still living, 
would probably merit to be put to 
death; and that your uncle, at the 
same time, is stripped of the one pro- 
tecting circumstance which has pre- 
served his head. I must oixier your 
arrest, and that of all your party, in 
order that these things may be at least 
fully investigated." 

As this was said, the lady in the lit- 
ter of ivory and gold contemplated 
Paulus with that bewitching smile 
which she was accustomed to bestow 
upon dying gladiators in the hippo- 
drome; while the other lady gazed at 



him with a compassionate, forecasting'* 
and muse-like look. 

" I mean no disrespect whatever to 
so great a man as jrou, sir \ but I will,'* 
said Paulus, '^appeal ftom Tiberius 
Csesar to Caesar Augustus ; to whom, I 
again remind you, I am on my way." 

No sooner had he uttered the 
words, ** I appeal from Tiberius," than, 
before he could finish the sentence, 
the malign-faced man on his left 
with great suddenness drew the sword 
hew as carrying for Cneius Piso, and, 
availing himself of the first natural 
sweep of the weapon as it left the 
scabbard, sought to bring the edge of 
it backward across the foce of Paulus, 
exclaiming, while he did so, << Speak 
you thus to Qesar /" 

Had this man, who was the future 
assassin of Drusus, and slave to Cneius 
Piso, who was the future assassin of Ger- 
manicus, succeeded in delivering that 
well-meant stroke, the sentence which 
our hero was addressing to Tiberius 
could never have been said out ; but 
said out, as we see, it was, and said, 
too, with due propriety of emphasis, 
although with a singular accompany- 
ing delivery. In fact, though not 
deigning to look round toward this 
man, Paulus had been vividly aware 
of his movements, and, swift as was 
the attack, the defence was truly elec- 
trical. Paulus's rapier, the hilt of 
which, as we have remarked, had 
been for some time in his left hand, 
leapt from its sheath, and being first 
held almost perpendicularly for one 
moment, the point down and the hilt 
a little higher than his forehead, met 
the murderous blow at right angles ; 
after which the delicate long blade 
flashed upward, with graceful ease 
but irresistible violence, bearing the 
assassin's weapon backward upon a 
small semi-circle, and remaining inside 
of it, or, in other words, nearer to 
Lygdus's body than Piso's own sword, 



Di«» and the Sii/is.- 



it 



which he carried, was. It looked like . 
a mere continuation of this dazzling 
parry, but was, in truth, a vigorous 
de\'iation from it, which none but a 
Ytry pliant and powerful wrist could 
have executed; when the emerald 
pommd fell like a hammer upon the 
forehead of Lygdus the slave, whom 
that disdainful blow stretched at his 
length upon the ground, motionless, 
and to all appearance dead. As Piso 
was standing close, the steel guard of 
the hilt, in passing, tore open his brow 
and cheek. 

The whole occurrence occupied only 
five or seven seconds, and meanwhile 
the youth finished his sentence with 
the words already recorded, " From 
Tiberius Csesar to Csesar Augustus, to 
whom, I again remind you, I am on 
my way." 

An exclamation of astonishment, and 
perhaps some other feeling, escaped 
from Tiberius, Sejanus smiled ; the 
woman with the pale face and black 
cyesy who sat in the unadorned plate- 
oJPgold palanquin, screamed ; and the 
other ladies laughed loudly. Among 
the praetorian guards, who from the 
road were watching with attention the 
group where they saw their general 
and the Oesar, a long, low murmur 
of approbation ran. At this, Tibe- 
rius turned and looked steadily and 
musingly toward them. Paulus, in- 
stantly sheathing his weapon, said, 

" I ask Caesar's pardon, but there 
was no time to obtain his permission 
for what I have just done. My head 
must have been in two pieces had I 
wsdted but one moment." 

"Just half a moment for each 
piece," said Tiberius ; " but your left 



hand seems well able to keep your 
head. Are you left-handed ?" 

" No, great Caesar," said Paulus ; 
"I am what my Greek teacher of 
fence used to call two-handed, {fima- 
charus; he tried to make all his pu- 
pils so, but my right remains far bet- 
ter than my left." 

** Then I should like to see your right 
thoroughly exercised," said Tiberius. 

Paulus heard a sweet voice here say, 
••As a favor to me, do not order the 
arrest of this brave youth ;" and, turn- 
ing, he beheld the beautiful creature 
in the litter of ivory and gold plead 
for him with Tiberius. ITie large 
blue eyes, darkening as she supplicat- 
ed, smote the youth, and he could 
hardly take away his gaze. 

" Young man, go forward with your 
mother and sister to Formiae, under 
the charge of Velleius Paterculus, the 
military tribune whom you see yon- 
der upon the road. Remain in For- 
miae till I give you leave to quit it. 
Report your place of residence to the 
tribune. Go!" 

The last word was pronounced 
harshly. Tiberius made a signal with 
his hand to Paterculus. Then pass- 
ing his arm through that of Sejanus, 
and speaking to him in a low tone, he 
led the general aside into the fields to 
a little distance ; while — with the ex- 
ception of two mounted troopers,(each 
leading a horse,) who remained be- 
hind, but considerably out of hearing 
— the praetorian guards, the three lit- 
ters, and the travelling biga began 
to move toward Formiae, leaving the 
road to silence, and the evening land- 
scape to peace. 



TO BS CONTIKUBZI. 



3a 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.^ 



There is, after all, but slight ex- 
aggeration in the old saying, that a 
lie travels leagues while truth is putr 
ting on boots to pursue and overtake 
it And even when overtaken, caught, 
and choked, how hard it dies! In 
our daily experience, how often does 
truthful exposure utterly extinguish 
false and evil report ? Certainly not 
always, and probably but very sel- 
dom. In the intercourse of society, 
one may partially crush out a calum- 
ny by going straight to those who 
should know the truth and compel- 
ling them to listen to it. 

But the lie historical cannot be so 
met People in this busy world have 
no time to spend in reading long docu- 
ments in vindication of men or wo- 
men long since dead But they have 
read the calumny ? Certainly. The 
calumny is not so long as the refuta- 
tion, and is more readable. It is at- 
tractive; it is piquant Mary Stuart 
as an adulteress and a murderess is an 
interesting character. People never 
tire of hearing of her. But Mary 
Stuart, the upright queen, the noble 
and true wo^n, the faithful spouse 
and affectionate mother, has but slight 
attractions for the mass of readers. 
To hear her so proven must be dull 
reading. Nevertheless, with time 
comes truth; for although 

" The milU of the gods grind ikmly, 
They grind exceedingly fine ;" 

which we take to be only a modem, 
heathenish way of saying, as we chant 
every Sunday at vespers, 

" Et jtutitU v'tu matut m seadum uculi.** 

* Mary Qtuen •/ Sc0is and her Accusers. Em- 
bracing a Narrative of Erents from the Death of Jamet 
v., in 154a, until the Death of the Regent Murray, is 
1570. By John Uosack, Barriater-at law. William 
Blade wood & Sons, Edinburgh and London. 1369^ 

Hisi0irt tU Maris Simart Par Jules Gauthier. 
VoL L Paris. 1869. 



Look at the Galileo story. Galileo 
died more than two hundred years 
ago. Yet it is only within a lifetime 
that the truth concerning him b^^ 
to dawn upon the English mind. 

Mary Queen of Scots surrendered 
her soul to God and her head to 
Elizabeth nearly three centuries ago, 
and the combat over her reputation 
to-day rages as hot as ever. In the 
case of the Florentine astronomer, 
there has been no strongly decided 
hereditary transmission of the false- 
hood. In that of the Queen of Scot- 
land every inch of ground is obsti- 
nately fought, because her innocence 
means the shame of England, the 
disgrace of Knox, the condenmation 
of the ornaments of the Anglican and 
Puritan churches, and the infamy of 
Elizabeth. 

These enemies of Mary yet live in 
transmitted prejudices and powerful 
hereditary interests. The very exis- 
tence of ^JX the boasting, pride, false 
reputation, hypocritical piety, and 
national vanity represented by the fa- 
miliar catchwords of "Our Noble 
Harry," " Glorious Queen Bess," " The 
Virgin Queen," " Our Sainted Re- 
formers," has its inspiration and life- 
breath in the maintenance of every 
calumny against Mary Stuart and the 
Catholic Church of that day; and 
we must do these supi>orters the cre- 
dit of admitting that they are instant 
in season and out of season, and 
never weary in their work. 

But their case was long since made 
up. llicy have said their last word, 
and shot all the arrows of their qui- 
ver. With each succeeding year Eli- 
zabeth's reputation fails, and is rapid- 
ly passing into disgrace. With the 
same rapidity Mary's fame grows 
brighter. 



Mary Qiieeu of Scots. 



33 



Tiie books and pamphlets written 
in attack or defence of Mary would 
of themselves form a library. For the 
attack, the key-note is to be found in 
Cecil's avowed principle concerning 
the treatment of the dethroned queen, 
that t?uir purpose could fwt be obtained 
without disgracing her. Hence, the 
silver-casket letters, and the so-called 
confessions of Paris. Hence, the is- 
sue, during every year of her long 
imprisonment of eighteen years, of 
some vile pamphlet, imder Cecil's in- 
structions, calculated to blast her cha- 
racter. Two men in particular pow- 
erfully contributed to defame the 
Queen of Scots — John Knox and 
George Buchanan. Knox by his 
seraions, in which, sa)rs Russel, {His- 
iofyof the Reformation^ yo\. i. p. 292,) 
** lying strives with rage ;*' Buchanan, 
by his writings, which have been made 
by Mary's enemies one of the sources 
of history. Buchanan was an apos- 
tate monk, saved from the gallows 
by Mary, and loaded with her favors. 
An eye-witness of her dignity, her 
goodness, and her purity, he afterward 
described her as the vilest of women. 
He sold his pen to Elizabeth, and 
has been properly described as " un- 
rivalled in baseness, peerless in false- 
hood, supreme in ingratitude." His 
Detection was published (1570) in La- 
tin, and copies were immediately sent 
by Cecil to Elizabeth's ambassador 
in Paris with instructions to circulate 
them ; "y2?r they will come to good ef 
fict to disgrace her^ which must be done 
before otJur purposes can be obtained^ 
Tnis shameful work has been the 
inspiration of most of the portraits 
drawn of Mary. De Thou in France, 
Spotiswoode, Jebb, and many others 
in England, have all followed him. 
Holinshed too was deceived by Bi^ 
chanan; but it is doubtful if he dared 
*Tite otherwise than he did, between 
the terrors of Cecil's spies and Eliza- 
beth's mace. 

VOL. XI. — 3 



An English translation of Bucha- 
nan was Arst published in 1690, being 
called forth by the revolution of 1688. 
Jebb's two folio volumes appeared in 

1725- 
Two additional lives of Mary, by 

Hey wood (1725) and Freebaim, were 
little more than translations from the 
French. In 1726, Edward Simmons 
published Mary's forged letters as 
genuine. Anderson's voluminous col- 
lection of papers (four large volumes) 
appeared in 1727 and 1728. Mean- 
time, from the accession of a new 
dynasty and the rebellion of 171 5, 
there arose in Edinburgh a sort of 
society having for its principal object 
the work of supporting Buchanan's 
credit and vilifying the Scottish queen. 
Later came the well-known and wide- 
ly published histories of Scotkind and 
of England by Robertson and Hume, 
which, read wherever the English lan- 
guage was known, may be said to 
have popularized the culpability of 
Mary. Until within comparatively 
few years, Hume's work was the only 
history of England generally read in 
the United States. Then came Mal- 
colm Laing, who imagined he had 
closed the controversy against Mary 
in his bitter Dissertation, Mignet, 
in France, went further than Laing, 
while Froude, in his history of Eng- 
land, distancing all previous writers, 
portrays Mary in the blackest colors 
as one of the most criminal and de- 
vilish of women. For his material 
there is no statement so absurd, no 
invention so gross, no lie so palpable, 
no calumny so vile, provided only 
that it be to the prejudice of Mary 
Stuart, that does not find favor in his 
eyes. In his blind hatred of the Ca- 
tholic queen, forgetting all historic 
dignity and even personal decency, 
he showers upon her such epithets 
as "panther," "ferocious animal," 
" wild-cat," " brute ;" her persecutors 
being white-robed saints, such as " the 



34 



Maty Queen of Scots. 



pious Cecil," and "the noble and 
stainless Murray," and the virgin 
Queen Elizabeth appearing "as a 
beneficent fairy coming out of the 
clouds to rescue an erring sister." 

But Mary's cause has not wanted 
defenders. Among the best known 
are, John Leslie, Bishop of Ross; 
Camden and Carte, the English his- 
torians; Herrera, the Spanish bishop; 
Robert Keith; Goodal, (1754,) who 
made the first searching analysis of 
the silver-casket letters, showing that 
the French text of the pretended 
Bothwell love-letters, until then sup- 
posed to be original, was a poor 
translation from the Latin or Scotch. 
William Tytler (1759) and John Whita- 
ker (1788) proved that the letters were 
forged by those who produced them. 
Stuart, in his history of Scotland, 
(1762,) and Mademoiselle Keraglio, 
in her Ufe of Elizabeth, (1786,) both 
protested against the conclusions 
of Hume and Robertson. In 18 18, 
George Chalmers took up Laing's 
book, and proved conclusively, with a 
mass of newly-discovered testimony, 
that the accusers of Mary were them- 
selves the murderers of Damley. 
'ITien followed the learned Dr. Lin- 
ganl, Guthrie, and H. Glassford Bell. 
But all these works were either too 
heavy and cumbrous for popular read- 
ing, or too narrow in their scope; 
most of them being better prepared 
for reference than for reading, and of 
but slight effective service in the field 
occupied by Hume and Robertson. 
Miss Strickland's work is well known 
to all our readers, and has done much 
good. In 1866, Mr. McNeel Caird 
j>ublished Mary Stuart, her Guilt or 
JiiNoceme^ in which he effectively de- 
fends Mary and seriously damages 
Mr. Froude^s veracity. 

A most valuable historical contri- 
bution is the late work (1869) of 
M. Jules Gauthier. The first volume 
is out and the second will be issued 



in a few months. M. Gauthier says 
that after reading the work of M. Mig- 
net, he had no doubt that Queen 
Mary had assassinated her husband 
in order to avenge the death of Ric- 
cio. " I was, therefore, surprised," 
he continues, " on arriving at Edin- 
burgh, in 1 86 1, to hear Mary warmly 
defended, and reference made to do- 
cuments recently discovered that were 
strongly in her favor. I then formed 
the resolution to study for myself this 
hbtorical problem and to discover 
the truth. I had no idea of writing 
a book, and no motive but that o^ 
sarisfying my own curiosity. I have 
devoted several years solely to this 
object in Scotland, England, and 
Spain." M. Gauthier then gives a 
formidable list of authorities and man- 
uscripts not usually quoted, acknow- 
ledges the aid of the librarians of the 
legal library at Edinburgh, the learn- 
ed Mr. Robertson of the Register 
House, Robert Chambers, and the 
archivist of Simancas, Don Emanuel 
Gonzalez, and announces the result 
to be a complete change of opinion. 
He goes on to say that, before exam- 
ining all the documents of the trial,, 
he had no doubt of the guilt of Mary 
Stuart; but after having scrutinized 
and compared them, he remained 
and still remains convinced that it 
was solely to assure the fruit of their 
shameful victory that the barons, who 
had dethroned their queen with Eng- 
land's help, sought to throw upon 
her the crimes of which they them- 
selves were the authors or the ac- 
complices, nnd in which their auxi- 
liaries were Elizabeth and her minis- 
ters. 

But what is of far greater impor- 
tance, M. Gauthier announces the dis- 
covery among the Simancas mss. 
of documents that prove beyond all 
question that the silver-casket letters 
were forgeries. This important re- 
velation he promises for the second 



Mary Queen of Scots, 



35 



volume. Preceding M. Gauthier in 
time, M. Wiesener, another French 
writer, had, in an admirable critiquey 
demolished the foundations on which 
rest most of the calumnies against 
Mary Stuart. 

And now we have Mr. Hosack's 
wofk. There is a beautiful poetic 
justice in the fact that the most effec- 
tive defences of Mary Stuart, in the 
English language, come from Protes- 
tant pens, and that in Scotland among 
the sons of the Puritans are found 
her most enthusiastic advocates. Mr. 
Hosack is an Edinburgh lawyer, and 
a Protestant 

His book, written in a tone of legal 
calmness and dignity, stands in re- 
freshing contrast with Mr. Froude's 
savage bitterness and repulsive vio- 
lence, and seriously damages any cre- 
(tit that may be claimed for the latter 
as a historian. Entirely at home in 
the customs, localities, laws, and his- 
tory of Scotland, he throws unex- 
pected light on a hundred interesting 
points heretofore left in obscwity by 
foreign, and even English historians. 
Mr. Hosack also produces many valua- 
ble documents never before published. 
Among these are the specific charges 
preferred against Mary at the confer- 
cnceat Westminster in 1568. The "Ar- 
ticles " produced by Mary's accusers 
before tiiey exhibited their proofs to 
the commissioners of Queen Eliza- 
beth, although constantly referred to 
by historians, are nowhere to be found 
among all the voluminous collections 
heretofore published on the subject. 
Mr. Hosack discovered this valuable 
paper in the collection known as the 
Hopetoun Manuscripts, which are 
now in the custody of the lord clerk 
register. Another most interesting 
document presented by Mr. Hosack 
is one long supposed to be lost, name- 
hr. the journal of the proceedings at 
^Vestminster on the day upon which 
the silver casket containing the alleg- 



ed letters of Queen Mary to Both- 
well was produced. Then comes the 
inventory of the jewels of the Queen 
of Scots, attached to her last will and 
testament, made in 1566, when Mary 
was supposed to be dying. This pa- 
per has been but recently discover- 
ed in the Register House, Edinburgh. 
It is of high importance, as throwing 
light on a disputed point concerning 
Damley. Finally, with the aid of 
Professor Schiem, of Copenhagen, Mr. 
Hosack has succeeded in ascertaining 
the date of the capture of Nicholas 
Hubert, commonly called " French 
Paris." This point is also weighty 
in connection with the question of the 
authenticity of the deposition ascrib- 
ed to him. The English critics of 
Mr. Hosack's book — ^many of them 
partisans of Froude, and armed in 
the triple steel of their national pre- 
judice — are unanimous in praise of 
his research, and the able presenta- 
tion of his argument Mr. Hosack 
distinctly charges Mr. Froude with 
" inventing fictions," and, moreover, 
sustains the charge. The aim of Mr. 
Hosack's work is not so much to 
write the life of Mary Stuart as to 
demonstrate that her accusers were 
guilty of the very crime (the miwder 
of Damley) of which they charge 
her, and that she was innocent, not 
only of that, but of any intrigue with 
Bothwell. Passing over in silence the 
period of Mary's residence in France, 
our author rapidly glances at the 
salient points in the administration 
of Mary of Lorraine, the mother of 
Mary Stuart, an admirable character, 
whose energy, integrity, resolution, 
and fortitude would have adorned 
the character of the greatest sovereign 
that ever reigned. Mr. Hosack thus 
speaks of her death : 

"The words of the dying princess, at 
once so magnanimous and gentle, were lis- 
tened to with deep emotion by the Protes- 
tant chiefs, who, though in arms against her 



36 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



authority, all acknowledged and admired 
her private virtues. Amidst the tears of 
her enemies, thus died the best and wisest 
woman of the age." 

Knox alone, adds Mr. Hosack, 
sought by means of the most loath- 
some slanders to vilify the character 
of this excellent princess ; and it was 
no doubt at his instigation that the 
rites of Christian burial were denied 
to her remains in Scotland. Mr. Ho- 
sack then takes up the history of 
Mary from the period of her arrival 
in Scotland, and ends with the com- 
mencement of her imprisonment in 
England. 

Mary came to reign over a coun- 
try virtually in the power of a band 
of violent and rapacious lords, long 
in rebellion against their king. Of 
the five royal Jameses, three had per- 
ished, victims of tlieir aristocratic an- 
archy. The personal piety of these 
rebellious lords was infinitesimal ; but 
they had an enormous appreciation 
of Henry VHI.'s plunder of the 
monasteries and division of the church 
lands among the nobles, and desired 
to see Scotland submitted to the same 
regimen — they, of course, becoming 
ardent reformers. The young queen 
soon won the hearts of the people 
of Edinburgh by her sweetness and 
grace. One of her first experiences 
was the remarkable interview with 
Knox, in which he bore himself as 
properly became " the ruffian of the 
Reformation," while Mary, a girl of 
nineteen, utterly overcame him in self- 
possession, logic, and command of 
citation firom the Old Testament. 
The man was brimful of vanity. The 
wound rankled, and from that mo- 
ment he was Mary Stuart's personal 
enemy. 

Long before Mary's arrival, Knox 
and his fi-iends had obtained full sway. 
The reformers had destroyed the 
monastic establishments in the cen- 
tral counties, and, under the influence 



of Knox, had an " act " passed for 
the total destruction of what they 
called " monuments of superstition ;" 
the monuments of superstition in 
question being all that Scotland pos- 
sessed of what was most valuable in 
art and venerable in architecture. 

" The registers of the church, 
and the libraries," says Spotiswoode, 
" were cast into the* fire. In a word, 
all was ruined ; and what had escap- 
ed in the time of the first tumult, did 
now undergo tlie common calamity." 
In his sermons, Knox openly de- 
nounced Mary, not only as an incor- 
rigible idolatress, but as an enemy 
whose death would be a public boon. 
In equally savage style he fulminated 
against the amusements of the court, 
and dwelt especially on the deadly 
sin of dancing. And yet Knox — ^we 
must in candor admit it — was not to- 
tally indifferent to some social ameni- 
ties, for he was then paying his ad- 
dresses to a young girl of sixteen, 
whom he afterward married. Mary 
had freely accorded to her Protes- 
tant subjects the privilege of wor- 
shipping God according to their own 
creed; but it did not enter into the 
views of Knox and his co-religionists 
that the same privilege should be ac- 
corded to Mary in the land of which 
she was sovereign, and with great 
difficulty could she obtain the right 
to a private chapel at Holyrood— 
even this being interfered with, and 
tlie officiating priest afterward insult- 
ed, beaten, and driven away. And 
these Christian gentlemen did not stop 
here. They had the insolence and 
inhumanity to present to the queen 
what they called a "supplication," 
in which they declared that the prac- 
tice of idolatry could not be tolerat- 
ed in the sovereign any more than in 
the subject, and that the " papistical 
and blasphemous mass" shouhi be 
wholly abolished. To this, Mary's 
reply was that, answering for herself. 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



37 



she was noways persuaded that there 
was any impiety in the mass, and 
trusted her subjects would not press 
her to act against her conscience ; for, 
not to dissemble, but to deal plainly 
vith them, she neither might nor 
would forsake the religion wherein 
she had been educated and brought 
up, believing the same to be the true 
religion, and grounded on the word 
of God. She further advised her 
"loving subjects " that she, " neither 
in times past nor yet in time coming, 
did intend to force the conscience of 
any person ; but to permit every one 
to serve God in such a manner as 
they are persuaded to be the best" 
On this, Mr. Hosack remarks, " No- 
thing could exceed the savage rude^ 
ness of the language of the assembly. 
Nothing could exceed the dignity and 
moderation of the queen's reply." 

The enemies of Mary Stuart al- 
wavs seek to find excuse for the re- 
beliious outrages of the lords and the 
kirk in the design attributed to Mary 
Stuart of introducing Cathohcity to 
the aclusion of Protestantism. Mr. 
Hosack handles this portion of his 
subject with great ease and success, 
showing conclusively the admirable 
spirit of toleration that animated 
Maiy throughout Then follow the 
marriage of Mary with Damley ; the 
itbellion of Murray, Argyll, and oth- 
ers to deprive the queen of her crown ; 
the energy, ability, and admirable 
judgment of Mary in dealing with 
them, and the consummate h3rpocrisy 
and fdsehood of Elizabeth in feign- 
ing good-will to Mary while furnish- 
ing the rebels money and assistance. 
The French ambassador in London 
had discovered that six thousand 
crowns had been sent from the Eng- 
lish treasury to the Scotch rebels. 
The fact was positive. He mention- 
ed it to Elizabeth in person ; but she 
solenmly assured him, with an oath, 
ft/k ma avec sermentj that he was 



misinformed. There were strong rea- 
sons why Elizabeth would not have 
it believed that she had lent the rebel 
lords any countenance, and she there- 
fore got up a remarkable scene for 
the purpose. The French and Span- 
ish ambassadors had charged her in 
plain terms with stirring up dissensions 
in Scotland, and she desired to reply 
to the imputation in the most public 
and emphatic manner. Murray and 
Hamilton were summoned to appear, 
and in presence of the ambassadors 
and her own ministers she asked them 
whether she had ever encouraged 
them in their rebellion. Murray be- 
gan to reply in Scotch, when Eliza- 
beth stopped him, bidding him speak 
in French, which she better under- 
stood. The scene was arranged be- 
forehand. Murray fell on his knees 
and declared " that her majesty had 
never moved them to any opposition 
or resistance against the queen's mar- 
riage." " Now," exclaimed Eliza- 
beth in her most triumphant tone, 
" you have told the truth ; for neither 
did I, nor any one in my name, stir 
you up against your queen ; for your 
abominable treason may serve for ex- 
ample to my own subjects to rebel 
against me. Therefore get you out 
of my presence ; ye are but imworthy 
traitors." This astounding exhibition 
of meanness, and falsehood, and folly, 
which it is certain, says Mr. Hosack, 
imposed upon no one who witnessed 
it, is without a parallel in history. 

Mary's energy and prudence in 
suppressing this dangerous rebellion 
sufficiently refute a prevalent notion 
that she was indebted to the counsels 
of Murray for the previous success 
of her administration. Even Robert- 
son admits that at no period of her 
career were her abilities and address 
more conspicuous. And more re- 
markable than her ability in gaining 
success was the moderation with which 
she used it Not one of the rebels 



38 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



suffered death, and her speedy pardon 
of the Duke of Chatelheraut, a con- 
spirator against her crown, of which 
he was the presumptive heir, was an 
instance of generosity unexampled in 
the history of princes. 

The accusation against Mary of 
having signed the Catholic League, 
put forward by so many historians— 
Froude, of course, among them — ^is 
clearly shown by Mr. Hosack to be 
utterly untrue. She never joined it 
By this refusal she maintained her 
solemn promises to her Protestant 
subjects — the chief of whom remained 
her staunchest friend in the days of 
her misfortune. She averted religious 
discord from her dominions, and pos- 
terity will applaud the wisdom as well 
as the magnitude of the sacrifice 
which she made at this momentous 
crisis. 

Then comes the murder of Riccio, 
which is generally attributed to the 
jealousy of Damley and the personal 
hatred of the nobles. These motives, 
if they ever existed at all, were but 
secondary with the conspirators who 
contrived Riccio's death. 

Their main objects were the resto- 
ration of the rebel lords, the deposi- 
tion of the queen, and the elevation 
of Darnley to the vacant throne, on 
which he would have been their pup- 
pet. 

Mr. Hosack traces, step by step, 
the progress of the conspiracy, and 
the bargaining and traffic among the 
conspirators for their several rewards. 
There was a bond of the conspirators 
among themselves, a bond with Dam- 
ley, and one with the rebel leaders 
who waited events at Newcastle. 
Elizabeth's ministers in Scotland were 
taken into their confidence and coun- 
sels, as was also John Knox, while 
Elizabeth was advised of and approv- 
ed it Many years ago, a CaUiolic 
convent was burned in Boston — with 
what circumstances of atrocity we 



do not now desire to recall On the 
Sunday preceding the outrage, ex- 
citing sermons were delivered on the 
horrors of popery from more than 
one Protestant pulpit So, also, on 
the Sunday preceding the murder of 
Riccio, the denunciations of idolatry 
from the pulpits of Edinburgh were 
more than usually violent, and the 
texts were chosen from those por- 
tions of Scripture which describe the , 
vengeance incurred by the persecutors 
of God's people. The 1 2 th of March 
was the day fixed for the parliament 
before which the rebel lords were cit- 
ed to appear, under pain of the for- 
feiture of their titles and estates. This 
forfeiture the conspirators were re- 
solved to prevent, and chose the 9th 
of March to kill Riccio. They could 
have assassinated him at any time on 
the street, in the grounds, in his own 
room ; but the lords selected the hour 
just after supper when Riccio would 
be in attendance upon the queen, in 
order to kill him in her presence, 
doubtless with hope of the result of 
her death and tliat of her unborn 
babe from the agitation and affright 
that must ensue from such a scene. 
27ie contingency of Mary's death was 
provided for in the bond. We need 
not here repeat the horrible details of 
the scene in which, while a ruffian 
(Ker of Faudonside) pressed a cocked 
pistol to her breast until she felt the 
cold iron through her dress, tlie hap- 
less victim of brutal prejudice and bi- 
gotry, whose only crime was fidelity 
to his queen, was dragged from her 
presence and instantly butchered. 
Nor need we describe the fiendish 
exultation and savage conduct of the 
assassins toward a sick, defenceless 
woman. 

" Machiavelli," remarks Mr. Hosack, 
** never conceived — ^he has certainly not de- 
scribed—a plot more devilish in its designs 
than that which was devised ostensibly for 
the death of Riccio, bat in reality for the 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



39 



destruction both of Mary Stuart and her 
husband." 

For two days the noble assassins 
^)peared to have been entirely suo 
cessful. Riccio was killed, the parlia- 
ment was dissolved, the banished 
lords recalled, and the queen a pri- 
soner. But her amazing spirit and 
resolution scattered all their plans to 
die winds. The poor fool Darnley 
began to see the treachery of the men 
who had made him their tool, and 
Mary fully opened his eyes to his 
danger. At midnight on the Tuesday 
after the murder, the queen and Dam- 
ley crept down through a secret pas- 
sage to the cemetery of the royal 
chapel o. xlolyrood and made their 
way "through the chamel house, 
among the bones and skulls of the 
andent kings," to where horses and a 
small escort stood waiting for them. 
Twenty miles away Mary galloped 
to Dunbar, where, within three dajrs, 
eight thousand border spears assem- 
bled to defend her. 

The assassins, Morton, Ruthven, 
and their associates, fled to England, 
where, under Elizabeth's wing, they 
were of course safe. Maitland went 
to the Highlands, and Knox, grieving 
deeply over the discomfiture of his 
friends, took his departure for the 



The complicity of Murray, 

** The head of many a felon jilot. 
But never once the aim," 

was not known, and he was pardon- 
ed his rebellion, and again received 
by Mary into her confidence. This 
is the Murray constantly referred to 
by Mr. Froude in his History of Eng- 
land as " the noble Murray," " the 
stainless Murray" — a man who, for 
systematic, thorough-going villainy 
and treachery has not his superior in 
history. 

Darnley, with an audacity and reck- 
lessness of consequences which seem 



hardly compatible with sanity, made 
a solemn declaration to the effect 
that he was wholly innocent of the 
late murderous plot. 

The indignation of his associates 
in the crime knew no bounds. He 
alone, they said, had caused the fail- 
ure of the enterprise ; he had deserted 
them, and now sought to purchase 
his safety in their rum. From that 
moment his fate was sealed. 

Buclianan's famous lie concerning 
Mary's visit to the Castle of AUoa, 
which, to his shame, Mr. Froude sub- 
stantially repeats, is disposed of effec- 
tually in a few words by Mr. Hosack. 

The ride from Jedburg, too, as re- 
counted by Buchanan in his own pe- 
culiar style, repeated by Robertson 
and by Froude, as far as he dares, in 
the teeth of the testimony on the 
subject, also receives its quietus at 
Mr. Hosack*s hand^ 

Then follow the dangerous illness 
of Mary, the aggravating and fatal 
misconduct of Darnley, the poor 
queen's mental suffering and anxiety, 
the preliminary plotting by Murray, 
Maitland, Argyll, and Huntly to put 
Darnley out of tlie way, the signing 
of the bond among them for the mur- 
der of the " young fool and tyrant," 
and the insidious attempt by these 
scoundrels to entrap . the poor heart- 
broken Mary into some such expres- 
sion of impatience or violence against 
Darnley as would enable them to set 
up die charge of guilty knowledge 
against her. The conspirators them- 
selves have put on record the noble 
and Christian reply of Mary Stuart, 
" I will that ye do nothing through 
which any spot may be laid on my 
honor or conscience ; and therefore, 
I pray you, rather let the matter be 
in the state that it is, abiding till God 
of his goodness put remedy thereto." 

Following upon the baptism of the 
infant prince, who afterward became 
James VI. of Scotland, came the im- 



40 



Mary Queett of Scots. 



fortunately too successful endeavors 
of Murray, Maitland, Both well, and 
Queen Elizabeth to obtam the pardon 
of the Riccio murderers. 

Poor Mary's political success would 
have been assured if she had possess- 
ed but a small share of Elizabeth's 
hardness of heart and vindictiveness. 
Always generous, always noble, al- 
ways forgiving, she allowed herself to 
be persuaded to grant a pardon to 
these villains — seventy-six in number 
— excepting only George Douglas, 
who stabbed Riccio in presence of 
the queen, and Ker of Faudonside, 
who held his pistol at her breast dur- 
ing the perpetration of the murder. 
This ruffian remained safely in Eng- 
land until Mary's downfall, when he 
returned to Scotland and married the 
widow of John Kjiox. 

It was about this period that Bu- 
chanan was extolling to the skies, in 
such Latin verses as those beginning 

" Virtute ingenlo, regina, et munere ibnnse 
Felicibus felidor majoribus,'* 

the virtues of a sovereign whom he 
afterward told us every one know at 
the time to be a monster of lust and 
cruelty ! His libel was written when 
Mary was a fugitive in England, to 
•serve the purposes of his employers, 
who had driven her from her native 
kingdom. The most assiduous of her 
flatterers as long as she was' on the 
throne, he pursued her with the ma- 
lice of a demon when she became a 
"helpless prisoner. His slanders were 
addressed not to his own country- 
men, for whom they would have been 
too gross, but to Englishmen, for the 
great majority of whom Scotland was 
a terra incognita. His monstrous fic- 
tions were copied by Knox and De 
Thou, and later by Robertson, Laing, 
and Mignet, who, while using his ma- 
terial, carefully abstained from quot- 
ing him as authority. Mr. Froude, 
the author of that popular serial no- 
vel which he strangely entitles The 



History of En^mi, with delicious 
ndivetk declares his belief in the truth 
of Buchanan's Detection^ and makes 
its transparent mendacity a leading 
feature of his work 

According to Buchanan, the Queen 
of Scots was, at the period above re- 
ferred to, leading a life of the most 
notorious profligacy. Mr. Hosack, in 
his calm, lawyer-like manner, shows 
conclusively that at that very time 
she never stood higher in the estima- 
tion both of her own subjects and of 
her partisans in England. Consider- 
ing the difficulties of her position, he 
adds, Mary had conducted the go- 
vernment of Scotland with remarka- 
ble prudence and success; and her 
moderation in matters of religion in- 
duced even the most powerful of the 
Protestant nobility to regard her 
claims with favor. 

And still the plotting went on. 
Motives enough, for them, had Mur- 
ray, Morton, Maitland, and the rest 
to seek the destruction of Damley — 
revenge and greed of gain. These 
men had imposed upon the generous 
nature of the queen in the disposal 
of the crown lands, and they well 
knew that Damley had made no se- 
cret of his disapproval of the impro- 
vident bounty of his wife. These 
grants of the crown lands, under the 
law of Scotland, could be revoked at 
any time before the queen attained 
the age of twenty-five. That period 
was now at hand, and the danger of 
their losing their spoils under the in- 
fluence of Damley was imminent. 

He had just been taken down with 
the 'small-pox at Glasgow, and the 
conspirators, well knowing Mary's for- 
giving temper, feared, as well they 
might, that his illness would lead to 
a reconciliation between them. 

Although Bothwell had shared less 
in the bounty of the queen than the 
others, his motive was no less power- 
ful for seeking the death of Damley. 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



41 



He aspired to Damley's place as the 
queen's husband, and his ambition 
was no secret to Murray and the oth- 
CR. Full willingly they lent them- 
selves to aid him, knowing that, if 
successful, his plans would be fatal 
both to the queen and to himself. 

Queen Mary went from Edinburgh 
to Glasgow, to visit Damley on his 
sick-bed. On this visit hinges a 
mass of accusations against Mary by 
her enemies. We regret that the pas- 
sages of Mr. Hosack's book in which 
he disL-ects and analyzes all the evi- 
dence covering the period from the 
journey to Glasgow down to the ex- 
pk)sion at Kirk-a-field are too long 
to be copied here. They are master- 
ly, and more thoroughly dispose of 
the slanders than any statement we 
have seen. He moreover demon- 
strates that the queen's journey to 
Glasgow, heretofore relied on as a 
proof of her duplicity because she 
went uninvited, was undertaken at 
Damley's own urgent request It is 
daring this visit to Glasgow that Mary 
is charged with having written the 
two casket letters, which, if genuine, 
certainly would prove her to be ac- 
cessor}' to the murder of her husband. 
With thorough knowledge of Scotch 
localities, language, customs, and pe- 
caliarities, and with a perfect mastery 
of all the details of testimony, pro 
and con^ in existence on the subject 
— ^ mastery which Mr. Froude is far 
from possessing — Mr. Hosack makes 
the examination of this question of 
the genuineness of the Glasgow let- 
ters with an application of the laws 
of evidence that enables him — if we 
may be permitted the homely phrase 
—to turn them inside out. Contrast- 
ed with the sweet, trusting, child-like 
confidence with which the letters are 
received by Mr. Froude, Mr. Ho- 
sack's treatment of them is shocking- 
ly cool. In commenting upon Hume's 
0{Mnion that the style of the second 



Glasgow letter was inelegant but " na- 
tural," Mr. Hosack remarks that hu- 
man depravity surely has its limits, 
and the most hardened wretches do 
not boast, and least of all in writing, 
of their treachery and cruelty. Even 
in the realm of fiction we find no such 
revolting picture. 

Of the third letter, the historian 
Robertson long since remarked that, 
" if Mary's adversaries forged her let- 
ters, they were certainly employed 
very idly when they produced this." 
And this remark may correctly be 
applied to the fourth letter. I'he 
difference between the two first and 
the two last is the most striking. The 
Glasgow letters breathe only lust and 
murder; but these are written, to all 
appearance, by a wife to her husband, 
in very modest and becoming lan- 
guage. She gently reproaches him 
with his forgetfulness, and with the 
coldness of his writings, sends him a 
gift in testimony of her unchangeable 
affection, and finally describes herself 
as his obedient, lawful wife. This is 
not the language of a murderess, and 
these simple and tender thoughts 
were not traced by the same hand 
that composed the Glasgow letters. 
They are the genuine letters of Mary, 
not to Bothwell, but to her hus- 
band Damley, and they are here by 
result of an ingenious device to mix 
up a few genuine letters of Mary with 
those intended to prove her guilty of 
the murder. The only letters of im- 
portance as testimony against the 
queen are the two first, and they 
were conclusively proven by Goodal, 
more than a century ago, to have 
been written originally in Scotch. 

Concerning Paris, whose testimony 
is strongly relied on by Mary's ene- 
mies, Mr. Hosack has made a very 
important discovery. According to 
a letter of Murray to Queen Eliza- 
beth, Paris arrived in Leith (a prison- 
er) about the middle of June, 1 569. 



42 



Mary Queeit of Scots. 



But Professor Schiem, of Copenhagen, 
in compliance with a request made 
by Mr. Hosack to search the Danish 
archives for any papers relating to 
Scotland, found the receipt of Clark, 
Murray's agent, acknowledging the 
delivery to him of the prisoner Paris 
on the 30th of October, 1568. So 
that Paris was delivered up nearly a 
year before his so-called deposition 
was produced. The authenticity of 
his deposition, monstrous though it 
be, has been stoutly maintained by 
several of Mar)'s enemies. Even 
Hume remarks upon it, 

" It is in vain at present to seek improba- 
bilities in Nicolas Hubert's dying confession, 
and to magnify the smallest difficulty into a 
contradiction. It was certainly a regular 
judicial i)ai)er, given in regularly and judi- 
cially, and ought to have been canvassed at 
the time, if the persons whom it concerned 
had been assured of their own innocence." 

Mr. Hume is an attractive writer, 
but as a historian it is long since peo- 
ple ceased to rely upon him for facts. 
The passage here quoted is a charac- 
teristic exemplification of his extra- 
ordinary carelessness. According to 
Mr. Hosack, the short sentence cited 
contains three distinct and palpable 
mistakes. In the first place, the pa- 
per containing the depositions of Paris 
was authenticated by no judicial au- 
thority. Secondly, it was not given 
in regularly and judicially ; for it was 
secretly sent to London in October, 
1569, many months after the termi- 
nation of the Westminster conferen- 
ces. Lastly, it was impossible that it 
could have been canvassed at the 
time by those whom it concerned ; for 
it was not only kept a profound se- 
cret from the queen and her friends 
during her life, but it was not made 
public for nearly a century and a half 
after her death. The depositions of 
Paris were first given to the world in 
the collections of Anderson in 1725. 

It did not at all suit Murray *s i>ur- 



pose to produce Paris in open court 
So, after being tortured, he was exe- 
cuted, and in place of a i^itness who 
might have told what he saw and 
heard, was produced a so-called de- 
position professedly written by a ser- 
vant of Murray, and attested by two 
of his creatures, Buchanan and Wood, 
both pensioners of Cecil, and botli 
enemies of the Queen of Scodand. 
Buchanan, of course, had full cogni- 
zance of the Paris deposition, for he 
subscribed it as a witness; and yet we 
have the singular fact that, although 
he appended to his Detcctio the de- 
positions of Hay, Hepburn, and Dal- 
gleish, that of Paris is omitted. Again, 
in his History of Scotland^ published 
subsequently, although he refers to 
Paris in several passages, he is still 
silent as to his deposition. The solu- 
tion of this seeming singularity is 
simple. He rejected it for its mani- 
fest extravagance and absurdity, which, 
he wisely concluded, could not impose 
on the worst enemies of the queen. 

Fable and fiction answering Mr. 
Froude's purpose just as well as au- 
thentic history, he of course accepts 
the " Paris " paper as perfectly true. A 
successful writer of the romance of 
history, Mr. Froude deserves great 
credit for his industry in gathering 
every variety of material for his no- 
vel without any absurd sentimental 
squeamishness as to its origin. 

And now, little by little, the truth 
begins to come out. For full two 
years after the murder of Damley, 
no one was publicly charged with the 
crime but Bothwell and the queen. 
And this because it was the interest 
of the ruling faction in Scotland, 
(themselves the murderers,) to confine 
tlie accusation to these two persons. 
But as in time events develop, we 
find the loaders of this faction, quar- 
relling among themselves, begin to 
accuse each other of the crime, until 
the principal nobility of Scodand are 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



43 



implicated in it Mr. Hosack's con* 
elusion, from a searching analysis of 
all the evidence on record, is, that the 
mysterious assassination of Damley 
was not a domestic but a political 
crime; and it was one which for 
many a day secured political power 
to that faction which from the first 
had opposed his marriage, and had 
never ceased from the time of his ar- 
rival in Scotland to lay plots for his 
destruction. 

As might be expected, Mary's ene- 
mies accuse her of a criminal degree 
of inactivity after the death of her 
husband. But what could she do? 
Who were the murderers ? No one 
could tell. The whole affair was then 
involved in impenetrable mystery. 
Her chief officers of justice, Huntiy 
the chancellor, and Argyll the lord- 
justice, were both in the plot ; Both- 
well, the sheriff of the county, on 
whom should devolve the pursuit and 
arrest of the criminal, had taken an 
active share in the perpetration of 
the murder, and Maitland, the secre- 
tary, who had first proposed to get 
lid of Damley, was probably the 
most guilty of all. In a memorial 
after^'ard addressed by Mary to the 
different European courts, she thus 
describes the situation : " Her ma- 
jesty could not but marvel at the lit- 
tle diligence they used, and that they 
looked at one another as men who 
wist not what they say or do." 

And now calumny ran riot. Slan- 
derous tongues and pens were busy. 
SiDce Mary had dismissed the inso- 
lent Randolph from her court, Eliza- 
beth had maintained no ambassador 
there, so that the usual official espion- 
flgr could not be carried on. Instead 
thereof. Sir William Drury, stationed 
on the Scotch border, transmitted day 
by day a current of scandalous sto- 
ries. Mary was a woman, and her 
enemies might effect by slander what 
they could not accomplish by force. 



Then, too, a bigoted religious preju- 
dice made the work easy. No mat- 
ter, says our author, what was the 
nature of the accusation against a 
Catholic queen; so long as it was 
boldly made and frequently repeated, 
it was sure to gain a certain amount ' 
of credit in the end Here follows, 
in Mr. Hosack's pages, an able pre- 
sentation of contemporary testimony 
going to show the falsehood of the 
accusations that the queen was at 
this time on a footing of intimate 
understanding with Bothwell. Under 
the circumstances his trial was, of 
course, a farce. 

The most powerful men in Scot- 
land were his associates in guilt. One 
of his noble accomplices in the mur- 
der rode by his side to the Talbooth. 
Another accomplice, the Earl of Ar- 
gyll, hereditary lord-justice, presid- 
ed at the trial ; and the Earl of Caith- 
ness, a near connection of Bothwell 
by marriage, was foreman of the jury. 
The parliament which met soon after 
did litde, besides passing the Act of 
Toleration, but enact statutes con- 
firming Maitland, Huntiy, Morton, 
and Murray in their tftles and es- 
tates. As we have seen, this was 
precisely the main object sought by 
these men in the murder of Damley, 
an object passed over in silence by 
most historians, and not understood 
by others. Their common interest in 
his death was the strongest bond of 
union among the noble assassins. If 
Damley had lived, he would have 
prevented the confirmation of these 
grants; for he had made significant 
threats on that subject, especially as 
to the gifts to Murray. Murray and 
the others wanted the lands and tides. 
They obtained tliem. Bothwell had 
his own designs, and these were inso- 
lent in their ambition. He wanted 
the queen's hand in marriage as a 
step to the throne. It was but just 
that his companions should help him 



44 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



as he had aided them. On the eve- 
ning of the day on which parliament 
rose, (April 19th,) Both well gave an 
entertainment at a tavern in Edin- 
burgh to a large party of the nobility. 
After wine had circulated freely, he 
laid before his guests a bond for their 
signatures. This document recited 
that it was prejudicial to the realm 
that the queen should remain a wi- 
dow; and it recommended him, (Both- 
well,) a married man, as the fittest 
husband she could obtain among her 
subjects. With a solitary exception — 
the Earl of Eglinton— all the lords 
present signed this infamous bond, 
and thereby bound themselves to 
" further advance and set forward the 
said marriage," and to risk their lives 
and goods against all who should 
seek to hinder or oppose it. It is 
claimed by Mr. Froude that his spe- 
cial saint, "the noble and stainless 
Murray," did not sign this bond ; but 
it is now made plain that he did. 
Meantime calumny had firee scope, 
and no invention was too gross for 
belief by many, if it but carried with 
it some injury to Mary's reputation. 
Thus, she is accused of journeying 
to Stirling for the express purpose of 
poisoning her infant son. Poor Marie 
Antoinette in after years, as we know, 
was accused of something worse than 
taking the life of her child. The an- 
swer of these two Catholic queens, 
great in their sufferings, and grand in 
their resignation, was, in each case, 
an eloquent burst of nature and 
queenly dignity. " The natural love," 
said Mary Stuart, " which the mother 
bears to her only bairn is sufficient to 
confound them, and needs no other 
answer." She afterward added, that 
all the worid knew that the very men 
who now charged her with this atro- 
cious crime had wronged her son 
even before his birth ; for they would 
have slain him in her womb, although 



they now pretended in his name to 
exercise their usurped authority. 

On the 23d of April, while travel- 
ling from Linlithgow to Edinburgh, 
with a few attendants, the queen was 
stopped by Bothwell, at the head of 
one thousand horse. Bothwell rode 
up, caught her bridle-rem, and as- 
sured her that " she was in the great- 
est possible danger," and forthwith 
escorted her to one of her own cas- 
tles, Dunbar. Here she was kept a 
prisoner. Melville, who accompanied 
her, was sent away, having heard 
Bothwell boast that he would marry 
the queen, even " whether she would 
herself or not" No woman was al- 
lowed near her but Bothwell's sister. 

Although our readers are familiar 
with the horrible story, the best ac- 
count of it is, after all, Mary's own 
simple and modest narrative of the 
abominable outrage. It is found in 
Keith, vol. ii. p. 599, and in Hosack, 
p. 313. After referring to the great 
services and unshaken loyalty of 
Bothwell, she says that, previous to 
her visit to Stirling, he had made cer- 
tain advances, " to which her answer 
was in no degree correspondent to 
his desire;" but that, having previously 
obtained the consent of the nobility 
to the marriage, he did not hesitate 
to carry her off to the castle of Dun- 
bar; that when she reproached him 
for his audacity, he implored her to 
attribute his conduct to the ardor of 
his affection, and to condescend to 
accept him as her husband, in accord- 
ance with the wishes of his brother 
nobles ; that he then, to her amaze- 
ment, laid before her the bond of the 
nobility, declaring that it was essen- 
tial to the peace and welfare of the 
kingdom that she should choose an- 
other husband, and that, of all her 
subjects, Bothwell was best deserving 
of that honor ; that she still, notwith- 
standing, refused Jo listen to his pro- 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



45 



posals, believing that, as on her former 
visit to Dunbar, an army of loyal sub- 
jects would speedily appear for her 
ddivorance; but that, as day after 
day passed without a sword being 
drawn in her defence, she was forced 
to conclude that the bond was genu- 
ine, and that her chief nobility were 
all in league with Both well; and 
finally, that, finding her a helpless 
capti\'e, he assumed a bolder tone, 
and " so ceased he never till, by per- 
suasion and importunate suit, accom- 
panied not the less by force, he has 
finally driven us to end the work 
begun." Forced to marry Bothwell 
Maiy was, to all who saw her, an 
utteriy wretched woman, and longed 
only for death. The testimony on 
this point is very ample, and her 
behavior at this crisis of her history, 
concludes Mr. Hosack, can only be 
e]q)lained by her rooted aversion to a 
marriage which was forced upon her 
by the daring ambition of Bothwell 
and the matchless perfidy of his bro- 
ther nobles. 

But already a fresh plot was on 
foot Melville wrote to Cecil con- 
cerning it, on the 7th of May ; and 
on the following day, Kirkaldy of 
Grange sent to the Earl of Bedford 
a letter intended for Elizabeth's eye. 
Kirkaldy, the Laird of Grange, an 
ardent Protestant, who, at the age of 
nineteen, was one of the men who 
murdered Cardinal Beaton, enjoyed 
among his fellow-nobles the reputa- 
tion of being a man of honor, and 
the best and bravest soldier in Scot- 
land. He advised Bedford of the 
signing of a "bond" by "the most 
part of the nobility," one head of 
which was, "to seek the liberty of 
the queen, who is ravished and de- 
tained by the Earl of Bothwell;" 
another, "to pursue them that mur- 
dered the king." The letter con- 
dudes by asking Elizabeth's aid and 
support for " suppressing of the cruel 



murtherer Bothwell." But Elizabeth 
had lost not only much money, but 
all credit for veracity, by her last 
interference in Scottish affairs, and 
refused to have any thing to do with 
this plot 

For three weeks after her marriage 
the queen remained at Holyrood ; the 
prisoner, to all appearance, rather 
than the wife of Bothwell. She was 
continually surrounded with guards ; 
and the description of her situation 
grven by Melville, who was at court 
at the time, agrees entirely with that 
of the French ambassador. Not a 
day passed, he says, in which she did 
not shed tears; and he adds that 
many, even of Bothwell's followers, 
"believed that her majesty would 
fain have been quit of him." The 
insurgent leaders — Morton, Maidand, 
and Hume — ^were busy, and soon in 
the field with their forces. Bothwell 
raised a small levy to oppose them, 
and the two armies met at Carberry 
Hill on the 15th of June, 1567, ex- 
actly one month after the marriage. 
There was no fighting. Dangerous 
as it was, Mary preferred to trust her- 
self to the rebel lords than to remain 
with Bothwell. She received their 
pledge — that, in case she would sepa- 
rate herself from Bothwell, they were 
ready " to serve her upon their knees, 
as her most humble and obedient 
subjects and servants " — through Kir- 
kaldy of Grange, the only man among 
them whose word she would take. 
They kept their pledge as they usu- 
ally observed such obligations. What 
followed is too horrible to dwell upon. 
It is wonderful that any human being 
could have lived through the physical 
exhaustion, the insults, and the brutal 
treatment this poor woman was sub- 
jected to during the next two days. 
The people of Edinburgh grew indig- 
nant ; and Kirkaldy of Grange swore 
the lords should not violate their pro- 
mises. But they quieted him by 



4(J 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



showing a forged letter of the queen 
to Bothwell. It was not the first 
time some among them had forged 
Mary's signature. With every cir- 
cumstance of force and brutality, 
Mary was then imprisoned in Loch- 
leven, whose guardian was the mother 
of the bastard Murray. 

And now, while the friends of Mary, 
numerous as they were, remained ir- 
resolute and inactive, the dominant 
faction made the most strenuous 
efforts to strengthen itself. In the 
towns, where its strength chiefly lay, 
and especially in Edinburgh, says 
Mr. Hosack, the Protestant preach- 
ers rendered the most valuable aid. 
By indulging in furious invectives 
against the queen, and charging her 
directly with the murder, they pre- 
pared their hearers for the prospect 
of her speedy deposition, and the 
establishment of a regency in the name 
of the infant prince. It is clear that 
Murray was not forgotten by his 
friends the preachers. 

Strange as it may appear, there can 
be but little doubt that Elizabeth was 
sincerely indignant on hearing of the 
outrageous treatment of Mary by the 
lords. In her whole history, she ne- 
ver appeared to so much advantage 
as a woman and a queen. She 
would not stand tamely by, she said, 
and see her cousin murdered ; and if 
remonstrances proved ineffectual, she 
would send an army to chastise and 
reduce them to obedience. Such 
conduct, and her messages to Mary 
while a prisoner at Lochleven, no 
doubt inspired the Scottish queen 
with the fatal confidence which in- 
duced her, a few months afterward, 
to seek refuge in England. Unfor- 
tunately for Elizabeth, and perhaps 
more unfortunately for Mary, the 
Queen of England's reputation for 
duplicity was now so well established 
that no one but her own ministers 
believed she was now sincere. Mait* 



land, for the Scotch nobles, plainly 
told Elizabeth's ambassador that, afler 
what had occurred in times past, 
" they could place no reliance on his 
mistress;" and the King of France 
said to Sir Henry Norris, " I do not 
greatly trust her." Meantime, the 
ministers daily denounced Mary as a 
murderess in their sermons, and de- 
manded that she should be brought 
to justice like an ordinary criminal. 
Elizabeth's ambassador tried to in- 
duce the confederate lords to restrain 
the savage license of the preachers ; 
but we cannot doubt, says Mr. Ho- 
sack, that they were secretly encou- 
raged by their noble patrons to pre- 
pare the minds of the people for the 
deposition, if not for the murder, of 
the queen. Throgmorton's opinion 
was that, but for his presence in Scot- 
land, she would have been sacrificed 
to the ambition and the bigotry of 
her subjects. 

Still a prisoner at Lochleven, Mary 
had to suffer the brutality of the ruf- 
fian Lindsay, and the infamous hypo- 
crisy of Mr. Froude's " stainless Mur- 
ray," who, with money in both pockets 
fh)m France and England, now came, 
with characteristic deceit, to defraud 
his sister of her crown. Mr. Hosack 
thus estimates his performance : 

** First, to terrify his sister with the pros- 
pect of immediate death, then to soothe her 
with false promises of safety, and finally, 
with well-feigned reluctance, to accept the 
dignity he was longing to grasp, displayed a 
mixture of brutality and cunning of which 
he alone was capable." 

Murray was proclaimed regent on 
the 2 2d of August. Soon afterward 
began the machinations for accusing 
Mary of Damlcy's murder ; and Mur- 
ray's first care was to put out of the 
way every witness whose testimony 
could be of any importance. Hay, 
Hepburn, and Powrie and Dalgleish, 
on whom the queen's letters were 
said to have been foimd, were all 



JUary Queen of Seats. 



47 



tried, convicted, and executed on the 
same day. It was remarked that the 
proceedings were conducted with ex- 
traordinary and indecent haste. Hay 
and Hepburn, from the scaffold, de- 
nounced the nobles who had " made 
a bond for the king's murder." Pub- 
lic confidence was shaken in the re- 
gent, and the discontent of the people 
was expressed in plain speech and sa- 
tincal ballads. Murray began to feel 
the need of Elizabeth's assistance. 
Mary, in her trusting confidence, had 
voluntarily placed all her valuable 
jewels in Murray's hands, for safe 
keeping. From among them he se- 
lected a set of rare pearls, the most 
valuable in Europe, which he sent by 
an agent to Elizabeth, who agreed to 
purchase what she well knew he had 
no right to sell. Under such circum- 
stances, as is the custom among 
thieves and receivers, she expected a 
bargain, and got it It was a very 
pretty transaction. In May, 1568, 
Mary escaped from Lochleven castle, 
and in a few days found herself at 
the head of an army of six thousand 
men. Of the ten earls and lords who 
flew to her support, nine were Pro- 
testants; and our Puritan historian 
finds it remarkable that, in spite of 
all the efforts of Murray and his fac- 
tioD, and in spite of all the violence 
of the preachers, she — the Catholic 
Queen of Scodand, the daughter of 
the hated house of Guise, the reputed 
mortal enemy of their religion — should 
DOW, after being maligned as the most 
abandoned of her sex, find her best 
friends among her own Protestant 
sobjects, appears at first sight inex- 
plicable. A phenomenon so strange, 
be adds, admits of only one explana- 
tion. If, throughout her reign, she 
bad not loyally kept her promises 
of security and toleration to her Pro- 
testant subjects, they assuredly would 
not in her hour of need, have risked 
tbeir lives and Ibrtimes in her defence. 



Against her better judgment, Mary 
was induced to fight the battle of 
Langside, and lost the field. And 
now the queen made the great mis- 
take of her life. Instead of trusting 
to the loyalty of the Scotch borderers, 
she determined to throw herself on 
the hospitality of the Queen of Eng- 
land. In vain did her trusty coun- 
sellors and strongest supporters seek 
to dissuade her. The warm profes- 
sions of friendship and attachment 
made to her by Elizabeth, when she 
was a prisoner at Lochleven, had 
completely captivated her; and, in- 
sisting on her project, she crossed the 
Solway, in an open boat, to the Eng- 
lish shore. She was received by Mr. 
Lowther, deputy warden, with all the 
respect due to her rank and mis- 
fortunes. Although she did not yet 
know it, Mary was from this moment 
a prisoner. Here Mr. Hosack, in a 
few eloquent passages, sets forth the 
reasons why the forcible detention of 
Mary, independently of all considera- 
tions of morality and justice, was a 
political blunder of the first magni- 
tude. As the inmate of an English 
prison, she proved a far more formi- 
dable enemy to Elizabeth than when 
she wore the crowns both of France 
and Scotland. Never did a political 
crime entail a heavier measure of re- 
tribution than the captivity and mur- 
der of the Queen of Scots entailed 
on England. 

Mary was first taken to the castle 
of Carlisle. Here Queen Elizabeth 
was represented by Lord Scrope, the 
warden of the marches, and Sir 
Francis Knollys, the queen's vice- 
chamberlain. These noblemen ap- 
pear to have been more impressed 
with the mental and moral qualities 
of the Scottish queen than with her 
external graces. They describe her, 
after their first interview, as possessing 
"an eloquent tongue and a discreet 
head, with stout courage and a liberal 



48 



Mary Queen of Scots. 



heart;" and, in a subsequent letter, 
Knollys says, " Surely, she is a rare 
woman ; for as no flattery can abuse 
her, so no plain speech seems to offend 
her, if she thinks the speaker an ho- 
nest man." All this was written to 
Elizabeth, to whom, of course, it was 
gall and wormwood. A more re- 
markable passage of their letter is 
that in which, speaking in simple can- 
dor as English gentlemen and men 
of honor, they ask their royal mistress 
whether 

"it were not honorable for you, in the sight 
of your own subjects and of all foreign 
princes, to put her grace to the choice, 
whether she will depart freely back into her 
country without your highnesses impeach- 
ment, or whether she will remain at your 
highnesses devotion within your realm here, 
>vith her necessary servants only to attend 
her?*' 

To a sovereign whose policy was 
synonymous with fraud, the uncon- 
scious sarcasm of this honorable ad- 
vice must have been biting. 

Elizabeth pledged her word to 
Mary that she should be restored to 
her throne. She at the same time 
pledged her word to Murray that 
Mary should never be permitted to 
return to Scotland. Then began the 
long nineteen years* martyrdom of 
Mary. The conference at York and 
the commission at Westminster were 
mockeries of justice. It was pre- 
tended there were two parties present 
before them — Murray and his asso- 
ciates on one side, Mary on the other. 
Mary was kept a prisoner in a distant 
castle, while Murray, received with 
honor at court, held private and se- 
cret consultations with members of 
both these quasi-judicial bodies, show- 
ed them the testimony he intended to 
produce, and obtained their judgment 
as to the sufficiency of his proofs be- 
fore he publicly produced them ; these 
proofs being the forged letters of the 
silver caskeL These letters were ne- 



ver seen by Mary Stuart, and even 
copies of them were repeatedly and 
persistently refused her. Mr. Froude 
makes a lame attempt to show that 
some one secretly furnished her copies ; 
but even if his attempt were success- 
ful, it does not affect the fact that the 
copies were officially refused her. By 
the time the scales had fallen from 
Mary's eyes, Elizabeth's art and du- 
plicity had woven a web from which 
she could not be extricated. Her 
remaining years of life were one 
long, heart-sickening struggle against 
treachery, spies, insult to her person, 
her reputation, and her faith ; confine- 
ment, cold, sickness, neuralgic agony, 
want; deprivation of all luxuries, of 
medical attendance, and of the con- 
solations of religion. At every fresh 
spasm of alarm on the part of Eliza- 
beth, Mary's prison was changed; 
frequently in dead of winter, and 
generally without any provision for 
the commonest conveniences of life. 
More than once, taken into a naked, 
cold castle, Mary's jailers had to rely 
on the charity of the neighbors for 
even a bed for their royal prisoner. 
At Tutbury, her rooms were so dark 
and comfortless, and the surroundings 
so filthy — there is no other word for 
it — that the English physician refused 
to charge himself with her health. 
But enough. We all know the sad 
story, and we trustingly believe the 
poor martyred queen has her recom- 
pense in heaven. 

Mr. Hosack's treatment of the ques- 
tion of the authenticity of the silver- 
casket letters is exhaustive. More 
than a century ago, Goodall fully 
exposed the forgery, and he has ne- 
ver been satisfactorily answered. Mr. 
Froude, of course, accepts them with- 
out discussion. The conferences at 
York and the proceedings at West- 
minster are presented as only a law- 
yer can present them. Mary's cause 
gains by the most rigid scrutiny. Mr. 



Stabat Motif. 



49 



Fioude does not know enough to 
analyze and intelligibly present seri- 
ous matters like these. He prefers 
a series of sensational iabieaux and 
highly-colored dissolving views, pro- 
ducing for authorities garbled cita- 
tions and his own fictions. Mr. Ho- 
sack's testimony, independently of its 
great intrinsic merit, is valuable be- 
cause of his nationality and of his 
rdigion, and we hope to see his work 
republished in the United States. His 
dosing page concludes thus : 

" In the darkest hours of her existence — 
even when she hailed the prospect of a scaf- 



fold as a blessed relief from her protracted 
sufferings — she never once expressed a doubt 
as to the verdict that would be finally pro- 
nounced between her and her enemies. 
•The theatre of the world,* she odmly re- 
minded her judges at Fotheringay, 'is wider 
than die realm of England.' She appealed 
from the tyranny of her persecutors to the 
whole human race ; and she has not appealed 
in vain. The history of no woman that ever 
Bved approaches in interest to that of Mary 
Stuart ; and so long as beauty and intellect, 
a kindly spirit in prosperity, and matchless 
heroism in misfortune attract the sympathies 
of men, this illustrious victim of sectarian 
violence and barbarous statecraft will ever 
occupy the most prominent place in the 
annals of her sex.*' 



STABAT MATER. 



ENGLISH TRANSLATION.* 



GREEK TRANSLATION.t 



Stabat Mater dolorosa, 
Juxta crucera lacrymosa, 

Dum pendebat Filius : 
Cujus animam gementem, 
Contristatam et dolentem, 

Pertransivit gladius. 



Broken-hearted, lo, and tearful, 
Bowed before that Cross so fearful, 

Stands the Mother by the Son 1 
Through her bosom sympathizing 
In hb mortal agonizing 

Deep and keen the steel has gone. 



*l(7T?y M^TT^p dXyeovaa 
TTapd aravpC) daicpvovaa^ 

iKprjiMVxTO G)g TeKvov 
ijs TTjv rjJVXTjv arevaxovaav^ 
TTokvOTOVoVy Tvevdiovaav 

dieneipe (j>xayavov. 



O quam tristis et afflicta 
Fuit ilia benedicta 

Mater Unigeniti ! 
Quae moerebat et dolebat, 
Pia Mater, dum videbat 

Nati poenas inclytl 



* TUi tnnhtMO, which fint appeared in the Demoeraiic Maganitu thirty yean ago, is bow repobliahed 
Mfhcnqaeal of the author, G. J. G. 

t %fhe late Otio Geoise Iiaytr« atodeat of the Congregatioo of StT PaoL 

VOU XL — ^4 



so 



SiMkU MmUr. 



How afflicted, how distressed, 
Stands she now, that Virgin blessed. 

By that tree of woe and scorn ; 
Mark her tremble, droop, and languish| 
Gazing on that awful anguish 

Of her Child, her Only-Bom I 



^eoaePfjgf 6g iSparo 



Quis est homo qui non fieret, 
Matrem Christi si videret 

In tanto supplicio ? 
Quis non posset contristari, 
Christi Matrem contemplari 

Dolentem cum Filio ? 



Who may see, nor share her weeping, 
Christ the Saviour's mother keeping 

Griefs wild watch, so sad and lone ? 
Who behold her bosom sharing 
Every pang his soul is bearing, 

Nor receive them in his own ? 



Ttg oivd(}6n(OV ovK iv KXaioif 
el Tfjv XptOTOv M.rjrep' Idoi 

TOiavT* dvexofUvfjv ; 
rtg 6vv(UT* dv OVK ax^eodai 
Tw Tf^v XpiOTOv M^TCp* ISeodcu 

avv Tl<^ Xvnovfiivriv ; 



Pro peccatis suae gent^, 
Vidit Jesum in tormentis, 

£t flageHis subditum. 
Vidit suum dulcem Natum 
Moriendo desolatum, 

Dum emisit spiritum. 



Ransom for a world's offending, 
Lo, her Son and God is bending 

That dear head to wounds and 
'Mid the body's laceration, [blows; 
And the spirit's desolation. 

As his life-blood darkly flows. 



Upb tQv kcucGv olo yivovg 
'^av' a^T§ vPpKT&els ^Irjaovg 

KciX fAoLOTi^iv ficdoro^* 
ddev lov ykvKvv itcuSol 
iK^vfiOKOvra, fwvci^ivra^ 



Eia Mater, fons amoris, 
Me sentire vim doloris 

Fac ut tecum lugeam ; 
Fac ut ardeat cor meum 
In amando Christum Deum, 

Ut sibi complaceam. 



Fount of love, in that dread hour, 
Teach me all thy sorrow's power, 

Bid me share its grievous load; 
O'er my heart thy spirit pouring. 
Bid it bum in meet adoring 

Of its martyred Christ and Godl 



*Q av M^cp, TT^jyrj IpcjTOs, 
rrj^ XvTTrjs fie ira^eiv dx^og 

66st <foi Iva avfinadcj' 
6bg <t>Xeyia'&(u iCTJp to ifiov 
rCi <l>iXelv rbv Xpiarbv ee6v, 

^hnjg ol eidoKeij. 



SUibat MaUr. 



51 



Sancta Mater ! istud agas, 
Cnicifixi fige plagas 

Cordi meo valide. 
Tui Nati vulnerati, 
Tarn dignati pro me pad, 

Poenas mecum divide. 



Be my prayer, O Mother ! granted, 
And within my heart implanted 

Every gash whose crimson tide, 
From that spotless victim streaming. 
Deigns to flow for my redeeming, 

Mother of the crucified 1 



•Ayviy M^Tcp, rtdt dpaaov* 

fKH 6v Kfjpt Kpare^g' 
wAo Tov rpoi^ivTOg TeKvoVy 
Sg npd Ifjujv TTaax^v i^|tov, 

jJiipog itotvdiv fioi Sidovg, 



Fac me tecum pie flere, 
Crucifixo condolere, 

Donee ego vixero. 
Juxta crucem tecum stare, 
£t me tibi sociare 

I^ planctu desidero. 



Every sigh of thy affliction. 
Every pang of crucifixion — 

Teach me all their agony ! 
At his cross for ever bending, 
In thy grief for ever blending, 

Mother, let me live and die I 



^ravpcidevTi 6^ avvakyelv, 

*rrphg aravpi^ aoi avviaraadai, 
aoi T£ fioipcLs fiBTex^o^cu 
TOV nevdelv dpiyoficu. 



Virgo virginum praeclara, 
Mihi jam non sis amara, 

Fac me tecum plangere. 
Fac ut portem Christi mortem, 
Passionis fac consortem, 

£t plagas recolere. 



Virgin of all virgins highest. 
Humble prayer who ne'er deniest, 

Teach me how to share thy woe ! 
All Christ's Passion's depth revealing, 
Quicken every quivering feeling 

All its bitterness to know I 



Uap^ive^ tQv K6pc»v Xofinpa^ 

66ifie aoi avvakyiwir 
dbg PaoTa^eiv Xpiarov ndrfiov^ 
TOV na^ovs noUi fu fisToxov^ 

TOLg Te 'nk'ffya^ kwoelv. 



Fac me plagis vulnerari, 
Cruce hac inebriari, 

Et cruore Filii. 
Flammis ne urar succensus. 
Per te, 'N^go, sim defensus. 

In die judiciL 



$2 



The BiigafuPs God-Ckild. 



Bid me drink that heavenly madness. 
Mingled bliss of grief and gladness. 

Of the Cross of thy dear Son 1 
With his love my soul inflaming. 
Plead for it, O Virgin ! claiming 

Mercy at his judgment throne I 



T(o6e oravfH^ fie^vadrjvcu 

Kol Tov Tlov atfiari. 
'rrvpl d<t>BivTa firj icavdrjvcu, 
dAAot did aov aojSrjvcu 
icpiaecjg k<p* tjfiaTi. 



Christe, cimi sit hinc exire, 
Da per matrem me venire 

Ad palmam victoriae.* 
Quando corpus morietur, 
Fac ut animae donetur 

Paradisi gloria. 



Shelter at that Cross, oh ! 3rield me ! 
By the death of Christ, oh ! shield me ! 

Comfort with thy grace and aid I 
And, O Mother ! bid my spirit 
Joys of Paradise inherit, 

When its clay to rest is laid! 



'OnM* &pa fi* d.nifyxttr&CLi^ 
dtoL MrJTpog dbg (l>epeo^(Uj 
Xpiarif viKfyrfipta- 

evxofiai fwi r(>vx^ SiSov 
oipavov TO. ;(;ap]Eiara. 



THE BRIGAND'S GOD-CHILD. 



A LEGEND OF SPAIN. 



Once upon a time, as the legends 
say, there lived in good old Spain a 
poor workman, to whom destiny had 
given twelve children, and nothing for 
them to live upon. Now his wife 
was expecting a thirteenth, and perhaps 
with it would appear a fourteenth also, 
to run about loved but unclothed 
and unfed, as the others had before 
them. The bread was almost gone, 
work not to be had, and the poor man, 
to hide his sighs and his misery from 
the patient partner of his misfortimes, 
wandered far from home and into the 



woods, calling upon paradise to assist 
him, until he came to the ill-reputed 
cavern and stronghold of the bandits. 

He almost fell over their captain, 
and came very near receiving a sabre- 
thrust for his pains; but his extreme 
misery made him no object for a 
robbery, so he was simply catechised 
as to his condition. 

He told his story, moved even the 
brigand heart to pity, and was invited 
to supper ; a bag of gold and a fine 
horse were given him, and he was sent 
home with the assurance that, be the 



* Instead ol these three lines we sometimes find the foQomng : 

Fac ne cfoce custodiiit 
ICorte Christi praemaniri^ 
C o o fowii |ntuk 



Tfct 



or te Littia is fallowed k te Ondit. tfM taUHT in Ae E^kh tnaablioa. 



Thi Brigand s'G&d-Child. 



53 



ncir-coincr boy or girl, the robber-chief 
would stand as god-father. The poor 
man, in ecstasy at such good fortune, 
flew rather than rode to his well-filled 
dwelling, and arrived there just in time 
to welcome number thirteen. 

A boy ! He gave his wife the mo- 
ney and a caress, and, although the 
night was far advanced, mounted his 
charger and galloped back to the 
cave. The brigand was astonish- 
ed at his speedy return ; but true to 
his word, apf>eared with him in the 
neighboring church in disguise of a 
rich old gossip, made every requisite 
promise for the new-bom babe, and 
disappeared, leaving a bag of gold- 
en crowns and another purse of 
gold. 

The angels, however, claimed the 
baby, and the brigand's god-child flew 
to paradise on golden wings, and in 
the splendid swaddling-clothes that 
his charity had provided for it. 

St Peter, porter at the gates celes- 
tial, stirred himself to welcome the lit- 
tle fellow to heaven; but no! he 
would not enter imless accompanied 
by his god-father. 

"And who may he be ?" asked St. 
Peter. 

"Who?*' responded the god^Md; 
" The chief of the brigands." 

" My poor litde innocent,* t said the 
saint, " you know not what you ask ! 
Come in yourself; but heaven was not 
made for such as he." 

The child sat down by the door re- 
solved not to enter, and planning in 
his little head all sorts of schemes 
to accomplish his purpose, when the 
Blessed Mary passed that way. 

"\Vhy do you not enter, my an- 
gel?" she said. 

" I would be ungrateful," he answer- 
ed, " to partake of heavenly joys if my 
good god-father did not share them 
with me." 

St Peter interposed, and appealed 
to the Holy Mother, saying. 



** If he had only been a wax-carrier ! 
but this man, Satan's own emissary — 
impossible! An incarnate demon; a 
robber, healthy and robust, who has 
taken every opportunity to do mis- 
chief! Holy Mother! could such a 
thing be thought of?" 

But the god-child insisted, bent his 
pretty blonde head, joined his little 
hands, fell on his knees, prayed and 
wept. The Virgin had compassion on 
him and bringing a golden chalice 
from the heavenly inclosure, said, 

" Take this ; go and seek your god- 
father; tell him that he may come 
with you to heaven ; but he must first 
fill this cup with repentant tears." 

Just then, by the clear moonlight, re- 
posing on a rock, and fiilly armed, lay 
the brigand. In his dream his dagger 
trembled in his hands. As he awoke, 
he saw near his couch a beautiful 
winged infant With no fear of the 
savage man, it approached and pre- 
sented the golden chalice. He rubbed 
his eyes, and thought he still dreamed ; 
but the infant angel reassured him, say- 
ing, 

" No ; it is not a fancy. I have 
come to invite thee to go with me. 
Leave this earth. I am thy god-child, 
and I will conduct thy steps." 

Then the little fellow related his 
marvellous story : his arrival at hea- 
ven's gate, St. Peter's refusal, and 
how the Blessed Mother, ever mer- 
ciful, had come to his assistance and 
granted his request. The bandit lis- 
tened, and breathed with difficulty, 
while, bewildered he gazed on the an- 
gelic figure, and held out his hand 
for the golden chalice. 

Suddenly his heart seemed to burst, 
two fountains of tears gushed from his 
eyes. The cup was filled, and the 
radiant infant mounted with him to 
the skies. 

Into heaven the little one entered, 
carrying the well-filled cup to St. Pe- 
ter — ^who was astonished to see who 



54 Molecular Mechanics. 

followed him — and proceeded to ofFet acquitted the debt of the child. Be-, i 

it at the feet of the beautiful Queen, sides, we know that to the repentant I 

She smiled on the sinner who there is always grace — and the in- ! 

through her compassion had been fant had declared it would not enter j 

saved, while he threw himself in reve- alone. 
rence at her feet God himself had 



MOLECULAR MECHANICS. 



Amosg the theories proposed to 
explain the constitution of material 
substance, and to account for the 
facts relative to it disclosed by mo- 
dem science, one developed in a re- 
cent work with the above title, by 
Rev. Joseph Bayma, of Stonyhurst, 
is specially worthy of notice for its 
ingenuity and the field which it opens 
to the mathematician. Whether it be 
true or not, it is at any rate such 
that its truth can be tested; and 
though this may be somewhat diffi- 
cult, on account of the complexity of 
the nccessaiy formulas and calcula- 
tions, stiil the difficulty can probably 
be overcome in course of time, should 
the undertaking seem promising 
enough. 

It is briefly as follows. Matter is 
not continuous, even in very small 
parts of its volume, but is composed 
of a definite number of ultimate ele- 
ments, each of which occupies a mere 
point, and may be considered simply 
as a centre of force. This force is 
actually exerted by each of them fol- 
lowing the law of gravitation as to 
its change of intensity with the dis- 
tance ; iK't is attractive for some ele- 
ments and repulsive for others, which 
is obviously necessary to preserve 
equilibrium- These elements are ar- 
ranged in regularly formed groups, in 
which the balance of the attractive 
and repulsive forces is such that each 



group, as well as the whole 
preserved from collapse or indefinitt 
expansion ; these are what are known 
chemically as molecules; and in the 
simple substances they probably have ' 
the shape of one of the five regular* 
polyhedrons. 

The simplest posable construction' 
of a molecule would be one of the" 
polyhedrons, with an clement at each 
vertex, and one at the centre, whose 
action must be of an opposite cha-| 
raster to that of those at the vertices; 
for these last must all exert the sam^ 
kind of action, attractive or repulsive; ' 
for any kind of equilibrium to be 
m.iinlained, and the centre must act ia ' 
the opposite direction to prevent col- 
lapse or expansion of the mass. Fur- 
thermoft, the absolute attractive pow- 
er, or that which the molecule would 
have if all collected at one point, 
must exceed the repulsive, slightly at 
any rale, since the force exerted at 
distances compared with which its 
dimensions are insignificant is known ' 
to have this former character. 

This system admits of two varie- 
ties, according as the centre is attrac- 
tive or repulsive. In either case, for 
the maintenance of equilibrium the 
force of the centre must always be 
less than half that of the vertices 
combined, as the author shows, (giv- 
ing the values for each polyhedron ;) 
and it would seem that the first sup- 






5S 



position would tfierefore be iintena- 
hie, since the attractive force in each 
molecule, as just stated, necessarily 
exceeds the repulsive. Equilibrium 
certainly cannot be maintained in this 
case; but this will not involve the 
permanent collapse of the molecule, 
but merely a continual vibration of 
its elements back and forward through 
the centre. 

The second hypothesis, on the oth* 
er hand, requires either a centre so 
weak as to produce very litde repul* 
sion outside of the molecule, or else 
a continual tendency to expand un- 
der a central power too great for 
eqaHibrium. Both will tend to bring 
the molecular envelopes near to each 
other, and produce adhesion or mix- 
mg among them; also, it may per- 
haps be added, that the envelopes 
themselves will, on account of the 
mutual attraction of their elements, 
be unstable. 

Of these two constructions, then, 
the first would seem most probable ; 
but both are open to objection on 
account of there being no internal 
resistance in the individual molecules 
to a change of diameter proportional 
to a change produced by external 
action in that of a mass of them; 
and if such a change should take 
place, the mass would be in just the 
same statical conditions as before, 
only differing in the relative dimen- 
aions of its parts, and the resbtance 
to pressure which is exhibited more 
or les by all matter would not be 
accounted for. But it does not seem 
quite certain that pressiure or traction 
of the mass would operate upon the 
separate molecules in the same sense. 

We arc not, however, restricted to 
such a simple structure ; for there may 
be several envelopes instead of only 
one, and of these some may be at- 
tractive and others repulsive ; the cen- 
tre also may be repulsive. There 
voukl hare to be an absolute predo- 



minance of attractivity, of course, as 
in the previous more simple supposi- 
tion. It seems probable that in this 
supposition the envelopes would be 
all tetrahedric, or that either the cube 
and octahedron, or the other two, 
which are similarly counterparts of 
each other, would alternate. Many 
of these forms are examined mathe- 
matically by the author, as to their 
internal action. 

The exact discussion of their ex- 
temal action, however, would be ex- 
ceedingly intricate, and would not be 
worth imdertaking without a more 
definite idea than we yet have of the 
actual shapes presented by the mole- 
cules of the various known substan- 
ces. The forms of crystallization 
may throw some light upon this, and 
they seem to indicate, as the author 
acknowledges, that the elements are 
not always grouped in regular polyhe- 
drons; if they are not, they must have 
unequal powers, and this may be 
sometimes .the case. But irregular 
crystalline forms are not impossible, 
or even improbable, with regular mo- 
lecules. He also suggests and applies 
a method for obtaining the forms of 
the simple chemical substances by 
considering what coitibinations with 
others each polyhedron is capable of, 
and comparing these results with the 
actual combinations into which these 
various substances are known to en- 
ter, and deduces the shapes, with 
some plausibility, of the molecules of 
oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, hydrogen, 
phosphorus, chlorine, sulphur, arsenic, 
and iodine. Whether we shall ever 
be able to obtain more positive proof 
of these interesting conclusions re- 
mains to be seen ; but if any mole- 
cules have really the number of en- 
velopes that would be indicated by 
their chemical equivalents, the perfect 
determination of their exact mecha- 
nical conditions of combination, and 
even of their separate construction, 



56 



Molecular Mechanics. 



will probably, as F. Bayma remarks, 
be a problem alwajrs above the pow- 
er of the human mind. If mathe- 
maticians are at all inclined to plume 
themselves on having unravelled the 
complications of the solar system, 
they can find sufficient matter for hu- 
miliation in not being able to under- 
stand the status of a material particle 
less than the hundred millionth of an 
inch in diameter; for to this extent 
subdivision has actually been carried. 

One of the most remarkable points 
in this theory is that part of it which 
relates to the ethereal medium which 
seems to pervade all space, if the un- 
dulatory theory of light is true, as is 
now f>erhaps universally believed. Jn- 
stead of assuming it to be extremely 
rare, as is usually done without hesi- 
tation, the author regards it as exces- 
sively dense; " immensely denser than 
atmospheric air," to use his own 
words. Of course this seems absurd 
at first sight, as such a medium ap- 
parently would exert an immense re- 
sistance to the movements of the 
heavenly bodies, and in fact to all 
movements on their surfaces or else- 
where. This would certainly be the 
case if k were similar to ordinary 
•matter ; and to avoid this difficulty, it 
is assumed to be entirely attractive. 
The reason for supposing a great den- 
sity for this substance is its immense 
elasticity and power of transmitting 
vibrations; which seems incompati- 
ble with great distances between its 
particles, unless these particles are 
extremely energetic in their action, 
which comes to the same thing ; and 
this argument has considerable force. 

But it does not seem evident that 
an attractive medium would not also 
interfere with the passage of bodies 
through it, though not in the same 
•way as a repulsive one ; and the os- 
cillation through its centre necessary 
for its preservation complicates the 
theory somewhat Also, any marked 



accumulation of a powerfully acting 
medium round the various celestial 
bodies would cause, if varied in any 
way by their changes of relative po- 
sition, perturbations in their move- 
ments. The very fact, however, that 
its own action was so energetic might 
make the disturbance in its arrange- 
ment produced by other masses small, 
especially if it penetrates those mass- 
es, as is probably generally maintain- 
ed. The subject is, of course, one of 
great difficulty, and objections readily 
suggest themselves to any hypothesis 
regarding it; still, it would appear 
that on some accounts it might be 
better, instead of assuming the medi- 
um to be wholly or predominantly at- 
tractive or repulsive, to suppose it to 
have the two forces equally balanced 
in its constitution ; and if it be, like 
other matter, grouped in molecules, 
the balance would naturally exist in 
each molecule, making it inert at any 
but very small distances, and exert- ^ 
ing at these very small distances a 
force the character of which would 
vary according to the direction. 

We have said that the discussion of 
the exterior action of the molecules — 
that is, of their action on each other, 
or on exterior points in general — 
would be exceedingly complicated. 
The only way in which it seems prac- 
ticable is that in which the mutual 
actions of the planets have been in- 
vestigated, namely, a development 
of the force in the form of a series; 
bilt this cannot be done advantage- 
ously unless the distances between 
the molecules are considerably great- 
er than the molecular diameters. If, 
however, we make the development 
of the ratio of the attraction (or re- 
pulsion) exerted by the vertices of a 
regular polyhedron in the direction of 
its centre, to what it would exert if 
concentrated at that centre, in a series 
of the powers of the ratio of the 
molecular radius to the distance of 



MoUcular Mechanics. 



57 



the point acted on from the centre, it 
will be found that the coefficients of 
the first and second powers vanish in 
all cases; and that in all, except that 
of the tetrahedron, those of all the odd 
powers also disappear, as well as that 
of the fourth in the dodecahedron and 
icosahedron. If, then, the absolute 
attractive or repulsive power of any 
envelope is very nearly compensated 
by that of an opposite character pre- 
vailing in the rest of the molecule, 
(as seems probable,) the whole series 
can be reduced, at any distance which 
is very great compared with the mole- 
cular diameter, to two terms— one a 
constant with a very small value, and 
the other containing the third, fourth, 
or sixth powa of the small quantity 
vhich the ratio of the diameter to 
the distance has now become. This 
should have a negative multiplier, in 
order that the force should become 
zero ; and this it will have for a con- 
sderable distance aroimd the vertices 
of all the polyhedrons, the negative 
value always covering as much as 
two fifths ef the spherical surface 
about the centre of the molecule, and 
compensating even in this case for its 
less extent by a greater intensity, as 
the mean of this coefficient over the 
whole surface is always exactly zero. 
Within this distance of no action, for 
some space about the centre of the 
pre\'ailing polyhedric face, attraction 
would prevail till the higher powers 
became sensible, and even (as it would 
seem) quite up to the centre in the 
case of a single envelope, the repul- 
sive action of which, when combined 
with the slight force of the centre, 
would apparently be limited to quasi- 
dlipsoidal spaces extending out from 
cadi vertex, and having a longer axis 
equal to this outer distance of no ac- 
tion. But this limitation of the re- 
pulsive action will be still greater if 
the excess of the absolute attractive 
power in the molecule is more con- 



siderable, as long as the distribution 
of the force in the diflferent envelopes 
remains unaltered; and though the 
molecules can approach within tole- 
rably short distances of each other in 
certain directions, this is not objec- 
tionable, since such an approach may 
even be required for chemical union 
and cohesion. Introsusception would 
hardly be probable, unless they were 
very different in size. The compound 
molecule once formed, whether its 
components were of the same or of 
different substance, might exercise a 
repulsive force at a considerable dis- 
tance in all or nearly all directions ; 
nevertheless, it might still admit of 
further increase or of disruption by 
an agitation among the molecules, 
due to heat, light, or electricity. Of 
course, even on this theory, for the 
maintenance of physical equilibrium 
the mean distance of the molecules 
would have to be considerably less 
than that of no action, in order that 
a repulsion should be produced to 
balance the attraction of those beyond 
this distance. Still, if the excess of 
attractive force in each molecule, and 
consequently the size of each, be 
made small enough, their dimensions 
may still be small compared even 
with this mean distance; so that in 
no case, except that of chemical 
union, would it be necessary to take 
account of the higher powers. Any 
motion communicated from one mole- 
cule to another would then probably 
be by means of an actual relative 
movement of the centres of gravity, 
instead of by internal vibrations. 

It may be worth noticing that a 
regular polyhedron — the elements of 
which exert a force not varying at all 
with the distance, and in which the 
absolute energy of the centre is pre- 
cisely equal to that of the vertices 
combined — gives a resulting force fol- 
lowing the law of gravitation, at any 
distance compared with which its own 



58 



The Hofy-Week of 1869 in Havatia. 



dimensions can be neglected; and 
within this distance the lorce will 
change its sign under the same con- 
ditions of direction as specified in 
the previous case. But, as the in- 
tensity of this force will change with 
the size of the molecule, it does not 
appear that a system of this kind 
would be admissible, since, besides 
the periodical change due to its own 
internal vibration, it would probably 
be changed in size, or even in shape, 
which would be worse, by compres- 
sion or expansion of the mass ; which 
would be the more likely, as the mole- 
cules could approach much nearer 
than in the former supposition. The 
law followed by gravitation also seems 
to be almost or quite necessary for 
forces radiating from a point. 

The author's theory seems, on the 
whole, extremely plausible. That 
each element of matter exerts a force 
following the law of gravitation, is 
almost demonstrable i priori; that 
the elements are mere points, will also 



generally be admitted; that some <tf 
the actions should be repulsive, is 
obviously necessary ; that each mole- 
cule is composed of a definite number 
of atoms, is suggested by chemical 
laws ; and the polyhedric forms seem 
certainly the most reasonable, though 
crystalline forms would indicate that 
others may be occasionally foimd. 
The possibility of the construction of 
irregular molecules out of elements 
of unequal powers seems, by the way, 
to be worth examining. 

Further developments of the the- 
ory may have recently been made; 
of course, the author does not claim 
in this work to have laid down more 
than its first principles. At present, 
it seems, to say the least, to fiimish 
the best basis for the mathematical 
investigation of the internal constitu- 
tion of matter that has been sug- 
gested, and such investigations would 
be almost certain to lead to valuable 
results, whether confirmatory or oth- 
erwise. 



THE HOLY-WEEK OF 1869 IN HAVANA. 

PALM-SUNDAY. THE TENEBR/E. MAUNDV-THURSDAY. 



So much had been told me of the 
antiquated observances of the Holy- 
Week in Havana, of the religious 
processions presenting to us of the 
nineteenth century an image of the 
ndif faith of the middle ages, of the 
rare spectacle of a whole city in 
mourning for the death of the Sa- 
viour, that even had my duty not 
called me to the church, my curiosity 
would have carried me thither. As 
it was, I resolved this l^ent that, al- 
though I resided at an inconveni- 
ent diBtanoe fi:om towiii and ladies 



who have no carriage of their own 
find it sometimes unpleasant to go 
on foot in a country where walking 
is unfashionable, and considered even 
unfeminine, yet I would disregard dis- 
agreeables of every kind, and attend 
all the impressive ceremonies of this 
great week in the cathedral; 

PALM-SUNDAY. 

On Palm-Sunday, then, at six 
o'clock in the morning, I got into 
the nice, dean, well-managed can 



Tk4 Holy-Wtdk tf 1869 in Havatuu 



59 



our door every few minutes 
long. The blessing of the 
nches was not to commence 
larter after eight ; but I like 
time by the forelock,** and I 
id that, as the " superior po- 
vcmor of Havana" had in- 
he grandees of Spain, the 

Castile, the knights grand 
he gentlemen, (gentiles hom- 
1 civil and military function- 
:ontribute their assistance to 
e religious acts more solemn,** 
fU be somewhat of a crowd, 
determined to arrive betimes 
re for m)rself a seat where I 
th see and hear well. 
larly morning in Cuba is 
lelightful, and this 21st of 
ras very bright and lovely, 
ntensely blue and without a 
d a cool breeze gently wav- 
tall tops of the cocoa-nut 
I rustling the light, feathery 
the graceful bamboos. The 
onnaded houses of the Cer- 
I very pleasant among their 
d laurels. La Carolina was 
K)m in some of the gardens, 
ling, leafless branches cover- 
;reat plumy tufts of rose-co- 
iments ; honeysuckle vines 
'ellow jasmine climbed about 
igs, and the large, brilliant 
f the mar pacifico completed 

landscape with that bright 

scarlet so agreeable to the 

approached the city, how- 
pretty houses became fewer, 
mean suburban shops and 
ppeared more grimy than 
the bright sunlight; their 
nings hanging in rags over 
[y-paved, broken sidewalk, 
ics, all of one or two stories, 
Tiors washed with blue, yel- 
, or apple-green, wore a ge- 
ik of never being repaired, 
r gay coloring was &ded, 



spotted, stained, and smeared by the 
exceeding dampness of the climate. 
I had glimpses, too, as we passed, 
into narrow streets so frightfully gul- 
lied and filthy that they made me 
shudder. The population of this 
part of extra-mural Havana was not 
more prepossessing in appearance 
than its haunt 

In about half an hour we reached 
the Campo de Marte^ (Field of Mars,) 
a fine square which would be hand- 
somer if it were bordered with shade- 
trees. Now it is an arid plain, with 
a few straggling blades of grass in 
patches here and there. On one of 
the sides of this place stands the mag- 
nificent mansion of the Aldamas, one 
of the richest families in the island; 
on another side, the principal railway 
station. A great number of volun- 
teers, fine, stout, strong-looking men 
generally, dressed in a blue and white 
striped drill uniform, and armed with 
short swords and bayoneted mus- 
kets, were mustering in the middle 
of the Campo^ and a great rabble of 
little blackies surrounded them, gap- 
ing with admiration. At the eastern 
extremity of the square we cut across 
the commencement of what used to 
be called the Purque de Ysabel Se- 
gunda ; but her statue has been pulled 
down from its pedestal, and the pro- 
menade has now no name. Here 
again, around the pretty fountain 
that represents Havana under the 
form of an Indian maiden supporting 
a shield that bears the arms of the 
city, and surrounded by tropical fiiiits 
and gracefiil plants, were plenty of 
flowers ; the blue, crimson, and purple 
morning-glories, that had just opened 
their radiant petals to the sun, were 
the most vividly-colored I have ever 
seen. 

Passing the Tacon Theatre, we 
soon reached the breach in the city 
walls by which the cars enter. These 
old fortifications, built by the Spaniards 



6o 



The Hofy-Week of 1869 in Havana. 



to keep out the Indians and the Eng- 
lish, are being slowly demolished. A 
very fine white stone church is in 
progress of erection close by. 

I'he streets within the walls are 
well paved and clean; the houses 
mostly large and very strongly built. 
They usually form a hollow square, 
the centre being an open yard, con- 
taining a few shrubs. The windows 
of all the rooms reach from the floor 
to the ceiling ; they are without glass 
and protected by iron bars ; diick in- 
side shutters, into which two or three 
glazed panes are inserted to admit the 
light, close out any very bad weather, 
wind or rain. The sidewalks are 
usually not more than a foot and a 
half wide; they look like ledges run- 
ning along the sides of the houses, 
and are exceedingly uncomfortable 
for pedestrians, as I found when I 
descended firom the car at its stop- 
ping-place in front of the church San 
yuan (U Dios^ and proceeded on foot 
to the cathedral. 

San Cristobal de la Habana^ the me- 
tropolitan cathedral, is a large and 
handsome edifice ; it dates fi-om 1724, 
and although it has at the present 
moment a very time-worn appear- 
ance, it was repaired and beautified 
only a few years since. Two towers 
and three doors give an imposing air 
to the firont ; the arched nave within 
is lofty and spacious, and separated 
fi-om the aisles by massive pillars of 
masonry. The whole of the interior 
is painted in fresco, but is much de- 
teriorated by the excessive humidity 
of the climate. The high altar, con- 
structed of beautiful jasper, under a 
dome of porphyry, supported by 
columns of the same material, was 
built in Rome. On the gospel side 
of the chancel is the tomb of Chris- 
topher Columbus, whose ashes, in- 
closed in a leaden box, rest within 
the very wall of the sacred edifice. 

Few persons had yet assembled in 



the church, and I quickly obta 
seat on one of the benches th 
placed along each side. of the 
I was much pleased to find 1 
exactly opposite to the crimsc 
vet-covered arm-chair and re 
desk reserved for the captain-g 
and to the less impK)sing but 
some seats intended for the go^ 
grandees, and municipality, 
also just behind a row of arm 
allotted to the civil and militar] 
tionaries. 

In the chancel, concealing 
view the honored tomb, was 
a purple velvet dais; beneath it 
the purple velvet-covered thror 
reading-desk of the bishop. A 
black flag with a blood-red cr 
its centre leaned against the s 
the altar, on which was seen \k 
blem of our faith swathed in 
crape. An immense white ci 
very artistically draped, was 
pended across the southern tra 

As the time passed, colore^ 
vants made their appearance 
now and then, bringing theii 
tresses' small low chairs and 
carpets; for the Havana chu 
like the Catholic churches o 
European continent, have no 
These servants wore the mosl 
liant liveries, such as orange- 
indispensables, bright green 
coat, and red swallow-tail coa 
cibly reminding one of the p 
of the Cuban woods. A cot 
canary-colored suit, surmountc 
a round, woolly, black head, pro 
a very droll effect. The little 
were placed and the little c 
spread wherever it was possib 
that the marble floor of the 
between the official seats was 
nearly covered, 'f he greater 
ber of ladies, however, had no c 
but knelt, sometimes tliree o; 
same carpet, during the whole < 
ceremony; that is, firom eigl 



Tk€ Holy-Week of 1869 in Havana. 



61 



tidve, only changing their posture 
occasionally to sitting on the ground, 
with their feet doubled up on one side. 

A little before eight o'clock, the 
hdies began to arrive. Each one, 
after she had knelt down and ar- 
nmged the folds of her voluminous 
trun to her satisfaction, dotted her- 
idf over rapidly with a great number 
of fitde crosses, and ended by kissing 
kr thumb. This ungracefld perfor- 
mance is only a hasty, careless way of 
making the three signs taught by the 
dmrch, which ought to be done thus: 
The thumb of the right hand is placed 
across the middle of the index, to re- 
piesent the cross. The first sign is 
then made with it on the forehead, 
hr la seHal de la Santa Cruz— ''By 
the sign of the holy cross;'' the se- 
cond on the mouth, JDe nuestros 
aemiffff — ^''From our enemies;" the 
third on the heart. Libra nos^ SehoTy 
£n ntusiro — " Deliver us. Lord, our 
God" The sign as it is made usu- 
ally with us, and a kiss on the cross 
represented by the thumb and index, 
temiinate this Spanish process of 
Uessing one's self. 

The toilettes of some of the fair 
Sjpanish and Cuban ladies present on 
this occasion were of rich black silk, 
widi a black lace mantilla over the 
bead, half shading the face and shoul- 
ders. There was an elegant simplici- 
ty in this costume that seemed to me 
to make it fit to be adopted in all 
countries as a dress for public worship. 
Bat the great majority were attired in 
showy, expensive materials, quite de- 
TMd of taste, especially in the choice 
and harmony of colors. Black gre- 
ladme and lace dresses, with light 
bdts, were numerous ; satin stripes of 
the deepest orange color were worn 
by tall, idender, sallow damsels ; vert 
d*emij that delicate water-green which 
demands so imperiously the contrast 
of lilies and roses, was donned by a 
ttout dame, cffoleur de cafi au laity 



and one lady displayed an ample, 
sweeping robe of that bright hue the 
French call Bismark content^ which 
imparted an imear^hly lustre to her 
natural green tinge that made my 
flesh creep. Lace mantillas over the 
head were universal. Most were 
black; but some young girls wore 
white ones, fastened to their hair 
with a bunch of rose-buds. There 
were a great many blue silk bodices, 
of the style affected by Swiss mai- 
dens; and I remarked that the fat 
ladies were very partial to low dress- 
es and short sleeves, with handsome 
necklaces and bracelets. No one 
wore gloves, and every one carried a 
fan. 

There was a great majority of ex- 
pressive, intelligent faces among these 
belles, and there were plenty of large 
black eyes, some very beautiful ; and 
there were pretty lips, which disclosed 
with every smile two even rows of 
pearly teeth; but there was also a 
total absence of that fresh, healthy 
look which, when united to youth, 
constitutes beauty, whatever be the 
shape of the features, and without 
which no woman can be truly lovely. 
As I contemplated, from my some- 
what high bench, the colorless cheeks 
of the maidens, and the sallow, with- 
ered skins of the matrons kneeling on 
the marble floor before me, I remem- 
bered the temperate zone with heart- 
sick longing. " It seems," thought I, 
" very delightful, when one reads of 
it, to inhabit a clime where the trees 
are ever green, and the flowers in per- 
petual bloom; where snow and ice 
are unknown ; but look at these pal- 
hd girls and their faded mothers — 
poor, enervated victims of continual 
heat ! And oh ! the many physical 
miseries arising fix>m want of active 
exercise, and the sluggish torpor that 
seems to invade the soul as well as 
the body." And then the days long 
gone by came back to me ; the days 



61 



Tkt Hilly- Wtti «/ 1869 m JtaniHa. 



I 



when "life went a-Maying with na- 
ture, hope, and poesy ;" the days 
when I was young, " How I pity 
you," I murmured, " pale Cuban 
girls, who have never run free in the 
daisied meadows to gather spring vi- 
olets and primroses; who have never 
rambled with laughing youths and 
maidens in the leafy woods of sum- 
mer, or sported among the dried fallen 
leaves in the cool, bright days of au- 
tumn, or made one in a meny evening 
party around the sparkling, crackling, 
glowing winter fire 1" 

A startling yelp, accompanied by 
the whistling sound of a well-applied 
whip, recalled my wandering thoughts. 
Thejvrr^o, in the exercise of his du- 
ties, was ejecting a recalcitrant dog, 
which had contrived to reach the 
chancel unobserved. Tliis function- 
ary, the perrtro — anglki, dog-man — 
is peculiar to the cathedral. In all 
the other churches of Havana, the 
faithful arc constantly grieved by liie 
unseemly spectacle of dogs roaming 
at will within the sacred precincts, 
even on the very steps of the al- 
tar. The perrtro is distinguished by 
a dark blue serge robe, descending to 
his feet, and very much resembling 
a gendeman's dressing-gown in fonn. 
Around his neck he wears, as a finish, 
a wide white frill. He carries, con- 
cealed in the folds of this unpretend- 
ing and rather unbecoming costume, 
a serviceable cowhide, which he uses 
with a will upon all canine intruders; 
and if he can, he concludes his ad- 
monishment with a kick, it being ge- 
nerally believed that a dog which has 
received this final humiliation eschews 
the cathedral for the rest of his days. 

In the mean time, a considerable 
number of persons had assembled 
in the church, and the preparations 
for the blessing of the palms were 
completed. The highly omanicnied 
brandies had been brought in, piled 
up on great trays.; the bishop's pas- 



toral crook had been placed Iq 
against his throne, and the v% 
pers were lighted. The clcrgj^ 
lening in procession to the greal 
tral door, which was presently th 
wide open, letting in a flood of 
and warm air, announced the a 
of the prelate. It was rather dil 
to make a passage for him up t 
altar ; for some good nuns had i 
with a shoal of little girls, wha 
been arranged so as to fill up i 
interstice left by the occupants « 
chairs and carpets; but It was. 
at last, and he advanced slowlj 
with great dignity up the nave, I 
ing all as he passed. 

The prelate had scarcely taka 
seat under the dais, when the c 
opening wide aga'ui, gave entras 
the grandees, the municipality, 
a number of military and civil 
tionaries. They were ushered t 
places assigned to them by four] 
bearers, habited in the Spanish i 
bearing costume of three hm 
years ago, and much resemblii 
general appearance the trcmej 
Queen Elizabeth's beef-eaters, 
seemed to my childish eyes the 
wonderful sight in the Tower of 
don. They wore loose red » 
tunics, trimmed with gold lac« 
fringe; the castles of Castile 
embroidered on the breast, anc 
lions of Leon adorned the sle 
an immense double ruft arouiu 
throat; big, high, black boots 
buckskin small-clothes, and a " 
brimmed hat turned up on one 
with a red and yellow feather, 
pletcd the costume. ' 

The military and civil officers, 
in full uniform, wearing their 
and decorations; the noblemeo 
gcntk-men in evening dress, aiK 
playing on their breasts numerou 
bons and brilliant stars. They 
nearly all venerable-looking, gray 
cd men, with that pensive, digi 



Tk» H9ly-W«de of 1869 in HavMO. 



63 



^vity of daneanor peculiar to the 
Sjpaniard. 

The religious ceremony now began. 
The palm-branches blessed were all 
curiously plaited and lopped, until 
they were but little more than a yard 
high, only two or three small leaves 
bong left at the top. They were or- 
Dunented wiA bows of bright-colored 
libbons, bunches of artificial flowers, 
and gold and silver tinsel butterflies. 
Hiat intended for the prelate was co- 
vered with elegant gold devices and 
arabesques. Each of the grandees in 
tnm ascended the steps of the altar, 
and, kneeling, received one fipom the 
bishop, whose hand he kissed, and 
dien retired. When all had been dis- 
tibuted, the procession was formed; 
hot I must confess that it disappoint- 
ed me exceedingly. I had expected 
to see a grove of green, waving palms 
moving along amidst the hosannas of 
the multitude; but, as it was, all de- 
votional and picturesque efiect was 
totally wanting. I have since been 
toki that in the poorer churches, 
which cannot aflbrd to buy the plait- 
ed, lopped, and gilded sticks that the 
bad taste of the people prefer, the 
ample branch, so exquisitely grace- 
fiil, is perforce adopted, and the pro- 
cession, consequendy, a very pretty 
aght 

Id the cathedral, the whole ceremo- 
ny was cold and unimposing. There 
vas no summons from the outside, 
with response from within. There 
was no triumphal burst from the or- 
gan when the Victor over sin and 
death made kis entry ; no anthem to 
remind os how the chosen will be 
vdcomed to heaven. The proces- 
S0& descended by the southern wing, 
and went out into the church porch, 
adiere the psalms appointed were 
nng; the great central door was 
tiien opened, and it returned up the 
nave to tiie altar. 
The mass followed, and the bishop 



delivered a short sermon. His voice 
was very agreeable, and his manner 
impressive. 

As soon as the service concluded, 
every one hastened away. There 
were no loiterers — ^not even to see the 
prelate leave the cathedral, which he 
did on foot, his violet silk train home 
by one of the priests. It is, however, 
but just to remark — ^if excuse be need- 
ed for the haste with which the church 
was cleared — that it was twelve 
o'clock, and no one had breakfasted. 
I was pleased to meet a friend at 
the door, who insisted on my going 
home with her, and I gratefully ac- 
cepted the invitation ; for I felt tired 
and faint. We accordingly got into 
her guUriUy and in a few minutes 
reached the welcome door. 

The quUriny iht private conveyance 
of Cuba, and an improvement on 
the well-known volante^ is a carriage 
somewhat resembling the victoria, 
but with two immense wheels ; it is 
swung, too, so easily that a person 
not accustomed to the vehicle finds it 
difficult to enter. The shafts are ex- 
ceedingly long, and the horse in them 
trots, while a second horse, upon 
which the calesero rides, canters. This 
second horse is attached to the car- 
riage by long traces at the left side, 
and a little ahead of the shaft-horse. 
The effect produced by the different 
paces of the animals is very curious. 

The calesero^ or driver, is always a 
colored man ; he is usually dressed in 
a blue jacket, (though green, yellow, 
and red are not unfrequent,) white 
drill waistcoat and trowsers, and high 
black leathem leggings, hollowed out 
under the knee and standing up stiff^ 
above it, resembling, in fact, the great 
boots worn by French postilions, mi- 
nus the feet. These leggings are fris- 
tened down the sides with straps and 
silver buckles, and ornamented with 
large silver plates. No stockings, but 
low-cut shoes, leS^ring visible the 



Tht Hoiy-Week o/ 1S69 in Havana. 



naked instep, heavy silver spuis and 
a stove-pipe hat, and the ca/esen is 
considered an elegant turn-out. 

The breakfast was waiting ; a Cre- 
ole one, composed of soup made of 
the water in which beef-bones, and 
especially beef knee-caps, had been 
boiled, flavored with onions tried in 
lard; of vaea /Hla—fntA covr—WixW 
pieces of beef of aii shapes, fried also 
in lard ; of rvpa vifja — old clothes — 
slices of cold meat warmed up with 
sauce J of ap<n-eado — beef torn into 
shreds of an inch and a half long and 
stewed with a little tomato, green 
peppers, garlic, and onions, (this dish 
looks very like boiled twine ;) oi pica- 
dillo — meat minced as fine as possible 
and scrambled in eggs, chopped on- 
ions and peppers; of rice cooked with 
little pieces of fat pork and colored 
with saflfron ; of very nice pork-chops, 
the best meat in Cuba, and very dif- 
ferent and far superior to Northern 
pork; of boiled _j'wrfi7, and ripe plan- 
tains, very delicious to the taste, re- 
sembling in flavor a well-made apple 
charlotte. The bread was very good, 
and more baked than it usually is in 
the United States. Claret and water 
was the general beverage, and the 
meal finished with a cup of hot cof- 
fee enriched with creamy milk, boiled 
wUhout the salt and aniseed that Cre- 
oles almost invariably put into it. We 
were waited on at table by two admi- 
rably-trained Chinese, a people much 
and justly esteemed in Havana as 
house-servants and cooks. 

It was nearly three o'clock when I 
at last reached home ; but not until 
the next day did I hear of the four 
unfortunate men shot that afternoon 
in the streets, during the embarkation 
of the two hundred and fifty political 
prisoners for Fernando Po. 

THE TENEBtt^e. 

The following Wednesday morning. 



I reached the cathedral just as tlw 
gospel was commenced. At the ooq 
elusion of the mass the service of thi 
Tenebra was very impressively chan 
ed. As I listened, my heart realize 
all the grief and desolation of thH 
sad time. I could hear David tx 
wailing his outraged Lord and So* 
Jeremias lamenting over the ruins q 
Jerusalem, over the crucified Victifll 
dear mother church calling her cliil| 
ren to repentance in supplicating, tcM 
der strains; and the three devotq 
Marys sighing and weeping as tbig 
climbed the sleep of CaJvary amoq 
the crowd that followed our blesM| 
Saviour to the cross. At the terai 
nation of this mournful music, just a 
the confused murmur tliat recaUOj 
the noise of the tumultuous mas^ 
who, led on by Judas, came aimQl 
with sticks to seize Jesus, died awaf 
a number of priests, completely enva 
loped in ample black silk robes w^ 
long pointed trains, their faces entirt 
ly concealed beneath high-peaket 
black silk hoods, advanced to thi 
front of the altar and knelt in a roq 
on the step before it. After a short 
whispered prayer, one of them arosQ 
and taking the black banner with thl 
blood-red cross, which I have alrea^ 
mentioned, waved it for several i 
nutes in silence over his companion^ 
while ihey prostrated themselves on 
their faces before the altar. It is is 
possible to imagine a scene more b 
gubrious; the black-robed figures 1] 
ing motionless, the mysterious hoo^ 
ed form that seemed to tower aboi 
them, the sinister flag, the deep 1 
lence — all contributed to inspire 4 
sentiment of undeflnable fear. Sveqj 
one present knelt, and in unbrokai 
silence the black banner was wavfl^ 
over us. When we raised our heodl 
the sombre assembly had disappeared 
and the chancel was empty. 

This, I was lold, is a ceremonj 
that has been handed down from the 



Tke Holy- Week of 1869 in Havana. 



65 



time of tbc primitive Christians of 
Rome ; but no one was able to ex- 
plain the meaning of it to my satis- 
Action. 

MAUNDY-THURSDAY. 

Maundy-Thursday found me bright 
and early in the cathedral, and well 
placed ; for I was again just opposite 
the seats reserved for the captain- 
general and the governor, and just 
bdiind those intended for the milita- 
ry and civil officers. 

With the exception of the bishop's 
dais, throne, reading-desk, and cush- 
ion, which were now of white damask 
aod gold, every thing was the same 
as on Pahn-Sunday. But the great 
white curtain had been removed from 
before the southern transept, and there 
was now to be seen a magnificent 
golden sepulchre, under a white and 
gilded dome supported by columns. 
The statue of a kneeling angel adorn- 
ed each side of this monument, to 
which the officiating priest ascended 
by six carpeted steps. Innumerable 
wax tapers in silver candlesticks were 
arranged on each side, their soft light 
reflected by the silver and gold dra- 
poy that lined the vault. 

As on Palm-Sunday, the floor of 
the nave was soon covered with car- 
pets and little chairs, all occupied an 
hour before the mass began by wo- 
men and children, white and colored, 
of every social grade, from the deli- 
cate marchioness to the coarse black 
cook. Not even the most elegant 
Wy present seemed in the slightest 
degree annoyed by being elbowed, 
and her satin dress rumpled, by some 
pushing, saucy morenay (colored wo- 
man,) who planted her chair or stool 
jost where she could contrive to 
squeeze it in, with the most perfect 
assurance that no one would question 
Her right to do so. I remarked, too, 
6at in the crowd of men who stood 
in the aisles, the whites and blacks, 

VOL. XI. — s 



the rich and the poor, were on the 
same terms and actmg in precisely 
the same manner toward one another; 
and I felt convinced that nowhere 
on earth was such social equaUty to 
be met with as I witnessed in the 
cathedral church of Havana. 

I was admiring this absence of all 
invidious distinctions in the house of 
God, and rejoicing in the thought 
that here, at least, the master had to 
confess himself weak and humble as 
the slave, the rich powerless as the 
poor, when two men forced room for 
themselves on my bench and by my 
side. One had the look of a low grog- 
shop keeper, the other of a whining 
street-beggar ; both were shockingly, 
disgustingly filthy ; both snorted and 
spat in the most frightful maimer, and 
in the discomfort they caused me, I 
arrived at the conclusion that all men 
are equal — ^yes, eoccept the clean and 
the dirty; and I fretted and fumed 
against the church officials who thus 
abandoned the faithful washed to the 
inroads of the faithless unwashed. 
Faithless unwashed ! — ^it is written wit- 
tingly; for I cannot credit that piety 
will exist with filthiness of its own 
free will. No, sin and dirt are too 
often bosom friends ; but cleanliness 
goes hand in hand with godliness. 

I had, however, to bear and for- 
bear with my unpleasant neighbors, 
whose propinquity induced a train of 
thoughts somewhat at variance with 
the solemnity I had come to witness. 
I remembered, among other discrep- 
ant subjects, the nickname given to the 
Spaniards by the ^Cubans, Patones — 
" Big-Feet" — which appellation has 
frequently been used in skirmishes be- 
tween the insurgents and the Spanish 
troops as a battle-cry. Viva Cuba, 
y mueren los Patones f " Long hve 
Cuba, and death to the Big-Feet I" 
the rebels would shout, and the sol- 
diers, very naturally enraged at a per- 
sonal defect being alluded to in such 



66 



The Holy-Week of 1869 in Havana. 



terms, would fight like insulted he- 
roes. So 1 improved this opportunity, 
having a long row of Spaniards before 
nie, to examine their lower extremi- 
ties and judge for myself what truth 
there was in the discourteous designa- 
tion, After a careful and impartial 
investigation, I believe that I can say 
with justice that, though they do not 
possess the exquisitely- formed, fairy- 
like little feet with which every Cu- 
ban, male and female, trips into this 
world, they yet cannot be accused of 
having large or clumsy ones. Most 
ftf the Spanish feet I saw were ccr- 
[ lainty much smaller than those of the 
English or Germans, resembling, per- 
l haps, those of the French. 

The toilettes of the ladies were 
! fcveti more ball-Uke than on Palm-Sun- 
[ ^y; nearly everyone wore low-neck- 
I addresses and short sleeves, and many 
I White kid gloves, Rose-colored, pale 
I'-Uue, yellow, and white silk robes trim- 
JIBed with lace and a multitude of 
Kbows, andsometimes disfigured by pre- 
rjkfwterous paniers, were general. The 
T llair was artistically dressed and adorn- 
L ■ed with flowers, golden fillets, and 
r bright ribbons, and the white or black 
[ lace mantilla thrown over the head 
s as small and transparent as possi- 
[ We. 

a quarter past eight, the bishop 
[ trrived with a numerous suite of cler- 
k gy: as on Sunday, it was with difficulty 
f fee made his way through the sitting, 
\ Icneeling, becrinoUneil. and belrained 
l^lorowd that encumbered the centre of 
e church. 
Very shortly after, a flourish of 
himpcts outside announced the coin- 
ing of the captain-generaL The great 
r floor was again thrown open, and he 
»*t«ered, preceded by the mace-bear- 
«s, and attended by Seftor Don Dio- 
nisio Lopez Roberts, superior poli- 
tical governor of Havana, and a bril- 
liant corlige of noblemen, gentlemen, 
and military and civil chiefs. When 



all were sealed, the scene as v 
from my bench was very strikiOi 
The resplendent sepulchre ; the tl" 
min.ited altar, at which the mic 
prelate and his assistant priests w 
officiating, all robed in white and gold 
the long row of handsome unifor 
on each side of the nave; the g 
parterre of fair ladies, and the croM 
of spectators of every shade of col 
from white to black that filled t' 
spaces between the massive pillars ai 
served as a background, all contrib 
ted to form a whole most |)ictui 
and unique. 

The beautiful service of Maun^ 
Thursday now commenced ; 
the celebration of it, the ceremony 
blessing tiie holy oils was perforraarf 
and when the Gloria in exi^lsii w: 
chanted, the bell was rung fur the U 
time until Holy Saturday. At the d 
vation, I heard the silver staff of ^ 
periigtiere resound several times up( 
the pavement The pertig,uero is, lil| 
the perrero, a functionary peculiar | 
the cathedral ; his duty is to cnfon 
iiiee/ing at ihe elevation on all sum 
ers visiting that church at the momei 
He carries a long silver stafl^, called 
p^'iii^ir, which he strikes with a dai 
upon the marble floor when he p< 
ccives any one inattentive to thesliii 
rule of the church — prostration in p 
sence of the host 

After the mass, the blessed saa 
ment was carried in solemn processl 
to the sepulchre, the captain-genea 
and the governor bearing the bar 
of the j^'^itits Dei, and all the gi 
dees and municipality joining in | 
The staves and cross-rods of l" 
banner and of the magnificent d 
held over the holy sacrament were 1 
of silver, and appeared to be vo 
heavy. The host was deposited i 
the sepulchre, which was then loclte 
and the golden key fastened to,, 
chain suspended by the bishop aroui 
the neck of the captain- general, to b 



Tike Holy-Week of 1869 in Havana^ 



67 



iicmght back to the church by him 
QD Good-Friday. The beautiful hymn. 
Bulge Bngua, was sung y&rf sweetly 
the whole time ; the Latin, wMch seems 
so hard and harsh in our English 
pronunciation, sounding very grand 
and harmonious in these Spanish 

IDOUthS. 

The church cleared very rapidly af- 
ter the mass ; and when the last car- 
nage had conveyed its last occupant 
home, no vehicle of any kind was per- 
mitted to pass through the streets of 
Havana. The soldiers row carried 
tbdr arms reversed, and all Spanish 
flags were at half-mast The city was 
in mourning. 

I was taken possession of by some 
kmd friends as I left the cathedral, and 
accompanied them to their house close 
bjr, where we found a welcome break- 
te awaiting us. It consisted of fish 
and vegetables. We commenced with 
turtle-soup ; but not of the kind so lov- 
ed by Cockney aldermen, redolent of 
spio^ force-meat balls and luscious 
gicen fint ; this was an orthodox mea- 
gre soup, incapable of doing harm. 
Then came a nice fried fish called 
fM mkia — ^red tail, and fiied lobster, 
aU hot, which, however, I did not like 
as wen as boiled lobster cold with a 
nayennaise sauce. To these succeed- 
ed dirimp firitters, roast turde, and a 
very delicate fish, the pargo^ the best 
ia these seas, and sometimes caught as 
large as a large salmon, which it is 
not unlike in form. Our vegetables 
were white rice, eaten with black 
Uexican beans stewed ; yam, yucca, 
and slices of green plantain fried of 
a fine gold color, and very delicious. 
Good bread, excellent claret, and na- 
tire coffee with an aroma resembling 
that of the best Mocha, completed this 
agreeabie repast, which had been en- 
evened by the pleasant conversation 
of an intelligent, generous-hearted 
Spaniard, and the smiles and jests of 
his pretty Cuban wife and children. 



Breakfast over, my fiiend Papilla 
and I, with the two eldest girls, Do- 
lores and Luisita, sallied forth into 
the silent streets to visit some of the 
churches, previous to attending the 
ceremony of the Lavatoria — Avasliing 
of feet — ^which was to be performed 
in the cathedral at three o'dock. 

The quaint old church of San yuan 
de Dios was the first we entered. Its 
floor of hard-beaten earth was en- 
cumbered with kneeling worshippers, 
mostly colored, in earnest prayer be- 
fore a figiue as large as Ufe, repre- 
senting our blessed Saviour dressed 
in a dark purple velvet robe, embroi- 
dered with gold; his hands tied to- 
gether with a rope ; his head crown- 
ed with a gilded crown of thorns. 
Long black ringlets of shiny hair 
shaded his emaciated cheeks and fell 
far down on his shoulders behind. 

The high altar, which is a curious 
work of bad taste, decorated with 
little carved wooden angels wearing 
black Hessian boots, was screened by 
hangings of gold and silver tinsel; 
and a gilded sepulchre, surrounded 
by a great number of wax tapers, to 
be lighted in the evening, was pkv^d 
in front of it 

As we came out of the poor litde 
church, a dirty negro boy, followed 
by a dozen others, ran by us in the 
street, making a great noise with a 
matraca^ to the delight of his suite. 
This matraca is a piece of wood about 
eighteen inches long and ten wide; 
on each side of it are affixed one or 
two thick iron wires of the usual size 
and shape of those old-fashioned me- 
tal handles to drawers and trunks, 
which always used to slip out of their 
sockets when one gave a strong pull. 
When the instrument is shaken, these 
rattie against the wood, and in the 
hands of an adept, and all colored 
boys are such, made a terrible clatter. 
From the Gloria on Maundy-Thurs- 
diy until the Gloria on Holy Satur- 



The Holy-Weel ^1869 in Havana. 



day, matracas are employed instead 
of bells and clocks, and boys from the 
churches run tlirough the streets with 
them, to announce each hour of the 

The sepuichrc at San Felipe, a 
church whose interior is remarkable 
for its air of bright cleanliness, was 
very tastefully arranged with (lowers 
and tapeis, and promised to look very 
brilliant when lighted up. There also 
was an image of our Saviour similar 
to that we had just seen. 

At Santo Domiiiffi, a large, hand- 
some edifice, we found a magnificent 
sepulchre, in severer taste than the 
two we had visited. In one of the 
aisles, also, there was a group large 
as life, and painfully life-like. It re- 
presented our blessed Lord on the 
cross, the blood streaming from his 
nose and down his pale, thin cheeks 
fiom the wounds inflicted by the cniel 
thorns of his crown; a ghastly gash 
in his side; his hands torn by tlie 
dreadful nails ; his wrists bruised and 
rut by the cords with which he had 
been bound; his knees so horribly 
scarified by being dragged over ttje 
rough ground that the bones of the 
joints were visible; his feet mangled, 
his whole body cut and scratched 
and discolored by stones and blows. 
At the foot of the cross stood the 
holy Virgin, tearless, but with so 
heart-broken an expression that to 
look at her was to weep. St. Mary 
Magdalen, her face pale, her eyes 
swollen and red, was kneeling near 
her. I could not bear the sight of 
this agony, and turned away, saying 
10 myself, " Yes, it must have been 
like this !" 

In each of these three churches a 
nun was sitting at a small table with 
a tray before her, to collect the cliari- 
table, voluntary offerings of visitors. 
I'his was the first time I had seen 
the slightest approach to money-ask- 



ing in the Cuban churches. During 
the rest of the year there never a 
collections of any kind made in theiBr 
Nevertheless, the ladies of HavaaE 
are very ready to contribute, and t 
contribute liberally toward all rt 
gious and charitable purposes; b 
privately, not publicly. Indeed, bod( 
Spaniards and Cubans are remark*! 
bly compassionate and generous t 
the begging poor, whom they gentf 
style Fhrdiosfros — "For-God-sakere; 
and whom they never send haTstil| 
away when unpleasantly importunel 
or unable to give, as we Anglo-Si 
ons so often do; but refuse with 
soft Rrdonf, for Dios, hfrmana^. 
" Pardon me, for God's sake, brother^ 
or, Urilone, por Dios, hermanita- 
" Pardon me, for God's sake, litt! 

It was now time to return to tli 
cathedral to secure places to see tfa 
Lavaiorio. We found but few pa 
sons there yet, and consequently ha^ 
a choice of seats. Some colored me 
were busy placing an image of « 
Saviour, similar to that we had see 
in the church of San ytum de JXa 
on one of the altars in the southa 
aisle, and it was touching to see tt 
veneration and love with which oql 
or other of them would raise fixM 
time to time a ringlet of the shin] 
black hair and kiss it. 

Just before three o'clock two loii{ 
bendies were set on the epistle sid 
of the altar, and presently a laigl 
number of youths, attired in dad 
red robes, entered the chancel — sta 
dents fi'om the Stminario de San Cm 
las, the theological college attached tl 
the calhcdraJ. 

The beautiful anthem that is chaiK 
ed during the ceremony of the was)] 
ing of feet, Mamiatum nirvum do zvH 
" A new command I give unto you,' 
contains the distinctive precept of OO 
pure and holy religion, " Love one ti 



Tkg HaljhWeek of 1869 in Havana. 



69 



;** and I could not help thinking, 
the Bishop of Havana girded 
IT with a linen napkin and knelt 
ly to do his lowly task, that he 
i as if it were to him a real 
of love, so charitable an ex- 
3Q was there in his eyes, such 
ible grace in his manner. He 
sisted by several priests, one of 
I carried a large silver basin, an- 
a silver ewer full of water. The 
was poured over one foot only ; 
relate knelt as he wiped it, and 
kissing it, rose and passed to 
ot of the next boy, and so on. 
all were washed and wiped, the 
>y looking heated and tired, re- 
I the white and gold chasuble 
d laid aside, and, crowned with 
itre, took his seat in front of 
igh altar, surrounded by his 

t sermon then commenced ; the 
t was, as always on this day, 
stitution of the holy eucharist. 
preacher was a rather young 
^f agreeable aspect, earnest in 
e and manner. His voice was 
md dear, and the magnificent 
h language resounded in har- 
us and eloquent periods tlirough 
ulted nave. I remembered, as 
aed admiringly, the old Spanish 
that theirs is the tongue in 
the Almighty can be least 
thily addressed, and it did not 
to me so vain and unmeaning 
ace deemed it. 

h the conclusion of the sermon, 
joy and love that had marked 
st part of the services of Holy 
lay disappeared, and grief and 
ing now began again. Ves- 
nd the TenebrcR were chanted, 
en the faithful withdrew. 



In the evening all the inhabitants 
of Havana poured into the streets : 
the captain-general, attended by his 
staflf; the bishop, followed by his cler- 
gy ; the governor and the municipa- 
lity; the various corporations; large 
family parties, and bands of young 
men and boys; all went from one 
illuminated church to another, seven 
being the prescribed number, to kneel 
before the splendid sepulchres, and 
pray with more or less devotion. And 
having accomplished this duty, all 
adjourned to the Plaza de ArmaSj a 
handsome square, on one side of 
which is the palace of the captain- 
general, for the retreia; that is, to 
promenade while they listened to the 
military band, which played some sa- 
cred music very finely, and to eat 
ices, the pious taking care that theirs 
were water-ices. 

The brilliant moon of the tropics 
lighted up the scene, making all visi- 
ble as in the day, but with softer 
tones ; beneath her beams the beau- 
tiful eyes of the ladies seemed of a 
more velvety black, and their white 
teeth glistened whiter between their 
smiling lips. A gentle breeze, laden 
with the sweet odors peculiar to night 
in Cuba, sighed in the leafy boughs 
of the Laurel de Lidia, and all seem- 
ed to me peace and good-will among 
men, imtil I overheard one Creole 
lady say to another, " Your husband 
was a Spaniard, I believe ?" 

" I have been the wife of two Spa- 
niards," replied the Cubana ; " but I 
am happy to say that I have buried 
them both !" 

So I returned to my home deeply 
meditating on the loveliness of nature 
and the perversity of mankind. 



yo Goulds Origin and Devdopment of Religious Bdief. 



GOULD'S ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGIOl 
BELIEF. ' 



JGIOW 



In this book ihe author considers 
what are the natural religious wants 
of man's soul ; he shows how these 
cravings have given birth to vari- 
ous religious systems; he considers 
to what extent these systems are ca- 
pable of satbfying man's moral na- 
ture, including in this survey every 
ancient and modem belief except 
Cliristianity ; and proves that they 

, Tiave all failed in a greater or less de- 
'gree. In a second volume he intends 
If' to show how that Christianity by 
"Its fundamental postulate — the Incar- 
f'tation — assumes to meet all these in- 
.Btincts^ how it actually docs so meet 

f 'them; and how failure is due to 
L|coiinteracting political or social cau- 
les." (P. 6.) 
In other words, we have here a 

Ijtiealisc on religion from the & priori, 

Tjaiionalistic or philosophic stand-point 
e work is done as well as we could 

J^pect from a non-Calholic author. 

|TBut like most other books of the 

I 'same stamp, written by those outside 
of the church, it contains many errors 
and false staiemcnls of facts. As it 
has attracted no little attention, and 
may be considered as a type of a 
large class, we will give some quota- 
tions from it, to show how cautiously 
these books arc to be read, and how 
litde confidence can be placed in 
iheir assertions. 

In his preface, the author saj-s 
that,besidcs the historical revelation, 
" AVe have a revelation in our own 
nature. ... On this revelation the 
church of the future must esUblish 

• Tlu Orifim and DtnjBtmnl ^ Ktligin' Sr- 
lir/. BtS. Dirinc-Csuld. M.A.. luihcrof CWn«M 
ifylii tfllu MidJlt A [It. Thi SilrrrSttrt, etc 




its claims to acceptance." (P. 6.) 
Christ was God, as we firmly 1 
lieve, or even an inspired teadi 
sent by God, the first and only thi 
necessary is to know ■u'/iat he t 
We must examine extrinsic e 
which bears on the inspiration, : 
ticity, and genuineness of the histd 
ca] documents in which his t 
is contained. Intrinsic evidence 4| 
rived from the examination of dj 
teaching, and tlie consideration of I 
complete harmony with man's spa 
tual nature, must be assigned a a 
cond, not a first place. 

In the following pa.ssages, 
are certainly not a little ridiculot 
we have naturalism and raaterialias 

" Mysticism is produced by the comh 
linn or the graj voscul^ matler ia the idl 
sorium — ilie ihalami'opiici and the corpM 
striata." (P. 355.) 

" Prayer is l liberation of force. 
the emotions are excilcd, rapid coml 
of 'nervous tisiue ensues, and the 
ih3t inevitably Ibllows lu da something' 
llic signal thai an amount of power hu Hi 
genemied, and equilibrium is disttwbedJ 
<!■■ 3S7-) 

" Pantheism," we are told, p. ag>, 
"is the philosophy of reason — of «*• 
son, it may be, in its impotenc^ 
(most assuredly !) " but of such MasOK 
as man is gifted with here." 

On page 319, speaking of Klfl 
he says, " All the arguments advab 
eii by metaphysicians to prove d 
existence of God crumbled into 
beneath his touch." The truth is pii 
cisely the opposite. Kant has " 
bled into dust," and " all the 
ments adduced by metaphysicians M 
prove the existence of God 
as unshaken as before he was boni. 



'^ 



GimkCs Origin and Develepment of Religious Belief. yi 



We are told, on page 79, that the 
chief reason why all men have believ- 
ed in the immortality of the soul, is 
because they could not form even a 
conception of its annihilation. On 
the contrary, any one who has ever 
slept soundly can conceive its annihi- 
lation without any difficulty, though 
he might experience a good deal in 
endeavoring to picture to himself an 
existence without end The doctrine 
of the immortality of the soul, how- 
ever, even in philosophy, does not 
lest on any such weak arguments. 

That most wonderfiil fact of history, 
n which the finger of God evidently 
appears, namely, the preservation of 
the Jewish people and their belief for 
the past eighteen hundred years, in 
the face of causes which, according 
to every natural law, ought long ago 
to have destroyed both creed and na- 
tion, is accounted for (p. 205) simply 
bjr their possession of " the Talmud, 
which is a minute rule of life," etc. 
Oitdd/ y^udatis Apella. 

" A man of thought will not steal, 
because he knows he is violating a 
law of sciology." (P. 278.) Were all 
die men in the world " sciologists," and 
" men of thought," we would not be in 
the least inclined to trust our proper- 
ty to the slender protection afforded 
l^ a law of " sciology." 

Every native of the " Gem of the 
Ocean" will be delighted to learn 
that " The suffering Celt has his Brian 
fioioimhe, . . who will come again 
... to inaugurate a Fenian millen- 
xmun," (p. 407 ; ) and students of his- 
twy will be surprised to know that 

" Marie Antoinette was informed of the 
eiecation of Robespierre by a woman in the 
itreet below the prison putting stones in her 
ipron, and then, with her hand falling on 
them, scattering them on the ground. " (P. 
187.) 

Marie Antoinette was not alive 
when Robespierre was executed. The 



above incident occurred in the life of 
Josephine Beauhamais. 

On pages 133-134, we are told sub- 
stantially that for the first three or 
four centuries after Christ, God gov- 
erned the Christian world directly 1 
Then, for a time, through the priests 
alone ! Afterward, for several centu- 
ries, through kings alone 1 Now the 
whole Christian world is ruled solely 
by " the open Bible !" This is a good 
example of how most non-Catholic 
writers, when speaking of religion, are 
always ready to sacrifice historical 
truth for the sake of a generalization 
or a rhetorical flourish. 

" Its primitive organization (that is, 
of the church) was purely democratic. 
It recognized the right of the govern- 
ed to choose their governor." (P. 
201.) We never knew before that 
the people of Ephesus elected Timo- 
thy to be their ruler, or the people 
of Crete, Titus. We thought St. Paul 
appointed both of them, and that he 
told Timothy, "The things which 
thou hast heard from me before 
many witnesses, the same commend to 
faithful men who shall be fit to teach 
others also," (Epis. to Timothy ii. 2 ;) 
and that he wrote to Titus, ". . ordain 
priests in every city, as I also appoint- 
ed thee." (Epis. to Titus i. 5.) 

** When Hildebrand gathered up the reins 
of government in his powerful hand to trans- 
mit them to his successors, the ecclesiasti- 
cal elective primacy became an absolute su- 
premacy." (P. 201.) 

In the Arabian Nights, if any diffi- 
culty occurs to interfere with the plot 
of a story, genii or fairies are straight- 
way introduced, perform very coolly 
some astounding act, and presto / all 
goes smoothly again.^ So, when Pro- 
testant authors, in writing history, 
come across any fact that stands in 
the way of their preconceived anti- 
Catholic theories, and logic cannot 
remove it, they introduce "priest- 
craft," "Hildebrand," "the cimning 



I 



r 'Origin an^J. 

Jesuits." etc.; these prodigies sliou!- 
iler [lie difficulty, walk off with it, 
and then " it is all perfecily clear." 
" Priestcraft," for instance, invented 
the whole sacramental system and 
foisted it on the church, no one knows 
when,i{iliere,vr how. " Hildebrand" 
created the papal power. It did 
not exist before his time, " The cun- 
ning Jesuits" — ah! it would require 
more than a Thousand and One Ara- 
/tiait Nights to recount all the won- 
drous achievements of these mytho- 
logical characters. Their latest act 
has been the convocation of the pre- 
sent cecumenical council, which they 
rule with an iron hand. In fact, the 
editor of this magazine, who is a 
member of the council, has wnttcn to 
us privately that now their power and 
tyranny have become so great that 
when the council is in full session 
you have to ask a special permission 
of "the cunning Jesuits" if you de- 
sire la sneeze or even wink! {Isn't it 
awful, reader? But this, you know, 
is strictly eiiire nous. You mustn't 
mention it to any body on any con- 
sideration, unless, of course — as is not 
at all impossible — you should hereafter 
learn the same thing from the Atlan- 
tic Cable !) 

The saints of llie Catholic Church 
in modern times, we read, (p. 362,) 
" are ecstatics, crazy nuns, and senti- 
mental boys." Such, therefore, were 
Sts.AIphonsusLignori, Ignatius, Fran- 
cis Xavier, Vincent de Paul, Charies 
Borromeo, Francis of Sales, Theresa, 
Jane de Chantal, and the two Cathe- 
rines 1 AVell, we live to learn ! 

Mr. Gould, in order, it would ap- 
pear, to give an air of originality — or, 
more correctly, aboriginal ity — to his 
book, chooses to employ the term 
jdt/as signifying any representation of 
the Deily, (whether it receive divine 
worship or not,) even the intellectual 
conception or purely philosophic idea ! 
"IdoUtiy, then, b the outward ex- 



pression of the belief in a pel 
God." (P. 176.) According I 
new nomenclature, wc must st] 
Christians idolaters I 

" A fetish is a concentration c 
rit or deity upon one point." (P. 
So with sticks, stones, and soaki 
ranks the Sacred Host — the Cet 
fetish J 

"The attribution to the Dei 
wisdom and goodness is every 
as much anthropomorphosis ai 
attribution of limbs and passi 
(P. 175.) So all worshippers < 
Deity (for the impersonal " Gw 
pantiieism is simply no God a 
are aHihropoittorphists as wd 
" idolaters " ! 

The last remark we liave qi 
from the autlior is not true. Thi 
ahne is not the man ; neither \ 
body alone; but soul and bod 
gether. Whoever, therefore, 
butes to God only the spiritual 
buies of man, cannot be pre 
termed an anihropomorphist. I 
case, however, we most dccii 
object to any one's applying t 
cred things terms rendered oppi 
ous by long and cotrect usage, 
effect of such an act is to confus 
reader, and its tendency is to 
what is holy into contempt. Pe 
this was the author's intention. 

As might easily be supposed 
the foregoing examples, the writ* 
this book is one of the nineteenti 
tury iltuminati, and in favor of" 
strained freedom of thought," etc 
chief enemies of which are histt 
facts, sound logic, and common-s< 
We will now listen for a mo 
while, in good orthodox Prote 
fashion, he is " shouting the batd 
of freedom." 

" Saccrdolal despotism succecJed i 
middle ages in conctnlrating all powe 
consciences nnd intelligences in ibe 
of an order whose centre was in Rome.' 



G9$Ms Origin and Develaptnent of Religi&us Belief. 73 



«Tlie Reformation was a revolt against 
tbit oppressive despotism of the Roman 
tkeocracj which crushed the human intellect 
aid paralyzed freedom of action. " ( P* 1 39- ) 

"Under an infallible guide, regulating 
erery moral and theological item of his 
(man's) spiritual being, his mental faculties 
ut giTen him that they may be atrophied, 
like the eyes of the oyster, which, being use- 
kssin the sludge of its bed, are reabsorbed." 
(P. 140.) 

"Theocratic legislation hampers every 
man's action from the cradle to the grave. . . 
TTie Israelites are a case in point. They 
wtre tied down . . lest they should desert 
nonoihcism for idolatry. " (P. 204. ) 

"la a theocracy there is neither individu- 
ality, personality, nor originality. . . It 
has restrained independence, shackled com- 
merce, conventionalized art, mummified 
science, cramped literature, and stifled 
flwaght," etc (Pp. 207, 208.) 

What a pity that we poor "Ro- 
manists" are so "benighted," etc., 
etc, that we don't in the least appre- 
ciate these modem Solons, who seem 
to think that every one should be 
"progressive;" that is, spend his life 
m dragging himself out of one hum- 
bug only to fall into another; or, as 
the wise critic of 27i€ Nation put 
it a short time ago, in speaking of a 
story in The Catholic World, a 
young man ought to be like a ship^ 
and devote his existence to sailing 
about — on the boundless ocean, we 
suppose, of infidel nonsense ! ♦ 

Finally, we read, (pp. 138, 139,) 

"'Strange destiny, that of theology, to be 
condemned to be for ever attaching itself 
tothose systems which are crumbling away,' 
writes M. Maury ; * to be essentially hostile 
to ail science that is novel, and to all pro- 
gress!'" 

We shall only remark that, were re- 
ligion to spend her time in pinning 
htt faith to all the " novel," " scien- 



*'*A]id some indeed he 
■oae pft^hets and others 
pattors and teachers." 

** Thaiwtmay netn^w he 
fr*, and carrud about with 
b the wickedness of men, in 
lie in wait to deceive." (St. 
IT. II, 14.) 



gave to be apostles, and 
evangelists, and others 

CHILDRBM, tossed to and 
every wind 0/ doctrine^ 
craftiness by which they 
Paul to the Ephesiana, 



tific," "progressive" systems that 
spring up every day and straightway 
begin to crumble, even while these 
learned " sciologists " are tossing high 
their caps in air and shouting out in 
impressive chorus, " Where now is 
theology?" — ^it would, we think, be 
even stranger still. 

We have devoted this much space 
to showing up some of the falsehoods 
in this book because it is not all false 
nor all stupid ; it is a philosophic and, 
to some extent, a learned work ; it is 
written in a brilliant and attractive 
style. This class of works dazzle; 
but when written by non-Catholics, 
they are not to be trusted. Tlu only 
deep^ and, at the same time, sound scho- 
larship in the world is in the Catholic 
Church, Those who protest against 
her protest against the truth; even 
the most learned among them, on ma- 
ny most essential matters, are surpris- 
ingly ignorant; but what they want 
in knowledge they make up general- 
ly in flash rhetoric and humbug no- 
velty, and that suits this enlightened 
age just as well. 

Too many persons, however, when 
they see much that is true in a book, 
are inclined to believe it all true; 
and so with a considerable amount 
of food they will swallow a great deal 
of poison. This is a mistake. No 
author is ever wholly wrong. The 
falsest say many things that are true. 

To show how error and truth may 
be found side by side in the same 
work, we will give some quotations 
from our author in which his ideas 
are sufficiently, or even strikingly, cor- 
rect. 

He thus speaks of asceticism : 

•* From whatever motive an ascetic life is 
undertaken, the result is accumulation of 
force. The ascetic cuts himself off, as much 
as possible, from all means of liberating 
force. His voluntary celibacy and absti- 
nence from active work place at his disposal 
all that force which would be discharged by 
a man in the world in muscular action and 



I 



Gould's Ori^H and Dtvthpmmt of RtHgieus Bdirf. 



74 



io domestic afleciicm. ... Wiilidrnwul 
fmin sudely Jnleniirics Lis indiviijuality, 
and, unless the oiais formed ia his brain 
be such OS con excite his emotion, be 
becoRiei complelety self-centred. Bui if 
the object of his coateniplation be one which 
is raJculaied to draw out his afTeclions, the 
result is a coordinate accumulation of mental 
uid afTectioiioI power." (P. 348.) 

" Luther, a man of coarse and vi- 
gorous animalismf was no ascetic" 
(P- 35^-) 

1 he doctrine of Zwinglius, he tells 
us, was simply pantheism, and that of 
Calvin he considers undeserving the 
name of Christianity, 

"Alongside of MohuDincdanism must be 
placed a parallel development in Europe 
which, though nominally Chrisiinn, is in- 
trinsically dcistic. Conscioasly it was not 
so, hut logicBlly it was ; and in its evolution 
it proved a striking counterpart to Islom- 

" ZwingHui had taught Ihit God was in- 
finite essence, absolute being, (ri Esse.) 
The being of creatures, he said, was not 
opposed to the being of Cod, but was in 
uid by him. Not man only, but all crea- 
IMD, was of divine race. Nature was the 
force of God in action, and every thing is 
one. Sin he held to be the necessary conse- 
quence of the development of man, and to 
be, not a. disturbance of moral order, but 
the necessary proccsi in the development of 
mao, who has no frec-wilt. 

'■ Calvin's idea of God was quite as ahso- 
Inte as that formed by Zwinglius, but it was 
not so pantheistic, though he did not shrink 
from calling nature God. The Deity was 
to him the great autocrat, whose absolute 
will allotted to man his place in time and in 
etcmily. Beyond the pale of the church, 
he taught, there was no remission to be 
hoped for, nor any chance of *alva(ion; for 
the church was the number of the predes- 
tined, and God could not alter his decision 
without abrogating his divinity." (P. a66.) 

*' Heswept away Ihe sacramental system; 
if he held to Christianity, it was in name, 
not in theory, fur his doctrine excluded it as 
> necestary article. He deprived the alone- 
Dient of its efficacy and signifiouice, and he 
left the Incarnation unaccounted for, save 
by the absolnte decree of (he divine and ar- 
bitrary will which he worstiipped as God." 
(P. »67.) 

He thus spcaltsof the Reformadon 
suid of its canllnal principle : 



'• But what was ihe result of th 
malion ? The establishment of 
aiongsideof a Libhcal theocracy. Tl 
became the supreme head to order ■ 
heion is to consist of, how worship 
conducted, and what articles of faiti 
be believed." <P. 139.) 

"llie Scriptures were then asst 
be Ihe ultimate authority on doctr 
ethics ; they were supposed to coni 
things necessary to salvation, so liu 
soever is not read therein, nor amf 1 
ed iherehy, is not to be re(|mt«d 
man, tliat it be believed as an artid 
Itiith, or be thought requisite or oece 

"This mode of arresting modifici 
not, however, final, and cannot in iht 
of things be final; for, firstly, the 
eance of the terms in which the rei 
is couched must be subject to the nx 
flicling interpretations; and second 
authority of the revelation will be co« 
exposed to be questioned, and the g 
nrss of the documents to be dispatch 
W) 

Buddhism he calls the I^tesA 

of the East. 

" Its cold philosophy and thin • 
tions, however they might exercise I 
ulties of anchorites, have proved insu 
of themselves to arrest man in his cai 
passion and pursuit ; and the bold t 
mcnt of influencing the heart and regi 
the condoct of mankind by the ei 
decencies and the mutual dependent 
morality, unsustained by higher hopi 
proved in this instance an unrcdeemi 
bopd... f.il.,c." (P. 35J.) 

" In conRding all to the mere streuf 
the human intellect, and the enthu 
self-reUance and determination of the I 
heart, ii makes no provision for d 
against those powerful teroplatioos I 
which ordinary resolution must ^ve ' 
C1'-3S4-) 

"The mass of the population an 
foundly ignorant of, and utterly indil 
to, the tenets of their creed. , , . 
same results appear in Ihe phases of ! 
hhm beyond India,' says M. Hai 
■in the north of Asia and in C)un« i 
arrived at a sort of speculative sth 
which has not only arrested pn»e^ 
but which is self-destructive, and wH 
the end will completely ruin it.' It 
a religion but a philosophy. (P. 355.} 
'■This chMe resemblance seems 10 
been fell on first contact of Calvinisl 



Giml^s Origin and Development of Religious Belief. 75 



Baddliism ; for we find in 16S4 the Dutch 
government importing ai Us cwn expense 
BaddJusi smisstantsries from Arracan to Cey- 
loD to Oppose the progress of Catholicism." 

(P. 353.) 

He is not in line with those, so 
numerous in this age and country, 
who hold to the Chinese notion that 
intellectual and material progress is 
every thing. 

"On the whole, it will be found that the 
imoant of happiness in a race not highly 
driliEed is iar more general, and its sum to- 
tal bn higher, than that of an over-civilized 
nee. The rude and simple Swiss peasantry 
ire dioronghly happy, while in a large dty 
like LondoOy ^e uj^r stratum of society is 
engaged in nervous quest of pleasure which 
cfer eludes them, while the lower is plung- 
ed in misery. Besides, what is really meant 
by the progress of the species ? The only 
tangible superiority of a generation over 
that which has preceded it, appears to con- 
sist in its having within its reach a larger 
accamulation of scientific or literary mate- 
rials for thought, or a greater mastery over 
the forces of inanimate nature ; advantages 
not without their drawbacks, and at any 
rate of a somewhat superficial kind. Ge- 
nius is not progressive from age to age ; nor 
yet the practice, however it may be with the 
science, of moral excellence. And, as this 
progress of the species is only supposed, af- 
ter all, to be an improvement of its condi- 
tion during men's first lifetime, the belief — 
call it, if you will, but a dream— of a pro- 
kmged existence after death reduces the whole 
fn^ess to tnsiptificanee. There is morey 
even as regards quantity of sensation, in the 
sptriiuai well-being of one siu^e soul, with an 
existence thus continuous, than in the in- 
creased physical or intellectual prosperity, dur- 
ing one lifetime, of the entire human race,*^ 

(P. 59-^.) 

Nor does he appear to believe in 
the Protestant method of converting 
people, and causing them to " expe- 
rience religion." We read on page 
358 that, while Wesley was preaching 
at Bristol, 

***one, and another, and another," we are 
tdd, * sank to the earth. They dropped on 
every side as thunderstruck.' Men and wo- 
men by ' scores were sometimes strewed on 
the ground at once, insensible as dead men.' 
During a Methodist revival in Cornwall, 
four thousand people, it is computed, fell 



into convulsions. 'They remained during 
this condition so abstracted from every earth- 
ly thought, that they staid two, and some- 
times three days and nights together in the 
chapels, agitated all the time by spasmodic 
movements, and taking neither repose nor 
refreshment. The symptoms followed each 
other usually as follows : A sense of fiiint- 
ness and oppression, shrieks as if in the 
agony of death or the pains of labor, convul- 
sions of the muscles of the eyelids — the eyes 
being fixed and staring — and of the muscles 
of the neck, trunk, and arms ; sobbing re- 
spiration, tremors, and general agitation, 
and all sorts of strange gestures. When 
exhaustion came on, patients usually fainted, 
and remained stiff and motionless until their 
recovery.**' (P. 358.) 

Finally, in speaking of the " diverse 
forms of ceremonial expression," he 
says, • 

" Jacob leans on his staff to pray, Moses 
falls flat on his face, the Catholic bows his 
knee, and the Protestant settles himself if Uo a 
seat,'* (P. 114.) 

We don't know whetiier to prefer 
Protestant taste, or Feejee, or Hin- 
doo. 

** Thus, out of love to a mother, the Fee- 
jee eats her, and the European erects a 
mausoleum. The sentiment is the same, 
but the mode of exhibition is different." (P. 
115.) 

'*The Hindoo represents Brahm, the 
Great Absolute, absorbed in self-contempla- 
tion, as a man wrapped in a mantle, with 
his foot in his mouth, to symbolize his eter- 
nity and his self satisfaction, ' * ( P. 1 88. ) 

We remarked before that the au- 
thor of this book displa)rs considera- 
ble learning. Here is a specimen 
which gives some pleasant informa- 
tion about the old Saxon laws : 

"Three shillings were deemed sufficient 
compensation for a broken rib, while a fine 
of twenty shillings was inflicted for a dislo- 
cation of the shoulder. If a man cut off 
the foot or struck out the eye of another, he 
was compelled to make satisfaction with fifty 
shillings. Each tooth had its fixed price : 
for a front tooth, six shilling^ were demand- 
ed; for a canine tooth, four; and for a mo- 
lar, only one shilling ; the pain incurred by 
a loss of a double tooth, however, led King 
Alfred to alter this portion of the law, as 



76 



PUxnge Filia Siofu 



unjust, and he raised the price of a molar to 
fifteen shillings." (P. 364.) 

He thinks that the idea of com- 
pensation, which is here certainly clear- 
ly set forUi, gave rise to the religious 
idea of sacrifice. 

We will close with a favorable spe- 
cimen of his style. He thus describes 
Greece: 



i( 



Under a blue sky, in which the donds 
lie tranquil like lodged avalandies, in the 
midst of a twinkling sea, strewed with fiury 
groups of islands, is a little mulberry-leaf of 
land attached to a continental bough, a little 
land ribbed with mountain-chains of rough- 
hewn marble, veined with purple gorges, 
pierced with winding gulfs ; a land of vine- 
yards and olive-groves, where rosei bloom 
all the year, and where the pomegranate 



holds its glowing cheek to a sun that is neve 
shorn of its rays." (P. 148.) 

• We have given these quotations a 
length, partly because they are a littl 
remarkable as coming from such \ 
source, but chiefly to show that \ 
book may be excellent in some re 
spects, and nevertheless contain ver] 
many most false things. Our em 
will have been attained if we hav< 
shown that whatever comes from non 
Catholic pens, even the best, is not t 
be trusted^ whenever, directly or indi 
rectly, matters pertaining to philoso 
phy, Uieology, or ecclesiastical histor) 
are treated of. These books at best 
are half-blind guides; and such an 
never desirable, and generally dan 
gerous. 



PLANGE FILIA SION. 

Lone in the dreary wilderness, 

Meek, by the Spirit led. 
For forty days and forty nights, 

Our Saviour hungered. 

O night winds ! did ye fold your wings 

Ere, on that brow so pure. 
Ye roughly smote the uncovered head 

That all things did endure ? 

O rude winds! did ye on those eves 

Only the flowers fill ; 
Or, with the drops of night, his locks 

And sacred body chill ? 

He, the most lovely, most divine, 

So lost in love for us ! 
Our evil-starred, sin-stricken race. 

By him redeemed thus ! 

We hear the audacious tempter's words- 
Amazed, we hold om* breath; 

We follow hun, the Holy One, 
Sorrowful unto death 1 



Untying Gordian Knots. 

Thus, may we to the wilderness 

Close follow thee, dear Lord, 
These forty days and forty nights, 

Obedient to thy word : 

Renounce the world, and Satan's wiles, 

In blest retreat of prayer. 
Self-abnegation, vigilance, 

And find our Saviour there. 

For vain the sackcloth, ashes, fast, 

In vain retreat in prayer, 
Unless the sackcloth gird the heart, 

True penitence be there ; 

Sorrow for sins that helped to point 

The spear, the thorn, the naiL 
O Lord 1 have mercy upon us, 

AVhile we those sins bewail. 

And in the lonely wilderness, 

From world and sin withdrawn, 
Our hearts shall cloistered be in thine 

Till glows glad Easter's dawn ! 

Sophia May Eckley. 



n 



UNTYING GORDIAN KNOTS. 



X. 



LADY SACKVIL'S JOURNAL 

I HAVE been playing the part of a 
peri at the gates of paradise. I have 
been watching Mary Vane with her 
diild. ' My life looks to me unbeara- 
ble. I am a blunder on the part of 
nature. ^ I have the passions of a man 
and the follies of a woman. This is 
the last entry I shall make in this 
boot Once for all I will put my 
agony into words, and then throw 
this wretched record of three months 
into the canal, to rot with the other 
impurities thrown daily into the slug- 
gish flood. 
When first I allowed myself to ex- 



ercise my power over Vane, it was 
from mere coquetry and love of ex- 
citement. I wished to reassert my 
sway and punish his former cruelty. 
Later I dreamed of a Platonic love, 
h la R^camier and Chateaubriand. 
True, one pities Mesdames de Cha- 
teaubriand, viewing them as a class; 
but they must suffer for their bad ma- 
nagement, I did not recognize, I do 
not recognize the claims of so-called 
duty; I lack motive. Virtue as vir- 
tue does not attract me ; neither does 
sin as sin attract me. I want to have 
my own way. Gratified self-will has 
afforded me the only permanent en- 
joyment of my life; but it has this 
disadvantage. While you rule your 
will and indulge it for fancy*s sake. 



7ff 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



the pleasure is unquestionable. When 
your will begins to rule you, there 
is no slavery so galling. I had not 
thought of this ; I know it now. 

Once for all, I put my torture into 
words. / love him. Ten years ago 
I buried my heart — ^in sand or saw- 
dust, or something else, where grass 
and flowers cannot grow. It has 
risen now in an awful resurrection, 
and taken possession of me. He 
might have been all mine. I wish to 
hate his wife, and am forced to honor 
her profoundly. I cannot leave this 
place. My will refuses to let me go. 
Oh ! if I stay here and do not say 
one word, where is the harm ? And 
if he should utter the word I dare 
not say — " 

Amelia paused shuddering. " O 
subtle — O inexorable horror!" she 
said. Then, enveloping the book in 
paper, she carried it out onto the bal- 
cony, and dropped it into the canal, 
and heard the splash, and marked 
with satisfaction its disappearance be- 
neath the dull green water. 

"There — that's gone!" she said, 
and reentered the room. Her face, 
which reflected every change of mood, 
grew very white. 

" It is not gone !" she cried ; and 
pressing her hands to her breast ex- 
claimed, " It is here ; it is my dou- 
ble — my bosom serpent! O God! 
how it gnaws !" 

She went to a press, and pulling 
open drawers and slides, sought some- 
thing eagerly. Then, as if forgetting 
the object of her search, paused in 
deep thought, and finally rang the 
bell violently. 

Josephine came promptly, but un- 
surprised, being used to vehemence 
on the part of her mistress. 

" You may pack my trunks. I shalf 
leave Venice to-morrow." 

The maid proceeded to take out 
dress after dress and fold them. When 



one trunk was packed, Lady Sacknl 
who had been standing on the bal- 
cony in the blazing sun, looking down 
into the water, glanced over her shoul- 
der. 

"You may pack the other boxes 
another day," she remarked calmly ; 
*'I shall not go to-morrow. Your 
dinner-bell is ringing; you can go." 

She locked the door behind Jo- 
sephine, and then returned to her 
researches in the press. At last she 
produced a small vial of laudanum, 
and, sitting down before the toilette- 
table, poured a little into a glass and 
paused. " I wish I knew how much 
to take," she said ponderingly; "it 
would be so tiresome to take too lit- 
tle or too much." Then she fell to 
considering herself in the mirror — 
looked anxiously at the faint com- 
mencement of a wrinkle between her 
eyebrows; and pushing back her hair, 
revealed a gray hair or two hidden 
beneath the dark locks so full of sun- 
ny gleams. " I will do it," she said, 
and then took a few drops; then 
paused again. " I can't — I won't 1" 
she said violently. " I'm afraid ; I'm 
afraid of hell — I'm afraid of that hor- 
rid, clammy thing they call death! 
I'm afraid of making poor, good little 
Flora miserable! Oh! I'm afraid of 
myself, dead or alive," she moaned, 
rocking herself to and fi-o, in a pas- 
sion of regret and pain. 

At last the paroxysm passed. She 
poured back the laudanum, washed 
the glass, replaced every thing accu- 
rately, and threw herself on the couch. 
There, overcome by the drug, to which 
her healthy frame was wholly unac- 
customed, she fell into a heavy sleeps 

The plea of weariness afforded an 
excuse for going early to bed. When 
she awoke the second time, the Cam- 
panile clock was striking two. A 
rain was falling, pattering on the ca- 
nal, dripping and trickling firom the 
eaves and firom the pointed traceries 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



79 



above the windows. She got up, put 
<m a white wrapper, and went out 
OQto the balcony. The rain felt cool 
(m her burning head. It drenched 
her to the skin, and dripped from her 
hair. Yet sdll she stood there, crying 
bitter tears that brought no relief, 
shaken with sobs that she with diffi- 
culty prevented from becoming cries. 
She wrung her hands with grief^ and 
passi(»i, and pain. Night added no- 
thing to the darkness in her soul ; 
dawn brought neither light nor hope 
of change; and when at last she 
vent in fix)m the cold, gray morning 
light, to change her wet clothes and 
creep into bed, it was to a second 
dose of laudanum that she owed the 
temporary bliss of oblivion. 

XI. 

" If you're looking for Mr. Nicho- 
las, Miss Vane, he's gone down to the 
first floor," said Deborah, the morn- 
ing after Lady Sackvil's visit. 

Mary went to Mr. Holston's writ- 
ing-room ; no one was there ; passed 
on through drawing-rooms, dining- 
nxim, and ante-chambers, without 
meeting a soul, and at last found 
heiself standing outside Lady Sack- 
Tii's music-roonL Knocking and re- 
oeiring no answer, she opened the 
door, which moved noiselessly on its 
hinges, and lifted the heavy crimson 
curtain. Her husband was standing 
vith his back to the door, leaning 
against the mantel-piece. Lady Sack- 
Til stood before him, her face buried 
in her hands. He spoke, but in a 
voice so hoarse and dissonant that 
Mary fancied for an instant there was 
a tfakd person with them. 

"Be satisfied with your success, 
Amefia," he said. ^ You have light- 
ed the fire of hell in my heart. You 
have turned my afiections away from 
mj wife, who is too piure for things 
like you and me to love. It may 



add to your satisfaction to know that 
there is one person on earth I despise 
more than Lady Sackvil, and that per- 
son is myself" 

He turned, and saw his wife stand- 
ing in the door-way. 

" How much have you heard ?" he 
asked calmly, without showing either 
surprise or annoyance. 

" Enough to make me* say, ' God 
help us both,' " she replied. 

" Amen," he said, and left the room. 
Mary was about to follow him, when 
a look of entreaty firom Lady Sack- 
vil checked her. In another instant 
Amelia was crouching on the ground, 
her face buried in the folds of Ma- 
ry's gown. There was dead silence 
in the room. The ticking of the 
Louis Quatorze clock on the mantel 
and the flap of a window-curtain 
were the only sounds to be heard. 
Charity pleaded for the wretched wo- 
man kneeling at her feet. Nature 
cried, " Follow him ; tear from him 
some consolation; make him wake 
you from this nightmare, and say he 
loves you!" Charity conquered. Mar- 
ry bent over Lady Sackvil to raise 
her from the ground; but at the first 
touch, Amelia lifted her head, ex- 
claiming, "I will never rise; I will 
die here unless you say you forgive 
me!" 

" How can you ask pardon," re- 
plied Mary " for an injury you have 
only just completed ?" 

Amelia crouched still nearer to the 
ground. 

" So help me heaven 1" she said in 
a voice of agony, " I never meant 
to speak. He came to-day— oh ! you 
who possess him, can't you see how 
it happened; how I forgot every thing 
— ^resolutions, dignity, decency — and 

spoke ?" 

" Why do you say I possess him ?" 
asked Mary bitterly. "You heard 
him say that you had turned away 
his heart firom me." 



Untying Gsrdian Knots. 



" I ha^-e not turned it toward my- 
self. He repulsed me like a dog, 
Oh! if there were a hole underground 
where I could hide, I would crawl 
into it." And she Sang herself on her 
face with a despairing groan, 

Mary knelt down beside her. " We 
are both in the presence of God," 
she said ; " and I forgive you now even 
as I hope to be forgiven." 

Amelia rose with difHculty, made 
an effort to reach the bedroom door, 
tottered, and would have fallen but 
for Majy's assistance, who unlocked 
the door and helped her to a sofa. 
Then, looking round the room for 
some restorative, her eye rested on a 
little vial standing in a crimson wine- 
glass. She took it up and saw that it 
was labelled " laudanum." 

"Have you taken any of this?" 
she asked, carrying it to the sofa. 

"Only yesterday — never before," 
Lady Sackvil answered feebly. " It 
would make me sleep now and do 
me good. You might give me a few 
drops ; or rather, no, leave it with 
me," she said, holding out her trem- 
bling hand. " I can take it, if neces- 
sary, myself." 

" Wait a moment," said Mary, and 
going to the window, she threw (he 
bottle over the railing. Then sitting 
down beside Amelia, she took the 
feverish hand in both her own. " Pro- 
mise me, swear to me, that you will 
not take that or any other narcotic 
or stimulant." 

"You have prevented me from 
doing you the only kindness in my 
power," said Amelia, sitting up and 
pushing the hair back from her crim- 
son temples. "You have forgiven 
me; you have treated me like the 
Christian you profess to he. I meant 
to repay you by taking myself out of 
this loathsome world." 

" Repay me by living and repent- 
ing," answered Mary earnestly. " Pro- 
mise me not to make an eternity of 



this passing anguish. There is work 
for you to do; there is heaven ( 
you to win. Promise me to live, ai 
to live for God." 

Lady Sackvil looked at her silendj' 
for several minutes. Then she sal 
" I acknowledge one thing — I a 
knowledge tliat you are good, 
spite of circumstances." She ll 
down and turned her face to d 
wall. " I will live," she said wearil 
" if you will help me to live; oth< 
wise I shall die." 

" I will help yott." Mary sai 
" Now I must go. Shall I ring i 
your maid ?" 

" No. If Flora can come, 1 w 
have her; otherwise, I would ratb 
be alone. I feel wretched and heav]^ 
and shall fail asleep presently." 

Mary found Mrs. Holston in ha 
sitting-room. " Lady Sackvil is ffl 
and wants you," she said breathlca 
ly; for, now that her duty was dom 
every minute seemed an age until sll 
could see Nicholas. " Don't stop nM 
please ; I mus/ go." As she put hs 
hand on the hall door, Mr, Hohta 
opened it from outside. She brushal 
by him without a word ; but he soi 
her blanched face, and followed hi 
with his eyes as she ran up-stain 
"The blow has fallen," he said B 
himsc'f, as he hung his hat in tfa 
hall. " Poor, poor child !" 

She went to the study door an 
turned the handle, ll was locM 
She paused a moment, thinking hi 
husband would admit her ; then wall 
ed on through the gallery to her out 
room, shut the door, and sat do« 
in her little sewing-chair. She wt 
stunned; mercifully stunned. It d 
seemed a dream, from which thti 
would soon be an awakening, O 
course, it could not be true that be 
husband had shut her out from hi 
confidence. She felt too dull to in 
derstand all this. " God knows wha 
it means," she said half-aloud; *•: 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



8i 



:• How far from her eyes seem- 
t tears, crowded back, as it were, 
ikc the weight on her heart more 
arable. ** Some women faint or 
lut when they are hurt," she 
;ht idly; "I wonder why I 
? I feel so dumb, so gray, so 
icred.'* 

knock came at the nursery door, 
ging one foot after the other, she 
and opened it. Deborah start- 
sight of her face, but made no 
lent. " It is time to take baby," 
id cheerfully. " The cap*n*s ask- 
w you. He can't think what's 
oe of you." Mary darted past 
Mi ran out into the gallery. 

XII. 

rholas was sitting at the study 
looking over papers. He rose 
rew forward a chair for her, and 
at down again. 

be best thing that could happen, 
the circumstances," he said, 
come to pass. I am appointed 
Q the French army in the Cri- 
for purposes of study. Here is 
ppointment. These are letters 
General Scott and from the Se- 
y of War. Just glance at them, 
I please." 

!read them, almost without com- 
iK^ng their meaning. "When 
« go ?" 

b-morrow morning. It is the 
Jung to do, under the circum- 
s." 

'cs, the best under the circum- 
B," she repeated after him. He 
d at her anxiously, but said no- 

» 

IThat are you to take with you ?" 
dsed, rising from her chair. " I 
go and look over your clothes." 
lH the military traps I have here, 
tune; not much besides, for 1 
1 nther boy what I want. Don't 

VOL. XI.- 



trouble yourself, my — ^ He paused. 
" I will see to every thing." 

" No, I want to do it myself," she 
said. 

" I must go and speak to Holston 
about your money matters while I am 
gone. He will do every thing a bro- 
ther could do." 

" Every thing," she said. He look- 
ed at her again uneasily, and seemed 
about to speak; then left the room. 
" I've killed her," he thought ; " but 
words are mere insults now." 

He was gone, and without one 
word of explanation. It was, then, 
no nightmare, to be dispelled by a 
change of postm'e. There was no 
awakening for her. It was all true ! 

XJII. 

Mary was alone with the baby. 
Georgina's tiny hand was clasped 
around her mother's finger ; rosy 
cheek and dewy lip invited many a 
loving maternal caress. At least here 
was love, without anxiety or heart- 
ache. " My love for this child, to 
whom I have given life, is faint in 
comparison to God's love for his 
creatures," she thought. " My soul 
shall rest on him, as Georgie rests in 
my arms. He knows the way out 
of this blackness. I will follow him 
trustfully." 

The day was hard to bear; wife's 
work without wife's consolation. Sew- 
ing, sorting, packing, filled the hours 
too closely to leave much time for 
active grief. They were services that 
could easily have been performed by 
a servant; but Mary, amid the per- 
plexity which clouded her life, kept 
one purpose clearly before her — to 
fulfil her duties thoroughly toward 
her husband, and even toward the 
unhappy woman who had poisoned 
her happiness, and thus prevent fiar- 
ther entanglement. 

The dinner hour, whose claims pre^ 



83 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



vail over every other external cir- 
cumstance in life, was Jived through, 
thanks to the presence of Italian ser- 
vants, who do not expect friends to 
look happy on the eve of separation, 
and are ready to melt into tears of 
sympathy at a moment's warning. 
Vane passed the evening in his stu- 
dy, transacting business with Mr. Hol- 
ston and a lawyer ; Mary in his dress- 
ing-room, attending to "last things." 

At intervals through the weary 
night she heard him moving about 
in the library. About five o'clock, 
the peculiar click of the hall door 
told her that he had gone out. Then 
came two hours of sleep, and memo- 
ry's dreadful reckoning when she 
awoke. 

Breakfast was served at nine o'clock. 
After going through the dismal form 
which represents eating on such occa- 
sions, Nicholas went to the window 
to watch for the gondola. " Will you 
come here, Mary ?" he said. 

She went to him, and measured 
despairingly, as he talked to her, the 
gulf which separated them spiritually 
while they stood side by side. 

After giving various directions as to 
material arrangements during his ab- 
sence, he snid, " I went to confession 
this morning, and to your Padre Giu- 
lio." She looked up eagerly into his 
sad face, stem with the rigidity of re- 
pressed emotion. " After confession, 
I saw him in his o\*ti room, and told 
him all the circumstances of the last 
three months, out of the confessional, 
in order that you may feel free to seek 
from him the advice and consolation 
I have shown myself unfit to give 
you." 

" I don't want to speak of these 
things to any one," Mary answered. 

" I have no right to urge you," he 
said; "but you will oblige me very 
much by speaking to him once, at 
least, upon the subject I cannot 
tell you the weight it added to my 



self-reproach to find him ignorant of 
the wrongs you have suffered, know- 
ing as I do the entire confidence you 
repose in him personally. You have 
been very loyal to me, Mary ; I shall 
never forget it" 

" Of course, I told him nothing 
concerning any one but mysel£" 

" I have another favor to ask, 
which I should not ask if you were 
like other women." 

" What is it ?" 

He took a note from his desk, and 
gave it to her unfolded. " After read- 
ing that, I beg you to give it to Lady 
SackvU." 

She flushed, and a slight trembling 
passed over her. Then she folded the 
note and put it into her pocket " I 
will give it to her without reading it 
I trust you." 

Nicholas looked at her with an ex- 
pression of reverence in his face. " I 
will earn the right to tell you how 
deeply I honor you," he said. " Any 
thing I could say now would appear 
like a new phase of moral weakness; 
but I will earn the right to speak." 

As Mary met his eyes, fixed upon 
her with a look of reverential ten- 
derness, her heart cried out for him. 
She longed to throw herself upon his 
breast; to urge him to put off this 
dreadful parting, and treat the wretch- 
ed delusion he hid yielded to as a 
dream. But something unanswerable 
within her soul warned her to let him 
leave her, that his resolutions might 
grow strong in solitude ; that he might 
learn by aching experience the wcxrth 
of the love and sympathy he had 
slighted. Therefore, she only gaid, 
" All will be well ; I know it, I fed 
it" And he answered, " I accepi 
your words as a prophecy, and thank 
God for them. One favor still I must 
ask. Mary, you will write to me ?" 

" Constantly." 

"God bless you. Holston will 
find out when the mails go. It 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



83 



fin be the one happiness of my 
life to look forward to your letters, 
vhich must give me every detail 
about yourself and about our child. 
Mary, it will be my one earthly hope 
to look forward to the time which 
shall end my exile." 

The gondola was at the door, and 
George Holston had already taken 
his place in it. Vane clasped his 
wife's hands in his, kissed them pas- 
aonatdy, and rushed from the room. 



xrv. 

" I never knew her to faint before,** 
Deborah's voice was saying, as Mary 
emetged finom an abyss of peaceful 
oblivion, to find herself deluged with 
A» de Cologne^ and lying on the bed 
in her own room. 

"Poor little soul !" answered Mrs. 
Holston's gende voice. "It was a 
terrible shock, his going so suddenly. 
Bat, hush now, she is coming to her- 
sdC" 

No, not to herself; to a conscious- 
oesB of nameless agony ; to a sense of 
restlessness, without physical strength 
ibr action ; to a crushing weight of 
mbery which she must ask no livmg 
sod to share. 

After some minutes, which seemed 
like hours of struggling to recover 
breath, and voice, and senses, she 
SKceeded in thanking her kind nurses, 
md asking them to leave her alone 
far 1 little while. 

An hour's solitude had restored her 
to complete consciousness, when a ser- 
vant knocked on the door and asked 
whether she had any further occasion 
for the gondola, which had returned 
from carrying Captain Vane to the 
steamer. Her husband's request that 
she would see Padre Giulio occurred 
to her. Life must be taken up some- 
where; why not in the performance 
of that duty, which would become 



harder with every day it should be 
deferred ? 

If she called upon Deborah for as- 
sistance, she would be prevented from 
leaving the house ; so her preparations 
must be made alone. Giving or- 
ders for the gondola to wait, she put 
on hat and shawl with trembling 
hands, and walked down the long 
flights of marble stairs, holding on 
to the balustrade for support. It 
was useless to attempt her mission 
in that condition; perhaps an hour's 
row that soft, gray, overshadowed 
morning might restore her nerves to 
equihbrium. "Put up the awning 
and row on the lagoon for an hour," 
she said to the gondoliers. "Then 
take me to the Piazza San Marco 
without my giving you any further 
directions." 

Through the open windows of the 
ducal palace she could see tourists 
wandering about, Murray in hand. 
Soldiers were lolling under the arcades ; 
sight-seers were hurrying through to 
and fro, taking advantage of the cool 
day to get through a double amount 
of work. A sacristan was cleaning 
down the steps of Santa Maria della 
Salute, flinging away the broom, and 
sitting down to rest after the labor of 
sweeping each step. 

Then came a long period of quiet, 
broken only by the steady dip of oars, 
and an occasional remark in gondo- 
lier slang made by the two boatmen. 
Pearly sky and pearly sea, a soft 
breeze and monotonous motion exer- 
cised a soothing influence over poor 
Mary, who never resisted comfort, no 
matter in how homely a form it might 
come. On the steps behind the Ar- 
menian convent sat a monk, looking 
over the lagoon. He was a common- 
place old man enough in appearance, 
some insignificant lay brother resting 
from his labors in the garden. He 
saw the boat approach, and noticed 
probably the expression of suffering 



84 



Untying Gordian Knals. 



I 



on Mary's fa.ce; for as she passed, 
a look of kindness, that was in itself 
a benediction, came into his wrinkled, 
brown face, and sank into her poor 
wounded heart, never to be forgotten. 
From that day she remembered tlie 
old Armenian in her prayers as one 
who had helped her in the sorest trial 
of her life. 



In the afternoon came Mrs. Hol- 
ston, for once in her life in a hurry. 
" I am ashamed to disturb you," she 
said to Mary, "1 am ashamed to 
say why I have come, Amelia is 
behaving in the most extraordinary 
manner. She refuses to get up, and 
refuses to see the doctor. She says 
no one can do her any good except 
you. I told her she was very selfish, 
and she said she didn't care; so now 
I can only ask you, for charity's sake, 
to conie down and speak to her." 

" Certainly," said Mary, by a stu- 
pendous effort speaking in a natural 
lone ; " I will come in a few minutes. 
I have a little note for your sister from 
my husband that she may be glad to 
geL Did ho find time to come and 
bid you good by ?" 

" Yes, indeed, but he looked dread- 
fully worried and unhappy, of course. 
I think it extremely ill-natured of the 
War Department to make him leave 
home so suddenly. That must have 
been what made you look so fright- 
fully ill yesterday morning. I was 
very much alamied about you," 

" I will follow you directly," said 
Mary, escaping to her own room for 
a moment of preparation before facing 
the enemy of her peace. 

But that her peace was hopelessly 
shaken, she no longor feared. The 
interview with Padre Ciulio had been 
full of consolation ; for to this impar- 
tial listener Vane had said many 
things that the fear of seeming in- 
sincere had prevented him from ex- 



pressing to his wife^ It wa» 
that delicacy toward hetscU 
compassion for Lady Sackvi 
made him leave Venice. Sh« 
felt that it would show a la 
faith to doubt that the future. 
bring happiness lo them both 
their reunion would be one si 
death itself confirms instead oT 
ing. 

She found Lady Sackvi] k 
enchantingly lovely. Her hai| 
brown, with golden red lights 
was plaited in two great braidi 
cheeks were flushed; her eyci 
closed, showing their long lasbf 
large, full lids to advantage. ] 
quivering of her lips, Mary knei 
she feh who was with her; buti 
some minutes before she opCM 
eyes. 

" It was kind in you to come 
said at last, looking up into 1 
face. " I am very grateful. 
says I'm honibly selfish to sen 
you, and no doubt I am; bill 
better than going crazy, I suppc 

Mary laid her hand on the ) 
bing forehead, and felt tlie | 
pulses. " Do you feel reallyj 
she asked; " or is this merely i 
of nervous excitement ?" ( 

"I'm not ill. I was never sea 
ill in my life. I am only goinj 
traded. I had an idea you mtg 
something for me." , 

"The first thing to be donej 
quiet your nerves and leduoi 
fever. Then we will think ofj 
remedies. I will get Flora's; 
medicine-chest, and see what i 
sources arc." ,| 

The morning passed quietly in! 
ing Lady Saukvil, varied by occaj 
visits to the nursery. It was-bn 
bear, " but no harder than any.. 
else would be now," thought ] 
" If I can save this poor soul, ] 
be worth suffering great as this." 

My two o'clock, Amelia was 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



8s 



sbdlf more tranqufl. .Her health 
bad always been excellent, and her 
taopeiament, though utterly undis- 
Gq)lined, by no means inclined to 
morbid excitability. 

" I have a note for you," said Mar}' ; 
•'will you read it ?" 

** From whom ?" 

"From my husband." 

Lady Sackvil shuddered, and turned 
away. 

"Don't give it to me," she said. 
''Read it, and tell me what it says." 

Mary read it through to herself; 
then, mastering her voice, read aloud 
the following words : 

** I was unjust to you yesterday. I 
treated you with cruelty. For what 
bas happened, I am more responsible 
dian you, because I have been under 
better influences. We shall never 
meet again« God bless you, and 
grant us both genuine repentance!" 

Amelia made no comment or reply. 
A quarter of an hour later, she said, 
••You go to confession very often, I 
sapposc?" 

**Oncc a week." 

*Who is your confessor?" 

« Padre Giulio, at St Mark's." 

-Is he old?" 

«Yc&" 

•Wise?" 

"Yes." 

-Kind?" 

«Vcry kind." 

"I should like to see him. I don't 
8^>pose that I intend going to con- 
ic^on, but I want to talk with such 
iman. Has he had much to do with 
making you what you are ?" 

''He has given me good advice, 
md I have tried to follow it, if tliat 
8 what you mean." 

Lady Sackvil looked at Mary fixed- 
ly for some time. 

"I made up my mind, a short time 
ago," she said, '' that the thing most 
Hkcly to convince me of the direct 
influence of God would be to see 



a Christian whose character would 
bear scrutiny imder the severest test. 
I have seen such a Christian in you. 
Most women would have spumed me 
away in disdain ; you have treated me 
like a sister. I thank you for it, and 
I should like to believe what you be- 
lieve." 

Maiy smiled at the reasoning, but 
thanked God for the conclusion. 
" You would find Padre Giulio very 
sympathizing," she said; "I think it 
would soothe you to see him. Shall 
I send for him to come here ?" 

" On no account. I will go to him 
if you will come with me. Do come 
with me ; I will bless you all my life," 
she added pleadingly. 

" Of course I will go, but not to- 
day. If you were to take cold now, 
it might be the death of you. To 
morrow morning we will go to St. 
Mark's, and I will send him word, 
that we may be sure of finding him 
at home." 

Lady Sackvil looked disappointed. 
" I would rather go to-day. I want 
to have it over." 

"There's no occasion to wish to 
have it over," said Mary soothingly. 
" An experienced confessor is too well 
used to dealing with mental suffering 
to wonder at it, no matter in what 
shape it comes." 

Lady Sackvil lay with her eyes 
shut a long time. At last she said, 
"I've not been much of a Bible 
reader, but I remember well that it 
required only the sight of one miracle 
to convert sinners in those days. I 
suppose sinners are very much the 
same in the nineteenth century that 
they were in the first." 

" No doubt," said Mary, and waited 
to hear more. 

"Your conduct toward me is, m 
my opinion, a greater miracle than 
the raising of the dead. Nothing but 
supernatural strength could have sus- 
tained you." 



86 



Untying Gordian Knots. 



" If I have done any thing remark- 
able, it has certainly been God's doing, 
not mine." 

Lady Sackvil lay still some time 
longer. Then she said abruptly, 
"I am clever, I know, but I am 
not intellectual; and intellectual sa- 
tisfaction is not what I demand in 
order to become a Christian. If 
you were to lay before me all the 
tomes of all the theologians, they 
would not convey to my mind one 
single definite idea." 

"You were educated a Catholic, 
weren't you ?" 

" Yes, after a fashion. I was care- 
fully prepared for Confirmation in a 
convent school, where I spent six 
months, while my aunt was in Eu- 
rope." 

"Then you feel more inclined to- 
ward Catholicity than to any other 
form of religion ?" 

" Certainly. If I am going to be 
good, I mean to be decidedly so. 
The church demands more than 
any sect, and I respect her for that 
reason. Like St. Christopher, I wish 
to serve the strongest master. Then, 
too, the teaching at the convent made 
a deeper impression on me than I sup>- 
posed ; and now that I need support, 
it all comes back to me. Last, and 
not least, I wish to believe as you 
do. You are the best Christian I 
have ever seen." 

"Your experience in Christians 
must have been limited, I thmk," 
said Mary, smiling. 

" Perhaps so ; but I am quite satis- 
fied to have you for my standard. 
AVhy, are you going? Oh! please 
don't leave me. I can't bear to be 
alone." 

" I must go now. I will come to- 
morrow at eleven o'clock, and if you 
feel equal to the effort, we will go to 
San Marco." 

" I shall feel equal to it phyacally," 
said Lady SackviL "It's veiy pro- 



voking. I meant to have a 1 
fever and die, and I feel better 
minute. I wish you had not coi 
take care of me." 

"This is the beginning of 
heroic virtue, I suppose," said ^ 
" these are the first fruits of co 
sion, Good-by, neophyte! Di 
yourself about nothing; rem< 
only that God loves us with a 
too deep to be fathomed." 

And then she went home, an 
down by the ashes that Lady Sa 
had left on her domestic hearth. 

XVI. 

In the morning, she found \ 
Sackvil taking breakfast in her 
room, looking pale and worn 
the effects of reaction from fevei 
excitement " How do you f 
she asked. 

" Horribly cross. I think all 
sensations are merged in ill-tem 

"A certain sign of convalesc 
I am glad to see it." 

Amelia laid down her egg-sj 
and sank back in her chair, 
wish," she remarked, "that it 
pleased Heaven to make som 
riety in the shape of hen's egg 
am so tired of seeing them al 
oval." 

" You don't want any of 
things, do you?" asked Mary 
veying the rather soUd repas 
the table. 

" No — I can't bear the sight c 
said Amelia wearily. 

" Rest on the couch until I 
back." And Mary arranged the 
ions with a skilful hand, and lei 
room noiselessly. 

Presently she returned, beario 
a pretty littie tray a glass filled 
some frothy preparation, and 
transparent wafers. Amelia re 
at the sight. " I have dreamc 
such things," she said. "This i 
very apotheosis of breakfast I" 



Tie Iron Mask. 



^7 



XVII. 

Mary left Lady Sackvfl with Padre 
Ghilio, and went into the church to 
pray for the happy result of the inter- 
view. She had passed some time at 
the Lady chapel, with its brazen gates 
and oriental lamps, and before the 
jewd-incmsted high altar, and was 
kneeling in the chapel of the Blessed 
Sacramenty when she heard the door 
of the confessional behind her open. 
Sie looked round. Padre Giulio had 
entered the confessional ; Lady Sack- 
vil was kneeling at the grating. 

She was sitting within the railing 
of the chapel when Amelia joined 



her. Mary looked at the beautiful 
creature; there was a peaceful smile 
on her lips, a holy light in her eyes ; 
the pride, the caprice, the egotism 
were not there; she looked like a 
penitent child. 

As they passed through one of the 
sombre side aisles, Amelia paused be- 
fore the crucifix hanging on the wall. 
"I have confessed my sins and re- 
ceived absolution," she said; "are 
you willing to kiss me ?" 

And so the sign of peace was ex- 
changed before the image of the great 
reconciler ; and they passed out from 
the shadows of those grand old arches 
into the sunshine of the Piazza. 



THE IRON MASK. 



Through an oversight, the article 
on the Iron Mask in our March num- 
ber, which had been lying on hand 
several months, was sent to the printer 
without its necessary complement, 
which we now publish. 

In January, 1869, it was announced 
m the Moniteur Unrversel that M. 
Marius Topin, a young author who had 
already distinguished himself by a work 
of remarkable historical research, had 
succeeded, by dint of laborious ex- 
amination and the intelligent study of 
a mass of old official documents, in 
QDearthing the secret of that sphinx 
of history — the Man with the Iron 
Mask. 

M. Topin did not at once make 
known the result of what he claimed 
to be his entirely triumphant solution 
of the enigma, and publish his work 
ia book form. He doubtless reflected 
that, as the worid had waited in patient 
expectation more than a hundred and 
fifi^ years for the revelation of the 



mystery, it might readily summon up 
sufficient resignation to wait a few 
months longer. He accordingly an- 
nounced that the successive chapters 
of his work would appear from time 
to time in Le Correspondant, a highly 
respectable Paris semi-monthly. The 
first number of his series was publish- 
ed on the 25th of February, 1869, and 
the last, making seven in all, on the 
nth of November. We have receiv- 
ed, as they appeared, all the numbers 
of the Correspondanty and are therefore 
enabled to present fi-ora the author's^ 
own articles the following statement of 
the result of what he has written. 

M. Topin could not deny himself 
that universal enjoyment of the story- 
teller — to hold his auditors in suspense 
and on tiptoe of expectation by pro- 
posing a varied succession of solutions 
of the mystery in hand, and dismissing 
them in turn with a — " Well, that's not 
it." He takes up, one after the other, 
the various prhUndanU to the honor 



Tks Inn Mask. 



oflhe Iron Mast's living martjTHotn, 
discusses all the claims in their favor, 
presents the objections, demonstrates 
that lb eir position is untenable, ordere 
them off the stage, and passeS on to 
the next; thus successively eliminat- 
ing them until he teaches his objective 
point. 

M. Topin's first article is preceded 
by a sort of device, or motto, in the 
shape of a short extract from an order 
of Louis XIV. : II Jatuira queptrsonne 
ne saehe ce que eel homme sera lierenu, 
(no one must know what has become 
of this man.) It was noticed that the 
date of the order is not given. The 
article opens with a statement of the 
arrival of M. Saint Mars at the Bas- 
tille (Paris) at three p.m., on the i8lh 
of September, 1698. St. Mars was 
the newly -appointed governor of that 
prison, and came accompanied by a 
prisoner whose face was concealed by 
a mask of black velvet. This prisoner 
died, and was buried on the 30th of 
November, 1 703, under the name of 
Marchialy. The extraordinary pre- 
cautions taken after the death of Mar- 
chialy are narrated in our previous 
number. The dates above given are 
important in determining tlie claims 
of other candidates, inasmuch as the 
facts and dates connected with the ar- 
rival, death, and burial of a masked 
prisoner at the Bastille are established 
beyond controversy by official docu- 
ments, and must be considered in any 
case presented. 

Our author then dilates upon the 
difficulties of the question, tlie fact 
that it has been unsuccessfully treated 
by fifty-two authors, and finall)' aban- 
doned as hopeless by historians like 
Michelet, with the conclusion that the 
problem of the Man with the Iron 
Mask will never be solved. Betraying 
no anxiety whatever to make haste, 
M. Topin then discusses the merits 
of several of the most prominent 
theories and the manner in which they 



have been presented. The claim thai 
longest held its ground, and enlisted. 
in its advocacy the greatest number of ^ 
writers, was that made for a supposed^ 
and, as has been shown, entirely ii 
aginary twin-brother of Louis XIV,. 
the son of Anne of Austria, wife of.. 
Louis XIII. It is easy to understanA 
why, in France, such a version as thi»' 
should be the favorite one. It pos^ 
sessed every possible element of pop- 
ularity, intrigue, mystery, iUegitinia-. 
cy, Clime, a rightful heir defrauded of 
his throne, and the association of illui 
trioiis names. All these lent theili 
fascinations; and from Voltaire 1 
Alexander Dumas, from the Dk/iaih- 
iiaire Phtlosophique to the Vkomte dt\ 
JJragr/oniie, all the resources of writen, 
of their tendency and calibre ' 
called into play to give it currency. 

M. Topin devotes neariy the whole 
of his first article to the demonstra-: 
tion of the fact that the prisoner of the 
Iron Mask was not and could not 
have been a son of Anne of Austria/ 
The discussion is thorough, and thtt 
demonstration complete. Outside oft 
the question of the Mask one good re» 
suit is thus obtained. The innocence 
of Anne of Austria is fully established^ 

Time brings roses — and justice^ 
Marie Antoinette was first vindicatef^ 
from the foul aspersions of the " 
geny of Voltaire." Now, Anne of- 
Austria is acquitted; and going furthflf 
back in time — the most distant casi 
being, of course, the most difficult- 
next comes the turn of Mary Stuar^ 
and her day, we believe, is not f 
distant. 

The claim made for the Count at, 
Vermandois, a son of Louis XIV. and 
Louise de la Vallitre, is next takol 
up. As all the details of the bst 3b 
ness, death, and burial of the CouM 
of Vermandois are matters of profuat 
official record, M. Topin has very li 
tie trouble in disposing of this caa 
Then we have the Dukeof Monmouth, 



Tlu Iron Mask, 



89 



a natural son of Charles XL of Eng- 
hod. Defeated at the battle of Sedg- 
moor, where the forces under his com- 
mand were arrayed in armed rebel* 
Eon against James II., and afterward 
taken prisoner, he was beheaded in 
the Tower of London July 15th, 1685. 
The dispatches of various foreign min- 
isters in London at the time fully es- 
tablish the fact of his death. 

To Monmouth succeeds Francis of 
Vendonie,Duke of Beaufort. As grand 
admiral of France, Beaufort com- 
manded the naval expedition sent out 
to aid the Venetians in their defence 
of Candia against the Turks in 1669. 
As in the cases of the two sons of 
Louis XIV., and Monmouth, the sur- 
rounding circumstances give M. To- 
pin the fullest opportunity of indulg- 
mg in court anecdotes, intrigues, and 
festivities, mingled with biographical 
sketches of distinguished personages, 
so in the case of Beaufort, his history 
warrants our author in going into all 
the details of the siege and military 
and naval operations against the army 
of the sultan. Beaufort is believed to 
have been killed in an attack upon 
the enemy's works, and was last seen 
in the thickest of a hand-to-hand 
straggle in the intrenchments. As 
his body was never recovered, this 
fact gave the mystery-mongers an ad- 
vantageous margin. But Beaufort 
was bom inn 6 16, and the Iron Mask 
was buried in 1703. Supposing him 
to be the '' Mask," this would make 
him eighty-seven years old at his 
deadi, which, of itself, puts him out of 
the question. 

In his third number, M. Topin in- 
troduces the so-called Armenian Pa- 
triarch, Av€dick. Why he did so is 
best known to himself; for the case of 
Avedick has never been presented as 
one that would give him any right to 
rank among the claimants for the dis- 
tinction of the Iron Mask. Taules, 
and the German historian Hammer, 



are referred to as authorities for Ave- 
dick's claim ; but on being examined, 
they are found totally insufficient as 
warrants for such a theory. The es- 
sential pivot of the question of identi- 
ty of the Iron Mask is the death and 
burial of its wearer m 1703. Now, 
Avedick was still in Turkey in 1706, 
and that settles his claim beyond ques- 
tion. Avedick was seized by order 
of the Marquis of Ferriol in the Gre- 
cian Archipelago, May, 1706, carried 
forcibly to France, retained in confine- 
ment in various places until Septem- 
ber, 1 7 10, when he was liberated. 
He died in Paris in July, 171 1. This 
was most certainly a case of shame- 
ful violation of the law of nations, of 
power, and of humanity. A case of 
abominable personal cruelty it also 
certainly was — ^but it was not a case 
of " Iron Mask." Two such outrages 
as those on the persons of Marchialy 
and Avedick are quite enough of 
themselves ; to say nothing of certain 
diplomatic arrangements with the 
Grand Turk which endangered Chris- 
tianity and the public peace in Europe 
— to settle one's opinion as to the gen- 
uineness of the glories of the reign of 
Louis XIV., a Grand Monarque who 
was not great. 

But to return, M. Topin's chapter 
on the Avedick case, appearing in Le 
Correspondani of the loth June, i869,x 
was followed by an article fh)m the 
pen of Rev. Father Turquand, S.J., 
in the September (loth) number of 
the same periodical, severely attack- 
ing the statements of Avedick's case 
by M. Topin, and vindicating his 
(Turquand's) society from certain im- 
putations cast upon it in connection 
with the seizure of Avedick. 

In his fourth number, (Oct. loth,) 
M. Topin takes up the claim made 
for Fouquet, whose case differs from 
all the others in the fact that he was a 
prisoner of state by sentence of a judi- 
cial tribunal. Fouquet's claims were 



90 



The Iron Mask, 



warmly pressed by a very able literary 
advocate, Paul Lacroix, (Bibliophile 
Jacob,) in a work published in 1830. 
But here again the difficulty of dates 
is insurmountable. Fouquet died in 
1680, and there is no proof of the 
appearance of the Man with the Iron 
Mask until after that period. 

We pass on to another. In the 
year 1677, the Duke of Mantua was 
Charles IV. of the illustrious house 
of Gonzaga. He was young, careless, 
dissipated, and extravagant. Spending 
most of his time in Venice, he seldom 
visited his duchy, except for the pur- 
pose of raising money. He gradually 
fell into the hands of usurious lenders, 
and continued to obtain the sums he 
wanted by anticipating, through them, 
the receipt of the taxes and imposts 
of his duchy by several years. The 
Marquisate of Montferrat was among 
his dependencies. Its little capital, 
Casal, a fortified place on the Po, 
fifteen leagues east of Turin, was a 
point of great strategic importance, 
and essential to the safety of Pied- 
mont. The court of Turin would 
not, of course, consent to its posses- 
sion by France. But to France it 
was of the highest value, as with 
Pignerol and Casal it would be mas- 
ter of the situation. This place Louis 
XIV. wanted to buy, and Charles IV. 
was perfectly willing to sell it. Er- 
colo (Hercules) Antonio Mattioli, a 
young nobleman of the court of 
Mantua, at this time thirty-seven 
years of age, was high in favor with 
the reigning duke. Through Giu- 
liani, an Italian journalist, D'Estrades, 
Louis XIV.'s ambassador at Venice, 
sounded Mattioli, and finally, through 
him, succeeded in opening a negotia- 
tion with the duke for the sale of 
Casal to France. 

All three met at Venice in March, 
1678, discussed terms, and agreed 
upon one hundred tliousand crowns 



as the price of the cession. Mattioli 
then went to Paris to sign the treaty 
in the name of his master the duke. 
The treaty was completed in Decem- 
ber, 1678, and after its signature, Mat- 
tioli was received by Louis XIV. in 
secret audience, presented by the 
king with a rich diamond ring and 
four hundred double Lcmis d'or^ with 
the promise of a far greater amount 
of money, the appointment of his son 
among the royal pages, and a valuable 
endowment for his mother. The in- 
trigue and negotiation had been ad- 
mirably managed and crowned with 
perfect success. Of all who had any 
interest opposed to the French pos- 
session of Casal, not one had the 
slightest suspicion, and it would have 
been difficult to imagine the existence 
of the smallest element of failure in 
the enterprise. 

But the best-laid schemes of men, 
mice, and monarchs here below oft 
come to naught Two months after 
Mattioli's visit to Paris, the courts 
of Turin, of Madrid, and of Vienna, 
the Spanish governor of the Mi- 
lanese provinces, and the state in- 
quisitors of the Venetian republic — 
that is to say, all and every one most 
interested against the execution of the 
treaty — ^not only knew of its existence, 
but were fully advised of every detail 
concerning it, the names of the nego- 
tiators, the date of the instruments, 
the price of cession, when it was to be 
made, etc In short, they knew every 
thing concerning it. Well they might 
Mattioli himself had told them ! His 
motive is a subject of dispute. One 
theory is, interested motive; another, 
patriotism. Certain it is he had more 
to gain — as a mere question of in- 
terest — by keeping than by betraying 
the secret. On this point, though, we 
do not undertake to judge him. In 
February, 1679, the Duchess of Savoy 
advised Louis XIV. that she was in 



Th^ School Question. 



91 



possession of Mattioli's information. 
The disappointment, the mortification, 
and the anger of the French king can 
easUy be imagined. He was placed 
in a position not only dangerous ; but 
what was almost worse, ludicrous. 
Mattioli had the king's signature to 
the treaty in his possession, and it was 
all-important to recover it. The king 
in Paris, and his minister D'Estrades, 
both conceived the same idea for 
remedy in the matter. On the 28th 
of April, 1679, Louis sent the order 
to have Mattioli arrested, and on ar- 
rival of the order, Mattioli had already 
(May 2d) been carried off a prisoner. 
D'Estrades had managed to decoy 
him across the frontier, at a point 
where he had a detachment of dra- 
goons waiting, and in a few hours 
the Italian was a prisoner at Pignerol, 
the commencement of a captivity that 
was to endure four and twenty long 
yeais. M. Topin then continues the 
discussion of Mattioli's case, and 
doses the article, leaving the reader 
under the impression that he decides 
against the claim of Mattioli. 

Indeed he goes further; for he more 
than intimates that there is very little 
probability of ever penetrating the 



mystery surrounding the Man with 
the Iron Mask. 

The case made for Mattioli has 
always been the strongest, even be- 
fore the publication of the work of 
Mr. J. Delort, which was mostly ap- 
propriated by Ellis in his Thie His- 
tory of the State Prisoner, Mr. 
Loiseleur has also discussed the Mat- 
tioli claim with great force; so suc- 
cessfully, indeed, that a very large 
number of critical scholars were sa- 
tisfied with his adverse demonstration. 

M. Topin discusses at great length 
the facts and the reasoning of Mr. 
Loiseleur, and, as we have just stated, 
concludes his sixth article by a deci- 
sion against Mattioli. But in his con- 
cluding chapter {Correspondant^ Nov. 
loth) he comes to a right-about face, 
takes up some of Mr. Loiseleur's 
proofs, adds some new dispatches, 
and decides that — Mattioli is the 
French prisoner of state known as 
the Man with the Iron Mask. 

We fear that after all the solution 
of M. Topin is no solution, and that 
the only result of his labor is to nar- 
row the discussion down to the claims 
of Mattioli and another prisoner of 
unknown name. 



THE SCHOOL QUESTION.* 



The number of The Christian 
Worlds the organ of the American 
and Foreign Christian Union, for Feb- 
niary last is entirely taken up with 
the school question, and professes to 
give "a carefully digested summary 
of the views and reasonings of all par- 
tics to the controversy." The views 
and reasonings of the Catholic party 

• Tht Ckrutian W^rUL The Bible in the Schools. 
Fcfenarj, tSfOw New Yoric : Bible House. 



are not misstated, but are very in- 
adequately presented; those of the 
other parties are given more fully, 
and, we presume, as correctly and 
as authoritatively as possible. The 
number does not dispose of the sub- 
ject; but furnishes us a fitting occa- 
sion to make some observations which 
will at least set forth correctly our 
views of the school question as Ca- 
tholics and American citizens. 



92 



Tht School Question. 



It is to the credit of the Ami-rican 
people that tliey have, at least the 
Calvinistic portion of them, from the 
earliest colonial times, taken a deep 
interest in the education of the yoimg, 
and made considerable sacrifices to 
secure it. The American Congrega- 
tionalists and Presbyterians, who were 
the only original settlers of the eas- 
tern and middle colonies, have from 
the first taken the lead in education, 
and founded, sustained, and conduct- 
ed most of our institutions of learning. 
The Episcopalians, following the An- 
glican Church, have never taken much 
interest in the education of the peo- 
ple, having been chiefly solicitous 
about the higher class of schools and 
seminaries. The Baptists and Me- 
thodists have, until recently, lieen 
([uiie indifferent to education. They 
have now some respectable schools; 
but the writer of this was accustomed 
in his youth to hear both Baptists 
and Methodists preach against college- 
bred parsons, and a lamed ministry. 
I n those States which had as colonies 
proprietary governments, and in which 
the Episcopalians, Baptists, and Me- 
thodists have predominated, universal 
education has been, and still is, more 
or less neglected. Even the Presby- 
terians, while they have insisted on a 
learned ministry and the education 
of the easy classes, have not insisted 
so earnestly on the education of the 
children of all classes as have the 
Congregationalists ; and, indeed, it is 
hardly too much to say that o^r pre- 
sent s)*slem of common schools at 
the public expense owes its origin to 
Congregationalists and the influence 
ihey have exerted. The system, 
whatever may be thought of it, has 
imdenialily had a religious, not a se- 
cular origin. 

The system originated in New 
England; strictly speaking, in Massa- 
chusetts. As originally established 
in Massachusetts, it was simply a 



system of parochial schools. The 
parisli and the town were coincident, 
and the schools of the several school- 
districts into which I he parish was di- 
vided were supported by a tan on the 
population and property of the town, 
levied according to the grand list or 
state assessment roll. The parish, at 
its annual town meeting, voted ihc 
amount of money it would raise (or 
schools during the ensuing year, w^hieh 
was collected by the town collector, 
and expended under the direction of 
a school committee chosen at the 
samemeeting. Substantiallythesame 
system was adopted and followed 
in New Hampshire and Connecticut. 
In Vermont, the towns were divided 
or divisible, under a general law, int& ' 
school -districts, and each schooldis- ' 
irict decided for itself the amount of 
money it would raise for its school, 
and the mode of raising it. It might ' 
raise it by tax levied on the property ■ 
of the district, or, as it was said, on 
" the grand list," or per eapila on the 
scholars attending and according to ' 
the length of their attendance. In ' 
this latter method, which was gene- i 
rally followed, only those who used { 
the schools were taxed to support • 
them. This latter method was, in its • 
essential features, adopted in all, or 
nearly all, the other States that had ■ 
a common school system established 
by law. In Rhode Island and most 
of the Southern States, the inhabitants 
were left to their own discretion, to 
have schools or not as they saw pro- 
per, and those who wanted them 
founded and supported them at their 
own expense. In none of the States, 
however, was there developed at first ■ 
a system of free public schools si^ 
ported cither by a school fund or by a , 
general tax on property levied by the 
State, though Massachusetts contain- i 
ed such a system in germ. 

Gradually, from the proceeds of 
public lands, from lots of land reserv- 



A 



Tlu School Question. 



93 



ed in each township, especially in the 
oev States, for common schools, and 
from various other sources, several of 
the States accumulated a school fund, 
the income of which, in some instan- 
ces, sufficed, or nearly sufficed, for the 
support of free public schools for all 
the children in the State. This gave 
a new impulse to the movement for 
free schools and universal education, 
or schools founded and supported 
for all the children of the State at the 
public expense in whole or in part, 
either from the income of the school 
fimd or by a public tax. This is not 
yet carried out universally, but is that 
to which public sentiment in all the 
States is tending ; and now that slavery 
is abolished, and the necessity of edu- 
cating the freedmen is deeply felt, 
there can be litde doubt that it will 
soon become the policy of every State 
in the Union. 

The schools were originally found- 
ed by a religious i)eople for a religious 
end, not by seculars for a purely se- 
cular end. The people at so early a 
day had not advanced so far as they 
have now, and did not dream of 
divorcing secular education from re- 
ligion. The schools were intended 
to give both religious and secular 
education in their natural union, and 
there was no thought of the feasibility 
of separating what God had joined 
together. The Bible was read as a 
class-book, the catechism was taught 
as a regular school exercise, and the 
pastor of the parish visited the schools 
and instructed them in religion as 
often as he saw proper. Indeed, he 
was, it might be .said, ex officio the 
superintendent of the parish schools; 
and whether he was chosen as com- 
mittee-man or not, his voice was all 
potent in the management of the 
sdiool, in the selection of studies, and 
in the appointment and dismissal of 
teachers. The superiority in a reli- 
gious and moral point of view to the 



schools as now developed may be 
seen by contrasting the present moral 
and religious state of New England 
with what it was then. 

The religion, as we Catholics hold, 
was defective, and even false ; but the 
principle on which the schools were 
founded was sound, and worked well 
in the beginning, did no injustice to 
any one, and violated no conscience ; 
for Congregationalism was the estab- 
lished religion, and the people were 
all Congregationalists. Even where 
there was no establisl^ed religion and 
different denominations obtained, con- 
science was respected; for the charac- 
ter of the school, as well as the reli- 
gion taught in it, was determined by 
the inhabitants of the school district, 
and nobody was obliged to send his 
children to it, and those only who 
did send were taxed for its support. 

But in none of the States is there 
now an establbhed religion, and in 
all there are a great variety of de- 
nominations, all invested with equal 
rights before the state. It is obvious, 
then, the Massachusetts system can- 
not in any of them be adopted or 
continued, and the other system of 
taxing only those who use the schools 
caniiot be maintained, if the schools 
are to be supported from the income 
of public funds, or by a public tax 
levied alike on the whole population 
of the district, town, municipality, or 
State. Here commences the difficul- 
ty — and a grave one it is, too— which 
has as yet received no practical solu- 
tion, and which the legislatures of the 
several States are now called upon to 
solve. 

Hitherto the attempt has been 
made to meet the difficulty by exclud- 
ing from the public schools what the 
state calls sectarianism — that is, what- 
ever is distinctive of any particular 
denomination or peculiar to it — and 
allowing to be introduced only what 
is common to all, or, as it is called. 



94 



The School Question. 



"our common Christianity." This 
would, perhaps, meet the difficulty, if 
the several denominations were only 
different varieties of Protestantism. 
The several Protestant denominations 
differ from one another only in details 
or particulars, which can easily be sup- 
plied at home in the family, or in the 
Sunday-school. But this solution is 
impracticable where the division is 
not one between Protestant sects only, 
but between Catholics and Protes- 
tants. The difference between Catho- 
lics and Protestants is not a difference 
in details or particulars only, but a 
difiference in principle. Catholicity 
must be taught as a whole, in its uni- 
ty and its integrity, or it is not taught 
at all. It must everywhere be all or 
nothing. It is not a simple theory 
of truth or a collection of doctrines ; 
it is an organism, a living body, living 
and operating from its own central life, 
and is necessarily one and indivisible, 
and cannot have any thing in common 
with any other body. To exclude 
from the schools all that is distinctive 
or peculiar in Catholicity, is simply 
to exclude Catholicity itself, and to 
make the schools either purely Pro- 
testant or purely secular, and there- 
fore hostile to our religion, and such 
as we cannot in conscience support. 

Yet this is the system adopted, and 
while the law enables non-Catholics 
to use the public schools with the 
approbation of their consciences, it 
excludes the children of Catholics, 
unless their parents are willing to vio- 
late their Catholic conscience, to ne- 
glect their duty as fathers and mo- 
thers, and expose their children to 
the danger of losing their faith, and 
with it the chance of salvation. We 
are not free to expose our children to 
so great a danger, and are bound in 
conscience to do all in our power to 
guard them against it, and to bring 
them up in the faith of the church, to 
be good and exemplary Catholics. 



Evidently, then, the rule of allow- 
ing only our supposed "common 
Christianity '' to be taught in schools 
does not solve the difficulty, or secure 
to the Catholic his freedom of con- 
science. 

The exclusion of the Bible would 
not help the matter. This would 
only make the schools purely secu- 
lar, which were worse than making 
them purely Protestant; for, as it re- 
gards the state, society, morality, all 
the interests of this world. Protestan- 
tism we hold to be far better than no 
religion — unless you include under 
its name free-lovism, free - religion, 
womanVrightsism, and the various 
other similar isms struggling to get 
themselves recognized and adopted, 
and to which the more respectable 
Protestants, we presume, are hardly 
less opposed than we are. If some 
Catholics in particular localities have 
supposed that the exclusion of the 
Protestant Bible from the public 
schools would remove the objection 
to them as schools for Catholic chil- 
dren, they have, in our opinion, fallen 
into a very great mistake. The ques- 
tion lies deeper than reading or not 
reading the Bible in the schools, in 
one version or another. Of course, 
our church disapproves the Protes- 
tant version of the Bible, as a faulty 
translation of a mutilated text; but 
its exclusion from the public schools 
would by no means remove our ob- 
jections to them. We object to them 
not merely because they teach more 
or less of the Protestant religion, but 
also on the ground that we cannot 
freely and fully teach our religion and 
train up our children in them to be 
true and unwavering Catholics ; and 
we deny the right of the State, the 
city, the town, or the school district, 
to tax us for schools in which we are 
not free to do so. 

We value education, and even uni- 
versal education — ^which overlooks no 



Tlte School Question. 



95 



class or child, however rich or how- 
ever poor, however honored or how- 
ever despised— ^as highly as any of 
oar countrjinen do or can ; but we 
value no education that is divorced 
from religion and religious culture. 
Religion is the supreme law, the one 
thing to be lived for; and all in life, 
individual or social, civil or political, 
should be subordinated to it, and es- 
teemed only as means to the eternal end 
for which man was created and exists. 
Religious education is the chief thing, 
and we wish our children to be accus- 
tomed, from the first dawning of rea- 
son, so to regard it, and to regard 
whatever they learn or do as having 
a bearing on their religious charac- 
ter or their duty to God. Mr. Bul- 
wcr— now Lord Lytton — as well as 
many other literary men of eminence, 
have written much on the danger of 
a purely intellectual culture, or of the 
education of the intellect divorced 
from that of the heart, or sentiments 
and affections. We hold that educa- 
tion, either of the intellect or of the 
heart, or of both combined, divorced 
from faith and religious discipline, is 
dangerous alike to the individual and 
to society. All education should be 
religious, and intended to train the 
child for a religious end ; not for this 
life only, but for eternal life ; for this 
life is nothing if severed from that 
which is to come. 

Even for this world, for civilization 
itself, the religious education which 
the church gives is far better than any 
so-called secular education without it. 
The church has not always been able 
to secure universal secular education 
for all her children ; but there can be 
no question that the illiterate classes 
of Catholic nations are far more civi- 
lized and better trained than are 
the corresponding classes of Protes- 
tant nations. There is no comparison 
in personal dignity, manliness, self- 
respect, courtesy of manner, refined 



feeling, and delicate sentiment, be- 
tween an unlettered Italian, French, 
Spanish, or Irish peasant, and an un- 
lettered Protestant German, English, 
or American. The one is a cultivated, 
a civilized man ; the other is a boor, a 
clown, coarse and brutal, who perpe- 
tually mistakes impudence for inde- 
pendence, and proves his self-resp)ect 
by his indifference or insults to oth- 
ers. The difference is due to the dif- 
ference of religion and religious cul- 
ture ; not, as is sometimes pretended, 
to difference of race. The church ci- 
vilizes the whole nation that accepts 
her; only the upper classes in Pto- 
testant narions are civilized. 

Of course, we do not and can not 
expect, in a state where Protestants 
have equal rights with Catholics be- 
fore the state, to carry our reHgion 
into public schools designed equally 
for all. We have no right to do it. 
But Protestants have no more right 
to carry their religion into them than 
we have to carry ours; and carry 
theirs they do, when ours is excluded. 
Their rights are equal to ours, and 
ours are equal to theirs ; and neither 
does nor can, in the eyes of the state, 
override the other. As the question 
is a matter of conscience, and there- 
fore of the rights of God, there can 
be no compromise, no splitting of 
differences, or yielding of the one 
party to the other. Here comes up 
the precise difficulty. The stote is 
bound equally to recognize and re- 
spect the conscience of Protestants 
and of Catholics, and has no right 
to restrain the conscience of either. 
There must, then, be a dead-lock, un- 
less some method can be discovered 
or devised by which the public schools 
can be saved without lesion either to 
the Protestant or the Catholic. 

Three solutions have been suggest- 
ed: I. The first is to exclude the 
Bible and all religious teaching, or 
recognition, in any way, shape, or 



The Se^ooi QHtstion. 



manner, of religion, from the public 
schools. This is the infidel or secu- 
lar solulion, and, so faj as Catholics 
are concerned, is no solution at all. 
It is simple mockery. \Vhat we de- 
mand is, not that religion be excluded 
from the schools, but schools in which 
we can leach freely and fully our own 
religion to our own children. It is 
precisely these purely secular schools, 
in which all education is divorced 
from religion — from the faith, pre- 
cepts, services, and discipline of the 
church, as well as education com- 
bined with a folse religion — that we 
oppose. Nor will this solution satisfy 
the more respectable Protestant deno- 
minations, as is evident from the tena- 
dty with which they insist on reading 
the Bible in the schools. They do 
not believe any more than we do in 
the utility, or even practicability, of 
divorcing what is called secular learn- 
ing from religion. All education, they 
hold, as well as we, that is not reli- 
giouB, is necessarily ami -religious, 
This is a case in which there is and 
can be no neutrality. We find this 
conclusively shown by some remarks 
in 7^e Christian World before us, cre- 
dited to Professor Taylcr Lewis, the 
most learned and able thinker we arc 
acquainted with among our Protestant 
conlempor.-iries. The professor's re- 
marks are so true, so sensible, and so 
much to our purpose, that, though not 
so brief as we could wish, our readers 
will hardly fail to thank us for tran- 
scribing them : 

" Let US lest ihis specious plea of ncn- 
irality. What docs i! imply? If carried 
strictly out to the eielusion of every thing 
leligiouB, or having a relipous (endency. it 
must coDsittently demand b like eiduslon 
of every Ibing thai in the least minifesls Ihe 
opposite lendency, under whatever specious 
disguises it may be veiled. Il does not al- 
icr the case in the least thai opinions, re- 
^ed as ifreligiom, or as undermining oc 
in any way weakening Uie grounds of belief, 
take to themselve* the ipeduus names of 



ileralure, or politics, or political economy, 
ir phrenology, or the ptlilosophy o( hiH 
y. No such sham posi-words should gii 
Ruckle and Combe admillance wfaere Bi 






and Chalmers are shut out. Every tt 
that makes it less easy for the child [o I 
licve his catechism, 'taught at home,' 
they say, is a break of the supposed ca«J) 
cordat. The mere objection is to 
cd. It is enough that things seem 
rious men, as capable of correct r _^_ 

as any on the other side ; or that it M Iha 
□pinion. Ihe prejudice, if any choose xo W 
call it, of 1 devout ignorsnce. The 111 
ful religions man might be willing to 
his objection if there were or could be rei 
impartiality. He might Itu^t a true nort 
and religious training as fully able to cona 
leract any thing of an opposite tendency 
But to let in the enemy, and then take awq 
Ihe weapon of ilcfence — this ; 
hard to be unilerslood. 

" Now, there can be no doubl cS the fat 
that there is admitted into our ichooli, ov 
colleges, our educational libraries, into lb 
reailing-rooms connected with them, nod 
that is thus deemed irreligious in it* tei 
dency — at least, by the holders of o\ 
ter creeds. There is mneh thai is 
alienating the minds of their children ft 
the doctrines held sacred by their («tb 
We might go further: there is much l! 
tends to undermine oil religious belief, et 
of the freest cast. What young man c 
have his mind hlled with the atheistical *] 
culations of Milt and Spencci 
to the uncounleracted theo 
anil Huxley, and yet retain unimpaired hil 
liclief in a providence as taught by Christ-* 
a providence that 'numbers the very baiH 
of our heads' — or listen as before to ittk 
prayer that ascends from the liunily altar} 
These vrrilers profess a kind of theism, it ia 
said ; but wherein, as far as any moral ponttf 
is concerned, does it differ from a belief hi 
quadratic equations, or the dogmas of hcU 
and magnetism ? 

"The matter, as we have slated it, woul^ 
be too plain for argument were il 
those magical wt ' 
that some are so fond of using, 
knows no reli^on,' they «ay ; it ii wboUjr 'I 
private concern ' between the imJiviJtial m 
hia Maker. 'The state knows do Cod." 
They wonder Ihe lealous Ingot canaot • 
how clear this makes every thing. — ' 
would only assent to propositions lo 
so sclf-evidenl. we should have peace. 1 
set thetc confident It^idans to define W 
they mean by terms so fluently emplon^ 
or ask them to show as how the atate CH 



Tlu School Qttestioiu 



97 



keep dear of all action, direct or indirect, 
ix ct against an interest so vital as religion, 
so all-pervading, so intimately affecting every 
odier, and how soon they begin to stammer ! 
What is secular ? The one who attempts to 
define it would perhaps begin with a nega- 
tive. It is that which has no connection 
vith reUgion; no aspects, no relations, no 
tendencies, no suggestions, beyond this 
worM, or, the narrowest view of it, this 
age or uculum. Now, let him apply it to 
particular branches of education. There is 
the learning of the alphabet, spelling, read- 
ing. But what shall the child read? It 
vonld be very difficult to find a mere read- 
ing-book — unless its contents were an empty 
gabble, like the nonsense Latin verses of 
some schools — that would not somewhere, 
and in some way, betray moral or immoral, 
ittigious or irreligious ideas, according to 
the judgment of some minds. But let us 
vatre this, and go on. Arithmetic is secu- 
lar. Geography is secular ; though we have 
seen things under the head of physical geo- 
graphy that some classes of religionists might 
ohject to as betraying a spirit hostile to the 
idet of the earth's creation in any form. But 
go QB. Including the pure maUiematics, as 
being {mre mathematics and nothing else, 
ve have about got to the end of our defini- 
tion. No thinking man would pretend that 
&e departments of life and motion, chemis- 
trr, dynamics, physiology, could be studied 
apart from a higher class of ideas. But se- 
cakrity would interfere here in a very strange 
w. When these roads of knowledge thus 
tend upward toward the eternal light, it 
vonkl shut down the gate and eject the 
book. Natural philosophy, as taught by 
NevtOD and Kef^er, gets beyond secular ity. 
^Vben, on the other hand, after the manner 
of Hnmboldt, Lamarck, and Darwin, its 
propess is in the direction of the eternal 
dirimess, the study of it becomes entirely 
MMseOarian; it violates no rights of con- 
science! 

"In other departments, it is still more 
i^ficBlt to set the sectdar bound. History, 
the philosophy of history, political phiioso- 
pbj, psychology, ethics, however strong the 
fStxi to dereligionize them, do all, when 
•eft to thdr proper expansion, spurn any 
wdi bounds. Art, too, when wholly secu- 
Ivized; poetry stripped of its religious 
ideaiity; bow long would they resist such 
burrowing, suffocating process? A lower 
dDgna was never maintained than this of a 
■iMily secular education, or one more ut- 
toir im**rticticahti. The subject must ine- 
vitably die under the operation, and religion 
m^ist come back again into our schools and 

VOL. XI. 



colleges, to save them from inanity and ex- 
tinction. 

** There may be stated here some reasons 
why this plea of neutrality, though so false, 
is yet so specious and misleading. It arises 
from the fact that the statement of moral, 
religious, and theological ideas demands 
clear and positive language. The hostile 
forms, on the other hand, are disguised un- 
der vague and endlessly varying negations. 
They are Protean, too, in their appellations. 
They take to themselves the names of lite- 
rature, art, philosophy, reform. This pro- 
cedure shows itself in reading-books intend- 
ed for our primary schools; in text-books 
prepared for the higher institutions ; in es- 
says and periodicals that strew the tables of 
reading-rooms attached to our colleges and 
academies ; and, above all, in the public lec- 
turing, male and female, which may be said 
to have become a part of our educational 
system. For example, should the writer of 
this attempt to explain before such an audi- 
ence *the doctrines of grace,' as they are 
called, or that unearthly system of ideas 
which can be traced through the whole line 
of the church — patristic, Roman, and Pro- 
testant — in their production of a strong un- 
earthly character, then would be immediate- 
ly heard the cry of bigotry, or the senseless 
yell of church and state. And now for the 
opposing 'dogmas,* as they really are, not- 
withstanding all their disguises. They make 
their entrance under endlessly varied forms. 
Pantheism has free admittance ; but that is 
not dogmatic — it calls itself philosophy. In 
some lecture on progress, or history, the 
most essential of these old 'doctrines of 
grace* may be sneeringly ignored or co- 
vertly assailed ; but that is literature. Dar- 
winism is expounded, with its virtual denial 
of any thing like creation ; or Huxleyism, 
which brings man out of the monkey, and 
the monkey out of the fungus ; that is sci- 
ence. Or it may be the whining nonsense 
which glorifies the nineteenth century at the 
expense of the far honester eighteenth, and 
talks so undogmatically of the deep ' yearn- 
ing* for something better — that is, the 'com- 
ing faith.* And so goes on this exhibition 
of impartiality, with its exclusion of every 
thing dogmatic and theological.*' 

Neither Catholics nor Protestants 
who believe at all in religion will 
consent to be taxed to support infidel, 
pantheistic, or atheistic education; 
and all so-called purely secular edu- 
cation is really nothing else. The 
temporal separated from the eternal,. 



The School Question. 



the universe from its Creator, is no- 
thing, and can be no object of science. 
The first suggested solution must then 
be abandoned, and not be entertained 
for a moment by the state, unless it is 
bent on suicide; for the basis of the 
slate itself is religion, and is excluded 
in excluding all religious ideas and 
principles. 

2. The second solution suggested 
is to adopt in education the volun- 
taiy system, as we do in religion, and 
leave each denomination to maintain 
schools for its own children at its own 
expense. We could accept this solu- 
tion, as Catholics, without any serious 
objection ; but we foresee some trou- 
ble in disposing of the educational 
funds held by several of the Stales in 
trust for common schools, academies, 
and colleges, and in determining to 
whom shall belong the school -houses, 
and academy and college buildings 
and fixtures, erected, in whole or in 
part, at the public expense. Besides, 
this would break up Uie whole public 
school system, and defeat the chief 
end it contemplates — that of provid- 
ing a good common education for 
all ihc children of the land, especial- 
ly the children of the poorer classes. 
Catholics, Presbyterians, Congrega- 
tionalists, and Episcopalians would 
establish and support schools, each 
respectively for their own children ; 
but some other denominations might 
not, and the infidels, and that large 
•class called nothingarian, most cer- 
tainly would not. Only they who 
bericve in some religion see enough 
of dignity in man, or worth in the 
huraan soul, to make the sacrifice of 
a penny for education. The Darwins, 
the Huxleys, the Lyetls, and other 
unbdieving scientists of the day, were 
sever educated in schools, academies, 
colleges, or univer^bes founded by in- 
lidds. They graduated from schools 
founded by the faith and piety of 



those who belicTed in God, 
tion, in Christ, in the life and 
tality brought to light in the 
and if they have devoted thi 
to severe studies, it has not bi 
love of science, but in the 
hope of being able to dispens 
explanation of nature, with ( 
Creator, and to prove that 
only a monkey developed, 
densed gas, or, as Dr. Cabanis 
him, simply " a digestive tube 
both ends." 

Moreover, though we d« 
competency of the state to 
educator, we hold that its t 
ward both religion and educ 
something more than negati> 
hold that it has positive duties 
fonn in regard to each. It 
decide what religion its citiie 
accept and obey; but it is b 
protect its citizens in the free 
enjoyment of the religion the 
for ^emselves. We cannot, 
sake of carrying a point wl 
hold to be true and certain 1 
great importance, ally outseK 
infidels, or lay down as a u 
principle what our church ha 
approved, and what we may 
change of the tide be o 
obliged to disavow. The sta 
all its powers and functions, e 
religion, and is in all its actioi 
dinnted to the eternal end < 
As the church teaches, and 
New England Puritans hel 
worid is never the end; it is 
means to an end infinitely 
itself We will never dishonf 
so much as to concede for a i 
that the stute is independent 
gion ; that it may treat religi< 
coordinate power with ilsd 
indifference, or look down i 
with haughty contempt, as 
its notice, or to be pushed i 
it comes in its way. Jt is a 



The School Question. 



99 



bound to constilt the spiritual end of 
Dtn, and to obey the law of God, 
liiich overrides all other laws, as is 
die individual. 

We, of course, deny the compe- 
tency of the state to educate, to say 
what shall or shall not be taught in 
the public schools, as we deny its 
oon^)etency to say what shall or shall 
not be the religious belief and disci- 
pline of its citizens. We, of course, 
otteriy repudiate the popular doctrine 
that so-called secular education is the 
fimction of the state. Yet, while we 
might accept this second solution as 
an expedient, we do not approve it, 
and cannot defend it as sound in 
principle. It would break up and 
iMeiiy destroy the free public school 
ifstem, what is good as well as what 
B evil in it ; and we wish to save the 
^fstem by simply removing what it 
contains repugnant to the Catholic 
conscience — ^not to destroy it or less- 
en its influence. We are decidedly in 
£nror of free public schools for all the 
diildren of the land, and we hold that 
the |HT>perty of the state should bear 
the burden of educating the children 
of the state— the two great and es- 
sential principles of the system, and 
whidi endear it to the hearts of the 
American people. Universal suffrage 
ii a mischievous absurdity without 
universal education; and universal 
cdncation is not practicable unless 
provided for at the public expense. 
While, then, we insist that the action 
of the state shall be subordinated to 
the law of conscience, we yet hold 
that it has an important part to per- 
faim, and that it is its duty, in view 
of llie common weal, and of its own 
teanity as well as that of its citizens, 
to piDvide tiie means of a good com- 
non school education for all its chil- 
dren, whatever their condition, rich 
or poor. Catholics or Protestants. It 
has taken the American people over 
tvo hundred years to arrive at this 



conclusion, and never by our advice 
shall they abandon it. 

3. The first and second solutions 
must then be dismissed as imsatisfac- 
tory. The first, because it excludes 
religion, and makes the public schools 
nurseries of infidelity and irreligion. 
The second, because it breaks up and 
destroys the whole system of free 
public schools, and renders the uni- 
versal education demanded by our 
institutions impracticable, or unlikely 
to be given, and in so far endangers 
the safety, the life, and prosperity of 
the republic. We repeat it, what we 
want is not the destruction of the 
system, but simply its modification so 
fkr as necessary to protect the con- 
science of both Catholics and Pro- 
testants in its rightful freedom. The 
modification necessary to do this is 
much slighter than is supposed, and, 
instead of destroying or weakening 
the system, would really perfect it 
and render it alike acceptable to Pro- 
testants and to Catholics, and com- 
bine both in the efforts necessary to 
sustain it. It is simply to adopt the 
third solution that has been suggested, 
namely, that of dividing the schools 
between Catholics and Protestants, 
and assigning to each the number pro- 
portioned to the number of children 
each has to educate. This would 
leave Catholics free to teach their re- 
ligion and apply their discipline in the 
Catholic schools, and Protestants free 
to teach their religion and apply their 
discipline in the Protestant schools. 
The system, as a system of free 
schools at the public expense, with 
its fixtures and present machinery, 
would remain unimpaired ; and a re- 
ligious education, so necessary to so- 
ciety as well as to the soul, could be 
given freely and fully to all, without 
the slightest lesion to any one's con- 
science, or interference with the full 
and entire religious fireedom which 
is guaranteed by our constitution to 



L 



every citizen. The Catholic will be 
restored to his rights, and the Pro- 
testant will retain his. 

This division was not called Tor in 
New England in the beginning; for 
then the j>eop!e were all of one and 
the same religion ; nor when only 
those who used the schools were 
taxed for their support. It was not 
needed even when there were only 
Protestants in the country. In de- 
mantling it now, we cast no censure 
on the original founders of our public 
schools. But now, when the system 
is so enlarged as to include free 
schools for all the children of the 
stale at the public expense, and 
Catholics have become and are likely 
to remain a notable part of the popu- 
lation of the country, it becomes not 
only practicable, but absolutely ne- 
cessary, if religious liberty or freedom 
of conscience for all citizens is lo be 
maintained ; and it were an act of in- 
justice to Catholics, whose conscience 
chiefly demands the division, and a 
gross abuse of power, to withhold it. 
It may be an annoyance to Protestants 
that Catholics are here ; but they are 
here, and here they will remain ; and 
it is never the part of wisdom to re- 
sist the inevitable. Our population 
is divided between Catholics and 
Protestants, and the only sensible 
tourse is for each division to recog- 
nize and respect the equal rights of 
the other before the State. 

One objection of a practical cha- 
racter has been brought against the 
division by the New York Tribune. 
That journal says that, if the division 
could be made in cities and large 
towns, it would still be impracticable 
in the sparsely settled districts of the 
country, where the population is too 
small to admit, without too great an 
expense, of two separate schools, one 
Catholic and one Protestant. The 
objection is one that is likely to di- 
minish in force with lime. In such 



districts let each school rcctx 
pro rata amount of the public rai 
if too little, let Catholic charity 
up the deficiency for the Ca) 
and Protestant charity for the 
testant school. Besides, in 
sparsely settled districts there ai 
Catholics, and their children « 
less exposed than in cities,' 
towns, and villages. 

The more common objection 
is, that if separate schools are co 
ed to Catholics, they must no( 
be conceded to the Israelite) 
also to each Protestant denomin 
To the Israelites, we grant, il 
demand them. To each ftxrt 
denomination, not at all, tmless 
denomination can put in an I 
plea of conscience for such dil 
All Protestant denominations, wi 
a single exception, unless it b 
Episcopalians, unite in opposin 
division we ask for, and in defe 
the system as it is, which prov( 
they have no conscientious obje 
to the public schools as they ar 
constituted and conducted. T 
lision to meet the demands \ 
Catholic conscience would ncce 
no change at all in the schoc 
set apart for Catholic children 
the several denominations tfat 
not conscientiously opposed to 
now could not be conscient 
opposed lo them after the dr 
IVe cannot suppose that any de 
nation of Protestants would C( 
to support a system of educatio 
offends its own conscience fi 
sake of doing violence to the 
science of Catholics. Do n 
American Protestants profess 
the sturdy champions of lreed< 
conscience, and maintain that 
conscience begins there the secul 
thority ends ? If the present s< 
do violence to no Protestant 
science, as we presume from lh( 
fence of them they do not, nc 



The Sc^oil Qtustiott. 



lOI 



4 

testant denomination can demand a* 
division in its favor on the plea of 
conscience ; and to no other plea is 
the state or the public under any 
obligation to listen. If, however, 
there be any denomination that can 
in good iaith demand separate schools 
00 the plea of conscience, we say at 
once let it have them, for such a plea, 
when honest, overrides every other 
consideration. 

But we are asked what shall be 
done with the large body of citizens 
who are neither Catholic nor Pro- 
testant? Such citizens, we reply, 
have no religion ; and they who have 
no religion have no conscience that 
people who have religion are bound 
to re^)ect If they refuse to send 
&cir children either to the Hebrew 
schools or the Catholic schools, or, 
in fine, to the Protestant schools, let 
them found schools of their own, at 
their own expense. The constitutions 
of the several States guarantee to each 
and every citizen the right to worship 
God according to the dictates of his 
own conscience ; but this is not gua- 
ranteeing to any one the freedom of 
not worshipping God, to deny his ex- 
istence, to reject his revelation, or to 
worship a false God. The liberty 
guaranteed is the liberty of religion, 
not the liberty of infidelity. The in- 
fidel has, under our constitution and 
laws, the right of protection in his 
civil and political equality ; but none 
to protection in his infidelity, since 
that is not a religion, but the denial 
of all religion. He cannot plead con- 
science in its behalf, for conscience 
presupposes religion ; and where there 
is no religious faith, there is, of course, 
no conscience. It would be emi- 
nently absurd to ask the state to pro- 
tect infidehty, or the denial of all re- 
ligion; for religion, as we have said, 
is the only basis of the state, and for 
the state to protect infidelity would 
be to cut its own throat. 



"„. -.These are, we believe, all the plau- 
* sJBle; objections that can be urged 
agkip^t;"^e division of the public 
schools vSViemand; for we do not 
count as**sti€5i*-the pretence of some 
over-zealous •Protestants that it is ne- 
cessary to detich the children of 
Catholics from the' Cj^tholic Church 
in 'order that they niaji-jjr^^, up tho- 
rough Americans ; and as-'iKe public 
schools are very eflfectual'iiirsfo^^e- 
tachmg them, and weakening.flj^if 
respect for the religion of their par5nt4y ' 
and their reverence for their clergy, 
they ought on all patriotic grounds to 
be maintained in full vigor as they 
are. We have heard this objection 
from over-zealous Evangelicals, and 
still oftener from so-called Liberal 
Christians and infidels ; we have long 
been told that the church is anti- 
American, and can never thrive in the 
United States ; for she can never with- 
stand the free and enlightened spirit of 
the country, and the decatholicizing in- 
fluence of our common schools ; and 
we can hardly doubt that some 
thought of the kind is at the bottom 
of much of the opposition the pro- 
posed division of the public schools 
has encountered. But we cannot 
treat it as serious ; for it is evidently 
incompatible w^ith the freedom of 
conscience which the state is bound 
by its constitution to recognize and 
protect, for Catholics as well as for 
Protestants. The state has no right 
to make itself a proselyting institution 
for or against Protestantism, for or 
against Catholicity. It is its business 
to protect us in the free and full en- 
joyment of our religion, not to engage 
in the work of unmaking our children 
of their Catholicity. The case is one 
of conscience, and conscience is ac- 
countable to no civil tribunal. All 
secular authority and all secular con- 
siderations whatever must yield to 
conscience. In questions of con- 
science the law of God governs, not 



\ 



77ie SchodCQiuslion. 



a plurality of votes. The state 
abuses its authority if it susiainj.t'hfe ' 
common schools as Ihey si^, Aj"* ^ 
view of detaching our cMyre'a from 
their Catliolic faith an.f Jove'. If Ca- 
tholics cannot retiu^. ttieir Catholic 
faith and practice ant] still be true, 
loyal, and ex^mfjlary American citi- 
zens, it j^6st-i^ only because Ameri- 
canism l5:Iu'Simpatib!e with tlie rights 
of ^(InSdfncc, and that would be its 
^fil^pmnation, not the condemnation 
'*if Catholicity. No nationality can 
override conscience ; for conscience is 
catholic, not national, and is account- 
able to God alone, who is above and 
over all nations, all principalities and 
powera, King of kings and Lord of 
lords. But the assumption in the ob- 
jection is not true. It mistakes the 
opinion of the American people indi- 
vidually for the constitution of the 
American state. The American 
state is as much Catholic as it is 
Protestant, and really harmonizes far 
better with Catholicity than with Pro- 
testantism. We hold that, instead of 
decatholicizing Catholic cliildren, it 
is far more necessary, if we are to be 
governed by reasons of this sort, lo 
unmake the children of Protestants of 
tlieir Protestantism. We really be- 
lieve that, in order to train them up 
lo be, in the fullest sense, true, loyal, 
and exemplary American citizens, 
such as can alone arrest the present 
downward tendency of the republic, 
and realize the hopes of its heroic and 
noble-hearted founders, they must be- 
come good Catholics. 

But this is a quesdon of which the 
state can take no cognizance. Wc 
have under its constitution no right 
to call upon it to aid us, directly or 
indirectly, in unmaking Protestant 
children of their Protestantism, Of 
cour^, before God, or in the spiritual 
order, we recognize no equality be- 
tireen Catholicity and Protestantism. 
Before God, no man has any right to 



be of any religion but the Caiholi^ 
the only true religion, the only relW 
gion by which men can be raised U, 
union with God in the beatific viaoot 
But before the American state, 
recognize in Protestants equal righM 
with our own. They have the s 
right to be protected by the stale i| 
the freedom of their conscience tliM 
we have to be protected by it in iT " 
freedom of ours. We should atiac| 
the very freedom of conscience tb$ 
state guarantees to all her citize 
were we to call upon it to found orU 
continue a system of public schot^ 
at the public expense, intended g 
fitted to detach Protestant childre 
from the religion of their parents, an 
tuin them over to be brought ti 
in the Catholic religion. Wc shoiil 
prove ourselves decidedly i 
can in so doing. Yet, we regret to 5a|| 
this is precisely what the non-cathofi 
majority, inconsiderately we trust, a 
doing ; and, if the popular r 
of the several sects, like Dr. 
W. Clark, Dr, Sheldon, Dr. Belloi 
Henry \\'ard Beech er, and the secIJi 
rian and secular press have their vi 
they will continue to do to the end Q 
the chapter to us Catholics. Thflj 
probably are not aware that they bft 
lie the Americanism they profess, ai>4 
abuse the power their superiority o' 
numbers gives them to tyrannize OM 
the consciences of their fcUow-citizcia 
This strikes us as very un-Amcrica^ 
as well as very unjust. 

We place our demand for scpantM 
sclioots on the ground of conscten 
and therefore of right— the right of Goi 
as well as of man. Our consciena 
forbids us to support schools at tl 
public expense from which our re 
gion is excluded, and in which a 
children arc taught either what i 
hold lo be a false or mutilated n 
gion, or no religion at a 
schools are perilous to the souls a 
our children ; and we dare avon 



The School Question. 



103 



eren in this age of secularism andf in- 
fidelity, that we place the salvation of 
the souls of our children above Qwtry 
other consideration. This plea of 
conscience, which we urge from the 
depth of our souls, and imder a fear- 
M sense pf our accountability to our 
Maker, ought to suffice, especially in 
an appeal to a state boimd by its own 
constitution to protect the rights of 
conscience for each and all of its citi- 
zens, whether Protestant or Catholic. 
One diing must be evident from 
past experience, that our children can 
be brought up to be good and order- 
ly citizens only as Catholics, and in 
schools under the supervision and 
control of their church, in which her 
£uth is freely and fully taught, and 
ber services, discipline, and influences 
are Ivought to bear in forming their 
characters, restraining them from evil, 
and training them to virtue. We do 
not say that, even if trained in Catho- 
lic schools, all wiU turn out to be 
good practical Catholics and virtuous 
members of society; for the chiu*ch 
does not take away free-will, nor era- 
dicate all the evil propensities of the 
flesh ; but it is certain that they can- 
not be made such in schools in which 
the religion of their parents is reviled 
as a besotted superstition, and the very 
text-books of history and geography 
are made to protest against it ; or in 
which they are accustomed to hear 
their priests spoken of without reve- 
rence, Protestant nations lauded as 
the only free and enlightened nations 
of the earth, Catholic nations sneered 
at as ignorant and enslaved, and the 
dkurch denounced as a spiritual de- 
^dsm, full of crafl, and crusted all 
over with corruption both of faith 
and morals. Such schools may wea- 
ken their reverence for their parents, 
cmi detach them from their church, 
obscure, if not destroy their faith, ren- 
der them indifferent to religion, in- 
docile to their parents, disobedient to 



the laws; but they cannot inspire them 
with the love of virtue, restrain their 
vicious or criminal propensities, or 
prevent them from associating with 
the dangerous classes of our large 
towns and cities, and furnishing sub- 
jects for the correctional police, our 
jails, penitentiaries, state prisons, and 
the gallows. 

We are pointed to the vicious and 
criminal population of our cities, of 
which we furnish more than our due 
proportion, as a conclusive argument 
against the moral tendency of our re- 
ligion, and a savage howl of indigna- 
tion, that rings throughout the land, 
is set up against the legislature or the 
municipality that ventures to grant us 
the slightest aid in our struggles to 
protect our children from the dangers 
that beset them, though bearing no 
proportion to the aid granted to non- 
Catholics. Yet it is precisely to meet 
cases like ours that a public provision 
for education is needed and suppos- 
ed to be made. Protestants make 
the great mistake of trying to cure 
the evil to which we refer by de- 
taching our children from the church, 
and bringing them up bad Protes- 
tants, or without any religion. The 
thousand and one associations and 
institutions formed by Protestant zeal 
and benevolence for the reformation 
or the bringing up of poor Catholic 
children, and some of which go so 
far as to kidnap little papist orphans 
or half orphans, lock them up in 
their orphan asylums, where no priest 
can enter, change their names so that 
their relatives cannot trace them, send 
them to a distance, and place them 
in Protestant families, where it is hop- 
ed they will forget their Catholic ori- 
gin, all proceed from the same mistake, 
and all fail to arrest, or even to lessen, 
the growing evil. They necessarily 
provoke the opposition and resistance 
of the Catholic pastors, and of all 
earnest Catholics, who regard the loss- 



I04 



The School Question, 



of their raith as the greatest calami- 
ty that can befall Catholic children. 
So long as faith remains, however 
great the vice or tiie crime, there is 
something to build on, and room to 
hope for repentance, though late, for 
reformation and final salvation. Faith 
once gone, all is gone. 

It is necessary to understand that 
the children of Catholics must be 
trained up in the Catholic faith, in 
the Cathoiic Church, to be good es- 
emplary Cathoiics, or they will grow 
up bad citb.ens, the pests of society. 
Nothing can be done for them but 
through the approval and coo|ieration 
of the Catholic clergy and the Catholic 
community. The contrary rule, till 
quite recently, has been adopted, and 
public and private benevolence has 
sought to benefit our children by dis- 
regarding, or seeking to uproot, their 
Catholic faith, and rejecting the co- 
operation of the Catholic clergy. The 
results are apparent to all not abso- 
lutely blinded by their misdirected 

The public has not sufficiently con- 
sidered that by the law excluding our 
religion from the public schools, the 
schools as established by law are Pro- 
testant schools, at least so far as they 
are not pagan or godless. We do 
not suppose the state ever intended 
to establish Protestantism as the ex- 
clusive religion of the schools; but 
such is the necessary result of exclud- 
ing, no matter under what pretext, 
the leaching of our religion in them. 
Exclude Catholicity, and what is left ? 
Nothing of Christianity but Protes- 
tantism, which is simply Christianity 
■minus the Catholic Church, her faith, 
precepts, and sacraments. At pVe- 
sent the state makes ample provision 
for the children of Protestants, infi- 
dels, or pagans; but excludes the 
thildren of Catholics, unless we con- 
sent to let them be etlucatcd in Pro- 
I itotanl schools, and brought up Pro- 



testants, so far as the schools < 
bring them up. 

Now, we protest in the name of< 
equal rights against this manifest io'* 
justice. There is no class of the' 
community more in need of free pulK- 
lic schools than Catholics, and non^ 
are more entitled to their benefit; (at' 
they constitute a large portion of thrfi 
poorer and more destitute classes of' 
the community. We can concdvt 
nothing more unjust than for the staU 
to provide schools for Protestants, a 
even infidels, and refuse to do it foi 
Catholics. To say that Catholid 
have as free access to the publtd 
schools as Protestants, is bitter inoc" 
ery. Protestants can send their C 
dren to them without exposing then! 
to lose their Protestantism ; but CaA 
tholics cannot send their children ti 
them without exposing them to the las 
of their Calhohcity. The law protect 
their religion in the public schools I^ 
the simple fact of excluding oui* 
How then say these schools are as &«4 
to us as they are to them ? Is con- 
science of no account ? 

We take it for granted that the in- 
tention of the state is that the publia 
schools should be accessible alike t<f 
Catholics and Protestants, and on thfl 
same risks and conditions. We pre- 
sume it has had no more intentioi|:( 
of favoring Protestants at the cxpeosV 
of Catholics, than Catholics ; 
expense of Protestants. But it ( 
no longer fail to see that its intentioi 
is not, and cannot be realiied by pro 
viding schools which Protestants cat 
use without risk to their Protests 
tism, and none which Catholics csi 
use without risk to their Catholicitj! 
/\s the case now stands, the law s 
tains Protestantism in the schools and 
excludes Catholicity. This is unjuM 
to Catholics, and deprives us, in so 
far as Catholics, of ail benefit to tM 
derived from the public schools sup« 
ported at the public expense. Wers" 



The School Question. 



lOS 



tbc law to admit Catholicity, it would 
necessarily exclude Protestantism, 
which would be equally unjust to Pro- 
testants. Since, then. Catholicity and 
Protestantism mutually exclude each 
other, and as the state is bound to 
treat both with equal respect, it is not 
possible for it to carry out its inten- 
tioD and do justice to both parties, 
but by dividing the schools, and set- 
ting apart for Catholics their propor- 
tion of them, in which the education 
shall be determined and controlled 
by their church, though remaining 
pablic schools supported at the public 
expense, under the provisions of a ge- 
Qoal law as now. 

This would be doing for its Catho- 
lic citizens only what it now does for 
its Protestant citizens only; in fact^ 
only what is done in France, Austria, 
and Prussia. The division would ena- 
ble us to bring all our children into 
schools under the influence and ma- 
nagement of our pastors, and to do 
whatever the church and a thorough- 
ly religious education can do to train 
them up to be good Cathplics, and 
therefore orderly and peaceful mem- 
bers of society, and loyal and virtu- 
ous American citizens. It would al- 
so remove some restraint from the 
Protestant schools, and allow them 
more freedom in insisting on what- 
ever is doctrinal and positive in their 
religion than they now^exercise. The 
two classes of schools, though operat- 
ing separately, would aid each other 
in stemming the tide of infidelity and 
immorality, now setting in with such 
fearful rapidity, and apparentiy re- 
sistless force, threatening the very^ex- 
istcnce of our republic The division 
would operate in favor of religion, 
both in a Catholic sense and in a 
Protestant sense, and therefore tend 
to purify and preserve American so- 
detr. It would restore the schools 
to their original intention, and make 



them, what they should be, religious 
schools. 

The enemy which the state, which 
Catholics, and which Protestants have 
alike to resist and vanquish by edu- 
cation is the irreligion, pantheism, 
atheism, and immorality, disguised as 
secularism, or under the specious 
names of science, humanity, free-re- 
ligion, and free-love, which not only 
strike at all Christian faith and Chris- 
tian morals, but at the family, the state, 
and civilized society itself. The state 
has no right to regard this enemy with 
indifference, and on this point we accept 
the able arguments used by the seri- 
ous Protestant preachers and writers 
cited in the number of Tlie Christian 
World before us against the exclu- 
sion of the Bible and all recognition of 
religion from the public schools. The 
American state is not infidel or god- 
less, and is bound always to recog- 
nize and actively aid religion as far 
as in its power. Having no spiritual 
or theological competency, it has no 
right to undertake to say what shall 
or shall not be the religion of its citi- 
zens ; it must accept, protect, and aid 
the religion its citizens see proper to 
adopt, and without partiality for the 
religion of the majority any more than 
the religion of the minority ; for in 
regard to religion the rights and pow- 
ers of minorities and majorities are 
equal. The state is under the Chris- 
tian law, and it is bound to protect 
and enforce Christian morals and its 
laws, whether assailed by Mormon- 
ism, spiritism, free-lovism, pantheism, 
or atheism. 

The modem world has strayed far 
from this doctrine, which in the early 
history of this country nobody ques- 
tioned. The departure may be false- 
ly called progress, and boasted of as 
a result of " the march of intellect;" 
but it must be arrested, and men 
must be recalled to the truths they 



io6 



The New Englander oh the 



have left behind, if republican go- 
vernment is to be mainiained, and 
Christian society preserved, Protes- 
tants who see and deplore the depar- 
ture from tlic old Kindniarks will find 
themselves unablu to arrest the down- 
ward tendency without our aid, and lit- 
tle aid shall we be able to render them 
unless the church be &ee to use the 
public schools — that is, her portion 



of them — to bring up her chi 
in her own laith, and train llic 
be good Catholics. There is 
crudesccnce of paganism, a gi 
of subtle and disguised infitj 
which it will require all that 
they and we can do to arresL ] 
therefore, Protestants, no loBg|( 
but the public enemy.* 



, no loBgl 



THE NEW ENGLANDER ON THE "MORAL RESULTS 
THE ROMISH SYSTEM."" 



The reply of the Nno En^andir to 
our articles of September and October 
last is bristling with the most palpable 
and absurd mistakes. We call them 
" mistakes " through the utmost stretch 
of Christian charily, for there is really 
no excuse to be made for them. We 
cannot excuse them by allowing either 
their author or the editors of the New 
Englandfr the benefit of the plea of 
ignorance; for they were bound to 
inform themselves on a grave matter 
which they profess to treat of ; nor 
that of haste and carelessness. Tliey 
have had at least three months for a 
reply, and were at liberty to take three 
months more, if necessary ; and to 
plead carelessness in such a matter is 
equivalent to a confession of culpable 
negligence and want of moral princi- 
ple. They were bound by the prin- 
ciples of the Cliristian religion not to 
exaggerate or convey in any way a 
worse impression of their fellow-Chris- 
tians than the exact truth would war- 

•.Vrw EmttaiJtr, JuiDVT. ia;«- AnuJi «- 
<WxA. •' MonJ Remluof ihf KimiUb Srucm." 



rant, according to the words i 
Paul, " Charity is kind, thinket 
evil, ... is not puffed 
which we might paraphrase in 
way: Is not pharisaically inclin 
exalt one's self at the expense of 
neighbor, or at the sacrifice ol 
truth. The iW-ii' Englander has 1 
use of every artifice ; and, trusrii 
the unsuspecting ignorance or i 
tical spirit of the community, 
shameful perversion of the trul 
effect this unworthy and unchii 
object. We speak severely bee* 



coiild |]e4 tv discuAicd in the fbrcgoing irticlai 

■uiuicr. L^rge tumi of monct haw Ixca j 

cgnlrolled bi the deity oT diSerenl riiilifjn 
miiuliDiii, in which they icach Iheii nlifkMH a 
wilhiHii rcflnini, ind vhicb iliey nuks. n tU 
on. tniiDinc.jdiaolt Jar their IbeolD^od Kfli 
Nov, ifiheinilcry igalnit any gruil of pufal)! 
la KhflolB in trhich the Cltholic rcLigiib It tl 



vvbiidics, iml, if Ibey with lo keep coatroltj 



wmld neyer dlKnilaw u) deipall Ihac PM 
imlilD^oni, cTfli ir lb(T bid liiU pamr to ds 




** Moral Results of the Romish System:' 



107 



B time the public, both Catholic and 
Protestant, should frown upon such 
practices, and endeavor to approach 
Chnstian unity by the practice of the 
most ordinary Christian virtues. We 
dmll now proceed to make good our 
allegations against the New Englander. 
I St The New Englander makes a 
comparison of the provinces of Catho- 
lic and Protestant countries, prefaced 
by the following introduction : 

" The author of Evenings with the Ro- 
mamsts, writing in 1854, gave the names 
and official returns of ten principal cities of 
4, Protestant Prussia and of ten principal dties 
of Roman Catholic Austria. . . . The 
Cathouc World admits the statements, 
. . . and claims, with that air of injured 
innocence, which is so favorite a weapon in 
Romish polemics, that, if the returns of the 
prorinces were brought into the account, 
diey would more than redress the balance of 
tike dties. We proceed to put his proposi- 
tkn to experiment." 

Would our readers credit it, that he 
has done nothing of the kind ? He 
has not compared the Protestant and 
Catholic provinces of Protestant Prus- 
sia and Roman Catholic Austria, be- 
tween which, and which alone, the pa- 
rallel comparison of cities was made ; 
bat substituted another comparison, 
entirely his own, introducing provinces 
belonging to other countries to weigh 
down the Catholic scale, and exclud- 
ing half the Catholic provinces of Aus- 
tzia for the same purpose. This we 
win show to a demonstration. Here 
is Ae table of the New Englander: 

iOegHimmcy in German Provinctu 



lomrAirr. 



nucr. 
..la 
.9.6 
..10 
.. 617 
..15.9 
..16.4 



KOMAN CATHOLIC PK. CT. 

Au»triji(Upper and Lower).a9. 3 

Bohemia 16.3 

Baden x6.a 

Bavaria 33.5 

Carinthia i x.7 

Carniola 45 

Moravia 15. i 

Posen 6.8 

Rhineland 3.4 

Salzburg 39.6 

Styria 3a6 

Trieste, Gorx^ etc 9.9 

Tyrol and Vorarlbeix 6 



,11.7 



.1S.6 



We repeat, the question as put by 
the New Englander itself is not about 
German provinces, but of the Protes- 
tant and Roman Catholic provinces 
of Prussia and Austria. Moreover, 
the table as it stands is grossly un- 
true. The rate of illegitimacy of the 
province of Prussia is 9 instead of 
6.7, which materially alters the gene- 
ral average. 

The averages of the table are falsely 
given as, 

Protestant xi.7 Catholic 18.6 

The true averages found by balanc- 
ing the populations and the rates, ac- 
cording to the rules of arithmetic, are : 

Protestant za Catholic 16.9 

Besides these grave blunders, the 
New Englander^ professing to give a 
statement of the German provinces 
by taking Germany, "province by 
province," has omitted many German 
provinces, which omission very mate- 
rially affects the result We take the 
liberty of putting them in to show 
how " economical " of truth the New 
Englander has been. 

Prcvincet omitUd/cr which returns were g^iven, 

FROTKSTANT. FR. CT. CATHOLIC PR. CT. 

Saxon Prussia. 10 Austrian Silesia. 13.8 

Branswick 18.9 

Mecklenburg- Schwerin. ao. 7 
Saxe- Weimar- Eisenadi. 15.6 

Saxe Altenburg 16.9 

Hesse xy.a 

Bremen 7.3 

We shall now proceed to do what the 
New Englander professed to do, but 
merely shifting the question, has not 
done, namely, compare the Catholic 
and Protestant provinces of Protestant 
Prussia and Roman Catholic Austria, 
province by province, as they existed 
previous to the last war, to correspond 
to the comparison of the cities of these 
countries which were contained within 
these limits. Milan, as well as Lem- 
burg and Zara, are put down among 
the Austrian cities. We shall give 
the corresponding provinces: 



io8 



The New Englander on the 



lUtgUimaey in Pruukm and A tutrian Provinces 

POPULATION 
PROTESTANT. IN MILLIONS. PR. CT. 

Braodenburg 3.6a la 

Pomerania 1.44 zo 

Pruasia 3.01 9 

Saxony (provioc; a.04 10 

9. XI xo.a 

POPULATION 
CATHOLIC IN MILLION& PR. CT. 

Austria (Ui^r and Lower) a.47 39.3 

Bohenua 5.XI 16.3 

Carinthia 34 45 

Camiola 47 11. 7 

Moravia z.99 15. x 

Pocen 1.53 6.8 

Rhineland 3.35 3.4 

Austrian Silesia 49 13.8 

SaUbui;g 15 39.6 

Styria 1.09 30.6 

Trieste, etc 56 9.9 

Tyrol 88 6 

Hungary ia68 6 

Galicia 5.10 S 

Dalinatia 44 5 

Croatia 95 5.5 

Lombardy and Venice 555 5.x 

41.14 xa3 

We have thus shown, by a mathe- 
matical demonstration, that the words 
which the New Englander found con- 
venient to put in our mouths, though 
we really said nothing of the kind, that 
" if the returns of the provinces were 
brought into the account, they would 
more than redress the balance of the 
cities," are sufficiently made good. We 
are glad he "proceeded to put our 
proposition to experiment," and we 
caution him when he makes any more 
experiments of this kind to reflect 
that, whatever may be the judgment 
of an uncritical public prepared to 
take his statements without examin- 
ation, his artifices, misstatements, and 
false conclusions are sure to be de- 
tected by any well-informed reader 
who will take the trouble of examin- 
ing them. The result of the compa- 
rison of the Protestant and Roman 
Catholic provinces of Austria and 
Prussia sums up in this fashion: 

Falu A vtrage ^ tJu New-Englamdtr, 
ProtesUnt ix.7 Catholic 1S.6 



our task, strictly confining on 
to the provinces in question ; b 
seems more complete to add th^ 
German provinces on both si< 
which returns are given, we 
with the following result : 



Provinces already given. 

PR. CT. 

Protestant io.a 

Wftrtetnberg 16.4 

Smaller German States* 14.8 



P0P1 

IN K 



xa.s 



pori 

IN M 



Protestant 



Tm* A verage. 

....10. a Catholic. 



10.3 



We have thus finished this part of 



PR. CT. 

Catholic X0.3 

Bavaria 32. 5 

Baden. x6.3 

11.7 



We dismiss the Ne^o Eng 
from the examination of pro 
with the conviction that he 
now to become a wiser if 
better man. 

2dly. The New Englander 
us another division of his woi 
titled thus, " 3. Comparison of 
populations^^ the object of which 
to be two-fold : ist. To show th( 
derful effect of a little Protestai 
in a mass of Catholic corruption 
2dly, to push up the rate of Ca 
Austria to a high figure by excl 
the best half of it, and thus to cor 
with flying colors in the grand tJ 
statement of all the European 
tries. He commences with th 
lowing round but very novel 
ment: "The empire of Austr 
eludes a population of 31,65 1 
of these, 21,082,801 or two t 
are non-Romanists, belonging t 
Protestant church or Greek Chi 

The population of the emp 
Austria is really divided as folio 

Catholics 36,728,020 

All others 7i703.976 

by which specimen we may f< 

• Including kingdom of Saxony, Bninswcfc 
ver, Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Saxe-Weimar-E 
Saxe-Altenburg, Heaae, and Bremen. 



^'Moral Results of the Romish System:* 



109 



good judgment of the general accu- 
nqr of the Niew Englander, 

He goes on, " In niije of the Aus- 
tzian pro\inces the population is al- 
most exclusively Roman Catholic. In 
seven, the Roman Catholics are, on an 
a\-crage, in a minority of 46 per cent." 
He proves these assertions by a table 
of 

Mixtd Provmctt. 

KOMANISTS. ILLICtTIMATS. 



I 



Hsnpxy 52 per cent 

Gxica 44 

Bakowina 9 

Stlnaua 81 

U£tii]Srenze 4a 

Craita,etc. 8a 

Taasfirania xi 



«< 



6 per cent 

8 " 

9 " 
5 

«-4 
5-5 

7 



<« 



M 



«< 



Average. 



i( 



M 



iccompanied by the following remark : 
"This falling of the rate of illegiti- 
macy from twenty-one to six, when the 
proportion of Romanists to the popu- 
lation falls off from ninety-seven to 
forty-six, indicates the salutary effect 
of Protestant Christianity, not only on 
its own followers, but also on the 
working of Romanism itself." But 
suppose the population does not fall 
oflf from ninety-seven to forty-six per 
cent, and that in most of these pro- 
▼inces, and where the rate of illegi- 
timacy is the lowest, there are no 
Protestants at all, and a small pro- 
portion in the rest; what is shown, 
then, unless it be the ignorance and 
bad faith of the New Englander^ which 
professes to be the " recognized expo- 
nent of those views of religious life 
which have given character to New 
Eng^d, and its essays to be among 
the best fruits of thought and opinion 
which the education given at Yale is 
adapted to foster"? Alas! Messrs. 
Editors, you have unceremoniously 
droppe^l nearly 4,000,000 of Roman 
Catholics from your computation. 
Are you not aware that the United 
Greeks are Roman Catholics? If 
you are not, we beg leave to en- 
lighten you, and correct the table 



you have so ostentatiously paraded 
before the public : 

Jews &* Sckif 
CatMict, Protittattis. matte Greeks. 



zi i 

V* 

Hungarjr 5965 61 

Galida 4x50 90 

Bukowina 43 xo 

Dalniatia 338 8x 

Militilrgrenze. .... 454 43 

Croatia, etc 7a x 85 

Transylvaxua 775 40 



H 

»349 
3« 

none 

none 
20 

none 
510 






«4 
z 

o 

o 
a 
o 

a7 



b2 



2S 

£S 

h 

>449 «S 

449 9 

381 90 

77 «9 

557 55 

>y> 15 

637 33 



Total 12,446 65 3910 15 3760 ao 

The " salutary effect of Protestant 
Christianity in" Galicia, Bukowina, 
Dalraatia, Militargrenze, Croatia, etc., 
is wonderful, and indeed little short 
of miraculous, considering how ex- 
ceedingly small the quantity of it is. 
If the presence of one per cent of 
Protestants can so ameliorate the con- 
dition of things in Galicia, what a 
land of heavenly purity Connecticut 
must be! But we arouse ourselves 
to finish our task, or we shall be- 
come entirely absorbed in these sub- 
lime reflections. 

The New Englandet^s '•'experi- 
ment" with mixed populations is 
an entire failure. We will give a 
much more reliable table, to show 
the influence of the Catholic and 
Protestant religion among people of 
the same race, and living together in 
the same commimities, and under the 
same laws. The census of illegitimacy 
has been taken in Prussia according to 
the religious faith of the people. 



IlUgitiniacy in Prussia. 



AMONG 
rROTEaTANTS. 

Pop. in 
t'.ious'ds. 

Brandenburg 2509 

Sileaia »7<H 

Saxony «903 

Pomerania i40» 

Prussia 2i37 

Posen 5°' 

Westphalia. 74© 

Rhineland 8a6 



pr. ct. 

12.05 

xa.03 

>o-35 

X0.3S 

9.67 

7.06 

4.18 

3>35 



AMONG 
CATHOLICS. 

Pop. in 

thous'ds. pr. ct. 
66 840 



«756 
130 
15 
815 
950 
907 

>494 



Tela',... xi.7sa aooi 



Hi3 



iao7 
6.05 
93« 

7-45 

6.82 

3 35 
367 

6.4 



Tlu New EngUmder on tkt 



We take our leave of the " compa- 
rison of mixed populalions." If the 
New Engiaihkr is satisfied with our 
treatment of the subject, we are sure 
we are with his ; for it enables us to 
put this matter once more before an 
enlightened public, leaving them to 
form their own opinions about iu 

We now come to the New Eng- 
lander's final division of the subject: 
"4. Comparison of nations." 

Here is the grand extinguisher of 
all Catholic pretensions. The whole 
question is to be put in a nut-shell in 
the following table, and that according 
to the very criterion proposed by The 
Catholic World. 

A'rtnS:«r/*»Ar'» 7-aMr rf llhcltlMCT " £""- 















.. b.1 








I'ruw. iocladi 




GenMnAu«rH„..8.i 


SuonrS H.nov< 






Sweden, with Noni 












WBnembag 


..rM 














0T4™^i«l"y"*' 













fc 



What strikes us first of all Ls the 
richness of these averages. Dear 
New Englander, you will be the 
death of us with your averages. 
Not that we shall literally be Itilled 
off by them ; but when we think of 
the " best fruits " of the scholarship 
of Yale College producing such ave- 
rages, by adding up a lot of rates of 
ail sorts of countries, big and little, 
and dividing the sum by the number 
of countries, the idea is absurd enough 
to kill any one with laughter. Exu- 
berance of fancy has evidently exer- 
cised an unfavorable influence on the 
mathematical ability of the author of 
this article, and neutralized the effect 
of the excellent mathematical course 
given at Yale College. 

We find in the table Italy and Siiain 
marked with a note of interrogation, 



as much as lo say, "What bui 
have you here with such low 
rages ? You ought lo look a great 
worse than that, being such black 
benighted Romanist countries 
are." And after them the word * 
fective " in brackets. No doubt' 
best of reasons will be given for. I 
Let us see. "The reiuma for I 
and Spain are utterly defective 
untrustworthy. Assuming the 
nary birth-rate, the returns show 
in Italy more Ihan one fourth of 
births fail to be registered." \ 
does not the New Englander gi*< 
figures, that we may judge for 
selves? What he has not doM 
will do for him : 

Binlu i* li^f. 

■Mj »IJ4» 

'»4 »»»» 

>»i - "Aw 

Awragt >ri>li9 

The population of Italy is sf.ijr J 
and the birth-rate of Europe, acd 
ing to the Nctu Englander, is i to 
Dividing the number of the pop 
lion by aS, we get 865,608. '^ 
number of actual births exceedt 
number expected, instead of b; 
defective by "more than a font 
As ihe reason alleged proves tq 
utterly false, we shall strike off 
marks of interrogation from I| 
and leave out the "defective'' 
the brackets. 

In like manner, the retums 
Spain are treated. " As for Sj 
its census returns, if quoted at 
among statistics, are quoted at et 
a larger discount than its fiuail 
securities. The sum of the Spaj 
censuses for the last forty years 
been up and down after the foltoii 
zigzag fashion : 

13*940^ 



^ Moral Results of tlie Romish System!* 



Ill 



Not having found our friend of the 
New EngUinder very precise hereto- 
fore in his figures, we did not exactly 
take them on trust this time, but looked 
in our " Handbuch," and found the 
Mowing 



Tahli of IttegUimacy in European Cotmiries. 



imSpmim. 

182a 11,661,865 

183^ 11,158,164 

1846 13,162,873 

1857 iS.464.340 

«86o X5t673i5l6 

wluch does not exhibit any great 
"ngzag" propensity. 
I The following table of births does 
not show any mark of being either 
untrustworthy or defective, but is un- 
commonly complete and steady : 

f.SGITIMA'n. ILLSCITIMATK. 



1S58 5i6,itS 

>«S9 Sa5,«43 

»too $41*331 

«y»« S77.4«4 

««6« 573t646 

1^3 56S»«44 

1864 586.993 

1865 581,686 



90,040 
3«,o8o 
3a,Ma 

34*»5 
33»4S6 

32,997 
34.458 
33.3^ 



So much for the romandng of the 
New EngtandtTy which we might ap- 
propriately designate as building ^ cas- 
te in Spain.** 

We beg our readers' pardon for 
these long lists of figures, but they 
lie really necessary for the correct 
understanding of the matter. As to 
Austria, we shall take the liberty to 
being down her figure from 18.1 to 
ii.i ; not that it would make so very 
much difference in the general average 
of the nations, except in the clap-trap 
node of calculation adopted by the 
Hew EngUinder, but because justice, 
as we have amply shown, demands 

• 

t 

We shall now present a true table 
of the European countries, slighdy 
modifying some of the rates, to cor- 
respond to later and better informa- 
tioD, and inserting all the omitted 
countries of which returns are given : 



WOTESTANT, FR. CT. 

Denmark* ii 

England and Wales 6.5 

Scotland 10.x 

Holland 4 

Prussia. 8.6 

Sweden and Norway 9.6 

Switzerland 5.5 

WOrtemberg x6. 4 

Other German Statest 14.8 



Average. 



8.7 



CATHOLIC 



FR. CT. 

Baden i6.a 

Bavaria 32.5 

Belgiimi ^.^» 

France 7.3 

Austria zx.x 

Italy 5. X 

Spain 55 



Average. 



8.4 



POPULATION 
IN MILLIONS. 

3-73 
30.07 

3.06 

3-53 
18.94 

5.8. 

a.51 

«-75 
&40 

64.80 

POPULATION 
IN MILLIONS. 

'•43 
4.81 

4.98 
38.07 

34^98 
34.33 
X5.67 

X34.17 



The New Englander has been quite 
hard on us for classing Holland and 
Switzerland, in which there are very 
large Catholic minorities, as mixed 
countries, and remanded them with 
an air of injured innocence forthwith 
into the Protestant column, where it 
will be observed they present an un- 
commonly good appearance, being the 
lowest on the list We have shown by 
documentary evidence that in Prussia 
in 1864, when there was a Catholic 
minority of thirty-eight per cent, the 
rate of illegitimacy was brought down 
by it from lo to 8.46, or, in other 
words, if all the Catholics could be 
removed at once out of the land, the 
rate of Prussia would stand 10, whereas 
it appears now %,(i. For this reason 
we thought fit to make some distinc- 
tion, lest there should be any strutting 
around in borrowed plumes, and to 
form a table of mixed countries. We 
shall, therefore, carefully avoiding any 
further wounding of the delicate sus- 
ceptibilities of the New Englander^ 
append a table, making allowances for 
the minorities on both sides, coming 

* Including Schleswig-Holstetn. 

t Saxony, Brunswidc, Hanover, Mecklenborg- 
Schwerin, Saxe- Weimar- Eisenach, SaJM*Altenburg» 
Hesae, and the dty of Bremen. 



112 The New Englander on tli$ 

just as near to the exact truth as it is cedes any point, however sti 

possible: proved, but is solely occupl 

^ „ ,,„.,. . , V. ju- •-^- ^ showing, by fair means or fou 

TaUt of liltrittmary, tndttdtng MajorUttt and ,, ^ ^ , j ., «f •/•»•• 

Mimoruut, " total depravity," as if the vo 

PROT. FOP. CATH. POP. and breath of the Protestant re 

PR. CT. IN mill's, im mill's. depcndcd on maintaining a dee 

it^y*.. !...!!.!.!..! 5.x *!33 %Cv> bitter hatred and contempt of ( 

Spain 5-5 •" «5-5S Hcs. To our own Tcadcrs, we c 

Sh'oHa"nPmM*u;.*.'6*J ''f J.» think it worth whilc to adduo 

England and Wales.. 6.5 1900 i» particular proof of a sclf-cviden 

France. 7.* .77 34-93 ... _ xr ^i. i_ c ji- 

Belgium 7.3 .oj 4.97 position. If there be a foundlm 

Sweden and Norway.. 96 5-8« •• pital, receiving infauts left at its 

Protestants in Prussia. lo.o 11.74 .. t . ^ r ,\ . •. 'n 

Scotland 10. 1 3.00 .x6 it rcquuTcs no proof that it will 

Denmark ii a. 73 • • the adjacent country as well i 

Auitna II. I 3-45 »-73 '^ iir v j . 

German sutcs 14.8 5.88 .5a City. We havc documentary cvi 

wortemberg xb^ jjo ^ jq prove this point ; but the Neu 

Mean Protectants.. 8.3 57.54 x«7«94 /<:j////4fr contaius SO many crTors 

Mean Catholics.... 74 require our attention, that we 

To sum up, we have for our final "ot space for so trivial a matter. 

j-gg^j^ . would like, however, to ask our 

Nito Engiandtf^s Avtraget, of the Nov EnglandcT whethcT 1 

Protestant. . 8.8 licves any of the three thousand ii 

CaUioiic....i«.7; or, omitting Italy «id Si*b..i4.5 received in the foundling hospi 

TrmAveragtt, Amsterdam come from the cour 

Protectant 8-3 2d. The Ncw Englander 

'** "But where do the infants come 

Here we are glad to end the gene- that are received in the multitud 

ral investigation, and to show that, if r<w«/rv nunneries that abound thr 

we are not very much better than our out the rural districts, and comr 

neighbors, we are not any worse, and have each its cr}che^ or cradle, in \ 

are not to be hounded down with the the child of shame may be drc 

cry of vice and immorality by a set in secret with a ring of the bel 

of Pharisees who are constantly laud- left ?" 

ing their own superiority, and thank- It is time enough to answei 

ing God they are so much better than question when any proof of its 

we poor Catholics. is brought forward ; but we can a 

We must notice, before we con- our friend that if any infants a 

elude, some minor points of the New received, they all find their w; 

Englander' s reply to The Catholic the hospital in short order. 

WoRiD. He insists that it is highly 3d. We find the following u: 

improbable that any of the foundlings and highly gentlemanly iiisiiiuati 

received into the hospital at Rome the New Englander: 

come from the provinces, and says ...t^,^^. „ ^ ,, ,. ,,^. 

. ^jj J _^'ir *'* The Crvt/ta Cattolica says, **Th\ 

we have not adduced a partide of portion of28.3oflcgitimate births for 

proof to the contrary. Well, as far one thousand of the population sjxjak 

as the readers of the Nnv Englander well for a capital city." And so it dc 

r.re concerned, what is the use of ad- ^^^ws, what we have always unde; 

1 • a r^- ♦!,««. .,««, them to l)e, that the Romans are a 

ducing any proof ?-for that very tuous and moral as any people of the .» 

L nnstKin journal takes no noUce of any xhn, x„e Catholic World ; to wl 

refutations of its statements, nor con- might safely add, that it shows that t 



-Moral Results of t/u Rotnish System.' 



113 



pantkm of 911 enormoas mass of the most 
ligorous part of the people under vows of 
cefibicy and amtinenpe does not necessarily 
dbeck the multiplicatron of the population." 

Weakness in arithmetic and a pni- 
ikot imagination have, no doubt, 
given rise to the above elegant ex- 
tract; but we rebut it by informing 
our friend of the Niew Engiandcr that 
there is a difference between 28.3 to 
the thousand and i to 28.3. Had he 
noticed this difference, he would not 
have digged this pit for himself. The 
figures prove nothing more than his 
own ignorance, putting the most cha- 
ntable construction on it. 

We must give a specimen of the 
New Engiander's idea of fairness in 
coDtroversy: 

*'In his Evenings with the Romanists^ 
Mr. Seymour, anticipating the tu quoque re« 
kxt of the Roman Catholics, said, ' If any 
nao vill name the worst of the Protestant 
coBotries, I care not which, I will name a 
Roman Catholic country still worse.' In 
tkb way, he proceeded to compare, in 1854, 
Sixony with Carinthia and sundry other re- 
gions on either side, whereupon The Catho- 
uc World has a violent outbreak of min- 
{M indignation and erudition at the ex- 
(nne trickiness of comparing Styria, Upper 
ad Lower Austria, Carinthia, > Salzburg, 
Triete, which are not countries at all, but 
saply the German provinces of the Aus- 
tiiai Empire, and Bavaria, with countries 
so difierent and wide apart as Norway, 
Svcden, Saxony, Hanover, and Wiirtem- 
bug; the regions in question seem to 
Itive been selected for their approximate 
c^ioality in population." 

Well, as probably most people have 
iK>t heard of the countrus of Carinthia, 
Styria, etc., we confess we were " eru- 
<&c" enough to know and to point 
out that they were slices of Austria 
carved for the occasion, and we were 
a litde indignant at the carving ope- 
ration. 

"Show me a bad Protestant country 
vhcre you please, aBd I will show you 
a Roman CathcUc country still worse P 
Hence, we have, accorduag to Mr. 
Seymour: 

VOL. XI.- 



FKOTBSTANT 


BOMAN CATHOLIC 


COVNTRIBS. 


COUNTRIES. 


Norway, 


Austria, 


Sweden, 


Austria, 


Saxony, 


Austria, 


Denmark, 


Austria, 


Hanover. 


Austria. 



We suppose this is all fair enough ; 
but we cannot see it, our moral vision 
being so infirm. 

"But these regions seem to have 
been selected for their approximate 
equality in population." So it seems, 
and our friend, Mr. S., has made it 
seem so in this fashion : " We compare 
Protestant Norway wit-h 1,194,610, 
and Roman Catholic Styria (Austria) 
with 1,006,971. Again, we compare 
Protestant Sweden with 2,983,144, and 
Roman Catholic Upper and Lower 
(Austria) with 2,244,363." All very 
good ; but now let us go on : " We 
compare Protestant Saxony with its 
population, and Roman Catholic Ca- 
rinthia with its population. And we 
compare Hanover with its Protestant 
population, and Salzburg with its 
Roman Catholic populations^ " * Of 
course these countries are selected 
for tlieir approximate equality in popu- 
lationy^ In order that our readers 
may see how much equality there is 
in the populations of these countries, 
we give the following 

Table 0/ Populatioits. 

PROTESTANT. CATHOLIC 

Saxony 3,343,994 Carinthia 343,469 

Hanover 1,923,493 Salzburg 147, 191 

Saxony is only seven times greater 
than Carinthia. Hanover only twelve 
times greater than Salzburg. Very 
excellent is Mr. Seymour in " antici- 
pating the tu quoque of the Roman 
Catholics." 

We now desire to call the attention 
of our readers to one very remark- 
able phenomenon of the statistics. In 
Protestant England the cities have a 
lower rate of illegitimacy than the 
country, while in France the case is 
reversed, the countries are low and 



114 



" Moral Results of the Romish System! 



the cities high. The following table 
will show this : 

Rates cf IllegUhHocy in City and Couidry Districts 

of Englattd. 

CITV. PR. CT. COUNTIIY. PR. CT. 

London 4.2 Nottingham 8.9 

Liverpool 4.9 York, N. R 8.9 

Birmingham 4.7 Salop 9.8 

Manchester. 6.7 Westmoreland. 9.7 

Sheffield 5.8 Norfolk 10.7 

Leeis. 6.4 Cumberland xx.4 

The rate for all England is 6.5. 

In Franc4, 

Rate in all France 7.9 

Rate in cities xx.4 

Rate in the country 4.4 

From this we draw the conclusion 
that for Protestants city life is decided- 
ly the best, and it will be the duty of 
ministers to crowd as many of their 
flocks as possible out of the polluted 
air of the country into the moral at- 
mosphere of the cities, and in Eng- 
land to endeavor to concentrate them 
particularly in the very virtuous com- 
munities of London and Liverpool. 
But we are sorry the gospel trumpet 
gives such a feeble sound in the coun- 
try districts, and we hope some of the 
city clergy will get a call to go into 
these benighted districts, (abjuring the 
brown-stone fronts and high salaries,) 
and bring them back at least to the 
level of the city population, where 
there are so many and varied tempta- 
tions, and such surprising purity. Our 
Catliolic people seem to flourish bet- 
ter in the country, and we sincerely 
hope that those who come over from 
Europe will get farms out West, in- 
stead of settling down in New- York 
or other cities. We did have an idea 
that the influence of religion was best 
exerted in the country, where the 
j>astor knows each one of his flock, 
and would rather have compared the 
country people in Protestant lands 
with the country people in Catholic 
lands, to test the influence of religion 
upon them; but as the NewEn^nder 
seems to think the comparison is best 
made in the cities, we leave every re- 



flective person to form his own 
ment. If the New En^ru 
right, we fear our Lord was ' 
in asking us to pray, " Lead i 
into temptation;" but Protc 
should rather pray, " Lead u 
temptation," because it is precis 
temptation they are most virtue 
We did not intend to say a 
word on the subject of murden 
because we have not any coi 
statistics on the subject, and b< 
we do not like the labor of hi 
them up, just at present ; but j 
thing is paraded before ns like 
rag before a bull, we will just 
one dash at it, and, giving it a 
sufficient to dispatch it, leave th 
of the matter until we find it co: 
ent to take it up. Mr. SejTnoui 
the following items in his book 



Ireland 19 homicides to the millioi 

France \i " " 

England.... 4 " " 

and we find the following table 
New Englander : 



To UU anUum of Pojmlation. 

ENGLAND. I 

Convictions of murder and attempts. . i>^ 
Convictions of in£inticidc in various 
degrees 5 

We give the latest returns o 
subject fi-om the " Handbuch 
France and from TJiom's Officia 
rectory for Englaiul and Ir 
1869. 

CONVICTIONS AND 
SENTBNCBS TO DKATM. BXXC 

1864. France 9 

X867. England and Wales. .27 
1867. Ireland 3 

It will not require much ingc 
to see where the truth lies. " E 
disce omnesJ^ 

We advise the New Englani 
subject in future !he articles of i 
fortunate correspondent, of wh 
is evidently ashamed, to the re 
of a professor of mathematics. 



Th0 Vatican Council. 



"5 



TO THE RAINBOW. 

All-glorious shape that fleetest, wind-«wept, 

Athwart the empurpled, pme-girt steep, 
That sinless, from thy birth hast wept, 

All-gladdening, till thy death must weep; 

That in eteme ablution still 

Thine innocence in shame dost shroud. 
And, washed where stain was none, dost fill 

With light thy penitential cloud ; 

Illume with peace our glooming glen ; 

O'er-aich with hope yon distant sea. 
To angels whispering, and to men, 

Of her whose lowlier sanctity 

In God's all-cleansing freshness shrirel, 

Disclaimed all pureness of her o^n, 
And aye her lucent brow inclined, 

God's handmaid meek, before his throne. 

Aubrey De Vere. 



THE FIRST OECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. 



NO. THREE. 



Ita second month of the Vatican 
^Bodl has seen no interruption of 
Jhbore, nor of the^ intense interest 
Inch these labors seem to excite on 
oy side. In truth, the intensity of 
» interest, especially among those 

are not friendly to the council, 
aU be inexplicable, did we not 

1 tibat there is in reality a struggle 
abed therein between the cause 
icfigion and the cause of irreligion. 
e meetings of the prelates are pri- 
e and quiet The subjects under 

are, at best, only vaguely 
outside. The names of the 
may be learned. You may 
stain, if yoa persist in the effort. 



that one bishop has a fine voice, and 
was well heard ; that another has an* 
exceedingly polished delivery ; that a 
third is remarkable for the. fluency, 
and a fourth for the classic elegance 
with which he spoke in Latin. Btit 
all your efforts will fail to elicit a re- 
port of the substance of the speech of 
any prelate. These speeches are for 
the council itself — ^for the assembled 
fathers to whom they are delivered — 
and are not for the public at large, 
nor for Buncombe. They are under 
the guard of the honor of the bishops 
and the oath of the officials, and are 
to be kept secret until the acts of the 
council are lawfully published* And 



ii6 



The Vatican Cottttdl. 



yet " own correspondents," " occa- 
sional correspondents," " special cor- 
respondents," and " reliable corre- 
spondents" from Rome have failed 
not, day after day, to fill the columns 
of newspapers — Italian, French, Eng- 
lish, German, Belgian, and Spanish, 
and doubtless others also, if we saw 
them — with tlieir guesses and suspi- 
cions, their liny grains of truth and 
bushels of fiction. Ponderous co- 
lumns of editorial coraments are of- 
ten superadded, as it were, to increase 
the amount of mystery and the mass 
of errors. Even the brief telegraphic 
notices seem to be often controlled or 
made to work in this sense. The te- 
legrams from Rome itself ought to be, 
and we presume are, correct. The 
author of a flagrant misstatement sent 
from this city could be identified and 
held responsible. But it is said that, 
outside of the limits of the Pontifical 
States, there is a news-agent who culls 
from letters sent him for that purpose 
most of those wonderful statements 
about tlie council which the telegraph 
wires are made to flash over Europe, 
and even across the Atlantic to Ame- 
rica. Tlie result of all this on the 
mind of one in Rome is ofttimes 
amusing. During our civil war, we 
once found ourselves in a railway car 
with an officer who had lost an arm. 
"Colonel," asked some one. "in what 
battle were you wounded?" The 
colonel laid down the papers he had 
been reading, sighed heavily, as if 
wearied, at least in mind, and an- 
swered, " At the time, I thought it 
was at the Imttle of Chanrelloreville ; 
but since I have been reading these 
newspaper accounts of that battle, I 
have come to the conclnsion that I 
was not there at all." The newspa- 
per reporters of the council labor un- 
der far greater difficulties than did the 
army correspondents, and are propor- 
tionately inaccurate. 
Meanwhile, the council moves oa 



in its direct course, like a m. 
steamer on the ocean, undJsturb 
these winds blowing altemaiclj 
every point of the compass, an 
heeding the wavelets they stri 
raise. ^Vithin the council, every 
is proceeding smoothly and hat 
ously, some think more slowly 
was anticipated. But the fatln 
the council fcel they have a 
work to do conscientiously, an< 
are engaged earnestly and in th 
of God in its performance. 

As yet, a third public session i 
council has not been held, no 
any public announcement been 
of the day when it may be 1( 
for. But the time is busily empi 
We stated in our last number I: 
schema or drall on some doc 
points had been given to the pi 
early in December, and had 
learnedly discussed, no less thai 
ty-five speakers having canvassi 
merits. At the conclusion of tb 
cussion, the schema was refem 
the Deputation, or Committe 
Faith. All the discourses had 
taken down and written out by I 
graphers, with an accuracy l 
astonished and elicited the com 
dation of such bishops as exai 
the report of their own spa 
These reports were hkewise hi 
over to the committee, that a 
mark might be overlooked or fi 
ten. All will be taken into cons 
lion and duly weighed, together 
further remarks before the comn 
by the theologians who drew i^ 
schema in the Preparatory Comn 
'ITie committee is charged to pi 
the matured result to the assai 
congregation at the proper timci 
it will again be considered, pa 
discussed, and finally voted on. 

On January 14th, the fathers ( 
assembled in a general congrcf 
in the council-hall, altered am 
stricted as we have already dcsc 



The Vatican ComiciL 



n; 



it Mass was celebrated at nine a.m., 
IS B always done, by one of the 
senior prelates. At its conclusion, 
the five presiding cardinals took their 
place. Cardinal De Angelis, the 
duef one, took his seat for the first 
time, and recited the usual opening 
prayer. 

At the previous congregations, five 
of the deputations of the council had 
been filled by election. The sixth — 
that on oriental rites and on missions — 
sdll remained to be filled. Twenty- 
ibur members were to be elected by 
ballot. 

The election was held in the usual 
fcniL The bishops had brought with 
them their ballots already written out. 
Several attendants passed, two and 
tiro, along the seats of the prelates, 
one of them bearing a small wicker- 
vork basket Each prelate deposited 
therein his ballot In a few moments 
in had quietly voted. The baskets 
were borne to the secretary's table in 
the middle, in front of the presiding 
cardinals. The ballots were placed in 
boxes prepared to receive them. The 
boxes were closed and sealed, to be 
opened afterward* before the regular 
committee for this purpose, when the 
votes would be counted, and the re- 
sult ascertained. 

The following prelates were elect- 
ed: 

Most Rev. Peter Bostani, Archbishop of 
Tyre and Sidon, Maronite, Asia. 

Most Rev. Vincent Spaccapietra, Arch- 
liBhop of Smyrna, Asia. 

Most Rev. Charles Lavigerie, Archbishop 
if Algiers, Africa. 

Hl Rev. Cyril Behnam-Benni, Bishop of 
Moossoul, (Syrian,) Mesopotamia. 

Rl Rev. Basil Abdo, (Greek Melchite,) 
KdK)p of Marxamne, Asia. 

Rl Rev. Joseph Papp-Szilagyi, (Roume- 
lin,) Bishop of Gross Wardein. 

Most Rev. Aloysius Ciurcia, Archbishop 
tf Irenopolis, Egypt 

Rt Rev. Aloysius Gabriel de la Place, 
Ifabop of Adrianople, Bulgaria. 

Rt. Rev. Stephen Louis Charbonneaux, 
Bhhop of Mysore, India. 



Rt. Rev. Thomas Grant, Bishop of South- 
wark, England. 

Rt. Rev. Hilary Alcazar, Bishop, Vicar 
Apostolic of Tonking. 

Rt. Rev. Daniel McGettigan, Bishop of 
Raphoe, Ireland. 

Rt Rev. Joseph Pluym, Bishop of Nico- 
polis, Bulgaria. 

Most Rev. Melchior Nazarian, (Arme- 
nian,) Archbishop of Mardin, Asia. ^ 

Rt. Rev. Stephen Melchiscdeckian, (Ar- 
menian, ) Bishop of Erzeroum, Asia. 

Rt. Rev. Augustin George Bar-Scinu, 
(Chaldean,) Bishop of Salmas, Asia. 

Rt Rev. John Lynch, Bishop of Toronto, 
Canada. 

Rt Rev. John Marang6, Bishop of Teno^, 
Greece. 

Rt Rev. Francis John Laouenan, Bishop, 
V. A^ of Pondicherry, India. 

Rt Rev. Anthony Charles Cousseau, Bi- 
•shop of Angoul^me, France. 

Rt Rev. Louis De Goesbriand, Bishop 
of Burlington, United States. 

Most Rev. Joseph Valerga, Patriarch of 
Jerusalem. 

Rt Rev. James Quin, Bishop of Bris- 
bane, Australia. 

Rt Rev. Charles Poirier, Bishop of Ro- 
seau, West Indies. 

His Eminence Cardinal Alexander Barna- 
b6, Prefect of the Propaganda, was appro- 
priately named chairman of this committee. 

No one in Rome, or elsewhere, 
could be found better qualified for 
this position than this eminent and 
well-known cardinal, who has for so 
many years, and so ably, presided over 
the congregation specially charged 
with superintending the world-wide 
missions of the Catholic Church. 
Bom in the year 1798, he was in his 
early boyhood when Napoleon an- 
nexed Italy to his empire. When the 
conqueror, in order to bind the coun-^ 
try to him, ordered that a number of 
the sons of the noble and most re- 
spectable families of Italy should be- 
sent to the Ecole Polytechnique at 
Paris, to be educated, as it were, under 
his own eye, the bright-eyed Alessan- 
dro Bamabb was selected with others. 
He continued in that school until the 
fall of Napoleon restored Pius VII. to 
Rome. The lad could soon return 



Its 



The Vatiutn Council. 



home likewise, and devote himself, 
according lo the aspirations of earlier 
years, to the service of God in the 
sanctuary. He pursued his ecclesias- 
tical studies with distinction under 
De Rossi, Finotti, Graziosi, PaJma, 
and the giant professors of those 
years in Rome; became priest; •and 
naturalty, with his learning, his energy, 
his amiability, was soon selected to 
give assistance in the congregations 
for the transaction of ecclesiastical 
business of the church in Rome. In 
due time he became secretary to the 
Congregation of the Propaganda, and 
made himself familiar with the affairs 
and men of the church throughout 
the world. Subsequently raised to. 
the cardinalatc, amid the applause of 
Rome, he succeeded Cardinal Fran- 
soni in theprefectship of the same Con- 
gregation of the Propaganda where 
he liad been secretary, and over 
which he, for many years, presided 
with an executive ability not equalled 
since the days of Cardinal Capellari, 
afterward Gregoiy XV. 

This election having been finished, 
tlie bishops then entered on the exa- 
mination of matters of ecclesiastical 
discipline, several j^A^-zHjAiiOr draughts, 
on which had been presented lo them 
for private study some time before. 
It is the ordinary usage of councils to 
examine matters of (aith and mat- 
ters of discipline as nearly /(7r* J^ssa 
as can conveniently be done. It 
seems this usage will be observed in 
the Vatican Council. There is a fun- 
damental difference between matters 
■of faith and matters of discipline. 

The faith of the church is ever on^— 
that originally delivered to her by the 
apostles. A council cannot alter it. 
'i'he errors or heresies prevaihng at 
any time, the uncertainty in some 
minds, or other needs of a period, 
may render it proper or necessary to 
give a fuller, dearer, and more defi- 
nite expression oftliat faith on points 



controverted or misunderstood. 
question always is. What has 
been the faith held in the [last 
the beginning, by the church on 
points? The answer is sought 
words of Holy Writ, in the past . 
rations of the church, whether i 
decrees of her councils or in tJ 
thoritative teachings of her sow 
pontiffs, and in her tmditioi 
shown in the liturgies and for 
prayer, in the testimony of i« 
cient doctors and fathers, and i 
concurrent teachings of the g 
body of her pastors and her d 
gians. The whole field of cvi 
is searched, and the answer s 
forth in noon-day light ; ami 
council declares what really and 
has been and is the belief and t 
ing of the Catholic Church a 
question before it. And that d4 
tion is accepted by the Catholic \ 
not simply on the word of men, 
ever great their knowledge or ao 
and scrutinizing their research 
simply on account of their ha 
of life, their sincerity of heart, < 
impartiality of their decision. ' 
are, indeed, high motives, such i 
world must always resjject, ani 
haps enough ordinarily to salist 
man minds. liut, after alt, thi 
but human motives. The Caib 
taught to base his belief on a 1 
motive — the divine assurance 
Saviour himself that he would a 
be with his church until the ci 
time, that he would send th* 
rit of truth to teach her all truti 
to abide with her for ever, an<I 
the gales of hell should never p 
against her. Our eara catcl 
words of tlie Saviour, " Whoa 
hearelh you, hcarelh me; whoa 
despiseth you, despiseth mc;" 
we know that the church is 
made tlie pillar and ground of 
and that he that will not hca 
church is like the heathen na 



The Vatican Council, 



119 



poWican. Hence on his divine word, 
which must stand though the heavens 
and the earth pass away, we accept 
the declarations and teachings of the 
church, through her councils, as the 
continuation of the teaching of Christ 
himself. 

Such was the examination made in 
the Council of Nice, a.d. 325 ; such 
was the spirit of faith in which its 
words were received when it declared 
the original and true belief of the 
chorch on the doctrines of the trinity 
and incarnation, and condemned the 
Bo?elties of Anus and his followers. 
Such was the examination made in the 
councils of Ephesus, Constantinople 
fast and second, and of Chalcedon ; 
sodi the filial faith in which their de- 
crees were received as they declared 
nore and more fully and explicitly 
the true Catholic doctrine of the 
ncaniation, and condemned "succes- 
avcly the errors of the Nestorians, the 
Honophysites, and the Monothelites. 
Such was the course pursued in the va- 
lious oecumenical councils which fol- 
lowed, down to and including the 
Council of Trent Such was the spirit 
in which their declarations of the faith 
larc ever been received. To us, the 
CadK)lic Church of Christ is a living 
diurch, possessing, by the gift of her 
^e Founder, authority to teach in 
Us name all that he taught, and ever 
goarded by his divine power from so 
fitQing under the assaults of hell as 
to teach error to nlan in his name, in- 
stead of the divine truth which he 
Qtabiished and commissioned her to 
teach. Her authority is ever the 
ame — the same in the first and se- 
cond centuries as in the fouith and 
ifth, in the tenth and twelfth, in the 
sbteenth, and in this nineteenth cen- 
tury; and it will continue the same 
until time ^all be no more. 

It is thus that the Vatican Council 
lakes up matters of faith, not to add 
to the fiiithy bat to declare it and to 



establish it, where it has been im- 
pugned or doubted or misunderstood. 
The question is, What are the points 
on which the errors and the needs of 
this age render it proper and necessa- 
ry to give a renewed, perhaps a fuller, 
clearer, and more emphatic declara- 
tion of the doctrine of the church ; 
and in what form of words shall such 
declarations be expressed? To all 
these questions the bishops are bring- 
ing their calmest and maturest judg- 
ment. There will be, as there must 
and should be, a free and frank in- 
terchange of views and arguments, in 
all sincerity and charity, even as in 
the council of the apostles at Jerusa- 
lem 'there was a great discussion be- 
fore the definitive result was declared 
with authority : It hath seemed good 
to tlie Holy Ghost and to us. When, 
afrer such a discussion, the council 
shall give forth its decisions and de- 
crees, they will be accepted by the 
children of the church. They will 
not be new doctrines. The Catholic 
heart and conscience will recognize 
them as portions of that faith which 
has heretofore ever been held. So 
true will this be, that we feel certain 
that one of the points which many 
of the enemies of the church will 
bring against this council, after its con- 
clusion, will be, that it has done com- 
paratively nothing, that all that it 
taught was knowTi and believed 
among Catholics before it was con- 
vened. But the same thing was said 
at the time of former councils, even 
of those which proved to be the most 
important and influential in the histo- 
ry of Christianity. 

But if faith is one and unchangeable, 
ecclesiastical discipline, at least in 
most of its details, is not. The church 
has received power to bind and to 
loose, and necessarily has authority 
to estabUsh a discipline, not simply 
for the purpose of securing order with- 
in her fold, but to reach the further 



120 



The Vatican Council. 



and higher purpose for which she her- 
self has been established and exists. 
Men must not merely believe the truth 
speculatively and with a dead faith. 
They must, by practical obedience 
'to the law of God, by avoidance of 
sin through the assistance of divine 
grace, by practice of virtue and by 
holiness of life, be guided to keep the 
word which they have heard, and so 
come to be saved. This practical 
guidance is her discipline. The gene- 
ral principles on which her action is 
based are the maxims and precepts of 
our divine Lord himself, the charac- 
ter of the holy sacraments which he 
established in his church to be the 
channels of grace, the institutions 
which came to her from the apostles, 
and which she will ever preserve, and 
those principles of right and morality 
which God has planted in the heart 
of man, and of which her divine com- 
mission mokes her the. highest and 
the most authoritative exponent. 
These principles are sacred and un- 
changeable. But in applying them to 
men there must he a large body of 
laws and regulations in detail. These 
are of her own institmion, and form 
her ecclesiastical discipline. Slie can 
revoke some, amend or alter others, 
and add still others, as she judges 
such action to be best adapted, under 
the ever -varying circumstances of the 
world, to secure the great end for 
which she must ever labor — the sal- 
vation of souls. 

As in all prcWous councils, so in 
this Vatican Council, these matters of 
discipline have naturally and una- 
voidably come up for consideration. 

We said that, in the General Con- 
gregation, held on the i4tb of Janua- 
ry-, immediately after tlie election of 
which we have spoken, the discussion 
of them commenced. It was con- 
tinued in other congregations held on 
January 15th. 19th, aisl, aid, 24th, 
25th, 27th, 28th, 31st; February 3d, 



4th, 7th, Sth, toth, 14th, anc 
It is not yet closed. So far, ; 
five prelates have addressed th( 
cil on the various points of dis 
that came under examination. 
If the discussion on matl 
faith, of which we spoke in c 
number, was worthy of admiral 
the vast learning it displayed, a 
inleliectual powers of the &p< 
this one on discipline was evet 
interesting for its practical b 
and the personal exiwrience, 
speak, which it recorded. Th< 
tions came up whetlfer this c 
law of discipline, established 
hundred or five hundred or thre 
dred years ago, however wis 
efficacious at the period of its i 
lion, could now be looked on ai 
ciently accomplishing its origini 
pose; or whether, on the coi 
some new law, proposed for thi 
sideraiion of the prelates, migl 
now be wUcly substituted i 
Bishops from every part of the 
brought tlie light of their own 
rience to illustrate the subject, 
bore, as it were, personal tesumi 
the good effects and to the inc 
niences of those rules and la 
their respective dioceses. It w 
deed most touching; and it e 
that the assembly was moved to 
as an eloquent bbhop, biuninj 
zeal for the house of tlie Lord, 
with accents of apostolic grief, ( 
woes of religion, and of disordei 
almost broke his heart — disi 
against which he stiaigglcd, seeo! 
in vain, because they arose fro 
were supported by, the internet: 
and abuses, and tyranny of th« 
go\ ernment, which claims to be 
and progressive," but is ever gra 
at tilings ecclesiastical, ever sb 
to wield ecclesiastical power, x. 
times pretending to uphold an 
fend such intrusion by pretext o 
laws and privileges of othw 1 



The Vatican Council, 



121 



when rnlers and people alike pro- 
fessed to fear God and to respect his 
church. 

Every portion of the world was 
heard from. The East, through 
Chaldeans, Maronites, and Arme- 
nians. The West, through Italian, 
French, German, Hungarian, Spanish, 
Mexican, Peruvian, Brazilian, Eng- 
lish, Irish, and American bishops. 
The past was interrogated as to the 
reasons and motives on which the 
olden laws were based, and the spe- 
cial purposes they were intended to 
efiect; and the present, as to their 
actual observance and effects in this 
centurv. Even the future was exam- 
ioed, so far as men may look into it, 
to conjecture what course the world 
was talcing ; and what, on the other 
haod, would be the most proper 
course for the church to pursue in 
her legislation, in order to secure the 
fbllest observance of the laws of God, 
ind the truest promotion of his glory. 

We might well be assured that, 
even humanly speaking, such abund- 
ince of knowledge and experience, 
such careful examination of all the 
past and present bearings of the sub- 
jects, such a keen, calm scrutiny of 
the future, would secure to the church 
from such men an ecclesiastical legis- 
lation of the highest practical wisdom, 
as well in what is retained as in what 
is changed or added as new. But, as 
Catholics, we should never lose sight 
of that higher wisdom with which the 
Holy Ghost, according to the words 
of Christ, and in answer to the pray- 
ers of the Catholic world, will not fail 
to guide the fathers of the council.* 

* We hare stodsously arc^ded entering on the spe- 
cific nljccts of the debate among the Others. So £ar 
MtWy have oome to our knowledge, we are of course 
ast ^kwed to qteak of them, at least at present. 
Bat we tmt we shall not be held as riolating any 
flwitkiicc when we repeat a statement made to us on 
^ best anlhority . Many of the £uhers of the Vatican 
rowKJl seem wdl acquainted with our Second Plenary 
CeaacQ of Baltimore. More than ooce it was re- 
ftoed to with special commendation as having tho- 
tfM dianctMr of this modem age in 



It will thus be seen that during this 
month the council has steadily pur- 
sued the even tenor of its way, with- 
out any public session. In fact, no 
day has as yet been assigned even as 
the proximate date of the third public 
session. No one outside the council 
seems able to say precisely what pro- 
gress has been made in discussing and 
disposing of matters. Still less can 
we say when the council will close. 
There seems to be a feeling that the 
discussions will continue until June, 
when the almost tropical heat of a 
Roman summer must set in. This 
will, of course, necessitate an adjourn- 
ment until the close of October, when 
the bishops would probably reassem- 
ble to continue their work. Time 
only can show whether there is any 
truth in this prognostication. Some 
of the bishops, of a more practical 
turn of mind, or more desirous of re- 
turning soon to their dioceses, are 
striving to find a mode of conciliating 
the most perfect freedom of discussion 
with a more rapid progress in the 
matters before the council. The most 
sacred right in a council is freedom to 
state one's views on matters in con- 
troversy, and to uphold them by all 
the arguments in one's power. This 
right has so far been most fully en- 
joyed and freely used. No plan that 
would take it away would be enter- 
tained. 

Every day in Rome now convinces 
a sojourner more and more strongly 
of the unity, the catholicity, and the 
sanctity of the church of Christ. 
Faith that heretofore was almost ex- 
tinct beneath the ashes of worldly 
thoughts, here glows again and bursts 
into a bright flame. Elsewhere we 
believed these truths ; here we seem 
to behold with our eyes, and to touch 



which we live. And the desire was expressed that its 
special regulations on one or two points for the church 
in the United States could be made universal laws for 
the whde church. 



122 



The Vatican CowtciL 



with our hands their reality. No one 
can be privileged to mingle with the 
bishops here without being impressed 
with their perfect unity in all things 
declared and taught by the church, 
and with the undisguised readiness or 
rather firm intention of all, to accept 
and to hold and to teach all that, un- 
der the light of the Holy Ghost, shall 
be declared of faith in this Vatican 
Council. If, during the discussion 
and examination, they may take diffe- 
rent views, this does not disturb the 
cordial affection among them. They 
can array their strongest arguments 
without ever descending to personali- 
ties. They are chary of indulging 
even in witticism calculated to relieve 
the solemnity of the debate by a 
smile. In all the discussion there is 
not only the highest gentlemanly 
courtesy, but also that true charity 
and unioA of hearts which must ac- 
company that unity of faith which 
they solemnly professed to hold, and 
which must, if possible, be confirmed 
and strengthened in this Vatican 
Council 

To be fiiUy impressed with this per- 
fect unity, one must be privileged to 
mingle somewhat with the bishops. 
But even the cursory glance jof a 
stranger sees the evidence of the ca- 
tholicity of the church presented by 
the gathering of so many bishops 
from so many portions of the world 
around the central chair of unity. 
We have already spoken of this in 
our former articles. We will now 
give a summary, almost official, which 
has just been made out, classifying 
the prelates who have attended, ac- 
cording to their nationalities and 
dioceses : 

EUROPE. 

Austria and Tyrol, - - - - lo 

Bohemia and Moravia, - - - 5 

Illyria and Dalmatia, - - - - 13 

Hungary and Gallida, - • 20 

Belgium, ...... 6 

Fipmce, ...... 84 



Germany, North Confederation, - 

Germany, South Confederation, 

England, . - - - - 

Ireland, ...... 

Scotland, ..... 

Greece,.' ... - . . 

Holland, ..... 

Lombardy, ..... 

Venice, 

Naples, Kingdom of, ... 

Sicily and Malta, - . . . 

Sardinia, Kingdom of, - > . 

Tuscany and Modena, ... 

States of the Church, including cardin 
and also all the bishops from see: 
those portions seized by Victor I 
manuel, ..... 

Portugal, 

Switzerland, ..... 

Spain, ...... 

Turkey in Europe, .... 

Russia, an administrator of a diocese 1 

I has escaped, .... 

ASIA. 
China and Japan, - . - 
Hindostan and Cochin China, etc., 
Persia, . . - . - 

Turkey in Asia, .... 

AFRICA. 

Algeria, 

Canary Islands and the Azores, 
Egypt and Tunis, . . - 
Senegambia, ..... 
Southern Africa, • . • . 

OCEANICA. 

Australia and the Islands of the Fa( 
Ocean, - - - - ^ 

AMERICA. 

Dominion of Canada, and other Bril 

Provinces of North Ameri 
United States, - 
Mexico, ... 
Guatemala, 
West Indies, 
New Granada, 
Ecuador, ... 
Guyana, ... 
Venezuela, 
Peru, . - - 
Brazil, - . - 

Boli\'ia, ... 
Argentine Republic, • 
Chili, 



ca, - 



That is, Europe, - 
America, 
Asia, 
Africa, 
Oceanica, 



541 
114 

H 
14 

7^ 



TA^ Vaiiam Council. 



133 



according to rites, they 



3ws: 



ite, - - - 


706 


Utc, 


3 


Bulgarian, - 


I 


tfelchite. 


10 


^oumenian, 


2 


vuthenian. 


I 


m, - - - 


21 


n, - 


10 


- 


7 


tc, - . - 

• s * • 


4 

I 



766 

is such a gathering as no 
21 could assemble. Only 
:: Church could eflfect it 
that strangers from every 
3ially devout Catholics, 
1 to Rome these months 
jr flocked before, 
idor of the ceremonies of 
hurch, as celebrated in 
:ially in St. Peter's, is im- 
lie whole world. A gray- 
issador was present some 

St. Peter's at the celebra- 
1 mass by the sovereign 
iaster-Sunday. He had 
t at two imperial and se- 
coronations, where every 
nade to give a national 
e to the ceremony ; had 
veral royal marriages, and 

celebrations of every char 
t he declared that every 
d ever seen sank into in- 

before the grandeur and 

magnificence of that high 
^er were the religious cele- 

Kome so magnificent as 
been and are during this 
len the sanctuary is fiU- 
)re than half a thousand 
itin and oriental, in their 
ried vestments. Strangers 
IS alike crowd the grand 
''et the stranger often fails 
It the Roman feels, as it 
stincty that all this effort 



at splendor and magnificence is pure- 
ly and wholly a tribute of man to 
honor the religion which God in his 
love and mercy has given, and that 
no part of it is for man's own honor. 
If the stranger would realize this 
truth, which is the soul of the cere- 
monial of the church, he has but to 
follow these prelates from the sanc- 
tuary to their homes, and witness the 
simplicity and self-denial of their pri- 
vate lives. Perhaps he will be shock- 
ed at the unexpected discovery of 
what he would term discomfort and 
poverty. 

In such personal simplicity and 
self-denial the sovereign pontiff him- 
self gives the example in the Vatican. 
The palace is large — very large ; but 
the libraries, the archives, the various 
museums, and the galleries and halls 
of paintings, of statuary, and of art, 
occupy no small portion of it Other 
portions of it are devoted to the vast 
workshops of the unrivalled Roman 
mosaics, others still to the mint The 
offices of the secretary of state, and 
the bureaus of other departments are 
there. The Sixtine, and Pauline, and 
other chapels are found in it; and 
the various officers and attendants of 
the court have many of them their 
special apartments. The pontiff has 
his suite of rooms, as well those of 
state as those that are private. You 
enter a large, well-proportioned hall, 
rich with gilding and arabesque and 
fresco paintings. A company of sol- 
diers might manoeuvre on its marble 
floor. It is large enough to receive 
the fullest suite of a sovereign who 
would visit the pope. Just now, eight 
or ten soldiers in a rich military uni- 
form are lounging here, as it were, for 
form's sake. In the next room — a 
smaller and less ornamented one, yet 
in something of the same style, and 
with a few benches for furniture — a 
servant will take your hat and cloak. 
In a third room, you find some 



K4 



Tke Vatiean Council. 



ecclesiastical attendants. You pass 
through a fourth room of considtra- 
bte size. It is now empty. At times 
a. consistory or meeting of the cardi- 
nals^for business is lield here; at other 
times, an ascetic Capuchin father, with 
his tonsured head, his long beard, his 
coaise brown woollen cassock fasten- 
ed around the waist by a cord, and 
with sandalled feet, preaches to the 
cardinals and bishops and officials of 
the court, and to the pope himself. 
With the freedom and bravery of a 
man who, to follow Christ, lias given 
up the world, and hopes for notliing 
from man, and fears nothing save to 
fail in his duty, he reminds those 
whom men honor of their duties and 
obligations, and in plain, ofttimcs un- 
varnished language, will not shritilc 
from speaking the sternest, strongest 
home truths of religion. You pass 
through the silent hall in reverence. 
A fourth hall, with a better carpeting, 
(for it is winter,} and toler.ibly warm- 
ed, is the antechamber proper, where 
those are waiting who are to be ad- 
mitted to an audience of the pope. 
In another smaller room, opening 
from this one, those are wailing whose 
turn it will be to enter next; or per- 
haps a group is assembled, if the pope 
will come out hither to receive them, 
as he sometimes docs, when the audi- 
ence is simply one not of business, 
but simply for the honor of being pre- 
sented to him and of receiving his 
blessing. All tliese which we have 
enumerated are the state or ceremo- 
nial ajiartments. From the last one, 
you pass to the private office or sit- 
ting-room of llie sovereign pontiff. 
It is a plain room, about fifteen feet 
by twenty, not lofty, lighted by a sin- 
gle window, and without a fire-place. 
Two or three devotional paintings 
hang against the walls ; a stand sup- 
ports a small and exquisitely chiselled 
statue of the Blessed Virgin. At one 
udc of the room, on a slight platform, 



is the pope's arm-chair, in wb 
is seated, clothed in his while i 
soutane. Before him is his lar] 
ing-table, with well-filled drawi 
pigeon-Jioles, On it you se 
ink, sand, and paper, his bi 
perhaps, and one or two vi 
and an ivory crucifix. A snu 
in the comer of the room o 
some other books, some ol>j« 
Vfftu, medals, and such article 
designs to give as mementoes, 
is a thin carpet on the floor, 
couple of plain wooden cha 
near the table. Here Pius 1] 
narily spends many hours ea( 
as hard worked as any bank 
He is exceedingly regular in 
bits. He rises before five in si 
at half-past five in winter. In 
hour he passes to his private 
and gives an hour and a half 
devotions, and to the celebra 
two masses ; the first by hims 
second by one of his chaplai 
cup of chocolate and a small 
bread suffices for his breakfai 
at once passes to his office, an* 
for one hour alone and undis 
Then commence the busines 
cnces of the heads or secrcta 
tlie various departments, civil 
clesiastical ; a long and tcdiou 
in which he gives a conscicnt 
tenlion to every detail. By h 
eleven A.M., he commences to 
bishops and ecclesiastics or st 
from abroad. This usually t 
one P.M., when he retires for 1 
day devotions, and for his dim 
repose. This may be folloi 
more work, .ilone in his oflii 
half-past three in winter, at h 
four in summer, if the weathei 
it, he gives an hour and a hi 
drive and a walk. Ketuminf 
he takes a slight repast, and a( 
audiences for business or for si 
commence, and last until afte 
At nine punctually he retires, t 



Tkg Vatican Council. 



12^ 



igain the same routine the 
Such are his regular days. 
times he must be in church, 
^t one institution or estab- 
or another in the city, spend 
or two in ceremony or busi- 
d hurry home. Near this 
om is a smaller room where 
his meals alone ; for the pope 
rives nor accepts entertain- 
His table does not cost more 
rty cents a day. Not far 
is sleeping chamber, small 
her, with a narrow bed and 
chi Truly, his is no life of 
pampered indulgence. There 
meaning in his tide. Servant 
'vants of God. 

ime simplicity and austere- 
ks the private life of the car- 
There is now, indeed, an 
show, for they rank as prin- 
\ blood royal. There are the 
lamented carriages drawn by 
-harnessed horses, and at- 
y servants in livery. There 
scorated state ante-chambers 
5. All these things are for 
c, and are prescribed by rule, 
nal has not himself the means 
t them, he would be entitied 
e salary for the purpose of 
theoi up. But back of all 
y be found a plain, almost 
ed room, in which he studies 
es, and a bed-chamber — we 
I some not ten feet by twelve, 
5 and tireless. Oftentimes, 
::ardinal lives in the religious 
some community, and then 
the state can be dispensed 
ut for the red calotte which 
on his head, you often could 
Dguish him from the other 
n in the establishment. 
ame spirit seems to charac- 
c bishops who are now ga- 
)gether in Rome. All their 
is in the church and for re- 
in their private life they cer- 



tainly do not belong to that dass of 
strangers from whose lavish expendi- 
tures in fashionable life the Romans 
will reap a rich harvest. They liVe 
together in groups, mostly in religious 
houses or colleges, or in apartments, 
which several club together to take 
at moderate rates. Thus the Chal- 
dean patriarch, a venerable, white- 
bearded prelate, near eighty years of 
age, with the other bishops of his rite, 
and their attendant priests, all live 
together in one monastery, not far 
from St. Peter's. Whatever the wea- 
ther, they go on foot in their oriental 
dress to the council, and when the 
meeting is over, return on foot. Their 
stately, oriental walk, their calm, 
thoughtful countenances, the colored 
turbans on their heads, the mixture 
of purple and black and green and 
red, in their flowing robes, set oflf by 
the gold of their massive episcopal 
chains, and their rich crosses spaik- 
ling with diamonds, never fail to at- 
tract attention. But one should see 
them in their home, which they have 
made as Eastern as they could. The 
orientals are exceedingly temperate 
in their meals, and as regards wine, 
are almost "teetotalers." But they 
do love to smoke. As the visitor is 
ushered into a room, where the only 
piece of furniture is a broad cushion- 
ed seat running round along the walls, 
on which are seated a dozen or more 
of long-bearded men, their feet gather- 
ed up under them in oriental fashion, 
and each one smoking a pipe a yard 
long, and filling the atmosphere with 
the clouds of Latakia, he almost thinks 
himself in Mossoul. The pipes are 
gravely withdrawn on his entrance, 
that the right hand may go to the 
forehead, and the heads may bow. 
The welcome, schalom^ "peace," is 
gravely spoken, with perhaps a smile. 
He takes a seat on the divan and is 
asked to take a pipe, if so minded. 
From time to time, the silence is in. 



The Vatican Com 



fcmipted ty some remark in a full, 
sedate voice, and intensely guttural 
words of Chaldee or Arabic, whether 
on the last debate of the council or 
on some new phase of the F^astcm 
question, it is probable the visitor will 
never learn. But he has caught a 
glimpse of quiet Chaldean life, l-'our- 
teen or fifteen of the Armenian pre- 
lates, wilh their patriarch, live in a 
not very dissimilar manner. But the 
Armenians are much more akin to 
Europeans in their education and cha- 
racter of thought. They are good 
linguists. All of them speak Italian 
fluently, many of them French, and 
some a little English. Their society 
is agreeable and instructive, and is 
much sought. 

In like manner eighteen of the 
American bishops are domiciled in 
the American College. Some others 
a« with the Lanarists at their mother 
house, others again arc at St. Bridget's 
or St, Bartholomew's, or with the 
Dominicans. Those that have taken 
apartments have contrived with a 
very few exceptions to live together 
in groups. The English, the Irish, 
in fact, nearly all the bishops, have 
followed the same plan. Some 
laughingly say that their college days 
have come back to them, with their 
regularity and tiieir accommodations. 
But these are not quite as agreeable 
at fifty or sLxty as they were at the 
age of twenty. Yet all feel, and none 
more thoroughly than the bishops 
themselves, that this life of compara- 
tive retirement, of quiet and study, 
and of conrinued and closest inter- 
course with each other, must tend to 
prepare them, and to qualify them for 
the great work on which they are en- 
gaged. 

Another special feature of Rome in 
this season, dependent on the council, 
is the frequency of sermons in vari- 
ous languages, and of various reli- 
gious services in the churches. 



Rome as the centre of Citholicltv 

never without a certain number a 
clergymen from every nation of Ei 
rope. Eachwinter, too, sees thousant 
of visitors, Catholics, Protestants, an 
unbelievers, crowding her 
drawn hither by motives of religii 
of science, of curiosity, or of fashii 
It was natural that visitors should 
enabled to listen to the Irutlis of ( 
holy religion preached in their tf 
languages. This year it could 
done much more fully, and the ( 
portunity has not been allowed 
pass by imregarded. For examp 
" The Pious Society for Missions," . 
excellent community of priests, esta 
lished in this city over thirty ytt 
ago by the saintly Abbate 
has the custom of celebrating the fl 
tival and octave of Epiphany e« 
year by appropriate religious exercisi 
and introducing sermons in seva 
languages. This year they select 
the larger and noble church of S 
Andrea della Valle, and contijiai 
their exercises for eleven days. T 
following was the programme wW 
they followed: At 5.30 a.m., tnaa 
at 6 A.M., Italian sermon and bet 
diction ; at 9 a.m., high mass of t 
Latin rite; at 10 a.m., high mass 
an oriental rite, (.\rmenian, Gm 
Copt, Chaldean, Roumenian, H 
chite, Bulgarian, Maronite, Armeni; 
again, Syrian, Ambrosian ;) at 
A.M., a sermon in some foreign la 
gunge — that is, Polish once. Genu 
twice, Spanish twice, English 1 
times, (.\rchbishop Spalding, Fatli 
Hecker, and Bishop McGiII, Bisbi 
Moriarly of Kerry, Bishop UU 
thome, and Archbishop Mautil 
were the English preachers.) j 
1.30 P.M. each day, a French setm 
by a bishop ; at 3,30 p.m., an II 
lian sermon and benediction j at 
P.M., another sermon in Italian wi 
benediction. The sermons were i 
of course, of a high order of mei 



The Vatican CounciL 



127 



The church was crowded rooming, 
ioreooon, afternoon, and evening. 
French sermons have been conti- 
ooed ever since, mostly by the elo- 
qoent Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, 
vA English sermons on Sundays and 
H'cdnesdays by F. Burke, an elo- 
quent Dominican of St. Clement's, 
and by Monsignor Capel. During 
Lent there will be an additional series 
of English sermons, to be delivered 
b^ the American bishops. 

On the 2oth of January, the Ame- 
iican episcopate and the American 
College received from the Holy Fa- 
ther a very signal and agreeable mark 
of his good will. It was meant, one 
night almost think, as a return visit 
€Q his part, in the only way which 
court etiquette allows. He chose the 
dunch of the college as the place 
vine he would pronounce a decree 
in die cause of the venerable servant 
of God, John Juvenal Ancina, Bishop 
of Saluzzo, in Northern Italy. In 
diat church he would, of course, be 
nnounded by the American prelates, 
piiests, and students, and from the 
dinrch would pass to the college. 

John Juvenal Ancina was bom in 
Fossano, in Piedmont, in 1545. Hav- 
ing finished his course of collegiate 
studies, he graduated in medicine, and 
fix years practised that profession 
with great ability, and greater charity 
toward the poor, to whom he devot- 
ed himself. In course of time he 
lost every near relation except one 
brother. Both determined with com- 
mon accord to enter the sanctuar}% 
and came to Rome for that purpose, 
and there joined the Oratorians under 
St Philip Neri. John spent years in 
the priesthood, honored for his learn- 
ing, and still more for his piety and 
sweetness, and zeal in the ministry, 
which he exercised in Rome, in Na- 
ples, and in Turin. Much against 
his will, and only after repeated in- 
janctions from the pope, he was forc- 



ed to accept the charge of the diocese 
of Saluzzo. He had been the inti- 
mate and dear friend of St. Francis 
de Sales for years of his priesthood, 
and their friendship continued until 
the close of his short and fruitful epis- 
copacy. He died in 1604, and St. 
Francis preached |^is funeral eulogy. 
He is the one with whom the saint 
had the oft-cited exchange of puns 
complimentary, "Tu vere Sal es^ 
" Immo, tu Sal et Lux^ The repu- 
tation of the virtues of such a map 
could not die with him. Not long 
after his death, the episcopal authori- 
ty of Saluzzo allowed and directed 
that full testimony should be taken 
under oath, from those who lived with 
him and knew him well, as to the 
truth of his holy Hfe. This was fully 
and searchingly done throughout the 
diocess of Saluzzo. Similar investi- 
gations were instituted, under similar 
authority, in Rome, in Naples, and 
in Turin, where at different times he ' 
had lived, and wherever such testi- 
mony could be found. The original 
depositions — and they are a large 
mass, and are still extant — were sent 
to Rome. The pontiff directed that 
they should be laid before the proper 
tribunal — the Congregation of Rites. 
They were found to fulfil the require- 
ments of the canons, and to present 
such a primA facie case as would au- 
thorize that congregation to proceed. 
This meant that, after a certain lapse 
of time, during which affection and 
human feelings might die out, and 
any hidden truth might work its way 
to the light, the congregation should 
go over the ground a second time, 
taking through other persons a second 
and independent mass of testimony. 
This was done, and its results were 
compared with those of the first mass 
of testimony. There was no contra- 
diction ; But on the contrary, full and 
ample confirmation. Still, the opin- 
ion and belief of the witnesses was 



128 



The Vatican Council. 



not yet deemed of itself sufficient. 
Taking the facts of his life, his words 
and writings, and acts and habits, as 
they were thus proved, they were all 
studied out and carefully weighed in 
the scales of the sanctuary. There 
was no hurry — there never is at 
Rome, as this coj^ncil fully shows — 
and the decision of the congregation 
was not given until the year 1767. 
Then came many political vicissitudes; 
first of northern Italy, as it passed 
ftom the dommation of one power to 
that of another, and later, the convul- 
sions of all Europe consequent on 
the French revolution. The whole 
matter slumbered imtil 1855, when it 
was again taken up. The examina- 
tion of the life and acts was gone 
over again as before. Step by step 
matters advanced until last Novem- 
ber, at a general meeting of the Con- 
gregation of Rites, held in the pre- 
sence of his holiness, it was decided 
JTiat the servant of God^ John yuve- 
nalAncinay had in his lifetitne practis- 
ed the theological virtues offaith^ hope, 
and charity y toward God and his neigh- 
bor, and tlie cardincU virtues of pru- 
dence ^ justice, fortitude, and temperance, 
and their accessory virtues, in an heroic 
degree. It was to announce this de- 
cision, in a formal decree, that the 
pontifif came on the 29th January, the 
festival of St Francis de Sales, to the 
church of the American College. He 
arrived at ten a.m., and was received 
at the portal of the college by the 
rector of the college, and all the Ame- 
rican bishops now at Rome, and by 
a dozen others, Irish, English, Scotch, 
and Italian. He proceeded at once 
to the church, which, though small, is 
one of the handsomest in Rome for 
its beautiful marbles and fine statu- 
ary. The pontiff knelt, while one of 
his chaplains celebrated mass. The 
bishops, all the American ^priests in 
the city, the students of the college, 
and many Catholics from the United 



States, and some other Strang 
ed the litde church. After th< 
the pontiff ascended to the 
prepared for him. Cardinal 
prefect of the Congregation 
Cardinal Capalti, who had 
charge of this case, and Cardin 
nabb, protector of the college 
next to him. The formal deci 
read, proclaiming the decision 
tue of which we shall hencefo; 
" the Venerable yohn yuvet 
cinaJ** The superior general 
Oratorians, to which commu 
we have said, he belonged, n 
thanks in an eloquent and bi 
course in Latin. The pope th< 
ing his theme from the life 
VENERABLE bishop, addressed 
prelates present a short and 
discourse, in Italian, on the ch 
and virtues which should adoi 
shop. Though he did not n 
the council, it was evident tl 
thought of it filled his hear 
spoke of the servant of God 
he had just declared venerable 
tating the apostles. They, fror 
fishermen, were called to be 
of men ; and he too, from t 
physician of the body, was ca 
be a physician of souls. Th: 
man he showed to be a mode 
shops, and enlarged on the i 
St. Gregory the Great, that a 
should be "in thought, pu 
deeds, eminent; in silence, di 
in word, useful; in the contem 
of heavenly things, elevated." 
will ascend to the mountain 
Lord? Let him be of pure 
and clean heart" Let him be 
minded, doing every thing J 

* Wh«n it shall have been established wi 
dence required by the CoDgregatioo of RH 
has pleased God to work two miracles, c 
class, after the death of this venerable senrai 
his intercession, a decree may be issued s 
fiM:t, and allowing his beatification. When 
miracles of the same class sh«ll have been pi 
the same certainty to have occxured, after 
fication, the blessed servant of God may be 
and enrolled among the saints of the churd 



The Vatican Council. 



129 



glory of God, without any admixture 

of human motives. Let him be first 
ffi ail good works, so as to be a pat- 
tern to his flock. He did not speak 
of that silence which means coward- 
ice, or indifference to whatever evil 
^ on in the world. There is a 
time to speak, as well as a time to 
be silent The bishop must be use- 
&1 in words, speaking out boldly 
whenever it is for the advantage of 
the Qiristian people. He must be a 
man of prayer. What is the origin 
of the evils which we see in the 
lorid ? The prophet answers, " Be- 
anise there is no one who thinketh in 
li heart" The pontiff dwelt for a 
far moments on all these points, and 
ii ccmdusion quoted St Gregory 
igiin, who said, '' I have given you 
abeautiful pictiu'e of a bishop, though 
die painter be bad." "What the 
aiDt says out of humility, I must 
ajr," he added, " of myself in truth. 
Bat pray for me that God may give 
Be strength to bear the heavy weight 
he has laid upon me. Let us pray 
fcr each other. Do you pray for me; 
ad I call on the Almighty to bless 
foo, and your dioceses, and your 
people." 

The words of the pontiff were sim- 
ple, because full of devotion and truth; 
ttd the delivery was exquisitely per- 
fect, in the earnest, heartfelt, subdued 
tones of his voice, and the chaste dig- 
aity of his gesture. All felt that the 
poDtiff spoke from his paternal heart. 

The Bishop of Saluzzo, the succes- 
lor in this century of the venerable 
Antma^ returned thanks ; and all pro- 
ceeded from the church to the grand 
hall of the college. The cloister of 
die Gourt-yard and the broad stair- 
ways and corridors were adorned with 
dcapeiy, tapestry, and evergreens. A 
^loidid life-size portrait of his holi- 
UMy just painted by the American 
ntBty Healy, for the exhibition about 

VOL. XI.- 



to be opened, had been sent to the 
college for the occasion, and was 
placed in a prominent position. In 
the hall, the pontiff again spoke a few 
kind and paternal words, and Archbi- 
shop Spalding, in the name of the 
American church, clergy and laity, 
made an address to the pope in La- 
tin. The discourse was excellent in 
language and happy in thought His 
grace referred to the fact that Pius VL 
had given us our first bishop, (Dr. 
Carroll, of Baltimore ;) Pius VIL had 
multiplied dioceses, and given us our 
first archiepiscopal see ; and he, Pius 
IX., had established six other archie- 
piscopal sees. So that in a country 
where sixty years ago there was but 
one bishop, there are now sixty, three 
fourths of whom are here in Rome 
to attend the general council. To- 
ward the end of his discourse, the 
good archbishop brought in a few 
touches of true American wit. This 
is what Italians would scarcely ven- 
ture on, on such an occasion, and it 
was to them unexpected. Even the 
pope looked for a moment puzzled, 
as if he could not conjecture what 
was coming ; but as he caught the 
point, a smile spread over his coun- 
tenance, and the smile developed in- 
to a hearty laugh. As for the Italian 
prelates, at first they wondered — as 
who would not, at an American joke 
in the language of Cicero ? — but at 
last not all their stately dignity could 
resist its force, and they laugh yet, as 
they repeat it 

The bishops, the superiors, and stu- 
dents of the college, the priests who* 
were present, and the laity, approach- 
ed to offer their homage to the pon- 
tiff and receive his blessing. This, 
over, he departed, but not until he 
had declared that he was delighted,, 
more than delighted, with his visit 

Rome, February 17, 1870. 



130 



Foreign Literary Notes. 



FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES. 



For the sake of making a point against 
the Catholic Church, Protestants and 
indifferents are frequently so poverty- 
stricken in authorities as to quote Vol- 
taire. When told that they cite the au- 
thority of a man who was unprincipled, 
cynical, and impious, they answer that 
such an estimate is simply the result of 
a bigoted and narrow-minded prejudice, 
and that the g^eat French philosopher 
was liberal, honorable, and conscien- 
tious. 

An incident has lately occurred in 
France to call forth the deliberate opi- 
nion of a body of men eminently fitted 
from superior education, elevated posi- 
tion, and freedom from any possible 
suspicion of Catholic bias, to form an 
estimate which to our friends above 
referred to must be looked upon as au- 
thoritative and decisive, although open 
to the objection of being too mild and 
qualified. 

Some fifteen years ago, a proposi- 
tion was started in a Paris daily news- 
paper for the popular collection, in 
small sums, of a sufficient amount to 
erect a statue to Voltaire in the French 
icapital. When the success of the sub- 
scription seemed sufficiently assured, 
petition was made to the government 
>to grant a site on some public square on 
which to place the statue. After long 
delay, and some appearance of unwilling- 
ness, the petition was finally granted ; 
but the announcement of this fact was 
immediately followed by the presenta- 
tion of a large number of protests against 
the erection of the statue, which came 
in from all parts of the empire. One of 
these protests, signed by a thousand in- 
habitants of the departments of Le Card 
and the Dr6me, and the city of Ntsmes, 
and addressed to the senate, was refer- 
red to a committee of senators for con- 
sideration and report The committee 
has made a report, which is understood 
to be written by M. Silvestre de Sacy, 
well known as former chief editor of the 
Journal tics Dibats^ and a distinguish- 



ed member of the French Ac 
From it we learn something of tl: 
tion, but not as much as we wou 
to know. After a recital of the £ 
have stated, the report goes on 1 
Undoubtedly, the government h 
thority to refuse the permission 
and still has the power to withd 
The right of private persons to 
statues to whomsoever they pleai 
to meefand raise money to pay foi 
is certainly lawful. But the public 
and squares are not their property 
number of these persons does i 
crease their right. They act, in 
matter, solely for themselves, a 
for the whole country, of whic 
have no right to pretend to be the 
sentatives. Among the serious 
derations which might have ma 
government hesitate, is the very 
Voltaire, which has two signifies 
the one glorious for the human ii 
and for French literature ; the ot 
which Voltaire himself would now 
dragging down as it does the gre 
torian and great poet to the mi: 
calling of an impious and cynica 
phleteer. But it appears that th 
scribers have obtained the p>era 
asked for. The site has been se 
and the statue will be erected in 
the squares of the new Rue de I 
The petition before us protests s 
this permission, and prays the inl 
tion of the senate with the govei 
to obtain the withdrawal of a pern 
which it characterizes in the str 
terms. These petitioners see b 
Voltaire — an impious, immoral V< 
hostile to all religion ; a Voltai 
conspired with all the enemies of \ 
for the humiliation and ruin of hii 
try ; a Voltaire who, Prussian a 
bach with King Frederick, R 
with Catherine II., against 
tunate Poland, the violator of o 
rest glory in his poem Jeanne 
the enemy of liberty, equality, ai 
ternity, as may be shown from \ 



Foreign Literary Notes. 



131 



ges In his correspondence 
5, an abject courtier and a 
itor of kings. " I ask," says 
itioner, speaking for all the 
ask that the image of this 
lot appear upon our public 
cast insult in the face of the 
ask that this disgrace be 
ICC." The senatorial report 
a to say that there are two 
:he Voltaire described in the 
d the Voltaire who wrote 
ii^ who, by various master- 
cfry and the drama, placed 
IT Horace, Comeille, and 
^oltaire the historian, to 
xc indebted for Le Sihle de 
:, the essay Sur P Esprit et 
*urs ties Nations^ and that 
el of rapid and lively narra- 
taire de Charles XIL; the 
fine, whose name could not 
with oblivion without ob- 
ae of the glories of French 
No, continues the report, 
ay be asserted to the con- 
* Voltaire is not in some 
tire which* fell from the ill- 
he partisan and the angry 
imphlets against religion, as 
1 taste and good sense as in 
;, in a poem in which it is 
see wit and talent pressed 
jreputaWe service of oma- 
5 wretched obscenity of the 
all of Voltaire is not in sin- 
s selected from a correspon- 
ty years. If in these were 
Voltaire, his memory would 
lave been accursed or dead, 
>ng since have been without 
iblishers, and the idea of rais- 
in his honor would have oc- 
> one. Although the avowal 
one, it must be confessed 
e has himself and the deplo- 
s of his genius alone to 
ic bitterness of the recrimi- 
ch injure his brilliant fame. 
often been unjust to others 
ect that others should be 
m. It is his own fault if his 
s to pious thinkers, to timid 
le fiuth of ardent souls, only 
ho would not respect in oth- 
le hopes he himself had lost. 



Voltaire desired to be the leader of in- 
credulity. He was ; .and now he pays 
the penalty for it Something equivocal 
remains, and will ever remain associat- 
ed with his feme. Respectable people 
can consent to award him eulogies and 
statues only with distinctions and re- 
serves. The declared enemy of disorder 
and demagogism, he is sometimes in- 
voked as a seditious tribune, as a burn- 
er of churches ; and one of the most 
elegant minds has left in his writings, 
along with a great many marvellous 
works, food for passions which, in his 
better days, his good taste and his good 
sense would energetically condemn. 
The report concludes against asking the 
revocation of the permission granted by 
the government, on the ground that it 
will be understood by all that the honor 
of a statue is conceded not to the Voltaire 
with reason petitioned against, but to 
the author whose works are subjects of 
legitimate national pride. 

In the year 400, a Buddhist priest, 
Fah-Hian, commenced the long journey 
from China to India and back, and left 
a narrative of his travels. A century 
later, a similar journey was made by 
another Buddhist priest, Sung-Yun, 
who also left an account of his foreign 
experiences. Singularly enough, these 
works have survived all these centuries, 
and have long been objects of great in- 
terest to the oriental scholars of Europe. 
Kemusat and Klaproth published a 
translation of Fah-Hian at Paris in 
1836. This work, in quarto, was soon 
followed by an English translation by 
Laidley. Many serious errors, especi- 
ally in geography, were pointed out in 
these translations by St. Julien, and 
Professor Neumann also gave a transla- 
tion of the two Buddhist works, in the 
Zeitschrift fur historische Theologie^ 
vol. iii., 1833. Meantime, additional 
light had been thrown upon the subject 
by such publications as Edkin*s Notice 
of Buddhism in China, and General 
Cunningham's work; and a full and 
amended version of the Buddhist 
priests' travels, together with an inte- 
resting treatise on Buddhism, is now 
published in London by Triibner & Co. 
Its title is, Travels of Fah-Hian and 



Foreign LiUrary Notes, 



I 
I 



I 



Sung- Vun, Suddhht PUgrims, from 
China to /Hiiia,(4<xi-i>S A.n,,} translat- 
ed from the Chinese b; Samuel Deal. 

The completion of Alfred von Reu- 
■nont's History of the City of Rome, 
{Ctschkhtt der Slmil Rom,) which hrs 
now reached its third volume, is looked 
for by European scliobrs with great in- 
terest It is universally praised as a 
work of remarkable research, learning, 
and unusual imparliAlily. 

Teslameiita XI f Palriarcharuin, 
ad fidem Canlairigientii tdUa ; acce- 
dunt lectionei cod. OxonitHsit. The 
Ttsiamints of the XII. Patriarchs; 
an Attempt to estimalt their Historic 
and Dogmatic Hearth. By R. Sinker, 
M.A., Chaplain of Trinity College. 
Cambridge : Dcighton, DelL London ; 
Uell & Daldy. 1869. 

An elegant edition of this apocryphal 
work, carefully revised and annotated 
from manuscripts preserved at Cam- 
bridge and Oxford, with a learned and 
judicious treatise. Ecclesiastical anti- 
quity has left us but little positive in- 
rormalion concerning these testametils. 
We are certain tliat the testaments of ihe 
twelve patriarchs were known to Ter- 
luUian and to Origcn, but we do not 
know who wrote them. Was the author 
a Jew, a Christian from among the Gen- 
tiles, or a Christian of Jewish race ? 
Was he an Ebionite or a Nnzarctie ? 
Is Ihe work all from one hand, or is it 
interpolated ? On all these points there 
is a difference of opinion. Equally in 
doubt are the points, When was the 
book written? for what class of rea- 
ders was it specially intended t and 
what was the author's object in writing 
it? Mr. Sinker discusses Ihe lubject 
with great firmness, and concludes, but 
without any dogmatism, that Ihe author 
was a Jewish Christian of the sect of the 
Naiarenes, and that Ihe work was com- 
posed at a period between the taking of 
Jerusalem by Tilus and the revolt of 
the Jew Barcochba in 135. One of ihc 
most important portions of Mr. Sin- 
ker's work is on the Christotagy of llic 
Testaments, (pages S3-1 16.) He is satis- 
fied that the author expresses his belief 
in tlie mystery of the incarnation, and 
he sets forth the doctrine of the TesU- 



ments on the Messiah, king and 
descendant of Juda and Levi, pH 
victim. Lamb of God, Saviour 
world, etc. etc. The work reallj 
a longer notice, and should be 
hands of all who can profit by its | 
Many important questions coni 
the primitive history of Cbrisiiai 
scured by the fallacious conject 
anti-Chrisiian critjcs, may Lavi 
light thrown upon them. 

Some of the English periodfc 
not especially brilliant or profi^ 
their appreciation of and col 
upon foreign literature. Take ^ 
don Alhtnanm, for instance, ill 
periodical which last year a{ 
with such an air of wisdom the 
who undertook to revive the old ( 
ed fable of a female pope. It 1 
its readers, (number of 6ih I 
ber last,) "The Man with tht 
Mask continues to occupy the 1 
in search of problematicil qut 
M. Marius Topin has come to 4 
elusion that Lauzun was the tnai 
believe this theory has already b 
vocated." Now, from the most 
ficial reading of M. Topin's wofi 
vided the reader knows a littl 
French than the Alhcnceuift,) it 
feciiy clear that, although M. 
speaks of Lauzun as a prisoner 
nerol, he expressly says that it 
possible lo think seriously of hi 
candidate for the iron mask, : 
simple reason that Lauzun was 
liberty some years before the di 
the masked prisoner. 

A Scripture Concerdantt, pi 
and written by a lawyer, is aometh 
novelty in Catholic ecclesiastical 
ture. And the concordance is 
ordinary one of words and oata 
is exclusively of texts of Scripit 
words relating lo our ideas and 
metiLi, our virtues and our vio 
duties to God and our neighbt 
obligations to ourselves, thus str 
demonstrating the grandeur of i 
cepls. i)ie beauty of its teachiiti 
thesublimityof itsmoraL Teicli 
doctrinal are rigorously ezclud) 
but one name is retained — the 



Foreign Literary Notes. 



133 



of the -Saviour. The book is 
d, SS. Scripture Concordantics 
seu Doctrina moralis et dog- 
\ e sacris Testamentorum Codi" 
ndine aiphabetico desumpta^ in 
tins de qualibet materia facilius 
thisque quam in aliis concordant 
viniri possunt^ muctore Carolo 
fjf, Advocato. Paris and Brus- 
1869. 8vo. 

distinguished Catholic artists 
tely died at Rome, Overbeck the 
, and Tenerani the sculptor. Over- 
graceful and inspired religious 
»tions are too well-known to need 
Dt here. Tenerani was a pupil of 
land of Thorwaldsen. His '* Des- 
mi the Cross," in the church of 
a Lateran, and his ^ Angel of the 
idgment," sculptured on a tomb 
jmrch of St Mary of Rome, have 
ften admired by many American 

^tment of Rome^the two Epistles 
Corinthians, A revised Text, 
itroduction and Notes, by J. B. 
ot, D.D., Hulsean Professor of 
J and Fellow of Trinity College, 
idge. London: Macmillan. 1869. 
Professor Lightfoot appears to 
uspended the publication of his 
Dtaries on the epistles of St. Paul, 
have taken up the apostolic 
, The first epistle of St Clement, 
ted to the Corinthians, is of well- 
authenticity from the testimony 
mas, Dionysius, Bishop of Co- 
i^sippus, (cited by Eusebius, 
and numerous others. Although 
ssed among the canonical books, 
listle has always been highly 
as what maybe called a liturgical 
mt St Jerome bears testimony 
fas read publicly in the churches, 
Mmt/is locis publice Ugitur,) So 
MS Eusebius. Dr. Lightfoot's 
vtQ performed. In his preface 
dops the statements above men- 
coamerates the various writings 
d to St Clement of Rome, and 
king of the recognitiones, relates 
lory of the false decretals. In 
xk, as in many others on very 
: manuscripts, the art of topogra- 



phy has been of the greatest service. 
The codex from which these two epis- 
tles of St Clement are taken, is the cel- 
ebrated one presented by Cyril Lucar to 
Charles I., and now preserved in the 
British Museum. The authorities of the 
museum had it carefully photographed, 
so that the author could make use ot it at 
his own pleasure, and at his own house, 
as, of course, no such manuscript would 
be allowed to leave the museum even 
for an hour. A second volume of this 
work of Professor Lightfoot is promised, 
which will contain the epistles of St Ig- 
natius and St Poly carp. 

A Comparative Grammar of San" 
skrit, Greek, and Latin, by William 
Hugh Ferrar, Fellow and Tutor of Tri- 
nity College, Dublin. Vol. I. London : 
Longman. 1869. 8vo. Studies in phi- 
lology and comparative grammar ap- 
pear to be on the increase in Great Bri- 
tain, and are now pursued with great 
industry. Mr. Ferrar freely uses the 
labors of Bopp, Schleicher, Corssen, 
Curtius, and Max Mviller, but by no 
means slavishly. He criticises their 
various systems with g^eat freedom and 
intelligence, and produces a really meri- 
torious work. 

We remark the publication in Paris 
of a French translation of the first vol- 
ume of the History of the United Pro- 
vinces,hy our countryman, John Lothrop 
Motley, the work to be completed in 
eight volumes. 

We see announced, and as soon to ap- 
pear, the first part of a work entitled, 
Alexandre VI. et les Borgia, The au- 
thor is the reverend Father Ollivier, of 
the order of Frires Pricheurs, 

JOHistoire de la Restauration, vol. 
vii., is the last work of M. Alfred Nette- 
ment, a distinguished, conscientious, 
and talented journalist and historian,' 
who lately died in France, regretted and 
honored by men of all parties. He was 
sixty-four years of age, and had been 
an industrious author for forty years. 
Count Montalembert called him the 
type of the journalist and historian, 
sans peur et sans reproche. 



134 



Famgn LiUw99j NHo^ 



The result of the chronological re 
searclies of M. Zompt concenung the 
year of the birth of our SaTiour {J>as 
Geburtsjahr ChristL Gtsckickilich' 
chronologUcht Untersuckungem) is ra- 
ther sererelj commented upon bj the 
I German critics, notwithstanding his 
high historical reputation. They claim 
that he has not solved die probleois 
presented by himself. 

Volume iiL of the series of Zizvr ef 
tki Arckbiskops of Camterkurj, by Dr. 
Hook, dean of the cathedral of Chiches- 
ter, contains a biography of Cardinal 
Pole. It is ssud to contain much new 
material on the subject, from the xss. 
coUectioQs of Simancas . and the Re- 
cord Office. 

The readers of Sir Walter Scott are 
aware that he made freqoent ose of an 
oM poetical history of Robert Brzce. 
Traces of it are frequent in his Lord cf 
ihi Islts^ and he 5^ves an analysis of it 
in his TaUs of a Grorndfathrr, The 
roem was written in the fi&eenth cec> 
\zjj by John Barbour. Arefadeacoo of 
Aberdeen, and is lately pabUshed in 
Scotland. TTuBnut; or^ TkiMtirLaJ 
Hist cry cf Rciert /, King of S:cts. 
By Master John Barboor, Archdeacon 
cl Voerdeen. Ptblisbed from a MS. 
catei 1^ : with notes and a memoir of 
the life of the acthor. Situ Glasgow, 
1569. 

A TCTT reziarkable work is one lately 
:uV-:shed a: Milaa. /WZ* SckiMviiiL 

£ dil irr\aggio e speciAiwumU dei strs-i 
^gri:.^::crL Milasa Two ¥^!s. in Sro. 
: I is by the Icaroed Ccrsxil Cibrario. and 
•^rcits cf slaTciy irozn the period of the 
R:— j^s down to that of the rebcEioa 
\z. the U-::ed Stites. His researches 
iZZiiz-z ^jd cciliectio:^ of MSS. at Vc-5ce 
ziiL Gtioa devdop the £Kt that slaves 
u-ere he^d in those ci^es daws td a much 
'.itrr z>st\:>z thai: is 



Venice at the oom of I 
1554 to 1557. tlBt is tB s 
rei^ of 3IarT. His ^w^ 
written in 
Tears it 
i:se them cor want of a ki 
pher. M. Pasoii* ai. cm{ 
Venetian archi¥es^ has ia 
ga«:ed on a compLete kc 
diDuent ciphers ssed by 
ambassadofSy and has saa 
dpherin^ the ietters ct H 
he has lately had 
fAzci di C£ozr4 
UrllauUimlmgkzIUrrA. \ 




Here is a work of remx 
tioQ, and vnasiial 
sical scholar : ^Wtuv:; 

niis dams Us Lt^nJts d 
ImperiMla F^-rmrcr 
I. Marchant. Pans, 1S6 
8tol It is a learned £ssi 
the ori|;:iB aiMi si^^iScati 
ties divides, aad^otnces 1 
icscripticcs on ictperial ] 
the names. sanaiBes^ ££zti 
and dimities of eanperor. C 



jurentctis^ 



.1 



Britaxm, 
noMUuj^ 



0\:/v2Zi^ Michici 



^1 



bestowed npcA emperoi 
ianery of seriate or pc 
PaUrPeiria. A-mSmMsA 
Phu, Pe2iT^ f^i^^sszmgmx, 
XMiissimms^OpSimMs^ J/k 
Diz-MS^ jE:trKMS^ /wz-L-fau 
tor GentimmL. Bart^r^rmm 
empresses. Aagmjl^ iTm 
j gVr'rwwff . P^amzMj:^ Afattr 
MsUr AmgusUrmm. etc, c 
low the scbordinate titles 
TriMmrir. Prefect, etc^ eH 
is by no means oce of diy ■ 
axtc the acthor. by his fnli 
traticr. ar>d attractive styie^] 



NiW Publications. 



I3S 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



SATiONS ON Liberalism and 
*HURCH. By O. A. Brownson, 
. New York : D. & J. Sadlier 



I the first production of the pen 
(rownson which has appeared 
s own name for several years, 
his time he has been a constant 
or to this magazine, and has 
I a considerable number of 

articles to other periodicals, 
rly the Tablet, of which he has 

time past had the principal 
charge. Those who are fami- 
the leonine style of the g^eat 
cannot have failed to recog- 
ren in his anonymous produc- 
to admit, whether with good or 
race, that he still xtxndSxis facile 
in that high domain which he 
in for himself. We welcome 
able author most heartily on 
•earance upon the field of in- 
combat with his visor up, and 
vowed recognizance upon his 
ie appears as the champion 
cyclical of Pius IX. against 
lomeration of absurd and dc- 
errors which its advocates have 

with the name of liberalism, 
e defender of the true, genuine 

of liberty — that liberty which 
raining and Christian civiliza- 
ire the greatest possible num- 
o to enjoy, to the greatest pos- 
snty with the least possible 

themselves and society. 
3lume is small in size, but 
ind precious in matter, like a 
gold. There is enough pre- 
tal in it to keep an ordinary 
Iter a-going for three years. 
tched, flimsy sophistries and 
s with which we are bored to 
:ry day by the writers for the 
^rs, screaming like macaws the 
;es of their scanty vocabulary, 
y railroads! progress, progress ! 

fossil ! nineteenth century ! 
nmed up by Dr. Brownson in 



a few sentences much better than one of 
themselves can do it. These expres- 
sions of the maxims of our soi-disant 
liberal editors are put into the mouth of 
an imaginary representative of the class, 
who is supposed to be conversing with a 
Catholic priest at an unfashionable wa- 
tering-place. The author, by the mouth 
of the priest, answers him fully, and 
makes an exposition of his own views 
and opinions. The editor has nothing 
to say in rejoinder, except to repeat 
over his tiresome, oft-refuted platitudes, 
ignoring all his antagonist has alleged 
and proved against him. Perhaps it 
will be said that the doctor has purpose- 
ly put a weak defence into the editor's 
mouth. Not at all. It is no sport to 
such an expert swordsman to run a tilt 
against any but an expert and doughty 
antagonist. Give him his choice, and he 
would prefer to contend with one who 
would make the best possible fight for 
liberalism. In this c<ise, as the doctor 
has been obliged to play both sides of 
the game, one hand against the other, 
he has carefully avoided the common 
fault of collusion between the right and 
left hand. He has made his imaginary 
editor say all that the real editors can 
say, and in better fashion than they can 
say it. Any person who has taken the 
trouble to read the comments of the 
writers for the press on the massive ar- 
guments of Dr. Brownson*s articles, or 
their other lucubrations on the subjects 
treated in this book, will perceive that 
its author has not diluted them at all, 
but has rather infused some of his own 
strong tea into their* tepid dish-water. 

The errors of the liberalists have been 
to a certain extent already discussed in 
our pages, and will be probably dis- 
cussed more fully and to greater advan- 
tage after the decrees of the Council of 
the Vatican are published. 

We therefore confine ourselves at 
present to a particular notice of one 
point only in Dr. Brownson's argument, 
to which we desire to call special atten- 
tion. We allude to his exposition of his 



■36 



New Publications. 



views in regard to the relalion of ihc 
Catholic religion lo tlie principles of the 
American constitution. Dr. Brownson 
is a thorough Catholic and a thorough 
American. As a Catholic, he condemns 



standing of what are commonl] 
American principles. 

So far as the exterior is con 
this is one of the very linest 
which the Sadliers have yctpubl 



cepts all the principles of the constitu- 
tion of the United States. As a philo- 
sopher, he reconciles and harmonizes the 
two documents of the ecclesiastical and 
political sovereignties to which he owes 
allegiance. If he were wavering or du- 
bious in obeying the instructions of the 
encyclical, his exposition of the relation 
between Catholic and American princi- 
ples would have no weight whatever ; for 
it would be merely an exposition of his 
own private version of Catliolicity and 
not of the authorized version. If he 
were not thoroughly American, his ex- 
position of the Catholic's ideal concep- 
tion of the relations of the church and 
civil society might be very perfect, but 
it would rather confirm than shake the 
common persuasion that there is a con- 
trariety between the principles of our 
political order and those of the Cathoiic 
Church. If he were not a philosopher, 
he might present both his religious and 
his political doctrines, separately, in 
such a w.\y as to satisfy the claims both 
of orthodoxy and of patriotism ; but he 
would not be able to show how these 
two hemispheres can be joined together 
in a complete whole. It is one of his 
greatest merits that he is perpetually 
aiming at the construction of these syn- 
thetic harmonies of what we may call, for 
the sake of the figure, the difleretit gos- 
pels of truth, and is perpetually approxi- 
mating nearer and nearer to that success 
which perhaps cannot tte fully achieved 
by any human intellect We think he 
has substantially succeeded in the task 
undertaken in the present volume, and 
we commend it to the perusal of all 
Americans, whether Catholics or non- 
Catholics, in the hope that it may 
slrengllien both in the determination to 
do no injustice to each other, and to re- 
Diaia always faithful to the allegiance we 
owe to the American republic. We 
tecommend it also to Dr. Brownson's 
numerous admirers and friends in Eu- 
rope as a valuable aid lo the under- 



TttE End of the World, am 
Day of Judgment. Two D 
ses preached to the Musli 
Society, by their minister, ih 
William Rounseville Alger. 
lished by request Uoston : £ 
Brothers. 

Considering what are the conti 
these "discourses," for which, n 
ly, the preacher failed to find at 
their title seems like a dismi 
There is nothing, however, too 
for the Music Hall of Boston, ni 
the amalgamation of puriianis: 
pantheism. We have two palmi 
jeciions to the argument of the: 
courses, which is, of course, intei 
disprove the Christian doctrine n 
ing the last judgment and the end 
world. The first is, the boundle 
dutity which underiies the whole 
of assumptions on which it is fotl 
the second is, its total want of i 
fie method and accuracy. Mr. 
has an extensive knowledge of < 
departments of literature, a vivl 
gination, a certain nobleness of 
ment, and a considerable power I 
phic delineation and combination 
intellectual conceptions : but no h 
philosophy, very little discrimini 
analytic skill, and nothing of th 
cial faculty. Wherever his imagi 
leads, his intellect follows, and W 
lends itself to clotheall the visions 
are met with on the aerial joumc 
the garb of real and rational disco 
Therefore, we say that his arj^ii 
these discourses rests on credt 
basis of vapor, like that which sii 
a castle in the clouds. We pro« 
give some instances. Mr Alg 
fashioned to himself a concept 
what our Lord Jesus Christ oo, 
have been, and ought lo have sa 
done. Throughout these diact 
and his other works, he explains 
thing recorded of the sayings and 



N€W Publications. 



^37 



diTine Lord in the New Testa- 
ccording to this d priori concep- 

his own, without regard to com- 
iiae or sound criticism. This is 
ty, and nothing more. As well 
we say, Mr. Alger is a man of 
uid honesty, and therefore he can 
have meant any of the absurd 

iie seems to say against the 
ic doctrine. Another extraordi- 
istance of credulity is the theory 
Dunting for the similarity to the 
mJ Catholic dogmas which is seen 

religious beliefs of heathen na- 

It is a fanciful conjecture, and, 
[>hi!osophical theory, untenable, 
le same myths had an indepen- 
wigiQ and development among 
t races. There must have been 
ion cause and origin of religious 
AS, as well as of languages. Ano- 
stance of credulity is found in the 
ng passage : "It is confidently 
d that within twenty years the 
adopted in the present writing 
i established beyond all cavil 
ny fia.ir-minded critic." Here is 
vy strain indeed on our faith, 
than that which Moses makes 
K>or Colenso ! Worse than all is 
lowing, which we will not credit 

author's credulity any further 
e himself warrants us in doing by 
Tk language, which we ^ill quote 

that the reader may judge for 
f of the extent to which it shows 
author a penchant for the mar- 
i, provided that the marvellous is 

way connected with revelation, 
illiant French writer has suggest- 
t even if the natural course of 
on does of itself necessitate the 
estruction of the world, yet our 
judging from the magnificent 
sments of science and art alrea- 
ched, may, within ten thousand 
ies, which will be long before the 
m end approaches, obtain such a 
xigc and control of the forces of 
as to make collective humanity 
of this planet, able to shape and 
its destinies, ward off every fatal 
and perfect and immortalize the 
I as now sustained. It is an au- 
s fiincy. But, like many other 
ible conceptions which have fore- 



run their own still more incredible ful- 
filment, the very thought electrifies us 
with hope and courage." (P. i8.) 

This is indeed brilliant ! It surpasses 
the famous moon-hoax of Mr. Locke, 
and the balloon-voyages of that wild 
genius Edgar A. Poe, from whom we 
have some recent and interesting intel- 
ligence, contained in a volume which we 
recommend to the congregation of Mu- 
sic Hall ; the volume being entitled 
Strange Visitors^ by a Clairvoyant, 
In those days, probably, our Congress 
will have a committee on comets, and 
make appropriations for a railroad to 
the Dog-star. 

The second objection to Mr. Alger's 
argument runs partly into the first It 
is, we have said, totally wanting in sci- 
entific method and accuracy. This is 
true of the entire process by which the 
thesis of the discourses is sustained. 
This thesis is, that the present consti- 
tution of the world and the human race 
will endure for ever, or at least for an in- 
definitely long period. If there were no 
light to be had on this point except the 
light of nature, the opinion maintained 
by the author would be at best only a 
conjecture. It could not be made even 
solidly probable, unless some rational 
theory were first established concerning 
the ultimate destiny of the human race, 
and the end for which the present miser- 
ably imperfect constitution of the world 
had been decreed by the Creator, and 
the perpetuity of the existing order on 
the earth were shown to have a reason 
in this final cause of man's creation. 
The author has not done this, and we 
do not believe that it is possible to do 
it, even prescinding all question of re- 
velation. Even on scientific grounds — 
that is, reasoning from all the analogies 
known to us, and from purely rational 
and philosophical data — it is far more 
probable and reasonable to suppose that 
the present state of the world is merely 
preparatory to a far higher and more 
perfect state, and will be swept away to 
make place for it But when we con- 
sider the universality and antiquity of 
this latter belief, and the solid mountain 
of historical, miraculous, and moral evi- 
dence on which rests the demonstration 
that this belief proceeds from a divine 



Nnv PitdlicatifiHS. 



brelalion, it is the most unscknlific 
*tnethod that can be conceived to ignore 
it, or leap over it by the aid of fanciful 
hypotheses, as Mr. Alger does. The 
manner in which the Catholic doctrine 
is distorted aiid misrepresented, in ex- 
tremely bad rhetoric, is also unscienti- 
fic. Nearly all the pith of this so-called 
argument consisls in a violent invective 
agaln» ilie notion of a partial, unjust, 
vindictive Divinity, who rewards and 
punishes like an ambitious tyrant, with- 
out regard to necessary and eternal 
principles of truth, right, and moral laws. 
So far as this invective is directed against 
Calvinism, considered in its logical en- 
tity, and apart from the correctives of 
common sense and sound moral sen- 
timent which pr.iciically modify it, we 
give the author the right of the case. 
Dm it is palpably false, as the anthor 
has had ample opportunity of knowing, 
as respects the Catholic doctrine. He is 
unscientific, moreover, in confusing the 
substance of the doctrine that the gene- 
ration of the human race will cease, all 
mankind be raised from the dead in 
their bodies immortal, the ways of God 
to man be openly vindicated before the 
universe, and each one assigned to an 
immutable stale according to his deserts 
or fitness, this visible earth also under- 
' Soil's ■* corresponding change of condi- 
tion ; with the scenic act of proclaiming 
judgment and inaugurating the new, 
everlasting order, which is commonly 
believed in, according to the lileral 
sense of the New Testament. If Mr. 
Alger can show good reasons for sub- 
stituting a figurative, metaphorical in- 
terpretation of the passages depicting 
this last grand scene in the drama of 
human history for the literal sense, he 
is welcome to do it ; but he has not 
touched the substance of the Catholic 
dogma which he gratuitously denies. 
Mr. Alger tells us, (p. 46.) '■ Loyaity to 
truth is the first duly of every man." 
It is also one in which he himself sig- 
nally fails, by a persistent misrepresen- 
tation of Catholic doctrines, by disre- 
garding the evidence which has been 
clearly set before him of their truth, 
subjecting his iittellect to his itnagina- 



fhen suiEciently propo^ 
it surely be condemnt^ 
e ; and it is only su^ 



lion, and preaching as "truth" opinio 
which he cannot possibly prove, in I 
teeth of arguments which he cam 
possibly refute. One who wilfully si 
against " the first duty of man," by n 
jecting the faith and taw of his ~ 
reign Creator when sufficiently p 
ed to him, must s ' ' 
by divine 

who, the Catholic Church teaches, 1 
be condemned for infidelity or heresy at 
the tribunal of Christ " The judgment 
of God," says the author, "istheretur 
of the laws of being on all deeds, acil 
or ideal." (P. 66.) God, therefore; w 
judge all men by acting toward then 
throughout eternity in accordance « 
that revealed law which is Ihetransa 
of his own immutable nature, and whid 
assures us that beatitude is gained a 
lost by the acts which every responj^ 
ble creature performs during the tiM 
of probation, and that every merit a^^ 
demerit has its appropriate retribuiloi 
in another life. Perhaps the most foot 
ish thing in these discourses is llif ^efe> 
ful assurance to the congregalioa 4(> 
Music Hall that the world nlll : 
come to an end because it has gone O 
so long already, although many p 
expected the end before this. 
pope has already cautioned US agirioi 
this error, in an encyclical of the fii 
century, beginning Simon Pelnts, Si 
I'HS tt Apostolus Jesu Ckristi. " 
the last days there shall come scofi 
with deceit, walking according to thi 
own lusts, saying, Where is his pi 
mise, or his coming ? For since t 
fathers slept, all things continue . 
from the beginning of the creation,* 
(a Pel. ii' 

The good people of the Boston Miul 
Hall who requested the publication o 
these discourses, no doubt because tt 
were so much delighted to think ti 
tlie world may stand for ever, have bi 
a little premature in their exultatiu^ 
The publication of Mr. Alger's inai' 
festo against SL Peter only gives a 
other proof that the first of the pop 
was also a prophet Who is more lib 
ly to be infallible, Mr. Alger or Si 
Peter? 



New Publications. 



139 



Life Duties. Dy £. £. Marcy, A.M., 
M.D. New York: D. & J. Sadlier 
& Co. 187a 

This book contains many good things, 
and is written in a very pleasing, lite- 
rary style. The portions of it which 
treat of moral and religious duties are 
fikely to be useful to a certain class of 
persons who seldom or never read a 
book containing so much sound doctrine 
and wholesome advice. The author, no 
doabt, wrote with a good intention, and 
endeavored to teach what he sincerely 
thinks to be Catholic doctrine, and, of 
coarse, the publishers have issued the 
book in good &ith, without any suspi- 
ckm that it contains any tiling erroneous. 
The author has, however, made a great 
m'lstake in supposing that he is suffi- 
ciently learned in theology to be able to 
distinguish, in all cases, sound Catholic 
doctrine, from his own imperfect, and 
frequently incorrect, opinions, or that 
be is authorized to teach the faithful in 
doctrinal and spiritual matters, without 
first submitting his book to revision by 
a competent authority. H^has, in con- 
sequence, made some very g^ave mis- 
takes in doctrine, or at least in his man- 
ner of expressing himself on matters of 
doctrine, and also said a number of 
things which are very rash and unsuita- 
bfe in a Catholic writer. On page 13 
he sa\3, "It is doubtful whether any 
human being has ever passed through 
1 life of ordinary duration without an 
occasional violation of them" — that is, 
of the commandments of God. If this 
refers to grievous sins, it is contrary to 
the universal sentiment of Catholics, 
that very many persons have passed 
through even a long life without com- 
mitting any grievous sin ; if it refers 
to venial sin, it is false, at least as re- 
spects tlie blessed Virgin Mary, who was 
vbolly sinless. The phraseology em- 
ployed respecting the sacraments of pe- 
nance and extreme unction is altogether 
deficient, diverse from that which is 
sanctioned by ecclesiastical usage, and 
nggestive of errors. The sacrament of 
penance is called, '* repentance, ac- 
knowledgment, reformation," without 
express mention of sacramental absolu- 
tion, and extreme unction is designated 



as " prayer for the sick," whereas the 
holy oil is the matter of the sacrament 
which was prescribed by the command 
of Jesus Christ The Others, doctors, 
and scholastic theologians, and the me- 
thods of scholastic theology, are criti- 
cised with an air of superior wisdom un- 
befitting any Catholic writer, but espe- 
cially a tyro in theological science. Af- 
ter saying that the disbelief of the real 
presence is partly due to the neglect of 
religious teachers " to make such clear 
and just explanations as the Holy Scrip- 
tures authorize them to make,'' (p. 250,) 
the author undertakes to correct the 
method of St Thomas, Suarez, Bellar- 
mine, and the other theologians who 
have hitherto been considered as our 
masters and teachers, to supply for their 
defects, and to explain the mystery of 
transubstantiation in such a clear man- 
ner as to remove all difficulty out of the 
way of believing it. The good doctor 
has unfortunately, however, proposed a 
theory which subverts the Catholic doc- 
trine of the incarnation, and that of the 
resurrection of the body. So far as we 
can understand his meaning, he holds 
that the spiritual or glorified body is the 
same thing with the spirit or soul. In 
other words, the spirit or soul is an ethe- 
real substance which is called spirit, in- 
asmuch as it is intelligent ; and body, in- 
asmuch as it is visible and subsisting 
under a certain configuration. This is 
the doctrine of the spiritists, and not 
that of the Catholic Church. The Catho- 
lic doctrine is, that soul and body are 
distinct, diverse substances ; that the 
souls of the departed are existing now 
in a separate sUte, and that they will 
receive again their bodies at the resur- 
rection. The author of course explains 
the resurrection and present state of our 
Lord in harmony with this notion ; but in 
contradiction to the Catholic doctrine 
that our Lord raiseil up, glorified, and 
elevated to heaven that same flesh and 
blood which he took of the Virgin in the 
incarnation. He moreover confuses the 
human with the divine nature of Christ, 
by affirming, with the Lutherans, the 
ubiquity of the sacred humanity of 
Christ, whom he calls the "spirit 
Christ," and affirms to be everywhere 
by virtue of his divine omnipresence. 



I40 



Ntw Publuatiffms, 



I 



This again is erroneous docfrine. The 
way is prepared by tliese aiatements for 
an explanalion of ihe presence of Christ 
in the eucharist, and Iran substantiation. 
It is not difficult to tielieve that God 
annihilaies Ihe bread and wine, but »till 
causes a miraculous appearance to 
make Ihe same impression on our 
senses which Ihe bread and wine made 
before the consecration. Christ, being 
everywhere present, imparls the special 
effects of his grace al the time of con- 
secration and communion. The only 
trouble in the mailer is, that the theory 
is not true or orthodox. The body and 
I'lood of Christ are made present under 
the sacred species by the force of the con- 
secrating words, nff/hissoulordiviniiy. 
The soul and divinity of our blessed 
Lord are present by concomitance ; but 
transubstantialion is the change of the 
substance of the bread into the body, 
and of the wine into the blood of Christ, 
and here is the chief mystery of the 
dogma which the author, in endeavoring 
to explain, ha? explained away. It is 
possible that the anthor's sense is more 
orthodox than his language, and no 
(ioubt his intention is more orthodox 
than either. His language, however, 
bears on the face of it the appearance 
of a sense which is, in itself, contrary in 
some points to definitions of faith, and 
in others to the common doctrine of 
theologians. 

It is very necessary that all Catholics 
should understand that they are not at 
liberty to interpret either the scripture, 
tradition, or the definitions of councils 
in cODiradiciion to the Catholic sense 
and acceptation made known by the liv- 
ing voice of the pastors and teachers 
wlio are authorized by the church. 
Those who desire to feed on Ihe pure 
milk of sound doctrine will find their 
best security against error in selecting 
for their theological or spiritual reading 
those books which they are well assured 
have the sanction and approbation of 
their pastors. 



The Visible Unitv op the Catholic 
Church maintained against Op- 
i Theories. With an expla- 
nation of certain piassages in Ecclesi- 
astical History erroneously appealed 




to in theirsupport Hy M. J. R' 
Esq., M.A. Dedicated l^ p< 
sion to the Riglit Rev. Willia 
lany. D.D., Lord Bishop of 
London ; Longmans, Green i 
New York: The Catholic Pi 
tion Society. 



The superb exterior of this 
published in the best English 
leads the reader to expect som 
unusually excellent in llie coi 
Nor will he be disappointed. Thii 
is no mere repetition of Other ' 
Itis learned, original, carefullyprc 
well written, and has undergone 
aminationby competent Iheologia 
only in England, but also at Rome 
genuine doctrine of Catholic an 
opposed to the pseudo-catholk 
Anglicans, is exposed in it, with . 
tation of the objections of Bishop F 
Dr. Pusey. and others. The qut 
ol the Easier controversy, the i 
between St Cyprian and Pope S 
phen, the dispute between Piiulio 
St. Meletius of Anlioch, the Ceh 
troversies, etc., are fully discussei 
only criiicisril we liavu to m.ike i 
cerning the manner of treating Oi 
tion of the divided obediences 
epoch between the pontificate of 
VI, and that of Martin V. Tlie 
thinks that the adherents of P< 
Luna, called Benedict XIIL.wen 
in schism, allliough most of ihei 
innocent of any sin. We think 
wise, and our opinion has been < 
from the most appro«d Catho 
ihors. Without doubt, the author 
division were formal schismatics 
they were able to make out i 
plausible case against Urban : 
favor of Denedict, that for the ti 
ing Urban's right was doubtfu 
large portion of Christendom. 
who refused to recognize him w 
therefore guilty of relwllion agai 
Roman pontiff as such, any mo 
those would be who should n 
obey a papal rescript of doubt 
thenticity. After the election of. 
der V. there was much greater 
lo doubt which of the three riva 
ants, Gregory XIL, Benedict 
or Alexander V., was the true p< 
is now perfectly certain that ( 



Ntw Publications. 



141 



ras canoDically elected, and we 
e it is by for the more probable 
t that he remained in possession 
ri^t as legitimate pope until his 
iry resignation at the Council of 
nee. Nevertheless, his claim, at 
le, was a doubtful one, and the 
y of the cardinals and bishops 
i, after the Council of Pisa, to 
der V. and his successor John 
. Peter de Luna was a schis- 
Q the fullest extent of the word. 
lat shall we say of Alexander and 

Their names still appear on the 
' popes, and some maintain that 
are true popes. They undoubt- 
lieved that a council could depose 
il popes, and that therefore the 
1 of Pisa could deprive both Gre- 
od Benedict of whatever claim 
>f them might have to the papal 
They believed themselves law- 
ected, and were not, therefore, 
atics, even though they were not 
fK>pes. If the author maintains 
wo of the three obediences 
jventually concurred at Constance 
election of Martin V. were in a 
f schism until that time, we can- 
ree with him, and we think we 
le best authorities on our side, 
these obediences were in schism, 
ere no part of the true church, 
isdiction of their bishops and 

was forfeited, and the Catholic 
I was limited to the obedience 
legitimate pontiffl This theory 
involve the author in considera- 
ficulties, and we wonder that it 
owed to escape the notice of his 
I examiners. The case is very 

our thinking. Neither of these 

arties rebelled against the Roman 

refused to obey the laws of any 

whose legitimacy was unques- 

t. It was a dispute about the 
sion, not a revolt against the 
•le of authority. There was, 
re, no schism in the case ; all 
qoally members of the Catholic 
t, and jurisdiction remained in the 

1 of all the contending parties, 
who wilfully promoted this dissen- 
ere grievously culpable, but the 
ire free from sin, as long as they 
in good £uth. The author de- 



votes only a short space to this ques- 
tion, and with this exception his work 
is most admirable, and worthy of a 
most extensive circulation. 



The EvroENCE for the Papacy. By 
the Hon. Colin Lindsay. London : 
Longmans & Co. For sale by the 
Catholic Publication Society, New 
York. 

Mr. Lindsay was president of the 
Anglican Union when, after long study, 
he submitted to the authority of the 
holy Roman Church. His conversion 
made a great sensation, and called out 
the usual amount of foolish, ill-natured 
twaddle. In this volume he has given 
a masterly, lawyer-like, and extensive 
summary, richly furnished with evi- 
dences and authorities, of the scriptural 
and historical argument for the supre- 
macy of St Peter and his successors. 
We welcome and recommend this admi- 
rable work most cordially. The author 
is a convert of the old stamp of New- 
man, VVilberforce, Oakeley, Faber, and 
Manning ; that is, a convert to genuine 
and thorough-going Catholicity ; and 
not one of those who has been spoiled 
by the fatal influence of Munich. The 
spurious coin which dealers in counter- 
feit Catholicism are seeking just now to 
palm off on the unwary is distinguished 
from the genuine by its faint delineation 
of the pope's efl5gy on its surface. A 
primacy in the universal church similar 
to that of a metropolitan in a province 
is all they will admit the pope to pos- 
sess ywr^ divino. The true Catholicity 
brings out the divine supremacy of the 
successor of St. Peter into bold relief. 
This is just now the g^eat question, the 
criterion of orthodox belief, the touch- 
stone of faith, the one great fact and 
doctrine to be insisted on against every 
form of anti-Catholic error, from that 
of the Greeks to that of the atheists. 
The pope is the visible representative of 
Christ on the earth, of God's law, of re- 
vealed religion, of the supernatural, and 
of moral and political order. The one 
question of his supremacy in the true 
and full sense of the word being settled, 
every thing else follows as a necessary 



142 



New PuhKcatiens. 



consequence, and is established. It is 
very imporlant, (herefore, that books 
should be multiplied on this topic, and 
that the inmost pains should be taken 
by the clergy to indoctrinate the people 
and instruct fully converts concerning 
that loyal allegiance and unreserved obe- 
dience whicii all Catholics owe to the 
vicar of ChrisL This book will be 
found lo be one of the best. We have 
received also from London a very clever 
critique on "Janus," by F. Kcogh, of 
the Oratory, and are glad to see that the 
learned Dr. HergenrSthcr, otWiiriburg, 
is preparing an elaborate refutation of 
that mischievous production. The se- 
cond part of F. Bottalla's work on the 
papacy is also announced as soon to ap- 

Geology and Revelation ; or, The 
Ancient History op the Earth, 
cossidered in the llght op geo- 
LOGICAL Facts and Revealed Re- 
LtoiON. By ihe Rev. Gerald MoUoy, 
D.D., Professor of Theology in the 
Royal College of St Patrick, May- 
nooth, London ; Longmans, Green, 
Reader & Dyer. 1870, For sale by 
the Catholic Publication Society, New 
York. 

The author discusses in this volume 
(wo interpretations of the Mosaic ac- 
count of creation : 1st, that a long in- 
terval may have elapsed between the 
creation and the work of the six days ; 
2d, that the six days themselves may be 
long periods of lime ; and shows that 
tlicy are both admissible, and that the 
last corresponds pretty well with the 
present slate of geological science. In 
a subsequent work, he proposes to dis- 
cuss the queslion of the antiquity of 

Though lie doe» not claim lo have 
written a manual of geology, the first 
and larger part of the work is in fact an 
excellent compendium of Ihe science, 
and is written in a remarkably interest- 
ing and readable style. A few such 
books would do much lo remove the 
dislike and distrust of geology which 
still prevails to some extent among reli- 
gious people, and perhaps also to con- 
vince scientific unbelievers. 



Reports om Observatioks op thu 
Total Eclipse op the Sun. At^g 
7, 1S69. Conducted under the dir^ 
lion of Commodore B. F. SaiwT 

U. S.N. , Superintendent of the Unili 
States Naval Observatory, Wash ill 
ton, D.C. Washington : Coven 
ir-ent Printing Office. 1869. 

This volume contains the reports ^ 
the parties sent from llie Nai-al Obse 
vatory to Des Moines, Iowa, Plover Ui 
Siberia, and Bristol, Tennessee ; as w 
as those of Mr. W. S. Oilman, Jr., a: 
General Albert J, Mj er, at St. Paul Jm 
tion, Iowa, and Abingdon, Va., respet 
tively, who also communicated their ot 
servaiions to the superinlendeoL Tl 
latter saw the eclipse from the top I 
White Top Mountain, 5530 feet hi^ 
tlie elTecl was, of course, magnificen 
The papers of Professor Harkncss s 
the spectrum, and of Dr. Curtis on 4 
photographs which they obtained at D< 
Moines, are specially interesting. OB 
hundred and twenty-two photograpi 
were taken in all, two during the totally 
fac-similes of which last are appentlM 
together with other representations fl 
the total phase, and copies of Ihe spct 
tra observed, elc. Professor Harkno 
observed what appears to be a very dl 
cided iron line in the spectrum of tk 
corona, which was otherwise continuoni 
and lie considers it quite probable thi 
this mysterious halo is to a great extei 
or even perhaps principally composed C 
the vapor of this metal. He saw nui^ 
nesium and hydrogen in the prominew 
ces, and (he unknown substance whirf 
has been elsewhere observed. 

Professor Hall, who went to Siberi;^' 
was unfortunate, the weather 
cloudy during the eclipse, though c! 
before and afterward ; but he made ■ 
observations were practicable unde' 



A Text-Book of Practical Medi* 
CINE. By Dr. Felix Von Nie; 
Professor of Pathology and Tlierapc 
lies ; Direclor of the Medical Cl(id_ 
oftheUniversityof Tubingen. T^vm 
lated from the seventh German ti" 
tion, by special permission of I 



New Publications. 



M3 



author, by George H. Humphreys, 
M.D., and Charles £. Hackley, M.D. 
In two volumes octavo, 1500 pp. New 
York: D. Appleton & Co. 

These books place at once before the 
American practitioner the most ad- 
vanced scientific knowledge on the 
general practice of medicine possessed 
by the German school, of which Pro- 
iessor Niemeyer is considered, and 
JBStly, one of the most erudite and bril- 
fiant ornaments. 

Each subject treated shows the pro- 
ioond and masterly manner in which its 
details have been garnered by him from 
the only reliable source of such know- 
kdge, the hospital clinic 

The rapidity with which it has passed 
flvoogh seven German editions, the last 
tffo of triple size, and the iasX that it 
las been translated into most of the 
principal languages of the old continent, 
aflbfd ample proof of its appreciation in 
Europe. 

The medical student is here presented 
vitli a solid, comprehensive, and scien- 
tific ibundation upon which to rear his 
future superstructure of learning, while 
the over worked practitioner will find a 
nerer-failing source of gratification in 
the work for casual reference and study. 

Nothing can so much advance truly 
Catholic science and literature as the 
free interchange of national ideas and 
opmioas, expressed through the master 
minds of the various professions and 
pursuits. 



Life Pictures of the Passion of 
OUE Lord Jesus Christ. Trans- 
lated from the German of Rev, 
Dr. John Emmanuel Veith, formerly 
Preacher of St. Stephen's Cathedral, 
Wtnxou By Rev. Theodore Noethen, 
Pastor of the Church of the Holy 
Cross, Albany, N. Y. Boston: P. 
Dooahoe. 

The various personages connected 
^th the sufierings and death of our 
Ssrioar— Judas Iscariot, Caiaphas, Mal- 
chns, Simon Peter, etc. — receive each a 
chapter in this book, in which their cha- 
ncters are portrayed with appropriate 



reflections and illustrations drawn from 
history, religious and secular. 

The author is one of the most distin- 
guished preachers in Europe. The 
translator is a clergyman well and 
favorably known for the many excellent 
translations of German religious books 
which he has given to the American 
public. 

Ufe Pictures will be found very 
suitable reading for this season of the 
year. 



Health by Good Living. By W. W. 
Hall, M.D. New York: Hurd & 
Houghton. 1870. Pp. 277. 

« 
This work is intended to show that 

good health can be maintained, and 
many diseases prevented, by proper 
care in eating. The doctor does not 
use the phrase "good living" in its or- 
dinary meaning ; he defines it to be a 
good appetite followed by good diges- 
tion. His rules for obtaining this two- 
fold blessing are generally sensible ; but 
a few of his statements are somewhat 
exaggerated. We have no doubt that 
the health of the community would be 
improved by following the common- 
sense directions of Dr. Hall ; but un- 
fortunately, as the doctor himself re- 
marks, not one person in a thousand of 
his readers will have sufficient control 
over his appetite to carry out these sug- 
gestions, which require so much self-de- 
nial. We are glad to see the doctor re- 
commends a strict observance of Lent 



A General History of Modern Eu- 
rope, FROM the Beginning of the 
Sixteenth Century to the Coun- 
cil OF THE Vatican. Third edition, 
revised and corrected. By John G. 
Shea. New York: T. W. Strong, 
(late Edward Dunigan & Brother.) 

The merit of this history as a text- 
book has been long and widely recog- 
nized. The correction, revision, and 
addenda do not call for any special no- 
tice. 



144 



Umi Publications. 



The Ferrvmax of the Tiber. An 

Historical Tale. Translated from the 
Italian of Madame A. K. De La 
Grange. New York : P. O'Sliea, 27 
Barclay s tree L 1870. 

This is a beautiful story of the early 
days of the thurch, when the effeminacy 
and luxury of the pagans made the noble 
virtues of the Christians shine with the 
greater splendor ; vrhen SL Jerome 
lived in Rome, and the Roman matrons 
and virgins, following his instructions, 
gave to the world such beautiful exam- 
ples of virlne, and to the church so many 
saints. It is a book that should be read 
now ; for though we do not live in a pa- 
gan age, we surely are not living in an 
age of faith ; and the example of a Je- 
rome, a Melania, and a Valeria are as 
necessary as when Ihe light of Christian- 
ity had but just begun to shine upon Ihe 



Everybody knows, long before ni 
Mr. Morris is a true poet, and 1 

no need of our saying what will 
news to any one who loves poe"i 
will only say, therefore, that we I 
Morris, because he is antique, cl 
and pure, and it is refreshing 
away fjoni the dusty, hot highwa 
cent literature into his pages. 



The Double SACitmCE; 01 
Pontifical Zouaves. A 1 
Castelfidardo. Translated it< 
Flemisii of the Rev. S. Daems 
limore : KelJy, Piet & Co. T 

A well-deserved tribute to th( 
lant youths who cheerfully offt 
their all, home, friends, life 'Wt 

Peter's cliair, and in defence 1 
church. As a story it has no pa 



The Grammar of Assent. By John 
Henry Newman, O.D. 



This 



1 the J, 



Juhnl 



a treatise 
-/ of logic, with application to reli- 
gious belief and faith in the divine re- 
- velalion. We have only had time to 
glance at its contents, and must, there- 
fore, postpone any critical judgment 
upon them. What we have suen in 
looking over the leaves of the advanced 
sheets sent us by the kindness of the 
author is enough, however, to show that 
in this book Dr. Newman has put 
thought and language under a conden- 
ser which has compressed a folio of 
sense into a duodecimo of siie. 

Tbe Catholic Publication Society will d^"; 
issue the work in a few weeks. 



Tire Earthly Paradise. A Poem 
by William Morris. Part III. Eos- 
Ion: Roberts Brothers. Printed at 
the Cambridge University Press. 



Loniion, OtTuid, u 



:n hilhatlv uaoiUe 



Fna 


n Carlitoh, N 


wVgrki Sini«i\ 


f™. 

Louis 
UuU 


X P. Fox, Publi 
0. ChiiW R. S 


her. TtSomhFlAb 
ic Srhooli, vilfa ^ 
condiicttd ia Sl L 
x^1<k^ .11,0. 


f™ 


Iho Unlnnil 
mKOI of Hvnlcn 


. Am Arbor: Sa 
ud PhyiKal Cull 


Fran. MuwiiT ft Co., BiJllmar.: 0« 
cl,;™ of U« Chri.Iiu, Docm« ; i« Ihe I 
Cmholia of ihc Dioccic of Sinniuh »c 
A|<nualic of Fl«idi. iS6».— rsbedr 
Jaiury, iS^o. 







THE 



li\ 



CATHOLIC WORLD 



7-1 

I -I 



VOL. XI., No. 62.— MAY, 1870. 



CHURCPI AND STATE.* 



Il Signer CantU is one of the 
liilestmen and most distinguished con- 
fanporary authors of Italy. He is a 
imoan, and has usually been reckon- 
ed among the better class of so-called 
liberal Catholics, and certainly is a 
warn friend of liberty, civil and reli- 
gious, a sincere and earnest Italian pa- 
tiiot, thoroughly devoted to the holy 
see, and a firm and fearless defender 
rf the rights, freedom, independence, 
JiHi authority of the spiritual order 
in its relation to the temporal. 

We know not where to look for a 
truer, fuller, more loyal, or more judi- 
cious treatment in so brief a compass 
of the great and absorbing question 
ia regard to the relation of church 
and Slate, than in his article from the 
J^iisia Uniirrsale^ the title of which 
ve give at the foot of the page. He 
is an emdite rather than a philoso- 
pher, a historian rather than a theo- 
logian; yet his article is equally re- 
markable for its learning, its history, 
its philosophy, its theology, and its 
canon law, and, with slight reserva- 
tion, as to his interpretation of the 
bull Unam Sanctam of Boniface VIII. 
and some views hinted rather than 

*Ckiev% e State: Rapsodie di C. Cantii, dalla 
RhiatA Vnivertalt. Corretto e riveduto dall* Au- 
1867. 8vo pp. 94. 

VOL. XI. 10 



expressed as to the origin and nature 
of the magistcrium exercised by the 
pK)pes over sovereigns in the middle 
ages, we believe it as true and as ex- 
act as it is learned and profound, full 
and conclusive, and we recommend its 
careful study to all who would master 
the question it treats. 

For ourselves, we have treated the 
question of church and state so often, 
so fully, and so recently, in its principle 
and in its several aspects, especially in 
relation to our own government, that 
we know not that we have any thing 
to add to what we have already said, 
and we might dispense ourselves from 
its further discussion by simply refer- 
ring to the articles, Independence of the 
Churchy October, 1866; Church and 
State, April, 1867 ; J^ome and the 
JVor/dy October of the same year; and 
to our more recent articles on The 
Future of Protestantism and Catholi- 
city, especially the third and fourth, 
January', February, March, and April, 
of the present year ; and also to the 
article on The School Question^ in 
the very last number before the pre- 
sent. We can do, and we shall at- 
tempt, in the present article, to do, 
little more than bring together and 
present as a whole what is scatter- 
ed through these several articles, and 



146 



Church and State. 



offer respectfully and even timidly 
such suggestions as we think will 
not be presumptuous in regard to the 
means, in the present emergency, of 
realizing more perfectly at home ajid 
abroad the ideal of Christian society. 

We assume in the outset that there 
really exist in human society two dis- 
tinct orders, the spiritual and the tem- 
poral, each with its own distinctive 
functions, laws, and sphere of action. 
In Christian society, the representa- 
tive of the spiritual order is the church, 
and the representative of the tempo- 
ral is the state. In the rudest stages 
of society the elements of the two 
orders exist, but are not clearly appre- 
hended as distinct orders, nor as hav- 
ing each its distinct and proper re- 
presentative. It is only in Christian 
society, or society enlightened by 
the Gospel, that the two orders are 
duly distinguished, and each in its 
•own representative is placed in its 
»normal relation with the other. 

The type, indeed the reason, of this 
distinction of two orders in society is 
in the double nature of man, or the 
fact that man exists only as soul and 
body, and needs to be cared for in 
each. The church, representing the 
spiritual, has charge of the souls of 
men, and looks after their minds, 
ideas, intelligence, motives, conscien- 
ces, and consequendy has the super- 
vision of education, morals, literature, 
science, and art. The state, repre- 
senting the temporal, has charge of 
men's bodies, and looks after the ma- 
terial wants and interests of individu- 
als and society. We take this illus- 
tration from the fathers and mediae- 
val doctors. It is perfect. The ana- 
logy of cliurch and state in the moral 
order, with the soul and body in the 
physical order, commends itself to the 
common sense of every one, and car- 
ries in itself the evidence of its just- 
ness, especially when it is seen to 
correspond strictly in the moral order, 



to the distinction of soul and 1 
the physical order. We sha] 
then, the relation of soul and 1 
the type throughout of the ic 
lation of church and state. 

Man lives not as body alo 
as soul alone, but as the un 
the two, in reciprocal commerce 
and body are distinct, but no 
rate. Each has its own dist 
properties and functions, and 
can replace the other ; but thei 
ration is death, the death of th 
only, not of the soul indee 
that is immortal. The body 
terial, and, separated from th 
is dust an^ ashes, mere slime 
earth, from which it was forme 
is the same in the moral ordt 
society, which is not state aloi 
church alone, but the union 
two in reciprocal commerce, 
two arc distinct, each has its c 
tive nature, laws, and function 
neither can perform the functi< 
the other, or take the other's 
But though distinct, they cam 
the normal state of society Ix 
rated. The separation of the 
from the church is in the moral 
what the separation of the bod; 
the soul is in the physical ordc 
is death, the death of the stat 
indeed of the church ; for sh 
the soul, nay, like God himself, 
mortal. The separation of the 
from the church destroys its 
life, and leaves society to bec( 
mass of moral rottenness and c 
tion. Hence, the holy father in 
the proposition to separate c 
and state, in his syllabus of con 
ed propositions. 

The soul is defined by the c 
as the forma corporis, the infc 
or vital principle of the body, 
church in the moral order is 
civifaiis, the informing, the vita 
ciple of the state or civil s< 
which has no moral life of it? 



Church and State. 



147 



H moral life, by its very term, 
Is from the spiritual order. 
is in the physical order no ex- 
but from God through the 
a of his creative act; so is 
10 moral life in society, but 
he spiritual order which is 
d by God as supreme lawgiver, 
presented by the church, the 
m and judge alike of the na- 
w and the revealed law. 
soul is the nobler and superior 
man, and it belongs to it, 
make away with the body, or 
me its functions, but to exer- 
j magisterium over it, to direct 
vem it according to the law of 
lot to the body to assume the 
r over the soul, and to bring 
¥ of the mind into captivity 
in the members. So is the 
> as representing the spiritual 
md charged with the care of 
he nobler and superior part of 
, and to her belongs the tna- 
m of entire human society ; 
is for her in the moral order to 
and control civil society, by 
Uy declaring, and applying to 
on, the law of God, of which 
as we have just said, the guar- 
nd judge, and to which it is 
by the Supreme Law-Giver to 
inate its entire official conduct, 
note here that this view con- 
alike the absorption of the 
n the church, and the absorp- 
' the church in the state, and 
5 each to remain distinct from 
ler, each with its own organi- 
, organs, faculties, and sphere 
on. It favors, therefore, neither 
s called theocracy, or cleYocracy^ 
, to which Calvinistic Protes- 
tt is strongly inclined, nor the 
lacy of the state, to which the 
tuis, and which was assumed 
the states of Gentile antiquity, 
e came the persecution of Chris- 
by the pagan emperors. We 



nofe farther, that the church does 
not make the law; she only promul- 
gates, declares, and applies it, and is 
herself as much bound by it as is the 
state itself. The law itself is pre- 
scribed for the government of all 
men and nations, by God himself as 
supreme law-giver, or the end or final 
cause of creation, and binds equally 
states and individuals, churchmen and 
statesmen, sovereigns and subjects. 

Such, as we have learned it, is the 
Catholic doctrine of the relation of 
church and state, and such is the re- 
lation that in the divine order really 
exists between the two orders, and 
which the church has always and 
everywhere labored with all her zeal 
and energy to introduce and main- 
tain in society. It is her ideal of catho- 
lic or truly Christian society, but which 
has never yet been perfectly realized, 
though an approach to its realization, 
the author thinks, was made under 
the Christian Roman emperors. The 
chronic condition of the two orders 
in society, instead of union and co- 
operation, or reciprocal commerce, 
has been that of mutual distrust or 
undisguised hostility. During the 
first three centuries, the relation be- 
tween them was that of open an- 
tagonism, and the blood of Chris- 
tians made the greater part of the 
world then known hallowed ground, 
and the Christians, as Lactantius re- 
marks, conquered the world, not by 
slaughtering, but by being slaughter- 
ed. The pagan sovereign of Rome 
claimed, and was held to unite both 
powers in himself, and was at once 
imperafor, pontifix maximus, and di- 
7'us, or god. The state, even after 
the conversion of the empire and of 
the barbarians that overturned it and 
seated themselves on its ruins, never 
fully disclaimed the spiritual faculties 
conceded it by Graeco-Roman or Ita- 
lo-Greek civilization. 

All through the middle ages, Ken- 



148 



Church and State. 



elm Digby's ages of faith, wlien it is 
pretended the church had every thing 
her own way, and the haughty power 
of her supreme pontiffs and their ty- 
ranny over such meek and lamb-hke 
temporal princes as Henry IV., Frede- 
rick Barbarossa, and Frederick II. of 
Germany, Philip Augustus of France, 
Henry II. and John Lackland of Eng- 
land, have been the theme of many a 
school-boy declamation against her, 
and adduced by grave statesmen as 
an excuse for depriving Catholics of 
their liberty, confiscating their goods, 
and cutting their throats — all through 
those ages, we say, she enjoyed not a 
moment's peace, hardly a truce, and 
was obliged to sustain an unceasing 
struggle with the civil authority against 
its encroachments on the spiritual or- 
der, and for her own independence 
and freedom of action as the church 
of God. In this struggle, the strug- 
gle of mind against matter, of mo- 
ral power against physical force, the 
church was far from being, at least to 
human eyes, always victorious, and 
she experienced more than one disas- 
trous defeat. In the sixteenth centu- 
ry, Caesar carried away from her the 
north of Europe, as he had long 
since carried away the whole east, and 
forced her, in the nations that profess- 
ed to recognize her as representing 
the spiritual order, to make him such 
large concessions as left her litde more 
than the shadow of independence ; 
and the people and their rulers are 
now almost everywhere conspiring 
to take away even that shadow, and 
to render her completely subject to 
the state, or representative of the tem- 
poral order. 

There is no opinion more finnly 
fixed in the minds of the people of 
to-day, at least according to the jour- 
n?.ls, than that the union of church 
and state is execrable and ought not 
to be suffered to exist. The'words 
cannot be pionounced without send- 



ing a thrill of horror through \ 
and calling forth the most vi 
and indignant protest from ev< 
appointed defender of moderr 
zation, progress, liberty, cquali 
fraternity. What is called the 
ral party," sometimes " the mo* 
party," but what we call " the 
tion," has everywhere for its } 
mobile^ its impulse and its moti 
dissolution of what remains 
union of church and state, th 
separation of the state from the 
and its assertion as the suprer 
only legitimate authority in s 
to which all orders and clas 
men, and all matters, whethe 
poral or spiritual, must be sul 
The great words of the party, 
nounced by its aposdes and chi 
" people-king," " people-priest,' 
pie-God." There is no denyi 
fact. Science, or what pasj 
science, denies the double 
of man, the distinction betwe 
and body, and makes the sc 
product of material organ izatic 
mere function of the body; a 
more popular philosophy sup 
the spiritual order in societ; 
therefore rejects its pretended 
sentative ; and the progress of 
gence suppresses God, and lea 
society only political atheisn 
and simple, as is evident frc 
savage war-whoop set up thro 
the civilized world against the 
bus of condemned proj)ositior 
lished by our holy father, Dec 
1864. This syllabus touch* 
deep wound of modern society 
ed it to the quick, and her 
writhings and contortions, the 
and screechings it occasioned. 
God grant that it touched to h 
posed the wound only to ap] 
remedy. 

But the remedy — what is it, 
shall we seek it, and how s 
be applied? The question i 



Church and State, 



149 



s?ell as grave, let it be answer- 
may. The principles of the 
are inflexible and unalterable, 
5t be preserved inviolate ; and 
: susceptibilities of both states- 
d churchmen, in regard to 
1 in old customs and usages, 
len not unchangeable in their 
ire to be gently treated. The 
s not less bound by the law of 
in is the state ; for she does not, 
.ve said, make the law, she only 
ters it. Undoubtedly, she has 
andary sense legislative autho- 
►owcr to enact canons or rules 
ulations for i)rcserving, carry- 
and applying the law, as the 
lopts its own rules and regula- 
as does the executive autho- 
n in a government like ours, for 
ig the law enacted by the le- 
power. These may no doubt 
ged from time to time by the 
as she judges necessary, pro- 
jxpedient in order the better 
the changing circumstances 
3n to which she is obliged to 
^ut even in these respects, 
must be made in strict con- 
to law; and although they 
so made and leave the law 
nd affect only the modes or 
f its administration, they are 
lout a certain danger. The 
nay mistake them for chang- 
lovations in the law itself, and 
may represent them as such, 
listically adduce them against 
rch as disproving her immu- 
ind infallibility. 
; have been, and no doubt are 
ses in the church growing out 
iman side, which need chang- 
K:ipline to reform them ; but 
uses have always been exag- 
by the best and holiest men 
hurch, and the necessity of a 
in discipline or ecclesiastical 
Ustinguished from the law of 
seldom, if ever, created by 



them. When evils exist that menace 
both faith and society, it is not the 
church that is in fault, but the world 
that refuses to confonn to the law as 
she declares and applies it. It was 
not abuses in the church that were 
the chief cause of the revolt, the here- 
sy, and schism of the reformers in the 
sixteenth century; for they were far 
less then than they had been one, 
two, three, or even four centuries pre- 
vious. The worst abuses and great- 
est scandals which had previously 
obtained had already been corrected, 
and Leo X. had assembled the Fifth 
Council of the Lateran for the purpose 
of restoring discipline and rendering 
it still more effective, llie evil origi- 
nated in the temporal order as repre- 
sented by the state, and grew out of 
secular changes and abuses. It was 
so then, it is so now, always was and 
always will be so. Why, then, demand 
changes or reform in the church, 
which cannot reach them ? Tlie 
church causes none of the evils at any 
time complained of, and offers no ob- 
stacle to their removal, or the redress 
of social grievances. It is for the 
temporal to yield to the spiritual, not 
for the spiritual to yield to the tempo- 
ral. Very true ; and yet the church 
may condescend to the world in its 
weakness for the sake of elevating it 
to harmony with her own ideal. God, 
when he would take away sin, and 
save the souls he had created and 
which he loved, did not stand aloof, 
or, so to speak, on his dignity, and bid 
the sinner cease sinning and obey 
him, without stretching forth his hand 
to help him ; but made himself man, 
humbled himself, took the form of a 
servant, and came to the world lying 
in wickedness and festering in iniqui- 
ty, took it by the hand, and sweetly 
and gently led the sinner away from 
sin to virtue and holiness. 

For four hundred years, the church 
has sought to maintain peace and 



i5o 



Church and State, 



concord between herself and the state 
by concordats, as the wisest and best 
expedient she found practicable. But 
concordats, however useful or neces- 
sary, do not realize the ideal of Chris- 
tian society. They do not effect the 
true union of church and state, and 
cannot be needed where that union 
exists. They imply not the union, 
but the separation of church and 
state, and are neither necessary nor 
admissible, except where the state 
claims to be separate from and inde- 
pendent of the church. They are a 
compromise in which the church con- 
cedes the exercise of certain rights to 
the state in consideration of its pledge 
to secure her in the free and peace- 
able exercise of the rest, and to render 
her the material force in the execution 
of her spiritual canons, which she may 
need but does not herself possess. 
They are defensible only as necessary 
expedients, to save the church and 
the state from falling into the relation 
of direct and open antagonism. 

Yet even as expedients concordats 
have been at best only partially suc- 
cessful, and now seem on the point 
of failing altogether. While the church 
faithfully observes their stipulations so 
far as they bind her, the state seldom 
observes them in the respect that they 
bind it, and violates them as often as 
they interfere with its own ambitious 
projects or policy. The church has 
concordats with the greater part of 
the European states, and yet while in 
certain respects they trammel her free- 
dom, they afford her litde or no pro- 
tection. The state everywhere claims 
the right to violate or abrogate them 
at will, without consulting her, the 
other party to the contract. It has 
done so in Spain, in Italy, and in 
Austria ; and if France at present ob- 
serves the concordat of 1801, she does 
it only in the sense of the " organic 
articles,'* never inserted in it, but add- 
ed by the First Consul on his authority 



alone, and always protested 
by the supreme pontiff and ^ 
Christ; and there is no foreseeii 
the present or a new ministry 1 
Even if the governments w< 
posed to observe them, their 
would not suffer them to do s< 
see in Spain and Austria, Tim 
changed, and the governments 1 
er govern the people, but the 
or the demagogues who leac 
now govern the governments 
European governments sustai 
power, even their existence, c 
the physical force of five mill 
armed soldiers. 

There is evidently, then,littlei 
to be placed on the govemmer 
they are liable, any day, to be 
ed or overthrown. The stron 
them hope to sustain themseh 
keep the revolution in check ( 
concessions, as we see in the 
sion of suffrage in England, a 
adoption of parliamentary | 
ment, under a constitutional m< 
in Austria, France, North Ge 
and elsewhere. But as yet tl 
cessions of the governments hi 
where strengthened them or v 
ed the revolution. One con 
becomes the precedent for a 
and one demand satisfied onl 
to another and a greater d 
while it diminishes the power 
government to resist. What i: 
the closer the union of the 
with the government the moi 
less it becomes, and the grea 
hostility it incurs. The />nmi 
bile of the movement party, 
now find it, is not the love of 
liberty, or a liberty compatib 
stable government, or the es 
ment of a democratic or rep 
constitution ; and it is not hostil 
church only because she exe 
power to sustain the govemn 
would reform or revolutionize, 
ther,because it regards them as 1 



Church and State. 



ISI 



church, which they detest and 
annihilate. The primum mo- 
latred of the church. This is 
son why, even when the go- 
nts are well disposed, as some- 
hey are, the people will not 
lem to observe faithfully their 
tnents to the church, 
t was the mistake of the bril- 
ut unhappy De la Mennais. 
led upon the church to cut 
loose from her entangling alli- 
ilh the state, and throw herself 
n the people ; which would 
fen not bad counsel, if the peo- 
e hostile to her only because 
pposed her allied with despo- 
jmments, or if they were less 
to her than the governments 
ves. But such is not the fact 
ent. The people are to-day 
ed by Catholics who care lit- 
iny world but the present, by 
ints, rationalists, Jews, infidels, 
nanitarians ; and to act on the 
laisian counsel would seem 
ich like abandoning weak, tim- 
too exacting friends, to throw 
If into the arras of powerful and 
ble enemies. When, in the 
ng of his reign, the holy father 
I some popular measures, he 
versally applauded, but he did 

those who applauded him to 
rch ; and his measures were ap- 
l by the outside world only 
; believed to be such as would 
undermine his own authority, 
»'e the way for the downfall of 
city. The movement party 
led, because they thought they 
ise him as an instrument for 
itruction of the church. In 
nch Revolution of February, 
riginating in deep-seated and 
.te hostility to the church, the 
cceptance of the republic, the 
y after its proclamation, by the 

bishops and clergy, did not 
loment conciliate the hostility 



in which the revolution had its origin. 
They were applauded indeed, but only 
in the hope of making use of them 
to democratize, or secularize, and 
therefore to destroy the church as 
the authoritative representative of the 
spiritual order. The bishops and 
priests, all but a very small minority, 
showed that they underbtood and ap- 
preciated the applause they received, 
by abandoning the revolution at the 
earliest practicable moment, and lend- 
ing their support to the movement 
for the reestablishment of imperial- 
ism ; for they felt that they could more 
safely rely on the emperor than on 
the republic. 

These facts and the reminiscences of 
the old French Revolution, have cre- 
ated in the great majority of intelli- 
gent and earnest Catholics, wisely or 
unwisely, we say not, a profound dis- 
trust of the movement party, which 
professes to be the party of liberty, 
and which carries in its train, if not 
the numerical majority, at least the ac- 
tive, energetic, and leading minds of 
their respective nations, those that form 
public opinion and give its direction, 
and make them honestly believe that 
Catholic interests, which are not sepa- 
rable from the interests of society, 
will be best protected and promoted 
by the church's standing by the go- 
vernments and aiding them in their 
rcpressi ve measures. Perhaps they are 
right. The church, of course, can- 
not abandon society ; but in times like 
ours, it is not easy to say on which 
side lie the interests of society. Is it 
certain that they lie on either side, 
either with the governments as they 
are, or with the party opposed to 
them? At present the church nei- 
ther directs the governments nor con- 
tiols the popular or so-called liberal 
movement ; and we confess it is diffi- 
cult to say from which she and socie- 
ty have most to dread. Governments, 
without her direction want morality,. 



152 



Church and State. 



and can govern only by force ; and 
popular movements not inspired or 
controlled by her are blind and law- 
less, and tend only to anarchy, and 
the destruction of liberty as well as 
of order, of morality as well as of 
religion as a directing and governing 
power. We distrust both. 

For ourselves personally, we are 
partial to our own American system, 
which, unless we are blinded by our 
national prejudices, comes nearer 
to the realization of the true union 
as well as distinction of church and 
state than has heretofore or elsewhere 
been effected ; and we own we should 
like to see it, if practicable there, intro- 
duced — by lawful means only — into 
the nations of Europe. The Ameri- 
can system may not be practicable in 
Europe; but, if so, we think it would 
be an improvement. Foreigners do 
not generally, nor even do all Ameri- 
cans themselves fully understand the 
relation of church and state, as it 
really subsists in the fundamental con- 
stitution of American society. Abroad 
and at home there is a strong dispo- 
sition to interpret it by the theory of 
European liberalism, and both they 
who defend and they who oppose the 
union of church and state, regard it 
as based on their total separation. But 
the reverse of this, as we understand 
it, is the fact. American society is 
based on the principle of their un- 
ion; and union, while it implies distinc- 
tion, denies separation. Modem infi- 
delity or secularism is, no doubt, at 
work here as elsewhere to effect their 
reparation ; but as yet the two orders 
are distinct, each with its distinct or- 
ganization, sphere of action, repre- 
sentative, and functions, but not sepa- 
rate. Here the rights of neither are 
held to be grants from the other. The 
rights of the church are not franchis- 
es or concessions from the state, but 
are recognized by the state as held 
oinder a higher law than its own, and 



therefore rights prior to and 
itself, which it is bound by 1 
constituting it to respect, ob< 
whenever necessary, to use i 
sical force to protect and vind 

The original settlers of the 
American colonies were not 
but, for the most part, sincer 
gious and Christian in their w 
in organizing society aimed n 
ply to escape the oppression 
science, of which they had b< 
victims in the mother count 
to found a truly Christian cc 
wealth ; and such commonweal 
actually founded, as perfect 
possible with their imperfect 
ten erroneous views of Chris 
The colonies of New Ends 
clined, no doubt, to a the©cra< 
tended to absorb the state 
church : in the Southern colon 
tendency was, as in England 
tablish the supremacy of the c 
der, and to make the church 
tion of the state. These two 
site tendencies meeting in the 
tion of American society » to a g 
tent, counterbalanced each oth 
resulted in the assertion of the 
macy of the Christian idea, 
union and distinction untlcr t 
of God, of the two orders. I 
ciple, at least, each order c? 
American society in its norm 
tion to the other ; and also in 
tegrity, with its own distinct 
ture, laws, and functions, and 
fore the temporal in its i)roper 
dination to the spiritual. 

This subordination is, inde 
always observed in practice, : 
ways even theoretically ad 
Many Americans, at first tl 
when it is broadly stated, will 
nantly deny it. We shall fin 
Catholics who do not accejit 
gravely tell us that their relig 
nothing to do widi their politi< 
is, their politics are indepenc 



Church and State. 



IS3 



tbcir religion ; that is, again, politics 
are independent of God, and there is 
DO God in the political order; as if a 
man could be an atheist in the state, 
and a devout Catholic in the church. 
But too many Catholics, at home and 
abroad, act as if this were indeed 
possible, and very reasonable, nay, 
their duty; and hence the political 
world is given over to the violence 
and corruption in which Satan finds 
a rich harvest. But let tjie state pass 
son:e act that openly and undisguis- 
ed!)' attacks the rights, the freedom, 
or independence of the church, in a 
practical way, it will be hard to find 
a single Catholic, in this country at 
kast, who would not denounce it as 
an outrage on his conscience, which 
Jhott-s that the assertion of the sc- 
pantion of politics from religion so 
thoughtlessly made, really means only 
the distinction, not the separation of 
the two orders, or that politics are in- 
dependent, so long as they do not run 
counter to the freedom and indepen- 
dence of religion, or fail to respect 
and protect the rights of the church. 
Inexactness of expression, and bad 
logic do not necessarily indicate un- 
sonnd faith. 

Most non-Catholics will deny that 
the American state is founded on the 
recognition of the independence and 
superiority of the spiritual order, and 
therefore, of the church, and the con- 
fession of its own subordination to 
the spiritual, not only in the order of 
logic, as II Signor Cantli maintains, 
hut also in the order of authority; 
yet a little reflection ought to satisfy 
fvery one that such is the fact, and 
•f it does not, it will be owing to a 
Diisconception of what is spiritual. 
The basis of the American state or 
constitution, the real, unwritten, pro- 
^ential constitution, we mean, is 
»hat are called the natural and in- 
alienable rights of man; and we know 
00 American citizen who does not 



hold that these rights are prior to 
civil society, above it, and held inde- 
pendently of it ; or that does not main- 
tain that the great end for which civil 
society is instituted is to protect, de- 
fend, and vindicate, if need be, with 
its whole physical force, these sacred 
and inviolable rights for each and 
every citizen, however high, however 
low. This is our American boast, 
our American conception of political 
justice, glory. These rights, among 
which are life, liberty, and the pur- 
suit of happiness, are the higher, the 
supreme law for civil society, which 
the state, however constituted, is 
bound to recognize and obey. They 
deny the absolutism of the state, de- 
fine its sphere, restrict its power, and 
prescribe its duty. 

But whence come these rights ? 
and how can they bind the state, and 
prescribe its duty ? We hold these 
rights by virtue of our manhood, it is 
said ; they are inherent in it, and con- 
stitute it. But my rights bind you, 
and yours bind me, and yet you and 
I are equal ; our manhoods are equal. 
How, then, can the manhood of eith- 
er bind or morally oblige the other ? 
Of things equal one cannot be supe- 
rior to another. They are in our na- 
ture as men, it is said again, or, simply, 
we hold them from nature. They are 
said to be natural rights and inaliena- 
ble, and what is natural must be in or 
from nature. Nature is taken in two 
senses ; as the physical order or the 
physical laws constitutive of the phy- 
sical universe, and as the moral law 
under which all creatures endowed 
with reason and free-will are placed 
by the Creator, and which is cogniza- 
ble by natural reason or the rea- 
son common to all men. In the first 
sense, these rights are not inherent in 
our nature as men, nor from nature, or 
in nature ; for they are not physical. 
Physical rights are a contradiction in 
terms. They can be inherent in our 



154 



Church and State. 



nature only in the second sense, and 
in our moral nature only, and conse- 
quently are held under the law which 
founds and sustains moral nature, or 
the moral order as distinct from the 
physical order. 

But the moral law, the so-called 
law of nature, droit naturel^ which 
founds and sustains the moral order, 
the order of right, of justice, is not a 
law founded or prescribed by nature, 
but the law for the moral government 
of nature, under which all moral na- 
tures are placed by the Author of na- 
ture as supreme law-giver. The law 
of nature is God^s law; and whatever 
rights it founds or are held from it are 
his rights, and ours only because they 
are his. My rights, in relation to you, 
are your duties, what God prescribes 
as the law of your conduct to me; 
and your rights are, in relation to me, 
my duties to you, what God prescribes 
as the rule of my conduct to you. 
But what God prescribes he has the 
right to prescribe, and therefore can 
command me to respect no rights in 
you, and you to respect no rights in 
me, that are not his ; and being his, 
civil society is bound by them, and 
cannot alienate them or deny them 
without violating his law, and robbing 
him of his rights. Hence, he who does 
an injury to another wrongs not him 
only, but wrongs his Maker, liis Sove- 
reign, and his Judge. 

Take any of the rights enumerat- 
ed as inalienable in the preamble to 
the Declaration of Independence. 
Amoncc these is the right to life. 
This right all men and civil society 
itself are bound to treat as sacred 
and inviolable. But all men are cre- 
ated equal, and under the law of na- 
ture have equal rights. But how 
can equals bind one another? By 
mutual compact. But whence the 
obligation of the compact ? Why am 
1 obliged to keep my word ? Certain- 
ly not by the word itself; but because 



I should deprive him of his r 
whom I have pledged it. But 
given my word to assist in com] 
a murder. Am I bound to kc 
Not at all. Why not? Bee 
have pledged myself to con 
crime, to do a wrong or unju 
Evidently, then, compacts or p 
words do not create justice, th< 
suppose it ; and it is only in vii 
the law of justice that compa< 
obligatory, and no conipacl 
conformable to that law can 
Why, then, am I bound to i 
your life? It is not you wh 
bind me; for you and I are ( 
and neither in his own name ca 
the other. To take your life 
be an unjust act ; that is, I shou 
justice of its right to your life. 
right to life is then the right of j 
But justice is not an abstractior 
not a mental conception, but a 
ty, and therefore God ; antl hen 
right for you or me to live is tlu 
of him who hath made us and 
we are, with all that we are, all t! 
have, and all that we can do. \ 
the right to life is inalienable 
by myself, and suicide is not • 
crime against society, but a sin a 
God; for God owns it as his 
and therefore he has the right tc 
mand all men to hold it in 
man sacred and inviolable, and 
to be taken by other men or eve 
society, but at his order. So 
the other rights of man. 

If the rights of man are the 
of God in and over man as hi: 
ture, as they undeniably are, tl 
in the spiritual order, are spiritu. 
temporal. The American state 
in recognizing the independence 
riority, and inviolability of the 
of man, does recognize, in prii 
the independence, superiority, a 
violability of the spiritual orde 
its own subordinafion to it, anc 
gation to consult it and confom 



CIturch and State. 



ISS 



en recognizes the church divine- 
jpointed and commissioned by 
with plenary authority to repre- 
it, and apply the law of God to 
government of the people as the 
no less than to the people as in- 
luals. This follows as a necessa- 
)nsequence. If God has made a 
matural revelation, we are bound 
le natural law to believe it ; and 
: has instituted a church to repre- 
the spiritual, or concreted the 
xial in a visible organism, with 
uy authority to teach his word 
men and nations, and to declare 
apply his law in the government 
iman affairs, we are bound to 
)t and obey her the moment the 
is brought sufficiendy to our 
ledge. This shows that the 
church, if such church there 
I sacred and inviolable, and that 
she declares to be the law of 
is his law, which binds every 
aence; and all sovereigns and 
!Cts, states and citizens are alike 
id to obev her. He who refuses 
)ey her refuses to obey God ; he 
spurns her spurns God ; he who 
ises her despises God; and he 
despoils her of any of her rights 
^sessions despoils God. Kings 
the great of the earth, statesmen 
courtiers, demagogues and poli- 
ns are apt to forget this, and be- 
e God does not instantly punish 
sacrilege with a visible and ma- 
l punishment, conclude that they 
outrage her to their heart's con- 
with impunity. But the pnnish- 
t is sure to follow in due course, 
so far as it concerns states, dy- 
es, and society, in the shape of 
il weakness, imbecility, corrup- 
and death. 

lat the American state is true to 
)rder it acknowledges, and never 
» any spiritual functions, we do 
pretend. The American state 
s in but too many instances the 



bad legislation of Europe. It from 
the outset showed the original vice of 
the American people ; for while they 
very justly subjected the state to the 
law of God, they could subject it to 
that law only as they understood it, 
and their understanding of it was in 
many respects faulty, which was no 
wonder, since they had no infallible, 
no authoritative, in fact, no represen- 
tative at all of the spiritual order, and 
knew the law of God only so far as 
taught it by natural reason, and spell- 
ed out by their imperfect light from 
an imperfect and mutilated text of the 
written word. They had a good ma- 
jor proposition, namely, the spiritual 
order duly represented is supreme, 
and should govern all men collective- 
ly and individually, as states and as ci- 
tizens; but their minor was bad. But 
we with our reading of the Bible do 
duly represent that order. Therefore, 
etc. Now, we willingly admit that a 
people revereiicing and reading the 
Bible as the word of God, will in 
most respects have a far truer and 
more adequate knowledge of the law 
of Gjod than those who have neither 
church nor Bible, and only their rea- 
son and the mutilated, perverted, and 
even travestied traditions of the pri- 
mitive revelation retained and trans- 
mitted by Gentilism, and therefore 
that Protestantism as understood by 
the American colonists is much better 
for society than the liberalism assert- 
ed by the movement party either here 
or in Europe ; but its knowledge will 
still be defective, and leave many pain- 
ful gaps on many important points ; 
and the state, having no better know- 
ledge, will almost inevitably miscon- 
ceive what on various matters the law 
of God actually prescribes or forbids. 
The American state, misled by pub- 
lic opinion, usurps the functions of 
the church in some very grave mat- 
rcrs. It assumes the control of mar- 
riage and education, therefore of all 



IS6 



Church and State. 



family relations, of the family itself, 
and of ideas, intelligence, opinions, 
which we have seen arc functions of 
the church, and both are included in 
the two sacraments of marriage and 
orders. It also fails to recognize the 
freedom and independence of the 
spiritual order in refusing to recognize 
the church as a corporation, a moral 
person, as capable of possessing pro- 
perty as any natural or private per- 
son, and therefore denies to the spi- 
ritual order the inalienable right of 
property. The American state denies 
to the church all possessory rights un- 
less incorporated by itself. This is 
all wrong ; but if no better, it is no 
worse than what is assumed by the 
state in every European nation ; and 
the most that can be said is, that in 
these matters the state forgets the 
Christian commonwealth for the pa- 
gan, as is done everywhere else. 

But except in these instances, the 
American state is, we believe, true to 
the Christian principle on which it is 
based, as true, that is, as it can be in 
a mixed community of Catholics, 
Jews, and Protestants. ITie state 
lias no spiritual competency, and can- 
not decide either for itself or for its 
citizens which is or is not the church 
that authoritatively represents the spi- 
ritual order. The responsibility of 
that decision it does and must leave 
to its citizens, who must decide for 
themselves, and answer to God for 
the rectitude of their decision. Their 
decision is law for the state, and it 
must respect and obey it in the case 
alike of majorities and minorities; for 
it recognizes the equal rights of all its 
citizens, and cannot discriminate be- 
tween them. The church that repre- 
sents for the state the spiritual order 
is the church adopted by its citizens; 
and as they adopt different churches, 
it can recognize and enforce, through 
the civil courts, the canons and de- 
crees of each only on its own mem- 



bers, and on them only so far 
do not infringe on the equal r 
the others. This is not all t 
would do or ought to do in i 
Christian society, but it is al 
can do where these different c 
exist, and exist for it witl 
rights. It can only recognia 
and protect and vindicate th 
of each only in relation to tl: 
zens who acknowledge its ai 
This recognizes and protects 
tholic Church in her entire 
and independence and in i 
her faith, and in governing ai 
plining Catholics according 
own canons and decrees, wl 
less we are greatly misinfoi 
more than the state does foi 
any old Catholic nation in th 
This is not tolerance or 
ence; it only means that t 
does not arrogate to itself t! 
to decide which is the true 
and holds itself bound to res] 
protect equally the churcli or 
es acknowledged as such b) 
zens. The doctrine that a 
free before God to be of any 
or of no religion as he please 
liberty of conscience, as unt 
by the so-called liberals thr 
the world, and whicli was c< 
ed by Gregory XVT. of imm( 
mory, in his encyclical of Aug 
1832, receives no countenan 
the American state, and is re 
to its fundamental constitutio 
retical and schismatic sects 1 
deed, no rights; for they 
authority from God to reprc 
spiritual order, and their exis 
no doubt, repugnant to the 1 
rests of society as well as de 
to souls ; but in a communi 
they exist along with the true 
the state must respect and p 
them the rights of the spiritu 
not indeed because they cla 
the church, but because 1 



Church and State. 



m 



3 be such by its citizens, and 
citizens have equal rights in 
il order, and the equal right to 
leir conscience, if they have a 
*nce, respected and protected, 
hurch of God exacts nothing 
fit in diis respect than to be pro- 
in her freedom to combat and 
ish the adherents of false church- 
alse religions with her own spi- 
¥eapons. More she might ex- 
tlie state in perfect Christian 
; but this is all that she can 
in an imperfect and divided 
an society, as is the case in 
all modern nations. 
1 is the American system. Is 
ticable in the old Catholic na- 
)f Europe? Would it be a 
) religion, if suffered to be in- 
kI there ? Would the govem- 
f it were accepted by the church, 
tand it as implying its obliga- 
respect and protect all church- 
illy as representing the spiritual 
or as asserting its freedom to 
and oppress all at will, the 
lurch as the false? There is 
of the latter, because Euro- 
jociety is not based on the 
an principle of the indepen- 
and inviolability of the rights 
1, that is, the rights of God, 
1 the pagan principle of the 
hat all rights, even the rights 
church, and society emanate 
le state, and are revocable at 
. Hence the reason why the 
. has found concordats with 
:ular powers so necessary. In 
use of the secular authority, 
:oncordats are acts of incorpo- 
and surrendering them by the 
would be the surrender of its 
by a corporation. It would be 
idon all her goods to the state, 
aer without a legal status^ and 
o rights which the state holds 
ound to recognize, protect, or 
; through its courts, any more 



than she had under the persecuting 
Roman emperors. This would be the 
farthest remove possible from the 
American system. Before the Ame- 
rican system could be introduced into 
European states in the respect that it 
affords freedom and protection to the 
church in the discharge of her spiritu- 
al functions, the whole structure of 
European society would need to be 
reconstructed on the Christian foun- 
dation, or the basis of the inherent 
rights and supremacy of the spiritual 
order, instead of its present pagan 
or Graco-Roman basis of the supre- 
macy of the city or state. 

Undoubtedly, the liberals, or move- 
ment party, are, and have been, for 
nearly a century, struggling by all the 
means in their power, fair or foul, to 
overthrow European society, and re- 
construct it after what they suppose to 
be the American model, but in reality 
on a basis, if possible, more pagan 
and less Christian than its present ba- 
sis. They assert the absolute supre- 
macy of the state in all things ; only, 
instead of saying with Louis XIV., 
" L'^tat, c'est moi," they say " L'6tat, 
c*est le peuple," but they make the peo- 
ple, as the state, as absolute as any 
king or kaiser-state ever pretended to 
be. The church would, in their recon- 
structed society, not have secured to 
her the rights that she holds under 
our system, by the fact that it is based 
on the equal and antecedent rights 
of all citizens, really the rights of 
God, which hmit the power of state, 
of the people in a democratic state, 
and prescribe both its province and 
its duty. 

Even with us, the American system 
has its enemies, and perhaps only a 
minority of the people understand it 
as we do, and some of the courts are 
beginning to render decisions which, 
if in one part, they sustain it, in an- 
other part flatly contradict it. The Su- 
preme Court of Ohio, in the recent 



158 



Church and State. 



case of the School Board of Cincin- 
nati, has decided very properly that 
the board could not exclude religion; 
but, on the other hand, it maintains 
that a majority of the people in any 
locality may introduce what religion 
they please, and teach it to the chil- 
dren of the minority as well as to 
their own, which is manifestly wrong ; 
for it gives the majority of the people 
the power to establish their own reli- 
gion, and exclude that of the miniori- 
ty when, in matters of religion, that 
is, in matters of conscience, votes do 
not count. My conscience, though 
in a minority of one, is as sacred and 
inviolable as it would be if all the 
rest of the community were with me. 
As in the Polish Diet, a single veto 
suffices to arrest the whole action of 
the state. The American democracy 
is not what it was in 1776. It was 
then Christian after a Protestant fash- 
ion ; it is now infected with Europe- 
an liberalism, or popular absolutism ; 
and if we had to introduce the Ame- 
rican system now, we should not be 
able to do it 

There are serious difficulties on 
both sides. The church cannot con- 
fide in the revolution, and the go- 
vernments cannot or will not protect 
her, save at the expense of her inde- 
pendence and freedom of action. 
They, if we may believe any thing 
the journals say, threaten her with 
their vengeance, if she dares to make 
and publish such or such a dogmatic 
decision, or to define on certain points 
which they think touch them, what 
her faith is and always has been. 
This is a manifest invasion of her 
right to teach the word of God in its 
integrity, and simply tells her, with 
the sword suspended over her head, 
that she shall teach only what is 
agreeable to them, whether in God's 
word or not. This insolence, this ar- 
rogant assumption, applauded by the 
universal sectarian and secular press, 



if submitted to, would n 
church the mere tool of th 
authority, and destroy all o 
in her teaching. 

We know not how thes( 
ties on either side are to be c 
The church cannot contin 
shorn of her freedom by th 
governments, and made to c< 
their ambitious or timid polit 
out losing more and more he 
the European populations, 
she side with the revolutior 
perilling the interests of soc 
which her own cannot be s 
We see no way out of the 
but for her, tnisting in the di 
tection, to assert simply anc 
tically her independence of 
ties alike, and confide in th< 
as she did in the martyr age 
she does now in every heath 

We do not assume the pr< 
necessity of trying to intro 
American system into the 
nor do we urge the church 
either with the governments c 
people ; but v/e may, we hop 
mitted to say that what seen 
be needed is?, for the church 
her independence of both ; 
either attempts to control h 
free discharge of her functioi 
church of God; and we t 
faithful should be prepared 
consequences of such asserti( 
ever they may prove to t 
church cannot fulfil her 
which is not confined to the 
nations of Europe, but emb 
whole world, if she is thus d 
independence and crippled 
freedom of action. If the 
of her independence in fac 
temporal order deprives he 
legal status, and places her < 
protection of the civil law, i 
will, in the end, prove to b< 
ous calamity, or at least a 
than her present cramped 



Church and State. 



XS9 



ndition. Slie has held that 
Jieretofore, and, aided by Him 
pouse she is, and who hath 
id her with his precious blood, 
lal very condition conquered 
dued the world against the 
of the most powerful empire 
T existed. Wliat she has 
:e, she is no less able to do 
The worst that the state can 
strip her of her temporalities, 
d her to preach in the name of 
The worst the revolution can 
le same, and i:i its fury to 
: bishops and priests, monks 
s, men and women, because 
ose to obey God rather than 

all this has been more than 
Ve have seen it in Ireland, 
le church was despoiled of 
mues, the people of their 
, schools, colleges, and rcli- 
uses, and only not of the use 
Lvcyard ; where Catholic wor- 
; prohibited under pain of 
d armed soldiers hunted and 
m as a wild beast the priest 
ured to say mass in a private 

a remote morass, or a cave 
ountain, and the faithful were 
ed as sheep by fiery zealots or 
eless myrmidons of power; 
ot only the church was de- 
nd left naked and destitute, 
children were also despoiled 
states and reduced to pover- 

laws were devised with sa- 
genuity and enforced with 
a-ocity to degrade and debase 
d to prevent them firom es- 
om their poverty or their en- 
cular ignorance. Yet we have 

faith in spite of all live and 
ts enemies, the church survive 
I prosper ; and only the last 
lea offered freely a govern- 
>sidy for her clergy and her 
ire have seen the noble Irish 
fy widbout a dissenting voice, 



refuse it, and prefer to rely on the 
voluntary offerings of the faithful to 
coming under any obhgation to the 
temporal power. 

In this country the people were, in 
the outset, as hostile to the church as 
they could be anywhere or in any age, 
and they are not even yet converted, 
very generally, into warm and eager 
friends ; yet without any public pro- 
vision, relying solely on the alms of the 
faithful at home and abroad, principal- 
ly at home, the missionaries of the 
cross have been sustained, the widow's 
handful of meal and cruse of oil 
have not failed; and yet we have 
founded and sustained schools, col- 
leges, universities, erected convents 
for men and for women, and are 
erecting throughout the whole coun- 
try churches, the finest in it, and 
some of which may be regarded as 
architectural ornaments; and nearly 
all this has been acliieved within a 
single lifetime. 

Men who sit at their easa in Zion, 
and find their most engrossing occu- 
pation in solving an antiquarian prob- 
lem, or disserting on some heathen 
relic just dug up, though the world 
is breaking up and falling to pieces 
around them, may be frightened at 
the prospect of being deprived of com- 
forts they are used to ; but let govern- 
ments and peoples do their worst, 
they cannot do worse than heathen 
Rome did, worse than France did in 
the revolution of 1789, or England 
has been doing in Ireland for three 
hundred years. Fear ! What is there 
to fear ? If God be for us, who can 
be against us? The danger seems 
great, no doubt, to many ; but let Ca- 
tholics have the courage of their faith, 
and they will no longer fear him who 
can kill the body, and after that hath 
no more power. The danger before 
men of Christian courage will disap- 
pear as the morning mist before the 
rising smi. Can a Catholic fear po- 



i6o 



Dion and tlie Sibyls, 



verty, want, labor, suffering, torture, 
or death in His cause who for our 
sakes became poor, and had not 
where to lay his head; who took the 
form of a servant, and obeyed unto 
death, even the death of the cross ? 
Know we not that Catholic faith and 
Catholic charity can weary out the 
most cruel and envenomed persecu- 



tors, and in the end gain the 
over them ? If the church 
necessary, then, in order to x 
her independence, to incur tl 
lily of kings or peoples, and 
of her goods, there need be 
God will not forsake her, and 
rity of the faithful never failet 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 

BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTH( 

'^HARDING THE MOXEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



CHAPTER III. 

Tiberius, when all had disappear- 
ed along the road, suddenly stopped 
in his walk. 

His companion, toward whom he 
had turned, did the same, and looked 
at him with an air of expectation. 

"I leave all details to you," said 
the Caesar ; " but what has to be done 
is this — that youth who calls him- 
self Paulus Lepidus iEmilius must be 
produced as a gladiator either in the 
Circus Maximus or the Statilian Am- 
phitheatre,* as the number of victims 
may dictate. Men of noble birth 
have been seen ere now upon the 
sand. We will then make him show 
against the best swordsmen in the 
world — against Gauls, Britons, and 
Cappadocians — what that Greek fence 
IS worth of which he seems a master. 
The girl, his sister, must be carried 
off, cither beforehand or afterward, 

• Suetonius, Aug. 39. The forum, where gladia- 
tors had often bled, was becoming less and less used 
for that purpose. 



as your skill may dictate, an 
and safely lodged at Rome 
two-storied brick house of Cnc 
and his precious wife, Plancinj 
is not known to be mine; (I 
and hope, and am given to und 
that it is not known to be th 
ther.)" 

Tiberius paused, and Sejan 
an intent look, slightly incli 
head. He was a keen man, 
man, but not a very profour 
He observed, 

" I have heard something 
Greek widow and of her s 
daughter. They have (it sc 
me as if I had heard this) friei 
the person of Augustus, or, 
in the court. I can easily a 
girl to be so carried off that n 
about the place of her reside 
ever more sound among me 
the very mystery of it will sou 
that loudly; and her motl 
brother will never cease to pi 
ears of Augustus with the 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



l6x 



^ore I say a word more, I wish 
3W two things — ^first, whether 
•nth Paulus is to be included in 
those great shows of gladiators 
are rendering you, my Caesar, 
3ved by the Roman people ?" 
Q I beloved, think you ?" asked 
is. 

le master-passion of the people 
the shows, and, above all, the 
Df the amphitheatre," answered 
s. " Whoever has, for a hun- 
^ears and more, obtained the 
y of the world, has thus won 
omans ; each succeeding dicta- 
the globe, from Caius Marius, 
^•lla, and Pompey, and the in- 
!e Caius Julius, and Mark An- 
:o our present happy Emperor 
tus, has surpassed his prede- 
i in the magnificence of these 
linments given to people, popu- 
ommon legionaries, and prseto- 
and in exact proportion also, 
emarkable, has each surpassed 
erunners in permanent power, 
hat power has at last become 
absolute, nearly unlimited.*' 
3U say true," replied Tiberius; 
I excel all former examples in 
;tent, splendor, and novelty of 
ows. Augustus has abandoned 
epartment; but even when he 
ourting the Romans, he never 
like me. People would now 
at the old-fashioned meanness 
5 spectacles which he formerly 
acceptable to them. He is 
sag very fast in health too, I 
oy Sejanus." 

[e is, I fear, drawing toward his 
replied the commander of the 
rians. 

5 to your question concerning 
outh," resumed Tiberius, " my 
t is partly to add a novel and 
IS feature to the fight — this 
je sword-play. Yet, why should 
ot afterward be included in 
great slaughter-match, three or 

VOL. XI. — II 



four hundred a side, care being taken 
that he should be finished? We 
might first pit him fairly against six 
or a dozen single antagonists in suc- 
cession. If he conquer them all, it 
will be unprecedentedly amusmg ;• 
the people will be in ecstasies, and 
then the victor can be made to disap- 
pear in the general conflict I shall 
thus have the undisturbed manage- 
ment of his sister's education." 

Grave as a statue, Sejanus replied, 

" He is a proud youth, an eques- 
trian, a patrician, son of an eminent 
warrior, nephew of one who once 
shared in the government of the whole 
globe. Well, not being a slave, if he 
found himself in the arena by virtue 
of having been violently seized and 
trepanned, I firmly believe that, eith- 
er before or after fighting, he would 
make a speech, appealing to the jus- 
tice of the emperor and the sympathy 
of the people, not to say any thing 
about the soldiers.* The plan you 
propose, my Caesar, seems like fur- 
nishing him with an immense audi- 
ence and a gigantic tribunal, before 
which to tell that pathetic story about 
his father and the battie of Philippi, 
and those family estates which are 
now in the possession of the two 
beautiftil ladies whose litters have 
just preceded us on the road to 
Formiae." 

Tiberius smiled, as with his head 
bent down he looked at the speaker, 
and thus he continued stooping, look- 
ing, and smiling for a moment or two; 
after which he said, 

" The Tuscans are subtle, and you 
are the subtlest of Tuscans ; what is 
best ?" 

Sejanus said, " Let the girl first be 
carried away ; let the mother and bro- 
ther break their hearts for her ; then let 
the Lanista Thellus, who is not known 

* It is well known that Trajan exhibited shows in 
which ten thousand gladiators fought, but this mon- 
strous development of cruelty came long after our 
date. 



l62 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



to be one of your men, but is suppos- 
ed to hire out his gladiators on his 
oivn accoimt, invite the youth to join 
his familial or company, and when 
Paulus refuses, as he will refuse, let 
Thellus say that he knows money 
would not bribe Paulus, but that he 
has seen Paulus's sister ; that he can 
guide him to her, if Paulus consents 
to fight in the next great forthcoming 
shows. And, in short, in order to 
make all this more specious, let Thel- 
lus have formed the acquaintance of 
the half-Greek family, mother, sister, 
brother, before the girl is abducted, 
in order that Paulus may think he 
speaks the truth when afterward say- 
ing that he has seen the sister and 
knows her, and can guide Paulus to 
where she is detained. If this plan 
be adopted, Paulus will fight in the 
arena of his own accord^ and will make 
no speeches, no disturbance, but will 
disappear for ever in a decorous and 
legitimate manner." 

" You are a man of immense merit, 
my Sejanus," replied the personage in 
gore-colored purple, " and I will some 
day reward you more than I can do 
while merely the Caesar of an Augus- 
tus, whom may the gods protect 
The mother perhaps we can let alone, 
or she could be put on board a cor- 
sair as an offering to some god, to pro- 
cure me good fortune in other things. 
We shall see. Meanwhile, execute 
all the rest with as little delay as the 
order and priority of the several mat- 
ters, one before the other, will allow, 
and report to me punctually at every 
step." 

Beckoning to one of the troopers, 
who approached with the spare horse, 
Tiberius now mounted. The soldier 
immediately withdrew again, and Ti- 
berius said to the praetorian comman- 
der, " Be upon your guard with Pater- 

* A school of gladiators. Suet JuL a6 ; Aqg. 4a ; 
Tacit Hist iL 8«. 



cuius ; he is doubtless devoted 
but is a squeamish man ; clever, 
too. StUl there are clever foi 
Sejanus," 

Then waving his hand, he ro< 
ly away, but came to a halt al 
tance of twenty paces, and tur 
horse's head round. Sejanus 
quickly toward his master. 

"You know, of course, tl 
Germans, encouraged by the 
ter of Varus and his legioi 
swarming over the Julian Al 
the north-east of Italy from 
cum.* How many legions ar 
available to meet them ?" 

" We have within reach, at tl 
ment, twelve," said Sejanus, " 
my praetorians." 

"Half the present forces 
whole empire," replied the 
" Germanicus is to drive ba 
barbarians. He will become 
popular than ever with the tro< 
nerally. But the praetorians ( 
care for him, I suppose ?" 

" Even the praetorians reven 
answered Sejanus. 

"Why, how so? They have 
tie to do with him." 

"They know a soldier — ^" 
Sejanus. 

" And am not I a soldier Y 
rupted his master. 

" They love you too, my 
and dearly." 

" Peace I Tell me exactly 
think the praetorians of German 

"They foolishly think that 
the day when Caius Julius w: 
dered, no such soldier — " 

" Enough ! Foolishly, say 
Remember my instructions. 
And Tiberius galloped north, \ 
ablaze with a brick-red flush 
than ordinary. 



* This German expedition took the 1 
as that of the Austrian annies which endesvo 
lodge Bonaparte from the uege of Mantuii 
pouring down both sides of Lake Goardi. 



Di4m and the Sibyls. 



163 



CHAPTER IV. 

^ when left alone, motioned 
'O troopers. He who had 
riberius his horse rode furi- 
r the Caesar; the other at- 
; general, who slowly mount- 
ra steed, and, pursuing the 
:ction, began to trot leisure- 
i Formiae. The sun had 
m; the short twilight had 
ray ; clouds had gathered* 
noon, not having yet risen, 

was very black. In a few 
ejanus slackened his horse's 
I a trot to a walk, and the 
as his military attendant 

modem times be called, 

le against him in the dark. 

made some natural excuse, 

back again about thirty 

; hardly noticed him. 
•csent," he muttered, when 
>ne, "Tiberius, though a 
eeds me; Germanicus is 
0, and may become empe- 
jermanicus wished it, right 
; — ^if fer fas et mfas — ^he 
n. He has much of the 

Caius Julius and his defect 
ustfulness ; but none of his 
s. I doubt if he will ever 
or ; he is too Athenian, and 
lonorable, too disinterested. 
I feel, too, as if he were 
DC assassinated ; he believes 

men. Tiberius has smaller 
worse qualities, and better 

He will rule the world, 
s Sejanus will rule him." 
anus said these things to 
1 an indistinct murmur, of 
me could have heard the 
ords, a voice at his elbow 
i him. Said the voice, 

fer is it, illustrious general, 

BB?" 

aetorian chief turned with a 
that the speaker was a 



mounted traveller, attended by tvvo 
servants, also on horseback ; but there 
was so little light that he could not 
distinguish the stranger's features, nor 
more of his dress and appointments 
tlian that they were not, as it jseemed, 
Italian. 

"About five thousand paces," he 
answered. " However, there is no 
inn at Formiae. Some eight hundred 
paces from here is a good wayside ta- 
vern, [mansio,) But you call me general, 
for I wear the dress. You do not, 
however, know me." 

" Not know the distinguished chief 
of the praetorians? Not know the 
happy and unhappy, the fortunate 
and unfortunate Sejanus ?" 

" Happy and unhappy," reechoed 
the latter, " fortunate and unfortunate ! 
What means this jargon ? You could 
use that language of every mortal. 
What you say you unsay." 

While thus replying, he endeavor- 
ed to discern the dim features of his 
new companion. 

" Think you so ?" said the man. 
" Then, pray, would it be the same 
if I were to say, for example, unhap- 
py and happy, unfortunate and for- 
tunate ?" 

" Yes." 

" Alas ! no." 

"What!" said Sejanus. "The 
happiness is present, the good fortune 
is present, but the misfortune and un- 
happmess are to come. Is this your 
meaning ?" 

" As I always say what I mean," 
rejoined the other, " so I never ex- 
plain what I say." 

" Then at least," observed Sejanus, 
with great haughtiness of tone and 
manner, " you will be good enough 
to say who you are. As the Pr<sior 
Pcregrinus^ especially charged to 
look after foreigners, I demand your 



• Cic Fam. ziii. 59; Dion. iiL aa; Caeur. BeU. 
Ctr. iii. 



i(S4 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



name. Remember, friend, that six 
lictors, as well as twenty thousand 
soldiers, obey Sejanus." 

" I am the god Hermes,** replied 
the other, riding suddenly ahead, fol- 
lowed by both his attendants. 

The movement was so unexpected 
that the figure of the stranger had 
become almost indistinguishable in 
the obscurity, before Sejanus urged 
his fleet Numidian steed forward at a 
bound in pursuit. 

"Take care," said a voice in his 
front, " that your horse do not throw 
you, impious man !" 

At the same time, the praetorian 
leader heard something roll upon the 
paved road, and immediately a vivid 
flash blazed under his horse's eyes, 
and a sharp report followed. Nearly 
thrown, indeed, he was, as the voice 
had warned him. When he had re- 
covered his balance and quieted the 
startled beast he was riding, he halted 
to listen ; but the only sound he could 
now hear was that of the mounted 
trooper trotting after him along the 
Appian Way. He waited for this man 
to come up, and inquired what he 
had obser^'ed in the three strangers 
who had previously passed him on 
the road. 

"No stranger," said the man, " had 
passed him ; he had seen no one." 

Then Sejanus remembered what he 
had not at the moment adverted 
to, that neither when first accosted 
by the stranger, nor afterward While 
this person with his two attendants rode 
by his side, nor finally when they all 
galloped forward and were lost in the 
darkness, had any clatter of hoofs 
been audible. 

He resumed his journey in silent 
thought, and soon arrived, without 
further adventure, at the large and 
famous post-house, standing in those 
days four or five miles south of 
Formix. 



CHAPTER V. 

The post house, or mam 
which allusion has been made, 
ed about four or five miles sc 
Formiae, on the Appian road, 
large, rambling, two-storied 
house, capable of accommod; 
vast number of travellers, 
not, therefore, merely one < 
many relay-houses where the ir 
couriers, as well as all who cou 
duce a special warrant for the pi 
from a consul, or a praetor, or \ 
quaestor, were allowed to ob 
change of horses ; still less was 
of the low canal-town taverns, 
keepers Horace abused ; but it 
regular country inn, where ma 
beast found shelter for the appa 
infinitesimal charge of one as^ ( 
quite a penny,) and good ch( 
proportionably moderate cost 
well supplied firom its own farm- 
olive-groves, orcliards, vineyards 
tures, and tilled fields, with veget 
beef, mutton, poultry, geese, c 
attagens, and other meats ; eggs, 
butter, cheese, milk, honey, I 
and fruit; a delicious plate of f]< 
casionally, an equally delicious 
of quail, produced upon table 
state aromatic and frothy with 
own fat juices. 

This excellent and celebrated 1 
of entertainment for belated or 
worn travellers, as well as for all 
desired a change from the raonc 
of their usual life, was kept by 
markably worthy old couple, fo; 
ly slaves, a freedman and free 
man of the illustrious iEmilian fa 
The reader will have noticed tha 
youth whom it is necessary, we 
pose, to acknowledge in the cap 
of our hero, has been called Pj 



* The malignant innkeepen mentioned by I 
" Sat lib. I, Sat 5/' kepi a low dais of ho 
comparison with thu nouble hostelry. 



Diott and the Sibyls. 



i6S 



iEmflius Lepi^MS ; that his father had 
borne the same style; and likewise 
that his father's brother, the former 
sovereign magistrate or triumvir in 
the second and great triumvirate, was 
named Marcus i£milius Lepidus. In 
ail these names, that of iEmUius oc- 
cms; and ^milius was the noblest 
of the patronymics which once this 
great family boasted. Now, theirs 
had been the house in which Crispus 
and Crispina, the good innkeeper and 
his wife, at present free and prosper- 
ous, had been boy and girl slaves. 
The wife, indeed, had been nurse to 
a son of Marcus Lepidus, the triumvir. 
That son, some years before the 
date of our narrative, had been en- 
gaged in a conspiracy against Augus- 
tas; and the conspiracy having been 
fiscovered by Maecenas, the youth 
had been put to death. Marcus 
ijnilius Lepidus, the father, was ex- 
culpated from all knowledge of this 
attempt on the part of his son, but 
had e\-er since lived in profound re- 
tirement at a lonely sea-shore castle 
some twenty or thirty miles from 
Ctispus's inn, near Monte Circello; 
a silent, brooding, timid man, no 
longer very wealthy, entirely without 
vdght in the society which he had 
abandoned, and without any visible 
influence in the political world, from 
vhich he had fled in some terror and 
iiunense disgust. 

As Sejanus rode slowly up to the 
im-door, a centurion came out of the 
porch with the air of one who had 
heen waiting for him. Saluting the 
genera], this officer said that he had 
been left behind by Velleius Pater- 
colus to say that the sister of the 
joath whom Tiberius had placed un- 
der the charge of Paterculus had 
fiinted on the road ; that being un- 
lUe to proceed, she and her mother 
fad taken a lodging in the inn ; that 
the youth had at once begged Pater- 
cnlus to allow him to remain instead 



of proceeding to Formiae, in order 
that he might attend to his poor sis- 
ter, for whose life he was alarmed, 
giving his promise that he would 
faitlifuUy report himself, and not at- 
tempt to escape; that Paterculus 
considered himself justified, under the 
circumstances, in acceding to so natu- 
ral a request ; consequently, that the 
young man was now in the inn, along 
with his mother and sister ; and that 
he, the centurion, had been ordered 
to await Sejanus's arrival, and inform 
him of what had occurred, so that he 
might either confirm his subordinate's 
decision, or repair the mistake, if it 
was one, and cause the youth to go 
forward at once to Formiae according 
to the letter of Tiberius's original 
command. 

" It is well," said Sejanus, after a 
moment's reflection. "This is not 
the sort of lad who will break his 
word. Carthaginians, and rubbish 
like them, knew long ago how to be- 
lieve a Roman knight and patrician, 
and this lad seems to be of the Regu- 
lus breed. Does the Csesar himself, 
however, know of this ?" 

"I had no orders to tell him," 
answered the centurion; " and if I had 
had, it would have been difficult ; he 
passed at full gallop a quarter of an 
hour ago, his head down, not so 
much as looking aside." 

Sejanus then put the following 
question with a sneer, 

"Has a god, or a stranger, with 
two attendants on horseback, passed 
this way ?" 

" No god, unless he be a god, and 
he had no attendants," said the as- 
tonished centurion. 

" You have not seen three figures 
on horseback, nor a flash of bluish 
light ?" 

"I certainly thought I saw three 
figures on horseback, but I could not 
be sure. It was on the farther side 
of the way, general, which is broad," 



i66 



Dum and the Sidy Is. 



continued the man apologetically, 
''and there was no sound of hoofs; 
my impression, too, was gone in a 
moment As to a flash of bluish 
light, there are several flashes of red 
and white light inside the inn kitchen, 
and they make the road outside all 
the darker; but there has been no 
flash in the road." 
" Good I now follow me." 
And Sejanus rode on in the direction 
of Formias, the centurion and the 
soldier behind him. 



CHAPTER VI. 

The inn, it is well ascertained, 
never became a common institution 
in classic antiquity. It was utterly 
unknown in any thing like its modern 
shape among the Greeks ; one cause 
being that the literary Greeks gave 
less care to their roads and communi- 
cations than the administrating, fight- 
ing, conquering, and colonizing Rom- 
ans always did. Even among the 
Romans the army trusted to its city- 
like encampments from stage to stage. 
Centuries passed away, during which 
the private traveller found few indeed, 
and far between, any better public 
resting-houses along the magnificent 
and stupendous highways, whose re- 
mains we still behold indestructible, 
from England to Asia Minor, than 
the half-day relay-posts, or piu/a- 
tion^s. At these the wayfarer, by 
producing* his diplopia frpm the pro- 
per autho]:itics, obtained a change of 
horses. 

'Travelling, in short, was a thou- 
sand-fold less practised than it is 
among us ; and those who did travel, 
or who deemed it likely they ever 
should, trusted to that hospitality 
which necessity had made universal, 
and the poetry of daily life had raised 

• PUoT* Ep. X. 14. isi. 



by repute into one of the grea 
tues. Years l)efore any men 
your family, supposing you to 
to the age through which the 
of this narrative are carrying 
carry us, years before any of y 
cle quitted your roof, you k 
what house, to what smoky h 
each foreign land, to what th 
in Spain, Gaul, Syria, Egypt, < 
the wanderer would eventually 
A certain family in each of thi 
other lands was your hospes^ a 
were theirs ; and very often y 
ried round your neck, attache 
gold or silver chain, a bit of < 
oak {robur) notched and marl 
the natural breakage, the corrt 
ing half of which hung day an 
round the neck of some frienc 
thousands of miles away, bey 
vers, mountains, wild forests, a 
ing seas. These tokens we 
cheap lodging-money of frie 
Very often they were interci 
and put on in boyhood, and r 
sented till advanced age. He v 
thrown the sacred symbol roi 
curly head of his playmate 
banks of the Tiber, saw an ol 
with scanty white hair approa< 
half a century aflcrward, at i 
dria, or Numantia, or Athei 
offer him a little bit of wood, tl 
tures of which were found to : 
those of a similar piece won 
his own bosom. Or the son t 
the father's token ; or a son xk 
what a father had given. A 
stranger was forthwith joyfullj 
welcome, and took rank amor 
friends. Forthwith the bath a 
supper introduced him to his 
home amid foreign faces. To 1 
unfaithful to these pledges, wai 
come irreparably infamous. 1 
tiff who thus sundered the ties 
ditionary and necessity-cause 
world-wide kindness, became 
ject of scorn and reprobation 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



167 



It was enough to mention of him,* 
itsseram confregit hospiialemy ^" that 
tun has broken his token-word of hos- 
fttoKty/*) with that all was said. 
Thtces of this touching custom appear 
to survive in some of the ceremonials 
of nisdc love, amid many a popula- 
tion ignorant that the ancient Ro- 
mans ever reigned over Europe. 

But if inns, in year eleven, were 
sot vhat they have heen in mediaeval 
and modem Europe, nevertheless a 
fev existed even then, (cauponeej) and 
a more notable establishment of this 
kind never flourished in any part of 
the Roman empire than that to wliich 
oar story has now brought us. It 
was the exception to manners then 
prevalent, and the presage of manners 
to come long afterward. It used to 
be commonly called the Bost-House 
<f the Hundredth Milestone ^ or, more 
Wefly, Crispu^s Inn, 

The public room of this place of en- 
tertainment was not unlike the coffee- 
room of a good modem inn, except 
tbt it was necessarily far more full of 
inddent and interest, because the an- 
cients were beyond comparison more 
iddicted to living in public than any 
nodem nation has ever been. 

An Elnglishman who makes a simi- 
lar remark of the French, in compari- 
son with his own countrymen, has 
only to remember that the modem 
French as much excel the ancient Ro- 
mans in fondness for retirement and 
pn'vacy and domestic life as the Eng- 
lish believe themselves to excel the 
French in the same particular. 

An inn did not trouble itself much 
»ilh the triclinium^ a chamber seldom 
Med by its frequenters. Even the 
oanneis of the triclinium were out of 
TOguchere. 

In Crispus*s public room, for in- 
stance, there was one and only one 
taUe arranged with couches around 

*CjcQil Fr. n. 14 ; Plautus, Pcbo. t. i, as, a, 9a : 
Cm. a,!, 37. 



it, upon which some three or four cus- 
tomers, while eating and drinking, 
could recline according to the fashion 
adopted in the private houses of the 
rich and noble. All tlie other tables 
stood round the walls of the apart- 
ment, with benches and settees on 
each side, offering seats for the guests. 
The inner seats at these tables were 
generally preferred, for two reasons; 
the occupants saw all that passed in 
the room, and besides, had the wall, 
against which they could lean back. 

When Velleius Paterculus, having 
left Tiberius and Sejanus in the mea* 
dows near the Liris, took charge of 
the pnetorian squadrons and of Pau- 
lus, he directed a Batavian trooper to 
dismount and give his horse to the 
prisoner. Paulus willingly sprung 
upon the big Flemish beast, and rode 
by the side of the obliging officer who 
had given him that conveyance. 
Thus they proceded at an easy amble 
until they reached the post-house, 
to the porch of which the noise of 
four thousand hoofs, suddenly ap- 
proaching along the paved road, had 
brought a group of curious gazers. 
Among these was the landlord, Cris- 
pus himself. 

A halt, as the reader must have 
inferred from a former incident, was 
occasioned at the door by the intima- 
tion conveyed to Paterculus that 
Paulus's sister had fainted, that she 
and her mother intended to seek a 
lodging at the inn, and that the 
mother and brother of the invalid 
would both feel grateful to the com- 
manding officer if he could permit 
Paulus, upon pledging his word not 
to make any attempt to escape, to 
remain there with them. 

« As to the ladies," said the urbane 
literary soldier, " I have neither the 
wish nor any orders to interfere with 
their movements. But you, young 
sir, what say you? Will you give 
me your word to regard yourself as 



168 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



being in my custody till I expressly 
release ybu ? Will you promise not 
to abirCy rvadere, excedere^ or erumpere^ 
as our friend Tully said ?" 

" Tully I Who is that ?" asked our 
hero. 

" What, you a half Greek and not 
know who TuUy was! Is this the 
manner in which Greek youths, or at 
least youths in Greece, are educated I 
Is it thus they are taught in Greece, 
to which we go ourselves for educa- 
tion I In that Greece which has for- 
bidden gladiatorial shows, and dimin- 
ished the training of the body to 
have more time for that of the in- 
tellect !" 

Paulus blushed, seeing he must 
have betrayed some gross degree of 
rusticity, and answered, 

"I know I am ignorant: I have 
been so much occupied in athletic 
sports. But I will give you the 
promise you ask, and keep it most 
truly and faithfully." 

"I will trust you, then. Go a 
little, my friend, into the athletic 
sports of the mind, which are precise- 
ly those Greece most cultivates. You 
are of a great family now fallen down. 
The muscles of the arm, the strength 
of the body, a blow from a cestus, 
never yet raised that kind of burden 
off the ground. You fence astonish- 
ingly well — I noted your parry just 
now; but the fence of the mind is every 
thing, believe me. By the way, I see 
the excellent Piso, whom you ham- 
mered down after the parry, as one 
puts a full stop to a pretty sentence, 
is being carried into this same post- 
house." 

" By your leave, illustrious sir," in- 
terposed the innkeeper, rather nerv- 
ously, " it is scarcely the custom, is it, 
to drop guests at Crispus's door, with- 
out first asking Crispus has he room 
for them ? The expected visit of the 
divine Augiistus to the neighboring 



palace of the most excellent x 
liant knight Mamurra, in Fonn 
choked and strangled this po(» 
There is no place where the mt 
of guests can lodge in the tc 
they come hither, as to a sp( 
convenient distance. Troops k 
ers, troops of gladiators, tro 
fortune-tellers, troops of gees< 
beeves, attagens, alive and dea< 
and day, for the last weeV 
mighty personages from a di 
make the road noky, I assur 
even after my house is full. I 
they would wish me to put \ 
very oxen intended for sacrifict 

" Have you no chambers wl 
vacant ?" asked Velleius. 

" I did not say that, most ex 
sir; vacant is one thing, diser 
is another. I have received . 
press letter from Brundusium, 
that a certain queen out of th< 
with her son and her train, are c 
to pay their homage to the cm 
and here wc have already the sc 
of that Jew king, as they sa; 
King Alexander, who wants his 
to be heard and his title sett 
Augustus himself, and I am obli 
listen to loud outcries that h< 
must have apartments." 

At this moment, the tra^ 
carriage carrying poor Agath; 
her mother had been drawn 
opposite to the porch, but a li 
rear of the tribune, so as not 
tercept his conversation with th 
keeper. Paterculus threw a 
glance at the beautiful pallid fc 
the girl, and the anxious and : 
ened look of her mother. 

"By what you tell me, i« 
Crispus," he replied, " you are 
from having your justly celel 
house full, that you arc kcepin 
sets of apartments still vacant, 
pectation, first, of some queen 
the east, with her son and train 



Di9H and the Sibyls. 



169 



dly, of this Jewish king, one 
ader. Worthy Libertinus,* the 
amsel whom you see so pale, is 
lick, and has just swooned away 
sheer fatigue. Will you turn 
a daughter in such health, with 
Dble mother, from your door? 
«i can take care of herself, it 
to me. But what will become 
ic excellent Roman ladies, (your 
ountrywomen,) if you now bid 
begone from your threshold? 
lave assured me that they can 
t no shelter at all in Formiae. 
at the child ! She seems likely 
It again. Are you to let this 
ter of a Roman knight die in 
Ids, in order that you may have 
for a barbarian queen? You 
a daughter of your own, I am 

ie r groaned ^he innkeeper : 
lis did not come into my mind, 
Uustrious tribune and quasstor. 
, little lady, let me help you 
This lady and her daughter, 
ill have the queen's own apart- 
— ^may all the gods destroy me 
rise ! Here, Crispina." 
leius Paterculus smiled, and hav- 
bispered some. order to a cen- 
, who remained behind in watch 
ejanus, the tribune waved his 
crying out vale to whom it 
concern, and rode forward with 
raetorians at a much smarter pace 
they had come. 

CHAPTER VII. 

amwhile the innkeeper's wife, 
ina, had appeared, and had led 
5 and her daughter through the 
• in the porch into the house, 
assbg by a little zothecula^\ be< 
iie ciutain of which they heard 

ttfrnSt freedman of sueh or such a iamtly; 
Ob freedman io general, or son of one. 
hrdSs, a imall apartment, ons side of which 
nd bj a cnrtAin. Pliny, Epis. u. 17 ; t. 6. 
i^Clayd. xok 



the sound of flutes,* as the carvers 
carved, and many voices, loud and 
low, denoting the apartment called 
dieta or public room of the inn, they 
soon arrived at the compluviuniy an 
open space or small court, in the mid- 
dle of which was a cistern, and in 
the middle of the cistern a splashing 
fountain. The cistern was railed by 
a circular wooden balustrade, agamst 
which some creeping plants grew. 
This cistern was supplied from the 
sky ; for the whole space or court in 
which it lay was open and unroofed. 
Between the circular wooden balus- 
trade and the walls of the house was, 
on every side, a large quadrangular 
walk, lightiy gravelled, and flashing 
back under the lantern which Cris- 
pina canicd, an almost metallic glint 
and sparkle. Of course this walk 
presented its quadrangular form on 
the outer edge, next the house only ; 
the inside, next the cistern, was round- 
ed away. This quadrangular walk 
was at one spot diminished in width 
by a staircase in the open air, (but 
under an awning,) which led up to 
the second story of the large brick 
building. Around the whole complu- 
vium, or court, the four inner faces 
of the inn, which had four covered 
lights in sconces against the walls, 
were marked at irregular intervals by 
windows, some of which were mere 
holes, with trap-doors (in every case 
open at present;) others, lattice-work, 
like what, many centuries later, ob- 
tained the name of arabesque-work, 
having a curtain inside that could be 
drawn or undrawn. Others again 
with perforated slides ; others stretch- 
ed with linen which oil had rendered 
diaphanous; others fitted with thin 
scraped horn ; one only, a tolerably 
large window, with some kind of mi- 
neral panes more translucent than 
transparent — a lapis laminata specu- 
laris, 

* FhfUtt et& JaTenal v. xai ; sL 127. 



170 



DioH and the Sibyls. 



At the back, or west of the inn, 
an irregular oblong wing extended, 
which of course could not open upon 
this court, but had its own means of 
light and ventilation north and south 
respectively. 

Crispus had followed the group of 
women, and our friend Paulus had 
followed Crispus. In the compluvium^ 
the innkeeper took the lantern from 
his wife, and begged Aglais and Aga- 
tha to follow him up the awning-co- 
vered staircase. As he began to as- 
cend, it happened that Crispina, look- 
ing around, noticed Paulus, who had 
taken off his broad-rimmed hat, under 
one of the sconces. No sooner had 
her eyes rested on him than she start- 
ed violently, and grasped the balus- 
trade as if she would have fallen but 
for that support 

" Who are you ?" said the woman. 

" The brother of that young lady 
who is ill, and the son of the other 
lady." 

"And you, too, must want lodg- 
ings ?" 

« Certainly." 

The woman seized his arm with a 
vehement grip, and gazed at him. 

" Are you ill ?" said Paulus, *' or — 
or— out of your mind ? Why do you 
clutch my arm and look at me in that 
fashion ?" 

" Too young," said she, rather to 
herself than to him ; " besides, I saw 
the last act with these eyes. Truly 
this is wonderful." 

Then, like one waking from a dream, 
she added, " Well, if you want lodg- 
ings, you shall have them. You shall 
have the apartments of this king or 
pretender — the rooms prepared for 
the Jew Alexander. Come with me 
at once." And she unfastened the 
lamp in the nearest sconce, and led 
Paulus up the staircase. 

Thus the wanderers, Aglais and her 
daughter, had the queen's room, with 
their Thracian slave Melana to wait 



upon them, while the prisoner F 
had the king's, to which Crispiiu 
self ordered old Philip, the frc«i 
to carry his luggage. 

A few moments later, the inn 
er, who had returned to the 
public parts of the house to a 
to his usual duties, met Philip 
with parcels in one of the pas; 
and asked him what he was doi 

" Carrying young Master Pa 
things to his room." 

" You can cany," said the inn 
er, "whatever the ladies requi 
their room ; but your young n 
has no room at all, my man, ir 
house. And why? For the 
reason that will compel you to 
in one of the lofts over the st 
There is no space for him in the 
You must make him as comfoi 
as you can in the hay, just like 
self." 

" Humanity is something," m 
ed Crispus ; " but to make a ( 
one*s enemy on that score, wi 
adding a king, where no humane 
sideration intervenes at all, is en 
for a poor innkeeper in a single i 
These tctrarchs and rich barbs 
can do a poor man an ugly turn, 
knows but he might complain o 
house to the emperor, or to od 
the consuls, or the praetor, or 
the quaestor, and presto 1 every 
is seized, and I am banished t 
Tauric Chersonese, or to Tom 
Scythia, to drink mare's milk wit 
poet Ovid."* 

" Go on, freedman, with youi 
gage," here said a peremptory > 
" and take it whither you have I 
the rest" 

" And in the name of all the 
wife," cried Crispus, "whither 
that be ?" 



* Something in this Iangaag:e may teem out < 
ing. I would therefore remind the reader I 
most learned, accomplished, studious and l^| 
trrated minds among the Romans were VHy i 
Y$ found in the clasi of slaves and 



Dum and the Sibyls. 



171 



Dy freedman," she rq)eated ; 

taking her husband aside, 
\ to him in a low tone. 
J you remarked this youth's 
e asked; "and have you any 
he is ?" 

m not who any of them are," 
rispus. 

at him then; for here he 

'» looked, and as he looked 
grew bigger; and again he 
ntil Paulus noticed it, and 

ou know me ?" says he. 
Unstrious sir." 

I am not illustrious, good 
(institorj but hungry I am. 
dieve we all are, except my 
T, who is not very strong, 
rhom, by and by, I should 
xuire the advice of a physi- 

oor young thing," said Cris- 
only tired with her journey ; 
ling. She will be well to- 

Supper you shall have pre- 
the ante-chamber of your 
Lpartments ; and your freed- 

the female slave shall be 
after they have waited upon 

is is easy and shall be seen 
ith," added Crispus ; " but 
►r for your dear sister, per 
ps^ where shall we find 

rstand," said Paulus, " my 
5t in immediate danger, such 
justify calling in any empiric 
ither than nobody. She has 
g for some time, and it is of 
> send for the first common 
LCtitioner that may be in the 
there not some famous doc- 
rablc in Italy ?" 
most famous in Italy is a 
iysician not five thousand 
m here at this moment," 
landlonL "But he would 



not come to every body; he is Tibe- 
rius Caesar's own doctor." 

"You mean Charicles," replied Pau- 
lus; "I almost think he would come; 
my mother is a Greek lady, and he 
will surely be glad to oblige his coun- 
trywoman." 

"Then write you a note to him," 
said Crispina, " and I will send it in- 
stantly." 

Paulus thanked her, said he would, 
and withdrew. 

When he proposed to his mother 
to dispatch this message to Charicles, 
she hesitated much. Agatha was 
better, he found her in comparatively 
good spirits. It would do to send 
for the doctor next day. An urgent 
summons conveyed at night to the 
palace or residence of the Caesar, 
where Charicles would probably of 
necessity be, would cause Tiberius to 
inquire into the matter, and would 
again draw his attention, and draw it 
still more persistently to them. He 
had already intimated that he would 
order his physician to attend Agatha. 
They did not desire to establish very 
close relations with the man in black 
purple. 

It is wonderful even how that very 
intimation ftom Tiberius had dimin- 
ished both mother's and daughter's 
anxiety to consult the celebrated prac- 
titioner, to whose advice and assist- 
ance they had previously looked for- 
ward. There were parties in the 
court and cabals in the political 
world ; and among them, as it hap- 
pened, was the Greek faction, at the 
head of which his ill-wishers alleged 
Germanicus to be. Gneculus, or 
Greek coxcomb, was one of the 
names flung at him as a reproach by 
his enemies. What the Scotch, and 
subsequently the Irish interest may 
have been at various times in modem 
England, that the Greek interest was 
then in Roman society. Of all men, 
he who most needed to be cautious 



Dion and the Sibyls, 



173 



rating the lineaments and im- 
Paulus himself. He started, 

I his sister replaced tlie mask 
ius with a laugh. 

I I not speaking true when I 
i Tiberius had concealed you 
said his mother. 

Qesar, very true, has me in 
, and well secured," said Fau- 
lt moment the door opened, 
spina entered to ask whether 
r for the physician was ready. 
d her they had changed their 
ind would not, at least that 
nd any letter, Agatha felt and 
o much better, 
a I will at once order your 
> be brought," said Crispina ; 
you are evidently people of 
m, would you like music while 
s are carved ?" 
ainly not," said tlie Greek 

a carver neither, mother ?" 
id Agatha; and, turning to 
:ess, she begged that they 
e treated as quietly and let 
much as it was possible. 
t is indeed our desire," said 
k lady. 

lat case," replied the hostess, 

n daughter, Benigna, shall 

3 you. Nobody shall trou- 

You are in the rear or west 

the house, far away from all 

e of our customers, who are 

es, I confess, sufficiently up- 

£ut Crispus is not a&aid 

When to-morrow's sun ris- 

will be glad to find what a 

country extends beneath your 

, even to the waters of the 

an Sea. You will behold, 



first, a garden and bee-hive ; beyond 
these are orchards; beyond them fields 
of husbandry and pleasant pasture 
lands, with not a human figure to be 
seen except knots and dots of work- 
people, a few shepherds, and perhaps 
an angler amusing himself on the 
banks of the Liris in the distance." 

" Oh I" said Agatha, " I wish soon 
to go to sleep, that we may set out 
quickly toward that beautiful country 
to-morrow morning." 

" Will you not like a little bit of some- 
thing very nice for supper first, my pre' 
cious little lady ?" quoth the good host- 
ess ; " and that will make you sleep 
all the better, and from the momen! 
when you close your pretty eyes in rest 
and comfort under poor Crispina's 
roof, to the moment when you open 
them upon those lovely scenes, you 
won't be able to count one, two, 
three — but just only one — and presto! 
tliere's to-morrow morning for you !" 

Agatha declared that this was very 
nice ; and that supper would be nice ; 
and that every thing was comfortable ; 
the rooms particularly so. 

" Then a delicious little supper shall 
be got ready at once," said Crispina. 
" ril call ray brisk Benigna to help 



me. 



)i 



Before quitting the room, however, 
the landlady, whose glance had rested 
chiefly upon Paulus during the con- 
versation, threw up her hands a Httle 
way. She then composed herself, and 
addressing Aglais, asked, 

"What names, lady, shall I put 
down in my book ?" 

" I will tell you when you retirni," 
replied Aglais ; and the landlady re- 
tired. 



TO BB OOKTINUSa 



174 ^ Mgy Carok 



A MAY CAROL. 

How m'any a lonely hermit maid 

Hath brightened like a dawn-touched isle 
When — on her breast in vision laid — 

That Babe hath lit her with his smile 1 



How many an agbd saint hath felt, 
So graced, a second spring renew 

Her wintry breast ; with Anna knelt, 
And trembled like the matin dew ! 



How oft the unbendmg monk, no thrall 
In youth of mortal smiles or tears, 

Hath felt that Infant's touch through all 
The armor of his hundred years 1 



But Mary's was no transient bliss ; 

Nor hers a vision's phantom gleam ; 
The hourly need, the voice, the kiss — 

That cluld was hers ! 'Twas not a dream ! 



At morning hers, and when the sheen 
Of moonrise crept the cli£& along ; 

In silence hers, and hers between 
The pulses of the night-bird's song. 



And as the Child, the love. Its growth 
Was, hour by hour, a growth in grace ; 

That Child was God; and love for both 
Advanced perforce with equal pace. 

Aubrey De Vi 



Sir y^Jb$ MaundevilU. 



t7S 



SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE. 



IF Paradise I cannot speak pro- 
for I was not there. It is far 
d, and I repent not going there ; 

was not worthy." So wrote, 
than five hundred years ago, an 
: English knight who had spent 
ten years journeying through 
most worthy land, most excel- 
nd lady and sovereign of all 
lands/' which was " blessed 
dlowed with the most precious 
md blood of our Lord Jesus 
;" visiting portions of Africa 
jsia; and picking up from all 
hie sources legends and mar- 
od scraps of the geography and 

of distant countries. For 
ling like two centuries the 
of Sir John Maundeville enjoy- 
tremendous popularity ; and 
i time can hardly be said to 
mproved the good gentleman's 
don for veracity and judgment, 
perhaps heightened rather than 
shed the interest of his narra- 
Alas ! we can never know such 
eis again. Men who go to 
ne in a steamboat, and are 
i by locomotives into the very 
ce of the Sphinx, bring us back 
nderful stories of the mysterious 
irith its dragons and enchant- 
id its sacred places miraculous- 
red against profane footsteps. 
i has no m)rsteries now. What 
earthly paradise but a Turkish 
ic ? What is Prester John but 
ty negro chieftain ? And for 
IS and chimseras dire, has not 
)od museum of natural history 
lens of them all, nicely stuffed 
ibdled, or bottled in alcohol? 
• days of Sir John, however, 
rs were plenty; and if he did 
e very many himself, he heard 



of men who had seen no end of them, 
and he described them all the same. 
It was from hearsay, and not from 
personal observation, that he learned 
of the Lady of the Land, in the island 
of Cos, then called Lango. This 
wonderful lady was the daughter of 
Ypocras or Hippocrates, in form and 
likeness of a great dragon which is a 
hundred fathoms in length, *< as they 
say," adds Sir John, " for I have not 
seen her." She lies in an old castle 
in a cave, appearing twice or thrice 
in a year, and condemned " by a god- 
dess named Diana" to remain in that 
horrible shape until a knight shall 
come and kiss her on the mouth; 
then she shall resume her natural 
form, and the knight shall marry her 
and be lord of the isles. Many have 
tempted the adventure, but fled in 
affright when they have seen her. 
And every knight who once looks 
upon her and flees, must die anon. 

At Ephesus the traveller beheld the 
tomb of St. John the Evangelist, and 
heard the familiar story that the 
apostle had entered the sepulchre 
alive, and was still living, in accord- 
ance with the saying of our Lord, 
" So I will have him to remain till I 
come, what is that to thee ?" " And 
men may see there the earth of the 
tomb many times openly stir and 
move, as though there were living 
things under." To say nothing else 
of this story, it is not fully consistent 
with Sir John's other statement, that 
the tomb contains nothing but man- 
na, " which is called angels' meat," 
for the body wg^ translated to para- 
dise. Quite as great are the won- 
ders of Joppa, " which is one of the 
oldest towns in the world ; for it was 
ioy}xA<^ before Noah's flood'' Strange- 



176 



Sir yohn Maundeville. 



ly confusing the legend of Perseus 
and Andromeda, our traveller relates 
that in a rock near Joppa may still be 
seen marks of the iron chains "where- 
with Andromeda, a great giant, was 
bound and put in prison before Noah's 
flood ; a rib of whose side, which is 
forty feet long, is still shown." Sir 
John spent a long time in the service 
of the sultan of Egypt, where he 
seems to have anticipated modem re- 
searches into the source of the Nile; 
for he confidently assures us that it 
rises in the garden of Eden, and 
after descending upon earth, flows 
through many extensive countries un- 
der ground, coming out beneath a 
high hill called Alothe, between In- 
dia and Ethiopia, and encircling the 
whole of Ethiopia and Mauritania, 
before it enters the land of Egypt. 
To the best of our belief, the travels 
of Dr. Livingstone have not fully 
confirmed this interesting geographi- 
cal statement. The sultan dwells at 
a city called Babylon, which is not, 
however, the great Babylon where the 
diversity of languages was first made 
by the miracle of God. That Baby- 
lon is forty days' journey across the 
desert, in the territory of the king of 
Persia. The Tower of Babel was 
ten miles square, and included many 
mansions and dwellings; "but it is 
full long since any man dare approach 
to the tower, for it is all desert, and 
full of dragons and great serpents, and 
infested by divers venomous beasts." 
Sir John, therefore, is probably not 
responsible for the extraordinary mea- 
surement of its walls. Whether his 
account of the phcenix is based upon 
his personal observations, we are not 
told ; but it is highly interesting. There 
is only one phoenix in the world. It 
is a very handsome and glorious bird, 
with a yellow neck, blue beak, purple 
wings, and a red and yellow tail, and 
may often be seen flying about the 
country. It lives five hundred years, 



and at the end of that time coi 
bum itself on the altsr of the 1 
of Heliopolis, where the priest 
pare for the occasion a fire of 
and sulphur. The next day thi 
in the ashes a worm. On the \ 
day the worm becomes a liv 
perfect bird ; and the third day 
away. A plenty of fine thin, 
deed, Egypt could boast of in 
days, far before any thing sli 
now. There were gardens b 
fruit seven times a year. Ther 
the apples of paradise, whic 
them how you would, or as o 
you would, always showed in th 
die the figure of the holy cross, 
was the apple-tree of Adam, 
fmit invariably had a mouthful 
out of one side. There is i 
containing seven wells, whic 
child Jesus made with one of \ 
while at play with his comps 
There are the granaries in whi 
seph stored com for the season 
mine, (probably the Pyramids.) 
passing out of Egypt across tl 
sert of Arabia, Sir John tells 
wonderful monastery on Mount 
whither the ravens, crows, and cli 
and other fowls of that count 
sembling in great flocks, come 
year on pilgrimage to the tor 
St. Catharine, each bringing a I 
of bays or olive, so that from 
offerings the monks have enoi 
keep themselves constantly su 
with oil. There are no sue) 
venomous beasts as flies, toa 
zards, lice, or fleas in this e 
tery; for once upon a time, 
the vermin had become too 
there to be endured, the good 
ren made preparations to move 
whereupon our Lady coma 
them to remain and no pest c 
sort should ever again come 
them. On Mount Mamre, nej 
bron. Sir John saw an oak-tree 
had been standing since the a 



Sir John Maundeville. 



177 



irorld. Oaks nowadays don't 
such a great age. This tree 
me no leaves since the cruci- 
when all the trees in the world 
1 away,) but it had still so 
irtue that a scrap of it heal- 
alling-sicknessy and prevented 
in horses. 

d with a letter under the sul- 
Mit seal, Sir John went to Je- 
, and was admitted to all the 
lines from which Christians 
rs were usually excluded. He 

believed he saw, the spots 
d by almost all the great 
narrated in the Gospel; and 
his credulity, as may be in- 
rom what we have already 

his narrative, often got the 
»f his judgment, his piety, at 
:c, deserves our genuine re- 
We pass over his legends of 
f city, some of them poetical, 
wely grotesque, and some real- 
doned by the general voice 
:hurch, and go with him east- 
the valley of Jordan and the 
•a. Of this mysterious body 
T he mentions that it casts 
y day " a thing that is called 
in pieces as large as a horse," 
ther man, nor beast, nor any 
lat hath life may die in that 
!ch hath been proved many 
J the experiment of criminals 
ned to death who have been 
rein three or four days, and 
n but alive. If any man cast 
rein, it will float; but a feather 
c to the bottom ; " and these 
truly remarks Sir John, " are 
r to nature." Not more so, 
, than an incident of which 
ks at the city of Tiberias. In 
r an unbeliever hurled a bum- 
t at our Lord, "and the head 
ito the earth, and waxed green, 
jrew to a great tree; and it 
till, and the bark thereof is 
coals." Then, near Damas- 

VOL. XI. — 12 



cus there is a church, and behind the 
altar, in the wall, " a table of black 
wood on which was formerly painted 
an image of our Lady which turns 
into flesh ; but now the image appears 
but little." As a compensation, how- 
ever, for its loss, a certain wonderful 
oil, as Sir John assures us, drops con- 
tinually from the wood and heals ma- 
ny kinds of sickness, and if any one 
keep it cleanly for a year, after that 
year it turns to flesh and blood. In 
this same region of marvels he tells 
us of a river which runs only on Sa- 
turday, and stands still all the rest of 
the week, and another which freezes 
wonderfully fast every night, and is 
clear of ice in the morning. These 
rivers are not known nowadays, or 
at any rate must have changed their 
habits. 

After finishing the description of 
the Holy Land and Babylon, and re- 
porting a conversation with the sul- 
tan, in which the vices of the Chris- 
tians, such as drinking at taverns, and 
fighting, and perpetually changing the 
fashion of their clothes, were sharply 
satirized, and giving a synopsis of the 
Mohammedan creed, which we fear 
is not altogether authentic, our worthy 
traveller adds that now is the time, 
if it please us, to tell of the borders 
and isles, and divers beasts, and of 
various peoples beyond these borders. 
Accepting his invitation, we bear him 
company first to the land of Lybia, 
which must have been a most uncom- 
fortable region in those days, for the 
sea there was higher than the land, 
and the sun was so hot that the 
waters were always boiling. Why the 
country was not, therefore, soused in- 
a steaming, hissing flood, we do not 
know; Sir John himself evidently 
thinks it strange. In Little Ermony, 
which we take to be Armenia,, 
he found something almost equally 
strange. That was the Castle of the 
Sparrow-hawk, where a spairow-hawk 



178 



Sir yohn MaundevilU. 



perpetually sat upon a fair perch and 
a fair lady of fairie guarded it AVho- 
ever will watch the bird seven days 
and seven nights without company 
and without sleep, shall be granted by 
the fairy the first earthly wish that he 
shall wish ; but if sleep overcome him, 
he will never more be seen of men. 
This, adds the careful traveller, hath 
been proved oftentimes, and he men- 
tions several persons who performed 
the long task and got their wishes. 
Mount Ararat is another marvellous 
feature in this wonderful region ; for 
it is seven miles high, and Noah's ark 
still rests upon it, and in clear weather 
may be seen afar off. Some men say 
that they have been up and touched 
the ark, and even put their fingers in 
the parts where the devil went out 
when Noah said " Benedicite," (un- 
fortunately we do not know the 
•legend to which this refers ;) but our 
traveller warns us not to believe such 
things, because they are not true! 
No man ever got up the mountain 
except one good monk ; and he was 
miraculously favored, and brought 
down with ^im a plank which is still 
preserved in the monastery at the foot 
of the mountain. It is inexpressibly 
gratifying to observe that Sir John 
did not accept all the stories that 
were told him, but exercised a little 
judicious discrimination ; and we shall 
therefore pay more respectful attention 
to the extraordinary things he tells us 
about the diamonds of India. They 
are found most commonly, he says, 
upon rocks of the sea, or else in con- 
nection with gold. They grow many 
together, male and female, and are 
nourished by the dew of heaven, so 
that they engender and bring forth 
small children that multiply and grow 
all the year. "I have oftentimes 
tried the experiment," he continues, 
" that if a man keep them with a 
little of the rock, and wet them with 
May-dew often, they shall grow every 



year, and the small will grow 
. . . And a man should ca 
diamond on his left side, for 
greater virtue than on the rigl 
for the strength of their gro 
toward the north, that is the 1 
of the world ; and the left part 
is, when he turns his face tow; 
east." Sir John was not 1 
means singular in his views 
nature of diamonds in his da; 
ever much he may be at v 
with modem authorities; am 
only repeating a popular sup< 
of the middle ages when he ; 
many wonderful virtues to th 
which he says preserves the 
from poison, and wild beasts, ; 
assaults of enemies, and the m 
tions of enchanters, gives cou 
the heart and strength to th« 
heals lunatics, and casts out 
But it loses its virtue by sin. 

From stories of eels thirty fe 
and people of an evil color, gr< 
yellow, and the >Mell of P< 
Youth, from which Sir John av 
he drank, and rats as great a 
which they take with huge i 
because the cats feel unable ' 
age them, we pass to a passr 
very different kind, which, con 
the time when it was written 
tainly curious. One hundred 
venty years before the time of 
bus we find Sir John Maunde 
guing that " the land and sea 
round shape, because the part c 
mament appears in one countr 
is not seen in another counti 
predicting that " if a man fou 
sages by ships, he might go 
all round the world, above i 
neath." A rather elaborate 
devoted to an estimate of the 
the worid, and to the story of 
lishman — name unknown — w 
ed around it once and nev( 
it; but coming to a countr] 
the people spoke his own la 



Sir yohi Maundeville. 



179 



so much amazed that he tiimed 
id and sailed all the way back 
L After this, Sir John gets back 
mt unnecessary delay to the rosy 
IS of eastern fable. 
J next find him in Java and 
g the isles of the Indian Ocean, 
; he tells us of rich kings, and 
lid palaces where all the steps 
'gold and silver alternately, and 
alls covered with plates of pre- 
metals, and halls and chambers 
I with the same ; of trees which 
meal, and honey, and wine, and 
f poison wherewith the Jews 
tried to poison all Christendom ; 
ilsso big that many persons may 
in their shells ; of men who feed 
serpents, so that they speak 
it, but hiss as serpents do; of 
and women who have dogs' 
; and of a mountain in the is- 
of Silha where Adam and Eve 
and cried for one hundred years 
hey were driven out of paradise 
d so hard that their tears formed 
> lake, which may be seen there 
s day, if any body doubts the 
He tells of giants having only 
jre, which is in the middle of the 
ad ; people of foul stature and 
I nature who have no heads, 
eir eyes are in their shoulders ; 
i who have neither noses nor 
is; people who have mouths so 
lat when they sleep in the sun 
:over the whole face with the 
lip ; people who have ears hang- 
)wn to their knees ; people who 
loises* feet ; and feathered men 
;ap from tree to tree. Passing to 
and China, Sir John describes 
ir and fruitful land of Albany, 
there are no poor people, and 
en are of very pale complextion 
ive only about fifty hairs in their 
i, He speaks of having person- 
sited these regions; but we are 
to say that his narrative is pal- 
borrowed in many places from 



Pliny and Marco Polo. As the great 
town called Jamchay he seems to have 
found the prototype of Delmonico, and 
he gives an impressive account of 
the good custom that when a man 
will make a feast for his friends he 
goes to the host of a certain kind of 
inn, and says to him, " Array for me 
to-morrow a good dinner for so many 
people ;" and says also, " Thus much 
will I spend, and no more." And Sir 
John adds, "Anon the host arrays 
for him, so fair, and so well, and so 
honestly that there shall lack no- 
thing." Of the great Chan of Cathay, 
(Emperor of China,) and his wealth 
and magnificence, Sir John writes at 
considerable length, but with an evi- 
dent expectation that men will not 
believe him. " My fellows and I,** 
he says, " with our yeomen, served 
this emperor, and were his soldiers 
fifteen months against the King of 
Mancy, who was at war with him, be- 
cause we had great desire to see his 
nobleness and the estate of his court, 
and all his government, to know if it 
were such as we heard say.*' How 
many his fellows were, or what route 
they followed in their eastern wan- 
derings, we cannot tell. Sir John 
gives us no particulars ; we only learn 
that he must have combined in curi- 
ous perfection the characters of a pil- 
grim and a military adventurer; and 
how much of the world he saw, how 
much he described from hearsay, we 
can only determine from the internal 
evidence of his book. There is no 
reasonable doubt that he did spend 
some time in the dominions of the 
great chan ; for his description of the 
country, the manners of the people, 
the magnificence of the sovereign 
and the ceremonies of the court, 
though exaggerated sometimes to the 
heights of the grotesque, if not of the 
sublime, keeps near enough to the 
probable truth. We cannot say that 
we are glad of it ; for Sir John is vast- 



i8o 



Sir yohn Maundeville. 



ly more entertaining when he does not 
know what he is talking about. 

He skips about with the most 
charming vivacity from Tartary to 
Persia, to Asia Minor, and back again 
to India, and sometimes it is certain 
that he tells us of wonders which he 
did not see with his own eyes. In 
Georgia, for instance, there is a mar- 
vellous province called Hanyson, 
where once upon a time a cursed 
Persian king named Saures overtook 
a mukitude of Christians fleeing from 
persecution. The fugitives prayed to 
God for deliverance, and lo 1 a great 
cloud arose, covering the king's host 
with darkness, out of which they could 
not i)ass, and so the whole province 
remains dark to this hour, and no light 
shall shine there and no man shall 
enter it till the day of judgment 
Voices may sometimes be heard 
coming out of the darkness, and the 
neighing of horses and crowing of 
rocks, and a great river issues from 
it bearing tokens of human life. 
Somewhat similar to this story is the 
account of a region on the borders 
of the Caspian Sea, where " the Jews 
of ten lineages who are called Gog 
and Magog " — namely, the lost tribes 
— ^have been shut up for ages behbd 
impassable mountains. The legend 
is that King Alexander drove them 
in there, and prevailed upon his gods 
to close the mountains with immense 
stone gates. In the days of Anti- 
christ a fox shall burrow through 
where Alexander made the gates, and 
the imprisoned Jews, who have never 
seen a fox, shall hunt him, and follow- 
ing the burrow break down the gates 
and come out into the world. Then 
they shall make great slaughter of the 
Cliristians; wherefore Je^*s all over 
the world learn the Hebrew language, 
so that in that day the ten tribes may 
reoOj^nize them by their speech. Some- 
where ij> this jurt of the world Sir 
John saw and tasted ^ a kiad of truit 



like gourds, which, when they ai 
men cut in two, and find wi 
little beast, in flesh, bone, and 
as though it were a little laml 
out wool." Both the firuit a 
beast are good to eat. Sir Joh 
fesses that this was a great n 
but not to be outdone, he told 
tertainers that in England ther 
trees bearing a fruit which be 
flying birds, right good for 
meat, whereat, he says, his It 
had also great marvel, and som 
thought the thing impossible 
John, however, was not pui 
cramming the Persians; he oi 
peated the popular fable of the 
cle-goose, which was ancient 
lieved to be hatched from tht 
nacles growing on ships' botton 
logs of wood, just as an or 
goose is hatched from an egg. 
The great mystery and mar 
the age in which Sir John Mi 
ville wrote was the Christian c 
of Prester John, supposed to i 
over central India, and to be in : 
a vast island, separated from 
countries by great branching 
which flowed out of Paradise, 
a traveller went in search ol 
mythical and magnificent pote 
many a doubtful stor}- of his 
and designs was brought bac 
Europe ; and even a pretended 
from his majesty to the pop< 
widely publi^ed in Latin, Fi 
and other languages. Excep 
Chan of Cathay, there was no 
monarch in the world so grea 
so rich. The chan, therefore, a 
married the daughter of Prester 
and Prester John alwa}*s marri( 
daughter of the chan, which not 
made confusion in the geneal< 
recorvls of the reigning families, 
couree. Sir John Maunde\'ille wj 
gallant a traveller to go home 
out a tuU account of the empi 
l^rcscer John. He says he wc 



•Sir yoAn Maundeville. 



i8i 



atalogue of things he saw 
;oiy of things he did are 
lOUgh to satisfy the most 
der. As it is quite cer- 
3 potentate ever existed 
^en a resemblence to the 
1 of mediaeval legend, it 
I usually difficult to esti- 
nesty of Sir John in these 
ordons of his narrative, 
le and superstition seem 
X climax. The glories of 
sourt are almost beyond 
The precious stones 

that plates, dishes, and 
ide of them. There is a 
in paradise, whose waves 
of jewels, without a drop 
d it runs only three days 
, flowing to the Gravelly 
t is lost from sight. The 
. has billows of sand with- 
of water. It ebbs and 
It waves, like other seas, 
is very good fish ; but, 
m, " men cannot pass it 
rhe emperor lives in un- 
>rgeous state, in a palace 
1 gold, and upon the top 
it tower of the palace are 
rbuncles which give great 
tit to all people. He is 
«ven kings, seventy-two 
three hundred and sixty 
y day he entertains at 
e archbishops and twenty 
id all the archbishops, 
I abbots in the country 
There is a gorgeous arti- 
se in the dominions of 
n, the legend of which 
ive been used by Tasso 
John's time in his famous 
)f the enchanted gardens 

In this false Paradise " a 
imed Gatholonabes, who 
ricks and subtle deceits," 
he fairest trees, and fruits, 
, constructed the most 
Is and palaces, all painted 



with gold and azure, with youths and 
fair damsels attired like angels, birds 
which "sung full delectably and 
moved by craft," and artificial rivers 
of mklk, and wine, and honey. When 
he had brought good and noble 
knights into this place, they were 
so captivated by the charming sights 
and sounds, so deceived by the fair 
speeches of Gatholonabes, and so in- 
flamed >vith a certain drink which he 
gave them to drink that they became 
his willing henchmen, and at his bid- 
ding went out from the mountain 
where this garden stood and slew 
whomsoever the impostor marked out 
for slaughter. To the knights who 
lost their lives in his service, he pro- 
mised a still fairer Paradise and still 
more enticing pleasures. Owr read- 
ers will not fail to trace the resem- 
blance between this fable and the 
history of the Old Man of the Moun- 
tain, with whose extraordinary fana- 
tical sect of Assassins the crusaders 
had recently made Europe acquainted. 
Sir John's story is probably founded 
upon exaggerated accounts of this 
famous personage. 

To his description of the perilous 
Vale of Devils we fear no such re- 
spectable origin can be attributed. 
" This vale," he says, " is full of de- 
vils, and has been always ;" and horri- 
ble noises are heard in it day and 
night, as though Satan and his crew 
were holding an infernal feast Many 
daring men have entered in quest of 
the gold and silver which are known 
to abound therein ; but few have come 
out again, for the devils strangle the 
misbelieving. We regret to say that 
Sir John assures us that he actually 
saw this vale and went through it 
with several of his company. They 
heard mass first and confessed their 
sins, and, trusting in God, fourteen 
men marched into the valley; but 
when they came out at the other end 
they were only nine. Whether the 



I82 



Sir yohn Maundeville. 



five were strangled by devils or turn- 
ed back, Sir John did not know ; he 
never saw them again. The vale was 
full of horrible sights and sounds. 
Corpses covered the ground, storms 
filled the air. The face and shoul- 
ders of an appalling devil terrified 
them, belching forth smoke and stench 
from beneath a huge rock, and seve- 
ral times the travellers were cast down 
to the ground and buffeted by tem- 
pests. Our author unfortunately was 
afraid to pick up any of the treasures 
which strewed the way ; he did not 
know what they might really be ; for 
the devils are very cunning in getting 
up imitation gems and metals; and 
besides, he adds, " I would not be 
put out of my devotion ; for I was 
more devout then than ever I was 
before or after." 

\Vhen one has passed through the 
Vale of Devils, other marvels are en- 
countered beyond. There are giants 
twenty-eight or thirty feet in height, 
and Sir John heard of others whose 
stature was as much as fifty feet; but 
he candidly avows that he " had no 
lust to go into those parts," because 
when the giants see a ship saiHng by 
the island on which they live, they wade 
out to seize it, and bring the men to 
land, two m each hand, eating them all 
alive and raw as they walk. In another 
island toward the north are people 
quite as dangerous, but not quite so 
shocking ; these are women who have 
precious stones in their eyes, and 
when they are angry they slay a man 
with a look. Still more marvellous 
and incredible than any of these tales 
is the account of that country, un- 
named and undescribed, where kings 



are chosen for their virtue and i 
alone, and justice is done in 
cause to rich and poor alike, a 
evil-doer, be he ihe king himsell 
escapes punishment There is ; 
besides, called Bragman, or the 
of Faith, where all men esche^i 
and care not for money ; where 
is neither wTath, envy, lecher) 
deceit ; where no man lies, or \ 
or deceives his neighbor; where 
a murder has been done sine 
beginning of time; where th 
no poverty, no drunkenness, nc 
tilence, tempest, or sickness, no 
and no oppression. All these 
countries are under the sway c 
magnificent Prester John. 

Here, on the borders of that 
of Perpetual Darkness, which st 
es away to the Terrestrial Par 
we take leave of our good ki 
now near the end of his tr 
" Rheumatic gouts " began to t( 
his wandering limbs and warn h 
go home. He has, indeed, a few 
stories to tell; but they are di 
comparison with the wonders we 
already recounted. Much moi 
deed, he might have written; b 
gives a truly ingenuous reasoi 
checking his pen : 

" And therefore, now that I have d< 
you of certain countries which I hav( 
ken of before, I beseech your worthy a 
cellent nobleness that it suffice to j 
this time ; for if I told you all that is b 
the sea, another man perhaps, who 
labor to go into those parts to seek 
countries, might be blamed by my wo 
rehearsing many strange things ; f< 
might not say any thing new, in whic 
hearers might have cither solace or 
sure." 



Home Scenes in New England. 



183 



HOME SCENES IN NEW ENGLAND. 



CHAPTER I. 

;nt and the catechism. 

E sister! I told you what 
oe of letting that dear child 

Mary Ann recite the Ro- 
.techism. Here we have 
Kitty setting herself up as 
1 matters of religion, and 
le answers she has learned 
f ihem repeated ! Not but 
s as good a child as her 
her mother could desire; 
ain is too thoroughly Ame- 
nuch given to going to the 
any subject it is once in- 
, to stop half-way in a mat- 
kind. I knew all the time 
aid end." 
f maiden aunt paused, more 

than in anger, and little 
urked playfully, 
V4 lies at the bottom of a 
'ou once told me, auntie, 
I we ever reach it without 
le bottom ?" While Kitty's 
)lied to her sister in a half- 
l manner, 

Laura, I consented to let 
lary Ann's catechism, sim- 
« Kitty told me that the 
ler was so much occupied 
to earn a living for her lit- 
ss ones that she could not 
rself; and then the priest 
ted to come here soon, to 
* children for confirmation, 
be given shortly by the 
) there was no time to lose, 
did not think there could 
iger in a mere act of kind- 

!" exclaimed grandmamma, 
rf her little pet. "If there's 



danger in a little knowledge of the 
Catholic catechism, it must be be- 
cause our house is built on a sandy 
foundation, and hence we fear it will 
be destroyed by a little outside reli- 
gious information. For my part, I 
have no objection to full examination 
in these matters; norliave I any fear 
for the result." 

A long-drawn sigh and an ejacula- 
tion of grief from the corner of the 
room called our attention to where 
grandmamma's sister — ^**Aunt Ruby," 
the widow of a Congregational minis- 
ter — sat knitting, removed from the 
light of the evening lamps because 
of the weakness of her eyes. 

" O sister ! sister ! how can you 
talk so. The old adversary goeth 
about everywhere like a roaring lion. 
He lies hid even in that dish of meal. 
If he can only get our folks to ques- 
tioning and examining, then the mis- 
chief is done ; and we shall have po- 
pish priests coming here, carrying on 
their crossings and their blessings, of- 
fering to sell pardons for our sins, and 
making us all bow the knee to Baal, 
and pray to their graven images. I 
shudder to think of it !" 

" They do not pray to graven ima- 
ges, Aunt Ruby ; the catechism ex- 
pressly forbids it !" replied Kitty. 

" There comes that old catechism 
again !" exclaimed Aunt Laura. " If 
Mary Ann's catechism forbids it, then 
the book was trumped up to deceive 
American children, and is entirely 
different from the catechisms used in 
Ireland or France." 

" As for that, auntie, Mary Ann's 
mother has one she brought from Ire- 
land many years ago, and it teaches 
just the same things. But there is 
one thmg in both that you will ac- 



I84 



Home Scenes in New England. 



knowledge as binding — *Thou shalt 
not bear false witness against thy 
neighbor ;* and the catechism explains 
that it forbids ' all false testimonies, 
rash judgments, and lies.' It seems 
to me that good people should be 
careful not to accuse the Catholic 
Church— " 

" Romanist, if you please !" 

" Well, the Roman Catholic Church, 
of things they do not know to be 
true ; and I see no harm in inquiring 
what is true, and what false, in all 
that is brought against it. Here is 
our neighbor across the road, a pious 
Methodist, will not let her little girl, 
who was my best friend, play with 
me any more, because I said I thought 
lies about Catholics were just as bad 
as lies about Methodists. But I shall 
always think so, if I lose the friend- 
ship of every body." 

A sigh and a groan were heard 
from the dark comer, and a voice, 
" O poor child ! the poison is be- 
ginning to work, and there's no know- 
ing where it will end. If things are 
to go on in this way, it is just as like- 
ly as any thing in the world that we 
shall have the Pope of Rome and all 
his cardinals down among us before 
we know it, letting folks out of pur- 
gatory, selling indulgences to commit 
sin, and doing so many other awful 
things !" 

" Ha ! ha !" laughed Kitty's father, 
who had just come in. " Never mind, 
Aunt Ruby, the iwpe will never take 
you, so you need not stand in fear of 
him. You are too much in the dark, 
and I fear never could bear the light 
suflicientlv to become one of the chil- 
dren of holy church." 

Kitty's eldest brother, who had 
been oilucatcd in a Catholic college, 
had come in with his father, and now 
w^hispered slyly to granilmamma, 

" I don't know alK>ut that; I have 
great hopes for .\unt Ruby yet. When 
«he left the Episcopal Church, and 



was propounded for admissio! 
the Congregational, before sh< 
ried the minister, you remembc 
the old deacons groaned in spir 
her because they could not get 
say she was * willing to be dam 
They insisted that the * old 
heart ' was still too strong in h< 
they protested with one voice 
would never do for their mini 
marry a woman who was not 
ing to be damned.' Perhaps th 
old lady remains yet of the 
mind. If so, she may escape, aft 



CHAPTER II. 
WHAT OUR NEIGHBORS THOUGHT 

" So you have all heard ( 
affair! Then I suppose it m 
true. Well, for my part, I 
could have thought it possibl 
in New England, and in the li 
this nineteenth centurj- !" exc 
a grave- looking, elderly lady, i* 
in the centre of a group of ^ 
who had met together to spei 
afternoon in chatting and ki 
" I never could have believed 
woman so* well-informed and « 
as Mrs. S— would allow hei 
to be ensnared and deceived b] 
wicked papists. I was j^erfec' 
tonished when I heard of it." 

" And so was I," rejoined a 
and younger individual of the . 
•* I called to inquire of Mrs. 
herself, to ask if the report wa 
She said it was true; and, what k 
think ? she even went so far as 
that she hopcti her Kitty would 
read a worse book than that 
Romanist catechism ! What is 
come of us when good peopi 
professing Christians talk in this 



* A qtM^tion that used to be vajgeA as a t 
no^ft w memberdiipt aad an afliniutiva ai 
<|uired. The cusiob kaa 



Home Scenes in New England. 



185 



lid the poor woman is in 
jer herselC" 

urse she is," said another ; 
le has a craving for error 
le has no right to expose 
to the influence of it. I 
le openly maintains, and in 
sence too, that good works 
ary to salvation, and even 
ilk about penance and all 
>h abominations. Only the 
Kitty told me she thought 
Catholics were just as bad 
ut Methodists. I informed 
lady that I should have no 
ing between her and my 
I was sorry to grieve poor 
is such a good little girl; 
d not have the mind of my 
oned by such dangerous 

R'oman, whose knitting-nee- 
sen clicking with marvellous 
id energy, and whose coun- 
id indicated the most ear- 
ion and interest during this 
here ventured to remark 
lought Kitty^s opinion was 
and she would really like 
hat there was so very dan- 

the Catholic catechism. 

become acquainted with 

tholics while visiting her 

Canada, and they seemed 

good people as there are 

She wished she could be 

as to the particular and 

errors taught by this 

res were raised at once in 
5 of surprise at such as- 
[gnorance. " Is it possible 
ly one who does not know 
loman church is a mass of 
iiptions, superstitious mum- 
1 idolatries ? that Roman- 
> saints and graven images 
praying to God ? that the 
cp the people in darkness 
ance in order to domineer 



over them at their pleasure. Errors, 
to be sure I" 

The minute individual whose re- 
marks had raised this storm of indig- 
nation, here interposed by saying em- 
phatically, " I confess I do not know 
much about this church, except that 
in this country it is everywhere de- 
nounced in the strongest terms. But 
it is not necessarily as bad as its ene- 
mies represent it to be, any more than 
the primitive church was. I do not 
dare to condemn any body of Chris- 
tians—" 

"Christians!" interrupted an old 
lady .with more acid than honey in 
her aspect and manner; " Christians !" 
with an unmistakable sneer. 

"Yes, Christians r' resumed the 
other ; " for I am told they believe in 
our Lord Jesus Christ ; and, as I was 
saying, I would not dare to condemn 
them without knowing from them- 
selves, instead of their enemies, what 
their doctrines are." 

The conversation was here inter- 
rupted by the entrance of Kitty's mo- 
ther, who was received with a cold 
reserve that revealed to her at once 
what the subject of their discussion 
had been. Being of a frank and fear- 
less disposition, and possessing much 
of that American candor of soul which 
insists on fair play in every contest, 
she opened the subject without hesi- 
tation, by saying, 

" I have been informed, ladies, that 
my neighbors are greatly alarmed be- 
cause I allowed my little girl to hear 
a Catholic child recite the catechism. 
I have examined the little book care- 
fully, and cannot find any thing in it 
to justify such fears. I am not at all 
afraid it will hurt my child." 

A solemn silence followed this de- 
claration, when an excited individu- 
al inquired with much vehemence, 
*' What does it say about priests par- 
doning sins, about praying to saints, 
and praying souls out of purgatory ?" 



i86 



Home Scenes in New England. 



" As to the power of the priests to 
pardon sins, it merely repeats the 
words of our Lord, * Whose sins ye 
shall forgive, they are forgiven ;' and 
I confess I never before noticed how 
very clear and decisive they were, es- 
pecially when he added, * And lo ! I 
am with you always, even unto the 
end of the world' As to praying to 
saints, it asserts that the saints in glo- 
ry pray to God for us, and help us 
by their prayers, and that the souls 
in purgatory are assisted by our pray- 
ers for them." 

" There's no such place as purga- 
tory !" indignantly exclaimed an old 
lady. " I don't believe a word of it." 

" Unfortunately for you, my dear 
friend," replied Kitty's mother, " your 
believing or disbelieving docs not 
make the least difference in this mat- 
ter. If there is a purgatory, as was 
always held by the Jewish church and 
has been by many Protestants, your 
opinion will not change the fact or 
abolish the institution. I really think 
the Catholic doctrine, that the church 
triumphant prays for the church mili- 
tant, (for what is the true Christian 
but a soldier of Christ engaged in a 
life-long conflict with the world, the 
flesh, and the devil?) and that the 
church militant supplicates the mercy 
of God on behalf of the church suffer- 
ing, is a beautiful and a consoling 
one. It is a golden chain that binds 
the souls of the redeemed in holy 
communion with each other. The 
grave that has closed over the pre- 
cious form of a dear friend no longer 
places an inseparable barrier between 
us and the departed soul, but serves 
rather to bring us into closer and more 
tender sympathy with it. Whether 
true or not, I think it is a beautiful 
idea." 

" And so do I," added the ener- 
getic little knitter ; " and I would like 
to know more about this doctrine." 

The gentleman of the house, an 



able lawyer of the place, who ha 
tercd during this conversation, 
declared his intention of pnx 
from the priest on his next visit 
books explaining Catholic docti 

" For," he remarked, " it cei 
is not just to hear all the aci 
party has to say, and then ref 
listen to the defence." 

Countenances expressive of 
nation and alarm, with sighs 
groans from most of the ])arty, 
the only remonstrances offered t 
bold proposition. 

CHAPTER III. 
THE OPINION OF THE SEWING-CIR 

" I am sure I don't know who 
happen next in our village! 
would have been said thirty year 
of such outrageous performance 

These were the words that gi 
my ears as I entered the scwin 

ciety at Mrs. B 's, on a fine 

noon in August, i8 — . The sp( 
who was an energetic miildlc 
lady, continued, " P'irst there wi 
S— — family, with their Romish 
chism and their inquiring into f( 
den things, all going on the ^ 
road to destruction as rapidly a! 
sible, with ever so many more 
nated and entangled in the 

net; and now here Mr. W 

his whole family have fairly r 
through the gate and joined 
children of perdition, the Rome 
It is too bad; too much for h 
patience !" 

" Nothing more than might 1 
pected of those Episcopalians! 
claimed a prim-looking young 
" It is but a step from their chui 
Rome. I am not at all surprise 

" I am not so sure of that," re 

ed Mrs. J . " I suspect the 

copal ians difier just as much froi 
Romanists, after all, as the Co 



Home Scenes in New England. 



187 



ilists or any other Protestant 

They are Protestants, you 
as well as we. You reniem- 

ss E , who was the princi- 

our female seminary for some 
lady of remarkable intelligence 
ire culture, and a very dear 
of mine in Massachusetts, be- 
e came here. She was always, 
ted Congregationalist from the 
le first experienced religion; 
; has lately become, I am sor- 
ay, a Romanist ; and, what is 
rse, she is about to join their 
of Charity ! I received from 
t long ago, a letter explaining 
sons, and speaking of what she 
ur ' misapprehensions of Ca- 
loctrine.* She says she has not 
de any part of her former be- 
t has only made such additions 
iplete the system, and render 
s which before were dubious, 
ant, and peq)lexing fragments 
rar, harmonious, distinct, and 
iry members of a perfect whole, 
e you she has more to say for 
than you would believe possi- 
id she knows how to say it, 
I a most impressive manner. 
Id me, also, of many others of 
[suasion who will probably join 
tholic Church. So the Episco- 
; are not alone, you see, in this 
lent." 

ue," said Mrs. G ; "for 

5 Mrs. H and her daughter, 

ere leading Methodists, They 
oined this popish rabble, and 
very happy in their new home 
is past belief, and quite amus- 

people of common sense. I 
)elieve it makes any difference 
[x>dy of Protestant Christians 
>elong to ; if they once get to 
•ing on these things, they are 

sure to follow their noses into 
)inan Church before they stop. 
the mind gets fairly waked up, 

not seem possible to quiet it 



in any other way. And then, as you 
say, they are all so perfectly content- 
ed and joyous when they have once 
entered the *fold,' as they call it, 
that it is a puzzle to sober-minded 
Christians! I think this new priest 
who has lately come among us is do- 
ing immense mischief already." 

** Of course he is !" chimed in an- 
other lady with much asperity. " He 
is so very agreeable and polite, so gen- 
tle and easy to get acquainted with, 
that every one is attracted by him. 
Then he is an American, and knows so 
much better how to make himself ac- 
ceptable to our people than the other 
one did, that he is a great deal more 
dangerous on that account. My son 
George, who would not speak to 

Kitty S , Jennie H , and the 

W s, you know, after they began 

to patronize Romanism — though he 
thought every thing of them before — 
is already quite at home with this 
new priest; takes long walks with 
him, and even went to the church 
last Sunday, just to see how they get 
on over there." 

" Oh ! yes, he told me all about it," 

said Miss Mary B . ** He said it 

was perfectly astonishing to see Mr. 

W singing and chanting with 

those shabby Canadians ; and there 

were the W s, the H s, and 

the S s, kneeling right in the 

midst of that rabble, and to all ap- 
pearance as intent on their prayers, 
and as much absorbed in what was 
going on, as any one present. They 
seemed quite at home, and to under- 
stand every thing as well as if they 
had been accustomed to it all their 
lifetime. George said he placed him- 
self where they couldn't help seeing 
him ; but they were not disconcerted 
in the least. Even the girls never 
seemed to notice him at all. He 
said they doubtless understood the 
ser\'ice, but he didn't. I think, Mrs. 
G ^ that it will not be very safe 



1 88 



Home Scenes in New England. 



for George to go there often; for he 
told me that there was a wonderful 
solemnity and fascination about the 
place — which is not much better than 
a mere shanty — and about the service, 
though he didn't understand a word 
of it He never felt so solemn in all 
his life, he said ; and that was a great 
deal for such a scatterbrain as George 
to say." 

" I have heard others older and 
wiser than he say the same," remark- 
ed a thoughtful-looking widow with a 
sigh. " My brother, who is a deacon, 
and a man of very cool temperament 
and calm judgment, says he never 
was in a Catholic place of worship 
but once, and then he was almost 
frightened at the sensation of awe 
that came over him. He said it 
seemed to him that the impression it 
made was what one would naturally 
expect if their doctrine of the real 
presence were true, and the sight of 
the solemn assurance which a great 
many apparently devout and good 
people evidently possessed of their 
near approach to their Redeemer, 
really present in that place, affected 
him so sensibly that he could not 
shake the feeling off. It was a very 
plain little chapel, by no means equal 
to our churches ; but he said it seem- 
ed as if something whispered to him 
that he was standing on holy ground. 
He has been very painfully exercised 
about these matters ever since, and 
he says that the sixth chapter of St. 
John's Gospel, which never troubled 
him before, now appears to be all in 
favor of their doctrine." 

" For my part, I don't see why 
Protestants want to go near them at 
all!" exclaimed another indignantly. 
"It only brings about mischief; and 
the only way to put down such things 
is to set our faces resolutely against 
every one that countenances any 
thing pertaining to Romanism. We 
must be determined tliat we will have 



nothing to do with such peopli 
way. We must keep entirel 
from Romanists and from ] 
izers." 

'* Well, I confess that I a 
much puzzled about all the 
ters," quietly observed a lady 
gentle manners, in a low voi< 
cannot help having misgiving 
system which carries into its r 
circumstances and details sucl 
irresistible power may perha; 
all, owe it to the force of trutl 
certainly sustained and anim 
some principle not possessed 
erted by Protestantism in ar 
branches." 

"It is a principle of evil 
cried the former austere : 
" The Prince of Darkness knc 
to appear as an * angel of 

"Ah!" resumed the othe 
you know our Lord said, ' 
have called the Master of tl: 
Beelzebub, how much mon 
of his household ! * We oug 
careful how we bring such 
tions against a church whi 
tainly numbers some very gc 
pie among its members. Oi 
may be said of it, that the p 
tenderly cherished and cared 
in its pale ; and I can never 
that the evil one is the dispi 
instigator of so many chai 
are instituted and supported 
church." 

" All done for effect, and 
poor Protestants astray ! Ta 
my dear friend; for these mi 
are the beginning of dangei 
you follow them, they will sui 
you into the Romish Church 
is the way all those who have 
light of Protestantism have I 
snared." 

" If it should prove that t> 
up an ignis fatuus for the ligl 
star that guided the wise me 
to the crib of the Infant R( 



Home Scenes in New England, 



189 



t do well rather than ill ?" 
le quiet speaker, and was 
ily by a murmur of indig- 
sr bold conjecture, as the 
rew to another room where 
t was spread for their re- 



CHAFTER IV. 

'ENED AT THE DONATION- 
PAHTY. 

11 go to the donation par- 
linister's last night, sister 
yas so sorry that I couldn't 
ttle giri had such a bad 
not dare to leave her." 
ras there ; and, don't you 

H was there too, 

ighter. Would you have 

: would dare to show her 

the Methodists, after what 

^?" 

eed, I should not! But 

I never cease. How did 

sant and gentle as ever ; 

much at home as if she 
eft us to join the Catho- 

J would not speak 

irst, or look at her; and 

>ld brother I-^ , who 

ler class-leader, you know, 
I the cold shoulder upon 
e was not to be put off 
id after a little while, her 
Inning ways had thawed 
nd we couldn't help being 
h her." 

always did love sister 
ice I don't want to meet 

am glad I was not there ! 
* speak to her about her 



rother L- 



— could not 
her how sorry we were to 
id she said, * You have 

, brother L ; I shall 

my dear Methodist friends, 
cease to love and 



pray for them!' *Pray for them!' 
brother L said with great con- 
tempt; *we don't thank people for 
praying to the saints for us ; we can 
pray to God for ourselves. Ah Sis- 
ter H ! if you would only pray 

to him as you used to, when you 
were a warm-hearted Methodist, that 
would do ! ' Her answer to this was 
what puzzled me, I remember every 
word of it, she looked so grieved, 
and so sweetly earnest, while the tears 
fairly came to her eyes as she said, 
* Pray to God as I used to. Brother 

L ! Why, I never knew the 

meaning of the word prayer until I 
was a Catholic ! I then entered the 
very atmosphere of prayer ! My life, 
my breath, my every thought, my every 
action, became one continual prayer 
to an ever-present God from that hour. 
The saints united with me, assisted 
me — at my request prayed for me — 
and for those for whom I desired 
their prayers in union with my own ; 
and of that perfect union and com- 
munion with them, I can give you 

no idea. O brother L ! believe 

me, there is no home for a * warm- 
hearted Methodist ' but the Catholic 
Church! Don't you remember, in 
our dass conferences, how I used to 
say I was happy, but not satisfied ; I 
felt that I was still a seeker. I had 
been first a Congregationalist, then 
an Episcopalian, and at last a Me- 
thodist; but had not found all I was 
seeking for. You thought I never 
would until I reached heaven ; but ' — 
and how I wish, dear friend, you 
could have seen and heard her as she 
said it, for I cannot describe her im- 
pressive manner — * but brother, I have 
found it all in the Catholic Church ! 
The blank is filled. The yearning of 
my soul is satisfied so entirely that 
there is nothing left to desire !' 

" * All a delusion, sister H ! ' 

exclaimed brother L . * You'll 

wake up some time and find it so, 



190 



Home Scenes in New England. 



and then youMl come back ! * She 
looked perfectly dismayed at the very 
thought, as she replied, * Come back 
to what ? To content myself with the 
shadow, when I have possessed the 
substance ? to satisfy my hunger with 
the husks of the stranger, when I 
have feasted at the continual and 
overflowing banquet of my Father's 
table ! O my Methodist friends ! if 
you could but taste for once the 
sweetness and fulness of that ban- 
quet, you would never cast one back- 
ward look upon what you had lefl, 
except to mourn for those who remain 
contented there, when they might be 
feasting on the bread of angels I * I 
confess to you, Mrs. M— — , that I 
could not help being moved by her 
earnestness to wish that I was even 
as she is! No one can doubt her 
entire sincerity who listens to her. 

Brother L asked her if it could 

be possible that she believed all the 
absurdities taught by the Romish 
Church? She replied that she be- 
lieved no absurdities, and that he had 
not the slightest idea as to what the 
Catholic Church really did teach ; a 
tissue of absurdities had been invent- 
ed by its enemies, and palmed off 
upon the too credulous Protestants as 
its teachings, when they were entirely 
foreign to it, and baseless misrepre- 
sentations. * But,* she added, * I be- 
lieve all that my church really docs 
offer to my belief, as firmly as I be- 
lieve that there is a sun in the firma- 
ment of heaven !* " 

" Well, how strange it all is, to be 

sure ! Now, I met Mrs. L the 

other day, and I was so provoked at 
the way they are going on, 'that I 
could not for my life help asking her 
why, in the name of common sense, 
if they wanted to be Romanists, they 
tlidii't all go together like sensible 
l>coplc, and not string along, one to- 
day, another to-morrow, and so on, as 
thoy do ? And what do you think 



was her reply ? * Why, you knc 
M— ,* she said; * that we 



olden time that, "The Lord 
daily unto the church of sucha.< 
be saved " ! * ITiere is one t 
you say, that cannot be dou 
denied : right or wrong, they 
lemnly in earnest, and hean 
cere. You know litde Kitty 
had a terrible fit of sickness 
they became Catholics, (som 
her sickness hastened that eve 
has been a great sufferer ev( 

Sister W has taken care 

through it all, and I should n 
der if she should go off on tl 
road. She is all taken up with 
and justifies their course; say 
evils we have been accusto 
hear of the Catholic religion a 
ders, and that if the S - s , ; 
pecially little Kitty, are not CI 
of the true stamp, she does n< 
ly understand the gospel of < 

CHAPTER v. 
REMINISCENCES OF THE P/ 

After an absence of over 
years, we returned to the plea 
lage in New England which 1 
merly exercised over us the 
that pertains to the magic b 

HOME. 

Seeking out one of the \ 
neighbors who were left, on th 
ing after our arrival, I was m 
the surprised and joyful exclai 

"Why, my dear Mrs. J — 
it be possible that this is yc 
self? I had no hopes of eve 
you again in this world." 

"It is indeed myself/' I 
"We have long been wand( 
* field and flood;* but have a 
returned to remain a short time 
the scenes of other years. If 
at leisure, I want to settle do' 
my own cosy comer of the d 



Home SceiHS in New England. 



?9i 



om, just as if I had never 
"ay, and ask you as many 
I about village affairs and 
the olden time as you will 
answer." 

could not furnish me with a 
>leasure, I assure you ! But 
friend! what changes have 
lace since you left! Very 
liose who were with us then 
lin. Many have died, some 
ne *West,* and some have 
leir way to San Francisco 
T parts of California." 
xe are the W s?" I in- 

r removed to another place 
ars ago, and their family is 
jcattered; but they remain 

I spirit, and steadfast in the 

the S ^s ?" 

r three of them are living. 

gone to the far West, and 
•s have left this place. Lit- 
, after years of patient suffer- 
ing which she never ceased 
: God for having permitted 
find in the holy Catholic 
* the path over which so ma- 

and martyrs have passed to 
— as she expressed it — at 
leekly and joyfully resigned 
iful spirit to her Maker ; leav- 
light of a beautiful example 
around the lonely home, and 
the bereaved family. Her 
tther, who embraced the faith 
er her granddaughter made 
n of it, followed her to the 
irld in a few months, consol- 

II the rites of the church, in 
lOugh she entered its blessed 
: late in life, she had in a 
>ace,* by her good words and 
cquired the merit of many 
rhen * Aunt Laura ' and Kit- 
nger sister joined them, * re- 
in hope.* * Aunt Ruby * sur- 
lon some years, and was of- 



ten heard to wish, with a sigh, that 
she could be sure she was as well pre- 
pared to leave the world as her Ca- 
tholic sister ; but she never had the 
courage to brave the ill-opinion of 
her own little world of Congrega- 
tionalism — over the modem innova- 
tions and delinquencies of which she 
never ceased to mourn — ^by follow- 
ing that sister into the only * ark of 
safety.' " 

"Ah!" I exclaimed; "how many 
changes indeed. Then I shall never 
see those dear friends whom I had so 
fondly hoped to meet again. And 

where is Mrs. L , our .energetic Ht- 

tle knitter, who was so true to every 
impulse of divine grace and truth ?" 

" She has long slept in the village 
cemetery. ' Faithful unto death ! ' 
might well have been the inscription 
upon her grave. She passed through 
severe and bitter trials, and was made 
to feel that there are tortures as cruel 
as those of the rack or wheel, to a 
sensitive spirit, in the cold contempt 
and neglect of those who should have 
been her protectors, as they were her 
only earthly support. But she never 
wavered for a moment in her firm 
trust, or ceased to rejoice that she 
had been called to the profession of 
the true faith, which abundantly sus- 
tained her imder all her griefs and 
sufferings." 

" And dear, gentle Mrs. N ? I 

felt sure she would forsake the ignis 
fahius of Protestantism at last for 
* the light of the star that guided the 
wise men ' of old, though she was so 
long in making up her mind." 

" She did so ; and died rejoicing in 
its light,* by the crib of Bethlehem !" 

" Do Mrs. H and her daugh- 
ter still live ?" 

" The daughter died some years 
ago, and was laid near little Kitty 
S , whom she tenderly loved, and 



regarded as the chief instrument of 
her conversion. Her mother has re- 



193 



Home Scenes in New England. 



moved to some distance; but is as 
fervently thankful to-day for the great 
gift of faith as she was on that me- 
morable one when she first accepted 
it, and turned from old and dear as- 
sociations to find the * only home for 
the warm-hearted MethocUst,' in the 
bosom of the Catholic Church." 

" I heard, soon after I left, that the 

G s became Catholics. Was it 

true?" 

" Yes ; and very faithful and fer- 
vent children of the church they 
were ; illustrating the beauty of Ca- 
tholic truths by the shining virtues of 
their lives. .But, alas I of the whole 
family — father, mother, and five chil- 
dren — but one survives. They de- 
parted followed by the prayers and 
benedictions of the whole Catholic 
congregation, to whose service they 
had devoted their best efforts." 

" Then there were the B s, the 

K s, and the C s, who were 

deeply interested in Catholic truths 
when I left. Did they follow out their 
convictions ?" 

" No ; they were * almost persuad- 
ed ' to cast in their lot with the hap- 
py band of converts; but the storm 
of obloquy and reproach which soon 
gathered around the devoted compa- 
ny — without in the least disturbing 
their peace— so appalled those out- 



side, that they did not dare 
the inspiration, or ever again t 
aid. Some became Spiritual 
Second Adventists, and thos 
main nominally as they wei 
have fallen into hopeless in 
to all religion, and intense wc 
seeking in petty ambitions 
fling pursuits the comfort 
no longer able to find in t) 
of any sect The glimmerii 
tholic light which they acce 
served only to reveal to thei 
ter emptiness of Protestantii 
they steadfastly closed thei 
any further illumination. \ 
remains there is hope ; but s 
as these seem as nearly he 
any in this world can be," 

We visited the cemetery, • 
posed the mortal remains of 
friends who had been the t 
our conversation ; and I foi 
liar names more numerous tl 
were familiar faces among tl 
We also sought together the 
church which had been ere< 
ing my absence, and which i 
tiful and enduring evidenc 
active zeal of a congregatic 
is richer in holy memories 
faith, hope, and charity, tha 
goods of this world. 



Inland's Mission. 



193 



SONNET. 



TO ITALY. 



All-radiant region ! would that thou wert free ! 
Free 'mid thine Alpine realm of cloud and pine, 
Free 'mid the rich vales of thine Apennine, 
Free to the Adrian and the Tyrrhene Sea ! 
God with a twofold freedom franchise thee I 
Freedom from alien bonds, so often thine, 
Freedom from Gentile hopes — death-fires that shine 
O'er the foul grave of pagan liberty, 
With pagan empire side by side interred*; 
Then round the fixed throne of their Roman sire 
Thy sister states should hang, a pleiad choir. 
With saintly beam unblunted and imblurred, 
A splendor to the Christian splendor clinging, 
A lyre star-strung, ever the " new song " singing ! 

Aubrey De Vere. 



IRELAND'S MISSION. 

B? W. MAZIERE BRADY, D.D., AN IRISH PROTESTANT CLERGYMAN. 



'iw persons expected that the 
ang of Mr. Gladstone's disestab- 
nent bill would have immediate- 
itroduced a golden age into Ire- 
L The leading promoters of that 
sure never regarded it as one 
Ji was final and complete; but 
er as a necessary prelude to cer- 

reconstructive measures more 
erfiil and important than itself. 

abolition of the ascendency of 
ilien church did not restore — ^and 
notaflfectto restore — to the Catho- 
Hurch its ancient status and en- 
nncnts. The attempt would be 
idyvain to regather the disjecta 
■fcn of the great body of Irish 
■dk temporalities long since dis- 
^ and broken up by successive 

VOL, XL — 13 



spoliations and alienations. The pro- 
perty dealt with by the recent legisla- 
tion is but a small fraction of what 
once belonged to the Irish Church. 
Restitution, unhappily, is often im- 
possible to the statesman. He may 
build up an edifice upon ruins, and 
create new empires out of revolutions. 
But he can no more give back to out- 
raged nationalities their unsullied ho- 
nor, or to plundered kingdoms their 
squandered treasures, than he can re- 
store to those fallen from purity their 
virgin crown or reendow criminals 
with a conscience void of offence and 
free from sear of guilt. And there- 
fore the removal of the alien church 
led to no replacement of the old 
Catholic Church in the position vacat- 



I 



194 



Ireland's Mission. 



ed by its Protestant rival ; but merely 
paved the way for the introduction of 
constructive measures upon the nature 
of which will depend the future, not 
of Ireland merely, but of the British 
empire. Amidst these constructive 
measures the statesman will not reckon 
any provisions for the maintenance 
or aggrandisement of the Catholic 
Church in Ireland. A church which 
withstood calamity and survived the 
loss of its possessions, and flourished 
under three hundred years of bitter 
persecution, may safely be left to it- 
self. State patronage, in any extend- 
ed form, might corrupt, but could not 
strengthen, Irish Catholicism. Catho- 
lics in many countries are beginning 
to feci that freedom of action and 
development is of far greater value 
than endowments to the church. In 
Ireland, Catholics have long since per- 
ceived and acknowledged that liberty 
— not the enervating influence of 
court favor — is the true bulwark of 
Catholic worship. 

Legislators have, in fact, no occasion 
to take into their consideration the 
Irish Catholic Church, except in so 
far as its power and interests inter- 
mingle with the educational and other 
social and political problems which 
demand deep and impartial inquiry. 
Whoever examines, without prejudice 
or passion, the actual position of Ire- 
land as an integral part of the British 
empire must confess that Ireland 
forms at this time, more than at any 
other, the cardinal point of English 
policy. Gibraltar was once the key 
to the Mediterranean and to political 
supremacy in Europe. Ireland is to 
England another Gibraltar, on whose 
rock British power must be either con- 
•solidated or riven. The Ireland of 
1870 is rapidly entering on a new 
phase of existence, which is none the 
less worthy of the statesman's study 
because it is the result of causes al- 
together beyond his control. Ireland 



is no longer an island Ijrin 
a few hours* sail of the Engl 
inhabited by men whose intei 
be disposed of without refe 
the wishes of any save the in 
of Great Britain. The peop 
land are by no means confim 
the territorial limits of that 
The Irish nation has two 
The one is in Ireland, the o! 
America. Misgovemment s 
Ireland into exile, and the 
have prospered and multi 
an extent far exceeding an] 
examples of similar transmi 
But although there are tw( 
there is but one nation of 1 
Five millions of men occu 
soil, but far more than t^ 
millions of Irishmen dwellir 
eign lands not only claim but 
an ever-increasing influence 
politics. Some few among 1 
conservative statesmen of Ei 
and among them one no le 
guished than the great chi( 
late Tory administration — ^loc 
eyes of cruel satisfaction on 
dus which wiser men regan 
awe as a hemorrhage draini 
the life-blood of their kingdo 
famine was to these bigote 
God-gift, which swept ofl:* \i 
flippantly termed a supen 
population. Emigration wai 
eyes, a more tedious and c( 
cess for the decimation of Iris 
lies. Protestants, belonging • 
the dominant and richer clas 
proportion to their numbers 
posed than Catholics to th< 
of the famine and the ne< 
expatriation. Famine and en 
if only Providence would pre 
intensify their action, would 
they thought — the numerica 
tions betvveen Catholics an( 
tants make Ireland a Protest 
try and render the church 
ment less anomalous. 1/ 



Ireland's Mission. 



I9S 



years pass — so argued these 
Ts — and instead of having to 
e for a Catholic, discontented, 
, over-populated and half-pau- 
, we shall have to deal with 
mparatively Protestant, which 
prosperous, happy, and loyal 
British crown. It is recorded 
^glish statesman that he once 
ed a wish — ^in jest, no doubt — 
gland were for an hour sub- 
in the Atlantic, that it might 
.in stripped of its inhabitants, a 
\d for the importation of Eng- 
3testant colonists. The folly 
ing for either a flood or a fa- 
t repair the defects of English 
on for Ireland, is now as ap- 
is the cruelty. Even though 
nd of Ireland were reduced 
a tabula rasa as some bigots 
lesire, England must take into 
: the thousands and millions 
men in various lands who con- 
part of the Irish nation, and 
ink, plan, and pray for the 
ss of their traditional father- 
A.nd fortunately for the inte- 
England, no less than of Ire- 
policy has of late been adopt- 
le leaders of the great liberal 
rhich professes to deal with 
: Ireland, not as with a veno- 
hing to be guarded against, 
>wn, and, if possible, crushed, 
a country to be tenderly re- 
carefully cherished, and legis- 
r with a \'iew to the content- 
kd preservation of its Catholic 
The policy of Mr. Gladstone, 
ight, and the party of which 
e now the recognized chiefs, 
sent but partially developed, 
already produced good fruits. 
3asness exalteth a nation, and 
d has risen immensely in the 
I of wise and good men in 
5 and America by that great 
I tardy — ^the greater, perhaps, 
e 10 tardy-^ct of righteous- 



ness, namely, the abolition of an Eng- 
lish Protestant church establishment 
for Irish Catholics. The sympathies 
of all honest men in every quarter of 
the globe are with the English govern- 
ment in its endeavor to stay the tide 
of Irish emigration, and retain Irish- 
men upon their native soil as content- 
ed occupiers and owners of farms. 
But admiration and sympathy are not 
the only rewards which England may 
reap by steadily following out the 
policy begun by Mr. Gladstone. The 
integrity of the British empire may be 
shown to depend upon the continued 
development of the principles which 
carried the Irish church bill of 1869 
and introduced an Irish land bill in 
1870. If it be too presumptuous to 
attempt to forecast a triumphant pro- 
gress for those principles, it will yet 
be not wholly profidess to denote the 
perils and obstructions which beset 
the way. 

The disturbances and outrages 
which in Ireland preceded and fol 
lowed the passing of the disestablish- 
ment bill, were the natural result of 
the violent harangues uttered by the 
fanatic debaters of the Church Defence 
Association, many of whom announc- 
ed to their excited auditors that the 
land bill of Mr. Gladstone would con- 
fiscate the property of Protestant land- 
owners in Ireland. The evil passions 
of men thus deceived into a belief 
that a wrong was intended not only 
to their church but to their lands, 
found vent not merely in hard words 
and cruel threats, but in merciless 
deeds. Some Protestant landlords 
withheld the accustomed local chari- 
table contributions which, as owners 
of property, they had hitherto given 
to various institutions. Others issued 
notices of ejection against their ten- 
ants, and these attempted ejections 
produced — as capricious injustice is 
certain to do — ill-will and resistance. 
Outrages, even assassinations, occur- 



196 



Ireland's Mission, 



red. But such offences against pub- 
lic order may be expected to cease 
when the causes of them are remov- 
ed. Time will allay the heat of by- 
gone party conflicts. Agrarian out- 
rages will, if the land bill be good for 
any thing, occur as rarely in Ireland 
as in America. Industrious laborers 
will, it is to be hoped, find it easy to 
rent or purchase small holdings on 
which they may expend their toil, and 
in which they may invest their sav- 
ings without fear of their being appro- 
priated to the use of felonious land- 
lords by means of notices to quit. It 
is when the excitement of Uie land 
and church questions shall have yield- 
ed to the pressure of other momen- 
tous questions, that the real danger 
will threaten the onward march of 
those principles which, in the opinion 
of many, can alone safely guide the 
mutual relations between England 
and Ireland. The education ques- 
tion will be a highly perilous one. 
If the liberal party put forward a 
scheme for compulsory, or secular, or 
sectarian education, which shall, on 
whatever pretext, either nominally or 
practically, tend to withdraw the edu- 
cation of Catholic children from the 
immediate control of the priests, the 
result will be disappointment and dis- 
aster. Free education, in the sense 
of an education independent of reli- 
gion, has great charms in the eyes 
of English and Irish liberals. Some 
Catholics are inclined to favor any 
scheme which would place a superior 
system of secular instruction within 
the reach of the great bulk of the 
poorer and middle class, even though 
it should not provide for that religious 
training which is a characteristic of a 
strictly Catholic education. But the 
Catholic clergy of Ireland, to a man, 
and those members of Parliament who 
represent Irish Catholic constituen- 
cies, will give strenuous and effectual 
oppo3ition to undenominational or se- 



cular education under its q 

although they may prove 

resist the employment, in a 

shape, of the principle whic 

gard as pernicious. It will 

to the advantage of Great 

the education of Catholics in 

as well as in Ireland, be n 

roughly Catholic. The vai 

many respects admirable s 

national education in Irelan 

twenty or thirty years ago, w 

bly regarded by very man 

Irish Catholic bishops an( 

has long since been declarec 

factory by the Catholic \ 

The elementary national scl 

now merely tolerated. The 

model schools are loudly de 

The national system aimed 

to all children a combined S4 

struction and at affording o; 

ties for separate religious in; 

The priest and the parson w 

ed to become joint patrons oi 

The board of education wer 

ply school-rooms, teachers, b< 

requisites for a secular instn 

which all the pupils were 

The ministers of various d 

tions were to supply, either ] 

ly or by deputy, a religious 

to their respective pupils. 

hour or more was to be set 

religious teaching. During 1 

the Catholic children wer 

taught the Catholic religioi 

priest, or by one of the maste 

the priest's direction, and th< 

tant children were similar!] 

taught the principles of Prot€ 

in another room by the parse 

one of the teachers under his 

It was supposed that all min 

religion would join in carryu 

system which thus provided 

general education of the poor, 

interfering with the conscient 

charge of that part of the m 

duty of clergyman which n 



Ireland* s Mission. 



197 



us teaching of the young. 
»f instructing Catholic and 
children together and bring- 
p in habits of mutual affec- 
teem, was specious and cap- 
Who could withhold his 
aid toward realizing the 
lus held out of future gene- 
educated Irishmen of vari- 
;, each respecting the reli- 
ciplcs of the others while 
is own, and all loyal to the 
government of the British 
ifet, at its very outset, the 
bishops of the Protestant 
ent held aloof from the na- 
•d. They refused any part- 
th Catholic priests in the 
nt of schools, and declared 
:onsciences would not per- 
o consent to support a sys- 
set limits to the free use 
f Scriptures during secular 
In vain was it shown 
rotestant universities, col- 
higher schools, nay, that 
y order for divine service 
to the ritual of the estab- 
L limit was actually set to 
the holy Scriptures by the 
nt of fixed times and places 
dy and reading and expo- 
le sacred word. In vain 
lonstrated that neither in- 
isparagement was intended 
ions which might be look- 
carcely different from those 
/^ented a lecturer in mathe- 
n giving his class a disser- 
n Isaiah, and denied a cler- 
the establishment the pri- 
nterpolating his reading of 
with a chapter from the 
«. The establishment cler- 
few notable exceptions, as- 
as their right and duty to 
jiptures at all times in their 
ad declared it to be a sin to 
\ suspend, even during the 
ombined secular instruction, 



their office of teachers of divine truth. 
By adopting this course they lost 
whatever claim to public estimation 
they might otherwise have had as 
helpers of education, and hastened, 
undoubtedly, the fall of their estab- 
lishment. It has lately, through the 
publication of Archbishop Whately's 
biography by his daughter and of rfie 
journals of Mr. Senior, been fully 
disclosed that a desire for proselytism, 
although in his lifetime he publicly 
professed the contrary, was at the 
bottom of that able prelate's energetic 
support of the national system. The 
religious and moral teaching of the 
books used for combined secular in- 
struction had, so argued Whately in 
private, a strong tendency to implant 
truths which must lead to the re- 
ception of Protestantism. Give free 
scope, so reasoned the archbishop, 
to the national system, and, although 
the priests may not perceive their dan- 
ger, Ireland must cease to be a Ca- 
tholic country. When publicly advo- 
cating the national system, Whately's 
language was, of course, far different. 
Then he maintained stoutly that the 
books were thoroughly impartial, he 
repudiated with affected loathing any 
dishonorable desire to make converts 
to Protestantism, and he professed 
the most scrupulous respect for the 
consciences of those who differed 
from him in religion. The posthu- 
mous publication of Whately's real 
sentiments— destructive as that publi- 
cation is of much of his reputation, 
and especially of his character for 
straightforwardness — forms a valuable 
vindication, not merely of the beha- 
viour of those more honest commis- 
sioners, of education whose refusal to 
adopt the Whately tactics led to 
Whately's retirement from the board, 
but also of the conduct of the Catho- 
lic bishops and clergy who have 
found it necessary emphatically to 
demand a radical change in the sys- 



198 



Ireland's Mission, 



tern of national instruction so for as 
Catholics are concerned. 

It is, however, for the interests of 
Protestantism and of Great Britain, as 
well as of Catholicism, that the edu- 
cation of Catholics should be carried 
on more perfecdy in accord with the 
desires of the Catholic people. The 
principle of religious neutrality in edu- 
cation has been tried in Ireland, and 
found wanting. It has not resulted in 
bringing into the same school-rooms 
the young of various creeds, and edu- 
cating them in mutual love. Three 
or four Protestants may be found in 
the same school with a hundred Ca- 
tholics; or three or four Catholics 
may attend a school frequented by a 
hundred Protestants. But nowhere 
in Ireland is it possible to find a 
school where one half of the pupils 
are Protestants and the other half 
Catholics, or where the Protestant 
clerg)'man and the Catholic priest, as 
joint patrons, superintend their re- 
spective classes. It is true, indeed, 
that proselytism is discouraged by 
the rules of the board, and that no 
favor is shown to one denomination 
more than to another. But with all 
this endeavor after impartiality by its 
administrators, the system inflicts a 
serious wound upon Catholicity. The 
authority of the board is substituted 
for that of the Catholic Church. The 
national school teacher, when in train- 
ing for his office, learns his duties 
from men of various religious deno- 
minations, who are not permitted, 
even were they desirous, to impart a 
devotional color to what they teach. 
The virtues must be commended on 
moral, not on religious grounds. Pa- 
triotism may take root in ignorance; 
for no book of Irish history is to be 
found in the list of Irish national 
school books. When the trained 
teacher is set over a scliool, he still 
regards himself as dependent upon 
the board which is his paymaster. 



Catholic teachers may, and sod 
do, hold opinions different frot 
of the priest, and even upoi 
sions refuse to carry out the 
directions in the matter of n 
teaching. The influence of th 
upon his flock is weakened 
very separation between secul 
religious instruction which is 1 
sis of the system of national 
tion. Protestantism may floui 
der the impartiality, neutralit 
secularization of education at 
the originators of that system 
but Catholicism must inevita 
come deteriorated 

It was in past years the aim 
versal belief of Protestant | 
ments, that an Irish Catholic, 
portion as he ceased to be I 
his spiritual, would advance in 
toward his temporal sovereign 
leration was offered, even und 
zabeth and James, to Catholic 
would abjure the spiritual supi 
of the pope. In modem tin 
same spirit of distrust shows i 
the endeavor, on the part o; 
Protestant statesmen, to offer 
tholics educational and other 
tagcs upon conditions incoi 
with Catholic practices. Thos 
ly err who thus fancy that Grc 
tain will gain — either politicall 
ligiously — by the undermining 
influence of the Catholic priei 
or by leavening the education 
tholics with the spirit of seci 
tion. The Irish Catholic n 
taught to unlearn his faith, to ; 
confession, and disobey the 
tions of his priest; but no oi 
say that thereby he becomes, 
sarily, either a better Christia 
better subject to his sovereign, 
a one may, or may not, bee 
Protestant or an infldeL Wl 
influence of the priest is we 
or destroyed, the Irish Cathc 
comes an easy victim to tho 



Ireland's Mission. 



199 



>yalty and rebellion. But 
into treason should be as- 
the fact not of his being a 
)ut of his being a bad one. 
Zlatholic who values the sa- 
and respects the precepts 
rch, could possibly join the 
2 brotherhoods denounced 
Jiolic priest from the altar, 
shops in pastorals, and by 
himself. There are, how- 
aany Irish Catholics whose 
to their church is partial, 
linal. Perhaps these men 
; in Irish national schools 

that religion, like every 
has its appointed time and 
.t Catholic devotion fonns 
disable portion of secular 
id that priestly interven- 
airs not strictly religious is 
Qd impertinent. The want 
Catholic training in early 
ess has led many an adult 
o hold that a priest out- 
proper sphere of his office, 
cautions his flock against 
iry excesses. 

jdirected and uncatholic 
ccasions many Irish Catho- 
come rebels in thought if 
d, their education has ad- 
d is advancing in another 
IS to render their treason 
erous. Irishmen in former 

prompt to seize occasions 
Tthrow of British rule, but 
tain qualities requisite for 
success. They seemed in- 
)r any length of time, of 
action and resolution in the 
le cabinet. They carried 
the dissensions and jealou- 
r divided council-chambers. 
iisplays of military valor 
y to mark more distinctly 
"Sects of indecision and in- 
ion. Victory itself was of- 
[dude to that demoraliza- 
which is the worst con- 



sequence of defeat But now the 
Irish are swifUy learning to acquire 
those qualities of organization and 
self-government which will render their 
revolts more formidable and disastrous 
to England than hitherto they have 
proved. Irishmen have shown them- 
selves in American campaigns not 
soldiers merely, but generals, and not 
merely skilful tacticians in handling 
masses of troops before the enemy, 
but also able organizers, clever in 
moulding and disciplining untrained 
materials into elective battalions. Ha- 
bits of promptitude, self-control, and 
self-reliance belong to the Irish- Ame- 
rican in perhaps even a higher degree 
than to the Anglo-Saxon. The num- 
ber is rapidly increasing of Irishmen 
who, having acquired those habits in 
America, repair to Ireland and com- 
municate them in some degree to 
their brethren at home. The pea- 
santry of Ireland — already familiariz- 
ed with trans-Atlantic ideas of inde- 
pendence and republicanism — are apt • 
to become Americanized. Their sym- 
pathies are with the United States 
rather than with England. If war 
broke out between Great Britain and 
the States, no one doubts but that 
the first American army flung upon 
Irish shores would find Ireland one 
vast recruiting field, and that swarms 
of soldiers of Irish descent would fly 
from distant lands to Ireland to lend 
their aid in rendering it, throughout 
its length and breadth, a garrison im- 
pregnable to British attacks. And 
no one doubts but that England — 
even though eventually victorious by 
land and sea — would depart from, 
such a conflict crippled in half heir 
strength. Ireland, alienated irrevo- 
cably, would be to England like a 
paralyzed limb to the combatant, both 
a sign and a source of weakness. At 
no very distant period from the ter- 
mination of such a war, Ireland would 
virtually become an American ouU 



2CX> 



Irelafid's Mission. 



post, and would cease to be an inte- 
gral part of Great Britain. Without 
Ireland to rely upon, England could 
scarcely be expected to maintain a 
position as a first-class power in the 
event of war among European na- 
tions. Mercenary troops might, in- 
deed, for a time supply the want of 
Irish soldiers and sailors. But the 
nation which has to hire foreign 
troops to fight its battles is already 
in decay. 

It is possible, however, that Ire- 
land, instead of becoming the occasion 
of ruin and dismemberment to the 
British empire, may prove its main- 
stay and the bond of its integrity. 
If Ireland shall become prosperous 
and contented under the changed po- 
licy of England, if its population shall 
increase under prosperity, and if its 
nationality shall be recognized and 
fostered — ^then no combination of Eu- 
ropean foes, unaided by America, can 
hope to prevail against the United 
' Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. 
But why should America withhold her 
hand, when opportunity shall have 
presented itself for dealing a blow 
in repayment of old wrongs aggra- 
vated by recent disputes? France 
may demand the armed assistance of 
the States, whose existence as an in- 
dependent government she so power- 
fully helped to create. He reads ill 
the face of nations who fails to per- 
ceive that the great body of Ameri- 
cans desire to see the pride of Eng- 
land humbled, and that they are trea- 
suring up their wrath against the day 
of wrath. The native-bom Ameri- 
cans are moved by the transmitted 
rancor of past injustice. Those of 
Irish and Catholic descent have the 
wrongs of Ireland and of the Catholic 
Church to avenge. All the traditions 
of faith and patriotism are now array- 
ed against England, and the influence 
of the Irish and Catholic population 
of the States is sufficient to decide the 



political action of Congre 
eventuality of the reasonal 
war with Great Britain b( 
subject for discussion. Yel 
and Catholic element in t 
can population might, und 
stances to be created by E 
licy, prove the means of ; 
from an almost fi'atricidal c 
two great empires. Irelan< 
come so linked to England 
blow struck against Engla 
equally harm Ireland. An 
ed legislation concerning t 
Ireland may lead to the br 
absentee landlordism, and 
tens of thousands of owners 
piers in place of the few hu: 
dal proprietors who now e: 
rents from an impoverished 
The multiplication of rcsid 
ing farm-owners may afFo 
nerative and permanent c 
to numerous agricultural la 
whom there now offers only 
mittent and precarious era 
The agricultural prosperity 
is a powerful bond of union 
land, the nearest and best r 
Irish produce. Another be 
ion may be found in the gn 
islative independence, or sue 
fication of the present pari 
system as may place the d 
purely Irish interests in the 
Irish representatives, satisf) 
desires of the patriotic, and 
room for sentimental grie^ 
fester into international fei 
Catholic religion, subjected 
abilities in either kingdom, 
shadowed by no hostile esta 
— for Englishmen themselvc 
years will remove their prese 
establishment in the interesi 
church and of Protestani 
form another tie between 
tries. English Catholics ha 
been loyal to the British go 
Irish Catholics may becon 



Ireland*s Mission, 



20I 



loyal. Education may render the 
rough Irish laborers, who frequent 
the centres of English commerce and 
manufacture, as loyal as the most loy- 
al in England, and a valuable coun- 
terpoise to the ultra-democratic semi- 
infidels who form the dangerous mobs 
of London, Liverpool, and other vast 
trading and industrial cities. And if 
Ae social and political interests of 
Catholic Irishmen and of Catholics 
in England become recognized as 
identical with those of English Pro- 
testants, then the union between Great 
Britain and Ireland will be completely 
consolidated, and the Irish party in 
America will have neither excuse nor 
0{^)ortunity for joining any other par- 
ty which may desire, disregarding the 
vdfare of Ireland, to inflict a wound 
ttpon Great Britain. On the con- 
trary, the Irish and Catholic element 
m the States will be both able and 
willing to throw its effective influence 
into the scale upon the side of peace 
and good-will, whenever the differences 
between the cabinets of London and 
Washington demand settlement. Ire- 
land will thus indirectly become the 
mediator between the contending em- 



pires — the arbiter to reconcile the ang- 
ry parent and the aggrieved son. But 
Ireland, to be enabled to act this part, 
must be cherished as Irish and Catho- 
lic, with its nationality unimpaired and 
its faith untrammelled. And if the po- 
litical interests of Great Britain shall 
be served by the flourishing condition 
of Irish Catholicism, the religious in- 
terests of Protestant England will not 
necessarily be damaged. Nay, it may 
prove an advantage to Protestantism 
to be brought upon equal terms into 
close and harmonious relations with the 
fervent faith of the Catholic Church, 
which nowhere appears to greater ad- 
vantage than in Ireland. Rational- 
ism and scepticism are on the in- 
crease in Great Britain and elsewhere, 
and will prove far more dangerous 
neighbors than the Church of Rome 
to the Church of England. Infideli- 
ty is an enemy against whom both 
would do well, if not to unite their 
strength, at least to direct their sepa- 
rate attacks. As rivals in opposing 
vice and unbelief, they may learn to re- 
spect each other, and, alas ! have be- 
fore them a field only too ample for 
their most vigorous exertions. 



MARY. 

Sweet name of Mary, name of names save One — 
And that, my Queen, so wedded unto thine 
Our hearts hear both in either, and enshrine 

Instinctively the Mother with the Son — 

The lisping child's new accent has begun. 

Heaven-taught, with thee ; first-fervent happy youth 
Makes thee the watchword of its maiden truth ; 

Repentant age the hope of the undone. 

To me, known late but timely, thou hast been 
The noon-day freshness of a wooded height; 
A vale of soothing waters ; the delight 

Of fadeless verdure in a desert scene ; 

And when, ere long, my day shall set serene, 
Be Hesper • to an eve without a night. 



B. D. H. 



*Tbe ereaing star. 



202 



Emerson s Pros€ Works. 



EMERSON'S PROSE WORKS* 



Mr. Emerson's literary reputation 
is established, and placed beyond the 
reach of criticism. No living writer 
surpasses him in his mastery of pure 
and classic English, or equals him in 
the exquisite delicacy and finish of his 
chiselled sentences, or the metallic 
ring of his style. It is only as a 
thinker and teacher that we can ven 
ture any inquiry into his merits ; and 
as such we cannot suffer ourselves to 
be imposed upon by his oracular man- 
ner, nor by the apparent originality 
either of his views or his expressions. 

Mr. Emerson has had a swarm 
both of admirers and of detractors. 
With many he is a philosopher and 
sage, almost a god ; while with others 
he is regarded as an unintelligible 
mystic, babbling nonsense just fitted 
to captivate beardless yoimg men and 
silly maidens with pretty curls, who 
constituted years ago the great body 
of his hearers and worshippers. We 
rank ourselves in neither class, though 
we regard him as no ordinary man, 
and as one of the deepest thinkers, as 
well as one of the first poets, of our 
country. We know him as a polish- 
ed gentleman, a genial companion, 
and a warm-hearted friend, whose 
kindness does not pass over indivi- 
duals and waste itself in a vague phi- 
lanthropy. So much, at least, we can 
say of tlie man, and from former per- 
sonal acquaintance as well as from the 
study of his writings, 

Mr. Emerson is no theorist, and is 
rather of a practical than of a specu- 
lative turn of mind. \Vhat he has 
sought all his life, and perhaps is still 
seeking, is the real, the universal, and 
the permanent in the events of life 

♦ Tkt Prose Works of Ralph WmJdo Emurson, 
New and revised edition. Boston : Fields, Onsood 
St Ca 1870. a vols. z6iiioi 



and the objects of experien 
son of a Protestant minister 
up in a Protestant commu: 
himself for some years a 1 
minister, he early learned 
real, the universal, and perm 
not to be found in Prote 
and assuming that Protests 
some or all its forms, is t 
exponent of the Christian re! 
very naturally came to the c< 
that they are not to be found 
tianity. He saw that Prot 
is narrow, hollow, unreal, a 
humbug, and, ignorant of tl: 
lie Church and her teaching 
sidered that she must have I 
ality, be even more of a shan 
bug, than Protestantism itself, 
ed then naturally to the concli 
all pretensions to a supcrnat 
vealed religion are founded 
ignorance or craft, and rej 
of all religions, except what 
found in them that accords 
soul or the natural reason of 
This may be gathered from 
essay, entitled Nature^ first \ 
in 1836. We quote a few pa 
from the introduction : 

** Our age is retrospective. It 
sepulchres of the fathers. It wri 
phies, histories, and criticism, 
going generations beheld Ciod a 
face to face ; we through their c) 
should not we also enjoy an origin 
to the universe ? Why should m 
a poetry and a philosophy of insig 
of tradition, and a religion by re 
us, and not a history of theirs ? 
sun shines to-day also. There is 
ahd flax in the fields. There are 1 
new men, new thoughts. Let us d 
own works, and laws, and worshi 

"Undoubtedly we have no qu 
ask which are unanswerable, 
trust the perfection of creation k 
believe that wbaterw cuiodtjr di 



Evi€rsons Prose Works. 



203 



LS awakened in our minds, the order 
can satisfy. Every man's condi- 
. solution in hieroglyphic to those 
he would puL He acts it as life 
e apprehends it as truth. In like 
nature is already, in its forms and 
», describing its own design. Let 
rogate the great apparition that 
» peacefully around us. Let us in- 

> what end is nature ? 

dence has one aim, to find a theory 
e. We have theories of races and 
cms, but scarcely yet a remote ap- 

> an idea of creation. We are now 
>in the road to truth that religious 
dispute and hate each other, and 
ve men are deemed unsound and 
. But to a sound judgment, the 
;tract truth is the most practical. 
nr a true theory appears, it will be 
evidence. Its test is, that it will 
all phenomena. Now many are 
not only unexplained, but inexpli- 
( language, sleep, madness, dreams, 
ex." (Vol. i. pp. 5, C.) 

e extracts give us the key to 
nerson's thought, which runs 
I all his writings, whether in 
►r poetry; though more fully 
A and better defined in his 
oductions, essays, and lectures, 
was in his earliest production 
hicli we have quoted. In stu- 
hese volumes, we are convinc- 
t what the writer is after is 
of which this outward, visible 
e, both as a whole and in all 
s, symboUzes. He seeks life, 
ith ; the living present, not the 
of the past. Under this visi- 
rld, its various and ever-vary- 
enomena, lies the real world, 
lentical, universal, and immu- 
which it copies, mimics, or 
lizes. He agrees with Plato 
le real thing is in the methexis, 
I the mimesis ; that is, in the 
not in the individual and the 
le, the variable and the perish- 
He wants unity and catholici- 
d the science that does not at- 
^m is no real science at all. 
g tt« mimesis, in his language 
|i|0|^]rpluc, copies or imitates 



the methexic, we can, by studying it, 
arrive at the methexic, the reality 
copied or imitated. 

We do not pretend to understand 
Plato throughout, nor to reconcile 
him always with himself; but as far 
as we do understand him, the reality, 
what must be known in order to have 
real science, is the idea, and it is only 
by ideas that real science is attained. 
Ideas are, then, both the object and 
the medium of knowledge. As the 
medium of knowledge, the idea may 
be regarded as the image it impresses 
on the mimetic, or the individual and 
the sensible, as the seal on the wax. 
This image or impression is an exact 
facsimile of the idea as object. Hence 
by studying it we arrive at the exact 
knowledge of the idea, or what is 
real, invariable, universal, and perma- 
nent in the object we would know. 
The lower copies and reveals the next 
higher, and thus we may rise, step by 
step, from the lowest to the highest, 
to " the first good and the first fair," to 
the good, the beautiful, or Being that 
is being in itself. Thus is it in sci- 
ence. But the soul has two wings on 
which it soars to the empyrean, in- 
telligence and love. The lowest form 
or stage of love is that of the sexes, 
a love of the senses only; but this 
lowest love symbolizes a higher or 
ideal love, rising stage by stage to 
the pure ideal, or the love of absolute 
beauty, the beautiful in itself, the love 
to which the sage aspires, and the 
only love in which he can rest or find 
repose. 

We do not say that Mr. Emerson 
follows Plato in all respects; for he 
occasionally deviates from him, some- 
times for the better, and sometimes 
for the worse; but no one not tolera- 
bly well versed in the Platonic philo- 
sophy can understand him. In his 
two essays on Plato, in his second vo- 
lume, he calls him the Philosopher, 
and asserts that all who talk phHoso- 



204 



Emerson s Prose Works. 



phy talk Plato. He also maintains 
that Plato represented all the ages 
that went before him, possessed all 
the science of his contemporaries, and 
that none who have come after him 
have been able to add any thing new 
to what he taught. He includes 
Christianity, Judaism, and Mohamme- 
danism in Plato, who is far broader 
and more comprehensive than them 
all. Plato of all men bom of woman 
stood nearest the truth of things, and 
in his intellectual and moral doctrines 
surpassed all who went before or have 
come after him. 

We find many things in Plato that 
we like, and we entirely agree with 
him that the ideal is real; but we do 
not agree with Mr. Emerson, that no- 
thing in science has been added to 
the Platonic doctrine. We think Aris- 
totle made an important addition in 
his doctrine of entelechia ; Leibnitz, 
in his definition of substance, making 
it a vis activa^ and thus exploding the 
notion of passive or inert substances; 
and finally, Gioberti, by his doctrine of 
creation as a doctrine, or rather prin- 
ciple, of science. Plato had no con- 
ception of the creative act asserted 
by Moses in the first verse of Genesis. 
Plato never rose above the conception 
of the production of existences by 
way of formation, or the operation 
of the j)lastic force on a preexisting 
and often intractable matter. He 
never conceived of the creation of 
existences from nothing by the sole 
energy or pow^er of the creator. He 
held to the eternal existence of spirit 
and matter, and we owe to him prin- 
cipally the dualism and antagonism 
that have originated the false asceti- 
cism which many attribute to Chris- 
tian teaching; but which Christiani- 
ty rejects, as is evident from its doc- 
trine of the Incarnation and that of 
the resurrection of the flesh. Gio- 
berti has shown, as the writer thinks, 
that creation is no less a scientific 



principle than a Christian 
He has shown that the ere 
is the nexus between being s 
tences, and that it enters as 
pula into the printum philo. 
without which there could b 
man mind, and consequent!] 
man science. There are vai 
er instances we might adduce 
people talk very good sen 
profound philosophical and 
cal truth, and yet do not ta 
We hardly tliink Mr. Emen 
self will accept all the moral < 
of Plato*s Republic, cspccia 
relating to marriage and the 
cuous intercourse of the s( 
Plato goes a little beyond ' 
free-lovers have as yet propo 
Aristotle gives us, undoul 
philosoi)hy, such as it is, and 
sophy that enters largely into 
modes of thought and exj 
but we can hardly say as i 
Plato. He has profound t 
no doubt, and many glimpj 
high — if you will, the highest 
truth; but only when he a 
follows tradition, and speaks 
ing to the wisdom of the ; 
He seems to us to give us a 
rather than a philosophy, a 
little of our modem philosoph 
guage is derived fi*om him. 
of the Greek fathers, and St. 
tine among the Latins, in< 
Platonism ; but none of then 
as we are acquainted with tl: 
lowed him throughout The 
val doctors, though not ignc 
Plato, almost without an e: 
prefer Aristotle. ITie revival 
tonism in the fifteenth and % 
centuries brought with it a re 
heathenism ; and Plato has sir 
held in much higher esteem 
heterodox and makers of 
systems than with the oftbo 
simple believecs. We timoe 1 
ence in «luiMlM>«a 



Emerson* s Prose Works. 



20S 



ich is of pagan origin, though 
»ple are ill-informed enough 
it it to the church ; and we 
his doctrine of love, so at- 
o many writers not in other 
without merit, the modern 
bout " the heart," the confu- 
larity with philanthropy, and 
oral doctrines of free love, 
ike at Christian marriage and 
stian family. The "heart," 
guage of the Holy Scriptures, 
e affections of the will, and 
they enjoin as the fulfilment 
Lw and the bond of perfec- 
harity, a supernatural virtue, 
both the will and the under- 
are operative, not a simple, 
entiment, or affection of the 
jr, or the love of the beauti- 
lependent on the imagination, 
Imerson is right enough in 
the sensible copy or imitate 
ligible, what there is true in 
org's doctrine of correspon- 
but wrong in making the mi- 
irely phenomenal, unreal, a 
ise-show. The mimetic, the 
by which Plato means the 
il and the sensible, the varia- 
the transitory, is not the only 
the highest real, as sensists 
erialists hold; but is as real 
der and degree as the me- 
: ideal. Hence, St. Thomas 
to maintain that the sen- 
cies, or accidents, as he calls 
n subsist without their sub- 
as we would say, the sensible 
thout the intelligible body; 
efore, that the doctrine of tran- 
iation involves no contradic- 
r it is not pretended that the 
body undergoes any change, 
he sensible body of our Lord 
nt in the blessed eucharist. 
igustine distinguishes the visi- 
\ -sensible — body and the spi- 
iirilicihlr — body, and holds 
The individual is as 



real as the species — the socraiiias^ in 
the language of the schoolmen, as the 
humanitas — for neither is possible 
without the other. The sort of ideal- 
ism, as it is called, that resolves the 
individual into the species, or the sen- 
sible into the intelligible, and thus 
denies the external world, is as un- 
philosophical as the opposite doctrine, 
that resolves the species into the in- 
dividual and the intelligible into the 
sensible. Even Plato, the supposed 
father of idealism, does not make the 
mimesis absolutely unreal. For, to 
say nothing of the preexistent matter, 
the image, picture, which is the exact 
copy of its ideal prototype, is a real 
image, picture, or copy. 

But Mr. Emerson, if he recognizes 
the methexis at all, either confounds 
it with real and necessary being, or 
makes it purely phenomenal, and 
therefore unreal, as distinguished from 
real and necessary being. Methexis 
is a Greek word, and means, etymolo- 
gically and as used by Plato, partici- 
pation. Plato's doctrine is, that all 
inferior existences exist by participa- 
tion of the higher, through the medi- 
um of what he calls the plastic soul, 
whence the Demiourgos of the Gnos- 
tics. His error was in making the 
plastic soul instead of the creative act 
of God the medium of the participa- 
tion. Still, Plato made it the partici- 
pation of ideas or the ideal, and, in 
the last analysis, of Him who is being 
in himself. Hence, he made a dis- 
tinction, if not the proper distinction, 
between the methexis and God, or 
being by participation and the abso- 
lute underived being, or being in 
itself 

Mr. Emerson recognizes no real 
participation, and either excludes the 
methexis or identifies it with God, or 
absolute being. He thus reduces the 
categories, as does Cousin, to being 
and phenomenon, or, in the only bar- 
barism in language he permits himself, 



206 



Emersotis Prose Works. 



the ME — te mot — and the not-me — U 
rton moi — the root-error, so to speak, 
of Fichte. He takes himself as the 
central force, and holds it to be the 
realjty expressed in the not-me. The 
NOT-ME being purely phenomenal, 
only the me is real. By the me he, 
of course, does ndt mean his own 
personality, but the reality which un- 
derlies and expresses itself in it. The 
absolute Ich, or ego, of Fichte is iden- 
tical in all men, is the real man, the 
" one man," as Mr. Emerson says ; 
and this " one man " is the reality, 
the being, the substance, the force 
of the whole phenomenal universe. 
There is, then, no methexis imitated, 
copied, or mimicked by the mimesis, or 
the individual and sensible universe. 
The mimesis copies not a participat- 
ed or created intelligible, but, how- 
ever it may be diversified by degrees, 
it copies directly God himself, the 
one real being and only substance of 
all things. If we regard ourselves 
as phenomenal, we are unreal, and 
therefore nothing ; if as real, as sub- 
stantive, as force, we do not partici- 
pate, mcdiante the creative act, of real 
being, but are identically it, or identi- 
cal with it; which makes the author 
not only a pantheist, but a more un- 
mitigated pantheist than Plato him- 
self. 

Neither Plato nor Mr. Emerson 
recognizes any causative force in the 
mimesis. Plato recognizes causative 
force only in ideas, though he con- 
cedes a » power of resistance to the 
prcexistent matter, and finds in its in- 
tractahleness the cause of evil ; Mr. 
P'.merson recognizes causative or pro- 
ductive force only in the absolute, 
and therefore denies the existence of se- 
cond cause;;, as he does all distinct on 
between first cause and final cause; 
which is the very essence of panthe- 
ism, which Gioberti riglitly terms the 
'* supremo sophism." 

We have used the Greek terms 



pietJiexis and mhtusis after 

Gioberti has done in his po 

works, but not precisely in < 

sense. Gioberti identifies 

thexis with the plastic soul 

by Plato, and revived by o 

Cud worth, an Anglican divi 

seventeenth century ; but tl 

make the metb.exis causa ti> 

order of second causes, w< 

make it productive of the 

It means what are called ge 

species ; but even in the ore 

cond causes, genera are gem 

productive only as specifica 

species only as individualize 

must have created the genu 

cated and the species indiv 

before either could be activ< 

ductive as second cause. T 

does not and cannot exist 

specification, nor the species 

individualization, any more 

individual can exist without 

cies, or the species without th 

For instance, man is the sp( 

cording to the schoolmen, tJ 

is animal, the differentia is 

and hence man is defined i 

al animal. But the genus 

though necessary to its existe 

not generate the species ir 

more than it could have g 

itself. The species can exist 

immediately individuated by 

cause, and hence the pretence 

scientists— more properly sci 

that new species are formed c 

dcvelq:)ment or by natural s 

is simply absurd, as has Ix 

shown by the Duke of Argyl 

creates the species as well as 

nera; and it is fairly infem 

the Scriptures that he crc 

things in their genera and 

"after their kind." • Further 

God had not created the 

species individualized in Ada 

and female, there could have 

men by natural geoentioii, H 



Effursan's Prose Works. 



2oy 



re had been no human 
U. 

¥e understand it, excludes 
istic soul of the Platonists 
miourgos of the Gnostics, 
3 that the mimesis is as 
ated by God himself as 
s. Mr. Emerson, indeed, 
• of these Platonic terms, 
e had, he would, with his 
of the Christian doctrine 

have detected the error 
d most likely have escap- 
. The term methexis — 
1— -excludes the old error 
generates the universe, 
iier favored by the terms 
jpvecies. We use the term 
luse it serves to us to ex- 
LCt that the lower copies 
the higher, and therefore 
le of St. Thomas, that 

similitudo rerum omni- 

God is himself the type or 
which the universe is creat- 
h each and every existence 
rder and degree strives to 
esent. The error of Pla- 
e makes the methexis an 
ather than a creature, and 
power that produces the 
e error of Mr. Emerson, 

the matter, is, that he 
mimetic purely phenome- 
•e unreal, sinks it in the 
id the methexis itself in 

one only being or sab- 
natura naturans of Spi- 

o, the mimesis is the pro- 
nelhexic, but is itself pas- 
sooner the soul is emanci- 
t the better; though what 
his system of ideas we un- 
L With Mr. Emerson, it 
live nor passive, for it is 
Dmenal, therefore nothing. 
\ real, and, like all real ex- 
& active, and is not a sim- 
r copy of the methexic or 



the ideal, but is in its order and de- 
gree a vis activay and copies or imi- 
tates actively the divine type or the 
idea exemplaris in the divine mind, 
after which it is created. 

Mr. Emerson says, in the introduc- 
tion to his essay on Nature^ " Philo- 
sophically considered, the universe is 
composed of nature and soul." But 
all activity is in the soul, and what is 
distinguishable from the soul is purely 
phenomenal, and, if we may take his 
essay on the Over-soul^ not republish- 
ed in these volumes, is but the soul's 
own projection of itself. The soul 
alone is active, productive, and it is 
myself, my own ego; not indeed in its 
personal limitations and feebleness, 
but in its absoluteness, as the abso- 
lute or impersonal Ich of Fichte, and 
identically God, who is the great, the 
absolute I am. 

The error is obvious. It consists 
in the denial or in the overlooking of 
the fact that God creates substances, 
and that every substance is, as Leib- 
nitz defines it, a force, a vis activa^ 
acting always from its own centre 
outward. Whatever actually exists 
is active, and there is and can be no 
passivity in nature. Hence, Aristotle 
and the schoolmen after him call 
God, who is being and being in its 
plenitude, actus purissimus^ or most 
pure act, in whom there are no possi- 
bilities to be actualized. Mr. Emerson 
errs in his first principles, in not re- 
cognizing the fact that God creates 
substances, and that every substance 
is an activity, therefore causative either 
ad intra or ad extra, and that eve- 
ry created substance is causative in 
the order of second causes. What 
we maintain in opposition both to 
him and Plato is, that these created 
substances are at once methexic and 
mimetic in their activity. 

It were an easy task to show that 
whatever errors there may be, or may 
be supposed to be, in Mr. Emerson's 



2o8 



Emerson s Prose Works. 



works grow out of the two fundamen- 
tal errors we have indicated — the 
identification of soul, freed from its 
personal limitations, as in Adam, 
John, and Richard, with God, or the 
real being, substance, force, or activi- 
ty, and the assumption that whatever 
is distinguishable from God is purely 
phenomenal, an apparition, a sense- 
show, a mere bubble on the surface 
of the ocean of being, as we pointed 
out in our comments on the proceed- 
ings of the Free Religionists, in the 
magazine for last November, and to 
which we beg leave to refer our rea- 
ders. 

Yet, though we have known Mr. 
Emerson personally ever since 1836, 
have held more than one conversa- 
tion with him, listened to several 
courses of lectures from him, and 
read and even studied the greater 
part, if not all of his works, as they 
issued from the press, we must con- 
fess that, in reperusing them prepara- 
tory to writing this brief notice, we 
have been struck, as we never were 
before, with the depth and breadth 
of his thought, as well as with the 
singular force and beauty of his ex- 
pression. We appreciate him much 
higher both as a thinker and as an 
observer, and we give him credit for 
a depth of feeling, an honesty of pur- 
pose, an earnest seeking after truth, we 
had not previously awarded him in so 
great a degree, either publicly or pri- 
vately. We are also struck with his 
near approach to the truth as we are 
taught it. He seems to us to come 
as near to the truth as one can who 
is so unhappy as to miss it. 

We regard it as Mr. Emerson's 
great misfortune, that his early Pro- 
testant training led him to regard 
the Catholic question as res adjucata, 
and to take Protestantism, in some 
one or all of its forms, as the truest 
and best exponent of Christianity. 



Protestantism is narrow, su 
unintellectual, vague, indefii 
tarian, and it was easy for 
like his to pierce through it 
pretensions, to discover its ui 
character, its want of life, its 
ty, and its emptiness. It was 
cult to comprehend tl^at it ' 
a dead corse, and a mutilat 
at that. The Christian my 
professed to retain, as it he 
were lifeless dogmas, with n* 
cal bearing on life, and no 1 
the world for believing then 
a system, having no relation 
living and moving world, an( 
son in the nature or constit 
things, could not satisfy a li^ 
thinking man, in downright 
for a truth at least as broai 
living as his own soul. It 
little, too insignificant, too t 
too much of a dead and p 
body to satisfy either his int 
his heart. If that is the tn 
nent of Christianity, and t 
enlightened portion of man 
it is, why shall I belie my 
derstanding, my own bettei 
by professing to believe and r 
it ? No ; let me be a man 
to myself, to my own reasor 
stincts, not a miserable time-2 
a contemjitible hypocrite. 

If Mr. Emerson had not 
to regard the Catholic que 
closed, except to the dweller 
tombs, and to the ignorant 
perstitious, and had studied tl: 
with half the diligence he h 
Mohammed, or Swedenboi 
possible that he would hai 
in Christianity the life an 
the reality, unity, and cathc 
has so long and so eamestl 
elsewhere and found not 
it is, that whatever afiirmat 
he holds is held and taugh 
church in its proper placc^ 



Emerson* s Prase Works. 



209 



nd in its integrity. The 
s not live in the past 
only among tombs; she 
r-present and ever-living 
I presents to us not a dead 
i^hrist, but the ever-living 
"esent Christ, as really and 
it to us as he was to the 
id apostles with whom he 
when he went about in 
ig good, without having 
ay his head, and not more 
1 our sight now than he 
om theirs. Does she not 
blime mystery of the Real 
'hich, if an individual fact, 
liversal principle ? 
istian system, if we may so 
It an after-thought in crea- 
mething superinduced on 
's works. It has its ground 
I in the very constitution 

All the mysteries taught 

enjoined by the church 
al principles ; they are tru- 
the very principles accord- 
ch the universe, visible or 

constructed, and not one 
m be denied without de- 
st principle of life and of 
dr. Emerson says, in a pas- 
ave quoted, "All science 
1, namely, to find a theory 
' and seems to concede 
not yet succeeded in find- 
r church goes beyond even 
science, and gives, at least 

give, not a theory of truth, 
th itself; she is not a me- 
hat to which the true me- 
She is the body of Him 
le way, the truth, and the 
ives us, not as the philoso- 
ricws of the truth, but the 

in its reality, its unity, its 
ta universality, its immuta- 
kist such is her profession ; 
ifli she leaches is the sul> 
msitasis— of the things to 
iTbii and the evidence of 

-14 



things not seen — substantia speranda^ 
rum^ argumentum non apparentium. 

Such being her profession, made 
long before Protestantism was bom, 
and continued to be made since with 
no stammering tongue or abatement 
of confidence, the pretence that 
judgment has gone against her is un- 
founded. Many have condemned 
her, as the Jewish Sanhedrim con- 
demned our Lord, and called on the 
Roman Procurator to execute judg- 
ment against him; but she has no 
more staid condemned than he 
staid confined in the new tomb hewn 
from the rock in which his body was 
laid, and far more are they who ad- 
mit her professions among the en- 
lightened and civilized than they who 
deny them. No man has a right to 
be regarded as a philosopher or sage 
who has not at least thoroughly exam- 
ined her titles, and made up his mind 
with a full knowledge of the cause. 

In the Catholic Church we have 
found the real presence, and unity, 
and catholicity which we sought 
long and earnestly, and could find no- 
where else, and which Mr. Emerson, 
after a still longer and equally earnest 
search, has not found at all. He 
looks not beyond nature, and nature 
is not catholic, universal, or the whole. 
It is not one, but manifold and varia- 
ble. It cannot tell its origin, medi- 
um, or end. With all the light Mr. 
Emerson has derived from nature, or 
from nature and soul united, there is 
infinite darkness behind, infinite dark- 
ness before, and infinite darkness all 
around him. He says, " Every man's 
condition is a solution in hieroglyphic 
of those inquiries he would put." 
Suppose it is so, what avail is that to 
him who has lost or never had the 
key to the hieroglyph ? Knows he to 
interpret the hieroglyph in which the 
solution is concealed ? Can he read 
the riddle of the sphinx? He has 
tried his hand at it in his poem of t]:ie 



210 



Emersoris Prose Works. 



Sphinx, and has only been able to an- 
swer that 

" Each answer b a lie.** 

It avaib us little to be told where the 
solution Ls, if we are not told what it 
is, or if only told that every solution 
is false as soon as told. Hear him ; 
to man he says, 

** Thou art the unanswered question ; 

CouId«t see thy proper eye, 
Alway it askeih, asketh ; 

And each answer is a He ; 
So take thy quest through nature, 

It through a thousand natures ply ; 
Ask on, thou clothed eternity ; 

lime is the false reply." 

The answer, if i£ means any thing, 
means that man is " a clothed eterni- 
ty," whatever that may mean, eter- 
nally seeking an answer to the mys- 
tery of his own being, and each an- 
swer he can obtain is a lie; for only 
eternity can comprehend eternity and 
tell what it is. Whence has he learned 
that man, the man-child, is " a cloth- 
ed eternity," and therefore God, who 
only is eternal ? 

Now, eternity is above time, and 
above the world of time, consequent- 
ly above nature. Catholicity, by the 
very force of the term, must include 
all truth, and therefore the truth of 
the supernatural as well as of the na- 
tural. But Mr. Emerson denies the 
supernatural, and does not, of course, 
even profess to have any knowledge 
that transcends nature. How, then, 
can he pretend to have attained to 
catholic truth ? He himself restricts 
nature to the external universe, which 
is phenomenal, and to soul, by which 
he means himself. But are there no 
phenomena without being or sub- 
stance which appears or which shows 
itself in them ? Is this being or sub- 
stance the soul, or, in the barbarism 
he adopts, the me ? If so, the not- 
ME is only the phenomena of the me, 
and of course identical with mystrlf, 
as he implies in what he says of the 
" one man." Then in me, and ema- 



nating from me, are all men 
whole of nature. How docs 
this ? Does he learn it iix)r 

Of course, Mr. Emerso 
not this, even if his various 
ces imply it. He uses the ? 
iiorty and we suppose he intc 
withstanding his systematic 
such he has, contradict it, to 
its proper sense. Then he u 
the universe, including, aca 
his division, nature and soul, 
created, and if created, it has j 
The creator must be superi< 
nature and soul, and therefo 
strictest sense of the word si 
ral ; and as reason is the hi 
culty of the soul, the sup 
must also be supra-rational. 

Does the creator create fc 
pose, for an end ? and if so, 
that end or purpose, and the 
or means of fulfilling it, whi 
his part or on the part of 1 
ture ? Here, then, we have 
sertion of a whole order of tri 
real and very important to b< 
which transcends the truth \ 
erson professes to have, and 
not included in it. We sa' 

• 

then, that he has not attaine 
tholicity, and we also say tha 
only method he admits, he 
attain to it. How can he pm 
have attained to catholicity, a 
he has ah-eady a truth more i 
than Christianity reveals, n 
must confess that without th 
ledge of a supernatural anc 
rational truth he cannot exj 
origin or end, or know the co 
of his existence, or the means 
ing his end ? 

Mr. Emerson says, as i 
quoted him, 

" Undoubtedly we have no qq< 
ask which are unanswerable. ^ 
trust the perfection of the creatioa 
to believe that whatever curiositj 
of things has awakened in ov m 
order of thingii en nlfii^.** 



Emmrsmis Prose Works. 



axx 



Ahvay it aaketh. asketh. 
And each answer is a lie. 

iie is here a grand mistake. If 
d said the Creator instead of 
»D, there would have been truth 
eat propriety in the author's as- 
. Nature — and we mean by na- 
c whole created order — excites 
ask many very troublesome 
ms, which nature is quite in- 
tent to answer. The fact that 
is created, proves that she is, 
\ a whole and in all her parts, 
lent, not independent, and 
re does not and cannot suffice 
idf. Unable to suffice for her- 
e cannot suffice for the science 
df ; for science must be of that 
is, not of that which is not. 
Emerson, we presume, struck 
kc narrowness and inconsisten- 
' all the religions he had stu- 
ind finding that they are all 
e and transitory in their forms, 
>ught that he also discovered 
ling in them, or underlying them 
ich is universal, invariable, and 
lent, and which they are all 
efforts of the great soul to re- 
He therefore came to the con- 
that the sage can accept none 
« narrow, variable, and transi- 
»nns, and yet can reject none 
n as to the great, invariable, 
aderlying principles, which in 
all they have that is real or 
ble. To distinguish between 
insient and permanent in reli- 
ras the common aim of the 
L movement from 1830 to 184 1, 
ire ourselves began to turn our 
aind, though very timidly and 



at a great distance, toward the church. 
Mr. Emerson, Miss Margaret Fuller, 
A. Bronson Alcott, and Mr. Theodore 
Parker regarded the permanent ele- 
ments of all religions as the natural 
patrimony or products of human na- 
ture. The present writer differed 
from them, by ascribing their origin 
to supernatural revelation made to 
our first parents in the garden, uni- 
versally diffiised by the dispersion of 
the race, and transmitted to us by 
the traditions of all nations. Follow- 
ing out this view, the grace of God 
moving and assisting, we found our 
way to the Catholic Church, in which 
the form and the invariable and per- 
manent principle, or rather, the form 
growing out of the principle, are inse- 
parable, and are fitted by the divine 
hand to each other. 

The others, falling back on a sort 
of ti:anscendental illuminism, sunk into 
pure naturalism, where such of them 
as are still living, and a whole brood 
of young disciples who have sprung 
up since, remain, and, like the old 
Gnostics, suppose themselves spiritual 
men and women in possession of the 
secret of the imiverse. There was 
much life, mental activity, and hon- 
est purpose in the movement; but 
those who had the most influence in 
directing its course could not believe 
that any thing good could come out 
of Nazareth, and so turned their backs 
on the church. They thought they 
could find something deeper, broad- 
er, and more living than Christianity, 
and have lost not only the transient, 
but even the permanent in religion* 



f»- . 



.S- ;■; 



ai3 



The Holy-Week of 1869 in Havana. 



THE HOLY-WEEK OF 1869 IN HAVANA. 

GOOD-FRIDAY. HOLY-SATURDAV. EASTER-SUNDAY. 



GOOD-FRIDAY. 

Sad indeed was the aspect of all 
things within the cathedral on Good- 
Friday morning. Black draperies 
covered the pulpit, reading-desks, and 
seats reserved for the authorities, and 
every one was attired in mourning. 
Instead of the rose-color and blue of 
Holy-Thursday, the ladies now wore 
blade or violet silks and satins with jet 
ornaments. 

All the personages of the preceding 
day were present, and the religious 
services were in nowise different from 
those of the Catholic Church in other 
lands, with the exception that, in the 
reading of the passion, at the words 
*^gave vp the ghost y^ all knelt, but did 
not kiss the ground, as is the custom 
in France. 

During the adoration of the cross, 
in which the captain-general, apparent- 
ly almost too ill to stand, and the other 
gentlemen took part, the choir sang 
die beautiful hymn Ringe lingua^ with 
its tender biurden of Cnixfidelis, Ne- 
ver did it sound to me more touching. 

** sing, O my tongue I the Victoria praise ; 
For him the nc^lest trophy raise, 
The victory of his cross prodaim» 
His glory and his laurelled fame ; 
Sing of his conquests, when he profred 
The Saviour of the souls he loved. 

O ftithful crass I thou 8tand*st alone ; 
None like thee in our woods is growup 
None can with thy rich growth compare. 
Or leaves like thine, or flowerets bear. 
Sweet wood, sweet nails, both sweet and fair, 
Sweet is the precious weight ye bear." 

The adoration terminated, the pro- 
cession was formed, exactly as on the 
day before, to bring back the Blessed 
Sacrament from the sepulchre. On 
reaching the foot of the steps, the 
captain-general delivered up to the bi- 
shop the key he had worn suspend- 



ed from his neck since the p 
morning. As the procession r 
the noble strains of the Vexi 
resounded through the great 

** The standard of our King onfuiled 
Proclaims triumphant to the world 
The cross, where Life would snfier i 
To gain life with his dying breath I** 

My heart beat faster as I 
to the glorious hymn I 

The communion made, 
were chanted in grave and e 
tones, and the service was coi 
As the bishop descended the 
leave the cathedral, the litl 
of the nuns' schools crowded 
him to kiss his hand ; and it v 
pretty to see them clasp his 
and look up in his kuid fao 
confiding smile. 

As it had been officially ai 
ed that the meditation on th 
words of Jesus on the cross, 1 
ceremony of the descent fr 
cross, to be followed by the 
sion of the interment, were 
place, as is usual every ye; 
afternoon in the church of Sa\ 
de DioSy I determined to be 

At three o'clock, according! 
tioned myself in a shady con 
far from the principal entra 
San yuariy among a crowd of 8 
volunteers, and colored peopl 
gazed at me inquisitively. I 
like a lady; but my somewhat 
lusian physiognomy, shaded 
black lace mantilla, put then 
little. I heard them at last 
that I was an estranjera^ (sti 
and consequently considered 1 
of, and permittedi any 
without derQgatiii|F 



TJi^ Holy^Wegk of 1869 in Havana. 



9<3 



Twenty minutes passed away 
south wind was blowing, and 
rater-laden clouds were fast 
\ the sky; the heat was very 
ve, and soon heavy drops of 
gan to fall, and every one 
o shelter. I ran back to the 
J, my nearest refuge. The 

had just commenced, and 
ere and listened to the dole- 
Qtations of Jeremiah, and the 

the holy women, mingling 
jC thunder-crashes and the 
the pouring rain, which fell as 
falls within the tropics. It 
combination of sounds not 
» be forgotten. 

ilf-past four, the storm was 
i the sky clear and blue once 
> I determined to hasten to 
an^ and, though too late to 
r meditation, still witness the 
from the cross. To my sur- 
i going to the door I found 
ssible to leave the church; 
le place in front of the cathe- 
i knee-deep in water, and all 
;ts leading from it looked like 
rag rivers! Not until five 
did the water subside suffi- 
to permit me to cross the 
nducting to San yuan, where, 
*, I fortunately arrived in time 
ceremony I so much wished 

iigh altar had been removed, 
ts place, on an elevated plat- 
sre erected three great crosses, 
tre one bearing the image, 
life, of our Saviour, the other 
se of the thieves crucified with 
e face of the repentant sinner 
aed lovingly toward his Lord, 
the unrepentant looked away 
icowL 

figure of the victim was fear- 
tuxal— -the pallor of death was 
Uood-stained brow, the gash 
id^ and his mangled hands 
fivid Two priests. 



mounted on ladders placed against 
the arms of the cross, were in the act 
of taking down the writing when I 
got near enough to see well. At the 
command of the preacher, who had 
just finished the meditation, and who 
directed them from the pulpit, they 
then proceeded to draw out the nail 
from the right hand; when loosened 
from the tree, the arm fell stiffly and 
as if dead ; before the other was freed* 
long and wide linen bands were pass- 
ed under both, and around the body, 
to sustain it and prevent it from fiall^ 
ing forward. Uorad lagrimas de san- 
gre — ^**Weep tears of blood," cried 
the preacher while this was being 
done amid the breathless silence of 
the spectators, "he died for you I" 
So solemnly, so tenderly did the 
priests peifonn their office, that it 
seemed no representation, but dread- 
ful reality, and my cheeks grew cold, 
and my heart throbbed painfully when 
the pale, bruised body was gently 
lowered and borne to the bier wait- 
ing to receive it. 

Yes, this cruel death He died for 
us ; but, O true and loving women 1 
one sweet and proud remembrance will 
be ours for all eternity — our kiss be- 
trayed him not, nor our tongue deni- 
ed— 

" While even the apostle left him to his doom, 
Wt Ungered round hb cross, and watched his tomb I** 

The preacher now descended from 
the pulpit, and quitted the church in 
company with the other assistant 
priests ; and the direction seemed to 
be left in the hands of a fraternity 
called los Hermanos de la Soledad — the 
Brethren of Solitude — a set of tall, fine- 
looking black men, many with thin 
lips and almost Roman noses. They 
were dressed in robes of black glaze* 
ed calico, with white lace tippets. 

A quarter of an hour dapsed ; the 
chiu^ch remained crowded, but there 
were no signs of preparation for the 



ax4 



The Holy 'Week of 1869 i^ Havana. 



' procession. Presently a handsome, 
authoritative-mannered personage, 
evidently a Spaniard, entered hastily, 
and, pushing his way unceremonious- 
ly through the people, sought the 
members of the brotherhood, to whom 
he evidently gave some orders, and 
then went away, A great silence pre- 
vailed, and every one seemed to be 
waiting for something. I at last mus- 
tered up courage to ask a brother when 
the procession would commence. 

No hay procesion hasta el afio que 
viene — ^*^ There will be no procession 
until next year" — ^he answered in a 
very loud voice. 

BsrOy seflor^ en el diario — " But, sir, 
in the newspaper — " I began. " No hay 
procesion hasta el aflo que viene^^ he 
repeated louder still. 

The women broke forth in mur- 
murs; but not a man spoke, though 
compressed lips and scowling brows 
showed sufficiently what was passing 
within. I must not omit to remark 
that the congregation consisted al- 
most entirely of colored Creoles. 

By dint of soft but firmly continued 
pushing, and a pleasant smile when 
the individual I elbowed looked grim- 
ly at me, I forced my way out of the 
disagreeable pack of volunteers and 
negroes, men and boys, that surround- 
ed me, to the chancel, where I found 
a number of well-dressed and respecta- 
ble-looking colored ladies seated on 
the platform. There the discontent 
was louder, and I understood dis- 
tinctly that the disappointment was at- 
tributed more to the ill-will of their ru- 
lers than to the bad state of the weath- 
er. One woman, particularly, exclaim- 
ed angrily several times, and suffi- 
ciently loud to be heard by all in that 
end of the building. Hay procesion 
para los Espafioles^ pero no para noso- 
tros — " There are processions for the 
Spaniards, but not for us." 

However, there was nothing to be 
done but to submit; so a few persons 



went quietly away, and I at 
ceeded in obtaining a close 
the bier. It was in the form 
cophagus with open sides, p 
a trestle concealed by blac 
drapery spotted with silver s 
upper part very tastefully d 
with white and lilac flowers, 
age lying within was covere 
cloth of silver tissue, the h 
feet left bare. Close by stoo 
er trestle, also covered with o: 
ed black velvet, and supp 
small platform, on which s 
figures of the Blessed Virgin, 
grief, holding in her hand a ve 
some lacepocket-handkerchie 
St. John, with a profusion of 
lets, sustaining her in his am 
bier, followed by the Virgin 
John, carried by the membe 
black Hermandady escorted 
diers and military music, and 
panied by a vast number oi 
constitutes the " procession 
termcnt," which every Goo 
(when permitted) leaves the ol 
of San y^uan de Dios^ passes 
many streets of the city, an 
the palace of the captain-gen 
stops at the cathedral, into ■ 
enters, and where the images 
ly deposited with great sc 
This year, as we have seen, 
cession did not take place. 

While examining with inter 
curious remains of the piet; 
first settlers in the island, 
some one cry out. No deja 
saiir — " Let no one go out "• 
the same moment saw some 
lifting up and looking under 
vet draperies as if searching 
one. Five very uncomforti 
nutes followed ; the door by 
had entered was blocked up 
diers and voluntee*^, every 
frightfully silent — and I am 1 
roinel At last the people 
lowed to go out by one do< 



TAg HoljhWiek of 1869 in Havana. 



215 



liers and volunteers slowly fill- 
Jie church by the other. 
!edingly great was the relief I 
en I found myself safely seat- 
be cars, (which in consequence 
rain had been permitted to 
[le city and station themselves 
: usual place,) and on my way 
where I arrived very tired and 
disgusted with sight-seeing. 

HOLY-SATURDAY. 

even o'clock in the morning of 
\aifado de Gloria;' the " Satur- 
Glory," as the Spaniards beau- 
and expressively call this great 
was already established in my 
»lace in the nave of the cathe- 
lough the religious ceremonies 
lot to commence until eight 
tendance of the public generally 
ss than on Maundy-Thursday 
ood-Friday, and none of the 
IT authorities of Havana, nor 
]r and civil functionaries, were 
L 

new fire was lighted and bless- 
dsely as is done with us, and 
e grains of incense placed on 
schal candle ; which, however, 
it a tall, thick taper, as in other 
les, but a veritable pillar of 
bout a yard high and six inch- 
diameter; transmitting to us 
)robably an exact resemblance 
t column of wax upon which 
Inarch of Alexandria used to 
e the paschal epoch and the 
lie feasts, and which in pro- 
f time was employed as a torch 

the paschal night, and at last 
to be regarded as the symbol 

resuscitated Saviour, the true 
•f the world. 

» reading the prophecies, the 
a, preceded by the holy cross 
le paschal candle, and accom- 
1 1^ the clergy and many of 
ibfiol pcesent, went in procession 



to bless the new water and the bap- 
tismal fonts. This ceremony also was 
performed exactly as it is with us. 
At its conclusion the deacon returned 
to the high altar, and after sprinkling 
it and the congregation with the new- 
ly-blessed water, the short mass of 
the day commenced. 

Scarcely had the officiating priest 
begun to intone the Gloria^ when the 
central door of the church burst open, 
letting in a flood of golden light ; the 
cannon fired, the drums beat, the bells 
rang out, and the loud organ pealed 
forth a triumphant strain, while voices 
that seemed to come from heaven 
repeated high and clear, with delicious 
harmony, Gloria in excelsis Deo / 

We all simultaneously fell on our 
knees; for myself, I can say that never 
in my life before had I experienced 
such rapturous emotion. Never be- 
fore had I so perfectly realized the 
triumph of life over death I Never 
before, O my God ! had I felt so deep- 
ly what it was to praise thee, to bless 
thee, to adore thee, to glorify thee 
with my whole heart. Gloria in ex- 
cels is Deo / 

" God the Redeemer I'lTeth I He who took 
Maii*s nature on him, and in human shroud 
Veiled his immortal glory I He is risen— 
God the Redeemer liveth ! And behold 
The gates of life and immortality 
Opened to all that breathe 1" 

The Alleluia was chanted in the 
same spirit of joy and exultation, and 
the services concluded. 

Without the church all was now 
gayety and bustle. The streets were 
crowded as if by magic with vehicles 
of every description. The shops were 
all open; the sweetmeat and fruit- 
sellers at their posts, looking as if 
they had never been absent ; the lot- 
tery-ticket venders in full cry. The 
horses and mules had their heads de- 
corated with bows and rosettes and 
streamers of bright-colored ribbons, 
and their tails elegantly plaited and 



i 



2l6 



T/i€ Holy-Week of 1869 in Havana. 



tied up to one side of their saddle or 
harness, witli scarlet braid. Even the 
quiet, patient oxen sported a bit of 
finery, and wore flowers on the pon- 
derous yoke that weighed down their 
gentle heads. Crowds of busy men 
hurried hither and thither; gayly-dress- 
ed ladies drove about in their stylish 
quitrins; loud talking and laughing 
was die order of the day among the 
colored population ; a ri£f-rafif of little 
blackies pervaded the city, happily 
without the squibs, crackers, and fire- 
arms permitted them until this year, 
but quite sufficiently boisterous to be 
intolerable ; while the church-bells kept 
ringing out, adding their clang to the 
noisy confusion, and fwt with that 
merry musical chime we are accus- 
tomed to hear in England, the land 
of the scientific, well-trained bell-rin- 
ger. But, indeed, nowhere since I lis- 
tened years ago to the bells of Saint 
Mary's in dear old smoky Manches- 
ter have I heard a regular triple bob- 
major 1 

EASTER-SUNDAY. 

The sun was not yet up when I 
started for town on Easter morning. 
The procession of the resurrection — 
called, to distinguish it from other 
processions of the resurrection, del 
efunentn\ " of the meeting " — was to 
commence at six o'clock, and I was 
determined that no tardiness on my 
part should prevent my seeing the 
whole of this singular relic of bygone 
ages. The transition firom darkness 
to light is so wonderfully sudden, how- 
ever, in these latitudes, that it was 
broad day when I reached the cathe- 
dral, which I found brilliantly illumi- 
nated with wax tapers, and hung with 
crimson damask draperies. Mass had 
just begun, and there was a conside- 
rable number of persons present, most 
of them ladies, as is always the case 
in the churches of Havana. How 
the sight of the men-crowded church- 



es of the United States woi 
ish these Cubans, who seem 
that religion is made for ign 
men and children, and that th 
profess to have, the more ei 
they appear! As if the \ 
lightened man were not he 
deeply feels the necessity ol 
ker*s care and love — the a 
of addressing him in prayer 

As soon as the service w 
I hastened to the Calle E 
the street leading directly 
cathedral to San yuan^ anc 
my station on the edge of 
walk, about half-way betv 
two churches. The balcon 
houses and the sides of 
barred, glassless windows w 
with red and yellow drape 
gayly-dressed ladies and chil 
crowds of colored people, 
inevitable volunteers, throi 
streets. While thus waitin 
struck by the appearance of 
es of the greater part of th 
Creole women; nearly all ^ 
white, and blue, the antago; 
lors to red and yellow, Tl 
ers, in all probability, intc 
this show of their political 
to revenge themselves upon 
niards for the loss of their m< 
procession on Good-Friday. 

There was soon a murm 
pectation in the crowd arc 
and presently there appearei 
toward us firom San yuan tl 
large as life, of St. Mary A! 
dressed in a skirt of silver ti 
an open dress of blue satin, 
with silver lace. A profusio 
auburn ringlets flowed down 
of the smiling face, and a 
borate gilded glory was affiX' 
back of the head. The ax 
slightly raised, and the hand 
This figure stood on a smidf 
supported on th€:jiioi|)dai 
of the BreUnfl 



Tie Holj^Wetk of 1869 in Havana. 



ai7 



lihe saint, as she advanced 
X curls streaming out be- 
eemed to be running over 
of the spectators. As she 
the men took oflf their hats 
^ The bearers halted just 
' xne, the Magdalen being 
:o look toward the sepul- 

a few minutes' pause, she 
amed and ran back to the 
San yuan. In order, pro- 
ive a more natural appear- 
\ image, the men who car- 
1 who evidently took ex- 
;ht and pride in the duty, 
\ they ran, and so commu- 
mo9t ludicrous deportment 
L Every one laughed loud 
tched her roll from side to 
ing forward from time to 
hen recovering herself with 
hair flopping up and down 
ig out on the air. 

corre^ meneandose — " How 
ins, shaking herself I" — was 
ng exclamation of several 
ar me, and they laughed ; 
vomen, and children, black 
roared with laughter, and 
y believe, not one among 
aughed in derision, or felt 
St sentiment of disrespect 
Dve casteth out fear," says 
; and it never entered into 
I that the good saint could 
sed because, like simple 
ley laughed at so artless a 
ion of her. The grotesque 
\ excited their hilarity, and 
hilarious on the impulse of 
It, and without arrilre pen- 
Latin race is sometimes re- 
br a child-like simplicity in 

which too often is mista- 
ler temperaments for a lack 
ion and propriety, 
le while the saint came run- 
ijdie street again, saluted 
VB^iain by the merry crowd. 
il|iil^ while ^e lock- 



ed eamesdy in the direction of the 
sepulchre, and then she turned and 
rushed back, more violently agitated 
than before, and amidst reiterated 
shouts of laughter, to San yuan dc 
Dies, to tell the Blessed Virgin the 
good tidings that her Son was alive 
again. 

And now the loud strains of martial 
music reached our ears, and we saw 
emerging from the square in front of 
the cathedral, and slowly advancing 
toward us, a high, handsome structure 
carried on the shoulders of a member 
of the black Hermandad. In the cen- 
tre of it stood the image of the risen 
Saviour, crowned with a radiant glo- 
ry ; his right hand extended as if to 
welcome, his left grasping a white 
and gold banner, which displayed, 
when the breeze unfurled its folds, a 
blood-red cross. A little angel with 
outspread wings seemed to hover in 
front of the gorgeous fabric, as if to 
herald the coming Lord. A regiment 
of colored soldiers, wearing white drill 
uniforms with red facings, escorted 
this triumphal car, the band playing 
its gayest airs. 

At the same moment the Holy Vir- 
gin, attired in gold- colored silk da- 
mask, with a magnificent halo around 
her head, appeared at the opposite 
end of the street coming to meet him. 
She was followed at a short distance 
by St. Mary Magdalen, now more 
subdued in manner. The Virgin's arms 
were raised as if about to clasp them 
around her beloved Son, and her face 
wore an expression of ecstatic joy. 

The two processions met where I 
stood, and after a short pause, St. 
Mary Magdalen, who was the nearest 
to the church of San yuan de DioSy 
turned round and led the way thither, 
the Virgin turning also, and the two 
processions now forming but one. 
Slowly, but to the liveliest music, in 
which mingled the strains of Riesgo's 
hymn, the whole mass of us— for we 



2l8 



The Hofy'Wcek of 1869 in Havana. 



spectators fell into the ranks — amoved 
onward, every one looking glad and 
gay, and so we at last reached the old 
churchy which was far too small to 
contain one half of us, and the im- 
ages entered one after the other with 
all the assista^.ts who could force their 
way in. We weaker vessels, left out- 
side, seeing it hopeless to try to get 
in, soon dispersed. I have since learnt 
that no kind of religious ceremony 
took place ; the images were simply 
set down, and after a while the church 
was cleared of the people and dosed 
for an hour or two. 

There are processions of the resur- 
rection from a great number of church- 
es perambulating the city every Eas- 
ter-Sunday; but this one "of the 
Meeting," is by far the most curious 
and interesting. That of the church 
of the Espiritu Santo is considered 
one of the prettiest, because of the 
children in fancy dresses that take 
part in it. This year, I was told, a 
great majority of them wore volun- 
teer or cantinera (canteen-women, or 
suder) costumes, to the great disgust 
of Cuban mothers. 

There was, of course, much festivity 
going on in the city and suburbs all 
that day. There were family meetings 
and the pleasant retreta in the even- 
ing for some ; the theatre and public 
balls for others ; and, I am sorry to 
say, there was cock-fighting for that 
brutal minority which in all countries 
seems to seek its greatest enjoyment 
in the contemplation of bloody strife. 

Yet, in sad truth, there had been 
strife enough in the streets of Havana 
during the past week to have con- 
tented the most sanguinary temper, 
and sorrow enough to have softened 
the hardest. Palm-Sunday had wit- 
nessed the farewell to all that was 
dear to them of two hundred and fif- 
ty unfortunate men ; had witnessed, 
aJso, the wTetched end of Ac two 



youths about to embark wi 
er prisoners, and the nobl 
the courageous commissar 
shot down while he sought 
them firom the vengeance 
lunteers, whom their mad 
as they were marched dc 
ship, had infuriated. In 
of the w^eek a colored mar 
killed in the streets for sedi 
and several others stabb© 
by unknown hands. Ant 
keep up the constant anxie 
that overcast Havana lil 
cloud, the Cubans by evei 
covert insult, and only jus 
the most terrible consequt 
shown their hatred of th< 
rulers. 

One trifling incident bee 
ject of interest and excite 
would have been absurd 
other circumstances than tl 
On Good- Friday a gorrion 
was found dead in the Plazc 
by a volunteer. Some sa 
others contradict the repoi 
poor little bird had iu eye 
its heart transfixed with p 
paper attached to one of it 
taining the words, Asi mu 
hs gorrion fs — " May all sp 
thus !" Now, it must be t 
that gorrion is another of tl 
tions bestowed on the Sp 
the Cubans. A few sparro 
been brought fi-om Europe 
land by some ship-captain, 
pered and multiplied in sue 
that they soon outnumbere 
mineered over the Bijiritc 
bird somewhat smaller, but 
sembling the sparrow in fc 
and habits. An analogy Ix 
ined between the Spaniarc 
new-comer — ^the name of ^ 
given to all the natives of t 
sula of Spain, while the Cub 
ed that of Bijirita. 

The little dead 



Thi Holy- Wi$k of 1869 in Havana. 



319 



Friday was placed with much 
17 in a glass coffin, and laid 
in a room of one of the bar- 
n a lofty catafalque, with vel- 
and lighted tapers and a guard 
«•. Crowns of fresh flowers, 
■ed and yellow " everlastings," 
ispended around and above 
ains of the typical bird, and 
qoisite nosegays, each more 
ree feet high, and as much in 
arence, the gifts of the captain- 
and of the gemrala his wife, 
ne at the head, the other at 
of the mimic tomb. All the 
as paid their respects with 
nrmony to the little represen- 
' their race, and so many peo- 
rded to visit it on Holy-Satur- 
t it was at last determined to 
ublic curiosity. 

ister-Sunday every person who 
to see the gorrion was oblig- 
ay ten cents, which were to 
be fund destined to aid the 
TS disabled in the present 
struggle. On Easter mom- 
sum received amounted to 
tndred and fifty-one dollars! 
at number of songs, sonnets, 
\ were composed in honor of 
• little bird, and the manu- 
rere tied by colored ribbons 
Towns suspended above it. 
ve since been collected and 
and sold for the benefit of 
I fund. Many of them were 
i in the Diario de la Marina^ 
ial daily paper of Havana. 
3wing are specimens of the 



AL GOKSIOlf. 

•1 Gorrion que aqul veis 
aaado y marchito^ 
■• do sa piquito 
■In onto oireis. 
a ombio no olrideis 
^M lo mireU oon safia, 
ft la maerte empafia 
Mada inteligente, 
MB prapotento 
~ in Eqiaflal 




TO THB SPAIXOVr* 

GI017 to the Sparrow that you aec here 

Liielesa and blighted, 
{fever more from hit little biH 

Wm jou hear a sweet song. 
But in exdiange, do not forget, 

Yoa who look at hun with iU-wiU, 
That if bdeed death has «1«")mgd 

His intelligent glance, 
or his most powofid race 

There are millions in Spain t 

Aqui repoea on Gorrion 

Que esta tarda se le entierra 
Y otros den en jm^ de guerra 

Le sirven de gaamicioo« 
Bijiritas, en tropel 

Furioeas aleteais 
i Por Ventura no observais 

Que estais ya mas muertas que d ? 
Descansa en pax, oh gorrion, 

Y admite esta ofrenda fria 
De la coarta compafiia 

De este quinto batallon I 

TRANSLATION. 

Here rests a Sparrow, 

To be buried this afternoon. 
And a hundred more in warlike trim 

Serve him as a guard. 

You crowds of Bijiritas 

Who beat your wings with fury, 
Do you not by chance remark 

That you are already more dead than he is ? 

Rest in peace, O sparrow ! 

And accept this cold offering 
From the fourth ciimpany 

Of the fifth battalion. 

The gorrion was buried, and Ha- 
vana left once more without other 
thought than that which had occu- 
pied Spaniards and Cubans for the 
several months previous. It is said 
that in former days ships which ap- 
proached the tropic of Cancer, knew 
when they were nearing the shores of 
Cuba by the sweet odor of flowers 
and honey borne to them on the 
breeze ; now, alas ! the beautiful island 
is recognized from afar rather by the 
light of her burning plantations — ^by 
the smell of gmipowder and of blood ! 
To all who have lived in Havana and 
who have friends among both parties ; 
to all who know and appreciate the 
proud sense of honor and unshrink- 
ing courage of the one, and the quick 
intelligence and high aspirations of 
the other, the present struggle must 
and does give the deepest pain. 



280 Thorns. 

But whSe they sympathize sincere- rise again fix)m her ashes, [ 

ly with those who sorrow, they be- and regenerated; for it is 

lieve that " behind a frowning p9}vi- that '' they who sow in tean 

dence God hides a smiling face/' reap in joy " ! 
and that, the strife ended, Cuba wUl 



THORNS. 

HOMAGE TO THE CROSS, GOOD-FRIDAY, 187OW 

Here his head rested. 

Crimsoned with blood ; 
Jesus' hard slumber-place, 

Pillow of wood 1 



Here his eye clouded; 

Dwell there, my gaze, 
Where the dear light of love 

Dyingly plays 1 

Here the nails rankled ; 

There the lance tore, 
While strove the water-tide 

Vainly with gore 1 



Here the heart agonized, 
Hid from the glance; 

Pierced with ingratitude 
Worse than the lance 1 



Here his soul parted — 
Break not, my heart I 

Oh ! what a deadly hurt. 
Sinning, thou art 



Here the feet turn to thee ; 

Press them, my lips I 
While a love-agony 

Through my heart creeps I 






Ma9j Stuart. 



921 



MARY STUART. 



: once a remarkable fact and 
exemplification of the vita- 
«tic justice in history that, 
ng modem Scotch Puritans, 
ipiritual descendants of John 
3uld have come three of the 
id most effective modem vin- 
of Mary Stuart. 
T to the work by Mr. Hosack 
1 our last number, to that 
\ make the subject of the 
tide,* and to the poem of 
\ one of the finest in the 
ige of English literature. 
Aytoun's poem is accom- 
' a body of historical notes, 
in themselves a model of 
mient and dialectic power, 
he entire period of the his- 
iry Stuart in Scotland. And 
three writers are very far 
ig looked upon by their 
in as the holders of sin- 
lions. It may be news to 
jons, but it is, nevertheless, 
[lat they merely reflect the 
feeling in Scotland con- 
; unfortunate queen of three 
igone, murdered in an Eng- 
1. The sentiment of the 
ly of the Scotch people, 
1 simple, Puritan and Ca- 
o this day decidedly in her 
the superficial reader who, 
a superficial Froude, sneers 
tuart, is safer from reproof 
^rk than in Edinburgh. 
rd*s work, of which the se- 
Dn was published last year, 
\ be made up of the ma- 

mrt. Her Guilt cr Innocence. An 
Ir Secret History of her Times. By 
:N«el Curd. Edinburgh: Adam & 

1869. 

A Poem in Six Parts. By W. 
vAytwm* D.CL. Author of Lays 
k Camikrt, Bon Gaultier's Ballads, 
■^ ' ft Fiddi. 



tend of a series of lectures deli- 
vered by him in some of the Scotch 
cities, and, like Mr. Hosack's work, 
is marked with evidences of great re- 
search, ability, and a thorough know- 
ledge of the country, the people, and 
the times under discussion. 

Like Mr. Hosack, Mr. Caird con- 
victs the late English historian, Froude, 
of numerous disgraceful blunders, and 
several — ^well we can find no term 
properly to describe the performance 
but — ^palpable falsehoods. Mr. Caird 
does not imdertake to write a full and 
connected history of Mary Stuart or 
of her reign in Scotland. He seeks 
mainly to unravel the mystery of the 
intrigues, plots, and conspirations by 
which that unfortunate queen was 
surrounded and pursued fi-om the 
moment she set foot in her king- 
dom. And he does it successfully. 
In all history, there is no record of 
a band of greater villains than the 
nobles who surrounded Mary's throne, 
or of more devilish abettors than their 
English allies. The time is not far 
off when, in spite of falsified history, 
Mary Stuart must be held innocent 
of the crimes of which her very ac- 
cusers themselves were alone guilty. 
Mr. Caird enters gracefully on his sub- 
ject. Three centuries ago, a French 
fleet sailed up the Frith of Clyde, and 
cast anchor at Dumbarton. It took 
on board a little girl, six years of age 
— a merry creature who had not a 
care in the world — ^hoisted the flag 
of Scotland, and bore her away to 
the coast of France. There passed 
with her in the same ship a stripling 
of seventeen, her illegitimate brother, 
(afterward known as the Earl of 
Murray,) who, though incapable of 
inheritance, was brought up in the 
most intimate family intercouise mth 



222 



Mary Stuart. 



her; young enough to engage the sis- 
terly aiTection of her warm heart, old 
enough to be already her trusted coun- 
sellor and guide. His life was to be 
a continued betrayal of her confidence. 
But whatever wild thoughts may have 
passed through his busy brain, neither 
of them could have dreamed in those 
early days of the frightful tragedies in 
which they were to become the chief 
actors. In the yet distant future he 
was to usurp her place and power, she 
to become his miserable prisoner; and 
it was all to end at last in his being 
shot down, without law, at the sum- 
mit Qf his greatness, and in her be- 
ing doomed to die, under the forms 
of law, on an English scaffold. Yet, 
though their hearts were light on this 
summer voyage, it was not without 
its dangers. 

Twelve years later, a fleet sailed 
from sunny France, again bearing 
the same girl, now budding toward 
womanhood. It steered for the Frith 
of Forth. There is no laughter now. 
Her first great sorrow has come 
upon her early. She is deeply clothed 
in mourning — a widow at eighteen. 
Again an English fleet watched to 
intercept her. Again she escaped 
narrowly, losing one of her vessels. 
She has been queen of France. One 
blow has deprived her of a husband 
and a crown. She claims to be queen 
of England. That claim rests on 
strong grounds of law. It is to be 
the dream of her life, and she is never 
to realize it. She is the acknowledged 
queen of Scotland ; but she lands on 
her native shore with sad forebodings 
and a heavy heart No one has ever 
charged her with having misconducted 
herself before that time ; yet such was 
the distracted state of her country, 
such the weakness of her authori- 
ty, that she said before she set out 
on this voyage, "Perhaps it were 
better for me to die than to live." 

Less than six busy years of troubled 



government and we see her agai 
the Frith of Solway. She ha: 
despoiled of her Scottish crowc 
is flying for her life in a fishini 
"For ninety miles," she writ 
rode across the country without 
ing or drawing bridle; slept < 
bare floor; no food but oai 
without the company of a fi 
not daring to travel except by \ 
at night." And now the die i 
and, in spite of many warning 
this time throws herself on the 
rosity of England. 

Then follow nineteen years ol 
captivity : 



«< 



Now blooms the Ifly by the bank. 

The primrose on the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in the ^M 

And milk-whtte is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fidr Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I» the Queen o* a' Scotland, 

Mann lie in prison Strang." 



At last we see a long hall in t 
castle of Fotheringay; aplatfoi 
with black — ^the actors and spei 
all clothed in black. There cor 
tmsupported, to die, a lady of 
presence. She has been wick© 
nicd the aid of her spiritual conr 
and, alone with God, has admi 
ed to herself the last sacrament 
religion, without the blessing oi 
sel of a minister. Even her late 
ments are disturbed by thed 
dispute. But she is calm, and re 
to God's will. She lays her h( 
the block. The executioner 
and makes a ghastly wound, 
does not even stir. He strikes 
but his work is incomplete; an 
a third b^ow the life and sorr 
Mary Stuart are brought to an 

It is one of the great probk 
history, says Mr. Caird, whethe 
terrible calamities were brough 
her by her own wickedness or 
contrivance of otheis. 

We have reason *« hrf5« 
child is now S«i 



Mary Stuart. 



223 



iriU hear and see the last 
in history of Good Qu^en 

the humbugs of history, the 
1 manufactured for Elizabeth, 
jhter of Henry VIII. and 
icjm, is at once the most in- 
d the most disgusting. «We 
ire to give a personal opinion 
)man, and will accept, for the 
her character as mildly de- 
»y the historian Robertson, 

to the efiect that she was 
ual and mean liar, a peev- 
empered, vacillating, untrust- 
overeign, whose parsimony, 
ibleness, and small economy 
ave ruined herself and her 

but for the fact that she 
reat statesman by her, and 
i luck continually picked her 
le imbroglios into which she 
Q. She was a vain, bad-tem- 
lesolute, deceitful old woman. 
is as lenient a view of Eliza- 
ould be taken of her with the 
ghts possessed by Robertson, 
omparcd with what we now 
• to have been from the results 
m discoveries among official 
e paper records, Robertson 
[>ainted an angel of loveliness. 
1st in proportion as Elizabeth 
1 on the historic page, Mary 
elevated by every fresh dis- 
»f original documentary evi- 
She was, indeed, as Mr. Caird 
winning, gentle-hearted wo- 
i the correspondence of her 
e, before men's hearts were 
I against her by passion, bears 
itimony to her virtues. 
kmorton, the English ambas- 
France, even during her war 
igland, wrote of "her great 
for her years, her modesty, 
ment in the wise handling of 
ind her matters." And ano- 
ha English ambassadors, who 
If her deadliest enemies^ 



says of her only a few months before 
her grievous calamities were brought 
upon her, "There is one cheer and 
one countenance always on the queen." 
Even after she was imprisoned in Loch- 
leven, Throckmorton wrote of her to 
Elizabeth, "The lords speak of the 
queen with respect and reverence." 
Lord Scrope said, " She has an elo- 
quent tongue and a discreet head, 
stout courage, and a Uberal heart." 
And Sir Francis Knollys reported of 
her, " She desireth much to hear of 
hardiness and valiancy, commending 
by name all approved hardy men of 
her country, although her enemies, and 
she concealeth no cowardness, even 
in her friends." Lethington wrote of 
her soon after her return to Scotland, 
" She doth declare a wisdom far ex- 
ceeding her age." 

After she was uncrowned, Murray 
and his council recorded of her, that 
" God had endowed her with many 
good and excellent gifts and virtues ;" 
and he spoke of her in the same way 
in private. 

The Earl of Shrewsbury, after hav- 
ing had the custody of the Queen of 
Scots during fifteen years of her im- 
prisonment in England, was consulted 
by Elizabeth on the subject of a treaty 
for her liberation. She desired espe- 
cially to know from him for her guid- 
ance, whether Mary's promises could 
be relied on if she were free. Shrews- 
bury's answer was, " I believe that if 
the Queen of Scots promises any 
thing, she will not break her word." 

Her frequent and earnest pleadings 
with foreign powers for justice and 
mercy to her subjects cannot be read 
without interest and admiration. Her 
letters have been gathered from every 
comer of the earth, and every page 
of them marks the elegance and sim- 
plicity of her thoughts. If any man 
who has a prejudice against her will 
sit down and read that correspon- 
dence, in which she treats of att tive 



224 



Mary Stuart 



incidents of life, he will rise from the 
perusal with a different notion, not of 
her mind only, but her heart. These 
are the records which we can read 
now, exactly as they dropped from 
her pen, untainted by the bitterness 
of party, as so little else which con- 
cerns her was permitted to be. And 
we can see her there as she disclosed 
herself to her most confidential friends, 
whether in the highest business of state 
or in the trivial affairs of daily life. 

Mr. Caird's plan does not embrace 
a connected narrative of Mary's reign, 
and we regret that he has found it 
necessary to omit a narrative of the 
treacherous manner in which the de- 
struction of the Earl of Huntly was 
brought about. On Mary's arrival 
in Scotland, every one was surprised 
that Mary should select for her chief 
state councillor her half-brother, the 
Lord James, instead of the Earl of 
Huntly, No one knew that Mary 
had been craftily persuaded by James 
that Huntly was not loyal. The plan 
of her brother was as wicked as it 
was deep. It was at once to deprive 
Mary of a loyal adviser and a power- 
ful friend, and to raise his own for- 
tunes on Huntly's ruin. It is curious 
to see how all this affair is ingeniously 
misrepresented by Mr. Froude in his 
so-called history. Yielding to James's 
solicitations, begun years before, Mary, 
after creating him Earl of Mar, creat- 
ed him Earl of Murray. But this 
latter title he did not wish to assert 
until he could obtain the lands ap- 
pertaining to the title, which he had 
procured while living in ostensible 
friendship with the man he had doom- 
ed to ruin. The lands were in Hunt- 
ly's possession, and Murray made up 
his mind to have them. " But Hunt- 
ly," says Mr. Froude, " had refused to 
part with them." Who was Huntly ? 
He was earl chancellor of the king- 
dom, a man aged fifty-two, a pow- 
erful Catholic nobleman, who could 



bring twenty thousand speani 
field. He had done good ser 
Mary's mother against the I 
English gold had not stained hi 
He was a man marked for sa3n 
he liked not the " manner of 
VIII.'s wooing." He had 
Mary to land at Aberdeen, wa 
head of the loyal party on Ma 
rival, and had sought to warn 
her brother's craft and ambitio 
Froude thus describes him, (vol 
454 

" Of all the reactionary noblemen 
land the most powerful and dangerc 
notoriously the Earl of Huntly. 
Huntly who had proposed the las 
Al)erdecn. In his own house the < 
the house of Gordon had never so i 
afTccted to comply with the change 
gion,' 



"etc 



What depravity! Would not < 
his religion, nor even have the d 
to affect to comply / Positively a: 
cious character ! Nevertheless, 
feet is the command of a philosc 
historian over his feelings that 
dreadful facts are recorded \i 
comment. It is evident th: 
lands of such a wretch as I 
ought to be given to one so * 
fearing " as Murray. " A num 
causes combined at this mom 
draw attention to Huntly." I 
counted, the number is just twc 
of them utterly frivolous, and the 
" he had refused to give up the 1 
Mr. Froude is now candid, an 
us that Murray " resolved to 
pate attack, (none was dreamt 
to carry the queen with him t 
the recusant lord in his own s 
hold, and either to drive him 
premature rebellion or force h 
submit to the existing govemm 

" Murray's reasons for such a 
continues Mr. Froude, " are in 

* Mr. Froude, by ** reactwnuy,*' tmmm 
was not a diiciplt of John .Kmb; bf *^.4h 
that he was a man who woold oiinA hb 



Maiy Sttiart. 



225 



Bcdy. "It is less easy," 
•s, "to understand why 
t consented to it." And 
roude proceeds to wonder 
John Knox's guesses, and 
7' " perhaps," and " may 
isy indeed 1 It is utterly im- 
less one consents to look 
uart as she was — a young 
fly influenced through her 
ind with a sincere sisterly 
for the man in whom she 
t:ognize her worst enemy. 
ideed to understand the 
asure of ruining the most 
atholic nobleman in Scot- 
trengthening the hands of 
owcrful Protestant leader. 
femily," says Mr. Froude, 
hat the trouble which hap- 
e Gordons was for the sin- 
oyal affection which they 
queen's preservation," (vii. 
d they were right We 
froude to speculate on the 
notive Mary Stuart must 
>r thus lopping off her right 
tray now manages to draw 
and her attendants over 
nountain two hundred and 
to Tamway, within the 
J earldom of Murray. She 
y guided by him, and he 
ithority to compass his per- 
and weaken her throne. 
» Gordon at first refused 
e gates of Inverness Castle 
en, but complied the next 
e order of Huntly. Murray 
3n immediately hung, and 
:t on the castle wall. Mr. 
scribes this brutal murder 
jling a wolf-cub in the heart 
," (voL vii. p. 457,) all that 
oes being of course lovely, 
i now surrounded by Mur- 
» friends, who poisoned her 
inrt the Huntlys with stories 
Kd meant to force her into 
IBvithhb son, and had other 

XL— IS 



designs against her person and royal 
authority ; and Mary believed them. 
"Whereupon," writes Randolph to 
Cecil — for Murray had brought his 
English friend, Elizabeth's servant, 
along with him — ** whereupon there 
was good pastime." Huntiy yielded 
all that was demanded of him. His 
castles and houses were seized, plun- 
dered, stripped, and he was a ruined 
man. Lady Huntly spoke sad truth 
when, leading Murray's messenger 
into the chapel of the house, she said 
to him before the altar, " Good friend, 
you see here the envy that is borne 
unto my husband; would he have 
forsaken God and his religion, as those 
that are now about the queen, my 
husband would never have been put 
as he now is," (vol. viL p. 458.) Mr* 
Froude reports this incident, and very 
properly spoils its effect by the state- 
ment that Lady Huntly was " report- 
ed by the Protestants to be a witch."* 
Huntly was driven to take up aims., 
" Swift as lightning," says Mr. Froude,, 
with yellow-cover tinge of phrase,. 
" Murray was on his track." And 
now "swifl as lightning" — sure siga 
of mischief meant — Mr. Froude moves*, 
on with his narrative, omitting essen- 
tial facts, but not omitting a charac- 
teristic piece of handiwork. News 
came from the south tiiat Bothwell 
had escaped out of Edinburgh Castle ;: 
" not," glides in our philosophic histo- 
rian — " not, it was supposed, without 
the queen's knowledge," (vol. viL p. 
459.) After a wonderful victory of 
his two thousand men over Huntly's 
five hundred — a mere slaughter — 
Murray brought the queen certain 
letters of the Earl of Sutherland, 
found, he said, in the pockets of 
the dead Earl of Huntly, and showing 
treasonable correspondence. They^ 
,were forgeries ; but they answered 
his purpose. " Lord John, (Huntly's- 
son,) after a full confession, was be- 
headed in the market-place at Aber- 



3^' Siuaft. 



deen," (vol. vii. p. 459.) There was 
no confession but that which Murray 
told the guem he made, and Mr. 
Froude forgets to tell us that Murray 
caused young Gordon's scaffold to be 
erected in front of the queen's lodg- 
ing, and had her placed in a chair of 
state at an open window, deluding 
her with some specious reason as to 
the neaessity of her presence. 

■When the noble young man was 
brought out to die, Mary burst into a 
flood of teats; and when the heatlsman 
did his work, she swooned and was 
borne off insensible. Here is Mr. 
Froude's short version of these facts: 
" Her brother read her a cruel lesson 
by compelling her to be present at the 
execution." Mr. Froude also forgets 
to tell us that Murray had six gentle- 
men of the house of Gordon hung at 
Aberdeen on the same day. But a 
Ifcw pages further on, he has the in- 
solent coolness to tell us of a prize 
idiat Mary " trusted to have purchased 
■with Huntly's blood"! (vol. viL p. 
463.) After all, you thus perceive 
that it was not Murray, but Mary, 
who wrought all this ruin. 

THE RICCIO MURDER. 

Mr. Caird presents with great force 
file result of modern discoveries in the 
.State Paper Office touching the details 
of the Riccio conspiracy, and shows 
■conclusively that Murray was its real 
.head, and also the chief organ of com- 
munication between the conspirators 
and the English government. The 
previous knowledge of the intent to 
murder Riccio, and the probable dan- 
ger to Mary's life, is brought home to 
£lizabetli. She could not have been 
accounted guiltless, even if she had 
remained passive, merely concealing 
from her royal sister the bloody tra- 
gedy which was being prepared for 
her with the knowledge of her agent 
in ScoUand. This agent (Randolph) 



she supported vehemently, p 
the assarains, negotiated and tl 
until she got them restored, 1 
Murray with large sums of 
immediately before and imra 
after Riccio's death, and took 
opportunity to gratify her vii 
ntss against Damlcy by opci 
In the conspiracy for the 
of Riccio, no one was more 
implicated than Damley. ] 
allowed himself to be flatiei 
tempted by Murray, MaiUai 
the rest with the prospect of 
crown. But while these cial 
used him in this way for Ihi 
ends, they had not the slighli 
of allowing him to be more 
puppet in tlieir hands. Th« 
ledge of Darnley's compliciq 
murder had wrung Mary's hci 
after the first burst of grie^ 1 
clearly that he was the dupe a 
of others. Her respect for hii 
not be otherwise than shake 
her affection preserved him fi 
punishment which he richly i 
And for his sake she spared bi 
(Lenox) also, whom she jusdy 
most ; but she never permitted 
enter her presence ag.iin. C< 
ing that she had released hil 
the consequences of trcasoi 
twelve months before, and 1 
had now repeated the offence 
such aggravated clrcumstanci 
had beguiled his son into thi 
evil course, bringing misery uf 
household, her forbearance can 
tributed only to surviving ten 
for her husband. 

Mr. Caird places in a vci; 
light the development of the col 
and hatred of the conspiratl 
Damley, which gradually h^ 
and intensified into the t 
murder him; and as we «)f 
growth, it is sad to « 
ing, sacrifices, and 1 
noble-hearted 1 




Mary Sttiart. 



227 



ind upon a most unworthy 
And yet more sad is it when 
, in such falsifiers of history 
Froude, the very clearest and 
proofe of womanly goodness 
ifely devotion wrenched and 
ed into evidence of crime and 
• 

mnection with this subject, Mr. 
Iraws attention to the record 
Scotch Privy Council — an ac- 
he more valuable because ^he 
sn composing the council at- 
1 at a later period to cast dis- 
)n the queen. Here is their 
Qy: "So far as things could 
X) their knowledge, the king 
y) had no ground of com- 
; but, on the contrary, that he 
ison to look upon himself as 
the most fortunate princes in 
idom, could he but know his 
ippiness." And they added, 
although they who did perpe- 
le murder of her faithful ser- 
id entered her chamber with 
»wledge, having followed him 
t the back, and had named 
5 chief of their enterprise, yet 
die never accuse him thereof, 
always excuse him, and willed 
lar as if she believed it not; 
far was she from ministering 
occasion of discontent, that, 
X)ntrary, he had all the reason 
rorld to thank God for giving 
wise and virtuous a person as 
. showed herself in all her ac- 

t are few points in the history 
)eriod on which writers are so 
;hly agreed as the utter worth- 
and incapacity of Darnley, 
re are also few cases which so 
tdy as that of Darnley exem- 
i too common weakness of the 
r woman for the inferior man 
her affection. Traffick- 
r afEectioDy and seeking to 
acoDient to his de- 



mands, he came very tardily to what 
was by all supposed to be her dying- 
bed at Jedburg. His bearing shocked 
all beholders. It was at this time 
Mary made her will, the inventory 
attached to which is a modem dis- 
covery. She left Darnley twenty-five 
jewels of great value, and opposite one 
cherished ring wrote with her own 
hand, " It is the ring with which I 
was betrothed. I leave it to the king 
who gave it to me." And yet Mr. 
James Anthony Fioude informs us 
that Mary was then planning this 
husband's murder! 

The most admirable chapters of 
Mr. Caird's work are those which 
treat of 

THE MURDER OF DARNLEY. 

Tlie author shows conclusively, from 
an array of original testimony which 
cannot be disputed, the precise nature, 
extent, and composition of the con- 
spiracy to effect this assassination, and 
presents the whole question in an en- 
tirely new light. 

As revealed by Mr. Caird, the con- 
spiracy, by the time the moment was 
reached for execution, had trebled it- 
self. That is to say, there were in 
the field on the eventful night of the 
murder, three separate and indepen- 
dent bands of assassins, one of which 
most certainly acted independently 
of the other two. Bothwell and his 
party, thrust forward to do the work 
by associates quite as guilty as he, but 
possessed of more brains, were, mate- 
rially, innocent of Damley's killing, 
although fully guilty in intent. They 
blew up the house at Kirk o' Field, 
supposing that Darnley went with it. 
There can now be but little doubt 
that when the explosion took place 
Darnley was already a dead man, 
smothered or burked by a special 
band. 

For some hours after the explosion, 



Maty siuari. ' 



no trace of Damley's body could be 
found ; but as morning dawned, it was 
discovered in a garden eighty yards 
from tbe house. The attendant who 
slept in the room with him was lying 
dead at a short distance further away. 
Each had on a night-shirt. Tliere 
was not a fracture, contusion, or livid 
mark, nor any trace of lire on their 
bodies, and the king's clothes were 
lying folded beside him, A fur 
pelisse, open as if dropped, was lying 
near hira. Now, if we are to suppose 
thai Damley was blown up in the air, 
we must believe it possible that a 
human body could be thrown a dis- 
tance of eighty yards without any 
marks of violence; that another body 
was thrown the same distance with 
the same results; and — stranger than 
all — that Damley's fur pelisse and 
slippers were also blown uninjured to 
his side by the explosion, while five 
other inmates of tlie house were buried 
in the ruins. 

ELIZABETH'S GUILTY KNOWLEDGE. 

One fact of equal importance and 
interest is well esiablished by modem 
investigation. It is tlie guilty know- 
ledge, and actual or implied associa- 
tion of Queen Elizabeth of England 
in all the secret plots set on foot by 
the nobility of Scotland against Mary 
and her interests. 

She was fully advised of the murder 
of Riccio three weeks before it took 
place, and Mr. Caird establishes, we 
think, conclusively, that she was quite 
as well advised concerning the Dam- 
ley murder. 

Fourteen years after the occurrence, 
one of the first acts of King James, on 
his freedom from tutelage, was to com- 
mit the Earl of Morton to the Castle 
of Edinburgh, charged with the murder 
of Damley. 

Morton was one of the very few 
surviving conspirators. Bothwell was 



dead in exile; Maitland haA \ 
himself, and Murray had tx 
down in the streets of Linlith 

As soon as Queen Elizabei 
of Morton's arrest, she made 
frantic efforts to prevent his tr 
endeavored to stir up insum 
Scotland; she tlireatcned w 
moved an army to the fixjnl 
sent back to Scotland as hei 
sador, Randolph, so thoroii 
miliar with all its murderou 
Leicester, her lover, wrote i 
dolph with a suggestion scand 
that the young king might fa 
father — " He will not long tarr 
soil. Let tlie fate of his pro 
be his warning." And close 
heels of that, came official no 
Elizabeth would assist and i 
the Scots in protection of 
But James owed a debt to 
mory of his murdered fathei 
name of his captive mother, i 
then pining in her English pris 
in spite of Elizabeth's threats 
lence, Morton was brought 
found guilty, and sentenced H 
Mr. Caird cites and refers to 
of dispatches connected wit! 
beth's movements in this 
matter which we have nev 
elsewhere alluded to, and addi 
Elizabeth's violence before i 
trial and execution was not T 
markable than her sudden a(ti 
acquiescence as soon as his 
was shut " Did he hold son 
ble secret whose disclosure she f 

The murder of Damley o 
on the loth of February, 15 
full fortnight before, Mary's ai 
dor in Paris wrote to her that 
received a hint from the Spar 
bassador that the queen shou 
heed to herself, for there v/a 
on foot to her injury. Th 
reached Mary twelve hours 1 
to be of any service as a in 
But even if she had r 



Maty Stuart, 



22g 



Id she have turned for aid 
don ? All the lords were 
ty and she was surround- 
pirators. The question is 
f did she not bring to jus- 
rderers of Damley ? Her 
as such that it was simply 
for her to get at the know- 
ny fact dangerous to the 
s. Denunciatory placards 
i in Edinburgh. But if 

would there find herself 
ith being an accomplice 
irell and others in the mur- 
wing this to be an outra- 
der on herself, she would 
onclude that it was equal- 
lem. And if herself inno- 
(vell was the very last of 
^hom she could suspect of 
se of quarrel with the king. 
Imost the only man who 
ted Damley, and it is cer- 
as not of those to whom 
d demonstrated antipathy, 
icheme of ambition which 
fterward pursued had pro- 
learly developed itself even 
. mind till after Damley's 
reams he may have had. 
leme which he finally exe- 
is to have been the growth 
aity. 

e murder, Mary shut her- 
i dark chamber, and kept 

physicians compelled her 
^aton. A month after the 
len Killigrew, the English 
r, saw her, she was still in 
mber, and seemed in pro- 
L Two such tragedies as 
en her within a twelve- 
re more than enough to 
nerves of any woman. 
w came a fresh warning 
that some new plot was in 
The Spanish ambassador, 
he warning of the Darnley 
d been given, said, 

hu majesty that I am inform- 



ed, by the same means as I was before, that 
there is still some notable enterprise in hand 
against her, whereof I wish her to beware 
in time." ' 

No explanation was given, and the 
poor queen was of course bewilder- 
ed. She had heart and nerve enough 
for her own risk ; but she at once took 
precautions for the safety of her child, 
the keir to the crown. She at once 
placed him in charge of the Earl of 
Mar, and lodged him in the strong 
castle of Stirling. And this fact is 
more than answer to the assertion 
that Mary was at this time under the 
influence of Bothwell. If any such 
influence had existed, he would not 
have permitted the disposition that 
was made of the child Hb first ef- 
fort on coming to power was to get 
the young prince into his hands. The 
Earl of Mar justified Mary's confi- 
dence, and withstood the efforts not 
only of Bothwell, but of Murray, to 
get possession of the child. 

Then came the distribution of the 
crown lands among the conspirators 
by the ratification of parliament 

This matter was at once the main 
cause of Damley's murder and the 
bond of union among the murderers. 
On the evening of the adjournment 
of parliament, its members were en- 
tertained at a supper by Bothwell. 
After the feast, a bond was produced 
by Sir James Balfour, by which they 
bound themselves to sustain Both- 
well*s acquittal, recommended him as 
the fittest husband for the queen, and 
engaged to support him with their 
whole power, and to hold as enemies 
any who should presume to hinder 
the marriage. They all signed but 
one, the Earl of Eglinton. It was at 
this time that Bothwell began to ma- 
nifest his intentions to Mary, and a 
letter of hers relates that he tried " if 
he might by humble suit purchase 
our good-wiU, but found our answer 
nothing correspondent to his desire." 



I 



230 Maty Stuart. 

Mary then went to Stirling to visit 
her child. She probably wished, says 
Mr. Caird, by leaving Edinburgh at 
this juncture, to indicate 10 Bothwell 
that her rejection of his approaches 
was decisive; and he acted as if he 
thought so. His next step was that 
of a desperate man. 

BOTHWELL CARRIES OFF THE QUEEN. 

On her return from Stirling, three 
days later, he suddenly met her on 
the road with a large amied force, 
seized her, made her escort prisoners, 
and carried her off to his castle at 
Dunbar. He kept her there for ele- 
ven or twelve days. When she resist- 
ed his insolence, he produced the 
bond granted to him by the nobility, 
and she there found the signatures 
of every man from whom she could 
have expected help. Not one mov- 
ed a finger in her defence. Huntly 
and Letliington, who were there with 
Bothwell, would not fail to remind 
her of the calamities which she had 
brought upon herself by opposing the 
policy of her nobles in her former 
marriage. Day after day she held 
out, but no help came. Sir James 
Melville, who had been taken prison- 
er with her, records that such violence 
was at last used that she no longer 
had a choice. Bothwell, in his dying 
confession, said that he accomplished 
his purpose "by the use of sweet wa- 
ters." Morton's proclamations charg- 
ed him with using violence to the 
queen, " and other more unleisum 
means," Ilseems not unlikely, there- 
fore, that he employed some sweeten- 
ed potion. Mary herself says that 
" in the end, when she saw no hope 
to be ridd of him, never man in Scot- 
land ance making a mint for her de- 
liverance, she was driven to the con- 
clusion, from their hand-writes and 
silence, that he had won them all." 
He partly extorted and partly obtain- 



ed her consent to marriage. 
well then conveyed the heart-' 
queen, surrounded by a gieot 
to the Castle of Edinburgh. Y 
carried her before the judg« 
lining the streets and crowdi 
courts and passages with his 
retainers. She there submit 
make a declaration that she " 1 
him of all haired conceived 
for taking and imprisoning hei 
also that she was now at libeit] 
necessity for such a declarati' 
phes previous coercion. Mr. 
explains that, under the then c 
law, Bothwell had committed 
fence punishable with death if 
not obtained this declaratio 
marriage was formally solen 
and so little was her will ca 
that it was in the Protestonl 
Fettered by their bond, the no 
looked on anil lent no aid. C 
nest man there was, though, tJ 
testant minister Craig, who 
told Bothwell thai he objected 
marriage because he (Bothwel 
forced the queen. Called uj 
proclaim the banns, Craig deni 
it from the pulpit, and afterwai 
licly testified in the next gem 
sembly that he was alone in op 
the marriage, and that " thi 
part of the realm did approvi 
ther by flattery or by their sile 

The Silver Casket Letti 
treated by Mr. Caird as the; 
be by every fair-minded man. 1 
" These letters, in truth, were a 
and clumsy fabrications as evi 
put forward." His thorough 
sis of the longest letter — a lov 
of fourteen quarto pages of 
is the most successful we have 

Mr. Caird closes his work w 
scenes so effectively portrays 
our readers will thank us for tn 
ing them : 

"After much earthly ^ory. nul 
reign, the time cune at last «b«n t 



Mmy ' Stuart. 



93k 



ibeth must die. Wealtb, gran- 
' whidi none might question— 
s. Bat a cold hand was on her 
} shadow of death was creeping 
low, Ytrf slow, but deepening 
There was not one left who 
Mr whom she could loye^ Her 
1 servants trembled at her pas- 
ooged for a change. Hume tells 
ted all consdation. She refused 
threw herself on the floor. She 
(dien and immovable, feeding 
B 00 her afflictions, and declaring 
9e an insufferable burden. Few 
ottered, and they were all ex- 
some mward grief whidi she did 
but sig^s and groans were the 
Cher despondency, which disco- 
onxyws without assuaging them. 
iongand unutterable agony of such 
Hiat is there on earth that could 
>bearitwimngly? How bitter- 
It have realized the words ad- 
lier by Mary Stuart on the eve 
itiGii: 

: me not presumptuous, madam, 
bidding ftrewell to this world, 
mg for a better, I remind you 
10 must die and account to God 
ewardship as well as those who 
sent before you. Your sister 
prisoner of wrong,' 

Maris R. 
fs and nights Queen Elizabeth lay 
the carpet; then her voice left 
uses £iiled, and so she died." 



Stuart had gone long before^ 
. and done to death by this 
sent to the scaffold in a land 
t had been wrongfully kept 
r, to whose law she owed no 
S| and by virtue of a law 
as passed to compass her 



death. On her way to execution, she 
was met by her old servant, Andrew 
Melville. He threw himself on his 
knees before her, wringing his hands 
in uncontrollable agony. 

" Woe is me," he cried, " that it 
should be my hard hap to carry back 
such tidings to Scotiand 1" 

'' Weep not, Melville, my good and 
faithful servant," she replied; <'thou 
shouldst rather rejoice to see the end 
of the long troubles of Mary Stuart 
This world is vanity, and full of sor* 
rows. I am CathoUc, thou Protes- 
tant; but as there is but one Christ, 
I charge thee in his name to bear 
witness that I die firm in my religion. 
Commend me to my dearest son. 
May God forgive them that have 
thiisted for my blood." 

She then passed to the scaffold. She 
surve]red it, the block, the axe, the 
executioners, and spectators undaunt- 
edly as she advanced. She prayed 
to God to pardon her sins and forgive 
her enemies. 

The two executioners knelt and 
prayed her forgiveness. 

'' I foi^ve you and all the world 
with all my heart; for I hope this 
death will give an end to all my trou- 
bles." She then knelt down and com- 
mended her spirit into God's hands, 
and the executioners did their work. 

The sad tale is told. All the actors 
have been nearly three centuries in 
their graves ; but their story shall stir 
the hearts of men till the world's endk 



ABridemaid a Story, 



A BRIDEMAID'S STORY. 



A BRinEMAiDl I had become a 
necessity, A sense of such impor- 
tance was novel to me. It was a 
pleasant awakening to a conscious- 
ness that I had attained womanhood. 
To have been a bride would not have 
filled me with such unmingled joy; 
for then I might have been thinking 
over the possibilities of the future. 
Now I had only to play my part in 
the bright and bewildering present. 

That there had been bridemalds be- 
fore ray time, of the loftiest and of 
the lowliest degree, from the jewelled 
princess to the humble dairy-maid, 
rendered my position none the less 
novel and refreshing. Then, too, the 
circumstances of the case were not to 
be lightly passed over — I had been 
chosen from atnong so many whose 
claims to consideration were far above 
mine. 

An imaginative child always seeks 
and Ands gome object in which to 
concentrate its thoughts and its loves; 
something real to serve as an embodi- 
ment of its ideal fancies. Hence, all 
the wealth of my fervent nature had 
centred on Kfarian Howard. 

From earliest childhood I had 
■watched and wondered at her rare 
and high-bom beauty. Every feature 
in her face seemed to have a distinct 
anti seiiarate fascination, while every 
.adornment of dress that could enhance 
her v.ified charms was brought into 
requisition. To look upon her was a 
/east of pleasure to my eyes. 

The quiet dignity of her manner 
iiept a distance between us, so that 
she was a sort of far-off idol, after all. 
In her company we never gave way 
to our outgushing school-girl nature. 
I sometimes thought she would be 
happier if she were only more like us, 



or if we should welcome It 
girl's free and fervent greet 
who dared try the experime 

As we grew older, our pa 
diverged. Soon after Icavk 
Marian went to live and to 
foreign land, while I retumi 
quiet pleasures of a rural ho 

Four years passed, and 
fine old house which had s( 
mained silent again showed 
life. They had returned— th 
ed aunt and her beautiful ni< 

The preparations for the 
were immediately coramen 
Marian repaid my early dev 
offering me the highest mai 
confidence and regard. 

The old tenderness cam< 
back when I again beheld 1 
stately and more beautiful tl 
She told me it would be a qi 
ding — only a few friends, ai 
only bridemaid. My ajrai 
were soon completed, and 1 
anxiously the appointed tim< 
it was the day before the i 
I went over to assist in the 
parations, and was to spend 
with Marian. The mono 
witness, in the case of my fr 
great event of a woman's lif 
given away in marriage. I 
woman's life, because marri 
hardly have the same signifif 
men ; they are not given awa 

The distinguished stranger 
so soon to call Marian his wift 
tainly unlike any of the men I 
known ; but I had known so 
my knowledge of the world v 
mited, that I did not feel com; 
pass judgment on him. Tli 
were such method, such calm 
system about the i 



A Bridemaid's Story. 



233 



ig aunty about Marian,and about 
lole house, that I felt cold with 
ing sense of not being able to 
nn again, though it was a love- 
imer afternoon. More of na- 
id less of art, I thought, might 
Mrarmed the approaching festi- 

evening shadows were falling. 
id just finished arranging and 
iging the costly bridal gifts, 
Marian was summoned to at- 
er aunt 

3ng the other presents was that 
conception, Gustave Dora's 
^^S 5^« This work of hu- 
^enius seemed a strange com- 
. for the rare articles of luxury 
iTOunded it. 

ok up the book and went out 
he balcony. The softly-fading 
t, the subdued spirit of the 
the reflective turn my own 
lad taken, prepared me for im- 
ns of the awful and sublime, 
said that '' real genius always 
ind in rising it finds God.'' 
the force and truth of this 
t were here exemplified; for 
mid look upon these scenes, so 
I and intense, without a feeling 
and reverence ? 
IS thus occupied, I know not 
ng, when suddenly Mr. Gaston 
1 me to myself. " How absorb- 
1 are, Miss Heartlyl I have 
atching you with much interest, 
las the book any bearing upon 
•ming events of to-morrow ? 
beauties, I suppose," he con- 
carelessly, as he came toward 

ly r* said I, " you have retum- 
ly, Mr. Gaston. You cannot 
iken that delightful drive Mari- 
posed to you ?" 
)," he answered; "I have no 
tkm for solitude ; but you ladies 
occupied with these time-kill- 
idungSp these endless little ar- 



rangements so indispensable to your 
happiness, that we lonely mortals are 
entirely ignored and forgotten." 

'' I think, sir, that calamity seldom 
befalls you," I replied, thus adding, 
perhaps, to vanity already sufficiently 
great 

"But the book?" he continued, 
opening it listlessly. "Oh! the old 
fable in a new dress. It is strange 
how women cling to the marvellous 
and impossible. They seem to have 
but two absorbing ideas — ^love and re- 
ligion. Extremes in either usually 
lead to the same pernicious result I 
suppose an idol is a necessity to them, 
and it matters litde in which they 
find it" 

" I do not understand you," I re- 
plied. " Are you in jest, or are you 
seriously denouncing revealed reli- 
gion ?" 

" Revealed religion I" he repeated. 
" Is it possible that, at this stage of 
the world's advancement, you still 
cling to that antiquated idea of Chris- 
tianity ?" 

The modem methods of fashioning . 
a god to suit the impious desires of vain 
and conceited mortals was then un- 
known to me. I looked at the man with 
wonder and distrust. He read my con- 
fusion and hastened to explain himsel£ 

" Religion," he said, " as you ac- 
cept it, makes us cowards instead of 
men. My reason is my religion; I ac- 
knowledge no other guide." 

" Ah ! then," I exclaimed, " how 
often must you stumble by the way." 
I turned to the most effective picture 
in the book. " Here is an instance 
of the vanity of human pride. Here 
we can see the end of man's boasted 
strength — ^the anguish of a lost soul 
hopelessly looking for repose and 
peace." 

"An imposing fable," he replied, 
"wanting only a woman's faith to 
give it substance and reality." 

I was rising to put an end to this 



A Bridemaid's Stoty. 



unprofitable and distasteful conver- 
sation, when Marian joined us. My 
disturbed manner plainly annoyed 
her, and she evidently suspected its 
cause; for she addressed Mr. Gaston 
in German quite earnestly. Soon turn- 
ing to me he said, " Pray, excuse me, 
Miss Hearily ; I was not aware that 
you were a Catholic. I know your 
people feel most keenly what they 
profess. Of course you have already 
stamped me a condemned heretic" 

" It is not for me to pass judgment 
on you," I replied; "and if I did, my 
opinion could be of very little value." 
" Come, come!" said Marian, "this 
is a most unapt and gloomy subject for 
my marriage eve; and the sun, too, 
has gone down sullenly. I hope 
there is nothing prophetic in all this." 
"\Vhat! g^o^ving serious now?" I 
said, as I drew her arm within mine, 
and we went to look for the fiftieth 
time at the final arrangements for the 
morrow's festivities. 

1 could not, however, throw off the 
feeling of uneasiness that my interview 
with Mr. Gaston had left. He hatl a 
way of cheapening one, so that, with- 
out knowing why, you fell immea- 
surably in your own estimation. This 
is never a comfortable condition to 
find one's self in, and it takes a good 
deal of nice logic to bring one back 
to one's normal state. 

Perhaps it was the loftiness of his 
style that awed me; for he had a 
magnificent way of carelessly throw- 
ing the world behind him and walk- 
ing forth in a sort of solitary dignity. 
" His manners are courtly," Marian's 
aunt s.-iid, and certainly they possess- 
ed all the cold stiffness that character- 
ized her particular circle; still, I felt 
I had no real grounds for this feeling 
of distrust and aversion to Mr. Gaston, 
and I began to think it was rather un- 
generous to hold him in so unfavorable 
a lighL Icould not shake off, however, 
an undefined dread of the approach- ■ 



ing marriage. The apathy a 
ference which had always been 
to my young friend did not 
her even now, when appan 
the very threshold of liappi 
thought that intensity of iwl 
haps kept her thus silent, i 
powering happiness has ih; 
sometimes. The deluuoD w 
ever, speedily dispelled. 

That night a scaled chaptci 
rian's life was laid open to m< 
saw her as I had never seen or 
of her before. 

After locking the charab 
she seated herself by ray ai 
said, "This is the first time 
life that I have known perfe 
dom ; I mean a liberty to do . 
what I like with a feeling 
curity. 

" You remember the ' Greel 
Weil, I am not unlike that 
girl chained in the markct-plac 
ry inclination of my heart hi 
chained down and locked, i. 
aunt has kept the key. 

" I was an uncomplaining, ] 
less child. In my cradle I r 
my first lessons in self-control. 
grew older, I learned another 
too unnatural for even a tho 
child like me to understand, 
not needed here; I was con 
only as a desir.ablc ornament 
great house. I might as wel 
been placed upon a piimacle a 
trificd at once, for all the chi 
that was allon-ed to take root 
me. 

" My aunt's domestic misft 
had embittered her, and she 1 
children to soften the natural % 
ty of her soul. My mother, wl 
her only sister, had, contrary 
aunt's wishes, married where he 
inclined. This was never forgi 
forgotten until she lay dead, 
was a w.-iiling infant at hersid^ 
"My father b( 



'j Story. 



335 



ad my aunt took me to her to come down from heaven to feed 



IS not designedly cruel; but 
nothing of a child's require- 
le freezing system seemed 
most effectual method of 
lit a y^ung, impulsive na- 
re was danger I might be- 
Uious, and hence she re- 
utmost meekness and sub- 

Q as I came to tmderstand 
of beauty, I saw that it 
ine I owed food and rai- 
: fed the exhaustless vanity 
:, with whom display was 
till is, the moving spring of 

L drawing-room child, kept 
>n at stated intervals. The 

on my neck and arms 
1 to me. My embroider- 
as a costly thing. I had 
mg life for it. 

L mortal fear of losing my 
ur gardener's daughter — a 
:erful-looking girl, whom I 
glad to see, for she made 
g brighter with her fresh 
— had caught that loath- 
«, the small-pox. When 
red, the change that had 
, her so terrified me, that 
d with a sensation as of 
iger. I shrank from the 
le would be the cause of 

misery to me. 
i a mother to whom she 
litely more dear now than 
er been. But I, a lonely 
would become of me if I 
■ansformed like her ? 
lot altogether for my own 

that I desired to retain 

It was not my own beau- 
>nged to my aunt, and 
d to give her in return for 
veme. 

ot a child that saw angels 
\ or that expected manna 



me. 

'' Artificial and unsatisfying as my 
life has always been, I have a clinging 
desire to remain with it 

" At times I have had a vaguely 
conceived notion of one day getting 
away from it and of being free ; but 
the bending and breaking system has 
so subdued me that I might lose my- 
self if left to the guidance of my own 
free- will 

'' Marriage is a solemn thing. 
Would you like to change places with 
me to-night, Mary ?" 

I could not say yes, and I dared 
not say no ; for I saw that she was 
losing courage, and beginning to he- 
sitate about the important event so 
soon to transpire. 

" That is a strange question, Ma- 
rian dear," I replied. "To-morrow 
ought to be, and I hope will be, the 
happiest day of your life. Surely you 
must love this man when you have 
promised to be his wife ?" 

" Oh ! yes," said she, "as well as I 
understand what it is to love. I some- 
times tremble for fear I have not the 
qualities that make woman lovable 
and attractive. You forget how little 
I know of Edward Gaston. 

" Our acquaintance began in a lit- 
tle German town, where he was stop- 
ping, for the purpose of establishing 
his claims to a disputed inheritance. 
He is an American by birth and edu- 
cation. He soon became a constant 
visitor with us. My aunt and he were 
on the best of terms. My own inte- 
rest in him had never passed beyond 
the civilities of an ordinary acquain- 
tance until he again joined us at Na- 
ples, where he lost no time in mak- 
ing known the state of his feelings. 

" My aunt seemed to have had 
some previous knowledge of his pre- 
ference ; but its announcement was to 
me a complete surprise. 

" She was proud of her nioe did. 



»3« 



A Bridemaid's Story, 



crimination in the selection of her 
friends, and Mr. Gaston had come 
into our circle labelled and indorsed 
a gentleman. 

" Her gracious consideration, how- 
ever, of his offer, in no wise obscur- 
ed her caution. Satisfied as to his 
worldly affairs, and well assured of 
his position at home, there was no- 
thing wanting but my consent, which 
was really the most trifling part of the 
arrangemenL I accepted this mar- 
riage engagement as I would have 
accepted any other condition so map- 
ped out for me, 

" Business of a pressing nature 
which could be delayed no longer, 
called Mr. Gaston to America, and I 
did not see him again until our re- 
turn a month ago. 

"You see how little I know of 
hira. Can you wonder that 1 am 
constrained in his presence ? Of 
course, every thing will be different 
when I come to know him better, 

" But I have one cause of feverish 
anxiety. I am not above the petty 
subterfuges almost incidental to a life 
hke muie. A desire to hide mistakes 
committed through childish ignor- 
ance made mc unscrupulous, as any 
racmbtr of a household who is watch- 
ed and suspected must naturally be. 
Habit may have made these iiitle 
irregularities almost a second nature, 
but my blood recoils from a wilful and 
deliberate deception. I am afraid 
Edward is misled with regard to my 
aunt's pecuniary condition, 

"'ITiis life of seeming affluence, 
which has become as necessary to her 
as the air she breathes, drains heavily 
on her slender resources. Such por- 
tion et her lime as is not spent in her 
handsome carriage, or in drawing- 
toom entertainments, is passed in a 
most frugal and even paisiraonious 
mode of living, and it is only by an 
economy painful to contemplate that 
she has kept things floating thus far. 



" I cannot acquaint Edwar 
my aunt's existing embarrass 
She is my only kinswoman 
misgnidcd as she is, I have a 
affection for her, I hope to I 
to offer her a home with us, wl 
soon must be the case, the last 
this miserable farce shall haw 
played. 

" Now, perhaps, you can 
stand why I tiius passively sub 
a marriage that I would turn f 
I could. I cannot openly say I 
Gaston, ' I have no fortuoe, I 
you expect none;' even to c< 
approach the subject would be 
pugn his motives, and I certajnh 
no right to suspect him of li 
ing mercenary ones. Still, I « 
were acquainted with the Inid 
the world, you know, looks up< 
as sole heiress of my rich aunt. 

" I have no knowledge of 
passed between Edward and tii 
at Naples, when our maniai 
agreed upon; but I have a ca 
dread least he may have been d 
ed. I once mentioned to him, I 
versation, that he would claim 
tionless bride ; but he seemed t 
no notice of what I said, and 
he still thinks my aunt's circumsl 
to be in reality what they seem. 

■' In giving way," I replied 
such groundless fears, dear M 
you uoderrale your own worth. ' 
Iiow many noble and honorable 
would be proud to call you yn& 
in giving you a life of happiness 
amends forthepast." YetasI li 
in the silver starlight upon that I 
face, which had so attracted me ; 
childhood, I could not but I 
deeply and sadly that she was n 
my faith; for then she might n 
wiser counsel than I could gjvft 
one oflhose whom Christ in hisi 
lias ordained to be a guide and ■ 
to weak and wavering souls. 

The wedding break ' 



A Bridemaid^s SUfy. 



217 



an's fastidious aunt could 
d. ITie few favored guests 
J most approved type. It 
1 as if a judicious instructor 
sach of them a select num- 
xis, which they used with 
:aution, and then retired to 
plation of their own indi- 
tness. 

irian, the despondency of 
)efore had quite left her, 
vas a high and noble re- 
T manner that made me 

to behold, while it calm- 
d not entirely dispel, my 
Y forebodings. The serene 
of her sweet face would 

me nearer to her, if that 
le. 

)ved her, as she stood be- 
autiful in the purity of her 
and infinitely more beau- 
chastened security of her 
\y purpose — ^to be a true 
>le wife to Edward Gaston ; 
e conditions of her new 
ar they might be, with a 
ust and confidence, and 
Krith a woman's hope in the 
\ reward of duty faithfully 

hiave been positively gay 
ire to sustain Marian, and 
low, without telling her in 
thoroughly I appreciated 
tartily I approved her no- 
ns, her courage and con- 
t as measured words and 
le were allowed, I had to 
^If Still, the cooling 
not diminish my ardor, 
got Marian all to myself, 
, I kissed her so approv- 
fzs so extravagant in the 
)f all that I telt, that she 
irith loving tenderness to 
ind kept me there so long 
rith the quick beating of 
heart she was giving me 
own newly-found courage. 



" Whatever happens to me, Mary 
dear, in the extremity of any darkness 
that may come upon me, I shall al- 
ways know that you are true to me, 
that you are still my friend." 

The tears that fell upon her hand 
as she gently raised my head, were 
my only answer, and she accepted 
them in the spirit in which they were 
shed. 

In returning to my ordinary duties, 
I had much to reflect upon, much 
that made me still uneasy for Marian 
and her future, where so many doubts 
and fears seemed hanging on the will 
of one human being. 

Vague rumors of Mr. Gaston had 
reached us, that he was a man wholly 
without fortime, drifting on the sur- 
face of events; darker things, too, were 
whispered with an indirectness which 
gave them an uncertain coloring. In 
my love for Marian, and in my fear 
for her, I could not credit these suspi- 
cions ; yet my anxiety to again see her, 
and discover for myself the truth or 
fallacy of these reports, was intense. 
Indeed, my state of anxious doubt 
was becoming intolerable when I re- 
ceived a letter from Marian, telling 
me she was already tired of travelling, 
and would return soon to make a last 
visit to her old home before leaving 
for her future and distant one. 

It was agreed that they should 
spend the day after their arrival with 
us. I was so happy and so occupied 
in preparing for their reception, that 
I had almost forgotten my previous 
anxiety in my present desire to have 
every thing ready and in perfect order. 
The pleasure I felt in the prospect 
of having my darling with me so 
soon was dreadfully toned down by 
the consciousness of my own inability 
to satisfy her aunt's critical taste. I 
trembled as I thought of her scruti- 
nizing glance; but I had a never-fail- 
ing source of hope in my mother. 
Her good-natured hospitality was of 



238 



A Bridemaid't SfVry. 



I 



I 



such a melting kind that I dared hope 
that even the rigid aunt might thaw 
under it, which she really did, greatly 
to my relief and comfort. 

The <hnner passed off creditably. 
My tranquillity was now entirely re- 
stored, and I had time to devote to 
Marian. 

Up to this moment I had viewed 
her through the meclium of my excit- 
ed condition ; now I was calmed, and, 
SO far as the affairs of the day went, 
contented. 

Marian's manner was restless and 
uneasy. My perception was keenly 
alive to the slightest difference be- 
tween what she did and said now and 
to what shedid and said formerly. So 
solicitous was I, that I think the most 
trifling modulation in her voice had 
a significance for me. 

Much as I had looked forward to 
this reuni(»i, much as I had desired 
it, now that Marian was with me, I 
shrank from being alone with her, I 
think if we had been that summer 
evening even in the solitude of a 
mountain fastness, an intuitive delica- 
cy would have kept both of us from 
speaking one word upon the only 
subject that filled our hearts. 

Sly mother's humanizing influence 
was having its effect on the stately 
old lady. She was captured without 
knowing it. Mr, Gaston had gone 
out for a walk; so Marian and I were 
left alone. I tried to talk about her 
new home, and repealed some things 
Mr, Gaston had told me before the 
wedding. 

" Edward has changed his mind," 
said Marian, " and has found it neces- 
sary to make some different arrange- 
ments ; so I really cannot tell much 
about our home. It is very far 
away ; don't you think so, Mary ?" 
I saw that her feelings were beginning 
to get the upiier hand, and 1 did not 
dare trust m)'self to reply. X turned 
ftom her immediately on the pretext 



of having forgotten some hot 
duty. She strolled out to tl 
den in a spiritless way. 

Every thing was revolving il 
my mind, and I was beginninj 
proach myself; perhaps if I It 
couraged her to speak, it migh 
lifted the load from her heart ; a 
opportunity might not be pa 
us i and yet, bowed down as th 
girl was, it would not have rais 
in my esteem had she even wi 
disparaged her husband. To 
him with a wife's forbearanc 
now one of her hard but impi 
duties, and I knew she woul 
shrink from it. This must be a 
to our confidence, a bridge 
which my kindliest sympathy 
never pass. 

Unmistakable evidences of a 
close at hand made me run 
arbor ivhere I had last seen M 
She was not there. While i 
rating where I should next 
heard Mr. Gaston's impatient 
He stopped by a clump of VKt 
me, and in tones of suppressed 
commenced upbraiding his dl 
less wife. 

" What did you mean by sogj 
such a thing as that ?" he t 
"have you any right to dtspen! 
pitalities, to propose or consida 
in that grand style of yours?" 

" In expressing the wish." i 
Marian, " that my aunt would t 
to spend the winter with us, I I: 
intention of doing any thing h 
a natural act of gratitude; and 
not aware, Edward, that your fi 
had so changed toward her. 
sure she has done notliing te 
your displeasure." 

" Nothing to merit my displei 
You are a most creditable da 
She has made you like herself; 
Is it nothing in your eyes thai d 
always lived a life of nicely-Vll 
deception ? Your accomptisha 



A JBridemaid's Story. 



339 



icted a forlorn hope with a 
act, and the victims of her 
re expected to bow to her 
igacity. In a burst of uni- 
ipatby you propose to take 
k of decayed grandeur to 
^ This was a part of the 
>pose," 

ird," interrupted Marian, 
re you speak in this way 
It, who has shown you so 
•ks of sincere regard ? That 
ot husbanded her resources, 
)ut that misfortune rests en- 
I her, she is the only suffer- 
nade you no promises, gave 
eason to expect a fortune 

this I have learned since 
[age. Have no fear of the 
Qce. Dear as she is to me, 
ather let her beg from door 
han see her a recipient of 
ity !" 

you are proud now," he re- 
1 voice of withering scorn, 
are,*' he continued; "you 

seen the end yet. Make 
eady to depart. I want to 

house instantly." 
ird," she said, " however you 
afflict me, whatever tortures 

in store for me, do not, I 
^ou, subject me just yet to 
if those I love, of those who 

These people are my truest 

I would not make them 
F my misery. Spare me a 



er." 

fine speeches and these peo- 
ike objects of indifference to 
ke yourself ready ; I am go- 

ade a movement to obey 
; turning round again, she 
iward" — the voice and tone 
jver forget ; it was as if all 
:ver valued in life had whis- 
ist farewell — ^" Edward, as I 
d to give you a wife's unfail- 
I to be trustful, loving, and 



true ; so I had hoped you would give 
me a husband's protection, and per- 
haps a husband's love." 

" I am not fond of scenes," he in- 
terrupted ; " your requirements are of 
so nice and delicate a nature that I 
would be quite incapable of gratifying 
them ; so I shall not trouble myself 
to make the attempt ; and for the fu- 
ture, spare yourself any unnecessary 
display of sentiment." 

I could not have left the arbor 
without being seen. Marian passed 
by slowly, not to the house, but in an 
opposite direction, and Mr. Gaston 
started for the lower end of the gar- 
den. I caught a glimpse of him as 
he turned an angle of the walk. A 
wicked look had setded on his hand- 
some face, as if dark spirits were urg- 
ing him on. 

A peal of thunder, prolonged and 
tenrible, startled me. I ran to the 
house. The lightning was truly aw- 
ful, and peal following peal of thun- 
der made one shudder and long for 
human companionship. I had lost 
Marian in the gloom and darkness. 
She was not in the house ; I did not 
see her in the garden. I went out 
into the storm in search of her. 

I found her standing quite alone in 
sad and listless silence. Can it be, I 
thought, that death has no terrors for 
one so gifted and so young? She 
seemed imploring that doom which 
the most abject and miserable would 
flee from if they could. I knew then, 
as well as I knew afterward, that she 
would have welcomed death that 
night without one single regret. 

" Marian, dear," I said, approach- 
ing her, " how can you remain alone, 
and exposed in this manner, when 
every thing about you is quaking with 
fear ?" 

" I do not heed the storm," she an- 
swered ; " I like it, it is so wonderful." 

" Come, come, darling ! Why, the 
rain has drenched you," I replied^ 



340 



A Sri4fimaiJ*i Stoty. 



putting my arm about her and lead- 
ing her lo the house. 

Tlie storm had set in furiously. 
There was no leaving the house that 
night. 1 resolved that Marian should 
sleep with me ; so I went to Mr. Gas- 
ton and told him I regretted our limit- 
ed accommodations obliged me to offer 
him a temporary bed in the parlor. 

When I told Marian of this arrange- 
ment, she seemed relieved. " I am 
glad to spend the night here and with 
you, Mary," she said. " All is so 
quiet and peaceful." 

Quiet and peaceful ! The greater 
storm in her own breast made her for- 
get the contending elements without. 

My aversion to Mr. Gaston was, I 
believe, heartily reciprocated, and he 
must have chafed at my influence 
over Marian. He took her away 
from her home, never to return, on 
the very next day. They sailed for 
Cuba shordy afterward. 

The crisis Marian had feared for 
her aunt soon came, and she went, 
with the remnant of her fortune, to 
live in some western town. 

Seven years had rolled by since all 
this, and Marian was fast passing into 
the shadows we like lo call up when 
the world is hushed around us and, 
we are thinking — thinking. 

I was married, and laughing chil- 
dren were crowding out these earlier 
remembrances. 

An affection of the throat, from 
which my husband was suffering, ren- 
dered the best medical advice neces- 
sary. 1 accompanied him to New- 
York, where I found — let me pause 
in telling it, to do reverence to the 
unseen hand that led roe there— Ma- 
rian. 

In this lonely stranger how little 
do I behold of my childhood's earli- 
est pride I 

" From Clifton ?" said the physi- 
cian thoughtfully, after examining my 
d's case. " i have a patient, 



a strange case; she il 
her mental faculties Z 
Cuban family brought he 
placed her under my care. 
band had committed a i 
had fled the country to esi 
She is an accomplished lat 
judge. She was left in Hi 
jioor and friendless, I ha^ 
to speak to you about Ji 
she is always writbg tw 
Mary and Chfton. The S] 
who brought her here kn 
of her former history." 

I was silent during this 
so white that the doctor 
water, I thanked him, ai 
ed a wish to go lo my frii 
diately. 

" I cannot return to tl 
this morning," he said ; ' 
give you my card, which 
you to the lady at once." 

There 1 found her, a s 
figure, sitting still, and for 
es of life quite dead. 

I was awed as I stood ' 
I sat down and took he 
glected hand in mine. £ 
at me and made a feeble 
gather back her hair whicli 
in great disorder about hei 
I rose to do this for her. 
glossy and beautiful as c 
gan to arrange it in the : 
had worn it seven yeare b< 
took my hand from her h 
in her lap, chafed it, then 
raised it to her lips. I coi 
my tears no longer, and I i 
in the folds of her faded ( 
turned me toward her and 
tears from my cheek. 

" You are going home 
Marian darling," I said ; *' 
ways in our o^vn old home 

" I know it," she whis 
have been w.aiiing for yo 
so very long." 

This was the fiist^ 




Exultint Sion FiluB. 



241 



ken to me. The nurse had told 
that she spoke occasionally, but 
a3rs in an absent and incoherent 
tmer. 

^•bathing was recommended ; 
: the doctor was of the opinion 
It her mind would never recover its 
ginal vigor. 

I would like him to see her as she 
I me this morning, calm and beau- 



tiful, when the bell of the convent, 
where she is teaching German, sum- 
moned attendance. 

My religion is no longer strange to 
her. She has accepted it as the 
crowning blessing of her life, and 
with a thankful spirit she speaks of 
the chastening hand that led her to 
this security and peace. 



EXULTENT SION FILI^E, 

* Ww) is this that cometh from tlie desert, (lowing with delights^ leaning on the arm of her Beloved ?^ 

Canticlbs rSL s. 

Who is this from the wilderness coming. 

From the desert so arid and bare, 
On her own most Beloved One leaning — 

Who is this so chaste and so fair ? 



Yes, out of a wilderness coming, 

A desert of darkness and sin ; 
Lo ! the Bridegroom, the promised, the glorious^ 

Lo ! a Queen who is holy within I 

See ! her veil is thrown back from her features. 

Arrayed in the lustre of light. 
Like silver clean washed from the dross of the mine, 

Like a lily she dawns on the sight — 

Like a lily whose fair leaves encompass her stalk. 

With an odor so piercing and sweet. 
That the world, overpowered, feels ashamed of its pride, 

And vanquished kneels down at her feet. 

In the desert had tarried the Bridegroom of old 

Forty days, forty nights, in his love. 
Alone, while she who was dearest to him 

In grief like a silver-winged dove. 

Hid away in the deep, secret clefts of the rock, 
- Wailed his absence, and brooded so long. 
And pined for his countenance, pined for his voice 

To answer again to her song — 
YOU XI. — 16 



243 



Mr. Gladst<me and the Irish Farmers. 



" Now winter is past, the rain over and gone ;" 
The flowers, too, have their banners unfurled. 
While she waits for his promise ; she knows he will come ; 
And he comes — the Light of the world ! 

To lead back each wandering sheep to his fold, 

Who had waited so long in the porch ; 
To bring back to the dim world his darling, his rose, 

His bride in her beauty, the church ; 

To open her gates that all may go in. 

Not a wanderer left out in the cold, 
The supper awaiting, the King's marriage feast. 

With its Host and its chalice of gold. 

Sophia May £ci 



MR. GLADSTONE AND THE IRISH FARMERS. 



The long-expected bill for the set- 
tlement of the land question in Ire- 
land was introduced into the British 
Parliament a short time ago by Mr. 
Gladstone in an explanatory speech 
of rare perspicuity and methodical 
statement. So fascinating, indeed, is 
the premier's eloquence, so candid his 
confessions of the injustice of English 
law as at present existing in Ireland, 
and of the baleful consequences which 
have flowed from its operations in 
the agricultural interests of the people 
of the sister island, that for the time 
we forget how far short are the mea- 
sures he now proposes, in the form of 
an act of parliament, of the necessities 
of the case before him, and to which 
all his logic, rhetoric, and pathos form 
but the graceful prelude. Turning 
from the speech and carefully look- 
ing over the sixty-eight clauses of the 
proposed act, we are forcibly struck 
by the inadequacy of the proposed 
remedy for the terrible and manifold 
evils which have so long afflicted the 
tillers of Irish soil ; and if, as Mr. Glad- 
stone asserts, his object is not only to 



do justice to this long-oppress 
pie, but to silence for ever t 
mors and pacify at once the 
chronic discontent of the cou 
requires very little acumen to 
that his scheme, even if not m 
for the worse in its passage t 
either house, will be a failure 
cularly as regards the latter res 
The head of the British cabin 
all that ability and knowledge • 
lie affairs which justly entitle ! 
be ranked foremost among livin 
lish statesmen, seems to have 
alike to comprehend the mag 
of the abuses he would correct 
appreciate the wishes and expec 
of the great majority of the Irij 
pie. Whether through that ol 
of mental vision which has 
characterized English public 
when attempting to deal witl 
grievances, or from a dread of 
if he attempted to inaugurate \ 
radical change in the present R 
between landlord and tenam 
from a remark in his late q^ 
latter cause would teem lv4 



GladstOMS and th$ Irish Farmers. 



24i 



ble — ^he has been led 
e of policy which, while 

no allies in the oppo- 
will undoubtedly lessen 

with a large portion of 
)arty in both kingdoms, 
f tenure," says Dr. Tay- 
V clearly understood, in 

the right of the tenant 
is to continue as long as 
paid, and that the rent 
sted at fixed periods, ac- 
he average price of pro- 
tement fully indorsed by 
ss and reiterated by the 
lir recent numerous pub- 

But the present bill con- 
• such thing, either in ex- 
»y implication ; and lest it 

understood, the premier 
h devoted much of his 
lonstrate the fallacy and 
ch doctrines. 

stand it, " he says/' the thing 
to this — that every occupier, 
pays the rent that he is now 
nt to be fixed by a public tri- 
ion, is to be assured, for him- 
irs, an occupation of the land 
irithout limit of time, subject 
ndition, that with a variation 
>f produce — somewhat in the 
sommutation of title act — the 
f somewhat slightly and at 
tant periods. The effect of 
landlord would become a pen- 
t-charger upon his own estate. 
5 has a perfect right to reduce 
oodition, giving him proper 
for any loss he may sustain 
i state has a perfect right to 
social status, and to reduce 
indition, if it thinks fit. But 
nd not to think fit unless it 
hat this is for the public good. 
the public good that the land- 
1, in a body, should be reduced 
parliament to the condition, 
fond-holders, entitled to ap- 
n day from year to year for a 
f money, but entitled to no- 
Are you prepared to denude 
[Dterest in the land ? Are you 
btolYe them from their duties 
D tibe land ? I for one con- 



fess that I am not; nor is that the sentiment 
of my colleagues. " 

Here then is the issue at once raised, 
and as Mr. Gladstone's views will re- 
ceive the sanction of Parliament, we 
apprehend that the proposed act, no 
matter how impartially executed, will 
fail to satisfy the popular wants in 
Ireland. It cannot be denied that 
the great underlying principle of the 
tenant-right agitation is the conviction 
among the masses of the fanners and 
peasants of that country that the soil 
whereon they expend their labor, that 
others may reap the profits, was and 
is rightfully their own; that it was 
forcibly and treacherously wrested 
from their ancestors by a foreign 
and hostile faction, whose descen- 
dants now claim to possess it, and 
who wring from them the firuits of 
their toil, justly belonging to the cul- 
tivators and their families. They do 
not, however, desire a reconfiscation 
of this property ; but they do demand 
a guarantee from the laws, under which 
they are content to live, that as long 
as they pay a fair rent they shall not 
be disturbed in their holdings. The 
question of leases for a term of years 
and compensation for improvements, 
though very important in itself, is 
merely secondary to fixity of tenure. 
That once guaranteed, in the Irish 
and not in Mr. Gladstone's sense, the 
impetus which would be given to the 
farming industry of the coimtry would 
be so great that tim^ and economy 
only would be required to establish a 
large class of small land owners in fee, 
thus virtually undoing the spoliations 
of former days, and dividing up the 
large estates now devoted principally 
to pleasure or pasturage, and held by 
a few persons who neither reside in, 
know, or care for the nation fi-om 
which they draw such exorbitant 
rents. The entire land of Ireland 
consists of nearly sixteen million acres 
of arable land, and five millions more 



244 



Mr. Gladstone and the Irish Farmers. 



susceptible of cultivation, owned ab- 
solutely by less than six thousand per- 
sons, thus giving to eacli proprietary 
an average of thirty-five hundred acres, 
independent of mountain, bog, and 
riparian lands, all more or less useful 
for the sustenance of human life. 
Then the majority of those owners, 
including the representatives of the 
very large estates almost without ex- 
ception, are absentees who in the ag- 
gregate draw from the soil an annual 
revenue estimated at forty millions of 
dollars ; not a tithe of it is ever re- 
turned to the country in any manner, 
except in the form of receipts. We 
find that the tenants from whom this 
large foreign tribute is exacted num- 
ber over six hundred thousand heads 
of families, representing at least three 
and a half million of souls, only one 
in thirty of whom holds a lease of any 
sort, the remainder being entirely de- 
pendent politically and socially on the 
will of the landlord, or his agents and 
bailiffs. This anomalous state of af- 
fairs in a country supposed to be at 
least comparatively free is heightened 
by the fact that the views and aims 
of the landlord class and those of 
the tenantry, which ought to coincide 
on all matters affecting the national 
good, are decidedly the reverse of 
each other. As a whole, the religion, 
politics, and traditions of the owners 
of the soil have always placed them 
in opposition to their tenants and de- 
pendents; so firmly, indeed, that even 
the demands of patriotism and the 
allurements of pecuniary gain, power- 
ful for most men, have failed to swerve 
the Irish landlord from his blind and 
bigoted purpose of repressing the 
laudable enterprise, and of ignoring 
the commonest rights, of the people 
from whom he derives his wealth and 
position. In countries like Belgium, 
Scotland, or Switzerland, where manu- 
factures are encouraged and capital is 
abundant, this slavish relationship be- 



tween landlord and tenant 
a secondary grievance ; but ii 
which is essentially an a( 
country, the enormity of the 
not well be over-estimated, 
two thirds of the populatior 
land,'' said the late W. Smith 
" are dependent on manufaci 
commerce, directly or indire 
this country (Ireland) ab< 
tenths of the population ar 
dent on agriculture, directly 
rectly." "An ancient vass 
Van Raumer, a distinguisl 
man traveller, who some y 
visited Ireland, "is a lord c 
with the present tenant at 
whom the law affords no ( 
and a recent decision in < 
declares that "if a tenant 
from year to year makes p< 
improvements in the lands i 
holds, this raises no equity a 
the landlord, though he re 
looked on and not have gi 
warning to the tenant." 

But we have a more recen* 
ity on the condition of the Ir 
ers of to-day in the person of 
cial commissioner of the Londi 
who certainly cannot be ace 
over-partiality in describing i 
dition of that much oppress< 
Writing from Mullingar unc 
September 14th, 1869, he sa 
far the largest portion of the 
is still occupied by small farm 
legally are merely tenants 
though they have added muc 
value of the soil by building, c 
fencing, and tillage, and thou 
have purchased their interest 
merous instances, and it is { 
they will long maintain their 
though the area they hold i 
diminished. The existing lai 
a rule of right to this body of 
their actual position; it expofi 
in truth is their property, the 
they have added to the bnc 



Mr. Gladstone aful the Irish Farmers. 



245 



by a summary process; 
laught the equitable right 
y a transfer for value with 

of the landlord." From 

a month's further investi- 
again writes, "As for the 
item of the country as a 
s, in its broadest outlines, 
the same as that which I 
len described, except that 
B very prominent. Speak- 
lly, the same religious dif- 
nde the owner and the oc- 
hc soil ; the absenteeism is 
nt ; there is the same wide- 
rcurity of tenure ; the law 
le way upholds the power 
dlord, and disregards the 
of the tenant ; there is the 
ion of vast rights of pro- 
s form of improvements, by 
ryy unprotected by the least 
on, and liable, nay, exposed 
:ion ; vague usage similarly 
safeguard against frequent 
able injustice." Conced- 
. Gladstone and his col- 
* greatest honesty of in- 

the introduction of the 
, and aware of the power- 
over-scrupulous opposition 
remedial measure advocat- 
i must encounter from the 
andcd classes, yet in view 
itent abuses as stated, as 
m the assurances of Mr. 
i others supposed to be 
ofidence of the ministry; 
right to expect a measure 
ral, emphatic, and sweeping 
ns. Still, as the bill will be 
stantially as presented, with 
e addition of a few unim- 
lendments likely to be of- 
le Irish members, it is im- 
examine in detail its main 

far as they relate to what 
Q the preamble as " security 

t nibdivision of the bill pro- 



vides for the loaning of public moneys 
to landlords and tenants on the follow- 
ing conditions : Where the landlord 
is willing to sell and the tenant to 
purchase a particular farm, then in his 
actual occupancy, at a price agreed 
upon between the parties, the govern- 
ment will advance the tenant the ne- 
cessary funds ; and when the landlord, 
is only willing to part with his estate 
in bulk, the actual occupiers of four 
fifths, and any person or persons not 
occupiers joined with them, may be- 
come purchasers of the whole, and 
a similar advance will be made. In 
other words, the government takes 
the place of the selling landlord, pays 
him indirectly the price agreed upon, 
and reimburses itself by annual in- 
stalments firom the tenant, now be- 
come the owner, until the entire pur- 
chase money is paid off. Tliis seems 
favorable enough for the enterprising 
tenant, and to any other than Irish 
landlords would offer strong induce- 
ments to dispose of a portion, at least, 
of their unwieldy and often heavily 
encumbered estates, and would pro- 
mole the multiplication of moderate 
sized and better cultivated farms ; but 
as we are aware of the hostility of 
that unpatriotic class to every thing 
tending to the elevation of their te- 
nantry to a position of comparative 
equality, we have little hope of the 
efficacy of this provision. Indeed, 
Mr. Gladstone seems also of this 
opinion; for in his late speech in 
allusion to the subject, he says, "I 
myself have not been one of those 
who have been disposed to take the 
most sanguine view of the extent to 
which a provision of that kind would 
operate." Purchasers of reclaimed 
land not occupied are to have the 
same privileges as occupiers of cul- 
tivated lands. The landlord likewise 
is to have his share of the public 
money for the purpose of reclaiming 
waste lands adjoining his estate, and 



24S 



Mr. Gladstone and the Irish Farmers. 



in some instances, for paying off the 
compensation claims of his outgoing 
tenant All these loans, securities, 
repayments, and annuities are to be 
under the direction of the Irish Board 
of Works at Dublin. 

The legal machinery for carrying 
these and subsequent .clauses of the 
bill into effect will consist of two 
classes of courts. One of arbitration, 
consisting of appointees of the parties 
interested, whose decision shall have 
all the force of law, and from which 
there shall be no appeal. The other 
will be a regular coiut of law, with 
very extensive equity jurisdiction, com- 
posed, in the first instance, of a civil 
bill court, presided over by an assis- 
tant barrister of sessions; an appeal 
court, composed of two judges of as- 
size, who may reserve important cases 
for trial before the court for land 
cess in Dublin. Taking into consi- 
deration the relative wealth and per- 
sonal influence of the parties litigant, 
we might hope for a less expensive 
and complicated mode of procedure; 
but as the law's delays are still as pro- 
verbial on the other side of the At- 
lantic as on this, it is perhaps the 
least objectionable plan that could be 
devised. Much certainly will depend 
on the independence and humanity 
of the courts; for while they will be 
bound by the principles laid down in 
the bill, it is authorized — 

** On hearing of any dispute between land- 
lord and tenant in respect of compensation 
under this act, either party may make any 
claim, urge any objection to the claims of 
the other, or plead any set-off such party 
may see fit, and the court shall take into 
consideration any such claim, objection, or 
set-off, and also any such de&ult or unrea- 
sonable conduct of either party as may ap- 
pear to the court to affect any matter in dis- 
pute between the parties/' etc., and give 
judgment on the equities of the same. 

The bill then proceeds to secure 
and define the tenure of all holders 
of agricultural land, dividing them 



into four classes : holden 

tom of Ulster, by custom: 

to that of Ulster in the othe 

tenants from year to year 

and lease-holders general! 

The custom of Ulst 

strangely enough from th 

James I.'s charter to the 

in i6i3,* as well as from 

usage, consists mainly of t 

the outgoing tenant to co 

from his landlord for all 

improvements he may ha> 

the land, or that he has at 

for to hb predecessor, whei 

without the consent of hi! 

or the tenant may elect 

same with his good-will c 

to the best purchaser. T 

covering about a moie 

3,400,000 acres of Ulster, i 

mally recognized as law c 

portion of the country, ai 

individual case where it n( 

exists. But when " the lai 

by a deliberate and form, 

ment with an occupier, 

the Ulster tenant right, it s 

pleaded against him;" and 

tenant has so sold to the 1 

to the incoming tenant hi 

shall be debarred from all 

pensation under the act 

of this custom, though here 

partially recognized, will be 

from the fact that, though \ 

no means the most fertile s 

average annual value of i 

from four to four and a 1: 

per acre greater than the 

tions of the country. Wh; 

tom, so manifestly benefii 

classes, should only be ma 

in Ulster, but not through< 

land, it is difficult to detem 

There are also customs 



• The said undertaken than ooC d 
any part of their lands at wiO, bat ihai 
esutes for jearib ior Bfcb >■ US <v is te 



Mn Gladstone and the Irish Farmers. 



247 



of the country which have be- 
traditional, and are said to re- 
e somewhat that of Ulster; but 
at extent they prevail, or of their 
nature, we are not informed. 
are commonly supposed to in- 
the right of compensation for 
rvemenls of a certain sort, and 
ik of the good-will by the out- 
tenant. These, however, are 
yarded with the same degree 
ness ; for they can only be plead- 
len the landlord by his own act 
( the relation between himself 
enant ; and when pleaded, all 
s of rent or damages to the farm 
be claimed as an off-set; they 
nfeited by ejectment for non- 
ent of rent, or by sub-letting or 
riding the holding, and are ex- 
shed by the acceptance of a 
af thirty-one years or upward. 
is the first attempt we norice in 
ill to induce the landlords to 
leases, and we regret to find 
iroughout its entire length, with 
cception of one clause, there is 
ig at all prohibitory in its pro- 
5. What good reason can exist 
t preservation of the custom of 
• under a lease, while those of 
her three sections are bartered 
for that privilege ? Is this not 
ar evidence of the partiality of 
nna which should be as compre- 
e as the evils to be eradicated 
de-spread ? 

J most important part of the bill 
: which relates to the yearly te- 
md tenant at will ; for it afiects 
the largest and most defence- 
lass of Irish farmers. Out of 
ndred thousand heads of families 
jcrive their existence directly from 
0, five hundred and eighty thou- 
or nearly ninety-seven per cen- 
C the whole, are of this class, and 
iable at any time to be thrown 
le charity of the world by the 
tf a landlord or his agent, de- 



prived not only of their sole means 
of livelihood, but of whatever bene- 
fits they may have conferred on their 
litde holdings by their hard labor and 
well-earned money. It is useless now 
to dwell on the horrible calamities 
which have resulted firom the whole- 
sale evictions of these unfortunate 
people, or on what famine, pestilence, 
death, and too firequently agrarian 
crime, have year after year flowed 
from the uncontrolled barbarities prac- 
tised on them by Irish landlords, arm- 
ed with the terrors of law. The wait- 
ings and maledictions of the homeless 
and expatriated have so long resound- 
ed through both hemispheres, that 
their very echoes have startled the ears 
of their persecutors into something 
like attention. " We have," says Mr. 
Gladstone from his place in the House 
of Commons, "simplified the law 
against him, [the tenant,] and made 
ejectment cheap and easy."* This 
large class, therefore, if not receiving 
that adequate protection to which 
they are justly entitled, will, under the 
operation of the proposed act, have 
their interests placed beyond jeopar- 
dy in such a manner as, compared 

* " In the number of (arms, from one to five acres, 
the decrease has been 34,147; from five to fifteen 
acres, 37,379 : fi'om fifteen to thirty acres, 4274 ; while 
of firms above thirty acres, the increase has been 
3670. Seventy thousand occupiers with their fiuniliea, 
numbering about three hundred thousand, were root- 
ed out of the land In Leinster, the decrease in 
the number of holdings not exceeding one acre, as 
compared with the decrease of 1847, was 3749 ; 
above one and not exceeding five, was 4626 ; of five 
and not exceeding fifteen, was 3546 ; of fifteen to 
thirty, 391 ; making a total of 10,617. In Munster, 
the decrease in the holdings under thirty acres is stat* 
ed at 18,814 ; the increase over thirty acres, 1399. ^^ 
Ulster, the decrease was 1503; the increase, 1x34. 
In Connaught, where the labor of extermination was 
least, the clearance has been most extensive. There 
in particular the roots of holders of the soil were never 
planted deep beneath the surface, and consequently 
were exposed to every exterminator's hand. There 
were in 1847, 35,634 holders of from one to five acres. 
In the following year there were less by 9703 ; there 
were 76,707 holders of firom five to fifteen acres, leas, 
in one year by 13,891 '» those of fix>ro fifteen to thirtjr 
acres were reduced by ax 31 ; a total depopulation of 
36,499 holders of land, exclusive of their ftroiUea,, 
was efiected in Connaught in one year." — Captain 
Larcom's report for 1848, as quoted in Mitchel'aZiU/ 
C0nqmii^IrtUmdt{P€rka^.) DnbUn, 1861. 



248 Air. Gladstone and the Irish Fanners. 

with their present practical outlaw- husbandry. AVe have copie 

ry, will commend Mr. Gladstone to ral of those instruments of n 

their gratitude. Having no custom cution before us, and they 

to plead, and consequently very little smack more of the pre-//Mt| 

probability of obtaining leases, the era than of the present en 

landlord can still eject them ; but he century. A petition present 

must do so on a year's notice, duly House of Commons at its la< 

stamped and dated from the previous from the inhabitants of the 

gale day, and for proper cause, such Clonard, county of Meath, 

as non-payment of rent or the refusal that tenants there " are chai 

of the tenant to accept another hold- a penalty of ^5 for every i 

ing equal in value to the one desired every perch of hedge cut, ir 

by the landlord. If the landlord acts destroyed ;" they are to breal 

without such cause, the tenant will without permission of the 

be entided to damages against him and even then only sucli Ian 

at the discretion of the court, exclu- such manner as the landlord s 

sive of compensation for improve- a fine of jQio is exacted fo 

ments and reclamation of land. The acre or part of acre assigned 

maximum measure of damages for derlet, or let in con-acre or o 

wanton ejectment is set down in the or meadowed without forma 

bill as follows : permission ;" they are not to r^ 

HoiifingB valued at ;f la 7 ycare' rent cause to be removed any top-" 

" " i^toii«'.**.'.'.'3 " " compost, or manure of any 

" •* ;^ 100 and upward., a " " any hay, straw, com in th( 

In any case the tenant upon eject- holm, or fodder of any sort, 

ment wUl be entitled to compcnsa- turnips, mangel-wurzel, or odi 

tion for improvements, from which crop of any kind, under pei 

arrears of rent may be deducted. It £s P^'' ^^^^ ^^ part of load; 

is the wise and beneficent intent of top-dressing, manure, etc., ar 

the bill to place tliis helpless class main on the land at the terrain 

under the special protection of the the tenancy, and are to be the 

court, and make it the object of large ty of the landlord. The Earl 

equity jurisdiction conferred; and it trim, a very large landed pr 

even holds out a release to the land- in the north, probably not c 

lord of these penalties, providing he ing the above restrictions suf 

gives to his yearly tenant a lease of onerous, has had inserted in hi 

at least twenty-one years' duration. rous leases clauses whereby i 

The regulation of the tenure of ants are required to preserve 

lease-holders generally is most judi- and game ; and without his per 

cious, and the only compulsory one in in writing they are not to ma 

the bill. In future all leases shall be new roads, fences, or drains, 

submitted to, and the terms, as regards build up or alter houses or bi 

rents and covenants, approved by, the nor to grow two white grain < 

court, before their validity will be succession, nor to have beyon 

recognized. Heretofore, Irish leases tain maximum of tillage, nor t 

have been made exclusively for the up permanent grass-fields, noi 

benefit ofone party, and the ingenuity potatoes where there has bee 

of the lower grade of the legal pro- the year before,* nor to cut tu 
fession seems to have been taxed to 

^, ^ ^ ^ J . ._• X* * The productiTenean of ifie land WHi 

the Utmost to devise restnctions on tiUed is /^wr timet gmttatiua 



Mr. Gladstone and the Irish Fanners. 



349 



inrender their leases at any 
six months' notice, or in 
of them be imprisoned by 

or criminal process for a 
ceding fourteen days! But 
lenry Cooper, who is suppos- 
imes to honor Markie Castle 
presence, requires not only 
vance of all the above condi- 
he part of his serfs, but binds 
become informers and pro- 
in their own names against 
hers who may be found in 
lolds ; and they are also to 
vidence (how is not stated) 
heir neighbors who might 
s or spear a salmon on their 

The farmers who have the 
\ of living under this philan- 
ire required "to submit all 
ind differences touching tres- 
neasuring to, and abide by 
award of" — Edward Henry 
\T his agents ; a very impar- 
aal, no doubt ! The above 
nay be taken as specimens 
rictions which surround even 
favored class of Irish farmers 
esent day, and which, being 
h all the forms of law, back- 
i certainty of the strict en- 
: of the penalties, must have 
id ruinous tendency to check 
lent and limit the scope of 
cultivation of lands, 
m improvements, so frequent- 
ith in the bill, is defined to 
h as are suitable to the cha- 
the holding and add to its 
due, such as buildings, re- 
land, manures, and tillage. 
Id rule of law, which presum- 
nfurovements made by the 
unless proved to the contrary, 
ed in favor of the tenant. 
ing improvement will be paid 



for if not made within twenty years 
previous to the passage of the act, 
except permanent buildings and re- 
claimed land, nor where by the terms 
of a lease the holder agreed to make 
the improvements at his own expense. 
In the future no claim will be allow- 
ed for improvements made contrary 
to the terms of the letting, or for such 
as are not required for the due cul- 
tivation of the farm, nor when the 
landlord agrees to make them and 
does not neglect to do so, nor where 
the tenant, as part of the considera- 
tion of the lease, agrees to do them 
at his own charge. But whatever 
the tenant pays to the out-going ten- 
ant for compensation, with the sanc- 
tion of his landlord, he shall be re- 
imbursed on the termination of his 
tenancy. 

Such, in brief, is an oudine of the 
law under which the farmers of Ire- 
land will have to live for some years 
to come. Although not all they de- 
mand and have a right to expect, it 
is nevertheless a great improvement 
on the present system, if system it may 
be called, under which they have so 
long tried to exist Whatever is valu- 
able in the local customs will be sub- 
stantially preserved and legalized ; the 
tenant will have some remote pros- 
pect of becoming a purchaser, and the 
tenant at will, a leaseholder. Compen- 
sation for improvements is guaranteed 
to every one capable of paying his 
rent, and the luxur)' of evictions, if not 
destroyed, is made an expensive one 
for landlords. We cannot expect 
that this measure, if passed in its best 
form, will wholly stop agitation in 
Ireland, but we trust and believe that 
it will largely conduce to the wealth 
and industry of her people. 



250 



Tlu Association for Befriending Children. 



THE ASSOCIATION FOR BEFRIENDING CHILE 



A NEW association has entered the 
field of charitable labor in this city 
bearing the modest title at the head 
of this article. It has been organized 
and is recommended to the public by 
ladies whose names are a guarantee 
of its success. The sphere of its cha- 
ritable work is among poor children 
of degraded parents. It is not known, 
except to the few practical workers 
among the poor, that there exists in 
New York a pauper class nearly if 
not quite as destitute and degraded 
as that which is found in the great 
capitals of Europe. There are persons 
here who are bom in this lowest so- 
cial stratum, and will never rise from 
it without help. Their lives begin, 
are passed, and end in what seems to be 
hopeless degradation. The portions of 
the city where this class of its popula- 
tion will be found are those border- 
ing on the rivers, on either side, ex- 
tending as far north as Fifty-ninth 
street. Children bom in this class in- 
herit the vices and diseases of their 
parents, as well as their poverty. 
They exhibit a precocity in debau- 
chery which no one can appreciate 
who has not been brought into con- 
tact with them. They inhale with 
their first respiration a fetid atmo- 
sphere. They have an instinct for 
vice and crime. Many of them es- 
cape the penalties of the criminal 
code simply because they are so young 
that the law overlooks them. They 
come into the world with the child's 
instinct to look to its parent as the 
source of authority, and a model for 
imitation. This authority is, for the 
most part, exerted to compel the com- 
mission of offences, and the model is 
a finished example for the grossest 
sins. With such influences from with- 



out, cooperating with natv 
herited tendencies to via 
to see with what fearful j 
child will be driven along ii 
es. If education begins, ai 
with the first outcry of the i 
a training is inaugurated h 
There is another class o 
lation, not strictly a paupK 
which is raised but little ab 
persons who compose it c 
ty living by fitful labor, and 
ed to all the temptations i 
extreme poverty. They ea 
vicious habits, squander the 
and their children are h 
care, to subsist as best 
These children, equally wit 
the class still lower, are i 
every thing which a judic 
ty can supply. The sect 
city where more of these 
casts, and their wretched pj 
be found than in any other • 
mensions, is that bounde< 
street on the south, Sixteent 
teenth street on the north, 
avenue and the river. Out 
tion St. Bemard*s parish has 
ed, and it was here th 
months ago, the small beg 
made from which the new o 
has sprung. On the seve: 
September last, a few ladie 
Bemard*s church, to open 
trial school for girls. Noti 
school would be commenc 
day had been given in the 
the Sunday preceding. N 
came at the hour named, 
dies, with one of the pri( 
pansh, went out into the 
alleys to compel them tc 
About twenty-five girls wa 
in the large upper room in 



Tks Aisaeiaiwm f^r Bifrimding Ckildnt^ 



«? 



hmng the forenoon. They 
1 a pitiful spectacle of ex- 
rerty and degradation. They 
1 In filthy rags, and, young as 
e, the faces of many of them 
xs of a course of vice and 
which sad progress had al- 
en made. It was clear from 
day's experiment that there 
Btant and urgent duty to be 
dy in reaching and reclaim- 
Ecn of this class. The ladies, 
p resolved to hold the school 
iay and Fridaym omings in 
)c, from ten to twelve o'clock. 
;e room in the church was 
\ their disposal On the se- 
lool-day, fifty girls attended, 
number soon reached one 
The character and magni- 
he work which these ladies 
LOst unconsciously, imderta- 
m to dawn on them. The 
ad filled up with hardly any 
i their part. The children 
need of every thing. They 
dothed and fed. They must 
f led away fix>m evil practi- 
taught the very alphabet of 
better lives. A few dollars 
llected at once and materi- 
othing purchased. Garments 
out, and the children soon 
) assist in making them, and 
les were distributed as they 
led. This has been continued 
jry child who has attended 
ol has received a complete 
:luding a new pair of shoes, 
girls came hungry as well, 
:be fed. At the close of the 
1 each day, a substantial meal 
id; and on Thanksgiving and 
sdays, generous dinners were 
I two hundred children, for 
keys in abundance were pro- 
The first step in any efficient 
ework among the destitute 
■Ky to provide for physical 
litiaast begin with the body. 



*< First the natural," and ^ afterward that 
which is spiritual,'' is the divine order. 
Thesoul is to be reached through the 
body, or rather, so closely united are 
the two, that they are both acted upon 
by the care bestowed upcm either, 
llie normal cravings of the body, 
when unsatisfied, become diseased and 
the fiiiitfiil source of vicious indulgen- 
ces. The hunger which demands 
but cannot get proper food, will de- 
mand and get sustenance hurtful to 
body and souL The little child who 
leaves a miserable shelter in the morn- 
ing, cold and hungry, will spend the 
first penny bestowed in charity by a 
careless giver at a rum-hole made 
fruniUar by errands for liquor at the 
comnlandof a drunken parent, where 
even a penny will buy what, for the 
moment, answers for both food and 
clothing. Little girls of twelve, and 
even youneer, have come to this school 
in the mcmiing whose only breakfast 
has been the liquor which they could 
buy for a cent, and who had already 
contracted intemperate habits. 

With children of this class, then, 
the first step toward moral improve- 
ment is the self-respect which they 
put on with their first warm, clean 
dress, and the satisfi3u:tion which fol- 
lows a meal of wholesome food. This 
first step, however, leads to the next, 
direct religious instruction ; the ^line 
upon line and precept upon precept " 
by which the child's soul is to be in- 
structed and purified. 

It is hardly necessary to say that 
these children are virtually heathen 
in the midst of a Christian civiliza- 
tion. They have received litde or 
no religious instruction. They are 
the ofi^ring of parents who, for the 
most part, are Catholics in name, 
but who have long since lost grace 
and abandoned the sacraments of the 
church. And yet they readily take 
religious impressions, ancl are not 
without those paX Christiaii ideas 



25a 



The Associatiofi for Befriending Children. 



which expand rapidly with patient 
teaching. It has been the practice 
at the school to spend a little time 
each morning in instructing the girls 
in the catechism ; in repeating appro- 
priate verses of Scripture, in commit- 
ting simple hymns to memory and 
singing them in unison. The ladies 
who opened, and have conducted this 
school for the past six months, have 
not been discouraged because they 
have not ab*eady achieved magnifi- 
cent results. They knew when they 
began that the salvation of these chil- 
dren, for this world and the next, was 
to be " worked out ;" that moral im- 
provement comes by " little and lit- 
tle ;" that no sincere charitable effort 
is ever lost ; that nothing can be lost 
but opportunities; and that even a 
cup of cold water given to one of 
these little ones will not fail, either of 
its reward or of its effect for good. 
So far from being discouraged, what 
has already been accomplished with 
limited means and in a casual way 
has far exceeded their expectations. 
The work has been growing under 
their hands from the start The littie 
company of ragged girls, who came 
reluctantly the first morning, has ex- 
panded into a school numbering one 
hundred and fifty, who are eager for 
the instruction offered to them. They 
manifest the utmost affection for their 
teachers. Tliey show signs of im- 
provement in every way. Many of 
them give unmistakable evidence of 
having commenced a new and useful 
career. One girl who was found wan- 
dering in the street on the first day 
was asked by one of the ladies if she 
ever went to mass ; she said " No." 
" Why not ?" said the lady. She replied 
with a bold* stare, " Oh ! I am a bad 
giri." On being told by the lady that 
she did not believe she was so bad, 
the girl replied, her eves filling with 
tears, "Well, I would go if I had 
any thing to wear but these rags; but 



we've been awfully knock 
since father died, and m< 
we're all going to hell, soul a 
This Maggie is now one c 
and brightest in the scho< 
efficient assistant of the teacl 
ers are emulating her exai 
fact, so much has already b 
that the ladies who comm< 
irresistibly committed to a 
cient prosecution of the woi 
see in it possibilities for gc 
do not allow them to stop 
the more thorough organizat 
they have attempted in form 
Association for Befiiending ( 
They feel that a necessity is 
them to make secure the goo 
attained, and that they woi 
creant to their duty as Chr 
they did not go on to the i 
feet results plainly within th 
The necessity of such an • 
charity has been shown in t 
outline which has been giv 
of the destitution of these 
Notwithstmding all the < 
associations for children, i 
names of" Industrial School 
tectories," " Oq)han Asylui 
there are at least twenty 
children in the city outsid 
such institution, whose nece 
even greater than those witl 
In its circular the associat 
that it 

"does not intend to relieve pa 
their just responsibility for thei: 
simply because they are jxwr. 
session of children, and the dut' 
taining them, are conducive am 
parents, contending with extrem 
to habits of industry and sobriety, 
one who knows even a little of tl 
graded portion of our population 
that there are multitudes of child 
city utterly abandoned by their pa 
exposed to every form of Wee, 
who are actually being trained, 
and example, in habits of debauch 
children the association desiret to 
der the influence of daily inttmcli 



J^ Btm^wdino OcMho. 



SS3 



eir dailj necessities, to educate 
iBd emplosrmeiits." 

en, in brief, are the aims of 
&tion« 

t step toward realizing them 
\y been taken. Aided by 
ty of a few gentlemen, the 
I has rented the building 
est Fourteenth street, which 
ly adapted to the purposes 
t for those who msi^ be re- 
inmates, for a longer or 
Tn, combined with a day- 
others. There is room for 
se inmates, and for at least 
idred more day-scholars, 
i is under the charge of a 
d asastants in every way 
ire for, control, and teach 
m, who find their highest 
this opportunity to rescue 
:e these little girls. The 
Qost important feature of 
' is that it combines an asy- 
ectory, an industrial school, 
ion school in one institu- 
mcircles in its arms those 
o low that they are over- 
all other charities. It finds, 
tat " the ninety and nine " 



have gone astray, and it seeks to bring 
them back to the fold. It complete- 
ly removes from evil influences those 
who are most exposed, and shelters 
and fosters them till new habits are 
formed, and seeds of good are im- 
planted and germinate. It gives to 
all food and clothing. It instructs 
all in the rudiments of knowledge. 
It gives the giris such industrial in- 
struction as will enable them to enter 
on the various employments which 
society ofiers to their sex. Such a 
home^chool the association plants in 
the midst of these utterly necessitous 
children. There should be one or 
more of them established in every 
parish in the city; and if the Chris- 
tian liberality oif Catholics be not 
found wanting, such a result will be 
accomplished. At present the asso- 
ciation must be sustained in the im- 
mediate attempt which has been made. 
Responsibilities have been assumed 
which must be met by generous do- 
nations. Surely the ladies who are 
willing to give their best energies to 
this glorious work, as well as their 
portion of the money needed, will 
not appeal to the public in vain. 



FRA BERNARDINO OCHINO. 



:ssed Bemardine, the glory 
and of the Franciscan or- 
lad counterpart in him who 
nbject of this sketch. Fra 
I Ochino, one of the con- 
scandals of the sixteenth 
ras a son of Domenico 
DO, of Sienna. He receiv- 
lame from the Via del Oca, 
itained the residence of his 
■rents. Having taken the 
be Observantines, he left 



his convent to study medicine at Pe- 
rugia. He there formed a friendship 
with Giulio de' Medici, afterwards 
Clement VII. Returning to his or- 
der, he received successive places of 
dignity; but whether dissatisfied with 
these, or really seeking a more perfect 
life, he again left it to embrace the 
austere rule of the Capuchins, then 
for the first time established in Sienna. 
Few details remam of this portion of 
the life of Ochino, and historians dif- 



254 



Fra Bernardino Ochino. 



fer in explaining the motives of this 
change. Whatever they might have 
been, it is certain that his fame as a 
preacher was acquired shortly after 
his entrance in the Capuchin order. 
His reputation grew daily. The 
most exacting critics gave him un- 
qualified praise. Sadoletus ranked 
him with the greatest orators of anti- 
quity. The Bishop of Fossombrone 
addressed him the most flattering 
sonnets, and Charles V. was heard to 
exclaim that the spirit and unction of 
Fra Bernardino could melt the very 
stones. ITie over-fastidious Bembo 
had said of the preachers of his day, 
" Why should I go to listen to their 
sermons ? One hears nothing but 
the subtle doctor disputing with the 
angelic, and, finally, Aristotle called in 
to settle the question." 

Nevertheless, Ochino stood even 
the test of Bembo's criticism. For 
the latter wrote fi'om Venice to the 
Marquis of Pescara, April 23d, 1536 : 

'* I send inclosed to your illustrious lord- 
ship the letters of our reverend Fra Bernar- 
dino, whom I have heard with inexpressible 
pleasure during the too short period of this 
Lent." 

To the parish priest he wrote : 

** Do not neglect to force Fra Bernardino 
to eat meat. For, unless he suspend his 
Lenten abstinence, he cannot resist the fa- 
tigue of preaching." 

This last remark of Bembo reveals 
to us something of Ochino's way of 
life at that time. He had, indeed, 
adopted those severe austerities which, 
according to the unanimous doctrine 
of the saints, though often the means 
of advancement in the supernatural 
life, yet, when undertaken or perse- 
vered in from an ill-advised spirit, 
generally lead to ruin, and become at 
once food and clothing for the most 
diabolical pride. The famous prea- 
cher travelled always on foot, bare- 
headed and unshod. He slept at 
night beneath the trees that grew on 



the wa}'side, or, if under dM 
some noble host, on the pavt 
the guesfs chamber. As b 
from door to door, in the 
cities, the throng knelt, awi 
wan features and fiery eye, 
thin emaciated frame, whicl 
barely to support the coan 
habit of his order. At the 1 
the nobility he did not vary 
detail o^ his penitential ab 
eating from only one dish, a 
even tasting wine. 

\Vhen he preached, says a 
porary, the churches could 
tain his hearers, and a gres 
followed him wherever he we 
was his preaching without fn 
infamous Aretino either undc 
feigned a conversion, and 
the pope, at the instance of 
begging pardon for his libel 
the papal court. In the san 
dated fj-om Venice, April 21 
he says that Bembo " has 
thousand souls to paradise I 
ferring from Sienna to this 
city Fra Bernardino, a reli: 
humble as he is virtuous." 

While at Venice, Ochino \ 
2l convent and installed ther< 
munity of Capuchins. In Jui 
by invitation of the municipa 
bly, he preached at Sienna, 
did again in the following y< 
great success and fruit. It 
this occasion that he introdi 
devotion of the Quarant* Ore. 
pears, however, that instead 
blessed sacrament, the usua 
of this devotion, Fra Beman 
posed for veneration the cnic 
a letter to the confratemit) 
Dominic, preparatory to th 
duction of this pious prac 
writes : 

« You are asked in charity to , 
many others in acoomplishing two 1 
and holy works— the first of wW 
in inviting and 1 urmingim 4 



Fra Bemarditio Ochino. 



355 



re, to do penance with a true 
iincere confession, and entire 
>imng spiritual and corporal 
; strictly kept and holy prayer, 
Utate on the transformation of 
hrist, her well beloved ; and, 
ate at his sacred feet, to ex- 
mr particular spiritual wants 
il our brethren, encouraging 
• soul, by good will, to clothe 
ose divine virtues, faith, hope, 

linder of the letter sets 
ail the arrangements for 
t the public ceremonies 
ant Ore, all breathing the 
Catholic piety. Yet it is 
probable that the first 
had already become visi- 
iracter. Boverio, the Ca- 
list, still praises him, thus 
s portion of our history, 
Lt Fra Bernardino was 

th sagacity, good manners, 
ikill in management gained by 
ried experience, gifted with a 
d generosity of soul fit for the 
prises, of an exterior so mo- 
ng that every one recognized 
itamp of virtue and sanctity ; 
(readier, whose eloquence won 
, by unanimous approval, in 
ter of the entire order, he was 
1, in 1538. He governed the 
:h good sense, prudence, and 
tscrvance of the rules, himself 
mple of every virtue, that his 
auded the choice of such a 
ited all the convents, nearly 
:. His exhortations to pover- 
ncc of the rule, and other vir- 
ile with such admirable elo- 
he reputation which he had 
at home and abroad could not 
he enjoyed such great confi- 
igs and princes that they em- 
I the most difficult undertak- 
« held him in the highest es- 
h so, that it was necessary to 
to the pope in order to obtain 
ler; the largest churches did 
bold the throng of his hearers, 
rary porticoes had to be erect- 
1 raising the tiles of the roof 
into the church to hear him. 
ring at Perugia, in 1540, he 
art angry feuds. At Naples, 



having recommended from the pulpit some 
pious work, the alms collected amounted 
to five thousand sequins." 

To this we may add that when 
three years, his term of office, had ex- 
pired, Fra Bernardino was reelected. 
Yet, despite all this fair appearance, 
things had not gone well in his heart. 
His passions, restrained from sensual 
outbreaks and left more free in other 
things, developed pride, and confi- 
dence in his own judgment, to the 
contempt of others. The desire of 
gaining souls yielded slowly and al- 
most imperceptibly to the ambition 
of the orator. Moreover, he drew 
from the works of Luther that fatal 
tendency to find in Holy Writ a re- 
sponse to the dictates of private pas- 
sion and prejudice. It is said that, 
while preaching at Naples, in the 
church of San Giovanni Maggiore, 
he had been incited by Valdes to in- 
sult Paul III., because the holy father 
had not decorated him with the pur- 
ple. Certain it seems to be, that Val- 
des was intimately associated with the 
friar, and helped to fill his heart with 
ambition and his head with the doc- 
trines of the Swiss and German here- 
tics. The viceroy, Pedro de Toledo, 
being informed that he was teaching 
the Lutheran novelties, complained 
to the ecclesiastical authorities; but 
Ochino either fairly stood the test of 
inquiry, or concealed his real opinions 
under astute forms of speech. Tlie 
latter is probably the case; for the 
Dominican Caracciolo, in his MS. 
life of Paul IV., says, 

** Since he" — Ochino—" concealed within 
himself the venom of his doctrines under 
the appearance of an austere life, (a fair cloak,) 
and because he pretended to thunder against 
vice, the number of persons was small who 
could detect the cunning of the fox. Never- 
theless there were some who discovered it ; 
and among the first, as I have learned from 
my elders, could be cited our venerable 
fathers Don Gaetano and Don Giovanni ; but 
they saw it more clearly in 1539, when 
Ochino, preaching in the pulpit of the catht- 



356 



Fra Bernardino Ockino. 



dral, uttered many propositions against 
purgatory, indulgences, and the ecclesias- 
tical laws about fasting, etc.; and, whatsis 
worse, the impious monk was accustomed 
to present as an interrogation that which St. 
Augustine has said in a simply negative 
form, as in the following passage : Qui fecit 
te sinetCi non satvabit te iitu U ? — thus giving 
his audience to understand that faith alone 
suffices, and that God saves us without any 
good works on our part to cooperate with 
his; just the contrary of that which St 
Augustine really teaches." 

Caracciolo further narrates that sys- 
tematic means were secretly taken 
to spread these doctrines of Ochino, 
and that clandestine meetings of those 
infected contributed to this end. Yet 
Fra Bernardino still kept his fair fame, 
and maintained perfectly his Catholic 
exterior; for the ensuing year witness- 
ed the public devotions at Sienna to 
which we have before alluded. It 
was at Venice, in 1541, that he was 
for a time suspended from preaching. 
This was not due to any plain and 
palpable errors of doctrine. For, al- 
though accusations against him had 
been made by several persons, he had 
in a private interview relieved the 
nuncio's present suspicions, if not his 
forebodings of the future. The tem- 
porary prohibition to preach was 
caused by the distrust of the nuncio, 
which was greatly aggravated by an 
allusion on the part of Ochino to 
the arrest of Giulio Tcrenziano. The 
latter was a theologian of Milan, an 
avowed and contumacious preacher 
of heresy, whom the nuncio had si- 
lenced in the previous year. From 
the pulpit Ochino appealed to the 
Venetians against such an exercise 
of authority. He placed himself on 
the same footing with Terenziano, and 
cried, " What have we done, O Vene- 
tians ? What plots have we arrang- 
ed against you ? O Bride and Queen 
of the Sea ! if you cast into prison, 
if you send to the gallows, those 
who announce the truth to you, how 
shall that truth prevail?" Never- 



theless, in three days the 1 

stored to him his faculties, 

the pressure brought to be 

friends and admirers of the 

After the close of Lent 

Ochino gathered at Verona 

the Capuchins of the Ven 

vince, and taught them 

with all that subtlety of argu 

eloquence of persuasion wh 

to have characterized both 1 

and public speaking.* He 

passed the zenith of his c 

was fairly started on his ( 

course. The luxury which 

ordered Fra Angelo to use i 

ing the convent at Sienna 

openly against the letter an< 

his rule that many devoul 

looked for his speedy punishn 

Cajctan Tiene had prevented 

preaching at Rome. An 

number of those gready ak 

his safety was Angela Negr 

larate, a friend of the Mai 

Vasto, the latter at this time 

mate friend and private corre 

of Ochino. This excellent L 

hearing Fra Bernardino at 

where he commented on th< 

of St. Paul, predicted that \ 

fall into heresy. It soon bee 

too manifest. His disgust fc 

his absence from the choir, h 

ncss in assisting at the sacre< 

ries shocked his brethren, so 

fied by his pious bearing and 

in these good works. Amon 

Fra Agustino, of Sienna, gentl 

ed him, saying, " When you { 

minister the sacrament withoii 

you remind me of a rider sett 

without stirrups ; take care t 

do not fall." Fra Bemardini 

soul was withering for want 

celestial dew which falls on) 

calm evening stillness of pi 

^ Among those who yielded to hbfclal a 
influeooe was Fra Baitolomoo CoM| 

mooastery of Verona, iribeaA««Md ] 



Fra Bimardino Ochino. 



257 



id Jaded as he was with earth- 
rs, and, alas ! success, could 
swer, that he did not cease 
who kept on doing good, 
as now engrossed with secu- 
^ giving counsel in the af- 
rinces; and so completely was 
occupied, that he requested 
father to be relieved from the 
station of the divine office, 
ame period he entered into 
relations with the heretics, 
xly read all their works. 
9pe still had hopes of hold- 
back, invited him to Rome, 
I dreamed of giving him the 
This brought affairs to a cri- 
bre accepting or rejecting the 
ly Ochino took council with 
Is. Giberti, the holy Bishop 
a, sent him to consult Cardi- 
aiini, at Bologna. The latter 
ill to hold a long conversa- 
: Ochino left him immediate- 
k Peter Martyr Vermigli, at 
• This visit to Peter Mar- 
, already rotten to the core, 
rtly to fall, convinced the 
a that his doctrines could 
d the censorship of Rome, 
:, if he went there, he must 
jed to renounce them. This 
m and the urgent advice of 
!artyr decided him to leave 
mediately. On the 2 2d of 
1542, he writes to the Mar- 
Pescara, detailing his anxie- 
the causes of his flight. 

e learned," he writes, " that Far- 
I have been summoned to Rome 
|r preached heresy and scandalous 
rhe Theatine Pucdo, and others 
o not wish to name, have spoken 
inse peof^e to think that, if I had 
Christ, they could not have made 
e about it" 

er on he shows consciousness 
isation he is creating. "These 
J says, " tremble before a poor 

VOL. XI. — 17 



Flight being determined upon, he 
took refuge, first, with Catharine Cibo, 
Duchess of Camerino. Thence he 
fled to Ferrara. 

Here he received letters of intro- 
duction to the principal heretics of 
Geneva. On his way across the Ap- 
ennines he had taken with him Fra 
Mariano, a saintly lay-brother, of 
whose dove-like tenderness and sim- 
plicity sweet anecdotes are told, re- 
calling the early memories of Assisi. 
Mariano, under the impression that 
they were going to preach to the he- 
retics, agreed to lay aside the religious 
habit; but, on learning the fraud 
which Ochino had practised on him, 
sought to recall his unfortunate supe- 
rior. The haughty orator was proof 
to the tears and entreaties of his hum- 
ble brother, and the latter finally turn- 
ed back alone, carrying the seal of 
the order, which the apostate had 
kept to the last. 

Arrived at Geneva, Ochino was 
welcomed by the heretics as a great 
accession. 

Calvin wrote to Melancthon, " We 
have here Fra Bernardino, the famous 
orator, whose departure has stirred 
Italy as it has never been moved be- 
fore." Prayers for him, indeed, were 
offered throughout Italy. Among 
the Capuchins — ^who, it is said, came 
near being suppressed — great pains 
were taken to eradicate the evil germs 
sown by Ochino; and Fra Francesco, 
vicar of Milan, renouncing his here- 
sies, expiated them by a severe pe- 
nance. Cardinal Caraffa, who, a few 
years later became Paul IV., publicly 
lamented the apostasy of Ochino in 
most eloquent terms, contrasting the 
austere Capuchin with the unfrocked 
preacher, and calling on the erring 
son to return to his mother. He pn>- 
mised in this case, moreover, kind 
treatment from the pope, who had al- 
ways shown great favor to Ochino. 

In a letter from Geneva, in April, 



I 



2S8 



Fra Brmardinfi Ochino. 



I 



1543, the apostate sought to justify 
his career and to explain his later 
course of action. This letter, address- 
ed to ^f uzio, begins with that allusion 
to youthful enthusiasm, which has 
since become the threadbare apology 
of those who fling away the cowl. 
He describes his life among the Ob- 
servantines in the words of the apos- 
tle, " I made great progress in the 
Jews' religion, above many of my 
equals in my own nadon, being more 
zealous for the traditions of my fa- 
thers." {Galat. L 14.) But very soon 
be was enlightened by the Lord to 
the following effect: "That it is 
Christ who has satisfied for the sins 
of his elect, and has merited for ihem 
paradise, and tliat he alone is their 
justification ; that the vows pronounc- 
ed in the religious orders are not only 
invalid but impious ; and that the 
Roman Churcli, although of an exte- 
rior splendid to carnal eyes, is none 
the kss an abomination in the sight 
of God." Tliis, he would have us 
believe, took place before his entering 
tlie Capuchin order. This doctrine 
of the vanity of good works, of the 
sinfulness of monastic vows, his ex- 
cuse for abandoning both, was rooted 
in his mind during those years of rug- 
ged asceticism, while he siili preached 
prayer and penance, as we have seen 
at Sienna I A liar or a hypocrite? 
Perhaps neither. For the remainder 
of the letter Is full of that fanatical 
declamation against Antichrist and 
the harlot of Babylon, and all that 
ruling cant in which weak brains 
and over-excited imaginations have, 
ever since, found expression and re- 
lief. The magistrates of Sienna also 
received a pointed letter, in which 
Ochino set forth his doctrine on justi- 
fication, ITie letter is in very much 
the same style as that to Muzio. 

Poor, despised Carlstadt, when he 
saw his hopeful pupil upset {as he 
[hen supposed) the pope and cast the 



church to the winds^ though 
surely Luther would not 3S»> 
himself infallible authority ai 
preme jurisdiction. In this \ 
mistaken, as he found to htl 
For men who aid In rebellion 1 
lawful authority too often find 
selves a prey to usurpers; k 
Bible, torn (rom the anointed 
of its only rightful interpreter, b 
simply a slave; its sacred text 
ordium for every fanatic and 1 
complice to every scoundrel 
position which Ochino took vr 
same as that of all other hercs 
from him whom St. Polycai 
dressed as " the first boni of £ 
down to the very Litest. H( 
stantiy applied to himself tbf 
guage which only one apostle 
to use. Although he did not | 
to have seen the tliird heaven, 
did profess to be thoroughly C 
tent to teach and determine the 
tian revelation. Under t)iese ci 
stances, it is not strange that hi 
found himself in bad odor at G 
where an authority, equally R 
able, and likewise acknowled^ 
right of private examination, ; 
theless burned alive poor wi 
who were so unfortunate as ] 
agree with it. After foundin 
Italian Church at Geneva, and 
publishing several works, so on 
ous in their character as to drai 
demnation even from some Prol 
historians, Ochino became em^ 
with the Calvinists. The natui 
suit of these quarrels was his e 
munication and banishment b 
latter. He Bed with a worn 
whom he had been sacnlcg 
married. At Basle, he pubJishi 
sermons. Thence he was cal 
preach at Augsburg, where l{ 
joyed great popularity and & j| 
until the invasion of Charles V, 
pelled him to flee will} J 
Mantua. Having t 



Fra Bernardino Ochino. 



359 



\ fiicnd, Peter Martyr, who, 
Me, had openly apostatized, he 
td with him to England, and 
cached to the Italian refugees, 
death of Edward VL, he re- 
Switzerland, and was chosen 
f the exiles of Locarno, who 
lined from the Senate the use 
x:h and their native language. 
It Geneva, so at Zurich, the 
irivate judgment involved not 
« right to believe as one might 
also the right, if one were 
force every body else to be- 
like manner. Ochino was 
3f anti-trinitarianism and also 
niing polygamy, and obliged 
that he would live and die 
ithof — what? who? The 
Church, whose demand on 
m intellect is at once a com- 
) believe and a reason for 
', backed by the pledged 
Jesus Christ ? No ! Ochino 
ted her authority. He now 
live and die in the teaching 
glius. This oath, however, 

lose its force in a few days, 
hortly attacked what he had 
defend, and, in his Laberinto^ 
dmost every article of the 

1 iaith. Banished from Swit- 
lie fled, in the dead of winter, 

four children, into Poland, 
I soon aflenvard earned uni- 
mtempt, by publicly counte- 
King Sigismund in a project- 
ly. BuUinger, whom Ochino 
•d the " x>ope of Zurich," says 
•* He is far advanced in the 
)f perdition, and an ungrate- 
^ toward the senate and the 
I, full of malice and impiety." 
o characterizes him as " Ber- 
m Ochinum^ monachum magni 
QfmdBalos^ et auctarem ordinis 
r, fid in fine se ostendit 
It^foerUam. Bernardino 



. Ochino, a monk of great name among 
the Italians, founder of the Capu- 
chins," (this a mistake,) " who finally 

. showed himself to be a wicked hy- 
pocrite." 

^ From these words of Beza, Boverio 
has sought to infer that the apostate 
finally repented and was restored to 
the Catholic communion. He has 
also introduced testimony to prove 
that Ochino was poniarded at Geneva, 
after professing tfie Catholic faith and 
confessing to a priest. But historians 
seem to favor the tradition recorded 
by Graziani, who says, " CkJunm Iblo- 
nia excessif^ etc omnihus extorris ac pro- 
fidgus, cum in viii Morcnnapago a ve- 
tereamico hospitio esset acceptus ibi senio 
ffssus €um uxore ac duabus fiiiabus^ 
filioque unapestc interiit Ochino died 
in Poland a universal outcast, after 
having accepted the hospitality of an 
old friend, in an obscure village of 
Moravia. Here, worn out with age, 
he perished, together with his wife, two 
daughters and son, in one pestilence." 
1\) rehearse the various opinions 
of Ochino would be a difficult and 
thankless task. Like most of the re- 
formers, he taught the total depravity 
of human nature and human reason, 
and, in order to establish the motives 
of faith, appealed to private illumina- 
tion, assuming for the disciple what 
he denied to the teacher. 

Besides this miserable travesty of 
the Christian distinction between the 
natural and supematural orders, there 
is in his doctrine scarcely one point 
of resemblance to the Catholic faith. 
Having cast away the ballast that had 
steadied his earlier years, the power 
which had carried him on such a bril- 
liant course proved his ruin. His ig- 
nominious death did not excite enough 
pity to cause itself to be remembered. 
He disappeared a lonely and aban- 
doned wreck. 



^aBn 



OLD BOOKS. 



Let the world ran after new books ; 
commend me to the enduring fas- 
cioation of old ones — not old only in 
authorship, but old in imprint, in form 
and comeliness, or perhaps uncome- 
liness! 

What value is there in gilded edges 
anH Turkey leather, which must be 
handled so gingerly, compared with 
the sturdy cal^kin, ribbed and be- 
velled, which has oudived generations 
of human calves ? and what is tinted 
hot-press to the page grown yellow 
in the atmosphere of centuries ? The 
quainUy spelt word, the ornamented 
initial which begins each chapter, and 
the more elaborate omameniation of 
dedication and title-page — all so poor 
now as works of art, yet in their day 
masterpieces of handicrati — there is 
a spell in them I till from that olden 
time 



A heavy quarto lies here bearing 
impress on its exterior, IVorkes of 
Lvcivs Annavs Seneca. Both MoraJl 
and Naiurall. Thinslaled by Thomas 
Lodge, D. of I^ysicke ; and within is 
a long Larin dedication to the Illvsiris- 
simoD. Thnna Egeriona, Dinnino de 
Eilismere, etc., etc. London, 1614. 

Not so very old either; but within 
that time what changes have passed 
over the world ! How often has ara- 
Intion or popular discontent, or per- 
chance honest resistance, revolurion- 
ized nations, and swept away the 
boundaries of kingdoms I How often 
some power, seemingly inadequate to 
the effect, has changed the currents 
o£ human tlwught, and exalted or de- 



graded not only individntll, ' 
gregaie masses of humanity, ; 
rively as the earthquake co 
and then depresses or uphea 
visible surface on which they < 

What changes also in the 
surroundings of this tndivid 
lume ! What improvemeTita 
petty affairs of domestic life, 1 
arrangements of the househi 
the union of science and mo 
art lo produce necessaries ani 
fluities; in refinements of se 
and manners ; in a better rela 
tween rulers and the ruled; 
sum up all, in a more just a; 
tion by each individual of 1 
owes to himself and to his felli: 
tures ! 

All through the wide extent 
past time history and legends 
back their ramifications, liki 
through some vast extendei 
scape. In some places dear a 
defined, and easily followed 
leading through tangle and un 
ty, and at more than one point 
to an abrupt termination, beyon 
all vestige of a way is lost, V 
here in thought a space of tim 
has been passed over by milU 
millions — that countless thton 
nameless whose steps have 
foot-print — and where to a li 
has been accorded the privil 
marking, by deed or word, t 
whereon they stood. It is thi 
city of the immaterial world- 
is uncovered to us noble dee 
lofty aspirations, and holy pi 
and in darker spots are wn 
hopes, and hearts, and immort 
to which all the wealth gon 
in ocean counts as nothing. 

To retrace again a 



1 ao^^lj 



Old Books. 



261 



}ften indistinct and so often 

1 an interest they fail to 
remove with patient toil 
oubt and there the untruth 
umber them, and anon to 
some obstacle and open to 

w vista, has been at all pe- 
Dccupation and the richest 
. enjoyment of some of 
^ed minds, who accepted 

2 reward in the simple suc^ 
lir labors. Even the more 
anderer through the mazy 
whose limited scope it is 
e and wonder, finds a charm 
restigations widely different 
ither mental pursuit. It is 
of a common humanity— 
ition and acknowledgment 
1, invisible and intangible, 
leasure undefinable, but too 
r to be broken, which unites 
le other the whole human 
!t is not religion — ^neither 
' ; for in many a land, de- 
)arbarous precepts of a so- 
jion, and where philosophy 

heard of, it vibrates in the 
lit to the necessities of the 

Its first link is riveted in 
on origin; and its myste- 
ence widely and wisely as- 

in the interest with which, 
i creatures, is ever invested 
of human kind, 
more, it is this great social 
:h attracts us to the person- 
ation, and always precisely 
ion as they assimilate to real 
since even the most success- 
es of fancy can hardly fail 
t, in some point, of realities, 

itself, properly presented, 
s possess attractions beyond 

I. 

not in battle-fields and con- 
>r yet in the impassioned 
or astute wisdom of senates 
cil chambers, that we hold 
mmunion with the buried of 



long ago; it is in that homely every- 
day life which we are ourselves living ; 
in the little pleasures, regrets, and 
loves; in the annoyances, successes, 
and failures; in the very mistakes and 
imprudences which made up the ^go 
ipse so like our own that we find 
companionship. How they return to 
life again in all these tilings I and we 
enter into then: most private chambers 
— the doors are all open now — and 
read their most private thoughts. We 
know them better than did their con- 
temporaries ; and they suffer a wrong 
sometimes in this ruthless unveiling 
which our heart resents. Now, it is 
proper that truth should ultimately, 
even on earth, prevail ; and that the 
traitorous soldier and unscrupulous 
courtier, after having lived their lives 
out in ill-gotten wealth and undeserv- 
ed honor, should wear in history their 
true colors ; that even a woman's mis- 
deeds, when they touch public interest, 
should be brought to meet a public 
verdict; but then these little private 
endurances — the life-long struggle 
with poverty here, the imavailing 
concessions to unreasonable tyranny 
by home and hearth there, the mar- 
tyrdom of life, as it may be called, 
which they so carefully guarded from 
sight — how it is all paraded now to 
the world, and passed firom book to 
book! 

And yet it takes all this to make up 
the entire truthful portrait. Indeed, so 
very far does it go to modify our 
opinions of them, that the judgments 
formed without it must be oftentimes 
very erroneous. 

II. 

Had oiir old book but a tongue, 
what tales it might tell of the life after 
life which has passed before it 1 

Since the date of its printing, 1614, 
twelve sovereigns have worn the En- 
glish CTOwn; for in that year James 



263 Old . 

I. was upon the throne of his mother's 
enemy. Eleven years before, when a 
messenger was sent to him in Scot- 
land with an announcement of the 
death of Elizabeth and his own acces- 
sion, the tidings found him so poer 
that he was obliged to apply to the 
English secretary, Cecil, for money to 
pay his expenses to London. His 
wants multiplied rapidly. From his 
first stopping-place he sent a courier 
forward to demand the crown jewels 
for his wife; and a little further on 
another messenger was dispatched for 
coaches, horses, litters, and, "above 
all, a chamberlain much needed." 

This journey of James was a very 
unique aiFair. Honore were scattered 
so lavishingly that knighthood was 10 
be had for the asking; and a little 
pasquinade appeared in print, adver- 
tising itself—^ Ift/p to Memorie in 
kaniing Names of English Nobility. 

" Al Newarlt-upon-Trent (says Stow) was 
taken a cut-purse, a pilfering thief all gentle- 
man outside, with good stores of gold about 
liim, who coafessed he had followed the court 
ftom Berwick; and the Idng, hearing of this 
gallant, did direct a warrant to have bim 
hanged immediately."* 

And so began at the very outset the 
spirit which said afterward, " Do I 
make the lords ? Do I make the 
bishops ? Then God's grace — I make 
what tikes me of law and gospel ! " 
So outspoke the king; who is describ- 
ed by those who went to meet him 
as "ill-favored in appearance, sloven- 
ly, dirty, and wearing always a wad- 
ded dagger-proof douUct." 

These eleven years of his reign had 
been fruitful in troubles of all kinds. 
The death of his son Henry, and the 
alleged, but never proven schemes 
of Lady Arabella Stuart to gain the 
throne, made a portion of them; and 
all were aggravated by that spectre, 
coDJi'jed up by his reckless cxtrava- 

■ LclUn in Sii Ueniy EOu'i CoHcc 



gance, and which h 
last moment of his 1 
purse. When his daughter El 
was married to the Palatine o4 
mia, the fireworks alone of ] 
cost seven thousand poundi 
when my Lord Hargrave accon 
the bride to the Rhine «Dd I 
back a bill of thirty thousand ] 
the king, having neither gold nc 
to pay with, gave him a grant 
base farthings in brass. 

King James, in a book wt 
wrote on Sports, advocates all 
exercises, and one of his own | 
pleasures had always been h 
When so engaged, every thtngt 
forgotten, and hence arose agri 
by no means triding to his 1 
subjects — he and his couili4 
companions in the chase, not 
quently quartered themselves i 
district where game abotmde< 
the provisions of the localiq 
absolutely exhausted. Then 
story told of him that, while 
ing at Royston, his favorite 
Jowler was missed one day, a 
next he reappeared with a \a\ 
tened on his neck, upon whii 
written — ■ 

"Good Mister Jowler, I pray ja 
to the king, for he hears yon every dj 
he dolh not so as,) that it will pU 
mEyesly to go back to LondoB, for 
provision is spent.". . . . "hoiwn 
the courtier,) froni Royston he nUM 
lo New-Morkct, and from thence 1 

How much further he mi^ 
been led to hunt, is untnoW 
there Lord Hay, who loved hi 
and horns also, promised no xa 
importune his majesty, and his 
sedate comisellors succeeded in( 
him back to business. In the 
time, in the more weighty naU 
politics and religion, where dw 



Old Books. 



363 



nobles of two countries intrigued 
lotted for power over a monarch 
imposed upon, discord and con- 
1 reigned, until in 1614 they 

have reached their height. 

1 so stood the world, old book ! 
hich thou wert launched. Guy 
s and his crew had been swept 
le earth ; but in the Tower of 
n this year lay a more noble 
ny, accused of the same crime 
»n. There was Earl Grey, and 
'obham,and Sir Walter Raleigh, 
» some others. These three had 
ied, convicted, sentenced to die, 
ksn to the scaffold ; and at the 
)ment reprieved and committed 
Tower. At the last moment it 
ad it came near being a minute 
e ; for James wrote his order in 
laste that he forgot to sign it, 
e messenger was called back ; 
hen this one man on horseback 
d the place of execution, the 
Towd gathered there prevented 
ig seen or heard for a long time, 
le axe was just ready for the 
roke. On what a chance hung 
lives! But what availed their 
years ? Earl Grey is dying now 
t Tower; and Lord Cobham, 
very strong in intellect, has 
weaker still in captivity; and 
T a little time, he is suffered to 
r out ; and he goes to a miser- 
)vel in the Minories, and climbs 
er to a loft, and lies down on 
-to die of very destitution. 

» years hence King James will 
loney even more than he does 
and he will call Sir Walter Ra- 
rom his cell, and place him at 
id of a fleet ; for Sir Walter — 
as been to the new world in 
long gone by — insinuates that 
pld is to be had for the dig- 
He fails to get it, though ; and 
tetum to England, he is seized, 
ritfa only the shadow of a just 
; partly on the old sen- 



tence, but more to please the Span- 
iards, whom he came in conflict with 
abroad. 

* Another life is this year pining itself 
away in that Tower — the Lady Ara- 
bella Stuart; a woman descended 
from royalty, Henry VII., in the same 
degree as King James himself, and 
therefore to be feared. Many years 
ago charges of conspiracy against the 
government were brought against her, 
and she was placed in confinement 
She contrived to escape, and with her 
husband. Lord Seymour, attempted 
to reach France. By some mischance 
they were separated in their flight; 
he reached the coast of Flanders in 
safety, but the little vessel in which 
she had embarked was pursued, over- 
taken, and the unhappy fugitive com- 
pelled to return. Love and hope bcfre 
her up bravely for a time ; but she is 
sinking at last, and it is recorded 
that September 27th, 161 5, she died 
there. 

High above all this misery merry 
notes were heard; for in 1614, was 
a grand marriage and banqueting 
such as London had not seen — ^no, not 
even at the bridal of the king's own 
daughter. The story is sadder than 
any fiction, a " sad o'er true tale" — 
as follows : 

Some years before this, the Lady 
Frances Howard, daughter of the 
Earl of Suffolk, beautiful and accom- 
plished, though still a mere child of 
thirteen years, was married to the Earl 
of Essex, a few years older. The ce- 
remony was merely to secure the al- 
liance ; for the young countess return- 
ed to her home and her embroidery, 
and the earl to the university. Four 
years after, he went to claim the bride 
whose image had doubtless oftentimes 
stolen between him and his books; 
" but (says the chronicle) his joy was 
overcast : he found her cold and con- 
temptuous, and altogether averse to 
him." 



Otd Boots, 



^ 



r,a]id tbat they had toge« 
sd the death of Sir Thomas 
Some of the inferior ao 
5 tragedy were condemned 
ted; among them Mrs. Tur- 
had in former years been 
to the comitess, and who 
persuaded her to consult a 
brtune-teller — ^firom whence 
charge of ^ unlawful arts." 
i^y principals were repeat- 
oned, and exhorted to con- 
rith no avail. The coun- 
es made some admissions, 
which implicated the earl 
f convicted herself; and we 
> believe they arose rather 
nmitigated misery, and the 
mportunides of her judges, 
. conscious guilt They 
igth restored to liberty — at 
; liberty of banishment from 
aty to return to their coun- 
d remain there ; and there, 
r that day tells us, " they 
le same house many years 
[changing a word with each 

mes seems to have devoted 
>rtion of his time to advanc- 
erests of Cupid — if love it 
ailed, where love there was 
Edward Coke had himself 
lughter, whom the king as- 
Viscount Purbcck, brother 
ike of Buckingham. The 
oke. Lady Hatton, was a 
ippe; and the eloquence of 
jurist, which could sway 
;, and check or change the 
political events, was totally 
within the walls of his own 
ady Hatton wisely opposed 
h, to which her daughter 
5 ; but in this case the king 
% Sir Exiward had decided, 
ice she was obliged to yield; 
J doing the matter (says an 
) as if the safety of the nation 
Lmits completion." Lady 



Hatton had one retaliation within her 
reach, and she took it; she gave or- 
ders that at the wedding " neither Sir 
Edward Coke nor any of his servants 
be admitted."* 

How fared at last the hapless Lady 
Purbeck, the heiress of thousands and 
thousands ? She had the misery to 
see the husband not of her choice be- 
come in a short time hopelessly in- 
sane; while his brother, under pre* 
tence of looking after his afiairs, left 
her, at times, almost penniless. Her 
letters to this unprincipled miscreant, 
written oftentimes under bodUy as 
well as mental suffering, are truly 
touching. In one of them she says, 

" Think not to tend me agiin to my mo> 
ther. I will beg my bread in the streets, to 
all yonr dishonors, rather than more trouble 
my friends." (Letter in the Caballa.) 

Such were the tales of wretchedness- 
within the precincts of a court 



III. 

The career of King James and his 
son after the insolent and unscrupu- 
lous Buckingham appeared to lead 
or drive them, as the case might be, 
seems scarcely the actual history of 
sane men. When the downfall of 
Somerset left him supreme master, he 
seems to have taken possession of both 
king and palace. He soon sent for 
his kindred from all parts of the coun- 
try ; and their arrival is thus described : 

". . . the old countess, his mother, pro- 
viding a place for them to learn to carry 
themselves in a court-like garb. He desir- 
ed to matdi them with wives and husbands, 
inasmudi as his very female kindred were 
enough to stock a plantation. So that King 
James, who in former times so hated women, 
had his lodgings replenished with them; . • 
little children did run up and down the 
king's lodgings like little rabbits; ... for 
the kindred had all the houses about White- 
hall, like bulwarks and flankers to a dtadd*" 
(Weldon.) 



I 



266 Old . 

Tlie most amusing event — or ra- 
ther the most amusing absurdity in 
the annals of that period, or one 
might say of any other period — was 
the expedition of Prince Charles to 
Spain, in 1623, to bring home a wife 

Lord Bristol was at the court of 
Philip IV., negotiaring a marriage 
between the infanta, his sister, and 
Prince Charles, and endeavoring to 
secure for him her magnificent dower; 
when Buckingham, thinking he was 
gaining too much credit by his labors, 
felt desirous of going himself to the 
epot and taking a part in the matter. 

How was this to be accomplished ? 
His wils never failed him. He ap- 
proached Charles with a general la- 
mentation over royal marriages, where 
the parties meet first at the altar — too 
late to retreat — and suggested to him 
the advantages and romance of pre- 
senting himself in person to the in- 
Cmta, and bringing her home a bride. 
Charles was charmed with the quix- 
otic notion, and they adjourned to 
the palace to obtain the king's con- 
sent He at first flatly refused; then 
consented. The next day he fell into 
a passion of tears, and prayed to be 
released from his promise ; for he fear- 
ed the dangers of the journey, and the 
lalse reports and suspicions it might 
giverisetoamonghissubjects. Charles 
was persuasive, the duke indignant 
and insolent, and once more the king 
told them to go. In the words of a 
historian — 

... "So he sud he wooM send Sir 
Fraacij Cotlington ond Endymion Porter 
with Ihem ; and he called CotUnglon in and 
told him that baby Charles and Steaie (as 
he always caUed ibem) had a mind lo go to 
Spain and bring the iiUants; and Collin gtoa 
lieing pressed to spealc of it, said it was both 
unsafe and unwise; whereupon the king 
wept again, and said, ' I told you so I I told 
you sol' Then Buddngham abused them 
all." 

After another storm of words, it 
was decided that they should go in 



disguise, with only these two 
ants. Their incognito was va 
ly carried out; for at GravcM 
were suspected by giving gol 
and at Canterbury they wou 
been arrested, had not Buci 
taken off his false wig and [i 
made himself known to die 
Finally they reached Doveri 
they found Cottington, who hi 
on before, in readiness with 1 
and they set sail for the Frcnc 

In Paris, a Scottish Qoblen 
had somehow received intim 
their being there, called late 01 
on the English arabassadorf 1 
ed (f he had seen the prince, 
prince ?" " Prince Charles," 
reply; but it was too incred 
belief. Yet while in Paris, i 
not considering it worth thd 
to visit the British ambassad 
contrived to gain admission, 
being recognized, to a court e 
party, where Charles saw for 
time the fascinating Princess 
ctta." 

The consternation in Englai 
their departure, so unbefitting 
was discovered, can scarcely 
gined. The king ordered pp 
be offered for their safe return] 
allusion made to their destinad 
gentleman of that day, named 
writing to a friend, tells this st 

" The Bishop of London, you ka 
orders, as from the king, that they 
the safe return of the priace to tii; 
more. An honest, plain preacher hi 
cd ' that God would return out nob 
lo us, and no moie I' thinking it all 
of the prayer." 

Meanwhile these two kni 
rant, or, as the king said, " swi 
and dear venturous knights, 
to be put in a new romanto,' 
tinued their journey. At last 
dose of an evening la Mao 



"ram 



Old Books. 



267 



fa stopped at the house of my 
d fiistol in Madrid, and the rid- 
ilighted. Mr. Jliamas Smith went 
St with a portmanteau under his 
-then Mr. yokn Smith was call- 
; and before the amazed diplo- 
t stood the heir to the British 
t and the Marquis of Bucking- 
He stared as if he had seen 
;hosts; but he presently took 
^ Charles to a bed-chamber, and 
ched a courier to inform his 
of his safe arrival. 
\ Spanish court took the matter 
most chivalrous light, as the 
« of a lover; although rather 
d how to arrange a reception 
ise which certainly had no pre- 
t. The Spanish people were 
aastic. The infanta blushed 
ingly at such unheard-of ho- 
and began to study English. 
James sent over a troop of 
ers for a retinue, who proved a 
set — ^"jeering at the cookery 
he religion, and making them- 
odious." • The Spanish prime 
er was soon disgusted with Buck- 
n, and would have been still 
so if he could have understood 
; swearing words — " which fbr- 
ly he cannot, (says a contempo- 
because they are done in Eng- 

; letters which passed between 
redous couple and the king at 
are amusing. A want of mo- 
as his majesty's normal condi- 
and the pitiless way in which 
leemed to ignore it, by making 
lit requisitions on his purse, 
jrising and amusing effirontery. 
\ Charles writes, 

xmfess you have sent me more jewels 
'd have use for but here, seeing so 
Some that you have appointed me to 
he infanta, in Stenie's opinion and 
09 not fit for her. I pray your ma- 
ipd mote for my own wearing.'' 



Then Buckingham defines more pre- 
cisely their necessities. 

"Though your baby himself hath sent 
word what needs he hath, yet will I give my 
poor and saucy opinion what will be fittest 
to send. Sire, he hath neither chain, or 
hat-band ; and pray you consider how rich 
they are here, and since your chiefest jewel 
is here, your son, I pray you let loose these 
after him. First, your best hat-band of the 
Portugal diamond, and the rest of the pen- 
dants to make up a necklace to give his mis- 
tress. Also the best rope of pearls, with a 
rich chain or two for himself, and some 
other jewels, not to deserve that name, that 
will serve for presents and save your purse. 
They never had so great occasion to get out 
of their boxts as now." 

King James found consolation in 
believing that they would soon return 
with the infanta and her dower; so 
he strove his best to supply them, and 
touched on smaller matters. He be- 
sought baby Charles and Stenie not 
to forget their dancing, though they 

" should whistle or sing, one for the other, 
for the lack of better music ; • • . • but 
you must be as sparing as you can in your 
spending, for your officers are put to the 
height of their speed. ... I pray 3rou, 
my baby, take care of being hurt if you run 
at tilt" (Letters in Ellis Collec.) 

Difficult as it was for the king to 
satisfy their pecuniary demands, and 
desirous though he was to act on 
Prince Charles's frequent suggestion, 
to " consult no counsel, but leave all 
to Stenie and me," he received from 
them some proposals which rather ex- 
ceeded his powers of acceptance; one 
of which was nothing less than that, 
to plfease Spain, he should acknow- 
ledge the pope's spiritual supremacy !• 
Probably at this point some little vi- 
sion of the people of England flitted 
over him ; for he replied that he had 
made a great many concessions al- 
ready, and added — 

• Eaidvidke Slate fUpwiL 



I 



I 



The end of their expedition, and 
of the negotiations with Spain, are 
well blown. After meeting the most 
honorable hospitality, they raised ob- 
jections which they never inlended 
to have removed, and made promises 
which they never meant to fulfil ; and 
returned home without the infanta, 
and witliout her dower, to reject with 
insult the Spanish alliance and lay the 
blame on Spain. 

King James died like any common 
mortal, in the most literal acceptation 
of the phrase. The same slight cold 
jiassing into mortal sickness, the 
household called up in alarm at day- 
dawn, the same hugging on to the 
dear old life. The coimtess, mother 
of Buckingham, " ran with a draught 
and a posset ;" he took the draught 
and applied the posset, but it was loo 
late — and the prince, as Charles I., 
succeeded him. 

Charles had married the sister of 
the French king, the Princess Hen- 
rietta, whose dancing had captivated 
his youthful fancy on his way to 
Spain; but some litde discord and 
confusion had crept into the music 
and dancing of their English home. 
He had promised religious freedom 
for herself and her household. Her 
retinue was very numerous, and, with 
different religious creeds and widely 
different social habits, it is not sur- 
prising that year by year a sort of 
estrangement seemed to grow up 
between them. His majesty ascribed 
this to foreign influence; and he re- 
solved to rule his own household, and 
in that very expressive phrase — make 
a clean sweep. 

" One fine afternoon the king went nnin- 
nounced to the queen's liJe of the house, 
and finding some Frenchtnen duidng and 
coi-vetting in her ptcience, look her hiuid 
and led her lo hit own lodgings ; . . . 
[hen my Lord Coniray called forth lh« 



Ficndi bishop and olhen, and tdd th 
king's pleasure wai that aD bn nri 
secTanIs of that nation, men and <■ 
old and young, with three oi fburexcc 
should depart the kingdom. The 
stood OD, that he coold not eo di>1i 
king hii muter cammandcd; but I 
told the king bis mailer haij nnthial 
Jn England, . . . The women 1 
and wept as if they were going lo 
tion; but it did no good, ihey were 
out and the doors locked." • 

Buckingham was charged witi 
transportadon oad shipping at D 
and his master wrote — 

" Stick not long in disputing witt 
Slenie ; hut drive them B«-ay like wM 
— and the dciil go with them." 

But an ambassador was disp4 
lo the French court with explana 

The civil wars which desolate 
kingdom under Charles I., and i 
ed the soil of England with Ei 
blood, are familiar to all. But! 
ham fell by the knife of an asi 
Whether sadly unwise or fearful 
minal, the king expiated his mi 
with his life. He was seized an 
prisoned; and after a trial cod( 
ed and executed. His queen, 1 
etta, with her children, all except 
were in France for safety. Hi* 
daughter, the Princess Elizabeth 
in England, and at his requeal 
conducted to him the last ev 
of his life. Then, says Whitloc 

"it was Sid lo see him — he look ih 
cess in his arms and kissed her, ut 
her two diamonds; and there wu 
weeping." 

There is preserved, in severa 
lections of old poetry, a long on 
thetic elegy, written by King CJ 
at Carisbrook Castle, where h( 
imprisoned; it is entitled, ./J* J 
ration to the King of ^ifigt, ai 
sadly says therein — 

" The fiemtt liiriu thai io iti)f tnai 
Upon riy piet inji ply. dkiromwl I«a4 
Are ihou llul om D) bDuot; lot ■■■• M 

• Utierofjotm Port in HaQL 



Old Books. 



269 



otd Srnoor I nith thy words I woo 

ifafivc^ and not be bitttr to 

I Am kaowest do not know what they da.** 

CamnumweaUh of Engiand, 
first grand state seal dated 
line virtually to its end at the 
f its founder in 1658; and a 
s later Charles II. was called 
le to the throne of his fathers. 

called the nurrie monarch; 

far from merrie was the na- 
ler his rule^-dissensions and 
nt pervaded it in every direc- 
he truth is, that the promi- 
iven in brief histories to this 
the madcap frolics of his 
he witty and unprincipled 
ind the uncommon array of 
)eauty which made up the 
lings of his own indolence 
I of pleasure, lead to a sort 
al idea that all England was 
id carousal. A nearer view 

the scene. The religious 
between conformists and non- 
ists, which began in 1662 
ed some twenty-six years — 
ill harvest planted in preced- 
\ of anarchy and fanaticism — 
pictures of persecution and 

such as enter only into re- 
rarfare ; and which, perhaps, 
t charity to refer to the impor- 
hich the opposing parties at- 
their subject During these 
ix years it is computed that 
alties which were inflicted 
id to between twelve and 
millions sterling, and the suf- 
r conscience' sake numbered 

Homeless, and hungry, and 
;, they wandered about or 
nured in jails ; and contempo- 
:©rs (Defoe, Penn) assert that 

00 to 8000 perished "like 

1 those noisome pest-houses." 
liat was not the day of merrie 
land, beyond the precincts of 

t. 

ci was succeeded by his bro« 



ther, James II., who was soon depos- 
ed, and William, Prince of Orange, 
who had married his daughter Mary, 
was invited to the throne. Next to 
these came another daughter of James, 
Queen Anne ; and with her expired the 
line of the Stuarts. The dark fortunes 
of Mary Stuart rested in some form 
on all her descendants. 



IV. 

In what quiet library, in what 
lordly mansion, was this old book 
safely stored away through all these 
changing scenes of pageantry and 
splendor, of riot and bloodshed ? Who 
was he that first received it, new and 
comely, from the hands of WUliam 
Stanly^ printer^ (who is saved to fame 
in a little comer of the title-page,) 
and what name is this, written on the 
margin in ink, embrowned now and 
almost obliterated, which evidently 
was once intended to establish owner- 
ship ? The dedication to my Lord of 
EUismere bespeaks for it a place with 
the noble and learned; who among 
them found time then to seek 

" how to line wel and how to die wel, from 
our Senecft — whose diuine sentences, whole- 
som counsailes, serious exclamations against 
vices, in being but a heathen, may make us 
ashamed being Christians.'* (Translator's 
preface.) 

What statesman, by lamp-light per- 
haps, when the toils of the day were 
over, turned these very pages, and 
drew a rule for his steps firom the 
maxims of the Roman? Hadst 
thou but a tongue, old book, what 
tales thou mightest tell ! Where wert 
thou when that pestilence, the plague, 
swept from London 100,000 of its in- 
habitants ? or where when its career 
was checked by that other horror, 
the great conflagration ? when the 
bells from a hundred steeples tolled 
their own requiem, and the number 



270 



The Vatican Council, 



I 



of houses in London was diminished 
by 13,000. 

One hundred years had passed over 
it when George I. ascended the Eng- 
lish throne; then came Georges 11., 
IIL.aiidlV., King WiUiam and Queen 
Victoria, Under the two first, no 
small ponion of the troubles, both at 
home and with foreign nations, were 
traceable to the plots and intrigues of 
the last solitary scion of the house of 
Stuart; and with George III. anew 
war boomed over the Atlantic. At 



last it was finished ; 
what mature age of 
fifty-six years, but still to good 
tion, our time-honored voltu 
crossed the ocean to find a ae^ 
under the stripes and stars.. 
more exponent, in its silent da 
of that 

"Vila Kuom* bre™" 

which the Roman poet warn! 
not to be counted on. 



THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 



NUMBER FOUR. 



I 



Another month of the Vatican 
Council has passed by wilhoiat any 
public session. There has not been 
a general congregation since Febru- 
ary azd, when the twenty-ninth was 
held. This absence of grand public 
ceremonials has driven some of the 
newspaper correspondents to turn else- 
where in search of sensational items, 
We are no longer inundated, and at 
times amused, by column after co- 
lumn of newspaper accounts narrating 
speeches and events in the council 
that had scarcely any existence, ex- 
cept in the fertile imaginations of the 
writers. The outward calm in Kome 
has produced its effect in no small 
extent in the newspaper world. 

This calm, however, is by no means 
the calm of inaction. Quite tlie con- 
trary. At no time were the fathers 
so assiduously engaged in the deep 
stndy of the matters before them, or 
more earnestly oceupietl with their 
conciliar Labors. 

We stated in our last number that 
they were then engaged in the discus- 



sion of the subjects of discipU 
which several schetttata,oi diaugl 
been drawn up by preparator] 
mittees of theologians, in antici 
of the council. The discussto 
continued, on February i9tli,w 
speakers, on the 31st with seven I 
ers, and was closed on the 314 
seven other speakers, when the , 
schema, or draught, on discipUni 
referred, as the preceding one: 
been, to the appropriate commit 
dfpuUUkn on matters of discipli 

Thus, within two months, sim 
congregation of December aSth, 
the discussion began, one sihen 
faith and four on discipline had 
up before the bishops ; and then 
been in all one hundred and fort 
speeches delivered on them. Th 
Ijerience of those two months 
made several points very dear: 

First, the ichcniala, or draugh 
prepared by the theologians, did 
prove as acceptable to the bishoj 
perhaps their authors had e 
On the contrary, the b ' 



Tks VaOcan Council. 



271 



m to a very searching exami- 
and discussion, criticising and 
ig every point and every ex- 
1; and seemed disposed, in a 
^ to recast some of them en- 

dLy^ the mode in which this 
tion had so far been conduct- 
t, it was thought, be improv- 

in its thoroughness and in 
th of time it occupied So 
le prelates who wished had 
>ne after another. The sit- 

the congregations usually 
>m nine a.m. to one p.m., and 
a great trial of the physical 
:e of many of these aged 
he prelates could not retrain 
Ling each other, What pro- 
* we making? How long 
series of speeches last ? 
, many of the speakers, im- 
) occupy the attention of the 
.tion too long, strove to con- 
lat they wished to say, and 
s omitted much that might 
own additional light on the 
>r would be material for the 
►f their views. Yet how could 
avoided without extending 
ission beyond the limits of 
:e. 

ttore, many prelates, whose 
and experienced judgments 
.ve been most valuable, would 
k ; some, because they were 
\ to increase the already large 
3f speakers ; others, because 
;ans of speech were too fee- 
are their l)eing heard through- 
1 which held over a thousand 
ttby no means crowded s-jats. 
points had gradually made 
es manifest, and, as we inti- 

our last article, the question 
a raised, how these difficul- 
1 be met Some suggested a 
of the prelates into a number 
iu, in each and all of which 
might go on at the 



same time. But, after much conside- 
ration, another method twas resolved 
on, and was announced in the con- 
gregation of the 22d of February as 
the one to be followed in the exami- 
nation and discussion of the next 
schema^ or draught, to be taken up by 
the counciL 

The main points of these addition- 
al regulations are the following : When 
a schema comes before the council 
for examination, instead of the vivA 
voce discussion, which according to 
the first system would take place in 
the congregations, before sending it 
to the proper committee, if necessary, 
the cardinals presiding shall fix and 
announce a suitable time, within which 
any and every one of the fathers, who 
desires to do so, may commit his 
views on it to writing, and shall send 
in the same to the secretary of the 
council. Any amendments, additions, 
and corrections which he may wish 
to make must be fully and clearly 
written out. The secretary must, at 
the end of the appointed time, trans- 
rait to the appropriate committee, or 
deputation of bishops, all the re- 
marks on the schema. The schema 
will be examined and remodelled, if 
necessary, by the committee, under the 
light of these written statements, pre- 
cisely as would be done if the mem- 
bers had before them the full report 
of speeches made in the former style 
before the congregation. The reform- 
ed schema is again presented to the 
congregation, and with it a summary 
exposition of the substance of the re- 
marks and of the amendments propos- 
ed. " When the schema, together with 
the aforesaid summary, has been distri- 
buted to the fathers of the council, the 
said presidents shall appoint a day 
for its discussion in general congrega- 
tion.'* In parliamentary usage, this 
corresponds to having the discussion, 
not on the first, but on the second 
reading of a bill. 



272 



The Vatican Council. 



This discussion must proceed in (he 
strict order of topics, tiret generally ; 
tliat is, on the schema wholly or in 
part, as it may have been brought be- 
fore the congregation ; then on the 
several portions of it, one by one. 
The speakers who wish to take part 
in the discussion must, in giving in 
their names as before, state also wheth- 
er they intend lo speak on the schema 
as a whole, or on some special parts 
of it, and which ones. The form of 
amendment, should a speaker propose 
one, must be handed in, in writing, 
at the conclusion of his speech. Of 
course, the speakers must keep to the 
point in debate. If any one wanders 
from it, he will be called to order. 
The membere of the reporting com- 
mittee or deputation will, moreover, 
be free to speak in reply, during the 
debate, as they judge it advisable. 

The last four of these by-laws arc 
the following : 

XI. " ir Ihc discnssion be unreaioDably 
protrulcd, liter Ibc lul^ect has been suffi- 
denlly debated, the cu^nals preciding, on 
the written request of at least lea bishops, 
ilull \x at liberty to put the question to the 
fethcre whether the discussion shall con- 
tinue. Tlie fathers itaSi role by rising or 
TtCainmg their seats ; and if > mnjorily of 
the fathers present so decide, they shall close 
the discussion. 

XII. '■ When the tUscussion on one pnrt 
of a tihtma is closed. Eud before proceeding 
to another, the presiding cardinals shall lake 
the votes of the general congrCEation, first 
on the amendments proposed during the 
discussion itself, and then on the whole con- 
text of the part under consideration. 

Xin. "The votes, both as to the ainend- 
tnents and as lo the context of such part, 
will be given by the tathers in the following 
mode ! First, the cardinal* presiding shall 
require those who assent lo the amend- 
ment or text to rise ; then, by a second call, 
shall requite those who dissent to rise in 
their turn ; and slier the votes have been 
CDunted, the decision of the majority of the 
fathers will be recordod. 

XIV. " When aU (he several parU of a 
ifkema have been voted on in this mode, 
the cardinals presiding shall take the judg- 
ment of the fathers on the entire scknaa 



□nder examination as a whole. 1 
shall be given vH'A vaa, by the m 
GET or No« PijiciT. Bui those 
it necessary lo add any condition 
their votes in writing." 

It is already evident that 
provision of these by-laws oi 
tions is attaining its purpose. 
congregation of Fcbruaiy as 
they went into force, a cert 
tion of a new schema, or dra 
matters of faith, was announct 
next matter regularly comin] 
examination, and the space 
days was assigned within wl 
fathers might write out their a 
and propose any emendai 
amendments lo it, and send si 
ten opinions to the secretary. 
was no limit to hamper the hi 
the fullest expression of the 
ments. They might write bl 
at as great length as they 
proper. Moreover, in wiitil 
would naturally be more ex 
careful than perhaps they □ 
in speeches often made exB 
There would also be less liat 
being misunderstood. Moreoi 
ny more could and probabl] 
write than would have spoken 
said over one hundred and ( 
so write on this first occasi 
that, in reality, as much wj 
in those ten days as under 
system would have occupit 
months, The second portion, W 
the debate before the coogn 
will of course be effective an 
factory. And it is confidentlj 
that the third portion, as to lb 
of closing the debate and laki 
vote, will, when the time coi 
testing it, be found equally s 
tory. 

In our previous numbers w 
avoided falling into the very « 
the tiorrespondents which W 
repeatedly blamed ; we have n 
tended to have succeeded in gi 



The Vatican CounciL 



373 



DSe behind the curtain which veils 
XKmcily and so to have qualified 
Ives to speak without reserve of 
atters treated by the fathers in 
irivate debates. Even had cir- 
inces brought some knowledge 
to us, it would be under obliga- 
hich would effectually prevent 
iching on it in these articles. 

can be under no such obliga- 
•egard to questions which, if we 
rectly informed, have not come, 
: up to the present time, be- 
: congregations of the council. 
5 one such question which ex- 
liversal attention, perhaps we 
rather say universal talk, out- 
e council — the infallibility of 
c It has become in Europe 
stion of the day. Books have 
ritten on it, pamphlets discuss- 
■e issued every week, and Eng- 
'rance, Germany, and Spain 
een deluged with newspaper 
upholding it or attacking it — 

written with every possible 
)f learning and of ignorance, 
every degree of temper, from 
t to the worst The articles 
Lt might be expected when the 
are of every class, from erudite 
ians down to penny-a-liners, 
en, if some are good and sin- 
tholics, many are by no means 
Protestants have written on it, 

favor of the doctrine (!), most 

against it. The bitterest and 
nfair articles, however, have 
id are those written by the 
[ opponents of the church; 
how this precise question can 
ito politics, any more than the 
« of religion, the divinity of 
riour, the infallibility of the 
or any other point of doctrine, 
lot see. But in Europe, if re- 
oes not go into politics, poli- 

at least politicians and poli- 
liteis, have no scruples in 
Md idigious matters. In fact, 

VQI. XL— 18 



the most advanced party of ^^progress^ 
and enHghtenmenfj and liberty " pro- 
claim that there should be no religion 
at all, that it narrows the intellect by 
hampering fireedom of thought, and 
enslaves man by forbidding him to do 
much that he desires; and as they 
think mankind should, on the contrary, 
be firee from all its trammels ; and as 
they hold it to be their special mission 
to effect this liberation, they systema- 
tically omit no occasion of attacking 
religion. For them, one point is as 
good as another; the infallibility of the 
pope will do as well as the discovery 
that a crazy nun, subject to furious 
mania, was confined in a room so 
small that the sides of it only mea- 
sured twenty feet one way and twenty- 
three the other, and so low that one 
had to stand on a step to reach the 
window. Any thing will serve this 
class of writers. And, unfortunately 
for religious news, much of what ap- 
pears in the press of Europe, and must 
gradually be infused, in part at least, 
into the press in the United States, is 
from such pens, and is imbued or is 
tinged with their spirit. 

We would not do justice to Rome 
and the council if we omitted to 
mention a very interesting event with 
which the council is connected, if 
only as the occasion. Wc mean the 
Roman Exposition of Arts, as applied 
to religious purposes. It was opened 
by the pope three weeks ago. 

The traveller arriving in Rome by 
the railway cannot fail to be struck 
with wonder at the view which opens, 
before him the instant he steps out of 
the door of the central station. Just 
across the square, huge dark masses 
of rough masonry rise before him. 
Syome are only twenty or thirty feet 
high, and their tops are covered with, 
the herbage or bushes that grow on' 
the soil, wafted thither by the winds 
of centuries. Others are still higher, 
and are connected by walls equally 



^74 



The Vatican Ccuncil, 



old, some broken, some nearly entire. 
Here and there immense arches of 
masonr)% a hundred feet high in the 
air, still span the space from pier to 
pier, and bear a fringe of green her- 
bage. Every thing tells you of the 
immensity of the building, or group of 
buildings which men erected here in 
ages long gone by. But even still, as 
you see, portions of these walls and 
arches are used. Not every pier is a 
mere isolated ruin ; not under every 
arch can you look and see through 
it a broad expanse of blue Italian sky. 
Modem walls are joined to these 
piers ; the ancient walls too are turned 
to account; irregular roofs, some high, 
some low, come against them. Here, 
through the high openings in the ori- 
•ginal wall, men are busy taking in or 
•delivering bundles of hay from the 
store-house they have constructed. 
There,through doorways and windows 
of more modem shape, you see that 
another portion is made to serve as 
barracks for soldiers. Other build- 
ings stretch away northward and 
westward, schools, orphanages, and a 
reformatory, as you see by their va- 
rious inscriptions. But though of 
more recent date, they have not lost 
all connection with the ruins ; for the 
ground all along shows traces of the 
original constructions in the fragments 
of broken columns and in patches of 
the ancient masonry, which between 
and beyond them continues ever and 
anon to rise in outlying masses. But 
in the centre, where the strong mason- 
ry rises higher than elsewhere and is * 
best preserved, there spreads a wide 
roof surmounted by crosses at the 
gables. To the eastward, the ruins 
seem to die away in a long and not 
very high line of buildings, evidently 
.cared for and inhabited. The walls 
are covered with plaster, and the 
windows are glazed, and protected by 
shutters. Over the ridge of the roof 
you may see the lofty summits of 



some cedars that are growin, 
court-yard or garden within. 

These are the mighty rei 
of tlie Baths of Diocletian, con 
ed by that emperor in the ye; 
Built at the period when Roi 
at the zenith of her wealth and 
it far exceeded all other bi 
of its class in the seven-hille 
both in vastness and in grande 
was undertaken in a time of th 
cruel persecution of the chun 
the Christians who were concj 
to imprisonment and hard lal 
cause they would not deny thei: 
were brought here day after d: 
many a prison, and fettered lil 
victs, and were made to labor ii 
ing this pile devoted to prid 
luxury, and debaucher}'. M; 
account of the martyr Christi 
that age tells of old and your 
and women, condemned for the 
and sent to die here a lingering 
of martyrdom. Many a soul 
from this spot straight to heave 
who bath greater love than 1: 
giveth his life for his friend? 
a prayer of Christian faith, of I 
signation, of ardent hope of a 
life, was here uttered day aft< 
and hour after hour, all the ye 
work lasted. The antiquarii 
finds here and there the bricks 
believing hands marked with a 
the outward expression of the 
of their hearts, offering tlieir 
and sufferings, endured for his s 
Him who for their sakcs labor 
suffered on the cross. It is est 
that more than forty thousand 
tians toiled at the work. Il 
these ruins, if we mistake no 
was found one of the marble 
inscribed with an encomium of J 
tian, for having purged the w( 
that vile and hateful superstitic 
ed Christianity. 

In this vast pile of buildiD| 
teen hundred feet from esmt li 



The Vatican Council. 



27S 



tive hundred from north to 
there were halls, court-yards 
ied by ample porticoes, pools 
nmers, thousands of baths, 
, galleries of painting and 
;, portions set aside for philo- 
iiscussion, other portions for 
ic exercises and games, and 
ing that Roman luxury or 
debauchery called for, and 
wealth could provide, 
ret dismantling and partial 
>n of the buildings seems to 
rurred when Alaric sacked 
Yet even a century later 
of them were still used for 
lal purpose as baths, 
eedless to say how they suf- 
more, by alternate violence 
set, for many centuries after- 
3ften it was occupied by sol- 
L stronghold, and it suffered 
lands, as by alterations here 
e they strove to make the 
re defensible. Often it was 
ind taken, and then suffered 
?, as whatever could be was 
)ver in anger. And when the 
left it quiet, rain and winds 
ns continued the work of de- 
In the sixteenth century 
roperty was owned by Saint 
Borromeo. He gave it to the 
us IV., who determined to 
: a church, if possible, in the 
these ruins, and so put them 
le guardianship of that very 
nrhich gave so many martyrs 
heir construction. The pon- 
mitted the task to Michael 
who executed it in a manner 
Dn an admiration next to that 
y his great work at St. Peter's. 
the ruins there stood a vast 
ee hundred and twenty-five 
J and sixty feet broad. Its 
walls were perfect, and the 
1 of masonry that covered it, 
Might of over one hundred 
ii|^ weakened by the expo- 



sure of centuries, still stood unbroken. 
The Caldarium stood near by on one 
side, and the old natatio, or swimming 
room, joined it on the other. Both 
still preserved their vaulted roofs. 
Michael Angelo united them, and, 
preserving the walls and the massive 
monolith columns of red Egyptian 
granite, which were all standing, skil- 
fully produced a noble church in the 
form of a Greek cross, which is known 
as St. Mary of the Angels. One loves 
to pass an hour in that vast, quiet, and 
attractive church, under the olden 
arch, now protected from the weather 
by an additional tiled roof, viewing 
the exquisite statues of saints, and the 
masterpieces of painting, the origi- 
nals, some of them, of the mosaics over 
the altars of St Peter's, or listening to 
the Cistercian monks who serve the 
church as they slowly and reverently 
chant the divine office at their stated 
hours of day and night. 

On the eastern side, toward the 
Pretorian Camp, war had done its 
most destructive work. Here Michael 
Angelo found the ruins so entirely 
beaten down that most of the space 
had been devoted to gardens, though 
encumbered indeed by sundry pictur- 
esque mounds .of masonry. Here, 
using the materials at hand so far as 
they would serve, he erected a mon- 
astery for the Cistercians, a plain 
quadrangular building, inclosing, an 
open space about four hundred feet 
scpare. To each side of this the 
building presents a portico, or arcade, 
which thus forms a cloister, supported 
by twenty-five columns of travertine. 
No work of that great architect and 
artist exceeds this cloister in its sim- 
plicity, and the exquisite beauty of 
form and proportion in all its parts. 
In the centre of the yard is a majestic, 
ever-flowing fountain, throwing its 
stream of water aloft. This falls into an 
ample marble reservoir beneath, whose 
waters ripple and sparkle in the sun- 



276 



T/ie Vatican CounciL 



light as the gold-fish are darting to 
and fro into the shade of water-lilies 
or out to court the beams of the sun. 
B/ this basin the architect planted 
with his own hand four young cedars, 
which throve apace, lliree of them 
are still standing, historic trees. Two 
are strong and vigorous, though three 
centuries old ; a third is in the decrepi- 
tude of old age, shattered and broken 
by the winds, but still bravely strug- 
gling to the last to raise its topmost 
branches upward toward heaven. 
The fourth perished some years ago, 
and has been replaced by another, 
younger one, which a good Cister- 
cian, they say, obtained by securing 
in time and carefully nursing a young 
shoot of the old tree itself. 

Around the cloister are the cells of 
the brethren. They seem to have a 
curious fancy of fastening placards on 
their doors. You can see half a do- 
zen of them of different sizes. On 
some doors the sheet of paper is ap- 
parently fresh and clean, and is still 
securely fastened by four tacks, or by 
wafers under the comers. On other 
doors some of the tacks have fallen 
out, or the wafers have lost their hold, 
and the paper hangs dangling by a 
single comer. The winds have blown 
it until it is torn. The rain has mois- 
tened and caused it to curl. The up- 
per portion hangs loosely over, half 
hiding the writing on it. You ap- 
proach and stretch out your hand to 
lifl it up, that you may read what a 
Cistercian had placarded on the door 
of his cell. It is all a delusion ! There 
is no paper ! Some painter, quitting 
the world, retreated to this communi- 
ty. In its quietude and silence, and 
in its penitential life, he found again 
peace and tranquillity of soul, and the 
gayety of his youth came back to 
him. He took a boyish pleasure in 
playing this clever artistic practical 
joke on the strangers whom curiosi- 
ty, or other motives, fromaime to time, 



' brought to look at the inl 
a Carthusian monastery. \ 
peacefully and piously yean 
the brethren have not cease 
joy the joke he perpetrated. 

What a practical lesson of 
er with which God rules th< 
In this spot where a cruel i 
guinary emperor persecuted t 
tyred Christians by the th 
and boasted that he had ext 
ed the Christian church, the 
his vast work owe their pres 
to the sacred power of a i 
church. Where luxury, and i 
of the world, and every form « 
ality were wont to seek their 
tion, now meek and humble w 
ed Cistercians who have re 
the world ai d its pomps and 
are vowed to poverty, chasi 
obedience, work and study ir 
fast austerely, and make the 1 
day and the hours of night 
prayer and chanting of psaln 
heathen empire of Rome ha 
away, but the church it tried t( 
lives in perpetual youth. R< 
lost her heathen power of ml 
the sword tiie bodies of men : 
Pillars of Hercules. But thro 
very Christianity Rome has 
^(1 wields a far higher po¥ 
the sword could give. She 
the consciences and minds • 
not only through the provina 
olden temporal empire, but 
their limit, in lands where the 
a Roman legion was never rai 
in countries of whose existe 
Roman emperors never dream 
the thoughtful mind the Cisten 
nastery and the noble churd 
Mary of the Angels but t)'pify 
ry of Christian Rome, built a 
mins of her olden heathen po 

The proposal, made origii 
whom we know not, of opcoip 
position of idigioas Mt U 
ing the sittingi • 



The Vatican Council, 



277 



liately taken up with enthusi- 
His Holiness assigned the gar- 
' this noble cloister as the best 
d site to be found in Rome, 
at a large expense. The Cis- 
I withdrew temporarily to other 
gs close by, and gave up their 
autiful place to architects and 
;n. The cloister, or broad open 
which runs round the square 
was chosen to form the outer 

or halls, altogether about 
hundred feet long by twenty 

Within this outer gallery, and 
chingeach side in the middle, 
ies of sixteen rooms, all of the 
ze, and of the same irregular, 
rr rhomboidal, shape, forming, 
xe, a broad polygon of sixteen 

Within this polygon is the 
portion of the garden, still un- 
d, with its gravelled walks, its 
ward, its rose-trees and flow- 
ants, its ever-gushing fountain, 
)le basin receiving the water, 
ening gold-Ash, and the majes- 
irs of Michael Angelo. The 
las, of course, its own covering, 
teen rooms of the polygon are 
k'ith glass, to let in the flood of 
id a few feet below the glass 
.er roofing, or awning, to sof- 
intensity and to mitigate the 

the direct rays of the sun. 
)penings in the partition walls 
iQ passage from room to room, 
ind the polygon; and where 
es the arcade or outer halls, 
)or5 allow you to pass to them, 
iposite doors you may pass out 

in the garden. 

^position was opened on the 
February by the pope himself, 
resence of the commission for 
osition, a number of cardinals, 
iree hundred of the bishops, 
ajge concourse of clergy and 
He made an impromptu dis- 
touching chiefly on the true 
I which art has made under 



the inspiration of religion and the 
patronage of the church, and in illus- 
tration referred to some of those un- 
rivalled works of religious painting and 
sculpture which are found in Rome. 

Nothing could be more appropriate 
to ^e assembling of so many bishops 
ai|^ priests and pious laymen in Rome, 
dAwn by the council, than this expo- 
sition. Go when you will, you will 
find many of all these classes spend- 
ing hours in studying a collection of 
religious works of every kind, such 
as most of them have never seen. In . 
size and extent this exposition cannot, 
of course, compare with those vast 
ones of London and Paris. They 
sought and received objects of every 
kind. This admits nothing that is 
not devoted to, or in some way con- 
nected with, religion. It would cor- 
respond, therefore, with one section of 
the Paris Exposition of 1867. Con- 
sidered in this light, it does not, as a 
whole, fall below it; in several respects 
it is superior. 

We have not the space now to enter 
into a detail of the many and multi- 
farious objects offered for examination. 
Every art seems represented. For 
what is there that cannot be made 
to give glory to God ? Still, we may 
glance at a few of the chief groups. 

The exterior arcade is chiefly devot- 
ed to sculpture and paintings. Of 
the former there are here and else- 
where in the exhibition over two hun- 
dred and fifty pieces, in marble, in 
plaster, or metal, or wood. I do not 
count the hundreds of sweet litde 
things in terra cotta, nor the many 
objects in ivory. Tadolini, Benzoni, 
Pettrich, and a hundred other artists 
from Rome, and other parts of Italy, 
Germany, and France, have sent the 
work of their chisels. As a whole, 
this group of subjects stands far high- 
er in point of good art than was look- 
ed for. Some of the statues are of a 
high order. We may instance a group 



2/8 



The Vatican Council. 



of heroic size by Tadolini, representing 
the Archangel Michael overcoming 
Lucifer, after the painting by Guido, 
and two life-size Madonnas by Pettrich, 
all of which, we understand, will be 
forwarded to the United States. There 
is in one of the French rooms a plas- 
ter copy of the statue of the holy Vian- 
ney, curate of the village of Ars, near 
Lyons, in France, who died a few 
years ago in the odor of sanctity, 
and who, the Catholics of France are 
confident, will in due time be canon- 
ized. He is robed in soutane, surplice, 
and stole, and is kneeling in prayer, his 
face turned upward toward heaven. 
I do not speak of the style and execu- 
tion, which are good ; but of the face, 
which attracts every one. It is said 
to be a perfect likeness. Thin, gaunt, 
with features sharp and exaggerated 
by the lack of flesh, rather ugly than 
otherwise, there is an expression of 
simplicity, of piety, of kindness, of 
earnestness, which makes it far more 
than beautiful, a face that grows in 
sweetness as you look on it. And 
yet study the individual features, fore- 
head, eyebrows, nose, mouth, chin, 
cheek-bones, the chief lines and wrin- 
kles. They are precisely the same 
as on the repulsive face of Voltaire I 
What different expressions were given 
to the same features by the calm piety, 
the love of God and our neighbor, 
the spiritual peace dwelling in the 
soul of the saintly priest, and the 
pride, and envy, and passions, and 
the bitter, hopeless or despairing unbe- 
lief of the apostle of evil. 

As we examine these statues, so 
good in their execution and so truly 
religious in their type, one cannot but 
feel a regret that in the United States 
we are such strangers to the use of 
them in our churches and chapels and 
oratories. Here and there are found, 
indeed, casts in plaster of Paris, some- 
times in papier-machh. But how few 
real works of merit in materials and 



m style ! If the clergy \ 
work building our churches 
of the laymen who are secoi 
in this work, could only so 
tues of our Lord on the cro 
ing the cross and sinking 
weight, or healing the blinc 
ing little children ; or those 
of the Mother and Divine 
various positions; or of tl: 
Virgin, of St. Joseph, of Sai 
Saint Agnes, and of so m 
saints and groups represc 
gious subjects ; surely am 
in marble, in iron, bronzec 
gilt, or illuminated with ]x 
and such a variety in size a 
they would understand the ^ 
churches, and would each ( 
to supply it. 

Especially would this be 
with the stations of the w 
cross. No devotion is m( 
and consoling, and at the i 
none more strengthening t< 
ty and the practice of \"ii 
this pilgrimage of faith, in 
accompany our Lord, and, 
stand by his side, during tl 
scenes of his sufferings do 
death on the cross and \ 
No devotion is more popula 
none better suited to the f 
every condition and class, 
not be well if the engraving 
different scenes, so often f< 
had almost said, disfigimng 
of our churches, could giv 
some of those basso-relieve 
to-relievos of France, of 1 
of Germany, such as we $ 
The love of the beautiful and 
innate in man. Even the c 
it ; and in manhood, use and « 
but develop and increase 
faction it gives. While we s 
could not but sympathize 
measure with the Italian 
who, on his dying-bed, pus 
a crucifix which a pious > 



The Vatican Council. 



279 



place in his hands. '' Not 
that! it makes me angry," he 
: is horrid! Give me the other 
Is well made. That will ex- 
tion.*' Let children be taught, 
yr they will love, to think 
know, to realize, even from 
ierest years, what the lov- 
lerciful Saviour suffered for 
ssons well learned at that 
i innocent age seldom fade 

mind and heart in after 
nd no way of teaching that 
(lore effectual than the one 
e. 

ire more than five hundred 
!n the exposition. Of these 
fo hundred are by the old 
ind have been placed here 
Rrners. 

embrace paintings by the 
Lffaele, as the Italians call 
snichino, Annibale Carracci, 
, Maratta, Carlo Dolce, Sal- 
a, Murillo, Leonardo da 
do Reni, Rubens, Vandyke, 
Del Sarto, and a host of 

masters, Italian, German, 

.nd Spanish, whom we need 

There we may gaze with 

1 the excellence of art in- 
religious thought. It is a 
► be overlooked or forgotten, 
lays of irreligion, that the 
ings which the best artists 
ed were all produced when 
jht their powers to represent 

subject. In painting, and 
ings too, he works best who 
he spirit of religion and the 
d. 

ger number of the paintings 
M date, many of them by 
its. To our eye, certainly 

1 to criticism, many of them 
jTthy of high praise. But 

2 the general verdict is not 
le to them as to the statu- 
, we must remember that 

have to compete side by 



side with those old paintings of the 
highest order. The contrast between 
their freshly laid colors and the colors 
of older paintings, toned down by age, 
if not somewhat faded, is so strong 
and striking that this very difference, 
often no real difference on the part 
of the painters, is set down as a 
defect to be censured. The portrait 
of the pope, by our American artist 
Healy, is undoubtedly the best like- 
ness of the Holy Father in the exposi- 
tion. 

What we said of the statuary we 
may rei>eat with equal reason of reli- 
gious paintings. How easy it would 
be to adorn our churches and chapels 
with these books of the eye, one glance 
at which oflen teaches more than a 
sermon. The artists at home capa- 
ble of producing a religious painting 
worthy of being placed in a church 
are few, perhaps might be counted 
on one's fingers. Pluropean painters 
capable of giving an original ask 
such prices for their work as general- 
ly to put them as far beyond our 
means as if they were to be painted 
at home. Even at that, their concep- 
tion and treatment of a subject will 
scarcely stand comparison with ap- 
proved works of the best masters who 
have already treated the same sub- 
jects. But there is a large class of 
painters here who devote themselves 
to copying and reproducing those old 
paintings, on every scale as to size. 
The execution of many of them is 
good, and the prices for which the 
artists are willing to work seem 
very low. It is wonderful how much 
painting, and good painting, fiwQ hun- 
dred dollars well laid out in Rome: 
will obtain. Several of our cleri- 
cal friends, who have visited Rome 
this winter, carry back with them evi- 
dences of this fact 

Next to the paintings should come 
the stained glass, which is superb, 
and is offered at a price which seems. 



28o 



The Vatican Council. 



really astonishing — about five dollars 
a square foot for the richest kind, with 
life-size figures. 

The large windows, fi-om several 
competing manufacturers, are so 
mounted that the light shines through 
them,^ and you can examine at full 
leisure and carefully the wondrous 
effects of united brilliancy and soft- 
ness in these works of peculiarly 
Christian art. The art of painting on 
glass, which many, up to a recent 
period, thought entirely lost, has re- 
vived in this century, and seems fast 
approaching the perfection which it 
attained in the middle ages. There 
is one marked difference observable 
between the old windows and some 
of the work here. The ancients dis- 
played their skill in combining to- 
gether thousands of minute pieces of 
glass of different colors, so as to make 
up a picture in its proper colors and 
its lights and shadows. The modem 
artists have attempted the task of 
producing the picture on a single 
large sheet of glass. This would free 
it from the single defect almost un- 
avoidable in this work — the stiffness 
of the figures. But the earlier at- 
tempts presented such variation in the 
perfections of the several colors used 
as to be failures, in point of that bril- 
liancy and play of light which consti- 
tute the charm of this work. The 
source of the defect was to be found 
in the laws of nature, on which every 
work, and this work direcriy, depends. 
The general mode of procedure in 
which glass is colored is this: The 
subject is painted on the surface of a 
sheet of glass with metallic paints. 
The glass is placed in an oven and 
slowly and carefully raised to that point 
of heat at which it grows soft. The 
particles of metal constituting the co- 
lore sink into the glass and become 
portions of its substance. The diffi- 
•culty was found to spring from the 
^great difference in the rate and man- 



ner in which the colors wou 
into the softened substance, 
would give some colore p< 
would leave othere imperfec 
continuing the work until the 
perfect, would often destroy tl 
But patient study and carefu 
have overcome these difficulti 
degree which we did not 
I'here are full-size figures k 
stained glass rivalling those 
middle ages in brilliancy, and p 
ing the freedom of a painting ( 
vas. 

The perfection of the Gobel 
pestry is almost incredible. A 
canvas, twenty-five feet by ten, p 
the Assumption by Titian, and 
is a life-size figure of our Lord 
tomb. It is a sermon but to 1< 
the cold, rigid body of him wh 
our transgressions. There are 
mens of photography, some sh 
life-size figures, of oleography, 
graphy, chromo-lithography, e 
ings on copper, for which Rom 
not be excelled, on steel, and on 
In many of these branches J 
and Germany rival, if they do n( 
pass Italy. But Rome stands 
vailed in mosaics, of which the 
here exquisite specimens. 

In architecture, we find pla 
churches and colleges, very ful 
clear, but not striking ; designs f 
interior of chapels and sanctuari 
a far higher order of art, several r 
tures of churches; a fac-simile in 
marble of tlie firont of Sl P« 
and another in wood, on the sea 
about one inch to ten feet, she 
the entire exterior of the church 
and dome in all its details, the c 
nadcs, fountains, and square b 
it, and so constructed that it a 
opened in several ways, in ord 
give an equally correct and m 
view of the interior with all its i 
mentation. You may zcoogoiie 
ry painting and statue A^b^lMa 



The Vatican CounciL 



281 



sars of patient labor to make 
% and it is said to have 
[ to an Italian prince for 
ousand dollars. What a 
a work should be shut up 
ilace in the city where eve- 
go to the real St. Peter's, 
rather be sent to distant 
vhere thousands, who will 

Rome, might be able to 
\ it a far clearer conception 
ooks can give of the form 
lor of this great temple, 
servedly the pride and the 
e Christian world. 

, there are organs with the 
»est improvements, harmo- 
xandre organs of various 

1 many stops, and chimes 
-bells hung on a new pa- 
, by which a mere boy can 
f and ring loudly a bell of 
a weight. As for texts of 
iic, you may turn over the 

leaves of huge folio gra- 
intiphonaries, in which the 
nonks of past ages wrote 
ian notes and the words so 

clear as to be easily read 
% even at the distance of 
There are later ones print- 
5 large, and collections of 
irch music from Italy, Ger- 
from France. 

itical vestments abound in 
ion. Rome, Milan, and 
; of Italy are represented 
St celebrated of their ma- 
France has sent a mul- 

1 Paris, Lyons, Grenoble, 
% NLsmes, and elsewhere, 
e come from Germany and 

Here are copes and cha- 
natics, antipendiums, and 
* richest material and ex- 
•kmanship. You can ex- 
imple yet light and pliable 
if Italy, the rich and stiffer 
iMv*, the narrow and scan- 
!^ Austria, and the heavier 



ones from Spain, that ought never to 
wear out. In the matter of vestments 
you are taught a lesson of history. 
For heref carefully preserved in large 
glass wardrobes, are shown the vest- 
ments used six hundred and eight 
hundred years ago, if not a thousand 
years ago, in St. Peter's, in St. Mary 
Major's, in St John Lateran's, and in 
the cathedral of AnagnL 

The emperors of the Holy Roman 
Empire, as it was called, which sprung 
into existence in the ninth century, 
and died in the convulsions of Europe 
consequent on the French revolution, 
were bound to come, if circumstances 
allowed it, to Rome, to receive their 
royal consecration in St. Peter's at the 
hands of the pope. On such occasions, 
the emperor was admitted for that 
time into the sanctuary, wore a dea- 
con's dalmatic, and chanted a gospel. 
Here you may look at the identical 
dalmatic which they wore a thousand 
years ago. It is of silk, and the 
figures which decorate it were worked 
with the needle, in gold thread. Near 
by are copes, and chasubles, and mi- 
tres faded and worn ; which still give 
evidence of the art and care in mak- 
ing them, the richness of the materials 
used, and of the skill of the embroide- 
ry and painting which decorated 
them. What will the modem chasu- 
bles and copes around us, now so 
fresh and splendid, look like in a.d. 
2500? 

Church vessels of every class are 
equally abundant. Chalices, pixes, 
cruets, censers, incense -cups, crosses, 
crucifixes, ostensories, croziers, every 
fhing that can be thought of, are here, 
often in their richest forms. There 
are chapelles for priests, and chapelles 
for bishops. Altar candlesticks and 
candelabra of every size and graceful 
form tempt you. Perhaps the most 
interesting in a scientific and also a 
pecuniary view, is the large collection 
of all those vessels made of bronze 



282 



The Vatican Council. 



aluminium, of a light gold color, and 
not liable to tarnish. Tlie weight is 
light, and the prices low. 

There are altars of marbft, of cast- 
iron, of bronze gilt, and of wood co- 
lored and illuminated, the last-named 
truly beautiful, and they would well 
replace some of those far more costly 
constructions sometimes to be met in 
our churches. 

Altars lead us to candelabra, can- 
dlesticks, and chandeliers; and here 
they are displayed in every size, from 
an immense chandelier to be suspend- 
ed in a church, of metal gilt, orna- 
mented with angels and religious em- 
blems, and bearing sixty-five lights, 
down to the tasteful bongie, or tiny can- 
dlestick which an acolyth' holds in his 
hand when he attends a bishop at the 
altar. Altar candlesticks and candela- 
bra seem a specialty with the French 
artists. The graceful curve of the out- 
lines, the appropriateness and sug- 
gestiveness of the decoration, and the 
ease with which all these pieces may 
be combined to produce on the altar 
a whole simple and tasteful, or rich 
and splendid, can scarcely be conceiv- 
ed. They bring to their work the 
spirit of the children of Israel in the 
desert, offering their gold and jewels 
to Moses for the ornamentation of 
the tabernacle of the Most High. 
Man can never do too much to testify 
his homage and his loving obedience 
to God. 

In Christian bibliography the chief 
Catholic publishers have done well. 
The polyglott press of the Propagan- 
da exhibits many of its late publica- 
tions ; among others an accurate fac- 
simile of the Codex Vaticanus of the 
Scriptures, and a volume containing 
the Lord's Prayer in two hundred 
and fifty languages, in the proper cha- 
racters of each language, where it has 
any. The volume presents one him- 
dred and eighty different forms of 
^pe. Salviucci, of Rome; Pustet, of 



Ratisbon ; Dessain, of Mali 
many others exhibit well prii 
richly bound copies of their c 
lications. Vecco & Co., o 
show the eighteen volumes tl 
already printed of the new e< 
the Magnum BuUarium. Vi 
m^, of Paris, displays an e 
line of folio volumes, the Ac 
tarum of the great Bollandist! 
publication of which he has 
nished in fifty-eight volumes, 
he adds his edition of the j 
by the professors of Salamc 
Gallia Christiana, his editioi 
nales Baronii, and the intr 
volume of a new edition of 
lectio Maxima Conciliorum^ \ 
has just commenced. 

It was sad not to find th< 
Migne here, and to think of 
conflagration which consumed 
of a lifetime. He had undert: 
after fifty years of steady pe 
labor, was finishing the grea 
liographical achievement of 
lishers of this centur>'. Th 
or thirteen hundred large vol 
had published in his collec 
bracing all the fathers, Greek 
tin, ample courses of Scripti 
logy, and canon law, encycl 
history, theologians, preach 
would have presented the lai 
most imposing array of volu 
most a complete theological 
itself. Great as was his loss 
tlie clergy was greater. 

We mention last a collectr 
every visitor to the expositioi 
to see first, as most dcservii 
attention, the collection of 
which the Holy Father himseli 
should be sent here from th 
Chapel : i. The famous ti 
sented to him by the Queen « 
The three crowns on it an 
Hants and pearls, the roses « 
and emeralds, the ball on dM 
is of rubies, and tte a 



Niw Publkatiom. 



283 



Mods. As a work of art, it is 
idcrcd a cJuf-tTccuvre of grace 
elegance, and does honor to the 
; of Spain. 2. A chalice of gold 
sd witli brilliants and diamonds. 

diamonds and brilliants were 
ent from Mehemet Ali. 3. A 
jolden OGtensory, of Byzantine 
he rays of which are studded 
riUiants, from the same donor, 
irge processional cross of gold, 
F of silver gilt. The cross is of 
jantly flowering Gothic form, 

adorned with precious stones 
imel. It was made to order 
tee, and is a present from the 
s of Bute. Chalices, mitres. 
Its, cruets, an ancient ms. mis- 
uisitely illuminated and richly 
with many other objects, make 
rge list of articles which His 
s has sent to give additional 



interest, to the exposition. Others 
have acted in the same spirit ; and 
certainly, if the number, the richness, 
and the exquisite taste and elegance 
of the articles displayed can effect it, 
the exposition is a success. The at- 
tendance has been pretty fair, and as 
the governmental outlay has been but 
small, may prove remunerative. The 
exhibitors will certainly succeed in in- 
troducing their works to the religious 
world far more generally than they 
could have ordinarily looked for. And 
the visitors seem all satisfied that each 
repeated visit to the exposition is a 
renewed and increased pleasure. We 
may perhaps endeavor next month to 
be able to write more at length of the 
more prominent articles in the expo- 
sition, with reference to the needs of 
our American churches. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



lAY IN Aid of a Grammar op 

ST. By John Henry Newman, 

I voL i2mo. New York: 

Catholic Publication Society. 



aid be quite impossible without 
ig proper limits to give any thing 
an an incomplete sketch of the 
his able work ; it must, of course, 
in full to be appreciated, 
le outset three states of mind 
Inguished, assent, inference, and 
orresponding to the external ac- 
r assertion, conclusion, and in- 
jon, though not necessarily ac- 
png them. The subject of the 
, as its name implies, principally 
: of these ; doubt being merely 
to^ and inference treated in its 
to assent, and only that species 
Dnsidered at length which is not 
demonstrative. The various 
i» whidi assent exists, and in 



which it is formed, are the first objects 
of examinalion. 

The division made here of assent, and 
which recurs throughout the work, is 
into real and notional, the former relat- 
ing to propositions whose terms, in the 
words of the author, " stand for things 
external to us, unit and individual,'' the 
latter " for what is abstract, general, and 
non-existing;" and this last is distin- 
guished under the names of profession, 
credence, opinion, presumption, and spe- 
culation, which terms are necessarily 
used in senses somewhat different from 
those ordinarily attached to them. 

The strength of real assents in com- 
parison to notional ones is shown, and 
the difference in this point of view be- 
tween assent and inference ; the latter 
being clearest in purely abstract matters. 
Not but that assent is always uncon- 
ditional or absolute ; still, its material, 
when real, is so much more vividly 
apprehended that the assent elicited 



284 



New Publications. 



is much more energetic and operative 
Thus also when notional assents become 
real, as they may in consequence of 
some special circumstances, their hold 
upon the mind and control upon action 
is much increased. 

This subject is illustrated by a dis- 
cussion of religious assents, with special 
reference to the being of God, and to 
the Holy Trinity ; it is shown that the 
former truth, and the constituent parts 
of the latter, can be, and usually are, the 
objects of real assent, though the latter 
in its completeness or unity can only be 
notionally apprehended ; and though the 
definition of the Divine Being may give 
only a notional idea. The implicit as- 
sent which unlearned Christians give to 
all the definitions of the church is also 
explained. 

The absolute and unconditional cha- 
racter of assent is next treated, and it 
is shown that it has this character even 
when given without good grounds, or 
when tliose grounds are forgotten ; and 
that it is not necessarily conceded to 
convincing proofs, and may disappear 
while the inference which led to it still 
remains. Without this character the act 
is not assent at all, or at least is only 
that notional form of it called by the 
author opinion, which he defines as as- 
sent to the probable truth of a propo- 
sition. The possibility and continual 
occurrence of full assent without intui- 
tion or demonstration is defended against 
those who, though really they have no 
doubt about some theoretically uncertain 
matters, yet " think it a duty to remind 
us that, since the full etiquette of logi- 
cal requirements has not been satisfied, 
we must believe thSse truths at our 

peril." 

The distinction is drawn between 
simple or unconscious assent and the 
conscious, reflex, or complex assent, as 
the author calls it, which, when the 
thing believed is true, has the name of 
certitude, and is irreversible or inde- 
fectible. In simple assent we do not 
give any place, or in any way incline 
mentally to the opposite belief though 
we may examine the grounds of our 
own for various reasons ; but when we 
are certain, we explicitly refuse to admit 
any thing opposed to it. The occurrence 



of false or supposed certitudes < 
suffice to prove the non- exist 
real ones ; and certitude is n< 
confounded with infallibility, wl 
faculty applicable '^ to all possi 
positions in a given subject 

while certitude is "directed tc 
that particular proposition." 

The next part is the discussic 
act of inference. In its most p 
formal state it can be used wtth« 
tation only upon abstractions ; it 
short of proof in concrete mat 
cause it has not a full command 
objects to which it relates, bu 
assumes its premises." Hen 
when what we do assume is 
shown in an earlier part of tl 
processes of inference in conci 
ters may easily end in mystei 
many cases it cannot profitably 
owing to the labor required fc 
account of all the circumsta 
well as the real difference of 
principles from which our sy 
proceed. We are, therefore, ol 
resort to informal inference, in ^ 
gumcnts and probabilities are e 
in the mass, and have a diflferent 
different individuals, according 
character in them of what Dr. . 
calls the illative sense. He c< 
by treating of the exercise of t 
bining and directing faculty in i 
cation to religious inferences, bo 
tural and revealed religion, am 
that by means of it we may fair 
at certitude regarding Christiai 
that such a method is at least : 
to succeed as more formal dei 
tions. The lawfulness and rea 
ness of assent in religious ma 
well as in others, vrithout such 
strations, may be regarded as oi 
main objects of the work, thou| 
means its only one. 



De l'Unite dans l'Enseig; 

DE LA PHILOSOPHIB AU Si 

EcoLES Catholiques d'ap 
Recentes Decisions des C 
gations Rom aines. Par I 
Rami6re, 6. J. Paris, 1868. 

F. Rami to is weUkaoviMI^^ 



New Publications. 



28s 



nirable confraternity of " The 
ip of Prayer," and the author 
er of excellent works on spiri- 
:ts, and also on the great re- 
sstions of the day. We have 
^n indebted to him for some 
able essays in defence of the 
the Holy See, for which he 
!d the eulogium of the Holy 
fiself. The work whose title 
3ve has been sent to us by the 
ither himself, we presume on 

the article translated, with 
minary observations of our 
r. Vercellone, on the ideology 
astine, which appeared in a 
iber; and we beg to thank 

kindness. We had not be- 
e pleasure of reading it, al- 
ls been eight years published. 
*ad it with attention, and, we 

say, with much satisfaction, 
ng and logical force of the 
imand our respect, and his 
randor, impartiality, and tru- 
n charity win our esteem, 
the whole course of his argu- 
i argument is divided into 

In the first part, the author 
e possibility and the great 
of unity in philosophical 
and lays down the condi- 
lich it can be obtained. In 
;ays under this head we fully 
ly concur with him. In the 
, he discusses traditionalism; 
^n we find ourselves in per- 
lent with all his positions. 

1 part, he attacks the grand 
' the origin of rational cogni- 
f course, discusses the vexed 
' ontologism. It would be a 

to attempt a critical appre- 
this part of F. Rami6re's 
jrief critical notice, and we 
•mpt it. An opinion on these 

and much controverted to- 
der to be worth attention, 
ipported by elaborate argu-^^ 

based on deep and patient 
1 the principal authors, an- 
lodem, whose works are the 
»s of philosophical know- 
e agree perfectly with F. 
lat thorough discussion, car- 
the spirit of moderation, di- 



rected by a pure love of truth, and regu- 
lated by obedience to the authority of 
the church, is the only road by which 
we can attain to that degree of unity in 
philosophical doctrines which prevails 
among all truly orthodox theologians 
in respect to dogmatic and moral the- 
ology. We desire to see this discus- 
sion go on, and hope for a good result 
from it ; and as a necessary prepara- 
tion, we cannot too earnestly insist on 
the necessity of a more thorough study 
of scholastic philosophy than has been 
common among those who have written 
on these subjects in the English lan- 
guage. Both in theology and philoso- 
phy, we hold it as certain that we must 
follow the great fathers and doctors of 
the church as our guides and mas- 
ters, or go astray and lose our labor. 
The essential truths of philosophy must 
be contained in that system which the 
church authorizes, and in which she 
trains up her clergy. 

As we understand them, there is no 
difference between F. Vercellone and 
F. Rami^re on this point. We are not 
authorized to speak for Dr. Brownson, 
who is the great philosophical writer 
among American Catholics; but we think 
he would agree with us fully in this judg- 
ment ; and that the passage in a con- 
trary sense, quoted by F. Rami^re, is to 
be regarded as one of those obiter dicta 
which his mature, deliberate wisdom 
would not ratify. We cheerfully ac- 
knowledge that the doctrine which F. 
Rami^re so lucidly exposes as the Thom- 
istic doctrine of the origin of cognition 
is sufficient as a basis of rational certi- 
tude and natural theology, and we are 
perfectly agreed with him that this is 
the main point to be secured. As for 
the profound and difficult, and therefore 
intensely interesting and attractive, ques- 
tions which relate to the nature of the 
intellectual light itself, and the objective 
truth seen by its aid, it does not seem 
to us that they have yet been as 
thoroughly discussed as they need to 
be, in order to bring the various schools 
into a closer agreement. This is cer- 
tainly so as respects philosophy in the 
English language, which is yet in its 
cradle, and we think it is true univer- 
sally. Of course, the great question to 



—^ 



286 



New Publications. 



be settled at the outset is, how far the 
boundary of philosophical doctrine, as 
rendered certain by the consent of the 
great doctors, intrinsic evidence, and the 
decisions of the supreme ecclesiastical 
authority, extends ; and where opinion 
begins. The true understanding of the 
famous decisions of 1861 is absolutely 
necessary to this end, so far as ideology 
is concerned ; and F. Rami^re has given 
an explanation of their sense and inten- 
tion which perfectly agrees with that of 
F. Vcrccllone in a supplement to the ar- 
ticle which we translated. It is, namely, 
the intuition of the essence of God, and 
created things in that essence, as the 
natural, intellectual light of reason, 
which we are forbidden to affirm. 

Are we, therefore, required, as an only 
alternative, to adopt the Peripatetic phi- 
losophy as taught by the Thomists ? It 
would seem that this has not yet been 
sufficiently proved. The works of Ger- 
dil, Vercellone, and others, who profess 
to find in Plato, St. Augustine. St Bona- 
venture, St. Ansclm, and other great 
authors, a philosophical wisdom which 
supplies a want not fully satisfied by 
SL Thomas, have not yet been mark- 
ed by any note of disapprobation. It 
is true that F. Rami^re tells us that 
Gerdil changed his opinions in his later 
years. But F. Vercellone denies this, 
on the authority of Cardinal Lambru- 
schini. F. Ramiere is extremely tole- 
rant of opinions differing from his own, 
where he thinks he has only a greater 
probability on his side. He does not 
censure the following of these great 
authors, or discourage the study of 
them ; but he thinks they are misunder- 
stood, and that a better study of them 
would result in making us all Peripa- 
tetics and Thomists. Let us by all 
means, then, especially those who have 
youth, strength, and leisure, study the 
old masters of philosophy more deeply 
than we have done, and truth and unity 
will be the gainers. F. RamiOrc protests 
strongly, however, against the high es- 
teem which some Catholic writers have 
expressed for Gioberti. As it happens 
that one of our correspondents has done 
the same ia the present number, we feel 
bound to assure F. Ramiere, and our 
readers generally, that we detest, as 



much as any one can, the rel 

conduct of Gioberti towacd the 8O' 

pontiff, that we have no sympatl 

his hatred of the Jesuits, and co 

every thing in his works which tb 

See intended to censure whei 

were placed on the Index. Ne 

less, as F. Perrone has had the 

rosity to place his name on the 

illustrious Catholic writers, we 

think it improper to give him ere 

the genius he undoubtedly posses 

the true and elevated teachings 

his works may contain. Even 

worst things said against him b 

there is no reason why we shoi 

make use of every thing good 

works, as we do in those of Ter 

Photius, and the Port Royal divi 

In conclusion, we recommend a 

plaud F. Ram lire's essay as a sp< 

of that kind of discussion which 

strongly advocates, with the m( 

dent sympathy in his desire that 

philosophy may go hand in ham 

theology, to deliver the world frc 

destructive influence of scepiicis 

phistry , and every species of err 



Guyot's Geographical Serie 
Professor Arnold Guvot. New 
Charles Scribner & Co. 

Since Humboldt gave his sci 
facts to the world, and Rilter ^encr 
upon them, the study of gcograpl 
been converted from an exorcise < 
memory upon unrelated facts to 
ence whose laws of mutual depem 
of cause and effect hold good in coi 
with other physical sciences. I 
has remained for the American mi 
generalize the later scientific disc 
ies of Maury, Hugh Miller, Livings 
Kane, and others, and, adding the 
former achievements, give the n 
in the modern school geographies, 
ver)' number of these text-lx>oks 
scnted by aspiring authors and pul 
ers to the public is an encoiin 
symptom to the lover of im pro vcdm 
knowledge, though sadly annoyin 
the practical teacher, who is so freqi 
ly urged to change the text-books ii 
hands of his pupils. 



New Publications. 



287 



rfes before us !s evidently the 
the profoundest research unit- 
ractical knowledge of the best 
f presenting facts to young 
Tone but an enthusiast in phy- 
ce, a good expounder of ori- 
ly and a polished English 
lid have given so complete a 
:xt-books to our schools and 
The language in which the 
•csented is one of the chief 
lations of the books ; for no- 
certain ly impresses itself up- 
:hful mind than the language 
Dooks used in schools, affect- 
Dits of thought and expres- 
fter-life. With a view also to 
peoples among whom these 
d be adopted, and in answer 
inds of the age and period, 
e and catholic spirit seemed 
the author when treating the 
le governments and religions 

sections and political divi- 
Its, as generally understood, 
ated. Opinions based upon 
judiciously withheld. Some 
Its might be made in the 
f the maps, and also in the 
primar>' book, the style of 
eak and careless compared 
st of the series. But the il- 

and print, and style of get- 
jqual, if not superior, to any 
e kind published. 



OF TFiE Second Synod of 
)CESE OF Albany. 1869. 
Icribner & Co. Received 
', Dooley, 182 River street. 



read this beautifully printed 
vith great pleasure, and we 
veral of the statutes, which 
r opinion a special impor- 
g, however, only their import 
language, without quoting 
e Latin text, which is easily 
:o those who are interested 
tical matters. 

(sors and pastors are com- 
teach their spiritual children 
d danger of attending; the 
d religious exercises of secta- 



rians, and not to permit it under any 
pretext 

2. The £eiithful, especially heads of 
^Etmilies, are admonished to exclude non- 
Catholic versions of the Bible, and all 
kinds of noxious books and papers, from 
their houses, and to make use of good 
and Catholic books and periodicals. 

3. All who are concerned in the pub- 
lication of books relating to religion and 
the divine worship are admonished not 
to venture to publish any thing without 
the license of the ordinary. The desire 
is also expressed that clergymen will 
not publish any thing whatever without 
the previous consent of the bishop. It 
is announced that several members of 
the episcopal council will be designated 
as censors of books. In the recent bull 
of Pope Pius IX., abrogating all previous 
laws inflicting the censure of excommu- 
nication reserved to the pope, and pro- 
mulgating anew the causes of incurring 
this censure, the authors and publishers 
of books de rebus sacrisy who put forth 
such books without the permission of 
the ordinary, are declared to incur the 
censure of excommunication lata sen- 
icntice. It is, therefore, of the utmost 
importance that regulations should be 
made and published in every diocese, 
prescribing to authors and publishers 
the conditions under which the ordinary 
permits the publication of books de rebus 
sacris^ and the Bishop of Albany has 
given an excellent example, which we 
hope will be universally followed. 

4. The faithful are to be seasonably 
exhorted to sustain the sovereign pontiff 
in maintaining his temporal authority by 
their contributions. 

5. Pastors are earnestly exhorted to 
use earnest efforts to extirpate the vice 
of intemperance, which is the cause of 
such immense scandals. 

6. The necessity of sustaining Catho- 
lic schools, and the dangers of theatrical 
exhibitions, immodest dances, and fes- 
tive amusements or exhibitions intend- 
ed for the benefit of pious causes, such 
as picnics, fairs, and excursions, are no- 
ticed. 

7. Priests will be subjected to an an 
nual examination /// scnptis, before theo- 
logical examiners, during the first five 
years after their ordination. 



288 



New Publications. 



8. The £aithful are to be sedalously 
warned and exhorted not to contract 
mixed marriages. 

These are only a few of the great 
number of excellent statutes, entirely in 
accordance with the decrees of general 
councils, the plenary and provincial 
councils of the United States, and the 
decrees of the Apostolic See, enacted by 
this admirable synod, which is indeed 
worthy of the best days of the church. 



The Sun. By Anedee Guillemin. From 
the French, by A. L. Phipson, Ph.D. 
With fifty-eight illustrations. 

Wonders of Glass-making in all 
Ages. By A. Sanzay. Illustrated 
with sixty-three engravings on wood. 

The Sublime in Nature ; compiled 
from the descriptions of travellers and 
celebrated writers. By Ferdinand de 
Lanoye ; with large additions. New 
York : Charles Scribner & Co. 1870. 

The above are the titles of three beau- 
tiful volumes, the latest additions to the 
" Illustrated Library of Wonders," now 
being published by Messrs. Scribner. 
These little books must prove highly 
interesting, especially to the young, and 
are very well adapted for premiums. 
The illustrations are well executed, and 
give additional value to the books. 



Natural History of Animals. By 
Sanborn Tenney and Alby A. Tenney. 
Illustrated by five hundred wood en- 
gravings, chiefly of North American 
animals. New York : Charles Scrib- 
ner & Co. 1870. 

A very useful book, well adapted to aid 
parents and teachers in interesting the 
young in the delightful and important 
study of natural history. 



Dialogues from Dickens. For 
School and Home Amusement Ar- 
ranged by W. Eliot Fette, A.M. 
Boston : Lee & Shepard. 

The dialogues contained in this vo- 
lume have been selected for the most 



part, and we think very judicioos 
a view to thorough, unalloyed 
ment There are, doubtless, ott 
tions of Dickens's works no less 
teristic, full of tenderness and path 
which we fain would linger, and t 
we gladly return again and again 
however, we prefer to peruse alo 
at leisure. But for an evening*: 
tainment In company, comment 
the good fellowship the compi 
here selected for us — the Weller 
Swiveller, Bob Sawyer, Mark 
Sairey Gamp, etc., etc 



BOOKS KBCIUVED. 

From Patrick Donohvb, Boston : The 
town Convent ; its Destruction by a Mc 
night of August nth, 1834 ; with a history 
citement before the bumingt and the tt 
exaggerated reporu relating thereto ; t 
of regret and indignation afterward ; the 
ings of meetings, and expressions of the < 
rary press. Also, the Trials of the Rioters 
mony, and the speeches of counsel : with a 
the incidents, and sketches and record of t 
pal actors; and a contemporary appendix, 
ed firom authentic sources. Pamphlet : 
cents. 

CORRIGENDA. 

In our last number, the English translat 
Siabat Mattr was ascribed to our unkna 
spondent, G. J. G., at whose request it was f 
A note since received from the same com 
informs us that G. J. G. is not the author, 1 
ferred incorrectly from lus previous commi 
but some other person unknown to him. 

Two errors were also inadvertently passe 
the article in reply to The New EngUttd 
first was the omission of Badtn and Bavaria 
table at the top of page iix The popu! 
these countries in millions are,respectively, P 
0.47 : and 1.33 ; Catholic, 0.93 and 3. 18, and t 
16.3 and aa.5, as given in the previous tab 
addition of these would increase the Catbdi 
more than the Protestant ; but the second en 
ly, a wrong placing of the decimal point in ih 
for Sweden and Nofway, when corrected, n 
compensates for this, nuking the true ress 
Ubie— 



Protestant 
Catholic. . . 



The sums of the Catholic and Protestad 
tions in the above cases, as in others also, d( 
actly equal the totals elsewhere given, co ai 
the difference of date between the latest 
available, as well as the existence of other 
bodies. 

A RBViKW of yamut which we had O] 
publish in our last number, but which wif 
by the illness of the writer, will be given m ( 
We are also expecting to reoeiva sooo At 
translation of Dr. Hd g iB BW t tf Wi^a AmU-f 
Mr. Kobevtaaa. 



THE 



VTHOLIG WORLD. 



/ .X 



/ 






VOL. XL, No. 63.— Jl^N£,csi8;TV -^ 
MR. FROUDE'S HISTORY OF^ENGLAND.* 



\ accept general encomium 
ular demand as criteria of 
Cy it is evident that Mr. 
Qust be the first historian of 
»d. That, with a vivid pen, 
ises a style at once clear and 
that his fulness of knowledge 
I in description are excep- 
hat his phrase is brilliant, 
rsis keen, and that with ease 
t, grace and energy, pictorial 
uonate power, he combines 
late art in imagery and die- 
have been told so often and 
ny wTiters that it would seem 
not to accord him very high 
rhen, too, Mr. Froude is very 
earnest. Whatever he does 
with all his might, and in his 
sm often fairly carries his rea- 
g with him. 

in common with those who 
t literary excitement, but the 
history, we go at once to the 
sstion, Is the work truthful ? 
partial ? If not, its author's 
s perverted, his attainments 



r ^England from tht Fall of H'olsey 
rfi i^ EliMmhitk. By James Anthony 
!■ Fdlow of Exeter College, Oxford. 
fito Yeifc : Charles Scribner & Co. 



abused, and their fruits, so bright and 
attractive to the eye, are filled with 
ashes. 

Impartial ! Difficult indeed, is the 
attainment of that admirable equili- 
brium of judgment which secures per- 
fect fairness of decision, and whose 
essential condition precedent is the 
thorough elimination of personal pre- 
ference and party prejudice. And 
here is the serious obstacle in writing 
a history of England; for there are 
few, very few, of the great historical 
questions of the sixteenth century that 
have not left to us living men of to- 
day a large legacy of hopes, doubts, 
and prejudices — ^nowhere so full of 
vitality as in England, and in coun- 
tries of English tongue. Not that 
we mean to limit such a difficulty to 
one nation or to one period; for it 
is not certain that we free ourselves 
from the spell of prejudice by tak- 
ing refuge in a more remote age. 
It might be thought that, in propor- 
tion as we go back toward antiquity, 
leaving behind us to-day's interests, 
the historian's impartiahty would be- 
come perfect And yet, there are few 
writers of whom even this is true. Re- 
verting historically to the cradle of 



IMm XL — 19 



Mr. Frvude's History of Enghnd. 



390 

Christ ianily, it cannot be asserted of 
Gibbon. 

Nor can it be said even of modem 
historians of nations long extinct, in 
common with which one might sup- 
pose the people of this century had 
not a single prejudice. Talte, for in- 
stance, all the English historians of 
ancient Greece, whose works (that 
of Grote being an honorable excep- 
tion) are so many political pamphlets 
arguing for oligarchy against demo- 
cracy, elevating Sparta at the sacri- 
fice of Athens, and thrusting at a 
modem republic through the greatest 
of the Hellenic commonwealths. If 
Merivale is thought to treat Roman 
history with impartiality, the same 
cannot be said of many modern Eu- 
ropean writers, who, disguising mo- 
dem politics in the ancient toga and 
helmet, cannot discuss the Roman 
imperial period without attacking the 
Oesars of Paris, St. Petersburg, and 
Berlin. 

The great religious questions which 
agitated England in the sixteenth cen- 
tury are not dead. They still live, 
and for the Anglican, the Puritan, and 
the Catholic have all the deep inte- 
rest of a family history. It might, 
.therefore, be unreasonable to demand 
'from Mr. Froude a greater degree of 
dispassionate inquiry and calm treat- 
ment of subjects that were " burning 
•questions " in the days of Henry and 
Elizabeth, than we find in Milman 
and Gillies, when they discuss the 
political life of Athens and Lacedse- 
mon. So far from exacting it, we 
■should be disposed to be most liberal 
in the allowance of even a strongly 
expressed bias. But after granting 
all this, and even more, we might yet 
not unreasonably demand a system 
which is not a paradox, a show at 
least of fairness, and a due regard 
for the proprieties of historical treat- 
jnent. 

Mr. Froude's first four volumes pre- 



sent the history of half the i 
Henry VHI., a prince "du 
Providence to conduct the K 
tion," and abolish the iniqtutii 
papal system. 

The historical Tudor ting 
of all men before the adveni 
Froude with his raodctn ap 
of hero-worship and niuscuk 
tianity, "melted so complet 
our new historian's hands 1 
despotism, persecution, diplon 
sassinations, confiscations, <l 
legalized murders, bloody v 
laws, tyranny over conscien 
the blasphemous assumption 
ritual supremacy are made t( 
as the praiseworthy measure 
ascetic monarch striving to re| 
his country and save the wor 

There was such a sublimit 
pudencc in a paradox presen 
so much apparently sincere vet 
that most readers were stru 
dumb astonishment. A fx 
few declared the deodorized 
perfectly pure. Some, pleas 
pretty writing, were delighl< 
poetic passages about " daisi 
"destiny," "wild spirits" an 
gust suns " that " shone in 2 
Many liked its novelty, some 
its daring, and some there « 
looked upon the thing as a 
mous joke. All these formed t 
body of readers. 

Others there were, thongh, 
clined to accept results whi' 
violations of morality, and 
against evidence obtained b 
matic vilification of some of I 
and the elevation of some oft 
men who ever lived, and bj 
idolatry incapable of discern 
or stain in the unworthy obje 
worsiiip ; who saw Mr, Froue 
lifarious ignorance of mattei 
tial for a historian to know, 
total want of that judicial qi 
mind, without which J 



licit J^jl 



Mr. Fraude's History of EnglaneL 



291 



ossessed of all knowledge, 
be an historian. They re- 
it such an historical system 
IS a nuisance to be abated, 
he new and unworthy man- 
ould be put an end to. Ac- 
^he idol was smashed ; * and 
:ess, the idol's historian left 
damaged as to render his 
ilability highly problemati- 

>tch treatment was of in- 
cy ; for we find Mr. Froude 
his work on the fifth vo- 
:hastened frame of mind 
dently corrected demeanor, 
es the reigns of Mary and 
I. with style and tone sub- 
n what musicians designate 
'oderato, 

; seventh volume we reach 
ion of Queen Elizabeth. 
I it with some curiosity; for 
lerstood from Mr. Froude, 
set of his historical career, 
ended to present Elizabeth 
: nature destined to remould 
and that he was prepared 
h something like astonish- 
unknown pangs all who 
•e question the immaculate 
ler virtue. It is not im- 
hat the contemplation of 
and broken fragments of 
il idol materially modified 
e — a change on which Mr. 
1st more than once have 
Dngratulated himself as he 
►enetrated deeper into the 
f the State paper collec- 
;tared with stiffened jaw at 
iing revelations of Siman- 

\ not wonder that the his- 
red his programme; and 
I of going on to the " death 
h," to record the horrors 
3St horrible of death-bed 

trgh Rtview isx January and Octo- 



scenes, he should close his work with 
the wreck of the Spanish Armada. 

The researches of our American 
historian. Motley, were terribly da- 
maging to Elizabeth; and in the pre- 
paration of his seventh volume, Mr. 
Froude comes upon discoveries so 
fatal to her that he is evidently glad 
to drop his showy narrative and fill 
his pages with letters of the Spanish 
ambassador, who gives simple but 
wonderfully vivid pictures of scenes at 
the English court 

Future historians will doubtless take 
heed how they associate with the re- 
putation of the sovereign any glory 
they may claim for England under 
Elizabeth, remembering that she was 
ready to marry Leicester notwith- 
standing her strong suspicion, too 
probably assurance, of his crime, (Amy 
Robsart's murder,) and that in the lan- 
guage of one of Mr. Froude's Eng- 
lish critics, " She was thus in the eye 
of heaven, which judges by the inteilt 
and not the act, nearer than English- 
men would like to believe to the guilt 
of an adulteress and a murderess." 

But Mr. Froude plucks up courage, 
and, true to his first love, while ap- 
pearing to handle Elizabeth with cruel 
condemnation, treats her with real 
kindness. 

We have all heard of Alcibiades 
and his dog, and of what befell that 
animal Mr. Froude assumes an air 
of stem severity for those faults of 
Elizabeth for which concealment is 
out of the question — her mean par- 
simony, her insincerity, her cruelty, 
her matchless mendacity — while in- 
dustriously concealing or artistically 
draping her more repulsive offences. 

But we have not started out to 
treat Mr. Froude's work as a whole. 
A chorus of repudiation from the most 
opposite schools of criticism has so 
effectually covered his attempted apo- 
theosis of a bad man with ridicule and 
contempt that no further remark need 



{ 



292 



Mr, Fraudes History of England. 



be made on that subject. As to Eli- 
zabeth, the less said the better, if we 
are friendly to her memory. 

Careful perusal of Mr. Froude's 
first six volumes will convince any 
competent judge that he is not a 
historian, but, as yet, only in training 
to become one. He plunged into a 
great historical subject without the re- 
quisite knowledge or the necessary 
preparation. In his earlier volumes 
his very defective knowledge of all 
history before the sixteenth century 
led him into the most grotesque blun- 
ders — errors in general and in de- 
tails, in geography, jurisprudence, ti- 
tles, offices, and military affairs. So 
far from meriting the compliment paid 
him, of accurate knowledge, acquired 
in the " course of his devious theo- 
logical career," of the tenets and pe- 
culiar observances of the leading reli- 
gious sects, it is precisely in such 
matters that he seriously fails in accu- 
racy. 

With a half-grasp of his material, 
Mr. Froude totally fails to make it 
up into an interesting consecutive 
narrative. He lacks, too, the all-im- 
portant power of generalization, and, 
as has been aptly remarked, handles 
a microscope ' skilfully, but is appa- 
-rently unable to see through a tele- 
scope. Heroic and muscular, his over 
haste to produce some startling result 
came near wrecking him in the morn- 
ing of his career. 

While his work was in course of 
publication, our historian wrote from 
Simancas a sensational article for Fra- 
scr's Magazine, in which he announc- 
ed some astounding historical disco- 
veries, which only a few weeks later 
he was only too glad to recall. The 
trouble was that he had totally mis- 
understood the Spanish documents on 
which his discovery was grounded. 

Along with his apparent incapacity 
for sound and impartial judgment, 
there is an evident inability in Mr. 



Froude to distinguish the rela 
lue of different state papers, 5 
most striking proof that he is 
his apprenticeship as a writer 
tory, is his indiscriminate ace 
of written authorities of a 
class. Historical results Ion 
settled by the unanimous te 
of Camden, Carte, and Lingj 
three great English historian; 
seventeenth, eighteenth, anc 
teenth centuries respectively, ai 
aside by Mr. Froude and n 
give way to some MS. of doul 
lue or questionable authenticit 
term " original document " m; 
invests every writing falling i 
hands with all the attributes c 
When he finds a paper three \ 
years old, he gives it speech s 
it up as an oracle. Nor can 
mile be arrested here; for, trea 
oracle with the tyrannic famili 
a heathen priest, the paper ] 
Jumbo must speak as ordered, 
be sadly cuffed. It is a puer 
to imagine that when the h 
has found a mass of original hi 
papers, his labor of investig< 
ended, and he has but to tra; 
to put his personages on th< 
let them act and declaim a 
writings relate, and thus place 
the reader the truthful p>or1 
bygone times. Far from it. 
this point that his work really 
He must ascertain by com] 
by sifting of evidence, by ma 
cautions, who lies and who 
truth. In matters of Elizabet 
plomacy, for instance, the trut 
not on the surface. A royal d 
gives orders, but it does not g 
tivcs. And even if the moti 
stated, is it certain they ai 
stated ? A minister is explic 
what he wishes done ; but he ( 
say why he wants it done, nor 1 
suits he looks for. Cases 
will suggest themsdvvip 



Froude^s History of England. 



393 



such documents. Very i^^ of 
lifficulties have any terrors for 
oude. Commencing his inves- 
i with his theory perfected, it 
him a mere choice of papers, 
the fate of facts not suiting his 
So much the worse for them, if 
: not what he would have them 
they are cast forth into outer 
s. 

'roude has fine perceptive and 
tive faculties — admirable gifts 
rature, but not for history. 
5, if history depended on fic- 
t on fact. Invaluable, if his- 
uth were subjective. Above 
, where the literary artist has 
/ilege of evolving from the 
rpths of his own consciousness 
les or the vices wherewith it 
tn to endow his characters. 
s ! otherwise utterly fatal, be- 
istoric truth is eminently ob- 

well said that to be a good 
il student, a man should not 
Q him to desire that any his- 
ict should be otherwise than 
Tow, we cannot consent to a 
andard in logic and morality 
listorian than for the student ; 
5 testing Mr. Froude, it is not 

to contemplate his sentence 
idged by stem votaries of 
For we have a well-grounded 
lat not only is it possible for 
Dude to desire an historical 
be otlierwise than it is, but 

is capable of carrying that 
ito effect. It is idle to talk 
idicial quality of an historian 
rcely puts on a semblance of 
lity. 

itters of state, Mr. Froude is 
kleteer; in personal questions 
advocate. He holds a brief 
ry. He holds a brief against 
uart. He is the most effec- 
dvocates, for he fairly throws 
jttio his case. He is the 



fi-iend or the enemy of all the per- 
sonages in his history. Their failure 
and their success affect his spirits and 
his style. He rejoices with them or 
weeps with them. There are some 
whose misfortunes uniformly make 
him sad. There are others over 
whose calamities he becomes radiant. 
He has no unerring standard of jus- 
tice, no ethical principle which esti- 
mates actions as they are in them- 
selves, and not in the light of sympa- 
thy or repulsion. 

It must be admitted, nevertheless, 
that Mr. Froude makes up an attrac- 
tive-looking page. Foot-notes and 
citations in quantity, imposing capi- 
tals and inverted commas, like little 
flags gayly flying, all combine to give 
it a typographical vivacity truly charm- 
ing. Great as are his rhetorical re- 
sources, he does not despise the cun- 
ning devices of print Quotation- 
marks are usually supposed to convey 
to the reader the conventional assur- 
ance that they include the precise 
words of the text. But Mr. Froude's 
system is not so commonplace. He 
inserts therein language of his own, 
and in all these cases his use of au- 
thorities is not only dangerous but 
deceptive. He has a way of placing 
some of the actual words of a docu- 
ment in his narrative in such a man- 
ner as totally to pervert their sense. 
The historian who truthfully conden- 
ses a page into a paragraph saves la- 
bor for the reader; but Mr. Froude 
has a trick of giving long passages in 
quotation-marks without sign of alte- 
ration or omission, which we may or 
may not discover from a note to be 
" abridged." 

Other objectionable manipulations 
of Mr. Froude are the joining toge- 
ther of two distinct passages of a do- 
cument, and entirely changing their 
original sense; the connection of two 
phrases from two different authorities 
and connecting them as one ; and the 



Mr, Fnudt's History ef EMglaud. 



tacking of irrespoiulble or anonymous 
suthorities to one tlial is responsible, 
concealing the first, and avowing the 
last. 

Then liis texts, and the rapid bold- 
ness with which he disposes of them ; 
cutting, trimming, dipping, provided 
only that he produce an animated dia- 
logue or picturesque effect which may 
cause the reader to exclaim, "How 
beautifully Mr. Froude writes !" " What 
a painter!" " His book is as interest- 
ing as a novel I" And so it is ; for 
the excellent reason that it is written 
precisely as novels are written, and 
mainly depends for its interest upon 
the study of motives. A superior 
novelist brings characters before us in 
startling naturalness — hts treatment, 
of course, being subjective, not objec- 
tive; arbitrary, not historical. Mr. 
Froude, with his great skill in depict- 
ing individual character and particu- 
lar events, follows the novel-writer's 
method, and may be said to be the 
originator of what wo may designate 
as the " psychological school " of his- 
tor}-, Tliis power gives him an im- 
mense advantage over all other histo- 
rians. 

While they are burning the mid- 
night lamp in the endeavor to detect 
the springs of action by the study of 
every thing that can throw light upon 
the action itself, he has only to look 
tlirough the window which, like unto 
other novelists, he has constructed in 
the bosom of every one of his cha- 
racters, to show us their most secret 
thoughts and aspirations. One may 
open any of Mr, Froude's volumes at 
random and find an exemplification 
of what is here stated. Here is one : 

"It was not Ihus Ihal Mary Sluart had 
hoped la meet her brolhcr. His head Bent 
home from the liocder, or himactf brought 
bacit a living prisoner, wilti the dungeon, 
the scaffold, and the bloody aic — these were 
Ihc itnagci which n few weeks or dayi bc- 
foM ilie had aitodated with the neil np- 
peMaoce of her bther's son, Ucr fitlings 



had undergone no diangc; she 1 
wilh the hate of hell ; but ihc mot 
poision paled for the moment b*ft 
for revenge" (Vol. »ui. p. aftj.) 

Here are depicted the tin 
workings of a wicked heart ; i 
fears, passions — nay, even I 
images that float before ibi 
eye. And this Mr. Froude » 
accept for history — asccnaint 

Our historian takes unpi 
ed liberties with texts and < 
Now he totally ignores whi 
ven person says on an it 
occasion. Now he puts a sj 
his own into the mouth of t 
character. Passages cited fi 
tain documents cannot be foui 
and other documents referred 
no existence. In a word, Mr, 
trifles with his readers and pi 
his authorities, as some peo 
with cards. 

There are not many pass 
Mr. Froude's work free &o 
one of these serious objeciic 
specify them would require al 
much matter as he uses ; forb 
as often in suppression as in i 
Nevertheless, to the extent C 
mited space we will point oi 
and as Mr, Froude's early 
have been so amply comment 
« e will confine our examinatii 
latter half of the work, witl 
reference to his treatment of 



eginsTB 



Most historians begin s 
ning. But our latest historic 
has resources heretofore u 
and quietly anticipates that 
point of departure. Mary 
fisrmally brought on to Mr. 
historical stage in the tnidd 
seventh volume, and the reac 
be supposed to take up Y 
without a single preconceiy 
ion. Doubtless, the J 



: MOH 



Jfr. Fraudis History of England. 



295 



e it up, unsuspicious of the 
s judgment is already fet- 
led captive. In volume 
Mary of Guise is describ- 
her baby out of the cradle, 
t Sir Ralph Sadlier " might 
lealth and loveliness." 

' the child," says Mr. Froude ; 
ow and nurtured in treachery ! 
! Mary Stuart ; and Sir Ralph 
to sit on the commission which 
be murder of Damley." 

nothing very startling in 

reader's mind absorbs the 

nd goes on. In the next 

)L v. p. 57,) while deeply 

Q the military operations 

5 of Somerset, we are told 

he again advanced over the 
I, fourteen years later, Mary 
ject of his enterprise, practic- 
Lh Bothwell ten days after her 
rdcr." 

lately artistic 1 
?r has not yet reached Ma- 
ler history is not yet corn- 
supposes his mind, as re- 
be a mere blank page, and 
dan has already contrived 
jpon the blank page two 
r, she was the murderess of 
d she was guilty of adul- 
Jothwell. No evidence 
ffered, no argument pre- 
ith graceful and almost 
nvoUura, Mr. Froude has 
led to two incidents, one 
s a fable, and lo ! the 
t Mary Stuart is com- 
these are the two great 
upon which the entire 
hinges, a controversy 
^d for three centuries. 
1 Very clever indeed ! 
slight attention to Mr. 
stem and' you will find 
snent of the historical cha- 
lislikesis after the recipe 
** Calomniez, calomniez, 
toujours quelque chose;" 



and that tmder the sentimentality of 
his *' summer seas," *' pleasant moun- 
tain breezes," *' murmuring streams," 
''autumnal suns," patriotic longings, 
and pious reveries, there is a vein 
of persistent and industrious cunning 
much resembling that of Mr. Harold 
Skimpole, who is a perfect child in 
all matters concerning money, who 
knows nothing of its value, who " loves 
to see the sunshine, loves to hear the 
wind blow ; loves to watch the chang- 
ing lights and shadows ; loves to hear 
the birds, those choristers in nature's 
great cathedral " — ^but, meantime, 
keeps a sharp look-out for the main 
chance. 

Indirection and insinuation are ef- 
fective weapons never out of Mr. 
Froude's hands. In an allusion or 
remark, dropped apparently in the 
most careless manner, he will, as we 
see, lay the foundation of a system 
of attack one or two volumes off and 
many years in historical advance of 
his objective point. In like maimer, 
at page 272, vol. i., we are told " three 
years later, when the stake recom- 
menced its hateful activity under the 
auspices of Sir Thomas More's fana- 
ticism." Thus the way is prepared 
for the accusation of personal crueUy, 
which Mr. Froude strives, in vol. ii.,. 
to lay at More's door. More's great- 
ness and beautiful elevation of cha- 
racter are evidently tmpleasant sub- 
jects for our historian, and he grudg- 
ingly yields him a credit which he 
seeks to sweep away in the charge of 
religious persecution, specifying four 
particular cases : those of Philipps>. 
Field, Bilney, and Bainham. 

These cases have been taken up* 
seriatim by a competent critic, (the 
reader curious to see them may con- 
sult the appendix to the October 
number Edinburgh Review 1858,) 
who demonstrates that Mr. Froude's 
pretended authorities do not tell the 
story he undertakes to put ia thevc 



zg6 



Mr. Froude's History of England. 



mouth, and that he is guilty of such 
perversions as are exceedingly damag- 
ing to his reputation. 

In introducing Mary Stuart, Mr. 
Froude vouchsafes no information 
whatever concerning her mind, man- 
ners, disposition, or education. It is 
certainly desirable to know something 
of the early years and mental develop- 
ment of a character destined to fill so 
prominent a part in the great events 
of the period, and to become one of 
the most interesting personages in his- 
tory. She is thus presented : " She 
was not yet nineteen years old ; but 
mind and body had matured amidst 
the scenes in which she passed her 
girlhood." (Vol. vii. p. 268.) This 
is at once a very remarkable state- 
ment and a mild sp>ecimen of Mr. 
Froudc*s command of ambiguous lan- 
guage. Very close and philosophical 
observers have, we think, already no- 
ticed the phenomenon indicated ; and 
although it might not at once occur 
to every one that young girls usually 
mature amidst the scenes of their girl- 
hood, yet it was hardly worth the ef- 
fort of a philosophic historian to give 
us information so trite. But we sus- 
pect Mr. Froude of a deeper mean- 
ing, namely, that mind and body 
were then — at eighteen years — matur- 
ed, and had attained their full growth. 
It means that, or it is mere twaddle. 

Thus, we are to understand that 
Mary Stuart, at the tender age of 
eighteen, was abnormal and mon- 
strous. 

Mr. Froude drives his entering 
wedge so noiselessly that you are 
scarce aware of it, and in the deve- 
lopment of the story he strains all his 
faculties to paint the Queen of Scots, 
not only as the worst and most aban- 
doned of women, but as absolutely 
destitute of human semblance in her 
superhuman wickedness. That such 
is the effect of his portraiture, is well 
expressed by an English critic-^a 



friend of Mr. Froude, but 
Mary : " A being so earthly 
and devilish seems almost be 
proportions of human nature, 
don Ttfties^ September 261! 

Mr. Froude then gives 1: 
trait of the young Scottish < 
which he says, " In the de 
nobler emotions she had neit 
nor sympathy;" and hen 
Froude explains, " lay the c 
between the Queen of Scots 
zabeth." Again we must re 
our author has told us no* 
Mary Stuart's youth, so that 1 
judge this matter for ourselvi 
life in France was by no mear 
of interest. She was admirec 
loved by all. She had reign 
as queen, and young as she 
opinions were respected in hi 
cils. 

Throckmorton, a clever ai 
rienced diplomatist, was near 
France, for many years, and, 
fullest means of information, 
Elizabeth day by day concen 
She is the subject of scores oi 
patches, with none of whic 
ever, are we favored by Mr. 
Throckmorton thus announce 
cil Mary's condition after ih 
of King Francis : 

" He departed to God, leaving 
and dolorous a wife as of good righ 
reason to be, who, by long watd 
him during his sickness, and by pa 
gence about him, especially the iss 
of, is not in the best time of her 1 
without danger." 

But Mr. Froude, who is r 
reveal for our entertainment 
most thoughts of this " doloroi 
enlightens us with the sole info 
that " Mary was speculating 
the body was cold on her next < 
Throckmorton, all unconsciou 
annoyance he must give a niii 
century historian^ again writM 
cil: 



Mr. Frtnidt's History of EnglantL 



297 



Iier husband's death she hath 
id so coDtinuetb, that she is of 
lom for her years, modesty, and 
eat judgment in the wise hand- 
'and her matters, which, increas- 
irith her years, cannot but turn to 
mdation, reputation, honor, and 
: to her country." 

itinues: 

ler behavior to be such, and her 

id queenly modesty so great, in 

inketh herself not too wise, but is 

be ruled by good counsel and 

neral rule, Mr. Froude is not 
al of '' birth, parentage, and 
I " essays. Yet, while manag- 
stow them on very secon- 
mages, he has none for Mary 
Latimer and John Knox are 
this respect, and even to the 
on of Henry VIII.— "the 
arcellus," as Mr. Froude 
alls him — are devoted near- 
LiU pages of gushing enthu- 
ceming his youthful disposi- 
carly studies. He was, alas ! 
ate, unfortunately ;" " but 
and noble promise." (Vol. i. 

'C see the resources of the 
ical school. Mr. Froude 
\ (vol. vii. p. 369) that Mary 
\ to Scotland "to use her 
5 a spell ;" " to weave the 
t conspiracy ;" to " hide her 
ntil the moment came," and 
purpose as fixed as the stars 
5 down the reformation." 
ijeen jxjssible for Mr. Froude 
:e one word of testimony 
tcc concerning Mary Stuart's 
t was not of respect, praise, 
ration, from friend or foe, he 
aid not have failed to cite it. 
; dilemma, he quotes Ran- 
)1. vii. p. 369,) to show " her 
deceit ;" adding, " Such was 
lort when, on the 14th of 
lie embaiked for Scotland." 
■iddph at that time had 



never seen Mary Stuart, and the date 
of his letter cited by Mr. Froude is 
October 27th. Under these circum- 
stances it becomes interesting to know 
what Randolph's opinion of Mary 
really was before she left France. 
Randolph writes to Cecil, August 9th, 
referring to Mary's preparations for 
departure, " That will be a stout ad- 
venture for a sick, crazed woman." 

Even for a sea voyage, Mr. Froude 
continues to prefer a microscope to a 
telescope. The consequence is, that 
out of an escort of Mary's three imcles, 
all her ladies, including the four Marys, 
more than a hundred French noble- 
men, the Mareschal d'AmvUle, Bran- 
tome the historian, and other distin- 
guished men, a doctor of theology, 
two physicians, and all her household 
retinue, he can discern no one but 
Chatelar, who was, as a retainer of 
d'Amville, in that nobleman's suite. 
And so we read, " With adieu, belle 
France, sentimental verses, and a pas- 
sionate Chatelar sighing at her feet 
in melodious music, she sailed away 
over the summer seas." Which we 
must in candor admit to be a sweetly 
pretty passage. But in the next para- 
graph Mr. Froude puts away senti- 
mentality, means business, and throws 
a bright light on a previous line: 
" Elizabeth could feel like a man an 
unselfish interest in a great cause." 
Here is the paragraph, it is admirable 
in every respect 

"The English fleet was on her track. 
There was no command to arrest her ; yet 
there was the thought that 'she might be 
met withal;* and if the admiral had sent 
her ship with its freight to the bottom of the 
North Sea, 'being done unknown,* Eliza- 
beth, smd perhaps Catharine de' Medids as 
well, 'would have found it afterward well 
done.* *' (Vol viL p. 37a) 

Of course, it would have been " well 
done;" because "in the deeper and 
nobler emotions Mary had neither 
share nor sympathy ;" whereas Eliza- 
beth and Catharine de' Medids had. 



igi 



Mr. Fronde's History of England. 



The undisputed record of Maty's 
arrival in Edinburgh is, that her sur- 
passing beauty and charm of address, 
arising not so much from her courlly 
training as her kindly heart, created a 
profound impression on a people who 
already reverenced in her the daughter 
of a popular king, and of one of the 
noblest and best of women. 

Mr. Froude thus renders this record : 
"The dreaded harlot of Babylon 
seemed only a graceful and innocent 
girl." {Vol vii. p. 374.) In common 
fairness, Mr. Froude should have 
given some adequate idea of the con- 
dition of the country this inexperienc- 
ed young queen was called 10 rule. 
This he fails to do. It was such that 
the ablest sovereign, with full supply 
of money and of soldiers — and Mary 
Stuart had neither — would have found 
its successful government almost im' 
possible. The power of the feudal 
aristocracy had declined in Europe 
everywhere but in Scotland ; and 
everywhere but in Scotland royal 
power had been increased. For cen- 
turies the Scottish kings had striven 
to break down the power of the 
nobles, which overshadowed that of 
the crown. One of the results of this 
struggle is quaintly recorded in the 
opening entry of Birrel's Diurnal oj 
Occurrents : 

" There has been in this realm of 
Scotland one hundred and five ktn^s, of 
ivhUk there was slaine fyf tie-six" 

Another result was greater aristo- 
cratic power and increased anarchy. 
The Scotch feudal nobles had never 
known what it was to be under the 
rule of law, and there was as yet no 
middle class to aid the sovereign. 
Among their recognized practices and 
privileges were private war and arm- 
ed conspiracy ; and the established 
means of ridding themselves of per- 
sonal or public enemies was assassina- 
tion. In all history we find few 
bands of worse men than those who 



surrounded the throne of Mar^ 
Cruelty, treachery, and cunnii 
their leading characteristics, 
of them were Protestants i 
own peculiar way, and, as Joh 
says, referring to the disjioa 
the church lands, " for their 01 
modi tic." 

Personally, they are thus d( 
by Burton, the latest hisioriui 1 
land, a bitter opponent of M. 
art: 

" Their drcsj was thai of ihe oui 
ble ; they were ihrty in pcrjon, in 
and disrespectful in manner, can 
Iheir disputes, and even lighling 
fierce quarrels, in the presence of t 

In view of the picturesqu< 
ment that Mary Stuart went ; 
land with a "resolution as \ 
the stare to trample down the 
mation," her first public act: 
great in teres L Mr. Froudi 
them so imperfectly (vol. vii. 
that they make but slight im[: 
The friends of her mother i 
Catholic nobles expected to b 
into her councils. Instead 
she selected the Lord Jami 
half-brother) and Maitland 
chief ministers, with a large t 
of Protestant lords in her 1 
She threw herself upon the loj 
her people, and issued a prod 
forbidding any attempt to i 
with the Protestant religion 
she found established in hei 
She did not plead, as Mr. 
states, that slie might have t 
service in the royal chap 
claimed it as a right exprea 
ranteed. "The Lord Lindsa 
croak out lexis that the idolatei 
die the death." (Vol. vii. p. , 

That was a truly energetic "■ 
Listen to it, (not in Froude.) 
service in the queen's chaf 
about to begin, Lindsay, dad 
armor and brandishing his swoi 
ed forward shouting, "Tho ;i 



Mr. Froudi^s History of England. 



299 



an die the death I" The al- 
irtunately, for himself, heard 
ok," took refuge, and after 
:e was protected to his home 
rds; "and then," says Knox, 
ly departed with great grief 

terview between Queen Ma- 
>hn Knox is narrated by Mr. 
a such a manner as to tone 
; coarseness of Knox's con- 
lessen the brilliancy of the 
victory of the young Scotch 
the old priest and minister, 
inquired about his Blast 
he Re^fnent of Wonun^ in 
declares — 

aonstriferous empire of women, 
the enormities that do this day 
m the face of the whole earth, is 
table and damnable. Even men 
the counsel or empire of their 
inworthy of all public office." 

oude describes Knox as say- 
liel and St Paul." He ought 
that a Scotch Puritan could 
said Saint Paul. Macaulay 
ices such mistakes. " Daniel 
aul were not of the religion 
hadnezzar and Nero." (Vol. 
5.) Incorrect. Knox having 
lestly likened himself unto 
IS states his own language: 
)€ alse weall content to lyve 
ir grace as Paull was to lyve 
ro." It is hard to say which 
; the man's vanity in com- 
ntelf to St. Paul, or his in- 
insolence in likening, to her 
foung queen to the bloodi- 
l Roman tyrants. William 
a writer of sturdy and un- 
"A English, in referring to 
[i performance as this on the 
nox, calls him " the Ruffian 
Leformation." We strongly 
hough, that Knox did not 
age so gratuitously offensive. 
ml of the interview was writ- 



ten years afterward. He was self- 
complacent and boastful, and in other 
places says that he caused the queen 
to weep so bitterly that a page could 
scarce %Qi her enough handkerchiefs 
to dry her eyes. Before Mary, Knox 
claimed that Daniel and his fellows, 
although subjects to Nebuchadnezzar 
and to Darius, would not yet be of 
the religion of the one nor the other. 
Mary was ready with her answer, and 
retorted, " Yea ; but none of these men 
raised the sword against their princes." 
Mr. Froude, of course, reports this re- 
ply in such a manner as to spoil it ; 
adding, " But Knox answered merely 
that 'God had not given them the 
power.' " Not so ; for Knox strove 
by logical play, which he himself re- 
cords, to show that resistance and 
non-compliance were one and the 
same thing. ** Throughout the whole 
dialogue," says Burton, " he does not 
yield the faintest shred of liberty of 
conscience." But Mary kept him to 
his text, repeating, "But yet they 
resisted not with the sword." And 
then, this young woman, who, Mr. 
Froude assures us, came to Scotland 
with " spells to weave conspiracies," 
" to control herself and to hide her 
purpose," blunderingly tells Knox that 
she believed " the Church of Rome 
was the true church of God." 

One would think it no very diffi- 
cult task for a man of age and expe- 
rience to see through an impulsive 
girl of nineteen, whose face mirrored 
her soul. And yet, Mr. Froude in- 
forms us triumphantly, three several 
times, that '' Knox had looked Mary 
through and through.'* In this con- 
nection we have one of our historian's 
best efforts, to which we ask special 
attention. 

" Knox had labored to save Murray from 
the spell which his sister had flung over 
him ; but Murray had only been angry at 
his interference, and, ' they spake not fami- 



300 



Mr, Froude's History of England, 



liarly for more than a year and a half.* " 
(VoLvU. p. 542.)* 

Pray notice the cause of this es- 
trangement Mr. Froude is very ex- 
plicit here. Look at it This inno- 
cent Murray is under a spell. All 
heart himself, he saw no guile in his 
sister. But Knox warned him against 
the sorceress, afid tliat was the cause 
of the coolness between them. On this 
point there can be no mistake, and 
we now propose to place John Knox 
on the stand and with his eyes to look 
Mr. Froude " through and through." 
In the parliament of 1563, Murray 
had the *' Act of Oblivion " passed, in 
which he managed to reserve for him- 
self and his friends the power to say 
who should or should not profit by 
its provisions. With this act he was 
dangerous to all who opposed him, 
and was consequently all-powerful. 
Under these circumstances, John Knox 
pressed Murray, now that he had the 
power, to establish the religion, name- 
ly, pass in a constitutional manner 
the informal act of 1560, and legalize 
the confession of faith as the doctrine 
of the Church of Scotland. 

Now call the witness, John Knox : 

" But the erledom of Murray needed con- 
firmation, and many things were to be rati- 
fied that concerned the help of friends and 
servants— «nd the matter fell so hole betwix 
the Erie of Murray and John Knox, that fa- 
miliarlie after that time they spack nott to- 
gether more than a year and a half." t 

Thus, if we may believe Knox him- 
self, it was Murray's preference for his 
own '^ singular commoditie " over the 
interests of the kirk of God which 
caused that '' they spake not familiar- 
ly together for more than a year and 
a half." Of" spell "and "enchantress" 
no word. We refrain from comment. 

* Mr. Froode's reference for thi^ citation is Knox's 
History oftht Reformation^ which is somewhat too 
general. The reader is advised to look for it in yoL 

iL p. 3&S. 

t We regret that we have not mom for the thort 
discourse Knox made to Murray on the occasion of 
their partinf. 



One remark as to the "sp 
ry had flung over Murra) 
from Mr. Froude's pages 
wrung the unwilling admisj 
" the stainless Murray " wa 
more nor less than the paid ; 
sioned spy of Elizabeth. H< 
other dispatch of Throckmor 
zabeth's ambassador at Paris, 
ferred to by Mr. Froude : 

"The Lord James came to m; 
secretly unto me, and declared n; 
good length all that had passed 1x 
queen, his sister, and him, and he 
Cardinal Lorraine and him, the d 
ces whereof he will declare to yoi 
particularly when he comcth to 
scnce." 

This business call of Lor 
was made during Mary's pre] 
to leave France for Scotlai 
followed it up with a confidei 
of some days to Elizabeth, 
lowed him not to depart emf 
ed. Unsuspicious of his ti 
Mary heaped honors and ricl 
him, made him her first lord 
cil, and created him succcssi> 
of Mar and Earl of Murra 
we are asked by Mr. Froud 
lieve that over such a pers( 
this "spells" might be sue 
flung by the victim of liis tre 

THE MURDER OF RICC 

The introduction of Ricci( 
Froude (vol. viii. p. 120) is 
specimen of his best art 
an accusation in every line, a 
ation in every word ; yet wh 
through, the reader is left in 
norance of the Italian's real 
Mr. Froude calls him Ritdi 
is a piece of affectation. T 
has heretofore been written R 
Riccio. Ritzio, to tlie £ng 
it is true, very nearly repre 
Itahan pronunciation of Riui 
man's name was Riccio» m 
determined by (me kUer of 



Mr. Fronde's History of EnglantL 



301 



lis brother Joseph, all still in 

* and perfectly accessible to 

ude. 

\t^ variously stated from thir- 

y, is never put at less than 

Mr. Froude gives no figure, 

him " the youth ;" by which 
', if you choose, understand 

or twenty. His real em- 
: is concealed, and at p. 247, 

he is called ''a wandering 
." Ricdo was a man of so- 
"ements, able and accomplish- 

succeeded to the post for- 
Id by Raulet — ^that of sccre- 

the queen's French corre- 
:e — and was thoroughly vers- 
: languages as well as in the 
politics of the day. He was, 
:, devotedly loyal, and in- 
[ary with entire confidence 
itegrity. Sir Walter Scott 
of Scotland) says that a per- 

him, "skilled in languages 
isiness," was essential to the 
nd adds, ^ No such agent 
y to be found in Scotland, 
le had chosen a Catholic 
lich would have given more 
\ her Protestant subjects," etc. 

queen," says Knox, "usit 
secretary in things that ap- 
to her secret afiairs in France 
vhere." 

; he was old, defoiaied, and 
' ugly, has been generally ac- 
y historians," says Burton, 
g, it appears, no access to 
ree Scotch historians, Mr. 
is thrown on his own resour- 
•volves, " He became a fa- 
Mary — he was an accom- 
musician; he soothed her 
f solitude with love-songs," 

statement of the circumstan- 
le plot for the murder, Mr. 
Iwells complacently on every 
insinuation against Mary 
Befienring to a calumnious 



invention, falsely attributed to Darn- 
ley, (vol. viii. p. 248,) he is of opin- 
ion that " Damley's word was not a 
good one; he was capable of invent- 
ing such a story ;" that " Mary's treat- 
ment of him went, it is likely, no fur- 
ther than coldness or contempt ;" but 
nevertheless he strives to convey the 
worst impression against her. If Mr. 
Froude has a "vivid pen," he also 
has a light one. He glides delicately 
over the character of the conspiracy 
to kill Riccio, and manages to veil 
the real motives. Riccio was assas- 
sinated on the ninth of March. Near- 
ly a month previous, on the thirteenth 
of February, Randolph writes to Lei- 
cester, for Elizabeth's eye, (the letter 
need not be sought for in Froude,) 

" I know that there are practices in hand, 
contrived between father and son, (Lennox 
and Damley,) to come to the crown against 
her (Mary Stuart's) will I know that if 
that take effect which is intended, David, 
(Riccio,) with tlie consent of the king, shall 
have his throat cut within these ten days. 
Many things grievouser and worse than 
these are brought to my ears ; yea^ of things 
intended against her cwn person^ which, be- 
cause I think better to keep secret than to 
write to Mr. Secretary, I speak of them but 
now to your lordship." 

And yet all this was but a part of 
the conspiracy. 

Randolph is an authority against 
whom objection from Mr. Froude is 
impossible. Nevertheless, he ignores 
this letter and many others fully con- 
firming it, (vol. viii. p. 254,) thrusts 
out of sight the real motives, which 
were political, and industriously works 
up notorious inventions aimed at Ma- 
ry Stuart's character. 

Looking at it as a mere work of 
art, and without reference to the facts, 
the murder scene is admirably describ- 
ed by Mr. Froude. (Vol. viii. p. 257, 
et seq,) One serious drawback is his 
insatiable desire for embellishment. 
For the mere purpose of description 
none is needed. The subject is full 



Mr. Froudis Histoyy of England. 



3C3 

to overflowing of the finest dramatic 
material. The result of Mr. Froude's 
narration is very remarkable. He 
skilfully manages to centre the rea- 
der's sympathy and admiration on the 
assassin Ruthvcn, and, with device of 
phrase and glamour of type, places 
the sufferer and victim of an infamous 
brutality in the light of a woman who 
is merely undergoing some well-me- 
rited chastisement. The whole scene 
as pictured rests on the testimony of 
the leading assassin, (Ruthven,) iKim 
a London editio expur^la ; for Chal- 
mers shows(vol. ii. p. 352) that the ac- 
count given by Ruthven and Morton, 
dated April 30th, is the revised and 
corrected copy of what they sent to 
Cecil on the ad of April, asking him 
to make such changes as he saw fit 
before circulating it in Scotland and 
England. Their note of April zd still 
exists; but Mr. Froude does not al- 
lude to it. Thus we have the story 
from the chief murderer, corrected by 
Cecil and embellished by Mr Froude, 
who, while admitting that " the recol- 
lection of a person who had just been 
concerned in so tremendous a scene 
was not likely to be very exact," (vol. 
viii. p. 261,) nevertheless adopts the 
version of that person in preference 
to all others, Why not exercise the 
most rudimentary prudence and plain- 
est judgment by controlling Ruthven's 
recital by that of another? — for there 
are several. And if, after all, we 
must perforce have Ruthven's, why 
not give it as it is, sparing us such 
invenrions as " turning on Darnley as 
on a snake," and " could she have 
trampled him into dust upon the spot, 
she would have done it." Mr. Froude 
is all himself here. " Catchingsight of 
the empty scabbard at his side, she 
asked him where his dagger was. He 
said he did not know. ■ // viill be 
huniiH hertafter ; it shall be dear blood 
to some of you if DM'id" she spilt.'" This 
is a specimen of able workmanship. 



According to Keith, Mary's 
was, " It will be known her 
According to Ellis, Mary had 
ousfy said to Ruthven, *• It s 
dear blood to some of you If I 
be spilt." Now, let the rcai 
serve that Mr. Froude take! 
two phrases, found in two d 
authors, addressed separately 
different persons, reverses the 
in which they arc spoken, ar 
them into one sentence, wh 
makes Mary address to Damlc 
you see why so much indusi 
ingenuityshould be exerted? 1 
in thisf</rm the phrase is a thrtai 
der; and thus the foundation 
broad and deep in the reader' 
for the belief that from that n 
Mary has a design apon Di 
life* 

One thing Mr. Froude die 
correctly. 'VVc mean Mary's 
when told that Riccio was dea 
her fright, anguish, and hon 
ejaculated, " Poor David I ga 
faidiful servant ! May God ha' 
cy on your soul!" To thos 
know the human heart, this ii 
tary description of the precisi 
poor David occupied in Mai 
teem is more than answer 1 
Froude's indecent note at paj 
and his malevolent insinuati 
all his pages. Mary struggled 
window to speak to armed 1 
who had flocked to her assi 
" Sit down !" cried one of the 
lords to her. " If you stir, yo 
be c.tsx into coUops, and flun 
the walls." A prisoner in the 
of these brutal assassins, after 
speakable outrages to which s 
been subjected, Mr. Froude ; 

• Tho iMdtT nuT HC »[ p. jA wI. tilt, 



iM diy sf Itiiuo'i randir : ud llat7 Sw 



•ma aariM 

1 



Mr, Ffvude^s History of England. 



303 



rable art of placing her be- 
nders in the light of a wick- 
1 deprived of her liberty for 
good. When night came, 
called Damley away, and 
was left to her rest in the 
be late tragedy ; and, adds 
le with beautiful equanimity, 
les of her court were for- 
enter, and Mary Stuart was 
QC into her room, amidst the 
le fray, to seek such repose 
Id find." This is true, and 
xl-stained place she passed 
done. 

had caged their bird," 
'ely on our historian; but 
w little of the temper which 

undertaken to control." 
iken to control " is here posi- 
ious !) *' Behind that grace 
ere lay a nature like a pan- 
ciless and beautiful." (Vol. 

We have seen a panther's 
red, but we never before 
: the animal had a beauti- 
Such are the reflections 
to Mr. Froude's sympathe- 
by the horrible scenes he 
Krribed.* One instinctively 
br those lambs, the lords, 
. " panther " near them. All 
Ax. Froude takes no further 
Mary's physical condition 
reat the necessary results, 
lost miraculously, were not 
rick and policy." (Vol. viii. 
e queen was then in the 
:h of her pregnancy, and the 
jnsequences of the horrible 
us thrust suddenly before her 
not unforeseen. Thecon- 
n their bonds had expressly 
r the contingency of her death. 
ry escapes from the band of 
^r. Froude would have been 
»DSolable but for the fact 



•o iparkllnK with bright enjoy* 
idog •on* insult or outrace to 



that her midnight ride gives him (vol. 
viii. p. 270) the opportunity of exe- 
cuting (tempo agitato) a spirited fanta- 
sia on his historic lyre in his descrip- 
tion of the gallop of the fleeing ca- 
valcade.* It sounds like a faint echo 
of Burger's Lenore. Then he gives 
credit without stint to Mary's iron for- 
titude and intellectual address. He 
is entirely too liberal in this regard. 
Instead of riding '* away, away, past 
Seton," she stopped there for refresh- 
ments and the escort of two hundred 
armed cavaliers under Lord Seton, 
who was advised of her coming. 
Then, too, the letter she ^^wrote with 
her own hand^ fierce, dauntless, and 
haughty," to Elizabeth, and which Mr. 
Froude so minutely describes — ^** The 
strokes thick, and slightly uneven from 
excitement, but strong, firm, and with- 
out sign of trembling 1" This insani- 
ty for the picturesque and romantic 
would wreck a lar better historian. 
The prosaic fact is, that although, as 
Mr. Froude states, the letter may be 
seen in the Rolls House, Mary Stuart 
did not write it. It was written by 
an amanuensis, the salutation and sig- 
nature alone being in her hand. This 
question was the subject of some con- 
troversy, during the past year, m Paris 
and London, and Mr. Wiesener, a 
distinguished French historical writer, 
requested Messrs. Joseph Stevenson 
and A. Crosby, of the Record Office, 
to examine the letter and give their 
opinion. Their reply was, " The body 
of the document is most certainly not 
in Mary's handwriting." But, after 
all, there was no occasion for contro- 
versy, and still less for Mr. Froude's 

*" The moon was dear and fiiU.** *' The queen with 
incredibie animosity was mounted tn crvmp behind 
Sir Arthur Erskine, upon a beautilii] English double 
gelding/' " the king on a courser of Naples ;'* and 
"then away, away— past Restalriug. past Arthur's 
Seat, across the brklge and across the field of Mussel- 
burgh, past Setoo, past Prestoopans, fiut as their hors- 
es could speed ;" **six in att— their majesties, Erskme. 
Traquair, and a chamberer of the qoeen." *' In two 
hours the heavy gates of Dunbar had dosed behind 
them, and Mary Stoavt WM aaft.'* 



\ 



304 



Mr. Froudes History of England. 



blunder. If he had ever read the 
letter, he would have seen that Mary 
wrote, "Nous pensions vOus dcrire 
cette lettre de notre propre main afin 
de vous faire mieux comprendre, etc 
Mais defait nous sommes sifatiguie et 
si mal k raise, tant pour avoir couru 
vingt milles en cinq heures dc nuit 
etc., que nous ne sommes pas en ktat 
de le faire comme nous Taurions sou- 
haitd/' It was her intention to have 
written this letter with her own hand, 
but on account of fatigue and illness 
could not as she would have de- 
sired. " Twenty miles in two hours," 
says Mr. Froude. Twenty miles in five 
hours, modestly writes Mary Stuart 



Fortunately, we have been 
by Mr. Froude against testimo 
that " suspected source 1" 

We close, for the present, i 
specimen (not by any means th 
of Mr. Froude's historical hai 
which exemplifies his peculiar 
of citation. He professes to { 
substance of a letter of Mar) 
published in Labanoff. (Vol 
300.) Here is the letter, side 
with Mr. Froude's version of i 
select this out of numerous a 
the reason that Labanoff is he; 
readily accessible than other j 
ties treated in like manner \ 
Froude. 



Mr. Froude's Statxment 

of the contents of a letter ofApHi^^^ 1566^ 
from Mary Stuart to Queen Eliaabetk, 
(See voL viii* p. 2S2.) 

" In/in autograph letter of passionate gra- 
titude, Mary Stuart placed herself, as it were, 
under her sister's protection ; she told her 
(hat, in tracing the history of the late conspi- 
racy, she had found that the lords had in- 
tended to imprison her for life ; and if £ng> 
land or France came to her assistance, they 
had meant to kill her. She implored Eliza- 
beth to shut her ears to the calumnies which 
they would spread against her, and with en* 
gaging frankness she begged that the past might 
be forgotten ; she had experienced too deeply 
the ingratitude of those by whom she was 
surrounded to allow herself to be tempted any 
more into dangerous enterprises ; for her own 
part, she was resolved neier to give offence to 
her good sister again ; nothing should be want- 
ing to restore the happy relations which had 
once existed between them ; and should she 
recover safely from her confinement, she 
hoped that in the summer Elizabeth would 
make a progress to the north, and that at 
last she might have an opportunity of thank- 
ing her in person for her kindness and for- 
bearatue, 

<* This letter was sent by the hands of a cer- 
tain Thornton, a confidential agent of Mary 
Stuart, who had been employed on messages 
to Rome. 'A very evil and naughty per- 
son, whom I pray you not to believe,' was 
Bedford's credential for him in a letter of 
the 1st of April to Cecil. He was on his 
way to Rome again on this present occasion. 



Translation of the Original 



•< 



Edinburgh, April 4, 

[The opening paragraph of forr 
pliment acknowledges reception ( 
beth's "favorable dispatch " by Me 

"When Melville arrived, he fc 
but lately escaped from the hand 
greatest traitors on earth, in tlie m 
which the bearer will communicate 
true account of their most secret pl< 
was, that even in case the escaped 1 
other nobles, aided by you or by a 
prince, undertook to rescue me, the 
cut me in pieces and throw me < 
wall. Judge for yourself the crue 
takings of subjects against her who 
cerely boast that she never did the; 
Since then, however, our good subj< 
counselled with us, ready to offer tl 
in support of justice; and we have, tl 
returned to this city to chastise soe 
people guilty of this great crime. 

'* Meantime, we remain in this c 
our messenger will more fully give 
understand. 

" Above all other things, I would • 
ly pray you carefully to see that you 
on the Border comply with your goc 
tions toward me, and, abiding by oc 
of peace, expel those who have sot 
life from their territory, where the 
in this noted act are as well receiT 
your intention were the worst poss 
pire du monde,) and the very m 
what I know it to be. 

" I have also hemrd that the Cow 
of Morton is with jrwk X 
rest and send him to ar 



Mr, FroutU's History of England. 



3P5 



e psUic in Scotland supposed that 1m 
it \Q consult the pope on the possibi- 
Srordng Darnley, and it is remarka- 
the Queen of Scx}ts at the close of 
letter desired Elizabeth to give cre- 
n on some ueret matter which he 
BBununicate to her. She perhaps 
lat Elizabeth would now assist her 
ssolution of a marriage which she 
so anxious to prevent." 



him to return to Scotland, by depriving him 
of safeguard in England. Doubtless he will 
not fail to make fsdse statements to excuse 
himself; statements which you will find nei- 
ther true nor probable. I ask of you, my 
good sister, to oblige me in all these matters, 
with the assurance that I have experienced 
so much ingratitude from my own people 
that /shall never offend by a similar fault. 
And to fully affirm our original friendship, I 
would ask of you in any event {quoiqtte Dieu 
m'envoie) to add the favor of standing as 
godmother for my child. I moreover hope 
that, if I should recover by the month of 
July, and yon should make your progress as 
near to my territory as I am informed you 
will, to go^ if agreeable, and thank you my- 
self, which above all things I desire to do. 
(Then follow apologies for bad writing, for 
which, she says, her condition must excuse 
her, the usual compliments in closing a let* 
ter, and wishes for Elizabeth's health and 
prosperity.) 

" Postscript. I beseech your kindness ki a 
matter I have charged the bearer to ask you 
for me ; and furthermore, I will soon write 
you specially, (et au resteje vous depichtnU 
bUnUt expris,) to thank you and to know 
your intention, if it pleases you, to send me 
some other minister, whom I may receive as 
resident, who would be more desirous of 
promoting our friendship than Randal * has 
Ven found to be." 



lave the reader to form his 
mate of this method of writ- 
)ry. Instead of a letter of 
late gratitude," written spon- 
gy as insinuated, it turns out 
J answer to a dispatch (whe- 
ten or verbal, it matters not) 
ed by Elizabeth through Mel- 
[ar/s attitude and language 
ified and independent, and 
ive, so far from having any 
r forbearance in its tone, is 
DC of complaint and warning 
l)eth, couched, it is true, in 
politeness. The main sub- 
K)ve all other things," is the 
e reception accorded to Ric- 
cdoreis in England, and Eli- 
ddicately but emphatically 
i of her duty and of the vio- 
wfhec border agents. The 



passages of Mr. Froude's version mark- 
ed in italics have no existence in Mary's 
letter, and are of his own invention. 
Mary Stuart says that she has ex- 
perienced so much ingratitude from 
her own (people) that she would never 
offend any one by similarly sinning. 
CjTai tant eprouvh t ingratitude des 
miens que je n^offenserai jamais de 
semhlahle pkhi.) Mr. Froude makes 
of this that she had experienced too 
deeply the ingratitude, etc., " to alhw 
herself to he tempted any more into dan- 
gerous enterprises^* 

What dangerous enterprises ? The 
murder of Riccio ? Was she guilty 
of that too ? Was it her midnight 
escape ? Mr. Froude alone has the 
secret! And then the postscript? Raa- 

* Hitnane mt Randall-iifOl Randolpl^ u ht wai^ 
and is, usually called. 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



307 



10 means with so good an 
nr mother's. "You seem 
ame ; you seem to be Be- 

looked at the beautiful 

sweet, grateful smile, and 

^proceeded to prepare a 

iree covers for supper. 

I know Greek ?" • asked 

ly," replied the daughter 
?. " My father is quite a 
was one of the secreta- 
the great house before he 
dom, and my mother has 
i from him; but I have 
it up to help mother in 
, never had time to learn 



rf 



apped her hands, and ex- 

'11 talk my bad Latin to 
i she shall make it good." 
paused in her operations 
and said, 

;ht Latin came naturally 
the rain, and that it was 
1 had to be worked out, 
ust as wine is." 
lady, carrying various ar- 
id as her daughter utter- 
ible observation, and she 
rtily in the laugh with 
IS greeted. Benigna gaz- 
• a moment in amazement, 
lumed her work, laughing 
ipathy, but very red from 
to the dimples round her 

er-table was soon ready. 
: whom the hostess had 
x>ked wistfully, now re- 
: they all felt much grati- 
t kindness they were re- 
1 never could forget it 



t^ o^Mrre, was to the Romans of 
tjhmiliar aa, and £ir more neceuary 
I M. It was the vehicle of all phi- 
I OMdilion of all hif her education. 

KBiad Gre^ riiraw in con* 



Crispina, who was going out at the 
moment, did not reply, but lingered 
with her hand upon the door; the 
other hand she passed once across her 
eyes. 

Then the Greek lady observed, 

" Good hostess, these are the apart- 
ments you intended for some barba- 
rian queen, I believe ?" 

"Yes, my lady; for Queen Bere- 
nice, daughter-in-law of King Herod 
the Idumaean, called Herod the Great, 
with her son Herod Agrippa, a wild 
youth, I understand, about eighteen 
years old, and her daughter Hero- 
dias." 

" I heard the tribune quaestor, who 
commands the praetorians, plead for 
us with your husband," continued 
Aglais; "and I suppose that the 
quaestor's generous eloquence is the 
cause of our being received into your 
house at all. But this does not ac- 
count for your extraordinary kindness 
to us. We expected to be barely to- 
lerated as inconvenient and unwel- 
come guests, who kept better custom- 
ers away." 

" Inconvenient and unwelcome !" 
said Crispina, who seemed ready to 
cry, as, looking around the little group, 
her glance rested again upon Paulus. 

" Whereas," resumed Aglais, " you 
treat my dear children as if you were 
their mother. Why are we so fortu- 
nate as to find these feelings in a 
stranger ?" 

The hostess paused a moment 
" Honored lady," said she, " the rea- 
son is, that I once was the nurse of 
a youth whom I loved as if he were 
my own child ; and it seemed to me 
as if I saw my brave, beautiful, affec- 
tionate nursling again when I saw 
your son; but so long a time had 
passed, I neariy fell with fright and 
astonishment" 

Agatha went to the bust of Tibe- 
rius, lifted it, and, pointing to the mar- 
ble image, said in a low, tender voice^ 



^ ^ .1 



\ 



308 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



" You nursed him ?" 

A little cry of dismay escaped the 
lips of our hostess. 

" No one ever thought of looking 
beneath," said she. " My daughter 
and I arrange and dust the room. I 
must remove my poor boy's image. 
He is indeed forgotten by most peo- 
ple now ; but it might harm us, and 
alasl alas! could not help him, if this 
silent face, that never smiles at me, 
never talks to me any more, were to 
be discovered. Do not speai of this 
to any body, I beg of you, good iady, 
and my pretty one. You will not ?" 
added she, smiling, but with tears in 
her eyes as she looked at Paulus. " I 
feel as though I had reared you." 

They said they would take care 
not to allude to Uie subject at all, ex- 
cept among themselves, and then Ag- 
lais remarked, 

■' You speak in sorrow of the youth 
whom you nursed. Is he then 
dead?" 

" Eheu I lady, he is dead nearly 
twenty years; but he was just about 
your son's age when they put him to 
death." 

" Put bim to death ? Why was he 
put to death, and by whom ?" asked 
Aglais. 

" Hush I MEcenas and the empe- 
ror ordered it to be done. Oh ! do 
take care. The whole world swarms 
with spies, and you may be sure an 
inn is not free from Ihcm. I'hings 
have been more quiet of late years. 
When I was young, I felt as if my 
head was but glued to my shoulders, 
and would fall off every day. As for 
Crispus, did I not make him cautious 
how be spake ?" 

" Hut your foster-son ?" 

" Ah poor boy ! Poor young 
knight ! He was mad about the an- 
cient Roman liberties; a great stu- 
dent, always reading TuUy." 

"Was that his crime?" demanded 
Aglais. 



The hostess wiped her ey« 
the sleeve of her tlela manicak, 
said, in a tone little above a wH 
looking round timidly, and dosi 
door fast, 

" Why, Augustus came sue 
one day into a truHnium, win 
caught a nephew of his trying ti 
under a cushion some book whi 
had been reading. Augustus 
the book, and found that it wa 
of Tully's. The nephew ihouj 
was lost, remembering tbat it wi 
gustus who had giver> up Cio 
Mark Antony to be murdered. 
the emperor stood, fastened t 
page, and continued reading an^ 
ing till at last he heaved a great 1; 
and, rolling up the book on its 
laid it softly down, and said, ' A 
vsind, a voy great mind, toy nt^ 
and so he left the room." 

" Then it was not your fosta 
admiration of Cicero that caU3| 
death ?" 

" My foster-son was not Angi 
nephew, you sec; but tAeu ! hd 
ferent a case ! — the nephew of 
mer rival of Augustus. Nor us 
emperor's nephew to talk as m] 
child would talk. My foster-soi 
to say that for Augustus to have 
up TuUy, his friend and bene 
to be murdered by Mark Ante 
order that he, Augustus, mij 
allowed to murder somebody cli 
then to discover that neiiber I 
the human race could enjoy j 
nor see peace, nor have safe 
this very same Antony shoQ 
himself destroyed, was not a< 
tale, Cicero bad sided again 
had resisted Julius Casar; yet 
had given back his life to a H 
whom Rome and the civiliietj 
were proud. The same TuU 
sided wilk, not against, A^ 
and had been the making of W 
the life which i 
spared and left s 



DioB and the Sibyls. 



309 



Siend stole, and suffered to be 
bed; and this for the sake of a 
or who, for the sake of man- 
had to be very soon himself 
'cd This was not a nice tale, 
It Paulus used to say." 
«• was it; but your Paulus?" 
iglais. The travellers all held 
reath in surprise and suspense. 

lat ! the youth whom that bust 

Its, and whom Augustus put 

1, was called Paulus ?" 

L They said he had engaged in 

onspiracy, the foolish dear! 

Wy lady, I have been led, bit by 

\ many disclosures, and I be- 
lt 



IT not," interrupted Aglais; "I 
but cherish a fellow-feeling 
u; for, although I have some- 
> ask of the emperor, it is jus- 
y. I, too, look back to expe- 
which are akin to yours. My 
tder, whom the marble image 
foster-son so strikingly resem- 
ars the same name, Paulus; 
name of his father was that 
leaded the first list of those 
e Triumvirate agreed, should 

mit me, now, to ask once 

lio you are, lady ?" said Cris- 

* I know well the names upon 
If 

• 

husband," replied the Greek 
" was brother of the triumvir 

J triumvir was our master," 
d the landlady ; " and alas ! it 
lie that he, the triumvir, was 
ad weak, and his son, about 
nage you have asked me, knew 
T youth, when he so bitterly 
Augustus for sacrificing Tully 
. Antony, that his own father 
ai up a brother — that brother 
on married — in the same ter- 
1% and just in the same kind 



" Whose bust, then, do you say is 
this which is so like my son ?" asked 
Aglais. 

" The bust of your son's first cou- 
sin, lady. My foster-son's father was 
your husband's brother." 

" No wonder," cried Agatha, " that 
my brother should be like his own 
first cousin !" 

" No," said Aglais ; " but it is as sur- 
prising as it is fortunate that we should 
have come to this house, and have 
fallen among kind persons disposed 
to be friends, like our hostess, her 
good husband, and little Benigna yon- 
der." 

" There is nothing which my hus- 
band and I would not do," said Cris- 
pina, " for the welfare of all belong- 
ing to the great iEmilian family, in 
whose service we both were bom and 
spent our childhood ; the family which 
gave us our fi'eedom in youth, and 
our launch in life as a married couple. 
As for me, you know now how I must 
feel when I look upon the face of your 



son." 

A pause ensued, and then Aglais 
said, 

" Your former master, the triumvir, 
wrote to my husband asking forgive- 
ness for having consented to let his 
name appear in the list of the proscrib- 
ed, and explaining how he got it eras- 
ed. Therefore, let not that subject 
trouble you." 

" I happen, on my side, to know 
for a fact," answered the hostess, 
" that the one circumstance to which 
you refer has been the great remorse 
of the triumvir's life. The old man 
still mumbles and maunders, com- 
plaining that he never received a re- 
ply to that letter. He would die hap- 
py if he could but see you, and learn 
that all had been forgiven." 

Before Aglais had time to make 
any answer, the landlord appeared, 
carrying a small cadtis^ or cask, mark- 
ed in large Mack letters-— 



Diott and til* Sibyls, 



t. CARKinClO 
S. POMPIJIO 

COS. 

Ceiiigna liad previously set upon a 
separate mrtua, or table, according 
to custom, fruits, and fictile or earthen 
cups. 

"I thoughtso!" cried good Crispus. 
"Women (excuse mc, lady, I mean 
my wife and daughter) will jabber 
and cackle even when ladies may be 
tir>ed, and, as I sincerely hope, liun- 
gry. Do, Crispina, let me see llie 
ladies and this young knight enjoy 
their little supper. This Alban wine, 
my lady, is nearly fifty years old, I do 
assure you ; loolc at the consul's name 
OD the cask. Beuigna, young as she 
is, might drink ten cyaffii of it without 
hurt. By the by, I have forgotten 
the measure. Run, Uenigna, and fetch 
a tyathus (a ladle-cup) to help out the 
wine." 

" Jabber and cackle !" said the 
hostess. " Crispus, this lady is the 
widow, and these are the son and 
daughter of Paulus ^milius Lepidus." 

The landlord, in the full career of 
his own jabber, was stricken mute for 
3 moment. He gazed at each of our 
tliree travellera in turn, looking very 
fixedly at Paulus. At last he said, 

"This, then, accounts for the won- 
derful likeness. My lady, I will never 
lake one brass coin from you or yours ; 
not an oi, so help mej You must 
command in tliis house. Do not think 
otherwise." 

And, apparently to prevent Aglais 
from answering liim, he drew his wife 
hastily out of the room, and dosed 
the door. 

Benigna was left behind, and, with 
winning smiles and a flutter of atten- 
tions, the young girt now placed the 
chairs, and began to cackle, as Cris- 
pus would have expressed himself, 
and to enUeat the wanderers to take 
that refreshment of wlwch they stood 



so much in need. The)' aU 1 
delicate and graceful lAct to ( 
compliance with the kindnea 
they had so providentially foq 
the only way to return k whif 
at present possessed. 

It is historical to add that f 
gave the same advice. Their] 
was as keen as their tact. ] 
supper the mother and son sp 
Ue; but Agatha, both during j 
past and for some time af^ 
kept up a brisk convcrsatia| 
Beuigna, for whom the child ) 
ken an inexpressible liking, as 
whom she drew, witli UDcoj 
adroitness, the fact that she || 
gaged to be married. That i 
affection of sympathy which ^ 
Eoul of David to that of Joi 
seemed to have bound these t 
gelher. The landlady's cona 
daughter at length advised Ag| 
defer further communications ul 
should have a good night's rest., 
lus seconded the recommen^ 
and left his mother and siste 
their Greek slave Metena anf 
Benigna, and retired to his owl 
room. This chamber ovcrlook| 
impluvium, or inner court, when 
incessant plash of the fountau 
heard soothingly through his li 
window, the horn slide of win 
left open. The bedroom of t 
dies, on the other hand, overt 
the garden and bee-hives, to | 
Crispina had alluded. The | 
apartments, opening into each ; 
in one of which they had sq 
stood between \ all these rooms 
situated in the projecting west 
which they entirely filled. Tha 
ed the day which had carried td 
destination the travellers fiom Tl 

CHAPTER IX. 

Next morning when, I 
the jfH/aiu/um, or b 



Dum and the Sibyls. 



Sri 



>I2S improvement in Agatha*s 
ie had been the earliest out 
lad seen from her window, 
rilliant sunshine, the beauti- 
ipe unroll itself in the vari- 
which the landlady had 
jh inadequately described; 
len had run down into the 

time — ^that is, very soon 
-she had been chased by 

had fled, screaming and 
vith the hood of her rici- 
n completely over the head 
helmet against the terrible 
er indignant pursuers, and 
•eceived in the arms of Be- 
) had heard the cry of dis- 
had flown to the rescue, 
g a long, reedy brush, like 
to brushes of modem times, 
n a bower of trellis-work 
ith ivy, whence a wooden 
sd up to the first floor of 

by way of a landing or 
ver which rose another bow- 
the same ivy mantle — fac- 

I say, upon her enemy at 
this staircase, she had soon 
)nce more into the garden 
^a, and the two girls, jab- 
i cackling much, had ga- 
arge nosegay of autumnal 
^Vilh this booty, which Be- 

made so big that Agatha 
Uy hold it in her small and 
jads, the latter damsel had 
:o the bower, had seated 
m a bench, and had begun 

flowers in the relative po- 
ch best showed their tints, 
relied upon gradation, there 
last. Her delicate Greek 
e performance of this task 
amations of delight from 

I" the innkeeper's daughter 

'; "how pretty! That is 

That so, and then that, 

They look quite diflerent 

ic^lf 1 I never aaajfined it i" 



When Agatha had finished the ar- 
rangement to her own satisfaction, an 
exploit which was nimbly achieved, 
" Now, Benigna," said she, with her 
pretty foreign accent, "sit down here; 
just db, and tell me all about every 
thing." 

Benigna stared, and Agatha pro- 
ceeded, 

"So you are engaged to become 
the wife of a very good and hand- 
some youth, who in himself is every 
thing that can be admired, except 
that, poor young man ! he is not very 
courageous, I understood you to say. 
Now, that is not his fault, I suppose. 
How can he help feeling afraid if he 
does feel afi^id ?" 

At this moment the voice of Cris- 
pina was heard calling her daughter 
to help in preparing the breakfast, 
and Benigna, whom Agatha's last 
words had thrown into some confu- 
sion, as the same topic had done the 
previous evening, made an excuse 
and ran away, with the light of roses 
vivid in her cheeks. 

Agatha remained, and looked^ out 
upon the garden, and beyond it upon 
the sweet country, with its varied beau- 
ty. She remained listening peaceful- 
ly and dreamingly to the hum of 
bees, the twittering of birds, the voices 
and footsteps in the inn, and inhaling 
the perfumes of the nosegay whicli 
she had arranged, and the cool fresh- 
ness of that pleasant morning hour, 
when the sun behind her and behind 
the house was throwing the shadows 
of buildings, sheds, trees, and cattle 
in long lines toward the Tyrrhenian 
Sea. While thus calmly resting, ad- 
miring, and musing, a lady in a dark 
robe of poil, (gausapaj with a very 
pallid face and large black eyes, stood 
suddenly in the doorway of the bower, 
and blocked out the lovely prospect 
The stranger smiled, and, holding out 
a bunch of flowers, said, 

" My pretty young lady, I see that 
the oikriag I have been cvil&n|i fac 



312 



Diem and Ike SHyir. 



} mi has lost its value. You are rich 
already. May I sit down in this plea- 
sant shady place a moment to rest ?" 

" Yes, you may, certainly," said 
Agatha, 

" I suppose," resumed the stranger, 
" that you belong to this house, my 
little friend? I am a stranger, and 
merely lodging — " 

" We are lodging, too, and stran- 
gers," answered Agatha. 

" From your accent," continued the 
Other, " I judge you to be Greek." 

" Mother Is," replied Agatha; "but 
brother calls himself a Roman tnight, 
and even noble." 

" 1 knew iti" cried the lady ; " you 
have it wrilleti in your counlcnance. 
I, too, am a noble lady; my name 
is Plancina. Have you ever seen 
Rome ?" 

" Never," 

"Ah ! how you will be enchanted. 
You must come to see me. I have a 
house in Rome; such a pretty house, 
full of such curious things ! Ah I 
when you see Rome, you will hold 
your breath with wonder and delight, 
I will make you so happy when you 
come to see me in my pretty house." 

" You are a very kind, good lady, 
I should think," quoth Agatha, look- 
ing up from her flowers, and gating 
long at the pallid face and the krge 
black eyes ; " and if we go to Rome, I 
and my mother will visit you, per- 

" My house is among the willows 
and beeches of the Viminal Hill," said 
the lady. " Remember two things — 
Viminal Hill, with its beeches and its 
willows, and the Calpurman House, 
where the Fiso family have lived for 
generations. My husband, Piso, has 
had great losses at dice. I am rich 
enough to spend a fortune every year 
for half a century, and we have still 
at our house all the pleasures that can 
be thought of. What pains I will 
take to amuse you 1 You cannot con- 
ceive the splendors, dresses, games, 



sports, shows, and beauties of ] 
the theatres, the circus, ihc CO 
the great wild beasts of all sori 
all countries, the dances — " 

As she pronounced the word 
ces," a youthful male voice wail 
at a little distance, saying, " 
they change horses here, we will 
our limbs by a stroll in the | 
behind the inn. Make haste, " 
innkeeper; order your servanu 
brisk." 

And almost at the same moi 
brilliantly beautiful, dark, easter 
ing girl, in a Syrian costume, a 
ed at the entrance of the bowei 
hind her came sauntering the 
whose voice had been heard 
was of about Paulus's age, b 
olive complexion, was sunipt 
dressed, and exhibited a slroDg 
likeness in face to the girl. L 
lowed a woman in middle lif^ 
relcd in costly robes, suited to 
haughty, languid, and scorn 

Plancina and Agatha looV 
and surveyed the new-comas. 
brilliant ilamsel remained at ( 
trance of the bower exiiuini 
occupants with a hardy, unal 
glance; whereupon Plancina,: 
moment's pause, occasioned 1 
interruption, resumed and cod 
her sentence thus, 

" No, you can form no idea 
gayeties of Rome ; the gami 
shows, the theatres, the glorii 
pleasures, the jests, the dances' 

" But aU your good dance! 
from foreign lands — from thi 
indeed," iniemipled the damse 
ding her head repeatedly and 
ingly ; " you must admit that" 

" Not all cur good alone," < 
ed Plancina sternly, noticing d 
woman in middle life smiled S 
ingly at the girl who had ob 
the remark; " not all our good 
but all. The office of the < 
wortd \a to try and amute Rofl 



Di&n and the Sibyls. 



313 



what is Rome's office ?" ask- 
imsel. 

e amused by them, if she 
iirered the Roman. 
5 away, Herodias," said the 
languid, and scomfuMook- 
m; and the two strolled 
middle walk of the garden. 
1 who had come with them 
I moment or two behind, 
Q the middle of the gravel- 
gazing straight into the 
ile he flirted a sort of horse- 
nd the heads of one or two 
3 which were growing out- 

the border of the walk. 
a looked steadily at him, 
t her. The lad withdrew 

moments, without a change 

starers !" muttered Agatha. 
have a talent for it, indeed,'* 
cina, " A hardy family, 
tie thing with another. I 
mow who they are. The 
she were the mother, called 
ter, if she were the daughter. 
My husband thinks of 
Syria, and indeed Tiberius 
d him the procuratorship 
but he would not conde* 
go in any smaller capacity 
efect of Syria. An acquain- 
ours, young Pontius Pilate^ 
et the procuratorship. The 
ce would be a great thing 
But my husband, Piso of 
umians, cannot stoop to 
may meet yonder family 

: people are looking back," 
\gatha, who had paid very 
ition to her companion's 

a rose, and, going to the 
jf the bower, honored the 
irith a steady glance. The 
oking foreign woman in 
J apparel met it for a mo- 
l then turned away. Her 



son and daughter turned away at the 
same time. 

"Ah! they are gone," murmured 
Agatha; "they do not like you to 
gaze so at them." 

"It is but a Roman," returned 
Plancina, "looking at barbarians. 
They always shrink in that curious 
manner. And why this Greek luna- 
cy?" muttered she; "and why this 
Attic mania ?" 

" Attic what ?" asked the half-Greek 
girl. 

" Nothing, my dear," replied Plan- 
cina; "only you are not Greek, you 
know; your father's race and the 
name you bear settle that question ; 
your very mother is now, and has 
long since become, a Roman citizen ; 
you must always prefer Rome to 
Greece; never forget that rule, or you 
and yours will perish." 

Agatha opened wide the ingenuous 
young eyes, and seemed to be most 
seriously alarmed. 

Plancina smoothed her pale brows, 
which had been fix)wning; and con- 
tinued with a stem smile, 

" I am only giving you a friend's 
warning. Your mother and brother 
have a suit to urge at court. There 
exists a pestilent Greek faction which 
are all doomed to destruction; tell 
your mother that you must all beware 
of being mixed up with them, and 
you will escape their perdition. A 
Greek, like your mother, with some- 
thing to ask, is peculiarly liable to 
make the mistake of seeking Greek 
friends. If she do, she is utterly lost, 
however powerful may seem the prince 
who patronizes the accursed cabal." 

Agatha shrank and trembled, mur- 
muring like an echo Plancina's last 
adjective — exitiahilis. 

" Do not stare at me so, my little 
dear," continued Plancina. "There 
is the Prince Germanicus. Only for 
him — every body knows it, and every 
body says it; the thing is no secret — 



»*4 



i}ie» aad tke SifyU. 



I^so, my husbaad, would be now pre- 
fect of Syria; and like Crispus Sal- 
lust, whea I W3S a. little girl, would 
have recovered ten limi^ the fortune 
out of which he has been cheated 
at dice. I am called a rash, violent, 
and an untamable woman. The mo- 
ment, however, that any body gives 
you any information about court par- 
ties and polidcal factions, every thing 
I am saying will be mentioned. I 
do not hide my disgust. Foreign 
barbarians of all sorts swarm; they 
creep tlirough postern doors; they 
privately influence all the destinies of 
that world of which Romans have the 
name publicly of being masters. We 
are trodden under the feet of Greeks, 
Jews, and Chaldeans; tlie first beat 
us by genius, by eloquence, and ar- 
tistic skill, by general intellectual force 
and subtlety; the second by supersti- 
tion-inspired obstinacy, by incredible 
and unspeakableimportunity, by stead- 
fastness io sordid servility, by sorcery, 
divination, necromancy, and delusion ; 
not all delusion, I grant you; fur I 
myself have seen the demons of Tlira- 
syllus, the Babylonish Greek." 

" What I" cried Agatha, " seen de- 
mons ? And what does a Babylonish 
Greek mean ?" 

" A Greek initiated in the Babylo- 
nish mysteries." 

" .\nd who is Thrasyllus ?" 

" A magician." 

" What is that ?" 

'■ A man who calls demons and spi- 
rits of the air, as you would call your 
pet birds, and they come to him." 

" May the unknown God love me !" 
cried Agatha, shuddering. " What 
are the demons like ?" 

" Not like our sculptures, believe 
me," amwered Plancina. " I dare 
not tell you; I have seen what no 
words can say." 

Slie paused, shrugged her shoulders, 
and then added, 

"-Some forms were like the human, 



with red fire in the veins ii 
blood, and white fire in the 
stead of marrow ; eyes thej 
cd that had no comfort 
They had the air of bein 
without interest in any ih 
that their eyes were filled > 
yet it seemed to me with kn 
too : unspeakable fear, immci: 
ledge; wells and pools the; 
cd, full of fear and knowledg 
they glanced upon you, th 
pale rays of hatred strangel) 
ed with an expression of iud 
fear, knowledge, and hatred. 
looked at the eyes, when tht 
not at you, you saw nothin 
expression of fear and km 
but when they did look at 
saw fear, knowledge, and ht 
All these faces mocked witl 
ing, and scoffed without cr 
Something, I thought, was 
down the wan cheeks, and t 
a look of fitted suiprise louj 
long- past astonishment — the 
and the feeling gone. Tht 
of boundless amazement ! 
been there ; the signs of it 
all over the counten.ince, 
may so speak, petrified — an 
cable scar, an ineffaceable 
The character of the countei 
that of a dead astonishment 
tonishment was dead; it wa 
ger an active sentiment It 
some boundless wonder; tin 
which that creature bad evi 
cnced, and the event which 
ed it had apparenUy been 
serious which that being ! 
known." 

" What a truly tremeodou 
tion !" exclaimed Agatha. 

The other made no reply 
fore any further convcrsati' 
occur between them, a yoi 
in the dark-brown habilimc 
slave, entered the gar den 
inn, and after a I 



Dion tmd the Sibyls. 



iii 



rections, approached the bow- 
s features were very good ; he 
I made, of a pleasing address, 
a look of uncommon intelli- 
He possessed, in a small de- 
i a humble way, that unde- 
ir of elegance which mental 
lieds over the countenance ; 
this advantage he betrayed 
mptoms of awkwardness and 
Standing at a little distance 
door of the arbor, he made 
>w to Plancina, and said he 
nearer of some commands, 
mands from whom ?" slie de- 

iswered, bowing low again, 
y stating that his name was 

oa instantly rose, and took 
Agatha, enjoining her not to 
I warnings and counsels she 
sn. Agatha then saw her 
center the hotel, followed 
mdsome slave. Thereupon, 
|r recovering her spirits, which 
;nce and the words of this 
lad depressed, she ascended 
ase to the landing overhead, 
e was joined by her mother 
room within. 

la immediately told Aglais 
ig which had passed between 
Plancina. 

n't think, my dear child, we 
likely to trouble her in her 
se among the willows and 
of the Viminal Hill," said 
md as Paulus now came out 
: landing, a second edition 
native was produced for his 
on« 

lanicus," said he, " is more 
last of the Romans than in 
reprehensible or degenerate 
stes. His love for Greece 
idmiration for Athens are an 
\ his understanding. They 
iag else. This has nothing 
kk prefierring barbarians and 



barbarous influences. My education, 
€d€pol! has to be completed; but I 
am educated enough to know that 
Rome goes for schooling to Greece 
as much as ever she did. Was not 
Julius Cassar himself what they call 
a Grceculus f I rather think he was 
even deeper than Germanicus in Greek 
lore ; but, therefore, all the more fitted 
for Roman command. The Romans 
continued to be barbarians long afler 
the Greeks had become the teachers 
of the world; and were it not for 
Greece, they would be barbarians still. 
As for warning us not to dare to make 
friends for ourselves of this person or 
that, or of any who appreciate intel- 
lect — for this means to appreciate 
Greeks — ^it is like warning us to re- 
main friendless, in order that we may 
the more easily be crushed. It is the 
wolfs advice to the sheep, to send 
away her dogs ; but I am more dog 
than that myself. This pale, beetle- 
browed lady ought to have enjoined 
those to be timid who know how. 
Dare do this ! Dare do that I For 
my part, I am not afraid to do any 
thing that I think right." 

His mother pressed Paulus's hand 
affectionately, and his sister's high 
spirit, which had cowered under the 
dreadful conversation of Plancina, 
shone in her eyes as she smiled at 
him. 

CHAPTER X« 

Meanwhile, in the large room with- 
in, breakfast had been prepared for 
the wanderers on a table drawn oppo- 
site to and near the open folding-doors 
of the arbor where they were convers- 
ing ; and the landlady now summon- 
ed them to partake of that repast. 

After breakfast, at which Crispina 
herself waited on them, Agatha asked 
where Benigna was* 

The landlady smiled, and stated 
that a friend of her daughter's had 
called, and was doubtless detaining 



3i« 



'/?«w efttd Ike Sifyts. 



\ 



her, but she would go at once and 
bring the gi'ri. 

" On no account," interposed Ag- 
laisj "Benigna, I dare say, will un- 
fold to my daughter all about it by 
and by. Unlessyouhavesome press- 
ing business to take you immediately 
away, will you kindly inform us of 
the news, if there be any, and let us 
sit in the arbor while you tell us ?" 

Accordingly they went inio the 
bower on the landing overlooking the 
garden, and Crispina told them the 

In the first place, she told them 
that the emperor's expected visit to 
Formic was delayed on account of 
the state of his health. It was now 
thought he would not arrive for two 
or three days more, whereas he was 
to have entered Formi.-e that very 
morning. Crispina added, that it 
would not surprise her if he did not 
come for a weekycL 

In the second place, Queen Bere- 
nice with her son, Herod Agrippa, 
and her daughter Herodias, who were 
to have occupied those very apart- 
ments, had arrived at the inn, but 
had now gone forward. 

" Mother," said Agatha, " those 
must have been the persons who, an 
hour ago, looked inlo the arbor be- 
low this one, when th.it pale woman 
was talking to me. The elder called 
the younger Herodias." 

"The same," continued the land- 
lady, " Finding that they cannot be 
accommodated in my house, young 
Herod has proposed to proceed with 
all their train to Formic, where — 
royal though they be — they will be 
nobody's guests ; and as there is not 
a place of public entertainment in 
that town, and the weather is delight- 
ful, he says they will pitch two or three 
tents, and one splendid pavilion of 
sitk, on the verge of the green space 
outside of Formic, where the games 
are to be held." 



"Only fancy!" 
ping her little hands. 

Thirdly, Crispina told the: 
fifty gossiping details, that th 
tainments to be given in bono 
emperor and the opulent knig 
niurra, from whom the town 
name, would be stupendous. 3 
we may mention, was freqaen 
ed Mamurrantm, or urbs mam 
from ihe colonel or chiliarch M; 
This gendeman had devoted 1 
hood and youth to the cause o 
Caesar, and afterward of Augu 
the civil wars ; had gained cot 
ble military reputation, and, ab 
had amassed enormous wealth 

He had long since relumed 
native Formic, where he had 
superb palace of marble, good < 
for an emperor. In that pali 
emperor was now to be hit 
He and Agrippa Vipsanius. th 
der of the Pantheon, had long 
been among those by whom, ii 
pliance with the often-announci 
of Augustus, not peculiarly ad< 
tothem,but generally to all hist 
countrymen, Augustus had cx] 
incalculable sums in adorning 
with public edifices, for which 
materials, and the science am 
of the best architects, had aliki 
employed. As .\ugustus himst 
(for himself,) "They had fouii( 
bricks, and were leaving it of ni 

" I have read verses by C 
upon this knight Mamuna," si 
lais. 

" So you have, my lady," 1 
Crispina. " Well, he has just ki 
up a circus in the fields adjoinin 
mi.-e, and is preparing to exhiU 
nificent shows to his neighboi 
to all comers, in honor of th 
peror's visit to the town of ih 
murras and the Mamurran palac 
berius Caesar, who is also to 
knight's guest, promises t! 
same circus, and to i' 



miscs Wii 

i 



Dion and t/u Sibyls, 



317 



rf" his own there, and Ger- 
Caesar, before marching north 
Jie Germans, and drive them 
lorth-eastem Italy, is to re- 
Formiae the troops destin- 
at expedition, as well as the 
Ik of the praetorian guards 
janus. The guards are un- 
hat portion of them the Cae- 
take with him northward." 
ler, we shall see the shows, 
«e the shows 1" cried Agatha, 
and I am so slow. There 
r ingredient yet in my wallet 
," exclaimed Crispina; "and 
k of my almost forgetting to 
r it." 

ember not to forget it," said 
c girl, holding up her finger 
admonishing and censorious 
le landlady. " What is this 

• which you have, after all, 
tten to remember ?" 
charming little lady, it is a 

• which concerns the land of 
ler, and the people of Greece ; 
m, say they, has that land 

sent to Rome any body like 

accused yourself of being 
it now you gallop. Like 

this noble young Athenian." 
>ping still faster," rejoined 

t noble young Athenian ?" 
Athenian, gifted as his coun- 
Vlcibiades, eloquent as our 
ly, acute and profound as 
honorable as Fabricius, 
IS Regulus, and O ladies! 
lese other excellencies, beau- 
poem, a picture, a statue, or 
i» 

5'$ a description," quoth Aga- 

ling. 

( eloquent than precise, I 

id Paulus. 

■olBciently precise," added 

to leave us in no doubt at 



all who is meant by it It must be 
young Dionysius; it must be Dion'' 

" That is the very name 1" exclaim- 
ed the hostess. 

" My mother knows him," said Pau- 
lus. " My sister and I have often 
heard of him; so have thousands; 
but we have not seen him. It is he 
who carried away all the honors of 
the great Lyceum at Athens on the 
left bank of the Ilissus." 

"The right bank, brother," said 
Agatha; "don't you remember, the 
day we embarked at the Piraeus 
somebody showed it to us, just oppo- 
site Diana Agrotera, which is on the 
left bank ?" 

" It is all the same," said Paulus. 

" Mother, just tell Paulus if left and 
right are all the same," said Agatha. 
" That is like Paulus. They are not 
the same ; they never were the same." 

" All the ladies at the Mamurran 
palace," resumed the hostess, " make 
toilets against him." 

" Toils, you mean," said Paulus. 

" Yes, toils," continued the hostess. 
" They are intended as toils for him ; 
they are great toils and labors for the 
poor girls ; the omatrius and they are 
toilers for the fair dames themselves." 

" It is all the same," again quoth 
Paulus. 

" And how do these toilets prosper 
against Dionysius the Athenian ?" 

" They tell me he is not aware of 
the admiration he excites — is totally 
indifferent to it." 

" Base, miserable youth!" cried Pau- 
lus, laughing. " These Roman dames 
and damsels ought to punish him." 

" You mean by lett'mg him alone?" 
asked the landlady. 

" No; that would kill him," return- 
ed Paulus with a sneer^ " being what 
he is." 

"Then how punish him?" asked 
she. 

" By pursuing him with their bland- 
ishments," answered Paulus; " that is, 



3*8 



Dion and the Sifyls. 



I 



if tliey can muster sufficient ferocity. 
But I fear the women are too kind 
here in Italy, I am told that even 
in the midst of the most furious pas- 
sions, and while the deadliest agonies 
are felt by others around them, their 
natural sweetness is so invincible that 
they smile and send soft glances to 
and fro; ihey look more bewitching 
at misery (such is their goodness) than 
when they see no suffering at all. 
Yes, indeed! and as the gladiators 
fight, they have a. lovely smile for 
each gash ; and when the gladiator 
dies, their eyes glisten enchanting! y. 
We have not these entertainments in 
Greece, and the Greek Dion must 
soon feel the superiority of the Roman 
to the Greek woman. Pity is a beau- 
tiful quality in a woman ; and the 
Greek ladies do not seek the same 
frequent opportunities of exercising it 
as the Italian ladies possess, and, f/ieti / 
enjoy," 

"IsPaulus bitter?" asked Aglais. 
" Is Paulus witty ?" 

" Talking of wit, my lady," pursued 
the hostess, "none but our dear old 
Plautus could have matched this young 
Athenian, as Antistius Labio, the great 
author of five hundred volumes, has 
found to his cost" 

" Labio 1 Why, that must be the 
son of one of those who murdered 
CEsar," exclaimed Paulus. " My fa- 
ther met his father foot to foot at the 
battle of Philippi; but he escaped, and 
slew himself when Brutus did so." 

"That was indeed this man's fa- 
ther," said Crispina. " The son is a 
very clever man, and a most success- 
ful practitioner in the law courts. 
Wisliing to mortify Dionysius, he said 
in his presence, al a review of the 
troops at Forraia yesterday, that he 
was grateful to the gods he had not 
been bom at Athens, and was no 
Greek — ^not he ! 

"•The Athenians also entertain,' 



replied Dionysius, 'the idea 
you have just expressed.' 
" ' Miat idea ?' asked Antktl 

" ' 7^1 tfifir^s Tvaiek met 
replied Dionysius. Ah my 
you should have heard the U 
at Labio; the very centurions < 
away to conceal their grins, 
one high at court then took (he 
nian's arm on one side, and Til 
vius's on the other, and walb 
with them, Labio did not 

" Pray can you tell us. good 
pina, whether Germanicus C« 
to be a guest of the knight M 
ra ?" asked Paulus, 

The landlady said she bdiei 
would be for a day or two, am 
she thought it was even he wh 
taken Dion's and Livy's ami 
walked with them apart 

" It is some time," swd J 
"since CatuUusindi ted those epi 
malic verses against the hospitab 
opulent knight. This Mamunl 
be very old." 

" Yet, my lady," replied Cri 
" he has a ruddy face, a clear 
plexion, and downright blxck 

"There is a wash called hxh 
said Aglais with a meaning smi 

" Ah ! but," cried Crispins, 1 
ing with no less knowing a 
" that makes the hair yellow ; al 
brows of the knight are as bli 
the jet ornaments in your daug 
hair," 

" You can tell us, no doubt,' 
Paulus, "who those ladies RIV 
that came with Tiberius Cssarji 
d,iy from that splendid mansi< 
the Liris, They were in bei 
litters ; one of sculptured brona 
other of ivory, embossed widn 

" I know who Ifaqr-M^^jl 



Dwu and tk$ Sibyls. 



319 



lady ; " they are half-sis- 
jhters of the late renown- 
id statesman, the builder 
leon, Agrippa Vipsanius, 
ent mothers. One of 
wife of Tiberius Ca*sar." 
cclaimed Paulus ; " why, 
lost ?" 

ivertheless ; her husband 
rife," said the landlady ; 
low voice, " a precious 
5 emperor has required 
the august Julia." 
list!" munnured Aglais 
5ly, with a shrug of the 
jetting old, too." 
," resumed the landlady, 
I describe the relation- 
family. Agrippa Vip- 
ust know, married three 
second wife was Mar- 
tx of Augustus's sister, 
I this Marcella became 
f the elder of the two 
you saw. Well, while 
was still living, but after 
a daughter called Vip- 
;us made Agrippa put 
marry, mind you, this 
ugust Julia, Augustus's 
T, and therefore Mar- 
)usin. This Julia, who 
Tie a widow, having lost 
)and Marcellus, is the 
I other lady whom you 
called Julia Agrippina, 
:s came into the world 
ousin of her own half- 
Agrippa, the father of 
ving the august Julia a 
I second time, Tiberius 
\ Agrippa's eldest daugh- 
and has a son by her, 
;; and now, while Vip- 
living, Augustus makes 
her away to marry the 
1st Julia, the mother of 
daughter, Julia Agrip- 
riberius's first and like- 
ousin.'* 



" I can hardly follow you in the 
labyrinth," said Aglais. 

" No one can, my lady, except 
those who make a study of it," said 
the landlady! laughing ; " but it's all 
true. Julia, Augustus's daughter, is 
the wife of the father of both these 
girls, first cousin to the eldest of them, 
mother and cousin-in-law of the youn- 
ger, and has now also been made wife 
to the husband of the elder, her own 
first cousin, and become the sister-in- 
law of her own daughter and cousin- 
in-law to the younger." 

" Medius fidius!" cried Paulus, star- 
ing stupidly, "what a tremendous 
twisted knot ! Julia's daughter, half- 
sister, and second cousin is put away, 
that the half-sister's husband may 
marry the half-sister's stepmother and 
second cousin, or something like that." 

" Or something like that," continu- 
ed Crispina; "but there is no end to 
it. Tiberius Caesar is now father-in- 
law and brother-in-law to one woman, 
and the husband and stepfather-in- 
law to another, while the mother of 
the younger half-sister becomes the 
sister-in-law of her own daughter." 

At this moment Agatha, who was 
opposite the outer door of the em- 
bowered landing, leading down by a 
flight of stairs into the garden, through 
the other arbor before mentioned, sud- 
denly exclaimed, "There's Benigna 
walking in the garden with a man !" 

They all looked, and saw Benigna 
and a young man, wearing a brown 
tunic and slippers, in a distant alley 
of fig-trees, talking earnestly as they 
strolled together. Crispina smiled 
and said, " I must really tell you that 
my Benigna's betrothed lover came 
here unexpectedly at daybreak. He 
has obtained a week's holiday, and 
will spend it, he vows, in the inn. 
We have had to use some skill, I pro- 
mise you, in finding room for him. 
He is to sleep in a big trunk with the 
Ud off, stowed away in the angle of a 



3» 

corridor behind a curtain. He is a 
very good and well -instructed youth, 
knows Greek, and is severely worked 
as one of the secretaries of Tiberius 
Cxsar, whose slave he is, as I think 
Benigna has mentioned to my little 
Lady Agatha )-ondcr." 

" When is the marriage of dear 
Benigna to take place ?" asked Aga- 
tlia. 

" Of course the poor young man," 
replied Crispina, " cannot marry until 
he gets his freedom. Whenever Ti- 
berius Cffisar allows him to shave his 
head, and put on the fiieus, (cap of 
liberty,) we shall have a merry wed- 
ding." 

" What sort of master is Tiberius 
Ciesar?" asked Paulus. 

The landlady said she was thank- 
ful she did not personally know him ; 
but she had never heard any com- 
plaint of him made by Claudius, her 
future son-in-law. 

" Your future son-in-law, Claudius !" 
exclaimed Agatha in amazement. 
" Then it was your future son-in-law 
wJio had something to say to that 
Dame Flancina, with the pale face 
and black eyebroivs ?" 

" Not that I know of, my littie la- 
dy," returned the hostess. 

"Ahl but he had, though," per- 
sisted Agatha. " He came to the ar- 
bor door, and distinctly stated, with 
a low bow, that he had commands 
for that lady ; and then she said from 
whom; and he said, my name is Clau- 
dius; that is what he said ; and then 
she jumped up in a remarkable flus- 
ter and went into the house, and he 
followed her. But then why she 
should jump up in a fluster, because 
a slave said his name was Claudius, 
I can't imagine," concluded Agatha, 
pondering. 

The hostess looked surprised. 

'* I think it could not be because a 
slave's name was Claudius," she said; 
" nor do I understand it." 



DioH mid the Siiyrb. 



" Is that your dcmon-seci 
Agatha ?" asked Paulus, 
liimsclf ; " for I have a m 
when I parried the fellow's 
wanted to cut me down ii 
ardly a fashion, you kaow- 

" Yes." 

" There was a female sc 
you remember it ?" 

*' Yes." 

"Well, I have been thi 
woman who screamed was 
whom your description of 
dame in the arbor exactly 
so, she was in the train ol 
and of those ladies of whon 
hostess has just given us s 
teresting genealogical and 
nial account" 

" Then perhaps the com 
Flancina were from Tiberii 
quoth Agathx 

Crispina shook ner he& 
peared a tittle serious. / 
lence followed. Paulus bi 
asking the landlady lo g< 
forwanled for him to the n 
bune, Velleius Patcrculus, a 
" I wish," he said, " to ta 
tage of the delay in the 
visit, and to see ihe couni 
in the river, to move abw 
near; provided Palerculus, 
I have given a promise to i 
self, has no objection." 

Tlie hostess brought hii 
viaria, or second-class pape 
she had, some , cuttle-fish i 
reed pen, told him to writt 
and undertook to transmit 
by a runner belonging to th 
She then lefl the room. 

CHAPTEX XL 

The letter was sent, a 
course of the forenoon the . 
or letter-carrier of the iai 
from Formix. Crisijina bi 
to Paulus, who was in u. 



Dion and tJte Sibyls. 



321 



•rten watching some players as 
^tested a game of quoits or 

This avenue connected the 
8 proper with the open country 
Mtl, terminating in a cross-hedge 
lie, through which a little wick- 
lellis gate opened. " The man 
ught no letter back," the hos- 
d, signing at the same time to 
senger to deliver the particu- 
iis errand. 

id found the tribune, he said, 
I given him the letter and 
HT an answer. The tribune 
le moment inspecting a body 
s. He read the note, how- 
[ immediately took out of his 
t his stylus and pugillaria^ or 
lets; when the praetorian pre- 
nixs, happening to pass, en- 
3 conversation with him, and 
cnger then saw Velleius Pa- 
[land to Sejanus Paulus's let- 
r reading it, the general gave 
»id something in Greek, and 
ay. The tribune thereupon 
bearer that he would send 
a" during the day by a mes- 
r his own. Paulus thanked 
who then withdrew. 
ero, who had preparedthis 
ckle, a portion of which he 
s hand, remarked that it was 
; to lose so fine and favora- 
y. " Moreover, why should 
prisoner?** he suddenly ex- 

"I have a triple right to 
>nal liberty, as Roman citi- 
jht, and noble. And what 
one to forfeit it ? What have 
accept parry the blow of an 
^hom I neither injured nor 
l?" 

1!" murmured Crispina; and 
I Cneius Piso, having a ban- 
nd his head, and leaning on 
of Plancina, was seen pass- 
tihe inn before them from an- 
t of the garden. 
ndlady stood still a moment, 
youia^ — 21 



till the two figures had disappeared, 
when she said, with a slight motion of 
the thumb in the direction of Piso, 
" He reports himself quite well now 
except for a headache. He and his 
lady leave us in an hour for Rome, 
and I hope I may say both vale and 
salve. You ask what you have 
done. Have you not come to Italy 
to claim rights which are indisputa- 
ble ?" 

" Is that reason ?• 

'^ It is a thousand reasons, and an- 
other thousand, too. Alas! do not 
deceive yourself, as your namesake 
and cousin did, about the character 
of the world." 

At the door of the inn they sepa- 
rated, she to attend to the multifari- 
ous business of her household, and 
he to loiter purposelessly. After a 
litde reflection, he went quite through 
the house by the impluvium^ and the 
central corridor beyond it, and look- 
ed into the public room, or atrium. 
At one table a couple of centurions 
sat playing dice with the tesserce, and 
shouting the names of half a dozen 
gods and goddesses, as their luck fluc- 
tuated. At another table a power- 
fully built, dark, middle-aged man, 
having a long, ruddy beard streaked 
with gray, upon whom Asiatic slaves 
waited, was taking a traveller's repast; 
his slaves helping him to costly wine, 
which he drank with a grimace of 
dissatisfaction, but in formidable quan- 
tities. Other groups were dotted 
round the large apartment In order 
not to draw needless notice, for all 
eyes turned to him for a moment, ex- 
cept those of the two dice-throwing 
and bellowing centurions, Paulus seat- 
ed himself behind an unoccupied ta- 
ble near the door. While idly watch- 
ing the scenes around him, he thought 
he heard his name pronounced in the 
passage outside. He listened, but 
the noise in the room made him un- 
certain, and the voice outside was al- 




3M 

ready less audible, as of one who had 
passed the door while speaking. 

Present!)' he heard, in a much loud- 
er tone, the words, " VVhy, it is not 
our cannage, after all. Let us return 
and wait where we can sit down." 
And Ihc speaker again passed the 
public room, coming back, apparent- 
ly, from the porch. 

Paulus happened to be sitting close 
to the door, which was open ; a cur- 
tun, as was common, hanging over 
Ihc entrance. This time, in spite of 
the noise in the dicta, a word or two, 
andaname, though not his own, struck 
him. He fancied some one said, " No 
harm to her; but still, not the bro- 
ther — the sister, my trusty Claudius." 

Where had Paulus heard those tones 
before ? In itself, what he had over- 
heard was a sufficiently harmless frag- 
ment of a sentence. Nevertheless, 
Paulus rose, tell his table, lifted aside 
Hie doot-curtain, and went into the 
corridor, where he saw Cneius Piso 
and Plancina, with their backs to him, 
walking toward the end of the pas- 
sage opposite the porch, but he near- 
ly stumbled against a young man go- 
ing the other way. This person, who 
was good-looking, in both senses of 
the word, wore the sober-colored fxa- 
mis, fir tunic, the long hair, and the 
tippets of a slave. He had in his 
right hand a st>'lus; in his lefV, tablets 
of citron-wood, open and covered 
with blue wax, on which he was read- 
ing, with his head bent, some note 
which he had made there. 

" It is my fault, noble sir," said he ; 
" I was stooping over these and did 
not observe you ; I beg you to par- 
don my awkwardness," And he bow- 
ed with an air of humility. 

" It is I, rather, who am to blame," 
said Paulus, scanning steadily the fea- 
tures of the slave, who had made 
his apology with a look of alarm, and 
in exaggerated accents of deprecation. 

Shortly after this incident, while 



Paulus, who had not letnm 
atrium, was leaning dreamily 
balustrade of the inn's cent 
and watching tlie fountain a 
pluviura there, he was stnicli 
on the shoulder from behin 
open hand. Turning round 
he beheld a man in the very ] 
life, who was entirely a strangi 

" 1 was told I should find ] 
excellent sir," said the stranf; 

Paulus took in, at a gl: 
dress and general appearar 
had a thick brown beard, at. 
med, and open, daring, l& 
eyes, in which there was 
whatever sullen or morose ; ] 
of wildness and fierceness, 
slight but constant gleam of ' 
if not subtlety. On the w 
face was handsome; it wai 
cuously manful, and, perha| 
what obdurate and pitiless. 

His stature was good with 
very lolly. He had broad s' 
rather long, sinewy arms, a dt 
and, altogether, a figure ani 
not lacking any token of aj 
more indicative of huge strei 

He wore sandals, the laces 
cros|ed each other up his mi{ 
which were otherwise bare 
white woollen diphera cov 
shoulders, and was belted r 
waist. 

" And who told you thatyi 
find me here ?" asked Paulus 
few minutes ago I did nol 
should find myself here." 

" There goes the youth i 
me," answered the other poin 
at the same moment Paulas 
slave, against whom he ha» 
in the passage, cross on t 
angle of the court-yard, an 
through a door on the oppa 

" Claudius," continued t) 
ger, " is an acquaintance of i 
chancing to meet him i 
the hostelry, I asked ft 



Dion afid the Sibyls. 



323 



pray who are you, and what 
rant with me ?" asked Paul- 
the slave, who must, he now 
be the Claudius to whom 
was betrothed, had disap- 

am I ?*• returned the stran- 
{ood many people know my 
d my person, too. But that 
lot for the present Your 
iiestion is more immediately 
:. *What do I want with 
'o deliver to you a letter ; no- 
ire. Understanding that I 
stroll out in this direction, 
guished tribune, Velleius Pa- 
requested me to hand you 

e produced from a fold in 
t of his white woollen tunic 
[laving a written address on 
and a thread round its four 
[ch thread was knotted on 
>pposite to that bearing the 
»tion. The knot was secur- 
waxen seal, upon which the 
writer had, in imitation of 
ised minister Maecenas, im- 
le engraving of a frog, 
opened it and read what 

le noble Paulus iEmilius Le- 
j younger, Velleius Patercu- 
greeting: 

rhere you like, amuse your- 
)u like, do as you like — fish, 
:, read, play, sing — provid- 
sep each night at the Post 
' the Hundredth Milestone, 
5 excellent Crispina's roof, 
d of your health and wel- 

r so good," said Paulus ; " I 
oner, indeed, but with a tol- 
Qg tether, at least. I am 
iged to you for bringing me 

n 

• 

bcmment !" observed the oth- 
lave heard a knot of centu- 
[ abo soldiers unnumbered, 



talk of your imprisonment, and of the 
blow with which it seems to be con- 
nected. You are a favorite, without 
knowing it, among the troops at For- 
mise. One fierce fellow swore, by 
quite a crowd of gods, that your blow 
deserved to have freed a slave, in- 
stead of enslaving a knight ; that is, 
to have freed you had you been a 
slave, instead of enslaving you, who 
are already a knight" 

" I feel grateful to the soldiers," 
said Paulus. " You are doubtless an 
officer — a centurion, perhaps ?" 

"Well, they do speak freely," re- 
plied the stranger, "and so do I; 
therefore you have made a fair guess ; 
but you are wrong." 

"Ah! well," said Paulus ; "thanks 
for your trouble, and farewell. I must 

go." 

" One word," persisted the other. 
" I am a famous man, though you do 
not seem to know it The conquer- 
or in thirty-nine single combats at 
Rome, all of them mortal, and all 
against the best gladiators that ever 
fought in circus or in fonun, stands 
before you. At present I am no lon- 
ger obliged to fight in person. I keep 
the most mvmcMt famiia of gladia- 
tors that Rome has hitherto known. 
You are aware of the change of mo- 
rals and fashions; you are aware that 
even a senator has been seen in the 
arena. Some day an emperor will de- 
scend into our lists." (This, as the 
reader knows, really happened in the 
course of time.) "Join my family, 
my school; I am Thellus, the la- 
nista." 

" What !" cried Paulus, his nostrils 
dilated, and his eyes flashing. " In 
Greece, where I have been bred, gla- 
diatorial shows are not so much as 
allowed by law, even though the gla- 
diators should be all slaves ; and be- 
cause some senator has forgotten the 
respect due to the senate and to him- 
self, and has no sense either of dec^u* 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



32s 



it danger. But if you wish to 
im who does both in perfec- 
id who practises that perfec- 
bitually, you will name the 
r. Nor b it pain of body 
or loss of life alone, wiiich his 
trains him to undergo with 
Are you sure that our mo- 
simply and solely that grovel- 
: of gain which you imply ? 
ry you dare to term us ? 
uy! The gambler is merce- 
s the gladiator like your high- 
imtary gambler ? Is the gla- 
leaf to praise? Indifferent 
[ration ? Reckless of your 
y? Is he without other 
lUman ties and affections, as 
ibler is? Has the gladiator 
Qts whom he feeds with that 
rhich flows fh)m his gashes? 
whom he is all the time pro- 
with that lacerated and fear- 
ist ? No children whom his 
brts, and sufferings are keep- 
of degradation, out of want, 
: of that very arena which he 
^'ith a spirit that nothing can 
in order that those whom he 
ay never enter it ?" 
5 Thellus thus thundered with 
ttg and increasing vehemence, 
UT'faced youth whom he ad- 
, and who had confronted his 
f menace without any emotion 
that of instinctive and settled 
% was and appeared to be 
erwhelmed. Had Paulus been 
x)dily, he could not have felt 
ng like the pain he suffered. 
rds of the gladiator smote the 
to the heart, like stones shot 
catapult 

us gazed thoughtfully at him 
the pause which ensued, and 
sumed by exclaiming, 
rcenary ! that is, he takes pay. 
[ie author take pay? answer 
Do the lawyer and soldier take 
Does the magistrate take pay ? 



Does, or does not, the emperor take 
pay ? Does the vestal virgin herself 
take pay ? If the gladiator did, and 
suffered, and was all he does, all he 
suffers, all he is, in mere sport, and 
at his own personal expense, I sup- 
pose you would respect him. But 
I, Thellus — I, the gladiator — I, the 
lanista — would scorn him, and spurn 
him, and spit upon him. Blame the 
community who go to these sports, 
and sit in shameless safety; blame 
the hundreds of thousands who suc- 
ceed other hundreds of thousands to 
applaud us when we kill our beloved 
comrades, and, at the same time, to 
howl and hoot over those same brave 
friends whom we kill; blame those 
who, having cheered us when we slew 
our faithful companions, yell at us in 
our own turn when we are slain; 
blame men for taking us when we are 
little children, and rearing us express- 
ly to be fit for nothing else ; blame 
men for taking the Uttle ones of cap- 
tured warriors who have in vain de- 
fended their native lands against the 
discipline and skill of Rome ; blame 
men for mingling these poor infants 
in one college with the foundlings 
and the slaves to whom law and 
positive necessity bequeath but one 
lot in this life ; blame those who thus 
provide for the deadly arena. Blame 
your customs, blame your laws, blame 
your tyrannous institutions, against 
which the simplicity and trustfulness 
of boyish years can neither physically 
nor mentally struggle ; blame, above 
all, your line dames, more degraded 
— ay, far more degraded and more 
abased than the famishing prostitutes 
who must perish of starvation, or be 
what they are; blame 3rour fine dames, 
I say, who when, like the august Julia, 
they import the thick silks of India, 
are not satisfied till they pick them 
thin and transparent before wearing 
them, lest their garments should con- 
ceal their shame; and thus attired, 



\ 



j^^tat 



Uieu and tlu 

ipered wilh delicacies, gorged with 
' healed with wine, surfeited with 
every luxury, reeking and horrible, 
know not what else to do to beguile 
the languid intervals of systematic 
wickedness, than to come to the arena 
and indulge in sweet emotions over 
the valiant and virtuous fathers of 
homes and hopes of families, who 
I>erisli there in torture and in igno- 
miny for their pleasure." 

" O God !" cried young Paulus, 
" Well may you," cried Thelitis, 
'* be filled with horror. Ah I then, 
when will a god descend from heaven, 
ajid give us a new world ? I have 
one child in my home, a sweet, peace- 
ful, natural -hearted, conscience -gov- 
erned, loving little daughter. Her 
mother has gone away from me for 
ever to 5orae world beyond death 
where more justice and more mercy 
prevail. The day when I lost her 
~ had to fight in ihe arena. Ekfu! 
le w;is anxious for me, she could 
It control her suspense; she saw the 
tecrable Tiberius. Bah ! do you think 
li'm afraid to speak ? Of what should 
iJ be afraid? Thelitis has been at 
le funeral of fear ; yes, this many a 
continued Thell,us, raising his 
"soice; "she came to the Staiilian 
amphitheatre against my express com- 
mand; she saw the execrable Tiberius, 
contrary to every custom, after 1 had 
been victor in four fatal encounters, 
when I was worn out with fatigue, 
order me to meet a fresh antagonist ; 
and looking up among the hundred 
thousand spectators, I beheld the 
sweet, loving face. I beheld the clasp, 
ed and convulsive fingers. But, lo, 
who came forth to fight against me ? 
Whom had the accursed man pro- 
vided as my next antagonist ? Her 
only brother, poor Statius, whom Ti- 
berius knew lo be a gladiator, and 
whom he had thus selected for the 
more refined excitement of the spec- 
tators lo fight against Thellus ; but, 



above all, for his own more refiw 
enjoyment, for the monster had 
and found my poor Alba incompd 
ble ; and this was his revenge ap ' 
a wretched gladiator and his fail 
wife. Statius was no match for 
I tried to disarm him ; after a irfaile \ 
succeeded, wounding him at the 
time slightly. He fell, and his hloa 
colored the sand. I looked lo 
people ; they looked to Tiberius, « 
ing for the sign of mercy or cxecutioi 
I was resolved in any case DOI ii 
the slayer of Statius, 

" The prince turned up his th( 
to intimate that I was to kill 
wounded opponent The amphil 
tre then rang wilh a woman's 
and the people, with one i 
turned down their hands. I bore 
rius in my ovni amis out of the am 
but when I reached home, I foiiQd t 
wife was near childbirth, delirious,! 
raving a^inst me as the murdcm 
her brother. She died so, in my sr 
and in her brother's. She left me t 
poor liltle Prudentia, who is dearerB 
me than all this globe.' 

After taking breath, he added, ijuM- 
ing Paulus's words, 

" But we are a gang of base-bom. un- 
educated, and mercenary cul-lhtosB." 

" Oh ! forgive, forgive, forgire ra)' 
words," exclaimed Paulus, slidcliiiil 
out both hands toward the glaiiiator. 

Tliellus took those hands and sud 

" Why, I love you, lad, I Iw 
you like a son, I am not higt-boiii 
enough to be father to the like cfjwi! 
but it is not forbidden me to love i 
noble youth who hates bascncst an^ 
is ignorant of fear. Ill tell you mat! 
but first answer me — arc you of <^ 
ion, from what has pa^ed 
us, that Thellus is an tmedwaled 
man?" 

" I am afraid tliat you xk be) 
educated than I am." 

" In any case," replied TheDu^ 
am ready to confess that the 



The Pope and the Council^ by yanm. 



327 



tues exercised by gladiators 
rdsed for a wrong purpose, 
a wrong way. But tell me, 
bread made ? You will not 
ause bakers bake it That 
e a gill's answer; it would be 
lat a thing is because it is, or 

because it is made. Why 
de? Because it is wanted. 
)akers bake it if nobody ate 
nobody wanted to live in a 
ould masons build any ? or 
fiere even be any masons? 
dd not, I grant, have music 
were no musicians, if none 
music. It is the gladiator, 
Dnably, who does the fighting 
ena; but if none wanted the 
you would have no gladia- 

have told you how we are 
d in helpless infancy; and 

reared, prepared, and fitted 
ailing, but hopelessly unfitted 
' other. We supply the spec- 
iit who desires the spectacle ? 
we ; we are the only sufferers 
e detest it But whatever in 



80 dreadful and wicked a pastime can 
be noble, courageous, unselfish, hero- 
ic, we the same, we the victims, give 
and exhibit; and all the selfishness of 
it, all that is cowardly in it, all that is 
cruel, base, despicable, execrable, and 
accursed, sits on the benches, and ap- 
plauds or yells in the wedges ; * this 
you, yoti^ who go thither, and bring 
thither us, your victims, this you pro- 
duce, this is your contribution to it. 
Ours is honor, valor, skill, and daunt- 
less death; yoiu^, inhumanity, cow- 
ardice, baseness, luxurious ease, and 
a safe, lazy, and besotted life." 

" It is true," said Paulus. «* Hide- 
ous are the pleasiures, detestable the 
glories of this gigantic empire; but 
unless^ as you say, a God himself were 
to come down from heaven^ how will it 
ever be reformed ?" 

" How, indeed ?" answered Thellus. 

Litde did they dream who a cer- 
foin Child in Syria was, who had thea 
entered his eleventh year 1 

TO H.XQNJIMUBO. 

THE POPE AND THE COUNCIL, BY JANUS. 



the apostolic bull convoking 
cral Council of the Vatican, 
session, has been issued by 
, an immense literary activity 
ifested itself in most countries 
le great and important ques- 
lich are supposed to claim 
itton of that august assembly 
^tholic Church. Not only 
, but also Protestant reviews 
l^ged in various ways in the 
n of matters relating to the 
\ ery numerous, indeed, are 
phletSF— nay, books and vo- 
r gfcater import — that have 



been published within the last ten 
months in Italy, Belgium, France, 
England, and Germany. It is par- 
ticularly in this latter country that 
publications concerning more or less. 
the present council have been most 
numerous, and prominent reviews have, 
given able and elaborate notices of 
most of them. Several publications- 
of this character have been rendered! 
accessible to Italian, French, and Eng- 
lish readers, thus exhibiting the im- 
portance attached to them outside o£ 
Germany. 

* JoTciudi,^ 6i* 



328 



The Pope and the Council^ by yanus. 



It is our present purpose to enter 
upon a closer examination of a work 
which we have already briefly notic- 
ed in a former number, we mean the 
book, The Ihpe and the Council^ by 
ydnus^ of which an authorized trans* 
lation appeared both in England and 
in this country* 

We adduce this fact as a very pecu- 
liar one, which will cause still greater 
surprise to the reader when he is in- 
formed that an authorized French 
translation appeared but a short time 
after the original itself. 

The reader has already been told 
what he is to think of the orthodoxy of 
JanuSj when his doctrines are judged 
by the criterion established by the 
church. But let us state here at once 
that we have a right to apply the Ca- 
tholic test to the doctrine set forth by 
yianus, Yot they, namely, the authors 
(p. 14,) expressly profess to be in com- 
munion with the Catholic Churchi 
though "inwardly separated by a 
great gulf from those whose ideal of 
the church is an universal empire." 
The translator, too, presents yanus as 
" a work of Catholic authorships'^ and 
declares "M^ authors members of a 
school^ morally if not numerically strongs 
who yield to tume in their loyal devo- 
tion to Catholic truth /" 

In view of such declarations, we 
may proceed to inquire, What is the 
aim of Janus t The authori can best 
answer this question ; for, in their opin- 
ion, since the forgery of the Isidorian 
Decretals, about the year 845, the pri- 
macy has been distorted and trans- 
formed. 

'* The papacy, such as it has become, pre- 
sents the appearance of a disfiguring, sickly, 
and chokinfv excrescence on the organization 
•of the church, hindering and decomposing 
the action of its vital powers, and bringing 
manifold diseases in its train." 

Moreover, Janus boldly asserts i 
ffiori that the approaching council 
wiii not enjoy that freedom of deli- 



beration necessary to make 
oecumenical. 

" The recently proclaimed connc 
held not only in Italy, but in Roi 
and already it has bera announcei 
the sixth Lateran Council, it wi] 
faithfully to the fifth. That is quite 
it means this : that whatever co 
synod may take, one quality can 
predicated of it, namely, tliat it ha 
really free council." (Pp. 545, 34) 

These extracts would be qu 
cient to show the aim of Jat 
his view of the " pope and tl 
cil." How such harsh and p 
rous language may be rcconci 
loyal devotion to Catholic tn 
that commendahU piety which 
thors of Janus profess, we s 
did and impartial readers to < 

Janus considers it to be ti 
"to expose the weak point 
papacy, denounce its faults, z 
posely exhibit their mischie' 
suits;" appealing to a savin 
Bernard, Melius est ut scandal 
tur, quam ut Veritas relinqua 
is this intense love of trut! 
prompts Janus " to oppose 
and decisively, every disfigu: 
(p. 20) which the church ha 
gone for nearly a thousan 
" To ward off so fatal a cata 
with which the church is noi 
ened by the council, the auth 
attempted in this work to c( 
to the awakening and dire 
public opinion, (p. 27,) and 
tered this " protest, based on 
and appeal to the " thinker 
believing Christians," and an 
enough to hope that their 
will attract attention in sciei 
des, and serve as a contributi 
clesiastical history." (Prefac 

We cannot, therefore, be : 
that a work with such a scte^ 
gramme should have caused s 
sation, even among Catholii 
gians, many of whom were : 
to unmask the Aftrtmr'^ i 



The Pope and t/ie Cotiucil^ by yanus. 



329 



od "direct reference to origi- 
lorities," of which ,7<i^j/x makes 
»t parade. That yanus was 
inth great delight, not only 
)ut also in this country, by an 
liolic press, and nearly all re- 
periodicals, cannot be a mat- 
onder, when we know that 
es as yanus within our own 
welcome to the enemies of 
A. 

;land, yanus was heralded by 
preliminary and concomitant 
f trumpets. Every thing was 
St certain very small but very 
:lique to give this book as 
publicity as possible.* The 
'riHsh R€vieWy the Saturday 
uid the Academy^ have join- 
e chorus of eulogy, exulting 
victory which they think ya- 
^hieved. Among the many 
of yanus in our country, suf- 
say that one writer has been 
.ted by this " work^ so entirely 
*f facts,'* that he triumphantly 
" No one can help feeling 
1 of its veracity." Nay, more 
, the same reviewer pays a 
ant to yanus which, consider- 
mrce it comes from, involves 
contradiction. It runs thus, 

author {yanus) shows himself 
; a thormtgh Catholic, but an ear- 
beral Christian, a learned canon- 
al and discriminating historian." 

It further comments, we pro- 
tect yanus and his admirers 
al grounds, since it is their 
ish 

reader's attention should be ex- 
moentrated on the matter itself, 
\ the event of its evoking contro- 
ipportunity should be given for 
\ the dispute from the sphere of 
ad scientific investigation of the 
Mtioiis under review." (P. 28.) 

ve no reason to dread that 
** original authorities " must 

nDmUim Xgpitm lor Jaaoaij. 



and can speak for themselves, and we 
too shall hope to see where the say- 
ing of Pope Innocent III. is verified, 
^^ Falsitas sub velamine sanctitatis to- 
lerari non debet,*^ 

In presence of such a vast amoimt 
of matter as yanus gives to his rea- 
ders, and we might say en passant 
with such little semblance of order 
and system, it becomes necessary to 
confine our examination to three lead- 
ing points : x. To the manner in which 
the investigation is conducted, or the 
scientific character of the work; 2. 
To the orthodoxy which the authors 
profess ; 3. To the historical and cri- 
tical parts of the book. 

I. As is correctly stated in the 
" Translator's Notice," the substance ot 
the volume already appeared in a se- 
ries of articles in the Allgemeine Zei- 
tung, or Gazette of Augsburg, in 
March, 1869, under the heading of 
" The Council and the Civiltar In 
these articles, " historical facts " were 
brought forward, which called forth 
prompt and sharp answers from the 
Catholic reviews of Germany, where 
several falsehoods were exposed and 
denounced as gross misrepresenta- 
tions. When these articles were is- 
sued in their present form, the authors 
of yanus took no notice of the ex- 
posure, but quietly dropped from their 
book these three mendacious state- 
ments. Not a word of apology or 
retractation was ofifered. An able 
theologian * has pointed out these tac- 
tics of yanus; but, to our knowledge, 
no reply was given. 

•*0ur5&«Wf" says the same critic, "may 
feel quite at ease ; he will not be brought to 
the stake either for his historical criticism, 
or even for his heresies ; bat he has branded 
himself as a forger by the very act of spirit- 
ing away these lies, only to come forward 
with a look of perfect innocence and palm 
off upon the world others more numerous. *' 

Indeed, the new name of yanus, 

* Rev. Dr. Scheeben in his pawphlet tat iu. 



330 



The Pope attd tJte Council^ by yanus. 



assumed by the authors, has also a 
figurative meaning, inasmuch as a dif- 
ferent face may be exhibited, just as 
the case may demand, yanus declares 
his love and attachment to the church 
and the primacy, and regards it as a 
complete misapplicatwn of the term 
piety ** to conceal or color historical 
facts and faulty institutions." (P. 20.) 
Hence the inference will be legiti- 
mate to stigmatize as impious a mode 
of investigation which misstates and 
distorts historical facts, shaking at the 
very foundation both the church and 
the primacy. And this is precisely 
what yanus would accomplish, even 
contrary to his own avowed intention. 
For, according to him, " The prima- 
cy rests on divine appointment;" and 
still it has been transformed, and has 
become destructive to the church, 
rending asunder tAat unity which to 
uphold and represent it had been in- 
stituted (Pp. 18, 21.) 

** Since the ninth century, a transforma- 
tion of the primacy, artificial and sickly, the 
consequences of which have been the split- 
ting up of the previously united chvrdi into 
three great ecclesiastical bodies^ divided and 
at enmity with each other." 

If such is the case, where, may we 
ask, is that primacy of divine institu- 
tion to be found ? — that primacy ever- 
living and indefectible as the church 
herself. And yet, we have the word 
of yanus for it, the primacy, divinely 
instituted as the centre of unity, has 
virtually become extinct, and has fail- 
ed to be the source and centre of uni- 
ty. Did yanus himself dare to face 
this inevitable and logical conclusion ? 

"The Roman bishops not only believed 
themselves to be in possession of a divine 
right, and acted accordingly, but this right 
was actually recognized by others." (P. 22.) 

How is this profession to be recon- 
ciled with the following one, "that 
the form which this primacy took de- 
pended on the concessions of the par- 
ticular local churdies " ? 



What the privileges were 

Christ himself bestowed on t 

macy, yanus nowhere atten 

state. Where, then, is his rea 

asserting that the form which 1 

macy took depended on conce 

Wherein consist the privilege 

rent in the primacy by divine 

and which are those conceded 

local churches? Until yim 

distinctly defined these rcspec 

mits, with what show of log 

scientific process can he proi 

that for eight centuries the p 

was legitinuttefy developed, and 

the ninth century so fatally tnu 

ed and totally disfigured ? Ti 

he had committed himself to ai 

cise theory,* he would have e: 

himself to an inglorious rcfutati 

it is now, he has taken refuge 

lence. And yet, in justice to li 

and in order to save his scienti 

putation, yanus was obliged to 

these divine rights of the pi 

before he could venture to S2 

they had been fatally transfo 

thus he is able to bring forws 

very daric side of the history 

papacy." Superficial minds n 

ensnared by this deceitful proc 

but fair and scientific thinkei 

rise indignantly and enter theirs 

protest against such an abuse 01 

and history. Moreover, it is ol 

that a primacy whose form, tl 

rights inherent to it, are made c 

dent upon the consent of thos( 

whom it is to be exercised, is illi 

and is a mere shadow. It is 

difficult to understand how si 

novel mode of reasoning should 

escaped our authors, who have " 

ten under a deep sense of ani 

and we fear that, by pledging 

faith to such dogmas as the ii 

bility of the church, and the div 



* The negmiivt mccmaU p' 
" ancient conMiCntioa of th« 
from our aifinB«nt 



IVM HI p|k fl}^ 



TAg Pope and the Council, by yanus. 



331 



d primacy of St. Peter and 
esMrs, in the person of the 
of Rome, they have either 
themselves or hoped to de- 
as by hollow professions of 
a hypocritical show of piety. 
Lthors, having thus left a wide 
field in which to lead astray 
Ider the minds of their rea- 
Qot hesitate to assert, "No 
ainted with church history 
se to affirm that the popes 
:ised a fixed primatial right 
ne way " over the churches 
it countries. Quite a cap- 
vague affirmation in each 
y particular. Are we to 
d that, because the same 
rights were not every- 
1 uniformly exercised, there 
acknowledged rights of the 
And yet to this conclu- 
ever illogical, such a propo- 
ild lead. If the Roman bi- 
e not at all times exercised 
rights over the churches in 
Dver those of Africa or Gaul, 
^ owing to the different con- 
the various churches, where 
Lse of such rights was not 
» and by the very nature of 
ried to meet the exigencies 
rches. What opinion would 
)f a writer — we may be per- 
use a familiar illustration — 
\ the fact that Congress did 
5 time enforce the same ap- 
ir constitution in the State 
8 it did in Virginia, conclud- 
is legislative body possessed 
IS not conscious of possess- 
une rights and power grant- 
constitution in Ohio as in 
This is precisely what ya- 
\ induce his readers to be- 
nding the rights of the pri- 
liat the popes throughout 
enturies of the church exer- 
oatial rights, Janus readily 
A must grant from the posi- 



tion he assumes. Now, if the exercise 
of such rights over the various church- 
es at different periods of the ancient 
church, taken collectively, involve all 
those prerogatives which the papacy 
has since claimed and enjoyed, we 
must of necessity infer that the rights 
of the primacy, as understood and ex- 
ercised at the present period, are iden- 
tical with those of the first eight cen- 
turies. 

This we could prove by a " work 
entirely made up of facts, and sup- 
porting all stateipents by reference to 
the original authorities." Yes, this 
has ahready been done by able and 
judicious historians ; among the more 
modem ones we may appropriately 
challenge a careful perusal of the 
history of Dr. Bollinger,* in which a 
complete enumeration of the preroga- 
tives exercised by the bishops of Rome 
over the whole church, both in the 
east and in the west, may be found, 
together with a direct reference to 
many and unexceptionable historical 
facts. Under the present head we 
merely refer to the action of Pope St. 
Victor, in the second century, against 
the churches of Asia Minor concern- 
ing the question of paschal celebra- 
tion against the Quartodecimans ; St. 
Stephen, against the Anabaptists in 
Africa; St. Cornelius, against Novatus 
and Felicissimus; St Dionysius, in the 
case of Paul of Samosata, Bishop of 
Antioch, when the Emperor Aurelian 
himself would not sustain him, and 
referred to the Bishop of Rome for a 
final decision ; all these statements at- 
tested by such writers as Eusebius,t 
Socrates,! and Theodoret.§ How 
about the appeal of the Montanists to 
the Bishop of Rome, mentioned by 
Tertullianll himself? Did not Mar- 
cion repair to Rome to obtain a re- 
versal of the sentence passed against 

* London e^Uon, 1840, toI. ii. pp. 304, aao. 

t H. £. V. S4, as. t H. £. v. aa. 

% Haeret. &b., U. 8, edit. Maosi, torn. L p. X003 «qq. 

I Adr. Prax. i. 



- i* Pi>/*^ and the Council^ by yanus 



:•=:?'• T'c -•:•: :> at Hlustnous cham- 
"rv.1T T XLir. Sc Athanasius of Alex- 
i» -J. xrctfil r-'* Pope Julius I. against 
TTt: .*.-::::». «*« ihe Council of Sar- 
:\c:. ▼-:< c^:cv\?ied at the request of 
rM -».oe *ji the year 343, and the 
^Ta-^ifT^jv c: the Roman bishop 
-svic'j: :. • ^ckr.owledsfed. to whom all 
::.2!v *;:xm1 :Vr nr.al sentence ?t 

-.* :^.\ >..*a;rver. with this mostcon- 
*.'-.: -5 irviJer.t of history before 

•* TV."-.* "5 r> cer.::c»n of papal rights, or 
:'T ~, i?-.-:c- t? a **^ral->* J*.'tined acilon of 
: ^s *:^:>i'.'i* ,*:" K^xce :a o:her churches, with 
:ic a^^-- ^\«x-v:u'n cf ihe canon of Sardiai, 
^ T.s.* -c-vr .*>:i:::c\i universally even in the 

rla\>^ jTooucevi one most re- 

r.urkjil "i* :::>:.i::oe of the application 

.*; :>.^ cuiior. o: Sardica, we now must 

-••:v:r:u our reidere that this same ca- 

■v 1 0: :>.e SvnoJ of ^Nirdica was in- 

>n:j:*\; .r. a l..;:i:i version of a collec- 

..v-r. c;' vm:*.v\i5 known by the name 

.\ •• ;^-N.'A v.\\Icc::o/'{ as early as the 

'^.■, ". s\'".:.:Ty. ,i:ul rOi^arvled as a code 

.-. ,;a"s ,;:;c>;u''.5; il;o tradition of the 

* .» . .'- c'-.j.rv^. .iCvorviiiij: to the max- 

-ji: *:: 5:. V::vcr.: o:" l.cnns. Quod 

vvi.v. ^:^'S L. '';,*.-.■. ^*..»\; %ib omnibus 

•:■;;.'*« .."-■. \\\ Iiko manner did St 

\*>.:i v\^:v*c*:.*::u tha: jireai doctor 

h\ :>c c.u^v*::: c'.urvh. avpcal to Pope 

I ':tv.xvi*.; I • al;>.0Uj:>. his avivers^iry, 

I'lc ;;>;^:'v: 4.;*v;h;!.;:>, had sent de- 

Vjw-i^x-* .0 Ns\*ac :o ji-iin the poniitf, 

»• ^s* j.r.::....v\; J.'.l :hc acKof Thcophi- 

«> j: u; >.j* :V,''^' -^•'^■•••>' ^'^^' illusiri- 

,^s y.;;/.JL:v>. i'hv' lc::cr which S:. 

V \ ^>;.'a^.'LU ^ mi'Oie lo ihe poiK* adils 

^•v :: >. v.\^-.'i :^' -* '•: argiument. St. 

„% \..: \ :.v. I'x «h.^* authority our 

.,. v:^; s>i »v-'d :.v/: thum^^, sent 

.*c -t.> ^- >^ ''V-> hcUl by hiavself to 

/; xo;uc :.^* xvannuation, 

!:>.x.v. S; >c.*; hcs to lrt^:s^ 

V,v .• " . : A: .^ J^ ^c'-ai: a 












•Sx-'ii H K. i »5- 



partisan of Novatian, and tc 
another in his place. But 
ask pardon of the reader fo 
already been too long in th 
rences — tliough as yet we h 
nothing of the many acts an 
of Pope St. Leo the Great 
which demonstrate beyond 
dow of doubt that the mo 
exercise of all pHmatial pre: 
was made in nearly all the 
of the Christian world, 
glance over the discourses ai 
of the distinguished pontif 
voluminous work of Balle 
corroborate our assertion in 
extent. What are we to 1 
these words of yunns^ " No 
quainted with church his 
choose to aflirm that the pc 
exercised a fixed primatial 
To us, it would seem not 
than an appeal to the igno 
his readers. A similar proce 
notice in the following parag 

** The well-known fact spca! 
cnouj;h for itself, that throujjhout 
ancient canon law, whether in the 
preserved in the eastern or th 
church, there is no mention mad 
rights." 

We do not attribute sue] 
fused and inacciuratc know 
yanus^ that he is not fully av 
all these collections comprise 
collections or codes of law z 
numerous,* both in the Grec 
the Latin churches, and sonu 
contain besides the " Canonei 
lorum," not only many dccn 
councils, both particular and 
nical, that were held during 1 
fourth, and fifth centuries, 
the ilecretals of the early pop* 
for instance, the collection 
the monk Dionysius t compi 
ci-.ronological order, the de< 
decrees of all the popes (ros 



•See EiSerim. Dt ABli4 
1.^>vCaiL t?n. iL 
t Dxd 5j6 A.DW 



The Pope and the Council^ by yamts. 



333 



the year 395, to St. Anas- 
Lin 486. Another Spanish 
Q of canons, called the Liber 
», is very comprehensive,* 
ig the decrees of all the sy- 
it were held in the eastern 
em churches, together with 
!tal letters of twenty popes 

Damasus to Gregory the 
V similar collection of canons 

was approved by the Sy- 
'arthage in 419. Now, ac- 
o our authors, in ail these 

"no mention is made of 
Its, or any reference to a le- 
aed action of the Bishop of 

other churches." Truly! 
but challenge an examina- 
Lany decrees of synods, and 
cial letters of the popes con- 
these collections, and we 
all primatial rights fully ex- 
pd universally* acknowledg- 
does not know the splendid 
:s of the fathers in the coun- 
>hesus and Chalcedon, both 
acknowledged in their acts 
macy of the see of Rome ! 

many decretal letters of the 
ere are no more celebrated 
s in early history than the 
;s of faith given by Pope 

I. to the bishops of Gaul 
imipelagianism,t St. Boniface 
;hops of lUyria, St. Gelasius 
e on canonical Scripture and 
mown formula of Pope St. 
isj subscribed to by the east- 
)s. By far the greater number 
pontifical letters constituting 
fctions imply one or another 
/e exercised by the bishops 
, who were ever conscious, 
those early ages, of being the 
teachers and guardians of 
Knnted by Christ himself. 
it mien of self-sufficiency and 



toa. 84, gires this collectioo. 
^ BadyridkM, pk 99. 



confidence yanus can style a " well- 
known fact," something of which just 
the very opposite results from an in- 
spection of historical records, is more 
than unintelligible in authors who 
make such ado about their scientific 
fairness. With a desire to save ya- 
nu^s reputation as a learned canonist 
and faithful historian, we must pre- 
sume such a grave misstatement wil- 
fiil, and naturally enough he must 
have reckoned on readers who have 
little or no knowledge of the '< an- 
cient collections of the canons." Yet 
we must not fail to enter an energetic 
protest against these self-proclaimed 
*^ scientific labors and contributions 
to ecclesiastical history." Is it by 
such unblushing assertions, without 
proof to sustain them, that the authors 
show their 'Move and honor for an 
institution " which forms an essential 
part of the constitution of the church ? 
The whole introduction of diis work, 
covering nearly thirty pages, exhibits 
a programme with summary indica- 
tions, whence Janus infers that with 
the present council the system of ab- 
solutism is to be crowned, and the 
church to come within the grasp of 
a "powerful coalition." This great 
danger to the church the anonymous 
authors feel in duty bound to avert, 
and to oppose this " advancing flood- 
tide," in which we may discover an- 
other characteristic mode of warfare, 
since ^«i«f deems it necessary to "as- 
sail a powerful party, with clearly as- 
certained objects, which has gained 
a firm footing through the wide ra- 
mifications of the Jesuit order." And 
this party he can only attack by 
"bringing forward a very dark side 
of the history of the papacy." In- 
deed, a singular mode of warfare, but 
one which presents no feature of no- 
velty. Have not the Reformers of 
the sixteenth century, like most of 
their forerunners, concealed their true 
aim by attacking ostensibly the Curia, 



The Pope and the Ccuncif, fy ^tms. 



I 



334 

or some religious body, as Lulher did 
the Dominicans, and in the seventeenth 
century did not the Jansenists resort 
to a. similar stratagem ? Now, with 
such a clear profession berore us, why 
these assaults on the hierarchy and 
the church in general for the last 
thousand years? Why make the whole 
church accountable for the misdeeds 
and menacing coalition of a party? 
Why, as faithful Catholics, appeal, not 
to the council nor to the hierarchy, but 
" to the thinkers amongbelieving Chris- 
tians" ? Heformers before fanus usu- 
ally appealed from the popes to general 
councils, but he surpasses them all by 
appealing neither to the one nor to the 
other, but to the laity, who may even 
pronounce on the " reception or re- 
jection of the council or its decisions." 
Assuredly no further arguments need 
lie brought forward to satisfy candid 
and discriminating minds that yanus 
has ill succeeded in masking his true 
purpose ; nor can his professions of 
loving truth and Justice stand the test 
of criticism, or the dignity of scienti- 
fic investigation tolerate the insolent 
treatment it has suffered at the hands 
of Janm and his school. For those 
among our readers who must be 
shocked at seeing names of men dis- 
tinguished for their learning and pie- 
ty at a very critical jieriod in Ger- 
many, quoted in support of the opin- 
ions of this school of traitors, (pp. 
16, 17,) wc can say that fanus, by 
attributing to such men a similari- 
ty of views with himself, makes a gra- 
tuitous and bold assertion, corroborat- 
ed by no reliable authority ; only one 
name, that of the eccentric Baader, 
lends any probability to this impudent 
statement. But such names as Wal- 
ter, Philipps, Hefele, Hagemann, 
Gfrorer, and even Dlillinger up to a 
certain time, renowned for their pro- 
found researches and contributions 
to ecclesiastical history and jurispru- 
dence, arc studiously omitted by Ja- 



tins; nor would it have sened 
pose, since the eminent thcc 
just mentioned have undermii 
exploded whatever scientific 
rical basis Febronianism and ' 
nism could boast of, and whtcli 
would reestablish. In gumra 
our considerations on this p< 
fully concur in the remarks of 
writer, that fanus 

"docs his utmost to overthrown 
pfcscnl by far min's strongest barcu 
Ihe lapidind violent inlawing (Ilie 
without Rttempling to substitnM » 
its place. If his book could <s«i 
real power, that power woolil be 
in Tiivor of (hose whom the sulhi 
with us in tegsrding as the most <I 
enirmics of every highest human it 

This serious apprehension h 
fully verified by the many i 
yaniis has found in the hostlli 
nay, the apostate Froschh&n 
even complimented yanus pt 
with only one restriction, nam 
he has only gone half-way, ai 
fault with this inconsistency. 

2. We did not proiKise to 
ourselves with the gratuitous a 
that yanus is not " tbrou{ 
thorough Catholic and eamei 
lian ;" but we shall make it d 
he has already seceded from 
tablished points of doctrine, ai 
rendered his scheme of lefom 
church an impossible hypo ih© 
we have already stated, Jamt 
his attacks against a "party" 
monlanism — which, he says, is 
tialiy papalism." (P. 54.) & 
professing to oppose an "ill 
tanc scheme," he finally arriw 
very promiscuous array of k 
fafts and scientific irtvesfigation 
conclusion that the entire chu 
by the popes during the lai 
sand years, has been dragged i 
gross error and devastating let 
uhramontanism. By means Ol 

phlcl IIDH iHWd. 



The Pop€ and the Council^ by yantis. 



335 



^ whole constitution and 
of the church has been 
:hat IS, has become a hu- 
ion, and lost its divine 
What, then, is the result 
f yanus arrive at as to 
>osition ? " Inwardly a 
parates " them from such 
1 its chief pastor — that is, 
[X. and the episcopacy, 
ler place (p. 3) he affirms 
rines he attacks are " iden- 
lose of the chief head." 
ibUow from these premises 
^eludes himself from this 
jiity," as the see of Rome 
led by St. C)rprian, Bishop 
? Likewise St. Jerome, 
against Rufinus, asks the 
rour faith the faith of the 
^ome ? If so," he adds, 
>th Catholics." During 
ite of St Hormisdas, from 
\ to 523, two hundred and 
signed a formulary sent 
I pope, in which they de- 
they who were not in all 
ion with the apostolic see 
f from communion with 
: Church.* 

s in omnibus," says the text 
' Apostolicam Sedem et prae- 
omnia cxmstituta, spero ut in 
one vobiscum, quam Sedcs 
edicat, esse merear, in qua est 
-ax Christianae religionis soli- 
sequestratos a oommunione 
(dies, id est, non consentientes 
«."t 

ght, then, or by what in- 
, we demand, can yanus 
'* thorough Catholic " ? 
f and indefectibility of the 
Christ are essential doc- 
dearly and distinctly em- 
le sacred Scriptures. But 
9Dger admits them, as the 
usages will show : 

■^ Niii^rr ^ tf^ Church, vol. ii. 



" The previously united church has be^ 
split up into three great ecclesiastical bodies, 
divided and at enmity with each other. • . 
When the presidency in the church became 
an empire, . • then the arin/yof^r^ifrr^, 
so firmly s€Citr«d before, was brokin up." 
(P. 21.) 

According to yanus, a " great and 
searching reformation of the church 
is necessary;" and, let it be under- 
stood, not in matters of discipline, 
which can vary, but in matters of 
faith — ^yes! in the most important 
points touching the divine constitu- 
tion of the church. 

" The popes possessed none of the three 
powers which are the proper attributes of 
sovereignty ; neither the legislative, the ad* 
ministrative, nor the jndicid." 

" For a long time nothing was known hi 
Rome of definite rights bequeathed by Peter 
to his successors." 

** The bishops of Rome could neither ex- 
clude individtuds nor churches from the 
church universaL" Pp. 64, 66.) 

Confront these assertions with the 
few but remarkable facts already gi- 
ven from history, and what becomes 
of them ? 

'* There are many national diurches which 
were never under Rome, and never even had 
any intercourse with Rome." (P. 68.) 

yanus then proceeds to give exam- 
ples of such autonomous churches, 
and we confess that it has seldom 
been our lot to see any thing more 
vague and evasive. 

In the first place, we refer to the let- 
ter of the Syrian bishops, which was 
read in the fifth session of the synod 
held in , Constantinople in the year 
5369 l>y the Patriarch Mennas; more- 
over, the profession which the Archi- 
mandrites and other Syrian monks 
sent to Pope Hormisdas, in which 
they plainly acknowledge and invoke 
the Bishop of Rome as supreme guar- 
dian of the entire flock of Christ 

If the churches in Persia, in Ar- 
menia, and in Abyssinia, before they 
were commingled and entangled with 



336 



The Pope and the Comuil, fy yarms. 



the diflerent Gnostic sects and Mono- 
physites, or Jacobites, were in union 
with tlie churches of Alexandria, of 
Antioch, and Constantinople, who, in 
their turn, recognized the supremacy 
of the see of Rome, in what possible 
sense can iheybe called autotiDinoiu i 
Frumeiitius had been ordained Bishop 
of Axuma, in Abyssinia, by St. Atha- 
nosius, Archbishop of Alexandria, to- 
ward theyear3j6.* Will ^iiHtfj claim 
St. Athaiiasius as hLs partisan respect- 
ing this autonomy? His attempt to 
claim the same autonomy for the ear- 
ly Irish and British churches is no 
less hazardous, and we refer to Dr. 
DoUinger's history t for a refutation 
of such claims. In this connection, 
howefrer, it was only our puqiose to 
prove from Nanus's own admission 
that the " unity of the church was bro- 
ken up." Quite natural, too, since 
the " centre of unity " no longer pre- 
ser%'ed its divine mission and charac- 
ter! 

Wc hasten to another grave charge 
against the orthodoxy of yimus, 
namely, that he denies the primacy 
both in its divine institution and in 
its rights. The true primacy he re- 
viles as " papalisni," and would sub- 
stitute a mere primacy of honor or 
" presidency." For it was only dur- 
ing a few centuries that the primacy 
bad a sound and natural develop- 
ment ; since then it has become dis- 
figured by hMman " fabrications," and 
consequently exists no longer. Such 
being the case, we are unable to dis- 
cover even a supremacy of honor, 
lawfully exercised by the pope. We 
solicit a careful examination of the 
primacy as it appears in (he AncUm 
Constitution of the Churchy and in the 
Teachings oj the Fatiurt, (pp. 63-75,) 
and the inevitable conclusion deriv- 
ed from those assumptions, sounding 

■Alhinu. Apnl. adCuuuI. u. 31, Lc QiMS. 



like oracles of Delphi, mill 
the plenitude of power assu 
exercised by the Bishop of R 
the whole church haa no fc 
whatsoever, neither in the S 
as interpreted by the falha 
ancient tradition, bat has t 
still is an encroachment on 
vileges of the particular ch 
usurpation exercised by foroi 
presMon — in fine, an )nnovati< 
dii-ine constitution given to tl 
by Christ. Every thing ih 
vanced by yamis purpurtin| 
historically the origin and c 
papal ]Jower and its "unna 
velopment," even with that i 
pontiff St. Leo the Great, (p. 
ing up nearly two thirds of 
ume, proves, if any thing, 
special prerogative was givi 
Peter by Christ, and hence c 
of course, be " hereditary in 
of Roman bishops." {P. ^i, 
great nightmare of yanus ii 
the pope's infallibility, or the 
cy of the Roman see in doctr 
sions; but while assaulting t) 
in a pHe-miU warfare, he U 
slroys the primacy itself; t 
would seem that Infallibility 
understood is but a corollai 
primacy itself. While proft 
reject the doctrine of the " 
yattiis discards a truly apost 
trine of tlic Catholic Church 
cannot but suspect him of wi 
tated dissimulation when he : 
the " authors of the book pro 
adherence to the conviction 
primacy rests on divbe appoi 
Contrast this with the statcme 
eJ, and we can hardly reft; 
sentiments of abhorrence and 
tion at such duplicity, as, on 
hand, we find it stated that 
cient church found the need 
shop possessed of primatial au 
and, on the other hand, "■ 
known of definite i" ' '' 



The Pope and the Council^ by yanus. 



337 



^wers were exercised by the 
t Antioch, Jerusalem, or Alex- 

>rthodoxy of ^nus and his 
is impeachable in another no 
ous point The church has 
11 conscious of her own infal- 
rhcreby she is protected from 
m teaching " all truth to the 
' in other words, it has ever 
Jy believed among Catholics 
ecclesia docens, or teaching 
icceeded to the divinely be- 
ivilege of apostolic infalli- 
j, whether congregated in 
r dispersed throughout the 
1 true exponent of " unity 
nd grace " with her divine 
If this were not so, in what 
ense could the church be 
pillar and ground of truth " ? 
•uld the assistance and gui- 
le Holy Spirit have any vi- 
n or influence, if it be not 
e her "immaculate, holy, 
' ? HencvN those beautiful 
iployed by the Apostle St. 
le " union of the body with 
of this truly spiritual alii- 
xrist with his spouse^ that is, 
h, through whose ministry 
' Christ descends from the 
e members, Christ's life be- 
g else but truth and grace, 
ye adopt yanus' s idea of 
[i, she has become as the 
' Babylon," a depositary of 
and iniquity. For he de- 
merring authority of cecu- 
luncils under the conditions 
t has always been received 
oa by Catholic theologians. 
of the bishops toward the 
ee, prescribed for many past 
is pronounced by Janus as 
3le with " that freedom of 
a and voting " which are 
o such an assembly. But, 
k, does this oath interfere in 
Ail the strict obligation of 



keeping the faith intact and inviola- 
ble ? Does this oath imply any vio- 
lation of Catholic conscience ? You 
might as well assert that the oath 
taken by a member of Congress, or of 
a particular legislature, to support and 
abide by the constitution, interferes 
with his liberty of speaking and vot- 
ing. In keeping with this hypothe- 
sis oiyanus^ all the councils that were 
held in the west, and universally ac- 
knowledged as oecumenical, "were 
perverted, and mere tools of papal 
domination — shadows of the councils 
of the ancient church." (P. 154.) But 
the councils held in the east were tru- 
ly oecumenical, because the popes had 
nothing to do with them, (pp. 63, 64;) 
but the emperors, on the contrary, ex- 
ercised all those prerogatives which 
the popes afterward usurped ; hence 
the councils in the west were but a 
" sham and mockery " when compar- 
ed to the genuine oecumenical coun- 
cils held by the emperors, " who some- 
times trenched too closely on this 
freedom." (P. 354.) Yet the weight 
of imperial power and domination 
does not do away with that essential 
condition of an oecumenical council 
But with the popes the case is quite 
the reverse! Truly admirable logic 
of our Janus! He is not content 
with unprincipled expositions and illo- 
gical hypotheses, but resorts to posi- 
tive falsification of history when he 
says, 

'* Neither the dogmatic nor the disciplina- 
ry decisions of these councils (held in the 
east) required papal confirmation ; for their 
force and authority depended on the consent 
of the church, as expressed in the synod, 
and afterward in the fact of its being gene- 
rally received," 

And again, 

'*The popes took no part in convoking 
councils. All great councils were convoked 
by the emperors ; nor were the popes ever 
consulted about it beforehand." (Pp. 63, 

64-) 



What is the verdict of history on 
these points ? That very Latrodniun 
of Ephesus, in 449, which yanus so 
adroitly would put among those coun- 
cils that were regarded as cecumeni- 
cal, called forth a protest not only 
from Pope Leo the Great, but also 
from the eastern bisho[», because the 
ambitious Dioscorus assumed to him- 
self the right of presiding, and, as 
Prosper and Victor remark in their 
chronicles, " usurped the prerogative 
of the supremacy." The most an- 
cient historians, Socrates, Sozomenus, 
and Theodoret, who continued the 
church history of Eusebius, attest 
unanimously those prerogatives of 
the Roman bishop, which our authors 
would so boldly deny. I'hus, Sozo- 
mcnus, in the third book of his histo- 
ry, chapter 10, says, 

"It is a pontilical law (vo/iof Itpariinr) 
[hot whiilever has been done u-Uhoiit the 
judgment of the Roman bubop, be null and 
void." 

Socrates, alluding to the Aiiaii Sy- 
nod of Aniioch in " Encasniis," in 
431, by the adherents cf Eusebius, 

Patriarch of Constantinople, and which 
pronounced the deposition of St Atha- 
nasius, observes, 

" Neither Juliuj, Ihe Bishop of Rome, was 
present, nor did he send any one thither lo 
take bis place; though it U prohibited bji 
ecclesiastical law that any thing be decreed 
in the church without the consent of the 
Roman poiiIilT." * 

When, therefore, St. Athanasius, to- 
gether with Paul of Constantinople, 
Marcellus of Ancyra, and Asclepas 
of Gaza, sought the protection of 
Pope Julius, the latter had their cause 
examined in a council held at Rome 
in 343, at which a great number of 
eastern bishops were present. Where- 
upon the pope declared the accused 
bishops innocent, restored them to 
their sees, and severely censured those 
who had concurred in the sentence 

• H. E. 8. (dit. Vila. lorn. iL p. jo, dmj 



of deposition against Atliana 
the other bishops. Let it b 
stood that the Arian bishops 
their part, had appealed to t 
pope. The action taken by I 
tilT Julius in this grave affair 
nated by the historian Socrab 
" prerogative of the Roman C 
In like manner, Pelagius app 
Pope Innocent I. ; Nestoriua, 
Celestine, to whom St. Cyril i 
andtia had already reported. 
CaJcstius, a disciple of ] 
already condemned by the S 
Cartilage, invoked the arbiti 
Pope Zosimus ; t Eutyijie% 
been excluded from the con 
of the church by Flavian, ] 
of Constantinople, appeals ' 
St. Leo, who in his turn ca 
Flavian to give an account, m 
latter does without delay. ' 
respondence between Leo an 
an on this point shon's the 11 
of yanui's assertion, that the 
had given the see of Rome 
vilege of final decision in t 
(p. 66,) and that the "bis 
Kome could exclude neither! 
als nor churches from the coii 
of the church universal" Vi 
not know the remarkable woi 
Augustine, when Pelagius h 
condemned by the synods of 
and Carthage in 416, and 1 
sistcd to hold communion ^ 
church ? Pope Innocent rat 
decrees of the synods, and thi 
ous champion against Pela^ 
claims, 

" Two councils have already bei 
(he uptHloIic seei thence luswcr 
received; the cose is lerminalcd 
error log be ended." [ 

Vain, loo, is the attempt 
authors to give dark colon 
transactions between the fill 



t Dd. Symbol, id 2 
I August. ScTTD. ijr, r 



a. MuA I 

M 



The Pope and the Couttcil^ by yanus. 



339 



icil of Chalcedon and Pope 
. (P. 67.) Let us see what 
3 of this council say to the 
jn they request him to sanc- 
famous twenty-eighth canon, 

legates of Leo had refused 
m. They say, "Knowing 

holiness hearing (what has 
?ed) will approve and con- 
synod ;" and close their pe- 

Tcfore pray that by thy decrees 
)nor our judgment, and we hav- 
ings meet manifested our accor- 
the head, so also may thy high- 
hat is just. {ollTU KCLt rj KOpV^J^ 

ivan?,jfpucai rd irpen>3v.y** 

did not sanction this twen- 
canon, for the very reason 
plied, though in equivocal 
t Rome obtained the pri- 
iccount of its political dig- 
it true that the fathers by 
claimed " equal rights " for 

Constantinople; but mere- 
:ha/ rights and exemption 
rdination to Alexandria and 
as the sixth Nicene canon 
ned. Pope Leo I. in his 

the Emperor Marcian af- 
at Constantinople was in- 
imperial," but no " apostolic 
)mpare this with the words 
, "But when Leo had to 
Byzantium and the east, he 
• dared to plead this argu- 
Inatolius, Patriarch of Con- 
e at that period, previous 
ouncil of Chalcedon was 
> hold a synod in the pre- 
the papal legates, in which 
er to Flavian was read and 
id Eutyches sentenced and 

Even at the Council of 
in 431, St. Cyril presided as 
itiary of Pope Celestine, who, 
eport sent him by St. Cyril, 

Leon. 93, c. L ir. Ball. edit. Harduin, 
ad. Marc c iii. 



had condemned the Nestorian errors 
in a synod held at Rome in 430, and 
summoned Nestorius to retract with- 
in ten days under pain of excommu- 
nication. How trivial, tlien, and cal- 
culated to confuse the reader, must 
this remark of yanus seem, " At the 
two councils of Ephesus others pre- 
sided." It is a well-known fact that 
the papal legates at the Council of 
Chalcedon declared tUkt it was a high 
misdemeanor of the second assembly 
of Ephesus, in 449, and a crime in 
Dioscorus of Alexandria, that it was 
presumed to hold a general council 
without the authority of the aposto- 
lic see; and Dioscorus was according- 
ly deposed. 

The Council of Chalcedon was not 
convoked before Pulcheria and Mar- 
cian had requested and obtained the 
consent of Pope Leo L, and at its 
termination the fathers said in their 
letter to the pope that he had presid- 
ed over them by his legates as the 
" head over the members ;" and that 
the emperor had been present for the 
maintenance of decorum. 

Why, then, allege such examples as 
the despotic actions of Constantius, 
against whom such great and distin- 
guished bishops as St. Athanasius, St. 
Hilary of Poitiers, and Lucifer, raised 
their pastoral voice, when this same 
emperor so harassed the bishops 
at Rimini and Seleucia in 359, aided 
by the cunning of Ursacius and Va- 
lens, that they subscribed to an am- 
biguous but not heretical formulary. 
Wherefore, St. Jerome exclaims, " In- 
gemuit totus orbis et Arianum se esse 
miratus est." The purpose of yanus 
in placing these assemblies among 
other councils universally regarded as 
oecumenical, appears, to say the least, 
suspicious I (P. 354, and Translator's 
Notice.) 

We might yet quote many exam- 
ples to exhibit what must be styled 
gross misrepresentation and Jaisifica^ 



The Pope and the Council, fy J^umi, 



340 

/ii'n of hislory on the part of '^nus, 
when he thus plainly stales that the 
popes were never fcWKZ/rt/ when coun- 
cils were convoked, nor allowed to 
prcsifie, personally or by deputy — and 
" it is clear that the popes did not 
claim this as iheir exclusive right," 
(p. 63.) ir any thing were wanting 
to corroborate our argument, wc need 
but allude to jhe declaration of the 
Patriarch Mennas of Constantinople, 
and many other eastern bishops. 
When the Emperor Justinian would 
continue the council which was con- 
voked with the express consent of 
Pope Vigilius, who withdrew his per- 
mission after the emperor issued an 
edict on the three articles, [Ina lapi- 
tuta,) the pope fled to Chalcedon, 
whence he directed a letter to the 
whole church," giving an account of 
the deplorable stale of things, add- 
ing that he had deposed the haughty 
bishop .Theodor us of Cscsarea.and sus- 
pended Mennas of Constantinople, 
with the bishops who took his part. 
The declaration made by Mennas and 
other bishops, professing their entire 
submission, affords a most striking ex- 
ample of the supreme authority of 
the apostolic see in the midst of such 
turmoil and religious disputes, the 
pope being an exile and the bishops 
enjoying the protection of the empe- 
ror; and hence not a vestige of co- 
ercion in their unqualified declaration, 
which we may be pardoned for sub- 
joining here. It is OS follows, 

■* Follawinf the apostolic doctrine, and 
•niiuus Id maintaia ccdcsinslical unil]:, tee 
are about to frame the present declanlion- 1 
We leceiTe «nd ackao*!edee the fbor faoly 
iTTlodi, . t . and all olhrr things tbat 
were ilecned and writlcn in these ume sj- 
nodi by camoKai cooseDl Vith the Iq^es 
airA re^ucsenlitlives of the apostolic (cc, not 
only ia nutlen of &ith, but t-raj thing 
llwi wat Ml defined and enacted !■ M ottwt 
naari. jndpBeati. cocutitiitiooSi and onli- 



A circumstance which j 
er weight to this whole C3 
that these councils were 
tended by eastern bishc 
them the patriarchs of C 
pie; and that the Rom 
though not personally p 
by their representatives, wi 
ail bishops, exercised sucl 
rogatives. The emperors 
recognized these rights oi 
Rome both by their laws 
acts, t 

We have been rather 
have carried our exaroina 
than we intended ; but it 
cessary to sustain our cha 
yiinus and his admirers 
and most unexceptionable 
from history, and the cai 
early councils. The suf 
the Bishop of Rome in i 
governing the univetsal cl 
not be exhibited in a tn 
dent light than in conn 
general councils, those gi 
blies of the hierarchy of 
Nothing, therefore, was I 
lated than the futile es 
anonymous authors of ^at 
ciate and obliterate, if po 
prerogatives of the Ron 
in connection with occumi 
cils, in order to lay the fo 
their hypothesis, that sine 
century papal usurpaiion 
tion held high sway lo 
" hindering and decoinpo 
tion of its Tital powers.' 
^jfdma has soccceded >a 1 
a iadi for kit e£fice in hi 
ancient canonical coUecci 
his statements are suppor 
ftrtme to or^maJ miA 
candid and jodidoM lead 
htsiory wiD have been A 



t 



The Pope and ike Council, by yanus. 



341 



xsls the verdict of history 
ncient Constitution of the 
that verdict cries aloud 
Lch a miserable caricature, 
)peal to past tradition is an 
' ignorance or wilful preju- 
i have impeached his ortho- 
points of the very first im- 
and in vain do we look for 
iginal authorities" which 
rify his hypothesis of the 
iiurch." 

umming up our arguments 
ad, we will be allowed to 
another serious and most 
error of Janus. He says, 

* and authority of the decisions 
depended on the consent of the 
>n the fact of being generally re- 
p. 63, 64.) 

lust examine what is meant 
sent of the churcli ; here is 

:x>iincil passes sentence on doc- 
rby gives testimony to its truth. 
attest, each for his own portion 
, that a certain defined doctrine 
>een taught and believed there ; 
Nritness that the doctrines hith- 

involve, as their necessary con- 
me truth which may not yet 
expressly formalized. As to 

testimony has been rightly gi- 

freedom and unbiassed truth- 
prevailed among the assembled 

tnat point the church herself 
tc judge, by her <uceptarue or 
e council or its decisions." (P. 

precious theory indeed of 
! The teaching body in 
or the hierarchy, are mere 
1 giving testimony to the 
; this testimony may ulti- 
ejected ; for whether such 
r has been rightly render- 
s left to the decision of the 
nsisting of the clergy and 
;nce by a rigid conclusion 
[latthe highest tribunal oi 
€ or rejection" of the de- 
general council, is with the 



great mass of the faithful or '^ think- 
ers among believing Christians." In 
view of such plain propositions, we 
should like to be informed how iner- 
rancy or infallibility can be attributed 
to an oeciunenical council ? We may 
then select any council and doubt, as 
thinking Christians^ "whether freedom 
and unbiassed truthfulness have pre- 
vailed among the assembled bishops." 
All certainty is excluded by such a 
theory, where the decisions of a ge- 
neral council are only binding when 
accepted by the church outside of the 
council. This is nothing less than a 
complete negation of traditional and 
sound Catholic doctrine — ^it is simply 
proclaiming the broad Protestant dog- 
ma which grants the widest scope to 
the private judgment of the indivi- 
dual. In one direction have the 
authors of Janus been consistent; 
for they purpose by their labors " to 
contribute to the awakening and di- 
rection of public opinion," which is 
the tribunal charged by Janus to re- 
ject in advance the decrees of this 
council. (P. 345.) He himself makes 
an extensive use of this great privi- 
lege; for, according to him, since 
the ninth century there were no tru- 
ly oecumenical councils; the whole 
church has been forced and cajoled 
into giving a wrong testimony. All 
councils since the period just named 
have proclaimed the views and tenets 
of a party as the constant belief of 
all Catholic Christendom. Such an 
issue Janus would fain declare impos- 
sible. Alas! for his beautiful theory, 
destroying with one hand what he 
would build up with the other. 

"The church in its totality is secured 
against false doctrine." 

There is precisely the dilemma in 
which Jinus has involved himself. 
The whole work from beginning to 
end is intended to show that the 
church has simk into a labyrinth of 



342 



The Pope and the Council^ by yanus. 



errors, that she has radically changed 
her ancient and divine constitution, 
that her centre of unity has become 
disfigured and sickly, that her vital 
powers are in a state of decomposi- 
tion. Does all this not imply false 
doctrine ? Has the church not thereby 
fallen away from Christ and the apos- 
tles ? Perhaps yanus will say that it is 
only the hierarchy that erred^ not the 
"thinkers among believing Chris- 
tians," himself, of course, among the 
latter. 

Well may we inquire of yanus and 
his admirers^ What has become of the 
promises made to the church by her 
divine Founder ? Where is that spirit 
of truth to guide her through her 
pastors, the bishops united with the 
supreme Head? Where is that firm 
rock against which the gates of hell 
shall not prevail ? 

These questions are so intimately 
connected with the whole divinely 
reared edifice of the church of Christ, 
that to deny what the authors of 
yanus have done is heresy in its worst 
form, as much as Arianism, Pelagian- 
ism, or Nestorianism. We cannot 
withhold from our readers the appre- 
ciation of a candid and thoughtful 
outsider on the position yanus has 
followed throughout his work : 

" If the liberal Catholicism of yanus and 
Us friends is an infallible system, it is an 



infallible system which has sacc 
once to a false pretence of infallibi 
side and an openly-admitted fd 
the other. Now, infallibility whi* 
en for centuries, both by a sham i 
and by admitted incapacity for tru 
lity, is infallibility of a very novel 
difficult to imagine. It looks, at fi 
very like a rather specially fallibl 
fallibility with a taste for calling it 
names. If yanus and his friendj 
no paradox of the Christian faith 
great as theirs, which maintains tl 
infallibility of the church has no 
perdu for centuries, but has been ii 
ed by a growth of falsehood with< 
tcrposition on the part of the di^ 
of infallibility. That, we confes 
our respect for the wish of yanus 
protest on behalf of liberty and cii 
we do find a hypothesis some 
even to listen to. A dumb infall 
cannot find its voice for ccnturi< 
contradict the potent and ostenta 
that takes its name in vain — is that 
divine authority to which human i 
willingly go into captivity ? But 
sympathize with the authors of 
spite of their utterly untenable i 
position, if they seemed to us to 
clear advantage in moral carnet 
simplicity over their opponents, 
there is a certain school of ultr 
that simply and profoundly belie 
infallibility of the pope, in spite 
critical and historical difficulties 
liberals ably parade and somet 
overstate, we find it hard to belie 
latter believe cordially in any chu 
bUity at all." (Quoted by the . 
vUwt January, from the Spectaio. 
ber6, 1869.) 

TO BB CONTUCUBD.) 



i^^ 



TAe Little Wooden Shoe. 



343 



TIANSLATED FHOM THS FHBKCH OF THB KEVUB OU MOKDB CATHOLIQUB. 

THE LITTLE WOODEN SHOE. 



was a fisherman — a lucky 

He had a little house, all 

acl in it Jeanne who had 

;even years his wife, and 

Dlliest little scamp that ever 

out a fisherman's cottage. 

are not all his treasures. 

sides, a store of nets and 

id the Fine-Anguille. The 

er yet too rough for either. 

er stormed until the Fine- 

lad come with her crew, 

iry, to her mooring. The 

his frigate was Jacques; the 

what a mate he was ! — was 

Newfoundland, peer and 

1 dogs. Every body knew 

iguille. Every body knew 

nd well it was for many of 

hey did. They had made 

tance under memorable cir- 

:. For, when Fanor look- 

i kennel at night along the 

he could see the glow of 

eside which would have 

dark and cheerless if he 

scued from the waves the 

IS that earned its fuel. 

)thcr felt something queer 

>at and in the comers of 

len she saw the great shag- 

nd thought of a certain lit- 

lat might long ago have 

'ed in the sea-weeds. 

n the feast of our Lady of 

me, ah! then Fanor was 

. Did he walk in the pro- 

Df course he did ! Did he 

what was the proper thing 

:table dog to do and where 

ace was, afler the banners ? 

I Jacques, " he*s a Christian. 

g; he is almost a man." 



Afler Jacques, and Fine-Anguille, 
and the sea, Ange was the dearest 
friend of this dog. Fanor paid the 
most delicate attentions to this little 
fellow. He kept back his strength 
and refrained from those boisterous 
leaps ; he gave Ange a thousand ten- 
der caresses with his great cold nose 
and with his paw ; and, when he lick- 
ed his hands, he scarcely moistened 
them. It was plain that he was in 
love with thb baby. And as for 
Jeanne, she loved nothing in the world 
besides Jacques and Ange and the dog. 

For you and me, and the thought- 
less or busy world, what a grand sight 
to watch the sea in September ! so 
deep, S0 dark, it falls and rises with 
ever-increasing majesty. There is a 
menace in its ceaseless roll, its beauty 
is terribly grand, and from the shore 
we admire its strength and its immen- 
sity. But how differently it appears 
to the poor fisher's wife ! For her there 
is nothing to admire in the ocean. 
For her it is only a source of anxiety 
and dread. How gloomy to her is 
the evening as it settles over this ever- 
tossing plain; how her heart starts at 
the vague threats of the wind I This 
blue and white-crested mass is per- 
haps a shroud. Is there no moaning 
save that which the listless water 
makes ? And, when the horizon low- 
ers, is the wild call of the sea-bird the 
only strange cry that can be heard ? 
And, as the wind sweeps from the 
stormy offing, we perhaps think it 
beautiful. But to the fisher's wife it 
is dreadful. She fears for him who 
toils in the abyss. What can a little 
shell like Fine-Anguille and a man 
and a dog do against the ocean ? 



344 



The Little Wowien Skoe. 



We may say, " How beautiful I" 
But she cries, " Holy Virgin ! the sea 
is too high I Sweet Jesus I it blows 
too, too hard," 

One day Jeanne was with Ange on 
the beach and Jacques was preparing 
Fine- Anguille for fishing. Jeanne sat, 
knitting, by the water's side. Angc 
had kicked off one of his little wood- 
en shoes, and with his rosy little foot 
was playing in the water. He laugh- 
ed, he shouted, he splashed the little 
waves that ran softly upon the sand. 
Ah ! what grand fun he was having. 

It was evening. The setting sun 
bathed the entire coast in purple, and 
the water, still and peaceful, icHected 
this scene of splendor. 

Ange had tied a string to his little 
shoe and had thrown it out on the 

" Mamma," said he, " look ! see my 
Fine- Anguille ! In a minute I am go- 
ing to make a storm." 

.\nd he splashed away with Ijis bare 
foot 

Tiie little shoe tossed from one side 
to another; finally it filled with water. 
Jeanne looked up and said. " Naugh- 
ty boy ! put on your shoe. Quick !" 

Just then, somebody touched her 
shoulder. It was a stranger, from 
Paris, perhaps. This seemed proba- 
ble from the haughty air, which peo- 
ple from the city always have, and 
also from his cold, harsh look and hts 
pale countenance. 

Jeanne was frightened. 

" I want a boat," said this strange 
person, "to go out into the offing." 
Jacques approached. "If yon like, 
sir, I am ready. Here, Fanorl" 

"What! take that brute along with 
us? Horrid cur! He is filthy and 
smells of old fish. I can't bear him 
for a companion." 

" I will not go without my dog," 
said Jacques. 

"Cornel" said the stranger, "this 
beast is of no use, I will give you 



a louis to leave the I 
looked at his wife hesita 
was pale. The stranger tos 
louis in his hand. 

Just then Ange cried, "> 
has gone to the bottom I" Ant 
said, " Don't go without the i 

Soon the Fine-Anguille 
shore, and, breaking through 
water, disappeared in the ( 
like a faint cloud. 

Jeanne turned again tow 
house, carrying her child, whi 
foot hung bare over her dress 

When she reached the hcif 
turned to scan the horizon. 
a thick gray band stretched i 
Seized with anxious forebod 
paused. 

" Will it be fair ?" she aske 
ther Lucas, the cow-herd. 
sort of a night will they have 
the Thunder Rocks and th 
Marc, and in the offing ?" 

Father Lucas, in turn, scar 
horizon. "Fine-Anguille is 
sea boat!" said he; and pa 
with his cows, 

" It is the wind I" thought 
as Ange by an unconscious 
ment covered his foot with he 
"It is the wind! God be 
to us !" Then she entered the 

At ten o'clock gusts began 
The waves moaned piteously. 
could not sleep. But neit 
moaning of wind nor wave « 
turb Ange as he lay wrapper 
in his cradle. His mother : 
light. One is not so much &i 
when one can see clearly. 
seems as if one could do an 
but what can one do agai 
wind? 

"The wind! O my Go 
wind," cried Jeanne "Bill 
rate, Fanor is with him !" 

Then, as every thing ciea1 
moaned around her, she fcl 
light slumber. She saw the { 



The Little Wooden Shoe. 



345 



I frightful gulfe, its white yawn- 
uth and threatening rocks, and 
itful shoals. She saw her child 
[)each, splashing the water with 
ed foot. She saw the little 
shoe which had been ship- 
L Then she heard the voice 
e murmuring, ''I'll make a 

le trembled. 

, as the roof of the cottage 

md creaked, she remembered 

waves had entered the little 

t once she rose up and took 
ist asleep, in her arms. She 
ker cape over her shoulders, 
raining hard and the wind 
rongly. She lit a lantern; a 
gust put it out, and she was 
Jie black darkness. But the 
ie so much noise that it served 
ide. She reached the beach 

je! O Angel if Fine-Anguille 

shedr 

t>elfry of Larmor stood black 

sombre night, and the sea 

its white foam at the very 
' the church. 

le seated herself on the damp 
!, wrapping Ange in her cloak, 
with longing eyes, counting 
ave. 

ly the day broke, and the storm 
as the sun rose. It shone first 

fortress of Port-Louis, then 
the rest of the coast ; and 

saw the little wooden shoe 

among the pebbles — " Broken! 

t so light I It ought to have 
I" 

ft 

I Jeanne saw tlie Fine-An- 

Her sail was rent and tattered. 

x>ken mast hung half in the 

All that could be hoped was 



that she might come In with the tide, 
and that Jacques would be able to 
avoid the rocks. Perhaps they still 
preserved their oars ! As she listened, 
she thought she heard them striking 
on the row-locks ; but no, it was the 
wind. The broken mast might still 
serve to hold them oflf the rocks. Al- 
ready she could hear Fanor's voice. 
But on the heaving plain her glance 
could barely follow the litde cralt. 
Finally, as a sudden gust blew afresh, 
it disappeared altogether. 

Jeanne closed her eyes. And, when 
they reopened, Jacques and Fanor 
were beside her. Jacques was pale ; 
Fanor with red, distended nostrils, and 
panting, shook the water from his 
shaggy coat 

"Wife," said Jacques, "we have 
been very unlucky I We beat all night 
against the wind. I wished to come 
in last evening afler we had doubled 
the citadel; I knew it would blow. 
But that fool of a Parisian would see 
the offing! He is dead now. God 
have mercy on him? I have never 
worked so hard in all my life! To 
lighten the boat he wanted to drown 
Fanor. And when he saw the brea- 
kers, he would jump overboard to 
swim. Fanor went afler him and 
brought him to the gunwale; and, 
while I was lending him a hand, 
puff I we were all in the water toge- 
ther. Holy Mother I how I did lay 
about me, ^I caught a plank. ' Hold 
on, Fanor 1' said I, But Fanor had 
left the stranger and had seized me 
by the collar. And so I made the 
shore. O the brave beast! he's no 
dog ; he is almost a man !" 

" And Fine-Anguille ?" said Jeanne. 

" She will come in with, the tide. 
She is as light as a wooden shoe," 



'm 



CARDINAL POLE. 



Cardinal Pole was a representa- 
tive man. As Arclibishop of Canter- 
bury lie stands in direct contrast to 
Cranmer. Each of these primates 
was at the head of a host during a 
period of mortal conflict. They led 
respectively the forces of the old and 
of the new faith. Pole represented 
the Catholics of England, especially 
the wiser aiid better part of them. 
Cranmer was one of the feeblest and 
worst specimens of the reformers. 
He had not even the unenviable 
merit of being true to his own princi- 
ples. He could not stand tlie shock 
of batUe, ond though a standard- 
bearer, he surrendered his colors in 
the hope of saving liis life, Pole, on 
the contrary, sufiered persecution for 
righteousness' sake, and tlie cruel fate 
of his mother and his near relatives 
warned him but too plainly of the end 
that awaited him if he should ever 
come within reach of the tyrant. Let 
us trace his history, though but in 
outline ; for we shall find it full of in- 
teresting matter, food for reflection, 
and lessons of piety. There are 
many men of less importance and 
less merit whose lives are better 
known than his. One who enjoyed 
his friendship during many years — 
Ludovico Beccatelli, Archbishop of 
Kagusa — has left us a record of his 
acts, and painted his character with 
a faithful hand. To him principally, 
and to Cardinal Pole's own writings, 
we are indebted for what we have 
learned respecting him; for though 
much is to be found on the subject 
of his career in the pages of Lingard, 
Strype, Flanagan, Hume, Strickland, 
and Froude, it is to those higher 
sources especially, together with the 
state papers of the lime, that every 



one must remount who would i 
reliable information. 

It was when Henry VH. had 
ed the middle of his reign, and 
ander VI. hiled the papal chat 
Reginald Pole was bora at Stoi 
Castle in Stafibrdshire, His 
was Sir Richard Pole, (aft« 
Lord Montacute, ot Montagi 
Welsh knight, and his motbi 
Mary, Countess of Salisbury, ( 
ter of that Duke of Clarence 
Edward IV, drowned in a b 
Malmsey. He was the cousii 
of Elizabeth, Queen of Ilenrj 
and mother of Henry VII I. J; 
thus all the advantages which | 
attach to high descent, and no 
were spared to give him an i 
tion suited to his rank and prcK 
The monasteries were then sclio 
the instruction of boys of goo( 
ily, and to one of these Keginib 
sent when a child. It was the C 
sian monastery at S!icne, from « 
he was removed in time to Ma] 
College, Oxford, where he lai 
foundation of his future Icaminj 
was taught by the celebrated 
ere, the preceptor of Prince / 
and physician to Henry VIII. a 
Princess Mary.* His educatio 
carried on at the cost of Henri 
which reason he often in afti 
spoke of the king with grai 
He was but a boy when he obi 
his degree of B, A., and mighi 
Wolsey, who graduated at ( 
when fourteen years old) hart 
called the " Boy Bachelor." I: 
also admitted very carty into de 
orders; at seventeen he was 
Prebendary of Salisbury; and it 



Cardinal Pole. 



347 



in of Wimbome and Exe- 

formation had not yet bro- 
England was ruled without 
ent by the all-powerful min- 
imal Wolsey; and Henry 
lo had in 15 13, when Pole 
jcford, won the battle of the 
1 taken Toumay, appeared 
lent as a competitor for the 
rown on the death of Max- 
It was part of his good 
hat Reginald Pole should 
educated, and accordingly 
year 1520, when the youth 
:y years old, he caused him 
:o the University of Padua 
ste his studies. Reginald 
i .that seat of learning in 
ndor. A numerous retinue 
lim, and he enjoyed the so- 
esteem of many eminent 
jch as Bembo* and Sado- 
morals were pure, his man- 
ful, and his amiability made 
beloved. 

"e years of university life, he 
to England, and was re- 
Henry with many marks 
Lvor. But he shunned the 
and seductions of the court, 
d to a house that had be- 
Dean Colet within the Car- 
onastery at Shene. Hen- 
: career had begun ; and 
eking to obtain a divorce 
faithful and virtuous wife, 
of Aragon. Reginald ear- 
red to escape the compli- 
lat were likely to ensue. 
;hat a storm was gathering ; 
two years of retirement at 
obtained Henry's permis- 
rsue his studies at the Uni- 
Paris.f He was not yet in 

kmba Secretary of Leo X. itnd Libra- 
A*%, Venice ; author of various pieces 
alan. Bora 1470. Died 1547. 
iadolet. Bishop of Carpentras, Secre- 
L; author of several works in Latin 
•u Bom 1477. Died 1547. 
Hkhty^ England. A.D. 1531. 



priests' orders, neither had he taken 
monastic vows. For this a curious 
reason was assigned. 

All the contemporaries of Queen 
Catharine affirm that she earnestly 
desired a imion in marriage between 
her daughter, the Princess Mary and 
Reginald Pole. His mother, the 
Countess of Salisbury, had always re- 
sided with Mary, and the biographers 
of Pole with one voice declare that 
Mary had regarded him with favor 
from earliest childhood. We ought 
not, however, to lay too much stress 
on this fact, since the disparity of 
their ages was too great to admit of 
their being lovers at an early period 
of life. Reginald was sixteen years 
older than Mary, yet it is not surpris- 
ing that, when her proposed mar- 
riage with the Emperor of Germany 
was broken off, and Reginald, having 
returned to England, appeared at 
court in his twenty-fifth year conspi- 
cuous for the culture of his mind and 
the beauty of his person, the queen 
should wish to see him become the 
husband of her child. He was of 
royal blood, and very nearly resem- 
bled his ancestor Edward IH. and 
his great-uncle Edward IV. His 
portrait was taken by Michael Angelo 
for that of the Saviour of men in the 
grand painting of the Raising of 
Lazarus. He revived, therefore, in 
his carriage and featiures the memory 
of the heroic Plantagenets from whom 
he descended. Already renowned 
for learning, and with a mind enrich- 
ed with travel and residence in for- 
eign lands, he had frequent oppor- 
tunities of seeing the lovely Mary 
who would probably one day be 
Queen of England Lady Salisbury 
still lived with her, and she was both 
her relative and friend. The prin- 
cess showed great partiality for the 
noble and accomplished Reginald; 
and at a much later period a mar- 
riage was proposed between theia as 



348 



Cardinal Pole. 



a matter or state convenience, but 
without its being very long or seri- 
ously entertained.* 

Reginald was not suffered to re- 
main long in peace at the University 
of Paris, An order arrived requiring 
hinj to procure opmions favorable to 
the divorce, in concert with Langet, 
the brother of the Bishop of Bayonne. 
The task was ungrateful to him, full 
of danger, and hardly to be executed 
with a clear conscience. He resign- 
ed it to his colleague, and was soon 
recalled. He might have succeeded 
Wolsey in the see of York, and pos- 
sibly Warham in that of Canterbury, 
had he been willing to pander to the 
vicious inclinations of his royal roas- 
ter. He wavered, indeed, for a mo- 
ment, and fancied he had found an 
expedient by which he might satisfy 
Henry without wounding his own 
conscience. He repaired lo "White- 
hall Palace, and there, in the stately 
gallery, he stood before the anli- 
christian king. He loved that king 
in spite of his wickedness; for he 
owed to him his education, together 
with many dignities and splendors. 
He loved liim too well to deceive him. 
The truth could not be suppressed. 
It wrought within him like a pent-op 
fire. His feelings overcame him, and 
he burst into tears. It was enough 
to stir the king's displeasure. It re- 
vealed the secret workings of Regi- 
nald's mind The divorce would be 
a crime — a horrible crime. The rea- 
sons assigned in its favor were flimsy 
deceits. The helpless queen and her 
daughter would be victims moving 
all hearts to pity. Henry frowned, 
and his hand often sought the dag- 
g«^s hilt; but though Reginald wept, 
it was not likely a Plantagenet should 
fear. Upon quilting the gallery, Re- 
ginald was loaded with the bitterest 
reproaches by his brothers, and es- 



pecially by Lord Monlagu< 
was induced to write to thi 
He explained his motives in h 
equally firm and tcmperatt 
Henry, into whom the demc 
not yet fully entered, took thi 
or professed to take it, in goo 
He declared that he loved 1 
spite of his obstinacy, and thai 
opinion were only favorable 
divorce, he should love hitn 
than any man in the kingdom. 
tory has taught us how mu 
love was worth ; for his embraa 
sure pledges of ruin and destr 
He did not, however, wiihdra 
ginald's ■ pension of five hi 
crowns, but allowed him lo 
England again. 

Having emphatically declar 
dissent from the resolutions of 
ment and convocation, Pole 
his position more and more tl 
He turned his face again I* the 
and in 1531 took up his residei 
a lime at Avignon. During 1 
sence the fatal divorce was 
pletcd, and the doom of Engli 
a Catholic country was sealed. 
tliought of returning to it bccan 
tasteful ; and he retired to the 
asiery of Carpentras, and sub«i 
ly lo his old quarters at Padua, 
leave of absence was extended 
was enabled to visit Venice. 
pension was duly paid ; he re 
the revenues of the deanery od 
ter, and was specially exempte( 
the obligation of swearing allej 
to the children of Anne Boleyj 
far forbearance was shown t 
him, and he was not insenni 
the indulgence. He always il 
life retained the same fedingi 
even his bitterest invectives 
softened with notes of love. 

In the year 1535, whenhei 
his thiny-fiiih year, (for, being 
in 1500, his years n 
ry.) Pole was requested^ 



run wilhjgm 
lestedMMH 



Cardinal Pole. 



349 



1 the authority claimed in 
y the see of Rome. A si- 
est was made to all other 
»blemen and gentlemen; for 
lis worst deeds endeavored 
limself by public opinion; 
doctors at the universities 
s will, he overcame their 
f the help of menacing let- 
". Starkey, a personal ac- 
j, was commissioned to cor- 
ith Pole, and he advised 
)id his previous errors. He 
y distinctly and honestly 
* approved the divorce and 
don from Rome — whether 
, in his opinion, right or 
he abstract, and not wheth- 
jht be defended on grounds 
icy. He insisted the more 
stinction, because, as we 
when Pole was first con- 
■lenry about the separation 
irine, he had hesitated, re- 
ne for consideration, and 
scover reasons for comply- 
s sovereign's wishes, 
■s had passed since that try- 
►n. The germs of evils had 
.reloped. Henry*s charac- 
blded ; Pole's had matured, 
rgence had become anta- 
id Pole was in no way dis- 
iX. the opportunity now af- 
I escape. It was the time 
hat contemporaries widely 
and even posterity, might 
if answers to brief ques- 
l do for the king; but a vo- 
1 do better for Rome, the 
Curope, the people of Eng- 
the angry glances of the 
ice himself. He intended 
bt, for Henry's perusal in 
tance ; but he could hardly 
: what he might speak in 
abers would be proclaimed 
juse-tops. He showed the 

ri. hr. appen<Ux, note 8, 3. Poli Df 



manuscript in parts to Cardinal Con- 
tarini. The language was impassion- 
ed and almost violent. The cardinal 
advised discretion, and ended by pro- 
testing against what he considered 
fruitless invective. To this Reginald 
replied that he knew the king's cha- 
racter well. He had been too much 
flattered. No one had durst tell him 
the truth. He could not be moved 
by gendeness. His eyes ought to be 
opened by the plainest speaking, and 
the censures of the church ought long 
ago to have fallen upon him. It was 
not for his sake only that Pole wrote ; 
he had the welfare of the flock of 
Christ in his heart. He was deter- 
mined to expose the matter fully, that 
king and people might be thoroughly 
warned. 

In the mean time the emperor's de- 
signs on England were abandoned; 
and the quarrel between him and 
Henry seemed likely to be brought 
to a peaceful issue. Thus one hope 
which Pole entertained of seeing di- 
vine judgments fall on the king of 
England was blighted. Yet his book 
must be completed. The king must 
have the first reading of it He would 
not even submit it to Pope Paul III. 
through Cardinal Contarini. Perhaps 
he feared that his holiness would think 
it ill-timed or intemperate. We cer- 
tainly find him lamenting that the 
pope did not convince the emperor 
how much more blessed it would be 
to fight with Henry than with the 
Turks — to be the champion of the 
Christian faith in Europe, and drive 
back the fearful encroachments of 
heresy.* 

At length, in May, 1536, Pole's De 
Unitaie Ecdesia^ was completed. His 
ardent disposition and his indignant 
piety found vent in this composition, 
and it rolled along like a river swol- 
len by rains. The very passages in 
it which Mr. Froude holds up to re- 

* Pole to PriolL Eptst toL i. p^ 446. 



350 CaratfU 

probation and scorn are those whith 
Catholics in general will regard wUh 
the most pleasure ; they will strike 
upon their ears as thevoiceof one cry- 
ing in the wilderness, and denouncing 
in just and measured terms the crimes 
of a royal heresiarch. It will appear 
to them instinct with affection ratiier 
than hatred. " I will cry in your 
ears," he says, " as in the ears of a 
dead man — dead in your sins. I 
love you — wicked as you are, 1 love 
you, I hope for you, and may God 
hear my prayer, I should be a trai- 
tor did I conceal from you the truth. 
I owe my learning to your care." He 
draws a hideous picture of Henry's 
guilt and presumption, and then pro- 
ceeds to dissect a book which Henry 
had sent him on the supremacy by 
Dr. Sampson, Bishop of Chichester. 
He inveighs against the abuse which 
Henry made of his regal power, main- 
taining that the king exists for the 
people, not the people for the king. 
He makes the people tlie source of 
kingly power; and his words, /o/u/us 
regem procreat, "the people make the 
king," involve a distinct denial of 



He subordinates the regal office to 
that of the priest, and in language 
singularly modem, he asserts that so- 
vereigns are responsible to their peo- 
ple, and that Henry, by breaking his 
coronation oath, has foifeited his right 
to tlie crown, and justified the rebel- 
lion of his subjects. 

Tlie third and most important sec- 
tion follows. It is addressed to Hen- 
ry VIIl., to England, to the emperor, 
and to the Spanish army. He ac- 
cuses the king of intriguing with Ma- 
ry Boleyn before his marriage with 
Anne, and brands the " supreme head 
of the church " as the " vilest of plun- 
derers, a thief, and a robber." He 
relates in forcible language the story 
of the martyrdom of Sir Thomas 



More, Bishop Fisher, and the I 
house monks. He calls 00 1 

loudly to rebel. 

"O my connlry 1" lie sayi, "if 
moty remains (o you of jour anct 
tie<;, rememlxr — remember the lu 
kings who ruled OTcr you nnjut 
oiled to account by the luihorii] 
lan-s. They t«U you that atl U tb 
I tell you that all is the common 
You my coiinlry, arc ill. The Ul 
your servant and minister." 

No trumpet of revolt coul 
louder, yet Pole did not sto 
here. He proclaimed his in 
of exciting the Emperor Cha 
invade England, and to assent 
der his banner all those Engli 
remained true to God and h 
church. This part of the 1 
when primed, was ciroiktei 
pamphlet in the German Stat 
protested that Pole acted in t' 
of his country, and " in that 1 
the church which was given 1 
theSonofOod." TheSpaniard 
all men were bound in hii i 
vindicate the honor of the 
daughter of Isabella of Castile 
Henry had divorced. The li 
France, he believed, would 
peace with the emperor, and 
pope's bidding undertake tlie c 
nicnt of the towering enemy i 
and man. 

But the address is not oil 
and menace ; the tones of wta 
into tenderness at the last, t 
away in exhortation to rcp< 
and promises of mercy. It < 
little. Catharine of Aragon i 
Kimbolton Castle in the san 
in which it cime to hand, ani 
Boleyn, four months later, passi 
the bridal-chamber to the s 
Henry had broken for ever r 
holy see, and England, torn & 
centre of unity, sank and «i 
in an abj'ss. The book was 
England from Venicea 



Cardinal Pole. 



351 






It was accompanied 
ters, one to the king, the 
install, Bishop of Durham. 

> was to read for the king 
tended for his majesty only. 
we must understand that, 
iise produced the desired 
lenry's mind, it would be 

as a secret communica- 
' it failed, the author would 
liberty to publish it to the 
is not certain that Henry 
:• He heard reports of it, 
om Tunstall and Starkey, 
lo mystery of his displea- 
)se around him. To Pole 
^ote briefly, requiring him 
\ England and explain his 
fully. Starkey and Tun- 
also, pointing out Regi- 
amption, which, they said, 
d in would become a crime, 
him to return to England, 
Jie king's pardon. Pole 

> astute to obey this sum- 
mer letters were addressed 
id finding that he would 
e on the English shore, 
ents tried to persuade him 
lish the work, and to give 
any copies of it which he 
retained. But this request 

less as the former. Pole 
for a time to receive his 
d his book, the effects of 
; likely to be formidable, 
d in manuscript till a fit- 
m for publishing it should 

n English subject, in the 
Df certain emoluments and 
.eginald Pole was not al- 
e in his movements abroad. 
3t accept an invitation from 

> visit him at Rome with- 
aining Henry's permission, 
at least, expressing a hope 
jesty would not be offend- 
)aired to the eternal city. 
not deign to reply, but he 



mduced Reginald's mother and bro- 
thers, Cromwell, and his friends at 
home, together with some members 
of both houses of parliament, to en- 
deavor to deter him from the journey 
and from accepting any office that 
might be offered him in 'Rome. For 
a time, therefore, he resisted the im- 
portunities of his friend Contarini, 
and declined the purple held out to 
him by Pope Paul III.; for he knew 
that in accepting it he should make 
the king his implacable enemy and 
expose his family to cruel persecution. 
But other circumstances arose, which 
made the cardinalate appear desira- 
ble ; and he accepted it about Christ- 
^^9 1536 * ^^^ trusted that it might 
in the issue aid him in accomplishing 
the main purpose of his life. That 
purpose was the recovery of England, 
in part at least, if not entirely, to the 
Catholic faith. The rising in Eng- 
land which he had predicted had tak- 
en place. The suppression of the 
monasteries had filled the faithful in 
the north with indignation, and from 
the Wash to the borders of Scotland 
the people in general flew to arms. 
They bore on their standards the em- 
blems of faith, and the image of Christ 
crucified was carried in their front. 
The revolt was styled the " Pilgrim- 
age of Grace," and its object was not 
the overthrow of the throne or the 
sovereign, but the removal from him 
of all evil counsellors and " villein's 
blood." It is deeply to the disgrace 
of Englishmen that they did not rise 
to a man and support the cause of 
freedom and religion against the worst 
of tyrants. Pole was anxious to af- 
ford the insurgents all the assistance 
in his power, and to remove from them 
and from the English in general any 
pretext for acquiescence in the changes 
forced upon them. A legate's commis- 
sion was granted him, and he was in- 
structed to land in England, or to ho- 

* December ao, 1536. Fronde, iii. 187. 



3SZ 



Cardinal Pole. 



ver over its coasts in France or Flan- 
dere as circumstances might require." 
He knew not whether the insurrection 
were crushed, or whether Henry, on 
the contrary, were in the power of 
the rebels. He therefore manceuvTed 
with the English government till things 
should take a decisive turn, and exe- 
cuted his commission with delicacy 
and dexterity. His professed object 
was to receive in Flanders such com- 
missioners from the king as he might 
think proper to send for the purjiose 
of discussing the points at issue be- 
tween the government and the pope. 
He brought with him as credeniiaJs 
five Ictteis; one to the Catholic peo- 
ple of England ; a second to James 
of Scotland, a third to Francis King 
of France; a fourth to the Regent of 
the Netherlands; and a fifth to the 
Prince Bishop of Liege, He was 
ready to treat with Henry on any rea- 
sonable terms, and hopes were still 
entertained at Rome of England's be- 
ing reconciled to the holy see. He 
was instructed to exhort the emperor 
and the King of France to cease hos- 
tilities against each other, and to turn 
their arms against the Turks. By this 
means they would forward the su- 
preme pastor's design of convening a 
general council for the reformation of 
manners and the reconcilement of na- 
tions which had fallen Irom the faith 
to the unity of Christendom. 

No sooner had Pole entered France 
than the English ambassador there 
required that he should be delivered 
up, and sent as a prisoner to England. 
The lengths to which Henry VHI. 
had gone altered the position of his 
Catholic subjects, and to be faithful 
to God and the holy see was to be no- 
tiling less than a traitor. ReginaldPole 
especially had incurred this charge, 
and as soon as it suited Henry's pur- 
pose, he preferred it against him with- 
out scruple. The king of France re- 

* UDgu-d. T- 4^ 



fused to deliverhira up, but he 
ed Pole not lo ask for an ai 
and to prosecute his journey as 
ly as possible. A treaty with I 
obliged the French govemn 
give no shelter to polittcal o£ 
and Pole was compelled to tui 
ft-om Paris and repair to Ca 
His welcome there was no ' 
than in France. The Regent 
Netherlands had been tcrrif 
Henry, and Pole was convey 
der an escort to Liege. A pi 
fifty thousand crowns was put 
head by the king of Englau 
four thousand auxiliaries were 
to the emperor to aid him 
campaign against France, pr 
he would deli\-er up the person 
cardinal into Henry's hands. 
hatred of the king became impl 
and he pursueil Pole ever afti 
the most murderous intentions, 
From his watch-tower at 
Reginald beheld with bitter rcg 
failure of ever>- attempt at insun 
in England. Alternate hop< 
fears preyed on his mind. C 
racy against the king seemed t 
the only chance of averting t 
umph of Protestantism in Er 
Rebellion assumed in his eye: 
cred character, and every ins 
who fell wore the gloty of n 
dom. He would willingly h.iv 
his relations plotting against t 
thor of untold evils to mankind, 
a rumor was spread abroad of I 
being in danger; that assassin 
employed by Henry to murdei 
and die holy father, anxious 1 
serve so valuable a life, recalk 
to Italy. He was bent on publ 
his book in defence of the di 
unity, and desired to do bo 
the pope's auspices. In a let 
his secretary, Michael Throgtu 
Cromwell, who was then H 
chief advi.';er, heaped reproachct 
Pole for his treason, *" 




Cardinal Pole. 



3S3 



Is book if he thought fit, de- 
s master's resistance of pa- 
rity, and intimated that Hen- 
ind means to avenge himself 
aal Pole, even though he 
" tied to the pope's girdle." 
\j it must be confessed, were 
fill and trying; wickedness 
•laces forced many persons 
allegiance against their will 
d have been, under happier 
tices, the most loyal and de- 
lubjects. The mind of Car- 
i was deeply imbued with a 
:he Catholic religion, and 
he might be, whatever he 
doing, his unique object was 
ilishment in his beloved and 
d. 

-> 1538, we catch a glimpse 
al Pole among the orange- 
it skirt the water's edge on 
iful bay of Nice. Hither 
18 attendant on the pope in 
s which resulted in a truce 
France and Spain. But the 
Henry VIII. was not men- 
the treaty on which the so- 
igreed. The pope and the 
ere left free to act toward 
gainst him as they might 

beginning of the year 1539 
ok was printed, and sown 
over Europe. Many addi- 
been made to it, and the 
nto which King Henry had 
:reased the vehement indig- 
the author. The pope, also, 
me time, issued his bull of 
I against the apostate prince. 
s could no longer be endur- 
utrid member must be lop- 
Dm the body of the church. 
?ole himself was despatched 
r mission, the object of which 
rouse the Emperor Charles 
invasion of England. He 
. an apology to the emperor 
; his conduct, lest his majes- 

VOL. XI.— 23 



ty should fail to see how fealty to the 
King of kings may sometimes oblige 
a subject to disown allegiance to an 
earthly sovereign. 

Meanwhile, another rising was me- 
ditated in England. The Pilgrimage 
of Grace had failed, but the moment 
was propitious for another attempt. 
The Catholic forces of the empire 
would be stirred against Henry by the 
pope and Cardinal Pole, and the pa- 
cification of Nice had brought Europe 
into the condition most adverse to 
the schismatic king. The plot was 
discovered by the government, and 
suspicions fell on the relatives of Pole. 
He was beUeved to have bee» in cor- 
respondence with them, and to have 
excited them to conspire and rebel. 
His brother, Sir Geoffrey Pole, turn- 
ed king's evidence, and his accusations 
were accepted as truthful; though the 
word of a traitor to his own party is 
as much to be despised as himself. 
Knowing, as we do, that the heart of 
Cardinal Pole was burning with a de- 
sire of Henry's overthrow, it will be 
to us a question of small interest whe- 
ther he really instigated his fiiends to 
revolt or not. Neither shall we be 
very careful to inquire into the validi- 
ty or invalidity of the charges against 
his kinsfolk. If faithful to the king, 
they were unfaithful to God ; if rebels 
against his authority, they were valiant 
for the truth. The evidence obtained 
in their disfavor was presumptive only ; 
it proved, indeed, something as to their 
general tendencies; but it was not 
sufficient for their just condenmation^ 
They had one crime which could not 
be pardoned; they were near relations 
of Reginald Pole. The king had not 
a more dangerous enemy than he be- 
yond the seas; and the accused per- 
sons were all of them niore or less of 
royal blood ; all capable, on occasion, 
of setting up a rival claim to the 
throne, and making their descent, 
titles, property, and influence means 



3S4 



Cardinal Pole. 



of supplanting the reigning prince. 
The Marquis of Exeter, Lord Monta- 
gue, and Sir Edward Neville were be- 
headed on Tower Hill, December 9th, 
1538.* Lady Salisbury was made to 
endure a cruel imprisonment, and de- 
prived of all her property ; nor could 
she even purchase a warm garment 
to protect her aged limbs.t When 
more than seventy years of age, she 
was brought to the block. " Blessed 
are they that sufifer for righteousness' 
sake," were her last words. The ef- 
fect of these judicial murders on Car- 
dinal Pole's mind may easily be con- 
ceived. Other injuries may be for- 
gotten or forgiven, but this shedding 
of the blood of innocent and beloved 
relatives is a crime that never ceases 
to cry to heaven for vengeance. 

Pole's mission to Charles V. pro- 
duced little effect Some warlike de- 
monstrations were made against Hen- 
ry, but the emperor soon assured the 
legate that it was impossible for him 
at that time to proceed further. Re- 
:ginald Pole was bitterly disappointed. 
Again his hope of the church's triumph 
and Henrv's discomfiture was blasted 
He saw the wicked in great pros[)eri- 
ty and flourishing like a green bay 
tree. But his strength and consola- 
.tion was in the inner Kfe. " For me," 
he wrote, "the heavier the load of my 
.affliction for God and the church, the 
higher do I mount upon the ladder 
of felicity."t There were those who 
accused him of nourishing a hope 
.that he should one day be king of 
England ; but perhaps they have as- 
cribed to him what was only the fool- 
ish dream of some fond admirers. 

This legation was a mockery and a 
cross. He was bandied about from 
Toledo to Avignon ; from Charles V. 
to Francis. Neither sovereign could 
;be induced to unite against the king 

•• Froude ri. 333, 
t ^(■!a StrickUnd*s Lives, ▼. flo9. 
t Epist. Keg. Pol. voL Ui. pjv yj-y^ 



of England. Francis refuse< 
ceive the legate unless he 
with him some written pledg 
emperor's sincerity, and Chs 
fused to give that pledge un 
cardinal had first been rcce 
Francis. Pole saw that he wj 
ed by both. 

Once more he vacated dij 
functions. Once more he retir 
in the cloister at Carpentras,* 
his face in mourning and pr 
ponder the torments •f his 
mother, and fix his weeping 
solitude on the image of his c 
Lord. The emperor had tan 
dined to fight the batdes of J( 
and his supineness added wor 
to Pole's bitter cup. Paul I 
compassion on his distress, an 
of his counsels. He recall< 
from his retreat near Avignon 
the ruins of tlie Temple of D 
Carpentras, to the life and en( 
Christian Rome. 

The hatred of Henry towai 
dinal Pole was increased by ti 
attempt to band the most p 
princes of Europe against him. 
ment of treason " was pronoun 
him in England; and effort 
made to induce foreign gover 
to deliver him up. His step 
tracked by spies; his goings 
out were watched ; and he b 
the poniards of assassins to !> 
brandished near him. His ag 
ther, the venerable Countess o 
bury, was brought to the bio 
we have ab'eady mentioned, 
amination had extracted e\ide 
her guilt ; no ground for a c 
prosecution could be discoverec 
was attainted without previoi 
or confession; for Henry and 1 
ject minion, Cromwell, were a 
ferent to the forms of law as 
substance of justice. Her nai 

• April, 153,^ 

t May J7, J54i, (33 Hemy VIII.) 



Cardinal Pole. 



355 



that of Pole's nephew, 
>rd Montague, and that 
:he Marchioness of £xe- 
duced into a bill of at- 
jh neither of them had 
^ crime or had been plac- 
with means of defence, 
less was pardoned in six 
le fate of the young man 
.ains; but the aged coun- 
the last in a direct line 
;enets, who was the near- 
blood that Henry had, 
in former days the king 
I that she was the holiest 
ristendom, was dragged 
ar to the scaffold after a 
)f two years, and com- 
f her head on the block. 
," she replied, ** never 
;ason. If you will have 
ake it as you can." 
ioner performed his of- 
head was held down .by 
aid Pole ever after re- 
f as the son of a martyr, 
d that a higher honor 
•n of a royal line.* y 
sidence abroad after his 
h was not marked by 
cient importance to re- 
cial record. At Rome, 
:ed him a guard, that he 
acted from plots against 
ved by the revengeful 
corresponded largely 
>f distinction in various 
his letters, which were 
Brescia (Brixia) in five 
0, in 1754-57, under the 
Cardinal Quirinus, are 
nstandal, and contain 
ter of historical interest 
)nnected with the lives 
il III., the Emperor 
le King of Scots, Ed- 
iry, and Elizabeth. In 
►f his appeared, entitled, 
iheTj' and in the same 

oalofBorgos. EpUu Ui. 36, 7& 



year, at Rome, edited by P. Manu- 
tius, ReformaHo Angiia, ex decrelis Re- 
ginaldilbHCardinalis. Two volumes, 
quarto. The book on councils was 
written by Pole as president of the 
Council of Trent in 1545 ; and Phil- 
lips, in his life of him,* speaks of it as 

" A treatise which, for perspicuity, good 
sense, and solidreasoning, is equal to the im- 
portance of the occasion on which it was writ* 
ten, and shows at once the reach and ease of 
the author's genius, and the goodness of his 
heart. The preface by Manutius is long, and 
one of the most elegant compositions in the 
Latin language." 

Cardinal Pole's life of exile, there- 
fore, was neither idle nor fruitless. 
The labors which his hand then 
wrought remain to this day, and are 
highly prized by all who love to trace 
the stream of history to its fountain 
head. The year after Cromwell's dis- 
grace and death (1541) Pole was ap- 
pointed Governor of the Province of 
the Patrimony of St. Peter — the only 
part of the States of the Church which 
is now left to the Bishop of Rome. 
By this kindness on the part of Paul 
III., the cardinal was relieved of a 
disagreeable dependence on foreign 
princes for his daily expenses. His 
government was marked by wisdom, 
gentleness, and moderation. He al- 
ways discouraged severity, though he 
held firmly the right of the church to 
punish offenders. His leisure hours 
were devoted to literature, and in the 
writings of ancient and modem poets 
and sages he often forgot, for a time, 
the miseries of his country, and the 
dangers which, even in Italy, beset 
his own person.t 

Disorders among the clergy, a ge- 
neral corruption of morals, the schism 
of Luther, and the excesses of Calvin 
conspired to make a general council 
the obvious and only remedy that 
could be applied. Cardinal Pole and 
two other legates were nominated by 
Pope Paul III. to preside at the Coun- 

* Vol. L p. 40a. 

f Lift ifPok, London, 1767, 1, y^ 



356 



Cardinal Pole. 



cil of Trent in the year 1542. But 
the sittings were suspended amid 
the din of arms, and renewed three 
years later in the same city. Cardi- 
nal Pole then presided again, having 
on his journey been tracked from place 
to place by ruffians employed by 
Henry VIII. to dispatch him at all lia- 
zards. Such atrocity, however, did 
not exasperate Pole unduly, nor cause 
him to forfeit his character for clemen- 
cy and moderation. It was, on the 
contrary, objected to him in Italy, as 
afterward in England, that he was 
too lenient. It was even laid to his 
charge, and made an argmnent against 
his being raised to the popedom, that 
during his administration as governor 
two persons only had been put to death. 
He lived, alas ! in an age when laws 
were sanguinary, and human life was 
comparatively of trifling account. 

Cardmal Pole rendered valuable as- 
sistance in the early stages of the Coun- 
cil of Trent; but in 1546, he was 
obliged to discontinue his sittings and 
retire, first to Padua, and afterward to 
Rome, in consequence of ill health. 
The decree of the council concerning 
justification,* as it now stands, was 
revised and completed by him. It is 
a monument of luminous and con- 
cise statement of scriptural truth, and 
perfectly reconciles passages at first 
sight discrepant in the epistles of St. 
Paul and St. James. 

When Henry VIII. was gone to 
his account, and the young Edward 
mounted the vacant throne. Cardi- 
nal Pole made two unsuccessful ef- 
forts to incline the thoughts of that 
young prince favorably toward the true 
and ancient religion. But Edward 
VI. in his tender years was surround- 
ed by persons who made it their busi- 
ness to misrepresent every thing con- 
nected with the Catholic Church. 
The boy-king was thus made the tool 
and victim of crafty and ambitious men, 

• Cone. Tiident Seisio VI. 



who reared the structure of I 
fortunes out of a pile of sacii 

When Paul III. died in N 
i549f Cardinal Pole was at 
of his council, and governor 
bo. The larger part of the 
were desirous of electing hii 
vacant chair ; but the numbei 
required being two thirds, tli 
did not ultimately fall on 
was not the design of Provide 
he should either be pope of '. 
king of England ; yet he was 
being the successor of Paul II 
occasion, and the husband ( 
Queen of England, on other 
ing the sitting of the com 
wrote an essay, which was a 
published, on the duties of the 
But the period was not wit 
trials. Envious detractors ai 
charged him not only with b 
lenient in the government of 
but also with favoring the 
errors. It often happens th 
good men avoid severity, t 
mency is blamed ; when they 
tie and charitable toward heret 
orthodoxy is impugned. 

There was near the lake ] 
(now Garda,) in the neighbor 
Verona, a sp)Ot named Mi 
where stood, in Cardinal Pole 
monastery of Benedictine moi 
this retreat the cardinal tume 
in 1553, he obtained the po] 
sent to resign his govemmei 
province of Viterbo. His c 
governor had compelled him \ 
ly to \'isit Rome, and that cit 
should have been the abode < 
and piety, was filled with tun 
discord, in consequence of th 
sions between Julius and Hen 
France. Many of the cardinal' 
friends were no more. Contar 
bo, Sadolet, Cortesius, Ba< 
Giberti, Bishop of Verona, i 
sleep of death, while Flami 
Victoria Colonna, Marchio 



Cardinal Pole. 



357 



also gone down to the 
inal Pole, therefore, was 
beforehand from a tran- 
and seek once more in 
■ the cloister the peace 
1 understanding and the 
heaven near at hand 

3 with him as with so 
eho have betaken them- 
piritual retreat, and bid- 

the busy world at the 
i when Providence in- 

1 them into greater pub- 
ore active service than 
•d VI. died on the 6th 
, the same day of the 
)n which his father had 
nds in the blood of Sir 
e. Tlie Princess Mary 
throne. She was a zea- 
and if she had only un- 
temper of her subjects ; 
)t attempted to annihi- 
>werful minority; if she 
Qtent to encourage the 
ivithout persecuting the 
the new religion ; if she 
an Englishman, or in- 
)ut a Spaniard, to whom, 
of his nationality, her 
unalterably averse, she 
prolonged her life and 
ign- happy; she might 
le of the greatest sove- 

age; she might have 
itholicity in England on 
boting ; she might have 
3 her sister Elizabeth a 
erant government, and 
t out of her power to 
holies in her turn, and 
and vitiate entirely the 
f the land. 

'as lost by the holy fa- 
[I., in sending Cardinal 
and as legate. Before 
his journey, he entered 
dence with the queen, in 
;rtified of her good dis- 
l received from her the 



warmest assurances of welcome and 
support.* She was, in fact, in the early 
part of her reign, too eager to announce 
her future policy, and would have 
done more wisely if she had followed 
the counsel of the Emperor Charles 
v., who warned her " not to declare 
herself too opoily while the issue ot 
affairs was yet uncertain." The suc- 
cessive rebellions of Northumberland 
in favor of Lady Jane Grey, and that 
of Sir Thomas Wyatt, ought to have 
made her be prudent, and avoid above 
all things pressing matters to extremi- 
ty. She knew how deeply the nobles 
and rich men of her realm were im- 
plicated in the crime of sacrilege, and 
how tenaciously they clung to the 
spoils of abbeys and church lands of 
which they had become possessed. 
Scarcely a day passed without some 
indication of the insecurity of her te- 
nure of power — without some warn- 
ing of the necessity of ruling with 
impartiality and moderation, t 

Cardinal Pole was on his way to 
England, when he dispatched fi*om 
the Tyrol two messengers, one to the 
King of France, and the other to the 
emperor, informing them of his in- 
structions to negotiate, if possible, a 
peace between them in the name of 
the pope. Charles V., however, was 
by no means disposed to let Pole pro- 
ceed quietly on his journey. He was 
bent on marrying his son Philip to 
Mary, and he feared that the cardinal 
might be either a rival of his son or 
an adversary of the match. He refus- 
ed, therefore, to see the legate, stop- 
ped him in the heart of Germany, 
and caused him to return to Dilling- 
en, on the Danube. Here he receiv- 
ed instructions from Rome to wait 
until circumstances should clear his 
path ; and here too he learned that 
the articles of the queen's marriage 



• Flanagan, History of iJu Ckmrck in EngUndt 

vol. ii. 123, X27-8. 

t See Lingurd, voL T. 198. 



358 



Cardinal Pole. 



had been agreed to, and the rebellion 
of Sir Thomas Wyatt suppressed. But 
the chief obstacle to Pole's presence 
in England being removed, the em- 
peror consented to receive him at 
Brussels,* and Mary consulted him by 
letter as to the bishops whom she 
should appoint to fill the sees of those 
whom she had removed. The new 
prelates were carefully selected ; and 
when the Catholic religion was again 
proscribed in the succeeding reign, 
one of them only, Kitchin of Llandaflf 
-i-the calamity of his see — who had 
changed with every change of the 
court, abjured the faith of Christ and 
adopted that of Queen Elizabeth. 

Pole was still unable to obtain the 
emperor's permission to cross over to 
England, because the marriage of 
Mary with Philip had not yet been 
celebrated. The delay was truly af- 
flictive to the cardinal and the queen, 
and the negotiations carried on by 
Pole between the emperor and the 
king of France produced little ef- 
fect. At last the emperor yielded to 
Mary's entreaties ; Pole's legatine pow- 
ers, though already very ample, were 
enlarged; and he was permitted to 
accept the invitation of the Lords 
Paget and Hastings, with a train of 
gentlemen, sent to Brussels for the 
purpose of escorting liim to his na- 
tive country. He was empowered to 
reconcile England to the holy see on 
such conditions as he should think 
proper and feasible, particular facul- 
ties being given to him to dispense 
with the restitution of church proper- 
ty and ecclesiastical revenues. His 
agreeable manners and amiable ad- 
dress pointed him out as the fittest 
man in the world to execute so diffi- 
cult a commission ; and the English 
ambassador at Brussels, writing of him 
to Mary, said, 

*' His conversation is much above that of 
ordinary men, ami adv>rncil with such qualt- 

• February Wh, 1354. 



ties that I wish the man who likes him (h^ 
least in the kingdom were to converse wil^ 
him but one half hoar; it mast be a stOQy 
heart which he does not soften." * 

The bill required for the reversal 
of Cardinal Pole's attainder was pass- 
ed in November, 1554. It stated 
that the only reason for the attainder 
had been the cardinal's refusal to con- 
sent to the unlawful divorce of Queen 
Mary's father and mother, and its re- 
peal restored him to all the rights 
which he had forfeited through his 
probity. The legate having taken 
leave of the emperor, set out the next 
day in princely style, accompanied by 
one hundred and twenty horse. A 
royal yacht and six men of war were 
in readiness to receive him at Calais. 
The wind itself was propitious to his 
voyage, and, having been rough and 
contrary for several days, suddenly 
changed its direction, and wafted the 
apostolic messenger safely to the Bri- 
tish shore. 

The legate, when he landed at ^^ 
ver, was received and welcomed ^Y 
his nephew. Lord Montague. ^? 
was treated as one of the royal ^^^\ 
ly, and on his arrival at Grave^^^ 
he was met by the Earl of Sh^"^^ 
bury and the Bishop of Dur"^^^ 
They presented him with the ac::^=^^^ 
which his attainder was reversed^ '* 
in his character as legate he proc::::^! 
ed with them up the Thames 
royal barge, at the head of w "^^ 
shone conspicuously his silver cz 
Masses of spectators lined the 
and a large number of smaller 
followed him up the river till he 
rived at Whitehall, then the reside::^ 
of the court. The chancellor if^^ 
many lords, the king, and the qu ^-^ 
with the ladies of her court, welcc^^ 
ed him with affectionate joy. 
palace of Lambeth, which Crani 
had exchanged for a prison, was n 
ly furnished for his use, and on 

• Mmoo to Queen Mary, October 5th, 15S4- 



Cardinal Pole. 



3S9 



he 28th of November, the 
:ommons assembled express- 
from the legate*s own lips 
t of his coming. The ad- 
ch he delivered was long 
ssive; it dwelt on the dis- 
don of nations cut off from 
of the church ; and it set 
abundant blessings which 
ow from the purpose of the 
nd the queen being accom- 
I the formal reconciliation 
id to the communion of the 
Rome. On the next day, 
s the feast of St. Andrew, 
ment met again, together 
.ing, the queen, and the le- 
le nation, like a scattered 
■d flock, was received once 
the fold of the church by 
insent, amid deep emotion, 
id tears of joy. Yet many 
I present had misgivings 
permanence and solidity of 
\ thus affected. They re- 
l the recent rebellion in fa- 
dy Jane Grey, the rising of 
as Wyatt, the countenance 
to be given to the rebels by 
ss Elizabeth, the extreme un- 
' of the Spanish alliance, and 
ty, violent character of Gar- 
chancellor, and of Bonner, 
p of London.* Events un- 
y justified these apprehen- 
made the short reign of Ma- 
sons which we shall presently 
;, a dismal failure and an in- 
)f endless disaster. 
ay after the reconciliation, 
mayor and other civic au- 
Rraited on the legate, and 
him to honor the city with 
Accordingly, on the first 
i Advent he went by water 
nbeth, landed at St. Paul's 
d proceeded in great pomp 
athedral, where high mass 
)rated in presence of their 

fnmS^ ToL vi 395 and 517. 



majesties and the court. The ser- 
mon was preached by Gardiner, the 
Bishop of Winchester, who took oc- 
casion to confess the share which he 
had in the national guilt, and to im - 
plore his hearers, who had been in- 
fluenced by him when he went astray, 
to follow him now that he had recov- 
ered the right path. It was certainly 
asking a good deal, since Gardiner 
himself had sat with Cranmer and 
pronounced the sentence of divorce 
between the king and Catharine. He 
had also maintained the royal supre- 
macy, and sold his pen to Henry's 
caprice.* 

The bill which was framed to effect 
the restoration of the Catholic reli- 
gion in England was very compre- 
hensive and carefully worded. It 
distinguished minutely between the 
civil and ecclesiastical jurisdictions, 
and guarded against what legists are 
accustomed to consider the encroach- 
ments of the latter.t It secured to 
the owners of church lands the un- 
disturbed possession of their property 
wherever it had been legally convey- 
anced; and without this concession 
the legate's mission would have prov- 
ed firuidess. It was followed by a 
release of state prisoners, and by an 
embassy being sent to the Roman 
see. Before it had reached its desti- 
nation, Pope Julius III. died,| after 
a pontificate of five years. He was 
succeeded by Marcellus, who reigned 
only three weeks, and by his decease 
opened the door for renewed exer- 
tions to raise Cardinal Pole to the 
papal chair. It was the third time 
that Pole's fiiends had used all their 
influence in his behalf. In the con- 
clave which elected Julius III., Car- 
dinal Famese had nearly succeeded 
in procuring his election ; in the pro- 
ceedings which issued in the choice 

• PhaUps't^^ •fP^^ ^. VL 11% note, 
t Lingard, voL ▼. 334. 
X March ty^ 1555. 



36o 



Cardinal Pole. 



of Marcellus, the same cardinal had 
obtained letters from the king of 
France in Pole's favor; and now 
again, when Carafifa was chosen and 
took the name of Paul IV., it was not 
the fault of Philip, Mary, or Gardi- 
ner that the tiara did not light on 
the head of Reginald Pole. 

Having mediated a peace success- 
fully between France and the empe- 
ror, Pole was appointed, by Philip's 
special request, chief of the privy 
council He was to be absent from 
the queen as little as possible, and 
nothing of importance was to be 
undertaken without his concurrence. 
Pope Paul IV., however, did not look 
favorably on Cardinal Pole, and had, 
even at this time, some thought of 
recalling him to Rome. Meanwhile 
the legate with Gardiner made a 
slight attempt to arouse the Univer- 
sity of Oxford from its lethargy in 
respect to human learning, and a 
short time afterward, before the end 
of the year 1555, Gardiner being 
<lead, the cardinal convoked a na- 
tional synod to consider the disorders 
of tlie period, and the best means of 
stemming the torrent of depraved 
morals and strange forms of unbelief. 

It is not our purpose to enter into 
the history of the severe measures 
which were adopted for the extirpa- 
tion of heresy in England, and which 
iwe may, with the light which subse- 
quent events have cast upon them, 
with reason suspect to have been 
<ixtreme and injudicious. We are 
-concerned only with the history of 
Cardinal Pole, and every thing goes 
to prove that he always preferred 
lenient to severe measures, so far as 
he considered it compatible with the 
welfare of religion and the safety of 
the throne. As for Cranmer, Lati- 
mer, Ridley, and other principal per- 
sonages who were put to death, they 
deserved their fate on account of the 
numerous treasons and crimes wliich 



they had committed, or to whi 
had been accessory; and El 
herself might with perfect justi 
been brought to the blocl 
which she was saved only 
influence of Gardiner, for cot 
against the crown of her sister 
whole number of victims broi 
the scaffold was only from ; 
four hundred, and numbers o 
who escaped into Ireland wei 
tered and concealed from leg 
suit by the Irish Catholics, wh 
suffered death by thousands 
sake of religion, but have s 
ever inflicted it on others. *] 
natics and demagogues, wh( 
the cowardly and blood-thir 
stincts of their species are seel 
stir up the American people, 
will not rise, in spite of their 
and their prophecies," agair 
Irish Catholics of the United 
will do well to remember th 
or rather, as such persons alwj 
get what does not suit their p 
the intelligent and honest citi 
this republic will do well to ; 
ber it, when these mischief- 
attribute to their Catholic fell 
zens any ulterior design or h 
ever seeking to propagate th 
gion in this country by violent 
As for Cardinal Pole himsel 
Mr. Froude acknowledges t 
was "not cruel." Burnet 
that he rescued the inhabitant 
own district who were conden 
death from the hand of B 
His secretary, Beccatelli, infc 
that " he used his best endeav 
the sectaries might be trcate 
lenity, and no capital punishn 
flicted on them ;"t and he him 
clares that he* approved of 
heretics to death only in extrei 
es.| Rigorous and severe punis 



• Hist. Rff. vol. ii, p. 156, 

t Vita Poti^ ioL 33. 

X PoU Epitt. PhiUipt^t Life, v«L fi. ^ 



Cardinal Pole. 



361 



dasses of offenders, coercive 
» and the stem exercise of au- 
vere, however, according to 
of that age in every country, 
not strange that the milder 
of the gentle Pole were over- 
id that he was unable to hin- 
executions desired by those 
I the supreme power of the 
leir hands. The administra- 
[ary was severe and despotic, 
false to say that in her spirit 
itions she was cruel or tyran- 
iVhat appears to us like an 
ary and even impolitic rigor 
ictireness against those who, 
iws of England, were rebels 
•oth the civil and ecclesiasti- 
Drities of the realm, was to a 
:ent due to the importunate 
of the lay-lords. Even Bon- 
Gardiner would gladly have 
a milder policy, and the ma- 
the bishops and ecclesiastics, 
anding the atrocious perse- 

which they had been sub- 
mder Henry and Edward, 
xve cordially sustained their 
f he had been left free to ex- 
authority unimpeded by the 

ice of the civil power. Yet, 
Gary's policy was severe, it 
y itself compared to that of 
Elizabeth, and their Protestant 
s. It is not only an atro- 
umny ; it is a grim and dis- 
for the panegyrists of Eliza- 
. the exculpators of the hide- 
icres of Cromwell, to affix the 
• " bloody " to Queen Mary.* 
r, it is not a mere question 
ter or lesser amount of blood- 
ch should govern our award 

1 in respect to the two cases, 
a difference of principle in 

nber of persons pat to death in Qaeen 
1 was, as stated above, not over 400. 
ir 1641 to !(>$()% 836,000 persons perished, 
sr sold as slaves in Ireland, through the 
ecation of the English Protestant govem- 
eillft Mtmorials^ p. 345.) 



the case, which an impartial Jew, Mo- 
hammedan, infidel, or even Protestant 
can and ought to admit, as some 
have admitted. Those persons who, 
in England or elsewhere, have been 
put to death by the civil power for 
the crime of heresy under the Catho- 
lic law, have been condemned for ab- 
juring that religion in which they had 
been brought up, and which had been 
part of the law of the land, as well as 
the imiversal and traditional belief of 
the nation, firom the beginning of its 
formation, or at least for centiuies. 
Even if the principles of law by whicli 
they were condemned are pronounc- 
ed tyrannical and unjust, it is plain 
that there is no parity between the 
case of a ruler acting on such princi- 
ples, in common with other rulers of 
the time and of past ages, and accord- 
ing to maxims universally approved 
by jurists and statesmen, and one who 
compels his subjects to renounce their 
ancient laws and religion, and to ab- 
jure the faith in which they have been 
educated, at his individual whim and 
caprice. But although we are not dis- 
posed to abandon Queen Mary to her 
calumniators, we may give to Cardi- 
nal Pole the high honor of having 
been wiser than she was, or than her 
other counsellors were, and of having 
been in advance of the general spirit 
of his age in regard to the wisest and 
best method of treating religious er- 
rors, which had taken too deep a root 
to be summarily plucked up by a vio- 
lent effort; and with these few re- 
marks upon a topic which requires 
much greater space for a satisfactory 
discussion, we proceed with the per- 
sonal history of the cardinal. 

Afler Cranmer's execution, Cardi- 
nal Pole, who had hitherto been in 
deacons' orders, was ordained priest, 
consecrated bishop, and invested with 
the pallium as Archbishop of Canter- 
bury. His works of piety were nu- 
merous; he foimded religious houses. 



362 



Cardinal Pole. 



preached, prayed, and watched for 
souls in all respects as one that must 
give account. He was made chan- 
cellor of the University of Oxford, by 
the resignation of Sir John Mason, 
and chancellor of that of Cambridge 
also, on the death of Gardiner. 

To a sensitive mind there is no 
greater anguish than that which springs 
from the hostility of those whom it 
has faithfully served. This suffering 
it was Cardinal Pole's lot to incur. 
His whole life had been devoted to 
God, the church, and the holy see. 
For these he had endured exile, per- 
secution, and the loss of all things. 
For their sakes he had seen his mo- 
ther and his dearest relatives dragged 
to the scaffold. In their cause he 
had studied, written, toiled, prayed, 
and wept till his hairs were gray. As 
their defender and champion he had 
been welcomed to England by his 
cousin and sovereign, raised to the 
head of the English church, and made 
the chief instrument in bringing back 
the ancient religion. But having 
done so, having given every proof a 
prelate could give of his devoted at- 
tachment to his religion, having twice 
been on the very steps of the papal 
throne, with what agony must his 
spirit have been tortured when he 
found, as he did find, that he was in 
disfavor with Paul IV.; that he was 
superseded as legate ; that he was re- 
called to Rome ; and that, to crown 
the cup of bitterness, he and his friend. 
Cardinal Morone, were to answer to 
a charge of heterodoxy before the In- 
quisition.*" 

"Does Almighty God, therefore," he 
wrote to the pontiff,t "require that a pa- 
rent should slay his child ? Once, indeed, 
lie gave this precept when he commanded 
Abraham to offer in sacrifice his son Isaac, 
whom he tenderly loved, and through whom 
all the promises made to the father were to 

* Lingard, v. as4. Phillips, iL 256-7. Froodeb n. 

477. 481. 
t Greenwich, March 3oUi, 1558. 



be accomplished. And what are b 
preparations your holiness is making 
many forerunners of the sacrifice ofi 
ter life, that is, of my reputation ? 
how wretched a sense must that pt 
said to live who has lost with his Ag 
credit ofan upright belief? • • • i 
sword of anguish, with which yon are 
to pierce my soul, the return I am to r 
for all my services ?" 

Happily for the cardinal, Max) 
Philip took his part They rei 
strated with the pope on the 
which they and their subjects w 
sustain if Pole were recalled, and 
prevailed with the holy father » 
that he consented to the cardi 
retaining the see of Canterbury,) 
he appointed Peto, the Green 
friar, to supersede him as le 
Quite in the spirit of her father, 1 
caused the nuncio who brought 
decision to England to be arrc 
and interdicted Peto from acce; 
the legatine office. He never re 
ed any official notice of his app 
ment, nor Pole of the papal deci 
He was, however, too loyal a su 
of the pope to avail himself of 
regal interference. He ceased t< 
as legate, and sent his chancell< 
Rome with entreaties and pro 
Again the pope required that 
should appear in Rome to clear 
self from the charge of heresy; 
Peto was summoned there also t 
sist the pontiff with his advice, 
ceedings against the English can 
were already commenced, and 
distressing state of things was s( 
rest only by the death of some ol 
principal actors. Peto, the riva 
gate, died, and while the affair 
still in suspense the grave closed 
the disappointed^ despairing qu 
and the broken-hearted* card 
He was attacked by a quartan a 
and, feeling conscious of his appro 

* ** Without Rtratnins too fu thelietnteof ia 
tion, we may beUeve that the diaano «1m& « 
atraying him was chiefly a brakn 
yi. 5J6.) 



9^ 



Cardifial Pole. 



363 



le made a wfll, in which he 
his attachment to the Church 
and especially to Pope Paul 

whom he had experienced 
; which seemed equally in- 
\ and unkind His last hours 
ed in acts of devotion, and 
obably with supreme satis- 
lat he laid his aching head 
llow of death on the mom- 
e i8th of November, 1558. 
1, cousin, and sovereign had 

him in the dark valley by 
ity-two hours, and he felt, 
, Uiat his most powerful if 
St firiend was no more. Eli- 
s already queen, and her Pro- 
ndencies were well known. 
IS every reason to suspect 
would reverse the religious 
stored by her sister, and 
mtage of the general unpo- 
rhich Mary by her severity 
red. There was one object 
which Cardinal Pole could 
y wish to prolong his life, 

was to clear himself from 
ordinary charge Avhich had 
ight against him by calum- 
But it was the will of Provi- 
at his fair and unspotted 
lid be vindicated only after 

> 

; forty days the palace at 
was hung with black. An 
placed in the apartment of 
sed cardinal, and masses were 
^tantly for the repose of his 
is body was then conveyed 
rbury with great pomp, and 
I was followed by large num- 
izens and clergy. The exalted 
Cardinal Pole, the important 
id played in the history of his 
the high offices he had filled 
n an object of reverence to 
tude, who knew not, and did 
suspect, the intrigues of which 



he was the victim and the humiliating 
charge under which he lay. 

We shall not endeavor in this place 
to follow the example of his indiscri- 
minating panegyrists. Suffice it to 
say that he was a devoted son of the 
church, and that he did all in his po- 
wer^ to resist the impious will of the 
tyrant with whom Providence had 
brought him face to face. His zeal for 
the conversion of England was lauda- 
ble, though not crowned with the suc- 
cess which it deserved. 

In his youth he had written a com- 
mentary on Cicero's works; but this 
was never printed, and the manuscript 
was lost. He excelled in exposition 
of the Scriptiures, which were his con- 
stant study and delight. '* His cha- 
racter," Mr. Froude allows, " was irre- 
proachable; in all the virtues of the 
Catholic Church he walked without 
spot or stain."* He was honored 
with the friendship of men of great 
distinction, such as Sir Thomas More, 
Erasmus, Sadolet, Bishop of Carpen- 
tras, Bembo, Friuli, Paul III., and 
Ignatius Loyola. His forgiving dis- 
position may be gathered from the 
fact that when three English ruffians 
came to Capranica to murder him, 
were arrested on suspicion, and con- 
fessed that they were emissaries of 
Henry VIII., he would only allow 
them to be condemned to tiie gal- 
leys for a few days. His clemency, 
as we have seen, in a relentless age, 
caused him to be suspected; and we 
have the testimony of Bishop Burnet, 
the Protestant historian of the Refor- 
mation,t to assure us that 

" such qualities and such a temper as his, 
could he have brought others into tiie same 
measures, would probably have gone far to- 
ward bringing back this nation to the Church 
of Rome ; as he was a man of as great pro- 
bity and virtue as any of the age he lived in." 



3^4 



The Young Vermonters. 



THE YOUNG VERMONTERS. 



CHAPTER L 
DUTY AND TEMPTATION. 

"Hollo! George and Henry, 
where are you going in such a hurry ? 
Can't you stop to speak to a fel- 
low?" cried Frank Blair to his two 
school-mates, George Wingate and 
Henry Howe, whom he was trying 
to overtake in their walk on a fine 
afternoon in June. 

"Yes," said George. "We can 
stop to speak, but not to stay long, 
for we are on our way to the church." 

"What are you going to church 
for ? You'd better come with me; for 
I can tell you there's lots of fun go- 
ing on that you'll be sorry to lose !" 

"What is it?" eagerly inquired 
Henry. 

"Oh! I can't tell you unless you 
join us ; all the fellows have agreed 
not to tell any thing about it, only to 
those who promise beforehand to go 
in and keep the whole secret." 

"Ah! then," said George, "we 
could not agree to any such thing ; 
for it would be wrong for us to make 
a promise like that beforehand. So 
we couldn't go with you, if we were 
not bound for the church." 

" Why are you bound for church 
on a week-day ?" 

" Because," answered George, " to- 
morrow will be a festival, and we are 
going to help prepare the church, and 
then prepare ourselves for celebrat- 
ing it" 

" Well, I declare ! I never did see 
any thing like you Catholic boys! 
You're a real puzzle to me; as pious 
as deacons, and take to religion as 
naturally as a duck does to water, and 
ytt I know you love fun just as wdl 



as any of us. AVhat are y< 
to do to prepare for this fest 

" Oh ! we shall help the i 
who is an infirm old man, 
the church neat and tidy, in 
place. Then we shall assis 
ting evergreens ready for the 
tion; and we expect our 
and sisters with flowers to be 
ed in vases for the altar, ^ 
are twining and putting up 
We hope to make the chu 
beautiful for the great feas 
Blessed Sacrament. After 
this all done, we shall pre 
holy communion, which we 
receive to-morrow." 

"And how do you pre] 
that ?" 

" First of all, we make ou 
nation of conscience, and 
prayers in preparation for cor 

"You go to confession! 
thought none but sinners c 
to the priest." 

" And don't you think we 
ners ?" said George. 

" Of course not ! How car 
be sinners ? I never though 
a thing. I don't believe I 
ner at all ! I only love a fr 
in a while ; and I hate reli 
cause it's such a gloomy kin< 
ness. So you think you w 
us, eh ?" 

" No ; we have other mati 
tend to." 

"Well, then, good-by; I 
be sorry you didn't go with 
tell you !" 

He left them, and the t 
walked on in silence for so 
At length Henry said with j 

" Don't you wish we coi 
gone with them, George ? 



Tke Young' Vermonters. 



36s 



)u there's some grand fiin up, 
ler what it is ?" 

) matter what it is, Henry. We 
»nly to do what is right, and 
'e know we ought to do first, 
en we shall find ways enough 
)y ourselves; and have more 
lent, too, than we should if we 
:ed duty for pleasure." 
suppose you are right," said 
saidly ; " but I can't help think- 
ire's more sport in going off 
lot of boys for a frolic than 
s in being good, and helping 
>men fix up the church. It 
seem to me like boys' work, 
[iissing with wreaths and bou- 

. my fine fellow! you are real- 
ng very smart. What do you 
of our fathers, and of Mr. 

and Mr. S— , two of the 
active business men in the 
-and yet they take as much 
: in having the church made 
id for the divine offices as the 
I do. Don't you remember 

Ir. A , when he couldn't 

ourt during the trial of an im- 
: case, sent one of his students, 
s man with a ladder, to help 
I the wreaths last Cliristmas ? 
r smart for us boys to think it is 
lall business for us, to be sure ! 
as to the fun, we'll wait and 
N the boys come out with their 

I have my own notion that 

be more mischief than sport, 
lat we may hereafter be glad 
i no part in it. Frank Blair is 
lant, good-natured fellow; but 
1 reckless chap too. He had 
i a great many city tricks be- 
ey came here to live, and will 
r thing for fun, without thinking 

consequences. Any way, we 
there's nothing like duty first 
»lay afterwards to make boys 

n 



CHAPTER II. 



RURAL PLEASURES. 



The church was situated in the 
very shadow of a wood that skirts 
the pretty village of M ^ in nor- 
thern Vermont When the two boys 
reached it, they found quite an as- 
semblage of their school-fellows await- 
ing the arrival of the sacristan, who 
soon appeared, and sent some into 
the woods with axes and hatchets to 
cut the evergreens, dispatched others 
with pails for water, and kept George 
and Henry to help him in the church. 

They had just finished arranging 
all in order and dusting the sanctu- 
ary, when their mothers and sisters 
arrived with the flowers, which they 
took to a little room adjoming the 
sacristy, where the pails of water were 
left. Very soon some of the boys came 
in with the evergreen trees ; the beau- 
tiful trailing pines of several varie- 
ties, and graceful feathery foliage of 
brilliant green, together with a pro- 
fusion of other wild-wood treasures, 
which they had collected. The vil- 
lage girls also came bringing wild 
flowers and other contributions for the 
decoration. 

Young Catholics in country places 
need not be told how pleasantly the 
time passed with this company in the 
varied occupations of tying wreaths, 
arranging bouquets in the vases, put- 
ting up the festooned garlands, wind- 
ing the pillars, and executing other 
devices, with which they are already 
so familiar as to need no information. 
But it is certain that the young peo- 
ple of cities, losing all these true and 
natural enjoyments, as well as the 
developments of taste and ingenuity 
to which they lead, lose a valuable 
aid to devotion. They who cannot 
participate in the adornment of the 
material temple for the worship of 



366 



The Young Vermatiters. 



God, by bringing the simple offerings 
of the woodlands and the valleys for 
its embellishment, lose a very impor- 
tant incentive to the due preparation 
of the spiritual temple for his recep- 
tion. 

Before the arrival of the priest, the 
work of decoration was completed, 
and each pious heart was gladden- 
ed to see how beautiful the altar 
looked, smiling through a profusion 
of flowers, whose fragrance hovered 
around the tabernacle of the Lord 
like a breath from paradise, and em- 
bowered in wreaths prepared from 
the "glory of Libanus," together 
with tributes from " the fir-tree, the 
box-tree, and the pine," which youth- 
ful hands had collected to " beautify 
the place of his sanctuary, and to 
make the place of his feet glorious." 

When all was finished, the cheer- 
ful crowd quietly sought their places 
in the church, to prepare for the holy 
sacrament of reconciliation. 

While these busy performances 
were in progress, George had looked 
in vain among the young people as- 
sembled to discover two lads who 
were near his own age, and in whom 
he felt a special interest — Michael 
Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan. He 
feared they had been drawn away 
into the expedition of their school- 
mates mentioned by Frank Blair. 

On the following morning, the 
priest announced during the mass 
that there would be no vespers that 
afternoon, as he was going to visit 
another parish. Afler mass, Mr. 
Wingate and Mr. Howe told George 
and Henry that they intended tak- 
ing the two families out to Mr. 
Howe's farm, a few miles distant, that 
afternoon, and that they might invite 
some of their young friends to ac- 
company them. They were delight- 
ed; for there was nothing they en- 
joyed so much as their occasional 
visits to the Carm. So they sought 



among the crowd at the chun 
their friends Mike and Dene 
they were not to be found, 
invited Patrick Casey, and 
other boys, to come to their 
after dinner and join the excur 

Soon afler dinner the large 
carriages were brought up, an 
a bustle ensued, stowing away 
vehicles baskets frUed with b 
biscuits, cold ham and tongue 
wiches, cakes, and sundry oth 
cades, with a package of tablt 
and napkins, as betokened a 
supper in the woods, which wa 
things the most delightful to thi 

The party were soon comf 
packed into the capacious cai 
and set off in high glee. AVhc 
arrived at the farm-house, Mrs. 
made arrangements for a p 
supply of milk, fresh strawberr 
cream, and other things, to b< 
to a certain place in the woo( 
time appointed, and the men 
pany set out in quest of th( 
nooks and shady ddls of the f 

There was no end to the p 
incidents that here met our 
people at every turn. Th< 
scarcely entered the shado' 
main, when a partridge whii 
from their very feet into a tn 
their heads, and they soon dia 
she had left a brood of her 
below. Such a scramble z 
place in pursuit of the shy littl 
ties I — the girls holding their 
that the captives might be dc 
in them as fast as caught, 
funny to see how the wise litt 
tures would hide under cvti 
bit of bark, or dead leaf, an< 
these u-ere lifted, how still the 
lie, as if lifeless — so near the < 
the ground that it was hard t< 
guish them — and allow thems 
be taken. 

After sufficiently admirin, 
tiny prisoners, they set then 



T/ie Young Vermonters. 



367 



esumed their exploration 
. Very soon one of them 
i a night-hawk's nest on 
and called all the party 
, with its treasure of cu- 
L eggs. Then they dis- 
due-bird's nest built with 
a hole in the trunk of a 
low a splendid gray squir- 
L their attention; he ran 
ind out to the end of a 
he sat calmly defying all 
to frighten or knock him 
ussion upon squirrels and 
ensued, and " Grandma " 
hem she once saw a large 
L by a small sheet of wa- 
dashing mountain brook 
i into U quiet basin, which 
to cross. He stood on 
for some time, as if con- 
matter — turning himself 
the direction of the wind, 
)ened to be favorable — 
; a chip that lay near him, 
> the water, and springing 
lis little craft, raised his 
h the wind, and sailed 
ly and safely. When he 
ther shore, he jumped off, 
: even have the politeness 
oat ashore after him. 
me Mr. Squirrel sat eying 
f " the green-wood" very 
, occasionally stamping his 
ith pretty pettishness, and 
1 to nibbling a last year's 
vhich he had carried up 
:h for a lunch with so 
less that his young obser- 
uite charmed, and deter- 
ive him to munch his nut 
rhey now sought a bright 
that danced gayly over 
bles near by, and the mur- 
)8e waters, mingling with 
of leaves stirred by the 
[one, whispered in sweet 
he song of the woods, 
reached a fringe of grace- 



ful willows marking its course, and 
dipping their pendent limbs to kiss 
the crystal flood. 

Just then Mr. Howe overtook the 
party and called out, ''Boys, who 
would Uke to try some trout-fishing 
in the brook ?" 

Of course the bo3rs were all eager 
for the sport; but where was the ne- 
cessary fishing-tackle ? 

** Ah 1" said Mr. Howe, " you see I 
have provided for that," producing a 
case filled with jointed rods, flies, lines, 
and aU needful appliances for trout-fish- 
ing. 

Each boy was soon supplied, and 
started ofi* in search of the deep pools 
and sequestered waters favorable for 
their sport; while the girls rambled 
on, delighting themselves with the 
beautiful June flowers, peeping into 
each shaded recess for the modest fea- 
thered orchis— queen of its tribe, and 
most fragrant flower of the woods — and 
exploring the more open spaces near 
the brook, for the several varieties of 
elegant and fontastic '' ladies' slippers," 
which abound in the woodlands of 
northern Vermont Then the splen- 
did lichens and ferns attracted their 
admiring notice; and before the hour 
for their repast arrived, they had ac- 
cumulated a wealth of sylvan treasures 
wherewith to embelUsh their homes, 
and keep alive pleasant recollections 
of their brief sojourn in those woody 
solitudes. 

At length an envoy from the farm- 
house arrived laden with refiresh- 
ments— cards of pure white honey- 
comb filled with transparent sweets, 
cream of the richest, field strawberries 
in profusion, and milk firesh and abun- 
dant The girls soon spread the snow- 
white cloths on the turf at the foot of 
an ancient oak by the brook-side, and, 
under the direction of the elder ladies, 
emptied the baskets and prepared 
an ambrosial banquet, while Mr. Win- 
gate called in the stragglers, and the 



368 



The Young Vertnoftters. 



young fishers of the party, to partake 
of it. They were reluctant to leave 
sports which they were enjoying so 
much, and saw the day drawing to a 
close with regret. Each boy brought 
a fine string of trout for the Friday 
morning's breakfast, and appetites 
sharpened by their green wood scram- 
ble to the luxurious and plentiful re- 
past 

At the close of their meal they pre- 
pared to return, and were soon on 
their homeward course; the young 
people all declaring that they had nev- 
er passed an afternoon more delight- 
ful George and Henry were very 
sure, as they remarked to each other, 
that Frank Blair and his compan- 
ions could not have had so pleasant 
a time on their firolic of the evening 
before. 

^ CHAPTER III. 
THE TEMPTER AND ms VICTIMS. 

On the eve of the festival, as Frank 
Blair was sauntering down the street, 
after he had left George and Henry, 
he met Michael Hennessy and Dennis 
Sullivan. 

"Hurrah boys! you're the very 
chaps I wanted to find," said he. " I 
say, don't you want to go in with a lot 
of us for a real tip-top time ?" 

" What is it ?" they both inquired 
eagerly, when Frank said something 
in a low voice, to which they respond- 
ed, " Yes, yes I Ave promise ;" and he 
went on in the same tone to explain 
the plan. 

" But we can't," said Michael ; " our 
pockets are as empty as a last year's 
bird*s nest, and this requires money." 

" Oh ! nevermind that," was Frank's 
reply, " I'll plank the tin;" which an- 
nouncement was met by a merry shout 
and, " We'll go 1" from them both. 

" Well, then," said Frank, « meet us 
at the depot within the hour," and 
passed on. 



Now these boys had been 
way to the church ; but after t 
ed with Frank, they turned th< 
toward the depot. As they w< 
ing silently and leisurely aJon 
direction, Dennis spoke : 

" I say, Mike, it seems to 
this is not just the right thin 
doing ; our mothers think w 
the church, and I'm afraid : 
will come of our turning awa 
fashion." 

" O you fool !" said Mike, 
never know but we are at the 
and fun's better than religion 
I hate such humdrum way 
along every day alike, and 
scrape of any sort ; and so d 
boys." 

" Not all of them ; for there' 
Wingate loves fun as well a 
us, and a grand hand to help i 
but he never leaves better i 
it," said Dennis sadly. 

" George is a regular brick 
mistake. He takes to fun and 
each in its own time, as if th 
nothing else in the world ; but 
all be like him, and there's n 
trying. I w^arrant you now 
he could only have the chanc 
Henry Howe would a great 
ther pitch in for fun in a sc 
this, than go George's roads, 

" Perhaps he would," an< 
paused a moment sighing ; * 
afiraid it isn't right, especiall 
tholic boys. It's a poor pn 
for to-morrow." 

" Nonsense ! boys can't I 
We'll leave that to our moth 
can say prayers enough foi 
themselves too ; so we may e 
selves while we can. But I 
where Frank gets all his mo 
father is a stingy old cum 
thev sav, and I don't underst 

" Don't you know that hi 
maiden sister, who lives wit] 
rich, and she fills Frank's 



The Young Vermontcrs. 



369 



He told me so. He said that when 
he could get his father's permission, 
as lie did to go to these shows this 
afternoon, his aunt furnished all the 
money he wanted." 

In this way they chatted until they 
reached the depot, where a multitude 
of wildly excited boys soon absorbed 
their attention, and drowned the whis- 
pers of conscience for poor Dennis. 

Meantime, as Frank was on his 
'way home to replenish his purse for 
the evening, he met Patrick Casey 
and Johnny Hart, and accosted them 
much as he had Michael and Dennis. 
Tbey objected that they were going 
to the church and could not join his 
I>aTty. 

"O fol-de-rol!" said he; "therell 
lie chances enough to go to church, 
l>iit you won't often have such a 
enhance as this for a frolic. Mike 
l^ennessy and Dennis Sullivan are 
going—" 

" Are they ?" eagerly exclaimed 
Johnny. " Then I'll go too. Won't 
you, Pat ?" 

" No, I won't !" said Pat resolute- 
ly. "If Mike and Dennis choose 
to'do wrong, is that any reason why 
^^e should ? Come along Johnny, and 
<Jon't be a fool !" 

Johnny hesitated as Patrick pass- 

^ on, and Frank said the fools were 

^ose who'd lose all the sport for the 

^e of being as dull as beetles, and 

'^^kmg old women of themselves; 

^^ding, 

. ** There'll be time enough to be 

P*Oiis after you have done being jol- 
lyX», 

This artful speech decided poor 
J ^Vinny, who turned and went to the 
^^pot. 

But why did Frank Blair say no- 
*^iiig of those who refused to go, 
^Kile he baited his snare with the 
^^^jnes of those who consented ? It 
^^s because boys understand fully 
^H« force of example^ and can wield^ 
VOL. XI. — 24 



it with great power to secure their 
ends. When we consent to act con- 
trary to the still small voice of con- 
science, we never know how far the 
consequences of that act may extend. 
Evil examples attract more imitators 
than good ones — ^but woe to him who 
furnishes them ; while firm adherence 
to the right may win some wavering 
soul to the path of duty, which will 
shine as one of the brightest jewels 
in our crown of rejoicing hereafter ! 

Johnny had hardly reached the de- 
pot before Frank arrived, and present- 
ly a train of cars came thundering up, 
the boys hastening to secure seats for 

the littie village of H , a short 

distance from M , where they soon 

arrived, and upon leaving the cars 
found a great crowd gathered around 
an immense tent, awaiting the open- 
ing of the exhibition. This was an- 
nounced in astounding illustrated 
hand-bills as the most remarkable 
one ever witnessed, embracing more 
unheard-of enormities in the brute 
creation, and wonders of the human 
race, than were ever before congre- 
gated in one assemblage. 

When the tent was opened, the rush 
that ensued baffles description; dur-. 
ing the progress of which Mike's el- 
bows came in closer contact with the 
ribs of a boy near him than was at 
all comfortable, while Dennis Sulli- 
van's fist went very innocently into 
the face of a lad who was pushing 
his way more sharply than was agree- 
able to his neighbors, leaving, in its 
unconscious energy, a " black eye " 
in his visage. 

While the crowd was slowly enter- 
ing the tent, the boys from M in- 
dulged themselves in dealing out a 
series of these little jokes, more to- 
their own satisfaction than tcT that 
of the recipients. At length it was 
suspected they were not wholly acci- 
dental or unintentional, when a gene- 
ral row ensued, and cries of " Hustle 



370 



Young VenmrnitnT^ 



ihem out!" "Give them fits!" "Pilch 

into the boys from M !" were 

wildly shouted from all sides. Our 
heroes stood their ground with a cool- 
ness worthy of a. better cause, giving 
33 many hard blows as they received 

and shouting, " Don't you H 

boys want to come to M to see 

the elephant again ? Don't you 
wish you could, now? We'll show 
you we know how to return small 
compliments, we will I" 

In truth, as it turned out, the M ■ 

boys were in so much " better train- 
ing," as the pugilists say, that those 

of H were in a fair way to get 

soundly pommelled, when some men 
interfered to stop the fight and inquire 
the cause. Frank spoke for his parly, 

" Well, gentlemen, these youngsters 

came to M the last time we had 

a menagerie and circus there, and be- 
haved themselves so outrageously 
that a company of us determined we 
would pay them the firet chance we 
had. And I think we have; grand 
fun it has been too!" 

" Precious fun it ww/C have been !" 
said a plain, farmer-like man ; " and 
a beautiful pack you've made of one 
another out and out! Torn clothes, 
broken shins, bleeding noses, black 
eyes, and more bumps on your tarna! 
heads than the old frenologer feller 
that goes round leclering with a skull 
ever thought ofl A pretty lookin' set 
of pictei^ you are, an't you ?" 

" You bet !" said Frank ; then 
turning to his companions, " but boys, 
I say, didn't we pepper them, though ? 
I don't believe they'll want to come 

to M the next show-day. If they 

do, we'll be ready for them, eh, boys?" 

A wild hurrah was the reply, and 
they sought a neighboring brook to 
-wash otf such traces of the conflict 
water could efface. At Frank's 
-invitation they then gathered around 
a booth where pies, cakes, ginger- 
bread, lemonade, candies, and a va- 



riety of other delicacies were <j 
ed, where they refreshed the! 
heartily after their exertions 

Before they had conclude* 
repast, the crowd had all disaji 
within the capacious tent, ai 
shadows of evening were gal 
fast. Not caring to go in d 
our young adventurers amused 
selves by performing numerous 
in which mischief was more t 

A young lawyer of the place 
quite devoted in his attentions 
merchant's daughter, they toi 
sign from his office and placo 
the front door of the mctcbanl 
dcnce. They removed a sigi 
one of tile shops, on which vras 
ed, " Codfish, salt and fresh 
rings, pickled and smoked ; ] 
cured hams — for sale here. 
Deacons' skins taken in excho] 
ami fastened it over the "m 
hoase" door, writing under i 
chalk, in large letters, " loquin 

Seeing a donkey quietly mvt 
his nettles in a conicr of the 
green, they captured him, aiK 
great exertion succeeded in ini| 
ing him within a back shed at 
to a cottage where a maiden la 
sided alone. When theylireda 
and similar foolish exploits, U 
merous to mention, they entei 
tent. Unforlunalely, their mn 
ous propensities entered with. 
Frank soon began to amuse h 
by tweak'mg the whiskers of a [ 
old monkey, which forthwith i 
to the top of his head, and, li 
on by his hair, planted its te 
firmly in liis ear that the ycnm 
tieman was fain to cry out i 
keeper. At the same moment 
nis had placed a piece of tobai 
the extremity of ihc elephant's 




The Young Vermonters. 



27^ 



and not dodging instantly, as he in- 
tended, was seized by the enraged 
animal and tossed to the top of the 
tent, coming down upon the bald 
head of an elderly gentleman, who, 
catching him with one hand, shook 
him until his teeth chattered, at the 
same time administering telling blows 
widi the disengaged hand upon the 
sorely bruised urchin within his grasp. 
While this was going on in one 
part of the tent, another of the en- 
terprising company had ventured to 
cross the forbidden inclosure before 
the lion's cage, and was glad to es- 
cape from the claws of the animal 
with a coat badly torn, and scratches 
upon his face which he carried for 
many a day. 

After a series of similar mishaps, 
Ae party took the down-train for 
home, each bearing unmistakable 
marks oixhtfun, and protesting they 
never before had such a " tip-top 
time," though Frank's misgivings 
found utterance in a low voice to 
Mike, 

" My father's awfully severe, and I 

don't know what the old trump will 

say to all this when he hears of it ; 

but it can't be helped now !" ' 

He was not the only one of the 

company who was haunted by secret 

fears as to how the proofs of the af- 

^y, which each one carried on his 

Person, would be regarded by their 

^onae circles. 

CHAPTER IV. 
THE CONSEQUENCES. 

^ery quietly did the party of young 

pleasure-seekers retire to their beds,* 

^fter they arrived at their homes that 

evening, fatigued and exhausted with 

"^e excitement of the past few hours. 

Nor were they in any haste to make 

^*>^naselves visible on the following 

'Qoming. 



Mrs. Sullivan called Dennis early 
to bring some water and assist her, 
that they might go to church in good 
season; but her calls were unheeded. 
So she sought his room, exclaiming, 
" Why, what ails you, Dinnie, my boy, 
that you cannot awaken for my call- 
ing?" 

The mother's eye was quick to de- 
tect that something was wrong the 
moment it rested on the countenance 
of her hopeful son, and she added, 

" For goodness* sake, Dinnie, dar- 
ling, Avhat has happened you, any 
how ?" 

Dennis made an awkward and blunr 
dering apology which entirely failed 
to satisfy his mother, who soon drew 
the whole story from him. 

" It's all along of that dirty Frank 
Blair !" said she. " I wish to goodness 
he was across the sea, with his rogue's 
tricks and monkey pranks! It's no 
use trying to rear Catholic children 
to respect their religion, and attend 
to their duties, among these Yan- 
kees I They'd entice the very priest 
at the altar! A pretty shindy you've 
cut up now ! But get up, and let us 
see how you are entirely." 

Poor Dennis attempted to obey; 
but his head ached so cruelly, he was 
so lame and bruised and sore, that 
he became faint the moment he tried 
to sit up; and one of his eyes was 
swollen to such a degree that he could 
not open it. 

" Bad luck to the mischief of these 
boys I" said his mother. " I see he'll 
never be able to go with me to church 
this day ; so he may as well keep to 
his bed." 

Glad enough was Dennis to creep 
back to his nest. 

Mike Hennessy and Johnny Hart 
were not in so bad a plight, but they 
were unable to go to church. 

As the boys were lying through the 
long hours oppressed with the languor 
that follows such wild excitement, and 



373 



The Ymng VermtHttgrs. 



I 



with aching bones, their reflections 
upon the frolic and its consequences 
were by no means consoling. Nor 
did the comparisons tliey drew be- 
tween the lawful sports of the play- 
ground and the reckless turljulence 
of "tip-top times" fail to decide the 
question in favor of the more quiet 
enjoyments. 

AVas it a pale phantom that sat 
by the bedside of each during those 
hours — while the joyful bells of the 
great feast were sending forth their 
jubilant peals— and searching his very 
soul with reproachful eyes pointed an 
uplifted finger from the painful reali- 
ties of the now to the calm lision of 
what might Aave been, had he follow- 
ed the voice of conscience and the 
requirements of duty, until he shrunk 
affrighted from the picture? Ah! no, 
my boys ; it was no phantom ; it was 
the only reality in the sight of which 
these mortal frames of ours subside 
to dust, and in comparison with the 
permanence of which they become— 
with all their importunate sensibilities, 
their worldly ambitions, their earthly 
cravings, and their fleeting pleasures 
— but the "baseless fabrics of a dream I" 
It was the tender, vigilant, and ever- 
present friend of the sinner; his best 
friend, his other self — his conscience I 
destined to be the crowning joy of 
his home in heaven, or to be exchang- 
ed at the portals of death for remoise, 
the gnawing " worm that never dies," 
in the regions of " eternal despair"! 
Woe to thai boy who sins, and who 
fails to receive, in his first solitary 
hours, a visit from the reproving mo- 
nitor, or to profit by its awakening 
and warning voice I 

The next morning they were so 
much belter that they could go to 
school, and meeting George Wingate 
in the yard, he exclaimed, "Why, 
boj-s, where were you yesterday, that 
you did not come to church? Hairy 
and I looked for you through the 



whole crowd, to invite you to g 
us to the farm. Pat Casey wci 
we had the best kind of a tin; 
were so sorry you were nol 

They replied that they we 
well, and had to stay at 
George noticed tlieir embarraa 
and that tlie iace of Dennis be 
bruises about the eye, while 
forehead and Johnny's nose dis{ 
traces of a similar nature, a 
conjectured the cause of their ai 
from church. 

After school, as he and Heot 
walking home, Henry remariu 
suspect, George, that wfaerevi 
boys went that aflemoon, they 
rouaing fight, for ever so many o 
show the marks of it. I heard 
telling that there was a grd 
among the boysat the show in ] 
that night ; and I shouldn't vroi 
our fellows were among them." 

" We need not trouble oui 
about it," George replied; " 
thought at the time it was very 
we might be thankful we were 
another way, and had nothing 
with their frolic I've notice< 
when boys go off by themsd 
pursuit of fun, they seldom col 
the better for it; and as for 
ment, there is just none at \ 
wouldn't give one hour of sud 
sure as we found in the woods I 
wildest frolic they can get upi" 

" Nor I either," said Henry j 
determined I won't have any { 
their scrapes hereafter. If do 
trouble followed, the shame of 
to confession after a wDd i 
enough to destroy all the pleas 

"Yes," George rejoined; "■ 
don't see how our boys who in 
go regularly to their confiesuq 
join heartily in these m&d | 
As for those who have no such 
tion, why, the less we have (ad 
them the better." 



e have ^t 



The Young Vermonters. 



373 



CRAPTEk V. 



AN OUTSIDE GUMPSE. 



As Frank Blair had expected, his 
faiher was very much offended at 
the share he had taken in the per- 
formances at H , and the assault 

upon the boys, of which he was in- 
Ibnned the next morning by a man 

from H , who told him all about 

tlie fright, and the tricks that had 

"been played at that place : also, that 

the maiden lady, Miss Merton, whose 

bedroom happened to be in a part of 

the house adjoining the shed where 

tbe donkey was imprisoned, had 

been frightened almost to death by 

the braying of the animal in the 

nighL Under the firm impres- 

sm that the lion had escaped and 

was attacking her house, she rushed 

out in her night-dress, and, espying a 

light in a small shop near by, broke 

in upon three little French shoema- 

Icers, who were sitting up to finish 

some job-work that must be ready 

for morning. Now, one of these had 

been whiling away the time by stories 

of a ghost in a Canadian village, that 

h^ visited several families, and could 

assume the guise of different persons, 

living and dead. He was just recit- 

^Qg one of the most harrowing of 

ftese incidents when the sudden ap- 

P^tion of the lady in a long white 

^ess, with a face of ghastly pallor, 

^d eyes distended with affright, burst 

^pon their astounded vision I Not 

^r a moment doubting its unearthly 

^^ture, one of them jumped through 

^^ open window, another sprung up 

^ ladder and out upon the roof, while 

^lie third took refuge under a dry- 

%oods box in the cellar. 

The unfortunate lady, thinking that 
^e lion was in close pursuit, and that 
^ glimpse of it through the open door 
Ixad caused the sudden stampede of 
^be shoemakers, dared not turn back ; 



but betook herself to screaming at the 
top of her voice, in which she was 
joined by the affirighted sons of Cris- 
pin in so vigorous a chorus that the 
whole village was soon aroused. 

When the cause of all the distur- 
bance was revealed, and the harmless 
animal released from captivity, it was 
almost impossible to persuade the 
lady that her life was not in danger ; 
and there was such serious question 

of sending to M and arresting 

the juvenile offenders, that Mr. Blair 
was advised to go immediately to 
H— ^ and settle the matter. 

As for the shoemakers, we may be 
permitted to add — somewhat in ad- 
vance of our story — the fact that their 
terrified imaginations had so far mis- 
led their reason that they could never 
again be persuaded to work in the 
shop after night-fall, or be led to be- 
lieve fully in the identity of Miss Mer- 
ton with their ghastly midnight visi- 
tant. 

The man who communicated these 
details gave Mr. Blair the names of 
all the boys of the party whom he 
knew, among them those of Michael, 
Dennis, and Johnny. 

" Those pestilent Irish boys !" Mr. 
Blair exclaimed indignantiy. " They 
are always drawing our Yankee boys 
into fights and mischief! Some mear 
sures ought to be taken to make ex- 
amples of them, and prevent these 
outbreaks." • 

He intimated the same to Frank 
that day while lecturing him severely 
for " following such ringleaders " into 
disgraceful riots. Frank had too much 
honor to permit his father to remain 
in this error, and protested stoutly 
that it was himself who persuaded 
them into it; but it was evident 
enough that he failed to convince his 
father of that fact. Mr. Blair was 
not an ill-natured man, and did not 
intend to be unjust ; but he unfortu- 
nately indulged the prejudices against 



374 

foreigners into which too many Ame- 
ricans fall without pausing to examine 
whether they are just. They lake a 
few bad specimens upon which to 
found a sweeping sentence against 
the whole class, not reflecting that the 
vices of the wicked serve to render 
them conspicuous, while the modest 
virtues of the good only withdraw 
ihem from public notice. 

After he had given Frank a very 
stem admonition, Mr. Blair proceed- 
ed to inform him that a certain fowl- 
ing-piece which had long been the 
object of his most ardent desire, and 
of which he had hoped to gain pos- 
session before the Fourth of July, 
would not now be purchased for him, 
on account of his misconduct ; and 
that immediate steps would be taken 
to secure a place for him in the naval 
school at A , in the fall. 

These were severe blows to Frank, 
The disappointment of his cherished 
hopes in connection with the much- 
coveted fowJing-piece, and his dread 
of the naval school, where he knew 
the discipline was so strict as to pre- 
vent the possibility of mischief, com- 
bined to make him take a very de- 
sponding view of hfe in general, and 
of what he regarded as the bondage 
to " old fogyism," in particular. He 
resolved, however, to behave in so 
exemplary a manner from that time 
as to induce his father to relent, if 
possible ; for he knew present remon- 
strance or pleading would be in vain. 

He became so very quiet and re- 
gular in his deportment that he soon 
won " golden opinions " on all hands, 
mtich to the delight of his aunt, with 
whom he was a special pet, and who 
hoped her brother might yet allow 
him to remain at home. 

It was an unusually warm summer, 
and a Mrs. Plimpton, a friend of the 
Blaits from the city where they had 
formerly resided, came to pass the 
warm season with them, bringing her 



The Yotmg Vermtmtm. 



family — a son about fl 
and two daughters yoiitq_ 

Soon after she came, Mre. 
and Mrs. Howe called to see 
brought George and Henr] 
upon the young strangers aO' 

When they left, Mrs. Plim 
marked, "What very ag^rea 
pie! And those young lads— 
ble, modest, and genllemanl 
not wonder that Frank's xaoi 
so genial and quiet, since he 
associates." 

" Frank does not associa 
with them; and though Mrs. 
and Mre, Howe are very a| 
as you say, yet we have but 
tercourse with them," Mrs. 
plied, diyly and frigidly. 

" And why not, let me 
know ?" inquired Mre. Plimp 
evident surprise. " In SO 
place I should thtnk you woi 
to cuhivatc sociability with a 
of intelligence and refinemen 

" We would be glad lo, i 
would be a valuable acquii 
any society, if they were not 
i&ts. But when enlightened 
cans, who should and do kno 
see fit to plunge themselves : 
abyss of superstition and < 
absurdities, they ought to be 
by all sensible people." 

" And is that all ?" said Mr 
ton, laughing. " Why, my dc: 
I had hoped better things of 
supposed by your solemn tnai 
there was some serious mor 
quencyon their part, Rea)l; 
he permitted to dissent entii 
your theory and practice in I 
ter. I am sure you cannot 1 
of all that is going on io o 
Many of my dearest fnends 
Ihotics ; some Americans ai 
foreigners ; and the dear Sistci 
don't look so shocked ! I er 
you — are my special favorites, 
counsellors. I have q 



et^limd 



The Young Vemioniers. 



37$ 



into my entire confidence on some 
most important afTairs. * Romanists/ 
indeed 1 Why, if we were to proscribe 
all the Catholics, we should lose a 
difuming portion of our society. We 
'liberal Christians' do not feel dis- 
posed to carry religious prejudices 
into the social circle, or to avoid 
pleasant people on account of their 
preferences or peculiarities in this re- 
spect I shall only seek the acquain- 
tance of these ladies the more earnest- 
ly for this reason. Do you know 
hov their change of faith was brought 
about?" 

"I never troubled myself to ask," 
^Irs. Blair said languidly. 

*' I can tell you !" said Miss Blair. 
** I heard the whole story from one 
of their particular friends, who has 
followed their example. It seems Mr. 
^Vmgate, who is a gentleman of wealth 
and leisure, had amused himself by 
devoting much time and attention to 
studying the principles of architecture 
^-^pecially the ecclesiastical branch, 
for which he had a great taste. 
When it was proposed to build a Ca- 
tholic church in the place, he begged 
permission to furnish a plan, which 
Was accorded. This was so entirely 
satisfactory— combining exquisite ar- 
tistic proportions with the close at- 
tention to economy in all the details, 
which is indispensable where the re- 
sources are limited — that he was urg- 
^ to superintend the progress of the 
t>uilding, which he consented to do. 
Soon after operations were commenc- 
^ci,one Patrick Hennessy, an excellent 
^>aechanic, came to the place, having 
X'ecentiy emigrated from Ireland, and 
"^as employed to aid in the wort 
Mr. Wingate had frequent conversa- 
tions—controversies, if you will — with 
Wm on religious subjects, and was 
surprised to find, not only that Hen- 
nessy was perfectly acquainted with 
^ the points at issue between Catho- 
^ and Protestants, but that his own 



preconceived opinions in relation to 
these questions were many of them 
false. He borrowed and read Hen- 
nessy's books, and the result you 
know. His wife, a highly cultivated 
and thoughtful woman, went with him 
heart and hand, llieir children were 
then quite young. 

" Mrs. Howe was a very different 
person from her sister, Mrs. Wingate. 
She was a fashionable lady, and, 
though not as wealthy as her sister, 
aspired to lead the ton in our little 
village. She assumed many airs, es- 
tablished intimacies and exchanged 
visits with stylish city ladies, which 
were more gratifying to her vanity 
than creditable to her good sense. 
When Mrs. Wingate became a Catho- 
lic, she entirely discontinued all inter- 
course with her, and uttered many 
sharp remarks upon the subject. She 
had never been as much beloved as 
her sister, and her course had i)rovok- 
ed many envious and ill-natured com- 
ments, to which was now added the 
remark that she had not so much 
religion herself that she need be dis- 
turbed by the religious preferences of 
others. To tell the story in few words, 
she was finally taken suddenly very ill. 
The first person she called for was her 
discarded sister, who came and watch- 
ed over her early and late with devot- 
ed tenderness — never leaving her bed- 
side. When the physician pronounc- 
ed her case all but utterly hopeless, 
she begged that the priest might be 
sent for ; this had been the object of 
her sister's most fervent and constant 
prayers, but she had not dared even 
to mention it Mr. Howe, after great 
hesitation, at length yielded to the 
wish of his idolized and dying wife. 
The priest came, baptized and receiv- 
ed her into the Catholic Church. She 
lingered a long time, as it were, be- 
tween life and death; but a strong 
natural constitution prevailed, and she 
recovered. After her recovery, the 



376 



A May Carol. 



change in her character was so mark- 
ed and entire as to be apparent to all, 
and she came to be regarded as even 
more lovely than her sister. Mr. 
Howe soon followed her example, 
and their circle has since been increas- 
ed by the addition of converts from 
time to time. I entirely agree with 
you as to the folly of abstaining from 
intercourse with them, and have be- 
come quite familiar with that coterie 
— a delightful one it is, too T* 

" And is that all ?" Mrs. Blair pomt- 
cdly asked. 

"All for the present," Miss Blair 
replied, smiling. 

" How long will it be before you 



follow such interesting examples ? It 
strikes me, I have seen a lady reading 
books lately that I should not once 
have thought could claim a moment's 
attention from her; but wonders will 
never cease, I believe I" 

" I am not so tied to any set of 
opinions as to refuse to read the other 
side." 

"Well," said Mrs. Plimpton, "I 
have never thought it worth while to 
trouble myself much about these mat- 
ters; but I always read whatever I 
choose on any subject, and I think 
every one has a right to do so." 



TO BX CONTINUKD. 



A MAY CAROL. 

** He looked on her humility." 

Ah 1 humbler thrice that breast was made 
When Jesus watched his mother's eye, 
When God each God-bom wish obeyed I 

In her with seraph seraph strove, 

And each the other's purpose crossed : 
And now 'twas reverence, now 'twas love 

The peaceful strife that won or lost 

Now to that Infant she extends 
Those hands that mutely say, " Mine own f* 

Now shrinks abashed, or swerves and bends, 
As bends a willow backward blown. 

And ofttimes, like a rose leaf caught 

By eddying airs from fairyland, 
The kiss a sleeping brow that sought 

Descends upon the unsceptred hand I 

O tenderest awe ! whose sweet excess 

Had ended in a fond despair, 
Had not the all-pitying helplessness 

Constrained the boldness of her care ! 

O holiest strife ! the angelic hosts 

That watched it hid their dazzled eyes, 
And lingered from the heavenly coasts 

To bless that heavenlier paradise. Aubrey be Verb. 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



277 



CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM. 



NUMBER NINE. 



UNION BETWEEN THE INFINITE AND THE FINITE — CONTINUED. 



In the preceding article we unfold- 
ed the nature of the hypostatic mo- 
ment, the solution which the Catholic 
Church gives to the problem of the 
iiighest sublimation of the cosmos. 
In the present article we shall point 
)at the consequences which flow from 
hat moment, in order to put in bold- 
7 relief the nature of the exaltation 
^hich has thereby accrued to the 
osmos. 

For the sake of perspicuity, we shall 
fing those consequences under the 
Hewing heads : 

1. Consequences of the hypostatic 
^ment, viewed in reference to the 
temal action, as the effective typical 
d final cause of the cosmos. 

2. Consequences of the hypostatic 
anient, considered respectively to the 
rure, properties, and action of the 
»mos, as abridged in the human 
rure of the Theanthropos. 

3. Those which relate to the other 
iments and persons of the cosmos. 
\. Those which affect the Thean- 
x)pos himself, in relation to the 
ler moments and persons of the 
smos. 

With respect to the consequences 
the first class, it is evident that the 
icient typical and final cause of the 
temal works is absolutely and sim- 
i infinite. No real distinction can 
made between God*s essence and 
5 action, between his interior and 
terior action. Any distinction be- 
cen these things would imply po- 
itiality and imperfection, and would 
c>w us back into pantheism. 
^od*s essence therefore, his interior 



and external action, are, ontologically 
speaking, one and the same. Now, 
God is absolutely infinite ; the efifec- 
tive typical and final cause of the cos- 
mos is thereby absolutely infinite. In 
other words, the cause which calls the 
cosmos to being is endowed with in- 
finite energy ; the cause which serves 
as its exemplar and pattern, and which 
the cosmos must delineate and ex- 
press, is the infinite perfections of 
God; the cause which inclines God 
to effect it is the infinite and transcen- 
dental excellence of his being, as ca- 
pable of being communicated. Now, 
a cause infinite in every respect would 
naturally claim a term corresponding 
to the intensity of the action. It is 
upon this principle that pantheism 
has been framed. An infinite cause 
claims a term also infinite. Now, an 
effect infinite in its nature is a contra- 
diction in terms ; therefore the work 
is and can be nothing more but a 
phenomenon of the infinite. 

If pantheists had paid attention to 
the Catholic theory, that the action 
of God, because infinite, is distinct in 
two moments, the one immanent and 
interior, the other transient and ex- 
terior; that the same action in the 
first moment is absolute and neces- 
sary, and gives rise to the eternal 
originations which constitute infinite 
life; that the same action in the se- 
cond moment is absolutely free, and 
consequently master of the intensity 
of its energy, free to apply as much 
of that energy as it chooses; they 
would have seen that the above prin- 
ciple applies to the first but not to the 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



second moment, and that therefore 
their theory rests on a. false assump- 
tion. 

However, though pantheism rests 
on a false assumption, it cannot be 
denied that there is a certain fitness 
betwceaan infinite cause and an effect, 
as much as possible corresponding to 
the infinite energy of the cause ; and 
that consequently the external action 
of God, because infinite, is for that 
very reason inclined to effect the best 
possible cosmos, a cosmos almost in- 
finite in its perfection; an infinite 
energy has a tendency to effect an in- 
finite terra ; an infinite typical perfec- 
tion, to realize an infinite expression ; 
an infinite yearning of communication, 
to impart itself in a manner the most 
exhaustive possible^ 

This fitness of proportion between 
cause and effect is so evident as to 
baffle all doubt ; yet the necessary 
distinction implied by the very nature 
of cause and effect, a distinction of 
infinite superiority on the part of the 
one and infinite dependence and in- 
feriority on the part of the other, in 
the present case is that which gives 
rise to the problem which may be 
formulated as foUon-s : given the in- 
finite superiority of the cause of the 
cosmos, and admitting the essential 
inferiority of the effect, how to exalt 
the effect to a perfection almost ab- 
solute, and draw it as near the perfec- 
tion of the cause as possible, without 
destroying the absolute and necessary 
finiteness of the effect. 

The hypostatic moment is the sub- 
lime and transcendental answer which 
God has given to the problem. For 
in that mystery the cosmos, as abridg- 
ed and recapitulated in human na- 
ture, without ceasing to be what it is, 
without losing its essence and nature, 
is exalted to the highest possible per- 
fection, by a union of subsistence with 
the Infinite himself. Nay, the infinite 
subsistence and personality of the 



Word is the subsistence aodj 
of the human nature assurae< 
the human nature, though 
finite, is at the same time t 
of the person of the Word, a 
qucntly partaking of all ihi 
perfection, and excellence of 
In otiier terras, the cosmos, 
ed in the human nature of 
deified, not indeed by a chaj 
ontological being, but by th 
strictest, and closest comm 
and union with the Godhe 
next to the identity of natur 
conceive of no closer union 
munication than that which 
tween two distinct natures c 
and actualized by the same 
subsistence. Now, this id 
subsistence communicates t 
ferior nature all the worth ar 
of the superior; and conseqi 
human nature of Christ, and 
cosmos which it abridges, i 
were, deified in such a mat 
exchange the denomination 
butes, and we can call man 
God man.* 

Thus the tendency of ll 
cause of the external work 
satisfied. The infiBite ener 
efificicnt cause has for its tei 
ject perfectiy correspondin, 
intensity of its energy; sinct 
nates in an object absolutely 
the Word completing the twi 
the divine and the human ; 
dual who is very God as wc 

The typical cause b cvi 
satisfied, so to speak. It tei 
press itself exteriorly, as pcrf 
exists interioriy. By the \ 

* We could nM u)r lh« hunun tularc 
could we UT Ihe humln Diture b Cod. ( 
\ni\ we cmn only predtcaie the concrtle 
cottcrele. Hk moopbyiinl nuoo ie. t 
djilion or Ihia inlerclungc of rutmct uhd 



iWord- Ifmrnn 
lepirate, nd OHM 



Caiholiciiy and Pantheism. 



379 



t, the same identical type of 
mos, its intelligible and objec- 
5 enters to form part of the 
, the interior logos or schema is 

to its exterior expression in 
d of one subsistence, and is at 
le time type and expression, 
e and subjective life. Unlike 
irtists, who must necessarily 
:he impossibility of their im- 
; on the external work, be it 
Dr canvas, the interior concep- 
the mind, as fully and as per- 
» they conceive them interior- 
divine artist of the cosmos 
. means whereby to unite, to 
)gether type and expression, 
lligible and the subjective, the 
and the copy, in one identical 

so that in the person of the 
iropos, as you admire the art 
lisitely divine in the copy, 
dazzled by the effulgence of 
which dwells and shines forth 
; you wonder at the exactness 
•eated expression, you can see 
inal conception also, blended 

in one common subsistence. 
I also of the external work is 
lined. For in the hypostatic 

the infinite and transcenden- 
lence of God is communicat- 

manner beyond which you 
ot go; God in this moment 
himself so far as to make his 
)sistence common to human 
md thus making it share in 
ite dignity, attributes, and the 
ne of God. 

all allude to one consequence 
the second class ; those hav- 
ence to the sublimation of the 

and that is the life of the 

action and movement. Those 
hich act not exist but do not 
', therefore, the action of the 
!ias been elevated to the high- 
ible perfection by the hypo- 



static moment, it follows that its life 
also has been exalted. 

Now, though action originates in 
the nature, which is the first principle 
of action in a being, yet its ontologi- 
cal worth and dignity it receives firom 
the subsistence or person, because the 
nature would be an abstraction, a pos- 
sibility, without the subsistence. 

In the case, therefore, of an indi- 
vidual in whom the nature is inferior, 
and the subsistence, which actualizes 
and completes the nature, is superior, 
in the scale of being, the actions pri- 
marily originating from nature as their 
first root have all the ontological 
worth of the subsistence, and not of 
the nature. 

Consequently, all the human ac- 
tions of Christ, primarily originating 
in his human nature, partake of the 
ontological dignity and value of his 
person, and not of his human nature; 
just because his human nature is 
completed by and subsists in the per- 
sonality of the Word. 

Now, this personality is infinite; 
infinite, therefore, is the ontological 
worth of the human actions of Christ. 
And if we consider, as we have al- 
ready remarked, that human nature is 
a recapitulation of all the elements of 
the cosmos, since it shatres spirit, intel- 
ligence, and will with the angelic na- 
ture, sensible apprehension with ani- 
mal nature, life with the vegetable 
nature, and locomotion with inorga- 
nic nature, it follows that all the ac- 
tions of the cosmos are recapitulated 
in human nature, and that consequent- 
ly they are exalted to an infinite worth 
and dignity in the human nature of 
Christ, which is completed by his in- 
finite personality. 

The consequences of the third class 
will better explain and develop this 
exaltation of the life of the cosmos. 
The object of the external action con- 
sists in manifesting the infinite excel- 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



Icncc and perfections of God. This 
creation does in two different ways : 
ist, ontologically, the very nature of 
the cosmos being an expression, a 
likeness of the infinite. This func- 
tion is discharged indistinctly both by 
intelligent and unintelligent beings. 

ad. But this function, by which 
unintelligent creatures unconsciously 
manifest in their nature and properties 
the excellence of God, in intelligent 
creatures is necessarily a moral act, 
and gives rise to the virtue of reli- 
gion; because intelligent creatures 
cannot possibly fail to perceive the 
relation which binds them to their 
creator, and to feel the duty of ac- 
knowledging it. 

Hence, religion is an absolute duly 
for intelligent beings; so necessary 
and absolute that the opposite asser- 
tion would be a contradiction in 
terras. 

To say a creature, is to affirm a 
being created by God with the ex- 
press purpose of manifesting his per- 
fections; to say intelligent, is to affirm 
a creature able to perceive this rela- 
tion, and able to fulfil the purpose 
which it perceives was intended by 
the creator. To absolve, therefore, 
intelligent creatures from the duty of 
religion, is to affirm and deny in the 
same breath that they are intelligent 
creatures. 

Hence, they must necessarily per- 
ceive and will the relation in which 
they stand to their creator, and con- 
sequently be religious by force of their 
very nature and esistencc. 

The whole cosmos must pay to 
God, its creator, the homage of reli- 
gion; unmteliigent creatures by un- 
consciously portraying his perfections; 
intelligent creatures, by acknowledg- 
ing the same with their intelligence 
and will. 

Now, this first function of the cos- 
mos, this primary act of its life, is 
elevated to the highest possible per- 



fection through the hyposl 
ment. For through this mo 
external religion of the cosm 
vated to the dignity and gra 
tlie internal religion. 

Philosophers and theoloj 
not treat of the existence of 
nal and objective religion, as 
they do of that religion w 
presses the relations between 
ator and his creatures, and i 
styled external and temporal 
But everything temporal ist 
terpart of something etcma 
subjective existence has an in 
objective existence in etemit; 
without which its suljective i 
were inconceivable. 

Keliglon, then, must have 
in God ; in his infinite esser 
be found those eternal Ian 
render temporal religion posf 

What is there in the esseni 
infinite which constitutes relif 
establishes its laws ? 

The eternal religion is ih 
God, its laws the laws of th* 
of his life- 
God is a living, peraona 
He is unborn, unbegottcn, ir 
activity ; first termination of I 
head. By one eternal, ir 
glance of his intelligence he i 
so to speak, and scrutinizes t) 
most depths of his essence, i 
comprehends himself, that 
ceives and utters himself inte 

This infinite, most perfe< 
ance and inlclligible exprei 
himself is a second terminatit 
Godhead; the Word, who 
and manifests the Godhead 
bly ; as the first person is tl 
tion of the Godhead under tt 
nation of intelligent, primal 
pendent activity and principl 

This duality of terming 
brought into harmony by a tl 
son, the result of the action 
For between the intelltgcDt p 



■ 



Catholicity aitd Pantheism. 



381 



imself intelligibly, and the 
the term of that intellectual 
1, there passes necessarily 
; attraction, a blissful sym- 
unutterable complacency, 
ther beholds as in a bright, 
.m of infinite light the un- 

beauty and loveliness of 
perfections, and utters them 

and delights in that utter- 
e Son beholds himself as 
perfect, the consubstantial 
tion of the sublime excel- 
le Father, and takes com- 
1 him as the principle of his 

9 

mmon complacency, sym- 
raction, love, bliss, is the 
nation of the Godhead, the 
t, the breath of the love of 
srsonal subsisting attraction 
ler and of the Son, the per- 
loses the cycle of God's in- 

the eternal, immanent, ob- 
gion. For what is religion 
lest metaphysical accepta- 
is the intelligible and loving 
gment of the infinite na- 
tributes of God. Now, the 
le infinite, substantial, and 
acknowledgment of the Fa- 
Holy Ghost is the infinite, 
, loving acknowledgment 
Therefore, the eternal mys- 
life of the infinite, the Tri- 
) the eternal objective reli- 
lich God acknowledges, ap- 
nd honors himself 
be objected to the sound- 
5 doctrine, that one of the 
^hich is the principal and 
al in religion, the relation 
mce, is wanting in the life 
lite, and that consequently 
.nnot be taken as the eter- 
' religion. 

etaphysical idea of religion, 
e is necessary as the funda- 
dion upon which all otliers 



rest Because religion is essentially 
an acknowledgment of one person 
firom another. Therefore, the person 
who acknowledges himself as indebt- 
ed to another for something must, by 
that very fact, be dependent upon 
him. The intelligible acknowledg- 
ment means that one intelligent being 
perceives with his mind that he stands 
indebted to another for something, 
and consequently depends upon him 
for that thing. The practical or lov- 
ing acknowledgment conveys the idea 
that the person who has perceived his 
standing indebted to another for some- 
thing, acts in such a manner as to ex- 
press by his action his sense of the 
dependence. Religion is therefore 
an intelligible and practical depen- 
dence of one person upon another. 

But this relation of dependence 
does not necessarily imply the idea 
of inferiority in the hierarchy of be- 
ing upon the part of the person 
who is dependent, and a like superi- 
ority on the part of the person who 
is acknowledged. A dependence of 
origin or procession, without includ- 
ing any inferiority on the part of him 
who is dependent, is fully and abso- 
lutely sufficient in the metaphysical 
idea of transcendental religion. 

The reason of this lies in the very 
nature of transcendental religion or 

acknowledgment. By this we seek 
the highest possible, the most perfect 
idea of acknowledgment, which neces- 
sarily implies an equality between 
the person who acknowledges and 
the person who is acknowledged. 
Otherwise, without the equality the 
acknowledgment would fall short of the 
perfection of the object acknowledged. 
Now, an inferiority of nature and at- 
tributes in the person who acknow- 
ledges would destroy the equality and 
imply an inferiority of acknowledg- 
ment, and consequently would not 
represent the idea of the highest, most 
perfect acknowledgment and religion. 



382 



CathoUeity and Patttkeirin. 



I 



Tlie Son, tlierefore, depending upon 
the Father as to liis origin, though ab- 
solutely equal to him in nature and 
attributes, and being the intelligible, in- 
finite expression of the perfections of 
the Father, is, by force of his vc:y per- 
sonality, the subsisting, living, speak- 
ing acknowledgment of the Father. 

The Holy Ghost, depending upon 
the Father and the Son as lo origin, 
though perfectly equal to them as to 
nature, and being the loving expres- 
sion of the infinite goodness of both, 
is, by force of his very personality, the 
living, practical recognition of the Fa- 
ther and of the Son. 

The eternal life of God, therefore, 
is the eternal typical religion. It is 
the only true religion in the transcen- 
dental meaning of the term. Be- 
cause the more perfect is (he recog- 
nition, the more adequate it is to the 
object, and the more it approaches 
to metaphysical tnitli, which lies in 
the equation of the type with its ex- 
pression. It is the only religion wor- 
thy of God. For religion, as we have 
said, is the intelligible and practical 
recognition of God. Now,cveryone 
can see that such recognition, to be 
worthy of God, must be absolutely 
perfect, TIic intelligible recognition 
must imply such an idea of God as 
to be absoiuie utterance of his nature 
and perfections ; the loving recognition 
. must love God in the most perfect 
and absolute sense of the word. Now, 
God being infinite, an infinite, intelli- 
gible recognition, an infinite, practical, 
loving acknowledgment only can be 
worthy of him. He alone can know 
and love himself as hedeserves. Now, 
to draw nearer to our subject, we in- 
quire, Is temporal religion worthy of 
God? And we observe, before an- 
swering the question, that by tempo- 
ral religion we do not mean that re- 
cognition of God which results fi'om 
the oniological essence of all the be- 
ings of the cosmos, but that volun- 



tary and reflex acfenowledgmei 
created spirits, whether men 
gels, are bound to pay to thci) 
SVe ask, therefore, is tiie ackn 
ment which created spirits pa) 
worthy of him, worthy of his 
and transcendental nature and 
tions ? Evidently not. Beca 
intelligence of the cherubim, I 
high and lofty, and soaring 
above the intelligence of info 
atcd spirits as the eagle's flig 
all the feathered tribes; the 
the seraphim, however intcns 
ever deep, however tender, h 
ardent, are merely and simpl; 
On the other hand, what is the 
gence and love of men coi 
with those of the heavenly spin 
are so near the supreme inld 
and love, when compared to 
yet so far from it, when CM 
with God i» 

Tlie religion, therefore, of i 
ated spirits is not proportioiial 
object ; it falls infinitely short of 
rits of God. Hence the cosmos,a 
created spirits form the best pa 
the exclusion of the Incarnate 
cannot properly discharge tl 
and paramount duty of the a 
the homage of acknowledgmc 
adoration to its creator. 

But let the AV'ord, the eten 
diator between God and the < 
let the intelligible and object 
the type of the cosmos, enter 
and the worth of the nature a 
acts of the cosmos shall be c 
elevated, changed, transformed 
can then pay to God a tribute 
cognition fully, perfectly, and 
lutely worthy of him. 

For the Theanthropos — th« 
Man, who is possessed of infii 
lelligence, and can compreheu 
as far as God is intelligible, 
possessed of infinite will, ac 
love God as far as God i 
blc, can recognize \, 



Caikolicity and Pantheism. 



383 



loretically and practically, 
:tly as he deserves, with 
equation. And the human 
' the Theanthropos, though 
nite in its essence and in its 
likewise render to God a 
Lilly and perfecdy worthy of 
"St, because the acts of the 
God, honoring the infinite 
heoretically and practical- 
infinite manner, are acts 
nging to human nature, are 
acts, so to speak; because 
acts of its own personality, 
m nature can say to God, I 
?e with the acts of ray own 
nd they are infinite. Se- 
ecause even the acts spring- 
diatelyfrom human nature, 
iquently in themselves finite, 
Df the union of these same 
the divine personality in 
jy subsist, acquire an infinite 
i dignity because of the per- 
om they subsist ; and human 
n say to God, I honor you 
)wn acts of worship and ac- 
rnent. In both cases, there- 
Lher we look at the acts of 
ithropos springing fi-ora his 
ture, or at those proceeding 
human nature, they are of 
due, by force of the unity of 
I person; and consequently 
Ithropos can recognize God 
aite manner, a manner abso- 
rthy of God. 

ismos, then, recapitulated in 
m nature of Christ, is ena- 
vorship God as he deserves ; 
oral religion of the cosmos 
d to the eternal; and the 
is worshipped in his cos- 
. the same perfect homage 
lition as he receives from 
n the bosom of his interior 
Word, as infinite recognition 
ither, is the eternal mediator 
m between the Father and 
f Ghost. The Word incar- 



nate is the mediator of religion be- 
tween God and his cosmos. 

All angels and men, and to a cer- 
tain degree all creatures, all persons, 
all individualities, from the highest 
pinnacle of creation down to the far- 
thest extremities thereof, united in a 
particular manner, which shall be here- 
after explained, with the Theanthro- 
pos, and partakers of his mind, of his 
will, of his affections, of his heart, of 
his life, can raise to God a canticle 
of acknowledgment fully worthy of 
him, perfectly equal to that which 
rose up silently in the bosom of the 
infinite, when, in the day of his eter- 
nity, he uttered his infinite word, and 
breathed his spirit and recognized him- 
self very God. 

Who will not admit a dogma which 
elevates the cosmos to such a height 
of dignity ? And what can panthe- 
ism offer in its stead ? It can destroy 
both temporal and eternal religion, 
by identifying both terms, the cos- 
mos and the infinite, and thus ren- 
dering a true acknowledgment of God 
impossible. But it can never impart 
that true exaltation, that high dignity 
to the cosmos, which the Catholic 
doctrine of the hypostatic moment 
affords. God acknowledges himself 
infinitely from all eternity, by uttering 
a perfect intellectual expression of 
himself, and by both aspiring a loving 
recognition of themselves. We crea- 
tures are enabled to acknowledge him 
as he acknowledges himself; the only 
recognition worthy of him. The 
Word, by becoming incarnate, enters 
into the choir of creation, and takes 
its leadership ; brings into it the har- 
monies of the bosom of God, and on 
a sudden the music and the songs of 
the cosmos rise up to the height of 
its leader, and mingle with the har- 
monies of eternal life. 

Before we pass to other consequen- 
ces of the incarnation, we shall point 
out a corollary, among all others, 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



which follows from the doctrine above 
stated, and which, though of the high- 
est importance, is lost sight of both 
by apologists and rationalists. 

This corollary U, that the Christian 
religion, as Christ founded it, is (osmo- 
logicai law, and can no more be lost 
sight of by the philosopher than by a 
Christian himself. 

For according to the actual plan 
of the cosmos, the plan which God 
selected, God was not satisfied with 
that finite, imperfect, natural acknow- 
ledgment which created spirits might 
render to him. But, as he was pleas- 
ed not to leave the cosmos in its na- 
tural conditions, but raised* it to ihc 
highest possible dignity by a union 
with the divine personality of the 
Word, so he was not satisfied that the 
acknowledgment which is due to him 
as the creator should be that nalu- 
raJ, imperfect, finite acknowledgment 
which created spirits could, with their 
natural force, render to him, but will- 
ed that their acknowledgment should, 
by a union with the Theanthropos, be 
exalted to the dignity of the infinite 
acknowledgment which he renders to 
himself from all eternity. 

This is a law of the actual cosmos 
which God selected, and it is as much 
a lawj an integral part of its consti- 
tuents, as any natural law which we 
may discover. God selected such a 
cosmos that we might pay to him a 
recognition true and worthy of him. 

Now, Christianity, as Christ founded 
it, is the religion of all created persons 
in time and space, who, united to the 
Theanthropos by a particular mode 
of union, worship God with and 
through the Theanthropos; that is, 
worship God as he dcsen-es. Conse- 
quently Christianity is a law of the 
cosmos, an integral constituent of that 
cosmos which God selected, and 
hence true, elevating, and imperative. 

True, because it is a religion the 
acts of which are fully adequate to the 



object, since in it God is woni 
as perfectly as he deserves. 

True, because, religion imi4 
knowledge of God, in Chrii 
knowledge is imparted to the 
of its followers fully adequate 
object known, in its origin, in it 
of communication, and its c» 
its origin, being derived froi 
Theanthropos ; in its mode, bd 
parted by a peculiar operation 
Theanthropos; and in its a 
tending to gradual devetoprocn 
it has reached the fulness of 
ledge, which may be tmpaiio 
pure creature in palingcncsia. 

True, because, religion in 
operation and action, action 
parted in the same manner U 
ledge. 

Elevating, because it is evicl(| 
that aim of Christianity is to ill 
man persons from their natnral 
from their natural operation, E 
perior stale and operation throu 
Theanthropos. 

Imperative, because, God 
made Christianity a law of the c 
which he selected, it is not &i 
moral agent to accept or reject 
all must accept it as a law of ti 
mos which no one may contrai 

Hence rationalists, and infid( 
indifferentists, in rejecting Chril 
or in being indifferent to it, « 
law of the cosmos, a law wliia 
essential to the entirety of the d 
which God chose, as the law i 
vitation or locomotion ; and ' 
soning upon the cosmos, after 
ing Christianity, rationalists am 
ferentists should say, " I do not 
on the actual cosmos that Km 
selected ; 1 reason on a cosmoi 
own creation : I limit it, I cott 
I debase it, as it pleases my 
and yet, alter that, I insist on 
ing the name of philosopher." 

We pass to the other c 
The tendency of the e 






Catholicity and Pantheism. 



385 



/onn the cosmos, and especially creat- 
ed intelligences, into a universal so* 
<aet)r. We coiUd prove this by the 
consideration of the efficient, t3rpical, 
and final cause of the external act; 
iMit prefer to show it only firom the 
typical cause, or objective life of crea- 
tion. 

The objective life of the cosmos is 
the life of the infinite intelligibly ex- 
pressed in the Word. Now, God's 
life is essentially one, absolute, most 
perfect, universal society. One is the 
nature of the infinite terminated and 
concreted by three distinct subsisten- 
ces—the Beginning, the Word, the 
Spirit One and identical is their in- 
telligence and will; because intelli- 
gence and will, being an attribute of 
nature, as the three divine personali- 
ties partake of the same nature, they 
He at the same time endowed with the 
same identical intelligence and will. 

One and identical is likewise their 
life and bliss ; because the life and 
bliss of the infinite consists in knowing 
and loving himself, in which operation 
the three divine personalities share, in 
force of the identical absolute intelli- 
gence and will with which they are 
equally endowed They are finally 
one by their common and reciprocal 
indwelling in each other; because the 
beginning is Father, inasmuch as his 
eternal Son dwells in his bosom. The 
Son is such, inasmuch as he is related 
to the Father, and dwells in him. The 
Spirit is such, inasmuch as he is re- 
lated to bothy and dwells in both. 

The Trinity, therefore, is the type 
of one universal perfect society, be- 
cause the three divine persons are 
associated by the unity and identity 
of nature, of attributes, of life, of hap- 
piness, and by a common indwelling 
in each other. 

Now, the Trinity, as intelUgibly mir- 
rored in the Word, is the objective life 
of the cosmos, or its typical cause. On 
the other hand, we have shown that 

VOL. XI. — 2$ 



the plan which God has chosen in his 
works ad extra is that which draws 
the subjective cosmos as near in per- 
fection to its intelligible and objective 
life as possible. 

The cosmos, therefore, in force of 
its typical cause, is called to represent 
the one most perfect universal society 
of the three divine persons as perfect- 
ly as possible. 

This were impossible except by the 
admission of the existence of the 
Theanthropos into creation. For, once 
admitting the existence of the Thean- 
thropos, we see that the eternal so- 
ciety of the three divine persons, as 
mirrored intelligibly in the Word, the 
very typical cause of the cosmos, has 
come in contact with the cosmos it- 
self, by the closest, most intimate so- 
ciety — the same identical subsistence : 
the eternal and interior society is ex- 
temated, and the cosmos and the in- 
finite society of God form one single 
society in the identity of the person 
of the Word. Man and God are one 
single society in Christ Unite now 
all created spirits and persons to this 
extemation of the typical cause, by a 
principle of which we shall speak in 
the next article ; unite their nature to 
his nature, their intelligence to his in- 
telligence, their will to his will, their 
life to his life, their bliss to his bliss ; 
and we shall have one universal so- 
ciety, partaking of the nature, the in- 
telligence, the will, the life, the bliss, 
of the Theanthropos; and thus not 
only united with each other, and 
meeting each other in one common 
medium and centre, but also present- 
ing a divine society whose bond of 
union is the intelligence, will, life, 
bliss, of the Theanthropos communi- 
cated to them all ; and through him 
and by him ushered into the eternal 
society of the Trinity. 

This is the idea expressed in the 
sublime prayer of our Lord, when he 
said, Father, keep them in thy name 



386 



Caiholuitf and PamiJUiswu 



thoa hast given me, that they 
mav be one as we also are. And not 
for them only do I pray, bat for them 
also who through their word shall be- 
lieve in me ; that they all may be one, 
as thou. Father, in me, and I in thee; 
that they also may be one in us, I 
in them, and thou in me, that they 
may be made perfect in one : that 
the love wherewith thou hast loved 
me may be in them, and I in them.* 

This consequence of the hypostatic 
moment affords the cosmological rea- 
son of the truth, the divinity, the im- 
perative necessity of the Catholic 
Church. 

For the Catholic Church is nothing 
dse but the society of all the persons 
of the cosmos elevated in Christ and 
through Christ to the eternal typical 
society of the Trinity, by a community 
of supernatural intelligence, will, life, 
bliss, imparted to them by the Thean- 
thropos, to whom they are united, tra- 
velling centuries and generations to 
add new members to this universal 
society of all ages, imtil the number 
of members being complete, it shall 
cease its temporal action, and rest in 
eternity. This is the only true view 
of the Catholic Church. Men ima- 
gine it to be an afterthought, a thing 
begun nineteen centuries ago. The 
Catholic Church is a cosmological 
law; and hence necessary^ universal^ 
imperative. God in acting outside 
himself might have chosen to effect 
only substantial creation ; but having 
once determined to effect the hypo- 
static moment, to cause the Thean- 
ihropos to form the exalting principle, 
the centre, the mediator of the cos- 
mos, he could not but carry out to 
their fullest expression those relations 
which result from that moment. Now, 
the Catholic Church is the necessary 
consc(iucnce of the hypostatic mo- 
ment. Tlic Word, the type of the 
.universe, is united to its expression in 

* St. John, ch. tTii., faw'm. 



the miity of his divine personalit:^ , 
and is thus placed at the very cent::.^ 
of the universe, as that in which ^ 
things are consolidated. It foUoM^ 
therefore, that all created persons 
must hover round about their centij. 
must be put in communication with 
him, united to him as their centre Bud 
mediator by a communion of intel/f. 
gence, of will, of lifi^ of bliss, and thus 
be associated with each other, and 
united with the eternal archetypical 
society — ^the Trinity. 

This gives as a result a society of 
all created persons imited by the bond 
of the same theanthropic intelligence, 
will, life, and bliss. 

Now, such is the Catholic Church. 
Therefore it is a cosmological law in 
the present plan of the exterior ac- 
tion of God ; and as a cosmological 
'law is univenaiy extending to all 
times and places, dwine in its origin 
and action, and imperative^ so the 
Catholic Church is essentially unixKr- 
sal in time and space; divine in its 
origin and action ; imperative^ enforc- 
ing its acceptance and adhesion on 
every intellect which can contemplate 
the plan of the exterior works of God. 

Hence Protestantism is not only a 
theological error, but a philosophical 
blunder. 

God effects the hypostatic moment, 
and makes the Theanthropos the cen- 
tre of the cosmos, and of the best 
part of the cosmos — men. He could 
not be their centre unless they were 
united to him by intelligence, will, 
and life. And they could not be 
united to him unless they were united 
to each other by a common thean- 
thropic intelligence, will, and life, 
etc.* And the question being of ia- 
camate spirits, this union of intdli- 
gence, will, and life could not be pos- 
sible, except it were visible and ex- 
ternal. 



• The idea cnraprelmidt odicr onmBtioM 
ii not peccmiy to wUbld 



Catholicity and Pantheism. 



387 



Hence, it is a necessary conse- 
qoence of the hypostatic moment 
tiiat men should be united in one 
imirersal, visible, and external society. 
Protestantism^ admitting the hyposta- 
tic moment, denies the consequence 
which so evidently flows from it, and 
denies by its fundamental principle a 
society of intelligence, and of will, 
and of hfe, and also the visibility, the 
extemation of such society, and takes 
refiige in an individual union between 
himself and Christ, and says, by the 
same principle, "I have a right to 
fenn an intelligence of my own, in 
no way connected with the intelli- 
gence of other created persons. I 
have a right to follow laws which I 
shall individually find out and pro- 
daim. I have a right to have a life 
eidusively my own, and no inter* 
change shall pass between me and 
others." 

Hence the absolute falsehood of 
IVotestantism, which ignores the ex- 
istence and qualities of this supreme 
cosmological law. 

The cosmological law is one. Pro- 
testantism is multiform. The cosmo- 
logical law is universal. Protestan- 
tism is individuoL The cosmological 
law is eommunicaHve and expansive. 
Protestantism is egotistical. 

What is more remarkable still is 
the astounding pretension of Protes- 
tantism to having enlightened and 
elevated mankind. Enlightened man- 
kind by ignoring the plan of the uni- 
verse in its beauty, in its harmony, 
in its whole ! Elevated mankind by 
proclaiming individualisfm and ego- 
tism in the face of the one great life- 
giving law of a common universal so- 
ciety I 

We would beg our Protestant rea- 
ders to ask themselves the following 
questions: 

Is it true that God made Christ, 
the Word incarnate, the centre of the 



cosmos, and hence the centre of all 
created persons ? 

Is it true that, in consequence of 
this, created persons should be united 
to him by partaking of his intelli- 
gence, will, and life ? 

Is it true that, in force cf this imion, 
all created persons become united 
to each other in force of the princi- 
ple that two things imited to a third 
are united to each other? 

Is it true that God has effected all 
this in order to elevate human soci- 
ety to the society of his eternal life ? 

Is it not true that the Catholic 
Church is nothing but that ? 

Then the Catholic Church is cos* 
mological law^ one^ divine^ universal, 
imperative. 

We pass to the fourth class of con- 
sequences, those which regard the 
Theanthropos in relation to all the 
moments and persons of the cosmos. 

I. The Theanthropos was intend- 
ed by God before and above all other 
works. 

Every one is aware that an intel- 
lectual agent, in effecting his works, 
follows a different order from that 
which he pursues in planning them ; 
in other words, the order of execu- 
tion which an intellectual agent fol- 
lows is in the inverse ratio of the or- 
der which he follows in idealizing 
them. In an architect's mind the 
end and use of a building is first in 
order, and he idealizes and shapes 
his building according to the object 
intended. In the execution of the 
work the order is inverted, the build- 
ing is effected first, the object and 
use are attained aflerward. 

The order followed in idealizing a 
work is called by schoolmen the or- 
der of intention; that which is pur- 
sued in executing the woric, tlie order 
of execution. When we say, therefore, 
that the hypostatic moment and the 
Theanthropos are the first of God's 



388 



Catholicity and Pantheism, 



external works, we mean, of course, 
in the order of intention ; we mean 
that they were intended by God first 
and before every other work when 
he resolved to act outside himself;* 
so that the incarnation was determined 
upon, not only independently of the 
sin of man, but would have taken 
place even if man had never fallen.1 

The metaphysical reason of this 
consequence is found in the relation 
which means bear to the end. It is 
absolutely necessary that an intellec- 
tual agent should intend primarily 
and chiefly that object which is best 
calculated to attain the end he has in 
view in his action ; which best fulfils 
his intention and is the most appro- 
priate and nearest mean. 

Now, the hypostatic moment, and 
consequently Christ, attains better 
than any other moment or individual 
the object of the external action of 
God, as we have shown. Therefore 
Christ was intended by God first and 
above every other work. 

This consequence is poetically de- 
scribed by the inspired author of the 
Proverbs, in those beautiful lines so 
well known : 

"The Lord possessed me from the begin- 
ning of his ways, before he made any thing 
from the beginning. 

" I inras set up from all eternity, and of 
old before the earth was made. 

"The depths were not as yet, and I was 
already conceived ; neither had the founda- 
tions of water as yet sprung out. 

'* The mountains with their huge bulk had 
not as yet been established; before the hills 
I was brought forth. 

** He had not made the earth, nor the ri- 
vers, nor the poles of the world. 

*• When he prepared the heavens, I was 
present; when with a certain law and com- 
pass he inclosed the depths," et&t 



* "Dico Deam primaria intentione, qua volait m 
crektnris oommunicare, vduisse mysterium Incama- 
tionis et Chmtum Domiaum ut esset caput et finit 
divinonun operum sub ipso Deo." (Suarei^ De /«• 
carmoH^met Dtsp. t. tcct iL) 

f Suarez, Ubicuia. 

% Prov. ch. viii. 



2. Consequence. The Theantfarc^ 
pos is the secondary end of God*^_ 
external works. 

- For, in a series of means 
to the end, that which is first 
chief is also end in respect to 
other means. Christ, therefore, 
the first and chief means to atl 
the end of the external act, is 
end in reference to the other mom< 
and consequently the secondary 
of the cosmos, "All things," 
St. Paul to the Corinthians, « 
yours; and you are Christ's, 
Christ is God's." 

3. Christ is the secondary type 
the cosmos. Ontologically 
the end determines and shapes the 
ture and perfections of the means, an^ 
bears to the means the relation o/" 
type and exemplar. Now, Christ isf 
the secondary end of the cosmos; 
he is, therefore, the secondary model 
and type of the exterior works; in 
other words, he is the best and su- 
premest expression of God's infinite 
excellence, the archetype of the cos- 
mos; therefore he is aJso the secon- 
dary type of the cosmos. 

4. Christ is the universal mediator 
between God and his works. 

As in the bosom of God the Word 
is the medium in the genesis of his 
eternal life, the link which connects 
the Father and the Spirit; so, outside 
of God, the incarnate Word is the 
mediator, the medium universal and 
absolute, between God and his works, 
the link connecting the infinite and 
the finite. 

For, in the first place, the very na- 
true of the hypostatic moment makes 
him such. He is the ff^^, that is, 
the very Godhead, with his infinite 
nature and perfections, mider the ter- 
mination of intelligibility. 

He is man, comprehending in his 
human nature all the various dements 
of substantial creation, Bodi iht 
Godhead and the hmnan nature sob- 



Cdt/iolicity cutd Pantheism. 



389 



of that one termination of intelli- 
^iDility. It is evident, therefore, that 
2 incarnate Word is essentially, by 
B very nature of the hypostatic 
kion, the medium between the infi- 
te and the finite. 
Moreover, every intellectual agent 
Unked to his work by the type of 
eiisting in thd intelligence, without 
Uch knowledge the agent could 

communicate with his work. 

ITie divine Artist of the cosmos, there- 
^c>ie, is in communication with it by 
'^^ eternal cosmic type residing in 
^ is essence — the Word. Now, Christ 
\s the Word incarnate, and, as such, 
^^ the type of the cosmos hypostati- 
^^y united to its expression, the in- 
telligible and objective life personally 
linked to the subjective. He is, there- 
foe, the medium between the objec- 
tive and subjective cosmos, and conse- 
quently between the cosmos and God. 
Hence Christ is essentially the me- 
diator of creation, both in the natural 
and supernatural moment; inasmuch 
as by him and through him all things 
were made in both orders. 

He is essentially the mediator of 
the continuation of existence in both 
orders; since the same action, by 
which all things were made, through 
him continues to hold them in exis- 
tence. 

He is essentially the mediator oft 
the action of creatures in both orders ; 
since the same action by which all 
things are made to exist, and to con- 
tinue in existence through him, incites 
them to action and aids them to de- 
velop their Acuities. He is essential- 
ly the mediator of Derfection and 
beatitude; because the same action, 
which incites and aids all existences, 
both in the natural and supernatural 
order, to develop their faculties, must 
also perfect them, and bring them to 
their final completion* And in the 
veiy act of beatitude, when the dawn 
<rfdie vision of God shall flash before 



the mind of created spirits, the The- 
anthropos shall be the mediator be- 
tween them and the superabundant 
and dazzling effiilgence of the infinite, 
by aiding and invigorating their intel- 
lect with the light of glory. 

" In him (Christ) were all things 
created in heaven and on earth, visi- 
ble and invisible. He is before all, 
and by him all things consist"* 

5. Christ is the supreme univer- 
sal objective science; the supreme 
universal objective dialectic 

In the ontological order intelligi- 
bility and reality are one and the 
same thing; every thing real being 

by the very fact intelligible, and vice 
versa. 

Now, Christ is the infinite and finite 
reality, hypostatically imited together. 
He is, therefore, the infinite finite in- 
telligibility, and consequently the uni- 
versal objective science. 

He is also the supreme universal 
objective dialectic; for he is essen- 
tially the type and the form of all 
reasoning. The form of all reasoning 
consists in the comparison of two 
terms with a third, with a view of de- 
ducing their agreement or disagree- 
ment Christ is at once the infinite 
universal term, and the finite and par- 
ticular term ; both terms agreeing to- 
gether in the oneness of his divine 
personality. He is, therefore, the type 
and form of all reasoning, and the 
objective dialectic. 

6. He is the light of all finite 
intelligences. Because, in the first 
place, he is the space of essences, so 
to speak; being the subsisting intelli- 
gibility of the Godhead. 

Secondly. Because in his individu- 
ality there is the ontological agree- 
ment of all the problems of the hu- 
man mind, and the solution of all the 
questions relative to die infinite and 
the finite, to time and eternity, to the 
absolute and the relative, to immuta- 

• St Piul Colot. ck V. 16b 



390 



Brittany: its People and its Poems. 



bility and movement^ to cause and 
effect, etc 

Thirdly. Because he is the incar- 
nate Word, creating, supporting, ele- 
vating and perfecting all created in- 
telligences, in force of his essential of- 
fice of universal mediator of the cos- 
mos. 

7. Christ is the supreme universal 
and objective morality. 

The moral perfection of the cos- 
mos consists in the voluntary realiza- 
tion of the final perfection to which 
it is destined by its archetype. 

Now, Christ is the archetype of the 
cosmos. Therefore, he is the supreme 
objective morality. He is also su- 
preme morality in the sense of his 
inciting and aiding the cosmos in the 
voluntary reproduction and realiza- 
tion of the type, in force of his office 
of mediator. Therefore, etc. 

8. Christ is the supreme objective 
realization of the beautiful. 

The beautiful lies in variety reduc- 
ed to imity by order and proportion. 
Christ is the infinite and finite, the 



two beings most distant, brought toge- 
ther into the unity of his divine per- 
sonality by order and proportion, as 
it is evident to every mind that has 
grasped the nature of the hypostatic 
moment 

He is, therefore, the supreme, uni- 
versal realization of the beautiful. 

9. Christ is the supreme and uni- 
versal king and ruler oi the universe. 

For he is the medium oi the crea- 
tion, preservation, and action of the 
cosmos; he is its secondary end and 
exemplar ; he is the tjrpe and light of 
intelligence, the law of morality and 
of the beautiful 

The cosmos, therefore, b subject 
and dependent upon him for so many 
reasons, and consequendy he is the 
supreme ruler of it 

10. He is the centre of all the 
other moments and persons of the 
cosmos ; all things gathering around 
him as their chief^ their exemplar, 
their mediator. 

** I am the Alpha and Omega, the 
Beginning and the End." ( Apoc L 8.) 



BRITTANY: ITS PEOPLE AND ITS POEMS. 



SECOND ARTICLE. 



More than a year has elapsed 
since we expressed a hope to present 
our readers with some further speci- 
mens of the ancient poetry of Brit- 
tany. We then gave, translated from 
their rendering into French by M. de 
Villemarqu^, a portion of bardic 
poems, for example, Tfie Prophecy of 
Gwemh^lan ; The Submersion of 
the City of Is ; The Changeling, and 
The March of Arthur. These, as 
well as the dialogue between a Druid 
and a child, (which is perhaps too 



long for insertion here,) The Plague 
of Elliant, and portions oiZordNann 
and the Fay^ retain much of their 
scientific and often alliterative form, 
a part of which is their arrangement 
in tercets, or strophes of three lines 
rhyming together. 

We now proceed to fulfil our pro- 
mise with regard to the ballad of 
Lord Nann^ which, however, it may 
be well to prefiu:e with some remarks 
upon that portion of Breton mytho- 
logy which it illustrates. 



Brittany: its People and its Poems. 



391 



The principal supernatural agents 
in the popular poetry of Brittany are 
the dwarfe and the fkiries. 

The common appellation of these 
elfish heings is Korrigan^ whether 
masculine or feminine, from korr, 
titde, (diminutive, korrik,) and gan 
or gwen, genius. 

The Goddess Koridgwen is said 
by the Welsh bards to have had nine 
attendant virgins, called the nine 
Koixigan. This also was the name 
of the nine priestesses of the Isle of 
Sein. 

The Breton fairies not only bear 
the same name as the Keltic goddesses 
2LDd consecrated virgins, but are ac- 
credited with the same powers of 
foretelling future events, of curing 
by magical charms diseases otherwise 
incurable, of transporting themselves 
from one end of the world to the 
other in a moment of time, and of 
taking whatever forms they please. 

Every year, at the return of spring, 
they hold, on the green turf near some 
fountain, a grand nocturnal feast. In 
the midst of the most delicate viands 
there sparkles a cup of crystal, of 
which the splendor is so great that 
there is no need of torches, and like 
the magic vase of the British Kerid- 
g^tn, containing a marvellous liquid, 
one single drop of which conveys the 
^^owledge of all sciences, and of all 
oents, past, present, and to come. 

The favorite haunts of the Korrigan 
^ always by springs of water, espe- 
cially those which are in lonely places 
in the neighborhood of Druidic re- 
mains called dolmens, and from which 
the Holy Virgin, who is said to be 
their especial enemy, has not yet 
chased them Their traditional as- 
pect is much the same as that of the 
other fairy races of European nations ; 
their delicate and aerial frames being 
about two feet in height, perfect in 
synmietry, and ciad in the very thin- 
nest of ethereal textures. But all 



their beauty is nocturnal only. By 
the light of day, which they hate above 
all things, they are hideous, red-eyed, 
wrinkled, and old; their whole ap> 
pearance betokening fallen intelli- 
gences. The Breton peasants assure 
us that they are great princesses who 
were struck by the curse of heaven 
for refusing to embrace the Chris- 
tian faith when the first missionaries 
preached it in Armorica. The pea- 
sants of Wales declare them to be the 
souls of Druidesses, condemned to do 
penance. 

Their breath is deadly. Should 
any wayfarer trouble the waters of 
their fountain, or, near their dolmen, 
come upon them suddenly, he is al- 
most sure to perish ; particularly if it 
be on a Saturday, the day consecrated 
to the Blessed Virgin, against whom 
they bear an especial hatred. They 
also have a great aversion to any 
token of religion, fleeing at the sound 
of a consecrated bell or at the sight 
of a soutane. 

Like certain of their European 
cousins, the Korrigan have a decided 
pefichant for stealing the infant off- 
spring of the human race, with the 
object of regenerating their own. 
Therefore does the peasant mother 
of Brittany place round the neck of 
her babe a scapular or a rosary, that 
he may be secured against every elfish 
device, under the protection of Our 
Blessed Lady. 

The changelings whom the Korrigan 
are accused of leaving in the place of 
the children whom they carry away 
are of the race of dwarfs, and also 
bear the name of korr, korrik, and 
korrigan ; as well as komandon, 
gwanzigan, or duz. This last name 
is that of the father of Merlin, and of 
an ancient divinity worshipped in 
that part of Britain which is now the 
county of York. 

These dwarfe, we are told, are lit- 
tle, black, and hairy monsters, with 



392 



Brittany : its People and its Poems. 



the claws of a cat, the hind legs of a 
goat, and a voice harsh and broken 
with age. They it was who, ages 
ago, raised the huge stones of the 
menhir and dolmen, and hid beneath 
them untold hoards of treasure. 
Around these, when the stars are out, 
they are fond of dancing, to the pri- 
mitive song which consists in an in- 
cessant repetition of the names of all 
the days of the week except Saturday 
and Sunday, of which they studiously 
avoid all mention. Wednesday, the 
day of Mercury, is always observed 
by them with especial festivities. It 
was they, say the peasants, who en- 
graved the mystic characters on the 
Keltic stones of the Morbihan, and 
especially those at Gawr-iniz, or the 
Isle of the Giant. He who, like Ta- 
licKin, could read them, would learn 
all ihe places of their hidden treasure, 
and t« him all the secrets of science 
would be revealed. 

The dwarfe are less dreaded by the 
country people than the fays, as be- 
ing rather comically mischievous than 
wholly malicious. The peasant who 
has taken the precaution to sprinkle 
iumself with holy-water passes fear- 
lessly by the lonely dolmen in the 
solitudes which they haunt 

We were taught in our early youth 
diat it is to her white cli£& that Al- 
bion owes her name ; but M. de Ville- 
marqu6 suggests that she is more pro- 
bably indebted for it to the god 
Mercury, the Keltic Hermes, who 
«was the chief divinity worshipped by 
die insular Britons, under the name 
oi Gwion. Their island was espe- 
•cially placed under his protection, and 
called for that reason the Isle of 
4jrwian^ or of Ahuian, The same 
learned author remarks upon the ap- 
parent identity of the Gwion of Bri- 
tain and the Gigon of the Tyiians 
and Phoenicians, the divinity being 
in each case revered as the god of 
conmxercei the inventor of letters, 



and the patron of all the 
represented in each case bj 
of a dwarf canying a purse. 

The dwarfs of Brittany | 
the attributes of Gwion, t 
piuse included, and are e^ 
part of the Keltic mytholo 
often difficult, and sometim 
sible, to determine the date 
of which they form the subj 
burden of the ballad of JL 
comes down from the cra( 
Indo-European nations, an 
merous localities, finds exp 
various forms. The one 
we here give a translation 
dates from the fifth or the s 
tury. 

The name Nann is the c 
of the Breton Reunan. 

LORD NANN AND THE 

Lord Nann and his bride, both p 
In youthful days, soon blighted. 
Were oariy disunited. 

Of tnow-white twins a pair. 
Yestreen the lady bare ; 
A son and daughter b\r. 

" What cheer shall I get for thee, 
Who t^rtat a son to me ? 
Say, sweet, what shall it be ? 

** From the forest green a roe. 
Or a woodcock from where, I tro^ 
The pond in the rale lies low ?** 

*' For renison am I £iin, 
But would not give thee pain 
For me the wood to gain/' 

But while the lady spoke. 
Lord Nann took his lance of oak 
And mounting his jet-black steed 
Rode forth to the wood with spec 

When he gained the greenwood s 
A white hind from the glade 
Fled, of hb lance afraid. 

Swift after the hind be flew ; 
The ground shook 'neath the twto 
So swiftly on they flew. 
And late the evening grew. 

The heat streamed from his hot, 
From the horse*s flanks apace. 
Till twilight closed the 



A Kttle stream was wellinji; 
*Mid softest moss vp-swelling; 
Hard by a haunted dwelling, 
The grot of a Korrigan. 
By the streamlet's brink 
He stooped to drink. 
For sore athirst wm Naan. 



Brittany: Us People and its Poems. 



393 



The Konifannt there, 

By the e4ge of her ibimtalii £ur, 

Coabbg her toldeii hair. 
Combiitg her hair with a golden comb, 
For an is of price in the Koirigaa^s home. 

" And fdio, ao laah, art tboa, 
^TVottUing my water's flow ? 
^TJoa ihalt marry me now," the Kerrigan said, 
Or fcr aeven long years shalt wither and fiide, 
^in three days hence in the grave be laid !** 

" Tfe been married a year/' qaoth he ; 
** So think not I marry thee. 
'*« throogh scTeii long years shall I wither and 

^w three days hence in the grare be laid. 
^ in three days I shall not be : 
y*ji;** when it pleases God. not thee. 

W die this moment would Seignear Nann, 
'tfraUier than marry a iCorrigan." 

P^ mother mine, I am sorely side ; 

^ ^"T bed be made, if yoa love me, quic!c 

*** yot a word to my wife be told: 

' *tii under the ban 

^^aKorrigan; 
***« days, and youTl lay me in the mould.*' 

^^'^'^ec days* time the young wife said, 
**><nher, ten me why the bells are ringing, 
^'^y. so low, the black-stoled priests are sing- 
i»g?'* 
"^^^^ nun, whom we lodged last night, is dead.*' 

^^y mother, say to me, 
**y Lord Nann, where is he ?" 

^jjty daugliter, to the town he's gone ; 
-^o see thee he^ll come anon.** 

-^nd ten me, mother dear, 
^fty red robe shaU I wev, 
^*Vall I ray robe of blue put on, 

I must to the church be gone ?** 



^Yiild, the mode is come to appear 
^-^urch in naught but sable gear.'* 

^^ the church-yard steps she went, 
^ new-made grave her eyes were benL 

<^ of our kin is lately dead, 

^t I see in our ground a grave new-made ?" 

L% I my duld, in that grave hard by, 

^t new-made grave which thou dost espy— 

^nnot hide it-^y lord doth lie I'* 



her knees she sank down then, 
^ ever rose she up again. 
ixbin the self-same tomb, at close of day,? 
he gentle lady and her husband lay. 

diold a marvel f When the morning shone 
»o spreading oaks from out that grave had grown, 
nd 'mid their branches, closely intertwining, 
«o happy doves of dating whiteness shinii^ 
veetly they cooed at breaking of the day, 
boa forth together swiftly sped their way. 
1th i^adaoroe notes they circling upward flew, 
Cjgrthcr vanishing in heaven's deep blue. 

Ihe foregoing ballad is reproduced 
der no fewer than fifteen different 
nations in Sweden and Denmark, 



where it is entitled, Sir^ Olaf and the 
Dance of the Elves. In its Servian 
form of Prince Marko and tlie Wila^ 
the latter, instead of taking the life 
of the hero, exacts both his eyes and 
the four feet of his horse. 

Numerous as are the traditions re- 
lating to the dwarfs, the son^ of which 
they are the subject are very rare. 
The one we are about to give is ap- 
parently intended as a satire upon 
the tailors, that ill-xised class which 
in all warHke nations has been con- 
demned to ridicule. In £asse-Bre- 
tagne, no one pronounces their name 
without raising the hat, and adding, 
** Saving your presence." 

It will be remarked that the name 
of Duz (diminutive, duzik) is, among 
others, given to the dwarfe, which, 
M. de Villemarqu^ observes, was that 
borne by the genii of Gaul in the 
days of St. Augustine, who speaks 
of them as " Daemones quos Dmcios 
Galli nuncupant." ♦ 

It is said that a traveller being 
upon one occasion drawn into their 
circling dance, and finding the re- 
fi-ain of " dilun^ dimeurs, dimerc'her^^ 
etc., somewhat monotonous, ventured 
to add the words Saturday and Sun- 
day, when the sudden explosion of 
outcries, threatenings, and rage among 
the assembly was so great that the 
rash adventurer was half-dead with 
fear. We are told that if only he 
had added, "And so the week is 
done," the long penitence to which 
the dwarfs are condemned would have 
ended. 

AR CHORRED. 

(tms dwakvs.) 

Paskon 1e Long, the tailor brave, tuned thief on 

Friday night. 
No nx>re cnlotUt had he to make, nnce aU men 

went to fight- 
To fight ogamst the Prankish Idag^ and for their 

own king^s right 

•X?# CiviL Dti, Uh. ST. cniiL 



394 



Brittany: its PeopU and its Poans. 



He took a spade ; he tallied forth, and to the grotto 

went. 
The grotto of the dwariii : to find their treaaore his 

intent; 
And digging deep for ludden hoards, beneath the 

dolmen bent. 

Ha I here^s the treasore. He has foand it I Home 

in haste he hies. 
To bed he goes. " Quick I shut the door, and shut 

itfiwt,** he cries, 
** Against the little Dum ct night:** and trembles aa 

hehes. 

* Bh I Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 
Friday." . . . 

Ah poor soul 1 
Theydimb and swarm upon his roo( and there 

they make a hole. 
My hapless firiend, they have thee 1 haste 1 throw 
out the treasure, whole 1 

Poor Paskoo I Holy-water take, and well beqprin* 

. And cast the sheet about thy head ; still as a dead 

man be. 
Nor stir in any wise. " Ah I how I hear them 

laugh at me. 
And cry, * If Paskoa can escape, a canning man is 

hel' 

** O heavens 1 here is one ; and see, his head the hole 
ia hiding; 
His eyes like embers glow, as down the bed*post 

he comes sliding ; 
And after him, one, two, three, four ; ah I multi- 
tudes, are gliding. 

" They bound, they dance, they race, they tumble 

wildly o'er the floor." . . . 
** Eh, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, 

Friday. . . . 

"Two, three, four. 
" Eh, little tailor, dear I — five, six, seven, eight, and 

something more. 

" Dear little tailor, surely thou art strangled with the 

dothesi 
Dear little tailor, only show a bit of thy dear nose ! 
Come: let us teach thee how to dance — dance, 

dance, for late it grows. 

"Come: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... little 

tailor, thou'rt a knave I 
Come, rob the dwarft again, and see what treasure 

thmi shalt have. 
Dance, wicked little tailor, dance ; and dance into 

thy grave V 

The money of the dwarfi is worth nothing. 

7^e Ftague of Elliant commemo- 
rates a frightful pestilence which, in 
the sixth cenlury, desolated not only 
Armorica, but the whole of Europe. 
Those who were attacked by it lost 
their hair, their teeth, and their sight ; 
became yellow and languid, and speed- 
ily died. The parish of Elliant, in Cor- 
nouaille, was one of several from which 
the whole population perished. The 
neighboring country, especially that 



around Tourc'h, was preserved from 
the scourge by the prayers of a her- 
mit named Rasian. 

We are told by M. de Vniemarqutf 
that the ballad of The Plague cf El- 
liant is never simg without the addi- 
tion of the following legend : 

*'It was the day of the Pardon 
(the feast of the patron saint) at 
Elliant; a young miUer, arriving at 
the ford with his horses, saw a fair 
lady in a white robe seated on the 
bank of the river, a little staff in her 
hand, and who requested him to con- 
vey her over the water. * Oh I yes ; 
assuredly, madame,' replied he, and 
already she was on his horse's crup- 
per, and soon deposited on the other 
side. Then the fair lady said to him, 
* Young man, you know not whom 
you have brought over: I am the 
Plague. I have just made the tour 
of Brittany, and I go to the church 
of the town, where they are ringing 
for mass ; all whom I strike with my 
staff will quickly die ; as for yourself, 
fear nothing; no harm shall happen 
to you, nor yet to your mother." 

" And the Plague kept her word," 
y^dds the Breton peasant; for does not 
the song itself say that none but 



(I 



A widow poor of sixty, and her only son. are left ?" 



The following is most probably only 
a fragment of the original : 

THE PLAGUE OF ELLIANT. 

Thus spake the holy bard who dwells not &r from 

Langolen. 
Twixt Langolen and Le Faooet, the &ther Raain : 
Let every month a mass be saidL ye men of Le 

Faouet, 
A holy mass ibr all the ioala the pfa^s^w has icot 

away. 

From Elliant, beaHng heavy qxiils, at hot idem 

plague has gone : 
Seven thousand and a himdred riadn, and left faoc 

two alone. 
Death has come down iqpon the land, and EBiaat 

has bereft: 
A widow poor of sixty, and her only soo, are Wft. 

"The plagne is at my cottage doer, aDd wfaa Oed 

wills," she said, 
" She will come in, and we go OBl^ UBm% tht itt^n 



f 



Brittany: its People and its Poems. 



395 



Go look in ElUaiit nuulctc-phoe, and mow the war- 



Ssft ID the naiTow rat wfaerebjr the dead-cart naed 
topaan 

Oh I hard moit be the heart of him, whoever he 

magrbe. 
Who would Botweep^aoch otter deaolatioii could 

heaee. 
See^ eightaoi carta all piled with dead ataad at the 

l^tmjud gate; 
Aad eighteeii carta all piled with dead, b^md their 



Nine children of one hoeae there were^ who on one 

tondirdlay. 
Which their poor mother dragged alone along the 

burial-way. 
Their fcther followed, whiatling, for hia reaaon all 

had ted; 
The mother wailed, and called on God, and pointed 

to her dead. 

'Oh I bor7m7nmeaon8,'*ihe cried. "Oht lay them 

inthegroond; 
A rope of wax I promiae that ihall thrice your walla 

auriound, 
Yonr duirdi and aanctoary both therein ahall be 



'* Nine eons I broo^t into the world : Death haa not 

apered me one ; 
On aqr own hearth he atrnck them down, and left 

me aD alone. 
None have I now who aught to me a drop of water 

give: 
Ah I why am I not atricken too ; for wherefore 

ihonld I Uve?" 

The cemetery foil ia piled, high aa ita walla, with 

dead: 
The diorch heaped to the atepa: the fielda muat 

now be hallowed. 

In the church-yard I aee an oak, and from ita top- 
moat boo|^ 

A wUte sheet hangs, the trace of death ; for all are 
buried now. 

There is no surer remedy, in the 
estimation of the Breton peasantry, 
against an epidemic than to make a 
song about it " The Plague, finding 
herself discovered, fled away." Thus, 
as one among many examples of the 
practical utility of the popular poetry, 
we find that when, some years ago, 
Brittany was severely visited by the 
cholera, no attention was paid to the 
printed circulars which were issued by 
medical and magisterial authority; all 
the preparation made by the people to 
meet it was ^ dig an extra number of 
graves^ until a popular poet put into 
verse the good advice concerning pre- 
ventives and remedies which, when 
placarded in official prose, had been 



passed by with no more notice than 
a grave and incredulous shake of the 
head. But a week after the composi- 
tion of the " Song upon the Cholera " 
it was heard in every remote hamlet 
or farm throughout Brittany. The 
verses in themselves were detestable, 
in the way of poetry; no matter, the 
cholera, finding itself the subject of a 
song, would take flight From the 
power attributed by the people to 
poesy arises the Breton proverb, 
^ Poesy is stronger than the three 
strongest things: stronger than evil, 
than tempest, or than fire." And 
again, <' Song is the calmer of all sor- 
row." All the Keltic poems, which, 
like The Hague of EUiant^ are written 
in strophes, are sung throughout to 
some national air, however lengthy 
they may be. " I remember," writes 
M. Bmile Souvestre, " that one day, 
arriving at the I^irdon of St Jean du 
Doigt, near Moriaix, I heard a blind 
man who was singing Breton verses 
on the Nativity : in passing by again 
in the evening, I found him still in the 
same place, continuing his subject, 
which was by no means concluded, 
and which, he informed me, it re- 
quired an entire day to get through, 
though he did not yet know the 
whole." 

It is impossible to compute the 
number of the popular poems of Brit- 
tany. The author just quoted consi- 
ders that eight or ten thousand would 
not reach the reality; and he proceeds 
to describe the manner in which they 
mingle with the very air of the coun- 
try, as follows: 

*< No words can do jtistice to the intoxicat- 
ing sensation which he who understands our 
old language experiences, when, on a fine 
summer evening, he traverses the motmtains 
of Cornouaille, listening to the songs of the 
shepherds. At every step the voice, per- 
haps of a child, perhaps of an aged woman, 
sends forth to him from the distance a frag- 
ment of some antique ballad, sung to melo- 
dies such as are never now composed, and 



396 



Brittany : its People and its P cents. 



narrating the mirade of a former tune, or a 
crime committed in the valley, or an attach- 
ment which has broken the heart. The 
couplets answer one another from rode to 
rock; the verses sport in the air like the in- 
sects of the evening; the wind carries them 
by gusts into your face, with the perfume of 
the black-wheat and the rye; and, immers- 
ed in this poetic atmosphere, enchanted and 
meditative, yon advance into the midst of 
the rural solitudes. You perceive great 
Druidic stones, dothed with moss, leaning 
toward the border of the wood ; feudal ruins, 
half-hidden in the thickets or breaking the 
slope of the hills, while at times, on the 
heights of the mountain, figures of men, with 
long hair flying in the wind, and strange- 
ly dad, pass like shadows between you and 
the horizon, marked out against tiie sky, 
which is just beginning to be illumined by the 
rising moon. It is like a vision of bygone 
times ; Uke a waking dream that one might 
have after reading a page of Ossian." 

We will close our present article 
with a translation of the Sdne of Per 
Coatmor, as promised in our last; hop- 
ing in a future one to conclude our no- 
tice of the more ancient and *' learn- 
ed " poetiy of Brittany, that is, that 
which was composed according to the 
bardic rules, with some curious frag- 
ments relating to Merlin the Magi- 
cian and Merlin the Bard ; to be fol- 
lowed by specimens of the historical 
poems of Brittany. 

DRETON SONE. 

" Not to Rouen, not to Paris, go I, ftiead, with thee. 
What among the folk of the High Coontiy should 

Isee? 
Treacherous ke, whereon one slips and fidls, they 

■ay touM. 



«< 



«< 



Only to the mortuary I my steps win bend ; 
To the Tillage mortuary widi diee will I wend. 
And behold the bones ; for one day we must die, 
my friend. 

Bare of fleshly garb^ the bones lie there, by day and 

night. 
Where is now their dua to soft, and where their 

hands so white? 
Where their souh ? oh I wfaere^ my fiicod ? In 

daikncM or in light? 



" Ah friend 1 when the preachers pcvadi, 

at what they say. 
' In tkk life you will daaoe? Ah I well 
next you may. 
There's a hall prepared below for damoa 

' Carpeted with points of steela where bai 
cersfly, 
Lit with fiery prongs which demons b 

they cry, 
Bance, youi^ man t to danoes and to pa 
would*st hie.* ** 

*Silence, maiden ! mock me not, but gi^ 

for love ; 
Take me for thy qKmse ; oar life shall 

joyful prove. 
Hencdbrth pardons nor the dance my 

shall move.** 

" Not fifteen was I, my fiiend, when to thi 

went. 
' Leave the world,' my angel whispered, 

discontent. 
To the veil and cloistered life hencefort 

be bent' 

** Girl, fofget thy convent dream : believe \ 

me. 
Safer, stronger than the convent walli 

shall be. 
With a sheltering love, tweet maid, will 

pass thee." 

" Youth, not so : but let thy heart tofwai 
lean ; 
Let some fiiirer maid firom me thy fond 

wean; 
Twere an easy task ; good looks are t 
portly mien." * 

* Fairer maid than thou, nor any lUu to the 
Thee must I have, nor wone, nor betti 

thee, I die. 
Stay, and let this silver ring around thy fii 

^ No bright ring of earthly troth my finger 
snare. 
Heaven*s espousal ring alone my hand s 

bear: 
That high bond oflove nor chance nor cb 
outwear ?" 

** Maiden, if thou s|>eakest truly, profitlesa a 
All the time which I have spent thy fevor 

gam. 
For the pleasures that are past I nothing 

pain I" 

" Youth, what da]rs for me thou mayst h 

will I repay 
Praying for thy soul's good q[>eed and h 

mght and day ; 
So to blessed Paradise thou mj^ not 

way* 

• M. Souveatre's note to this paaage ii^ ** 

tagne, aux yeux des peysans, la oorpulcBoe 
grande beaut^ ; c'est on Bgne de ^* '* 
richesaeu de loisir*" etc. 



Lines, 397 



LINES. 

FROM THE LATIN OF THEODULPHUS, BISHOP OF ORLEANS, A.D. 82O. 

Adsfice ne vitiet tumidus praecordia fastiis, 

Dum loca sublimis editiora tenes, 
Dumque favent populi vallaris pluribus unus, 

Undique te septum prosperitate putes ; 
Neve quod es demant oblivia segnia menti, 

Ultima sit semper conspicienda dies. 
Ut valeas omni vitiorum sorde carere, 

Hoc quod es aspicito, non tamen id quod babes. 
Ipse licet sedeas gemmis omatus et ostro, 

Post camis putiidus tempora pulvis eris. 
Corpus enim fulvo quod nunc accingitur aiuo 

Squalenti intectum vestc premetur humo. 
Quod mare, quod terras, quod et aer gestat edendum, 

Eheu ! sordidulus post cinis illud erit 
Quemque tegunt celsis laqueata palatia tectis, 

Parvaque conquereris culmina magna satis, 
Clausus in angusti modidlque tenebris um^ 

Vixque domus tibimet corpore major erit/ 
Plura quid enumerem ? Visu quod cemitur aptum, 

Visibus humanis quod favet atque placet. 
Post vitam vermis, post vermem pulvis habebit. 

Voce Tonantis erit, quum redit, unde venit. 

translation. 

O thou who, seated in the place of power. 

Dost hear the praise and see the prostrate crowd, 
When all things smile upon thy prosperous hour, 
Let not thy heart be proud I 

Be not ^ith dull oblivion overcast ; 

Keep ever in thy sight life's certain goal ; 
Consider what thou art, not what thou hast. 
And so be pure of soul. 

Thou sittest to-day in purple and in gold; 

Thy vesture is with jewels clasped to-day ; 
How soon the squalid earth-robe will enfold 
The little mouldering clayl 

Of all earth nourishes — ^the flocks of air, 

The life that ocean in its deep maintains-^ 
Of all the plenty spread for banquets 
What nothingness remains! 



398 



Gerald Griffin. 



Now lofty painted ceilings shield thee well ; 

Now thy broad halls too narrow seem to be ; 
Scarce larger than thy mortal frame, the cell 
Will soon suffice for thee. 

What further say ? O all that doth rejoice 

Our human eyes I O all with beauty rife ! 
The worm ! the dust ! and then — the thunder-voice 
That calls the dead to life 1 



C^ £• B« 



GERALD GRIFFIN. 



In October, 1823, there arrived in 
the city of London a young man from 
the south of Ireland, unknown and 
without a friend in that vast metro- 
polis. A stranger in a strange land, 
he brought with him nothing but a 
cultivated mind, a fresh, vigorous con- 
stitution, a pleasing address, a spirit 
of self-reliance amounting almost to 
a morbid dislike for every thing savor- 
ing of patronage, a slender purse, and 
a few manuscript plays, the labor of 
boyhood's leisure hours. His expe- 
rience of life had been confined to 
his own peaceful household on the 
banks of the Shannon, and the so- 
ciety of a few intimate friends of his 
family. His contributions to litera- 
ture amounted simply to some sketch- 
es published in the newspapers of his 
native city, Limerick, and the, to him, 
precious burden he bore with him in 
this his first adventure into the un- 
known world. Thus provided, he as- 
pired with all the glorious confidence 
of youthful ambition to no less a mis- 
sion than the reformation of the mo- 
dem drama, and the infusion of moral 
sentiment into works of fiction, even 
then fast acquiring those deleterious 
qualities which so thoroughly per- 
meate them in our day. 

This young literary knight-errant 



was Gerald Griffin, who, bom on the 
iath day of December, 1803, had not 
yet completed his twentieth year. The 
story of his early life, as told by the 
pen of an affectionate brother, is re- 
markable principally for the calm, 
holy atmosphere of parental love by 
which it was surrounded, and the ju- 
dicious mental training to which he 
was subjected even from his earliest 
infancy. His father, Patrick Griffin, 
a descendant of an ancient Irish fa- 
mily, seems to have occupied a social 
position equally removed fix)m penury 
and affluence ; such a one, at least, as 
enabled him to support his large fa- 
mily with comfort, and provide each 
of his children with an education not 
only suitable to their condition, but 
more extensive and varied than at 
that time was considered necessary 
for the sons and daughters of the 
middle class. He was a man of 
robust constitution, facile temper, an 
ardent nationalist, and well read in 
the history and antiquities of his 
country. His mother, a woman of 
more than ordinary cultivation and 
great religious fervor, was entirely de- 
voted to her household duties and the 
moral training of her children, and we 
cannot better convey an idea of the 
character of this admiraUe woman 



Gerald Griffin. 



399 



than by transcribing the following 
extract from one of her letters to 
her son : 

•• I liave, my dear Gerald, travelled with 
yon through your mortifying difficulties, and 
am proud of my son— proud of his integrity, 
talents, prudence, and, above all, his appear* 
ing superior to that passion of common 
minds, revenge; I must own, fully provoked 
to it by — *s conduct I hope, however, 
they may soon have to seek you, not you 
them. Perhaps, after all, it may have been 
as wen that we did not know at the time 
what you were to endure on your first out* 
set. We should in that case have been ad* 
vising you to come out here, which perhaps 
would have been turning your back on that 
£une and fortune which I hope will one day 
reward your laudable perseverance and in* 
dustry. When the very intention you men- 
tion c^ paying us a visit delights me so much, 
what should I feel if Providence should have 
in reserve for me the blessing of once again 
embracing my Gerald ?" 

Gerald united in himself the lead- 
ing characteristics of both parents in 
a remarkable degree. His love of 
home forms the constant theme of 
his letters, while his attachment to 
country and delicate moral sense 
may properly be said to have tinged 
every page of his prose, and inspired 
every line of his poetry. His brothers 
and asters, eight in number, were 
equally worthy of such progenitors, 
and of the author of The ColU- 
gums s the former becoming dis- 
tinguished members of the liberal pro- 
fessions, and the latter, in most in- 
stances, adopting the habits and worth- 
ily fulfilling the duties of a religious 
life. 

When the yoimg Gerald was about 
seven years old, his fether, abandoning 
business in Limerick, removed some 
miles fix>m that city, and settled on a 
farm pleasantly situated near the con- 
fluence of the little river Oavaan and 
the Shannon. Here the future novel- 
ist and poet spent ten of the happiest 
yean of his life. Surrounded on all 
sides by scenery the most picturesque, 
wood| mountaini lake, and river, his 



youthful imagination, so susceptible 
of impressions of physical as well as 
moral beauty, found ample scope. 
Reserved in manner even with his 
playmates, he was wont to shun their 
society, and wander alone for hours 
through the fields or by the riverside, 
his gun or fishing-rod unused, and his 
whole being drinking in the beauties 
of the ever- varying landscape, or gaz- 
ing wonderingly on the distant " love- 
ly hills of Clare," the boundary of his 
world. His love for the supernatural 
and his fondness for fairy lore were 
early developed in this sylvan retreat, 
where every ruin had its tragic history, 
every graveyard its especial ghost, and 
every rath and cairn its appropriate 
legend. How far such constant com- 
mimings with nature had a tendency 
to disqualify him for the stem battle 
of life which he was destined after- 
ward to wage with such varying for- 
tune, we cannot imdertake to say ; but 
doubtless oflen, when in poverty and 
exile, the recollection of those years 
so tranquilly and innocently spent 
must have brightened many a soli- 
tary hour, and it is certain that to 
this early development of a taste for 
moral beauty we are indebted for 
some of the most vivid and truthful 
of his word-paintings. 

But his mind was not altogether 
occupied in contemplation. His edu- 
cation, begun in Limerick, was assi- 
duously continued in the country un- 
der the direction of a visiting tutor 
and the older members of his family, 
imtil at an early age he had mastered 
not only the rudiments of the French 
language, but had acquired a compa- 
ratively extensive and accurate know- 
ledge of the English classics. He was 
especially fond of poetry, and was 
accustomed, even when a child, to 
copy out passages firom Goldsmith 
and Moore; and his application to 
his studies of all kinds was so in- 
tense that he is described b^ U& i^- 



k 



400 Gerald Griffin. 

latives as being invariably in the ha- 
bit of sitting at his meals with a book 
open before hira, and two or three in 
reserve ready to his hand. Goldsmith's 
Aniinaled Nature was one of his favor- 
ite books, and he endeavored to turn 
it to practical account by copying its 
illustrations, and rearing with his own 
hand numbere of the little song-birds 
to be so plentifully found in the neigh- 
borhood. In the year 1SJ4, we find 
him for a short time at the school of 
a Mr. O'Brien, in Limerick, deep in 
the ihscinating pages of Horace, Ovid, 
and Virgil, the latter of whom, as might 
be expected, was his favorite poet, and 
so earnestly did he explore this, to him, 
new mine of poesy that he is said to 
have attained a remarkable proficiency 
in the Latin tongue at an age when 
other children are but imperfectly 
acquainted with their vernacular. 
Though soon deprived of the valu- 
able supervision of Mr. O'Brien, he 
continued his readings of the classics 
for several years at a neighboring 
school, and in maturer years evinced 
in conversation and composition a 
decided preference for this branch 
of his early studies. 

In 1810, the delightful family circle 
at Fairy Lawn was broken up. Mr. 
Griffin, senior, his wife and several of 
their older children, emigrated to this 
country, and settled near Bingbam- 
ton,inlheStateof New York. Gerald, 
with one older brother and two young- 
er asters, was left under the protection 
of the oldest remaining brother, Dr. 
Wilham Griffin, then a practising phy- 
sician in Adare, a pretty village a few 
miles from Limerick. The separation 
from the two beings he loved best on 
earth was a sad calamity fur the affec- 
nonate lad; but hope, that star which 
always shone brightly for him no 
matter how cloudy the horizon, con- 
soled him for what be believed to 
be only a temporary bereavement. 
* Gerald," says one of his sisiers in 



le a^ 



a letter to America, "has a biscdt 
from your sea store, which be 1 
he will produce at the first meal < 
eat together in Susquehanna." Ths 
cliange of residence had one advai 
tage, however; for while it did no) 
interfere with his home studies, c 
even with his rambles in search c 
fresh scenery and old traditions, ) 
gave him an opportunity of ofteo 
visiting the city, and forming tiM 
acquaintance of young men of cov 
genial tastes, principal among whom 
was John Banim, one of the auUicn 
of the celebrated TaUt oftke OHan 
Family. He became also a frcquen ' 
attendant at such theatrical pcrfoi; 
mances as the place at that time a' 
forded, and even contributed rcportaj 
sketches, verses, and leading article 
to the local journals, which, if the^ 
were not very profitable or wi4d^ 
knoKTi, "obliged him," he tells UQJ 
" to write with quickness, and witl^ 
out much study." But the younj 
man had already drunk too deepl 
of the unpolluted waters of Englis 
and Latin lore to be satisfied 1 
the sui^eifrdal nothings of provincii 
journalism, or to relish the cruditiO 
of the dramatic pieces with which t' 
wandering players were then acci 
tomed to regaJe ttie unsophisticata 
people of second-class cities. ' 
modem drama seemed to him fli 
in its construction, and, if not { 
lively immoral, certainly in tendenc 
falling far short of its legitimate c' 
ject, which, as the great dramatic 
tells us, "is and was to hold tl 
mirror up to nature," etc He \ 
fleeted seriously on the possibility ( 
its reformation, and, like a true I 
former, zealously set to work to 1 
complish this desirable purpose, e 
couraged no doubt by the applu 
which greeted the appearance of I 
young countryman's Datum and I 
thias. He wrote about this tk 
three or four plays, none of wU 



Gerald Griffin. 



401 



were ever presented to the public; 
and of the names and plots of all 
but one we are ignorant. That was 
Q2SSi^ Aquire^ and being a produc- 
tion of tonsiderable merit, judging 
from the favorable opinion of it ex- 
pressed by Banim and other theatrical 
critics to whose inspection it was con- 
fidentially submitted, would very pro- 
bably have met with success on the 
stage had not the author's over-sensi- 
tiveness induced him to withdraw it 
altogether, after endeavoring two or 
three times to procure its representa- 
tion. His next step was to leave Ire- 
land for a wider sphere of action; but 
it was only after repeated and urgent 
solicitation, and upon reading over 
this drama, which seemed to contain 
niany excellences, that his brother 
and guardian. Dr. Griffin, consented 
to gratify his longing to visit London, 
vhere he felt he would have unlimited 
scope to develop his idea of reform. 
The consent gained, Gerald left home 
for the first time, radiant with hope 
and confident of success. 

A youthful aspirant for literary 
honors could not have made his 
^hut at a more unpropitious time. 
London was then, as now, the great 
niaelstrora which drew into its vortex 
niost of the enterprise and genius of 
the three kingdoms, and, alas ! proved 
the grave of too many overwrought 
and unappreciated minds. The fame 
of Byron, Moore, and a host of con- 
temporary poets was then in its zenith, 
and the refulgence of their genius 
eclipsed the light of all lesser stars 
which might have shone brightly in 
any other atmosphere. The stage 
was so completely neglected or de- 
based that the legitimate drama had 
given place to spectacular frivolities, 
and hundreds of plays of merit were 
ofifered every year to the London 
managers only to be rejected. The 
wonderful success of Sir Walter Scott 
as a novelist had produced a crowd 

VOL. XI. — 26 



of plagiarists, as inferior in ability as 
they were formidable in prolixity, who 
had filled the shelves of the booksellers 
with the veriest trash, and satiated ad 
nauseam the public taste for romance. 
Even the field of Irish fiction was ap- 
parently fully occupied. Maria Edge- 
worth's justly admired tales were in 
every household, and the stronger and 
brighter imagination of Banim had al- 
ready plumed its pinions, and tried 
its first flight with marked success. 
The era of patronage, when the great 
and wealthy of the land esteemed it a 
privilege to throw the aegis of their 
protection over the artist and man of 
letters, had passed away, perhaps hap>- 
pily, for ever, and that of Bulwer and 
Dickens, Thackeray and Lever had 
not arrived; men whose magic pens 
seem to have realized the alchemist's 
dream, and turned every thing they 
touched into gold. It was well for 
the young adventurer that these diffi- 
culties did not at once present them- 
selves, or, if discerned at all, it was 
through that enchanting halo with 
which youth surrounds the future. 

On Gerald's arrival in London, his 
first step was to procure respectable 
lodgings; his next to place in the 
hands of some person connected with 
the stage, but whose name has not 
transpired, a copy of one of his plays 
for criticism and acceptance. This 
person, though the only one to whom 
the friendless lad was able to procure 
an introduction, took the piece with 
warm professions of friendship, and 
promised it his early consideration; 
but, after retaining it for some three 
months, sent it back, " wrapped up in 
an old newspaper," without a word 
of comment, explanation, or apology. 
The interval was one of painful sus- 
pense for the aspiring writer, some- 
what relieved by the genial and un- 
selfish kindness of Banim, whose resi- 
dence in London he soon discovered. 
Although having had but a slight ac- 



402 



Gerald Grij^n, 



quaintancc with Gerald, and being 
himself very few years his senior, and 
still on the threshold of fame, John Ba- 
nim, to his immoital credit be it said, 
extended to his junior countryman 
the hospitality of his house, and, what 
was much mote grateful, the sunshine 
of his genial conversation and the re- 
fuge of his cheerful fireside. He went 
even further: with a total absence of 
professional jealousy, he took Aquire, 
read it over carefully, commended its 
best passages, pointed out the errors 
to be erased, the superabundant meta- 
phor and mere poetic imagery to be 
pruned, and used all his efforts to 
procure its representation. Gerald 
was deeply grateful. " What would I 
have done," he writes to his brother, 
" if I hadnot found Banim ? I should 
never be tired of talking about and 
thinking of Banini." Itwasatthesug- 
gestion of this invaluable (ricnd that, in 
the eariy part of the following year, he 
wrote Giilppus, and many of its most 
striking scenes owe something to the 
matured judgment of the audior of 
Damon and Pythias. This play, writ- 
ten, as he tells us, on little slips of 
paper in coffee-houses, though one 
of great merit, for originality of 
conception, dignity of language, and 
startling incidents, was not acted till 
two years after tlie author's death ; 
and when Macready at length intro- 
duced it to the public, it was received 
with great favor, and still, to use a 
theatrical phrase, "keeps the boards." 
But months passed wearily away in 
tlie strange city, and Gerald's hopes 
were as far as ever from fruition — 
months spent in fruitless efforts to ob- 
tain some sort of employment that 
would enable him to support himself, 
while he waited the pleasure of mana- 
gers and danced attendand: on thea- 
trical committees. Again and again 
he applied for the position of reporter 
on the press, but was answered that 
the places were all filled. He might 



have become a police-news reporter. 
but he was told that it was " hardljr 
reputable." He wrote for the litenry 
weeklies, but was cheated by every 
one of them; he contributed to (he 
larger magazines, and his articles were 
inserted ; but when payment was re- 
quested, " there was so much shuffling 
and shabby work" that he left them 
in disgust; he commenced the study 
of Spanish, with a view to codpcrato 
with Valentine Llanos in the trans- 
lation of Si>anish dramas ; but Colbum 
and the other publishers told him 
that it was " entirely out of their line." 
At last he undertook with avidi- 
ty to translate from the French a 
volume and a half of one of Prevot's 
works for two guineas — about ten and 
a half dollars. It is no wonder, then, 
that in the bitterness of his extremi- 
ty he wrote to his sister, "If I could 
make a fortune by splitting matches, 
I think I would never put a word in 
print." Though practising the moat 
rigid economy, the occasional rcoitt- 
tances he received from his brother, 
many of them unsolicited, did not 
suffice for his ordinary wants; he 
compelled to give up his first lodg^;^ 
ings and seek others in a more ob- 
scure part of the city, and was evea 
obliged to refuse the prcs»ng invito^ 
tions of his friend Banim to meet Doc-' 
tor Maginn and other celebrities, at the ' 
house of the former, for want of pro- 
per apparel, '■ The fact is," he 
home at this lime, " I am at preseni 
almost a complete prisoner. 
until dusk every evening to 
from my mouse-hole, and snatcl 
tie fresh air on the bridge close by. 
Staggering under the weight ttf ■ " 
appointment and poverty, he was 
to encounter the additional tottotei 
ill health. Stooping constantly 
his desk, he contracted an ~ 
of the lungs, the unaccustomed di 
ncss of a London fog had given 
rheumatism, and he was occaMOi 



lit- 



Gerald Griffin. 



403 



attacked with violent palpitations of 
the heart, which endangered life it- 
self. The joyous spirit which had 
soared like a bird beneath its native 
skies on the banks of the Shannon, 
drooped its wings in the heavy mias- 
nia of the Thames; fagging, unre- 
quited labor made his days a burden 
and his nights sleepless ; his wardrobe 
was so threadbare that for months at 
a time he would not stir abroad in 
the daylight, and consequently did 
not meet the face of an acquaintance, 
and his supply of food so meagre that 
he was often obliged to dispense with 
the commonest necessaries of life. 
Indeed, so reduced had he become 
in circumstances at this time that a 
friend of his relates that, having lost 
sight of him for several days, and appre- 
hending the true cause of his absence, 
after long searching he discovered 
him in a veritable garret, and, though 
it was ]>ast midnight, still endeavoring 
to work on his manuscripts. But 
what must have been his astonish- 
ment when he wrung from Gerald 
the unwilling but unostentatious con- 
fession that he had been without food 
for three consecutive days ? It is un- 
necessary to say that his immediate 
wants were supplied by the kind 
friend who had thus timely visited 
him, though not without some hesita- 
tion on the part of the recipient of 
the favor. Still, nothing could daunt 
his indomitable will, no misfortune 
could lessen the self-consciousness of 
his ability to achieve ultimate success, 
or break down his proud, too proud, 
spirit of personal independence. He 
might easily have obtained money 
from his relatives in Ireland ; but he 
forebore to accept from them what 
his susceptibilities led him to suppose 
they could ill afford, and even his 
true friend Banim, upon incidentally 
discovering his situation and tender- 
ing him in the most delicate manner 
some pecooiary assistance, was met 



with a decided and not over courteous 
refusal. His enforced poverty like- 
wise had a very injurious effect on his 
prospects as a dramatic author; for, 
unable to mingle on an equality with 
men connected with the stage, he lost 
all chance of personal intercourse 
with managers and critics, and finally 
conceived such a distaste for or in- 
difference to his first affection, the 
drama, that he relinquished for ever 
the design of reforming the stage, the 
hope that had lain nearest to his 
heart and had prompted his self-im- 
posed exile firom his native country. 
Though few men loved literature 
more for its own sake, or are, fortu- 
nately generally called upon to offer 
more sacrifices at its shrine, the vital 
question with him had now become 
narrowed down to the very one of 
existence itself; for, to use his own 
expression, " he preferred death to 
failure." 

Thus nearly two years passed away 
in London, and, sick at heart and en- 
feebled in body, he felt thousands and 
thousands of times, as he writes to his 
parents, that he could have lain down 
quietly and died at once, and been 
forgotten for ever. But in this his 
darkest hour a ray of hope unexpect- 
edly crossed his gloomy path, and 
with all the hopefulness of a rejuve- 
nated spirit he hailed it as the har- 
binger of a new and more prosperous 
epoch. A Mr. Foster, having acci- 
dentally become acquainted with his 
almost hopeless condition, procured 
him employment at fifty pounds a 
year as reader and corrector for a 
publisher, and his gifted countryman 
Maginn, immediately upon hearing 
of his reduced circumstances, obtain- 
ed for him a situation on The Literary 
Gazette y which soon led to a profitable 
connection with other journals of a 
like character. To all these he con- 
tributed articles in prose and poetry 
on every imaginable topic, and dis- 



404 



Gerald Griffin. 



played such an adaptability and ver- 
satility of talent that his services were 
not only well rewarded by their re- 
spective publishers, but very generally 
appreciated by the reading commu- 
nity. Many of the tales and sketches 
which at this time came from his pen 
were sent in and published anony- 
mously, or simply signed " Joseph," his 
name in confirmation, so strictly did 
he endeavor to preserve his incognito, 
and trust to the intrinsic merits of his 
contributions for their acceptance. 
Though he wrote to his mother that 
by reason of his new employment he 
was enabled to pay off all the debts 
he owed at the close of the year 
1825, his varied productions could 
not have been very remunerative, 
certainly not in proportion to the 
labor expended on them ; for we find 
him during the next session of Parlia- 
ment engaged as a reporter in the 
House of Commons. 

The vehemence with which he 
seized hold of this opportunity, and 
the ardor with which he pursued his 
new calling as reporter and journalist, 
show that he felt he had at last dis- 
covered a clue that would lead him 
out of the labyrinth of his difficulties, 
and his success fully justified the con- 
fidence in his own powers which had 
never forsaken him. Opportunity, so 
much desired by all young men of 
ability, which comes to some un- 
sought, and as persistently flics the 
approach of others, had at length 
presented itself to Gerald Griffin, and 
he lost no time in profiting by the 
occasion. Association with authors 
whose works he was obliged to exa- 
mine, criticise, and sometimes revise, 
naturally led him to compare his own 
capacity for production with theirs, 
and to arrive at the conclusion that 
he also was able to produce works of 
prose fiction ecjually meritorious, and 
as worthy the commendation of mo- 
ralists as epic poetry or the drama. 



Satisfied on this point, he at once 
relinquished his dramatic aspirations, 
and prepared himself with sdl the en- 
thusiasm of his nature to enter the 
lists as a novelist In his "small 
room in some obscure court, near St. 
Paul's," he called up the recollections 
of past days, of the lovely Shannon, 
the mountain ranges of Clare, the 
wakes, fairs, and festivak of the Mun- 
ster peasantry, the humor, shrewd- 
ness, pathos, and firolic he 'as a child 
had witnessed, and perhaps to some 
extent shared, and he resolved to 
essay an Irish novel illustrative of 
these familiar scenes. Having first 
tried short stories for the literar}- 
weeklies, and found them eagerly 
read and highly appreciated, he com- 
menced a series of tales to be pub- 
lished in book form, which he design- 
ed to call Anecdotes of Munster^ but 
which were afterward known under 
the general title oi HoUand-Ttde. 

Pending the appearance of this his 
first continued effort, his labors were 
as varied and as unremitting as ever — 
correcting for the press the lucubra- 
tions of unskilled writers, reviewing 
in the weekly papers the various 
books that the metropolitan publish- 
ers were constantiy inflicting on the 
public, writing theatrical criticisms, 
sketches, poetry, and political articles 
—doing any thing and every thing, in 
fact, no matter how foreign to his 
tastes, as long as they honorably se- 
cured him present competency and a 
reasonable prospect of finally accom- 
plishing his grand purpose. At one 
time he describes himself as busy re- 
vising a ponderous dictionary ; at an- 
other, collecting materials for a pam- 
phlet on Catholic emancipation. Now 
he is promised ;^5o for a piece for the 
English opera, and again he acknow- 
ledges the receipt of several pounds 
for reports furnished a Catholic news- 
paper recently started. His leisure 
moments, if he can be said to have 



Gerald Griffin. 



40s 



had any, were devoted to versifica- 
tioOy while his parliamentary duties 
kept him out of bed till three, and 
sometimes five o'clock in the morn- 
ing. His brother William, who visited 
him in London in 1826, thus describes 
his altered appearance and his metho> 
dical manner of life : 

*' I had not seen him since he left Adare, 
and was struck with the change in his ap- 
pearance. All color had left his cheek, he 
had grown very thin, and there was a sedate 
expression of countenance unusual in one so 
young, and which in after years became ha- 
bitual to him. It was far from being so, 
however, at the time I speak of, and readily 
gave place to that light and lively glance of 
his dark eye, that cheerfulness of manner 
and observant humor, which from his very 
infancy had enlivened our fireside drde at 
home. Although so pale and thin as I have 
described him, his tall figure, expressive fea- 
tures, and his profusion of dark hair, thrown 
back from a fine forehead, gave an impression 
of a person remarkably handsome and in- 
teresting. . • 4 • He was indefatigable 
at his work ; rose and breakfasted early, set 
to his desk at once, and continued writing 
till two or three o'dock in the afternoon ; 
took a turn round the park, which was close 
to his residence ; returned and dined ; usu- 
ally took another walk after dinner, and re- 
turning to tea, wrote for the remainder of 
the evening, after remaining up to a very 
late hour." 

The series of tales, published by 
Simpkin and Marshal late in this 
year brought Griffin jQ'jo sterlijjg, 
and at once established his re- 
putation as a powerful and original 
writer, and an accurate delineator of 
Irish peasant character. Its recep- 
tion by the public and the gentlemen 
of the critical profession was so gener- 
ally favorable that, feeling assured he 
had at length entered on the right 
road to distinction, and that his fu- 
ture was no longer doubtful, Griffin 
gave up his various engagements with 
the press, and not unwillingly, it is to 
be presumed, laid down for ever the 
load of literary drudgery which had 
so long bowed his spirit to the 
earth. His fortitude had been severe- 



ly tested, not by one great calamity, 
but by a series of trials, harder to be 
borne, and had remained unshaken ; 
his constancy of purpose had been 
proof against all allurements to swerve 
from the honorable pursuit of letters ; 
and it is not too much to affirm, on 
the authority of many who knew him 
intimately, that his moral character 
remained unsullied amid all the temp- 
tations which usually beset a young 
man of his isolated condition in every 
large city. His first success was na- 
turally followed by a desire to revisit 
his home, a wish in which he had 
long secretly indulged, but which 
was now strengthened by intelligence 
of the dangerous illness of a favorite 
sister. He arrived at Pallas Kenry, 
his brother's residence, in February, 
1827, but unfortunately a few hours 
after the death of this young lady, an 
event which, coupled with his feeble 
health, destroyed for a time the plea- 
sure which he had anticipated from a 
trip to Ireland, and the renewal of 
his acquaintance with those peaceful 
scenes the remembrance of which had 
so cheered his absence. 

** I started for I^imerick at a very early 
hour to meet him," says his brother, ** and I 
cannot forget how much I was struck by the 
change his London life had made in his ap- 
pearance. His features looked so thin and 
pale, and his cheeks so flattened, and, as it 
were, bloodless, that the contrast with what 
I remembered was horrid ; while his voice 
was feeble, and slightly raised in its pitch, 
like that of one recovering from a lingering 
illness. It was affecting, in these circum- 
stances, to observe the sudden and brilliant 
light that kindled in his eyes on first seeing 
me, and the smile of welcome that played 
over his features and showed the spirit witho 
in unchanged." 

The unremitting attention of his 
relatives, however, at length assuaged 
his mental grief and bodily sufferings, 
and his mind, naturally resigned, gra- 
dually resumed its wonted tranquillity. 
He spent the summer months at Pal- 
las Kenry in the undisturbed eiv\o^- 



4o6 



Gerald Griffin. 



inent of home, bat still mdustriously 
occupied with his pen. 

"When engaged in composition, (says his 
biographer,) he made ute of a manifold 
wiilet, with 3 ilylc and carbonic paper, 
which gave him two and somelimei ihree 
copies of hii work. One of these he *ent to 
the pulilisher, the others he kept by him, in 
case the first should be lost. He had his 
sheets so cut ou( Dnd lu-rangrd Ihot they 
were not greater in siie than the leaf of a 
moderate-siied octavo, and he wrote so 
minute a hand that each page of the manu- 
script contained enough matter for a page 
of print. This enabled him irety easily to 
tell how much manuscript was necessary to 
fill three Tolumes. His usual quantitjr of 
writing wu ftbout ten pages of these in the 
itay. It was seldom less than this, and I 
have known it icpcaleitly as high ns Gliecn 
or twenty, without interfering with those 
hours which he chose to devote to rccrca- 






: his 



e of the most remarkable tilings I 
noticed in the progress of his work was 
Ihc extremely small number of erasures or 
interlineations in it, several pages bring 
completed without the 



The result of this diligent applica- 
tion was the first seiies of Tales of 
the Mumler Festivals, embracing The 
Hal/Sir, The Card Drawers, and The 
ShuilDkuv, with which he proceeded 
to London, and which he disposed of 
to his publishers for^i5o,aprice that 
would now be considered totally in- 
adequate, but which forty years ago 
was looked upon as ample remunera- 
tion for that species of labor. The 
work, though decidedly superior to 
Holland- Tuie, was much less favorably 
received by the critics, and Griffin 
had now to pay the penalty of suc- 
cess by having the children of his 
brain held up to public censure, as 
not being formed true to nature, or 
as acting in a manner contrary to the 
canons of London society. Though 
such strictures generally emanated 
from persons who either would not 
or could not understand the pecu- 
liarities of the people of Ireland, 



he fdt keenly alive to their pn 
censure, particularly the latter 
docs he seem to have exhibits 
callousness which his long ao 
tance with the press, and the d 
men who are sometimes permit 
sit in judgment on thdr su|» 
might have taught him. 

Ha>-ing remained long enoi 
London to superintend the pt 
tion of the tales, he gladly rel 
to Pallas Kenry, where he 
nearly a year in the undisturbci 
ely of his relatives and a few f 
living in his neighborhood, 
latter must have been few indei 
he is described as still of a vei 
and reserved disposition, except 
among intimate friends; and ti 
shown every mark of esteem am 
pitality by his countrymen, he 1 
great an abhorrence of being lit 
that he seldom accepted invit) 
save such as could ncH in on 
politeness be rqected. Not lb 
temper was soured or that his c( 
salional powers were delicieni 
home was to him the centre ane 
object of attraction. " Would 
wish to view at a distance our d 
tic circle ? " asks his sister in a 
her letters to America. " WiUiai 
I arc generally first at the bre; 
table, when, after a little time, 

in Idiss H ; next Mr. Gerald 

last of all, Monsieur D , 

breakfast our two doctors go (o 
patients; Gerald takes his dej 
the fire-place and writes away, fl 
when he chooses to throw a pia 
a puU at the ringlets, cape, or fi 
the first lady next to him, or gii 
a stave of some old ballad." 

Under such sweet influences, i 
ferent &om his wretched life in La 
the greater part of his best worfc 
ColUpans, was written. Two or 
subjects for a successor to Shuil^ 
had been selected and partly < 
oped; but having the fear oflhel 



Gerald Griffifu 



407 



before his eyes, he laid them aside 
unfinished. The spring and summer 
•f 1828 thus passed away fruitlessly; 
but at length a theme presented itself 
that satisfied his judgment, and he set 
about writing on it with all possible 
expedition. TTie Collegians was ori- 
ginally published in three volumes, 
one and a half of which Griffin brought 
with him to London in November. 
The remaining portion was written in 
that city in such hot haste that he 
was obliged frequendy to deliver his 
sheets of manuscript without having 
time to reread or revise them. This 
work, on its first appearance, was re- 
ceived with the greatest favor; it 
placed the author at once at the head 
of the novelists of his own country, 
and gave him a high rank among the 
writers of the English language — a 
verdict which the experience of pos- 
terity has fully confirmed. 

Of the writers of that day Griffin's 
favorite, as might be expected, was 
Sir Walter Scott He had a profound 
respect for the historical romances of 
that great man, and, with an ambition 
honorable to his patriotism, he re- 
solved to abandon for a time the por- 
traiture of local and modem life, and 
attempt to do for his native country 
what the author of Ivanhoe had so 
admirably done for Great Britain. 
Accordingly, in the spring of 1829, 
he removed to Dublin, where he spent 
several months in the study of ancient 
history and in visiting on foot several 
parts of Ireland, the topography of 
which he designed to introduce into 
his new work. The fruit of his anti- 
quarian labors was The Invasion^ which 
appeared during the winter of the 
same year, a short time afler the pub- 
licarion of a second series of Munster 
Festivals, But though it had an ex- 
tensive sale and was highly praised 
by the more learned, it did not, from 
the very nature of the subject and the 
renK)te epoch treated, establish itself 



in the affections of the public so gene- 
rally as his previous and subsequent 
writings. While in the Irish capital, he 
was introduced to Sir Philip Cramp- 
ton and other distinguished scholars, 
from all of whom he experienced the 
most flattering attention. His fame, 
indeed, had preceded him among all 
classes of his countrymen, and their 
warm and discriminating encomiums, 
diffident as he was to a fault, must 
have fallen pleasandy on his ear, and 
not the less so when they were ex- 
pressed in the mellifluous accents he 
was accustomed to hear from his 
infancy, A closer intimacy with the 
congenial spirits of his own country ap- 
pears to have worn off a great deal of 
his natural reserve ; for we now find 
him mentioning that he had met Miss 
Edgeworth, and was anticipating the 
pleasure of an introduction to Lady 
Morgan and other contemporary cele- 
brities. In the latter part of this year 
he also formed the acquaintance of a 
lady residing in the south of Ireland, 
which soon ripened into a lasting 
friendship, founded upon similarity of 
tastes and mutual esteem. The name 
of the lady is not given in his life, and 
we know her only as the recipient of 
several pleasant gossiping letters, ad- 
dressed to her by the initial ** L.," and 
by the many beautiful poems dedi- 
cated in her honor, A married lady, 
the mother of a numerous family, and 
Griffin's senior by several years, she 
exercised a wholesome and judicious 
influence over a mind naturally sym- 
pathetic but peculiarly sensitive, such 
as none of his own sex could or would 
have attempted. In company with 
her husband and relatives he made a 
prolonged visit to Killamey, the ro- 
mantic beauty of whose lakes filled 
him with the most intense delight 

In the winter of 1829, he was again 
in London, which city he was obliged 
to visit each succeeding year till 1835, 
to attend to his subsequent works; The 



4o8 



Gerald Griffin. 



L 



Chrislian Physioh^st, The Rh'als, The 
Duke pf Monmouth, and Tales of My 
Neighborhood, appearing in nearly re- 
gular annual succession. The inter- 
vening time was generally spent in ac- 
quiring materia! for these works, or at 
the watering-places enjoying his well- 
earned repose. It was on the occa- 
sion of one of those flying trips across 
the channel, in 1832, that, being re- 
quesicJ by the electors of Limerick 
to present, on their behalf, a request 
to Moore that he would consent to 
represent them in Parliament, Griffin 
deviated from his route and called 
on that celebrated poet at Sloperton 
Cottage. In a playful account of 
this evcr-roemorable interview, ad- 
dressed to his friend " L.," he says : 

■• O dear L ! I saw the poet, 

and I spoke to him, and lie spoke to 
me, and it was not to bid me to ' get 
out of his way,' as the king of France 
did to ihe man who boasted that his 
majesty had spoken to him ; but it 
was to shake hands with me, and to 
ask me,' How I did, Mr. Griffin,' and 
to speak of ' my fame.' My fame! 
Tom Moore talk of my fame ! Ah 
the rogue 1 He was humbugging, 

I- , I'm afraid. He knew the soft 

side of an author's heart, and perhaps 
had pity on my long, melancholy- 
looking figure, and said to himself, ' I 
will make this poor fellow feel plea- 
sant, if I can ;' for which, with all his 
roguery, who could help liking him 
and being grateful to him ? '' 

In 1 838, he projected a tour on the 
continent ; but was induced to change 
his purpose for a shorter one in Scot- 
land, fi"om which he derived not only 
great pleasure, but restored health. 
His diary of (he trip, originally taken 
in short-hand notes, has been pub- 
lished, and abounds in good-natured 
criticisms on the manners and customs 
of the people he met on his journey, 
and some very fine descriptions of the 



scenery of the Highlands, which fel 
under his ob5er\-atioD. 

Gerald Griffin's last novel, as we 
have intimated, appeared in 1835, 
when only in the thirty-second year 
of his age. He had succeeded in the 
fullest sense as a novelist, id giving to 
the world in half a score of years 
some of the healthiest and most fasci- 
nating books in our language; had 
won the applause of the gifted and 
good alike, and, in a pecuniary point 
of view, had secured himself against 
all probability of dependence. Still, 
in a certain sense, he was not content. 
The pursuit of fame, as he had on 
more than one occasion predicted, 
had alone given him pleasure — ^its 
acquisition brought him no perma- 
nent satisfaction. Wliether in aban- 
doning the drama he had departed 
from his true path, or that his early 
insight into the mysteries of author- 
ship had led him to underrate the 
labors of those whom the world is 
allowed to know only at a distance, 
or that his mind, naturally of a seri- 
ous and religious turn, now fully de- 
veloped, instinctively arrived at the 
conviction that only in the perfor- 
mance of those duties and sacrifices 
imposed on the ministers of the Gos- 
pel could be found his real sphere of 
action, or whether all these causes 
acted upon him with more or less 
force, certain it ts that he now began 
to contemplate a radical change in 
his life. Wc know that he relin- 
quished writing for the stage with 
reluctance, and that as early as 1818 
he commenced the study of law at 
the London University; but it was 
not for two or three years afterward 
that his friends noticed his growing 
inclination for the life of a religious. 
From that time his poems, those beau- 
tiful scintillations of his soul, began 
to exhibit a higher fancy and a purer 
moral power than could be drawn 



Gerald Griffin. 



even from patriotism, or the contem- 
plation of mere natural objects. His 
conversation assumed a graver tone, 
and his letters to his friends, for- 
meriy so pleasantly filled with gos- 
sip and scraps of comment on the 
persons and literature of the day, were 
mainly taken up with graver topics. 

This change, we are satisfied, was 
the efifect of grave and due delibera- 
tion, and not the result of caprice or 
di^ppointed ambition. It had been 
remarked that his letters to the dif- 
ferent members of his family during 
his residence in London, while filled 
with minute details of his literary 
labors, fears, and aspirations, seldom 
touched on religious matters, and 
hence it has been inferred that dur- 
ing his sojourn there he had neglected 
the practical duties of the faith of his 
boyhood; but this supposition is alto- 
gether gratuitous. In familiar inter- 
course with men of his own age and 
pursuits, he may have given expres- 
sion to crude or speculative opinions 
without that proper degree of reve- 
rence which older minds exercise in 
dealing with such important ques- 
tions ; but we have the assurance of 
his nearest relatives and of those few 
who enjoyed his friendship that this 
weakness was seldom indulged in. 
However, Griffin in a spirit of self- 
condemnation, which we cannot help 
thinking disproportionate to the sup- 
posed offence, inaugurated his new 
mode of life by endeavoring to re- 
move from the minds of his former 
associates any wrong impressions 
such conversations might have pro- 
duced. In an admirable letter writ- 
ten to a literary friend in London, 
under date January 13th, 1830, he 
says: 

'< Since our acquaintance has recommenc- 
ed this winter, I have observed, with fre- 
quent pain, that not much (if the slightest) 
*hange has taken place in your opinions on 
be only important subject on earth. With- 



in the last few weeks, I have been thin 
a great deal upon this subject, and my > 
science reproaches me that you may h 
found in the worldlincss of my own cond 
and conversation reason to suppose tl 
my religious convictions had not taken tl 
deep hold of my heart and mind which th 
really have. I wiU tell you what has coi 
vinced me of this. I have compared ou 
interviews this winter with the conversa 
tions we used to hold together, when mj 
opinions were unsettled and my principles 
(if they deserved the name) detestable, and 
though these may be somewhat more de- 
cent at present, I am uneasy at the thought 
that the whole tenor of my conduct, such as 
it has appeared to you, was far from that 
of one who lived purely and truly for heaven 
and for religion." 

With a short visit to Paris and his 
tour in Scotland, Griffin practically 
bade adieu to the outside world, and, 
retiring to Pallas Kenry, prepared 
himself for admission into the or- 
der of the Christian Brothers. We 
learn firom one of his letters to firiends 
in America that he had at first de- 
signed to offer himself as a candidate 
for the holy ifunistry, and had even 
commenced a preparatory course of 
theological study ; but distrust of his 
vocation for a calling requiring so 
many qualifications led him to select 
the more quiet but highly meritori- 
ous sphere of a humble teacher of 
litde children. 

** I had long since relinquished the idea," 
he writes, "which I ought never to have 
entertained, of assuming the duties of the 
priesthood ; and I assure you that it is one of 
the attractions of the order into which I have 
entered, that its subjects are prohibited (by 
the brief issued from Rome in approval and 
confirmation of the institute) from ever as- 
piring to the priesthood." 

Having destroyed all his unpub- 
lished manuscripts, including Matt 
Hyland^ a ballad of considerable 
merit of which only a fragment re- 
mains, and taken affectionate leave 
of his friends, the author of Gisippus 
and Tfu ColUguins^ in the prime of 
his manhood and \lie lvi\tvt^ ol \C>s 



The Unfinished Prayer. 



411 



not a desire but lor the perfect accomplish- 
ment of the will of Him to whom his habits of 
prayer had so long and doselj united him." 

Thus lived and died one whom it 
would be faint praise to call one of 
the brightest and purest ornaments 
which this century has given to Eng- 
lish literature. The various creations 
of his fancy will long hold a high 
place in the hearts of all who admire 
the beautiful and revere the good; 
but the moral of his own life is the 
noblest heritage he has left us. True 
to the instincts of his Catholic birth 
and training, he passed through the 
temptations of sorrow, poverty, and 
vanities of a great city for years, pre- 
serving his faith unshaken and his 
morals imsullied; with courage and 
tenacity of purpose, the attributes of 
true heroism, he surmounted obstacle 
after obstacle, which might easily 



have daunted older and stronger men, 
till he reached a proud position in 
the literature of his country ; and when 
surrounded by all that is supposed to 
make life valuable — personal inde- 
pendence, devoted ftiends, and world- 
ly applause — he gently and after 
mature self-examination took off his 
laurels, laid them modestly on the 
altar of religion, and, clothed in the 
humble garb of a Christian Brother, 
prepared to devote his life to unos- 
tentatious charity. Even his very 
name, that he once fondly hoped to 
write on the enduring tablets of his- 
tory, he no longer desired to be re- 
membered; for on the plain stone 
that marks his last resting-place in 
the little graveyard of the monastery 
is engraved simply the words, 

BROTHER JOSEPH. DIED JUNE 12, 184O. 



THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 

" Now I lay me " — say it, darling ; 
« Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending, 
O'er her folded finger-tips. 

" Down to sleep " — " to sleep," she murmured, 

And the curly head dropped low ; 
" I pray the Lord," I gently added, 
" You can say it all, I know." * 

" Pray the Lord " — the words came faintly. 
Fainter still, " my soul tS keep :" 
Then the tired head fairly nodded, 
And the child was fast asleep 

But the dewy eyes half-opened 

When I clasped her to my breast ; 
And the dear voice softly whispered, 
« Mamma, God knows all the rest" 



The Vatican Couneil. 



THE FIRST CECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. 



NUMBER FIVE, 



For another month the Vatican 
Council has pursued the path origiti- 
al]y marked out for its labors with 
a calmness and steady persevera'nce 
which no outside influences can dis- 
turb. In the beginning of its sessions 
sensational correspondents described 
what they saw and what they did not 
see — praised, mocked, or maligned 
as their humors led them or as their 
patrons desired, and poured forth 
abundant streams of amusing anec- 
dotes, acute guesses, and positive as- 
surances. The correspondence of one 
week was found to contradict that of 
tlie preceding week, and was itself 
contradicted the week following. 
Now, though wit, and droller)-, and 
sarcasm may please for a time, human 
nature, after all, desires truth. And 
as men saw these contradictions, they 
came to understand how thoroughly 
untrustworthy were tliese correspon- 
dents; and the writers, ever on the 
alert to catch the first symptoms of 
popular feeling, have, in great part, 
dropped the subject. The only influ- 
ence which such writings as tliesc 
have had on the prelates of the coun- 
cil was to supply them with abundant 
topics for amusement in their hours of 
relaxation. 

Another class of writers hare all 
along treated, and still coiRinue to 
treat, of the council and its action 
with earnestness of purpose, and arc 
making strenuous eflbrts to guide 
and control or to check its course on 
subjects which they believe to have 
come or which may come up before 
it. We speak of those who arc moved 
by religious or political feelings. Day 
after day and week after week, Ita- 



lian, French, German, and English 
newspapers are taking one side or 
the other on these subjects, and write 
on them, if they do not always dis- 
cuss them. At times you may find 
an article learned, well written, replete 
with thought, and suggestive, perhaps 
instructive. But generally the articles 
are only such as may be looked for 
in a newspaper — superficial and with 
an affectation of smartness. How- 
ever their brilliancy, ofitimes only 
tbsel, may please their world of read- 
ers, among the bishops in the council 
they have, and can have, no weight 
whatever. It would, indeed, be sur- 
prising if they had. 

Beyond the papers, tliere come 
pamphlets, many of them ably and 
learnedly written. It is to be lament- 
ed that too often the writers have 
allowed themselves to be carried away 
by excitement, and to use language 
which calls for censure. Still, they 
profess to discuss the questions grave- 
ly, and to present the strongest argu- 
ments in favor of their respective 
sides. We will not say that such 
writings are not privately read and 
maturely weighed by the fathers, and 
in fact carefully studied, so far as they 
may throw light on subjects of doc- 
trine or discipline to be examined. 
But they certainly have not had the 
power to accelerate or retard, by a. 
single day, the regular course of bu- 
siness before the council. 

Some weeks ago, the papers of Eu- 
rope were filled with articles announc- 
ing the approaching action of several 
governments, and the measures they 
would take to inSuence the pope and 
the bishops, so as to control their ac- 



The Vatican CounciL 



413 



tion by the apprehension of possible 
political results. What precise amount 
of truth and what amount of exagge- 
ration there was in the vast mass of 
excited utterances on this subject, we 
are not yet able to say. Perhaps it 
may hereafter be discovered in sun- 
dry green books, red books, and yel- 
low books. This much is certain: 
the council was not even flurried by 
it. We are assured that in all the 
debates not the slightest reference 
was ever made to the matter. As we 
write the whole subject seems to be 
passing into •blivion. Even those 
who spoke most positively only a few 
weeks ago, seem to have forgotten 
their assertions about the intended 
interference of this, that, or the other 
government. 

There is a majesty in this calm atti- 
tude of the sovereign pontiff, and of 
the council, which does not fail to 
command the respect even of world- 
lings and unbelievers. They can with 
difficulty, if at all, comprehend the 
great truth on which it is based and 
which produces it. The Catholic 
would scarcely look for any other 
attitude from our prelates. The bi- 
shops of the Catholic Church, assem- 
bled in council, are not politicians or 
servants of the world, seeking popu- 
larity or fearing the loss of it. They 
fear not those who can slay only the 
body, but Him who can slay both 
body and soul. They are assembled, 
in the name of Christ our Lord, to 
do the work to which he appointed 
them. They must proclaim his doc- 
trines and his precepts; they must 
promote the extension of his king- 
dom, and must zealously and unceas- 
ingly seek the welfare and salvation 
of souls for whom he shed his blood 
on Calvary. They are men, and, as 
subjects or citizens, they are bound 
to give, and each in his own home 
does give, unto Caesar all that is Cae- 
sar's. But they are Christian bishops, 



and they must not fail to give, and to 
instruct and call on all men to give, 
unto God the things that are God's. 
Assembled in the Holy Ghost, they 
do not seek to discover what is popu- 
lar — what may be pleasing or what 
contrary to the opinions, or prejudices, 
or passions of to-day, whether in the 
fulsome self-adulation, because of our 
vaunted progress, or in the intrigues 
and plans of worldly politics and 
national ambitions. They stand far 
above all this folly, and are not plunged 
into this chaos. They have to set forth 
clearly the one divine truth of revela- 
tion, which has been handed down 
from the beginning, and which they 
see now so frequently impugned and 
controverted, or set aside and forgot- 
ten. It is precisely because the world 
is setting it aside, that this council has 
met and will speak. 

Our divine Saviour himself de- 
clared that the world would oppose 
the teachers of his truth as it had 
opposed him. The history of the 
eighteen hundred years of her exis- 
tence is, for the church, but a continu- 
ous verification of that prophecy. The 
fathers of the Vatican Council cannot 
lose sight of the lesson thus given. It 
should purify their hearts and strength- 
en their souls. For they, of all men, 
must believe most truly and earnestly 
in the truth and the reality of Chris- 
tianity and the greatness of the work 
in which they are engaged. Hence, 
when the murmurs or the clamors of 
the opposition of the world come to 
their ears, they are not filled with fear 
or with surprise. Of all miracles, they 
would look on this as the greatest, that, 
as the Vatican Council speaks, the pas- 
sions and earthly interests and preju- 
dices of men should at once die out 
or grow mute, and that no voice 
should be heard in opposition, no arm 
be raised to arrest or thwart, if it 
could, the work of God. This they 
do not look for. Opposition. t£L>^\. 



4T4 



The Vatican Couneil. 



come, and lliey must not fear it, nor 
shrink from encountering it while at 
their post of duty. As they become 
conscious gf its approach, they can 
but gird tliemselvcs the more ener- 
getically to their work, and seek the 
guidance and strength of which they 
have need from on high. 

When we closed our last article, the 
prelates of the council were busily 
engaged, in accordance with the new 
by-laws, in writing out their observa- 
tions and criticisms on several draughts 
that had been put into their hands. 
This work, so far as then required, 
was finished on March ijlh. But on 
the i8th, the meetings of the general 
congregations, or committees of the 
whole, were resumed, and have been 
held since then on the sad, s^d, 34th, 
26th, a8th, 2f(th, 30th, and 31st of 
March, and April ist, 4th, jth, 6th, 
7th, Sth, lath, and iglh. 1 

The business or the council has en- 
tered on a new stage. Our readers 
will remember that early in December 
last the first draught or schema on mat- 
ter of faith was placed in the hands of 
the bishops; and that after some 
weeks of private study it was taken up 
for discussion in the general congre- 
gation held on the 38th of December, 
In our second article we gave some 
account of the character of this dis- 
cussion, in which no less than thirty- 
five of the prelates took part. At its 
conclusion the draught was referred for 
emendations to the special committee 
or deputation on matters of faith, to 
which were also sent full reports of all 
the discourses in the discussion. This 
committee held many meetings, and 
went over the whole matter two or 
tlirce times with the utmost care, 
hearing the authors of the draught and 
weighing the arguments and observa- 
tions made in the general congrega- 
tions. They divided the schema or 
draught into two parts, and now re- 
jwrted back the first part amended. 



containing an introduction and four 
chapters, with canons annexed. 

This new and revised draught or 
schema, so presented to the bishops — 
in print, of course, as are all the cod- 
ciliar documents — was again to be sub- 
mitted to a renewed discussion and 
examination, first in genera! on its 
plan as a whole, and then by parts, 
first on the introduction, and then suc- 
cessively on each of the four chapters 
which composed it A member of 
the deputation or committee on faith 
opened the discussion by speaking as 
the organ of the committee, and ex- 
plaining and upholding what they 
had done. Many other fathers took 
part in the lively discussions which 
followed. The speeches were very 
brief and to the point, only one of 
them exceeding half an hour, and ser- 
eral not lasting more than five min- 
utes. Those who wished to spcnk 
sent in their names beforehand to the 
presiding cardinals, as on former occa- 
sions, and were catted to the pulpit in 
their regular order. The spokcsmuD 
of the committee, or, in fact, any other 
member, might, dur'mg the course of 
the debate, take the pulpit to give some 
desired explanation or to reply to < 
speaker. All who wished to propose 
further amendments or changes were 
required to hand them in in writing. 
This the speakers generally did at the 
conclusion of their discourses. When 
at lengtli the discussion on any spe- 
cial part — for example, on the intro- 
duction — was terminated, that portion 
of the schema and aJl the proposed 
amendments were referred again to 
the committee. The amendments 
were printed, and a few days after, 
in a general congregation, the whole 
matter would come up for a vote. 
The commhlee announced which at 
the amendments they accepted. Thcj 
stated briefly the reasons for wbidi 
they were unwilling to accept the 
others. The fathers then voted co 



The Vatican Council. 



415 



each amendment singly, unless, in- 
deed, as sometimes happened, the au- 
thor, satisfied with the explanation 
or replies given, asked leave to with- 
draw it 

This chapter or portion of schema, 
or draught, was then again printed, in- 
troducing into it the amendments that 
had been thus adopted; and it was 
again submitted as a whole to the 
vote of the fathers. 

All these votes were taken with- 
out unnecessary expenditure of time. 
When a question was proposed, all in 
the affirmative were called on to rise, 
and to remain standing until their 
number was ascertained. They then 
sat down, and all in the negative were 
in their turn summoned to rise, and 
to remain standing until they were 
counted. 

As there are usually over seven 
hundred prelates present and voting, 
it is clear that if the numbers on each 
side are nearly even, there might be 
some difficulty in settling the vote. 
But the evil did not occur. It so 
happened that on every vote the 
majority was so preponderating in 
numbers that an actual count was 
not necessary. It is said that only 
on one occasion they were nearly 
evenly divided. The important ques- 
tion happened to be whether the in- 
sertion of a certain comma between 
two words in the text before them 
would make the sense more distinct 
or not. The division of sentiment 
on so small a matter caused some 
amusement; but it was evidence of 
the painstaking care with which even 
the minutest points are scrutinized and 
cared for. 

When the introduction and each 
one of the chapters with its accom- 
panying canons had been thus se- 
parately passed on, the entire schema 
as a whole was submitted to the 
fathers for a more solemn and de- 
cisive vote. This was done in the 



general congregations held on April 
1 2 th and April 19th. The vote was 
taken, not, as in deciding on the de- 
tails, by the act of rising, but by ayes 
and noes. 

This was first done in the congrega- 
tion of the 1 2 th, in the following man- 
ner : The secretary from the lofty pul- 
pit called the prelates one after the 
other, according to their ranks and 
their seniority in their several ranks, 
naming each one by his ecclesiastical 
title. The cardinals presiding were 
called first, the other cardinals next, 
then the patriarchs, the primates, the 
archbishops, the bishops, the mitred 
abbots, and the superiors of the va- 
rious religious orders and congrega- 
tions having solemn vows. As each 
prelate was called, he rose in his place, 
bowed to the assembly, and voted. 
The form was Hacet^ if he approved 
entirely ; Placet juxta moduniy if there 
were any minor point which he was 
unwilling to approve ; or Nonplacety if 
he disapproved. In the second case, 
he handed in a written statement of 
his opinion and vote on that point, 
and assigned the reasons which moved 
him to this special view. The asses- 
sors of the council immediately re- 
ceived these manuscripts, and deli- 
vered them to the presiding legates. 
As the name of each one was called, 
if not present, he was marked absent; 
if present and voting, two or three of 
the officials, stationed here and there 
in the hall, repeated with clear bell- 
like voices the form of words used by 
the prelate in voting, so that all might 
hear them, and that no mistake could 
be committed as to any one's vote. 
The whole procedure occupied about 
two hours. When it was over, the 
votes were counted before all, and the 
result declared. This was in reality 
the most solemn and formal voting 
of the bishops on the matter so far 
before them. Each one's judgment 
is asked, and he must give iu \X.^^& 



4i6 



The Vatican CounciL 



evident the bishops voted after mature 
study, and with an evident singleness 
and simplicity of heart before God. 

The special matters urged in the 
written and conditional votes were 
again, and ^or the last time, examined 
by the committee or deputation on 
matters of faith, they reported the re- 
sult of their discussion in the congre- 
gation of April 19th, and the precise 
form of words was settled, to be de- 
creed and published in the third 
public session, which will be held on 
Low-Sunday. 

It thus appears that nothing will be 
put forth by the council without the 
fullest study and examination. 

1. The schemata, or draughts, as pre- 
sented to the council, are the result 
of the studies and conferences of able 
theologians of Rome, and of every 
Catholic country. 

2. The schema is subjected to a 
thorough debate before the general 
congregation or, committee of the 
whole, or under the by-laws, it is 
placed in the hands of each one of 
the bishops, and every one who 
thinks it proper gives in writing his 
remarks on it, and proposes his emen- 
dations. 

3. The schema, and these remarks 
and proposed amendments, are care- 
fully considered by the deputation 
or committee to whom they are re- 
ferred, whose office it is to prepare 
for the council a revised and amend- 
ed draught. The twenty-four mem- 
bers of the deputation are picked men, 
and the examination and discussion 
of the subjects by them has proved 
to be all that the fathers looked for — 
most thorough and searching. 

4. Again, on their re\'ised report, 
the matter is a second time brought 
before the general committee, and is 
again discussed by the fathers, who 
are at liberty still to propose further 
changes and amendments. As a mat- 



ter of fact, these turn mostly on minute 
details and on forms of expression. 

5. Again, in the light of those pro- 
posed amendments, it is examined and 
discussed by the committee, who make 
their final report, accepting or not ac- 
cepting the several amendments, and 
assigning to the congregation the rea- 
sons for their decision on each point 
They thus enjoy the privilege of dos- 
ing the debate. 

6. Then follows the voting. One 
portion of the schema is taken up. 
The amendments touching it, so re- 
ported on by the committee, are one 
by one either adopted or rejected, and 
then the whole portion is passed on. 
One after the other the remaining 
portions are taken up, and acted on 
in the same manner. The amend- 
ments are first disposed of one by 
one, and then each portion is sepa- 
rately voted on. Finally, all the parts 
as separately adopted are put together, 
and on the whole schema so composed 
a more solemn vote is taken by ayes 
and noes. 

This concludes the, so to speak, 
consultative action of the council on 
that schema. It is now ready for a 
solemn enactment and promulgation 
in the next public session of the coun- 
cil. (This session was held on Low- 
Sunday.— Ed. C. W.) 

The time is approaching when the 
first portion of the decisions and de- 
crees of the Vatican Council will be 
given to the world in the third public 
session, to be held on Low-Sunday. 
Already enough has come to light, in 
the better informed presses of Europe, 
to let us know the general tenor of 
what we shall soon hear. As it has 
become a matter of notoriety, we may 
speak of the subjects so said to be 
treated of. 

The state of the world, and the er- 
rors and evils to be met and con- 
demned in this nineteenth century by 



The Vatican Council. 



417 



the Vatican Council, are very different 
from those which all previous councils 
were assembled to resist. The here- 
sies then to be encountered denied 
this or that doctrine in particular, and 
erred on one or another point. But 
they all admitted the existence of God, 
the reality and truth, at least in a ge- 
neral way, of a revelation from hea- 
ven through Christ our Lord, and the 
obligation of man to receive it, and to 
be guided by it in belief and practice. 
Now, the world sees but too many who 
go far beyond that. Then, so to speak, 
the outposts were assailed. Now the 
very citadel of revelation is attacked. 
Schools of a falsely called philosophy 
have arisen which, with a pretended 
sliow of reasoning, deny the existence 
of God, of spiritual beings, of the soul 
of man, and recognize only the exis- 
tence of physical matter. Or if they 
si^eak of God, it is by an abuse of 
terms, and in a pantheistic sense, 
holding him to be only the totality 
of all existing things, a personifica- 
tion of universal nature; or else, if 
they wish to be more abstruse or 
more unintelligible, God is, according 
to them, the primal being, a vague 
and indefinite first substance, by the 
changes, evolutions, emanations, and 
modifications of which all existing 
things have come to be as they are. 
Many are the phases of materialism, 
pantheism, and theopantism in which 
German metaphysicians revel, and call 
it high intellectual culture. The pith 
of all of them is atheism, the denial 
of the real existence of God. 

The English mind is, or believes 
itself to be, more practical and matter- 
of-fact. It does not wander through 
the dreamy mazes of German meta- 
physics. It has no taste for such ex- 
cursions. But there is a school in 
England which, under the pretence 
of respecting facts, reaches practically 
the same sad results. It tells its dis- 
ciples of what has been termed the 

VOL. XI. — 2y 



philosophy of the unknowable and 
unintelligible, and declares that man, 
possessed only of such limited powers 
of knowledge as experience proves us 
to have, cannot conceive, cannot real- 
ly know, cannot be made to know, any 
thing of God, the self-existent and ab- 
solute, eternal, infinitely wise and infi- 
nitely perfect, and that these words are 
merely conventional sounds, in reality 
meaningless, and conveying no real 
thought to the mind. Hence, he is 
to be held at once the wisest philoso- 
pher and most sensible man who dis- 
cards them altogether, who throws 
aside all these useless, cloudy, unin- 
telligible subjects, and occupies him- 
self with the immediate and actual 
world around him, of which alone, 
through his senses, his experiments, 
and his experiences, he can obtain 
some certain and positive knowledge. 
This they call independence and free- 
dom of science. In many minds it 
would be pure atheism, if pure athe- 
ism were possible ; in many others, it 
has produced and is producing a hazi- 
ness of doubt, and an uncertainty on 
all these points touching the existence 
and the attributes of God, as in prac- 
tice leads to almost the same result. 

The French mind is active, acute, 
sketchy, imaginative, logical, and prac- 
tical. On a minimum quantity of facts 
or principles it will construct a vast 
theory. If facts are too few to sup- 
port the theory, imagination can readi- 
ly supply all that are lacking. The 
theory, if logically consistent, must be 
reduced to practice ; opponents must 
stand aside or be crushed down. The 
theory must rule. From the days of 
Voltaire, if not before, France has seen 
men deny religion under the guise of 
teaching philosophy. The sarcasms, 
and at times the brilliancy of their 
writings, have made French authors 
the store-house from which infidels in 
other nations draw their weapons. It 
was in France tVial a iia!&oTi2l ^^cx^^ 



4i8 



The Vatican Council. 



enacted that there is no God, and it is 
in France and in Belgium that the so- 
cieties of so-called SoMaires exist, the 
members of which solemnly bind them- 
selves to each other to live and die, 
and be buried, without any act of reli- 
gion. Too full of confidence in their 
powers of mind to accept the English 
system, and to acknowledge there is 
any subject they cannot master ; too 
impressionable and practical to live in 
the cloud of German metaphysical 
pantheism, the French philosophers 
are prone to deify man, instead of 
imiversal nature. Whether they fol- 
low Comte in his earlier theories, or 
Comte in the very different theories 
of his old age, or whether they devise 
some other theory, it is generally man 
they place on the throne of the Deity. 
This worship of man, this spirit of hu- 
man itarianism, and this belief in the 
progressive and indefinite perfectibi- 
lity of mankind, which they hold 
apart from and in antagonism to 
the belief which worships God as 
the Creator and Sovereign Lord, and 
places man the creature subject to 
him, runs practically through many 
a phase of their character in modern 
times. 

These three systems — of course 
more or less commingled in their 
sources — have been extended to every 
portion of the civilized world. The 
German system has passed into Den- 
mark, Holland, and Sweden ; the 
French into Italy, Spain, and Portu- 
gal, and in some measure through 
them into Southern America. In the 
United States, we have been compa- 
ratively free from them. We owe it, 
probably, to the fact that with us all 
men are so busy trying to amass for- 
tunes that they have little time and less 
taste for such abstruse speculations. 
True, through the vast German immi- 
gration, we have received some por- 
tion of the German system. But so 
far it has scarcely spread among our 



citizens of other nationalities. The 
English system, strange to say, scarce- 
ly exists except in its vaguer influ- 
ences. The French system, intro- 
duced years ago, has struck deeper 
roots, and has a wider influence. 
But, on the whole, the mass of our 
people has a firm unshaken belief in 
the real truth of Christianity as a re- 
vealed religion. Although very often 
men are exceedingly puzzled to know 
what are the specific doctrines, still 
they have not lost the traditions of 
their fathers, and have not fallen into 
positive unbelief. How long these 
words will remain true, who can tell ? 
Luxury and the general demoraliza- 
tion becoming so familiar, and the 
systematic godless education of our 
youth, will soon perhaps place us in 
the van of those nations who seem 
to have been given up to the foolish- 
ness of their hearts. 

Meanwhile the church knows that 
she is debtor to all — that her mis- 
sion is to preach the Gospel of Christ 
to all nations. Seeing in what man- 
ner so many are going astray, so far 
as even to deny the God that made 
them and redeemed them, and know- 
ing that he has sent her as a messen- 
ger from him to them, she raises her 
voice, and, in clear, steady, clarion 
tones that will ring through the 
world, she proclaims again that he is 
the one true God, eternal and al- 
mighty, the Creator whom all men 
must know and must serve, and unto 
whom they will all have to render a 
strict account. This assembled coun- 
cil is itself evidence, clear as the noon- 
day light, of her existence, and her 
office in the world. Men may not 
shut their eyes to the fact. Her 
words are clear : " He whom ye 
deny exists, and speaks to you through 
me. He whom ye scoff at is your 
Creator and Lord, from whom ye have 
received all that ye have. He whom 
ye deride is long-suffering, and wiDs 



TJie Vatican Council. 



419 



not your death, but that ye repent 
and come t« him. Through me he 
admonishes, he invites, he warns 
you." Will these men hearken to 
her voice, or rather, the voice of God 
through her ? Does not the God they 
would deny give, as it were, sensible 
testimony of his existence, his power, 
and his authority, evidence which 
they cannot ignore or overlook save 
by a wilful and deliberate effort on 
their part ? They cannot fail to see 
the church claiming to be his. Her 
unbroken existence through eighteen 
centuries and her continued growth 
and advance despite opposition, and, 
still more, despite the quiet natural 
force of all human agency, external 
and internal, which under the ordinary 
laws of human things would have 
sufficed to disrupt and to destroy her 
a hundred times, an existence and a 
growth which could have proceeded 
only from a supernatural power, and 
which constitute a standing miracle 
in the history of the world, demand 
their attention and their respect. 
Her claim to be divinely founded 
and divinely supported, they must 
not scout with flippancy. They must 
at least receive it with respect, and 
examine its grounds. The most so- 
lemn assembly of that church, the 
most imposing assembly the world 
has looked on, an assembly autho- 
rized by the organization which he 
gave to that church, and therefore 
authorized by him, speaks to them in 
his name and by his authority. Will 
they receive the message, or will they 
turn away? Some there are who 
would not believe, if one rose from 
the dead. But we may hope and 
pray that others will hearken to the 
words of the Lord, and learn that to 
know and fear the Lord is the begin- 
ning of true wisdom. Above all, we 
may hope that many who have not 
yet advanced too far on the danger- 
ous road may become aware of their 



danger and their folly, and return 
to the paths of true and salutary doc- 
trine. 

Next to those who, following the 
systems we have indicated, or on 
any other grounds pretend to do 
away with the existence of God, come 
those who admit his existence, but do 
not admit that he has given a reveal- 
ed religion to mankind. It is unne- 
cessary to go over the various groups 
into which tliey may be divided. 
There always have been and will be 
men who will try by one huge ef- 
fort to throw off the yoke of religion. 
And what is there for doing which 
men will not try to assign some rea- 
son ? In the last century, and the 
early portion of the present one, men 
sought such reasons in the alleged 
contradictions of the Scriptures, in 
the mysteriousness of Christian doc- 
trine and the inability of the human 
intellect to comprehend them, in the 
procnistean systems of ancient his- 
tory which they invented, or in al- 
leged defects of the evidences of 
Christianity, or, finally, in their pet 
theories of metaphysics. At present 
the tendency is to base the rejection 
of revealed religion on its alleged in- 
compatibility with the discoveries of 
natural sciences in these modem 
days. Geology, anthropology, in 
fact, the natural sciences with scarce- 
ly an exception, have been in turn 
laid imder contribution or forced to 
do service against the cause of reve- 
lation. We have men appealing to 
this or that principle or fact as an 
irrefragable evidence by modem sci- 
ence of the false pretensions of Chris- 
tianity. 

To all such the church, the pDlar 
and ground of truth, the organ of 
Christ our Lord on earth, will speak. 
It is not her office to enter into the 
detailed discussion of scientific stu- 
dies, and to make manifest the errors 
of fact into which these mea Vvvi^ 



420 



The Vatican CoiuiciL 



fallen, or the fallacy of their deduc- 
tions. This she leaves to scholars 
who, in their pursuit of earthly 
knowledge, do not cast away the 
knowledge they have received of di- 
vine truth. Such Christian scholars 
have replied to the sneers, and gibes, 
and sarcasms of the last century, and 
have shown the utter worthlessness 
and absurdity of the arguments then 
brought forward against Christianity 
by men who claimed to speak on the 
part of science ; and there are now 
others answering with equal fulness 
the more modern objections. The 
church might, indeed, have left it to 
time and the progress of learning and 
science to vindicate her course and 
to refute the objections raised against 
her teaching. For, as a matter of 
fact, the grand difficulties brought 
forward half a century ago excite 
but a smile now, as we see on what 
an unsubstantial foundation they rest- 
ed. And a very few years to come 
will, we may be sure, suffice to over- 
turn many a pet theory of to-day, 
with their vaunted arguments against 
revelation. New discoveries will lead 
to new theories, that may or may not 
give rise to a new crop, a new set of 
difficulties, for man's mind is limited 
and cannot reach the truth on all 
sides, but they will consign the pre- 
sent difficulties to the tomb of the 
Capulets. To that tomb generation 
after generation of these so-called 
scientific objections are passing. The 
church does not undertake to teach 
astronomy, geology, chemistry, or 
phyr/.cs. Natural sciences are to be 
studied by man, in the use of his own 
reason and the exercise of his natural 
faculties. These things God has left 
to the disputations of men. The 
church does not despise these discus- 
sions and researches. She does not 
repress them nor oppose them. Quite 
the contrary. She has ever protected 
and fostered science. One of the 



most beautiful and instructive chap- 
ters in her earthly history would be 
that which tells how, from the school 
of Alexandria, in the days of persecu- 
tion, down the entire course of ages, 
she has ever sought to promote and 
foster science. She may with pride 
point to her canons and laws enacted 
for this purpose in every century. 
She may recount the long catalogue 
of schools, colleges, and universities 
established by her in every civilized 
land of Europe, and wherever she 
planted her foot ; and to the religious 
houses of her clergy, throughout the 
stonny middle ages the chief, almost 
the only safe homes of learning. 
Many of the universities which she 
founded have in the course of ages 
been destroyed by kings and nobles, 
who filled their own purses, or re- 
paired their wasted fortunes, by the 
seizure of endowments given for the 
free education of all that might come 
to drink of these fountains of learning ; 
even as this very month the progres- 
sive, liberal government of the king- 
dom of Italy is discussing the pro- 
priety of suppressing one half of the 
older universities they found existing 
in the portion of the Papal States, and 
in other parts of Italy, which ten 
years ago they annexed to the king- 
dom of Sardinia. When did the 
church ever do such an act ? Never. 
What university was ever suppressed 
by any act of hers ? None. She en- 
courages science. But at the same 
time she says, " God has given to 
man reason and understanding to 
seek after and to attain knowledge. It 
is a great and noble gift, to be prized 
and used righdy, and not turned to an 
evil purpose. If a father place in the 
hands of his son, as a gift, a weapon 
keen and bright, shall that son, with 
parricidal hand turn the blade against 
his father ? Beware not to turn these 
gifts of God against God himself. 
Use them not as pretexts to deny his 



The Vatican CounciL 



421 



existence, or shake off his authority, 
or to impugn his truth when he 
speaks." 

In giving this admonition, the 
church is acting in her full right 
She is in the certain possession of that 
higher divine truth which her hea- 
venly Founder has placed in her 
charge, to be carefully guarded and 
preserved until the end of time, and 
to be ever faithfully preached. Who 
ever denies it, she must oppose him. 
Whatever teaching would make it 
out to be false, she must condemn. 
The church, holding with certainty 
this divine deposit of the revealed 
truth, must not be compared, either 
in theory or in practice, with any pri- 
vate individual or society of individu- 
als, who hold and profess religious 
doctrines on the authority of their 
own reason and judgment, or of their 
private interpretation of the Scrip- 
tures. In such a case as this, these 
doctrines are simply beliefs, opinions 
of men avowedly liable to error in this 
very matter. They therefore stand 
on the same level, as to certainty or 
uncertainty of being true, with the 
other human judgments in the fields 
of natural science or human know- 
ledge which may rise up in opposi- 
tion to them. The two sides are 
fairly matched, and either may ulti- 
mately prevail. 

But, on the contrary, the church 
claims not merely to hold opinions, 
but, under the guiding light of the 
Holy Ghost, to have certain and in- 
fallible knowledge of the truths of 
divine revelation. Nothing that con- 
tradicts these established and known 
truths can she admit to be any thing 
else than error. In the contest be- 
tween them, the truth must prevail. 
This is the theory on v/hich the Ca- 
tholic Church stands, and in which, 
in reality, all Christianity is involved. 
The experience of eighteen centuries 
confirms it fully in practice. Never 



once in all that period has the church 
of Christ had to revoke a single doc- 
trinal decision, on the ground that 
what was believed to be true when 
uttered has since been proved to be 
false as the progress of science has 
thrown fuller light on the subject. 
In the early days of her existence, 
Celsus and the other philosophers of 
that classical period raised manifold 
objections from reason and such 
knowledge of nature as they possess- 
ed. Their objections accorded well 
with the public opinion of the time, 
and were hailed with applause. But 
the time came when they were felt to be 
of no force, and now they are entire- 
ly forgotten ; and the truth they im- 
pugned, and were intended to over- 
throw, stands stronger than ever. 
The Gnostics, with their varied and fan- 
ciful systems of conciliating the pow- 
er and goodness of God with the 
presence of evil in the world, and guid- 
ed, if we listen to their boasts, by the 
highest light of man's reason, brought 
forward many objections, then deem- 
ed specious. They and their argu- 
ments too have passed away, and 
the Catholic truth stands. So it has 
been in every age until the present 
time. One only instance in all history 
has been alleged, seemingly, to the con- 
trary — the condemnation of Galileo 
for holding and maintaining the Coper- 
nican theory. But there is no real 
ground of objection here. The facts 
of the case are misunderstood or 
misstated. The trial of Galileo, which 
was in truth more of a personal than 
a doctrinal issue, was simply before 
the congregation, or committee, of the 
Holy Office in Rome, and the sen- 
tence was by that congregation and 
not by the church. The difference 
between the sentence of such a tribu- 
nal and a decision of the church is 
world-wide. And, as if to mark that 
difference the more distinctly, that 
sentence, which, accoiOim% Xo ^^ m^^i- 



422 



The Vatican Conticil. 



I 



nl cniirso, nnil at least as a matter of 
Ini in, should have heeii countersign- 
nl by the rei^nin^ pontiff, that it might 
Ik* put into execution, nei'cr was so 
ji/V'/f'i/. Why, in that ease, the for- 
mnliiv was omitteil, whether it was 
not ileenieil neeessiiry, which, consid- 
ering the usage, would be very strange, 
or whether, which we think much 
more probable, it was in due course 
ot pnH'i\lure presented to the ]Hinlitf 
toi his signaluie, and heal^t.iined fn.m\ 
>ignu)g it tor reasons in his own mind, 
cannot now be known. Hut the origi- 
nal i^tficial manuscript copy ol" the sen- 
IvMue is e\iani. an^l there is no signa- 
ture ot" the pontuV to it. Kven havl 
he signcvl it, th.al would not have 
juaJ.v' tl\v* iivvuine:\t ;i vuvtrir.al de- 
c.v'.on oi'tl'.e clvaivh. I: wouM have 

tv*',v.a suNi s::u'.\v iho rx^cu'ar sor.:ov.ce 

ft « 

■ ft * ' 

.\" • ftft *V-«>V>C ».■»•* ••>i«»w* mv-**"* ••*,< • •< 
\'. ■ .V ft^ 1^ ? i*.^..>>«.ftftV» »^fti. ••.<<»* ••;" 

ft « %. « * 

>•«■<. * \ ft .« « "^K .VK« V.iftfttK-* •fc.ftft* *•■•««,««• 

\v "'v .iftivkSV »^**» \«>"k"" *»**»^*» V- 

*^■.» ■.'»• I «>%& »••- # \\ •-.» ■< •••■ .*V '~V 

• -ft ft-«\ •• ».»»•••.» k>«>%ft*«^ ...V'*-" 






• .>••% •- » *>*• --L •* X*1**W 

• ^ ■ * ■■ • ^ V** ' • ■ * ■ V* * ■ ■ ■ • * 

..ft- .«. -■ ■ ■•** 

V^ ■ ."x « .1.. .. • • «..v 



* Vft\ 



V*^ 



>- . * 






* ,-. ^ ' >- , '.'.*>» * 



• . X 



v 



• . • 



. h 



» _ 






should we not expect that the same 
spirit of insubordinate pride which 
leads reason to deny the existence of 
God, or his Divine Providence, or 
the fact of divine revelations, or em- 
boldens feeble, ignorant man to mea- 
sure, as it were, his feeble intelligence 
against the infinite wisdom of God, 
should also not refrain fix>m charging 
the Catholic Church with being an 
incubus on the human mind, with 
narrowing the intellect and fettering 
the reason, with restricting our liber- 
ty of thought, narrowing the field of 
science, and dwarfing the whole intel- 
lectual man ? 

But lime does her justice. She can 
jvint to Origen. Clement of Alexan- 
dra, S:. Jerome, Sr, Augustine, St. 
Thoir..is cf Ac; -in. S:. Aniekn, Duns 
5vv:-j>, S'-js-rx?^. Vosouez, and the 
raichty r.^ftir./.s cf the past- She may 
:\\": :.^ r.c: cli'-ire::. clenrvTnen ar.d 
!a\:v.c:'.. r.:*- 2-:.:r..i:r.i: in ibe n^o': 
r,i::<< vf e'. ;r.- rr-izjj: of 5c:er.ce. 









V ■ — .- > 






V ^-. 



.* -• J"~: ii ;. .: ; ▼ . " - 






■-.'. 



a lit 



:.^ * 



.»ft > * ^- 




The Vatican CounciL 



423 



tion of the world ; because, when the church 
condemned Luther, Calvin, and their follow- 
ers, who denied free-will and confounded 
good with bad actions, even giving the pre- 
ference to the bad ones, she prevented the 
human race from returning to the fate of the 
pagans and to the domination of evil over 
good. The church saved the civilization of 
the world. 

" When a council condemned schisms, it 
condemned the breaking up of the human 
race into factions and protected the unity of 
the race ; it condemned that paganism which 
divided the nations from each other and 
made them mutual enemies, whereas all men 
are brothers, as the children of the same God. 

**Whcn a council roused all Europe to 
follow the cross into Asia, to rescue the sep- 
ulchre of Christ, it saved the civilization of 
Europe, and guaranteed the civilization of 
the world against Mussulman barbarism. 

" When a council condemned the furious 
iconoclasts, do you know what it did ? It 
prevented the banishment of the beautiful 
from the world — the beautiful, which is the 
complement of the true and the good. If 
this new race of barbarians had not been 
repelled by the Second Council of Nice, we 
should not have had either the * David,* or 
the * Moses,* or the 'Transfiguration,* or 
the 'Assumption.* Italy would not be the 
queen of tlie fine arts in the world. 

** When the councils smote and deposed 
corrupt Caesars, the oppressors of their peo- 
ples, it was human reason, enlightened by 
faith, which conquered error, sustained by 
brute force ; it was charity which beat down 
tyranny, and civilization triumphing over 
barbarism. 

•• The Council of the Vatican, composed 



of the venerable fathers of the Catholic 
Church, extended throughout the whole 
world, differing in customs, habits, com- 
plexion, language, but united in the same 
faith, the same hope and charity — the Coun- 
cil of the Vatican comes to save, by the 
bishops, a civilization in peril. Errors the 
most impious, the most deadly, the most 
pernicious to the human race, which have 
been spread abroad during the course of 
ages, and which have sufficed, taken singly, 
to turn civil society upside down, are now 
all assembled together, and united with 
each other to batter and destroy it. Every 
thing which is the most true, the most sa- 
cred, the most venerated, is attacked; and 
some persons even go so far as to say that 
it is lawful to kill, to rob, and to calumniate, 
in order to attain certain ends. The Council 
of the Vatican has come, yes, it has come ! 
to condemn these blasphemies and iniquities, 
to awaken sleeping consciences, to confirm 
consciences which are wavering ; it has come 
to save civilization in peril. 

" O venerable fathers ! you who have 
hastened to Rome from the extremities of the 
world, at the summons of the successor of 
Peter, and who are at this moment gathered 
together in the name of God, at the Vatican, 
all men of good-will have their eyes fixed 
upon you ; and from you they await with 
confidence the salvation of the world. You, 
successors of the apostles, will fulfil the 
commandment given by Jesus Christ to the 
apostles and to you, to teach the nations the 
infallible truths ; the commandment given^ 
not to kings, emperors, or secular assem- 
blies, but to the apostles and to you — ^you 
will teach the nations these infallible truths, 
and the nations will be saved.*' 



424 



Foreign Lit era ty Notes. 



FOREIGN LITERARY NOTE& 



The Gospel in the Law, A Critical 
Examinaiion of the Citations from the 
Old Testament in the New. By Charles 
Taylor. Cambridge and London : Bell 
& Daldy. 1869. The relative positions 
of the Mosaic law and the new law may 
be studied from a great many points of 
view. That chosen by Mr. Taylor, in 
the volume before us, adds additional 
interest to his very remarkable work. 

The selection and study of citations 
from the Old Testament found irt the 
New give rise to many questions which, 
properly elucidated, throw much light 
on the connection which exists between 
Judaism and" Christianity. Mr. Taylor 
does not so much occupy himself with 
that ques.ion as with the manner in 
which the P#ible is connected with the 
Testament. Not that he undertakes to 
demonstrate that the germ of the new 
law may be found in the Old ; for that 
no one denies, and the title he has se- 
lected shows the object of his work, 
"the Gospel in the law." Not every 
thing in the work is new ; but the previ- 
ously accumulated erudition of the sub- 
ject is admirably rcsumJii^ and several 
chapters are m^.rked by orii^inality — 
the thirteenth, for instance, on Jewish 
and Christian morality. 

/ \jnWii's of Irish History, From An- 
cient and Modern Sources and Original 
Documents. By James J.G.skin, Publin. 
A iKUuisome volume, illustrated with 
four chromo-lillK\.:raphs, and an excel- 
lent nvip of the environs of PuMin. The 
work a-j^pears to In? made u;^ of a series 
of lectures delivered at Palkoy. a well- 
knvnvri charming suburb ol" HuMin, and 
of articles published at various times in 
the Irish newspapers concerning the his- 
torv oi" t!ie ]^rincip.d environs of PuMin 
— lUnvth, Kingston. Palkey. Bray, and 
Kir.ii^g. The beauiitul Kiy 01 PuMia 
and i:s picturesque shvues, of CvHirse, 
cone ill Tor their share ot" r.v^t'.ce. and a:^ 
the au:!ior g-.vos h ms.^f tlu* atnivONt 
V0j;e» lie r.ian.iges, in !:is nu!-alvile** 



digressions, to throw into his pages 1 
reflex of the intellectual history of Dub- 
lin during the last centur)% 

One of the most remarkable and event- 
ful missionary fields of the Catholic 
Church was, unquestionably, Japan. 
There are few more admirable pages in 
its history than those which recount 
the constancy and faith of its first mar- 
tyrs under one of the most bloody per- 
secutions the world ever saw. M. Ldoa 
Pages has just published a work giving 
the history of Catholicity in Japan from 
1598 to 165 1 : Histoire de la Religion 
Chriticnne au Japon^ depuis 1598 jus- 
gu'd 1651, cofttprenant Us fails relalifs 
aux deux cent cinq martyrs beatijiis le 
7 Jtiillet 1867, par Leon Pages. This 
volume, published separately, will form 
the third volume of a large work in four 
octavo volumes, to be entitled, IS Em- 
pire du Japon^ ses origineSy son eglise 
chretiennCy ses relations avec I Europe. 

The so-called Truce of God of the 
middle ages, under which a suspension 
of arms and hostilities was so often ob- 
tained, has too frequently been so im- 
perfectly understood and treated by his- 
torians and writers as to be confounded 
by them with the Peace of Goii — two 
things essentiallv different in origin and 
in application. In 1857, a work on the 
su!\iect was pul^lished at Paris by M. 
Ernest Scmichon. who by his judicious 
research threw an entirely new 1 ght on 
this question. M. Semichon has just 
pre^ente^l tlie literary world with a new 
edii'on of tlio work of 1S57, largely aug- 
nK*n:ed in fresh matter and in historical 
dvVu:iK!::s, in which he clearly cstab- 
!i>hos ;!-.o distinction between these two 
iustitutious, and lixes the origin of the 
Peace ot" C^od at about A.D. 9S8, and 
i!«.at of the Truee of God at 1027. He 
fv>l!.^\vs thcT development step by step 
thrv^v-h the eleventh, twelfth, and' thir- 
tee:^:h centuiies, examining them from 
the judicial and political stand-points, 



Foreign Literary Notes. 



425 



until the period when Louis le Gros 
took hold of the movement. After this 
period, the "Truce of God" becomes 
the Quarantaitu le Roi, In treating 
his subject, M. Semichon presents 
most interesting views of the great in- 
stitutions of the middle ages, its asso- 
ciations and customs, and also of the 
chevaliers, the arts, and the Crusades. 
His work is entitled La Paix et la 
Trhje de DUu, 

Until within a few years there were 
known to be in existence but three 
Biblical manuscripts of high antiquity. 
These were. Firsts the celebrated Vati- 
can manuscript^ second^ that of London, 
called the Alexandrine ; thirds that of 
Paris, known under the designation of 
the Palimpsest of Ephrem the Syrian. 
The first dates from the fourth century, 
the other two from the fifth. None of 
them are complete, however. In that 
of Paris the greater part of the New 
Testament is wanting. That of Lon- 
don is deficient in nearly the whole of 
the first gospel, two chapters of the 
fourth, and the greater part of the sec- 
ond Epistle of St. Paul to the Corin- 
thians. From the Vatican manuscript, 
the oldest of all, are missing four epis- 
tles, the last chapters of the Epistle to 
the Hebrews, and the Apocalypse. M. 
Constantine Tischendorf, a distinguish- 
ed Russian scholar, known in the sci- 
entific world for his superior Hellenic 
and paleographic acquirements, has 
the glory of having given to the Chris- 
tian world, by his discoveries, nume- 
rous sacred manurcripts of the highest 
antiquity, and, above all, the famous 
Codex Sinaiticus, which has over the 
three MSS. we have enumerated the 
great advantage of being coipplete. It 
dates from the same epoch with that of 
the Vatican. M. Tischendorf has told 
the story of its discovery, and of the 
long and difficult negotiations required 
for its acquisition, in a work just pub- 
lished, Terre Sainte^ an octavo vol- 
ume of 307 pages. The volume also 
contains an interesting account of his 
oriental travel la company with the 



Duke Constantine, and his visit to 
Smyrna, Patmos, and Constantinople. 
A fac-simile edition of the new Codex 
is in preparation in Russia, and a Ger- 
man translation of that portion of it 
which contains the New Testament 
will shortly be made. 

A noteworthy work is Le yuif^ le 
yudaisme^ et Judaisation des peupies 
Chretiens^ par M . le Chevalier Gougeuot 
des Mousseaux. Paris, 8vo, 56S pp. 
The career of Judaism is here histori- 
cally traced from the early ages of the 
church, when it spread through Eg)'pt, 
Alexandria, and Rome the Gnostic the- 
ories of Simon the Magician, down to 
the present day. The author presents 
successively all the traditions upon 
which the belief of the modern Jew is 
founded. Their Bible is the Talmud, 
a tissue of absurdities and immorali- 
ties. There exists a gulf between the 
ancient law of Moses and the Talmudic 
reveries so great, indeed, that the Jew 
can hardly call his law a religious law 
without flying in the face of the history 
and the faith of his fathers. Following 
these researches comes a keen analysis 
of the Pharisaical spirit. Concerning 
the synagogue, the Sanhedrim, the Tal- 
mudic rites, and system of education, 
the work gives the fullest details, with 
copious extracts from writers all favora- 
ble to Judaism, such as Prideauj^, Bas- 
nage, and Salvador. The result of the 
author's revelations is to show that the 
Jewish belief of to-day is absolutely 
diflferent from that of which Moses was 
the legislator. Modern Jews are di- 
vided into three classes — orthodox, re- 
formers, and free-thinkers. The re- 
formers are the Protestants of the 
Mosaic law. Nowadays, for the ma- 
jority of Jews, the coming of the Mes- 
siah is no longer understood in its 
ordinary acceptation. For them the 
** desired of nations " is merely an ab- 
straction. The author dwells at some 
length on the spreading influence of 
Judaism in worldly matters, and sounds 
a note of alarm that gives his work 
something of a pessimist tone. 



. 4^ 



New Publications. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Dr. Newman's Essay in Aid of a 
Grammar op Assent. By John 
Henry Newman, D.D., of the Oratory. 
I vol. i2mo. New York: The Cath- 
olic Publication Society, 9 Warren 
street. 1870. 

SECOND NOTICE. 

We have not yet given to this booV, 
destined to become so celebrated and 
the theme of so much controversy, the 
careful examination it deserves, and we 
will not, therefore, pay the poor compli- 
ment to the illustrious author of pro- 
nouncing a superficial judgment upon it 
We have given an analysis of its con- 
tents in our last number, which may aid 
the reader to understand and master its 
scope and course of argument for him- 
self. At present, we will merely take 
note of one or two salient points bear- 
ing on some questions of lively contro- 
versial interest at the present moment 
The great subject of controversy in re- 
gard to the philosophy of the work has 
already proved to be what we anticipat- 
ed at the first glance upon its pages — 
whether it is, or is not, in contradiction 
to the scholastic doctrine of the reality 
of universals. We give merely our im- 
pression, and not our judgment upon 
tliis point, when we say that it appears 
to us that Dr. Newman rather leaves 
aside the pure metaphysics of the ques- 
tion, than either contradicts or affirms 
any scholastic doctrine of this higher 
sphere of science. He appears to take 
the common English axioms of reason- 
ing as they are assumed in every-day 
life and made the basis of those induc- 
tions and illations which make up the 
opinions of intelligent persons on all 
sorts of subjects, and the conclusions of 
practical, scientific men in regard to the 
inductive sciences. He appeals to the 
common sense of those who are not so- 
phisticated by any false, sceptical max- 
ims in relation to common things, but 
who are simply puzzled by an apparent 
want of the same certitude in religion 
which they hold as unquestioned in 



lower branches of knowlcdire. He un- 
dertakes to show that the principles of 
assent which all men act on in the 
af&irs of this life lead logicallj to tiie 
same certitude of the infJIibilitj of the 
Catholic Church, and the tmth of every 
thing she proposes to belief that a man 
has that Great Britain is an island. If 
any one thinks there is a break or a 
weak spot in his chain of reasoning^ let 
him pull it apart and throw the firagments 
aside, and he will have accomplished 
a considerable feat in logic. We think 
that, on account of this manner of ap- 
proaching the subject, this book is like- 
ly to prove extremely useful in convinc- 
ing sincere, well-intentioned doubters, 
whose minds have been educated under 
the same circumstances and in the same 
intellectual atmosphere with those of 
the author. As for the analysis of cer- 
titude itself, and the metaphysics of the 
ultimate question how we know, and 
what is that which we know first, the 
author may be criticised ; but we think, 
as we have said, that he did not have it 
in view to propose a theory. We do 
perceive and know ; we do exist, and we 
know that other things exist, and we are 
certain of these things, and no pretend- 
ed sceptic really doubts. We may start 
from this, therefore, as a fixed base of 
operation, without waiting for a meta- 
physical thcor>'. If the theory which 
we hold is incorrect, we can change it 
without hurting our argument, just as a 
person who lives in a regular and sensi- 
ble manner, and is in good health, can 
change a physiological doctrine which 
he finds to be erroneous without chang- 
ing his practical rules of living. Whe- 
ther Dr. Newman's statement respecting 
real and notional assents be correct or 
not, ever)' candid and honest man will 
acknowledge that he does assent with 
certitude to the truth of those things 
which the author calls notions. We 
suspect, moreover, that the illustrious 
author in his affirmation that nothing 
really exists except individuals, means 
that there are no other spiritual or ma- 



New Publications. 



42.7 



lerial substances; or, in other words, that 
every substance is a simple monad ex- 
isting in itself and separate from every 
other. We do not apprehend that, in 
denying that time, space, relation, etc., 
are real, he intends to affirm that they 
are mere subjective affections of our 
minds without any foundation in objec- 
tive reality, but only that they are not 
either spirits or bodies, and would be 
nothing if there were no spirit or body 
in existence. We suspect that the no- 
minalism attributed to Dr. Newman is 
merely in the phrase, and that his dif- 
ference from the realism of St Thomas 
is only in the tenninology. 

The other point we desire to notice is 
theological. Our Episcopalian neighbors, 
and some others also, are accustomed to 
refer to Dr. Newman as an instance in 
proof of their frequent assertion that 
men of genius and learning in our com- 
munion chafe under the yoke of Rome, 
and, if they are converts, feel themselves 
disappointed in the expectations with 
which they entered the church. The 
recent letter of Dr. Newman to Dr. 
Ullathorne is, of course, a lucky wind- 
fall for them, and is interpreted as a 
proof that they were not mistaken. The 
volume we are noticing will, for every 
candid and sensible reader, completely 
scatter to the winds any false and ca- 
lumnious attempts to class Dr. New- 
man with Mr. Ffoulkes, Mr. Renouf, 
the translator of Janus^ and the rest of 
that clique in England, or to impeach 
the integrity of his failh and loyalty as 
a Catholic priest and theologian. The 
letter itself shows that Dr. Newman 
holds what his writings show he has al- 
ways held, as the more probable doc- 
trine, that the judgments of the pope in 
matters of faith are infallible. The ut- 
most extent of his expressions of repug- 
nance to a definition of this doctrine is, 
that he considers the weakness of faith, 
the lack of knowledge, and the deficien- 
cy of the reasoning faculty in a num- 
ber of Catholics to be so great, and 
the bewilderment of mind .so extreme 
in persons outside the church who are 
seeking the truth, that they cannot bear 
to have the light too suddenly and 
brightly flashed into their eyes. The 
great and holy Oratorian father pities 



these souls, and wishes to have them 
cautiously and gently led into the truth ; 
and he is afraid that the pope, sitting in 
the effulgence of the divine Shekinah in 
the temple of God, does not appreciate 
the state of those who are living in the 
fainter light or the clouded climates of 
a remoter region. The chapter of the 
volume under notice entitled, ** Belief in 
Dogmatic Theology," will show beyond 
a question what we have asserted of 
Dr. Newman's theological soundness, 
and we quote one passage as a speci- 
men. 

The church ''makes it imperative 
on every one, priest and layman, to 
profess as revealed truth all the canons 
of councils, and innumerable decisions 
of popes ^ propositions so various, so no- 
tional, that but few can know them, and 
fewer can imderstand thenh" (P. 142, 
Eng. ed.) 

In the chapter on the '' Indefectibility 
of Certitude " occurs this passage : '* A 
man is converted to the Catholic Church 
from his admiration of its religious sys- 
tem, and his disgust with Protestantism. 
That admiration remains ; but, after a 
time, he leaves his new faith ; perhaps 
returns to his old. The reason, if we 
may conjecture, may sometimes be this : 
he has never believed in the church's 
infallibility; in her doctrinal truth he 
has believed, but in her infallibility, no. 
He was asked, before he was received, 
whether he held all that the church 
taught ; he replied he did ; but he under- 
stood the question to mean, whether he 
held those particular doctrines 'which 
at that time the church in matter of bxX 
formally taught,' whereas it really meant 
'whatever the church then or at any 
future time should teach.' Thus, he 
never had the indispensable and ele- 
mentary faith of a Catholic, and was 
simply no subject for reception into the 
fold of the church. This being the case, 
when the immaculate conception is de- 
fined, he feels that it is something more 
than he bargained for when he became 
a Catholic, and accordingly he gives up 
his religious profession. The world 
will say that he has lost his certitude of 
the divinity of the Catholic faith ; but he 
never had it." (P. 240.) 

We do not desire to hac«^ 1^ \axV) v^ 



428 



New Publications. 



lerated in the church whose principles 
are precisely those here condemned by 
Dr. Newman, or to have the way open 
for converts to be received who lack the 
** indispensable and elementary faith of 
a Catholic." We look with dismay up- 
on the audacious and heretical attitude 
of that fallen angel F. Hyacinthe, the 
scandalous position assumed by Huber, 
Dollinger, and Gratry, and we antici- 
pate greater impediment to the progress 
of the faith from a miserable counterfeit 
and pseudo-catholicity, which is nothing 
else than the base metal coined by Pho- 
tius, than from the difficulties hanging 
about the history of the popes, which are 
no greater than those that beset coun- 
cils, tradition, or the holy Scripture it- 
self. Whatever definitions are promul- 
gated by the Council of the Vatican, no 
one pretending to be a Catholic can hesi- 
tate to receive them because they are 
" more than he bargained for." Those 
who have chafed under the doctrinal 
authority of the popes have been crying 
out for a council for two centuries. 
Those who are bond fide in any doubt 
or uncertainty respecting questions not 
yet defined have the way open for their 
doubts to be settled. If there arc per- 
sons in the communion of the church 
who have not the principle of faith in 
them by which they are prepared with- 
out hesitation to believe whatever the 
Council of the Vatican proposes, we 
desire that they should leave their ex- 
ternal connection with the Catholic 
Church, which they have already in- 
wardly abandoned. And we think it 
most necessary that the duty of unre- 
served submission to the infallible au- 
thority of the church, and to the Roman 
pontiff, as her supreme teacher and 
judge as well as ruler, should be most 
distinctly placed before those who seek 
admission into her fold. We are grate- 
ful to Dr. Newman for the clear and un- 
mistakable tones in which he has spoken 
on the obligation of believing whatever 
the church commands us to believe 
through the mouth of the sovereign 
pontiff; and as for the question what de- 
finitions are necessary and opportune 
for the present time, we confide abso- 
lutely in the divinely assisted judgment 
of Vims IX. and the Catholic episcopate. 



Since writing the above, we are glad 
to see that Dr. Newman has written an- 
other letter, in which the following pas- 
sage occurs : *^ I have not had a mo- 
ment's wavering of trust in the Catholic 
Church ever since I was received into 
her fold. I hold, and ever have held, 
that her sovereign pontiff is the centre 
of unity and the vicar of Christ And I 
ever have had, ^d have still, an un- 
clouded faith in her creed in all its ar- 
ticles ; a supreme satisfaction in her 
worship, discipline, and teaching ; and an 
eager longing, and a hope against hope, 
that the many dear friends whom I have 
left in Protestantism may be partakers 
in my happiness." {Tablet^ April i6th.) 
We are glad, we say, to see this, not on 
our own account, for we have the honor 
of a personal acquaintance with the il- 
lustrious Oratorian, and know him too 
well to have the need of any such assur- 
ance of his firm and ardent Catholic 
faith and piety ; but in order that the 
mouths of cavillers may be stopped, and 
those weak brethren who tremble like 
aspen-leaves in every light breeze be 
reassured. 

The Origin, Persecutions, and Doc- 
trines OF the Waldenses ; from 
Documents, many now fqr the 

FIRST TIME collected AND EDIT- 
ED. By Pius Melia, D.D. London : 
James Toovey, 177 Piccadilly. 1870. 
For sale by the Catholic Publication 
Society, 9 Warren street, New York. 

In the year 1868, a London daily 
newspaper produced editorially one of 
those statements so frequently made 
concerning the Waldenses, and which, 
by dint of repetition, end by passing for 
recognized facts. It was as follows : 

** For sixteen hundred years, at least, Ae 
Waldenses have guarded the pure and pri- 
mitive Christianity of the apostles. • • . No 
one knows when or how the faith was first 
delivered to these mountaineers. Irenaens, 
Bibhop of Lyons, in the second century found 
them a church. 

"These gallant hill-men have kept the 
tradition of the Gospel committed to them as 
pure and inviolate as the snow upOD their 
own Alps. They have midntained an 
gelical form of Christiaiiitj fioa ifat 



New Publications. 



429 



first, rejecting image-worship, invocation of 
saints, auricular confession, celibacy, papal 
supremacy or infallibility, and the dogma of 
purgatory; taking the Scripture as the rule 
of life, and admitting no sacraments but 

baptism and the Lord's Supper No 

bloodier cruelty disgraces the records of the 
papacy than the persecutions endured by the 
ancestors of the twenty thousand Waldenses 
now surviving. . . Never did men suffer 
more for their belief.'* 

As the author mildly presents it, these 
statements not being in accordance with 
his knowledge of the subject, he was 
moved to undertake a thorough investi- 
gation of the history of the Waldenses. 
To this end, in addition to the perusal 
of a long and formidable list of works 
given in the preface, and which is valu- 
able as presenting the bibliography of 
the subject, he made thorough investi- 
gation in the great libraries of England, 
Rome, and Turin, which last collection 
was found very rich in MSS. referring 
to the Waldensian period. Fresh sti- 
mulus and efficient aid were given to 
his efforts by the appearance of a very 
important work by Professor James 
Henthorn Todd, Senior Fellow of Tri- 
nity Church, Dublin, entitled, TJu Book 
of the Vauiiois ; The Waldensian Ma- 
finscn'ptSy which gives a notice of 
the long-lost Morland manuscripts late- 
ly discovered by Mr. Henry Bradshaw, 
M.A., Fellow of King's College, Cam- 
bridge, and librarian of that university. 
These MSS. are undoubtedly " the oldest 
extant relics of the Vaudois literature," 
and the most important documents re- 
lating to their history. 

The author forcibly presents /';/ exten- 
sOy and in separate chapters, the testi- 
mony of Richard, MonkofCluny, Mone- 
ta, De Bellavilla, Abbot Bernard, Reine- 
rius Sacco, Archbishop Seyssell, Eneas 
Sylvius Piccolomini, Casini, and many 
others, and in the fifteenth section ad- 
dresses himself to prove that the dates 
which Leger and Morland have assign- 
ed to the Waldensian MSS. are counter- 
feit. Leger assigns a.d. iioo as the 
date of the Nobla Ley^on and the Cate- 
chism of the MSS. Our author shows 
that these writings are of the fifteenth, 
not the twelfth century, and that the date 
assigned by Leger involves the contra- 



diction of proving that the Waldenses 
existed as a sect before the period of its 
founder, Peter Waldo. 

One long chapter is devoted to the 
supposed cruel Waldensian massacre of 
the year 1655, ^ related in the often- 
quoted Histoire Veritable des Vaudois^ 
and to the particular niurders described 
by Leger. These are confronted with 
the legal testimony touching the same 
facts. 

The work closes with an exposition 
of the Waldensian theological tenets, 
each one being presented separately 
with a statement of the Catholic doctrine 
on that tenet upon the same page. 

The book is a beautiful specimen of 
typography, and is illustrated with seve- 
ral photographs of pages of the Morland 
manuscripts. 



The Charlestown Convent; Its 
Destruction by a Mob, etc. 
Compiled from authentic sources. 
Boston : P. Donahoe. 1870. 

We remember distinctly the Ursuline 
Convent at Charlestown, as it appeared 
forty years ago, crowning a gentle 
summit with its grave and dignified 
buildings, and attractive grounds laid 
out and cultivated with taste ; a retreat 
of piety and a school of religious and 
solid education. We have often enough 
since that time looked upon its ruins, a 
perpetual monument of disgrace to Bos- 
ton and Massachusetts, a token of shame 
in close proximity to that other monu- 
ment, a monument of imperishable glory, 
which crowns the site of the battle of 
Bunker Hill. This pamphlet describ- 
ing the atrocious and barbarian outrage 
perpetrated on the night of August nth, 
1834, with the train of preceding and 
succeeding events connected with it, 
presents a page in our history which 
many persons would do well to ponder 
attentively. The outrage was occasioned 
by the publication of Six Months in a 
Convent^ one of a class of vile publica- 
tions which, for a time, were widely cir- 
culated and swallowed with credulity, 
but after^vard universally scouted with 
that scorn and loathing which the Ame- 
rican people always feels ¥i\\^^ \\. ^^ 



430 



New Publications. 



covers that it has been duped by the 
wicked and designing. There would 
be no need of reviving the memory of 
these things, if the same style of attack 
upon Catholics had not been renewed 
at intervals, and were not adopted at the 
present moment by restless fanatics, 
who, knowing that they are incapable of 
coping with us in fair argument, are 
fain to resort to these criminal methods 
of appealing to prejudice, bigotry, igno- 
rance, and passion, hoping to stir up the 
populace to a crusade against the Ca- 
tholic religion. The abettors of Re- 
becca Reed and Maria Monk in the 
pulpit and the press have had succes- 
sors to the present time. The Massa- 
chusetts Legislature has had its " smell- 
ing committee ;" Missouri has passed 
its outrageous laws ; other legislatures 
have attempted to lay their hands upon 
the property of the Catholic Church ; 
the most infamous laws are even now 
in consideration before the Legislature 
of Pennsylvania ; we have had the arch- 
angel Gabriel, and Judson, and Gavazzi, 
and Leahy, and we have now Bishop 
Coxe, Bellows, Hepworth, and MuUer. 
The same firm of publishers which for- 
merly was so active and conspicuous in 
putting forth the most vulgar and vio- 
lent attacks upon the Catholic religion, 
although in one instance it found it ex- 
pedient to hide itself under an alias^ 
continues its work under the guise of a 
more pretentious literature, embellished 
by offensive caricatures of the most 
venerable and sacred objects of the re- 
ligious veneration of Catholics. The 
spirit of falsification, the intention to stir 
up popular passion, the intolerance dis- 
guised under the name of liberalism, the 
determination to treat the Catholic clergy 
as the heads of a faction with ulterior 
treasonable and revolutionary designs, 
and the Catholic religion as a nuisance 
which ought to be extirpated by violence, 
are the same in the modern agitators 
that they were in their predecessors, and 
are in their English compeers, the Xew- 
degatesand Whalleysofthe British Par- 
liament. They tend to similar results 
with those which similar agitators have 
heretofore produced. The same train 
is laid, the same spark applied, and the 
chance of a similar explosion depends 



on the fact of the existence or non-exis- 
tence of a similar magazine of slumber- 
ing popular prejudice and inflammable 
passion. We say, therefore, that it is 
well for considerate persons who desire 
the peace of the community tq read and 
reflect upon this pamphlet. It is neces- 
sary that some very important questions 
should arise, where Catholics and non- 
Catholics form important elements in 
the same political community, with equal 
rights. It is impossible that peace and 
good order should be preserved, unless 
these matters can be discussed and 
arranged calmly and amicably. There- 
fore we say that the agitators who ap- 
peal to a violent solution, in case Catho- 
lics are not content with a simple tole- 
ration under a Protestant domination, 
are enemies of the public peace, and 
ought to be regarded as such by all good 
citizens. The Catholic clergy will never 
be agitators. If the eflbrt is made by 
demagogues to pervert the Catholic or 
Irish sentiment into an impetus of ille- 
gal, revolutionary movements, like the 
riot of 1863 and the Fenian plot against 
Canada, the whole authority of the 
church and all the influence of the clergy 
will be put forth against it It is for the 
present and future advantage and inte- 
rest of this country that the influence of 
the Catholic clergy over their people 
should be as great as possible, and that 
of clerical agitators and demagogues re- 
duced to nothing. 



Life of St. Charles BoRROMEa 
Edited by Edward Healy Thompson, 
A.^L Philadelphia: Peter F. Cun- 
ningham. 1870. 

St Charles Borromeo was one of the 
greatest of the true reformers of the six- 
teenth century. During the lifetime of 
his uncle, Pius IV., he held many of the 
highest offices in the Roman court, pos- 
sessed the pope's entire confidence. 
and exerted a powerful influence in fa- 
vor of whatever was for the good of the 
church. To his exertions were due, in 
no small degree, the reassembling of the 
Council of Trent, and the succe$s6il 
completion of its labors eighteen jean 
after its opening. 



Nnv Publications. 



431 



At the death of Pius IV., St. Charles 
returned to his diocese, and straight- 
way entered upon the work of its refor- 
mation, in accordance with the decrees 
of Trent. He succeeded in effecting a 
complete reform, and the example which 
he thus gave had a most salutary effect. 

The Life before us is well written ; 
it gives not only the facts, but likewise 
in some degree the philosophy of his- 
tory ; and it is free from that religious 
mannerism, so to speak, which is not 
unfrequenlly met with in books of this 
class. The typography and bindinoj are 
in keeping with the contents. There 
are, however, a great many very serious 
errors of the press defacing this other- 
wise well printed volume. 



First Book of Botany. By Eliza 
A. Youmans. New York : D. Apple- 
ton & Co. 1870. 

This elementary treatise upon botany 
is arranged in an entirely new manner. 
The book is intended to cultivate the 
child^s natural powers of observation. 
In ordinary text-books, the beginner is 
expected to master a great number of 
definitions and distinctions before he 
ventures to go into the fields and study 
for himself. We have always considered 
this method irksome, and we know it to 
be fruitless of result We therefore very 
heartily welcome Miss Youmans's little 
work. We hope that she has inaugura- 
ted a reform in the teaching of the natu- 
ral sciences. We confidently recom- 
mend the book to all Catholic schools 
where botany, or any of the natural sci- 
ences, form a portion of the course of 
studies. 



The Wise Men: who they were, 
ETC. By Francis W. Upham, LL.D. 
New York : Sheldon & Co. 1869. 

A book written with sound and solid 
learning, and originality of thought ; 
pervaded also by a spirit in harmony 
with Catholic teaching, so far as the 
topics are concerned upon which it 
treats. 



The Monks before Christ ; Their 
Spirit and their History. By John 
Edgar Johnson. Boston: A. Wil- 
liams & Co. 1870. 

This is one of the most shallow and 
stupid productions we have met with in 
a long time. The author met with some 
rather poor specimens of the monastic 
order in Europe, and breaks out into the 
exclamation, " Great heavens ! and these 
are the men who had the exclusive mani- 
pulation of our Scriptures for several 
hundred years!* (Page 18.) One who 
is so extremely weak in the reasoning 
faculty as this passage indicates has 
no business to write a book on se- 
rious topics, and is unworthy of refu- 
tation. The author informs us that 
monasticism is based on the Mani- 
chsean doctrine of an evil principle in 
matter. This shows an inconceivable 
ignorance which we cannot think is 
invincible or excusable, since the au- 
thor resided several months at the Uni- 
versity of Munich, and was well ac- 
quainted with the learned Benedictines 
of that capital, over whom the celebrat- 
ed Haneberg is abbot. 



The Flemmings ; or, Truth Trium- 
phant. By Mrs. Anna H. Dorsay. 
New York : P. O'Shea. 1870. 

The author of this volume has given 
us a pleasant story, interesting both to 
Catholics and Protestants, as tales of 
conversions to the true faith cannot /ail 
to be when founded, as this appears to 
be, on fact The pictures of natural 
scenery are fresh and life-like, and the 
moral and religious teaching unexcep- 
tionable. It is carelessly written, which 
will prevent the book from taking rank 
as a first-class story, though it will in- 
terest and profit certain minds, who 
would not prize it more highly if it 
were thoroughly cultivated and refined. 

A moment's thought would have pre- 
vented mistakes in local customs, such 
as introducing a hay-tedder into fuming 
operations forty years ago, and making 
our Puritan forefathers go up to their 
communion, whereas \]ki^>} Vi'aA idlqX x^- 



432 



iVVze; Publicatiojis. 



vercnce enough for the symbols to rise 
or kneel at their reception, but remained 
seated in their pews, even as their de- 
scendants do to this day. 

The blunders in spelling which mar 
many pages of the book would disgrace 
a third-rate proof-reader, and we are cer- 
tain the author never saw the proofs. 
Both paper and type are of inferior qua- 
lity. These faults are the more inex- 
cusable, as the beautiful covering, with 
the choice gilded medallion and precious 
motto, led us to look for something very 
nice in the way of print and paper. 



Wonders of Italian Art. By Louis 
Viardot. Illustrated. New York : 
Charles Scribner & Co. 1870.. 

An interesting book spoiled by care- 
less expressions and incorrect asser- 
tions. Such expressions as " the wor- 
ship of images," (page 28,) instead of 
" veneration," etc. ; the assertion that 
the " policy of the popes always was to 
foster disunion in Italy, in order to profit 
by it," (page 35,) and styling Savonarola 
"the Italian Luther," (page in,) make 
it unfit for introduction among Catholics. 
It is to be regretted that a book like this, 
containing as it does so much that is 
great and good in the history of Catho- 
lic art in Italy, should be marred by 
statements which are not historically 
true, and liave nothing whatever to do 
with such a work. 



Home Influence. By Grace Aguilar. 
New York : D. Appleton & Co. 

It is quite refreshing, after the floods 
of imi)assioned sensational novels that 
have poured from the press on all sides 
for the last ten or fifteen vears, to know 
that there is a call for the purity and 
high-toned sentiment that flow from the 
pen of Miss Aguilar. 

Twenty years ago, her works afforded 
interest and instruction, the present vo- 
lume to mothers especially, and though 
her children and grown people are some- 
times stilf and prigijish, and are wont to 
talk like books, they are always well- 
bred and refined, never descending to 



irreverence or slang, as they too often 
do in stories of to-day. 

It was formerly a criticism on her 
works, that they favored Judaism (tlie 
creed of their author) at the expense of 
Christianity ; but no such charge can be 
brought against Home Influence witli 
any truth. 

This volume presents an attractive 
exterior, and if the works of this author 
take again with the novel-reading pub- 
lic, it will be a symptom of returning 
health in the community. 



MissALE RoMANUM, ex decreto sacro- 
sancti Concilii Tridentini restilutum, 
S. Pii VI. jussu editum, dementis 
VIII. et Urbani VIII. Papse auctori- 
tate recognitum, et novis missis ex 
indulto apostolico hucusque concessis 
auctum. McchliniJE : H. Dessain. 

This Missal, from the house of the 
Messrs. Benziger Brothers, is printed 
in good, clear type, pleasant to the eye ; 
contains thd last new masses enjoined 
by the Sacred Congregation of Rites, 
and is illustrated with excellent full- 
page engravings. It is, besides, as a 
book, both serviceable and cheap. 

The Catholic Publication So- 
ciety has in press, and will publish, 
May twenty-fifth, a work by James 
Kent Stone, D.D, late President of 
Kenyon and Hobart Colleges, entitled, 
The Invitation Heeded: Reasons for 
a Return to Catholic Unity, As the 
title implies, Mr. Stone will, in this 
volume, give his reasons for becoming 
a Catholic. 

Messrs. John Murphy & Co. an- 
nounce as in press, The Paradise of 
the Earth; or^ the True Means of 
Finding Happiness in the Religious 
State, according to the Rules of the 
Masters of Spiritual Life. Translated 
from the French of L'Abbd Sanson, by 
the Rev. F. Ignatius Sisk, of the Cis- 
tercian Community, Mount St. Ber- 
nard's Abbey. Also, Devotion to iki 
Sacred Heart of Jesus. From tbe 
Italian of Sccundo Franco, S. J. 



A DOGMATIC DECREE ON CATHOLIC FAITH. 



EPISCOPVS SERVVS SERVORVM DEI 
CRO APPROBANTE CONCILIO AD 
RPKTVAM REI MEMORIAM. 



IRMED AND PROMULGATED IN THE THIRD PUBLIC SESSION OF THE VATI- 
COUNCIL, HELD IN ST. PETER's, ROME, ON LOW-SUNDAY, APRIL 24, 1870. 

::ONSTITVTIO DOGMATICA DE FIDE CATHOLICA. 

[This translation has been carefully 
revised for The Catholic World 
by some of the bishops attending the 
council.] 

PlUS, BISHOP, SERVANT OF THE SER- 
VANTS OF QOD, WITH THE APPROBA- 
TION OF THE HOLY COUNCIL* FOR A 
PERPETUAL REMEMBRANCE HERE- 
OF. 

Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of 
God and the Redeemer of mankind^ 
when about to return to his heavenly 
Father, promised that he would be- 
with his church, militant on earth, all 
days even to the consummation of the- 
world. Wherefore, he has never at 
any time failed to be with his beloved 
spouse, to assist her in her teaching, 
to bless her in her labors, to aid her 
in danger. And this his saving 
providence, unceasingly displayed in 
coundess other blessings, is most clear- 
ly made manifest by those very abun- 
dant fruits which have come to the 
Christian world from oecumenical 
councils, and especially from that of 
Trent, although it was held in evil- 
days. For thereby the holy doctrines, 
of religion were more distinctly de- 
fined and more fully set forth ; errors 
were condemned and restrained ; there- 
by ecclesiastical discipline was restor- 
ed and more firmly established ; zeal 
for learning and piety was promoted 
among the clergy ; and colleges were- 
provided for the training of young 
men for the sacred ministry; and 
finally the practice of Christian mocv 
lity was restored amon^Vlte^^Qi^ Vf 
more careful instcuc&oxi sokOl « 



EI Filius et generis humani Re- 
otor Dominus Noster lesus 
>tus, ad Patrem coelestem redi- 
;, cum Ecclesia sua in terns mili- 
?, omnibus diebus usque ad con- 
nationem saeculi futurum se esse 
lisit. Quare dilectae sponsae 
»to esse, adsistere docenti, ope- 
bencdicere, periclitanti opem 
nullo unquam tempore destitit. 

2 vero salutaris eius providentia, 
ex aliis beneficiis innumeris cen- 
ter apparuit, tum iis manifestis- 
com porta est fructibus, qui orbi 

tiano e Conciliis oecumenicis ac 
natim e Tridentino, iniquis licet 
•oribus celebrato, amplissimi pro- 
runt. Hinc enim sanctissima 
on is dogmata pressius definita 
usque exposita, errores damnati 

3 cohibiti ; hinc ecclesiastica dis- 
la restituta firmiusque sancita, 
lotum in Clero scientiae et pieta- 
udium, parata adolescentibus ad 
m militiam educandis collegia, 
Liani denique populi mores et ac- 
:iore fidelium eruditione et fre- 
tiore sacramentorum usu instau- 

Hinc praeterea arctior mem- 

im cum visibili Capite commu* 

univenoque corpori Chrisd 



A Dogfnatic Decree on Catholic FaitlL 



3. 



vel naturae regnum stabiliatur. Re- 
licta autem proiectaque Christiana rc- 
ligione, negato vero Deo et Christo 
eius, prolapsa tandem est multorum 
mens in pantheismi, matenalismi, 
atheismi barathrum, ut iam ipsam 
rationalem naturam, omnemque iusti 
rectique normam negantes, ima hu' 
inanae societatis fundamenta diruere 
connitantur. 



Hac porro impietate circumquaque 
grassante, infeliciter contigit, ut plures 
etiam e catholicae Ecclesiae ^liis a 
via verae pietatis aberrarent, in iisque, 
(liminutis paullatim veritatibus, sensus 
catholicus attenuaretur. Variis enim 
ac peregrinis doctrinis abducti, natu- 
ram et gratiam, scientiam humanam 
et fidem divinam perperam commi- 
scentes, genuinum sensum dograatum, 
quem tenet ac docet Sancta Mater 
Ecclesia, depravare, integritatemque 
et sinceritatem fidei in periculum ad- 
(lucere comperiuntur. 



Quibus omnibus j^erspectis, fieri qui 
potest, ut non commoveantur intima 
Ecclesiae viscera ? Quemadmodum 
enim Deus vult omnes homines salvos 
fieri, et ad agnitionem veritatis venire ; 
quemadmodum Christus venit, ut sal- 
vum faceret, quod perierat, et filios 
Dei, qui erant dispersi, congregaret 
in unum : ita Ecclesia, a Deo popu- 
lorum mater et magistra constituta, 
omnibus debitricem se novit, ac lapsos 
erigere, labantes sustinere, revertentes 
amplecti,- confirmare bonos et ad me- 
liora provehere parata semper et in- 
tenta est. Quapropter nullo tempore 
a Dei veritate, quae sanat omnia, tes- 
tanda et praedicanda quiescere potest, 
sibi dictum esse non ignorans : Spiritus 
meus, qui est in te, et verba mea, quae 
posui in ore tuo, non recedent de ore 
tuo amodo et usque in sempitemum.* 

* /• lix, at. 



mere reason, as they call it, or of na- 
ture. And thus, having forsaken and 
cast away the Christian religion, hav- 
ing denied the true God and his 
Christ, the minds of many have at 
last fallen into the abyss of pantheism, 
materialism, and atheism ; so that now 
repudiating the reasoning nature of. 
man, and every rule of right and 
wrong, they are laboring to overthrow 
the very foundations of human so* 
dety. 

Moreover, as this impious doctrine 
is spreading everywhere, it has imfor- 
tunately come to pass that not a few 
even of the children of the Catholic 
Church have wandered from the way 
of true piety ; and as the truth gradu- 
ally decayed in their minds, the ca- 
tholic sentiment grew fainter in them. 
For, being led away by various and 
strange doctrines, and wrongly con- 
founding nature and grace, human 
science and divine faith, they have 
perverted the true sense of the doc- 
trines which our holy mother the 
church holds and teaches, and have 
endangered the integrity and the pu- 
rity of faith. 

Now, looking at all these things, 
how can the church fail to be moved 
in her innermost heart ? For inas- 
much as God wills all men to be sav- 
ed and to come to the knowledge of 
the truth, inasmuch as Christ came to 
save that which was lost, and to ga- 
ther together in one the children 
of God that were dispersed ; so the 
church, established by God as the 
mother and mistress of nations, feels 
that she is a debtor unto all, and is 
ever ready and earnest to raise up the 
fallen, to strengthen the weak, to take 
to her bosom those that return, and to 
confirm the good, and carry them on 
to better things. Wherefore, at no 
time can she abstain fix>m bearing 
witness to and preaching the all-heal- 
ing truth of God; knowing that \V 
has been said to \vex, ^^>ll^ %^\fv\. ^i^c^X 
is in thee, and my vfOtd&^SftaX WjaN^ 



A Dogmatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



5 



nihilo condidit creaturam, spiritualem 
et corporalem, angelicam videlicet et 
mundanam, ac deinde humanam quasi 
communem ex spiritu et corpore con- 
stitutam.* 

Universa vero, quae condidit, Deus 
providentia sua tuetur atque gubemat, 
attingens a fine usque ad finem for- 
titer, et disponens omnia suaviter.t 
Omnia enim nuda et aperta sunt 
oculis eiuSjf ea etiam, quae libera 
creaturanim actione futura sunt 



counsel, '^ from the beginning of time 
make alike out of nothing two created 
natures, a spiritual one and a corporeal 
one, the angelic, to wit, and the eartb* 
ly; and afterward he made the hamaa 
nature, as partaking of both, being 
composed of spirit and body." (Fourth 
Lateran Council, ch. i. Firmiter,) 
Moreover, God, by his providence, 
protects and governs all things which 
he has made, reaching from end to 
end mightily, and ordering all things 
sweetly. (Wisdom viiL i.) For all 
things are naked and open to his 
eyes, (Heb. iv. 13,) even tiiose which 
are to come to pass by the free action 
of creatures. 



CAPUT II. 



CHAPTER II. 



DE REVELATIONE. 

Eadem Sancta Mater Ecclesia tenet 
et docet, Deum, rerum omnium prin- 
cipium et finem, naturali humanae ra- 
tionis lumine e rebus creatis certo 
cognosci posse; invisibilia enim ip- 
sius, a creatura mundi, per ea quae 
facta sunt, intellecta, conspiciuntur :§ 
attamen placuisse, eius sapientiae et 
bonitati, alia, eaque supematurali via 
se ipsum ac aetema voluntatis suae 
decreta humano generi revelare, di- 
cente Apostolo : Multifariam, mul- 
tisque modis olim Deus loquens pa- 
tribus in Prophetis : novissime, diebus 
istis locutus est nobis in FiIio.|| 

Huic divinae revelationi tribuen- 
dum quidem est, ut ea, quae in rebus 
divinis humanae rationi per se imper- 
via non sunt, in praesenti quoque ge- 
neris humani conditione ab omnibus 
expedite, firma certitudine et nullo 
admixto errore cognosci possint. Non 
hac tamen de causa revelatio absolute 
necessaria dicenda est, sed quia Deus 
ex infinita bonitate sua ordinavit ho- 
minem ad finem supematuralem, ad 

• Cone Later. IV. c i. Firmittr. 

t Sap. Till I. XQJi Hebr. iv. 13. 

f Rom. L Mw if Htbr. L t, 2, 



OF REVELATION. 

The same holy Afother Church 
holds and teaches that God, the be- 
ginning and end of all things, can be 
known with certainty through created 
things, by the natural light of human 
reason; "for the invisible things of 
him, fixjm the creation of the world, 
are cleariy seen, being understood by 
the things that are made," (Romans 
i. 20;) but that nevertheless it has 
pleased his wisdom and goodness to 
reveal to mankind, by another and 
that a supernatural way, himself and 
the eternal decrees of his will ; even 
as the apostle says, "God who at 
sundry times and in divers manners 
spoke, in times past, to the fathers by 
the prophets, last of all, in these days 
hath spoken to us by his Son.*' 
(Heb. i. I, 2.) To this divine reve- 
lation is it to be ascribed that things 
regarding God, which are not of them- 
selves beyond the grasp of human rea- 
son, may, even in the present condition 
of the human race, be known by all, 
readily, with full certainty and with- 
out any admixture of error. Yet not 
on this account iste\e\aL\\oti^i^^{^\iV^- 
ly necessary, Ymt becscoai^ G^A, ^ 'V5» 



A Dogmatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



participanda scilicet bona divina, quae 
humanae mentis intelligentiam omni- 
no superant ; siquidem oculus non vi- 
dit, nee auris audivit, nee in cor 
hominis ascendit, quae praeparavit 
Deus iiSy qui diligunt ilium.* 



Haec porro supematuralis revela- 
tioy secundum universalis Ecclesiae 
fidem, a sancta Tridentina Synodo de- 
tlaratam, continetur in libris scriptis 
«t sine scripto traditionibus, quae ip- 
sius Christi ore ab Apostolis acceptae, 
aut ab ipsis Apostolis Spiritu Sancto 
dictante quasi per manus traditae, ad 
nos usque pervenerunt.t Qui qui- 
dem veteris et novi Testamenti libri 
integri cum omnibus suis partibus, 
prout in eiusdem Concilii decreto re- 
censentur, et in veteri vulgata latina 
cditionehabentur, pro sacris et canoni- 
cis suscipiendi sunt. Eos vero Eccle- 
sia pro sacris et canonicis habet, non 
ideo quod sola humana industria con- 
cinnati, sua deinde auctoritate sint ap- 
probati ; nee ideo dumtaxat, quod re- 
velationem sine errore contineant ; sed 
propterea quod Spiritu Sancto inspi- 
rante conscripti Deum habent aucto- 
rem, atque ut tales ipsi Ecclesiae tra- 
diti sunt. 



Quoniam vero, quae sancta Triden- 
tina Synodus de interpretatione divi- 
nae Scripturae ad coijrcenda petulan- 
tia ingenia salubriter decrevit, a qui- 
busdam hominibus prave exponuntur, 
Nos, idem decretum renovantes, banc 
illius mentem esse declaramus, ut in 
rebus fidei et morum, ad aedificatio- 
nem doctrinae Christianae pertinen- 
tium, is pro vero sensu sacrae Scrip- 
turae habendus sit, quem tenuit ac 

• X Cot. ii. 9. 
t CoDC Tnd. Sem, IV, Dtcr. de Can. Script 



infinite goodness, has ordained man 
for a supernatural end, for the partici- 
pation, that is, of divine goods, which 
altogether surpass the understanding 
of the human mind; for "eye hath 
not seen nor ear heard, neither hath it 
entered into the heart of man, what 
things God hath prepared for them 
that love him." (i Cor. il 9.) 

Now, this supematiural revelation, 
according to the belief of the univer- 
sal church, as declared by the holy 
Council of Trent, is contained in the 
written books and in the unwritten 
traditions which have come to us as 
received orally from Christ himself by 
the apostles, or handed down from the 
apostles taught by the Holy Ghost. 
(Council of Trent. Session iv. Decree 
on the Canon of Scripture.) And these 
books of the Old and New Testament 
are to be received as sacred and 
canonical, in their integrity and with 
all their parts, as they are enumerated 
in the decree of the same council, and 
are had in the old Vulgate Latin edi- 
tion. But the church does hold them 
as sacred and canonical, not for the 
reason that they have been compiled 
by human industry alone, and after- 
ward approved by her authority; 
nor only because they contain re- 
velation without error, but because, 
having been written under the in- 
spiration of the Holy Ghost, they 
have God for their author, and as 
such have been delivered to the 
church herself. 

And since those things which the 
Council of Trent has declared by 
wholesome decrees concerning the 
inteq)retation of divine Scripture, in 
order to restrain restless spirits, are 
explained by some in a wrong sense ; 
we, renewing the same decree, declare 
this to be the mind of the synod, 
that, in matters of faith and morals 
which pertain to the edification of 
Christian doctrine, that is to be held 
as the true sense of the sacred Scrip- 
ture which holy mother church, to 



A Dogmatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



tenet Sancta Mater Ecclesia, cuius 
est iudicare de vero sensu et interpre- 
tadone Scripturarum sanctarum; at- 
que ideo nemini licere contra hunc 
sensum, aut etiam contra unanimem 
consensum Patrum ipsam Scripturam 
sacram interpretari. 

CAPUT III. 



whom it belongs to judge of the true 
sense and interpretation of the sacred 
Scriptures, has held and holds; and 
therefore that no one may interpret 
the sacred Scripture contrary to this 
sense, or contrary to the unanimous 
consent of the fathers. 

CHAPTER III. 



DE FIDE. 

Quum homo a Deo tanquam Crea- 
tore et Domino suo totus dependeat, 
et ratio creata increatae Veritati peni- 
tus subiecta sit, plenum revelanti Deo 
intellectus et voluntatis obsequium 
fide praestare tenemur. Hanc vero 
fidem, quae humanae salutis initium 
est, Ecclesia catholica profitetur, vir- 
tutem esse supematuralem, qua, Dei 
aspirante et adiuvante gratia, ab eo 
revelata vera esse credimus, non prop- 
ter intrinsecam rerum veritatem natu- 
rali rationis lumine perspectam, sed 
propter ,auctoritatem ipsius Dei reve- 
lantis, qui nee falli nee fallere potest 
Est enim fides, testante Apostolo, 
sperandarum substantia rerum, argu- 
mentum non apparentium.* 



Ut nihilominus fidei nostrae obse- 
quium rationi consentaneum esset, 
voluit Deus cum intemis Spiritus Sanc- 
ti auxiliis externa iungi revelationis 
suae argumenta, facta scilicet divina, 
atque imprimis miracula et prophetias, 
quae cum Dei omnipotentiam et infini- 
tam scientiam luculenter common- 
strent, divinae revelationis signa sunt 
certissima et omnium intelligentiae ac- 
commodata. Quare tum Moyses et 
Prophetae, tum ipse maxime Christus 
Dominus multa et manifestissima mi- 
racula et prophetias ediderunt ; et de 
Apostolis legimus : Illi autem profecti 
praedicaverunt ubique. Domino co- 
operante, et sermonem confirmante, 

* Hebr. xL i . 



OF FAITH. 

Forasmuch as man totally de- 
pends on God as his Creator and 
Lord, and created reason is wholly 
subject to the uncreated truth, there- 
fore we are bound, when Gcfd makes 
a revelation, to render to him the full 
obedience of our understanding and 
will, by faith. And this faith, which 
is the beginning of man's salvation, 
the church declares to be a superna- 
tural virtue, whereby, under the inspi- 
ration and aid of God*s grace, we be- 
lieve to be true the things revealed by 
him, not for their intrinsic truth seen 
by the natural light of reason, but for 
the authority of God revealing them, 
who can neither deceive nor be deceiv- 
ed. For faith, as the apostle witness- 
eth, is the substance of things to be 
hoped for, the evidence of things that 
appear not. (Heb. xi. i.) 

To the end, nevertheless, that the 
obedience of our faith might be agree- 
able to reason, God willed to join 
unto the interior grace of the Holy 
Spirit external proofs of his revelation, 
to wit, divine works, and chiefly mira- 
cles and prophecies, which, as they 
manifestly show forth the omnipotence 
and the infinite knowledge of God, 
are proofs most certain of divine re- 
velation, and suited to the under- 
standing of all. Wherefore both 
Moses and the prophets, and above 
all, Christ our Lord himself, wrought 
many and most evident miracles, and 
uttered prophecies ; and of the apos- 
tles we read, " But they gcivtv^ fei^ 
preached cverywYvex^'. Viifc V.o^^o'^- 



8 



A Dogmatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



sequentibus signis.* £t rursum scrip- 
tnm est : Habemus firmiorem prophe- 
ticum sermonetn, cui bene facitis at- 
tendentes quasi lucemae lucenti in ca- 
Kginoso loco.t 



Licet autem fidci assensus nequa- 
quam sit motus animi caecus : nemo 
tamcn evangelicae praedicationi con- 
sentire potest, sicut oportet ad salu- 
tem consequcndam, absque illumina- 
tione et inspiratione Spiritus Sancti, 
qui dat omnibus suavitatem in con- 
sentiendo et credendo veritati-f Quare 
fides ipsa in se, etiamsi per charitatem 
non operetur, donum Dei est, et actus 
eius est opus ad salutem pertinens, 
quo homo liberam praestat ipsi Deo 
obedientiam, gratiae eius, cui resistere 
posset, consentiendo et cooperando. 



Porro fide divina et catholica ea 
omnia credenda sunt, quae in verbo 
Dei scripto vel tradito continentur, et 
ab Ecclesia sive solemni iudicio sive 
ordinario et univcrsali magisterio tam- 
quam divinitus revelata credenda pro- 
I>onuntur. 

Quoniam vero sine fide impossibile 
est placere Deo, et ad filiorum eius 
consortium pcrvenirc; ideo ncmini 
unquam sine ilia contigit iustificatio, 
nee ullus, nisi in ea pcrsevcraverit 
usque in fincm, vitam aeternam assc- 
quetur. Ut autem ofiicio veram fidem 
amplectcndi, in eaque constanter per- 
severandi satisfacere possemus, Deus 
per Filium suum unigenitum Eccle- 
siam instituit, suacque institutionis 
manifcstis notis instruxit, ut ea tam- 
quam custos et magistra verbi revelati 
ab omnibus posset agnosci. Ad solam 
enim catholicam Ecclesiam ea perti- 
nent omnia, quae ad cvidentcm fidei 



• Marc. xvi. ao. 

X Syn. Araus. II. can. 7. 



t a Petr. L 19. 



ing withal, and coniinning the word 
with signs that followed" (Maxk 
xvi. 20.) And again it is written, 
" We have the more firm prophetical 
word ; whereunto you do well to at- 
tend, as to a light that shineth in a 
dark place." (2 Pet L 19.) 

Yet although the assent of faith is 
not by any means a blind movement 
of the mind ; nevertheless no one can 
believe the preaching of the Gospel in 
such wise as behoveth to salvation 
without the light and inspiration of 
the Holy Ghost, who giveth unto all 
sweetness in yielding to the truth and 
believing it. (2 Council of Orange, 
Can. 7.) Wherefore fiuth in itself, even 
though it be not working by charity, 
is a gift of God ; and an act of faith 
is a work tending to salvation, where- 
by man renders free obedience to God 
himself, consenting to and cooperat- 
ing with his grace, which he hath 
power to resist 

Now, all those things are to be be- 
lieved of divine and catholic faith 
which are contained in the word of 
God, whether written or handed down 
by tradition ; and which the church, 
cither by solemn decree or by her or- 
dinary and universal teaching, pro- 
poses for belief as revealed by God. 

And whereas without faith it is im- 
possible to please God, and to come 
to the fellowship of his children, 
therefore hath no one at any time 
been justified without faith ; nor shall 
any one, unless he persevere therein 
unto the end, attain everlasting life. 
And in order that we might be able to 
fulfil our duty of embracing the true 
faith, and of steadfastly persevering 
therein, (iod, through his only-be- 
gotten Son, did establish the church 
and place upon her manifest marks 
of his institution, that all men might 
be able to recognize her as the guar- 
dian and teacher of his revealed word. 
For only to the Catholic Church do 
all those signs belong, which have 



A Dogmatic Decree an Catholic Fait/i. 



christianae credibilitatem tarn multa 
et tarn mira divinitus sunt disposita. 
Quin etiam Ecclesia per se ipsa, ob 
suam nempe admirabilem propaga- 
tionem, eximiam sanctitatem et inex- 
haustam in omnibus bonis foecundita- 
tcm, ob catholicam unitatem, invic- 
tamque stabilitatem, magnum quod- 
dam et perpetuum est motivum cre- 
dibilitatis et divinae suae legationis 
testimonium irrefragabile. 

Quo fit, ut ipsa veluti signum leva- 
turn in nationes,* et ad se invitet, qui 
nondum crediderunt, et filios suos 
certiores faciat, firmissimo niti funda- 
mento fidem, quam profitentur. Cui 
quidem testimonio efficax subsidium 
accedit ex supema virtute. Etenim 
benignissimus Dominus et errantes 
gratia sua excitat atque adiuvat, ut ad 
agnitionem veritatis venire possint; 
et eos, quos de tenebris transtulit in 
admirabile lumen suum, in hoc eodem 
lumine ut perseverent, gratia sua con- 
firmat, non deserens, nisi deseratur. 
Quocirca minime par est conditio eo- 
rum, qui per coeleste fidei donum ca- 
tholicae veritati adhaeserunt, atque 
eorum, qui ducti opinionibus humanis, 
falsam religionem sectantur ; illi enim, 
qui fidem sub Ecclesiae magisterio 
susceperunt, nuUam unquam habere 
possunt iustam causam mutandi, aut 
in dubium fidem eamdem revocandi. 
Quae cum ita sint, gratias agentes 
Deo Patri, qui dignos nos fecit in par- 
tem sortis sanctorum in lumine, tan- 
tarn ne negligamus salutem, sed aspi- 
cientes in auctorem fidei et consum- 
matorem lesum, teneamus spei nostrae 
confessionem indeclinabilem. 

* Is. xi. la. 



been divinely disposed, so many in 
number and so wonderfiil in character, 
for the purpose of making evident the 
credibility of the Christian faith ; nay 
more, the very church herself, in view 
of her wonderfiil propagation, her 
eminent holiness, and her exhaustless 
fiiiitfulness in all that is good, her 
catholic imity, her unshaken stabi- 
lity, offers a great and evident claim 
to belief, and an tmdeniable proof of 
her divine commission. 

Whence it is that she, as a standard 
set up unto the nations, (Is. xi. 12,) 
at the same time calls to herself those 
who have not yet believed, and shows 
to her children that the faith which 
they hold rests on a most solid foun- 
dation. And to this, her testimony, 
effectual aid is supplied by power 
from above. For the Lord, infinitely 
merciful, on the one hand stirs up by 
his grace and helps those who are in 
error, that they may be able to come 
to the knowledge of the truth ; and, 
on the other hand, those whom he 
hath transferred from darkness into 
his marvellous light he confirms by 
his grace, that they may persevere in 
that same light, never abandoning 
them unless he be first by them aban- 
doned. Wherefore, totally unlike is 
the condition of those who, by the 
heavenly gift of faith, have embraced 
the catholic truth, and of those who, 
led by human opinions, are following 
a false religion; for they who have 
received the faith under the teaching 
of the church can never have a just 
reason to change that faith or call it 
into doubt. Wherefore, giving thanks 
to God the Father, who hath made 
us worthy to be partakers of the lot 
of 'tile saints in light, let us not ne- 
glect so great salvation, but looking 
on Jesus, the author and finisher of 
our faith, let us hold fast the confes- 
sion of our hope without wavering. 



10 



A Dogmatic Decr§€ on Catholic Faith. 



CAPUT IV. 



CHAPTER IV. 



DE FIDE ET RATIONE. 

Hoc quoque perpetuus Ecclesiae 
cathoiicae consensus tenuit et tenet, 
duplicem esse ordinem cognitionis, 
non solum principio, sed obiecto 
etiam distinctum: principio quidem, 
quia in altero naturali ratione, in alte- 
ro fide divina cognoscimus ; obiecto 
autcm, quia praeter ea, ad quae na- 
turalis ratio pertingere potest, creden- 
da nobis proponuntur mysteria in Deo 
abscondita, quae, nisi revelata divini- 
tus, innotescere non possunt. Quo- 
circa Apostolus, qui a gentibus Deum 
per ea, quae facta sunt, cognitum esse 
testatur, disserens tamen de gratia et 
veritate, quae per lesum Christum 
facta est,* pronuntiat : Loquimur Dei 
sapientiam in m3rsterio, quae abscon- 
dita est, quam praedestinavit Deus 
ante saecula in gloriam nostram, 
quam nemo principum huius saeculi 
cognovit : nobis autem revelavit Deus 
per Spiritum suum: Spiritus enim 
omnia scrutatur, etiam profun da Dei.t 
Et ipse Unigenitus confitetur Patri, 
quia abscondit hacc a sapientibus ct 
prudentibus, et revelavit ea parvulis.f 



Ac ratio quidem, fide illustrata, 
cum sedulo, pic et sobrie quaerit, ali- 
quam, Deo dante, mysteriorum intel- 
ligentiam eamque fructuosissimam 
asscquitur, tum ex eorum, quae na- 
tural iter cognoscit, analogia, tum e 
mysteriorum ipsorum nexu inter sc et 
cum fine hominis ultimo; nunqtiam 
tamen idonea redditur ad ea perspi- 
cienda instar veritatum, qua proprium 
ipsius obiectum constituunt. Divina 
enim mysteria suapte natura intcllec- 
tum creatum sic excedunt, ut etiam 

* loan. i. 17. 1 1 Cor. ii. 7, 8, 10. % Matth. xL ^i. 



OV FArrH AND REASON. 

Moreover, the Catholic Church has 
ever held, as she now holds» that there 
exists a two-fold order of knowledge, 
each of which is distinct from the 
other both as to its principle and as 
to its object As to its principle, be- 
cause in the one we know by natural 
reason, in the other by divine faith ; 
as to the object, because, besides 
those things to which natural reason 
can attain, there are proposed to our 
belief mysteries hidden in God which, 
unless by him revealed, cannot come 
to our knowledge. Wherefore the 
same apostle, who beareth witness 
that God was known to the Gentiles 
by the things that are made, yet when 
speaking of the grace and truth that 
came by Jesus Christ, (John L 17,) 
says, " We speak the wisdom of God 
in a mystery, a wisdom which is hid- 
den ; which God ordained before the 
world unto our glory ; which none of 
the princes of this world knew ; but 
which God hath revealed to us by his 
Spirit. For the Spirit searcheth all 
things, yea the deep things of God." 
(i Cor. ii. 7, 8, 10.) And the only- 
begotten Son thanks the Father that 
he has hid these things from the wise 
and prudent, and has revealed them 
to little ones. (Matt. xi. 25.) 

Reason, indeed, enlightened by 
faith and seeking with diligence and 
godly sobriety, may, by God's gift, 
come to some understanding, limited 
in degree, but most wholesome in its 
effects, of mysteries, both from the 
analogy of things which are naturally 
known, and from the connection of 
the mysteries themselves with one 
another and with man's last end. 
But never can reason be rendered 
capable of thoroughly understanding 
mysteries, as it docs those truths 
which form its proper object. For 



A Dopnatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



II 



revelatione tradita et fide suscepta, 
ipsius tamen fidei velamine.contecta 
et quadam quasi caligine obvoluta 
maneant, quamdiu in hac mortali 
vita percgrinamur a Domino : per 
fidem enim ambulamus, et non per 
speciem. * 



Verum etsi fides sit supra rationem, 
nulla tamen unquara inter fidem et ra- 
tionem vera dissensio esse potest : cum 
idem Deus, qui mysteria revelat et 
fidem infimdit, animo humano rationis 
lumen indiderit ; Deus autem negare 
seipsum non possit, nee verum vero 
unquam contradicere. Inanis autera 
huius contradictionis species inde po- 
tissimum oritur, quod vel fidei dog- 
mata ad mentem Ecclesiae intellecta 
et exposita non ftierint, vel opinionum 
commenta pro rationis effatis habean- 
tur. Omnem igitur assertionem veri- 
tati illuminatae fidei contrariam omni- 
no falsam esse definimus.t Porro 
Ecclesia, quae una cum apostolico 
munere docendi, raandatum accepit, 
fidei depositum costodiendi, ius etiam 
et officium divinitus habet falsi nomi- 
nis scientiam proscribendi, ne quis 
decipiatur per philosophiam, et ina- 
nem fallaciam. { Quapropter omnes 
christiani fideles huiusmodi opiniones, 
quae fidei doctrinae contrariae esse 
cognoscuntur, maxime si ab Ecclesia 
reprobatae fiierint, non solum prohi- 
bentur tanquam legitimas scientiae 
conclusiones defendere, sed pro errori- 
bus potius, qui fallacem vcritatis spe- 
ciem prae se ferant, habere tenentur 
omnino. 



Neque solum fides et ratio inter se 

♦ a Cor. V. 6, 7. 

t Cone. Lat V. BoIIa Ap^sfolicirtgiminit. 

X ColoM iL 8. 



God's mysteries, of their very nature, 
so far surpass the reach of created 
intellect, that even when taught by 
revelation, and received by faith, they 
remain covered by faith itself as by a 
veil, and shrouded as it were in dark- 
ness as long as in this mortal life 
"we are absent from the Lord; for 
we walk by faith, and not by sight/' 
(2 Cor. V. 6, 7.) 

But although faith be above rea- 
son, there never can be a real disa- 
greement between them, since the 
same God who reveals mysteries and 
infuses faith has given to man's soul 
the light of reason ; and God cannot 
deny himself nor can one truth ever 
contradict another. Wherefore the 
empty shadow of such contradiction 
arises chiefly from this, that either 
the doctrines of faith are not under- 
stood and set forth as the church 
really holds them, or that the vain 
devices and opinions of men are mis- 
taken for the dictates of reason. We 
therefore definitively pronounce false 
every assertion which is contrary 
to the enlightened truth of faith. 
(V. Lateran Counc. Bull Apostolic i 
J^cgi minis,) Moreover the church, 
which, together with her apostolic 
office of teaching, is charged also 
with the guardianship of the deposit 
of faith, holds likewise from God 
the right and the duty to condemn 
"knowledge falsely so called," (i 
Tim. vL 20,) " lest any man be cheat- 
ed by philosophy and vain deceit.'* 
(Col. ii. 8.) Hence all the^Chrisdan 
faithful are not only forbidden to 
defend as legitimate conclusions of 
science those opinions which are 
known to be contrary to the doc- 
trine of faith, especially when con- 
demned by the church, but are ra- 
ther absolutely bound to hold them 
for errors wearing a deceitful appear- 
ance of truth. 

Not only is it impossible for faith 
and reason ever to contradict each 
other, but they TaVhet ^ilo\^ ^a^Oci 



L 



dissidere nunquam possunt, sed opem 
(juoque sibi mutuam ferunt, cum rec- 
ta ratio fidei fundamenta demonslret, 
emsfjue luminc illustrati rerum divi- 
iiarum scientiam cxcolat ; fides vero 
rationem ab eiroribus Hberet ac tuea- 
tur, eamque multiplici cognitione in- 
struai. Qoapropler tantuin abest, ut 
Ecclesia humanarmn artium et disci- 
plinariini ciilturae obsistat, vt hanc 
multis modis iuvet atque promoveat. 
Non enim commada ob iis ad homi- 
nura vitam dimanantia aut ignorat 
aut despicit ; fatetur imo, eas, quem- 
admodum a Deo, sdentiarum Do- 
mino, profeclae sunt, ita si rite per- 
tractentur, acl Deum, iuvante eius 
gratia, perducere. Nee sane ipsa ve- 
tat, ne huiusmodi disciplinae in suo 
quaeque ambitu propriis utantur prin- 
cipiU eC propria methodo; sed iustam 
hanc libertatem agaoscens, id sedulo 
cavet, ne divinae doctnnae repugnan- 
do errores in se suscipiant, aut tines 
proprios transgressae, ea, quae sunt 
fidei, occupent et perturbenL 



Ncque enim fidei doctrina, quam 
Deus revelavit, veluC philosophicum 
inventum proposita est hum an is in- 
geniis perficienda, sed tanquam divi- 
num dcpositum Christi Sponsae tra- 
dita, fideliter custodienda ct infalli- 
biliter dcclaranda. Hinc sacroruni 
<ji]oque dogmatum is sensus perpetuo 
est relinendus, quern semel declaravil 
Sancta Mater Ecclesia, nee unquam 
abeosensu,a!iiorisinlelligentiae specie 
et nomine, recedendum, Crescat igi- 
lur ct multum vejiementerque profi- 
ciat, tam singulonim, quam omnium, 
tarn unius hominis, quam (oiius Ec- 
clesiae, aetatum ac aaeculoruni gradi- 
bus, intelligcnlia, scientia, sapienlia : 
sed in suo dumtaxat gunere, in eo- 
dem scilicet dogniate, eodem sensu, 
eademque sententia.* 

• Vint Lir. Common, n, A 



Other mutual assistance. For right 
reason esiablUhes the foundations of 
faith and by the aid of its light niltt- 
vates the science of divine things; 
and faith, on the other hand, " 
and preserves reason from errors, and' 
enriches it with knowledge of many 
kinds. So far, then, is the church 
from opposing the culture of human 
aris and sciences, that she rather 
aids and promotes it in many ways. 
For she is not ignorant of, nor does' 
she despise the advantages whidl' 
flow from them to the life of menj 
on the contrary, she acknowledges' 
that, as ihey sprang from God thfii 
Lord of knowledge, so, if ihey 1 
rightly pursued, they will, ihitmgfr' 
the aid of his grace, lead to GocL' 
Nor does she forbid any of those sd-* 
ences the use of its own principlet 
and its own method within its own 
proper sphere; but recognizing tiiiMi 
reasonable fi'cedom, she only takea' 
care that ihey may not by contra-' 
dieting God's teaching, fall into ( 
rors, or, overstepping their due limit^i 
invade and throw into confusion thtf 
domain of faith. 

For the doctrine of faith revealed 
by God lias not been proposed, lik*' 
some philosophical discovery, to b^ 
made perfect by human ingenuityj' 
but it has been delivered to tM- 
spouse of Christ as a divine depos 
to be faithfully guarded and i 
bgly set forth. Hence all tenets o 
holy faith are to be explained always- 
according to the sense and raeaninji 
of the church, nor is it ever lavr&l Ul 
depart therefrom, under pretence ai 
color of more enlightened expl 
tion. Therefore as generations t 
centuries roll on, let the understand- 
ing, knowledge, and wisdom of e 
and every one, of individuals and of' 
the whole church, grow apace amd' 
increase exceedingly, yet only in its 
kind; that is to say, retaining pure 
and inviolate the sense ajtd meaiiin^ 



A Dogmatic Dtcret on Catholic FaiiA. 



13 



CANONEa 



and belief of the same doctrine. (Vin- 
cent of Lerins. Common. No. 28.) 

CANONS. 



I. 



I. 



D£ DEO RERVM OMNIVM CREATORE. OF GOD THE CREATOR OF ALL THINGS. 



1. Si quis unum verum Deum visi- 
bilium et invisibilium Creatorem et 
Dominum negaverit ; anathema sit. 

2. Si quis praeter materiam nihil 
esse affirmare non erubuerit ; anathe- 
ma sit 

3. Si quLs dixerit, unam eandemque 
esse Dei et rerum omnium substan- 
tiam vel essentiam ; anathema sit. 

4. Si quis dixerit, res finitas, turn 
corporeas tum spirituales, aut saltem 
spirituales, e divina substantia ema- 
nasse; 

aut divinam essentiam sui manifes- 
tatione vel evolutione heri omnia ; 

aut denique Deum esse ens univer- 
sale seu indefinitum, quod sese deter- 
minando constituat rerura universita- 
tem in genera, species et individua 
distinctam ; anathema sit. 

5. Si quis non confiteatur, mundum, 
resque omnes, quae in eo continentur, 
et spirituales et materialcs, secundum 
totam suam substantiam a Deo ex 
nihilo esse productas ; 

aut Deum dixerit non voluntate ab 
omni necessitate libera, sed tam ne- 
cessario creasse, quam necessario 
amat seipsum ; 

aut mundum ad Dei gloriam con- 
ditum esse negaverit ; anathema sit 



1. If any one shall deny the one 
true God, Creator and Lord of things 
visible and invisible ; let him be ana- 
thema. 

2. If any one shall unblushingly 
affirm, that besides matter nothing else 
exists; let him be anathema. 

3. If any one shall say that the 
substance or essence of God, and of 
all things, is one and the same ; let 
him be anathema. 

4. If any one shall say that finite 
things, both corporeal and spiritual, 
or at least spiritual things, are emana- 
tions of the divine substance ; 

Or that the divine essence by ma- 
nifestation or development of itself 
becomes all things ; 

Or, finally, that God is universal or 
indefinite Being, which, in determin- 
ing itself, constitutes all things, divi- 
ded into genera, species, and indivi- 
duals ; let him be anathema. 

5. If any one do not acknowledge 
that the world, and all things which it 
contains, both spiritual and material, 
were produced, in all their substance, 
by God, out of nothing ; 

Or shall say that God created them, 
not of his own will, free from all ne- 
cessity, but through a necessity such 
as that whereby he loves himself; 

Or shall deny that the world was 
created for the glory of God; let him 
be anathema. 



II. 



DE REVELATIONS. 



I. Si quis dixerit, Deum unum et 
verum, Creatorem et Dominum nos- 



II. 

OF REVELATION. 

I. If any one shall say that certain 
knowledge of the ova tXM^ Oo4^^ ^>a2L 



H 



A Dogmatic Decree on Caikotk Foith, 



tnim, per ea, quae facta sunt, natural! 
rationis humanae lumine certo cogno- 
sci non posse ; anathema sit 

2. Si quis dixerit, fieri non posse, 
aut non expedire, ut per revelationem 
divinam homo de Deo, cultuque ei 
exhibendo edoceatur ; anathema sit. 



3. Si quis dixerit, hominem ad cog- 
nitionem et perfectionem, quae natu- 
ralem superet, divinitus evehi non 
posse, sed ex seipso ad omnis tandem 
veri et boni possessionem iugi profec- 
tu pertingere posse et debere ; anathe- 
ma sit. 



4. Si quis sacrae Scripturae libros 
integros cum omnibus suis partibus, 
prout illos sancta Tridentina Synodus 
recensuit, pro sacris et canonicis non 
susceperit, aut eos divinitus inspiratos 
esse negaverit ; anathema sit. 



Creator and Lord, cannot be attained 
by the natural light of human reason 
through the things that are made ; let 
him be anathema. 

2. If any one shall say that it is 
impossible, or inexpedient, for man to 
be instructed by means of divine re- 
velation, in those things that concern 
God and the worship to be rendered 
to him ; let him be anathema. 

3. If any one shall say that man 
cannot, by the power of God, be 
raised to a knowledge and perfection 
which is above that of nature; but 
that he can and ought of his own 
efforts, by means of constant progress, 
to arrive at last to the possession of all 
truth and goodness ; let him be ana- 
thema. 

4. If any one shall refuse to receive 
for sacred and canonical the books 
of holy Scripture in their integrit)-, 
with all their parts, according as they 
were enumerated by the holy Coun- 
cil of Trent ; 

Or shall deny that they are inspired 
by God ; let him be anathema. 



III. 

DE FIDE. 

1. Si quis dixerit, rationem huma- 
nam ita independentem esse, ut fides 
ei a Deo impcrari non possit; ana- 
thema sit. 

2. Si quis dixerit, fidem divinam a 
naturali dc Deo et rebus moralibus 
scientia non distingui, ac propterea ad 
fidem divinam non requiri, ut reve- 
lata Veritas propter auctoritatem Dei 
revelantis credatur ; anathema sit. 



3. Si quis dixerit, revelationem divi- 
nam extcmis signis credibilem fieri 
non posse, ideoque sola interna cuius- 
que experientia aut inspiratione pri- 



III. 

OF FAITH. 

1. If any one shall say that human 
reason is in such wise independent, 
that faith cannot be demanded of it 
by God; let him be anathema. 

2. If any one shall say that divine 
faith does not differ from a natural 
knowledge of God, and of moral 
truths ; and therefore that for divine 
faith, it is not necessary to beh'eve 
revealed truth, on the authority of 
God who reveals it ; let him be ana- 
thema* 

3. If any one shall say that divine 
revelation cannot be rendered credible 
by external evidences ; and therefore 
that men should be moved to faith 



A Dogmatic Decree ou CathMc Faith, 



IS 



vata homines ad (idem moveri de- 
bere ; anathema sit. 

4. Si quis dixerit, mtracula nulla 
fieri posse, proindeque omnes de iis 
narrationes, etiam in sacra Scriptura 
contentas, inter fabulas vel mythos 
ablegandas esse; aut miracula certo 
cognosci nunquam posse, nee iis divi- 
nam religionis christianae originem rite 
probari ; anathema sit. 



5. Si quis dixerit, assensum fidei 
christianae non esse liberum, sed ar- 
gumentis humanae rationis necessario 
produci ; aut ad solam fidem vivam, 
quae per charitatem operatur, gratiam 
Dei necessariam esse; anathema sit. 

6. Si quis dixerit, parem esse con- 
ditionem fidelium atque eorum, qui 
ad fidem unice veram nondum per- 
venerunt, ita ut catholici iustam cau- 
sam habere possint, fidem, quam sub 
Ecclesiae magisterio iam susceperunt, 
assensu suspenso in dubium vocandi, 
donee demonstrationem scientificam 
credibilitatis et veritatis fidei suae ab- 
solverint ; anathema sit. 



only by each one's interior experience 
or private inspiration ; let him be ana- 
thema. 

4. If any one shall say that no 
miracles can be wTOught ; and there- 
fore that all accounts of such, even 
those contained in the sacred Scrip- 
ture, are to be set aside as fables or 
myths ; or that miracles can never be 
known with certainty, and that the 
divine origin of Christianity cannot be 
truly proved by them; let him be 
anathema. 

5. If any one shall say that the as- 
sent of Christian faith is not free, but 
is produced necessarily by arguments 
of human reason; or that the grace 
of God is necessary only for living 
faith which worketh by charity; let 
him be anathema. 

6. If any one shall say that the 
condition of the faithful, and of those 
who have not yet come to the only true 
faith, is equal, in such wise that Ca- 
tholics can have just reason for with- 
holding their assent, and calling into 
doubt the faith which they have re- 
ceived from the teaching of the 
church, until they shall have com- 
pleted a scientific demonstration of 
the credibility and truth of their faith ; 
let him be anathema. 



IV. 



IV. 



DE FIDE ET RATIONE. 

1. Si quis dixerit, in revelatione di- 
vina nulla vera et proprie dicta mys- 
teria contincri, sed uni versa fidei dog- 
mata posse per rationem rite excultam 
e natural ibus principiis intelligi et de- 
monstrari ; anathema sit. 

2. Si quis dixerit, disciplinas hu- 
manas ea cum libertate tractandas 
esse, ut earum assertiones, etsi doc- 
trinae revelatae adversentur, tanquam 
verae retineri, neque ab Ecclesia pro- 
scribi possint ; anathema sit. 



OF FAITH AND REASON. 

1. If any one shall say that divine 
revelation includes no mysteries, truly 
and properly so called ; but that all the 
dogmas of faith may, with the aid of 
natural principles, be understood and 
demonstrated by reason duly cultivat- 
ed; let him be anathema. 

2. If any one shall say that human 
sciences ought to be pursued in such 
a spirit of fireedom that one may be 
allowed to hold, as true, their asser- 
tions, even when opposed to revealed 
doctrine ; and that s>id^^S5fct^OT&Toa.>j 



i6 



A Dogmatic Decree on Catholic Faith. 



3. Si quis dixerit, fieri posse, ut 
dogmatibus ab Ecclesia propositis, 
aliquando secundum progressum sci- 
entiae sensus tribuendus sit alius ab 
CO, quern intellexit et intelligit Eccle- 
sia ; anathema sit. 

Itaque supremi pastoralis Nostri 
officii debitum exequentes, omnes 
Christi fideles, maxime vero eos, qui 
praesunt vel docendi munere fungun- 
tur, per viscera lesu Christi obtesta- 
mur, nee non eiusdem Dei et Salva- 
toris nostri auctoritate iubemus, ut ad 
hos errores a Sancta Ecclesia arcen- 
dos et eliminandos, atque purissimae 
fidei lucem pandendam studium et 
operam conferant. 

Quoniam vero satis non est, hacre- 
ticam pravitatera devitare, nisi ii quo- 
que errores diligenter fugiantur, qui 
ad illam plus minusve accedunt; 
omnes officii monemus, servandi etiam 
Constitutiones et Decreta, quibus pra- 
vae eiusmodi opiniones, quae isthic 
diserte non enumerantur, ab hac 
Sancta Sede proscriptae et prohibitae 
sunt. 



not be condemned by the church; 
let him be anathema. 

3. If any one shall say that it may 
at any time come to pass, in the pro- 
gress of science, that the doctrines 
set forth by the church must be taken 
in another sense than that in which 
the church has ever received and yet 
receives them ; let him be anathema. 

Wherefore, fulfilling ou^ supreme 
pastoral duty, we beseech, through 
the bowels of mercy of Jesus Christ, 
all the Christian faithful, and those 
especially who are set over others, or 
have the office of teachers, and fur- 
thermore we command them, by au- 
thority of the same our God and Sa- 
viour, to use all zeal and industry to 
drive out and keep away firom holy 
church those errors, and to spread 
abroad the pure light of faith. 

And whereas it is not enough to avoid 
heretical pravity, unless at the same 
time we carefully shun those errors 
which more or less approach to it; 
we admonish all, that it is their duty 
to observe likewise the constitutions 
and decrees of this holy see, by which 
wrong opinions of the same kind, not 
expressly herein mentioned, are con- 
demned and forbidden. 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD 

or THE r ' ■ 



VOL. XI., No. 64.-V^XiKi»?worii:^^.^.^ 



n Liw^ 



^^. 



THE CATHOLIC OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 



The Catholic, like the church, is 
one and the same in all ages and all 
times. As she came forth from the 
hands of her Architect finished, com- 
plete, and perfect in every particular 
of solid structure and exquisite adorn- 
ment, in like manner the individual 
member, if he be faithful to her tradi- 
tion, practice, and direction, is, with 
the allowance of human infirmity, per- 
fect and complete in one age as well 
as another, without regard to local 
circumstances of civil government, 
education, exterior refinement, occu- 
pation, complexion, or race. 

Religion in its interior nature and 
intention has reference to the life to 
come. The life to come is the com- 
plement of the present ; as the religion 
of the Catholic Church is perfect, the 
future life which grows fi^m the seeds 
planted in time must necessarily be 
absolute perfection and unending sat- 
isfaction. The temporal fiiiit must 
likewise become true material well- 
being, if its growth and perfection be 
not interrupted by adventitious causes. 

The assertion of the absolute per- 
fection of the Catholic religion, with 
reference to time as well as eternity, 
is made with precisely the same sig- 
nificance with which we assert the 
VOL. XI. — 29 



perfection of God. It is made simply- 
and boldly, without hesitation, qualify 
cation, or reserve, and it will be the 
basis of our argument, and the startl- 
ing-place for the views and opinions: 
we propose to put forth. It is intend- 
ed for Catholic eyes. The defence 
of the proposition is no part of our 
concern. 

When they who deny or dispute it 
shall have vanquished a single one of 
the great champions of our faith fit)m 
Athanasius to Archbishop Kenrick,. 
firom Cyril of Alexandria to Archbi- 
shop Spaulding of Baltimore, picked' 
up the glove which Dr. Brownson has. 
flung down upon the field of contro- 
versy, replied to Wiseman, refuted 
Manning, and silenced Newman, it 
will be time enough for us to begin 
to consider the measures necessary 
for making good the position we have 
chosen. 

Placing ourselves distinctly upon 
the proposition, we invite attention) 
to certain relations which the Catho*- 
lie of to-day holds toward his race^. 
his country, his age, and the particu*- 
lar order and condition denominated! 
progress, and the spirit of the nine- 
teenth century. 

It becomes- necessary under tfaoe 



434 



The Catholic of the Nineieenih CetUuty. 



aspects to consider him as a dutiful 
subject of the head of the church, and 
a loyal citizen of an independent 
state ; as a freeman, and one bound 
by supreme authority ; as recognizing 
and obeying reason, and, in the free 
exercise of that royal faculty of the 
soul, surrendering certain prerogatives 
of private judgment to infallibility; 
as subject and at the same time sove- 
reign, both obeying and command- 
ing ; submissive to the laws and ac- 
knowledging the supremacy of a high- 
er law{pi|(lnch he is prepared to vindi- 
cate witYi^Stiptcty,libaty, and life, if 
the two come in conflict upon any vi- 
tal point in which he or the church is 
concerned, in the nineteenth century, 
precisely as he did in the first, the 
second, or the third century. 

The most obvious, interesting, and 
important view of the Catholic in his 
relations to the century is that of vot- 
er. Suffi-age, or the privilege of voting 
for our rulers, and indirectly making 
the laws by which we are to be go- 
verned, is not a natural right. It is 
an acquired privilege, and only be- 
comes a right when conveyed and 
acknowledged by competent autho- 
rity. Once obtained, it cannot be 
abrogated, and can only be lost by 
revolution, the fruit of gross political 
misconduct, or by voluntary neglect 
and disuse. 

The right of suffrage bestows spe- 
cial prerogatives upon its possessors. 
It superadds legislative and magis- 
terial functions to the obligations of 
private obedience; it communicates 
grace and dignity to the manly cha- 
racter, imposes definite and heavy re- 
sponsibilities upon each individual, 
requires the humblest citizen to parti- 
cipate in the dignity of the highest 
offices, and holds the most exalted 
personages to a distinct accountabi- 
lity to the people. It permits every 
Catholic to share actively in the plans, 
policy, And beneficent enterprises of 



the church, and enables him in some 
sense to take part in the divine go- 
▼emment of the universe^ physical 
and moral. 

It is a specific and precious gift 
bestowed on Catholics in this agie and 
country, and we are compelled to 
stand in the full blaze of the light 
of the nineteenth century, which is 
rolling out its illuminated scroll be- 
fore our dazzled eyes and almost 
bewildered understandings, charged 
with the manifold blessings or curses 
which must flow from the use or abuse 
of this momentous, one might almost 
say holy and hierarchical function. 

An offer and promise are as dis- 
tinctly made to the Catholfcs of this 
age as they were to the chosen peo- 
ple when released from the Egyptian 
bondage. A land of promise, a land 
flowing with milk and honey, is spread 
out before them, and ofiered for their 
acceptance. 

The means placed at their disposal 
for securing this rich possession are 
not the sword, or wars of extermina- 
tion waged against the enemies of 
their religion, but instead, the mild 
and peaceful influence of the ballot, 
directed by instructed Catholic con- 
science and enlightened Catholic in- 
telligence. 

A careful consideration of this sub- 
ject is particularly important at the 
present epoch and century. 

The nineteenth century is interest- 
ing to us because it is ours ; because 
it is the expression and exponent of 
much that has been dark and obscure 
in the past, because it is the most 
fruitful and bountiful in material re- 
sources and advantages of any of 
which we possess authentic knowledge, 
because it shines glorious amidst the 
centuries by its own intrinsic light, 
and by the light derived from modem 
discoveries, investigations, and inter- 
pretations thrown back upon the past, 
and by it reflected in turn upon the 



TAg Catholic cf ttu Niniiemth Cimtmy. 



435 



present It is especially important 
to us as Catholics, inasmuch as it 
seems to be a critical era in the reli- 
gious history of the human race, and 
to have been selected by Providence 
as a new point of departure in many 
important particulars of his dealings 
with mankind. 

The radical questions of the rela- 
tions between the supernatural and 
the natural, faith and reason, Rome 
and the world, justice and injustice ; 
between the material and transitory, 
and the immaterial and permanent; 
between that which is unchangeable in 
principle and those things which are 
progressive inaction; between church 
and state, God and man, are sharply 
defined, boldly stated, pushed to their 
ultimate, logical, and practical ex- 
tremes, and presented with all the ar- 
guments, inducements, promises, and 
threatenings of the most learned and 
eloquent advocates of the opposing 
causes to each individual Catholic for 
his election. 

The issue is as distinctly placed be- 
fore his mind as it was in the case of 
our first parents in Eden, of Europe 
in the religious revolution of the six- 
teenth century, of England in the 
days of Henry VIII. and his anti- 
Catholic successors. 

It is a question of instant and 
pressing importance, which demands 
an immediate and definite answer. It 
must be met and answered by the Ca- 
tholic of to-day, since to him are 
committed the obligation and busi- 
ness of perpetuating and regenerating 
society, purifying legislation, enforc- 
ing the administration of the laws, 
and setting an example of private and 
public virtue, justice, moderation, and 
forbearance. He has been furnished 
with an omnipotent weapon with 
which to accomplish this great work, 
and he is provided with an unerring 
guide to direct him in the administnip 
on of these important trusts. We 



do not hesitate to affirm that in per- 
forming our duties as citizens, electors, 
and public officers, we should always 
and under all circumstances act sim- 
ply as Catholics ; that we should be 
governed and directed by the immu- 
table principles of our religion, and 
should take dogmatic faith and the 
conclusions drawn from it, as express- 
ed and defined in Catholic philoso- 
phy, theology, and morality, as the 
only rule of our private, public, and 
political conduct Those things which 
are condemned by Catholic justice, we 
should condemn ; those things which 
are affirmed, we should affirm. 

There can be no circumstance, con- 
dition, or relation in which the Catho- 
lic is left without his guide, and there 
is absolutely no excuse if he fail in the 
performance of this duty, upon which 
rests the future prosperity of civilized 
society. 

While insisting on the dignity and 
obligations of suffiage, it may perhaps 
be necessary to observe that the church 
prescribes no specific form of govern- 
ment Government itself is required 
tmder some form, for the reason that 
we are created and fulfil our allotted 
destiny under the operation of an or- 
ganic law which we have the power, 
and under certain circumstances the 
disposition, to violate. 

We have no power to annul or ab- 
rogate the organic law, and its viola- 
tion in virtue of its own nature, and 
our responsibility entails specific pe- 
nalties in time, and, as it is eternal in 
its origin and action, eternity. Tlie 
superiority of the human race, and the 
merit and honor of obedience, reside 
in the power of choice, and the abili- 
ty which we possess to decide our 
temporal and eternal destiny, and re- 
new and perfect, or reject and oblite- 
rate our relations wiUi the Creator. 
A happy, prosperous, and peaceful 
temporal condition is not guaranteedi 
nor is it essential to tcuit ^t3XA)fikBi% 



436 



Tkg Catholic of the NiiuUmih Cmiurf. 



but these most desirable concomitants 
of earthly existence necessarily accom- 
pany and flow fh)m the enforcement 
of the requirements of the organic 
law upon our own conduct and that 
of others less disposed to obey them. 

All human government rests upon 
this basb, whether of patriarch, pro- 
phet, priest, king, chieftain, pope, bi- 
shop, emperor, or people in organized 
assembly. 

The principle underlying every form 
of government is that of command 
and obedience, because the govern- 
ment of the universe is one of law. 
Both command and obedience are of 
the same nature and alike honorable, 
because there can be but one source 
of law, and that is God ; and he in his 
humanity obeyed the laws of his own 
creation in his divinity, and personally 
fulfilled the obligations of his own im- 
position. Who is he who despises obe- 
dience, when the Son of Man became 
obedient to the death of the cross ? 

All legislation in harmony with the 
organic law is theocratic and divine ; 
all in violation or opposition, precisely 
in the measure and degree of depar- 
ture, unjust, cruel, tyrannical, false, 
vain, unstable, and weak, and not enti- 
tled to respect or obedience. 

Since justice and our honor and 
dij^nity require that we should obey 
God, and not man, we are compelled 
by every reasonable motive to ascer- 
tain his will. He does not communi- 
cate personally and orally with crea- 
tures. 

Unless we have the means of ascer- 
taining with certainty what his wishes 
are on a given subject, whether of the 
j)rivate practice of virtue or the ad- 
ministration of a public duty, we are 
left to the direction of opinions, inter- 
ests, and passions more or less sup)er- 
fici.illy instructed and enlightened, 
an'l tend inevitably towaid barbarism, 
despotism, and social and political dis- 
organization. The Catholic Church 



is the medium and channel throag^ 
which the will of God is e xp ressed. 
The chain of communication, compoft- 
ed of the triple strand of revelati(», 
inspiration, and faith, stretches unde^ 
neath the billows of eternity to the 
shore of time, from the throne of God 
to the chair of Peter. The finger of the 
pope, like the needle in the compass, 
invariably points to the pole of eternal 
truth, and the mind of the sovereign 
pontiff is as certain to reflect the mind 
and will of God as the mirror at one 
end of a submarine cable to indicate 
the electric signal made at the other. 

The will of God is expressed as 
plainly through the church as it was 
through Moses and the tables of the 
law. It is distinct, definite, intelligible, 
and precise, and we are bound to exe- 
cute the will thus expressed, and act 
in the light of the intelligence thus 
supplied. 

All legislation which has stood the 
test of time has flowed from the di- 
vinely-inspired fountain of natural jus- 
tice, illuminated by her wisdom, cor- 
rected by her experience, interpret- 
ed by her theology and philosophy. 
All tyranny, injustice, force, cruelty, 
violence, and oppression follow as the 
result of violation of the organic law 
as interpreted by the church, or from 
systems of legislation in opposition to, 
or abrogation of, her eternal princi- 
ples. 

While immunity from temporal suf- 
fering is nowhere promised, it is never- 
theless true that the greater portion 
of evils and sorrows are capable of 
prevention or relief. 

Wealth can be deprived of its satie- 
ty, poverty of its sting, labor of its 
pain, ease of its slothfulness, learning 
of its pride, power of its arrogance, 
ignorance of its stupidity. 

But though we expect no natural 
Utopia or earthly paradise, we are no 
less bound to oppose and correct 
vices, sorrows, evils, dangers, and op- 



Tkg Caikolie of ilU NimieetUk Cemhttym 



437 



ionSy as they spring, ever fierce 
relentless, with their countless 
s, whether personal, social, na- 
1, or legislative. 

le Catholic armed with his vote 
mes the champion of faith, law, 
-, social and political morality, 
Christian civilization, no less — ^in 
a greater degree, for our present 
lies are more dangerous-— than his 
>tor who hung a wallet over his 
em jerkin, and, shouldering his 
jrd, followed the lord of the man- 
Palestine ; than he who aided the 
olic Ferdinand and Isabella to 
the Moor from the soil of Chris- 
Spain, or, under John Sobieski, 
1 back the tide of Mohammedan 
ion from the European shores of 
fediterranean. 

t goes forth furnished with this 
on, which, faithfully and honora^ 
mployed, must become invinci- 
jrest the swollen current of cor- 
)n, crime, and lawlessness which 
tens to sweep away religion, 
lity, and liberty, insure the pre- 
;nce of law, order, and republi- 
nstitutions, preserve and perfect 
'esults of material and natural 
2e, put an end to poverty in its 
t and hopeless forms, and banish 
ing from unrelieved want, and 
op and complete a system of 
)rudence which shall sustain 

the world has not yet seen, a 
republic of equal rights, exact 
:e, and assured temporal prospe- 
presided over, influenced, and 
ned by true religion. 
e great and undeniably wonder- 
id valuable fruits of human ge- 
and materialistic science, may 
[lized to meet the ends of ideal 
;e, and true individual and na- 

prosperity and happiness, 
th the means of instant intelli- 
:x>mmunication and rapid trans- 
don, it is not an impossibility to 

that the head of the church 



may again become the acknowledged 
head of the reunited family of Chris- 
tian nations; the arbiter and judge 
between princes and peoples, between 
government and government, the ex- 
ponent of the supreme justice and 
highest law, in all important ques- 
tions affecting the rights, the interests, 
and the welfare of communities and* 
individuals. 

Under such a system, force would 
give place to reason; the nations 
would learn war no more, and a 
general disarmament could be safely 
imposed. The door of the temple 
of the demon god of war, which has 
stood open since Cain imbrued his 
fratricidal hands in the blood of Abel, 
would be closed for ever. 

** Vn, truth aad jvalice then. 
Will down return to men. 
Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like slorica wearing^ 
Mercy will sit between, 
Throned m celestial sheen. 
With radiant feet the tissued douds down-steering, 
And heaven, as at some festival, 
Win open wide the gateaof her high pthcehaU." 

Although we are far fix>m expect- 
ing a result grand, glorious, and won- 
derful, realizing in the highest degree 
the promise made to the human race 
if faithful to the object of their crea- 
tion, still we do not hesitate to assert 
that it is within the power of the bal- 
lot, wielded by CaUiolic hands and 
directed by Catholic conscience, to 
accomplish as much and more. 

It is no more than the church has 
a right to expect from her subjects; 
it is no more than they owe her and 
themselves; it would be a triumph 
worthy of the nineteenth century, and 
worthy of a fallen race deemed wor- 
thy to be redeemed by the blood of 
a God. 

The two great questions of mar- 
riage and education present them- 
selves in a discussion of the relations 
which the Catholic sustains toward 
civil society, as elements of prime 
and indispensable importaxicft« TbASc^ 



438 



7>lr Qaholic of the NtM^eemih dnimtyL 



can be no pennanent Chrsdan socie- 
ty, no civilized and enduring govern- 
ment, which are not perpetuated by 
Catholic marriage, elevated, instruct- 
ed, and disciplined by Catholic edu- 
cation. The great civilizations which 
have arisen and flourished indepen- 
dently, vitalized by the tradition of 
primitive revelation, are wanting or 
have forfeited the characteristics of 
true civilization. Many have perish- 
ed; others have reached their term, 
and the hour of their destruction is 
at hand. The ancient and most re- 
markable social, civil, and religious 
polity of India is withering under the 
remorseless touch of English rule, 
and China is destined to succumb to 
steam, machinery, railroads, and sew- 
ing-machines. 

Nothing but the pure gold of Ca- 
tholicity can withstand the material 
flame which bums brightest and hot- 
test in the nineteenth century, and it 
may only survive stripped of every 
earthly and human quality, attribute, 
and advantage. 

It is not in our power at this time 
to follow the line of reflection sug- 
gested by the great unchristian and 
anti-christian civilizations, the Indian, 
the Persian, the Chinese, and the 
Mohammedan ; but we must confine 
ourselves to the proposition which 
their history, brilliant, startling, and 
splendid though it be, and, to super- 
ficial human views, does not in any 
degree invalidate, that true civilization 
rests for its foundation upon Catholic 
marriage and Catholic education. 

In contradistinction from suffrage, 
which is an acquired privilege, mar- 
riage is a natural right Its regula- 
tion and control belong exclusively 
to the church, and are particularly 
her care and prerogative under the 
supernatural order. 

Marriage is the sacrament of na« 
ture, as well as one of grace, and the 
church insists upon her rightful con- 



trol, because she depends upon this 
sacrament not only for perpetuity on 
earth, but for her eternal representa- 
tion. She regulates the conditions 
of marriage and witnesses the con- 
tract in whose fulfilment she has such 
a vital interest, and she becomes the 
arbiter between the contracting par- 
ties in the subsequent stages of their 
career. She claims its ofi&pring at 
their birth, and immediately impresses 
upon them the seal of her proprietor- 
ship in baptism; she accompanies 
them throughout their lives, and dis- 
misses them with unction and bene- 
diction; she follows them into the 
unseen world, and does not relax her 
grasp till they attain their fruition 
and become in turn protectors and 
benefactors of the mother who has 
given them both natural and super- 
natural birth. Marriage is the crys- 
tal fountain on earth whence flows 
the perennial living stream which fer- 
tilizes and makes glad the plains of 
heaven. 

The Catholic view, or Christian idea 
of marriage, implies by necessity the 
Catholic view of all the relations and 
obligations growing out of it : the ed- 
ucation of the young, the custody of 
foundlings and oq^hans, and all mea- 
sures of correction and reformation 
applicable to youthful offenders and 
disturbers of the peace of society. 

The same view would consign to 
her care the permanent infants of 
society, the idiotic, those defective 
in important organs or senses, the in- 
sane, the criminal, the sick poor, and 
the helpless and wretched of every 
class. The church is capable, through 
her orders and congregations of men 
and women, of undertaking these 
trusts. There Is in this work occu- 
pation for all who have not definite 
vocations, and for the aid and assis- 
tance of those who have. It is a spe- 
cies of labor which has never been 
efficiently and completely performed, 



J%# Catholic of the Ninoiemik Ceniwy. 



439 



and can only be accomplished by 
those who undertake it under the 
direction of religion fh)m the motive 
of heroic and supernatural charity. 
No compensation, no hope of human 
reward or praise, can procure such 
service, tenderness, and succor as 
that which the unpaid and nameless 
religious bestows upon the poor and 
nameless cast-away, for the sake of 
the humanity of Christ. 

The function of education is most 
closely connected with the authority 
claimed and exercised over marriage. 
The custodian of the tree has cer- 
tainly the right to the fruit of the 
tree, and to protect it from wayfarers 
and robbers. 

The control and prevention of po- 
verty is an example of the profound 
science of political economy which 
is manifested by the church. No 
state can flourish where hopeless po- 
verty becomes an institution. 

A godless system of education, or, 
what is the same thing, an uncatho- 
lic system, is the more refined and 
elegant but not less certain method 
of modem times of offering our chil- 
dren to Moloch, and causing our sons 
to pass through the fire. The right 
which the church exerts over educa- 
tion does not in any manner impair or 
contravene the legitimate authority of 
parents ; but, on the contrary, strength- 
ens and supports it, since it is an as- 
sertion of the principle of authority 
and the final obligations toward God 
due from both parents and children. 
It asserts the rights of parents and the 
right which children have to Chris- 
tian education. Every human crea- 
ture bom into the world has the in- 
alienable right of knowing and obey- 
ing the tmth, and seeking to attain its 
own etemal happiness. 

While parents have rights over their 
children, children, in tum, have rights 
as respects their parents, and the chief 
of these is Christian education. 



The church asserts and defends 
these principles, and she flatly contra- 
dicts the assumption on the part of the 
state of the prerogative of education, 
and determinedly opposes the effort 
to bring up the youth of the country 
for purely secular and temporal pur- 
poses. The state is in its nature god* 
less and material, and, in accordance 
with its nature, seeks only material 
ends. No state or nation as such has 
a supernatural destiny; its rewards 
and punishments are temporary and 
finite, and its views, policy, and con* 
duct short-sighted, cormpt, and selfish. 
While the state has rights, she has them 
only in virtue and by permission of 
the superior authority, and that au- 
thority can only be expressed through 
the church, that is, through the or- 
ganic law infallibly announced and 
unchangeably asserted, regardless of 
temporal consequences. The church 
yields, however, to temporal condi- 
tions as far as she can without depart- 
ing from her organic principle. She 
resembles a mighty tree tossed by 
the winds, and apparendy yielding to 
the tempest firom whatever quarter it 
comes, but never giving up its roots, 
firmly fixed in the ground, and stretch- 
ing their fibres far out under the sur- 
face of things. If she could be mov- 
ed from her position, torn up by the 
roots, rifted from her organic basis on 
the rock of Peter, she would cease to 
be the church, become a human and 
fallible institution, and entitled to no 
more consideration than any other 
human organization or voluntary so- 
ciety. The hostile and opposing, 
forces recognize distinctly the value^ 
and importance to us of the twofim^ 
damental institutions, marriage- andi 
education. Their efforts are- particuf 
lariy directed at the present time, and! 
in this country, to corrupt and' undfer^ 
mine the one and usurp complete 
control over the other.. The attitude 
oi the church oo^ ttoe ^^ipftiiti»cAS& 



440 



Tkg Catholic of the Nimteenih Ontmfy. 



the cause of nearly all the opposition 
she encounters, of the secret and open 
attacks she suffers, and of most of the 
great persecutions she has experienc- 
ed. She is attacked in respect to 
marriage by sensuality, and in regard 
to education by the arrogance of the 
state, and the jealousy which human 
power always manifests of the divine 
authority. 

ITie order, regularity, charity, and 
chastity required in marriage by the 
church — and of which she is the em- 
blem — are repudiated by the world. 

This repudiation is manifested by 
sensuality in its protean forms, from 
platonic love and sentimental and re- 
ligious melancholy, all through the 
descending scale of folly, vice, and 
crime to the lowest depths, whither 
the mind refuses to follow and where 
demons veil their faces, and by legis- 
lation the result of this opposition, 
such as is expressed in the laxity of 
divorce laws, and a public sentiment 
which sanctions and countenances 
divorce and the marriage of divorced 
parties. It is more or less boldly 
or covertly expressed in almost the 
whole range of anti-catholic and un- 
catholic literature, and in the increas- 
ing license of conversation, manners, 
and amusements. Marriage has lost 
its dignity and sanctity by being di- 
vested of its sacramental character, 
and its manifest and natural duties 
and obligations are shunned, despised, 
and disregarded by a large proportion 
of those living in outward regard for 
decorum and morality. The spirit 
of the nineteenth century, unchasten- 
cd by Catholicity, by whatever sound- 
ing tide it may be called — progress, 
liberty, emancipation of the intellect, 
dignity of the race, independence of 
science — is a spirit of gross, cruel, 
and irrational sensuality, which tends 
directiy and inevitably toward igno- 
rance, bondage, anarchy, and barbar- 
jsm^ and consequent stupidity. 



Stupidity may, perhaps, be consi- 
dered the lowest hell of a creature 
originally constituted ac^ve and intd- 
Uctual. 

It is directly against these elements, 
whose consequences she distinctly 
foresees, that the church opposes her 
laws of marriage, and the absolute 
supernatural chastity of her priests 
and religious. 

It is not that she forbids marriage, 
as she is sometimes accused, that she 
offers to certain persons the privilege 
of electing a superior state and begin- 
ning on earth the life of heaven, but 
in order to provide herself with angels 
and ministers of grace to do her will, 
accomplish her work, perform her in- 
numerable acts of spiritual and corpo- 
real mercy, and be literally the god- 
fathers and godmothers to the or- 
phaned human race, while they ob- 
tain for themselves and others count- 
less riches of merit The spirit which 
we reprobate substitutes lust for love, 
philanthropy for charity. By sub- 
tracting charity from marriage, it vir- 
tually divorces the married, and leads 
directly to the destruction of the spe- 
cies. The children whom it permits 
to survive it educates for material and 
temporal objects alone, and the most 
noble destiny it has to offer is death 
on the field of battle ; its highest re- 
ward, a short-lived, temporal honor, 
and a brief posthumous reputation. 
The pursuits of honor, of science, lite- 
rature and art, are noble, and in some 
degree satisfying. They are, when true 
and real, Catholic in their nature, and 
the growth of Catholic soil. When- 
ever — as in pre-Christian times — they 
become detached from original reve- 
lation, or, in modem, divorced from or 
hostile to Catholic inspiration, they 
incline toward cruelty, false science 
or incomplete science, and in litera- 
ture and art to decay. The inevita- 
ble tendency of incomplete science, 
that is^ imperfect from a radical de- 



Tkt CatMie tf th* Nmttemth Ctnttuy. 



44t 



feet, like a defective fonnula in mathe- 
matics, is to error, obscurity, and con- 
fusion. The absence of the superna- 
tural element is the radical defect in 
all uncatholic natural and metaphy- 
sical science ; and every superstructure 
erected upon it, however splendid in 
appearance, is built upon the sand. 

The reason why civil marriage, 
state religion and education, natural 
society, and material science do not 
become more rapidly corrupt, and 
manifest more speedily their inherent 
defects, is on account of the vast 
amount of latent Catholicity which 
they retain, and without which they 
could not survive a single day. 

It is the tendency of the natural to 
consume the supernatural, in its efforts 
to attain its destiny, and, unless fed by 
new infusions of the divine element, to 
sink lower and lower toward the 
abyss. 

It is the function of the supernatu- 
ral society, that is, the church through 
her ministry and sacraments, to fur- 
nish continual supplies of this divine 
element, to antagonize the decompo- 
sition which followed close upon the 
steps of the terrible twin brethren, sin 
and death, when they entered the 
world; renew the almost exhausted 
life of the soul, and enable it to rise 
higher and higher, till it is absorbed 
once more into the source of life eter- 
nal, from whence it sprang. 

The more respectable and conser- 
vative of the uncatholic institutions, 
which retain most of the latent Ca- 
tholicity not yet expended in three 
centuries of separation from the pa- 
rent fountain, preserve many Catholic 
ideas, customs, and forms of speech 
and action. 

Such publications as the New-Eng* 
lander y the Princeton^ Mercersburg^ and 
North British Reviews^ advocate to a 
great extent the Christian doctrines 
of marriage and education, and the 



superiority of religion in all temporal 
and sectdar af&irSy and deprecate, 
without the power to remedy or ar- 
rest, the evils which they acknowledge 
to exist. 

The advanced portion of the op- 
posing forces, they who have expend- 
ed their latent Catholicity, denied the 
faith and impugned the truth,, and 
sunk to the lowest level compatible 
with life, do not seek to defend their 
position by any hollow appeab to re- 
ligion or conscience, but boldly deny 
all authority excepting their own de- 
praved wills. 

Red - republicanism, Fourierism, 
communism, free love, Mormonism, 
the Oneida community, the false sci- 
ences of mesmerism and phrenology, 
spiritism and sentimental philanthro- 
py, are exemplary expressions of the 
forms which sensuality and the denial 
of authority assume in their retrograde 
metamorphoses. 

The woman's rights movement is 
the most subtle, dangerous, and 
treacherous of the later manifestations 
of the evil spirit of the nineteenth 
century. 

It is more threatening to the public 
peace than the abolition agitation was 
at its commencement, and is fostered 
and fomented by the same or kindred 
influences, and under some one or 
other of its forms and phases com- 
prehends every falsehood, error, delu- 
sion, and heresy, from the original lie 
uttered in Eden to the last invented 
and promulgated by the Satanic press. 
It has a certain, irresistible tendency 
to vitiate suffrage, degrade legislation, 
disturb society, abolish religion, super- 
induce crime, disease, insanity, idiocy, 
physical decay, deformity, suicide and 
early death, abrogate matrimony and 
extinguish the race. 

Every count in this terrible charge 
is capable of being sustained by the 
most abundant evidence in histoiyi 



44a 



Tk^ Catholic of the NineUenth Cmtury. 



analogy, facts of daily experience, the 
declarations of religion, and evidences 
of the legal and medical sciences. 

It is absolutely anti-catholic and 
unchristian, and could not exist, much 
less flourish, in an age not far gone on 
the road to ruin. 

It is the Catholic Church, and she 
alone, which guarantees the rights, free- 
dom, and honor of women. She rais- 
es them to a participation in her min- 
istry and apostleship, and pledges her- 
self and all the power of heaven to 
the protection of the humblest as well 
as the most exalted of the sex, in her 
rights and dignity as woman, wife, 
and mother. She has suffered perse- 
cution and dismemberment rather 
than yield an iota of the vested rights 
of helpless woman ; she has decreed 
the immaculate conception, the most 
perfect testimony of the exalted func- 
tion of maternity and the crowning 
human glory of the sex, and raised 
one of their number to be queen of 
heaven, the crowning superhuman 
glory. 

All that woman can claim is accord- 
ed to her by the church, and asserted 
as her indefeasible right. The only 
security for woman, her only refuge 
from the artifice of men and the un- 
deniable oppression of society, is in 
the church, and the legislation deduc- 
ed from the original organic law ; in 
the inviolability of the marriage con- 
tract, and the sacramental character 
of marriage. 

The difficult and vexed question of 
mixed education obtrudes itself upon 
our attention at every step of a dis- 
cussion like the one in which we are en- 
gaged. It is not our puq^ose to en- 
ter upon its details at present. The 
chief pastors in solemn council assem- 
bled will undoubtedly decide upon 
the line of conduct most exi>edient 
for us to follow. While asserting the 
absolute dependence of natural science 
for its truth and perpetuity upon di- 



vine illumination, we do not intend 
to disparage human learning and the 
pursuits of philosophy and science. 
Philosophy on the intellectual and 
natural sciences is the most elevadng 
and ennobling of human employ- 
ments. As truth is simple in its na- 
ture and essence, every truth discov- 
ered, learned, and elaborated tends 
to draw the soul toward God. lliere 
is and can be no quanel or discre- 
pancy between revelation and science. 
The truths of revelation and the truths 
of science tend infallibly toward mu- 
tual illustration and final unity. It 
is only the effect of false science or 
imperfect science to divert the mind 
from God, the origin of truth, or truth 
itself, and enter upon the path which 
leads to error, doubt, ignorance, and 
darkness. 

The supremacy asserted for the 
church in matters of education implies 
the additional and cognate function 
of the censorship of ideas, and thj 
right to examine and approve or dis- 
approve all books, publications, writ- 
ings, and utterances intended for pub- 
lic instruction, enlightenment, or enter- 
tainment, and the supervision of places 
of amusement. 

This is the principle upon which the 
church has acted in handing over to 
the civil authority for punishment cri^ 
tninais in the order of ideas. 

It is the principle upon which 
every civilized government acts in 
emergencies, and it was asserted ri- 
gorously and unsparingly North and 
South during the recent revolution. 
It is the principle upon which a fa- 
ther would act in expelling summarily 
and ignominiously from his house a 
person detected in corrupting the 
minds, manners, and morals of his 
children. It is in fact nothing more 
than tiie principle of self-preservation, 
which is the first law of nature. It is 
not necessary to raise the question 
whether this principle has been abus- 



The Qaholk of tJu 

ed by individuals for mistaken or cor- 
rupt objects. It is safe to say that it 
has been. The admission in no way 
invalidates the right and obligation 
involved There are few good things 
which men have not abused. 

Crimes, cruelties, oppressions and 
persecutions (especially in the order 
of ideas) are laid at the door of the 
Catholic Church, which are the fruit 
of human passion, avarice, ambition, 
and resentment, and that strange and 
devilish infatuation of cruelty which 
sometimes seizes upon a whole com- 
munity, and which is analogous to 
the destructive and suicidal insani- 
ties of individuals. The church, how- 
ever, in her official and organic cha- 
racter, has never abused this principle 
or any other, whether of discipline or 
policy. These moral and political 
catastrophes are wholly independent 
of Catholicity, are in direct violation 
of religion, and in disobedience to 
the commands and entreaties of the 
church. 

Government and legislation inform- 
ed, directed, and guided by Catholic 
justice is the most humane, benig- 
nant, equal, just, merciful, and for- 
bearing of any that can possibly ex- 
ist, and the temporal government of 
the head of the church is to-day the 
best in the world. 

These subjects bring us back to 
the question of suffrage, and to the 
Catholic as voter. It is necessary 
that we should have just laws, pri- 
marily and immediately in regard to 
education and marriage, and that they 
should have the sanction of sound 
public opinion, without which the 
best laws are inoperative. 

These laws must grow out of the 
Catholic conscience of the commu- 
nity, if they are to grow at all. 

The labor of strengthening these 
foundations of society belongs to the 
Catholic voter, and to him we must 
look for future safety, peace, and per- 



Cmtmry. 



443 



manence. Every principle of jus- 
tice is assaned, every bulwark is un- 
dermined. 

Social eminence, literary ability, 
exalted political station, and soK:all- 
ed religion combine to give public 
sanction to unblushing and monstrous 
adultery, and brand the scarlet letter 
upon a soul already crimson with 
guilt as it trembles on the verge of 
eternity. 

Every species and form of vice, 
crime, and corruption are paraded 
and presented imder disguises, more 
or less specious or flimsy, of science, 
literature, religion, or art. 

The old are divested of gravity 
and reserve, and the young have lost 
the freshness, the sweetness, the in- 
nocence, the candor, and the bloom 
which should belong to youth. 

The buriesque is invoked with hor- 
rid incantation to degrade the reason, 
paralyze the understanding, and bru- 
talize the imagination, and oriental 
lasciviousness to apply the torch of 
passion to the inteUectual and moral 
ruins. 

Current literature is penetrated with 
the spirit of licentiousness, from the 
pretentious quarterly to the arrogant 
and flippant daily newspaper, and the 
weekly and monthly publications are 
mostly heathen or maudlin. They 
express and inculcate, on the one 
hand, stoical, cold, and polished pride 
of mere intellect, or, on the other, 
empty and wretched sentimentality. 
Some employ the skill of the engraver 
to caricature the institutions and of- 
fices of our religion, and others to 
exhibit the grossest forms of vice and 
the most distressing scenes of crime 
and suffering. 

The illustrated press has become 
to us what the amphitheatre was to 
the Romans when men were slain, 
women were outraged, and Chris- 
tians given to the lions to please a 
degenerate populace. 



Tkg Catholic of the Ninetemik Cimtury. 



It is obviouSy then, if what we have 
said be true, that there is a great 
work for the Catholic voter to per- 
form. 

The Constitution and Declaration 
of Independence guarantee life, li- 
berty, and the pursuit of happiness. 
The Catholic values his life that he 
may devote it to the service of the 
church, and, if required, offer it for 
her safety and honor ; liberty, to be 
and remain Catholic, enjoy freedom 
in the exercise of his religion, and 
transmit this priceless inheritance un- 
impaired to his descendants; the 
pursuit of happiness, that he may 
attain the happiness of heaven I 

The Catholic voter meditates no 
invasion of vested rights. The con- 
stitution and government of the Unit- 
ed States have the approval of the 
holy see. The Catholic is satisfied 
with the laws of his country, and 
only dissatisfied with local legisla- 
tion, which contravenes the implied 
pledges of the constitution and the 
common law, based upon the canon 
law. 

He demands nothing that natural 
justice and the legitimate interpreta- 
tion of the constitution do not gua- 
rantee him. Freedom in religion en- 
titles him to protection against open 
and secret attacks upon what he 
holds most dear, under the guise of 
state education, and which are in- 
variably made in every system of 
uncatholic or infidel education. The 
great majority of English-speaking 
Catholics have had a personal and 
national experience of the bitter fruit 
of systems of education divorced from 
the control of the church, and in the 
French revolution they recognize the 
results of infidel science, literature, 
and sentiment practically applied to 
the reformation of society. France 
gave the world a terrible illustration 
of the violent, frantic creed and fu- 
tile efforts which humanity makes 



when it would be sufficienfc for it- 
self and become its own redeemer. 
France almost expired. Her Catho- 
licity alone saved her. The Goths 
and Vandals entered Paris, but were 
compelled to retire. They entered 
ancient Rome, and remained. 

With these truths, lessons, and ex- 
periences before his mind, the Catho- 
lic anxiously considers the subject 
of public education, and is resolved 
when the question is adjudicated to 
sustain the decision of the church. If 
he cannot peacefully enact legitimate, 
equal, and just regulations, he will 
consent to bear, as he has done be- 
fore, a double burden ; but he, for his 
part, will make sure that his children 
are taught to discriminate between 
the specious and false assertions which 
are put forth as history and histoiy 
itself, between human philanthropy 
and divine charity, between commun- 
ism and the communion of saints, be- 
tween spiritism and those things which 
are spiritual, between pure, noble, and 
lovely sentiments and a rotting senti- 
mentalism, between the false and the 
true, injustice and justice, the human 
and the divine. 

By an extraordinary example of 
divine justice, and the operation of 
the law of compensation, the men 
and their descendants who uprooted 
Catholicity in England and Ireland ; 
who extinguished, as far as they were 
able. Catholic literature and tradition ; 
who destroyed the venerable seats of 
learning and charity, sacked the mo- 
nasteries and despoiled the abbeys, 
were compelled to prepare a home 
for Catholics, and establish a politi- 
cal order most acceptable to them, 
and capable under Catholic auspices 
of attaining the highest degree of 
temporal happiness and prosperity. 

The men who composed the Protec- 
tor's famous Ironsides levelled the New 
England forests and subdued the sav- 
age, and now in every city, village. 



The Catholic of Uu NinetMUh Century. 



445 



and hamlet of this fair land the cross 
which they tore down again rises 
aloft, the ^rst to kindle in the saluting 
beams of the morning sun, the last to 
detain his parting lingering rays, and 
thousands of happy, prosperous peo- 
j)le the descendants of those whom 
Cromwell's dragoons trampled under 
their bloody hoofs, assemble around 
that altar and assist at that mass 
which he could not abide. 

The grim old regicide who sleeps 
his last sleep on the green behind 
Centre church, in New Haven, if he 
could rise from his grave some pleas- 
ant Sunday morning, would believe 
that time and old ocean had both been 
rolled away, and that he was in merry, 
happy Catholic England of five hun- 
dred years ago. 

The past has been vindicated; 
wrongs have been righted. 

The uncompromising defence of 
the rights of Queen Catharine is jus- 
tified. The Goddess of Reason, in 
the person of a prostitute, enthroned 
on the high altar of Notre Dame, has 
given place to a Catholic lady, wife, 
mother, and queen, who reigns en- 
throned in the hearts of her people, 
the type of every royal, womanly, and 
Christian virtue. 

Absolute Csesarism itself, touched 
by Catholic justice, has voluntarily 
conceded constitutional government, 
and the successor of him who was 
both the child and the victim of the 
revolution, who dragged Pius VII. 
from the chair of Peter to a French 
prison, upholds the chief of the apos- 
tles as he sits to-day enthroned prince 
and patriarch and apostle of the as- 
sembled and imited episcopate of the 
world. 

It is time for Catholics to cease 



complaining. The church is vindi- 
cated. They are vindicated. Reason, 
science, and religion are united in a 
species of intellectual trinity, capable 
of presiding over and directing all 
human, temporal, and eternal desti- 
nies. All that remains is for the in- 
dividual Catholic, the Catholic voter, 
to play well his part in the drama 
whose acts are realities, whose curtain 
will never fall, and where the only 
change of scene will be when the 
vault of the heavens parts in twain 
and the splendor of the eternal world 
bursts upon his enraptured vision. 

It is in the power of the Catholic 
voter of the nineteenth centiuy to 
achieve a consummation such as per- 
haps saints and prophets have dream- 
ed, but never seen. It is your part, 
Catholic freemen and electors, to 
perpetuate the latest and most per- 
fect effort in the human science of 
government— the constitution of our 
glorious and beloved country; to 
check the current of corruption in 
literature, manners, and politics. 

It is in your power to arrest the 
progress of demoralizing and disinte- 
grating legislation on the subject of 
marriage and sufirage, and to provide 
the means for the permanent endow- 
ment of colleges, seminaries, and uni- 
versities. It is in your power to elect 
able, honest, and virtuous men to of- 
fice, and to reimite the principles of 
government with the principles of 
religion. 

Will you respond to the offer which 
is made you in this country and the 
nineteenth century, and perfect and 
complete what may not unlikely be 
the last opportunity for achieving 
temporal prosperity in harmony with 
Catholic justice ? 



446 



and Ou SiiyU. 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN MOVEU 

BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF 

^HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC 



CHAPTER XIL 

A SHORT Silence followed the con- 
curring exclamations of Thellus and 
our hero, recorded in the last chap- 
ter; and then the lanista said, 

" Before I leave you, I will speak 
one word which came of the chance 
of uttering while I brought you that 
letter, but which I would not have 
pronounced had I found you to be 
a person of a different sort. You are 
really Tiberius*s prisoner, remember, 
although it is to Velleius Patercu- 
lus you have given your parole. I 
know, by personal experience and 
much observation, the men and the 
things of which you, on the other 
hand, can have only a suspicion. 
Now, I conjecture, it is hardly for your 
own sake that you are in custody. 
Beware of what may happen to those 
dear to you ; and as they have given 
no parole, send them to some place 
of safety, some secret place. There 
is no place safe in itself in the known 
world. Roman liberty is no more; 
secrecy is the sole safety remaining. 
VaUy 

With these words the lanista depart- 
ed, leaving our young friend buried in 
thought. As he left the court of the 
impluvium to seek his mother, he re- 
marked that Claudius had returned 
thither, and was occupied in water- 
ing some flowers in pots at the oppo- 
site angle. " I wonder," thought he, 
" can that fellow have overheard Thel- 
lus?" 

Other and more important mattersi 



however, were destmed to invite his 
attention. We have said enough to 
justify us in passing over with a few 
words every interval void of more 
than ordinary daily occuirences of the 
age and land. What has been relat- 
ed and described will sufiiciently ena- 
ble a reader of intelligence to realize 
the sort of life which lay before Pau- 
lus, his mother, and Agatha during 
the next few days passed by them to- 
gether at the inn of the Hundreth 
Milestone. 

Of course, Paulus detailed to his 
mother what he had observed or 
heard, especially Thellus's warning. 
Further, he propounded thereon his 
own conclusions. The family thought 
it well to summon Crispina and Cris- 
pus to a council ; and it was finally 
resolved that Aglais should at once 
write to her brother-in-law, Marcus 
.^milius Lepidus, the ex-triumvir, and 
ask a temporary home under his roof 
for herself and Agatha, with their fe- 
male slave Melena. Old Philip and 
Paulus could remain at the inn for 
some time longer. Aglais, Paulus, 
and the worthy couple who kept the 
inn consulted together, carrying their 
conferences rather far into the night, 
when the business of the hostelry was 
over, upon the question what would 
be the best course to pursue, should 
the triumvir, from timidity or any 
other motive, refuse shelter to his 
brother's widow and child? During 
these conferences Agatha and Benig- 
na went to sit apart, each engaged in 
some kind of needle-work. 



Dion and ilU Sifyls. 



447 



It did not seem to the little coun- 
cil probable that Lepidus would refuse 
the request submitted to him, and if 
he acceded to it, Crispina assured 
Aglais that the casde of Lepidus at 
Monte Circello, covering both the 
summit and the base of a cliff upon 
the edge of the sea, was sufficiendy 
capacious, intricate, and labyrinthine 
to conceal a good part of a Roman le* 
gion in complete security. 

Moreover, it had escapes both by 
land and by water; nor could any one 
approach it without being visible to 
the inmates for miles. " Considering,*' 
reasoned Crispina, " that there is no 
pretext for ostensibly demanding the 
surrender of the ladies, who have not 
committed any offence, and are not, 
or at all events are not supposed to 
be, under any supervision, this retreat 
will afford all the security that can be 
desired. But Master Paulus must 
never go near you when once you 
leave this roof." 

Aglais admitted the wisdom of the 
suggestion. A letter, a simple, ele- 
gant, and affecting composition, was 
written by her, and intrusted to Cris- 
pus for transmission. However, as 
it was the unanimous opinion of all 
concerned that the family ought not 
to be detected in any communications 
with Lepidus, or even suspected of any, 
it was necessary for Crispus to observe 
great caution in forwarding the docu- 
ment. Several days, therefore, pass- 
ed away before an opportunity was 
presented of sending a person who 
would neither be observed in going, 
nor missed when gone, and who could 
at the same time be implicidy trusted; 
none but old Philip could be found. 

Crispus had been on the point of 
employing Claudius for the purpose, 
when Crispina resolutely stopped him. 
" I have a high opinion of that youth," 
said she, ''or I would not consent 
that Benigna should marry him; but 
at present he is a slave, «ju1 a slave 



of the very person against whom we 
are guarding. Moreover, Claudius 
18 yotmg and very timid ; he has his 
way to make, and all his hopes are 
dependent on this tyr — I mean the 
prince. I do not wish even Benigna 
to know any thing about the present 
business. The more honest any young 
people are, the more they betray 
themselves, if cross-questioned about 
matters which they know, but have 
been told to conceal. If they know 
nothing, why, they can tell nothing, 
and moreover none can punish or 
blame them for not telling. 

"A silent tongue, husband, like 
mine, and a simple heart like yours, 
make safe necks. There, go about 
your business." 

During the delay and suspense 
which necessarily followed, Paulus 
fished, and took long walks through 
that beautiful country, many aspects 
of which, already described by us, as 
they then were, have for ever disap- 
peajred. He used to take with him 
somethmg to eat in the middle of the 
day, but always returned toward eve- 
ning in time to join the last light ze^ 
past of his mother and sister. Each 
evening saw them reassembled. Four 
tall, exquisitely tapering poles, spring- 
ing from firm pedestals, supported four 
htUe scallop-shaped lamps at the four 
comers of their table. The supper 
was often enriched by Paulus with 
some delicious fresh-water fish of his 
own catching. Benigna waited upon 
them, and, being invariably engaged 
by Agatha in lively conversation, 
amused and interested the circle by 
her mingled simplicity, good feeling, 
and cleverness. After supper, Agatha 
would insist that Benigna should stay 
with them awhile, and they either all 
strolled through the garden, whence 
perfumes strong as incense rose in the 
dewy air, or they sat conversing in 
the bower which overlooked it Then 
after a while Ci\s^ttaLiio>a2A «&(^i»A 



44S 



Dion a ad the Sibyls, 



the garden-stairs to their landing; and 
while she inquired how they all weru, 
and told them any news she might 
have gathered, Benigna would steal 
silently down to say good-night, as 
Agatha declared, to some shadowy 
figure who was dimly discernible stand- 
ing not far away among the myrtles, 
and apparently contemplating the 
starry heavens. Such was their quiet 
life, such the tenor of those fleeting 
days. 

One evening — the sweet evening 
of a magnificent autumn day — Pau- 
lus was returning across the country, 
with a rod and line, from a distant 
excursion upon the banks of the Liris, 
The spot wJiich he had chosen that 
day for fishing was a deep, clear, si- 
lent pool, formed by a bend of the 
river. A clump of shadowy chest- 
nuts and hornbeam grew nigh, and 
the water was pierced by the deep 
reflections of a row of stately poplars, 
which mounted guard upon its mar- 
gin. There seated, his back support- 
ed against one of the trees, watching 
the float of his line as it quivered 
upon the surface of the beautiful 
stream, he heard no sound but the 
ripple of the little waves lapping on 
the reeds, the twittering of birds, and 
the hum of insects. There, with a 
mind attuned by the peaceful beauties 
of the solitary scene, he had traversed a 
thousand considerations. He thought 
of the many characters with whom he 
had so suddenly been brought into 
more or less intercourse or contacL 
He thought much of Thellus, and of 
his poor Alba, so cruelly sacrificed. 
He was puzzled by Claudius. He 
mused about Sejanus, about Tiberius, 
about Velleius Paterculus, about the 
two beautiful ladies in the titters ; he 
thought of the third gold-looking pa- 
lanquin and its pallid occupant; of the 
haughty and violent, yet, as It seem- 
ed, servile patrician and senator, who 
had attempted suddenly to kill him, 



out of zeal for Caesar ; of the angtd 
reverse which had awaited thfl ^ 
tempt; of Queen Berenice, and HcfOf 
Agrippa, and Herodias; of the vai 
ous unexpected incidents and circuo 
stances which had followed. f| 
thought of his uncie Lepidus; of lib 
fate, whatever it might be, now to al 
tend his mother, his sister, and bin 
self. He revolved the means of a 
tablishing his rights and his claims 
Ought he at once to employ sonui 
able orator and advocate, and 
appeal to the tribunals of justicaj 
Should he rather seek a bearing fro« 
the emperor in person, and, if so, hen 
was this to be managed ? 

FromrecoIleuionsandcalculaiioMb 
the spirit of his pastime and the gcDitM 
of the place bore him away and Itit 
him into the realm of day-dream 
vagueandfarwanderingl Up- 
about a mile from where he was B 
ting, towered high a splendid maa 
sion. On its roof glittered its con 
pany of gilt and colored statues, coih 
versing and acting above the top ofB 

In that mansion his forefathers hifl 

On one of the streams lay ancienk 
Lalium, where he sat, teeming wil^i 
traditions — a monster or a dcmigott 
in every tree, rock, and river; the CT* 
die of the Roman race, the seed and 
germ of outspreading conquest Ml4 
universal empire. On tlie oppositt 
banks was unrolled, far to the soutl^ 
tlie Campanian landscape, where If 
oibal, the most terrible of Romish ei 
mies and rivals, had enervated his vky 
torious legions, and lost the cbancQ 
of that ultimate success which v 
have changed the destinies o[ mai 
kind. 

Suddenly, among the statues on ill 
roof, Paulus beheld, not biggex Uu 
children by comparison, moving fij 
ures of m -n and ladies in dazzling a 
tire. He perceived that salutUiofl|| 



Dion and flu Sibyls. 



449 



were exchanged, groups formed and 
groups dispersed. Happening, the 
next moment, to cast his eye over 
the landscape, he saw in the distance 
some horsemen galloping toward the 
house, through the trees in the dis- 
tance. Losing sight of them behind 
intervening clumps of oleander, myr- 
tle, and other shrubs, he turned once 
more to watch the groups upon the 
roof. In a short time new figures 
seemed to arrive, around whom all 
the others gathered with the attitude 
and air of listening. 

Paulus felt as if he was assisting at 
a drama. A moment later the roof 
was deserted by its living visitors, the 
statues remained alone and silent, 
gesticulating and flashing in the sun. 
Tidings must have come. Something 
must have happened, thought Pau- 
lus ; and, as the day was already de- 
clining, he gathered up his fishing- 
tackle and wended homeward. On 
the way he met a man in hide san- 
dals, carrying a large staff and piked 
with iron. It was a shepherd, of 
whom he asked whether there was 
any thing new. " Have you not 
heard ?*• said the man; "the flocks 
will fetch a better price — the emperor 
has come to Formiae." 

Full of this intelligence, and anxi- 
ous at once to consult Aglais whether, 
before Augustus should leave the 
neighborhood, he ought not to en- 
deavor by all means now to obtain a 
hearing from him, Paulus mended his 
pace ; but while he thought he might 
be the bearer of news, some news 
awaited him. He passed through 
the littie western trellis gate into the 
quoit-alley, and so by the garden to- 
ward the house. A couple of female 
slaves, who were talking and laugh- 
ing about something like the impu- 
dence of a slave, and depend on it a 
love-letter it is, but it's Greek, which 
seemed to afford them much amuse- 
ment, stood at the door of the lower 

VOL. JK/.— 2p 



arbor, which inclosed the foot of the 
stairs leading up to the landing of his 
mother's apartments. Noticing him, 
they hastily went about their business 
in different directions, and he ran up 
the stairs, and found his mother and 
sister talking in low tones, just inside 
the open door of the upper arbor in 
the large sitting-room, which, as the 
reader knows, was also the room 
where they took their meals. 

"I am glad you have returned, 
Paulus," said his mother. " Look at 
this ; your sister found it about half 
an hour ago on the landing in the 
arbor." 

And Aglais handed him a piece of 
paper, on which was written, in a 
clear and elegant hand, in Greek : 

" When power and craft haver in 
the air as hawks, let the ortolans and 
ground-doves hideP 

Our hero read the words, turned 
the paper over, read the words again, 
and said, " I don't see the meaning 
of this. It is some scrap of a school- 
boy's theme, perhaps." 

"School-boys do not often write 
such a hand," said Aglais; "nor is 
the paper a scrap torn off— -it is a 
complete leaf. And, again, why 
should it be found upon our land* 
ing?" 

" What school-boys could come up 
our stairs ? There are none in the inn, 
are there? Have you been in all 
day?" asked Paulus. 

"No; we were returning from a 
walk across the fields to see the place 
near Cicero's villa of Formianum, 
where the assassins overtook him, and 
as Agatha, who ran up-stairs before 
me, reached the landing, she observed 
something white on the groimd, and 
picked it up. It was that paper. 
Some stranger must have been up- 
stairs while we were away." 

" Crispus or Crispina would not 
have said this to us by means oC asL 
an(mymo>iiwn&[ii|^ T)E«r|>DAN« ^«dl 



• Ihes^ 



Dion and the Stbyh. 

e warning without disguise, 



personally. 

" But they spoke only according 
to their own opinion," returned Pau- 
lus. " Coming from some one else, 
the same advice acquires yet greater 
importance. Some unknown pereon 
bears witness of the danger which 
our host and hostess merely suspect, 
and at which Thellus, the lanisla, 
hinted, as perhaps impending, but 
which even he did not affirm to be a 
reality." 

"That is," added Paulus, "if this 
bit of paper has been intended for us 
— I mean for you and for Agatha, 
because I am not a ground-dove." 

" Well, 1 do not see," said the lady, 
musing, " what more we can do for 
the moment. Our trusty Philip is on 
the way with my letter to your uncle ; 
he may be by this time on the way 
back. Till he returns, what can we 
do?" 

" I know not." said Paulus. " Have 
you asked Crispina about this pa- 

" We wailed first to consult you," 
HUd Aglais^ "and," added Agatha, 
" there is another singular thing — we 
have not seen Senigna all day, who 
was so regular in attending upon us. 
The hostess told us that ficnigna was 
nfieiing with a bad headache ; and 
irtien I wanted to go and tend her, 
Crispina hindered me, saying she 
had lain down ^d was trj-ing to 
deep." 

" What about the lover ?" inquired 
Paulus — " the slave Claudius ?" 

" He has gone away all of a sudden, 
though his holiday has not expired. I 
really suspect that Benigna and he 
must have had a quarrel, and that this 
is why he has left the place, and why 
Benigna is so ill." 

The clepsydra, or water-clock, on 
die floor in a corner, showed that it 
was now past the time when their 
evening rqjast was usually prepared 



They were wondering at the delay, 
when Crispus, first knocking at tjie 
door which led from the passage, c» 
tered. He seemed alarmed. The/ 
put various- questions to him which 
the circumstances rendered natural, 
showing him the paper that had bwn 
dropped on the landing. He uid 
that he thought he coahl make 
a pretty good surmise about thai 
matter; but inasmuch as Benigni, 
who had been crying out her 
heart, was much better, and had ^tif\ 
dared she would come herself wh< 
they had supped, and tcU then) every 
thing, he would prefer to leave the 
recital to her, if tlicy would penuit 
him. 

Meantime he confirmed the Devs 
that the emjieror had arrived at the 
neighboring town, that the festivitie) 
had begun at the llamurran palace^ 
and that in a day or two the public 
part of the entertainments, the show* 
and battles of the circus, whi^ 
would last for several succcsstvc 
mornings and evenings, would fa^ 
opened. He said it was usual to puV 
lish a sort of promissory plan of tl 
entertainments ; and he expected 
receive, through the kindness of ^ 
friend at court, (a slave,) somecopid| 
of the document early next _ 

when he would hasten to place it ift' 
their hands. While thus speaking t9 
them with an air of alfectcd chei^falF 
ness, he laid the table for supjier. Ao^ 
tualed by a curiosity in which a gO<M| 
deal of uneasiness was mingled, sine* 
he would not himself tell ihcm at' 
they desired to know, they requeste<|' 
him to go and send Benigna as soott' 
as possible ; and when at last he 
tired with this injunction, thejr toofc 
tlieir sup]>er in unbroken silence. 

Benigna came. The secret 
disclosed, and it turned slow-growin|f 
apprehension into present and 
alarm. 

"What I Claudius a spy I Tfa0 



ttiej 



Dion a$ui the Sibyls. 



451 



spy of Tiberius set as a sort of secret 
sentry over us I Who would have 
thought it ?" 

Benigna, turning very red and very 
pale by turns, had related what she 
had learnt, and how she had acted. 
Little knowing either the secret ties 
between her mother and this half- 
Greek family, or the interest and af- 
fection she had herself conceived for 
them, her lover had told her that she 
might help most materially in a busi- 
ness of moment intrusted to him by 
his master; adding that, if he gave 
the Caesar satisfaction in this, he 
should at once obtain his liberty, and 
then they might be married. She 
answered that he must know how 
ready she was to further his plans, 
and bade him explain himself, in or- 
der that she might learn how to 
afford him immediately the service 
which he required. But no sooner 
had she understood what were his 
master*s commands, than she was 
filled with consternation. She in- 
formed him that her father and mo- 
ther would submit to death rather 
than betray the last scions of the 
-^milian race, and that she herself 
would spurn all the orders of Tibe- 
rius before she would hurt a hair of 
their heads. She mentioned, with a 
little sob, that she had further mform- 
ed Claudius that she never would 
espouse a man capable of plotting 
mischief against them. Upon this 
announcement Claudius had behaved 
in a way " worthy of any thing." He 
there and then took an oath to re- 
nounce the mission he had under- 
taken. He had neither known its 
objects nor suspected its villainy. 
But Benigna, whose mind he thus re- 
lieved, he filled with a new anxiety 
by expressing his conviction that 
Tiberius Caesar would forthwith de- 
stroy him. However, of this he had 
now gone to take his chance. 

""Did Claudius/' asked Panlofl^ 



'' intend to tell the Cesar that he dis- 
approved of the service upon which 
he had been sent, and would not help 
to execute it ?" 

"No, sir," said Benigna. "We 
were a long time consulting what he 
should, what he could say. He is 
very timid; it is his only fault He 
is going to throw all the blame upon 
me, and thus he will mention that I, 
that he, that we, were going to be 
married, and that, in order the more 
efiectually to watch the movements 
of ladies to whom he personally could 
get no access under this roof, the 
bright notion had occurred to him to 
enlist my services, so as to render it 
impossible that these ladies should 
escape him; or that their movements 
should remain unknown, when lo ! im- 
fortunately for his plan, he finds I love 
these ladies too well to play the spy 
upon them ; that I refused, and even 
threatened, if he did not retire from 
his sentry-box forthwith, not only to 
break off my nuptial engagement with 
him, but to divulge to the family that 
they were the objects of espial." 

"Which you have done," said 
Aglais, "even though he has com- 
plied with your demands." 

Poor Benigna smiled. " Yes," said 
she, "I was bent upon that the in- 
stant I knew; but what my dear, 
unfortunate Claudius had to say to 
Tiberius Caesar was the point The 
Caesar is not to be told every thing. 
My head is bursting to thiiJc what 
will happen." 

Here she broke into a fit of crying. 
They all, except Paulus, tried to com- 
fort her. He had started to his feet 
when he first understood the one £au:t, 
that this young girl had sacrificed not 
only her matrimonial hopes, but the 
very safety of her lover himself, to 
the claims of honor and the laws of 
fiiendship. He was now pacing the 
width of the room in long 8tci<k& 
with an abgtxacKaed ttoc^faoia ^\Af^>dit 



\ 



Dion a$ui the Sibyls. 



453 



After some discussion, his mother 
yielded to her son's impetuous repre- 
sentations, more with the view of un- 
deceiving him, and reconciling him 
to other proceedings, than with any 
hope of a good result. 

Paulus had taken his broad-brimmed 
hat, saying that in three or four hours 
he expected to be back again at the 
mn ; but that if he did not reappear, 
they were to conclude that he had 
found a lodging at Formiae, and that 
he was remaining there for some good 
reason; when the door was flung 
open, and breathless, radiant, holding 
an unfolded letter in her hand, Be- 
nigna rushed into the room. 

" Read, read," she cried, "and give 
me joy ! I was unjust to the noble 
prince." 

She handed the letter to Aglais, 
who read aloud what follows : 

'* Formic. 
"i^lius Sejanus, the prcetorian prefect 
greets Crispus, keeper of the inn at lOO 
Milestone. Our Csesar is so pleased with 
the slave Claudius, that he has resolved to 
give him his freedom and the sum of fifty 
thousand sesterces, upon which to take a 
wife and to begin any calling he may pre- 
fer. And understanding that he is engag« 
ed, whenever he becomes a free man, to 
marry your daughter Benigna, and knowing 
not only that good news is doubly agreeable 
when it comes from the mouth of a person 
beloved, but that to the person who loves 
it is agreeable also to be the bearer of it, he 
desires that your daughter, whose qualities 
and disposition he admires, should be the 
first to tell her intended husband Claudius 
of his happy fortune. Let her, therefore, 
come to-morrow to Formiae, where, at the 
Mamurran palace, Caesar will give her a 
message which is to be at once communi- 
cated to the slave Claudius. FarewelL'' 

" I want to go at once to Formiae," 
cried Benigna. 

"Well, I am even now going," 
said Paulus ; " and if you intend to 
walk, I will guard you from any 
annoyance either on the way or at 
Formiae, a town which you know is 
at present swarming with soldiers.*' 



This offer was, of course, too valu- 
able not to be cheerfully accepted. 

A few moments after the foregoing 
conversation, Paulus and Benigna left 
the inn of Crispus together. The roads 
were full of groups of persons of all 
ranks, in carriages, on horseback, and 
on foot. Some of these were bound 
countryward, but not one for every 
score of those who were bound in 
their own direction. No adventure 
befell them, and in less than two hours 
they arrived at their destination. It 
was easy to find the Mamurran palace, 
to the principal door of which, guard- 
ed by a Praetorian sentry on either 
hand, Paulus forthwith escorted Be- 
nigna. 

There was no footway on either 
side of the street, and as they ap* 
proached the door they heard the 
clang of the metal knocker resound 
upon the inside. At the same mo- 
ment the sentinel nearest to them 
shouted ^^ Unite ^^ (by your leave.) 
Two or three persons at this warning 
shrank hurriedly into the middle of 
the road; a Numidian rider made his 
horse bound aside, and the large fold- 
mg-doors were simultaneously flung 
open outward. 

Immediately appeared the very 
man in the dark-dyed purple robe of 
whom the little damsel was in quest, 
and upon whose personal aspect, al- 
ready minutely described in a former 
place, we need not here dwell. A 
handsome gentleman, in middle life, 
with an acute and thoughtful face, 
who wore the Greek mantle called 
;^AaZva, {Icma^ but difierendy shaped 
fi-om an augur's, followed. Both these 
persons moved with that half-stoop 
which seems like a continued though 
very faint bow ; and when in the street, 
they turned, stood still and waited. 
Then came forth, leaning on a knight's 
arm, and walking somewhat feebly, 
a white-haired, ancient, and majestic 
man, around iwhoefe iges^ii|\si^>x^Lm% 



Dion. Mid the Sibyls. 



455 



vanished from his mind. There be- 
fore him, holding back the folds of his 
toga with one white hand, upon ?the 
back of which more than seventy 
years had brought out a tracery of 
blue varicose veins — a modem doctor 
would call them — with the other hand, 
which was gloved, and grasping the 
fellow glove, laid upon the arm of the 
knight already mentioned, stood the 
person who,, under forms, the repub- 
lican semblance of which he carefully 
preserved, exercised throughout the 
whole civilized and nearly the whole 
known world, over at least two if not 
three hundred million souls, a power 
as uncontrolled and as absolute for all 
practical purposes as any which, be- 
fore him or after him, ever fell to 
man's lot; enthusiastically guarded 
and religiously obeyed by legions be- 
fore whom mankind trembled, and 
whose superiors as soldiers had not 
been seen then and have not been 
seen since; the perpetual tribune of 
the people, the prince, senator, per- 
petual consul, the supreme judge, the 
arbiter of life and death, the umpire 
in the greatest concerns between for- 
eign disputants travelling from the 
ends of the earth to plead before him ; 
the dispenser of prefectures, provinces, 
proconsulates, tetrarchies, and king- 
doms ; treated by kings as those kings 
were themselves treated by the high 
functionaries whom they had appoint- 
ed or confirmed, and could in an in- 
stant dismiss ; the unprincipled, cruel, 
wicked, but moderate-tempered, cold- 
humored, cautious, graceful-manner- 
ed, elegant-minded, worldly-wise, and 
politic prince, who paid assiduous 
court to all the givers and destroyers 
of reputation — I mean, to the men 
of letters. There he stood, as we 
have described him, holding his toga 
with one hand and leaning upon Ma- 
murra's arm with the other; and Pau- 
lus stood before him, and Paulus knew 
not what to say; hardly, indeed — so 



quickly the sense of bashfulness, con- 
fusion, depression had gained upon 
him— hardly how to look. 

"If you have heard," observed Ti- 
berius at lengthy " pray stand aside," 

Paulus, who, while Tiberius was 
speaking, had looked at him, now 
glanced again toward the emperor, 
and still hesitated, made a shuffling 
bow, and stood partly aside. 

" What is it you wish to say ?" ask- 
ed Augustus, in a. somewhat feeUe 
voice, not at all ungraciously. 

"I wish," said Paulus, becoming 
very pale, " to say, my sovereign, that 
my father's property in this very neigh- 
borhood was taken away after the bat- 
tle of Philippi and given to strangers, 
and to beg of your justice and clemen- 
cy to give back that property or an 
equivalent to me, who am my dead 
father's only son." 

" But," said Augustus smiling, " half 
the land in Italy changed hands about 
the time you mention. Your father 
fought for Brutus, I suppose ?" 

" My father fought for you, my 
lord," said Paulus. 

"Singular!" exclaimed Augustus; 
" but this is not a court of justice— 
the courts are open to you." 

At this moment Sejanus and one 
whom Paulus presumed to be in 
Rome, Cneius Piso, attended by a 
slave, appeared from a cross street 
The slave approached quickly, hold- 
ing a pigeon ; and having caught the 
eye of Augustus, who beckoned to him, 
he handed the bird to the emperor. 

Paulus withdrew a litde, but linger- 
ed near the group. Augustus, disen- 
gaging a piece of thin paper from the 
pigeon's neck, said, 

" From lUyricum, I suppose. We 
shall now learn what progress those 
Germans have made. O Varus, Va- 
rus!" added he, in words which he 
had of late often., been heard to re- 
peat, " give me back the legions, 
^ redde ketones i rcddt U^nt\ t ^ 



\ 



Diett and tkt SibyU, 



A breathless silence lasted while 
Augustus perused the message taken 
from tlie neck of the carrier-pigeon. 
As he crushed the paper in his hands, 
he muttered something; and while he 
muttered,- tlie scorbutic face of Tibe- 
rius (perhaps scrofulous would better 
render the epithet used by' Tacitus) 
bumcd ominously. In what the em- 
peror said Paulus caught the words, 
^'danger te Italy, but Germanicus 
knows how." 

" Varus lost the legions a thousand 
times, a thousand paces westward of 
this irruption," said Tiberius, 

" A calamity like that," said Augus- 
tus, "is felt far and near. The whole 
empire suffers, nor will it recover in 
my time. Ah 1 the legions." 

Paulus perceived that he himself 
was now forgotten ; moreover, look- 
ing back, he saw the poor young dam- 
sel, left by him at the door of the 
Mamurnm palace, still standing alone 
ajid unprotected; but some fascination 
riveted him. 

In a moment a great noise was 
heard, which lasted a couple of min- 
utes ; a mighty roar, indistinct, blend- 
ed, hoarse, as of tens of thousands of 
men uttering one immense shout. It 
was, had it lasted, like the sound of 
the sea breaking upon some cavernous 
coasL 

Upon a look of inquiry and surprise 
from the emperor, Sejanus sent the 
slave who had brought the carrier- 
pigeon to ascertain the cause, and be- 
fore the sound had ceased the messen- 
ger returned, and reported that it was 
only Germanicus Ctesar riding into 
camp. Augustus Axed his eyes on the 
ground, and Tiberius looked at Seja- 
nus and at Gneius Piso. 

The emperor, after a second or two 
of musing, resumed his way toward 
the rustic circus and the camp, attend- 
ed by those around. 

Paulus felt he had not gained much 
t his interview. He now toudied 



the arm of Sejaniis, who was about fol- 
lowing the imperial group, and said, 
pointing toward the spot where Bcnig- 
na still stood waiting, 

" Yonder is Crispina's dagghler, who 
is here in obedience to your letter." 

Sejanus answered this reminder wiA 
a sour and peculiar smile. 

"Good," said he; "she has come 
to announce the fine news to her be- 
trothed. Let her tell him that he has 
only to break a horse for Tiberius 
Ciesar to obtain his freedom. I have 
no time to attend any more to slaves 
and their mates. She has now but to 
ask for Claudius at that palace. He 
has oniers to expect her, and to re- 
ceive from her mouth the pleasing in- 
formation I have just given you." 

Saying this, he walked away. 

Our hero conceived some tindefia- 
ed misgiving from these words, or m- 
ther from the tone, perhaps, in which 
the prefect had uttered thetn. UnA- ■ 
ble to question die speaker, he slowly 
returned to poor little Bcnigna, and 
said, " Well, ISenigna, I have ascet- . 
tained what you have to do ; asA^ 
first of all, Claudius expects you vidt- - 
in," 

As he spoke, he knocked at the 
door. This time only one leal of it 
was opened, and a slave, standing in 
Die aperture, and scanning Paulus and 
his companion, demanded their busi- 
ness: while the sentries on eitba- 
hand at the sculptured pillars, or ankt 
of the porch, looked and listened sof 
perciliously. 

" Is the secretary -slave Clau£ai> 
here ?" asked the youth. 

Before the porter could reply,stepft 
and voices resounded in the hall witit- 
in, and the porter sjirang out of the 
way, flinging almost into Paulus's &o& 
the other leaf of the door, and bowing 
low. Three genUemen, two of whoinf , 
apparendy were half-drunk, their iaccit 
flushed, and their arms linked togi^ 
tlier, appeared staggering upon the 



Dion Mid th$ Sibyls, 



457 



threshold, where they stood awhile to 
steady themselves before emerging 
into the street. 

" I tell you, my Pomponius Flac- 
cus," said he who was in the middle 
— a portly man, with a good-natured, 
shrewd, tipsy look — " it is all a pretty 
contrivance, and there will be no 
slaughter, for the beast is to be muz- 
zled." 

" And I tell you, my Lucius Piso," 
returned he on the left, a wiry drink- 
er, " my governor of Rome, my dedi- 
catee of Horace — ^" 

"I am not the dedicatee of Ho- 
race," interrupted the other; "poor 
Horace dedicated the art-poetical to 
my two sons." 

" How could he do that ?" broke 
in Pomponius. "You see double. 
Two sons, indeed I How many sons 
have you? tell me that. Again, how 
could one man dedicate a single work 
to a double person ? answer me that 
You know nothing whatever about 
poetry, except in so far as it is fiction ; 
but we don't want fiction in these 
matters. We want facts j and it is a 
fact — a solemn fact — that the slave 
will be devoured." 

" I hold it to be merely a pleasant 
fiction," retorted Piso fiercely. 

" Then I appeal to Thrasyllushere," 
rejoined the other. " O thou Baby 
Ionian seer! will not Claudius the 
slave be devoured in the circus before 
the assembled people ?" 

At these words our hero looked at 
Benigna, and Benigna at him, and she 
was astounded. 

He who was thus questioned — a 
man of ghastly face, with long, black 
hair hanging down to his shoulders, 
and sunken, wistful, melancholy eyes 
—wore an Asiatic dress. He was 
not intoxicated, and seemed to have 
fallen by chance into his present com- 
panionship, from which he appeared 
eager to disengage himself. 

Gently shaking off the vague hand 



of Pomponius Flaccus, he acted as the 
oracles did. 

" You are certainly right," he said ; 
but he glanced at Lucius Piso while 
speaking, and then stepped quickly 
into the street, which he crossed. 

Each of the disputants naturally 
deemed the point to have been decid- 
ed in his own favor. 

" You hear ?" cried Flaccus ; " the 
horse is to paw him to death, and then 
to devour him alive." 

" How can he ?" said Piso. " How 
can he, after d — d — death, devour him 
alive ? Besides, Thrasyllus declared 
that I was right" 

" Why," shouted Flaccus, " if we had 
not been "drinking together all the 
morning, I should think you had lost 
your senses." 

" Not by any means," said Piso ; 
"and I will prove to you by logic 
that Claudius the slave," (again at this 
name our hero and poor little Benigna 
looked at each other — she starting 
and turning half-round, he merely di- , 
reeling a glance at her,) " that Clau- 
dius the slave will not and cannot be 
devoured by Sejanus — I mean that 
beast Sejanus." 

Paulus, chancing to look toward 
the two praetorian sentries, whose ge- 
neral he supposed to be mentioned, 
observed them covertly smiling. More 
puzzled than ever, he gave all his at- 
tention to the tipsy dispute which was 
raging in the palace doorway. 

" Well, prove it then," roared Flac- 
cus, " with your logic I" 

" Have I'liot a thumb ?" resumed 
Lucius Piso ; " and can I not turn it 
down in the nick of time, and so save 
the wretch ?" 

" Ho ! ho I ho !" laughed out the 
other ; " and what notice will a horse 
take of your thumb ? Is this horse 
such an ass as to mind whether your 
thumb be up or down, though you 
are governor of Rome ?" 

« Perhaps you tl:mik^" ifi^O!X»\YaA^ 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



459 



** Tiberius Claudius Nero," return- 
ed Paulus. 

He naturally supposed that this 
formal-sounding answer would have 
struck some awe into the curious 
company among whom he had so 
unwittingly alighted with his rustic 
charge. 

*• What !" exclaimed Pomponius 
Flaccus, " Biberius Caldius Mero, say 
you ?" 

Paulus started in amazement. 

^ Ebrius^ drunk," continued Piso, 
ex qua — How does it go on? ex 
qua—'' 

"£x quo^^ resumed Pomponius 
solemnly, " semel foetus est,'* • 

The astonishment of Paulus and 
Benigna knew no bounds. Was it 
possible that in the very precincts of 
Caesar's residence for the time, at the 
door of an imperial palace, within 
hearing of two praetorian sentries, in 
the public street and open daylight, 
persons should be found, not reckless 
outcasts maddened by desperation, 
but a whole company of patricians, 
who, correcting each other as they 
might do in reciting a popular pro- 
verb, or an admired song, should 
speak thus of the man to whom gla- 
diators, having not an hour to live, 
cried, " As we die we salute thee ?'* 
The man at whose name even cou- 
rageous innocence trembled ? 

" I said," repeated Paulus after a 
pause, " Tiberius Claudius Nero." 

" And I said," replied Pomponius, 
** Biberius Caldius Mero." 

" Drunk but once," added Lucius 
Piso, who had evidently quite recov- 
ered from his own inebriation. 

" Since ever he was so first," con- 
cluded Pomponius Flaccus. 

A general laugh, in which all pre- 
sent joined save Paulus and Benigna, 
greeted this sally, and, in the midst 

* Soetonios, Pliny, «id Senect all attest the cm^ 
rency of this and amilar jokei against Tiberiiu dor- 
lii Ttry lifetima. 



of their hilarity an elegant open cha- 
riot of richly-sculptured bronze, the 
work being f^ more costly than the 
material, drawn by two handsome 
horses, and driven by a vigorous and 
expert charioteer, came swiftly down 
the street in the contrary direction 
of the camp, and stopped opposite 
the door. 

As the horses were pulled back 
upon their haunches, a youth, tall, 
well made, and eminently graceful, 
sprang to the ground. He had a 
countenance in the extraordinary 
beauty of which intellect, attempered 
by a sweet, grave, and musing ex- 
pression, played masterful and lumi- 
nous. He was neatly but gravely 
dressed, after the Athenian fashion. 
The four personages at the door, 
who were, by the by, far more florid- 
ly arrayed, and wore various orna- 
ments, nevertheless looked like bats 
among which a bird of paradise had 
suddenly alighted. No gayety of 
attire could cover the unloveliness ol 
their minds, lives, and natures, nor 
could the plainness of his costume 
cause the new-comer to be disregard- 
ed or mistaken anywhere. In the 
whole company Lucius Piso alone 
was a man of sense, solid attain- 
ments, and spirit, though he was a 
hard drinker. Even the others, dri- 
velling jesters as they were, became 
sober now at once; they uncovered 
instinctively, and greeted the youth, 
as he passed, with an obeisance as 
low as that performed by the ostia- 
riuSy who stood ready to admit him. 
When, returning these salutes, he 
had entered the palace, Piso said, for 
the information of Vedius Pollio, who 
had come from Pompeii, " That is 
^." 

** What ! the young Athenian phi- 
losopher of whom we have heard so 
much r* 

** Yes. Dionysius, young as he is^ 
I am told that \jt is cttVaSoi Xoii&^^i^ 



next vacancy in their famous Areo- 
pagus." 

" He is high in Augustus's good 
graces, is he not ?" asked PolUo. 

" Augustus would swear by him," 
said Flaccus. " It is lucky for all of 
us that the youth has no amhitiou, 
and is going away again soon." 

" What does Eiberius say of him ?" 
inquired Apicius. 

" Say ? Why, what does he ever 
say of any one, at least of any distin- 
guished man i" 

" Simply not a word," 

"Well, think then what does he 
think?" 

" Not lovingly, I suspect. Their 
spirits, their geniuses, would not long 
agree. If he was emperor, Dionysius 
of Athens would not have so brilliant 
a reception at court." 

" But is it then really brilliant ? 
Does one so young sustain his own 
part ?" asked PoUio, 

" You never heard any person like 
him ; I will answer for that," replied 
Lucius Piso. "He is admirable. I 
was amazed when I met him. Au- 
gustus, you know, is no dotard, and 
Augustus is enchanted with him, The 
men of letters, besides, are ail raving 
about him, from old Titus Livy down 
to L. Varius, the twiddler of verses, 
the twiddle -de-dee successor of our 
immortal Horace and ourirrcplaceable 
Virgil, And then Quintus Haterius, 
who has scarcely less teaming than 
Vano, (and much more worldly know- 
ledge ;} Haterius, who is himself what 
erudite persons rarely are, the most 
fascinating talker alive, and certainly 
the tincst public speaker that has ad- 
dressed an assembly since the death 
of poor Cicero, declares that Diony- 
sius of Athens — " 

" Ah ! ^ough I enough !" cried 
Apicius, interrapting; "you make 
me sick with these praises of airy, 
intangible nothings, 1 shan't eat com- 
fortably to-day. What are all his ac- 



complishments, I should like to know, 
compared to one good dinner?" 

" You will have long ceased to eat," 
retorted Piso, "when his name will 
yet continue to be pronounced." 

" And what good will pronouncing ' 
do, if you are himgry ?" s,iid ApiciUL | 

" What has he come to Italy for ?" 
persisted old Pollio. 

"You know," s£ud Piso, "that oil 
over the east, from immemorial lime, 
some great, mysterious, and Uupen- 
dous being has been expected to ap- 
pear on earth about this very dale." 

" Not only in the east, good Piso," 
said PoUio; 'my neighbor in Italy, 
you know, the Cum»in sibyl, is con- 
strued now never to have had any 
other theme." 

" Ycu are right," returned Piso; "I 
meant to say that the prevailing notion 
has always been that it is in the east 
this personage will appear, and then 
his sway is to extend gradually imo 
every part of the worid. Old sayings, 
various warning oracles, traditions 
among common peasants, who cannot 
speak each other's languages ODd 
don't even know of each other's ejdfr 
tcnce, the obscure songs of the sibyb, 
the dream of all mankind, the mystical 
presentiments of the world concur, 
and have long concurred, upon thxt 
singular subject 'Moreover, the in- 
creasing corruption of morals, to which 
Horace adverts," added Piso, "will 
and must end in dissolving sodety 
altogether, unless arrested by the ad- 
vent of some such being. That is 
manifest Haterius and others, who 
are learned in the Hebrew liieratuie^ 
tell me that prodigies and portentSi EO 
well authenticated that it is no more 
possible to doubt them than it is lo 
doubt that Julius Ciesar was murder- 
ed in Rome, were performed by men 
who, ages ago, much more distinctly 
and minutely foretold the coming of 
this person at or near the very time 
in which we are living ; and, accord- 



Dion and th$ Sibyls. 



461 



ingly, that the whole nation of the 
Jews (convinced that those who could 
perform such things must have enjoy- 
ed more than mortal knowledge and 
power) fully expect and firmly believe 
that the being predicted by these 
workers of portents is now immediate- 
ly to appear. Thus, Haterius — " 

"No," said Pomponius Flaccus, 
shaking his head, looking on the 
ground, and pressing the tip of his fore- 
finger against his forehead, " that is not 
Haterius' s argument, or rather, that is 
only the half of Ur 

" I now remember," resumed Lucius 
Piso; " you are correct in checking my 
version of it. These ancient seers 
and wonder-workers had also foretold 
several things that were to come to 
pass earlier than the advent of the 
great being, and these things having 
in their respective times all duly oc- 
curred, serve to convince the Jews, 
and indeed have also convinced many 
philosophic inquirers, of whom Diony- 
sius is one, studying the prophetical 
books in question, and then exploring 
the history of the Hebrews, to see 
whether subsequent events really cor- 
respond with what had been foretold 
— that seers who could perform the 
portents which they performed in their 
day, and who besides possessed a 
knowledge of future events verified 
by the issue, were and must be genu- 
inely and truly prophets, and that 
their predictions deserved belief con- 
cerning this great, mysterious, and 
much-needed personage, who is to 
appear in the present generation. And 
then there is the universal tradition, 
there is the universal expectation, to 
confirm such reasonings," added Piso. 
The astounding character, as well 
as the intrinsic importance and inter- 
est of this conversation, its reference 
to his half-countryman Dionysius, of 
whom he had heard so much, and the 
glimpses of society, the hints about 
men and things which it afforded him, 



had prevented Paulus from asking 
these exalted gentlefolk to make room 
for him and Benigna to pass, and had 
held him, and indeed her also, spell- 
boimd. 

•* But how all this accounts, most 
noble Piso, for the visit of the Atheni- 
an to the court of Augustus, you have 
forgotten to say," remarked Pollio. 

" He obtained," replied Piso, " the 
emperor's permission to study the Si- 
bylline books." 

" What a pity," said Flaccus, " that 
the first old books were burnt in the 
great fire at Rome." 

" Well," resumed Lucius Piso, " he 
brought this permission to me, as go- 
vernor of Rome, and I went with him 
myself to the quindecemviri and the 
other proper authorities. Oh ! as to 
the books, it is the opinion of those 
learned in such matters that there is 
little or nothing in the old books 
which has not been recovered in the 
collection obtained by the senate after- 
ward from Cumae, Greece, Egypt, 
Babylon, and all places where either 
the sibyls still lived, or their oracles 
were preserved." 

« But, after all," said Pollio, « aie 
not these oracles the ravings of enthu- 
siasm, if not insanity ?" 

** Cicero, although in general so 
sarcastic and disdainful, so incredu- 
lous and so hard to please," answer- 
ed Piso, " has settled that question." 
" He has, I allow it," added Pom- 
ponius Flaccus, " and setded it most 
completely. What a charming pas- 
sage that is wherein the incomparable 
thinker, matchless writer, and fasti- 
dious critic expresses his reverential 
opinion of the Sibylline books, and 
demonstrates with triumphant logic 
their claims upon the attention of all 
rational, all clear-headed and philoso- 
phic inquirers 1" 

'^ I am not a rational, or clear-head- 
ed, or philosophic inquirer," broke in 
Apidus. ^ Come, ^ coiOL^t V:^ ^^cij^ 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



463 



your father and his wife, the Lady 
Aglais, to Athens. There I met them. 
Alas ! he is gone. I have heard it. 
But where are your mother and your 
sister ?" 

Paulus told him. 

"Well, I request you to say to 
them that Dionysius of Athens — so 
people style me — remembers them 
with affection. I will visit them and 
you. Do I intrude if I ask who is 
this damsel ?" (glancing kindly toward 
Benigna, who had listened with visible 
interest.) 

Paulus told him, in a few rapid 
words, not only who she was, but 
with distinct details upon what errand 
she had come. 

He had scarcely finished when 
Claudius, the slave, arrived breathless, 
in obedience to the summons of the 
magister. 

** The orders of Tiberius Caesar to 
me,* observed this functionary in a 
slow, loud voice, but with rather a 
shamefaced glance at Dion, "are, 
that I should see that you, Claudius, 
learnt from this maiden the conditions 
upon which he is graciously pleased 
to grant you your liberty, and then 
that I should myself communicate 
something in addition." 

** O Claudius !" began Benigna, 
blushing scarlet, " we, that is, not 
you, but I — I was not fair, I was not 
just to Tib — that is — just read this let- 
ter from the illustrious prefect Sejanus 
to my father." 

Claudius, very pale and biting his 
lip, ran his eye in a moment through 
the document, and givmg it back to 
Benigna awaited the communication. 

" Well," said she, " only this mo- 
ment have I learnt the easy, the tri- 
fling condition which the generous 
Caesar, and tribune of the people, at- 
taches to his bounty.'* 

There was a meaning smile inter- 
changed among the slaves, which es- 
caped none present except Benigna ; 



and Claudius became yet more pal- 
lid. 

" The prefect Sejanus has just told 
Master Paulus," pursued the young 
i|?aiden, " that you have only to break 
a horse for Tiberius Csesar to obtain 
forthwith your freedom, and fifty 
thousand sesterces too," she added in 
a lower voice. 

A dead silence ensued, and lasted 
for several instants. 

Paulus yEmilius, naturally penetrat- 
ing and of a vivid though imp>er- 
fecdy-educated mind, discerned this 
much, that some mystery, some not 
insignificant secret, was in the act of 
disclosure. The illustrious visitor 
from Athens had let the hand which 
lay on Paulus's shoulder fall negli- 
gently to his side, and with his head 
thrown a little back, and a some- 
what downward-sweeping glance, was 
surveying the scene. He possessed 
a far higher order of intellect than 
the gallant and bright-witted youth 
who was standing beside him; and 
had received, in the largest measure 
that the erudite civilization of classic 
antiquity could afford, that finished 
mental training which was precisely 
what Paulus, however accomplished 
in all athletic exercises, rather lacked. 
Both the youths easily saw that some- 
thing was to come; they both felt 
that a secret was on the leap. 

"Break a horse!" exclaimed the 
slave Claudius, with parched, white 
lips ; " I am a poor lad who have 
always been at the desk ! What do 
I know of horses or of riding ?" 

There was an inclination to titter 
among the clerks, but it was checked 
by their good-nature — indeed, by 
their liking for Claudius; they all 
looked up, however. 

"Your illustrious master,'* replied 
the magister or steward, or major- 
domo, " has thought of this, and, in- 
deed, of every thing ;" again the man 
directed the same shaxckidace^ ^^as^io^ 



Dion and the Sibyh. 



as before toward Dion. " Knowing, 
probably, your unexpertness in horses, 
Trhich is no secret among your fel- 
low-slaves, and in truth, among all 
your acquaintances, Tiberius Caesar 
has, in the firet place, selected for 
you the very animal, out of all his 
stables, which you are to ride at the 
games in the circus before the cou- 
ple of hunt! red thousand people who 
will crowd the champaign," 

" At the games !" interrupted Clau- 
dius, "and in the circus I Why, all 
who know me know that I an arrant 
coward." 

Like a burst of bells, peal upon 
peal, irrepressible, joyous, defiant, 
and frank, as if ringing with astonish- 
ment and scorn at the thing, yet also 
full of friendliness and honest pitying 
love for the person, broke forth the 
laugh of Paulus. It was so genuine 
and so infectious, that even Dion 
smiled in a critical, musing way, while 
all the slaves chuckled audibly, and 
the slave chained to the staple near 
the door rattled his brass fiisltfnJngs 
at his sides. Only three individuals 
preserved their gravity, the shame- 
faced steward, poor little frightened 
Benigna, and the astonished Claudius 
himself. 

"In the second place," pursued 
the magister or stewani, "besides 
choosing for you the very animal, 
the individual and particular horse, 
which you are to ride, the Cresar has 
considerately determined and decid- 
ed, in view of your deserved popu- 
larity among all your acquaintances, 
that, if any acquaintance of yours, 
any of your numerous friends, any 
Other person, in fine, whoever, in 
your stead shall volunteer to break 
this horse for Tiberius Cicsar, you 
shall receive your freedom and the 
fifly thousand sesterces the very next 
morning, exactly the same." 

A rather weak and vague murmur 



of applause from the slaves followed 
til is olficial statement. 

•And so the Caesar," said Cl«* 
dius, " has both selected 
steed, and has allowed mc a substi- 
tute to break him, if I can find any 
substitute. Suppose, however, that I 
decline such conditions of liberty al- 
together — what then ?" 

" Then Tiberius Ciesar sells you 
to-morrow morning to Vcdius P<dlio 
of Pompeii, who has come hither on 
purpose to buy you, and cany you 
home to his Cumsean villa." 

"To his tank, you mean," repGed 
poor Claudius, "in order that I tnay 
fatten his lampreys. I am in a pretty 
species, of predicament. But name 
the horse which I am to break At the 

Dion turned his head slightly to- 
ward the steward, who was about to 
answer, and the steward remained 
silent. A sort of excltemeot shot 
through the apartment. 

" Name the horse, if you please, 
honored magister," said Claudius. 
Even now the steward could not, at 
did not, speak. 

Before the painful pause was bro- 
ken, the attention of all jtresent was 
arrested by a sudden uproar in the 
street. The noise of a furious tramp- 
ling, combined with successive shrieks, 
whether of pain or terror, was bome 
into the palace. 

Dionysius, followed by Paulus, by 
Claudius, by the steward, and Be- 
nigna, ran to the window, if such it 
can be temneti, drew aside the silken 
curtain, and pushed open the gwi- 
dily-painted, perforated shutter, whea 
a strange and alarming spectacle was 
presented in the open space fomed 
by cross-streets before tlie left izaak 
of the mansion. 

A magnificent horse of bigger sta- 
ture, yet of more eleg.inl proportions, 
than the horses which were then n 



Dion and tJu Sibyls. 



465 



J Roman cavalry, was in the 
rearing ; and within stroke of 
e-feet, on coming down, lay a 
ice under, motionless, a wool- 
lic ripped open behind at the 
sr, and disclosing some sort of 
, from which blood was flow- 
The horse, which was of a 
roan color, was neither ridden 
ddled, but girt with a cloth 
the belly, and led, or rather 
ack, by two long cavassons, 
a couple of powerfully-built, 
yr men, dressed like slaves, held 
further ends on opposite sides 
beast, considerably apart, and 
s thirty feet behind him. One 
>e lines or reins — that nearest 
lace — was taut, the other was 
and the slave who held the 
had rolled it twice or thrice 
his bare arm, and was leaning 
md hauling, hand over hand, 
animal had apparently stricken 
\ back, unawares, with a fore- 
lay and a pawing blow, the 
ho was lying so still and mo- 
s on the pavement, and the 
having reared, was now trying 
le down upon his victim. But 
)ncr were his fore-legs in the 
n he, of course, thereby yielded 
[en purchase to the groom who 
illing him with the taut cavas- 
nd this man was thus at last 
d to drag him fairly off his 
?gs, and to bring him with a 
^ thump to the ground upon 
Jc. Before the brute could 
struggle to his feet, four or five 
•s who happened to be nigh, 
ig to the rescue, had lifted, and 
1 out of harm's way, the pros- 
md wounded man. 
hat is the very horse!" ex- 
:d the magister, stretching his 
)etwecn the shoulders of Dion 
'aulus, at the small window of 
ilace. 

observe," said Paulus, " that the 
VOL. XI. — 30 



cavasson is ringed to a muzzle — the 
beast is indisputably muzzled." 

" Why is he muzzled ?" 

"Because," replied the magister, 
" he eats people 1" 

** Eats people I" echoed Paulus, in 
surprise. 

" O gods I" cried Benigna. 

"Yes," quoth the steward; "the 
horse is priceless ; he comes of an in- 
estimable breed; that is the present 
representative of the Sejan race of 
sUeds, Your Tauric horses are cats 
in comparison; your cavalry horses 
but goats. That animal is durectly 
descended from the real horse Sejanus, 
and excels, they even say,' his sire, 
and indeed he also in his turn goes 
now by the old name. He is the 
horse Sejanus." 

At these words Paulus could not, 
though he tried hard, help casting 
one glance toward Benigna, who had 
been with him only so short a time 
before at the top of the palace, listen- 
ing to the conversation of tlie tipsy 
patricians. The poor little girl had 
become very white and very scare- 
faced. 

"Tell us more," said Dionysius,, 
"of this matter, worthy magister.. 
We have all heard that phrase of ill 
omen — * such and such a person has; 
the horse Sejanus' — meaning that he 
is unlucky, that he is doomed to de- 
struction. Now, what is the ori- 
gin and what is the true value of this 
popular proverb ?" 

" Like all popular proverbs," re- 
plied the steward, with a bow of the 
deepest reverence to the young Athe- 
nian philosopher, " it has some value, 
my lord, and a real foundation, al- 
though Tiberius has determined to> 
confute it by practical proofl Yqu: 
must know, most illustrious senator 
of Athens, that during the civil wars 
which preceded the summer-day still- 
ness of this glorious reign of Augus- 
tus, no one ever appeared in battk?- 



466 



Dion and the Sifyis. 



field or festive show so splendidly 
mounted as the knight Cneius Sejus, 
whose name has attached itself to the 
race. 

" His horse, which was of enor- 
mous proportions, like the beast you 
have just beheld, would try to throw 
you first and would try to eat you 
afterward. Few could ride him: 
and then his plan was simple. Those 
whom he threw he would beat to 
death with his paws, and then tear 
them to pieces with his teeth. More- 
over, if he could not dislodge his rider 
from the cphippia by honest plung- 
ing and fair play, he would writhe 
his neck round like a serpent — indeed, 
the square front, large eyes, and sup- 
ple neck remind one of a serpent ; 
he would twist his head back, I say, 
all white and dazzling, with the ears 
laid close, the lips drawn away, and 
the glitter of his teeth displayed, and, 
seizing the knee-cap or the shinbone, 
would tear it off, and bring down the 
best horseman that ever bestrode a 
Bucephalus. What usually followed 
was frightful to behold; for, once a 
rider was dismounted, the shoulder 
has been seen to come away between 
the brute's teeth, with knots and tresses 
of tendons dripping blood like ten- 
drils, and the ferocious horse has been 
known with his great fat flinders to 
crush the skull of the fallen person, 
and lap up the brains — as you would 
crack a nut — after which, he i)aws 
the i^rostrate figure till it no longer 
resembles the form of man. But the 
present horse Scjanus, which you 
have just beheld, excels all in strength, 
beauty, and ferocity; he belongs to 
my master Tiberius." 

"Ah gods I" exclaimed poor Be- 
nigna ; " this is the description of a 
demon rather than of a beast." 

Dionysius and Paulus exchanged 
one significant glance, and the former 
said: 

" What became of the first posses- 



sor, who yields his name to so ma- 
ampled a breed of horses ? what tw- 
came of the knight Sejus ?" 

<' A whisper had transpired, illustri- 
ous sir," replied the steward, *'that 
this unhappy man had fed the hnxit 
upon human flesh. Mark Antony, 
who coveted possession of the boisc, 
brought some accusation, but not this, 
against the knight, who was eventual- 
ly put to death; but Dolabella, the 
former lieutenant of Julius Cassar, had 
just before given a hundred thousand 
sesterces (;^8oo) to Sejus for the ani- 
mal ; therefore Antony killed the knight 
for nothing, and failed to get Sejanus; 
at least he failed that time. Dolabel- 
la, however, did not prosper ; he al- 
most immediately afterward murdered 
himself. Cassius thereupon became 
the next master of the Sejan horse, and 
Cassius rode him at the fatal batde 
of Philippi, losing which, Cassius in 
his turn, after that resolute fashion of 
which we all have heard, put an end 
to his own existence." 

" To one form of it," obser\'ed Dio- 
nysius. 

" This time," continued the majis- 
ter, bowing, " Mark Antony had his 
way — he became at last the lord of 
the Sejan horse, but likewise he, in 
his turn, was doomed to exemplify 
the brute's ominous reputation ; for 
Antony, as you know, killed himself 
a little subsequently at Alexandria. 
The horse had four proprietors in a 
very short period, and in immediate 
succession, the first of whom was cru- 
ellv slain, and the three others slew 
themselves. Hence, noble sir, the 
proverb." 

15y this time, the magister had toM 
his tale, the street outside had become 
emjUy and silent, and the parties 
wiiliin the chamber had thoroughly 
mastered and understood the horrible 
truth which underlay the case of the 
slave Claudius, and this new instance 
of Tiberius's wrath and vengeance. 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



467 



The magister, Claudius, and Benig- 
na had returned to the other end of 
the room, where the slaves were writ- 
ing, and had left Paulus and Dion still 
standing thoughtfully near the window. 

Claudius exclaimed, " My turn it is 
at present ; it will be some one else's 
soon !" 

He and Benigna were now whisper- 
ing together. The magister stood a 
little apart, looking on the ground in 
a deep reverie, his chin buried in the 
hollow of his right hand, the arm of 
which was folded across his chest. 
The slaves were bending over their 
work in silence. 

Says Paulus in a low voice to Dion, 
" You have high credit with the em- 
peror, illustrious Athenian ; and sure- 
ly if you were to tell him the whole 
case, he would interfere to check the 
cruelty of this man, this Tiberius." 

"What, Augustus do this for a 
slave ?'* replied Dion mournfully. 
" The emperor would not, and by the 
laws could not, interfere with Vedius 
Pollio, or any private knight, in the 
treatment or government of his slaves, 
who are deemed to be the absolute 
property of their respective lords; 
what chance, then, that he should 
meddle, or, if he meddled, that he 
should successfully meddle, with Ti- 
berius Caesar on behalf of an offend- 
ing mance? And this too for the 
sake, remember, of a low-born girl ? 
Women are accounted void of death- 
less souls, my friend, even by some 
who suspect that men may be immor- 
tal. By astuteness, by beauty, not 
beauteously employed, and, above all, 
by the effect of habit, imperceptible 
as a plant in its growth, stealthy as 
the prehensile ivy, some few indivi- 
dual women, like Livia, Tiberius's 
mother, and Julia, Augustus's daugh- 
ter, have acquired great accidental 
power. But to lay down the princi- 
ple that the slightest trouble should 
be taken for these slaves, would in 



this Roman world raise a symphony 
of derision as musical as the cry of 
the Thessalian hounds when their 
game is afoot." 

Paulus, buried in thought, stole a 
look full of pity toward the further 
end of the apartment. " Slaves, wo- 
men, laws, gladiators,** he muttered, 
" and brute power prevalent as a god. 
Every day, noble Athenian, I learn 
something which fills me with hatred 
and scorn for the system amid which 
we are living." He then told Dion 
the story of Thellus and Alba; he 
next laid before him the exact circum- 
stances of Benigna and Claudius; re- 
lating what had occurred that very 
morning, and by no means omitting 
the strange and wonder-fraught con- 
versation at the door of the palace, 
after which he added, 

" I declare to you solemnly — but 
then I am ho more than an uninstruct- 
ed youth, having neither your natural 
gifts nor your acquired knowledge — 
I never heard any thing more enchant- 
ing, more exalted, more consoling, 
and to my poor mind more reasona- 
ble, or more probable, than that some 
god is quickly to come down from 
heaven and reform and control this 
abominable world. Why do I say 
probable ? Because it would be god- 
like to do it. I would ask nothing 
better, therefore, than to be allowed 
to join you and go with you all over 
the world ; searching and well weigh- 
ing whatever evidences and signs may 
be accessible to man's righteously dis- 
contented and justly wrathful industry 
in such a task; and I would be in 
your company when you explored 
and decided whether this sublime 
dream, this noble, generous, compen- 
sating hope, this grand and surely di- 
vine tradition, be a truth, or, ah me ! 
ah me ! nothing but a vain poem of 
the future — a beautiful promise never 
to be realized, the specious mockezy 
of some cruel muse." 



I>ion'sblue eyes kindled and burn- 
ed, but he remained silent, 

" In the mean time, hsten further," 
added Paulus. " What would the 
divine being who is thus expected, 
were he in ihis room, deem of this 
transaction before our eyes? You 
have heard the steward's account of 
the horse Sejanus; you have heard 
Claudius's allusion to Vedios Pollio's 
lampreys. Now, you are a wise, wit- 
ty, and eloquent person, and you can 
correct me if I s.ty wrong — in what 
is the man whom the horse Sejanus, 
for instance, throws and tears to pieces 
better than the horse ? In what is 
the man whom the lampreys devour 
better than the lampreys ? I say the 
horse and the lampreys are better than 
the man, if mere power be a thing 
more lo be esteemed and honored 
ihan what is right, and just, and ho- 
norable, and estimable ; for the lam- 
preys and the horse possess the great- 
er might, most indubitably, in the 
cases mentioned. The elephant is 
stronger than we, the hound is swifter, 
the raven lives much longer. Either 
the mere power to do a thing deserves 
my esteem more than any other ob- 
ject or consideration, and therefore 
whoever can trample down his fellow- 
men, and gratify all his brutal instincts 
at the expense of their lives, their safe- 
ty, their happiness, their reasonable 
free-will, is more estimable than he 
who is just, truthful, kind, generous, 
and noble — either. 1 say, the man who 
Is strong against his fellows is more 
good than he who is good — and the 
words justice, right, gentleness, huma- 
nity, honor, keeping faith in promises, 
pity for poor little women who are 
oppressed and brutally used, virtue, 
and such noises made by my tongue 
against my palate, express nothing 
which can be understood, nothing in 
which any mind can find any mean- 
ing — either, I again say, the lampreys 
and the Sejan horae are more to be 



esteemed, and valued, and lovcd'Aa 
my sister and my mother, or it il M 
true that the mere power of TlberiB, 
combined with the bnitish indiiuliao 
to do a thing, terminates the (jueflioii 
whether it is right to do it. The mo- 
ment I like to do any thing, if I on 
do it, is it necessanly right thai I 
should do it ? The moment tu-o ptr- 
sons have a difference, is it right for 
either of them, and equally right for 
each of them, to mimier the otbei? 
But if it was the intention of this 
great being, this god who is expectal 
to appear immediately among us, ihit 
we should be dependent ujion «ieh 
other, each doing for the other what 
the other cannot do for himself— and 
I am sure of it — then it will please 
him, Dion, if I consider what is help- 
ful and just and generous. Or am I 
wrong? Is virtue a dream ? Arecon- 
trary things in the same cases equally 
good ? Are contrary things tn )1k 
same cases equally beautiful ? 

"Are my brutish instincts or indi- 
nations, which vary as things wf 
round me, my only law ? Is eachof 
us intended by this great being to be 
at war with all the rest ? to regard 
the positive power each of us nuy 
have as our sole restriction ? to d^ 
stroy and injure all the others by trhom 
we could be served, if we would fat 
our parts also serve and help ? Aiid 
must women, for instance, being the 
weaker, be brutally used ? Tell me, 
Dion, will it please this great being if 
I try to render service to my fellow- 
men, who must have the same uatu- 
ral claims to his consideration as I 
have? or does he wish me to hurt 
them and them to hurt me, according 
as we may eacli have the power ? Is 
there nothing higher in a man t&sti 
his external power of action ? ,lji- 
swer — j'ou are a philosopher." 

The countenance of Dion blawd 
for one instant, as if the hght of s 
passing torch had been ihed upon ft 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



469 



mirror, and then resumed the less vi- 
vid efiulgence of that permanent in- 
tellectual beauty which was its ordi- 
nary characteristic. He replied, 

" All the philosophy that ever was 
taught or thought could not lead you 
to truer conclusions." 

"Then,* returned Paulus, "come 
back with me to the other end of the 
room." 

" Benigna," said Paulus, ** your 
kindness to my sister and mother, and 
your natural probity, had something, 
I think, to do with beginning this 
trouble in which you and your intend- 
ed find yourselves. As you were not 
unmindful of us, it is but right that we 
should not be unmindful of you. Ti- 
berius permits any friend of Claudius 
the slave to be a substitute in break- 
ing the horse Sejanus ; and Claudius 
is to have his freedom and fifty thou- 
sand sesterces, and to marry you, 
whom I see to be a good, honorable- 
hearted girl, all the same as if Re had 
complied with the terms in person. 
This was thoughtful and, I suppose, 
generous of Tiberius Caesar." 

" Would any of these youths who 
hear me," added he turning round, 
" like to break the fine-looking steed 
at the games, before all the people, 
instead of Claudius ?" 

No one replied. 

"It will be a distinguished act," 
persisted he. 

Dead silence still. 

" Then I will do it mvself," he said. 
" Magister, make a formal note of the 
matter in your tablets; and be so 
good as to inform the Caesar of it, in 
order that I, on my side, may learn 
place and time." 

The magister, with a low bow and 
a fa:e expressing the most generous 
and boundless astonishment, grasped 
his prettily-mounted stylus, and taking 
the pengillarin firom his girdle drew a 
long breath, and requested Paulus to 
favor him with his name and address. 



" I am," replied he, « the knight 
Paulus Lepidus ^milius, son of one 
of the victors at Philippi, nephew of 
the ex-triumvir. I reside at Crispus*s 
inn, and am at present a promised 
prisoner of Velleius Paterculus, the 
military tribune." 

While the steward wrote in his tab- 
lets, Benigna uttered one or two lit- 
tle gasps and fairly fainted away. 
The slave Claudius saved her firom 
falling, and he nonf placed her on a 
bench against the wall. 

Paulus, intimating that he would 
like to return to Crispus's hostelry 
before dark, and having learnt, in 
reply to a question, that Claudius 
could procure' firom Thellus, the gla- 
diator, a vehicle for Benigna, and 
that he would request Thellus him- 
self to convey her home, tiuned to 
take leave of Dion. 

The Athenian, however, said he 
would show him the way out of the 
palace. They went silent and thought- 
ful In the impluvium they found 
a little crowd surrounding Augustus, 
who had returned firom his prome- 
nade to the camp, and who was 
throwing crumbs of bread among 
some pigeons near the central foun- 
tain. 

Two ladies were of the company, 
one of whom, in advanced age, was 
evidently the Empress Livia, but for 
whose influence and "management 
Germanicus — certainly not her un- 
grateful son Tiberius — would have 
been the next master of the world. 
The other lady, who was past her 
prime, had still abundant vestiges of 
a beauty which must once have been 
very remarkable. 

She was painted red and plastered 
white, with immense care, to look 
some fifteen years younger than she 
truly was. 

Her .countenance betrayed to a 
good physiognomist, at first glance, 
the horrU>le life she bad led. Pau- 



470 



Dioft and the Sibyls. 



lus, whose experience was little, and, 
although she fastened upon him a 
flaming glance, which she intended 
to be full both of condescension and 
fascination, thought that he had sel- 
dom seen a woman either more re- 
pulsive or more insanely haughty. 

It was Julia, the new and abhorred 
wife of Tiberius. Not long before, 
at the request of Augustus, who was 
always planning to dispose of Julia, 
Tiberius had given up for her the 
only woman he ever loved, Agrippina 
Marcella. 

Tiberius so loved her, if it deserves 
to be termed love, that when, being 
thus deserted, she took another hus- 
band, (Asinius Gallus,) he, mad with 
jealousy, threw him into a dungeon 
and kept him there till he died, as 
Suetonius and Tacitus record. 

" Ah my Athenian !" said the em- 
peror to Dionysius, placing a hand 
affectionately on the youth's shoul- 
der, " could you satisfy me that those 
splendid theories of yours are more 
than dreams and fancies ; that really 
there is one eternal, all-wise, and 
omnipotent spirit, who made this uni- 
versal frame of things, and governs 
it as an absolute monarch ; that lie 
made us ; that in us he made a spi- 
rit, a soul, a ghost, a thinking princi- 
ple, which will never die; and that 
I, who am going down to the tomb, 
am only to change my mode of ex- 
istence; that I shall not wholly de- 
scend thither; that an urn will not 
contain every thing which will remain 
of me ; and all this in a very differ- 
ent sense from that which poor Ho- 
race meant. But why speak of it ? 
Has not Plato failed ?" 

" Plato," replied Dionysius, " nei- 
ther (juite failed nor is quite under- 
stood, illustrious emperor. But you 
were saying, if I could satisfy you. 
Be pleased to finish. Grant I could 
satisfy you ; what then ?*' 

" Satisfy me that one eternal sove- 



reign of the universe lives, and that 
what now thinks in me," returned 
the emperor, while the courtly group 
made a circle, '' will never cease to 
think ; that what is now conscious 
within me will be conscious for ever; 
that now, in more than a mere poeti- 
cal allusion to my fame — and on the 
word of Augustus Caesar, there is no 
reasonable request within the entire 
reach and compass of my power 
which I will refuse you." 

" And what sort of a hearing, em- 
peror," inquired Dion, "and under 
what circumstances, and up>on what 
conditions, will you be pleased to 
give me? and when? and where?" 
'' In this palace, before the games 
end," replied Augustus. " The hear- 
ing shall form an evening's entertain- 
ment for our whole circle and atten- 
dance. You shall sustain your doc- 
trines, while our celebrated advocates 
and orators, Antistius Labio and Do- 
mitius Afer, who disagree with them, 
I know, shall oppose you. Let me 
see. The Cxsars, Tiberius and Ger- 
manicus, with their ladies, and our host 
Mamurra and his family, and all our 
circle, shall be present. Titus Livy, 
Lucius Varius, Velleius Paterculus, 
and the greatest orator Rome ever pro- 
duced, except Cicero" (the old man 
mentioned with watery eyes the in- 
comparable genius to whose murder 
he had consented in his youth) — " I 
mean Quintus Haterius — shall form 
a judicial jury. Haterius shall pro- 
nounce the sentence. Dare you face 
such an ordeal ?" 

" I will accept it," replied the 
Athenian, blushing ; " I will accept 
the ordeal with fear. Daring is 
contrasted with trembling; but, al- 
though my daring trembles, yet my 
trej)idation dares." 

** Oh ! how enchanting I" cried the 
august Julia; " we shall hear the elo- 
quent Athenian." And she clasped 
her hands and sent an unutterable 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



A7i 



glance toward Dion, who saw it 
not. 

" It will be very interesting indeed/' 
added the aged empress. 

" Better for once than even the 
mighty comedy of the palace," said 
Lucius Varius. 

** Better than the gladiators," add- 
ed Velleius Paterculus. 

" An idea worthy of the time of 
Virgil and Maecenas," said Titus Livy. 

" Worthy of Augustus's time," sub- 
joined Tiberius, who was leaning 
against one of the pillars which sup- 
ported the gallery of the impluvium. 

" Worthy of his dotage," muttered 
Cneius Piso to Tiberius, with a scowl. 

" Worthy," said a handsome man, 
with wavy, crisp, brown locks, in the 
early prime of life, whose military 
tunic was crossed with the broad pur- 
ple stripe, " worthy of Athens in the 
days of Plato; and as Demosthenes 
addressed the people after listening 
to the reporter of Socrates, so Ha- 
terius shall tell this company what he 
thinks, after listening to Dion." 

" Haterius is getting old," said Ha- 
terius. 

"You may live/' said Augustus, 
" to be a hundred, but you will never 
be old; just as our Cneius Piso here 
never was young." 

There was a laugh. The Haterius 
in question was he to whom Ben 
Jonson compared Shakespeare as a 
talker, and of whom, then past eighty, 
Augustus used, Seneca tells us, to 
say that his careering thoughts re- 
sembled a chariot whose rapidity 
threatened to set its own wheels on 
fire, and that he required to be held 
by a drag — " sufflaminandusy 

Dion now bowed and was mov- 
ing away, followed modestly by Pau- 
lus, who desired to draw no attention 
to himself, when the steward, or mO" 
gisUry glided quickly up the colon- 
nade of the impluvium to the pillar 
against which Tiberius was leaning, 



whispered something, handed his tab- 
lets to the Caesar, and, in answer to a 
glance of surprised inquiry, looked to« 
ward and indicated Paulus. 

Tiberius immediately passed Pau- 
lus and Dion, saying in an under tone, 
" Follow me," and led the way into 
a small empty chamber, of which, 
when the two youths had entered it, 
he closed the door. 

" You are going to break the horse 
called Sejanus?" said he, turning 
round and standing. 

Paulus assented. 

" Then you must do so on the foiuth 
day from this, in the review-ground 
of the camp, an hour before sunset." 

Paulus bowed. 

" Have you any thing to inquire, 
to request, or to observe ?" pursued 
Tiberius. 

" Am I to ride the horse muzzled, 
sir ?" asked the youth. 

"The muzzle will be snatched off 
by a contrivance of the cavasson, 
after you mount him," replied Tibe- 
rius,^ooking steadfasdy at the other. 

" Then, instead of a whip, may I 
carry any instrument I please in my 
hands?" demanded Paulus; "my 
sword, for example ?" 

"Yes," answered Tiberius; "but 
you must not injure the horse; he is 
of matchless price." 

" But" persisted Paulus, " your jus- 
tice, illustrious Caesar, will make a 
distinction between any injury which 
the steed may do to himself and any 
which I may do to him. For instance, 
he might dash himself against some 
obstruction, or into the river Liris, 
and in trying to clamber out again 
might be harmed. Such injuries 
would be inflicted by himself, not by 
me. The hurt I shall do him either 
by spear, or by sword, or by any oth- 
er instrument, will not be intended to 
touch his life or his health, nor likely 
to do so. If I do make any scars, I 
think the hair will grow ag|3iiu" 



473 



The Ancient Irish Churches. 



•* He wfll not be so scrupulous on 
his side," said Tiberius ; " however, 
your distinction is reasonable. Have 
you any thing else to ask ?" 

"Certainly I have," said Paulus; 
** it is that no one shall give him any 
food or drink, except what I myself 
shall bring, for twenty-four hours be- 
fore I ride him.* 

Tiberius uttered a disagreeable 
laugh. 

" Am I to let you starve Sejanus ?"• 
he asked. 

" That is not my meaning, sir," an- 
swered Paulus quietly. " I will give 
him as much com and water as he 
will take. I wish to prevent him 
fix)m having any other kind of pro- 
vender. There are articles which 
will make a horse drunk or mad." 

" I agree," replied Tiberius, " that 
he shall have only com and water, 
provided he have as'much of both as 



tny own servant wishes; nor have I 
any objection that the servant should 
receive these articles fix>m you alone, 
or from your groom." 

Paulus inclined his head and kqit 
silence. 

" Nothing more to stipulate, 1 per- 
ceive," observed Tiberius. 

The youth admitted that he had 
not; and, seeing the Caesar move, he 
opened the door, held it open while 
the great man passed through, and 
then taking a friendly leave of Dion, 
hastily quitted the palace. 

Tiberius, meeting Sejanus, took 
him aside and said, 

« We have got rid of the brother! 
You must have every thing ready to 
convey her to Rome the fifth day 
from this. And now, enough of pri- 
vate matters. I am sick of them. 
The affairs of the empire await me!" 

TO BB GONTINUBO. 



THE ANCIENT IRISH CHURCHES. 



BY W. MAZIER£ BRADY, D.D. 



It was proposed, in the first draught 
of Mr. Gladstone's bill for the dises- 
tablisliment of the Irish Church, to 
erect some of the catliedrals into na- 
tional monuments, and to set apart 
toward the cost of their future repair 
a portion of the fund derived from 
the sale of church temporalities. 
This clause, however, was set aside; 
but even if it had been retained, it 
would not have given satisfaction. If 
it be the sincere desire ot Mr. Glad- 
stone to do justice to Catholic Ireland, 



and to conciliate her people, but one 
course remains open to him in regard 
to the ancient shrines of Catholic wor- 
ship, namely, to restore them to their 
original ownere. Many of these cathe- 
drals and churches are altogether un- 
suited to the requirements of Protes- 
tant religious ser\'ice. Some of them 
are too large to be maintained by the 
tiny congregations which occasionally 
visit them. Others require a costly 
annual outlay too great to be unde^ 
taken at the expense of the few ianii* 



TJU Ancient frisk Omrehes. 



473 



lies in whose neighborhood they lie. 
Would it not, then, manifestly tend to 
the benefit alike of Catholics and Pro- 
testants, that the latter, on terms ad- 
vantageous to themselves, should yield 
to the former the possession of those 
buildings which Protestants do not re- 
quire for bona-fide ends, but which 
possess, in the eyes of Catholics, a pe- 
culiarly sacred, and, at the same time, 
a perfectiy legitimate value ? 

Some ancient Catholic temple is per- 
haps situated in a district inhabited by 
twenty or thirty Protestants, and five 
thousand or ten thousand Catholics. 
The Protestants cannot fill a comer of 
the spacious fabric. They attach no 
value to it as the shrine of a venerated 
saint Its very capabilities for an or- 
nate and splendid Catholic ritual ren- 
der it only the less fit for the simple 
requirements of Protestant worship. 
Protestants can gain nothing by re- 
taining such a temple, save the privi- 
lege of keeping it as a trophy of a by- 
gone and ill-omened ascendency. But 
if the British Parliament were to or- 
dain that such temples should be pur- 
chased fi:om Protestants, who scarcely 
require them, and given to Catholics 
to supply their evident wants, then a 
visible proof would at once "be afford- 
ed to the Irish nation that disestab- 
lishment was no coldly conceived or 
niggardly administered instalment of 
justice, but a ready instrument for cor- 
dial reconciliation of creeds and na- 
tionalities. 

It is ridiculous to urge as an ob- 
jection, that Protestants in general 
attach a value, other than a pecunia- 
ry or political one, to the sites of 
the shrines of ancient Irish saints. 
Few Protestants have any veneration 
for St. Patrick, St. Brigid, or St. Nicho- 
las. Not one Protestant in a thou- 
sand has so much as even heard of 
the names of St. Elbe, St. Aidan, St. 
Colman, or St Molana. Irish Pro- 
testant bishops often deny the sacred- 



ness of holy places, and, when conse- 
crating a site for the erection of a 
church, take the opportunity to ex- 
plain such consecration to be a mere 
form of law. Some Protestant bishops 
entertained objections to the selection 
of any titles for churches, save those 
of Christ and his apostles. They 
thought it allowable to celebrate di- 
vine service in a building called Christ 
church, or St. Peter's, or St John's, but 
conceived it to be scarcely tolerable 
and semi-popish to dedicate an edi- 
fice for worship under the invocation 
of St George, St Patrick, or St Mi- 
chael In some dioceses in Ireland, 
during the last century, the consecra- 
tion of Protestant churches was on 
several occasions designedly omitted 
in deference to such scruples of con- 
science. But the very names of the 
ancient Irish saints are precious house- 
hold words with Catholics, who dearly 
prize the holy shrine, the sacred well, 
the hallowed ruins consecrated by the 
lingering memories of the virgins, 
confessors, and martyrs whose lives 
were devoted to the conversion of 
Ireland. The Catholic peasant, as he 
sorrowfully gazes upon the desecrated 
remains of some fallen abbey, or upon 
the mouldering walls of a roofless 
oratory, often breathes a hopeless 
prayer that an unexpected turn of 
fortune would once again fill with 
robed monks the arched and pillared 
cloisters, and replace the solemn soli- 
tary hermit in his peaceful cell. The 
reconsecration of their sacred shrines 
and temples, long defaced and pro- 
faned by neglect, would realize one 
of the fondest dreams of Irishmea 
Why do not British statesmen uti- 
lize, for the general benefit of their 
country, the pious sentiments which, 
in a religious point of view, they as 
Protestants may fail to appreciate, but 
which, in a political aspect, it seems 
a criminal blindness to disregard? 
The legislators who Ccedj \o\jt yqu!^ 



474 



Th$ Aficimt Irish Churches. 



rial funds to provide Catholic priests 
and altars for Catholic soldiers, sai- 
lors, convicts, and paupers, cannot 
possibly entertain religious scruples 
against applying; a portion of the an- 
cient Catholic endowments of Ireland 
towards the puq)Ose of restoring to 
their original uses some of the sites 
and shrines whose traditions are still 
potent enough in Ireland to sway the 
national sympathies. 

No injury can result to Protestantism 
from the adoption of a course which 
would not merely increase the pecu- 
niary resources of their church, but 
also tend materially to promote peace 
and good-will between men of differ- 
ent creeds. There are many ancient 
churches in Ireland which could be 
specified as almost useless to Protes- 
tants, but yet most precious and valua- 
ble if placed in the hands of Catholics. 
Many of the old Irish cathedrals are 
entirely, and some are almost entirely 
deserted. Ardagh, founded by St. Pa- 
trick, was reckoned among " the most 
ancient cathedrals of Ireland." Its first 
bishop — St. Mell — was buried " in his 
own church of Ardagh," wherein 
worship a few Protestimts who care 
but liltle cither for St. Mell or St. 
Patrick. The entire Protestant popu- 
lation of Ardagh parish is less than 
one hundred and fifty, while the Ca- 
tholic s number nearly two and a half 
thousands. There is but a scanty 
coHjiTeiration of Protestants at Lis- 
more, where St. Carthage, or at Leigh- 
lin, where St. Laserian was interred. 
At Howlh, near Dublin, are the ruins 
— still capable of restoration — of a 
beautiful abbey and college. The 
college is occupied by poor tenants. 
The abbey is roofless, standing in a 
grave- yard, choked with weeds and 
filth, of which the Protestant incum- 
bent of the parish is custodian. St. 
Canice — the patron saint of Kilken- 
nv — was buried, toward the end of 
the sixth century, at Aghadoe. ** Ag- 



hadoe " — so wrote the Rev. M. KeUr, 
Professor of Ecclesiastical Histoiy in 
Maynooth, in his Calendar of Irish 
Saints — " at present is a ruiiiy its waDs 
nearly perfect, but, like too many s- 
milar edifices in Ireland, all prof^tned 
by sickening desecration. Around it 
still bloom in perennial verdure its 
far-famed pastures, in a plain natural- 
ly rich, and improved by the monas- 
tic culture of a thousand years. The 
buildings are now used as ox-pecs 
which were once the favorite home 
of the pilgrim and stranger." There 
are a score of other ruined temples 
like Aghadoe, which in their present 
condition are a disgrace to cinlizo- 
tion ; and yet are possessed of tradi- 
tions which render them sacred in 
the eyes of Catholics, who would 
gladly rescue them from further decay 
and restore them to their ancient use. 
Every tourist in Connemar.i has 
doubtless visited the famous coUciriate 
church of St. Nicholas, in Oalwav. I: 
is a vast temple, capable of containing 
six or seven thousand worshipj)ers. 
Its size, the style of its architecture, 
and its historical traditions combine 
to render it eminently suitable to be 
the cathedral church of the Catholic 
population of Gal way. It anciently 
was, not precisely a cathedral, but 
the church of the Catholic warden — 
a dignitary who possessed cjiiscopal 
jurisdiction, being only subject to the 
visitation of the Archbishop of Tuam. 
It is now the church of the Protestant 
warden, or minister, who perfomis 
divine service, according to the Angli- 
can ritual, in a portion of the transept, 
for the benefit of those members of 
the Anglican Church who inhabit the 
immediate neighborhood. There is 
now no Protestant bishop resident in 
Galway, nor hxs any such functionary 
since the era of the Reformation made 
Galway his headciuarters. So that 
this once si)lendid building is al)so- 
lutely thrown away upon Protestants, 



The Ancient Irish Churches. 



475 



being above ten times too large for 
a parochial church, and being utterly 
useless to them for a cathedral. The 
fabric of this grand relic from Catho- 
licity has been allowed to fall into 
decay to such an extent that about 
five thousand pounds are now requir- 
ed to restore it or put it into perma- 
nent repair. It is unlikely that the 
Protestants of Galway will contribute 
this sum, or take steps to prevent this 
noble national monument from sink- 
ing, at no distant period, into hopeless 
ruin. The population of the entire 
county of Galway consisted, in 1861, 
of 261,951 Catholics and 8202 Angli- 
cans, only a few hundred of the lat- 
ter being residents in the town of Gal- 
way and its suburbs. The Catholic 
wardenship was changed into a bishop- 
ric by Pope Gregory XVI., in 1830, 
when Dr. French, who was then Bishop 
of Kilmacduagh and Kilfenora, and 
also Warden of Galway, retired to this 
diocese. In the same year, Dr. Browne 
who was subsequently translated to 
Elphin, became the first Bishop of Gal- 
way. Neither Bishop Browne, nor 
his successor Bishop O'Donnell, nor 
Dr. MacEvilly, who became Bishop 
of Galway in 1857, were able to pro- 
vide a suitable cathedral for the Gal- 
way Catholics. The present pro- 
cathedral affords accommodation to 
about four thousand persons, and upon 
the occasion of missions is thronged to 
a dangerous excess. The Catholics of 
Gahvay would gladly avail themselves 
of any opportunity which would ren- 
der it possible for them to obtain St. 
Nicholas, the church of th^ir fore- 
fathers, for a cathedral. The restora- 
tion to Catholic purposes of that edi- 
fice, which is a world too wide for 
Protestant wants, would confer a sin- 
gular benefit upon an immense num- 
ber of Catholics, without inflicting the 
least injury upon Protestants. The 
present Anglican Warden of Galway 
is not young enough to enable him. 



by means of commutation under Mr* 
Gladstone's bill to do much toward 
providing an endowment for his suc- 
cessors. The payment of a few thou- 
sand pounds, out of the funds of the 
Commissioners of Church Tempora- 
lities, to the Galway Protestants, in 
compensation for the loss of a fabric 
which they find too large for use and 
too costly to repair, would enable 
them not only to obtain a more con- 
venient place of worship than the cor- 
ner of the spacious transept they now 
occupy, but also would help them to 
provide the nucleus of a local endow- 
ment for Protestant ministrations after 
the decease of the present warden. 

The inhabitants of " the city of the 
tribes" entertain no higher veneration 
for the church of St. Nicholas than 
is felt by the men of Munster for the 
celebrated Rock of Cashel of the 
Kings. In ancient years the " Rock " 
was a natural fortress, standing high 
over the surrounding plain, and proud- 
ly overlooking the thronged city 
which lay beneath its shelter. Upon 
the elevated plateau which crowns 
the submit of the " Rock," now stand 
the ruins of the former cathedral, and 
other ecclesiastical buildings, includ- 
ing the famous chapel of King Cormac, 
all of which, to the infinite discredit 
of England, have long since been de- 
liberately abandoned to decay. The 
Protestants of Cashel ceased, some- 
what more than a century ago, to oc- 
cupy the old Catholic cathedral as a 
place of worship. Their archbishop, 
an Englishman named Price, disliked 
the fatigue of ascending the gradual 
incline which leads to the "Rock," 
and removed his throne to the present 
cathedral, a bam-like edifice which 
stands on the level ground near to the 
episcopal palace. In 1838, Dr. Lau- 
rence, the last Protestant Archbishop 
of Cashel, died, and the see being re- 
duced to a bishopric in union with 
three other diocese^ ^^ YtQ\«^asX 



4/6 



Thi Ancient Irish Churches. 



bishop selects! for his residence the 
city of Waterford in preference to 
CasheL The beautiful cathedral, left 
roofless by Archbishop Price, and ex- 
posed since his time to the ravages of 
more than a hundred winters, is never- 
theless still capable of restoration. 
The fabric, and the site whereon the 
cathedral and the other ruins stand, 
are at present vested partly in the 
Protestant dean and chapter, and 
partly in the Vicars Choral of CasheL 
Upon the death of these officials, their 
rights will revert to the Commissioners 
of Church Temporalities. But these 
disestablished functionaries may per- 
haps find it to their personal advan- 
tage, as well as to that of their church, 
to make an earlier surrender of their 
territorial privileges. Whenever the 
Commissioners of Temporalities shall 
have become the owners of the Rock 
of Cashel, they will have to consider 
what they will do with it. They may 
determine to sell it, or else may trans- 
fer it as a burial-ground to the local 
I)Oor-law guardians. Either alterna- 
tive will be in the highest degree dis- 
creditable to Brit ish legislation. There 
is something atrocious in the idea. of 
offering by public sale the temple 
whose almost every stone was marked 
by the pious workmen with the mystic 
tokens of their craft, and upon whose 
decoration kings were wont to lavish 
their choicest treasures to make it wor- 
thier for the worship of the Most High. 
It will be sacrilegious to submit to auc- 
tion the soil wherein lies the moulder- 
ing dust of countless priests and pre- 
lates, chieftains and ])rinces. On the 
other hand, it will be miserable and 
pitial)le in the extreme to consign what 
may be tcnned the Terra 5>ancta of 
ancient Ireland to the care of a pau- 
per burial board. The zeal of rural 
guardians guided economically by the 
country scjuire, or his baiHff, would 
be worse even than the scornful van- 
dalism of Archbishop Price. If the 



dead themselves could speak or fed, 
they would doubtless shudder m thdr 
tombs at the ring of the salesman's 
hammer, and protest with equal honw 
against the indignity of including the 
repair of their graves amongst the 
items of the county poor-rate. They 
would accept, in preference to such 
degradation, the rude guardianship 
of the elements. Nature, even wha 
she destroys, is reverent, flinging a 
green pall of ivy around the tower 
which her disintegrating arms endide, 
and spreading a rich carpet of moa 
over the dust of those whom she 
draws with the embrace of death to 
her bosom. The winds and wares, 
the floods and storms, may bring a 
more rapid dissolution upon desened 
monuments of heroes, but at least 
they inflict no dishonor. 

But why should the British Parlia- 
ment suffer the national memorials of 
Ireland to perish without an eflfort to 
preserve them ? It can be no grati- 
fication to the vanity of Great Britain 
thus to perpetuate, so long as a trace 
of the ruined temple or broken altar 
may be spared, the tokens of a policy 
able, indeed, to insult and to hinder, 
but powerless to supplant or destroy 
the faith of the Irish people. It can- 
not, alas! be denied that England 
seized by force upon that Catholic 
church of Cashel, banished its priests, 
and employed, for three centuries, its 
revenues to teach a hostile religion. 
That policy has been reversed. It 
would be a mode, no less honorable 
than wise, of confessing the folly and 
guilt of such a policy, were England 
to give back the ruins which have 
survived it, and allow the Catholic 
arclibishop and clergy to restore and 
reconsecrate their ancient cathedral 
and celebrate again Catholic worship 
upon the Rock of Cashel. 

Let us turn from Galway and 
Cashel to the metropolis of Ireland. It 
wiis felt, so far back as the reign of 



The Ancient Irish Churches. 



477 



Elizabeth, that two Protestant cathe- 
drals were too many for Dublin. 
" Here be in this little city " — so wrote 
the lord-deputy to Walsinghara in 
1 584 — " two great cathedral churches, 
richly endowed, and too near togeth- 
er for any good they do ; the one of 
them, dedicated to St Patrick, had in 
more superstitious reputation than the 
other, dedicated to the name of Christ, 
and for that respect only, though there 
were none other, fitter to be suppress- 
ed than continued."* And a few 
months later, the same chief governor 
of Ireland again reminded the queen's 
secretary of state of the uselessness of 
retaining St Patrick's as a cathedral. 
" We have beside it," remarked Per- 
roit, " in the heart of this city, Christ 
church, which is a sufficient cathedral, 
so as St. Patrick's is superfluous, ex- 
cept it be to maintain a few bad sing- 
ers to satisfy the covetous humors of 
some, as much or more devoted to 
St Patrick's name than to Christ's." t 
The rabid Puritanism of Lord-Deputy 
Perrott, who hoped that " Christ would 
devour St Patrick and a number of his 
devoted followers too," { was not utter- 
ly devoid of truth and common sense. 
The maintenance of the cathedral of 
St. Patrick has rather proved a hinde- 
rance than a benefit to Protestants. Its 
revenues have not been sufficient to 
keep up a separate choir of singers ; 
for most of the St Patrick's choirmen 
belong also to Christ church, and their 
efficiency is impaired by being divided 
between two cathedrals. But what- 
ever may be the value of St Patrick's 
as a place for the performance of 
church music, its inutility as a place 
for Protestant worship is notorious. 
Its situation is remote from the fash- 
ionable quarter of Dublin and from 
those streets which Protestants in- 
habit Many Protestants flock to St 

* See SUU Papers comceming ike Irish Church 
im th* Time o/Queem Elitnbeth^ etc By W. Mui- 
era Brady, D D. London : Loognuns. 1868. Page 9a 

t Ibid. p«co 9a. X Ibid, page 91. 



Patrick's to hear the choral music, or, 
as they sometimes profanely term it, 
"Paddy's Opera;" but very few, if 
any, attend that cathedral for the 
purposes of prayer or worship. In 
fact, St Patrick's, in 1870, is what it 
was three hundred years ago, not 
only a superfluous cathedral, but one 
whose atmosphere is unsuited to the 
genius of Protestantism. There is no 
place in the Anglican ritual for the 
apostle of Ireland. His memory is 
not an object of religious veneration ; 
nor was any day set apart for his 
honor by the compilers of the Protes- 
tant liturgy. His name, like that ot 
any other saint, acts as a repellant, 
not as a stimulant, upon the devotion 
of Protestants. Sir Benjamin Guin- 
ness, who rescued from ruin the fabric 
of St. Patrick's, preferred to say his 
prayers and hear sermons elsewhere. 
Now that disestablishment has come 
upon the Protestant church, the evil 
of having two cathedrals in Dublin 
appears greater than ever. How, 
possibly, can funds be provided by 
Protestants to maintain both churches, 
Christ church and St Patrick's? The 
latter had nearly fallen to decay but 
for the munificence of an indi\aduaL 
The former is now in want ot substan- 
tial repairs, absolutely necessary to pre- 
serve it from ruin. Yet it is clearly 
the pecuniary interest of Protestants 
to give up St Patrick's rather than 
Christ church, because the money 
value of Christ church, such is its pre- 
sent condition, is insignificant ; while 
that of St Patrick's is considerable 
enough to defray the charge of restor- 
ing Christ church, and to leave over 
and above a wide margin of surplus, 
which the church body may employ 
as a Protestant endowment fund. The 
sum expended by the late Sir Benja- 
min Guinness on St Patrick's is said 
to have been ;^ 100,000 ; and, accord- 
ing to a recendy printed estimate of 
Mr. Street, a Londoii^xc\ii\ficX.ol«cBfiL* 



478 



The Ancient Irish Cliurches^ 



nence, the sum of ;^8ooo will be suf- 
ficient to rebuild one of the side aisles 
of Christ church, and put the rest of 
the building into a condition of per- 
manent repair. 

But there are other and more 
important considerations which make 
Christ church the more desirable 
cathedral for Protestants to retain. 
It is the old Chapel Royal of Dublin, 
the place where the deputies and 
chief governors were formerly sworn 
into office, and where the state ser- 
mons were preached before the 
lords and commons of the Irish par- 
liament. The lord-lieutenant's pew 
is at present frequently attended by 
members of the viceregal staff and 
other government officials. The situ- 
ation of Christ church in the imme- 
diate vicinity of the castle renders it 
suitable to be preserved as the state 
church in Dublin for the accommo- 
dation of royal visitors and Protestant 
viceroys. Christ church, moreover, 
is beyond (juestion the chief cathedral 
of tlie Protestant archbishop and cler- 
gy of Dublin. The members of its 
chai)ter are few in number, consisting 
of a (lean, arclideacon, treasurer, chan- 
cellor, and three prebendaries. The 
Protestant church body, if it deter- 
mines upon su|)porting cathedral func- 
tionaries at all in Dublin, may find it 
practicable to do so with efficiency 
and some sliow of dignity in Christ 
church, without breaking up, or ma- 
terially altering, the present constitu- 
tion of the chapter. It is likely, more- 
over, that the Duke of Leinster, the 
head of the Protestant nobility of Ire- 
land, who will receive a considerable 
sum of money under the church act, 
in compensation for the loss of his 
church i)atronage, will be glad to 
contribute toward the support of 
Christ church as the Protestant cathe- 
dral, csi)ecially as it is the ancient 
burial place of many of his ancestors, 



so famous in Irish annals under dn 
historical title of Earls of Kildaie. 

To Catholics the gift of St Patrki^ 
would be precious, as the restontioB 
to them of a cathedral which from is 
traditions has surpassing claims to 
their veneration. Their present pro- 
cathedral is regarded only as a tem- 
porary one, and possesses no histori- 
cal memories to stir the feelings of its 
congregation. ITie constitution of 
the Catholic diocese of Dublin foliois 
the model of St Patrick's as far as 
regards the number and titles of 
the prebendaries ; and little, if any, 
change would be necessary to render 
that cathedral fully answerable to the 
requirements of Catholic worship. 
And very glorious, truly, are the me- 
mories and traditions which cluster 
around the spot whereon St. Patrick 
himself erected a church, and hallow- 
ed it by his name. Near it was the 
fountain in whose waters the aix)stk 
baptized Alphin, the heathen king of 
Dublin. Usher, the learned Protestant 
antiquary and divine, tells us thai he 
had seen this fountain ; that it stood 
near the steeple ; and that, a little be- 
fore the year 1639, it was shut up and 
inclosed within a private house. The 
tomj)lc, built by Archbishop Comva 
on the site of the ancient church of 
Patrick, was styled by Sir James Ware 
"the noblest cathedral in the king- 
dom." It was dedicated to God, the 
Blessed Virgin Mary, and St. Patrick. 
It was the burial-i)lace of many Catho- 
lic prelates. In it were interred Fulk 
do Snunford and his brother John, and 
Alexander dc IHcknor. Richard Tal- 
bot, brother to the famous earl, had 
his last resting-place before the high 
altar. Near the altar of St. Ste]ilien 
lay Michael Tregury. Three other 
Catholic archl)islv)ps, namely, Wal- 
ter Fit/simons, William Rokeby, and 
Hu^^'h Iiv^e, were entombed in St. Pa- 
trick's in the early part of the sixteenth 



Tlie Ancient Irish Churches. 



479 



century — the last-named prelate dy- 
ing in the year 1528. When the Re- 
formation came, and when Henry 
VIII. attempted to force it upon Ire- 
land against the will of the hierarchy 
and people, the cathedral of St Par 
trick became exposed to the hostili- 
ties of the English de;3pot and of 
Archbishop Browne, his agent. The 
new doctrines were urged in vain by 
that prelate, who is described by 
Ware as " the first of the clergy who 
embraced the Reformation in Ire- 
land." The king's commission was 
as little respected as the homilies of 
Archbishop Browne, who advised the 
calHng of a parliament to pass the 
supremacy by act, and wrote to Lord 
Cromwell, in 1638, complaining that 
" the reliqiies and images of both his ca- 
thedrals took the common people from 
the true worship, and desiring a more 
explicit order for their removal^'* and 
for the aid of the lord-deputy's troops 
in carrying' out his unpopular designs. 
The clergy of St. Patrick's made so 
vigorous a stand against the reform- 
ing archbishop, that many of them 
were deprived of their preferments, 
and the cathedral itself was suppressed 
for nearly eight years, during Browne's 
incumbency. On Queen Mary's ac- 
cession, St. Patrick's again resumed its 
Catholic splendor and dignity, but 
only to lose them once more when her 
successor, Elizabeth, thought it neces- 
sary for the security of her throne to 
remove utterly, if possible, the Catho- 
lic faith from her dominions. Thus 
the fortunes of St. Patrick's cathe- 
dral were, in a measure, identified with 
those of the Catholic religion in Ire- 
land. 

"The name of no apostle or 
evangelist," as was well remarked 
by Dr. Manning, the Archbishop of 
Westminster, in his sermon at Rome 
on the anniversary of St. Patrick, 
"carries with it a wider influence 
than that of the Apostle of Ireland, 



if we except only St. Peter, the prince 
of the aposties. No apostle or saint 
— Peter excepted — has so many mil- 
lions of spiritual followers as Patrick. 
The Catholic hierarchy in England 
owes its origin to Patrick, through the 
Irish immigrants into Liverpool, Bris- 
tol, Birmingham, London, and other 
great manufacturing and commercial 
cities. The vast Catholic hierarchies 
in America, Australia, New Zealand, 
and other colonies of Great Britain, 
trace, in like manner, their spiritual 
lineage to Ireland and St. Patrick. 
Within the hall of the great Council 
of the Vatican St. Patrick counts 
more bishops for his children than 
any other saint, save Peter ; for the 
prelates deriving their faith from Ire- 
land are more numerous than those 
of any other nationality. And no 
apostle (Peter always excepted) has 
his anniversary celebrated in so many 
countries and with such demonstra- 
tions of joy as Patrick." Such in- 
deed is the magic power, if the expres- 
sion be permitted, which the very 
name of St. Patrick exercises over 
Irish Catholics in all parts of the 
world, that the restoration of St. Pa- 
trick's cathedral would be regarded by 
them as something far greater than the 
mere donation of a cathedral to the 
Dublin diocese. It would be received 
as a convincing sign that the demon 
of envenomed distrust has been ex- 
orcised, and that thenceforth English 
Protestants, as they have already long 
ceased to persecute Irish Catholicism 
by penal laws, would likewise aban- 
don the indirect mode of persecution 
which consists in suspicion, falsifica- 
tion, and slander, in withholding cor- 
diality, and in retaining, after the dog- 
in-the-manger fashion, what is useless 
to Protestants, for no apparent reason 
but to manifest a dislike to Catholics. 
It is with nations as with families or 
individuals. Two families, fonnerly 
at enmity and but lately i^cotlc^^^^ 



48o 



A Legend of the Iirfcmt yiettiS. 



can hardly be said to enjoy a solid or 
thorough friendship so long as one 
of them causelessly keeps back the 
family pictures or sacred heirlooms 
of the other. France and England 
never could have entertained mutual 
sentiments of respect^ if England had 



been so foolish or 80 malidoos ui% 
keep in St Helena the body of N*^ 
poleon. The heirlooms whose ie> 
storation would have the happiest d- 
feet in bringmg about amity between 
the English ahd Irish nations^ aie the 
ancient sacred places of IrelaxML 



A LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS.* 

In a small chapel, rich with carving quaint 

Of mystic symbols and devices bold, 
AVhere glowed the face of many a pictured saint 

From windows high, in gorgeous drapery's fold. 
And one large mellowed painting o'er the shrine 

Showed in the arms of Mary — ^mother mild— 
Down-looking with a tenderness divine 

In his clear shining eyes, the Holy Child — 

Two little brothers, orphans young" and fair, 

Who came in sacred lessons to be taught, 
Waited, as every day they waited there. 

Till Frey Bernardo came, his pupils sought, 
And fed his Master's lambs. Most innocent 

Of evil knowledge or of worldly lure 
Those children were ; from e'en the slightest taint 

Had Jesu's blood their guileless souls kept pure! 

A pious man that good Dominican, 

Whose life with gentle charities was crowned; 
His duties in the church as sacristan, 

For hours in daily routine kept him bound, 
While that young pair awaited his release 

Seated upon the altar-steps, or spread 
Thereon their morning meal, and ate in peace 

And simple thankfulness their fruit and bread. 

And often did their lifted glances meet 

The Infant Jesu's eyes ; and oft he smiled — 
So thought the children ; sympathy so sweet 

Brought blessing to them from the Blessed Child I 

• Frey I.uis de Sonsa, in the History 0/ ik* Dominican OrtUr -t PctiugaU relates this legend. TW 
l^end of the Infant Saviour coming to pUy with a child has been eiu^wKiied in the poetry of many laogaiv^ 
tspcdaUy the German. 



A Legend of the Infant yaus. 481 

Until one day when Frey Bernardo came, 

The little ones ran forth \ with clasping hold 
Each seized his hand, and each with wild acdainii 

In eager words the tale of wonder told : 

" O father, father !" both the children cried, 

" The caro Jesu ! He has heard our prayer 1 
We prayed him to come down and sit beside 

Us as we ate, and of our feast take share : 
And he came down, and tasted of our bread, 

And sat and smiled upon us, father dear !" 
Pallid with strange amaze, Bernardo said, 

<* Grace beyond marvel! Hath the Lord been here ? 

" The heaven of heavens his dwelling — doth he deign 
To visit little children ? Favored ye 
Beyond all those on earthly thrones who reign, 
In having seen this strangest mystery I 

lambs of his dear flock I to-morrow pray 
Jesu to come again to grace your board 

And sup with you ; and if he comes, then say,' 
* Bid us to thy own table, blessed Lord ! ' 

" * Our master too ! ' do not forget to plead 
For me, dear children ! In humility 

1 will entreat him your meek prayer to heed, 
That so his mercy may extend to me !" 

Then, a hand laying on each lovely head. 
Devoutly the old man the children blessed : 
" Come early on the morrow mom," he said; 

" To meet — if such his will — ^your heavenly Guest 1" 

To meet their pastor by the next noon ran 

The youthful pair, their eyes with rapture bright; 
" He came I" their happy lisping tongues began ; 
*' He says we all shall sup with him to-night 1 
" Thou too, dear father ; for we could not come 
Alone, without our faithful friend — ^we said ; 
Oh ! be thou sure our pleadings were not dumb, 
Till Jesu smiled consent, and bowed his head." 

In thankful joy Bernardo prostrate fell, 

And through the hours he lay entranced in prayer; 
Until the solemn sound of vesper bell 

Aroused him, breaking on the silent air. 
Then rose he calm, and when the psalms were o'er 

And in the aisles the chant had died away. 
With soul still bowed his Master to adore, 

Alone he watched the fast departing day. 
VOL. XI. — ^31 



4ta 



Phases of English Protestantism. 



Two sflvery voices, calling through the gloom 

With seraph sweetness, reached his listening ear; 
And swiftly passing *neath the lofty dome, 

Soon side by side he and his children dear 
Entered the ancient chapel consecrate 

By grace mysterious. Kneeling at the shrine. 
Before which robed in sacerdotal state, 

That morning he had blessed the bread and wine, 

Bernardo prayed. And then the chosen three 

Partook the sacred hosts the priest had blessed, 
Viaticum for those so soon to be 

Borne to the country of eternal rest ; 
Bidden that night to sup with Christ I in faith 

Waiting for him, their Lord beloved, to come 
And lead them upward from this land of death 

To live for ever in his Father's home ! 

In that same chapel, kneeling in their place, 

All were found dead; their hands still clasped in prayer; 
Their eyes uplifted to the Saviour's face, 

The hallowed peace of heaven abiding there ! 
While thousands came that wondrous scene to view, 

And hear the story of the chosen three ; 
Thence gathering the lesson deep and true^ 

It is the crown of life with Christ to be. 



PHASES OF ENGLISH PROTESTANTISM. 



A MAN with the peculiar turn of 
Dr. Temple • for finding results of 
the past in the present, might perhaps 
be inclined to trace the time-honored 
cry of the English Protestants, " No 
popery!" to the temper of Henry 
VIII., who retained the whole of 
the Catholic doctrine in his creed 
except the supremacy of the pope. 
A Catholic will with good reason 

'* Now Bishop of ExeCtr. He was the uUior of 
an ingenious but whimsical enay, styled, '* The Edu- 
cation of the World," in Essayi mnd Reviews^ where 
he parcelled out the elements of our present ciriiza- 
tion among different nations of antiquity. He aJmost 
seems to have thought that Turner owed his knoir* 
ledge of painting, in some vagus way, to Zends and 
FurhMmui, 



see in it a testimony from enemies 
to the unity of the church through 
the successor of St Peter. The 
historian will point to the fact that 
Protestants have from the begin- 
ning agreed only in one thing, hostili- 
ty to the church. The Ftotest of 
1529, from which they take their 
name, is the first example we have in 
history of a thing with which modem 
times are familiar — an arrangement 
on the part of those who, as the 
phrase goes, " agree in essentials," to 
act together for a time in order to ac- 
complish some common end. In a 
similar way we saw Dr. Pusey take 



Phases of Englisk PtotestanHsm. 



483 



part in 1865 with the liberals, in order 
to promote the election of Mr. Glad- 
stone as member for the University 
of Oxford. He afterward coquetted 
unsuccessfully with the Methodists. 
And last year he offered to join with 
the evangelicals in a protest against 
the elevation of Dr. Temple to the 
see of Exeter. Yet whatever may 
have been the case in times past, we 
should have supposed that the futility 
of such coalitions in these days had 
been long sufficiently evident. Dr. 
Pusey, we imagine, now feels little 
pleasure at having Mr. Gladstone at 
the head of affairs ; and if the evan- 
gelicals had accepted his offier instead 
of rejecting it, he would have found 
out in the end that he had paid much 
for their help, and got very little by 
it. 

By looking back to the circum- 
stances in which Protestantism began, 
we find an explanation of its marked 
features — the variety of its diff*erences, 
the fact that these find some common 
ground in the cry, " No popery !" and 
the inevitably logical tendency of 
Protestantism to dissolve into latitu- 
dinarianism. Of these the first two 
scarcely require to be illustrated ; yet 
we may notice one singular illusion 
which has done more than any 'thing 
else to give a fictitious unity to the 
Protestant sects, and to invest their 
protest with a certain air of virtuous 
indignation ; we refer to the common 
belief that the Bible is in some sense 
their peculiar possession, which springs 
fi-om the doctrine that, so long as a 
man professes to get his creed out of 
the Bible, and the Bible only, it mat- 
ters little of what articles his creed 
consists. This fiction has done good 
service in its day ; but the Protestants 
are now likely to be worried by the 
fiend with which they used to conjure. 
They received the Bible fix>m the 
church, and they turned it against the 
church. Now they find it in the 



hands of the modem critical school 
turned against themselves. 

That the Protestants who separat- 
ed ih)m the church should have been 
able to accept Scripture as binding 
upon them, is not strange ; although 
to a philosophical mind at the present 
day, the Protestant theory must pre- 
sent insurmountable difficulties. When 
men break off* fi-om a system in which 
they were bom and bred, they cannot, 
if they would, make of their minds a 
tabula rasay fireed firom all prejudices 
and associations, ready to receive 
whatever can be proved purely apH- 
ari. To attempt this would be to at- 
tempt to move the worid without a 
fiilcrum. The question, What can be 
proved a priori? is one which requires 
the course of many generations only 
for its statement ; as for its solution, 
that may be said to have proved itself 
impossible. Men are obliged, when 
they change their opinions in some 
respects, to allow their conduct to be 
influenced by those opinions which 
they do not change; and in some 
cases it happens that it is impossible, 
upon any a priori ground whatever, 
to draw the line between what they 
keep and what they reject. So it was 
at the foundation of Protestantism ; 
and the effects of the modem '' uni- 
versal solvent ** are due to what we 
have just stated, that, taking what a 
priori ground you will, there is none 
which will support the Protestant with- 
out landing him at last in contradic- 
tion or absurdity. Thus, men in the 
sixteenth century could easily accept 
theories of Scripture interpretation 
which are now found to be untena^ 
ble; and the result is fatal to those 
who are so deeply committed to the 
untenable theories that the loss of 
them involves the loss of their whole 
intellectual groundwork. 

For the Protestants cannot, as the 
Catholic can, point to the striking 
fact of a general agc«Qsa<^xiX ^sXj^D^d^*^ 



484 



Phases of English Protestantism. 



over many centuries, We know that 
the Prolesianl critics profess to pick 
holes in the Catholic claim to general 
agreement ; but what a beggarly ap- 
pearance these attempts present when 
they are contrasted with the whole 
extent of the subject 1 What is the 
value of the few specks they point 
out in the vast current of ecclesiasti- 
cal history ? They find so litlie to 
say, that what they say is proved to 
be the exception and not the rule. 
But if we turn to their own case, what 
a difference do we find ! There wc 
have no question of pointing out 
flaws here and there ; it is all one 
mass of flaws. Protestants may at- 
tack the claim of the church; but they 
themselves are not able so much as to 
put fonvard a claim. Nor do they 
venture to claim unity; some even 
avow their preference for diversity. 
Yet in practice we find them all act- 
ing as though each thought himself 
infallible. 

This is the result of a very common 
human weakness. Just as the founders 
of Protestantism could quietly acqui- 
esce in many things wKich they had 
imbilwd from the Catholic world in 
which they were educated, so their 
successors ijutetly acquiesce in what 
comes to them from their fathers ; and 
in both cases there is much which 
cannot be systematically exhibited 
without contradiction. But very few 
men care to set about the systematic 
exhibition of all that they profess to 
believe or to act upon. If it were 
otherwise, the Protestant theories of 
Scripture would never have been set 
up ; and they are now falling before 
the exertions of men who insist upon 
having a clear view of what they are 
called upon to believe. When the 
reformere made their appeal to Scrip- 
ture, it was impossible for men of dif- 
ferent tempers, habits, and associations 
to agree upon matter of interpreta- 



tion, even if the appeal had been n 
in good faith. As it was, the appe 
was made subject to certain foregt 
conclusions, none of which, pertiapfl 
could have been deduced from I' 
mere text by any scientific process (I 
exegesis, Servelus could not fiad ll 
doctrine of die Holy Trinity it 
bic ; and though he was little if at all H 
blame, according to Protestant j 
pies, Calvin though this failure wol 
thy of death. Luther found i 
Epistle of St. James much i 
than he wanted, and therefore I 
ejected it from the cai 
the appearance of an appeal to a C( 
mon standard is an appeaiaDce only 
It has l>een found to cover the wid< 
variations both of doctrine and riw 
The only result of professing to \ 
bound by the Bible is, that the t 
is wrested to mean any thing. Nosi 
gle system of exegesis, strictly ap^' 
throughout and deprived of all cxtet 
nal suggestion or comment, will rii<^ 
a consistent whole from the decia: 
tions of Scripture. All sects can pre 
duce some texts in their favor, and a 
find some texts which they arc obi 
to explain away. Inquirers are sup;] 
posed to bring to the task of < 
nation a previous reservation in favoi 
of the doctrines of their peculiar a 
If they do not, they are denount 
as traitors and unbelievers, in spiU 
of the ostentatious demand for a fi 
inquiry. When Mr. Jowe 
to use for the elucidation of Script 
those aids and methods which s 
lars have applied with great s 
to the profane classics, he i 
with something more than outcfy; 
was actually persecuted. Yet his p 
sccutors, who kept his salaiy as prOriJ 
fessor of Greek down to forty poui ' 
per annum when the other siia" 
professorships were raised in vattK V^ 
four hundred pounds, had nothing % 
offer by way of reason 



Phases of English Protestantism. 



48s 



proposal. They stooped to effect 
their object by using the blind preju- 
dices of country clergymen. 

While the name of Scripture has 
always commanded respect, and in 
this way a sort of pretended unity has 
seemed to bind together the sects 
of Protestantism, every generation has 
seen less and less ground for establish- 
ing any thing like real visible commu- 
nion. Scripture is useless to this end, 
because every party insists that it has 
Scripture on its side. Since Luther 
and Melancthon conferred at Mar- 
burg with CEcolampadius and Zwin- 
gli, the futility of conferences has 
been growing more and more mani- 
fest But so soon as men despair of 
establishing union by convincing their 
opponents, they are driven, if they 
desire union, to propose compromise 
as the basis upon which to found it ; 
and in religious matters, compromise 
means the surrender of faith to expe- 
diency. Many attempts have been 
made to induce the sects to coalesce 
by declaring only that to be obliga- 
tory in dogma which is common to 
all, leaving every thing else in the re- 
gion of pious opinion ; but a very na- 
tural- and even laudable party obsti- 
nacy has always brought these at- 
tempts to nothing. The only persons 
who can approach such compromises 
with a safe conscience are latitudina- 
rians, whose fundamental principle is 
the denial that any dogma is of neces- 
sity to salvation ; and to the latitudi- 
narian this privilege is useless, because 
his overtures are superfluous if made 
to latitudinarians, while they are sure 
to be rejected by the dogmatists. Yet 
it is hard for the dogmatic Protestant 
to justify the religious scruple which 
makes him unwilling to treat with the 
latitudinarian ; for he is cut off from 
the appeal to the " faith once deliver- 
ed to the saints," and forced to take 
up his position on ground which can 
equally well be claimed \>y his oppo- 



nents. The scruples of either side 
are called prejudices by the other; 
and neither can rebut the accusation 
upon solid grounds of reason. A po- 
sition like this is unstable; and though 
habit will enable a given set of men 
to hold their ground firmly against 
mere argument, yet argument does 
tell in the long run^ and an unrea- 
sonable position cannot with security 
be handed on to the next generation. 
For the next generation is not bom 
under the same circumstances as the 
former; and so it often happens that 
the habit which swayed the fathers is 
not formed in the children. Bit by bit 
the ill-established creed rots away, as 
the " universal solvent " is brought to 
bear upon the whole ; and thus suc- 
cessive generations of Protestants are 
apt to be pushed nearer and nearer to 
latitudinarianism, sometimes without 
any notice being taken of the change. 
At length, perhaps, we see matters 
culminate in some portentous vagary, 
like that society which now exists, or 
existed not long since in London, 
which proposes to unite upon the ba- 
sis of assenting to nothing at all 

The connection between faith and 
reason, and the influence which intel- 
lectual processes may lawfully exer- 
cise upon religious belief, are ques- 
tions of profound difficulty. But 
without attempting to draw the line 
exactly between what is right and 
what is wrong, it may be possible 
to assert with confidence of particular 
cases that they lie on this or that 
side of the line. We would not rash- 
ly encourage persons who have been 
brought up in any dogmatic system, 
however ill-grounded or erroneous 
we may think their belief, to set 
about mocking their hereditary faith 
upon the strength of a shallow scep- 
ticism; still less would we employ 
ridicule against errors which cannot 
be ridiculed without shockm^ ds^^ 
convictions \ \>ecacaaf& ^n^ ^2eas^ ^Qcax 



480 



Phases of Eitglisk Ptvtestatttism. 



die cause of truth, in th« long run, 
loses more than it gains by such 
means. But the logical weakness of 
the Protestant position is made ap- 
parent by the fact that it always 
does give way before reason. Eng- 
land has passed through many phases, 
and one of these was a phase of ra- 
tionalism, that is, of' appealing to 
reason only as the ultimate ground 
of reUgious belief. During that pe- 
riod the popular religion sank into a 
vague deism, together with a practi- 
cal code of moral decency. Yet, 
during that time — the eighteenth cen- 
tury — the Church of England was 
pecuharly rich in men whom she es- 
teemed great divines; hut theology 
b escluded from the pages of these 
theologians. We find little beyond 
exhortations to the practice of virtue, 
grounded ujioti appeals to good feel- 
ing and the liojie of reward ; and 
what ought to be the dogmatic si<le 
of tlieir teaching is occupied with 
proofs of the reasonableness of Chris- 
tianity, or with statements of the evi- 
dences of Christianity — a Christianity 
which, in the popular mind, had lost 
all hold upon the divinity of Christ. 
Here, then, the old Protestant dog- 
matic position had gone down before 
reason ; and its fall is the more nota- 
ble because reason was not polemi- 
caliy directed against it. The men 
who had renounced the dogmatic 
position were the champions of the 
church, nor had tliey the least suspi- 
cion that they had surrendered every 
thing to the other side except an 
empty title. Circumstances had forc- 
ed them to take their stand upon rea- 
son ; and dogma was quietly and in- 
stinctively dropped out of sight, sim- 
ply because it could not be defended 
by them in their position upon that 
ground. We shall see presently how 
close, at this lime, was the resem- 
blance between the onhodox and the 
tleist. 



But in the change of circumstW' 
ces, which is the result of the coue 
of time, there is something to cos 
pensate for this sinking and loosen^ 
ing of tlie dogmatic foundations of ill 
Protestants. Something is gained It 
the greater ease with whtcli 
generations can shut tlieit eyes to thfl 
presence of certain troublesome facOji 
and this is what Catholics mean whe 
they speak of the children of schi 
matics as being less responsible dlW 
their fathcts for the scliism in whi^ 
they find themselves. While the old 
Protestants were quite ready to tab 
the Bible upon trust, they fiilt th 
force of certain texts which do not | 
all trouble their successors, Ko m^ 
dem evangelical or Presbyteriaui fedll 
any qualm of suspicion when In 
reads the words, " This is my body^ 
nor docs he trouble himself to SM^S 
out a plausible explanation, 
caulay said that " the absurdity of % 
literal interpretation was as grx^at and 
as obvious in tlie sixteenth ccniuif 
as it is now." But, at all events. thciV 
is this great difference between the tw( 
centuries: that in the sixteenthi md 
felt bound to give some meaning 1^ 
the text, while now, in the ntneteentl| 
they feel able to pass it Over witdotM 
giving to it any meaning at aQ 
(Ecolampadius and Zwingli itert a) 
the head of the two principal M(| 
tions of the sacromentariaa 
who denied all real presence, and ^ 

duced the eucharist to a mere < 

memorative rite. There stood tfail 
text, nnd they felt bound to explain^ 
somehow, so that it might iigree wiA 
their opinions. They asstgoed I 
same general meaning to the W 
but they could not agree oa lh|| 
question whether "is" or "bodlf^ 
must be intcrpreled by a kuuj ) 
metonymy, that is, saying one t 
and meaning anotlier. Tlie tuUoC 
is not a fit one for laughter; but itl 
hard to read without laughing i 



Phases of English Protestantism. 



4»7 



Andrew Carlsladt thought our Lord 
pointed to his natural body, when he 
uttered the words of the text. Men 
must be sore pressed before they will 
execute such wrigglings as these ; and 
there are many signs of the existence 
of similar pressures at that day, from 
which modem Protestants are more 
or less relieved. Thus, Calvin was 
obliged for the sake of consistency to 
declare that Scripture shines by its 
own light; while the modems can 
act as if it did without being obliged 
to say so. Again, when Archbishop 
Heath and his fellow-sufferers protest- 
ed against their deprivation by Queen 
Elizabeth, she felt bound to make 
some attempt to argue from the fa- 
thers against the supremacy of the 
pope, though she could have found 
no pleasure in the task, because she 
had so little to say for herself. Now, 
when a modem Protestant uses ar- 
guments of this sort, it is only to sa- 
tisfy his own private whims or scru- 
ples ; but Elizabeth was peremptorily 
called upon to defend herself against 
adverse public opinion. 

Nothing seems simpler to a mo- 
dem Protestant than that a man 
should take his stand on " the Bible, 
and the Bible only ;" nothing seems 
more strange to any one who has con- 
sidered the various ultimate grounds 
and hypotheses upon which religious 
belief may be Slipposed to rest. It 
is not necessary to be always obttrud- 
ing the question of ultimate grounds 
upon men's notice, because it is not 
required that all who believe shall 
be able to produce an accurate state- 
ment of the tme ultimate grounds of 
their belief. But such grounds must 
be supposed to exist, and to be capa- 
ble of accurate statement ; and the 
statement of them is, at any rate, 
fatal to the Protestant position. We 
have seen how dogmatic theology 
disappeared from the popular mind 
ttoder the rationalism of the eigh- 



teenth century. And at the time of 
the French revolution, it was found 
that when men deserted the churchi 
they did not take their stand upoD 
the Bible, but on atheism ; and that 
when they ceased to be atheists, they 
became Catholics again, not Protes- 
tants; nor has Protestantism ever 
made any large number of converts, 
except in the sixteenth century. This 
was a sore puzzle to Macaulay, as he 
himself declares ; but it is easily ex- 
plained on the principles we have 
laid down. In the sixteenth cen- 
tury, men had no thought of inquir- 
ing about ultimate grounds of belief; 
they were determined to believe some- 
thing, and they looked about for any 
proximate ground which was near at 
hand and plausible in appearance. 
At the end of the eighteenth century, 
the question of ultimate grounds had 
occurred to many, and they had an- 
swered that there were ultimately no 
grounds for believing any religion at 
alL When they changed this opinion, 
and determined to have a religious 
belief, they did not take up the Protes- 
tant position, because it was exploded ; 
and the proof that it was exploded 
lies in the fact that they did not 
take it up. They could no longer 
play the part of arbitrary eclectics, 
selecting what they chose and reject- 
ing what they chose from the Catho- 
lic system. They could not follow 
the example of Calvin, who first stop- 
ped short where he did, and then 
helped to bum* Servetus for going a 
few steps further. The French revo- 
lutionists were without any of those 
convenient traditional drags which 
hamper movement, and enable men 
to stop short at arbitrary points. 
They ruthlessly carried out their prin- 
ciples into the wildest and most fero- 

* To girt CalTin hit due, he was only for chopping 
off the bead of Servetos. He oaUed eageiiy for hii 
bkmd ; hat be was waUing to temper justice with to 
much morqr m lies in lo brt i lBtii^ the tza lot ^&» 



4\m 



/%9xt'S 0f Huq^fish Protestantism, 



l»«|ii il iiiUii>>iihi\ \m1| « (iin|M-n'..itr ; 
V\\\ \\\\ \ .'■ <\ tin lliriit out. Tlu'io- 
\\^\\ i'». \ Will in *»Mni* •.iiiM* \\\\\\- 



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* N* 


■ • 


X- • . ^ 




V . 


, 


- V 


>« 



-x 



rational mind, are denounced and 
IHTsorutal. Yet these so-called li- 
iHTals have a right to demand to be 
hoard, and to l>e allowed to nuke cu: 
what ihov can bv fair arjunier::; "rr 
has Pr. l\iscv anv riviht to t* ihxk- 
c\i uhon thcv nr.d thir.r? r= Sc^.t- 
tx:n* whiiv. he ceo* r-?:. excer: — •n 






r.»i;2 C-I. 






A:- 












J >." . *■". :">!. . : I'.. I .*. iiii !■."•. fi -I 



^* «'■ ■• « "^ B^M ^ B • W^ 



i .11 S^ 



■^1 — « 



« — — ««— f 



r i: = 



^^ 



Phases of English ProtestanHsm. 



489 



the strength of this, deals out the 
most uncompromising damnation to 
those who have found that it is not. 
And Dr. Pusey*s estimable friend, 
Mr. Burgon, is equally ferocious to- 
ward those who doubt whether every 
syllable, point, jot, tittle, and full 
stop in the Bible is the express act 
of God. It would be impossible, 
we suppose, to convert the wood- 
and-leather man of Martinus Scrib- 
lerus, even though he "should rea- 
son as well as most of your country 
parsons." 

Political circumstances have given 
such peculiar interest to the career of 
the Church of England that it de- 
serves to be placed in a class by it- 
self, apart from the other schismati- 
cal bodies which sprang up at the 
Reformation. Amid the storms of theo- 
logical controversy she has always 
found a dubious sheet-anchor in the 
state, which secured to her a certain 
stability of political position, while it al- 
lowed her to drift through many wide- 
ly different doctrinal phases. The 
tameness with which she veered about 
at the bidding of successive sovereigns, 
and the ease with which great chang- 
es were effected in her constitution, 
show that, in puritan phrase, her 
heart was not in the work. Histo- 
rians are equally astonished at the 
power of the crown and the pusilla- 
nimity of the people. And there is 
ground for astonishment, though the 
fkcts are often described in terms of 
exaggeration. We are not to suppose 
that the passing of an act of parlia- 
ment, or the "devising " of an ordinal 
by Cranmer, made a change in reli- 
gion which was instantly felt through 
all comers of the kingdom. Multi- 
tudes had very vague notions of what 
was going on, and the only people 
who were thoroughly well informed, 
the courtiers, had their eyes fixed on 
church lands, not on theology. In 
some parts of the country, as in Lan- 



cashire, the change was little felt, and 
the Catholic religion remains there to 
this day a common heirloom. But in 
the mass of the people we quite miss 
that delicate spiritual sense, so> keen- 
ly alive to the slightest variation from 
the faith, which gives such interest 
to the struggles of the church with the 
early heretics. When all has been 
said in their favor, it cannot be de- 
nied that the English have always 
shown themselves somewhat supine 
and spiritually sluggish. It is only the 
" right to tax themselves " which ap- 
peals to their energies with force 
enough to stir up a rebellion. The 
Scots took their religion into their 
own hands; but the English were 
contented to be led like sheep by Ce- 
cil and Parker. 

The fundamental profession of faith 
of the Church of England, the Thir- 
ty-nine Articles, labors under this 
disadvantage, that it has never securr 
ed to the Established Church any clo- 
ser union or more uniform dogmatic 
tradition than has been secured to Pro- 
testants in general by their common 
possession of the Bible. Very signi- 
ficant are those words in the Kin^s 
Declaration prefixed to the articles, 
in which his majesty finds so much 
comfort from the fact that nobody re- 
fuses to sign the articles, in spite of 
" some differences which have been ill 
raised;" and that, when they differ, 
" men of all sorts take tJu articles of the 
Church of Englatid to be for them^ 
What is the value of a formula which 
has been found compatible with the 
primacy both of Whitgift and of San- 
croft ? Only once did the spirit of the 
nation question the right of " men of 
all sorts " to " take the articles to be 
for them;" and that was when Dr. 
Newman took them to contain the 
Catholic faith. But this was due to 
the national hatred of popery, not to 
the stringency of the articles. TK^ 
weak blast baa tkcvtx Woiwii «iad&fix 



Phases of English Protestantism. 



IT coifl. They look like the off- 
spring of a union between inconsid- 
erate haste and the Utitudinariaii han- 
kering after conversions made by 
con)]>roniise. Tliey limit their confi- 
dence like the sagacious Bottom. 
"Masters, I am to discourse won- 
ders; but ask me not what; for if X 
tell you, I am no true Athenian." 

The Elizabethan pacificators were 
of that sort who turn a country into a 
wilderness, and then boasl that peace 
has been happily restored. Their Es- 
tablished Church was not a religion, 
but a machinery for enabling men to 
dispense with religion in their daily 
lives; and every attempt to graft reli- 
gious feeling upon its sapless stock 
has ended in discord. Having no 
efficient discipline, no central authori- 
ty, no energetic corporate action, no 
audible dogmatic voice, and no intel- 
ligible si'mbols of faith, and receiving 
Jts hierarchy from thcstatewith abject 
submissiveness, it has never got so far 
aa to attempt to fulfil any of the func- 
tions of the church. Its usual condi- 
tion has l)een that of a bundle of 
difTercnces held together by some 
fleeting economy or the presence 
of the state. Scarcely had it settled 
down into any thing like an organized 
polity, when the I'uritan schism be- 
came formidably apparent ; and by the 
accidental bias of political association, 
the Churchman and the Puritan be- 
came the champions respectively of 
prerogative and of libery. The church 
rallied round the monarchy, because 
tfa€ favor of the crown was the breath of 
its nostrils ; and persecution made the 
Puritans ripe for rebellion, and there- 
fiwe ready to fight for the cause of 
liberty in any shape. The men who 
began the Great Rebellion were politi- 
cians, not religious enthusiasts ; but 
they gained the day by enlisting on 
their side that religious enthusiasm 
which alterwatd declared that " the 
l^id had no need " of the Rump Par- 



liament. When the intolerable g 
emment of the saints had made 
evitable the restoration of Charles, 
Established Church catae back « 
the crown almost as naturally as tlN 
court of chancery and the priqr 
council. Notliing could be more " 
keeping than that the ecdesiaslicd 
loyalty which had blossomed ioio thV 
divine right of kings under the earl 
Stuarts, should bear its Ihiit in p 
sive obedience after the nestoratioBt 
This much had been claimed \qs 
Henry Vn I. in that edifying maoaaL 
" The I^ut and Godly JnUitutian^ 
a Christian Man ; and it now beatna 
the touchstone of vVnglican orthodosf; 
almost to the exclusion of dognifc 
tic considerations It is true that 
Archbishop Laud had long bdbrcbe^ 
gun what he meant to be a theologt 
cal reaction; but in his scheme ths 
position of an alur or the use of a vest- 
ment counted for more than the gra»» 
est doctrinal questions, and he did not 
scruple to act cordially with 1 
whose theological views differed voy 
widely from his own. Whatever clatiB 
the Established Church may seem m 
have made to doctrinal infalljliility or 
to magisterial decision, we think that 
it will be found on closer inspection 
to resolve itself into this, that evciy 
preacher was allowed to prapouiut 
his own crotchets as infallibly tnie^ 
provided only that his fidelity to dw 
great dogma of passive obedienceww 
beyond suspicion. Yet the proou* 
nence of tliis one proposition, and thl 
vehemence of the clergy in preaebing 
it, gave a certain aspect of unity tft 
the church, and somewhat resembled 
the energy with which divine tnah 
should be taught. The eslablishoicat ' 
has grown up into a great and cDD* 
spicuous edifice, imposing &om its nar ■ 
jeslic appearance and the appanot i 
solidity of its foundation, and endcwy ■ 
ed to many by the recollcaion of snft 
ferings endured in a cause with wfaidt 



Phasa cf EngKsh Pr/>testimiism. 



491 



It seemed to be inseparably bound up. 
Her ministers "agreed in essentials;" 
that is to say, in the fundamental 
rules of morality and passive obedi- 
ence. It was the very strength of 
the church's position which made the 
violence of James II. so disastrous 
to her influence. The clergy found 
themselves before the horns of a fatal 
dilemma, when they were compeUed 
to choose between their church and 
their king. The people, long used to 
hear that passive obedience was the 
first duty of a Christian, saw with a 
sceptical shock the defection of the 
clergy from their most sacred tenet 
The non-jurors set up a h^sh schism, 
and the shattered establishment could 
offer no efifectual resistance to the 
phlegmatic William and his latitudi- 
narian primate. 

By the revolution the Anglican was 
finally and for ever cut off from all 
appeal to the living authority of the 
church ; and it is well worthy of note 
that when the high Anglicans of this 
century, after the tractarian movement 
had set in, began to appeal to autho- 
rity, they could find no living autho- 
rity whither to carry their appeal, and 
were forced to set up the dead autho- 
rity of books and records. At the 
close of the seventeenth century, there 
would seem to have been a good op* 
portunity for anticipating by a hun- 
dred and fifty years the tractarian re- 
vival; and perhaps we may regard the 
career of the non-jurors as a proof that 
Sancroft and his brethren were utter- 
ly removed from every breath of the 
Catholic spirit. Cut off at that time 
from all appeal to authority, yet forc- 
ed to lay down some ground of belief 
it remained for the establishment to 
choose between reason and the wit- 
ness of the Spirit, or the purer light 
manifesting itself to the separate con- 
science of the individual. This latter 
had been the basis of independency, 
and of those still darker secb whidi 



sprang from independency during the 
commonwealth. It had appeared that 
this guidance might be made to lead 
anywhere, except in any direction that 
a sane man would choose, and there^ 
fore it remained to put reason on- its 
trial. Thenceforth the appeal of tlie 
Anglican was addressed to the reason 
of his hearers, and the reasonable was 
the basis of argument between parties. 
Different men believed different things ; 
but each admitted that his creed must 
stand or fall according as it should or 
should not approve itself to reason. 
That knowledge of God and of his 
will which could be discovered by un- 
aided reason was styled natural reli- 
gion ; and this was the whole of re- 
ligion, according to the deists. Ac- 
cording to the orthodox, natural re- 
ligion was an outlme, true as far as it 
went, the details of which were to be 
filled in by revelation. It was an ob- 
vious consequence of this view, that 
such parts of Christianity as could not 
easily be foisted in upon natural reli- 
gion, came to be rejected as popish 
corruptions ; and thus the distinction 
between the orthodox and the deist 
became at last very shallow. Bishop 
Butler, a man of fervid piety and with 
a natural bias toward asceticism, whose 
disposition made him an exception in 
many ways to the common tendency 
of the age in which he lived, com- 
plains that religion had in his day be- 
come too reasonable to have any con* 
necdon with the heart and the afifec- 
tions. The least deviation in any 
direction from the surrounding dead- 
level was looked upon with suspicion; 
and Butler's Durham Charge caused 
him to be accused of ** squinting " 
toward the superstition of popery. 
After his death, it was said by many 
that he had died a Catholic; and 
Seeker came forward with indignant 
zeal to defend his memory from the 
" calunmy." 
The deptesran^ t«sqX\& qH ^Qoc&^Rftr 



Pliasts of English Protestantism, 



492 

vailing tone are well shown by ils 
effect on the religious views of such 
men as Sydney Smith. A touch of 
fanaticisra has great claims upon our 
respect, when it is seen in contrast to 
the heathenism which regards a good 
education and gentlemanlike manners 
as the most necessary qualifications 
for the spiritual guide. Those evan- 
gelicals, the " patent Christians " of 
Sydney Smith, were the representa- 
tives inside the Church of England 
oi the feelings and aspirations which 
animated the Methodisis outside; and 
if the church had been the same in 
tlie days of Wesley tiiat it was in the 
days of Wilberforce, there would have 
been no separation. We remarked 
that the close of the seventeenth cen- 
tury seems to have presjntcd a good 
Opportunity for anticipating the trac- 
tarian movement; but the times were 
not ripe for it, and the attempt was 
not made. Wesley did attempt to 
anticipate the evangelical movement ; 
but the times were again not ripe, and 
thcattcmpt ended in extensive schism. 
The evangelicals were the true fore- 
runners of the tractarians ; and per- 
haps thu Methodists had opened the 
way lo both. And as the Church of 
England first drove out the Metho- 
dists, but acquired by the process a 
certain capacity to endure Methodism, 
BO, perhaps, she drove out the Trac- 
tarians, and acquired thereby a certain 
leaven which cnabtca her now to en- 
dure with comparative equanimity the 
presence in her bosom of men who 
profess Catholic doctrine. The church 
had no fixed spirit ; she was put in 
motion by the clamors of unstable 
popular opinion; and popular opinion 
is liable to be modified by the views 
with which it is brought into contact, 
even when it attacks them most fierce- 
ly. Yet we think we see signs that a 
time is coming when the comprehen- 
nn didter of Uw establisbmcK «m 



no longer be open to all who choose 
to stand under it. 

During this century three great 
movements have at ditfcrent times 
made inroads upon tlie dead-Ievd 
bequeathed by a former age. The 
evangelical movement has had its 
day, and its force is now spent 
no longer does active work, but orAy 
serves as a protest and drag. The 
tractarian movement has passed into 
a second phase ; but it is still 
vigorous that it makes progress; that 
is, it increases continually the number 
of exoteric members who hang upon 
its skirts, while the esoteric menbeis 
become more and more tborough-go-^ 
ing in their assertion of Catholic doc- 
trine and practice. The third and 
last movement is the critical, which a 
an attempt imparted from Germany, 
and in England supported with great 
ingenuity and learning, to set up s 
criterion of religious truth and ctrot 
apart from tlie reception of the Catho- 
lic scheme. For a long time there 
was room enough for all these parties 
to exist togetlier; and if they quar- 
relled, it was rather because they had 
a taste for quarrelling than because 
they were brought into collision. But 
now there is no longer room for then^ 
and collision is imminent. We may 
expect soon to see the battle foUL" 
out between them ; nor would it hftM 
been delayed so long had there bcCD 
any ground solid enough for pitting 
one against another. The English 
ecclesiastical law is so vague that men 
hardly dare lo invoke it, even w1 
they hope to find it on their Nde ; iot 
it is impossible to predict itB course 
with certainty, when once it is aet 
moving. But recent decisions havc 
tended more and more to bring oat' 
this much, that an exact complii 
with the present law, so far as it 
be fixed, would be equally disl 
both to die evKogelkalt and, 



Piloses of English Protestantism. 



Afil 



tractarians. , It is, in fact, a compro- 
mise constructed with unusual clum- 
siness, which is now for the first time 
being exposed to a searching exami- 
nation ; and it is likely to meet with 
the just fate of compromises, by be- 
ing found equally hateful to both 
of the parties whom it was meant to 
reconcile. The critical school, who 
greatly outweigh the two others in 
learning and ability, are more evidently 
outside the letter of the present law, 
though its machinery is too clumsy 
to be used against them with any 
great effect. But the matter will not 
long be left in the hands of the pre- 
sent law ; and it is hard to foretell the 
legislation of the future. Nobody, 
we think, can now doubt that a few 
years will see some great change, 
either of secularization, or at least of 
redistribution, in the ecclesiastical re- 
venues. A large section of the trac- 
tarian party now cries out for dises- 
tablishment, as the only way open to 
them by which they may keep the 
Catholic faith. 

When the catastrophe to which we 
are looking forward does come, no 
doubt there will be some splitting up 
of parties. Some, we hope many, 
of the tractarians will be received into 
the Catholic Church ; and then it will 
be seen whether the remainder will be 
able to set up a free church, accord- 
ing to their darling scheme. Many 
of the evangelicals will doubtless join 
the various dissenting bodies; and 
some, perhaps, will coalesce with the 
liberals, (whom we called the critical 
school,) and it is possible that these 
latter may be lefl for a little while in 
possession of the whole of the tempo- 
ralities of the church. This, however, 
we do not think likely ; it is probable 
that disestablishment will be itself the 
occasion of a general dissolution. But 
the liberals have this great advantage 
on their side, that they are under no 
temptation whatever to split up. The 



agreement which holds them together 
is an agreement to differ ; and their 
bond of union is a protest against all 
persons who consider dogmatic opin- 
ions of any kind to be a sufficient 
ground for breaking communion. 
Upon this understanding they arc 
ready to shake hands with the whole 
world. And the opinions which are 
held by the esoteric members of the 
party (for some of them have opin- 
ions) are always embraced subject to 
the admission that they may possibly 
be false. They find truth everywhere, 
and close resemblances between things 
which are totally different. A bigot^ 
according to the old joke, is a person 
who says that he is in the right, and 
that every body who differs from him 
is in the wrong ; but a liberal is afraid 
to say that he is in the right, lest he 
should be obliged to say that some- 
body else is not They avoid mis- 
takes by saying as little as possible, 
and by using the vaguest terms they 
can find ; and, above all, by cheerful- 
ly admitting Aat there is always a 
great deal to be said on both sides. 
As certain of their own poets have 
said, 

** Methinkt I see them 
Through eYerIastin)( limbos of void time 
Twirlinj; and twiddling ineffectively, 
And indetennmately swaying for ever.** 

But it is only fair to say that here 
they are seen in their weakness, not 
in their strength. This vague and 
undecided habit of mind is the result 
of the circumstances in which they 
had their beginning. The spectacle 
of a great number of sects, each in 
practice arrogating to itself infallibili- 
ty while they teach incompatible doc- 
trines, produces different effects upon 
different minds. Its natural effect 
upon the shallow, who are just deep 
enough to find out that other sects 
exist beside the one in which they 
were brought up, is to breed scepti- 
cism. Tliey know thaX \:«q cxsc^^x^ 



phases of EngHsh Ptvfestantism. 



494 

dictory prnpositions cannot both be 
true, and they think that the one is 
as well supported by evidence as the 
other; and out of these premises, by 
tlie help of bad logic, they draw the 
conclusion that both tnust be false. 
But sounder intellects set about in- 
vestigating more closely the criterion 
of truth and falsehood ; and to such 
we owe the critical theory, wliich is 
not only ingenious, but even true so 
far as it goes. Something of the in- 
decision of men who havesecn so much 
of error that they now hardly believe 
in the exMtence of truth, clings to 
these critics; and this makes tlieir 
proceeding seem to be sceptical wlien 
it is not really so. Their theory may 
bcbricfly summed upas follows : " In- 
teqjret the Scripture," says one,* " like 
any other book," This in his mouth 
was a brief way of bidding us measure 
religious truth by the same tests, 
while we seek it by the same methods, 
a other truth. It is well known that 
the labor of successive generations of 
scholars, following the same main rules 
of criticism, has made a great approach 
to uniformity in the interpretation of 
profane authors ; and nobody doubts 
that the common consent of the cri- 
tics, if it could be obtained, would be 
the best possible evidence to the un- 
learned of the true meaning of an ob- 
scure passage. It is inferred that the 
same criticd methods may be applied 
to the Bible, and that the same ap- 
proach to uniformity of interpretation 
may thus be secured 

•PnlMor JowcH. ff jH/i asJ JCfBiiwi, ninlhed. 
p. »j. Thj ««/ conuin. «v««l juVo. which la 
MHcmnlhciuulaf pUn. " Knn Ib< Greek Pli- 
10," «». (hi pnifr»«c. (p. jp^,) " «wW hiTo ■ eoWly 
fimithEd (onh' iht kokIi of 'cwnial Jifc.'" The 
MMkr will rcmanlnr Itu wordi of Shtktipure, 
■■ The fiiMrai bakul mou 
Did coUl)' (umlih fonh ll» mamigi UUe^" 
■MuiiiE (u i> ihown by Ih< prHcdins voidv Tkrifl, 

- - - ■ - - -^ .1 fcHowHl 



This is a plausible theory ; and it 
is sound so (iir as it goes. But it 
completely ignores the Catholic theory 
of the interpretation of Scri|iture. Id 
auihots evidently suppose, for eiain- 
pie, that if a text quoted by the Coon- 
cil of Trent in support of a doctrine 
could be critically proved indevanl 
to the purpose, then the doctrine 
would be seriously shaken in the 
minds of Catholics. But this opinion 
rests on a profound misa|)prehen»oii 
of the Catholic view. We accept the 
doctrine on the authority of the coun- 
cil, as the voice of the church, with- 
out criticising the source from whkh 
the words are drawn; and althou^ 
the church in her decisions is guided 
by her unalterable tradition, yet it b 
a possible case that she might be quitfl 
assured of the fact of the tradition, 
and yet (to speak reverenily) crro* 
neously quote a document in evidence. 
A Catholic would be very cautious 
about attributing critical errors of this 
kind to a general council; but no 
theologian will deny that such a thin|^ 
might happen. Tlie function of thai 
church in interpreting Scripture is by 
no means limited to ascertaining wluil 
the words written represented to th» 
mind of the writer; thequestion is mud 
wider than this, including all that wai 
intended by God to be conveyed or 
suggested by the written words to tba 
church at large. It docs not fbHov 
that, because a given meaning is the 
only sense whicli the words could ap< 
propriately bear at the time wheft 
they were written, therefore no othcf 
additional sense was intended to b4 
conveyed at some future time. IB 
proportion as we exalt (lie degree h( 
which a passage or a book is support 
ed to be inspired, so much the mat* 
probable does it become that MA 
words will bear more than one nWAlW 
ing. In the higher sense of the wor^^ 
inspiration, the human agent becomet: 
to convey a OMBt 



TAe Sagacious Wig. 



495 



sage, which he himself may possibly 
not understand at all. The meaning 
then lies wholly in the mind of God ; 
and it is to be sought out by the di- 
vinely appointed interpreter. Hence 
is apparent the reasonableness, when 
they are taken together, of the two ele- 
ments which make up the Catholic 
theory of Scripture — the inspiration 
of the written word, and the commis- 
sion of the church to interpret Both 
these things are ignored or denied 
by that school of criticism about which 
we have been speaking. Their view is 
quite incompatible with the Catholic 
view of inspiration, and they at the 
same time naturally deny the right of 
interpretation to the church, in order 
to give it to the scholar. And they 
therefore limit the function of interpre- 
tation to that which the scholar can 
reasonably attempt — the discovery of 
the meaning appropriate to the cir- 
cumstances under which the words 
were uttered. 

The theory, as it stands by itself, is 
a plausible hypothesis, much better 
able to bear examination than any 



other theory which Protestants hare 
ever put forward. We do not think 
that it will fulfil the hopes of its friends, 
by securing the wished for uniformity 
of interpretation. And we cannot help 
thinking that its adherents ought to 
be on their guard against their pecu- 
liar faculty of finding out likenesses in 
dissimilar things, lest they should de- 
ceive themselves by fancying that they 
have secured uniformity when they 
have not. At present, they are rather 
apt to mistake the progeny of their 
neighbors for their own — 

. . . "simQlima proles 
ladisereU suis gratusqua parentlbus orror.** 

A few years ago, one of them placed 
on record his pious delight at the 
closeness with which Dr. Pusey's 
theological system resembled that of 
Mr. Jowett. He seemed to think that 
we are all of us getting year by year 
into closer agreement, and that the 
golden mean toward which all are 
gravitating is that hazy creed which 
looms vaguely upon the inner vision 
of Dean Stanley. 



THE SAGACIOUS WIG. 



A WIG may be said to have two 
lives — the one with its own head, the 
other with its adopted head, or rather 
the head which adopts it; it has, there- 
fore, a double chance for wisdom, and 
might be expected to profit accord- 
ingly. Generally speaking, this is the 
case, and wig and wisdom are almost 
synonymous. 

Such wonderful tales had been told 
in a certain shop, by wigs that came 
back to be Jix^d a little, of the gloif 
of their new abodes — wigs shorn from 



the very dregs of the people — from 
heads that had never been combed or 
petted or cared for — from heads house- 
less and hatless, that had been rained 
on and hailed on, and now in their 
second life dwelt in splendor unmiti- 
gated — that their discourses fairly 
curled up tighter every wig in the 
place. The shop had proved but a 
stepping-stone to blissful companion- 
ship with wits and statesmen; they 
reposed on the brows of sages and 
philosophers, shared the applauses of 
the multitude with popular oratOTs^ 
listened to tbe doQs^<eci»t \xsrcL ^ 



¥/* 



I4d ^a£^csai 



a«l v.is ir.i^ ."I'Ti, ti"ct v.^ viii: ••:^«* 
w*r* r'i.srt: .:•. *r«ih. ".•■U vizz xjrJL — 



Y.XT*: 1/yA i y-^r.z %t'.r/. or n:her i 

thr';^ ^-^at wiIicA of life — rr. >r.*:-*'-zLii- 

fte/ivir.;(, ^•/.t waiving, he hirlly 
psuiv:r\ to I'^y/iC back a: the proniless 
latxt he h.vl trorSrien. The meedng 
^j.UlcT/jiWv »i;h an ol'l sr/r.ool-chum 
in fine hr'>;j/!'.!oth, or the uia-a urgency 
of h;^ hn^iiarly or some other <l;sa- 
j(r';c'iM'; rr';'!;tor, jrave him occasional- 
ly rnof; vivi'l vi*:ws of th!n;:s, zin^l at 
*u/.h tlrn':. h'; ifi^Iij I ;:':<! in iiT'liirnant 
and r/rt.!r)ly very riisrc-s^vjctfu! lan- 
%n:\'f*y. tov/ard mank:n<^l in ireneral and 
vnii': irtdividMriK in y^articular; but 
^'rn':r;illy hi.-> nio^xl was patient cndur- 
anr':. 

SiK/ ':>s in life was an enigma. There 
was Job Lovcmec, who Ijcgan his 
career by rirlimlously marrying a girl 
as poor as liiinself, and blessed since 
with six diildren, was getting as rich 
as a nabob; "while I," said Martin, 
" with no such drawbacks, am as poor 
as a clnirth mouse.*' 

It was a j>leasant bright spring 
morning when Martin 'I'ryterlittle sud- 
denly resolved to turn over a new leaf 
in his book of life and mend its story. 

** No wonder I cannot succee<l," said 
he ; " look at me I'* So, as no one was 
by, he looked at himself, bit at a time, 
in tiic little cracked mirror which 



jccz3«si his omic lodgmg'iooiii. As 
rie xmms if >L2rtzn had been gradn- 
ilj iniii:n;g in die scsle of social a- 
isc±3C£. !ie joti chyscoily been liang; 
rue 2. 3r:izi ■ ajuipyin g she first floor 
h;iri'.s:aa*Ly nzmiaoeiL js die advertise- 
TTTiT iec aiEdu he had ascended to the 
arrr. sc zeariy onnizxxiafaed rf"'' a bed, 
a ^LiLe. X s"*:iT. JTni a. broken miiror 



cicircsei is w3o2e in^enconr. 

*" !.:•:£ az me."* said Martin to him- 
:l-±reaiibaie and bald! Xovooder 



I cud rj'^r'T'j to do and no one to 
wDo. a=d say Lugfng behind in this 
CLir::Ii cc rrLinkinil ! Ill boy a vig 
:>«iiy if I hx^e to si^ something to 
pi*T :cr i: : r«x every body can see my 
he«l. bd cobody — veil, IH button 
UD or coa: l"* 

It v-a:^ no one's bcssiness how it was 
ace jcnp lished, as Martin truly said, 
b^: it STdEf done ; the wig was bought 
and p^ i for, and rested now on his 
table in happy anticipation of the 
tnuniTihs of the ensuing dav. '• Xo one 
Will know me,"' said he. ~ I hardlr 
know m\-self ! O my wig ! how happy 
we shall be ; to thee shall I owe friends 
and f jrtune !" 

It mav startle some old-fashioned 
people to hear me assert that there 
was a responsive chord in the wig 
which answered to all this ; but those 
familiar with modem raetaohvsical 
s|>eculations will easily credit it. The 
wi;^, be it remembered, was once part 
and parcel of a sentient being; nor 
have we any reason to suppose that 
baking and boiling, in the process of 
wig-making, could in any way touch 
the spark immortal and invisible which 
once per\'aded it. It is true that 
counter arguments might be advanced, 
and so there is no end to controversy ; 
but there is a shorter way — and hav- 
ing demonstrated how the thing mi^t 
have been, we are satisfied to believe 
that so it was. Martin felt that his 
•h^ig understood him. He was no 
longer alone in the world ; companion- 



The Sagacious Wig. 



497 



ship is something even with a wig, 
and he realized it as he laid his pur- 
chase carefully on the table and betook 
himself to his bed. 

It was a long night ; but day dawn- 
ed at last, and, in the mean time, the 
whole future had been mapped out in 
the mind of Martin Tryterlitde. He 
rose early, made a careful toilette of 
such materials as were to be had, and 
sallied forth in thoughtful mood. 

" Fame, wealth, love '* — ^he conned 
them over in the order of valuation. 
" Fame (said he) I must first secure, 
and then 1 can command ray own 
price in every thing else. Wealth 
will follow ; and as for love, I need 
not go after that. Lord I there is no 
end to the love that comes tumbling 
in upon fame and money !" 

C*cst le premier pas qui coute — the 
problem was, how to be famous. There 
was a military and a civil career. There 
was invention in all the arts subser- 
vient to human needs. Could any 
wheels anywhere be made to go fas- 
ter or smoother or with less smashing 
up ? Well, as far as he saw, every 
thing was as good as it could be. 
Literature ? Ah ! that is a long track; 
besides, publishers are " lions in the 
way " — they cannot or will not al- 
ways appreciate merit; fame seldom 
comes to the scribe till after he is be- 
yond the reach of earthly pain or 
blame. " No," said Martin, " I must 
be famous living; what matters it 
after one is dead ?" 

"Wliat is all this jabber about?" 
thought the wig; "surely my master 
has so many ways before him he can- 
not tell which to choose; but so 
jauntily I sit on his brow, he cannot 
fail of success whichever he takes." 

This cogitating mood brought them 
step by step to a comer — one of those 
comers peculiar to great cities ; where, 
while down one wide avenue the 
mighty human tide goes rushing and 
roaring, the narrow side street, like a 

VOL, XL — J2 



litde sluggish stream with scarce a 
perceptible ripple, joins it and empties 
its trifle into it. At this moment the 
usual tide in the great thoroughfJEure 
was swollen to a toirent; in plain 
words, at the comer Martin encoun- 
tered a mighty mob. Hark I what a 
rabble shout 1 pell-mell — something 
had happened. Somebody had sinned, 
and very vindictive seemed the suffer- 
ers. Martin was caught in the cur- 
rent and twirled into their midst. 
Then was heard, " Oh ! the man had 
a wig on !"— " wig I" " man !" " man !" 
" wig !" It went from mouth to mouth. 
Well, here was a man with a wig on in 
their midst ; this must be he. The logic 
was conclusive; so Martin was seized 
and hurried along. 

" What have I done ?" cried he. 

" Oh I yes, you know what youVe 
done; and we know what you've 
done," shouted a dozen tongues. So, 
pinioned close, he was home onward 
to the halls of justice, or injustice, as 
the case might be. 

" Well, well !" thought the wig ; " I 
little expected to get in such a fix with 
my gentleman, or I should have 
clinched his bald pate till he would 
have been glad to leave me for some 
other customer. It is disgraceful !" 

"It's villainous! it's outrageous!" 
roared Martin. 

" Shut up !" said a looker-on. 

Now came a medley of questions 
and cross-questions, and ejaculations, 
and assertions, and confirmations, 
and contradictions, and, in short, 
the usual path of law and order was 
trodden over, till they settled down 
to unanimity on one point: the evil 
deed, whatever it was, (and very few 
seemed to know exactly what it was,) 
had been done by a man in a wig ; 
but then it was a yellow-white, frowsy, 
sunbumt sort of a wig. Who could 
ever suspect that mass of dark, glossy 
curls of concealing a rogue ? No one. 
So Martin was dismissed ^>iVl >!ca. 



498 



The Sagacious Wig: 



galling consciousness that for the 
great wrong done him there was 
no redress. A great wrong, too, he 
felt it ; for what was he henceforth ? 
Why, the very boys in the street would 
point to him as " the one wot was 
took up." He shrank from being 
seen; he had been too famous al- 
ready. 

He turned his steps homeward to 
collect his thoughts and rearrange his 
dress. 

«* This comes of a wig," said he ; 
" a wig is deception, deception is ras- 
cality. A man guilty of one decep- 
tion must not take it in dudgeon that 
he is suspected of another. I scorn 
fame ! I go for money ; and money 
shall make me famous. I began at 
the wrong end." 

" Yes," (chimed in the wig,) " we'll 
be rich and loved ; and the rest is all 
bosh." 

It took Martin Tryterlittle a long 
time to put himself again in presen- 
table order; one more such adven- 
ture, and he would be obliged to cease 
intercourse with that portion of crea- 
tion who walk in sunlight, and join 
the human owls who, from choice or 
necessity, fly only by night. Their 
ways are not so widely different as 
a casual observer might suppose. 
Money is dear to both, and both are 
fond of taking short roads to it Only 
in one thing they differ vastly — the 
day- worker sighs and seeks for noto- 
riety, and often fails to obtain it ; the 
night-prowlers have it thrust upon 
them, though they shun it. Martin 
had shared their hapless luck, and his 
ideas were changed; henceforth he 
scorned fame in all its phases, and 
exalted that other idol — money. 



IIL 



A second time day-dawn called up 
. Martin and his wig for new projects, 
tit was a glorious morning. There 



was something exhilarating m Ait 
yellow flood of light which promised 
success. It was so cosmopolitan— 
that simlight I It gave to all thinp 
such a gloss of delicate beauty. First, 
it just touched with gold the spires, 
and tallest trees and chimney-tops; 
then it slid down the housenside to 
peep in my lady's chamber ; then it 
poured a glow all over the pavement, 
and made merry and warm all the 
little things, animate and inanimate, 
which but for that would have been 
dark and cold. Into this atmosphere 
of joyousness walked forth now Mar- 
tin Tryterlitde to find something to 
do, some fellow-creature with a want 
unfilled. 

It is surprising that any one ever 
begins to do any thing in this world, 
where every avenue to success is 
crowded, every necessity supplied, and 
every evil surrounded by a belt of an- 
tidotes ; it takes immense penetration 
to discover where there is left any 
thing to be done. 

" I must And a want^^ said he. 
And he turned to that dragon ever 
watchful of human interests — a news- 
paper. The wanted there were many 
— workers for metals, accountants 
for wealth, del vers for the riches of 
earth ; but all these anticipated a 
certain previous training. IVantal^ a 
teacher. "That's it," said Martin. 
" I think I am fitted for that." So he 
moved on to the field of action — the 
institute. 

The building was easily found — a 
large brick pile surrounded by grass, 
or rather, what would have been grass 
had juvenile footsteps permitted. To 
point the searcher for knowledge to 
the proper entrance, its name was dis- 
played there in conspicuous letters. 

The master was not so accessible ; 
and he sat a long time in the parlor 
with several other visitors, and listen- 
ed to the tinkling ofsundry little bells, 
and saw passing in the distance sim- 



The Sagacious Wig. 



499 



dry little processions anned with 
books and slates, until they were all 
properly impressed with an idea of 
the extent of the establishment and 
the awful responsibility of conducting 
it At length, slowly and with dig- 
nity, entered Mr. Pushem. 

"A teacher, you want?" modestly 
inquired Martin. 

" Yes, sir," was the laconic reply ; 
and a little silence ensued. 

"For what, sir?" again modestly 
asked Martin. 

"Well, sir, for several things; in 
fact, sir, for most any thing." 

So, as Martin announced himself 
au fait on all subjects, and the sala- 
ry, without decided specification, 
was declared by the dignified princi- 
pal to be unquestionably liberal, and 
the fluties could not well be defined 
until he entered upon them ; and as the 
only positive point was that he was 
to be niggard never in either time or 
labor, for the reason that time and 
labor were dust in the balance com- 
pared with the progress of immor- 
tal minds, the applicant was regu- 
larly enlisted under the banner of 
the Institute. He was to pay his 
board and lodging of course, said Mr. 
Pushem ; and, of course, Martin did 
not expect to board and lodge with- 
out pay, though he had some re- 
membrance of having done so oc- 
casionally; and so the matter was 
settled, and he returned home. 

It took him small time to pack his 
bundle. His trunk had been detain- 
ed a long time ago by a savage old 
dame for rent ; and, knowing that the 
same gulf yawned ever for all succeed- 
ing trunks, he had never replaced it. 
So, packing his little bundle, I say, 
and leaving a kind message for his 
landlady with a fellow-lodger, to the 
purport that he would come back and 
pay her as soon as he could) he van- 
ished ft-om his old abode as effectual- 
ly as if he had gone to another planet 



Loving parents tell us there is no- 
thing so delightful as watching the 
daily progress of children in learning 
the alphabet of life. Not that villain- 
ous regiment called ABC, which 
merits execration as the first herald of 
toil and sorrow to the infantile heart, 
but that beautiful alphabet of rosy 
hues and rainbow colors, stamped on 
leaf, and flower, and firuit, and wave, 
and hill-side, and whigh, in conning 
over, the little eye learns to see, and 
the ear to hear; and the touch refines 
itself, and fi^grance grows to be an 
idea ; and the little gourmand makes 
its first essay in luxurious living on 
peaches and berries. Every little in- 
cident here is delightful. But not so 
pleasant is it to note the later wander- 
ings of human beings in quest of that 
vague thing — a living. The traveller 
on the highway of life has grown wea- 
ry now, and stumbles and plunges 
ankle-deep in all things disagreeable. 
He has heard the bird of promise 
sing so falsely, he knows how litde the 
song is worth — he has grown sad 
while growing wise ; and thus plod- 
ded on Martin Tryterlittle. 

Some months had passed now since 
the roof of the institute first sheltered 
him; and the bread and bones and 
watery tea of the institute first nou- 
rished him; and the boys harassed 
him, and made fun of him ; and twig- 
ged his wig, and put netdes in his 
bed in more than a metaphorical 
sense. His master had kept him like 
a toad under a harrow, (to use an in- 
elegant but expressive prhase,) always 
doing, never done ; the salary was yet 
unsettled, *and the duties undefined, 
when one night the wig claimed a 
hearing. 

" I am growing shabby," said the 
wig, " and you are no richer." 

Not that these words were uttered 
in an audible tone, but the thought 
passed to Martin and was compre- 
hended. 



500 



The Sagacious Wig. 



■ You are growing shabby," sighed 
Martin, ruthfully gazing, " and 1 am 
no richer." 

•• l> master mine !" quoth the wig, 
••do you see how you are walking 
on ? You are growing poorer, not rich- 
er ! What is to you all the glory of 
this concern, when you own not even 
a nail in the wall ? You are just the 
stone they step on who mount up 
over you. What do you get for it ? 
O master mine! you are an ass to 
stay !" 

Martin was not inaccessible to rea- 
son; he was impressed daily more 
and more with the good sense of his 
old friend Horace. 

•• El cenus et rirtua, nisi cum re, vH-or al^l est.*** 

His rusty garments and diminish- 
ed bundle told him that the wig spoke 
truth, and he prepared, not for a he- 
gira, but for an otficial resignation. 
It took no long time for this, and his 
little hard bed in iu windy comer 
was left empty the vor>- next night 
The Imys felt that a great source ot 
amusement had departed, aiul sincere- 
Iv rearettcvl his loss : and Mr. Pushem, 
after due a^tonishment at such blind- 
ness to advantages, disbursed to him 
the smallest possible sum as balance 
due, and ad\ enised for another teach- 
er. 

O gold. go!d I 51".::r c/ t'lf Jjrk an J 
i/fr/\ rfiir.r: what need :o record how of- 
ten thou dids: beckon on luckless Ma- 
tin Trytcrlitile. on'y :o f.i: from him 
funher than ever ? Wha: ma::ers how 
he slept in l\ick otr.ces ar.vi fron: Kise- 
men In. dr earn; n g o\ vs. \ r. es so : v. e w h ere 
at the a:u:iHx:es, of which he was t.^ 
have such a cliiteri::^ s'.i.e— v^r of 
lovelv loiiv^scipos aw.:v en :r. the vos: 
wilderness of w h:ch he « cu-- or.e day 
be!.mded vrv^vriet.^r ? — :ha: is. .is s.^.'n 
as he cou-d j'e:sua.:e con.-.:?, je.^jle 
into cert.i:a jroiecis which see:"e« in 
iheon- mi^h:y a:::.:c::\e. bu: pro\i\l 



• H T 6k. ii Sit 5. Rxi S-.N «?d T-*ra*. v^ll- 
•m xi^'ocy. Arc bmc« wutvIcm *.2)as «evk««ciL 



in practice to have no attractioiis 
whatever — suffice to say that at last, 
quite desponding, he invested most 
part of his few remaining coin in die 
prepayment of an attic, and seated 
himself sadly at its windoir. 

" I shall never be rich," quoth he; 
**fame and fortune! — ^well, let them 
go." His heart threw a sigh to the 
other one of the trio, and the wig took 
it up. <* I was bom for love," s^ the 
wig ; " the first sweet words I remem- 
ber came from the rosy lips of our pretty 
shop-girl, What a lave of a wig! I have 
never yet had a fair chance in life. 
What care those bankers and old mo- 
ney-scrapers for good looks ? They are 
all gray and bald and wrinkled before 
their time. Put me on my oiMi field, 
master, and see what /can do!" 

Perhaps this prompted Martin to 
lean further out of his iK-indow, and 
thus give his wig the full benefit of 
sunlight and the chance of making 
acquaintances ; at least he did so; and 
doing so, he glanced across the street to 
a window nearl v as hich as his owni, and 
saw thcR* — what? Why, two bright 
eves lookin c intentlv at him ! He drew 
back : for Martin was diffident with 
the fair sex. and being, besides, innate- 
ly a gentleman, it did not occur to 
him to embamss the damsel with a 
rude stare. So he retreated ; and the 
briizht eves a!so retreated and what 
was worse than all, a little, plump, 
while hand came out and closed the 
shutter?. 

Nothir^ more was seen all dav: 
but he h.'.vi ar.^rle ccc'aration in con- 
iecturir ^ who it coi::d be. No toil-worn 
soan:<:r;.>s ever had such a laughing 
;::ar.ce ar.si such a rlumr* little hand : 
r.o, it W.IS e\i."cr.t!y a 
aS^ve care :Vr the mcrr?w. 
ar.xious'y he awaiiei the f:»l!owing 
ir.orrir.^. ^^re-i a-x^ut the sarr.e hour — 
that is. e-ir; v viav^-ou*,: he believe his 
$en<e< ? — aca-"* the shurter wjis open- 
ed, and the br.^ht ej-cs ^Lixiced up at 



maiilen qutte 



Most 



The Sagacious Wig. 



SOI 



him as if they too remembered. The 
little fairy was evidently a household 
fairy engaged in some fairy-like duties 
about the chamber, and ever and anon, 
as these brought her near the window, 
she glanced up at Martin. 

That any loving and lovable wo- 
man should bestow a thought on him 
was a leaf of paradise painted in 
dreams sometimes on the far-off days 
to come, when he should be rich and 
renowned ; but that such bright, hap- 
py eyes should seek and rest on poor 
Martin Tryterlittle was hardly credi- 
ble ; as soon would he have expected 
Luna to step down from her orbit, 
peep into his attic, and say, " Good 
evening to you, Martin;" but so it 
was. 

" It is my doing," said the wig ; 
" all mine !" 

One day was the story of the next, 
and the next, and several more be- 
yond. It is surprising how much 
may be learned of the inhabitants of 
a house from its exterior. As the be- 
atific vision lasted but a short time 
each morning, a long day and night 
was left him to study its surroundings, 
and in a brief space of time he read 
the whole plain as a book. It was a 
handsome mansion, and a private one. 
There was a sensible housekeeping- 
mistress there; for the railings were 
black and the knocker bright, and the 
steps were clean and the housemaids 
tidy; even the pavements were a pat- 
tern to the neighbors. There were 
order and industry throughout the 
establishment, evidently. All this and 
more besides he deciphered by pro- 
cesses whose intricate premises laugh- 
ed to scorn quadratic equations, and 
yet he was never tired. 

Martin had done, here and there 
and everywhere in his lifetime, a 
deal more head-work than he had 
ever been paid for, rather by compul- 
sion ; but now he labored con arnore 
on the loveliest subject life affords; 



and so far from wearying him, his wits 
grew brighter, his ideas received a 
new impetus, and, strange to say, the 
beneficial influence extended to his 
purse. 

'<! must have some honest occu- 
pation now," cried he; " it will never 
do to introduce myself as lounger in 
an attic window!" Yes I he really 
dreamed of an introduction. 

" Let me see," (and he picked up 
his old dragon friend the newspaper;) 
" wantSj wants — small salary, etc ; 
well, I will try." So he speedily bar- 
gained himself away to — no matter 
what, so it was honest, and went to 
work with a good-wilL 

It was pleasant, too, (strange he 
had never thought of it before ;) it 
was pleasant to have a defined place 
among his fellow-mortals, and to feel 
that he could not now, as heretofore, 
be blown away on some windy day, 
and no one miss him. 

Great changes are not wrought in 
a day. It took him some time to 
straighten out his line of existence 
and untie all the knots he had always 
been tying in it ; to settle up scores 
with the past, and open accounts with 
the future — but it was all accomplish- 
ed ; and see now the life of Martin 
Tryteriittle. 

He rose betimes, drank an elixir 
from those bright eyes perfecdy in- 
toxicating, and speeded to business. 
At eventide — where think you he 
spent his evenings? Why, in the 
back-parlor of that same handsome 
mansion, with little household fairy at 
his side, and papa smiling approval. 
He was no longer threadbare and 
shabby, and the only bit of deception 
about him — ^his wig — ^had been long 
ago confessed and forgiven. 

"I'm a deal better than any hair 
that ever grew on any man's head," 
said the wig ; " for if you live to be a 
hundred years old, I shall never be 
bald or gray." 



502 



The Pope and the QmncU^ by yanus. 



** You will never be bald or gray," 
said Martin. 

** It will never be bald or gray," 
laughed the little fairy. 

On a certain evening about a year 
after this, Martin and his wig sat down 
for the last time to their dual converse; 
the next day a little lady was to be 
admitted, and the partnership would 
be a trio. Martin reclined on a sofa 
in his own domicil this night, and 
looked on a soft, bright carpet His 
purse had filled up ; nor was he un- 
known to fame — at least to a holy 
fame bom of benevolence, which in 
after years lighted up many a desolat- 
ed heart and hearth, and carved his 
name on structures where the homeless 
were sheltered and the hungry fed. 



^ Master mine,** said the wig» 'we 
mistook oiu: trade Human life was 
not bestowed for the hoarding up of 
money — or men would have been all 
bom with pockets; nor yet for a chase 
after fame. There are innate^ loftier, 
and purer aspirations to be satisfied— 
the living soul craves something to 
love, and craves to beloved; and like 
sunshme to earth, that brings forth gol- 
den grain and sweet floweis, so pure 
love, the household sunshine, calls out 
wealth of thought and energy of ac- 
tion; and so comes fame, and so 
comes money !" 

"Just so," said Martin; ''you talk 
like a book 1" 



THE POPE AND THE COUNCIL, BY JANUS. 



II. 



As the reader will have seen in our 
previous article, it became necessary to 
interrogate history at some length in 
order to elucidate and substantiate 
our arguments on the two points we 
have already set forth, namely, the 
real puqjose of jfanus^ and the or- 
thodoxy which the authors of this 
work profess. We have thus prepar- 
ed the way for our examination of the 
historical and critical parts of yamiSy 
for which he has found so many ar- 
dent admirers who would assign him 
a " position in the very front rank of 
science." 

Jamis is principally hailed as a 
work of history, and as such, makes 
by no means ordinary or modest pre- 
tensions. That promiscuous array of 
matter presented to the reader in the 
third chapter, subdivided into thirty- 



three paragraphs with those numer- 
ous references to " original auihoritirs^^ 
has dazzled so many eyes and over- 
powered so many minds, that they 
could not " helj) feeling convinced of 
its veracity." He has been held up as 
a "thorough Catholic" and a "learn- 
ed canonist," and whether or not by 
any legitimate and scientific criterion 
yanus merits these encomiums, the 
reader can infer from the unexcep- 
tionable authorities we have advanced. 
We now ask the simple question, 
Has yanus shown himself to be ** a 
faithful and discriminating historian " ? 
Having aire ;dy api)ealed to the ver- 
dict of history on points of the very 
first importance, we may confine our- 
selves exclusively to tlie historical 
merits of yinus's work. It cannot 
be expected that, within the space al- 



The Pope and the Council^ by yamts. 



S03 



lowed to such an examinatioiii we can 
touch upon every point ; yet we trust 
to be able to make such selections as 
will be sufficient to clear up the most 
important historical questions upon 
which yanus himself lays most stress. 
The following extract gives the key 
to the historical edifice of Janus : 

"In this book the first attempt has been 
made to give a history of the hypothesis of 
papal infallibility, from its first beginnings 
to the end of the sixteenth century, when it 
appears in its complete form." (P. 24.) 

To take away all historical basis 
from " ultramontanism," the authors 
go over the whole field of ecclesiasti- 
cal history, and particularly the lives, 
both private and public, of the popes, 
together with their acts of administra- 
tion, whether referring to the religi- 
ous or civil government ; in short, any 
thing and every thing is gathered " to 
bring forward a very dark side of the 
history of the papacy." The authors 
pledge themselves to oppose what 
they term the " ultramontane scheme," 
to which they will never submit, and 
hence their appeal to history, which 
should show that, since the ninth cen- 
tury, the constitution of the church 
has undergone a transformation nei- 
ther sound nor natural, because in con- 
tradiction with that of the " ancient 
church." But the question which 
naturally suggests itself is. Who is re- 
sponsible for this movement in the 
church, " preparing, like an advancing 
flood-tide, to take possession of its 
whole organic life " ? A " powerful 
party which, in ignorance of past his- 
tory or by deliberately falsifying it," 
is now about to complete its system 
and surround itself with an "impreg- 
nable bulwark," by the doctrine of in- 
fallibility. To ward oflf so fatal a ca- 
tastrophe, yanus enters this protest, 
based on history. 



« 



Only when a universal conflagration of 
libraries had destroyed all historical docn- 
ments, when easterns and westerns knew 



no more of their own early history than the 
Maories in New Zealand know of theirs now, 
and when, by a miracle, great nations had 
abjured their whole intellectual character and 
habits of thought, then, and not till then, 
would such a submission be possible. " (P. 
26.) 

We have thus fairly stated the whole 
issue. True enough, the ultramontanes 
were not wise when they did not give 
over to the flames all libraries, with 
the exception of the Isidorian decre- 
tals, as the Mohammedans are known 
to have done with the library of Al- 
exandria. Yet we are happy to say 
that such an expedient measure has 
not been resorted to, being thereby 
enabled to trace the truth or falsehood 
of this " mighty programme " of ultra- 
montanism which yanus is pleased to 
honor with the name of " Papalism," 

We can easily dispense with the 
alleged historical misconceptions of 
the middle ages, and draw upon the 
very same historical documents with 
which yanus so confidently proclaims 
his victory. Attention has already 
been directed to the peculiar mode of 
warfare pursued by yanus ^ namely, to 
its purely negative and destructive 
character. The third chapter bears 
the title of" Papal Infallibility," (pp. 31 
-346,) and hence we are led to expect 
a clear, authentic, and fair exposition 
of the doctrine in question, and then 
all other arguments which, either firom 
scripture and patristic authority or 
from history, could be brought to bear 
against such a doctrine. No reason- 
able man, much less a theologian, could 
object to such a mode of proceeding. 
The authors of yanus, wishing to cede 
to none in their loyal devotion to 
Catholic truth, could make ample use 
of that liberty of scientific discussion 
and historical investigation for or 
against the question of infallibility, 
and no charge of" radical aversion," as 
they seemed to apprehend, could be 
brought against their work. 

Since Janus openly avo^^bS&^wx- 



The Pope t 

pose of disproving the doctrine of in- 
fallibility, why does he not give such 
an explanation of it as is taught by 
its most able and acknowledged de- 
fenders ? What right has he lo 
produce a version of it to suit his 
own fancy? Why bring up argu- 
ments militating, indeed, against his 
cwn theory, but in nowise conclusive 
against the doctrine as laid down by 
its own exponents ? That it may not 
appear as if we made unfounded 
charges against yanus, we will subjoin 
his own definition and development 
of the doctrine lie sees fit to attack : 

" When we spcik of (he church, we mean 
the pope, says the Jesuit Gretser. Taken 
bjtitself as Iha community of ttelievers, clergy 
uid bishops, the church, according to Car- 
dinal Cajelan, is the slave of the pope." 

Apparently, our authors would make 
this the ultramontanist tenet : hence- 
forward the " rtglise c'esl moi" would 
be the genuine expression of papal 
in&Jhbiliiy. We know of no theolo- 
gian wlio sustains any such diesis as 
the above, and we had expected a 
reference to the authorities quoted ; 
but none is given, and we little heed 
the utterances attributed to them. 
Nothing, indeed, is easier than to place 
a question in a false point of view, 
either by exaggeration or misrepre- 
sentation, in ortler lo make it appear 
ludicrous and absurd. 

" It is a fundamental principle of the 
nltramonlane view thai, when we »peak of 
the church, ita rights and its action, we always 
mean the pope, and [he pope only. " (P. 31.) 

There is no treatise on the church 
in which any such definition is to be 
found, or any author who declares the 
pope alone to be the church, in any 
possible sense or conception. Janus 
delights to cite BcUarmine as one 
of sucli ultramontane view. Now, 
we confidently assert that nowhere 
ia his elaborate treatises on Ihe 



Roman jPbntiffoT the CAunh ATiftta 
any similar definition to the one I 
leged can be found. ^Vho a the 
who does not know that clear M 
concise notion given by Beliaiminc.: 
which he has been followed by \ 
standard works ? For he says, 

■' Nostra autcm lentenlia eit, Kede*ii 
unam el veiain esse occtuin honiinum eJBuI( 
Chrislianae fidei proft 
sacramenlorum commanionc ooltigiti 
rcgiminc legilumorum pastorum ac pr 
uniui Chrisli in tcnis Vicaiii Ronuui Poi 

ficis.'" 

" Our doctrine is, that theon« trsccha 
is that society of men which is bousd 
gcihcr !iy Ihe profession of the same 
lian faith under the govemmcnl oi their ta 
ful pastors, and especially of one view 
Christ on the earth, the Roman ponliK" 

The following passages would * 
hibit the ullramonlane doctrine 1 
infallibility and its consequences : 

" Cod has gone to ilecp, becatiM in | 
place his ever.wakeful and infallible vkvi 
earth rules, ixs lord of (he world, and dlcM 
tec of grace and punishment." (P. j2.) 

"Ilie inevituhle result of the ptfa^ 
would speeilily bring us lo ihis pnnt, II 
the essence of infallibilily ctmsitu in « 
pope's signature to a decree hastily 
up by a congregation or a single ih( " 
(Preface, xiv.) 

*■ Rome is an ccclesiaitical address r 
inr]uiry-onicc, or rather, a standing onN 
which can give al once an inflillible aoloti 
of every doubt, speculative and pradiiaL 
With ullramonlanes, the authority of Rag 
and Uie typical CKample of Roman mm 
and customs, are the embodiment of t 
moral and eccleiiaslica] law," (P. 35,) 

"What is called CaUiolidty can ndy. 
nitained in the eyes of the court nf Ro 
by every one translating himself and 
ideas, on every subject that has any eoiua 
lion with religion, into Italian." (P. jgr.y 

" Infallibility is a principle which wtt] f] 
lend its dominion over men's minds moi 
and more, lill it has coerced them into ant 
jeotion lo every papal pronounceaeiit I 
matters of religion, morals, potiUo^ ^B 
social science." 

"Every pope, however ignorant of ibi 
gy, will be free to make 
of his power of Jiigmalic 



Tif Pope and the Council, by J-amu. 



SOS 



erect his own thoughts into the common be- 
lief, binding on the whole church. " ( P. 39. ) 

"A papal decision, itself the result of a 
direct divine inspiration." 

•'Every other authority will pale beside 
the living oracle of the Tiber, which speaks 
with plenary inspiration." 

*• What use in tedious investigation of 
Scripture, what use in wasting time on the 
difficult study of tradition, which requires so 
many kinds of preliminary knowledge, when 
a single utterance of the infallible pope . . • 
and a telegraphic message becomes an 
axiom and article of faith ?" (P. 40.) 

•* And how will it be in the future ?*' asks 
Janus ; •* the rabbis say, on every apostro- 
phe in the Bible hang whole mountains of 
hidden sense, and this will apply equally to 
papal bulls." (P. 41.) 

We have been rather copious in our 
extracts from yanus in order to give 
him a fair hearing. The question 
which first presents itself to a candid 
mind is, Has yanus given a just and 
authentic explanation of the doctrine 
of infallibility? We answer most 
emphatically, No ! Never has a doc- 
trine been more unfairly represented 
than this " ultramontane" one by 
our authore. No one will choose to 
call it fair and equitable to disfigure 
and distort in divers ways the doctrine 
of an opponent, how much soever it 
may be against our own convictions. 
Those who make parade of their 
" scientific criticism" can least resort 
to such tactics with a view to seek 
popularity and win the smiles of the 
uninformed and ignorant among their 
readers, as the authors of yanus have 
done. Who would fain recognize this 
doctrine under the colors anfl shades 
of this portrait sketched by yanus f 
Bellarmine is the great champion of 
infallibility. (P. 318.) Yet, nowhere 
does this eminent divine teach that a 
papal decision is the result of divine 
inspiration, nor does he attribute to 
the pope any power of dogmatic crea- 
tivatess — much less that he can erect 
his own thoughts into universal belief 
binding the church. " The sovereign 



pontiff," says Bellarmme,* " when he 
teaches the universal church, cannot 
eiT either in his decrees of faith or in 
moral precepts which are binding on 
the whole chiu*ch, and in such things 
as are necessary to salvation and in 
themselves, that is, essentially good or 
evil." Another authority well known 
has the following dear eocposk of this 
question: "The subject-matter of 
such iireformable judgments of the 
sovereign pontiff is limited to ques- 
tions of dogmatic and moral import 
We distinguish a two-fold character 
in the pK)pe, namely, considering him 
as a private individual or doctor priva' 
tusy and by virtue of his office as chief 
pastor and as the universal doctor 
and teacher of all the faithful, ap- 
pointed by Christ. The pope is con- 
sidered as universal teacher when, 
using his public authority as the su- 
preme guide of the church, {sufremus 
ecclesia magister,) he proposes some- 
thing to the whole church, obliging 
all the faithful under anathema, or 
pain of heresy, to believe the article 
thus proposed with internal assent and 
divine faith. The pope when teach- 
ing under these conditions is said to 
speak ex cat/iedra. We do not here 
speak of the pope as an individual 
teacher, {doctor privat us ^ since every 
one agrees on this, that the pope, just 
as well as other men, is liable to err, 
and his judgment may be reversed.! 
Now, yanus does away with this 
distinction by comparing it to " wood- 
en iron " invented merely as an expe- 
dient hypothesis, whereas all theolo- 
gians of repute agree on this differ- 
ence, as well as on the essential con- 
ditions of the ex catJiedra decisions. 
If there be some difficulties and minor 
differences among theologians on pa- 
pal decrees, this by no means affects 
the value of this important and neces- 

• De Rotm. Pontif, lib. iil cappi a, 3, 5. 
t Tktol, Wirubiurg, torn. i. De Princijk. Direct, 
n. tga 



Ti» Pope audi tSiOuneil, by ^ 



saiy distinction itself. Even tlie de- 
dees of an cecumenical council may 
^ve rise to similar differences among 
theologians. It is nothing less than 
a falsehood on the part of yanas that 
the cause of this inerrancy claimed 
for the pope as universal teacher is 
due to direct divine and plenary in- 
spiration. All theglogians are unani- 
mous in asserting merely a i/ivrne as- 
sisfmicf to guard against error, just as 
the church herself is divinely guided 
by the Holy Spirit, promised by Christ 
to reside with her for ever. There can- 
not be any necessity for substituting 
inspiration or a new revelation, since 
the infallible niagisUrium in the church 
is exercised in the two-fold duty of 
teaching aiyi preserving nli those 
truths which she has received as a sa- 
cnii deposit from her divine Founder. 
Moreover, it is supposed that th e pope 
when issuing such decrees to the uni- 
versal church, binding all the faithful, 
proceeds with that caution and pru- 
dence which such weighty acts de* 
mand, that he has full liberty to assure 
himself of all human counsel and hu- 
man means to find the true and ge- 
nuine sense of Scripture and tradition. 
Alluding, therefore, to ignorant pifes 
making use of their power of dogma- 
tic creativeness and erecting their 
" own thoughts " into dogmas of faith, 
is an api>eal to prejudice and common- 
place mockery wholly unworthy of 
writers who would be admired for 
their calm and dignified scientific la- 
bors. Other opponents of papal in- 
fallibility have never gainsaid that 
at least this doctrine has always found 
many and able adherents, who have 
advanced strong arguments claiming 
the serious consideration of every 
theologian and thinking Christian, and 
therefore recommended by most re- 
spectable authority. But yowttjcomes 
forward to stamp this " ultramontane 
doctrine " with the stigma of absur- 
dity and ridicule, and declares its ad- 



vocates to be mtserabte sycophu 
devoid of all learning or honesty ( 
intention. (P. 320.) 

The references we have given ej 
hibit the doctrine of infallibility i 
such colors as scarcely to be rcofi 
nized, and all advocates of the da 
trine will repudiate such an unfair ai 
arbitrary statement. TTie cunning ii 
sinualion that infallibility invests tl 
popes with personal sajictiiy and i 
tegrity of morals, is no less captio) 
and shallow. To what purpose tha 
tirades on the private lives of tf 
popes, or the extravagances of Ae C 
ria, and the administrative measut 
ofthecivilgovcmment.etc. ? ThcsO{ 
position as though the whole chui " 
that is, all the faithful, would have t 
accept falsehood for truth, vice 1 
virtue, is a play of yanu/i im 
tion. For those who uphold [ 
infallibility exclude the possibility *q 
such an issue on account of ih« it 
mate union necessarily cjiisdog 1 
tween the church and its q>irita 
head. According to the promises a 
Christ, that unions-cm inently one a 
faith — will never be severed, rinc 
Christ himself commanded this obi 
dience of the flock to Peter and h 
successors. It cannot for a tnooia 
be supposed that the wise Lord 4 
his vineyard sanctioned an obligat 
to accept falsehood for truth, or vi< 
for virtue. The infallible magister. 
of the church would be fatally ct 
promised if the faithful were coa 
manded by lawful authority to m 
interior assent to a false doctmi 
So much for the intrinsic fakehooi 
of the hypothesis of yanus. Yet fa 
attempts to surround it with an auth( 
ritative garb by citing Bellamiine a 
maintaining " that if the pope were A 
err by prescribing sins and forbiddinj 
virtues, the church would be bound I 
consider sins good and virtues evi 
unless shd chose to sin against coi 
science." (P. 318.) 



Ths Pope and the Omncil^ by yattus. 



507 



Who does not at once see this ter- 
rible alternative by which yanus tri- 
umphantly proves from the author 
quoted "that whatever doctrine it 
pleases the pope to prescribe, the 
church must receive '* ? Having the 
work of Bellarmine before oiur eyes, 
with the above passage in the con- 
text, we were greatly amazed, to say 
the least, to see how the eniire pro- 
position conveys just the very oppo- 
site meaning of what yanus would 
induce his readers to believe. Here 
is the argument in question : 

"The pope cannot err in teaching doc- 
trines of faith, nor is he liable to err in giv- 
ing moral precepts binding the whole church 
in matters of essential good and evil For 
if this were the case, that is, if the pope err- 
ed in matters of essential good or evil, he 
would necessarily err also in faith ; for Ca- 
tholic faith teaches that every virtue is good 
and every vice evil. Now, if the pope erred 
by commanding vices or prohibiting virtues, 
the church would be bound to believe vices 
good and virtues evil, unless she chose to 
sin against conscience." * 

Bellarmine's meaning evidently is 
that such an issue becomes impossi- 
ble. This reductio ad absurdum, or 
showing to what contradiction a de- 
nial of his thesis would lead, has been 
exhibited by our authors as a bona 
fide tenet of Bellarmine! The pas- 
sage itself is partly transcribed with 
minute reference, so that it is beyond 
the courtesy of even a mild critique 
to exonerate yanus from the charge 
of deliberate dishonesty in this in- 
stance. 

Hitherto we have confined ourselves 
to a critical examination of a doctrine 
against which yanus directs his as- 
saults. In the first place, we submit- 
ted his version of the same, and after- 
ward the authentic explanation by 
those whom our authors acknowledge 
to be its most able exponents. The 
inevitable conclusion which forces it- 
self on every mind is, that yanus has 

* J^t Rom. Pontif. lib. iv. cap. 5. edit Venet i vol. 
P" 779. 



developed the doctrine of infallibili- 
ty to suit his own fancy, and conse- 
quently the arguments he brings for- 
ward, supposing them true for discus- 
sion's sake, would indeed undermine 
the position assumed by himself, but 
in no way affect the genuine one 
propounded by his opponents. In 
order to make good his arguments 
firom church history and canonical 
sources against the stand-point taken 
by the acknowledged advocates of 
infallibility, these three conditions must 
be verified, ist That the pope acted 
in his capacity of universal teacher, 
using his public authority as supreme 
head of the church; 2d. That his 
judgments appertain to matters of 
doctrinal belief and moral law neces- 
sary to salvation. 3. That he proposes 
such things to the faithful, under pain 
of heresy, to be believed with interior 
assent as of divine faith, that is, a re- 
vealed truth. There is the simple issue 
between yanus and his adversaries. 
Has he advanced one single decree 
of any pope, invested with these essen- 
tial conditions, obliging to believe false- 
hood and heresy or commanding to 
commit an evil and absolutely vicious 
action under the name of virtue? 
We doubt whether any candid and 
discriminating historian will maintain 
that yanus has accomplished any 
such task. However, that the reader 
may not suspect us of narrowing the 
domain of papal infallibility, we will 
quote a passage fi-om an able and 
warm adherent of this doctrine, whose 
writings are well known as by no 
means liable to any suspicion of un- 
der-statement : 

'* In the case of any given document, we 
have to consider, from the context and cir- 
cumstances, which portion of it expresses such 
doctrine ; for many statements, even doctri- 
nal, may be introduced, not as authorita- 
tive determinations, but in the way of argu- 
ment and illustration. Many papal pro- 
nouncements, though they may introduce 
doctrinal reasons, "ytl «j^ iio\. ^ocVccasl ^^^ 



5o8 



The Pope and the Council, by ymms. 



nooncements at all, bat disciplinary enact- 
ments ; the pope*s immediate end in issuing 
them is, not that certain things may be be- 
lieved, but that certain things may be done. 
If the doctrinal reasons, even for a doctrinal 
declaration, are not infallible, much less can 
infallibility be claimed for the doctrinal rea^ 
sons of a disciplinarian enactment Then 
again, the pope may give some doctrinal de- 
cision as head of the church, and yet not as 
universal teacher. Some individual may ask 
at his hands, and receive, practical direction 
on the doctrine to be followed in a particu- 
lar case, while yet the pope has no thought 
whatever of determining the question for the 
whole church and for all time. Much less, 
as Benedict XIV. remarks, does the fact of 
his acting officially on some moral opinion 
fix on it the seal of infallibility as certainly 
true. Nor, lastly, can any conclusive infe- 
rence be drawn in lavor of some doctrinal 
practice, from the fact of its not having been 
censured or prohibited. The pontiff of the 
day, whether from intellectual or moral de- 
fect may even omit censures and prohibi- 
tions which are greatly desirable in the 
churches interest, or enact laws of an unwise 
and prejudicial character." * 

As we have already insinuated, 
Jxi/tus makes this infallibility extend 
to the private conduct of the popes, 
to their particular sayings and to all 
other things which were merely pre- 
liminary steps to their official mea- 
sures. Now, it is certain, as is fre- 
quently urged by ultramontanes, that 
the pope, in becoming pope, docs not 
cease to be a man, and to have his 
own private opinions, and not being 
infallible in these, by the very force 
of terms, they may be erroneous. 

What we might thus far have con- 
ceded to yantis without great injury 
to the doctrine he opposes, we now 
proceed to question, and examine this 
"history of the hypothesis of papal 
infallibility, from its first beginnings 
to the end of the sixteenth century." 

• Tk€ AnikorUy ^ Doctrmai Dtcuhnt, By Dr. 
Ward. Pp. sOi 5>« 



He has indeed resuscitated weighty 
questions, and not unfirequently anti- 
quated difficulties which we could 
point out from works printed for three 
hundred years and more. In order 
to be brief and dear, we shall begin 
with the alleged "forgeries'* upon 
which yanus insists throughout his 
book, and thereafter interrogate his- 
tory as to the many " papal errors," 
usurpations, and encroachments. 

Note.-— The terms "feith," "here- 
sy," and ^ under anathema," in the 
foregoing article, must be understood 
in their general and not their restricted 
sense. That is to say, whenever the 
pope declares or defines any thing 
which is to be believed with absolute 
interior assent, this is to be consider- 
ed as belonging to faith, whether it 
be technically a proposition dejide^ or 
one which is only virtually and im- 
plicitly contained in a dogma. So, 
also, when he condemns an opinion 
which is indirectly and virtually con- 
trary to a dogma of faith, this con- 
demnation is of equal authority with 
the condemnation of an opinion tech- 
nically called heretical. The anathe- 
ma need not be formally expressed, 
or a special censure annexed, if it is 
made manifest that all Catholics are 
forbidden to hold the opinion con- 
demned under pain of grievous sin. 
The monition of the Council of the 
Vatican at the end of the decree on 
Catholic faith expressly enjoins on all 
Catholics the duty of rejecting not 
only all heresies, that is, opinions in 
point- blank contradiction to the dog- 
mas of Catholic faith, but all errors 
approaching more or less to heresy 
which are condemned by the holy 
see. — Editor of Catholic World. 

TO BB OONTINUBO. 



The Young Vermonters. 



509 



THE YOUNG VERMONTERS. 



CHAPTER VI. 



A NEW ADVENTURE. 



All went on quietly with our 
young Vermonters for a long time. 
They were engaged in close attention 
to their studies, in the regular routine 
of school duties and recreations of 
the play-ground, until late in Au- 
gust, when the peaceful current was 
again disturbed by the restiessness of 
Frank Blair; and it happened in this 
wise. 

In the vicinity of the village lived 
a farmer whom the boys had named 
Old Blue Beech, from his fondness for 
using a rod of that description over 
the backs of lawless juveniles whom he 
caught trespassing on his premises. 
Now, this farmer was very skilful 
in cultivating choice fruit, and spared 
no expense or labor in that depart- 
ment ; rejoicing in an orchard which 
he held in higher estimation than 
any other earthly possession, and 
which was an object of greedy envy 
to the village urchins, who indulged 
an inveterate spite and aversion 
against him, without really knowing 
why or stopping to inquire. They 
seemed to imagine that his keeping 
guard over his cherished treasures 
justified them in making frequent 
incursions, and waging a perpetual 
warfare of petty annoyances against 
him. 

It so happened this year that he 
had several early pear and apple- 
trees, of rare and excellent varieties, 
in bearing for the first time, and well 
laden with most tempting fruit, now 
nearly ripe. 

Frank Blair set his wits about in- 
venting some plan by which he and 



his comrades could possess them* 
selves of this fruit without detection. 
He formed and dismissed many 
schemes, at length devising one that 
he thought could be safely carried 
out. Accordingly, on a certain cloudy 
evening an assemblage of the boys— 
among whom I am sorry to say were 
Mike Hennessy and Johnny Hart — 
met by appointment in a grove near 
the farm, and from which to the or- 
chard a strip of woodland extended, 
furnishing a convenient hiding-place, 
to accomplish the project. 

It never entered their heads that 
stealing this fruit was just as much a 
theft as to steal one of the farmer's 
horses. Nothing could have tempt- 
ed one of their number to steal, and 
any confectioner in the village might 
have spread his most tempting stores 
unguarded before them without los- 
ing so much as a comfit ; so sacredly 
would they have held his right to his 
own. But boys have a most per- 
verse and wicked mode of reasoning 
about fruit. They cannot be made to 
regard it as the property of the per- 
son who has expended much money 
and many years of patient labor to 
produce it ; and while these boys would 
have shuddered at the thought of 
purloining the farmer's gold watch 
or his silver spoons, which, perhaps, 
he would sooner have parted with, 
they did not scruple to rob him of 
what he had taken infinite pains to 
cultivate for his own benefit. 

On this occasion our young marau- 
ders had furnished themselves with 
bags and baskets, in which to deposit 
their plunder; and as the night ad- 
vanced, they proceeded through the 
woods to the orchard very cautiously, 
pausing every few ste^ X.o \^\fiSi '^ 



510 



The Yenfig Vermotiteft. 



any movement was to be heard. As 
all was quiet, they hoped the family 
in the farm-house were asleep. After 
they had gathered most of the pears 
and a large portion of the apples, 
they were startled by the low growl 
of a dog at some distance. 

" I wonder if the old chap keeps a 
watch-dog?" said Frank. They lis- 
tened in perfect silence for some time, 
hardly daring to breathe ; but hearing 
nothing further, set about their task 
with renewed energy, and were all 
engaged in stowing away the apples, 
when suddenly a glare of light from 
a large dark-lantem was thrown full 
upon the feces of the whole party, 
at the same moment revealing the 
buriy form of farmer Brown, and 
his Frenchman, leading a powerful 
watch-dog by a chain. At the in- 
stftnt the farmer turned the light upon 
them, he said sternly, *' Any boy that 
attempts to stir from the spot, I will 
let the dog loose after him, and I 
warrant he'll be glad to come back in 
a hurry !" 

The boys needed no such warning. 
They were taken so entirely by sur- 
prise that they could not move. The 
fanner made a low bow, and said with 
mock courtesy, 

" I am very much obliged to you, 
young gentlemen, for your kind assis- 
tance in gathering my fruit, though 
you selected rather an unseasonable 
hour for performing the service. Your 
bags and baskets will repay me, how- 
ever, for my broken rest. It is a 
pity such friendly labors should go 
unrewarded, and 1 shall take pains 
to inform your fathers of them to- 
morrow morning, that they may be- 
stow the recomjicnsc you have so well 
earned." 

With that he gathered together the 
bags and baskets of fruit, saying, 
"Good-night, you young dogs! The 
next lime you undertake lo steal fruit, 
I advise you to find out first how 



the qrchard is guarded, and 
there's a dog on the premises stroni 
and swil\er of foot than youisclvcti 
and departed. 

A more chap-fallen crew than 
leit behind him cannot well be i 
agined ! They started for the *i!k 
by the most direct route, as ih 
was no further need of concealmc 
and for a long time the silence 
their rapid homeward march was i 
broken. At length the wrath 
Frank Blair found utterance. 

"The mean old hunks! ' 
have thought of his keeping th 
sneaking Frenchman on guard th 
way ? If it hadn't been for the di^ 
I would have shown 6ght, and th< 
shouldn't have carried off the pn 
without some broken noses; but 
knew it was no use to pitch into 
fight with that fierce dog against n 
He's an old milksop to depend on 
dog for help," 

The boys made no reply, ag 
Frank saw he had gained no renov 
by this adventure. He fell hi 
ashamed of the whole affair, while 
innate sense of justice a^ured h 
and his companions that the 
had a right to defend his own 
perty by any means within his 

They all betook themselves to n 
with no enviable feelings. Some i 
them, who feared to disturb tJicir i 
milics, were glad to lie on the hay 
the bam. 

In the morning they trudged off i 
school in good season, with ma 
gloomy forebodings as to what W 
in store for them. About the mi 
die of the forenoon, Mr. Blair 
his appearance accompanied by 
farmer, and informed the teacher i 
the attempt to rob the orchard, » 
that he had requested Mr. Browa 
come with him to identify the o 
prits. 

Mr, Brown selected them ooe 1 
one, and, as each was pointed mit. 



TAs Young VerffwnUrt^ 



$n 



had to rise and take his place in the 
middle of the school-room. 

When they were all arranged there, 
with Frank at their head, Mr. Blair 
delivered a sharp reprimand to them, 
not failing to intimate that nothing 
but futiu^ ruin was in store for the 
country if Yankee boys allowed them- 
selves to be drawn into disgrace- 
ful rows and thieving expeditions by 
a set of Irish blackguards, and wind- 
ing up by severe threats against those 
of this company in particular, and all 
" foreign scum " in general. 

After a short consultation between 
the teacher and Mr. Blair, it was an- 
nounced that the punishment of the 
offenders would be left to Mr. Brown. 

The farmer then stated that he 
had advised with his wife, and, as he 
had been pretty severe upon such 
culprits hitherto, without much effect, 
they had decided to take another 
course now. 

" So, young gentlemen," he added, 
''she has authorized me to present 
her compliments to the school, and 
request all but the boys who were 
engaged in this transaction to come 
with the principal early on Satiurday 
morning next, to pass the day with 
us. I have two boats engaged, with 
abundant fishing-tackle, for those who 
prefer the water, and fowling-pieces 
for the woods, where game is plenty ; 
so you can take your choice of sports 
on land or water. I promise you a 
plentiful feast of the fruit which these 
youngsters kindly gathered." 

The teacher p>olitely accepted the 
invitation on behalf of himself and 
the scholars, and the farmer, after 
again reminding them to come early 
in the day, departed with Mr. Blair. 

The feelings of the excluded boys 
may be imagined, and the teacher 
gave them such touching advice in 
relation to the enticements and temp- 
tations of boyhood — speaking like 
one who remembered he had himself 



been a boy — that they doubted more 
than ever the fun of " tip-top times," 
and the wisdom of following leaders 
like Frank Blair. 

CHAPTER VII. < 

AN UNWELCOME INTRUDER. 

The next morning as the scholars 
collected, they found Frank Blair and 
several of the excluded boys in the 
play-ground, grouped together in close 
discussion. When they approached, 
Frank called out exultingly, 

" I give you fellows joy of your se- 
lect party to-morrow ! Joe Bundy is 
to be one of the company." 

This Joe Bundy, whose mother died 
in the poor-house some years before, 
was a vile, depraved boy, somewhat 
older than the subjects of our narra- 
tive, who never came to school, lead- 
ing an idle, vagabond life, and so 
heartily despised by the boys on ac- 
count of his vagrant habits and thiev- 
ish propensities that they would have 
nothing to do with him. They heard 
with great surprise and indignation, 
therefore, that he was among the in- 
vited on this occasion, for his charac- 
ter was well known to the farmer. 

In explanation of this singular cir- 
cumstance, a fact, not made known 
to them rnitil long after these events, 
may as well be communicated here. 
On the night when our heroes set out 
to rob the orchard, it so chanced that 
Joe Bundy had entered upon a simi- 
lar exploit on his own account, and 
was concealed in the grove where he 
overheard their conversation, and, sud> 
denly relinquishing his own plan, has- 
tened to inform the farmer, the result 
of which report has been ahready re- 
lated. Mr. Brown was so well pleas- 
ed that he included the informer 
among the invited, though he knew 
he was a bad boy and disliked by all 
the others. 



TAg Yifung Vermonters. 



,t noon on that day, Joe saw Mi- 
Shad Hennessy, and called out, " Hal- 
lo, Mike 1 don't you wish you was 
going to the farm with the rest of us ? 
Such precious fun as we shall have, 
and sights of good eating, too ! An't 
you sorry you can't go ?" 

" No, I'm not !" said Michael ; " I 
wouldn't go any way, if you were to 
be there !" 

Joe turned off, muttering something 
in a sullen undertone, and casting a 
malignant glance at Michael. 

At the close of school in the after- 
noon, the teacher told the scholars to 
meet him at the school-house (he next 
morning, that they might all set out 
together. Bright and early on as tine 
a morning as could be desired, did 
the merry company gather, with no- 
thing but ihe absence of those who 
were generally foremost in their fro- 
lics, and the presence of Joe Bundy, 
to mar their pleasure. 

After a delightful walk, they were 
greeted at the farm-house with a hear- 
ty welcome, and found every possible 
arrangement made for their enjoy- 
Some betook themselves to the 
boats provided with me.ins for fish- 
ing. Others, armed with fowling- 
pieces, sought the woods in quest of 
partridges, squirrels, and other game 
of the season ; while a few strolled off 
to a sequestered pond, where wild 
ducks abounded, and where a small 
duck-boat was provided to aid in se- 
curing the spoils. 

At the proper time they were sum- 
moned to partake of an excellent din- 
ner ; and so swift had been the flight 
of the hours that they could hardly 
believe the forenoon was gone. At 
the close of a sumptuous feast and 
dessert, they were regaled with an 
abundant supply of the captured fruit, 
to all of which their fine appetites pre- 
pared them to do ample justice. 

The whole day was so replete with 



mirth, frolic, and sunshine that they 
saw the time for their return diaw'tof 
near with regret. 

IVheu they left, Mrs. Brown disni- 
buted to each a portion of the frint 
for tlieir mothers and sisters, and Ub 
Brown invited them to come Aga 
late in the fall, to gather auts it 
abounded in the woods. 

They could talk of nothing on thd 
way home but the kindness of goa 
Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and the in 
dents and pleasures of the 'day ; t 
teacher taking occasion to contn 
such innocent and simple dcligb 
with the wild excitements and Uwle 
frolics in which boys are too a{>t I 
seek for enjoyment. 

CHAPTER VI 11. 

MISFORTUNE AND OKI 

When the scholars assembled ( 
Monday morning, the first news tl 
heard was (hat Mr. Brown's splcnifi 
and valuable watch -dog had. be 
poisoned, and died on Saturday nig 

Mr. Brown had obtained evida 
so convincing against Michael Hct 
nessy as to cause his arrest. 

Great was the indignation of hi 
young friends, and unanimi 
declarations that they knew 
did not do it. 

" A great deal more like that haM 
ful Joe Bundy," said one 

" Oh ! it couldn't be him," said a 
ther ; " for he was one of the pa 
and of course it wasn't he. If b 
hadn't been invited, he might hftt 
done it out of spite; but now he h 
no object" 

Various were the conjectures ■: 
discussions at school and in the wk 
neighborhood, 

I'he trial was on Tuesday, and 1 
Blair was the prosecuting att 
llie vil!' e apothecary testified- 4 
on the I'liday previous Mic' 




The Young Vemumters. 



5x3 



>urchased some poison of him, 
anting that his mother sent him 

poison rats. A neighbor of 
-own's alleged that he saw Mi- 
)assing his residence in thfij'oad 
urday afternoon, and Joe Bun- 
rred that he saw him prowling 

1 tlie farm buildings about the 
idicated by the last witness. 

. Hennessy testified that she 
lichael for the poison to kill 
ts that infested their premises, 
ennessy said he had mended a 
eel for a person who lived just 
1 Mr. Brown's, and sent Mi- 
lome with it on Saturday after- 

Blair accepted the evidence of 

rents, and urged the probability 

portion of the poison had been 

id by the lad as an instrument 

spite against Mr. Brown, for 

)plication of which the errand 

which he was dispatched fur- 

an opportunity. 

set forth every circumstance 

►rable to poor Michael in the 

est possible light, blending with 

;ument such reflections and as- 

s upon the character and train- 

the children of foreign parent- 

; could not fail to influence a 

iced jury. 

withstanding an able defence, 
ry, after a short consultation, 
id a verdict of "guilty," and 
el was sentenced for twelve 
s to the reform-school, 
hing could exceed the grief and 
ation of his comrades, or the 
thy of the whole village with 
Mr. and Mrs. Hennessy. Mi- 
stoudy protested his innocence, 
here were but very few who 
id it; but his father, whose 
was very poor and his family 
was not able to risk an appeal 
ligher court, which would pro- 
after all, confirm the decision, 
like was not willing to have 
VOL. XL—ss 



him. So they prepared, with heavy 
hearts, for the separation. 

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Sullivan to 
her neighbor Mrs. Mellen — " indeed, 
it's a sore thing to be put upon two 
such decent people, through the ha- 
tred of that miserable old Blair against 
an Irishman's boy, and him as in- 
nocent as the child in his mother's 
arms!" 

" You knew them before they came 
here, I have heard," said Mrs. Mel- 
len, who had not lived long in the 
place. 

"They came over on the vessel 
with us, and were firom the next coun- 
ty at home; and this was the way 
of it: 

" The two brothers, Pat and Mike 
Hennessy, married two sisters, Mary 
and Bridget Denver. They were de- 
cent tradesmen as any in the two 
counties, and were well enough to 
do until the hard times came, when 
old Ireland saw her poor children 
starving on every side so that it would 
melt the heart of a stone, or any thing 
softer than an English landlord's, to 
hear tell of it. Well, in the midst of 
the famine, Mike agreed that he'd 
come to America, and prepare a place 
against Patrick should come with Mary 
and Bridget. So when he left them, 
Pat set to get all he could together by 
selling his bits of furniture and things, 
and when times grew worse and worse, 
he would not delay, but took Mary 
with her baby of a week old, and Brid- 
get, and came, as I said, on the vessel 
with us; and, by the same token, the 
ship's name was the Hibemia. A 
good name with a rough fortune, like 
the dear old land; for the weather 
was boisterous fix)m first to last, and 
when we had been out four days, the 
most awful storm arose, that you'd 
think heaven and earth was comin* 
together. And in the midst of it 
what does poor Bridget do b\xt ^ckecL 
and die witb the t^t, Veactm^Ysot 



The Youttg Vennenten. 



bttle baby ; but it followed its mo- 
ther [hat same night which was God's 
blessing on it, poor motherless thing, 
seein' it was baptized by a priest we 
had on board, and who attended Brid- 
get at the last. 

" When we reached Boston, no tid- 
ings was to be heard of Mike; so 
Pat staid there hopin' to get news of 
him, and we came on to Vermont, 
where Sullivan's sister's husband came 
the year before. 

" After a white Pat heard that the 
vessel Mike sailed on was struck by 
an iceberg, and went down with all on 
board; and it was called the Polar 
Queen, a name no knowledgeable 
man would have put on a vessel, in 
respect of them same icebergs, that 
would naturally enough claim their 
own. 

"So when Pat heard these news, 
and he not finding such work as he 
wuitcd, seein' it was very costly 
living in the city, they started for 
the ^Vest ; but hearing at Albany 
that the cholera was ragiti' there, they 
turns and they follows us to Vermont, 
thinking, poor creatures ! that it would 
be some comfort to be near those who 
knew of all their troubles. The church 
was then a building, and Mr. Wingate 
gave him work on it, and has been 
the best of friends to him ever since, 
and he has never wanted for employ- 
ment; but lately his health is poor, 
and I'm afeered this grief will kill him 
entirely, and indeed my heart is scald- 
ed for them, bcin' that we're all as one 
family, and their sorrowisoursorrow." 



AFFLICTED AND CONSOLED. 

When the morning appointed for 
the departure of Michael arrived, the 
whole school assembled to accompany 
him to the depot, and take leave of 
him. I'he teacher gave him much 



good advice, and exhorted him t 
conform closely to all the rules of ih 
institution, adding, " And I haw 11 
doubt you will, Michael ; for you ha 
always been a good, attentive, t 
obedient scholar," 

The parting with his parents t 
the children was inexpressibly painfq 
but for their sakes he bore up c 
fully under it, cheering them tvilh b 
words, and suppressing his grief u 
the dear home with all its < ' 
associations was no longer in i 
Oh I how bitterly and flismally cUd l! 
heavy grief he had so struggled %' 
and tried so heroically to % 
then press upon him ; he stilt chok) 
it down until he was ready to SI 
and then the weary scuse of desol 
tion, of cruel injustice, and of a hOM 
sickness which made the sight oC 
year's separation from all he Iov( 
that was now staring him in the £m 
seem an age of insupportable sqito 
rushed upon hira with overwbdini 
power, and found rehef iu Ooods ; 
teats. 

The officer who had him in cha^ 
tried to soothe and cheer himj as^ 
ing him that it was a very | 
place to which he was going, and tl 
he would l>e treated with the atDH 
kindness if he behaved well. But «t 
was the kindness of strangers to f 
tenderness of dear parents from wtic 
he had never t>efore t>een sep; 
What could the place t>e to li)| 
though ever so comfortable, to wbi 
he was consigned, in his innocenccvi 
a disgraced felon ? 

No I there was no comfort for hu) 
and again the convulsive sobs shot 
his whole frame, and the pride of \ 
honest Irish heart rebelled against ll 
injustice of his cruel fate ; when sa 
dcnly he remembered the wonis ) 
dear mother whispered softly, aaoA 
sighs and tears, at parting, " R.eO(!| 
ber, darling 1 rememtier (ho lovi| 
Jesus! and how he sutTcred, betogi 



The Young Vermonters. 



515 



nocent, for our sins. When you are 
tempted to despair, fly to the wound 
in his sacred heart, ever open to re 
ceive and comfort the broken-hearted, 
and you will surely find comfort and 
peace." From that moment he be- 
came calm. He sought that dear 
refuge, and hid himself there from 
the storm that was raging within and 
without 

He had always been a warm-heart- 
ed boy, an affectionate, generous, and 
dutiful son and brother ; but now he 
reproached himself that he had never 
prized his dear ones at half their value, 
or loved them with any thing ap- 
proaching to the degree of affection 
which they deserved. Oh ! if he could 
only be with them again, how would 
he strive to show his love by the most 
entire devotion, and the most diligent 
efforts to assist and sustain them. 

Then how did the memory of the 
wild frolics in which he had joined, 
and for which he had even neglected 
his religious duties, come back like 
accusing spirits to whisper to his af- 
flicted heart that it was just he should 
be punished: 

After a few hours' ride, they reached 
the place of their destination, and the 
principal, a venerable old man with 
a most benevolent countenance and 
manner, received Michael very kindly, 
even tenderly. 

With strong efforts the poor lad 
was able to maintain his composure 
until he prepared for his bed at night, 
when the same dark sense of desola- 
tion overwhelmed him, as recollections 
of his dear home, and the kneeling 
circle, where his place was to be so 
long vacant, pressed upon him; but 
the thought of how fondly he would 
be remembered in their united prayers 
this and every other night poured a 
ray of light upon his stricken soul. 
Again recalling his mother's words, he 
knelt by his bedside, commending him- 
self and all his beloved and afSicted 



ones to his Saviour, and to the pray- 
ers of the tender Virgin Mother who 
never forsakes her children ; and then 
slept the peaceful sleep of a tired, ex- 
hausted child on that maternal bosom. 

The next morning he was duly in- 
structed in the routine of his present 
position, and soon found that the most 
diligent attention to its duties served 
to relieve the crushing weight which 
seemed to be pressing the very life- 
blood firom his young heart. After a 
few days, he won approving smiles 
from the prmcipal, who was as ready 
to appreciate the merits of those under 
his charge as he was to reprove their 
faults. 

The Saturday after Michael's arrival, 
the devoted bishop of the diocese 
visited the institution, and heard the 
confessions of the Catholic members. 
This was an unspeakable consolation 
to Michael ; and his heart felt lighter 
than he had thought it ever would 
agam after he had poured the tale of 
all its sins and all its sorrows into that 
paternal ear. The bishop had obtain- 
ed permission for the Catholic boys 
to attend mass at their own chapel in 
the place, and at his recommendation 
they were placed under Michael's care 
to and firom the church. 

Some of these were very wild, reck- 
less boys, hardened in vice and iniquity, 
and disposed to " poke fun " at the 
" new prig," as they called Michael. 

At first, when he was saying his 
prayers, they would shoot peas at him, 
flip buttons in his face, and even re- 
peat portions of prayers in mocking 
derision. But he paid no heed to 
them. After a few days, two or three 
others knelt to their prayers at night 
and morning, and then he obtained 
permission from the principal to recite 
the beads with these at night. It was 
not long before they were joined by 
every Catholic boy in the dormitory. 

There is a woiderful vi^ot ^xA 
tenacity in theUfe ouiCaticw^xc^oiOcv^ 



The Young Vermonters. 



— our Mighty Mother, ever ancient, 
evernew — imparts. Whetiibyourown 
fault, we seem to have quenched the 
last spark of living fire which she 
kindled upon tlic altar of our hearts, 
a passing breath from heaven wafted 
gently through a fitting word kindly 
spoken, or the voice of hymn or prayer 
over the dying embers on the almost 
abandoned shrine, will awaken the 
flame anew, and draw the wanderer 
back to the forsaken source of life, of 
light, and of warmth. 

It was very consoling to Michael to 
witness this returning vitality in the 
hearts of his unfortunate companions ; 
and they soon became so fond of him 
as to seek his advice and confide all 
their troubles to him. The influ- 
ence he thus acquired was a great re- 
lief to the principal. It was no lon- 
ger necessary for him to exercise un- 
ceasing vigilance over these, who had 
been among the most turbulent boys 
under his care, to prevent violent out- 
breaks; for they were now the most 
diligent, attentive, and orderly mem- 
bers of the establishment. 

And Michael's efforts brought their 
own reward to himself. The con- 
sciousness of being useful to others 
brought cheerfulness to his heart, and 
lent new wings to old time, whose 
flight had at firet been so heavy and 
slow; so that at the end of the itrst 
month he was surprised to find how 
swiftly it had flown. 

CHAPTER r. 

THE nviNC PiNiTewT's 



There were many sad hearts in the 

village of M , outside of Michael 

Hennessy's home, on the day of his 
departure. The event cast a gloom 
over the whole village; for his bright, 
sunny face was a joy to many of its 
residents, and there seemed to be a 
ray of light stiickw out when he de- 
parted. 



His young companions could 
longer enjoy the sports of the pkj^ 
ground ; but might be seen gaiheral 
in quiet groups discussing and tameilb- 
ing the loss of their joyous comrail& 
None mourned for him more tha^ 
Frank Blair; forhis grief over tfacab^ 
sence of a loved school-mate was inj 
creased by the part his (aihcr had 
taken in bringing it about, HesawtlN 
time approaching for his own depots 
ture, to take his place in the oxtA 
school, with a sullen apathy that 
alarmed his mother and airni, and 
repeatedly expressed his indiilerence 
as to whether he should ever return. 

to M . ^* 

\Mien Michael had been abs«4 
about two months, Joe Buody rctunfei 

ed to M from one of his frequent 

distant rambles ; and soon after his »■ 
turn was taken very ilL The phyacio! 
pronounced it a very malignant caM. 
of the small-pox, and had him rvmov^ 
ed to a building quite out of the vil> 
lage.^ He was so generally di*lil»d 
that it was difficult to find any one 10 
take care of him; but when Mn. 
Hennessy heard of it, she, offered Uk 
go if Mrs. Sullivan would look afitf 
her house ; her oldest daughter, Janq 
being old enough to get along with «, 
little direction. She accordingly wen^' 
and found him much worse thaa did 
expected, and suffering intensely. A^ 
soon as he saw her, he became bo> 
violently agitated that she thought he 
was delirious, and the impression 
confirmed by his pleading in ihcnxNt, 
moving terms for her forgiveness, aad 
that she would send for the pria^ 
when he had always been a Protec- 
tant. She tried to soothe him ; bat' 
he only begged the more earnestly, 
and assured her that he was not il^ 
lirious. So when the physician camc^ 
she requested him to send Mr. HcB'' 
nessy for the priest. 

Upon the arrival of the reverend 
lather, Uie young man, to his great 



The Young Vermanters. 



5x7 



surprise, begged to be admitted into 
the Catholic Church. 

The priest, having satisfied himself 
as to his dispositions, and imparted the 
necessar}' instruction, administered 
conditional baptism, and then heard 
his confession. At its close Joe re- 
peated a portion to Mrs. Hennessy ; 
and the fact was then disclosed to her 
that he had poisoned the dog and per- 
jured himself to gratify his anger at 
Michael's scornful remark, and his 
spiteful feelings toward a boy who was 
so generally beloved. 

The physician coming in soon after, 
the same information was conveyed to 
him ; and he made no delay in com- 
municating it to Mr. Hennessy, that 
he might act upon it at once. 

The news flew like wild-fire through 
the village; and great were the re- 
joicings on every hand. The school- 
boys were frantic with joy ; and the 
teacher announced that the day of 
Michael's return should be celebrated 
by a holiday of triumphant exultation 
and welcome to their returning fiiend. 

Measures were instituted for Mi- 
chael's immediate release; and the 
people could hardly await the neces- 
sary course of legal formalities. 

Meantime poor Joe grew worse; 
and after improving those last few 
days of suffering by manifesting such 
penitence as the time and the circum- 
stances would allow, and receiving 
from the priest those consolations 
which the church extends to penitent 
sinners, he died. 

Upon examining his few effects, a 
roll of counterfeit bills was discovered; 
and it was conjectured that his last 
journey was made to procure them, 
as he had told Mrs. Hennessy that he 
supposed he took the small-pox on a 
recent visit to Canada. 

When the papers were ready, Mr. 



Blair claimed the privilege of going 
after Michael. He reproached him- 
self so bitterly for his own injustice 
that he could not do enough to mani- 
fest his regret 

A larger crowd was never assem- 
bled in the village than met at the 

depot in M on the evening of 

his arrival with his young companion. 
They were greeted with joyful cheers, 
repeated again and again; and Mr. 
Blair led Michael to his father, saying, 
" Let me congratulate you, Mr. Hen- 
nessy, on being able to claim such a 
son. During the short time he has 
been away, among strangers and 
under most unfavorable circumstan- 
ces, he has established a character 
that any young man might envy ; and 
it was truly touching to witness the 
grief of his unfortunate young com- 
panions at parting with him. The 
principal also passed the highest en- 
comiums upon his conduct. Allow 
me also to express to this assemblage 
of my fellow-townsmen my sincere 
regret that I should have had any part 
in his unjust conviction, and allowed 
myself to be governed by prejudices, 
too common m om country, which I 
now lay aside for ever. There are 
good and bad people among natives 
and foreigners ; and the man exhibits 
but little good sense who passes sweep- 
ing condemnations upon either." 

The school-boys, with their teacher 
at the head, formed a procession to 
escort Michael to his father's house; 
and a happier circle was not to be 
found in Verftiont than the one that 
knelt around Mr. Hennessy's family 
altar that night, to return fervent 
thanksgivings to heaven for having 
permitted the separated to be again 
and so speedily reunited! 

TO BB CONTINVBa 



TEN YEARS IN ROME. • 



Rome, the city of the soul ! Who 
is there that does not nowadays feel 
his thoughts turning almost involun- 
tarily to the seven -hi lied city? To 
her many ordinary claims on our 
minds, there has of late been added 
one of startling interest — the tEcume- 
nical Council — which has not faiied 
to excite the attention of the world. 
It is the daily theme of prayer and of 
hope for the devout child of the 
church. To the worldling, it is a 
theme of curiosity and idle specula- 
tion. To the enemies of the church, 
the council is a subject of alarm and 
of vague apprehensions. In Europe, 
where men curiously mix politics and 
religion, their opposition takes the hue 
at odium folitkum ; and journals, re- 
views, and pamphlets are filled with 
the most outri accounts of what the 
writere assert has been done or will 
be done in the council, adverse to 
liberty, progress, and civilization. In 
America, where as yet men have not 
lost the habit of separating politics 
from religion, such effusions as these 
would be looked on as simply stupid, 
unreadable nonsense. Here, how- 
ever, as also in England, the odium 
t/Ko/ogiium retains its olden character 
and makes use of its olden weapons. 
It is worth while to note t!ie appa- 
rently systematic efforts made to re- 
peat old calumnies, and to coin new 
stories after the old pattern, and to 
force them on the public attention, 
on (Occasion of this universal interest, 
in the evident expectation that they 
wilt now be swallowed as credulously 
as they might have been fifty years 
ago. No greater tribute, we think, 
could be paid to the real advance- 
m.3it of the public raind than to say 

rtf GWuy. December, ■»9- » Ju»*, iBt^ 



that this expectation has in very grett 
measure proved vain. There aiC 
things and stories which aowadi^ 
most men instinctively fed to be tc 
absurd for belief! H^icc it is scaicdf 
worth while to lake up such stor' 
for serious examination. They i 
simply to be put in a class togethi^' 
and to be properly labelled, and lobe 
ranked below the sensational tales b' 
the Ledger. This is especially thi 
case when they appear in organs ^pfr> 
cially devoted to the cause whidk 
such stories are intended to support 

Now and then, however, it may bi 
allowed lo dissect such a produciioi. 
that the evidence of facts may occk 
sionally contirm and strengthen Afe 
true instinct which we already possettJ 
More especially is this allowabtCij 
when the story is peculiarly bold n^ 
prominent, and comes before tU^ 
public through a channel in wluA, 
we are not prepared to look for a 
exhibition of the old and unscnipuloOi 
hatred. 

Such an instance has been present- 
ed in several articles in TTie Go^jxjr, I 
monthly periodical published in t' " 
city, and aiming to be a literary a 
instructive magazine " of value a: 
interest." 

Among the writers engaged fist |1W 
pages of The Galaxy is one who W 
rciiresented as having been a Roms^ 
Catholic ecclesiastic, and who c 
butes a series of articles under I 
title. " Ten Years in Rome." 

According to these articles, the mti 
ter is an Englishman, and was at o 
time a Catholic priest in Rome. Bi 
went to Rome in 1855-56, ' 
letters of introduction, was r 
at once into the Propaganda 
increasing the number of Irish, S 



Ten Years in Rome, 



S»9 



and English students in that college 
to nine, passed from there to the Va- 
tican, to live "under the same roof 
with the pope," became assistant-libra- 
rian to the Congregation of the Index, 
and subsequently was the confiden- 
tial and trusty secretary of the late 
Cardinal d'Andrea, whose private 
papers— or at least some of them — ^he 
claims still to possess. The Galaxy 
does not give the name of this writer. 
But the daily papers informed us, 
some time ago, that a reverend gen- 
tleman of England delivered a lecture 
at the lecture -room of Plymouth 
Church, Brooklyn, on Rome and its 
religion and society ; and was quali- 
fied to do so, because he had been 
formerly "an official of the Roman 
court, secretary to the late Cardinal 
d'Andrea, and assistant librarian in 
the Index Expurgatorius." The lec- 
turer was evidently the same indivi- 
dual as the writer for The Galaxy. 
The papers gave his name, which, we 
are sorry to say, smacks far more of 
the Green Island than of England. 

Now, it so happened that we were 
in a position to test at once and fully 
the accuracy of these statements in 
regard to the past history of the lec- 
turer and writer ; and we reached the 
following results : 

1. No young English youth or 
clergyman of that name ever was re- 
ceived into the College of the Propa- 
ganda at Rome. This is shown by 
the records of the college, and is cor- 
roborated by the assurances of the 
present rector, who, in 1855, had been 
for several years vice-rector, and has 
ever since been connected with the 
college, and also by the recollection 
of half a dozen Irish and American 
students, who were then in the col- 
lege, and would have been his com- 
panions. 

2. During the last twenty-five years 
there never was an officer of the Ro- 
man court* or an English or Irish ec- 



clesiastic connected with it, in any 
way, of that name. The list of all 
such officers is regularly published 
every year. This name has never 
figured there. Officers of twenty 
years' standing in the Vatican have no 
recollection of him. An Englishman 
could scarcely have been entkely over- 
looked. And at least his brother 
Englishmen, who are officers of the 
court, would have known and remem- 
bered him. 

3. During the same period, no 
person of that name has filled the of- 
fice of librarian, or assistant-librarian, 
of the Index Expurgatorius, or of the 
Congregation of the Index. The ofli- 
cials of that congregation are all Do- 
minicans; and the writer does not 
pretend that he ever joined that order. 
We may add the other insignificant 
fact, that no such library is known to 
exist at all, much less to be so large 
as to require the services not only of 
a librarian, but of one, perhaps of seve- 
ral, assistant-librarians. 

4. The late Cardinal d'Andrea 
never had a secretary of that name. 
This is the assurance unanimously 
given us by the fiiends and intimate 
acquaintances of the cardinal, and 
by the members of his household, 
who had lived with him for twenty 
years. There can be no doubt on 
this fact. We may add one little 
iteni. Cardinal d'Andrea had no 
secretary. The secretary of a cardinal 
is an ecclesiastic When a layman is 
chosen to fill the place, he is called, 
not the secretary y but the chancellor oi 
the cardinal. Cardinal d'Andrea, 
fix)m 1852, when he was made cardi- 
nal, down to his death, employed as 
chancellor an estimable and well-edu- 
cated gentleman, whom he had known 
well, and had been intimately asso- 
ciated with for years before, and who 
still lives in Rome. 

5. Although, considering that 
forty or fifty thousand stranf<&t& ^tsSl 




Vittrs m Rome. 



Rome every year, it may be possible 
that the writer in the Galaxy did, 
at some time or other, enter that 
city, yet we arc pretty certain that 
he never spent any considerable time 
there — much less, ten years — as an 
ecclesiastic. We have made intiui- 
ries of a number of clergymen. Eng- 
lishmen and Irishmen, resident in the 
Eternal City for thirty years, who from 
their positions must have heard of 
such a one, and could not have escap- 
ed becoming acqu^nted with him un- 
der some circumstances or other. One 
after another, thuy assured us that they 
had never met, and could not remem- 
ber ever having heard of such, an ec- 
clesiastic. 

It is unfortunate that, in such strik- 
ing and important matters of his own 
personal history, concerning which he 
ought to be perfectly well-informed, 
the memory of our lecturer and writer 
fails so entirely to agree with the re- 
collection and knowledge of so many 
others. If this is the case here, what 
may we look for when he undertakes 
to remember what happened to 
Others? 

Our writer makes his bow to the 
readers of the Ga/axy in the number 
of December last, in the character of 
"Sareiary of the laU Can/inai if An- 
drea" concerning whom he gives an 
article of nine pages, intended to be 
sensational and artistic. He opens 



"The church of San Giovuini in Lale- 
ruio was lilluJ vrilh an unusually cucilcil 
Ihrong. The magnificciH cdifire, ihc pope's 
cathedral. a!i bishop of Rome, was draped 
for ■ funeral The muble pUliirs," etc cic 

To be sure, the description of the 
edifice which follows is rather misty, 
to one who knows it.andsome things, 
we suspect, are introduced which no 
architect ever saw there. But then, 
" in the centre of the church," stands 
" the chief object of interest," " a gor- 



geous catafalqtie," "entifdjr coroel 
with black velvet, veiy taalcfiiUjr la- 
looned with silver." "EscutcbcoM 
were placed at intervals, bearing the 
arms of the deceased. On th< bi<r. 
lay a cardinal's hat, a pastoral OmS^, 
and a mitre. Six gigantic candles oi 
yellow wax were burning around it' 
The pope and the cardinab were * 
come to the funeraL As the cardinal 
minister (Antonelii) " ste])]>ed &on 
his carriage " in fi-ont of tlie chutdi, 
" there was a deep hum " from the 
crowd For they suspe<:tcd him oI 
having compassed the death of thfr 
only cardinal they honored, who w 
to be buried that day. "His la 
was very pale;" "he played lu 
vously with the jewelled croea hu 
ing from his neck." " He could ra 
his doom in hundreds of scowUug 
faces ; the curses, not loud but dccp^ 
he well interpreted. As he a 
the steps of the church, a shrill TokC< 
cried out, ' Down with the assasainl"' 
" The French guards dinclxxl that 
rifles," and " closed in " at a sign t$\ 
their captain ; and so Cardinal Aiil» 
nelli entered the churcli. Alter pi 
ing the exquisite requiem mass of Mo* 
zart, with selections from PalestiiB%i 
and the perfect choir of voices, rei 
dering any instrument superSuou^ tt 
writer places the pope at the bead of 
the catafalque. " He was vitfll^ 
moved." " Tliere was a treraor i 
his clear, harmonious voice." " H 
whose requiem was being sung ha 
been a friend and a couuselloi;,^ 
When at length the ser " 
over, and the pope and the t 
of cardinals had departed, " the | 
pie rushed into the church to reodv 
the only service they could to the do* 
parted; and strong men, unused t9 
prayer, uttered their fervent r 
in pace P 

" This was the funeral of Cardinal 
d' Andrea, Abbot of Santa Scobutic%. 
statesman, poUtician, and patrioL 



Ten Years in Rome. 



521 



occurred on the 22d day of March, 
1865." 

Now all this may be a very artistic 
method of introducing a story. The 
chief objection that we have to it is 
that the writer makes such a parade 
about the funeral of Cardinal d' An- 
drea. We think he rather overcharges 
the picture. Had it been any body 
else's funeral, we might possibly let it 
pass. But in the case of this cardinal, 
we object ; for, to our own knowledge, 
on this 22d day of March, 1865, Car- 
dinal d' Andrea was not lying dead 
on that bier in San Giovanni in La- 
terano, as described, but, on the con- 
trary, was alive, if not perfectly well, 
in Sorrento, near Naples, whither he 
had gone over nine months before for 
his health. Nor did he die about this 
time; but he lived on, and wrote 
some letters from time to time, which 
were published in the papers, and one, 
if not several, pamphlets, which were 
very acceptable to editors in Italy and 
France, in quest of themes for their 
leading articles. As late as the au- 
tumn of 1867, the papers were dis- 
cussing what step Cardinal d' Andrea 
would next take. And they chroni- 
cled his retiun to Rome in December, 
1867. Yes, we decidedly object. We 
do not think that this writer, however 
extraordinary his powers of memory 
may be, has a right to bury Cardinal 
d'Andrea alive, to say nothing of 
bringing the venerable pontiflf to grief, 
of frightening Cardinal Antonelli, of 
making the French guards clinch 
their rifles and go through a military 
manoeuvre, and, last of all, of so terri- 
bly exciting a Roman crowd about 
the death of one who had not died 
at all. 

Having commenced the perfor- 
mance by this tour deforce before his 
public, our " secretary of the late Car- 
dinal d' Andrea," like a skilful actor 
as he is, jumps a somersault back- 
ward two years and a hal^ (carrying 



us to about September, 1862,) and 
undertakes to give us some inkling of 
how Cardinal d' Andrea and Cardinal 
Antonelli came to be opposed to each 
other. There was a plan entered 
into by several cardinals and monsig- 
norito induce the pope to recommend 
Cardinal AntoneUi to resign his office 
as Cardinal-Minister and Secretary of 
State. The "secretary** omits to 
inform us distinctly whether Cardinal 
d' Andrea was a party to the plan or 
not But we are left to infer that he 
was. It failed. And ever after. Car- 
dinal d* Andrea did not enjoy the con- 
fidence of the pope to the degree he 
had done before ; and Cardinal An- 
tonelli and his followers hated him. 
The recollection of this intrigue, and 
its failure, is followed by an exposition 
of the political sentiments of the car- 
dinal " He became the leader of the 
liberal policy of Cavour, in Rome." 
Now, here again *we object. That 
a number of cardinals or monslgnori 
should think that it would be well if 
a cardinal secretary of state, for the 
time being, should resign ; and that 
afiairs would be better managed, if 
another incumbent frlled the place, is 
possible ; perhaps, considering the va- 
riety of opinions among men, is not 
improbable. In the case of Cardinal 
Antonelli, the matter is complicated, 
perhaps we should say, simplified, by 
the fact that they would find very few 
indeed to agree with them. But that 
a number of cardinals and monsignori 
did really entertain such an opinion 
on the subject, and did, in September, 
1862, or thereabouts, combine in an 
effort to oust Cardinal Antonelli, is 
vouched for, so far as we know, only 
by the recollections of our writer. The 
plan itself was not dreamed of in well- 
informed circles in Rome, and the 
bold and adroit measures by which 
Cardinal Antonelli is said to have 
foiled it failed to attract attention at 
the tim^i or to leave any tracts ^&sl- 



ward, either in the diplomatic records 
of Rome, or ia the memory of any 
one else besides our writer. It is one 
other additional instance of the per- 
versity of the world, which will not 
remember what he recalls so dis- 
tinctly. 

As to Cardinal d' Andrea, he had 
been, since i860, Cardinal- Bishop of 
Sabina, and was also Prefect of the 
Congregation of the Index. His 
health had begun to fail some time 
before the date we are examining, and 
within a few months afterward he was 
forced, much to the regret of the pope, 
to resign the latter office, and to restrict 
himself to the duties of his diocese 
and his private affairs, and could 
take but a light share in the work of 
a cardinal. To make him at that 
time a prime mover in the scheme, is 
as gratuitous as, under the circum- 
stances, it is absurd. 

The statement of his political prin- 
ciples is equally in contradiction with 
facts. Cardinal d'.Andrea had all his 
life been a most strenuous and active 
supporter of the temporal power of the 
pope, and was not a man to change 
his position and his principles at the 
close oi his life. He was as uncom- 
promising, and a far more outspoken 
opponent of the policy of Cavour, 
than even Cardinal Antonelli himself, 
who, as befits his office and his cha- 
racter, never violates the reserved and 
strictly temperate expressions allowed 
by diplomatic courtesy. All that oor 
writer " remembers " concerning Car- 
dinal d' Andrea's connection with and 
influence over the Roman committee, 
is a pure effort of his memory, which, 
by the by, on this point has played 
him false. He remembere, " To his 
counsel it was due that no revolt oc- 
curred on the withdrawal of the 
French." Why, the French troops 
were withdrawn from Rome in Dc- 
ceralicr, 1866, to be sent back in Oc- 
Kbei, 1867, on the occasioQ of Gari- 



baldi's attempted invasion of the V 

pal States. How could Caidind.' 
d' Andrea, who had died , as the a 
retary "remembers," and whose fid 
ral obsequies had been so pompom^ 
celebrated in the cathedral chnrtfa ofi 
San Giovanni dt Latdano, on At aai 
day of March, 1865, be ahvc to girt 
counsel and use his inSuence with dw' 
Mazzinians and the party of a 
year and nine months afterward ? Htf 
the writer's own memory proved ti 
tor to him, and joined the crowd • 
contradictors ? 

In point of fact. Cardinal d'Aoi 
drea was not in Rome in Deccmbi 
1866, nor for months before and fi| 
months afterward. He was at Hu 
pies, or its neighborhood, Eceking | 
restore his shattered and siiiki^ 
health. ' 

Our secretary takes a second Ifl^ 
backward, and " endeavors to gn 
a slight sketch of the Cardinal d*Al 
drea, necessarily imperfect as pen K 
ink sketches always are." Tbe i 
completeness we might readily excorf 
But we cannot excuse its utter iiK 
rectness in the details, an i 
ness so unnecessarily excessive ll 
we can only explain it on the tfaec 
he is entirely guided by that wond 
ful memory, of the powers of 1 
we have had such evidences. 
daily is this seen when, leaving g 
raliti(,-s aside, the writer vcntar 
make a precise and definite i 

Thus, we are informed that, ia fail^ 
early life, the cardinal " had been t: 
for the army, and served in the NobU' 
Guard for three years." Whereas ti 
cardiaal was not bom in Room Oi- 
the Roman States at all, and r 
had any connection whatever with' 
the Noble Guard or any other C 
tary corps. He was bom in Naplett 
His father, the Marquis Gio 
d' Andrea, was treasurer of the ltia| 
dom of Naples. His elder broA^ 



Ten Years in Rome. 



523 



the present Marquis d* Andrea, is still 
living near Naples. Jerome d'An- 
drea, the future cardinal, at an early 
age showed an inclination for the 
church, and in due time went through 
the ordinary course of ecclesiastical 
studies. At its conclusion, he came 
to Rome, and entered the Accademia 
Ecclesiastica, a college for the higher 
and more thorough education of such 
ecclesiastics as wish to enter the rar- 
rUra^ as it is called, that is, who as- 
pire to become ecclesiastical officials 
at Rome. There was nothing mili- 
tary about the cardinal. He simply 
had the dignified bearing and the 
polished manners of an Italian noble- 
man. 

" He viewed the Jesuits as the foes 
of reform ; his scheme was to destroy 
their influence in the public schools." 
" The mendicant orders met np favor 
with him." " He did approve of the 
dissolution of their monasteries." This 
posthumous revelation of the cardi- 
nal's sentiments will undoubtedly as- 
tonish the Jesuits and the mendicant 
orders at Rome, if they ever hear of 
it, unless indeed they are foolish 
enough to trust their own memory of 
the words and acts of the cardinal in 
life, rather than the wonderful memory 
of this " secretary." The Jesuits will 
remember how often and regularly he 
would visit their father-general, or 
Father Perrone, or the more illus- 
trious and learned members of their 
society ; how fond he was of having 
some of them to visit him frequendy; 
how he would invite their counsel and 
aid, and how he was careful to omit 
no proper occasion of publicly show- 
ing his friendship and esteem for them. 
The members of the mendicant orders 
will call to mind their perpetual inter- 
course wuth one who was always a 
kind father to them. As one of the 
cardinars household expressed it to 
us, Era sempre attomiato da loro — He 
always had these friars around him. 



We fear that, with such cherished 
memories in their hearts, they vrill 
pay very little regard to the recollec- 
tions of our " secretary." 

But he becomes more precise in the 
details of the cardinal's daily life. 

"The cardinal generally rose at six, 
and spent three hours in reading ere 
he said mass and breakfasted. He 
then received, and at twelve rode out, 
except when his presence was required 
by the pope. The afternoon was spent 
in a siesta until six. At half-past nine 
he retired" 

What a sleepy-head this affection- 
ate and reverential " secretary " would 
make the cardinal to be. Retire at 
half-past nine, and rise at six. Here 
we have eight hours for a good night's 
sleep; ample allowance, one would 
think. But no. Each day, after his 
noonday drive, the afternoon until six 
is spent in a siesta ; that is, at least 
four hours more given to sleep- 
twelve hours, on an average, out of 
every twenty-four I And this was the 
ordinary course of things, only inter- 
rupted when his presence was required 
by the pope ! Was he in any way re- 
lated to Rip Van Winkle, or is it the 
secretary who is dreaming? Cer- 
tainly Cardinal d' Andrea bore all his 
life the reputation of being a remark- 
ably wide-awake, clear-headed, and 
active business man. 

We presume that he usually rose 
about six — a litde later in winter, 
somewhat earlier in summer — such 
being the custom of Italians of his 
standing. By half-past eight, mass 
and breakfast were over; for business 
hours commence at nine, and the car- 
dinal gave the forenoon to business, 
whether in the consistories or in the 
meetings of congregations or at his 
own residence, where secretaries, theo- 
logians, and other officials, and all in- 
terested parties, would see him. At 
half-past one, or at two, as business 
allowed, he dined. In ^MtKONSx^V^ 



Ten Ygatv m Rohu. 



took a siesta for half an hour or so. 
An hour or more was given to recit- 
ing his breviary and to private study. 
At four in winter and five in summer, 
if the weather allowed, he would drive 
out, and when outside the city might 
indulge in half an hour's active walk 
on foot. Reentering his carriage, he 
readied home about sunset. Until 
nine, he received those who called 
on him, whether on business or as 
friends. Then came his supper, after 
which he loved to spend an hour 
or two in lively conversation on the 
topics of the day with his more inti- 
mate and esteemed friends. About 
eleven, he usually retired to rest ; but, 
too frequently for his health, he would, 
if he had what lie deemed important 
business on hand, stay up until one or 
two in the morning, studying or writ- 
ing. 

" In his meals he was sparing, at- 
tached to the French cuisine, and 
drank the light native vintage of 
Monte Fiascone, . . . He never went 
among French society. He gave 
the French no countenance, regard- 
ing them as witnesses of his coun- 
try's serfdom." 

What the writer means by this last 
phrase, or how the English and Ger- 
mans visiting Rome are not as truly 
witnesses to things there as the French 
can be, we do not understand, and 
shall not stop to inquire. The im- 
portant suite men ts are before us. 
The cardinal was attached to the 
French cuisine and avoided French 
soeie/y. Now, the truth was just the 
reverse on both these points. The 
cardinal was an excellent linguist anil 
a wcH-read scholar. He delighted in 
the company of educated Frenchmen, 
ecclesiastics, laymen, and military, and 
was quite intimate with many of them. 
But as to his food, he remained a true 
Neapolitan to the day of his death, 
and stuck to macaroni, vermicelli, 



and pollenta, as an Engltshmu iticli 
to his roast beef and good routico. 

" The Cardinal d'Andrca was fan" 
of theatricals ; indeed, private rei«fc 
sentations were among the few ct^ojy 
mcnts he had. He relished ihoi 
ama/ingly." 

\Vhen we repeated this statemetd 
to the member of the cardinal's hoia- 
hold to whom we arc indebted for M 
information on the preceding pranl 
he turned on us a look of bcwilde 
astonishment which we shall not si 
forget. " Ibesie ! fioesie f " heexcldn 
ed. " All an invention ; aii an mp 

Even in his eariy life, when, as I 
layman, he could have frequented li 
theatre without any breach of dca,^_ 
Tum, he had avoided it As a clergjE 
man, of course he could not 
without losing caste. It might bin 
well happened that, in his travels g 
France, Switzerland, Germany, 
various parts of Italy, he had at s 
rime or other chanced to be a _ 
where courtesy called on him to t 
present at private theatricals held h 
the family. Of this our iDToni 
could not speak, for he had not d 
ways been with him on these j 
neys. But since he had been n 
cardinal he had been with him, « 
could not recall a single instano 
where the cardinal had attended sud 
a private representation, 
palace he could not have had t 
His own character did not run in thl 
line of amusement ; and even ifhehu 
desired it, the size and form of tl 
apartments would have rendered il 
impossible. 

Bui such effusions of our "se 
tary's " poeric or inventive mem 
are of themselves too slight and trivil 
to merit a place in the Galaxy. 
must be something of graver tnqiac 
to come. And fn fact these t' ' 
have only been the prdimia 



Teii Years in Rome. 



52s 



the grand events which are to be re- 
corded of Cardinal d* Andrea; his es- 
cape from Rome by the active aid of 
this secretary ; the espionage over his 
words and acts when he returned — an 
espionage which this secretary detect- 
ed, though he could not foil it ; the 
finding of the cardinal unexpectedly 
and mysteriously dead in his bed one 
morning; and finally, the saving of 
his important private papers, by this 
secretary, from the clutches of Cardi- 
nal Antonelli — ^papers which he has 
persistently guarded and still retains, 
and which hereafter, we may be al- 
lowed to conjecture, can serve to 
refresh and stimulate his wondrous 
powers of memory, if any stimulation 
be needed. 

The scene opens some time during 
the course of those two years, to the 
beginning of which the first jump 
backward brought our writer. The 
plan to oust Cardinal Antonelli from 
office had been formed, as we were 
told, and failed; and Cardinal d* An- 
drea had lost somewhat of the pope's 
favor, and had incurred the bitter en- 
mity of Cardinal Antonelli and of the 
Jesuits and ultramontanes. We may 
reasonably allow some months for so 
much. When time had brought things 
to this pass, " there was a party in the 
Piazza di Spagna, given by a Russian 
princess, at which the tliU of Roman so- 
ciety was assembled. Among the guests 
was Cardinal d* Andrea. Madame 

C , the wife of Captain C , 

of the French army, was, as usual, co- 
quetting with the Cardinal di C a, 

a prince of the most ancient of Roman 
houses, with one of the finest palaces 
in Rome." The secretary loiters to 

describe Captain C , of the French 

army, and Madame C , his young 

and handsome wife, and to tell his 
readers of her notorious intrigue with 
the above-named Cardinal Prince di 
C a, of the ancient family and 



after this party, Captam C ap- 
peared at his wife's apartments. He 
was cool and deliberate. He up- 
braided her in unmeasured terms. 
She bitterly resented. . . . His rage 
became terrible. Ere she could utter 
a prayer or a cry, he seized the misera- 
ble woman and shot her; then shot 
himself! The affair created some lit- 
tle sensation." 

We should think it would, espe- 
cially in peaceful, slow-going, deco- 
rous Rome. Even in New-York, or 
in London, or in Paris, such a trage- 
dy, in which persons of that social 
standing were concerned, would have 
created quite a sensation. 

The Prince di C a, " of one of 

the most ancient of Roman houses, 
with one of the finest palaces in 
Rome," can of course be none other 
than the Prince Colonna. The Ro- 
man princes are few in number, and 
can easily be counted. No other has 
a surname to suit. The ancient family 
and the fine palace are earmarks also. 
He means Colonna. But then, many, 
many years have passed since there 
was a cardinal of that family. In fact, 
take the list of cardinals since 1850, 
and the only one whose name the 
designation C a could fit is Car- 
dinal Cuesta, a Spaniard, who at the 
date of this party, (somewhere, if we 
follow the " secretary," in the winter 
of 1862-63,) was an aged septua- 
genarian bishop, zealously ruling his 
diocese in Spain; moreover, he was 
not then a cardinal. He was made 
cardinal two years aflerward. Fur- 
thermore, he resides not in Rome but 
in Spain, whence he was lately called 
to Rome for the present council. He 
obviously cannot be the man. And 

so the Cardinal Prince di C a 

vanishes into thin air, like a poetic 
phantom, as he is. 

Captain C , of the French army, 

and his wife, Madame C , seem dufr- 



with the fine palace. ''Four days posed to follow YuiumVot.XDL^X:^is^i^s:^ 



Ten Years in Rome. 



aent: 
thei 
him: 

M 



No French officer then in Rome, and 
we have consulted several, can remem- 
ber any French captain who killed his 
wife and then committed suicide. The 
police never got wind o£ the double 
tragedy. It escaped even the keen- 
scented newspaper itemizers. The 
" little sensation " is a feat of mem- 
ory. 

Decidedly our "secretary" is u 
unlucky at tragedies as he is at fu- 
nerals, even though he assures us 
" the incidents of that reunion have 
fixed themselves very much on ray 
memory, for it was the last time the 
Cardinal d' Andrea appeared at such 
assemblies." In fact, he proceeds to 
narrate how that very nighl, by his 
skilful planning, the cardinal was able 
to get out of Rome. This gives us, 
for the first time, we may say, in this 
article, the slightest soundings of 
truth Cardinal d'Andrea did once 
leave Rome for Naples without the 
regular permission which was required 
for one in his position. We will speak 
further on of the motives and circum- 
stances of that departure. Here we 
will only state the fact, thai he left 
Rome on the i6th of June, 18C4. 
The writer of this article was in Rome 
at the lime, and, for peculiar reasons, 
no such tragedy as that " remem- 
bered " and the sensation it created 
could have escaped his knowledge. 
We may add that in Rome such par- 
ties are given in winter and never 
in summer. The strangers who visit 
Rome in winter, and leave after Eas- 
ter, are in June in Switzerland or some 
other cool place. As for the flite of 
Roman society, they are " out of 

But let us leave facts aside, and 
enter on that dreamland, the inci- 
dents of which are so firmly fixed on 
the memory of our secretary. Hear 
him; 

The cardinal retired early, and, it 
ig moonlight and very fine, resolv- 



6d to send back the carriage and *a 
home. He walked in company w 
his secretary, a servant, as usual, 1 
tending at a little distance. He b 
passed into the Corao, when a nu 
suddenly started out of the small at 
dark Via Fontanella di Borghese. . , 
It was a celebrated politician, wh( 
dared not have open intercourse «ri" 
any one for fear of compromtui 
them, and he conveyed the uowi 
come intelligence that the cartlinalV 
life was in imminent danger. 
Every moment was of imporUmCfi' 
A plan was speedily devised. Thrf 

Honorable Mr. K was leavi 

at two o'clock in his pri^■ale car 
for Civita Vecchia, to catch the FrecdH 
steamer touching at Civita ' ' 
at half-past twelve next day, on het 
way to Naples." Tlie sccrctjuy di 
guiscd himself, and stealthily sougl 
an interview at once with thb Eb(_ 
lishman bearing an American till^l 
and briefly "told his errand." "The' 
generous Englishman proposed that* 
the cardinal should accompany fatn^'.' 
disguised as a fi^end whose name ap^* 
peared in his passport. The frieii4i' 
on being consulted, agreed, and t" 
secretary left, promising to be jK^Ay* 
at a certain street with the cardinalr^ 
where the carriage was to lake I:' 
np. . . . His eminence put on tht^ 
bL'ard and moustache our EngRsKH 
friend had given us, and, with the a' 
of a large Inverness cape and * 
wide-awake, was splendidly disguis 
It wanted tn-o hours and a half of! 
the lime. The cardinal 1 
bis presenceof mind, but was ^oomf 
and foreboding. At last we caOed'l 
the \alet, devoted to his master, a 
informed him of the plan. He » 
to pretend illness on the part of ti 
cardinal. He listened carefully lo fa 
instructions, and exclaimed, 
nence, your shoes and stockinjlBr* 
We looked down, and saw (' - ~~ 
patent-leather, low, clerical sht 



7>» Years in Rotfu. 



527 



gold buckles and the red silk stock- 
ings were very obvious betrayals of 
the rank of the disguised. No lay 
shoes and stockings were at hand, 
until the valet bethought him of his 
own. Hastily effecting the change, 
the cardinal passed out of the place 
alone, not suffering any one to accom- 
pany him." Whereby, we presume, 
he ran some risk of blundering as to 
the appointment, and moreover forced 
the zealous secretary to break his pro- 
mise of being " ready at a certain street 
with the cardinal, where the carriage 
was to take him up." " The whole of 
the next day passed heavily, but no 
inquiries were made for his eminence. 
As his valet only waited on him, the 
other domestics easily believed that 
he was indisposed Two days after, 
the secretary hastily scanned the Gior- 
naU di Roma^ where he saw the de- 
parture of Mr. K announced, 

and that of his friend. The valet, 
poor fellow, tliough somewhat obese 
and awkward, executed an eccentric 
pas seuly in token of his satisfaction 
at the news, and then broke out into 
a fervent Ave Maria for his master's 
safety. Four days elapsed, and a 
summons came to attend the consis- 
tory. Then it was announced that 
the cardinal had left for Naples." 

Now, we confess to having enjoyed 
this passage of our " secretary's " re- 
tniniscefue more than any other. We 
think it his best effort. Still, it lacks 
some touches. He should not have 
omitted the matter of the exchange 
of the cardinal's knee-breeches for the 
valet's pantaloons. For obviously, if 
the cardinal put on the lay shoes and 
stockings of the valet, and retained 
his own knee-breeches, a space of ten 
inches at least on each leg would 
necessarily have been left bare and 
uncovered. Such an arrangement, 
however conducive to coolness, would 
have been a very remarkable feature 
of his costume, especially soticeable 



in contrast with the large Inverness 
cape which warmly enveloped the 
upper part of his person, and that in 
the month of June. Such an outfit 
would certainly attract every eye. 
Surely the cardinal and the valet 
must have then and there exchanged 
the knee-breeches of the one against 
the pantaloons of the other, regardless 
of how they fitted. Again, the " sec- 
retary " ought to have given us some 
inkling of how the valet felt and de- 
meaned himself next morning when 
he appeared before his fellow-ser- 
vants rigged out in the patent-lea- 
ther, low, clerical shoes with gold 
buckles, the red silk stockings, and 
the knee-breeches of his master, in- 
stead of his own proper habiliments. 
Could not our secretary have adorned 
Hu Galaxy with some of the brilliant 
things then said and done ? 

The Honorable Mr. K , too, 

acted very strangely. He might have 
taken his rest like a sensible man that 
night, and have lefl Rome by the 
accommodation train starting at six 
A.M. next morning, reaching Civita 
Vecchia at nine; or he might have 
waited for the express train, starting at 
ten A.M., reaching Civita Vecchia at 
twelve, and making connection with 
the steamers, whether bound to Naples 
or to Leghorn or to Marseilles. But 
no. He must lose his night's rest, 
and start at two a.m. in a private car- 
riage to travel fifty miles, and reach 
a French steamer touching at Civita 
Vecchia at half-past twelve. 

But if our secretary, in his recollec- 
tions, can spurn facts,* it would be 
superfluous to ask him to respect 
mere probabilities. 

The real method of the cardinal's 
de|>arture from Rome and his jour- 
ney to Naples was the following very 
prosaic one : 

On the 1 6th of June, 1864, he drove 
in his own carriage fi'om his owtvt^- 
dence, the f a\azxo G^Sescu^x^c^^^datw^ 



Ten Yean m Rome. 



way station in Rome, and took a tick- 
el for Velletri, to which city he was 
accusioiiieil to go, from time to time, 
to attend to the interests of the estate 
Girgenti, of which the family had re- 
quested him to become the adminis- 
trator during the minority of the 
heire. His valet alone accompanied 
him. The carriage was ordered to 
be at the station in the afternoon, as 
he might come back by the returning 
train. At Velletri, the cardinal was 
met by his man of business in that 
city, who had possibly made the neces- 
sary arrangements, and both proceed- 
ed in the same train to Isoleita, on 
the Neapolitan frontier. The cardinal 
continued on to Naples. The agent 
came back to Rome, found the car- 
riage at the station, rode in it to the 
Palaxzo Gabrielli, and informed the 
cardinal's chancellor and the house- 
hold that the cardinal had gone to 
Naples for his health, and was not 
able lo say when he would return. 

This is the plain, matter-of-fact oc- 
currence which the secretary's memo- 
ry has changed into something like a 
chapter from one of Mrs, RadcUffe's 
novels sixty years ago. 

We have already said that Cardinal 
d'Andrea took this step without the 
permission which, according to the 
rules of the Sacred College, he should 
have previously obtained. He had 
asked for that pennission, and it had 
not been granted. When he publicly 
violated the rule on this point, the 
Italian enemies of the temporal 
power of the pope hoped that they 
had unexpectedly found a cardinal in 
such a position that they might, by 
degrees, make him their tool, and use 
him ag.-iinsl Pius IX. Voices were 
heard hinting that It might be proper 
even to make him an anti-jiope. The 
wiser ones among them saw from the 
beginning how absurd such hopes and 
plans were ; for Ihey knew the past 
and the real character of the 



L^iMOrr 



cardinal ; and they rigTitlj' judged that 
whatever might be the motives of hi* 
present unexpected and most unusual 
proceeding, they must be personiL 
The step could not spring from any 
policy opposed to that of the court of 
Rome, They knew too well that he 
had always been a strenuous defender 
of the pope; they had oftca found 
him their active and energetic o]»p">- 
nent. Later events proved to all 
that this judgment of theirs was cor- 

We have spoken of the birth and 
early education of Girolarao d'An- 
drea, and his coming to Rome and 
entrance into the Accademia Eo- 
clesiastica in that city. Soon aSta 
finishing his course of studies there 
with considerable reputation, he was 
made, in iZ^i, paitenU, or judge, in 
an inferior ecclesiastical court, com- 
mencing thus his carriera at the bot- 
tom, but with distinction. He was 
afterward {18+3) made delegate, or 
governor, of the province of Viterbo ; 
and three years later went as nuncio 
or ambassador to Lucerne in Switxci- 
land, which oflice he tilled at the tinw 
oi\\\e Sondcrbundy/ax. Toward i> 
he returned to Rome, and was 
vated to the very responsible 
of Secretary of the Congregation of 
the Council. When Pius IX, 
the public assassination of his priioe- 
minister, Rossi, and the threats of vuh 
lence to himself, escaped lo GmCi^ 
Monsignor d'Andrea of course fol- 
lowed him. He was the promioetlfr 
and most active man in reQstaUishmg 
the papal government in Umbria end) 
the Marches and the patrimony. AfttV 
two years of successful labor, he re* 
turned to Rome, lo receive the 
and the reward due to a delicate ti 
zealously and satisfactorily acoo 
plished. He was still Secretary of 1 
Congregation of the Council, one 
the highest posts he could hold, wi' 
out being cardinal. On the 15th 



Ten Years in Rome. 



529 



March, he was made cardinal-priest, 
with the title of SanfAgnesefuori delU 
Mura. He had thus, in eleven years, 
reached the highest step of the Ro- 
man carriera. All acknowledged, 
even those whom he had passed, 
that the cardinal's hat was, in this case, 
most fittingly bestowed on learning, 
talents, experience, and as the well- 
deserved reward of zealous and effi- 
cient services. The new cardinal was 
soon named Prefect of the Congrega- 
tion of the Index and Abbate Com- 
mendatario of Santa Scolastica, which 
last title he retained to his death. In 
i860, he became Cardinal-Bishop of 
Sabina ; and, by the firm and wise ad- 
ministration of his diocese, was looked 
on as a model bishop. In 1862, his 
health began to fail. Slow fevers 
seemed to undermine his constitution, 
stronger in appearance than in reality. 
At times a racking cough and a co- 
pious expectoration harassed him, 
and he seemed sinking into consump- 
tion. Rallying from this, he would 
suffer excruciating pains in the intes- 
tines ; and, at times, he was subject 
to fainting fits. Still he struggled 
against all this, and kept on at his 
work. His friends noticed that he 
gradually became more silent and de- 
spondent. They observed, too, an- 
other effect of this long-continued in- 
disposition. He became inclined to 
take up fixed ideas, and, perhaps, crot- 
chets, and to adhere to them the more 
tenaciously if opposed. He evident- 
ly was not, at all times, the man he 
had formerly been. Of course, it took 
time for all this to be suspected and 
reluctantly admitted. 

In the spring of 1864, the cardinal 
took up the idea that his health would 
be restored if he went to Naples, his 
birth-place. He asked permission to 
do so. 

Special circumstances made the re- 
quest one to be considered very ma- 
turely. The government at Rome 
VOL. XL— 34 



was in a critical and delicate position, 
which required it to avoid most careful- 
ly any step capable of a doubtful inter- 
pretation, or liable to be made a pre- 
text for certain false charges then cur- 
rent against it. The ex-king of Naples 
was a refugee in Rome. Detlironed 
sovereigns generally seek and find an 
asylum there. His friends and ad- 
herents in Naples were busy concert- 
ing measures to get him back on his 
throne. The Italian government and 
the Italian papers charged the court 
with assenting to and aiding in these 
plans. Even France seemed to be 
growing cold, and to be manifesting 
those dispositions which, a few months 
after, culminated in the iniquitous con- 
vention with Victor Emmanuel for 
the withdrawal of tke French troops 
from the duty of protecting Rome. 
All these things made the court of 
Rome trebly cautious to commit no 
mistake. 

It was felt that for a Roman cardi- 
nal to go then to Naples, even under 
the pretext of ill-health, more especi- 
ally a cardinal like Cardinal d' Andrea, 
whose family had been for several ge- 
nerations closely connected with the 
dethroned royal family, and whose 
personal antecedents had been those 
we have recited, would be too dange- 
ous. No explanations, however sin- 
cere, no disavowals, however explicit, 
could silence the charges or avert the 
troubles that might follow. Hence 
the permission asked for was refused, 
the more readily as the idea was look- 
ed on as the cardinal's own fancy, and 
was not based upon the advice of 
physicians. The pope himself exr 
plained the matter to the cardinal, and 
offered him permission to go to Mal- 
ta, to Spain, to Pau,..in France, to 
Nice, in Savoy, or anywhere else that 
the physicians would advise, or he 
desire. But to Naples, under the cir- 
cumstances, it would not do for him 
to go. The cardinal ^^tcke^ \Si ^sr 



Ten Years m Rente. 



it at the moment, and to acquiesce 
In the decision. But, some time 
after, he relumed to the fixed idea, 
repeated his request, waited some 
yeeks, and, rot receiving any reply, 
ted on the i6th of June, 1864, 
lOut permission, and, in the man- 
we have stated, went to Naples, 
At first, he spent several months, per- 
haps a year, at Sorrento, well known 
to a!l who visit southern Italy for 
their health. After some time, he 
moved to the city of Naples itself, and 
lived there until his return to Rome, 
Concerning the cardinal's stay in 
Naples, our " secretary " remembers 
■ only two points; " He was located in 
itll-fiimished lodgings on the Chiaja, at 
Naples, sorely distressed for money. 
More than this, his good name was 
■suffering " — suffering, he means, in the 
opinion of the Maziinians, the follow- 
ers of the policy of Cavour and " the 
party of action." The Roman Com- 
mittee seems to have been particular- 
ly exercised in refeience to him. 

Now as to the money matters. In 
Naples the cardinal kept a suite of 
apartments in the Hotel Crocelles, 
one of the best in that city. More- 
over, he also kept up his full establish- 
ment in the Palazzo Gabriel li, in 
Rome. He paid every body and 
every thing punctually; as, indeed, 
he might well do, considering the po- 
sition of his family and his own pri- 
Yate resources. If his health failed, 
his puree did not — which is more than 
can be said of most men, be they 
laymen, ecclesiastics, or even cardi- 
nals. When he died, his will gave 
legacies lo friends and servants, and 
lo religious and charitable purposes, 
.and returned something to his family. 
As to the second point, undoubtedly 
fthe cardinal's good name did suffer. 
The step he had taken was public; 
and the newspapers, after their style, 
ihad not failed to herald it over the 
rid as something striking and im- 



portant, from which, perfiaps, vast n- 
suits would follow. Catholics every 
where were pained that a cardind 
should take so false a step, and plate 
himself in a position apparently M 
equivocal ; perhaps, too, some a^^nt- 
hended ulterior and more painful re- 
sults. On the other hand, the Itafi- 
anissimi wailed, and cajoled him, and 
hoped. But when he had bc«n awijr 
from Rome more than two yean, and 
they found that they were not su& 
ceeding, as they desired, in making 
him their tool, they commenced to 
depreciate and ridicule him. Thig 
last point we rather think to his cre- 
dit. 

The mode of Cardinal d* Andrea^ 
departure from Romenaturallysetafl 
Rome a-talking. His friends tried to 
explain and lo excuse it in tlie mode 
we have stated. The excuse wa* 
probably felt lo have sonte force. 
Anyhow, it was evident that the 
mode of Iiis departure prevented iIk 
court of Rome from being coropM' 
mLsed by his presence in Naples. 
Time and patience are held to be 
golden remedies at Rome. No ofll- 
cial notice was taken of Cardinal 
d'Andrea's absence. True, frieodl 
and counsellors and his brother csnS- 
nals wrote to him privately, remon- 
strating with him and urgently advis- 
ing him lo return without delay. Had 
he listened to them, and retitnied 
within any leasotuble time, we ne 
satisfied no notice would have bcM 
taken of the afl'air, and the whole 
matter would have dropped into obli- 
vion. 

But when he had been awajr two 
years, it was felt that some official 
steps must be taken. Accordingly, 
the cardinal dean wrote him offioal- 
ly, rehearsing the law of the cbordi 
about the residence of bishops, warn- 
ing him that he had now been too 
long absent without permission, Uld 
inviting him to return. Thnce the 



Ten Years in Rome. 



531 



monition was given, as required, and 
given without effect. The diocese 
of Sabina was consequently with- 
drawn from his charges and confided 
to an administrator cui interim, until 
other provisions should be made in 
regard to it. Still the cardinal de- 
clined or delayed to come. Other 
official letters warned him of possible 
further consequences, even to eject- 
ment fi"om his dignity as cardinal. 
His friends, also, renewed their pri- 
vate remonstrances and entreaties 
more urgently than ever. And, final- 
ly, on the evening of December 14th, 
1867, Cardinal d' Andrea returned to 
Rome. 

Three days later, he had an audi- 
ence of the holy father, from which 
he returned to his palace in a very 
cheerful mood, and spoke to his at- 
tendants of the kindness of the pope, 
and declared that every thing had 
passed oflf most satisfactorily. 

His long stay in Naples had not be- 
nefited his health. He still coughed, 
and still, at times, had severe crises of 
pain in the abdomen. But he was 
able in some measure to take up the 
ordinary work of a cardinal. The 
charge of the diocese was not restored 
to him ; time was required for that. 
Rome is slow to act, and slow to un- 
do what has been legally done. 

After having fatigued our readers 
by this long stretch over humdrum re- 
alities, it may be well to seek a little 
relief in some more of the wondrous 
feats of the wondrous memory of " the 
secretary of the late Cardinal d' An- 
drea." 

He does not remember that audi- 
ence at all. Nay, he remembers that 
there was none. " Daily,** afler his 
return, the cardinal " expected a sum- 
mons to the presence of the pope. 
Then he resolved to assert his right 
to an audience, and repaired to the 
Vatican. He was informed that all 
his communications to the pope were 



to pass through the hands of the car- 
dinal secretary. To sue to his worst 
foe — this was the climax of bitterness. 
The high spirit of his eminence never 
recovered this indignity. The holy 
father was all this time informed that 
the cardinal had returned; but was 
recusant, and refused all overtures of 
reconciliation. Afler his last repulse, 
the cardinal made no further efforts ; 
but it was easy to see that he suffered 
acutely." 

All bosh I The " secretary " might 
have ascertained that the papers of 
the day announced the return of the 
cardinal to Rome and his audience ; 
for the cardinal was then a notoriety. 
But he is strong on his powers of me- 
mory ; or, perhaps, as he had killed 
the cardinal and buried him, as we 
saw, two years and nine months be- 
fore this — in March, 1865 — he now 
ran his eye over a file previous to that 
date ; and, as the papers were pub- 
lished while the cardinal was at Sor- 
rento, there was no mention then of 
an audience. But we are loth to be- 
lieve the " secretary " has even that 
little regard for what others remem- 
ber which would make him think it 
at all necessary to look even at a file 
of newspapers either for dates or facts. 

But he gives us, in lieu, an exqui- 
site production of his own memory. 

" The cardinal's enemies," he tells 
us, " were far too wary to resort to 
open acts." They remained so quiet 
that all suspicion was lulled to rest, 
except in the cardinal and his secre- 
tary. " It is remarkable that we some- 
times find an idea dart suddenly into 
the mind without cause or ramifica- 
tion." (! I) . . » This was the case 
with the secretary, probably also with 
the cardinal. The idea took this 
shape : " The favorite mode of obtain- 
ing secret information in Rome is by 
eaves-dropping and espionage. This 
palace has been for two months at the 
bidding of those wliD knew the car- 



dinal would return to it They are 
anxious to know all he says and does ; 
if possible, all he thinks. They will 
study the revelations of his counte- 
nance in moments of abandon. And 
if they have designs " — here the idea 
seemed going into extravagance. We 
decidedly agree with him; we even 
think the idea shows signs of ramifi- 
cation. 

One fiice of the cardinal's apart- 
ments was a breakfast-room, in which 
there hung a picture of St. Francis 
meditating. " I was reading in that 
room ; and the twilight had deepened 
as I sat thinking over my book. As I 
looked up, by the faint red glow of the 
wood-fire, I fancied that picture — a 
St. Francis meditating — had a pecu- 
liar expression about the eyes. The 
rapt saint looks upward, ignoring 
mundane vanities; this looked down- 
ward and steadily at nie, I felt in- 
clined to cut it open ; but dared not. 
After all. I imagined the gloom had 
deceived me." 

Again, two daj-s later, " I was sit- 
ting at breakfast with the cardinal, 
when he dropped his cup of chocolate, 
and, rising, went to the picture, and 
carefully examined it. . . . AVe look- 
ed at each other; and I felt the same 
idea pass through his mind. ... I 
resolved to make him understand that 
I followed his thoughts. ' Do you 
think,' said I, ' that St. Francis in his 
meditations becamesomelimes a little 
distrait f that his eyes wandered from 
heaven, for example, to some worldly 
object, say, as to the quality of your 
eminence's breakfast, or became sud- 
denly diverted by our conversation.' 
He looked steadily at me, then at the 
picture, which faced him as he sat, but 
was behind me. Then, after a mo- 
ment, replied, ' Ilisa fatality.' I saw 
no more of him that day. I heard 
from the valet that he was anxious 
not to be disturbed." 

Here we have espionage of the 



most wonderful kind caught in f^ 
gi-anti delicto. Is uoi the "socretflry" 
afraid he has imparted a new and it» 
portant lesson to iJie btirgtorsof Ne« 
York ? Just think of the dwailsl 
During thecardinal's absence, his eno- 
mies enter his apartments in the Pa- 
lazzo Gabrielli freely, notwithsliuiding 
the establishment is kept up, and aQ 
the servants are there save the valel, 
who is away with his master. No eye 
sees them, no car bears their steallhjr . 
footsteps nor any noise they make. 
No trace of their work is discovetcd 
They go everywhere, they examios 
every thing, and make tlieir prepare-, 
tions. What they did elsewhere n 
arc not told. But they paid speed 
attention to this break last-room, b 
cause the picture hung there. If tl 
wall behind It were of thick loasoni]^ 
they must have cut in it a nichf 
deep enough and big enough Id lid^ 
a man. That they should do this il 
an inhabited house without any om 
finding it out, is proof of their ability, 
But what if, as is most likely, 
painting hung on a partition wall oii]|p 
six or eight inches thick, where coulff 
the man stand ? What did they d ' 
in that case? We cannot imagina^ 
We think the burglars would be notK 
plussed, and would turn for further iftr 
struciion to the memory of c 
cretary." Beyond this, they provided 
themselves with means of eiitnuKe 
and passage from room to room, and 
of exit, quite irrespective of ordinafy 
doors and pubhc stairways. 

The cardinal returns to his palac^ 
and these means are put in use "-- 
spy, entering when or how i 

knows, and mounting to his place ii 

an equally mysterious manner, siondn 
behind the picture of St. Francis mq 
ditating, which hangs on the wall o 
the breakfast -room. The canva 
eyes of the picture hove, of couisc, 
been cut out ; and the spy fixes hn 
own living eyes in their place, SO iba^ 



Ten Years in Rofne. 



533 



he can see all that is to be seen, as 
well as hear all that is to be heard. 
Ordinarily, we suppose, the eyes are 
kept turned toward heaven, ignoring 
mundane vanities, because such was 
the original position of the painted 
eyes in the picture. But fatigue and 
duty combined, from time to time, to 
call for a change of their position. 
The eyes looked down on the break- 
fast-table, (perhaps longingly; for 
even spies behind pictures may get 
hungry,) or gleamed with intelligence 
in response to witticisms of con- 
versation, or unguarded and impor- 
tant revelations. Yet all was so artis- 
rically and naturally done that the 
secretary one day imagined the gloom 
had deceived him ; and two days 
afterward, the cardinal, after a careful 
examination and after looking at it a 
second time attentively, exclaimed, 
" It is a fatality !" 

Now, there is a mystery about thfs 
espionage which quite puzzles us, and 
which we should like to see explained. 
While the spy held his eyes thus glued 
to or inserted in the painting, where 
were his eyebrows ? And what did he 
do with his nose ? — his big Roman 
nose. For who can conceive a keen 
Roman spy without a large and pe- 
netrating Roman nose ? How did he 
manage to keep that nose from coming 
in contact with the painted canvas — 
from pressing against it and causing a 
very prominent bulge, and even push- 
ing the canvas away from the eyes ? 
This is a point that merits elucidation. 

Unfortunately the cardinal, it seems, 
at once left the room in which the 
" fatality " was, shut himself up, and 
would see no one. The " secretary " 
was as wanting in pluck on that occa- 
sion as he had been on another two 
days before. He felt inclined to cut 
the painting open to see what it was ; 
but dared not. If he had had the 
presence of mind of a little boy ten 
years old, he would have ventured to 



draw the bottom of the painting a few 
inches out from the wall, and would 
have looked behind to discover the 
secret. Had he done so, our mystery 
would doubtless have been solved, 
and a very interesting question would 
have been answered. What a pity 
the idea did not assume this practical 
" ramification " I 

In regard to the death of the car- 
dinal the memory of the " secretary " 
is brief, but terribly explicit and point- 
ed. 

" Four days " after the fatality- 
scene, " I was informed that the car- 
dinal desired me to spend the evening 
in his private apartments. • . • We 
had dined at five " — a change of hour ; 
it used to be six. " His eminence 
had confined himself to his favorite 
and insipid Chablis, of which he drank 
one little flask," (Monte Fiascone 
has slipped from the secretary's me- 
mory ;) " I to a more generous vin-' 
tage of Burgundy. The subject of 
our conversation was exceedingly im- 
portant. With the idea upon us like 
an incubus, we conversed in low 
tones ; and ever and anon the cardinal 
rose and examined the outer door. 
. , . The conversation ended by my 
being intrusted with certain docu- 
ments to place in safe keeping. , . . 
Knowing the importance of the docu- 
ments, I hesitated to keep them in my 
possession. Sealing them in a pack- 
et, I put on a street dress and hasten- 
ed to an English gentleman, who 
cheerfully undertook their keeping. 
. . . Cardinal Antonelli asked me 
for the papers I had received on that 
fatal night. • , . T rejoice to say — 
though strenuous exertions were made 
to obtain the papers — they were as 
persistently guarded; and I have them 
now." 

Pretty well remembered for these 
papers. But how about the cardi- 
nal? 

The secretary wiy^ >8aa.\^ oa ^^ 



B34 



Ten Yean in Rome. 



■morning after coiifi(iing ihe aforesaid 
sealed packet to the English gende- 
inan, "I rose early and repaired to 
the palace. The valet had orders to 
wake his master at seven. Itwanled 
but a Tew minutes. I retired to my 
owD room. Scarcely a quarter of an 
hour had elapsed ere the valet rush- 
ed in, pale with affright, exclaiming, 
' His eminence is dead I ' I followed 
him quickly lo the apartment, hai-ing 
alarmed the household. The dispo- 
sition of the chamber was as ordi- 
nary. The cardinal's dress lay on a 
chair, as the valet had placed it. 
His breviary was open at vespers. 
The bed was Ihe only thing disturb- 
ed. There were certain indications 
of a struggle, although very slight. 
The usually placid countenance of 
the cardinal was flushed aiid disco- 
lored. The two hands grasped the 
bed-clothes convulsively. A phy si- 
dan was hastily summoned, who pro- 
nounced life lo have been extinct 
some hours. ' From what cause ? ' I 
asked. He whispered, ' They will 
probably say apoplexy.' For him- 
self, the secretary has no doubt it 
was a murder perpetrated by the 
enemies of Cardinal d' Andrea." 

These are the recollections of the 
soi-iiisant secretary. They arc well 
entitled in the whole and in the se- 
veral details lo stand with his pre- 
cise recollections of the place and 
date of the funeral that followed in 
San Giovanni in Laterano, on the zzd 
day of March, 1865. 

'I'be papers announced that Car- 
dinal d'Andrca died in Rome, on the 
i4lh of May, 1868. For the details 
of his last hours, we are indebted to 
those members of his household who 
were with him and closed his eyes. 
It will be seen how different is the 
they give from that of llie 
who, if elsewhere he amused us, 
here fills us with astonishment at the 



boldness ofhis assertions, and sorrow 

On Thursday, May T4th, iS68,d 
cardinal, who had spent the forenot 
in his usual occupations, dined in lui 
usual health, or ill-heAlth, at halfp^ 
one. After dinner he continued Vt 
transact business with his chancclltf 
for a while, and then arranged to tar 
sume it on his return from the u«n| 
afternoon drive. He drove out fm^ 
the PalaiEO Gabrielli at about haU^, 
past four. His coachman drovi 
the usual staid gait of a cardinani 
carriage, by the Foro Trajano, on b 
the Colosseo and San Ciemcntc, U 
St. John Lateran's, and out of ll 
city gate near that church, along diB 
Via Appia Nuova. When he hid 
passed the first mile-stone firom t 
gate, he was surprised by an ordn Vf 
return. He noticed llial the 1 
nal, who was alone in the carrng^. 
siiemed to be sufTering. He a4xont 
ingty turned and retraced his stq« 
at the same gentle gait. On Utf 
square of St. John's, he received ft 
secondorder to go faster; and awhSft 
after, before he reached the Col<» 
seo, the cardinal ordered him n 
hurry. A fast trot brought them U 
the Palazzo Gabrielli by about halt 
past five. The chancellor was thCK^ 
and assisted the ser^-ants to take 111 
cardinal out of the carriage, and t 
assist him up to his chamber. Ht 
was suffering very much from a diffi*. 
culty of breathing, and seemed od>- 
erwise in pain. It was a crisis stK^ 
as he had had before, but it s 
more severe than usual. The t 
nal sent word to the chancellor ml 
to leave. He expected the spasm » 
pass aw.iy in a little while, and whcB 
it would be over, they might resi 
their work as arranged. 

The chancellor waited until 1 
seven, when, learning that the attACi^ 
still continued, he entered the ( 



Tat Years in Rome. 



535 



room. He was not only the official, 
but a devoted and confidential inti- 
mate friend of nearly twenty years' 
standing. He found the cardinal 
suffering to a degree that filled him 
with alarm. A physician was sent for, 
but was absent from his residence. 
An assistant came and prescribed 
some remedies. By eight, th^ physi- 
cian arrived, and took charge of the 
case, and did not leave the patient 
About nine, he was asked if it were 
proper to administer the sacrament 
of extreme unction. He replied that, 
so far, he did not see sufficient dan- 
ger to warrant it. Meanwhile the 
cardinal lay on his bed tossing rest- 
lessly in pain, and panting for breath, 
but joining in, as best he could, with 
the prayers for the sick, which had 
been begun, at his request, by his 
chaplain and the attendants between 
seven and eight o'clock. At ten, he 
asked to be placed in a large chair 
in his room. They bolstered him up 
in it. In half an hour he began to 
sink. The chaplain hastily admin- 
istered the rites of the church, and 
by eleven, Cardinal d' Andrea was no 
more. 

Thus, as IS not unfrequently the 
case, death came somewhat suddenly 
and unexpectedly, even after years of 
ill-health. 

An autopsy took place, as is cus- 
tomary, we believe, in Rome in the 
case of cardinals. It appeared that 
the immediate cause of his death 
was congestion of the lungs. The 
right lung was found to be nearly 
destroyed by tubercles. On one side 
of the brain a clot or indurated por- 
tion, seemingly of long standing, was 
discovered. In this lesion some of 
the cardinal's friends thought they 
found a physical cause of those dis- 
ordered peculiarities of mind of which 
we spoke as having been manifested 
in his later years. 

We may add that, after the official 



autopsy, the body lay in state in the 
Palazzo Gabrielli until Monday, May 
1 8th. On the evening of that day, 
it was conveyed in procession to the 
neighboring parish church of St. John 
of the Florentines, near the Castel 
Sant' Angelo. In that church, on 
Tuesday, 19th May, 1868, the fu- 
neral obsequies of Cardinal d' Andrea 
were celebrated, the pope and the 
cardinals assisting, as required by the 
etiquette of the court wl^en a cardi- 
nal dies in Rome. 

By the cardinal's own directions, 
his mortal remains were interred at 
the church of Sant* Agnese fuori delle 
Mura, of which, as we said, he had 
been titular cardinal before becoming 
Bishop of Sabina. 

We have thus followed this sot-dir 
sant secretary of the late Cardinal 
d* Andrea all through his article. We 
have overlooked, for brevity's sake, 
many minor points. But we have 
seen fully enough to establish the 
character of the article. We have 
seen that he blunders as to the date 
of the cardinal's funeral by three 
years and two months. He has 
blundered as to the church where it 
was performed by at least a mile and 
a half. San Giovanni in Laterano 
and St. John of the Florentines are 
unlike in shape and in rank, and are 
nearly at opposite points of the city. 

As to the private habits, the acts, 
and the opinions of the cardinal, he 
makes a series of blunders such as we 
might well look for in one who gives 
himself out as having been the confi- 
dential secretary of the late Cardinal 
d' Andrea, and yet whom no one re- 
members to have ever had any con- 
nection with the cardinal. 

As to the charges of enmity, of 
espionage, and even of murder, and 
the tragedy of the French captain, 
and various other remarks and com- 
ments en passant throughout the ar- 
ticle, by no meacD& \.o ^<& \lot^t c0l 



53<S Hymn of St. PanVs ^Christian Dcctruu SacieiyJ* 



the ecclesiastical dignitaries at Rome, 
and of the tone and character of 
society there — are these things only 
spice to give a certain piquancy to 
the article? or is the whole article 
written merely as a vehicle to convey 
these charges to the attention of the 
readers? 

We incline to the latter opinion. 
We are led to it by the clearer and 
more undisguised tenor of later arti- 
cles by the same pen in the Galaxy, 
We may, hereafter, if we find time. 



pay our respects to one or more of 
those articles. 

For the present, we will only say 
that if the proprietors of the Galaxy 
have intended to bargain with a wri- 
ter of fiction, they are getting the 
worth of their money in matter and 
quantity, if not in quality and style. 
If, however, they expected to secure 
a series of articles instructive because 
truthful, the case is decidedly the 
reverse. 



HYMN OF ST. PAUL'S "CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE SOCIETY." 



Not ours to ask thee, " What is truth ?•• 
For here it shines the light of light ; 

And all may see it, age or youth, 
Who will but leave the outer night 

Tis ours to tread, not seek, the way 

That " brightens to the perfect day,** 

But this we ask thee, dearest Lord — 
Let faith, so precious, feed and grow ; 

And make our lives the more accord 
With fear and love, the more we know. 

For thus, too, shall we point the way 

That " brightens to the perfect day," 

Nor have we learnt it save to teach ; 

It is for others we are wise. 
The humblest has a charge to preach 

Thy kingdom in a nation's eyes : 
A nation groping for the way 
That " brightens to the perfect day." 

O thou, our patron, great St. Paul I 

Apostie of the West, to thee 
We boldly come and fondly call, 

As children at a father's knee : 
Come thou, and with us lead the way 
That " brightens to the perfect day " I 



B. D. H. 



Lothair. 



J37 



LOTHAIR.^ 



Lothair is both a novel and a 
pamphlet. Two distinct currents of 
thought are apparent, running through 
the work, variously intertwined and 
blended, but from time to time assert- 
ing definite individuality. This phe- 
nomenon is explained by the two-fold 
character of the writer, who is a nove- 
list and man of letters, and at the 
same time a man of the world and a 
statesman. The novel is written ap- 
parently to reassert his powers and 
demonstrate to the literary world 
that his genius is undimmed by age, 
perhaps also to indulge the exercise 
of a favorite and successful art, by 
which he has raised himself from an 
obscure position to one of influence 
and renown. The pamphlet is evi- 
dendy intended for political effect; 
to throw discredit upon eminent per- 
sons, to disparage the value of con- 
versions among the higher classes of so- 
ciety, and, through the thin veil of fic- 
tion, inflict all the damage possible 
upon the court of Rome and the Ro- 
man Catholic Church. It reveals 
the political character of its writer, 
his utter want of principle and con- 
sistency, and enables us to comprehend 
how he has overcome all the obsta- 
cles to his career, by great industry, 
acute intelligence, and absolute un- 
scrupulousness in turning men and 
women, things and events, to his own 
personal advantage. As a novel it 
adds nothing to the established repu- 
tation of the author. It is rated at a 
high figure, commercially speaking, 
and will no doubt be a remunerative 
investment for its publishers. 

It purports to be a picture of the 
habits, manners, and mode of life of 

•Ltikair. By the Right HoDorable B. DisnwH. 
Pp. 318. D. Appleton & Co. x87a 



people of the highest rank in Englandi 
with sketches of persons of diverse cul- 
ture and foreign birth, to heighten the 
contrasts and bring out the lights and 
deepen the shadows. Natural scen- 
ery, stately dwellings, ancient trees, 
sunlight, flowers, music, and firesh air 
give life and animation to the varying 
scenes, and form the appropriate ba- 
sis, background, and accompaniment 
for the living panorama, Lothair is 
a youth of pure blood and fair edu- 
cation, the heir of immense estates and 
a lofty title. He is good-looking, ath- 
letic kind-hearted, shy, sensitive, and 
sentimental. 

He has suffered the depression and 
discouragement of a sour Presbyte- 
rian system of education, from which 
he was happily rescued by the hon- 
est and determined efforts of one of 
his guardians. Cardinal Grandison. 

He emerges just before he comes 
of age, and appears before us in the 
midst of an elegant family, in which, 
fortunately, all the daughters are mar- 
ried excepting one, who has great 
beauty and a remarkably fine voice. 
He immediately, as in duty bound, 
falls desperately in love, and in the 
most honorable manner possible con- 
fides the state of his feelings to the 
mother of the object of his affections, 
who is, by the way, a fine specimen 
of a thorough -bred English lady. 

The mother wisely and tenderly 
counsels delay, and we would recom- 
mend her conduct in this interesting 
occasion to all the middle-aged ladies 
of our acquaintance when placed in 
a similar situation. Lothair accepts 
her decision, and in the mean time 
becomes more and more intimate 
with the cardinal, and forms the zx> 
quaintanceof aCa\J[io^c^axfi^^ ^xr&ssx.-^ 



$38 Lot 

ly connected, and becomes somewhat 
smitten with the real heroine of the 
tale, Clare Arundel. The objective 
point of the story now develops itself. 
A struggle for the rich and tilled 
youth commences between the Eng- 
lish Establishment and the Church. 
Polltica! and mercenary motives are, 
with great impartiality, ascribed to 
both the contending powers. The 
combat between the rough and honest 
Scotch Presbyterian uncle and the 
accomplished and fascinating cardi- 
nal is wisely dropped. 

No imagination could suggest the 
thought that one who had escaped 
from evangelicalism could ever return 
to it. It is, in the author's mind, 
simply a political squabble for the 
influence and vote of the future peer. 
His soul is of no account. 

The conduct and development of 
this contest gives the right honorable 
romancer an opportunity to introduce 
the lords and ladies, the dukes and 
bishops, cardinals and monsignori, 
artists, wits, and men about town, 
with whom he delights to fill his 
pages. They all speak in character, 
and in the main with artistic consis- 
tency, and their conversation is cer- 
tainly sprightly, often witty, some- 
times wise, and never oflensive on 
the score of taste and morality. It 
affords him the opportunity to flatter 
and praise, and at the same lime ex- 
hibit a power of sarcasm and ridicule, 
the effective methods of his earlier 
writings, by which he climbed to his 
present position. He exhibits talents 
and a knowledge of life which would 
have made him equally successful in 
the role of banker, pi dure -merchant, 
diamond-broker, or even old clo'man. 
He gloats over the splendors which he 
describes; and beauty, rank, fashion, 
fine clothes, crystal, porcelain, pictures, 
jewels, " ropes of pearls," castles, pala- 
ces, parks, and gardens, are dwelt upon 
the cherishing fondness of the 



^^ 



gentlemen of keen eyes, hooked Il<Me^ 
and unctuous touch. Character, con- 
duct, motives, prindples, sentinients, 
atTections, passions, and religion are 
mingled in admirable confusion, aie 
estimated at the same value asd 
weighed in tlie same balance. 

There is for him as novdist or 
pamphleteer no principle but expe- 
diency, no rule of conduce but tcni- 
poral advantage. He vrorships ■ 
golden calf. These be thy gods, 
Israel I At a critical period, while out 
hero is wavering between his Angli- 
can and Catholic mistress, and the 
cardinal is striving to acquire a 
wholesome influence over his some- 
what unstable relative, while he b 
sailing on the summer sea of high lift 
and elegant society, he goes to Oxford 
to see his horses. He has wisely left 
those useful animals at the universi- 
ty, while he is pursuing his stui)ic» of 
life and manners in Londoru At Ox- 
ford, he meets Colonel and Mis. Cani- 
pian, and is taken completely off hit 
feet. Fresbyterianism, Anglicanisa), 
Corisande and Glare Arundel, the E»- 
tablLshmeQt,and Catholicity disappear 
at once, and Madre Natura in the 
splendid physique of the divine Thei>- 
dora, claims au unresisting captive and 
victim. 

This is either an inspiration of a 
romancer's imagination or a study. 
If the latter, there is no hope for tbe 
right honorable author's salvation on 
the score of invincible ignorance, 

Lothoir basks in the splendor of 
Theodora's beauty, and surrenden 
his reason to the fascination of her 
fabe political principles. The lower 
or transient good is preferred to die 
higher, the permanent good. He 
chooses the lower, as did Ludfef 
and Adam, Judas and Luther, and 
multitudes have done and are doinfr 
Naturally and artistically there ia do 
way out of this scrape excepting 
through a catastrophe ; religiously, 



_ J 



Lothair. 



539 



excepting through penance. Theo- 
dora is the ideal of Gneco-Roman 
heathenism, and the artist Phoebus 
is its high-priest They are fine crea- 
tions from an artistic point of view. 

They enable the author to introduce 
some clever writing about art, and 
some speculations regarding the 
Aryan and Semitic races, evidently 
with the intention of associating re- 
vealed religion with the idea of super- 
stition. The effect left upon the 
mind is something like that produced 
by a certain class of sermons which 
we read on Monday morning in the 
New-York Herald, The novelist is 
hurried on at this stage by, the neces- 
sities of the pamphleteer. Political 
events succeed each other so rapidly 
that he was obliged to send Lothair 
as rapidly as possible to the field of 
battie (his heathen destiny) against 
the church. 

With exceeding facility the money 
which was going to build a cathedral, 
to please a pious girl, is diverted to 
aid in blowing up St. Peter's, and 
Lothair finds himself as Captain Mu- 
riel, in the field, on the staff of one of 
his former acquaintances. Captain 
Bruges, the red republican general 
advancing against Rome. Theodora 
and Colonel Campian are also with 
him, the former disguised in male ap- 
parel, and acting as secretary to the 
general. We suppose her prayer ut- 
tered under the depressing intelli- 
gence of the embarkation of the 
French troops to assist the holy 
father, is an expression of the reli- 
gion of nature. Why she should pray 
to God instead of Jupiter, we confess 
we do not see, unless in deference to 
the opinion of most of the author's 
readers. He might have fulfilled all 
the indications by quoting Pope, and 
at the same time complimented the 
memory of a poet who is getting 
rather out of date. 

However^ she hears the French 



have disembarked, and accordingly 
suspends her prayers and recovers 
her spirits. The impending catas- 
trophe comes. The tragic is accom- 
plished, and the divine Theodora is 
slain. Madre Natura and the secret 
societies are hurled against the rock 
of Peter, and shivered. Theodora is 
mortally wounded, and dying, im- 
presses a chaste kiss upon the lips of 
Lothair, and exacts the promise never 
to conform to the Church of Rome. 

The next step finds him severely 
wounded by a French chassepot, the 
guest of Lord St. Jerome in his palace 
in Rome, carefully attended by Sisters 
of Charity and Clare Arundel. Na- 
ture has perished and grace triumphs. 
The venom of the anti-Catholic no- 
velist and the malice of the states- 
man of the establishment are now re- 
vealed in a popish plot, which is sup- 
posed to be hatched by Lothair's 
Roman Catholic friends, the prelates 
of Rome, and, by implication, the 
holy father. 

The object of the conspiracy is to 
impose upon Lothair and the world 
that he was wounded while fighting 
for the defence of the holy see, in- 
stead of in the ranks of its determined 
enemies, and to convince him that the 
Blessed Virgin Mary personally ap- 
peared to rescue him firom inevitable 
death. These pages enhance the 
claims of the work as one of fiction, 
but detract very much from its repu- 
tation as a specimen of art. The plan 
is thoroughly un-English, and incom- 
patible with the characters of the act- 
ors as previously portrayed. It is by 
no means impossible for the Blessed 
Virgin or any saint or angel to ap- 
pear, and we should be bound to be- 
lieve the fact if vouched for on credi- 
ble testimony. 

It is, however, naturally, politically, 
and religiously impossible for priests, 
bishops, and prelates to combine to 
make any huQiajiV)«axv\^\>^^N^^\s&^ 



^^«>tni 



or to palm ofF a false miracle for any 
purpose whatsoever. We are chari- 
tably left in doubt as to who believed 
or who did not believe in the appari- 
tion, but we are treated to a conver- 
sation in which Cardinal Grandison 
endeavors to make Lothair believe a 
lie, and to abuse the enfeebled condi- 
tion- of his brain to reduce him to a 
condition of mental and mora! imbe- 
cility. 

Mr. Disraeli evidently expects no 
advantages from Catholic voters, or, 
perhaps, counts on the charity which 
he abuses. 

These passages are the only dan- 
gerous ones in the book ; they are skil- 
fully contrived to cr}'stallize waver- 
ing minds, especially of young men of 
high rank, into determined opposition 
lo the holy see. They are intended to 
awaken sympathy for Lothair's help- 
less and almost hopeless captivity, and 
to call forth sentiments of satisfaction 
and pleasure at his adventurous es- 
cape. He does escape, and falls 
into the arms of high-priest Phcebus 
and two inferior divinities of Madrft 
Nalura. They have little power, 
however, the divine Theodora being 
dead; and our hero, growing blasi if 
not ^viscr and better, subsides into an 
sesthetical but harmless admiration 
of external nature and Euphrosyne, 
Previously to his quitting Rome, the 
author invents a scene which is either 
a sop to spiritism, or an insult Co his 
readers' intelligence. 

The appearance of the Blessed 
Virgin, under any drcurastances, is 
treated with derision; but Theodora, 
like the Witch of Endor, is summoned 
to interview Lothair in the Coliseum, 
and remind him of his fatal promise. 
Perhaps he only means lo illustrate a 
phenomenon of an overexcited brain, 
whose circulation is enfeebled by a 
long ilhiess and a severe wound. We 
are left purposely in doubt on this 

' it, as on many others. This por- 



tion of the book contains vivid snd 
beautiful sketches of camp-life and 
fighting on a small scale, of Rome 
and Italy, the Tyirhencan Sea and . 
classic isles. Under the auspices of 
the Phcebus and Euphrosyne, he is 
wafted in the yacht Pan to Syria and 
the Holy Land, and sinks into a pleas- 
ing and self-satisfied reverie on Mount 
Olivet. 

The descriptions of Judca and Je- 
rusalem, Calvary and Sion, Galilee 
and Jordan, Lebanon and Bashan, 
could be penned only by ona who has 
the traditions of the Jew, the Roman, 
and the Christian. There is 
mournful regret of the Jew, the pronJ. 
remembrance of the Roman, and the 
weak and sickly sentimentality of 
a very doubtful sort of Christian. 
They want depth and pathos, nnd 
leave the mind disturbed and rtissalis- 
fied. They profane rather than hal- 
low those sacred places which inspirt 
terror or love in every human brvast. 

The habits of his English friend^ 
whom he meets in the Holy Landt' 
who made excursions which they called 
pilgrimages, and feasted, made lor^ 
and hunted, express about the degree 
of S)-mpaihy which fashionable Higlb- 
Church Anglicanism has with (^ 
vary. The noble and gentle Syriait 
now appears to put the finishing toiidf 
to Lothair's religious experiences. H( 
is a new figure in fiction, a specimen ol 
oriental Turveydrop, and the patriarch 
of a new school of Israelitish cvan 
gelicalism. In the absence of authea 
tic data, we should presume he I 
descended from a highly respectabll 
family of Pharisees, which hfcd, n 
process of time, intermarried wid 
the Sadducees, and perhaps sufTcro 
some slight admixture with the \\ks 
then round about He happily sue 
ceeds in removing all distinct an4 
vivid religious impressions from tl 
mind of Lothair, and prepares tl 
way, after a final interview with I 



Lothair. 



541 



former Mazzinian general, who speaks 
in a cheerful and airy manner of his 
failure to blow up St. Peter's, and 
consoles Catholic readers with the 
assurance that the old imposture is 
still firmly seated, for his return to 
England, the arms of Lady Corisande, 
and the bosom of the church by law 
established. Here we leave him 
married to an heiress and laid up in 
lavender, to grow old, fat, and gouty. 
While we may speak with some de- 
gree of complaisance of this novel as 
a work of art merely, and a picture 
of life and manners, in which it is far 
inferior to similar novels of Bulwer 
and several other contemporary wri- 
ters of fiction, we are compelled to 
discuss this production in its political 
and moral significance in a very dif- 
ferent spirit. Mr. Disraeli must have 
some powerful motive to induce him 
to attack the church and outrage the 
feelings of Catholics throughout the 
world while he himself has no settled 
and strong religious convictions of 
any kind. That motive must be the 
only one which would operate upon a 
mind like his — the desire to get back 
to power. He starts the " No-popery " 
hue and cry, and invents a most con- 
temptible, shallow, and flimsy plot to 
influence what he supposes to be the 
radical hostility of the English people 
to the Church of Rome, and to throw 
contempt and discredit upon the con- 
version of Englishmen of rank, and 
especially that of the Marquis of Bute. 
We think he has not only committed 
a moral crime, but made a gross po- 
litical blunder. We believe there is a 
profound sympathy throughout the 
world in the hearts of simply honest 
and good people with the holy father, 
and that if the question could be tested 
by vote to-day. Who is the best man 
living? Pius IX. would receive an 
overwhelming majority. While de- 
nouncing in the strongest terms the 



baseness of the attempt to impute fraud' 
chicanery, and political trickery to the 
policy and plans of the church, we 
have reason to thank the right honora- 
ble and learned author for the reve- 
lation he has made of the secret so- 
cieties. He has had ample means of 
learning and understanding their ope- 
rations, and his implied conclusion is, 
that the two great forces arrayed 
against each other in the modem 
world are the Roman Catholic Church 
and the secret societies, of whom Ma- 
sonry is the mother. This is a con- 
clusion which we accept. It is the ever- 
lasting antagonism between the church 
of Christ and the church of the devil. 
We hope the glimpse thus aflbrded 
will cause some of our clergy to re- 
consider the lenient opinions they 
sometimes express in regard to Ma- 
sonry and its offshoots, and to recog- 
nize the supernatural wisdom that has 
directed the unwavering opposition 
which the church has manifested to- 
ward these works of darkness. As a 
whole, we do not think Lothair will 
do much harm. It will provoke much 
conversation and discussion. It will 
be praised, ridiculed, admired, and 
contemned, and speedily sink into 
oblivion, to be read only by students 
of literature and those who seek for 
the light that works of fiction throw 
upon contemporary history. It re- 
minds us of something which occurred 
a long' time ago, and which cannot 
be offensive to the right honorable 
gentleman, who finds a pleasure in 
insulting cardinals and bishops, inas- 
much as the chief personages in the 
transaction are prototypes of himself 
and his book. It is the story of Ba- 
laam and Balaam's ass. He has at- 
tempted to curse, and in fact he has 
blessed, and the ass which he is riding 
only speaks like a human being when 
it meets the angel in the Catholic girl 
Clare Arundel 



<*^ 



The Invitation Heeded. 



543 



to hold the love of an honest heart. 
It would be hard for any one to 
know what the English church really 
teaches ; and if it teaches any thing, 
it certainly does so upon human au- 
thority, since infallibility is denied in 
itself, and in every other communion. 
When our eyes are once opened, we 
wonder we were so long deluded. 
The real reason why High-Churchmen 
do not become Catholics is, that they 
do not sincerely wish to know the 
truth, which calls to sacrifices and 
sad trials of the heart. 

" If any man love father or mother 
more than me, he is not worthy of 
me." We believe that one earnest 
prayer for light, with a full determina- 
tion to follow it at every cost without 
hesitation, would lead to the one 
home of truth every Anglican, and 
even every ritualist. But the mis- 
fortune is, that they will not offer any 
such prayer. The world of honor or 
affection in which they move is too 
dear to be renounced. Let us hear 
what Dr. Stone so feelingly tells of 
his own experience : 

•* Time went on ; and I was not conscious 
of the smallest change in my theological 
opinions and sympathies ; when all at once 
the ground upon which I had stood with 
such careless confidence, gave way. Like 
a treacherous island, it sank without warn- 
ing from beneath my feet, and left me strug- 
gling in the wide waters. Thanks be to 
God that I was not left to perish in that cold 
and bitter flood, and that my feet so soon 
rested for ever on the eternal rock I How 
it came about — ^by what intellectual process 
my position had been undermined — ^by what 
unconscious steps my feet had been led to 
an unseen brink, I did not know. I was 
only aware of the sudden terror with which 
I found myself slipping and going, and the 
darkness which succeeded the swift plunge." 

** I remembered how St. Augustine, 'one 
of the profoundest thinkers of antiquity,' 
even for four years after he had become a 
catechumen under St Ambrose, was entan- 
gled in the meshes of his Manichaean heresy. 
I admitted instantly that I, too, mi^ he un- 
der a spell ; that my case might be— I do 



not dare to say like that of the great saint 
and father, but that of the Donatists or the 
Gnostics ; since I was certainly not more 
positive in my convictions than they, neither 
could I furnish myself with any satisfactory 
reason for believing that I was blessed with 
greater light. And then the hand of God 
drew back the veil of my heart ; and I saw 
for the first time, and all at once, how utter- 
ly steeped I had been in prejudice, how 
from the beginning I had, without a question 
or suspicion, assumed the very point about 
which I ought reverently to have inquired 
with an impartial and a docile mind. I had 
studied the Roman controversy ; so I thought 
—if in my short life I could fairly be said to 
have studied any thing ; but hew had I stu- 
died it ? Had there ever been a time when 
it was an open question in my mind whether 
the claims of the Roman Church were valid ? 
Had I begun by admitting that the pope 
might be right? Had it ever crossed my 
thoughts that the church in communion with 
the see of Peter might be indeed the one 
only Catholic Church of our Lord Jesus 
Christ ? And had I ever resolved, with all 
my soul, as one standing on the threshold 
and in the awful light of eternity, to begin 
by tearing down every assumption and di- 
vesting myself of every prejudice, and then^ 
wherever truth should lead the way, to fol- 
low — * leave all and follow *? Alas ! never. 
I had studied simply to combat and refute. 
The suggestion that * Romanism' might 
after all be identical with Christianity was 
preposterous. The papacy was the great 
apostasy, the mystery of iniquity ^ it was 
the master-piece of Satan, who had made 
his most successful attack upon the church 
of God by entering and corrupting it. The 
rise of the papal pretensions was matter of 
the plainest history ; and every well-instruct- 
ed child could point out how one fiction after 
another had been grafted into the creed of 
that apostate church, until now the simple 
&ith of early days was scarce recognizable 
under the accumulated error of centuries. 
* History * — who wrote that history ? * Well- 
instructed child' — ^why, that was the Tery 
point at issue ! 

**I saw that I had been guilty of what 
Bossuet calls * a calumny,' and what I now 
acknowledged to be an act of injustice, name- 
ly, of charging upon Catholics inferences 
which I had myself drawn from their doc- 
trines, but against which Catholics indig- 
nantly protest I could not say with St. 
Augustine that 'I blushed with joy;' but 
with shame I blushed, * at having so many 
years barked, not against the Catholic faith, 
but against the fictions of csxta\. vcsiai^BCDAi- 
tions, FoT so tmYl txi)QLm^cra& >DAii\\)«ft:«^ 



544 



The Invitation Heedtd. 



I con* 



Ihat what I ought by inquiring to have 
JesiDCd, I hid pronounced an, condemning. 

, . . I should have knocked and pro- 
posed the doubt, bow it was lo be believed, 
not insultingt)r opposed it a« if believed.' 

" This is the ' plunge " I spoke of. I used 
Ihe word betause it eipresscd, ss well per- 
haps as any otlier, the terrifying rapidity 
which marked the steps of my intellectual 
crisis. Upon some men llie discovery of r 
liie-long error may break gradually ; truth 
may be said to have its dawning; but to me 
it came with a sbock. The rain descended 
and the floods came; my house fell; and 
greet was Ihe fall of il. 

" Then followed a sense of blank desolate- 
ness. I was p^P'OB among ruins; anil 
wherewith should I go lo work m build 
again ? I do not roeaa that I fnllered. 
Thank God thai he kept me true, and sulTer- 
cd me not lo shrink from the sharp agony 
whidi 1 perceived was penibly in store for 
me! To borrow words of the great father 
from whose enperience I have already drawn, 
' God gave me that mind, Ihat I should pre- 
fer nothing to the discovery of truth, wish, 
Ihink of, love naught besides.' Bui Ihe 
lask of reconstruction seemed almost help- 
less. 

" And so I set my fa« forward with des- 

seem, a very short time — 1 hod not a trace 
of doubt left that I had all along been a vain 
enemy of Ihe one, catholic, and apostolic 
church, ^^'hy mX in a short lime ? Why 
not in a month, or a week, or a doy ? Is it 
any rcfleclion upon truth that she surrenders 
herself <(uickly lo a soul whose every nerve 
is strained in her pursuit 7 Is il any argu- 
ment against the church of God lliat il is 
easily identilied? Surely, if there be a 
kingdom of heaven tipon earth, it must be 
known by marks which cannot be mistaken. 
tfcs I I knew it when I had found it. And I 
round it as in Ihe parable, like a treasure 
hidden in a field— in Ihe self-same field up 
and dcnvn which I hod wandered (or years, 
and where I hid often trampled it under my 
bet. And when I had found il, I hid it, 
scarce daring to gaze at its splendor, and cry- 
ing, as St. Aogusline cried, ' Too late, alas I 
have I known thee, O ancient and eternal 
Imtli 1' And then, for joy thereof, I went 
and sold all that I had, and bought ihat 
field." 

The pages which follow this preface 
are a brief but cogent exposition of the 
convictions which forced themselves 
the mind of the author. He 



develops the argunicnt n 
so availing in his own cas 
it seemsto us, should be satisfactory td 
any earnest inquirer. He camineai> 
ces by viewing the Catholic Church % 
its historical aspects, as the human eye 
beholds it, and without any neccssaijr 
reference to its supernatural cbaracto! 
The altitude of the world toward ii iB 
the present and in every age is » 
proof of its greatness, for men odibtf 
fear nor attack an enemy which ibey 
despise. Its wonderful life, in S^BX. 
of opposition which would long agn 
have destroyed any merely hunua 
organization, is so striking a fact th) 
no honest mind can fail to fixl i 

Cut it is not only as a /r;-/«^ bodjT, 
with a vitality unknown to any otbop 
society, that it impressesour intellects; 
in its wonderful life it has bceo i" 
guardian of morals, and the atiihot 
of every high virtue. CivQuatidll' 
owes its very existence to its cred 
and its fostering care. And whS£ 
Protestantism, of only recent origil^' 
has failed to accomplish any thing bol! 
destruction, there is no sign of deciy 
or feebleness In the antuent aad ui 
changing church. 

In the second part of the vroric t1 
author gives the reasons in lull I 
this wonderful vitality, and shows h 
the " Word made flesh " is the % 
of life lo that body which he fills, i 
which the Paraclete sent by Mm eveJ 
animates. The facts of Christian!^ 
are clearly drawn out, and the n 
sary notes of the church are tried b) 
Ihe appeal to holy Scripture and Mt 

dition. Prom the conclusion of tl 

argument there is no escape, and it I 
well demonstrated that the religion a 
Clirist stands or falls with the Cltho 
tic faith. 

In the concluding portion of 'Ct^ 
book, Dr. Stone looks carefully atthf 
essential features of that body whidi 
the incarnate God, as a mastcr-buQd 



Th£ Invitation ffeedid. 



545 



er, framed with one head, and all the 
needful constituents of a perfect or- 
ganism. The office of St. Peter was 
not simply an ornamental appendage 
to the company of apostles, but an 
integral and essential part in the com- 
plex of visible Christianity. The 
church is Christianity in the concrete, 
and can no more exist without St 
Peter than the human body can live 
without a head. And to that head 
all the functions of the body are su- 
bordinated. There is no fear of any 
unjust preponderance, or that any 
member of the body will lose its ac- 
tivity or honor; for the Holy Ghost 
lives in the body, and speaks through 
the mouth of its head. The functions 
of the primacy are displayed with 
beautiful clearness in this work, which 
without any unnecessary words refutes 
the arguments of objectors, and cuts 
to pieces their vain appeals to history 
or antiquity. We are much pleased 
to see how an honest mind, which 
had no reason to seek for Catholic 
truth except for its own sake, has been 
able to see how all the functions of 
the papacy are involved in the very 
constitution of the church. 

The infallibility of the sovereign 
pontiff as " the father and the teacher 
of all Christians ** is directly deduced 
from the position he holds in the ec- 
clesiastical body, and the needs of 
his office. We earnestly commend 
this work to those who are searching 
for truth, and are willing to embrace 
it when it presents itself. While there 
is no new argument, there is great 
freshness in the manner in which it is 
conducted. There are very many 
who would not become Catholics even 
if Almighty God were to work mira- 
cles before their eyes. We say this 
advisedly and from sad experience. 
They are too attached to the circles 
in which they move ; and even when 
divine light urges them keenly, they 
are willing to take the risk. So they 

VOL. XL— 35 



compound with their consciences by 
assuming a great spiritual activity in 
their own spheres, and the noon of 
their day of grace passes away. They 
will never see again the freshness and 
life of the morning. 

There are others who deal with 
truth as they would be ashamed to 
deal with any affair of human life. 
They ask that every difficulty, histori- 
cal or theological, shall be removed 
from the vast field of controversy ere 
they will yield assent to a proposition 
they are forced to admit, which is 
the key of the whole position. To 
those who will not be guided by the 
light of faith, this is an unending task. 
They are worse than the Jews, who 
would not believe "unless they saw 
signs and wonders." The Catholic 
Church does not offer any more trials 
to the understanding than did the 
m^oek and lowly Man of Sorrows in 
his sojourn upon earth. All difficul- 
ties cannot be removed at once, nor 
before the shadows of error have 
given way to the bright sun of truth. 
We cannot see perfectly in the night; 
yet there is really but one question 
to be asked and answered. Did Jesus 
Christ, my divine Redeemer, found the 
Catholic Church, and promise it per- 
petuity ? If so, then I am bound to 
accept it as I find it; for I cannot 
make a church for myself, nor could 
he allow the commimion which he 
formed and vivified to fall into error. 
If I will not accept this church, I 
may wander on the waste without a 
guide, for there is no such thing as 
Christianity for me. 

Another thing which this book im- 
presses upon us is very important, and 
it is a truth which we have had oc- 
casion to know from long acquain- 
tance with Protestantism. There is 
only one way of dealing with those 
whom we believe to be in error, and 
that is by always maintaining with 
consistency the principles oC o>xl cc«»^ 



546 



Tlie Vatican CoundL 



Any attempt to compromise with 
Protestants, as if there were not a 
diametrical opposition between truth 
and falsehood, will be disastrous to 
their conversion. Men will not give 
up the associations of years, renounce 
position and hopes, and even break 
family ties, unless they believe it ne- 
cessary to their salvation. Nothing 
less than this motive can be held up 
to the wanderer who seeks in vain 
from his oyvn intellect the lights that 
will guide him to a happy eternity. 
And any converts that come into the 
church from any lower motive are 
unfit for the graces of faith, and will 
never imbibe the spirit of a true 
Catholic. There is one God and one 
church, and this church is a necessity 
tto all to whom its message of mercy 
•comes. It can stand upon this ground 



alone as a divine oi^ganizatioo, and 
here only can demand the obedience 
of mankind. 

There are many souls sadly in need 
and without a religion, which is the 
first want of our nature. There axt 
many who are trying to gain time 
against the Spirit of God by postpon- 
ing the hour of sacrifice. There are 
those who, in hollow mockery of their 
highest aspirations, are playing with 
shadows, and deceiving themselves 
with coimterfeits of the truth. Wc 
pray God that this book may £idl 
into their hands, and be a messenger 
from on high, bidding them look wdl 
to foundations which are built on the 
sand, and can never abide the tem- 
pest of human passion, much less the 
storm of God's judgment. 



THE FIRST CECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. 



NUMBER SIX. 



Holy-Week in Rome ! How many 
Christian hearts have yearned for it, 
have looked forward to it in hope ! 
How many recall it among the sweet- 
est and most precious memories of 
the past ! In this sacred city, and in 
this most solemn season, a spell is 
thrown around the faithful pilgrim ; 
or rather, he is released ip a great mea- 
sure from the delusive spells of the 
world. Mind and heart, and, we 
might almost say, the body too, seem 
to live in a new world, in which the 
all-absorbing thought and affair is 
the grand mystery of what God has 
done in his infinite power and love 
to redeem this fallen race of man. 

What emotions must fill the catho- 
lic heart as, after perhaps a long and 



weary journey, one is rapidly bome 
on by the train from Civita Vecchia, 
and knows at last that within one hour 
he will be in Rome. The yellow Ti- 
ber is flowing by the railway track, 
sluggishly and silently, on to the sea. 
At intervals, antique-looking barges, 
with high-peaked prows and high 
stems, are floating down, heavilj 
laden with boxes of statuary and of 
marbles, or of other works of art — ^it 
may be, of books or of baggage. A 
couple of oars suffice to keep the ves- 
sel in mid-channel, or to accelerate 
its motion. Perhaps, if the course of 
the sinuous river allows it, a huge la- 
teen-sail on a heavy stump of a mast 
helps it onward. Perchance, too, a 
tiny steamer meets him, puffing its 



The Vatican Council, 



547 



iward; or the train over- 
ther breasting the stream 
g up three or four barges, 
r than itself. The eye tra- 
ss the classic river, and 
r the rolling surface of the 
, and takes notes of the 
s that dot its surface, most- 
' the mausoleums and mas- 
s with which the Romans 
•e wont to line their roads 
Dm the city, for miles and 
: length Rome is at hand ; 

Tiber you see the new St. 
-a muros, rising like a phoe- 
:he ruinous conflagration of 
[ not yet entirely finished. 
: apostle was buried here 
lartyrdom. Here his body 
een venerated. Some day, 
you may come hither, and 
^ndor of that church look 

the confession to catch a 
' the interior of the under- 
rypt, and the sarcophagus 
in which lie his mortal re- 
i read the large letters on 

Apostolus Martyr, " Paul, 
e and Martyr." On the lofty 
r the front, plainly visible, 
antic statue of the apos- 
f, bearing the emblematic 

if standing sentinel and 
the approach to the Holy 
:h he consecrated by his 
and his death. Soon you 
bridge over the stream, and 
re turned to the left, where 
city w^alls, now visible, and 
3f houses, and the cupolas 
hurches, you see for a mo- 
two the majestic dome of 
s towering over all. The 

around the walls of the 
me distance before entering, 
iter's is soon shut out from 

to be replaced by the ma- 
t of St. John of Lateran's, 
nd. But on the other side, 
ore clearly than before the 



campagna with its multitude of ruin.««, 
and the Sabine and Alban Moun- 
tains. In the clear atmosphere you 
can distinguish the vineyards and 
olive groves, and dark forests, and 
cities and towns and pleasant villas. 
Along the campagna, from the foot of 
these hills, there stretches for miles 
on miles, like a huge centipede, a 
long line of dark and jagged masonry, 
borne aloft on massive piers and 
arches. It is an old aqueduct, or, as 
your guide-book tells you, three aque- 
ducts in one. You dash through one 
of those arches, and the panorama 
is changed. Other mountains in the 
distance, with other cities and towns, 
other ruins on the campagna — the 
ancient basilicas of St. Lawrence and 
St. Agnes near at hand. At length 
you pass through an archway of the 
wall into the city. St. John of Late- 
ran's is again before you. Not distant 
is the church of Santa Croce ; and St 
Mary Major's, with its cupolas, its 
mediaeval belfry, and its obelisk, is 
even nearer. The balmy breeze of 
the afternoon brings to your ear the 
sweet chime of its many bells. You 
are on the Quirinal hill, and can look 
over some portion of the city, with 
its l>elfiies, and cupolas, its red-tiled 
roofs, and many-windowed houses. 
Near by are massive ruins. The ex- 
cavations of the railway track have 
unearthed broken columns, frescoed 
walls of ancient rooms, and masses of 
travertino masonry, belonging to the 
walls which Servius Tullius, the fifth 
king of Rome, built around the city. 
Issuing from the depot to seek your 
hotel, you are at once before the ruins 
of the baths of Diodesian, and the 
Cistercian Abbey, and the church of 
St. Mary degli Angioli. Your way 
leads by churches, palaces, ruins, 
obelisks, statues, and ever-gushing 
fountains, through a maze of narrow 
streets with sharp turns. You under- 
stand that these streets 'fvcc^ noX ^aai^. 



TAr Vatican CoitncU. 



their o 



out, anil tlie houses built on clear 
ground. The houses stand more or 
less on the foundations of older build- 
ings that have perished, and follow, to 
a limited extent, the course of those 
foundations. As for the streets, they do 
as they can, under the circumstances, 
and seldom have the same breadth 
and direction for three hundred yards 
at a time. Every thing tells you of 
olden heathen Rome that has perish- 
ed, and of a new Rome that has 
arisen in its place, not to be compared 
to its predecessor in size or in earthly 
magnificence, but infinitely superior 
in spiritual and moral grand eur- 

Without an hour's unnecessary de- 
lay, youseek St. Peter's. A glance of 
wonder at the vastness and majesty 
of its approaches, of its front, and its 
portals, is all you will give now ; for 
the heart is filled with a sense of that 
glory of which all this, great as it is, 
is but a figure. You pass through 
the vestibule, large as a magnificent 
cathedral, push aside the heavy cur- 
tain before the inner door, and you 
are within the grand basilica. The 
light is evenly diffused and soft, and 
coraes through unseen windows. The 
temperature is pleasant. If outside 
you found the day cold and unplea- 
sant, here the atmosphere seems warm 
and agreeable. If outside it was 
hot, here you feel it cool and re- 
freshing. As you look at the vast 
expanse of the building, you wonder 
at the solitude. It seems almost va- 
cant ; although, if you could covmt 
them, there are hundreds moving 
about, or kneeling here and there in 
silent prayer, and scores are entering 
or going out. As you advance up 
the broad and lofty central nave, 
there come from a chapel on the left 
the rolling sounds of an organ, and 
the chorus of many voices, as canons 
are chanting the daily vespers in 
chapel. Further on, from 
side, you hear the murtnuT- 



ing of many voices. A long Entdl 
pilgrims, or the membos of song 
confraternity. Iiave come in proe"^ 
sion to pray in Sl Peter's; and ■! 
they kneel before the altar, pcrhafi 
a hundred devout men and 
from the parish, or of ihosc accident 
in the church, have gathered aroi 
them, and have knelt and join in tl 
chanted hymns and prayers. 
still you proceed, until you an 
neath the lofty dome itself, and h; 
approached the oval railing of 
which is united to the grand di 
and on which ever bum a hna " 
and forty-two lamps. You look 
into the opening in the mariile pavfr 
ment, which is called the ci " ' 
of St. Peter's, and you see below the 
floor of the ancient church, 
immediately under the present lufb- 
altar stands the chief altar of that 
ancient church. Though )'oa do 
see it, you know that still deeper, sod 
below that altar, is a sin^ll cl 
in the earth, whose Roor and sidet 
and arched roof are all of Iti^e 
blocks of dressed stone — travettino— 
and that in that vaulted chamte 
stands the marble sarcophagus wlutk 
contains the remains of St. Peter, iIh 
chief of the apostles, the founder and 
the first Bishop of Rome, who wa 
crucified under Nero, in the year 6f, 
on the hill near by, and whom mout 
Christian hands reverently burieii a 
this very spot, ever since sacrtd If 
the followers of Christ. Then it 
an obscure spot, outside the city, i 
certain brickyards on the Aurelisn 
Way. Now it is cohered by the 
grandest temple which the worW ever 
saw, on which all that man can do or 
give of most precious is offered and 
consecrated to the senice of religion 
and the glory of God. 

A poor, humble, si m pie-minded 
fisherman on the Lake of Genesartth, 
in Galilee, whom men called ^ irn c ft , 
was chosen by our Lord ; 



The Vatican Council. 



549 



:hanged to Peter, a rock — for on 
rock the church of Christ would 
lilt ; to him were given the ke3rs 
e kingdom of heaven, and he 
charged with the duty of con- 
ig his brethren in the faith. At 
ommand of his Lord, and in the 
T of the divine commission, he 

forth to his work of zeal and 
ials. Like his divine Master, 

persecuted, crucified, he was 
instrument of God for mighty 
s. Empires and kingdoms have 
led ; but the church still stands, 
isties have succeeded dynasties, 
have passed away like the sha- 

of clouds in spring; but the 
of successors to St. Peter con- 
s unbroken. The intellect and 
', the passions, the violence, and 
iconstancy of men have changed 
lings human, again and again, 
n eighteen centuries ; but 

remaineth one Lord^ one faiih^ 
^aptism^ one church of Christ, 
st which the gates of hell cannot 
til. And here, to-day, you stand 
I earthly centre of that spiritual 
lom, by the tomb of him to 

1 Christ gave promises which 
ever stand true, though heaven 
jarth pass away. You can but 

and pray with all the fervor of 
heart, taking no account of 
s near you, nor of the passage of 
And when at length earnest 
T has brought calm and holy 
:o your soul, you may rise and 
up into the dome, rising four 
red feet above you, with mosa- 
f evangelists, and prophets, and 
s, archangels, and all the grades 

2 celestial host, until in the sum- 
imid a blaze of light, the " An- 

of Days" looks down from 
m, in power and majesty, bless- 
the worshippers of earth, and 
ing forward to receive the pray- 
f all who come to this holy and 
icrated temple to pour forth 



their supplications and entreat his 
mercy. You may examine the 
grandiose proportions of nave and 
transept and aisle, the mosaics, and 
marbles, and statues, and saints ; you 
may go forth into the vast vestibule, 
guarded at one extremity by an 
equestrian statue of Constantine, and 
at the other by one of Charlemagne ; 
you may linger, as you look again at 
the mighty square in front of the ba- 
silica, with its magnificent ever-flow- 
ing fountains, so typical of the waters 
of life, its colonnades stretching away 
hundreds of yards on either side, like 
arms put forth to "embrace the multi- 
tudes of the children of men, and 
the lofty, needle-formed Egyptian 
obelisk in the centre, pointing toward 
heaven. On its summit is a bronze 
casket, containing a portion of the 
true cross on which the Saviour suf- 
fered death; and at the base is an 
inscription, brief in words, and here 
most sublime in its appositeness. 
Your heart takes in the full meaning 
as you read, Christ reigns ; Christ 
rules ; Christ has conquered. May 
Christ defend us from every ilL 

This is the spirit, the keynote, as it 
were, of Christian life in Rome. We 
might say, also, that it is the animating 
principle of her temporal existence. 
For, save as the centre of the Catholic 
Church and the see of Peter, Rome 
would quickly perish. On the hills 
of the campagna and on the slopes 
of the mountains around, may still be 
seen faint vestiges of cities and towns 
that were illustrious centuries before 
Rome was founded. They have ut- 
terly perished. Others of the same 
class seem to drag out a lingering exist- 
ence, as obscure villages, of no impor- 
tance, whose names no one mentions, 
and whose ancient history is known 
only to antiquarians. Many a desert, 
forest, or plain can show ruins to rival 
those of the seven hills, Floievvcft^' 
and many a modem dtj, C2si Xi^^i^aX 



S50 

of galleries of the fine arts and mu- 
seums to rival, if not to surpass, must 
of Ihose in Rome. No, it is not for 
her antiquity, nor for her grand ruins 
of past ages, nor for her paintings and 
sculpture, her marbles and mosaics, 
thai Rome stands unrivalled in the 
world. These are but accessories. 
Neither they nor any mere human 
gift can suffice to explain the mystery 
of her survival, despite so many con- 
vulsions and shocks, and her continu- 
ed and prosperous existence, where all 
around lier has suhk into decay and 
niin. Were there no other source ot 
life, these would soon fail her. The 
treasures of art and antiquity in her 
galleries, and museums, and public 
buildings would soon be shattered by 
spoliation or conquest, and she would 
be left desolate and stricken like her 
crumbling ruins. It is the moral 
power of Christianity which gives her a 
life and a strength beyond that of the 
sword. It is the presence of that 
pontiff who is the visible head of 
the church, and the centre of Catho- 
lic unity and of spiritual authority, 
which saves her from the fate of other 
cities. Her true source of life is her 
rehgious position. When, centuries 
ago, the popes, wearied out by the 
tumults of the people and the turbu- 
lence of the barons, withdrew for 
peace' sake, and abode for seventy 
years in Avignon, Rome dwindled 
down to be little better than a village 
of ten or fifteen thousand souls. The 
Romans spoke of that time as a Ba- 
bylonian captivity. With the return 
of the pontiffe, prosperity was again 
restored. When, in the early part of 
the present century, Pius VII. was 
borne away and held captive for years 
in France, and Rome was annexed 
to the French empire, the population 
oi the city quickly sank to one hundred 
znd thirteen thousand, and was rapid- 
ly diminishing. When he relumed, in 
, it began to rise again, and 



to-day Rome has nearly double &M 
population. Were thesovtreigD pc» 
tiff to be driven into exile io-morra», 
Garibaldi and Mazzini, and the /I- 
lianissimi of Florence <lesiie. Rone 
would again, and at once, entci oa ft 
downward career of misery- and n 
In twenty years she woidd lose 
her treasures and half of hor popdla- 
tion. All this is clear to the Rflsim 
themselves; all the more dear tan 
the fate which has overtakoi t&OK 
cities of the states ofthechurrhwlwli 
were annexed to the kingdom of Jtilj 
eight or ten year^ ago. No »rodAt 
that, in 1867, neither the artful emiiBlr 
ries of Rataxzi nor the military pi- 
rade of Garibaldi was able to galha 
recruits to their attempt, cither baa 
the country around or from the dtj 
itself The Romaic would shadda 
at the thought of a renewal of thu 
attempt, as at a terrible calamity. 

But we must not wander axtj 
into such considerations, Tliii thfTiy. 
though most important to the Romui 
and o(len on their lips, is of (M 
worldly a character. For this mond^ 
at least, we leave it aside, and juin 
that immense crowd ofstrangeis wfc» 
have filled Rome, drawn hither !■ 
look on the council, and to unite in 
thesulemn offices of Holy-Week, 
sok-mn and imposing this year 
perhaps ever before, on accoui 
the vast number of bishops uniting «* 
their celebration. Once, the Germm 
clement used to stand prominent be- 
fore all others, in the crowd of stran- 
gers that flocked to Rome for Holy- 
Week; afterward the English, and lu- 
erly the Americans, became con^iici- 
ous. This year, although they went 
probably as numerous as ever, 
seemed to sink into the backj^ 
before the vast number of French 
filled the holy city, and who, 
without exception, had come 
spirit of earnest, fervent C* 
They were Ailly as numerom 



The Vatican CounciL 



551 



ly as demonstrative as at the centenary 
celebration in 1867. Their coming 
was announced by the ever-increasing 
numbers who, each day that a general 
congregation of the council was held, 
gathered at St. Peter's at half-past 
eight A.M., to see the bishops enter, 
or at one p.m., to see them come forth 
from the council hall. 

In ordinary times, the pope and 
cardinals celebrate nearly all the offi- 
ces of Holy-Week, not in St. Peter's, 
which is left to the canons and clergy 
of that basilica, but in the Sixtine 
chapel, which is the pope's court cha- 
pel, so to speak, within the Vatican 
palace. It is as large as a moderate 
American church. About one half is 
railed off as a sanctuary for the pon- 
tiff, and the cardinals and their atten- 
dants, and for the other clergymen 
who are required or are privileged to 
attend the services in this chapel. The 
remaining half, assigned to the laity, 
will hold four or five hundred seated 
or standing, as the case may be. The 
number desiring to enter is so great 
that often a seat can be obtained only 
by coming two or three hours before 
the time for commencing the services. 
This year, if the bishops were to be 
present, the whole chapel would have 
to be used as a sanctuary, and no 
room would remain for any of the lai- 
ty. To avoid this embarrassment, 
and the consequent disappointment 
of thousands, it was settled that this 
year the papal services of Holy- Week 
should be celebrated, not in Uiis Six- 
tine chapel, but in St. Peter's itself, 
where, besides all the bishops, ten 
thousand others might attend, and 
seem only a moderate-sized crowd 
grouped close to the sanctuary. 

To St Peter's, then, on Palm-Sun- 
day morning, came the papal choir, 
and half a thousand bishops, arch- 
bishops, primates, and patriarchs, the 
cardinals with their attendants, and 
the holy father himself, for the bless- 



ing of the palms and the other ser- 
vices of the day. They were sub- 
stantially the same as the services in 
ten thousand other churches of the 
Catholic world that day. But here, 
there were of course a splendor and 
magnificence that could be rivalled 
nowhere else. The palms to be bless- 
ed lay in masses regularly arranged 
near the throne of the pontiff. They 
seemed scarcely to differ from the 
branches of our southern palmetto. 
On many of them the long leaves were 
fancifully plaited, so as to represent 
a branch surrounded by roses, lilies, 
leaves, and crosses. The Catholic 
negroes that came to the United 
States from San Domingo years ago 
used to do something similar. There 
is an interesting story about these 
palms. On the tenth of September, 
1586, Fontana, the architect and 
engineer of St. Peter's, was to lift 
to its present position in the middle 
of the square before St. Peter's, the 
immense unbroken mass of stone 
which formed an Egyptian obelisk 
that had been erected in the amphi- 
theatre of Nero, and still stood not 
far off, its base buried in the earth that 
centuries had accumulated around it 
It was a mighty, a perilous work, to 
transport this obelisk, three hundred 
yards, ever keeping it in its upright 
position, and at the end to lift it up 
and plant it on the lofly pedestal. 
Pope Sixtus V. and all Rome were 
there to look on. In default of steam- 
engines and hydraulic rams, not then 
invented, Fontana used a huge scaf- 
folding, ropes, blocks and tackle, and 
windlasses, and hundreds of opera- 
tives. Any mistake or confusion as 
to orders or delay in executing them 
might overthrow the immense pillar, 
and prove disastrous to the work, and 
fatal perhaps to scores of lives. In 
view of the emergency, a kind of mili- 
tary law was proclaimed, whereby all 
lookers-on were to kee^ ^tLC<^)>xDk<^s»: 



552 



The Vatican CounciL 



penalty of death. Fontana, standing 
aloft, gave his orders, the wheels were 
turned, the ropes tightened, the mighty 
mass slowly moved on, the pedestal 
was reached. The obelisk was lifted 
up. Hours rolled on, and still it rose 
gradually but truly. At length it stood 
within a few feet of its destined posi- 
tion. But it would go no farther. 
The ropes, bearing the strain of the 
weight for so many hours, had stretch- 
ed, and some were threatening to 
snap. Fontana stood pale and speech- 
less at the impending disaster, which 
he now saw no way of averting. Sud- 
denly a dear, manly voice was heard 
from out of the crowd, " Wet your 
ropes / 7uet your ropes .'" Fontana at 
once seized the happy thought. The 
ropes were wetted, swelled and con- 
tracted to their original state, and 
soon the huge obelisk stood upright 
and firm on the solid pedestal, and 
the daring work was crowned with 
complete success. Meanwhile, the 
officers had seized the man that cried 
out; he was brought before the pope, 
who thanked him and embraced him. 
He was asked who he was, and what 
reward he desired. His name was 
Bresca, a sailor from San Remo, near 
Nice. His family owned a palm- 
grove there, and the reward he asked 
was the privilege of supplying St. 
Peter's every year for ever with the 
palm-branches to be blessed and used 
on Palm-Sunday. It was granted. 
Nearly three centuries have passed, but 
the family of Bresca is still at San 
Remo, has still palm-groves, and 
every year there comes a small vessel 
from that port, laden with the palm- 
branches for St. Peter's. May it 
continue to come three hundred years 
hence ! 

Tlie holy father, in that clear, sweet, 
and majestic voice, for which he is 
remarkable, chanted the prayers for 
the blessing of the palms. To the 
blessing succeeded Uie distribution. 



One after another, the cardinals grave- 
ly advanced, the long silk trains of 
their robes rustling on the carpet as 
they moved forward ; each one receiv- 
ed a palm-branch ; the oriental patri- 
archs, the primates, and a number of 
the archbishops and bishops, as repre- 
sentatives of their brethren, followed 
ader the cardinals, and received each 
his branch. Meanwhile the choir was 
singing the exquisite anthems, " Pucri 
Hebneorum,'* appointed for that occa- 
sion. It was a simple, yet a most 
effective and thrilling scene. The 
cardinals stood in their long line, the 
rich gold omamentation of their cha- 
subles shining brightly on the violet 
silk, on their heads the mitre or the 
red calotte of their rank. Before 
each one stood his chaplain in dark 
purple, holding the decorated palm- 
branch, like a lance. In the middle, 
as the lines of Oriental and Latin 
prelates in their rich and varied robes 
approached the holy father, or retired, 
each one bearing his palm-branch, 
there was a perpetual changing and 
shifting and intermingling of colors, 
as in a kaleidoscope. Near the i>ope, 
stood the senator and other ci\-il 
officers of Rome, in their mediaeval 
mantles. The Swiss guard, in a mili- 
tary dress of broad stripes, red and 
yellow, or black and yellow, some 
of them wearing steel corselets and 
breastplates, and all wearing the 
plumed Tyrolean military hat ; they 
stood motionless as statues, holding 
their bright halberds upright. The 
Noble Guard, in their rich uniform, 
stood here and there; and on both 
sides, line after line of bishops, robed 
in cappa magnae, fonned a massive 
and imposing background. Add to all 
these, the religious orders, Carmelites, 
Dominicans, Franciscans of every fa- 
mily, Augustinians, Benedictines, Cis-, 
tercians, Canons Regulir, Theatines, 
Ser\'ites, Crociferi, and many others, 
each in the costume of his order or 



The Vatican CauneiL 



553 



congregation, and all bearing branches 
of blessed palm. Add still the con- 
tinuous chanting of those unrivalled 
voices and the indistinct bass murmur 
or rustling of the vast crowd. It was 
a scene which carried one away. You 
did not strive to catch every note of 
Palestrina's beautiful composition. It 
was enough to drink in the sound. 
You scarcely thought of reciting the 
words of a prayer — there are none 
assigned for the time of distribution 
specifically — ^you found it easier to in- 
dulge a train of devotional thought, 
and to unite with it something of 
pious admiration. 

Next followed the procession in 
commemoration of the solemn entry 
of our Saviour into Jerusalem, five 
days before his Passion. Leaving 
the sanctuary, the long lines of sing- 
ers, of the religious orders, of bish- 
ops and prelates, and of cardinals, 
and finally the pope with his atten- 
dants, passed down riie nave of the 
church, out by one door into the 
vestibule, and, returning by another 
into the church, again came up the 
nave and entered the sanctuary. 
The strains of the " Gloria, Laus, et 
Honor," the hymn for that proces- 
sion, always beautiful, and infinite- 
ly more so when sung to-day_by 
this choir, swelled as the proces- 
sion approached you, became faint- 
er and sweeter as it passed on. 
You caught but a faint murmur of 
melody while they were in the ves- 
tibule, and the notes rose again as 
the procession entered the church 
and moved slowly onward to the 
sanctuary. 

Then came the high mass, which 
an archbishop celebrated, by special 
j>ermission, at the high- altar. With- 
out such permission, no one save 
the holy father himself celebrates 
there. During this mass the entire 
history of the Passion of our Lord, 
as given in the Gospel of St Mat- 



thew, is sung. On Good-Friday, 
the same history is sung, as given 
by St. John. Perhaps no portion 
of the chants of the church in use 
at the present day is as ancient and 
venerable as the mode in which the 
Passion is chanted. The old classic 
Greek style is preserved, and, funda- 
mentally at least, the melody must 
be Grecian, although perhaps some- 
what changed to suit our modem 
gamut. The ordinary mode is to 
distribute the whole among three 
singers, one of whom chants all the 
narrative or historical portion. When- 
ever the Saviour speaks, a second 
singer chants his words. A third 
singer comes in at the proper times 
to chant whatever is said by others. 
In the Sixtine chapel, and here in 
St. Peter's to-day, there is a slight 
change made, which from its appro- 
priateness and effective character we 
cannot but look on as in part, at 
least, a return toward the original 
idea of such a chant. One singer, 
an exquisite tenor, took up the nar- 
rative portion in a recitativo^ closing 
each sentence with the modulations 
with which many of our readers 
must be well acquainted. A bari- 
tone voice, one of the richest, .smooth- 
est, most majestic, and most plaintive 
and sympathetic we ever heard| 
chanted the Saviour's part, lliere 
was not in it a note that we had not 
heard before scores of times, but 
never as they were now chanted. 
One could, it seemed, listen to him 
for ever; when he closed one sen- 
tence, your eye ran along the page 
to mark the verse, at which you 
would hear him again. As he ut- 
tered the words, you drank them 
in, in their sense rather than in the 
music, realizing something of their 
pathos and majesty. It was as if 
in truth you stood near him in Geth- 
semane, before Annas, and Caiaphaa^ 
before Pilate \ as S£ 'jqwl viiJ^^^ ^>5^ 



SS4 



Tke VatiatH- Cotmeil. 



him along (he sorrowful way, as if 
you stood so near the cross on Cal- 
vary that every word he spoke, every 
tone of liis voice, entered your heart. 
Years cannot efface from our minds 
the memory of that wondrous chant. 
It seems still to ring in our ears. 
The portions usually assigned to a 
third singer arc here distributed 
among several, who chant singly, or 
together, as the words are spoken 
by one, or by several, or by a. mul- 
titude. Thus, a soprano and a con- 
tralto unite lo sing the words of the 
two false witnesses. The mutual 
contradiction of the witnesses is in- 
dicated by the irregularity of the time, 
and the discords that are repeat- 
edly introduced. When the crowd 
cries out, "Away with him; crucify 
Aim I we will have no king but Cie- 
sar," the whole choir bursts forth. 
You hear the trembling shrill tones 
of age, the hissing words of irate 
manhood, the shrill trebles of excit- 
ed women, tlie full incisive words of 
the priests, and the clamors of the 
unthinking rabble. When they cry, 
" Nil blooil be upon us and upon 
mr children:' the voices, full at the 
beginning, grow trenmlous and weak- 
er as they proceed, and some are 
silent, as if reluctant to pronounce 
the terrible words of the imprecation. 
And when the soldiers, after scourg- 
ing the Saviour, and putting on his 
head the crown of thorns, place the 
reed in his hards and kneel before 
him, saluting him, Hail, King of the 
yeii'S, the words are sung by three 
orfourvoiccs witha softness, a sweet- 
ness, and an earnestness which would 
make you think that, for the mo- 
ment, and in spite of themselves, 
they fell the divine truth of the words 
they intended to utter in mockery. 

In the entire cycle of music there 
is nothing so sublime and so touch- 
ing as the Passion of our Lord, sung 
by the papal choir in St. Peter's. 



On Tuesday, in Holy -Week, a ( 
ral congregation of the coundl 
held in the usual fonii. ."Vs we^Uiedm 
our last number, the fathers voted oo 
the entire draught, then before Una^ 
either placet, placet juxta 
non placet. We need Add notfaing 
the account we then gave. 

On Weilnesday, Thursday, and Fri- 
day afternoons the bishops attended in 
St. Peter's at the office of the Tcndnx. 
On each occasion, twenty-five o» 
ty thousand persons about half-; 
the church, to hear the lamentai 
and, above all, the far-farm 
reres heretofore only lo be 
the Sixtine chapel. 

The papal choir is composed 
about twenty-five singers. 
baritones, contraltos, tenors, anil 
pranos, all chosen voices of die 
quality, and all trained for yvars 
the special style of singing of 
choir, different from that of any oibcr 
we ever heard, 'and in tlic |t<^:u^ 
traditions as to the precise si)4e ' 
which each of their principal 
should be executed. Tltey say 
selves, thai without this speci.'il ti 
ing the mere notes of the score would 
by no means suffice to guide another 
choir, at least so as to produce the 
marvellous effects which they attxin. 
They have in iheir re|>t:rtory over (brtjf 
Misereres, composed by their 
rent maestri, or chiefs, during the 
three centuries. Not mon; than 
of these are placed by them ia 
first rank. On Wednesday, that 
Baini was sung; on Thursday, 
of Allegri, and on Friday, one 
Mustafa, the present leader of 
choir. 

That of Allegri is acknowledged 
lo be the best. He was born in Kome 
in 1560, and became a cek-lirated 
composer and singer. In 1619. he 
entered this choir, at ihe age of sixty- 
nine, and was its leader for twenty^ 
three years, dying in 1653 at the npt 



i 



^^ 



The Vatiam Council. 



55 5 



age of ninety-two. His Miserere is 
of such incontestable merit that it is 
always one of the three sung each 
year, and not unfrequently it has been 
sung twice in the same year. 

Baini was born in Rome in 1775, 
entered the papal choir at about the 
age of thirty, became maestro or lea- 
der in 1824, and died about twenty 
years ago. He was the most learned 
musical scholar of Italy in his day, 
and published a number of works. 
As a composer, he ranked very high. 
His Miserere is esteemed next to that 
of Allegri. There is a difference be- 
tween them. The older composer 
was Ailed with a sense of the full 
meaning of the psalm as a whole, and 
varies the expression in each verse 
according to the sense of the entire 
verse. Baini, on the contrary, is dis- 
posed to dwell on the special sense of 
each word and minor phrase, bringing 
these points into higher relief than 
Allegri would. To many, on this ac- 
count, his Miserere is more intelligible 
and more pleasing than the other. 
But a longer familiarity with both 
invariably reverses this decision. 

Mustafa, the present maestro of the 
papal choir, was likewise bom in 
Rome, and entered the choir thirty 
years ago, as a soprano singer. On 
Baini's death, he succeeded to his 
post. No one in Italy has a more 
thorough and scientific knowledge of 
vocal music than he has; and his 
compositions are among the choicest 
morceaux of the chou: here. His 
Miserere has several advantages. It 
was written for the voices now in the 
choir, and its execution is directed 
by the composer himself. There is 
more of the modem style about it 
than we find in the other two. Hence 
it is always most pleasing, for style, 
and the precision and brilliancy with 
which it is sung. 

But besides the artistic excellence 
which the few trained to analyze and 



examine such compositions can alone 
discover and discu&s suitably, there 
is a something about these Misereres 
which all can feel, and which is far more 
religious in its character. Once enjoy- 
ed, it is never forgotten. As the long 
office of matins and lauds is slowly 
chanted, psalm succeeding psalm, and 
lamentation following lamentation, 
the lighted candles on the triangular 
candelabrum are all gradually extin- 
guished, save one, and then, one by 
one, those on the altar. The shades 
of evening are coming on. The light 
of day has become almost a twilight, 
adding a mysterious indefiniteness to 
the immensity of the vast edifice. Only 
through the glory, or circular stained 
window in the apsis of the basilica, 
there comes in a golden light firom the 
western sky. The cardinab and bi- 
shops are all kneeling in their places, 
the multitude of twenty-five thousand 
that have waited two hours for this 
moment are hushed to deadest silence. 
A wailing voice is heard — faint, sad, al- 
most bursting into sobs — Have mercy 
on me J O God I Another and another 
joins in the entreating cry. It swells 
and rises, sometimes in passionate, 
loud supplication, sometimes lowered 
to broken tones, scarce daring to hope, 
until an angel voice leads on, Accord- 
ing to thy great mercy. Verse afler 
verse the wailing, pleading prayer con- 
tinues, in combinations of matchless 
voices, and . in harmonious strains 
never heard or dreamed of before. 
The multitude listen, suppressing 
their breathing lest they may lose a 
single one of the silvery tones. Some 
are kneeling, others who have not room 
to kneel, in that closely packed crowd, 
stand with their heads sunk on their 
breasts. All are silent, yet many a 
moving lip tells you they are repeat- 
ing the words with the singers, that 
they may more fully drink in the 
sense and the appropriateness of the 
music, Whtu tioft \mX N«sfc €tf»R&^ 



The Vatican CoimdL 



i and 



is a sigli, OS if they waked from 
\ trance and found themselves in this 
life again. 

On Thursday, Friday, and Satur- 
day there were the usual services ia 
SL Peter's, in the forenoon. On the 
first day, the bishops were required to 
attend in white copes and mitres. A 
cardinal sang high-mass, after which 
came the usua] procession of the bless- 
ed sacrament, which is conveyed from 
the main altar to a repository prepar- 
ed to receive it. This year the cha- 
pel of the canons was used for the 
purpose. Cross and candles and in- 
cense led the way. The canons and 
beneficiaries and other clergy of St. 
Peter's followed, each one bearing a 
lighted waxen candle, and responding 
to the chanted hymns of the choir. 
A certain number of archbishops and 
primates came next, and after tliem 
the cardinals, all likewise with their 
lighted tapers. The pontiff himself 
bore the blessed sacrament, under a 
rich canopy of gold cloth, upheld on 
eight stafis of silver gilt, borne by his 
attendants. Cardinals and clergy, 
Swiss Guard and Noble Guard, walk- 
ed slowly on either side; the heads 
of religious orders followed, bearing 
their lights ; and after them, not two 
and two, as the regular procession had 
walked, but more closely pressed to- 
gether, came the hundreds of bishops. 
The church, at least the half of it to- 
ward the altar, was packed and jam- 
med. Not without some effort had 
the Swissand the lines of soldiers kept 
a small passage-way clear for the pro- 
cession from the main altar to the cha- 
pel of the canons. As the sound of 
the well-known hymn, the " Pange lin- 
gua," was recognized, and the proces- 
sion started, all who could knelt ; 
those who had not room to do so 
bowed reverently until the pontiff had 
passed and had entered the chapel, 
and the amen of the closing prayer 

ig through the church. 



At once there was a rusbi'ng to lad ■ 
fro of the thirty thousand people 
the church, one half seeking to pMf ; 
out to the s(]uare in front or to a 
cend to the broad summit of the Ctt> 
lonnade on each side of it; for ibit 
pontiff would, in a few minuia, g 
the solemn pontifical blessing from tbi 
loggia or balcony over the main docf ' 
of St. Peter's. The other half (o<A 
the occasion to occupy the ^-^caat. 
space closer to the main altar, striving 
to secure the best positions, froqt 
which to witness, as well as they 
could, tlie ceremonies to follow in ibc 
sanctuary, after the blessing, ODd liiuf« 
ing that on Eastet-Sunday they b 
be able to behold and to recdvo tiM 
blessing with grander ceremonial th. 
to-day. The holy father and the c 
dinals came forth from the diapd, 
and, leaving for a time the ba&itici \if 
a. side-door, passed into the VaiicMt' 
palace, and from thence to the « 
hall immediately over the vesiibidt' 
of St. Peter's. Borne in his cunile 
chair, he advances to the loggia, « 
open balcony projecting in the middle' 
toward the square, and looks out oU 
the city, and on the thousands below, 
that kneel as he stands erect, and.n 
ing both arms aloft toward heaven^ 
calls down on them the blessing <rf ' 
God the Father, the Son, am! the 
Holy Ghost. The solemn and s 
tones of that majestic voice rinj 
through [he square, and the words IW 
heard distinctly by the multitude 
A cardinal reads and publishes the 'a» 
dulgence, and the pontiff and tlieci 

Back into (he church the mass of. 
people come, a living torrent. Xxti 
twenty minutes the cardinals and tl 
bishops arc again in the sanctaaiy,. 
while the movement and rustling it' 
the moving and struggling crowd fS)^ 
the church with the sound as ofa deqp) 
continuous, and subdued bass oeta 
.\t one side of the large sanctuaiy^ 



The Vatican Council. 



557 



which is about one hundred and thirty 
feet deep, and seventy-five feet broad, 
an ascent of eight or ten steps leads 
to a broad platform visible to all. On 
this platform attendants move about, 
preparing all that is necessary for the 
next portion of the ceremony, the 
mandatum, or washing of feet. Soon 
a line of thirteen figures, dressed as 
pilgrims in long white woollen robes 
reaching to the instep, ascend to the 
platform, and the attendants conduct 
them to the seats that are prepared. 
They are priests fi-om abroad who 
have come to Rome and all eyes are 
turned to inspect them as they stand 
ranged in a line. One is an old man 
stooped with age, with large, piercing 
dark eyes, and heavy eyebrows, long 
aquiline nose and high cheek-bones, 
and ruddy cheeks. The olive tint of 
his skin looks darker by contrast with 
his ample flowing beard of patriarchal 
whiteness. He is from the east Per- 
haps those two other younger ones, 
with full black beards, are from the 
east likewise. To judge by his al- 
mond eye, the long and regular fea- 
tures, and the darkish skin, another 
was an Egyptian. Of a fifth there 
could be no mistake. He was from 
Senegambia in Africa, and his surname 
was Zamba^ or, as we call it in Ame- 
rica, Sambo, His jet black skin, his 
negro features, the blue spectacles he 
wore, and his instinctive attitude of 
dignity made him the most conspicu- 
ous in the number. They entered, 
wearing tall white caps, in shape 
something like stovepipe hats without 
any rim, and with a tuft on the sum- 
mit ; long white dresses of the shape 
you may see in the miniatures of illu- 
minated manuscripts written a thou- 
sand years ago ; and even, their stock- 
ings and shoes were white as their 
dress. As all were ready, the pontiff 
enters, and the choir intones the anti- 
phon, " Mandatum novum " — "A new 
command I give you." Some prelimi- 



nary prayers are chanted, and the pon- 
tiff, putting off the cope, but retaining 
his mitre, is girded with an apron, and 
ascends the platform. An attendant 
unlaces the shoe on the right foot of 
the first pilgrim, and lets down the 
stocking. Other attendants present 
the ewer of water and the towels ; the 
pontiff, stooping down or kneeling, 
washes the instep, dries it with a to- 
wel, and kisses it. While the attendants 
raise the stocking and lace the shoe, 
tlie holy father gives to the pilgrim a 
large nosegay, which in former times 
contained a coin to aid him on his 
journey homeward. He did the same 
one by one to all of them. During 
this touching ceremony the choir con- 
tinued to sing anthem after anthem ; 
but few present did more than listen 
vaguely and enjoy the sound, so pre- 
occupied, or rather so fascinated, all 
seemed to be by a ceremony so rarely 
used in the church, and so fully recall- 
ing our divine Saviour's act and in- 
stmction before the Last Supper. 
Few have ever seen it in church, save 
as to-day here in St. Peter's, on Holy- 
Thursday. It may be said to be car- 
ried out, too, on a larger scale and in 
a practical way, all these days in 
Rome. There is a large institution 
here called La Santissima Trinith dei 
Pellegrini^ where, during Holy-Week, 
thousands of poor pilgrims, who have 
come on foot, and reach Rome weary 
and foot-sore, are received, and sup- 
plied with two meals a day and beds 
for three days and nights. There is 
one department for the men, and an- 
other for the women and children. 
Each evening, after the conclusion of 
the services in the churches, they re- 
turn to the institution. Cardinals, bi- 
shops, priests, and laymen in num- 
bers, nobles and private individuals, 
are there, and wash their feet (tho- 
roughly) and wait on them at the 
table. In the female department 
princesses, duchesses, 2liA \^^^ ^^^ 



Tfie Vatrcan Cewieit. 



every degree and station, titled and 
untitled, arc there to perfomi the 
same offices for the women and chil- 
dren. All these ladies belong to se- 
veral charitable con fralemi ties and as- 
sociations in the city ; and by one of 
their rules no one of them is allowed 
the privilege ol uniting in this work 
in Holy-Week unless she has, during 
the past year, paid at least a staled 
number of charitable visits to the pri- 
sons and liospitals. We do not know 
whether ihe men have the same ad- 
mirable rule. 

After the washing of the feet in St. 
Peter's, the pope retired, and the pil- 
grims followed. The services in the 
church itself were over. But there 
was something else, which as many as 
could wished to see. The pope was 
to serve the pilgrims at tablei In llie 
large hall mentioned above as being 
situated over the vestibule of the 
church, and from which the pope 
went out to the loggia to give the 
blessing, a long table had been pre- 
pared and decorated. Soon the pil- 
grims entered and stood at their 
places; and the hall was filled with 
thousands of spectators. The pontiff 
came in, attended by three or four 
cardinals, his own attendant;, and a 
number of bishops. He said the 
grace, and a monsignore read a por- 
tion of the Scriptures, and then con- 
tinued to read a book of sermons. 
Meanwliile, the pope was passing to 
and fro, from one end of the table to 
ihc other, helping each one to soup, 
to fish, and to wine ; and finally, giv- 
ing them his special blessing, he retir- 
ed. The services had commenced at 
Dine A.M. It was now two p.m. 

The holy oils were blessed, not in 
St. Peter's, but in St. John Lateran's; 
for St. Peter's is the cathedral of the 
pope as Pope and Bishop of the Ca- 
tholic Church. Sl John's is his ca- 
thedral aa-Bishop of Rome. 
On Friday morning the ofHces in 



St. Peter's were precisely the same 
in every other cathedral, diSirring on 
in ihe presence of the sovereign pa 
tiff and the cardinals, and the l.iri 
number of bishops, who attended re 
ed in purple ea/i/)a magna. The " li 
properia,"sung while the pope, the a 
ilinals, and the bishops approacbeil 
kneel and kiss the cross 
the masterpiece of Polestrina. 
unequalle<i in its expression of 
ness and of sorrowful reproach. Su 
as it was by thai unrivalled choir. ■ 
this day, when the church is desoh 
and stripped of all ornament, and t 
ministers at the altar are robed 
sombre black; when burning li^f 
and the smoke of incense arc banis 
ed from the sanctuary; when onethii 
only is presented — the image of li 
crucified Redeemer ; one theme on 
fills prayers, anthems, and hynuu alikS 
— the sorrows and death of our ~ 
on Calvary — its effect seemed oti 
powering. You thought not of tl 
wondr»us charm of the voices; jn 
heeded not the antique melody oi d 
skilful harmonies, as word after not 
clearly and distinctly uttered, fell t 
your car; the music but rendered mo 
clear and emphatic their sense as 
sunk into your heart. You felt ih 
the reproaches of the loving and if 
giving Saviour were addressed lo yi 
personally, and you bowed in soi 
ful confusion as well as in adoratioDf 
while you saluted him in the woidl 
of early Christian worship. Agios H 
Theos. 

During the service, that portion of 
his Gospel in which St. John nanatei 
the history of the Passion, was chant 
ed in the same manner as had bees 
the narration by St. Matthew on tba 
preceding Sunday. Prepared as aS 
were, by the services of the days paat 
and by the sublime " Improperia'" 
had jus: heard, words cannot ex|»e9l 
the awe which c.ime on ihera as they 
listened to this vivid recitation iu mo* 



The Vatican GmnciL 



559 



SIC of that grand drama of Good-Fri- 
day on the summit of Calvary. It is 
on such occasions, and with singing 
like this, that one realizes what force 
and truth and majesty there is in per- 
fect music, inspired and consecrated 
by religion. 

On Saturday, the bishops were di- 
vided between St. Peter*s and St. 
John's. In the latter church, besides 
the usual services, there were also the 
instruction of catechumens, the bap- 
tism of converts with the form for 
grown persons, and at the mass a 
grand ordination, at which tonsure, all 
the minor orders, subdeaconship, dea- 
conship, and priesthood were confer- 
red on those who had been examined 
and found worthy of the grades to 
which they aspired. In all, they were 
about sixty. 

In St. Peter's, the services were 
only the usual ones of the church for 
this day — the blessing of the font, the 
chanting of the prophecies, the bless- 
ing of the paschal candle, and the 
solemn high-mass celebrated by a 
cardinal The pope was present. One 
would have thought that, at his age^ 
after the fatigues of the days past, 
and in view of the long functions of 
the morrow, it would be proper that 
he should have one day of quiet, or 
at least of comparative quiet. But 
Pius IX. never thinks of sparing him- 
self. Many of the bishops were at 
St. John's. But those who were in 
St. Peter's heard the grand mass 
«* of Pope Marcellus," as it is called, 
by Palestrina. This is the mass 
which was composed and sung in 
1 565, and which, it is said, won from 
the pope and cardinals the reversal 
of an absolute prohibition they had 
almost determined on, of all music 
and singing in church save the 
Gregorian chant, on account of the 
bad taste and abuses of musicians 
and singers, who introduced profane 
and worldly music even into the 



mass. No one who heard those 
grand religious choral strains could 
fail to see how solemnly, and fully, 
and appropriately they expressed ia 
music the sublime character of the 
service. Such music does not dis- 
tract; on the contrary, it fixes the 
thoughts, and soothes and guides the 
feelings into a channel of devotion. 
It would have been impossible for 
the cardinals, after listening to this 
exquisite mass, to arrive at a different 
conclusion. 

From Thursday until Saturday, all 
the bells of Rome had been silent 
There was a visible shade of sorrow 
on the city, a public grief, as it were, 
for the tragedy of Calvary. But in 
view of the joyous resurrection close 
at hand, this silence of sorrow is soon 
to pass away. It was near eleven 
A.M. when the high-mass commenced 
at St. Peter's. At the Gloria, a signal 
was given, and the gigantic Bourdon 
and the other bells of the basilica 
broke into a grand peal. The guns 
of St. Angelo answered, and, quick 
as sound could travel, all the thou- 
sand bells of all the steeples and 
belfiys of Rome, without excq)tion, 
joined in the clamorous yet not un- 
pleasant or unmusical chorus. The 
rooks, and ravens, and doves, and 
swallows flew to and fro, frightened 
from their nests, half-stunned, and 
utterly distracted When the pealing 
chorus ended — and it lasted for a full 
half-hour — Rome had put off her sad- 
ness, and fiiends were exchanging the 
happy salutations of Easter; 

In the aftenioon an Armenian 
bishop celebrated high-mass, accord- 
ing to their rite, at four p.m. in one 
church, and, at the same hour, a 
Chaldean prelate celebrated high- 
mass, according to his rite, in another. 
In the earlier centuries, this mass of 
the resurrection was celebrated by 
Ml after midnight, on Saturday tv\%Vx. 
The Oiientalis Yvav^ \>tow^\\. *\^. tat- 



S6o 



The VatUan CouncU. 



ward 10 Saiunlay afternoon ; the La- 
tins liave gradually advanced it to 
the forenoon. Sunday dawned, a 
bright, clear, pleasant, cloudless Ita- 
lian spring day. At an early hour 
cairiages of every kind were pouring 
in long lines over every bridge across 
the Tiber, and huirying on to St. 
Peter's, and tens of thousands were 
making their way thither on foot. 
By nine o'clock, the sanctuary is 
filled with bishops robed in white 
copes and mitres, and with cardinals 
in richly adorned white chasubles. 
Soon (he Swiss Guard take I heir 
places, and the Noble Guard appear 
in their richest uniform. Lines of 
Pontifical Zouaves and the Legion of 
Antibes, and otlier soldiers, keep a 
lane open up the middle of the 
church, through the immense crowd 
of, it was estimated, forty thousand 
persons, from the door of the sanc- 
tuary. One tribune on the south 
side of the sanctuary was filled with 
members of various royal families now 
in Rome, some on a visit, some stay- 
ing here ix.'rmanently. On the other 
aide was a tribune for the diplomatic 
corps, which was filled with ambassa- 
dors, ministers resident and envoys, 
in their rich uniforms and covered 
with jewelled decorations. 

A burst from the band of silver 
trumpets over the doorway of the 
church told us that the holy father 
was entering. Down the lane through 
the vaM crowd might be seen the 
cross slowly advancing. Then waa 
heard the voice of the choir of the 
canons, welcoming the pontiff to the 
basilica, and then aloft, higher than 
the mass that filled the cliurch, he 
was seen slowly borne on in the cu- 
rule chair, robed in a rich cope of 
white silk, heavy with gold embroi- 
dery and wearing the tiara. Slowly 
advancing, and giving his blessing to 
the multitudes on either side, he 
reached the chapel of the blessed 



sacrament, descended &D«lliedai; 
and, with the cordioab : 
ing him, and his ether aite 
knelt for some moments ii 
Then, rising, he ascended the chn 
again, and the procession pomeil ic( 
way through the crowd, now more 
closely packed than ever, lo the s; 
tuary. Here the pontiff dcs 
again to his robing throne at I 
epistle side of the altar. The c 
commence thecbanling of the p 
of terce and sext. IVIeanwhilc t 
pontiff was robed for mass, a 
cardinals, the patriarchs, and I 
mates, and a certain number oClj 
archbishops and bishops, ; 
tatives of their brethren, paid I 
the usual homage, This over, ifc~| 
lemn high-mass coramcuceU in Ik | 
usual form. After incensing the ai 
at the Introit, he passed to bis c 
lar tluone at the end of the i 
ary, just opposite the altar, and fi 
one hundred and twenty feet d 
There besi<le him stood a < 
priest and two cardinal deocoDt; ^ 
senator of Rome, in his ofticia] » " 
and cloak of yellow and gold, 1 
liis pages of similar costumo^ t 
comeivatari of the city; and t 
steps, around the throne, sioot^ J 
were seated, some twenty , 
bishops ; on either side six Una i 
seats stretching down to the i 
were occupied by the cardinala t 
by a great mass of prelates, ] 
and Oriental, all in the richest n 
ments appropriate to this the \ 
est festival of the church. 

Never was solemn high-n 
braled with more splendor in SlP 
than on this Easter-Sunday. To % 
privileged to assist at it amply n 
many a one for all the dme and ali ^ 
fatigue of a journey to Rome. 
holy father officiates with a fervor« 
intense •Icvotion which lights up I 
counten:i.ice. The venerable 
nal Patnzi, who stood by his s 



TAs Vatican CounciL 



S6i 



e very personification of sacer- 
iignity. The mitred prelates 
r places, many of them gray- 
or bald, or bent with age and 
seemed radiant with the holy 
the occasion. The masters of 
>ny and the attendants moved 
r and reverently, aS their du- 
lled them from one part of 
actuary to another. Even the 
rowd of forty or fifty thousand 
led the church were penetrated 
iverent awe, and sank almost 
erfect stillness. Nothing was 
save the noble voice of the 
gn pontiff chanting the prayers, 
le responding strains of the 

Yet, in comparison with the 
wQ had heard during the week, 
3ria and the Creed, super-excel- 
lough they were, seemed in 
neasure to belong to the earth. 
;he subdeacon had sung the 
in Latin, a Greek subdeacon, 
robes of his Greek rite, sung it 
ek ; and similarly a Greek dea- 
>llowed the Latin deacon in 
ig the Gospel. A musical an- 
m would have found in the 
,r modulations of their chant 
Df the ancient eastern style of 
going back, perhaps, in those 
iging people to the days of 
classic civilization. The most 
iive moment in the mass was 
ly the elevation. At a signal, 
;ard the voice of the officers 
the command, and the thud 
floor as the companies of sol- 
imultaneously grounded arms, 
rery man sank on one knee, 
oble Guard, too, sank on one 
mcovered their heads, and sa- 
rith their bright swords. The 
Guard stood erect and pre- 
arms. In the sanctuary, of 

all were kneeling. There 
ound like the rushing of a wind 
ii a pine forest as the vast 
ide strove to sink down too. 

VOL, XI.— j6 



And then came a dead silence over 
all. As the pontiff raised aloft the 
sacred host, turning toward every 
quarter of the church, there came, 
faint, and soft, and solemn at first, 
and gradually stronger and more em- 
phatic, the thrilling tones of those 
silver trumpets placed over the door- 
way and out of sight Their slow, 
majestic melody, and their rich ac- 
cords, and the repeated and prolonged 
echoes of those notes of almost su- 
pernatural sweetness, from chapels 
and nave and dome, produced an 
effect that was marvellously impres* 
sive. As if fascinated by them, no 
one moved from his kneeling posi- 
tion, or even raised his head, imtil the 
last note of the strain and its reced- 
ing echoes had died away, and the 
choir went on to intone the " Bene- 
dictus qui venit." 

At the conclusion of the mass, the 
pope unrobed, put on his cope and 
tiara again, and retired in the same 
manner as he had entered. At once 
the vast mass of people began to pour 
forth from St. Peter's, to make their 
way to the firont; for the pope would 
soon give his solemn benediction 
urbi et orbi — ^to Rome and to the 
world. We have akeady described 
the square before St. Peter's. It is 
about fifteen hundred feet long, and 
averages nearly four hundred feet in 
breadth. All during the mass it had 
been gradually filling up, and when 
now new torrents of men came pour- 
ing out of the church, the whole place 
became so packed that one standing 
on the lofty colonnade on the side of 
the Vatican and looking down on the 
square, perceived that only here and 
there even small portions of the 
ground remained visible, such was 
the closeness with which men and 
women stood packed together. Es- 
pecially was this true on the vast 
esplanades more immediately before 
the churchi and the bcoad ^Xs^NsdJ^ 



SS2 



The Vaiiatn Council. 



ing up to it. Here were gathered 
&t] who wished to be as near as pos- 
sible to the pope during the blessing, 
or to get a sight from this elevation 
of the vast basin of the scjuare tho- 
roughly packed with human beings. 
Nor was the multitude confined to 
the square alone ; on the colonnades, 
on either hand, stood thousands and 
thousands, as in favored positions. 
Every window and balcony looking 
out on the square was thronged. 
Every roof had its group, and away 
down the two streets leading up the 
square from the bridge of St. Angelo 
the crowd appeared equally dense. 
A military man present, whose expe- 
rience had qualified him lo estimate 
large masses, judged that there were 
present at least one hundred and 
twenty thousand persons. Mingling 
among them, you heard every lan- 
guage of Europe, many of Asia, and, 
it was said, half a dozen from Africa. 
It was a representation of the world 
which the pontiff would bless. From 
aU this multitude, standing in the 
bright sunlight, which a north wind 
rendered not disagreeable, came up 
a roar, as it were, of rushing waters, 
tningting the hum of so many voices 
with the blaring of an occasional 
military trumpet from the troops, and 
the neighing of horses. 

Soon the regimental bands are 
heard to salute the approach of his 
holiness, invisible as yet lo the crowd. 
A score of mitred prelates appear at 
the large Balcony of the Blessing. 
They look out in wonder and admi- 
ration at tho scene below, and retire 
to allow another score to view it ; a 
third group does the same. These 
«re the bishops who have accompa- 
nied the pope from the sanctuary to 
the Vatican, and from the Vatican 
hither. Of the others, some are 
down on the square with the people, 
more are on the colonnades, in places 
reserved for them. After the bishops, 



the cardinals are seen to fill the li 
cony once or twice, and then t 
pontiff himself conies in view, t 
forward on his curule chair. 1 
out on the loggia itself. Ordiiu 
besides the ornamental drapery whi 
we see decorating the columna I 
architrave and tympanum,, and I 
railing in front, there projects owi^ 
head a large awning to screen t" 
from the sun. But to-day the north 
wind does not allow it to stand. For- 
tunately, the weather hardly calls k 
it. He is scarcely inconvenienced 
by the rays of the sun as they are »■ 
fleeted from his rich gold-cloth mi 
studded with precious stoiKS, i 
from the massive gold embroidery of 
his cope. The military i 
ceased, and there is the silence of awt 
and of earnest expectation. Tbotf 
that are near hear the tones of socm 
one chanting the Confiteor be&jde die 
pontiff. Two bishops hold the brjt 
missal from which he chants Ik 
prayers in a clear, rotund, and muxic^ 
voice. The people are Jtneeling, u>J 
twice is heard the response of uiiiioi 
thousands — Allien, The book is Uiii 
aside. The pontiff rises and staa6 
erect, looks up to heaven, and, with t 
majestic sweeping motion, opens wvic 
his arms and invokes on all the Um- 
ing of heaven. His voice is gna 
forth in its very fullest power, snd 
even at the furthemiost end of tbt 
square the kneeling crowd sign them- 
selves with the sign of the cross it 
they distinctly hear the words: "Urmc 
dktio Deiomnipotmtis, Patris, et /*&, 
et Spiriiui SancH, dticfndat su/er iw 
et maneat semper" May the tUtsi^ 
of Almighty God, the Father, Utt .&«, 
and the Holy Ghost, destend upcaym 
and abide with you for ever. And 
there came up a swelling Amtn. As 
the pontiff sank back on his clutir, tfac 
kneeling crowd arose, and there bum 
forth from every portion of it s loud 
acclaim of vivas, of good wishes, of 



TAe Vatican Council. 



563 



acclamations, that died away only as 
the pontiflf retired from view, and as 
the cannon of St. Angelo commenced 
the national salute. 

It was a ceremony fitted by its ma- 
jesty and its magnificence to close the 
grand ceremonies of Easter-Week. 
Art cannot do justice to it. Painting, 
tied down by the laws of perspective, 
cannot portray what the eye sees on 
every side, and does not pretend to 
give the words of solemn prayer, of 
impressive benediction, and the out- 
burst of acclamation which we heard. 
Words must fail to convey the emo- 
tions that filled thousands of hearts 
that day, at the sublime and moving 
spectacle. It was a sensible testi- 
mony of the holiness, the authority, 
and the unity of the church of Christ, 
a testimony to which not even an un- 
believer, if present, could remain in- 
different. 

It took nearly two hours for that 
crowd to depart. The cardinals, ro- 
yalty, the nobles, and many of the 
bishops in carriages, made their way, 
at a snail's pace, along the streets 
leading to the old Roman Elian 
Bridge across the Tiber, now known 
as the Bridge of St. Angelcn They 
could scarcely get on as fast as the 
foot passengers that filled the street 
on either side up to the very wheels 
of the single line of carriages allowed. 
Others, more in a hurry, went out by 
the Porta Angelica, so as to cross the 
Tiber at the Ponte Molle, two miles 
north of the city, and then reenter by 
the Porta del Popolo ; and others again 
turned southward, following the streets 
along the river, and crossing it at the 
suspension bridge, or at some of the 
bridges lower down. And so, within 
two hours, all reached their homes 
without a single accident, without a 
single quarrel, without a single call 
for the interference of the police. 

But it was for many of them only 
to return within a few hours. On 



Easter-Sunday evening occurs the 
grand illumination of the facade and 
dome of St. Peter's. As the shades 
of evening fell on the city, silvery 
lights began to mark the lofty cross, 
and to glow along the huge ribs of 
the mighty dome, and to map out the 
lines of the windows and doors, the 
columns, and cornices, and tympa- 
nums, and architectural ornaments 
and projections, to illuminate the 
clock-faces and the coats of arms 
above them, to sparkle along the 
minor domes, and to stretch away on 
either side in regular lines along each 
colonnade, diffusing everywhere a 
gentle light, and bringing into promi- 
nence, with a fairy-like witchery, all 
the lines of the pile before you. There 
are about five thousand two hundred 
of these lights. They are made of 
broad shallow plates of metal or 
earthenware, containing a certain 
amount of prepared tallow and a 
lighted wick, and surrounded by a 
cylinder of paper, colored and figured. 
From this lantern, as it may be called, 
the light comes diffused, subdued, and 
white; hence the Romans call this 
the silver illumination. The square 
was filled, though by no means as 
in the morning, with crowds looking, 
wondering, and admiring. At a quar- 
ter past eight, the large bell of St. 
Peter's began to chime. As the very 
first stroke came to our ears, a tiny 
blaze was seen to dart up a guiding 
wire to the top of the lofty cross, and 
a clear bright flame burst forth, glowed 
on the summit; downward the tiny 
flame flew, lighting two others on each 
arm of the cross, and then downward 
lighting still others along the stem. 
Invisible hands caused other such 
little flames to flit rapidly hither and 
thither, like glow-moths, all along the 
dome, the front, and both colonnades 
around the square. Wherever they 
seemed to alight for an instant, there 
a bright flame sprung vdXjo ^\s\.^xic.^. 



S64 



The Vatican Council. 



In just twenty-three seconds, and long 
before the dock had half struck the 
hour, eight hundred of those bright 
yellow flames had almost eclipsed the 
first ones, and the building stood forth 
in the geldtn illumination. It was a 
sight, once seen, never to be forgot- 
ten. Whoever first conceived the 
idea of this instantaneous cliange of 
illumination was a poet in the truest 
sense of the word. 

On Easter-Monday evening, the 
festive celebrations were continued by 
giving the Girandola, or exhibition of 
fireworks on Monte Fincio. On en- 
tering Rome from the north, by the 
Porta del Popolo, as before the days 
of tlie railways the great majority of 
travellers did, you find yourself at 
once in a large oval square, called the 
PiaMa del Popolo, in the centre of 
which stands an ancient £g}'ptian 
obelisk, its base surrounded by mo- 
dem Egyptian lions and fountains. 
On the south side, three streets ra- 
diate into the heart of the city. For 
a wonder, they are straight ; you may 
look down the central one, the Corso, 
for full three quarters of a mile. Mas- 
sive palatial buildings stand around 
this square ; to the west there rises a 
line of lofly evergreen cypresses, near 
the Tiber. Through the interstices 
of their branches and dark foliage 
you may catch glimpses of St. Peter's. 
On the east rises the Pincian Hill, 
the Afons HorUilanui of the olden 
Romans, then outside and to the 
north of the city, now within its wails, 
and forming its beautiful promenade. 
The hill is about one hundred and 
fifty feet high, and toward the square 
is quite sleep. Broad carriage- ways, 
sweeping from right to left, in zigzag 
courses, give access from the square 
to the promenade above; and im- 
mense walls of masonry, with arches 
and porticos, and columns, rising in 
stories, back of and above each other, 
prevent any landshdes, and give an 



architectural finish to the % 
face which the trees and exotie p 
growing in the si>ace8 between c 
embellish and do not n 

Por ten days before Eostei-Moodl 
the phblic had been excluded I 
the promenade. As they 
through the square, they coald s 
lofty scaffolding in t]ie process i 
erection on the brow of the hiU, i 
other scaffolding interlacing with ij 
architecture of its siiie. Thco^ 
site oval curve of the square was d 
cupied by a line of covered gallei 
of wood erected for the occasion. K 
this Monday night, the air was halm^r, 
the sky clear but moonless. At least 
twenty-five thousand spectators stood 
in the square. The Roman mttrad- 
pality had assigned ihe galleries 10 
the bishops and some ihousaods of 
other invited guests. Four cntliur; 
bands whiled away the time of ex- 
pectation with sweet music. At Ian 
ihe appointed hour struck on a ncigt 
boring church clock, and a rocket 
shot up into the air, the sound of kt 
explosion was reechoed from the 
mouth of a cannon ; and the pvio- 
technic display at once commenced. 
The artof pyrotechnics has been cdi 
tivated at Rome with more skill a 
good taste than in any other city rf 
Europe. We might, indeed, expea 
this fi-om a people trained as no other 
is to recognize and appreciate U< 
beautiful and fitting in form nj 
color. The grand features and ch» 
ractcristics of those displays woe 
settled centuries ago. They say tbit 
Michael Angelo himself did muclit» 
ward perfecting them. On each o 
casion some able artist gives ihefl 
cialties to be introduced, alwanJ| 
subservience to those general I 
pies. This year, the plan was % 
by the distinguished architect Ven 
niani. At one time, the entire bot \ 
of tlie hill and the scaffolding « 
ablaze with Unes of variegated li^ 



The Vatican Council. 



56s 



representing a vast mass of buildings 
with towers and cupola, and gigantic 
gateways, on which there streamed 
down from above continuous beams 
of still brighter and purer light. In 
the distance stood the figure of an 
apostle, and by him an angel with 
outstretched arm ; and we imderstood 
that we were looking at the celestial 
Jerusalem, revealed in, vision to the 
apostle in Patmos. We marked the 
gates of precious stones, perfectly re- 
presented by the various hues of fire, 
and the foundation stones bearing in 
letters of light the names of the apos- 
tles. Too soon it seemed to fade 
away, but only to be renewed with 
change of colors. For a while we 
might still study it. Again it faded, 
again was renewed with still another 
exquisite arrangement of colors, and 
then faded away into darkness. Then 
figure after figure burst out afterward, 
without any delay or tedious waiting. 
At one time, a gigantic volcano, amid 
the booming of cannon that caused 
the ground to tremble beneath the 
foot, belched forth thousands of burn- 
ing rockets, which ascended in streaks 
of fire and burst over head, seeming 
to fill the sky with myriads and my- 
riads of many-colored falling stars. 
At another, the whole hill-side stood 
before us as a group of majestic trium- 
phal arches, decorated with immense 
wreaths of roses, lilies, dahlias, and 
bright-colored flowers. In a niche 
was seen the bust of the pontiff sur- 
rounded by a brilliant frame, and be- 
low we read the inscription, in which 
Senatus Ibpuiusque Rotnanus^ the mu- 
nicipal authorities of the city, offered 
to Pius IX. their homage and con- 
gratulations on the near approach of 
the twenty-fifth year of his pontificate. 
All the minor devices of pyrotechnics, 
of course, abounded. When, after 
three quarters of an hour, the brilliant 
and almost continuous display seemed 
to be closed, a little fiery messenger 



started from the hill-side, on an invisi- 
ble wire, to the summit of the obelisk 
in the centre of the square, and light- 
ed a bright flame on its point. Soon 
lines of flame decorated its sides. 
From its base ten little messengers 
started out, not very for over the 
heads of the people, reaching as many 
pillars around the square, and lighting 
up simultaneously ten bright Bengal 
lights. It was as if day had come 
back to us. The lights on the pillars 
changed from white to purple and red, 
and other messengers, this time seem- 
ingly still nearer the heads, rushed 
madly back to the central obelisk and 
clothed that too in many-colored fire. 
At last, from obelisk and pillars alike 
shot up rocket after rocket, bursting 
loudly in the air, and for the last time 
casting their bright hues of white, and 
scarlet, and orange, and green, and 
purple on the hill-side, the palaces 
and hotels around, and on the crowd 
beneath in the square. All was over, 
and at an early hour the mighty mass 
was slowly moving like living torrents 
down the three streets leading from 
the square into the city. So great 
was the crowd that it was full half an 
hour before the careful police would 
allow the carriages, which filled the 
by-streets in the neighborhood, to en- 
ter those thoroughfares. Gorgeous 
and artistic as the spectacle was, it 
had not cost beyond a thousand dol- 
lars. 

On Tuesday, the fathers were at 
work again. A general congregation 
was held, as usual. The last speeches 
were spoken, the last explanations 
were heard; the last touches were 
given to the schema^ and the last vote 
was taken, and every thing was ready 
to declare and promulgate the schema, 
as a dogmatic constitution or decree 
of faith, in the next public session, 
which, it was announced, would be 
held on Low-Sunday. 

The Girandola oa Moi^Aac^ m^g^\. 



566 



TJie Vatican Council. 



was the celebration of ihc municipal 
authorities. On Wednesday night, 
the people had theirs — a general illu- 
mination of the city. The proper 
day would have been April iith, the 
anniversary of the pope's return from 
Gaeta, and also of his wondrous es- 
cape from all injury in an accident by 
the falling of a floor at St. Agnes, out- 
»de the walls, something like the late 
disastrous one in the capital at Rich- 
mond, Though many were injured, 
cardinals, priests, and laymen, none, 
we believed, were killed. But tlie 
chair in which the piontiff was seat- 
ed came down with him through the 
breaking floor without even being 
overturned, and he was preserved 
from even the slightest shock. Since 
then, he ever keeps that day religious- 
ly sacred, and the Romans have fallen 
into the custom of celebrating it by a 
general illumination of the city. This 
year, as the day fell in Holy-\\'eek, the 
celebration was put off until the loth 
of April, Wednesday in Easter-Week. 
Each householder illuminated his 
own building with lines of lampioni, 
as ihey call the plates of earthenware 
or metal, jilled with tallow and a 
lighted wick, and surrounded by a 
cylindrical screen of colored paper, 
through which the light shines as a 
huge diamond. The wealthier ones 
affected some ornamental design in a 
profuser arrangement of such lights. 
Some used multitudinous cups of 
colored glass, holding oil, and a 
lighted taper swimming in it. In 
each parish, the inhabitants clubbed 
together to erect one or more special 
designs of superior artistic taste and 
brilliancy. The city was all aglow ; 
nobody save the sick staid at home ; 
the streets were filled with streams of 
people all moving in the same direc- 
tion ; for some one had, with happy 
thought fulness, got up an itinerary or 
route guide through the cily, and all 
ceemed to follow iL It took three 



hours to walk through the < 
parts of the lairy scene, if yoo * 
on foot ; and more, if you took a au> 
riage. The lines of meUow b^il, 
faintly shining from windows \ 
cornices along all the buildings, e 
the poorest, in the narrowest. I 
darkest, and crookedest streets < 
Rome, broken occasionally l^'i 
brighter burst from the doorway! 
some shop well illuminated in I 
interior; the blaze tliat rose I 
the lights more numerous and brib- 
er in the squares, or shone from the 
fronts of we.ilthier and larger hutas 
and palaces, from the arches of tri- 
umph, and from the temples of 
Gothic or classic style, constracted 
of wood and canvas, but to whidi 
painting and colored lights lent for 
the hour a fairy beauty like Ibat of 
Aladdin's palace ; every thing united 
to charm, to dazzle, and to bcwilda 
the spectator. The pope had gooe 
that afternoon as usual to St. Agnei, 
to be present at a Te Deum for Mt 
escape, and relumed only afler ni^- 
fall. As he reached the square of &. 
Peter's, a number of rockets shot vy 
into the air, and buret into a thoB- 



3 of e 



It \ 



every I 

signal. Instantaneously the colon- 
nades on either side and the front of 
the church were all lighted up with 
Bengal fires. The columns in front 
and the walls glowed in a white oi 
golden light ; the interior recosei 
were made mysterious in a, tA 
purple. After a few momeats, the 
tints were interchanged; the bri^ 
purple light w.TS in front, and seemed 
to change the buff travertin o into ala- 
baster and precious marbles, and die 
trembling lints of white and light gold 
within imparted a supemaiural beauty 
to the interior recesses. Change fol- 
lowed change, until the pope, amid 
the enthusiastic acclamations of the 
vast crowd, moved on, and at \ 
disappeared in the rear of S 






"The Vatican Council. 



S67 



to reach the grand gateway of the 
Vatican palace. The crowd too 
passed elsewhere, to wander along 
streets converted into arcades, roof- 
ed by lines of soft and many-colored 
lights ; to admire the triumphal arches, 
where in niches the Saviour stood 
as " the way, the truth, and the life," 
attended by the Evangelists or the 
Blessed Virgin Mother, to whom 
David and Isaiah bore testimony; 
to look on the cross of jewelled light 
shining in the dark recesses of the front 
of the Pantheon, or to examine and 
criticise the temples of light at the 
Minerva, the Santi Apostoli, or Mon- 
ticilorio ; to rest themselves at times, 
listening to the music of the bands, 
which ever and anon they encoun- 
tered; to look with delight on the 
illuminated steamers and barges on 
the river, bearing (for the nonce) the 
flags of every Christian nation, and to 
study the play of light reflected on the 
rippling surface of old Father Tiber ; 
to wonder at the obelisks converted 
into columns of fire, or the grand stair- 
way of Trinitk di Monte, made a 
mountain of light, and a glorious grand 
stairway seeming to reach the heavens, 
or to watch the changing colors of Ben- 
gal fires, illuming the statues of old 
Neptune and his tritons and sea- 
horses, and the wild cavernous rocks 
and dashing waters of the exquisite 
fountain of Trevi ; or, after all, to stroll 
through some square, where yellow 
gravelly walks led you between beds 
of green herbage, where tiny fountains 
were bubbling, where trees were laden 
with firuits of light, and where flowers 
filled the air with sweet perfumes. 
All Rome was in the streets, and in 
their orderly, calm, and dignified way 
enjoyed the scene hugely. Not a 
loud voice or an angry word was 
heard, not the slightest symptom of 
intoxication was seen. Everywhere 
the hum of pleasant talk of friends 
and family groups arose, made spark- 



ling and brilliant to the ear, rather 
than interrupted, by the low but 
hearty and silvery laughs of men, 
of women, and of delighted chil- 
dren. The Romans were out, all 
in their best apparel; and not they 
alone, but thousands from the vil- 
lages of the campagnas and the 
neighboring mountains, in their bright 
colors and quaint mediaeval tradition- 
al costumes. All these were a study 
to the sixty thousand visitors then 
passing through the streets of Rome, 
not less interesting and instructive 
than the gorgeous illumination itself. 
Among those sixty thousand stran- 
gers there was but one decision — that 
nowhere else in Europe could there 
be an illumination so spontaneous, so 
general, so perfectly artistic, so exqui- 
sitely beautiful and grand as this was, 
and nowhere else could such a vast 
crowd walk these narrow streets for 
hours with such perfect order, such 
good humor, and such universal 
courtesy. 

There were other celebrations dur- 
ing these two weeks, both ecclesias- 
tical and social, but it will suffice to 
have spoken of the chief ones. The 
repositories or sepulchres of Holy- 
Thursday evening, the services of 
the three hours' agony in many church- 
es about noon on Good-Friday, and 
the sermons and way of the cross in 
the ruins of the Colosseum, the scene 
of so many martyrdoms, on Good- 
Friday afternoon, would all deserve 
special mention; but we have not 
the space, and must pass on to the 
third public session of the Vatican 
Council. 

This, as we have already stated, was 
fixed for Sunday, April 26th — Low- 
Sunday. At nine a.m., the cardinals, 
patriarchs, primates, archbishops, bi- 
shops, mitred abbots, and superiors of 
religious orders were in their places. 
The council hall had been restored 
to the original form in which we l\&$i 



i 



$68 



Tif Vatiean ^ifundC 



sccD it on the day of tlie opening. 
AH the changes to fit it for the dis- 
cussions of the general congregations 
were removed. 'ITie Noble Guard and 
the Knights of Malta were on duty as 
custodians of the assembly. Cardinal 
Eilio celebrated a pontifical high-mass, 
SB had been done in each of the pre- 
vious sessions. At its termination, the 
Gospel was enthroned on the altar. 
The holy father intoned the "Veni 
Creator Spiritus," and the choir and 
united assembly of prelates sung the 
strophes alternately to the conclusion 
of that sublime hymn. The pontiff 
chanted the opening |>rayei^, and all 
knelt when tiic litany of the saints 
was intoned in the varied and well- 
known antiijue melodies of Gregorian 
chant. At the proper place, the pon- 
tiff chanted the special supplications 
for a blessing on the council, and the 
chanters and the assembly, and, in 
fact, thousands of the audience, joined 
in the swelling responses. The effect 
seemed even to suqiass that which we 
described in our first article, giving an 
account of the opening of the council. 
Other prayers followed, prescribed by 
the ritual At their conclusion, the spe- 
cial work of this session commenced. 
According to the olden time ritual 
of councils, all in the hall, not belong- 
ing strictly to the council, should at 
this point be sent away, and the gates 
should be closed, that in their voting 
the fathers might be free from all out- 
side influence, and each might speak 
his mind, unswayed by fear or favor. 
But if, in stormier times, when cla- 
morous mobs might invade a council 
hall, such precautions were necessary, 
here, to-day, they are certainly unne- 
cessary. There is no need to close the 
wide portals against these thousands 
and tens of thousands who have ga- 
thered to look with reverence and rap- 
ture on tliis venerable assembly. Let 
the doors then stand open to their wid- 
est extent, that all may see. 



And it was a scfne worth cani 
as many had doae, across ocefti»4 

mountains to look on. The pfl 
and walls of the noble hall woe i 
with appropriate paintings, with i 
saics, and statuary, and raarbln. 
the furthest end, on his etcvateO s 
sat the venerated sovereign pon 
bearing on his head a prectoos mi 
glittering with jewels, and wcuin] 
cope rich with massive golden < 
broidery. On either hand ai 
venerable cardinals, arrayed in *ri 
mitres, and wearing their richest m 
of office. In front of them sat the 
triarchs, mostly easterns, in the rich i 
bright-coloretl robes of their rcspec) 
rites, and wearing tiaras radiant ■ 
brilliants and jewelry. Oown dt 
side of the hall ran the manifoM B 
of primates, archbishops, bishops,] 
other prelates, all in white mitra^ i 
in copes of red lama; att save 
oriental prelates, who wear many- 
lored copes and restmenis, and r 
tiaras, ever catching the eye of ' 
spectator as they sal scattered b 
and there in that crowd, and exce 
ing also the heads of religious orth 
who wear each his api)ropruite dr 
of white, or of black, or of brown, 
mingle these colors together. T 
contrast and play of various colon 
all these vestments give a brillian 
to the whole scene, much bcyo 
what the uniform white of the fi 
two sessions had yielded. 

But what mattered the < 
their vestments, when one c 
ed the venerable forms of the U 
themselves. They sat still, 
most as motionless as s 
ble statues. Now and theni 
aged prelate, with bald head 4k 
snow-white locks, would lay ani 
for a few moments the heavy nut] 
that perhaps was pressing tus igi 
brows too heavily. All else seenu 
motionless. Their countenances, ooi 
posed and thoughtfiil, told 1 



ifaoKi| 



The Vatican Council. 



569 



roughly they, at least, were impressed 
with the importance and the solemni- 
ty of their work. 

In the middle stood the altar, rich 
and simple, on which lay enthroned 
the open book of the Gospels. Near 
by stood the light and lofty pulpit of 
dark wood. 

Into this pulpit now ascended Mon- 
signor Valenziani, Bishop of Fabriano 
and Matelica, one of the assistant 
secretaries, and in a voice remarkable 
for its strength and distinctness, and 
not less so for its endurance, read 
with most appropriate emphasis, and 
with the musical intonations of a cul- 
tivated Italian voice, the entire Dog- 
matic ConsHtutiotiy from the beginning 
to the end. It occupied just three 
quarters of an hour. 

At the conclusion he asked, " Most 
eminent and most reverend fathers, 
do you approve of the canons and 
decrees contained in this constitution?" 

He descended from the pulpit, and 
Monsignor Jacobini, another assistant 
secretary took his place, to call for the 
votes of the fathers, one by one. 

"The Most Eminent Constantine 
Cardinal Patrizi, Bishop of Porto and 
Santa Rufina !" 

The venerable cardinal arose in his 
place. We heard his answer. Placet ; 
— I approve. An usher standing near 
him repeated. Placet ; a second one 
on the right hand side repeated,/%7<r^/y 
a third on the other side repeated 
aloud, Placet, 

" The Most Eminent Aloysius Car- 
dinal Amat, Bishop of Palestrina 1" 

The aged cardinal rose slowly, and 
in a feeble voice replied. Placet. 
And from the ushers again we heard 
echoing through the hall. Placet! 
Placet I Placet i 

Thus there could be no mistake as 
to the vote, and not only the notaries 
but all who wished could keep a 
correct tally. 



Cardinal after cardinal was thus 
called in order and voted; then the 
patriarchs, each one of whom, rising, 
declared his vote, and the ushers re- 
peated it loudly. Placet! Placet! 
Hacei! 

Then on through the primates, the 
archbishops, and bishops, the mitred 
abbots, and the heads of religious 
orders, admitted to the right of suf- 
frage. Where a vote was given, the 
three ushers invariably repeated it. 
Sometimes when a name was called 
the answer was given, Abest — he is 
absent. In all, six hundred and sixty- 
seven votes were cast, all of them in 
approval, not a single one in the 
negative. Not a few of the bishops 
had obtained leave to go to their dio- 
ceses for the Holy-Week and the 
Easter festivities, and had not yet 
been able to return to the council. 
We knew of one who, after two weeks 
of hard work at home, had travelled 
all Saturday night, on the train, and 
had reached Rome only at nine a.m. 
Sunday morning. He had at once 
said mass privately in the nearest con- 
venient chapel, and, without waiting 
for even the slighest refreshment, had 
hurried to St. Peter's, that he might 
take his place among his brethren and 
record his ^ Phcet,^^ The whole form 
of voting occupied about two hours. 
It was, in truth, a solemn and most 
impressive scene. There was a pause 
at the end, while the notaries counted 
up the votes, and declared the result. 
This done, the pope spoke aloud, " The 
cations and decrees contained in this 
constitution^ having been approved by 
all the fathers y without a single dissen- 
tienty wcy with the approbation of this 
holy council y define theniy as they have 
been ready and by our apostolic autliority 
we confirm themP It was the official 
sanction sealing their force and truth. 

The pontiff paused for a moment, 
evidendy struggling with the emotions 



I good » 



of his heart, and then continued in an 
iroinptii address in Latin, which 
,ught as Ibllows: 



Most reverend brelhreti, you iec how 
smcl sweet it is lo walk togeU'ef "" 
KfreeiDcnt in the house of the Lord. Walk 
Ihas ever ; and <u our Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ on this day laid to his apostles, 
PkaCE, I, his unworthy vicar, say unto 
jrott in his name, Peace. Peace, as you 
know, castelh out fear. Peace, as you know, 
closes our ears to words o( evil. May that 
peoee accompany you all the days of your life. 
May it console you and give you strength in 
desth. May it be to you everlasting joy ia 



The bishops were moved, many of 
them to tears, by the dignity and llie 
paternal affection with which the 
simple words came from his heart. 
He was himself deeply moved. 

Other prayers were chanted. The 
pontifical blessing was given, and the 
pope intoned the Te Deum. The 
choir, the bishops, and the thousands 
of priests and laity in the church, who 
bad looked on this solemn act of the 
church just executed, joined in with 
their whole heart and soul, and swell- 
ed the grand Ambrosian melody, mak- 
ing it roll throughout the church, and 
calling echoes from every chapel and 
arch, from nave and transept and 
dome. And with tliis concordant 
song of gratitude to God, the ihird 
session of the Vatican Council was 
appropriately dosed. 

The pontiff departed, accompanied 
by some of the cardinals, by the sena- 
tor and conservalori of Rome, the 
masters-at-arms of the council, and 
the attendants of his pontilical house- 
hold. Soon the cardinals and prelates 
moved slowly from the council hall 
into the vast church, unrobed in a 
chapel set apart for the purpose, and 
wended tlieir way homeward, and 



the third public sestioo of the com- 
cil was over. 

We were able, in our last Bom- 
ber, to present to our rea/Jeu the 
original text, in Latin, of the cMuo- 
tution promulgated in this Ksatm, 
and also a correct translation of it ia 
English. It will be seen on exainin- 
ing the subjects treated of, and b; 
the absolute unanimity of the vota 
given, how far astray " our own coc- 
respondents" were, both as to the 
matters under discussion in the oooa- 
cil, and as to tlie divisions whidi 
they imagined to exist among tbc 
fathers. 

Since Low -Sunday, the gencnl 
congregations have resumed their iit 
tings, and the committees on mattcn 
of faith and on matters of disdplmc 
have been busily engaged. Matlcn 
from the latter committee have al- 
ready been rediscussed, and some 
preliminary votes have been taken. 
It is understood that ere long the 
committee on matters of faith wiB 
report back to the general congrega- 
tion another iekema on the church, 
in the course of which the r)uetii()a 
of the infallibility of the pope, of 
which so much has been written tod 
said, will at last come formallj> before 
the council. Should this be the 
case, we may be sure the whole sub- . 
jecc will be examined with the can 
and research which its imporUiitce rfr 
quires, and which the dignity and 
the learning of the fathers denuiKL 
The result will be that decision to 
which the Holy Spirit of truth will 
guide them, 

Rome, May 8, 1870. 

Note. — We may add to this an- 
nouncement of our correspondcDi, 
that the discussion of the schtma on 
infallibility was begun on the loth of 
May, and is expected to be finished 
before the 39th of June. 



Nen^ PtAlicatiom. 



571 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



An American Political Economy; 
iNCLUDmo Strictures on the 
Management op the Finances 
SINCE 1861. With a chart showing 
the fluctuations in the price of gold. 
By Francis Bowen, Professor of 
Natural Religion, Moral Philosophy, 
and Civil Polity in Harvard College. 
New York: Scribner & Co. 1870. 
i6mo, pp. 495. 

We took up this book with an old 
prejudice against the author of some 
thirty years standing, as well as with 
an Inveterate dislike to almost all works 
on political economy, which it has ever 
been our misfortune to read; but we 
have been pleased and instructed by 
it Professor Bowen is not a philo- 
sopher ; has not, properly speaking, a 
scientific mind ; but he has great prac- 
tical good sense, and a wide, and we 
should say a thorough, acquaintance with 
the facts of his subject, and the ability to 
set them forth in a clear and strong 
light. He is no system-monger, is wed- 
ded to no system of his own, and aims 
to look at facts as they are. It is a 
great merit of his book that it recog- 
nizes that each country should have its 
own political economy growing out of 
and adapted to its peculiar wants and 
circumstances. Free-trade or protec- 
tion may be for the interest of one coun- 
try and not for another, and no universal 
rule as to either can be laid down. 

The author, a follower of John Locke 
in philosophy, is of course not good at 
definitions, and his definition of wealth 
is rather clumsy, but he contrives as 
he proceeds to tell us what it is. All 
wealth is the product of labor, and a 
man is wealthy just in proportion to his 
ability to purchase or command the labor 
of others. Hence the absurdity of those 
theorists who demand an equal di\nsion 
of property or an equality of wealth, as 
well as of the legislation that seeks to 
ameliorate the condition of the poor by 
making them rich, or furnishing them 



with fecilities for becoming rich. If all 
were wealthy, all would be poor; for 
then no one would sell his labor ; and if 
no one would sell his labor, no one could 
buy labor, and then every man would be 
reduced to the necessity of doing every 
thing for himself. All men have equal 
natural rights as men, and this is all the 
equality that is practicable or desirable. 

The reader will find the professor has 
treated the question of banks with rare 
lucidity, as also that of paper money, and 
even money itself. But the portion of 
his work that most interests us is his 
strictures on the management of our 
national finances since 1861, and es- 
pecially Mr. Secretary Chase's pet 
scheme of national banks. Accord- 
ing to his showing, it would exceed 
the wit of man tQ invent and follow 
a more ruinous financial policy than 
that pursued by the national admi- 
nistration since the inauguration of the 
late Mr. Lincoln as President He 
shows that the Northern States could 
have met and actually did pay enough 
during the civil war to meet all the ex- 
penses of the war without contracting a 
cent of debt, and consequently the two 
or three thousand millions of dollars' 
debt actually contracted was solely due 
to our national financiers. There never 
was any need of resorting to any thmg 
more than temporary national loans if the 
government had had in the beginning the 
wisdom or the courage, or indeed the con- 
fidence in the people, to adopt the scale 
of taxation subsequently adopted. There 
never was any need of compelling the 
banks to suspend specie payments, or 
for it to issue legal-tender notes, but 
what was created by its own blunders. 
The people could have paid as they 
went for the war, and been richer at 
its close than at its beginning. 

As if creating paper money for all pur- 
poses except customs dues, demeritizing 
gold and silver, depreciating the curren- 
cy, and enormously inflating the prices 
<^ all commoditita,'«%a t»A. «gl<o^^>x 



must netds create the naiional banks, 
and make ihem a free gift of (300,000,000 
of circulation, and that without the least 
relief to the government, but to its great 
embarrassment, still more inflating the 
currency, and running up gold (o a pre- 
mium of 28s- Even since the war it 
continues its blunders, and does all in 
its power to increase the burdens of the 
people. It seems from the first to have 
proceeded 00 the principle of securing 
the support of the people by enabling 
Individuals to ;ima5S huge fortunes at 
the public expense. Why, if it must 
have national banks, need it make them 
banks of circulation? Why not compel 
them to bank on its own legal tenders 
instead of their own notes, and thus 
save to itself the profits on 5300,000,000 
of circulation ? It would have run no 
risk it does not now run ; for the trea- 
sury is responsible for the redemption 
of the notes of the national banks, and 
the security it holds from tliem would 
be perfectly illusory in any monetary 
crisis. But Tve have no room to pro- 
ceed. We, however, recommend this 
part of the work to the serious con- 
sideration of our national financiers. 
There are in political economy deeper 
problems than Professor Bowen has 
grasped ; but upon the whole, he bat 
given us the most sensible work on 
the subject that vre are acquainted 



ritual readings. They ; 
really addressed 10 the reaiier. Uw 
over, they contain no foolish exagger 
tions. These two merits are not unfr 
quently wanting in books of meditations. 
The present volume relates lo the ilutit 
and doctrines of our holy latth. Anothv 
series is promised, which will 
suitable meditations fur the 
lical year, and the feaat« of the 
Virgin and the saints. 



Cesar's Couhentaribs on ths Gu^ 
Lie War. With Notes, Dictiotttrji^ 
and Map. ByAlbert H3rkaess,LI.lX, 
Professor in Erown Un-versity. Ne* 
York : D. Appleton & Co. 

This edition of Caesar's Cainmtnt4ri» 
is altogether the best we remember Mr 
have seen. Besides the advajitage c£ 
a copious and accurate dictionaiy, ibt 
notes are ample without being exir4«»' 
gnnL There is an introductory cietdi 
of the great Roman's life, which b ~ 
teresting, and the map of Caul is czi 
lent. 



The Day Sanctipieb. Being Medi- 
tations and Spiritual Readings for 
daily use. London : Burns, Gates 
& Co. 1870. Pp. 318. For sale 
by the Catholic Publication Society, 
9 Warren Street, New York. 

This volume consists of a series of 
mtdititions drawn from the Holy Scrip- 
ture and modern spiritual writers. It is 
not, however, a book containing medi- 
tations for the entire year, as one would 
be led to imagine from its title. The 
number of meditations is only ninety. 
So it is supposed— and the plan is a 
good one — that the subjects will bo 
selected according lo each one's devo- 
tion. A word may very fitly be said in 
i the coinpoiition of these spi- 



Reflf-ctions and Prayers for Holt 
Communion. London; Bunis,Oaics 
& Co. 1 869. Pp. 493. New Yof k! 
For s.-ile by the Catholic Publicatiofl' 
Society, 9 Warren Street 

When Archbishop Manning says thil 
"this volume is a valuable addition tv 
our books of devotion," it needs M' 
further recommendation. But, in 44* 
dition to his opinion, it comes lo 01 
sanctioned by the approbation of tli« 
Archbishop ot Lyons, and the Bishops 
of Aix, Nancy, and Redei. Still, w« 
will not forbear lo give it our mile of 
praise. The book abounds in beautffiil 
methods of learning to love Jesus In his 
sacrament of love. Yet the meditations 
are not merely beautiful, they are >Ito 
very practical In our reading, we have 
never met so touching and so nsefiil % 
thanksgiving, after communion, as the 
exercise which, in this volume, is called 
" The Hem of our Lord's Garmeni." If 
good use is made of the suggestions and 
reflections in these pages, they will ea>- 



New Publications. 



573 



tainly accomplish their author's inten- 
tion of ** gently drawing the soul entire- 
ly to our Lord." 



A Treatise on the Christian Doc- 
trine OF Marriage. By Hugh 
Davey Evans, LL.D. With a Biogra- 
phical Sketch of the Aufhor, etc. 
New York: Hurd& Houghton. 1870. 

Dr. Evans was a friend of ours in 
days long gone by, and we used fre- 
quently to contribute articles to the ma- 
gazine which he edited, one of which, 
entitled "Dissent and Semi-Dissent," 
has been incorrectly attributed to him 
by his biographer. We have always 
cherished a sentiment of respect for the 
quaint and learned old gentleman, whose 
portrait has been drawn in the brief bio- 
graphical sketch prefixed to this volume 
with singular fidelity and accuracy. Dr. 
Evans was a regular old-fashioned High- 
Churchman, after the model of Hooker 
and Wilson, and consequently imbued 
with many soundly Catholic principles 
and sentiments, mixed up with many 
other incongruous English and Protes- 
tant prejudices. In the work before us, 
he has with masterly learning and abili- 
ty defended the Christian doctrine of 
marriage in a manner which is in the 
greater number of essential respects 
sound and satisfactory. Unfortunately, 
having only his own individual judgment 
as his tribunal of last resort in defining 
Catholic doctrine, instead • of councils 
and popes, he has sanctioned one most 
fatal error, the lawfulness of divorces a 
viftculo, and subsequent remarriage, in 
the case of adultery on the part of the 
wife. We are glad to see that his editor 
dissents from him in this respect, and 
has republished the admirable little 
treatise of Bishop Andrews sustaining 
the opposite side of the question. It is 
a wonder that any person can fail to see 
how utterly worthless is any pretended 
church authority which leaves such an 
essential matter as this open to dispute. 
We are glad to see works circulated 
among Protestants which advocate any 
sound principles on this subject, even 
though they are incomplete. They have 
much more influence than the works of 



Catholic authors ; they form a " service- 
able breakwater " to the inflowing tide of 
corruption, and prepare th^ way for 
the eventual triumph of the Catholic 
doctrine and law, which alone can save 
society from dissolution. The Atlantic 
Monthly^ which is the favorite magazine 
of a very large class of the most highly 
'cultivated minds in New England and 
in other portions of the United States, 
has descended to the lowest level of the 
free-love doctrine, and thus flxed on it- 
self the seal of that condemnation which 
it has been earning for a long time 
past, as the most dangerous and cor- 
rupting of all our literary periodicals. 
We hope that it will be banished here- 
after from every Catholic family, and 
receive no more commendatory notices 
from the Catholic press. We are glad 
to see the strong and manly refutation 
of its immoral nonsense given by Thi 
Nation, although its argument fails of 
the sanction which is alone sufiicient 
to compel assent, and efiiciently con- 
trol legislation and public opinion in 
a matter where so severe a curb is 
placed on passion and liberty to follow 
the individual will. We are happy to 
welcome such sensible and valuable aid 
to the cause of social morality as that 
given by Thi Nation, but we must dis- 
own entirely another champion of mo- 
nogamy, to wit, the Methodist preacher. 
Dr. Newman, as more dangerous than 
an open antagonist We see that this 
conspicuous declaimer intends to main- 
tain in a public discussion, to be held in 
the Mormon temple, the irreligious and 
scandalous thesis that the holy patri- 
archs of the old law who practised poly- 
gamy were adulterers and sinners against 
the divine law. This is quite consistent 
with Luther's immoral doctrine that men 
totally depraved and steeped in deadly 
sin can be friends of God through a 
legal fiction of imputed righteousness ; 
but it is equally shocking to piety and 
common sense, and as completely sub- 
versive of Christianity as the supersti- 
tious imposture of Joe Smith. We 
predict an easy victory of Brigham 
Young over Dr. Newman. Dr. Evans, 
as corrected by his editor and Bishop 
Andrews, advocates the sound Christian 
doctrine of marriage, and the circolA^^^yci 



JV!nr pHiUealioHs, 



Criminal Abortion ; its Extent and 
Prevention. Read before the Pht- 
Udelpliu Counly Medicsd Society, 
February 9th, 1870, by the retiring 
Preaident, Andrew Nebinger, M.D. 
Published by order of (he Society. 
PhilaUeljjhia; Collins. i8?o^ 

This exhaustive essay, read before the 
Philadelphia County Medical Society, 
by its able president. Dr. Nebinger, will, 
we trust, have a gjeat influence toward 
remedjinK the present loose domestic 
morals of our country. We suppose the 
ixpoii here made had much weight with 
the Pennsylvania Legislature, which has 
recently passed a bill making it a penal 
olTencc for any one to adi'eriise the vile 
nostrums which are cow exposed for 
sale in our drug-stores with such un- 
blushing effrontery. 

Recent stalislics, published by Dr. 
Storer and others, prove the fearful pre- 
valence of the crime of fceticide among 
the native population ; and the next 
census will no doubt show an absolute 
decrease of that class in the New Eng- 
land States. We hope when thus plac- 
ed officially before llie eyes of the Pro- 
testant clergy, Ihey will awaken to the 
necessity of at least informing their coo< 
gregations of the enormity of this sin ; 
so that the plea of ignorance, now urged 
to extenuate tlieir guilt, can no Jonger 
be used. 

Physiology has definitely settled that 
Titatily begins from the moment of con- 
ception. Theology pronounces the 
destruction of human life to be murder, 
kdA consequently the Catholic Church 
impresses in every possible way upon 
her children the fearful retribution that 
will be visited upon those who in any 
way tamper with the helpless unborn. 
We commend the paper lo the careful 
perusal of our medical readers. 



Conferences of the Rev. Peke 
LacorDAIRE. Delivered in the Ca- 
thedral of N6tre Dame, in Parix. 
Translated from the French by 



Henry Largdon. N«w York: P. 
O'Sbea, 37 BarcLij litrccL ifTO. 

Ktr, O'Shea deserves out thanks ind 
those of the eatire body of cdncaMd 
Catholics in the United Sutcs for Ui 
republication of this great work. F. 
Lacordaire was a genius, a great villEr 
and a great orator ; one of those sbio- 
ing and burning minds that eal%lna. 
and enkindle thousands of ol' 
during and after their eanhlf cootk. U 
the graces of writing and ekqneoce; tl 
farsurpassed that other popular prack^ 
er at N6tre Dame who has |>roved lobe 
but an ignii fitluui. In originality 
thought, intellectual gifts, and som 
learning, he was eminent amon^ '•'*' 
compeers. Better than all, be was 
holy man, a true monk, an imiiaior < 
the severe penance of the saints, and 
devoted, obedient son of the Holy Ri 
man Church. 

His conferences are well adapM 
both to instruct the minds and to clun 
the imaginations of those who desiit » 
And the solid substance of sound dsc- 
trine under the most graceful, brOliaal 
and attractive form. We recomnna 
them especially to young men, and iMfl 
they will have a wide circulalion. 

The translation, however, w« rtpd 
to say. though expressing the Ideas A 
the author, is very defective in xtiien(7 
point of view. 



A Noble Lady. By Mrs. AugnsM 
Craven. Translated, at the author^ 
request, by Emily Bowles. London ! 
Bums, Oales & Co. 1869. Pp. i^t 
For sale by the Catholic PubtlatHMi 
Society, 9 Warren Street, New Yorifc 

Both the author and translatorof thia 
volume arc favorably known to our 1 
ers. Their reputation will be mucb in- 
creased by this pleasing biography. 0<» 
'• Noble Lady " is Adelaide Capece Mi- 
nutolo, an Iialian of tank. AccoinpKcb- 
ed, refined, and devout, she is % pCfAct 
picture of the Christian lady. Her Uft 
presents nothing exlraonlinary. She 
did not become a nun. She never mar- 
ried. Yet she was very beautiful, ud 
could have married suitably to her st>> 



New Publications. 



$75 



tion. She preferred the love and com- 
panionship of a younger sister to the 
uncertainty of marriage and the keener 
joys and splendors of the world. Early 
in life these sisters mutually resolved 
to seek nothing further than to live to- 
gether ; nor did either ever feel a regret, 
or doubt the wisdom of their choice, till, 
at the end of eight and twenty years, 
death dissolved their union. It is only 
in Italy that religion, art, and literary 
pursuits have met together, inspired, as 
it were, by the most glorious scenery, 
and where man's soul and heart, the un- 
derstanding and the eye, are completely 
satisfied. Perhaps it is only the daugh- 
ters of Italy who unite great simplicity, 
wonderful sweetness, and charming ten- 
derness to heroic courage and capa- 
city for such studies as usually are 
interesting only to men. Such was 
the character of the Noble Lady. No 
person of refinement can read this 
book, without repeating the touching 
exclamation of a poor Neapolitan wo- 
man, who, while she was praying by 
her coflin, was heard to exclaim, " Go, 
then, go to thy home^ thou beautiful bit 
of Paradise J ^^ 



Pilgrimages in the Pyrenees and 
Landes. By Denys Shyne Lawlor, 
Esq. London : Longmans, Green & 
Co. 1870. 

It is indeed seldom than one will meet 
with a more charming and interesting 
book than this. It contains accounts 
of visits made by the author to various 
sanctuaries of the Blessed Virgin in that 
favored region in the south of France 
which she seems to love so much ; the 
most recent proof of this being her ap- 
parition at the Grotto of Lourdes, to the 
description of which a considerable part 
of the work is devoted. The account is 
hardly if at all inferior, except in its ne- 
cessary brevity, to that of M. Henri Las- 
serre on the same subject, and contains 
some additional events which have re- 
cently occurred, such as the cure of the 
celebrated Father Hermann. Besides the 
description and history of the sanctua- 
ries, the lives of several of the saints 
which this ri^;ion has produced are 



given, and an account of their shrines ; 
among these is one of St. Vincent of 
PauL The book would be well worth 
reading for the pictures which are given 
of the magnificent scenery of the Pyre- 
nean valleys ; and its appearance and 
type are so beautiful that they would 
make even indifferent matter attractive. 



Felter's Arithmetics — Natural 
Series: First Lessons in Num- 
bers; Primary Arithmetic; In- 
tellectual Arithmetic; Inter- 
mediate Arithmetic ; Gram mar- 
School Arithmetic. By S. A, 
Felter, A.M. New York: Charles 
Scribner& Co. 

A sketch of the science of numbers 
through its various progressive stages 
to its present almost perfect develop- 
ment would be of much interest, but our 
limited space forbids us entering upon 
it Of the many series now before the 
public, much can be said by way of 
comniendation ; we think, however, that 
Felter's, while in nowise inferior to the 
best, has some peculiar features which 
give it a decided superiority. Of these 
may be mentioned the very large number 
of examples given under each rule, and 
the test questions for examination which 
are found at the dose of each section. 
These cannot fail to secure to the pupil 
a thorough understanding of his subject 
before he leaves it We also note with 
pleasure the entire absence of answers 
from the text-books intended for use by 
the pupils. A high-school arithmetic 
now in course of preparation will soon 
be added to the series, and will then 
form a curriculum of arithmetical in- 
struction at once gradually progressive, 
and hence simple, thoroughly practical, 
and complete. The author has evident- 
ly a full knowledge of the needs of both 
pupil and teacher, and has admirably 
succeeded in supplying their respective 
deficiencies. 



The Life of St. Stanislas Kostka. 
Edited by Edward Healy Thompson. 
Philadelphia: P. F. Cunnia^ham- 
1870. 



New PubKcationi 



w 



Thompson's lives of various 
'S^oU are well wriltcn, bolh aa regards 
tbeir completeness and accuracy of de- 
tail and iheir literary 5lyle. This Is 
much the best life of the lovely, angelic 
patron of novices we liave ever read. 
Is it necessary to inform any Catholic 
reader of the exquisite beauty of the 
character and life of this noble Polish 
youth ? We hope noL This volume 
presents a life-like portrait of it, which 
must rekindle the devotion already so 
widely-spread and fervent toward one 
who seems like a reproduction of the 
type of youthful sanctity which would 
have bcea seen in the sons of Adam, if 
their father had never sinned. Every 
father and mother ought to make it a 
point to have this book read by their 
children, that they may fall in love with 
' tue and piety, embodied in the win- 
;, lovely form of Stanislas Kostka. 



.BUM OF THE Fourteen Stations 
OP THE Cross ls St. Francis 
Xavier's Church. New York: P. 
O'Sliea, 27 Barclay street 



These photographs of the 
very well executed. They are gotten up, 
aa we imagine, for private chapels and 
oratories. Indeed, they would be suita- 
lile for any room which is set apart for 
t|uict reading or devout exercises. These 
pictures are somewhat larger than a 
curtt-dt-viiile, and they ate printed in 
such a way that they may be readily 
hung upon the wall. 



Fascicitlus Rerum, etc. Auclore Hen- 
ricusFormby. Londini: Burns, Gates, 
Socii Dibliopolv. 

This is an ably-written pamphlet, con- 
taining what appears to us a singularly 
happy and \-aluable suggestion. The 
author's intention is concisely ejqjress- 
cd on his tilie-page, namely, that " the 
beat arts of our modern civiliration" be 
called into the service of God for once, 
as they are daily done inio that of Sa- 
tan,) to furnish a "life of our Lord Je- 
Christ " for all the nations of Chris- 
work which shall be for three. 



chief ends : "first, as a sjinbo) of ll« 
true unity of all peoples in tUe churchy 
secondly, as a beautiful inenioria] of tht 
Oecumenical Council of th« Vatican laod 
thirdly, as a very sweet »olace and 01* 
nameat for the daily life of all Chri*. 

The arts in question are typographj; 
engraving, and photography ; tlie last M 
be used for furnishing views of tlie vaiv 
ous spots and regions throughout P^ 
lesttne hallowed by the steps of Jesos 
Christ ; and this would necessitate a 
committee of competent men being u 
to explore the Holy l^nd. 

The expense of the entire undertokii^ 
is to be defrayed by public subscription 
and the patronage of the rich, ani^ 
of course, it is for the holy fittlier U 
inaugurate and supervise the matter.- 
Wherefore the author humbly xubmia 
his pamphlet to the consideratiom of He 
holy see and the council- 

For ourselves, we repeat our belhfi 
that such a work as this projected li" 
of Christ would indeed be an ioeUii 
mable boon to Christendom. FaiW 
Formby's hopes appear to us not at if 
too sanguine ; and he has oar cordlaU 
wish that the holy see may be pleud 
to lake up the work he so ably aiii» 



Mr. p. O'Shea, New York, \m 
press the following books : Attr^titi) 
of Christ, by Father Casparini • 
£ordaire't Con/trences on ytsus CArittS 
The Maltdiction, a tale, by Madan 
K. De La Grange. 



'. CimHrxcHAK, Phllidclphiii Hmij a. , 

Finnic Wimer. P|>. mi. The B*«riy Fla^ 
I)» JoMph R, ClunJlei. Pp. jfiS. " " 



Jmui ChritL VoL 111. pp. 43a. 



I imCI 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD 



VOL. XL, No. 65.— AUG 




MR. FROUDE'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.* 



SECOND ARTICLE. 



In our first article t we referred in 
general terms to the fact that Mr. 
Froude had plunged into a great his- 
torical subject without the requisite 
knowledge or the necessary prepara^ 
tien. This judgment was presumed 
to be so well established by the con- 
cturent testimony of the most oppo> 
site schools of criticism, both English 
and French, that it was not thought 
necessary to cite examples from his 
pages. In that notice we merely un- 
dertook to state the general results 
of criticism as to Mr. Froude's first 
six volumes, reserving particular ex- 
amination for the latter half of the 
work, with special reference to his 
treatment of Mary Stuart. 

Since, however, it has been said 
that we charge the historian with 
shcMtcomings, and give no instances 
in support, we will, before proceeding 
further, satisfy this objection. This 
could be most easily and profiisely 
done by going into his treatment of 
questions of the contemporary his- 

• Huiirry of EngUndfr^m th* FaUef IVcUij U 
tike Dtaih ^ EiiMmbeth. By James Anthony Froad% 
late Fellow of Exeter CoUese, Oxford, lartb. New 
York : Charict Scribner & Ca 

t Sm Catholic Wosld for Joaa^ 1870. 

VOL. XL— 37 



tory of foreign countries, or of gene- 
ral history preceding the sixteenth 
centuiy, in both of which Mr. Froude 
is deplorably weak. But we prefer « 
more decisive test, one that leaves 
the historian without excuse, and 
will, therefore, not only confine it to 
English history, but to English his- 
tory of the period of Elizabeth, with 
which, according to his late plaintive 
appeal to the Ihll Afail Gazette^ Mr. 
Froude has labored so diligendy and 
is so entirely familiar. 

And the test proposed illustrates 
not only his imperfect mastery of 
his own selected period of English 
history, but his total unconsciousness 
of the existence of one of the most 
peculiar laws of England in force for 
centuries before and after that period. 
A clever British reviewer, in express- 
ing his surprise at our historian's mul- 
tifarious ignorance concerning the 
civil and criminal jurisprudence of 
his country, says that it is difficult to 
believe that Mr. Froude has ever 
seen the face of an English justice; 
and the reproach is well merited 
Nevertheless we do not look for the 
accuracy of a Lingazd or a Macaiday in 



578 



Mr. Froude*s History of England. 



an imaginative writer like Mr. Froude, 
and might excuse numerous slips and 
blunders as to law pleadings and the 
forms of qriminal trials — ^nay, even as 
to musty old statutes and conflicting 
legislative enactments, (as, for in- 
stance, when he puts on an air of 
critical severity (voL ix. p. 38) as to 
the allowance of a delay of fifteen 
days in Bothwell's trial, claiming, in 
his defective knowledge of the Scotch 
law, that it should have been forty 
days ;) but when we find his mind a 
total blank as to the very existence 
of one of the most peculiar and sa- 
lient features of English law, we must 
insist that such ignorance in one who 
sets up for an English historian is far 
from creditable. 

Here is the case. During the reign 
of Elizabeth, one Thomas Cobham, 
like unto many other good English 
Protestants, was '' roving the seas, 
half-pirate, half knight-errant of the 
Reformation, doing battle on his own 
account with the enemies of the 
truth, wherever the service of God 
was likely to be repaid with plun- 
der." (Froude, vol. viii. p. 459.) He 
took a Spanish vessel, (England and 
Spain being at peace,) with a cargo 
valued at eighty thousand ducats, 
killing many on board. After all 
fesistance had ceased, he " sewed up 
the captain and the survivors of the 
xxew in their own sails, and flung 
.them overboard." Even in England 
jthis performance of Cobham was 
looked upon as somewhat irregular, 
iind at the indignant requisition of 
^pain, he was tried in London for 
.piracy. De Silva, the Spanish ambas- 
sador at the court of Elizabeth, wrote 
home an account of the trial We 
now quote Mr. Froude, who being — 
was a learned English historian should 
be — ^perfectly familiar with the legal 
institutions of his country, and know- 
ing full well that the punishment de- 
scribed by De Silva was never in- 



flicted in England, is naturally shock- 
ed at the ignorance of this foreigner, 
and thus presents and comments upon 
his letter. 

*' Thomas Cobham," wrote De SQTa, 
" being asked at the trial, according to the 
ttsual form in England, if he had any thing 
to say in arrest of judgment, and answer- 
ing nothing, was condemned to be taken to 
the Tower, to be stripped naked to the skin, 
and then to be placed with his shoulders 
resting on a sharp stone, his legs and arms 
extended and on his stomadi a gun^ too 
heary for him to bear, yet not large enough 
immediately to crush him. There he is to 
be left till he die. They will give him a 
few grains of com to eat, and for drink the 
foulest water in the Tower. " ( Froude, yoL 
▼ill. p. 449, London ed. of 1S63.) 

It would not be easy to state the 
case in fewer words and more accu- 
rately than De Silva here puts it. 
Cobham was called upon to answer 
in the usual form, and "answering 
nothing " or '* standing mute," '' was 
condemned," etc. A definition of 
the offence and a description of its 
punishment by the well-known peine 
forte et dure were thus cleariy pre- 
sented ; but even then Mr. Froude fails 
to recognize an ofience and its penal- 
ty, perfectly familiar to any student 
who has ever read Blackstone or 
Bailey's Law Dictionary, and makes 
this astounding comment on De Sil- 
va's letter: 

^ Ifoii any such smtence been pnmomued^ 
it wamld net have been left t9 he dtscevered m 
tMe letter of m stranger; the ambassador 
may perhaps, in this instance, have been 
purposely deceived, and his demand for 
justice satisfied by a fiction of hnaginary 
hontn*.** (Froude, voL viii. p. 449, Lon- 
don ed. 1863.) 

This unfortunate performance o! 
Mr. Froude was received by critics 
with mirthful surprise, and, as a con- 
sequence, although the passages we 
have cited may be found, as we bave 
indicated, in the London edition of 
1863, they need not be looked for 
in later editions. On die contrary, 



Mr. Froudis History cf England. 



579 



we now learn from Mr. Froude 
(Scribner edition of 1870, vol viii. p. 
461) that " Cobham refused to plead 
to his indictment, and the dreadful 
sentence was passed upon him of the 
peine forte et dure /^ and thereto is 
appended an erudite note for the in- 
struction of persons supposed to be 
unacquainted with English law, ex- 
plaining the matter, and citing Black- 
stone, "book iv. chap. 25." 

Ah ! learning is a beautiful thing ! 

But, possibly it may be suggested, 
this dreadful punishment was rarely 
inflicted, and that fact may serve to 
excuse Mr. Froude? Not at all. 
Other instances of the peine forte et 
dure occurred in this very reign of 
Elizabeth, with whose history Mr. 
Froude is so very familiar. Here is 
one which inspires us with a feeling 
of compassion for the much-abused 
Spanish Inquisition, and proportion- 
ately increases our admiration of the 
'' glorious Reformation." 

Margaret Middleton, the wife of 
one Clitheroe, a rich citizen of York, 
was prosecuted for having harbored 
a priest in quality of a schoolmaster. 
At the bar (March 25th, 1586) she 
refused to plead guilty, because she 
knew that no sufficient proof could 
be brought against her; and she 
would not plead "not guilty," be- 
cause she considered such a plea 
equivalent to a falsehood. The peine 
forte et dure was immediately ordered 

•* After she had prayed, Fawcet, the she- 
riil^ commanded them to put off her ap- 
p«rd; when she, with the four women, 
requested him on their knees, that, ior the 
hooor of womanhood, this might be dis- 
pensed with. But they would not grant it. 
Then she requested them that the women 
mi^t wiapparel her, and that they would 
tnm their iaces from her during that time. 

** The women took off her clothes, and 
put upon her the long linen habit. Then 
'rery quickly she laid her down upon the 
ground, her face covered with a hauidker- 
chief, and most part of heir body with the 
habtL The ime (door) was laid upon her \ 



her hands she joined toward her face. Then 
the sheriff said, * Naie, ye must have your 
hands bound.' Then two sergeants parted 
her hands, and bound them to two posts. 
After this they laid weight upon her, 
which, when she first felt she said, ' Jesu, 
Jesu, Jesu, have mercye upon mee,' which 
were the last words she was heard to speake. 
She was in dying about one quarter of an 
hour. A sharp stone, as much as a man's 
fist had been put under her back ; upon her 
was laied to the quantitie of seven or eight 
hundred weight, which, breaking her ribbs, 
caused them to burst forth of the skinne." 

This question of the peine forte et 
dure naturally brings us to the consi- 
deration of a kindred subject most sin- 
gularly treated in Mr. Froude's pages. 
If the constant use of 

TORTURE AND THE RACK 

had been a feature of Mary Stuarf s 
. reign, and not, as it was, the daily 
expedient of Elizabeth and Cecil, what 
bursts of indignant eloquence should 
we not have been favored with by 
our historian, and what admirable il- 
lustrations would it not have furnish- 
ed him as to the brutalizing tenden- 
cies of Catholicity and the superior 
humanity and enlightenment of Pro- 
testantism ? Nothing so clearly shows 
the government of Elizabeth to have 
been a despotism as her constant em- 
plo3rment of torture. Every time she 
or Cecil sent a prisoner to the rack — 
and they sent hundreds — ^they tram- 
pled the laws of England under foot 
These laws, it is true, sometimes au- 
thorized painful ordeals and severe 
punishments, but the rack never. Tor- 
ture was never legally authorized in 
England. But the trickling blood, 
the agonized cries, the crackling bones, 
the "strained limbs and quivering 
muscles" (Froude vol vL p. 294) of 
martyred Catholics make these Tudor 
practices lovely in Mr. Froude's eyes, 
and he philosophically remarks, " The 
method of inquiry, however inconso- 
nant with modem conceptions of jus- 
tice, was adapted excellently fix thA 



580 



Mr. Fronde's History of EnglanJL 



outrooting of the truth." ( VoL vii. p. 

293) 
We can hardly believe that any 

other man of modem enlightenment 
could possibly entertain such opinions. 
They are simply amazing in their cold- 
blooded and crude ignorance. Tor- 
ture is not only " inconsonant " with 
modem conceptions of justice, but 
also with ancient; for it is condemned 
even by the sages of the law which 
authorized it. If Mr. Froude had any 
knowledge of the civil law, he might 
have learned something of this matter 
from the Digests, {Liber xviiL tit 18.) 
The passage is too long to cite, but 
one sentence alone tells us in a few 
words of the fallacy, danger, and de- 
caption of the use of torture : " Etenim 
res est fragilis et periculosa, et quae 
veritatem fallat" 

So much for ancient opmion. And 
modem justice has rejected the horri- 
ble thing, not only on the ground of 
morality, but because it has been de- 
monstrated to be a promoter of per- 
jury and the worst possible means of 
** outrooting " the tmth. 

To return : the case of Cobham is 
not the only one in which Mr. Froude 
has prudently profited by criticism, and 
hastened, in anew edition of his work, 
to repair his blunder. Even a slight 
comparison of his first with his last 
edition will show him to be under 
deep obligations to his critics, and it 
would be wise in him to seek to in- 
crease his debt of gratitude by fresh 
corrections. 

THB CHATELAR STORY 

is told by Mr. Froude in his charac- 
teristic way, and, while acquitting Ma- 
ry Stuart of blame, ^ she had probably 
nothing worse to accuse herself of than 
thoughtlessness," (vol. vii. p. 506,) ma- 
nages to leave a stain upon her cha- 
racter. He prefaces the story with 
the statement that " she was selfish in 
her politics and sensual in her pas- 



sions." Serious historians generally 
use language with some reference to 
its value; but one epithet costs Mr. 
Froude no more effort than another, 
although there is not a shadow of pre- 
text thus far in his own version of 
Mary's history to justify so foul an 
outrage as the use here of this word 
<' sensual." We pass on. Chatelar 
was a young Huguenot gentleman, a 
nephew of the noble Bayard, gifted 
and highly accomplished. He had 
accompanied his patron D'AmviUe to 
Scotland, and retumed with him to 
France. D'Amville was a suitor for 
Mary's hand, and, after some time, 
dispatched Chatehu: to Scotland with 
missives for the queen. Randolph 
was present when Chatelar arrived, 
and describes D'Amville's letter as of 
" three whole sheets of paper." Yet 
Mr. Froude, perfecdy aware of all this, 
writesy 

«' He went back to France, bat be coaU 
not remain there. The moth was ncaiiti to 
the flame whose warmth was life and death 
toiL" 

The remainder is of a piece with 
this. Supematurally penetrating in 
reading Mary Stuart's most hidden 
thoughts, Mr. Froude is blind to the 
vulgar envy of the parvenu Randolph, 
who, writing to Cecil, (Froude, vol. viL 
p. 505, note,) has the mendacious im- 
pudence to speak of Chatelar as "so 
unworthy a creature and abject a var- 
let." 

Of the rules that govern the admis- 
sion of evidence in ordinary courts of 
law, Mr. Froude does not appear to 
have any knowledge, and at every 
page he manifests a total unconscious- 
ness of the most rudimentary test to 
be applied to the testimony of a wit- 
ness in or out of court It is to see 
whether the witness has not some po- 
werful motive to praise or to blame. 
Thus, when he desires to establish a 
high character for "the stainless Mur- 
lay/' he gives ui the testimony of . 



Mr. Frottdis History of England. 



581 



his employers Elizabeth and Cecil ! 
In telling us what Mary Stuart was, 
he most freely uses the hired pam- 
phleteer Buchanan, although ashamed 
—as well he may be — to name his 
authority.* So also in the case before 
us, although the mean envy excited 
in Randolph by the accomplished and 
nobly-born young Frenchman is per- 
fectly clear, Mr. Froude gives us the 
English envoy's dispatches as testi- 
mony not to be questioned. 

MARY STUART AND JOHN RNOX. 

An interview between the queen 
and Knox in December, 1562, in 
which Mr. Froude describes Knox's 
rudeness as " sound northern courte- 
sy," (vol. vii. p. 543,) is passed over by 
him with commendable rapidity. And 
of yet another interview he says not a 
word. 

Under the statute of 1560 proceed- 
ings were taken in 1563 against Mary 
in the west of Scotland for celebrating 
mass. 

The wilds of Ayrshire, in later years 
the resort of persecuted Presbyterians, 
were the resort of persecuted Catho- 
lics. *^ On the bleak moorlands or 
beneath the shelter of some friendly 
roof," says Mr. Hosack,t ** they wor- 
shipped in secret according to the 
faith of their fathers." Zealous refor- 
mers waited not for form of law to at- 
tack and disperse the "idolaters," 
when they found them thus engaged. 
Mary remonstrated with Knox against 
these lawless proceedings, and argued 
for freedom of worship, or, as Knox 
himself states it, ^ no to pitt haunds 
to punish ony man for using himsel 
in his religion as he pleases." But 
the Scotch reformer applauded the 
outrage, and even asserted that pri- 
vate individuals might even " slay with 

^ I« aB hb voIoMB Mr. Frooda cttes Bochann 
by Bsntt bat ooos. 

t Mmr y Qmtm ^ Srttt and Jktr Aecmtrt, Bj 

-«tL««K. S^Babvtik 1869. 



their own hands idolaters and enemies 
of the true religion," quoting Scrip- 
ture to prove his assertions.* Short- 
ly afterward forty-eight Catholics were 
arraigned before the high court of jus- 
ticiary for celebrating mass, and pun- 
ished by imprisonment 

At page 384 (vol. vii.) we are told 
by Mr. Froude that the Protestant 
mob drove the priest fit)m the altar, 
(royal chapel,) "with broken head 
and blo<Kly ears," and at page 418 
that "the measure of virtue in the 
Scotch ministers was the audacity 
with which they would reproach the 
queen." " Maitland protested that 
theirs was not language for subjects 
to use to their sovereign," and tfiere 
really appears to be something in the 
suggestion ; but Mr. Fioude is of the 
opinion that "essentially, after all, 
Knox was right," clinching it, with— 
" He suspected that Mary Stuart 
meant mischief to the reformation, 
and she did mean mischief." And 
this is the key to Mr. Froude's main 
argument throughout this history. 
Whoever and whatever favors the re- 
formation is essentially good, who- 
ever and whatever opgoses it is essen- 
tially vile. And the end, (the refor- 
mation) justifies the means. 

Far be it from us to gainsay the 
perfect propriety of an occasional 
supply of sacerdotal broken heads and 
bloody ears, if a Protestant mob sees 
fit to fancy such an amusement ; or 
to question the measure of virtue in 
the Scotch ministers; or to approve 
of the absurd protest of Maitland; 
or, least of all, not swiftly to recog- 
nize that "essentially" Knox was 

* He bad pveriooaly deooanced hb aovereign froei 
the pulpit at aa incorrigible idohtress and an enemy 
whose death would be a public Messing. Randolph 
writes to Cecfl February, 1564, '* They pray that God 
will either turn her heart or send her a ^ort lifie ;** 
adding, *' of what charity or spirit this proceedetht I 
leave to be discussed by the great divines.'* And yat 
we must not hastily condemn Knox, although a man 
fifty-dght years of age, of indiscriminate sourness and 
aeverity to all young women. He was at that very 
tiina payiag hb add riw a i to mgyri of abctawu 



582 



Mr. Fronde's History of EngkauL 



right Not we indeed! But then 
we really must be excused for ventur- 
ing to suggest — merely to suggest, 
that, in the first place, if we assume 
such a line of argument, we deprive 
ourselves of weapons wherewith to 
assail the cruelties of such men as 
Alva and Philip of Spain. Surely, 
the right does not essentially go with 
the power to persecute I And in the 
second place — that this was rather 
rough treatment for a young and in- 
experienced girl, against whom thus 
far nothing has been shown. But here 
Mr. Froude meets us with '' Harlot 
of Babylon/' and we are again si- 
lenced. 

Maitland absurdly hinted to Knox 
that if he had a grievance he should 
complain of immodestly, and was very 
properly hooted at by Knox in reply. 
And thereupon comes a fine passage 
from Mr. Froude, admirably exempli- 
fying his psychological treatment of 
history. (Vol. viL p. 419.) 

'* Could she but secure first the object 
on which her heart was fixed, she could in- 
demnify herself afterward at her leisure. 
The preachers might rail, the fierce lords 
might conspire ; a little danger gave piquan- 
cy to life, and th% air-drawn crowns which 
floated before her imagination would pay 
for it all." 

We do not know how this may 
aflfect other people, but " air-drawn 
crowns " did the business for us, and 
we proceed to make it the text for 

A LESSON IN HISTORICAL WRITING. 

Mr. Froude may or may not have 
transferred the contempt and hatred of 
France of the sixteenth century, which 
throughout his book he loses no op- 
portunity of manifesting, to France of 
the nineteenth century ; but we ven- 
ture to suggest to him that he may 
find in France models and principles 
of historical treatment which he might 
study with signal profit Specially 
would we commend to his lection 
and serious perpension the following 



pithy passage firom the very latest 
published volume of French histoiy. 
We refer to Lanfrey's HisUnn de Na* 
poUon I, The author describes the 
meeting of Napoleon and Alexander 
at Tilsit, and, referring to the absurd 
attempt made by some writers to 
explain the motives which actuated 
the French and Russian emperors at 
their private interview on the Nie- 
men, makes this sensible reflection: 
'' II est toujours dangereux et sou- 
vent pu^ril de vouloir interpreter les 
sentiments secrets des pexsonnages 
historiques."* (Lanfrey, voL iv. p. 403. 
Paris, 1870.) Mr. Froude's attention 
to this teaching would rapidly sup- 
press '^ air-drawn crowns" and such 
like stage properties, so firedy used by 
him for dramatic effect 

SOME OMISSIONS. 

Mr. Froude appears to have no 
knowledge of the imi)ortant proceed- 
ings at Mary's first Parliament, May, 
1563, when the corpse of the late 
Earl of Huntly, kept for the purpose 
since the previous October, was 
brought in for attainder. Forfeiture 
was declared mainly for Murray's be- 
nefit, and at the same time the for- 
feitures of the Earl of Sutherland (the 
evidence against him being forgeries) 
and eleven barons of the house of 
Gordon were passed. In vain the 
Countesses of Huntly and Sutherland 
endeavored to petition the queen; 
they were, by Murray's intervention, 
denied access to her. Nor does our 
historian appear to have heard of the 
circumstances attending Murray's sur- 
reptitious procuring of the queen's 
signature to the death-warrant of 
young Huntly. It is a most interest- 
ing episode, but we have not room 
for it Some three weeks later, we 
find a curious letter of Randolph to 



* " The attempt to make ooe^s self the 
of the secret eentimeiits of hiMorical penoB^ges 
I mmI froqnendj ridifCokNn.** 



asal- 



Mr. Froude's History of England. 



583 



Cecil, which need not be sought for 
in Froude. It is important as show- 
ing the peculiar esteem in which Mur- 
ray was held at the court of — — 
Elizabeth. A packet addressed to 
Queen Mary had been stopped and 
opened by the English officials at 
Newcasde. Mary, not recognizing 
her position as the vassal of Eliza- 
beth, complained of it to Randolph. 
Whereupon Randolph writes to Ce- 
cil, (June, 1563,) advising, " If any 
suspected letters be taken, not to 
open them, but to send them to my 
Lord of Moray, of whose services 
the Queen of England is sun** And 
good reason there was to be sure/ 
for all the world, except Mr. Froude, 
knows that the ''stainless," from first 
to last, was the bribed and pensioned 
agent of Elizabeth. 

KNOX AND THE COUNCTL. 

•* The Queen of Scots," says Mr. Froude^ 
"had quarrelled again with Knox, whom 
she attempted to provide with lodgings in 
the castle ; the lords had interfered, and an- 
ger and disappointment had made her ilL" 
(VoL vii. p. 549.) 

Here again Mary seems to fall 
away from the high standard of " con- 
summate actress ;" but, on the other 
hand, Mr. Froude is fully up to his 
own standard of consummate histo- 
rian ; for the passage is clever, even 
for him. Here is what it all means : 
Cranston and Armstrong, two mem- 
bers of Knox's congregation who 
were afterward among the murderers 
of Riccio, had been arrested and 
thrown into prison for raising a riot 
in the chapel royal at Holyrood, 
to prevent service there. And why 
should they not ? A Catholic queen 
had no rights which her Protestant 
subjects were bound to respect. Knox 
thereupon sent a circular throughout 
Scotland convening his brethren to 
meet in Edinburgh on a certain day 
— >in other words, to excite tumult and 
inaugurate civil war. Let Randolph, 



Mr. Froude's favorite authority, tell 
the rest. 
Randolph to Cecil, Dec 21, 1563: 

"The lords had assembled to take order 
with John Knox and his faction, who in- 
tended, by a mutinous assembly made by 
his letter before, to have rescued two of their 
brethren from course of law for using an 
outrage," etc, 

Murray and Maitland sent for Knox 
and remonstrated with him. But 
Knox showed no respect for eidier of 
them. Nothing came of the inter- 
view, and they had him summoned 
before the queen and her privy coun- 
cil. Seriously ill as she was, she at- 
tended. Now compare these facts 
with Mr. Froude's statement above, 
(vol. vii. p. 549,) and see if it is possible 
to crowd into three lines more mis- 
representation and malevolence. Note 
quarrelled, Mary knew nothing of 
the affair until after the action of the 
lords and the attempt of Murray and 
Maitland to persuade Knox. Mr. 
Froude says Mary attempted to im- 
prison him, and the lords interfered 
'< Anger and disappointment made her 
ill." Now, this Knox affair occurred 
while Randolph was waiti,ng to have 
audience of Mary, but was delayed 
on account of her illness. To return 
to the council Knox's seditious let- 
ter was produced. He boldly avow- 
ed it, and significandy observed, re- 
ferring to certain reported practices 
of Murray and Maitland, that ''no 
forgeries had been interpolated in the 
spaces he had left blank." A week 
after this event, Randolph describes 
Mary as still sick, although compelled 
to confer with her council 

Mary's marriage. 

All this time Mary has been waiting 
Elizabeth's good pleasure as to whom 
she shall marry. Elizabeth finally 
decided to bestow upon her Scottish 
sister fier own lover Leicester, who 
''was, perhaps, the most worthtesa qC 



583 



Mr. FfmtWs Histoty tf Ev*^ " 



right Not we indeed! But then 
nc really must be excused for ventur- 
ing to suggest — merely to suggest, 
that, in the first place, if we assume 
such a line of argument, we deprive meetin 
ourselves of weapons wherewidi to at Tit 
assnil the cruelties of such men as atteir 
Alva and Philip of Spain. Surely, eipL' 
the right does not essentially go with 
the power to persecute 1 ^d in the 
second place — that this was rather 
rough treatment for a young and in- 
experienced girl, against whom thus 



pithy pac 
published 
We refer 



the 
the 



^ ^.,-*^liiintof<tt- 
". .^ .■ V'^cighteeBiM"''" 

1*^ to ride ftom Pern 

'^ - be present U 

' her friendi 



1 ;%f/>Jrti»"defi 

•V^ /^rfachildofh 

</'^^t''juAy Livingstoi 




properly hooted at by Knox in n /'^l^ ^tt^^hlevcn, which he had just 
And thereupon comes a fine p? .'^•'rf^Vl^"' °^^ provided with ailil- 
from Mr. Froude, admirably c« / V^^***? ''"as "S"^'' ^^ m^^ged to haw 
Tying his psychological t . -* *r m. 

history. {Vol vil p. i 



"Could she bat «ecure 
on u'hich her heart was fixed, 
demniry hcTMlf mftcnnird 
The preachers micht 
miclit conspire; ■ little dangt 
ey lo life, and "'" ' " 
floalcil before 
for it lU." 




, ™^, ^^^S^ fJlttdiatT of July 7th, runs," " that 

rt* ^Ldtawi iry^ ^ ^ a rumor that the Scottish 



9S 



should have been Uken." 



We do not knoi 
affect other people, 
crowns " did the bu.< 
we proceed to make 

A LESSON IH HlSr 

Alr. Froude may 
transferred the cont 
France of the 



■^ng the night of the 29th, a wam- 
iras conveyed to Mary of the plot 



' iJ^tSJ"' S;5ot«itingun,a«n,,hcho., 

' 'S'!^ I. • •* «S'' »"'" '" •'" """"'"S' ""* "'• 

<;»'rS, •'Jij*' j„.b»t "' fmude seems never to 

— t^^'j^^V'^ ^"BUinless"Munaywaakeei)ing 

throughout his b« ,^ '^jg)l^ - trf**^ bootless watch and ward at Loch- 

ponunity ofmani )'^<*^o"*^»Il*'^ W«t. Wc regret it exceedingly, if 

•*#^(e«ts«*^^^ fel no other reason than the loss of 

*x*'**^\ " • ■ '- ■- --•■■- 



the nineteenth d 
ture to suggest 
find in France i 
of historical trca 
study with sif 
would we cor 
aiid serious \ 



nv\mni^i\ \>vcnire in Mi, Froudc's 
^eSl a^\e, tMiming somewhat thus : 



'!»* 






^'2?' 
.«»^^ 






tf'i History tf Ei^giimd, 



5»S 






', here is th< 
:. Froude : 







:irl of Murray had pro- 
is oner and carrf I'am- 
(\"ol. viii. p. liSo.) 



^^^ j^i Mr. Froude's cool com- 
^ Both stories were problbly 

^■es, wiLh the difference that 
9>[ against Murray was ovcr- 
^ng ; for Mr. Froude admits Ihat 
Jfray's offer to Randolph was 
pient evidence against himself," 
s there was none against Dam- 
At page 182, Mr. Froude mikes 
Baiy " return from Penh to Edin- 
turgh." This renders it quite clear 
' tbat he has never heard of her hur- 
tied lide to Cailendar. 

QUESTION OP TOLERATION. 

Randolph strangely finds fault with 
Mary for ha toleration in religious 
matters. " Her will to continue pa- 
|n(try, and A^ desire to have ail men 
the as they list, so offendeth the god- 
ly men's consciences, that it is con- 
tinnally feared that these matters will 
break out to some great mischiefl" 
And lo 1 the mischief did break out 
The Assembly of the Kirk presented, 
under the singular garb of a " suppli- 
cation," a remonstrance to the queen, 
in which they declared that " the prac- 
tice of idolatry " could not be tole- 
rated in the sovereign any more than 
in the subject, and that the " papisti- 
cal and Uasphemous mass" should 



be wholly abtdisbed. To whom the 
queen: 

"Where it mu desired that the mui 
should be sDppressed snd abolished, as wdl 

in her majesty's own person and roniilj at 
amongst her sulijects, lier highness did an- 
twer for herself, that she was noways per- 
suaded that there was anjr tmpletjr in Qa 
mass, and trusted her subjecls would not 
press her to act against her conscience ; for, 
not to dissemble, but to deal plainly with 
them, she neither might nor would forsake 
the religion wherrin she hod been educated 
and brought ap, believing the same to be 
the true religion, and grounded on (he word 
of God. Ilor loving subjects should Itnow 
that she, neither in times past, nor yet in 
time coming, did intend to force the con- 
science of any person, but to permit every 
one to serve God in such manner as they 
■re persuaded to be the best, that they 
likewise would not urge her lo any thing 
that stood not with the quietness of her 

" Nothing," remarks Mr. Hosack, 
"could exceed the savage rudeness 
of the language of the assembly ; no- 
thing could exceed the dignity and 
jnoderation of the queen's reply." 0/ 
all this, in Mr. Froud^s P^S^^> w' one 
■word! Indeed he at all times reli- 
giously keeps out of sight all Mary 
says or writes, admitting rarely a few 
words under prudent censorship and 
liberal expurgation. Sweetly compar- 
ing the assembly to " the children of 
Israel on their entrance into Canaan," 
he dissimulates their savage rudeness, 
and adds, almost pensively, that Mur- 
tay, though he was present, "no 
longer raised his voice in opposition." 
Randolph fully confirms what Throck- 
morton reported four years before— 
that she neither desired to change her 
own religion nor to interfere with 
that of her subjects. Maty told Kdox 
the same thing when she routed him, 
by his own admission, in profane his- 
tory, and his own citations from the 
Old Testament Where she obtained 
her familiarity with the Scriptures we 
cannot imagine, if Mr, Froude tells 
the truth about her " French educa* 



Mr. Froud^s Hiitory of England. 



her subjects; but in the loving eyes of 
bis mistresshe was the knight sanspeur 
et sans reprMke; and she took a me- 
lancholy pride in offering her sister 
her choicest jewel." (Vol, viii. p. 74.) 
But Mr. i'roude spoils the " melan- 
choly pride " at the next page by tell- 
ing us that Elizabeth " was so capa- 
ble of Cilsehood that her own expres- 
sions would have been an insufficient 
guarantee for her sincerity." 

Murray's opposition to Mary's mar- 
riage with Damley was bitter. His 
ascendency in her councils had cul- 
minated in bis proposition to have 
himself legitimated, and that the 
queen should lease the crown to him 
and Argyll. Mary's marriage to any 
one would end all such hopes, and 
Damley, moreover, was personally 
obnoxious to Murray because he had 
been heard to say, looking at a map 
of Scotland, that Murray had " too 
much for a subject." Elizabeth's in- 
structions precisely tallied with Mur- 
ray's inclinations and interest. He 
withdrew from court, and would not 
attend the convention at Perth. 




PLOT TO IMPRISON MARY, 

And now comes the plot of Mur- 
ray and his friends to seize Damley 
and his father, (Lennox,) deliver them 
to Elizabeth's agents or slay them if 
they made resistance, and imprison 
the queen at I.ochleven. In a note 
at page 178, vol. viii., Mr. Froude, 
with a sweet and touching melancho- 
ly, says, "A sad and singular horo- 
scope had already been cast for Dam- 
ley." The magician of this horoscope 
was Randolph, who fears that " Dam- 
ley can have no long life amongst 
ihis people." Certainly not, if Mr. 
Randolph understands himself; for 
his letters of that period are full of the 
details of a plot to stir up an insurrec- 
tion in Scotland, place Murray at the 
head of it, kill Damley and his father, 

" imprison the queen at Lochleven. 



Elizabeth sent Murray ;^70oo for tl 
nerve of the insurrecrion, and ho li 
ters to Bedford instructing him to fi 
nish Murray with money and sokJicr 
are in existence. The 1 
was at last carried out eighteen montiv | 
later, when Damley was lulled and 
Mary a prisoner. ' 

On the 30th of June, 156$. al tab 
in (he morning, the queen, with a.' 
small retinue, was to ride ftoni Perth 
to Callendar house, to be prcseat 1 
the baptism of a child of her fneitdfr 
Lord and Lady Livingstone. MuVr 
ray's party were to take her prisoned 
at this time. The Earls of Rothcft 
and Argyll, and the Uuke of Chatd^ 
herault were to be stationed at three 
different points on her route with an 
overpowering force. Murray was to 1 
wait at Lochleven, which he had just 
provisioned and provided with artil- 
lery. As usual, he managed to have 
tlie overt act done by others. 

All these arrangements were made 
in conceit with Randolph and Cecil, 
and were so apparendy perfect that 
success was considered certain. So 
sure was Cecil of it that an witry in hii 
private diary of July 7th, runs, "thM 
there was a rumor that the Scottith 
Queen should have been taken." 

During Ihenight of the jglh, a warn-" 
ing was conveyed to Mary of the plot 
Instead of waiting until ten, the houf 
fixed for her departure, she was in the 
saddle at five in the morning, and Site 
at Callendar by eleven. It is very an- 
gular, but Mr. Froude seems never to 
have heard of this exciting ride, while 
the "stainless" Murray was kce|)ii 
bootless watch and ward at Loch- 
leven. We regret it exceedingly, if 
for no other reason than the loss of 
an animated picture in Mr. Froudc's 
best style, running somewhat thus: 






HC the !l 



The (joecD, Willi 
mounted on ■ twin 



^^^^ndimp 



■ ■■\,icu]ijii:ii,iiiiivai£j', WAS iniruniCQ on 

courser gulloprng by ihe siilc of T«ine 
Dnmley, and tln-n away — kwaf — pait lh« 



Mr. Fronde's History of EngUmd. 



58s 



Parenwell, post Lochleren, throBgh Km- 
rosSy past Castle Campbell, across the north 
Ferry and over the Firth, fast as their horses 
could speed ; seven in all — Mary, her three 
ladies, Damley, Lennox, AthoU, and Ruth- 
ven. In five hours the hospitable gates of 
UvingsCone had closed behind them, and 
Mary Stuart was safe." (See voL vilL p. 
370.) 

Of this plot of Murray, here is the 
clever record made by Mr. Froude : 

" A hint was given him that Damley and 
Riocio had formed a plan to kill him. He 
withdrew to his mother's castle at Lochle« 
Ten« and published the occasion of his dis- 
obedience. Mary Stuart replied with a coun- 
ter-charge that the Earl of Murray had pro- 
posed to take her prisoner and carry Dam- 
Icy off to England." (Vol. viii. p. 180.) 

Upon this, Mr. iFroude*s cool com- 
ment is, " Both stories were probably 
true " I Yes, with the difference that 
the proof against Murray was over- 
whelming ; for Mr. Froude admits that 
"Murray's offer to Randolph was 
sufficient evidence against himself," 
whereas there was none against Dam- 
ley. At page 182, Mr. Froude makes 
Mary "retiun from Perth to Edin- 
burgh." This renders it quite clear 
that he has never heard of her hur- 
ried ride to Callendar. 

QUESTION OF TOLERATION. 

Randolph strangely finds i^ult with 
Mary for her toleration in religious 
matters. ^ Her will to continue pa- 
pistry, and her desire to have all men 
live as they listy so offendeth the god- 
ly men's consciences, that it is con- 
tinually feared that these matters will 
break out to some great mischiefl" 
And lo 1 the mischief did break out 
The Assembly of the Kirk presented, 
under the singular garb of a ^ suppli- 
cation," a remonstrance to the queen, 
in which they declared that " the prac- 
tice of idolatry " could not be tole- 
rated in the sovereign any more than 
in the subject, and that the '' papisti- 
cal and blasj^emous mass" should 



be wholly abolished. To whom the 
queen : 

"Where it was desired that the mass 
should be suppressed and abolished, as well 
in her majesty*s own person and family as 
amongrst her subjects, her highness did an- 
swer for herself, that she was noways per- 
suaded that there was any impiety in the 
mass, and trusted her subjects would not 
press her to act against her conscience ; for, 
not to dissemble, but to deal plainly with 
them, she neither might nor would forsake 
the religion wherein she had been educated 
and brought up, believing the same to be 
the true religion, and grounded on the word 
of God. Her loving subjects should know 
that she, neither in times past, nor yet in 
time coming, did intend to force the con- 
science of any person, but to permit every 
one to serve Crod in such manner as they 
are persuaded to be the best, that they 
likewise would not urge her to any thing 
that stood not with the quietness of her 
mind." 

** Nothing," remarks Mr. Hosack, 
** could exceed the savage rudeness 
of the language of the assembly ; no- 
thing could exceed the dignity and 
jnoderation of the queen's reply." Of 
all this^ in Mr, Froude' s pages, not one 
word/ Indeed he at all times reli- 
giously keeps out of sight all Mary 
says or writes, admitting rarely a few 
words under prudent censorship and 
liberal expurgation. Sweetly compar- 
ing the assembly to " the children of 
Israel on their entrance into Canaan," 
he dissimulates their savage rudeness, 
and adds, almost pensively, that Mur- 
ray, though he was present, ''no 
longer raised his voice in opposition." 
Randolph fully confirms what Throck- 
morton reported four years before — 
that she neither desired to change her 
own religion nor to interfere with 
that of her subjects. Mary told Knox 
the same thing when she routed him, 
by his own admission, in profane his- 
tory, and his own citations from the 
Old Testament Where she obtained 
her familiarity with the Scriptures we 
cannot imagine, if Mr. Froude tells 
the truth about her ^ French educa- 



586 



Mr. Froude 's History of EngkauL 



tion.** "A Catholic sovereign sin- 
cerely pleading to a Protestant assem- 
bly for liberty of conscience, might 
have been a lesson to the bigotry of 
mankind," (vol. viii. p. 182;) "but," 
adds Mr. Froude, " Mary Stuart was 
not sincere." When Mr. Froude says 
Mary Stuart is intolerant, we show 
him, by a standard universally recog- 
nized, her words and actions, all al- 
ways consistent with each other and 
with themselves, that she was emi- 
nendy tolerant and liberal. But when 
he gives us his personal and unsup- 
ported opinion that " she was not sin- 
cere," he passes beyond the bounds 
of historical argument into a realm 
where we cannot follow him. 

Still greater than Mr. Froude's diffi- 
culty of quoting Mary at all, is his dif- 
ficulty of quoting her correctly when 
he preteniis to. Randolph comes to 
Mary with a dictatorial message from 
Elizabeth, that she shall not take up 
arms against the lords in insurrection. 
Mr. Froude calls it a request that she 
would do no injury to the Protestant 
lonls, who were her good subjects. 
Mar^' replieil, according to Froude, 
(vol.' viii. p. 188.) « that Elizabeth 
might call them * good subjects ;' she 
had found them bad subjects, and as 
such she meant to treat them." Ma- 
ry really said, 

•* For ihcKc whom your mistress calls • my 
i^st suViivtJs* I cannot esteem them so, nor 
so vio they deserve to be aoxnmtevl of that 
that thev wiU not ober mv commands ; and 
therefore my pxxl sister ought not to be 
oArnded it I do that against them as thej 
deserve.'* 

I'he truth is, Mar>**s unvarying, 
queenly dignity and womanly gentle- 
ness in all she speaks and writes is 
a source of profound unhappiness to 
Mr. Froude. refuting as it does his 
theory of her ch.iracter. Conse^ 
\juen:!y i; is b is aim to vul^puiw it do vn 
to a stondjirvl in vogue dsewhew. 

Mr. Froude b luoest teticicous wfaoi 



he disguises Mary, as he fteqnendy 
does, with Elizabeth's tortuous dn* 
pery. Thus: 

"Open and straightforward eondnct SA 
not suit the complexion of Marj Stnart's 
genius ; she breathed more freely, and she 
used her abilities with better effect, in the 
uncertain twilight of conspiracy." 

"Uncertain twilight** is pretty. 
But where were Mary's conspiracies? 
Had she Randolphs at Elizabeth's 
court, and Drurys on the border, 
plotting, intriguing, and bribing En- 
glish noblemen? Had she two 
thirds of Elizabeth's council of state 
pensioned as paid spies? Had she 
salaried officials to pick up or invent 
English court scandal for her amuse- 
ment ? Truly it is refreshing to turn 
from Mary's twilight conspiracies to 
the honest and noble transactions of 
Elizabeth, Cecil, and Randolph. But 
of the malicious gossip of EUta- 
beth*s spies one might not so much 
compbin, if Mr. Froude had the 
fairness to give their reports without 
his embroidery of rhetoric and imagi- 
nation. Thus, when Randolph writes, 
^ There is a sillv sian afloat that the 
queen sometimes carries a pistol,** Mr. 
Froude considers himself authorized 
by Randolph to say, *' She carried 
pistols in hand and pistols at her 
sadiile^bow ;" and, as usual, reading 
her thoughts, goes on to tdl us that 
^her one peculiar hope was to de- 
stroy her brother, against whom she 
bore an especial and unexplained ani- 
mosity.*' The personal intimacy be* 
tween Randolph and Murray more 
than sufficiendy explains the source 
of the information given in Randolph's 
letter of OcL 15th. (VoL viiL pL 196.) 
Mr. Froude has a moment of wok- 
ness when he says that the intimacy 
between the queen and Riccio was 
so conndendil as to provoke ca- 
lumny. That any thing said of 
Mary Stuart coubi possUy be ca- 
hinmy ts an i^mwaiTn iv Mc. Fnmde 



Mr. Froude 's History of EmgUmd. 



587 



only less amazing than that ^ she was 
warm and true in her friendships." 
The queen's indignation against Mur* 
ray is sufficiently accounted for by 
the existence of the calumnies, and 
the fact that Murray's treasons sent 
him at this time a fugitive to his mis- 
tress Elizabeth. A few pages further 
on, we have Mary riding <'in steel 
bonnet and corselet, with a dagg at 
her saddle-bow," (vol. viiL p. 213,) for 
which Mr. Froude quotes Randolph. 
But Randolph wrote, " If what I 
• ^have heard be true, she rode," etc., 
questionable hearsay where Mary 
Stuart is concerned, answering Mr. 
Froude's purpose somewhat better 
than fact 

Through Randolph, Elizabeth an- 
noimced to Mary that one of the 
conditions on which she would con- 
sent to the Damley marriage was, 
that *'she must condform to the re- 
ligion established by law." Upon 
this, the singular comment is, '' It is 
interesting to observe how the cur- 
rent of the reformation had swept 
Elizabeth forward in spite of herself." 
(Vol. viiL p. 187.) Mary's answer was, 
she '' would make no merchandise of 
her conscience.'^ 

Murray's insurrection. 

At page 198, vol. viii., after the 
armed rebellion of Murray and his 
friends, popularly known in Scodand 
as ''The Runabout Raid," we have 
Mary 

" breathing nothing bat anger and defiance. 
The affection of a sister for a brother was 
curdled into a hatred the more malignant 
because it was more unnatural. Her whole 
passion was concentrated on Murray." 

It must be clear to every one how 
reprehensible Mary was for showing 
any feeling at all in defence of her 
crown, her liberty, and her life, and 
with Mr. Froude's premises and logic, 
Murray gave a signal proof of affec- 
tion for his sister in arraying himself 



against her legitimate authority as 
the head of an insurrection. Mr. 
Froude can see, in the just indigna- 
tion of the queen against domestic 
traitors in league with a foreign 
power, nothing but the violence of 
a vengeful fury. His anxiety to pos- 
sess his readers of the same view has 
brought him into a serious difficulty, 
which has been exposed by M. Wie- 
sener in his Marie Stuart, At p. 21 1, 
vol. viii., Mr. Froude quotes a letter 
of Randolph to Cecil of Oct 5th| 
"in Rolls House," by which he 
means Record Office, to show that 
Mary "was deaf to advice as she 
had been to menace," and " she said 
she would have no peace till she had 
Murray's or Chatelheraulfs head!* 
This letter appears to be visible to 
nobody but Mr. Froude; and we 
have the authority of Mr. Joseph 
Stevenson, who is more at home 
among the mss. of the Record Office 
than Mr. Froude, and who, when he 
uses them, has the merit of citing 
them in their integrity, for stating that 
this letter of the 5th October, referred 
to by Mr. Froude, is not in the Record 
Office!^ But there is a letter tlhere 
from Randolph to Cecil of the 4th 
October, in which Randolph repre- 
sents Mary 

"not only uncertain as to what she should 
do, but inclined to clement measures, and 
so undecided as to hope that matters could 
be arranged"! 

This does not sound like " deaf to 
advice," and Mr. Froude can arrange 
this little difficulty with the dates 
and Mr. Stevenson at his leisure. 
Meantime, we all anxiously wait to 
hear from Mr. Froude where he found 
his authority for stating that Mary 

• Sm " Calendar of the Sute Paper* relating to 
Scotland, preserved in the State Paper Department 
of Her Majesty's Public Record Oflke. % Tola, 
quarto. London, 1858.*' 

Copy in Astor Library. This calendar givet th« 
date and abstract of the contents of each document. 
There is no record of any letter of Randolph to CmH 
of Oct. 5th, i|6j, but there it one of Oct 4th. 



588 



Mr. Froude 's History of England. 



said she would have no peace tUl she 
had Murray's or Chatelherault's head. 

At page 205, vol. viiL the account 
given by Mauvissi^ of his inter- 
view with Mary is travestied by Mr. 
Froude. Mauvissifere counselled her 
to make peace with the insurgents. 
Mary saw through the device ; for it 
was the counsel of Catherine de' Me- 
diciy whose enmity to Mary was only 
surpassed by that of Elizabeth ; and, 
although without advisers — ^for Mur- 
ray was in rebellion, Morton had 
withdrawn himself, and Maitland was 
suspected — she rejected it instantly. 

It is amusing to observe how the 
loyal attachment of the citizens and 
merchants of Edinburgh to Mary 
annoys Mr. Froude. During Mary's 
absence, the rebels swept into the city 
with a large force; but, notwithstand- 
ing the appeal of the kirk, the '' Cat- 
vinist shop-keepers^^ as Mr. Froude 
witheringly styles them, would not 
lift a finger to aid them. We call it 
amusing, because Mr. Froude every- 
where so undisguisedly manifests his 
strong personal sympathy that, as an 
historian, he becomes simply absurd. 

Mary marched against the rebels 
with eighteen thousand men. As 
she approached, they fled into Eng- 
land, and the rebellion was over. 

" The Queen of Scots, following in 
hot pursuit, glared across the frontier 
at her escaping prey." (Vol. viii. p. 
214.) The amount of precise infor- 



mation in Mr. Froude*a exdivnve 
possession concerning the expression 
of Mary Stuart's eyes b something 
wonderful Here her eyes " gjarc ;" 
elsewhere, (vol viiL p. 365,) there is 
an <* odd glitter in her eyes," while at 
p. x6i, they are '< flashing pride and 
defiance." 

It is this imaginative power and ta- 
lent for pictorial embelUshment which 
lend to Mr. Froude's woik such pe- 
culiar attraction for the general rea- 
der. And to give exjuression to this 
natural appreciation, such testimont-^ 
als as the following are seriously pro- 
duced as evidences of the merit of 
the work. 

'< What a wonderful history it isf* 
says Mrs. Mulqck Craik; ^ and won- 
derful indeed is it, with its vivid (»€- 
tures of scenes and persons long pass- 
ed away ; its broad charity, its tender 
human sympathy, its ever present dig- 
nity, its outbursts of truest pathos." 

AH this is in keeping with the eter- 
nal fltness of things. This excellent 
lady, a somewhat successful writer of 
novels, really means what she says, 
and expresses herself in all sincerity. 
Her admiration is genuine. It is 
that of a pupil for her master, and 
she ingenuously admires one who has 
attained excellence in his art We 
have not the slightest doubt that ma- 
ny will say with her, *< What a won- 
derful history it is T 



In the Gn 




589 



O 

IN THE GREHPOyOOpr :^ 

* - • -- / 

** Then the wyldthorowa the ^to6d^«%iit "'' / 
On erery syde ihear : ' > 

' Grea-hondea tharo#e the greves gleot 1 / 

For to kyll thcw dear.*' 



For three consecutive mornings of 
a certain month of May not far dis- 
tant, Blanch and I had opened our 
diaries to write, " Wind E. N. E.** 

Every body knows what that means 
in Boston. It means chill and gray- 
ness and drizzle; it means melancho- 
ly-shining sidewalks and puddles i 
surprise just where the foot is most 
confidingly planted; it means water 
dripping over gutters, flowing frothi- 
ly from spouts, and squshing from 
shoes of poor folks at every step they 
take; it means draggled skirts, and 
cross looks, and influenza, and bron- 
chitis, and a disposition to believe 
in the total depravity of inanimate 
things. 

Yes; but also it means an efferves- 
cence of spirit in those rare souls, like 
incarnate sunshine, kindred in some 
sort of '' Epictetus, a slave, maimed 
in body, ap Irus in poverty, and favor- 
ed by the immortals." 

But — three whole days of drizzle I 

On the first day, Blanch and I 
glanced approvingly skyward, and 
said, '' A fine rain I'' then went about 
that inevitable clearing out of drawers 
and closets and reading of old letters, 
which a rainy day suggests to the femi- 
nine mind. 

On the second morning, we donned 
water-proofs and over-shoes, and bold- 
ly sallied forth, coming in later breath- 
less, glowing, drenched, and with our 
hair curled up into kinks. Then, sub- 
siding a little, we drew down the crim- 
son curtainsy lighted a fire, lighted the 



gas, and, shutting ourselves into that 
rosy cloister, read till we were sleepy. 

But sometimes water looks a great 
deal wetter than it does at other times ; 
and on the third mommg it looked 
very wet indeed. The damp, eastern 
ly gloom entered between our eyelids 
and penetrated to our souls. We 
struck our colors. Like the Sybarite 
who got a pain in his back from see- 
ing some men at work in the field, 
we shivered in sympathy with every 
passing wretch. 

That prince of blunderers. Sir Boyle 
Roche, used to say that the best way 
to avoid danger is to meet it plumb. 
Acting on that principle, Blanch and 
I took each a chau: and a window, 
and, seating ourselves, stared silently 
in the face of the enemy. 

After an hour or so, I began to fed 
the bene^fit of the baronet's prescrip- 
tion. 

" Blanch,^ said I, brightening, " let's 
go on a lark down to Maine, to the 
northern part of Hancock County, to 
a place I know." 

Blanch turned her small, white &ce 
toward me, gave me a reproachful 
glance out of her pale-blue eyes, then 
drew her shawl closer about her throat, 
and resumed her gaze in the face of 
out-doors. 

I waited a moment, then pursued, 
" Rain in town and rain in the country 
are two reigns, as the histories say. 
Lilies shrugging up their white shoul- 
ders, and roses shaking their pink 
faces to get rid of the drops; tree^ 
lucent green jewels in every leaf; birds 
laughing and scolding at the samA 



590 



Th tie Greenwood. 



i 



time, casting bright little jokes from 
leafy covert to covert ; brooks foam- 
ing through their channels like cham- 
pagne out of bottles — " 

" Never compare a greater thing 
to a less," interrupted Blajich, severe 
and rhetorical. 

" So you think rain-water is better 
than champagne ?" I asked. 

" No matter. Go on with your 
poetics." 

"At this lime the apple-trees are 
pink clouds of incense, and the cher- 
ry-trees are white clouds of incense, 
the maples are on fire ; there are fresh 
light-green sprouts on the dark-green 
•pruces; the flaky boughs of the ce- 
dars have put forth pale, spicy buds ; 
and the silver birches glimmer under 
hovering mists of green. Deer are 
stealing out of the woods to browse in 
the o])enings, and gray rabbits hop 
across the long, still road, (there is but 
one road.) The May-flowers are 
about gone ; but dandelions, " spring's 
largess," are everywhere. Here and 
there is a clearing, over which the 
surrounding wildness has thrown a 
gentle savagery, like lichen over rocks. 
The people (there are two) live in a 
log house. They never get a news- 
paper till it is weeks old, perhaps not 
so soon, and they know nothing of 
fashion. If we should appear to them 
now with our skirts slinking in at the 
ankles, and pufling out at the waist, 
with chignons on our heads and hats 
on our noses, they would run into the 
house and button the doora. Ei-ery 
thing there is peaceful Rumora of 
oppression, fraud, and war reach them 
not. I should not be surprised if 
that were one of the places where they 
still vote for General Jackson, Their 
most frequent visitors are bears, and 
wolves, and snappish little yellow 
foxes. In short, you have no idea 
how dehghtful the place is." 

1 am not like the Queen of She- 

;" says Blanch. "Though the 



half had not been told me, my ima- 
gination would have out-huill and 
oui-hung and out-shone Solomon in 
all his glory. Who are these people V 

" Mr. Thomas and Mrs Sally Smith. 
Sally lived with my mother as help 
when I was a little girl On my 
tenth birthday, she gave me my hnl 
smelling-botUe, purple glass with a 
silver-washed screw-top. The season 
was July, and the day very wano. 
After holding my precious present b 
my hand awhile, I opened it, and, in 
the innocence of my heart, took a de- 
liberate snufl^. The result beggars 
descriptioiL AMien I became capa- 
ble of thought, I believed that ibe top 
of my head had been blown oB. You 
remember in the Arabian /^igJUt the 
bottle out of which, when it wm 
unstopped, a demon escaped ? WeD, 
that was the same bottle. Sally used 
to boil molasses candy for me; and 
she has braided my hair and bond 
my ears many a time. But moUm 
didn't allow her to box my cm. 
Thomas lived in our town, and tried to 
support himself and make a fortune by 
keeping a market, but with slight suc- 
cess. He was always behindhanil, 
and never got the dinner home till the 
cook was at the point of distrociion. 
They called him the late Mr, Smith. 
By and by he and Sally got married, 
alter a courtship something like that 
of Barkis and Pegotly. and went into 
the woods to live. My mother made 
and gave Sally her wedding-cake, one 
large loaf and four smaller ones. The 
large one would have been larger if 
my brother Dick and I hadn't got at 
it before it was baked and ate ev« so 
much. Did you ever eat raw cake ? 
It b real good. I paid Sally a visit 
long ago, and she made me promise 
to come again." 

" I dare say it is all moos-shiiw," 
said Blanch, rising. " But, here goes." 

" AVTiere to ?" I exclaimed. 

" To pack my trunks for a visit to 



In the Greenwood. 



591 



SaHy Smith,** answered Blanch from 
the door-way. 

** But I was in fun.** 

" And I am in earnest." 

'* And perhaps the facts are not so 
iiEur as the fancies." 

" So much the worse for the facts." 

With which quotation the young 
woman disappeared. 

Resistance was useless. Blanch is 
one of those gentle, yielding creatures 
who always have their own way. 
And I love to be tyrannized over. I 
followed her up-stairs, repeating rue- 
fuUy, 

" Since then I nerer dared to bo 
As funny a« I can.*' 

Catch me being poetic again I 

That very evening a letter was 
mailed to Sally Smith, announcing our 
coming; and in less than a week we 
started, lingering over the first part 
of our journey, that due preparation 
might be made for our entertainment^ 
The last day and a half were to be 
an allegro movement 

The drive from Bucksport to Ells- 
worth was delightful ; not the begin- 
ning of it, where twelve persons were 
crowded into a nine-passenger coach; 
where Blanch, looking like a wilted 
flower, S2^ wedged between two Jarge, 
determined women ; where my neigh- 
bor was a restless man who was con- 
stantly trying to get something out 
of the coat-pocket next me; and an 
Aesthetic man, who insisted on looking 
past my nose at the prospect ; and a 
tobacco-chewing man, as his breath in 
my face fully testified : all this was 
not delightful. But ailer we had en- 
treated the driver, and been assisted 
to a perch on the coach-roof^ then it 
was glorious. 

Then we got airy tosses instead of 
dislocating jolts; saw the road un* 
wind, turn by turn, from the woods ; 
saw how the grating brake was put 
to the wheel while we crept over the 
brow of a steep pitch, then let go 



while we spun down the lower part 
and flew over the level 

The afternoon sun was behind us, 
and gilded the hills ; but the hollows 
were full of transparent dusk with the 
crowding, overhanging woods. As 
we came up out of Uiem, our horses 
strained forward to trample on a 
giant shadow-coach, with four shadow- 
horses, a shadow-driver, and two fly- 
away shadow-women in advance of 
every thing else. 

Presently the boughs ceased to 
catch at our veils, the woods thinned 
and withdrew, houses appeared and 
multiplied, and we came out on to a 
long steep hill dipping to a river, 
whence another long steep hill rose at 
the other side. And built up and 
down, and to right and left, was a 
pretty town with all its white houses 
rose-red in the sunset. Well might 
it blush under our faithful eyes ! 

" Blanch," I said, " behold a town 
where, sixteen years ago, a Catholic 
priest almost won the crown of mar- 
tyrdom. On the hill opposite, towaixl 
the south, stood the Catholic church 
that was burned, and the Catholic 
school-house that was blown up with 
gunpowder. There is the cottage 
where the priest lived. One August 
evening, when the sky was like a 
topaz with sunset, and the new moon 
was out, he baptized me there, and 
a little while after they broke his win- 
dows with stones. Further up the 
hill is the hou^ from which, one rainy 
Saturday night, a mob of masked 
men dragged him. Ah welll that 
story is yet to be told." 



n. 



HB AND SHS. 

The next morning early, we started 
on our last day's journey, and were 
driven through a rough country, the 
road dwindling till it seemed likebf t& 



593 



In the Greenwood. 



imitate that avenue which narrowed 
till it turned into a squirrel-track and 
ran up a tree. At five o'clock, we 
stopped at a farm-house, which was 
also post-office ; and there we got a 
man to take us to our journey's end. 

** May be you'll take this letter with 
you," the postmaster said. " It's for 
Miss Smith." 

Mrs, is never heard in that region. 

I took that lotter, and gazed at it 
a moment in wrathful silence. There 
was my annunciatory epistle written 
to Sally Smith more than a fortnight 
before! 

•• Allah a Allah !" sighed Blanch 
resigneiily when I held up the letter 
to her view. 

Tlie road over which we now drove 
wat streaked with grass that tempted 
the lowered nose of our Rozinante, 
and graceful clusters of buttercups 
brushed the slow spokes of our wheels. 
The forest primeval shut down, solid 
and precipitous, at our left, and at 
our right the scrubby spruces clamber- 
ed and siraggleil over the leilges with 
the apix.\inince of having just stopped 
to lov>k at us ; and in a little while we 
saw thKiugh their tops a log house 
that stood at the head of a rocky lane. 
A thin wriMth of smoke curlevl from 
the stone chimney, curtains of spot- 
less whiteness showeii inside the tinv 
hingevl windows, and a luxuriant hop- 
vine drajHxl all the wall next us. Not 
a rvxl Kick irv^m the house, and dra*-n 
dark!v aj:ainst the sunset skv, w:is a 
piciurv >or>' like IX'^re's brlndnj: of 
the a:k t*> IkHhs^unes. A croa:^ of 
oat:!c i^rv^.xi there' motionless, two 
low Ivv-.i '^.^ si^ruvc-t:x\rs ui^furlod 

» • ■ « • 

tL\A:'\ 



1 * * • o 



Ko<.o»:ri h>rT CJLnof. I «^^;^ a 
rov^j^<\i u»:2ua oi tecw buy be; 



whom our coming had petrified in 
the act of getting through the bars at 
the foot of the lane. Against the 
lower bar rested his rifle, the muzzle 
looking us directly in the eye. 

I seized upon him and changed 
his aim. 

" Your name is Larkin/' I said ac- 
cusingly. 

** Yes, ma'am I" he answered in a 
trembling voice. 

** What are you here for ?" 

" Ma'am sent me to borrow Miss 
Smith's dam'-needle," he whimpered. 

" You have come four miles through 
the woods to borrow a darning- 
needle ?" I demanded. 

" Yes, ma'am !" he answered, eager- 
ly pointing to a huge needle widi a 
blue yam which was sewed into hb 
blue drilling shirt-finont 

«" Is Mrs. SaUy Smith alive ?" I ask- 
ed solemnly. 
^ " Yes, ma'am r 

" Does she live in this house ?*• 

" Yes, ma'am !" 

" Does any one else live here?" 

** Yes, ma'am !" 

" Who ?" 

« Mr. Smith.- 

" Well, set \-our rifle down here in 
the comer of the fence, anc^ook out 
how vou aim it another lime. There ! 
now take this letter and carr\* it up to 
Mrs. Smith, and give her my com- 
phments« and say that we would like 
a reply at her earliest convenience. 
We may be adJresseti at the foot of 
the lane, sitnai: on our tranks.'* 

As I released his arm. he shot wild- 
ly up the lone, and tuml^evi headlong 
in at the wcather-p^jfch tho: guarded 
the conhem door. 

Ir. a :V^ ^^■l^-•a^*5^ a woman's head 
arvore-.: oni ic<>k on observadon, 
whi'e her :»•:» honis were \TsiWe 
sm.v:>,it,: her hj^ 0:1 i ra-?idlv ad- 
Tus::7.i :Ln arr?a. Then the whole 
Iv'^^ tcire ecKTOid. At nrst she 
raruT^ sfcifpmg oaoe or twice 



In the Greenwood. 



593 



as though about to turn back ; then 
she gave a long look, and hurried 
down the lane, a broad smile break- 
ing out, token of recognition. Her 
voice reached me first, " Well, I do 
declare, Tm tickled most to death to 
see you 1" 

With the last words came a mighty 
grip of the hands, and Sally looked 
at me with eyes overflowing with tears 
and gladness. 

Most exquisite and dignified read- 
er, didst thou ever think, when raising 
to thy lips the cut-glass goblet of iced 
water, poured from a silver pitcher 
filled at a faucet supplied through a 
leaden pipe that in its turn is fed by 
miles of underground aqueduct, that 
thou wouldst like rather to slake thy 
thirst at some natural spring bubbling 
over mossy stones and prostrate 
grasses ? For once or twice, may be ? 
If so, all hail 1 for thou art not quite 
a mummy. Underneath thy social 
swathings still beats a faint echo of 
the bounding pulse of some free-bom 
ancestor, a sheik of the desert, a dusky 
forest-chief, a patriarch of the tents. 
Trampled on, thou wilt not turn to 
dust, but to fire ; and the papyrus is 
unfinished on which shall be written 
the story of thy life. 

There have been times, too, in 
which thou hast thought that not 
only thy drink was far-fetched and 
no sweeter for the fetching, but that 
the smiles, the welcomes, the fare- 
wells, the fiiendships were all stale 
and unrefreshing. Thou hast longed 
for the generous love, which, while 
it will bear nothing from the.e, will 
bear all things for thee ; for the ho- 
nest hate that carries its blade in 
sight, and lurks not in sly and sancti- 
monious speech and downcast eyes ; 
for the noble tongue that knows not 
how to tell the spirit of a lie and 
save the letter. 

Here now before me were all 

VOU XL— 38 



these. Refreshing, «Vj/rtf/drx/ and 
very delightfiil — for a time. 

Blanch and I were whirled into 
the house in the midst of a tornado 
of welcomes, apologies, regrets, won- 
derings, and questions innumerable. 
But as we were whisked through the 
kitchen, I had time to see all the old 
landmarks; the great stone fire-place, 
with a mantel-piece nearly out of 
reach, the bed, wit^j its bright patch- 
work quilt, the broom of cedar-boughs 
behind the door, the strip-bottom 
chairs, the large blocks to eke out 
with when more seats were needed, 
the rough walls, the immaculate neat- 
ness. 

There were two rooms in the 
house, and we were suffered to sit 
only when we had reached the sec- 
ond. This was glorious with pictorial 
newspapers pasted over the log walls, 
with a Job's patience quilt on the bed, 
with two painted wooden chairs, and 
a chintz-covered divan, a rag mat on 
the floor, two brass candlesticks on 
the mantel-piece, a looking-glass six 
inches long, and a gay picture of a 
yellow-haired, praying Samuel, dress- 
ed in a blue night-gown, and kneel- 
ing on a red cushion. 

Sally Was so delightedly flustered 
by our coming that, as she said, she did 
not know whether she was on her head 
or her heels, a doubt which so sensibly 
affected her movements that she was 
every moment making little inconse- 
quent rushes where she had no need 
to go, and repeating the same things 
over and over. 

Presendy she sat still with a start, 
and listened to a heavy step that 
came through the porch and into the 
kitchen. 

" Sh-h-h ! There he comes 1" she 
whispered. 

In fact, I had already caught a 
glimpse through the chimney-back 
of a man in his shirt-sleeves, who 



594 



In th$ Greenwood. 



hung up a tattered straw hat, and 
took down from its nail a tin wash- 
basin with a long handle, like a skil- 
let. 

" Sally !" he called out, splashing a 
dipperful of water into the basin. 

"Whot?" returned Sally, with a 
facetious nod at me. 

" Who's been here this afternoon ? 
I see wagon-tracks down in the 
road." 

"Boarders!" says Sally, with an- 
other nod and wink. 

" Boarders ? What for ?" came in 
a tone of amazement ; and through a 
chink in the rock chimney I could 
see his wet face turned, listening for 
her answer, and his dripping hands 
suspended. 

"To get boarded," replied Sally 
succinctly. 

Such an astounding announcement 
required immediate explanation, and 
Mr. Smith was coming in a dripping 
state to demand one, when his wife 
jumped up to intercept him. 

" Guess who*s come !" she said, 
stopping him in the entry. 

" Who ?" he asked in a stentorian 
whisjKT. 

" Mary !" says dear Sally^ with a 
little burst of gladness that brought 
tears to my eyes. 

" Mary who ?" — with the same 
preposterous feint of secrecy. 

" ^^'lly, bobolink Mary, you great 
goose !" 

" Vou don't say so !" exclaimed 
Mr. Smith, and as he spoke, his face, 
with wide-open eyes and moutli, ap- 
peared over Sally's shoulder, then 
disapi)eared instantly at sight of 
Blanch. Nor would our host per- 
mit me to come to him, nor make 
himself visible again till he had gone 
through a tremendous scrubbing and 
bnishing, all of which was perfectly 
audible to us. Then he came in, 
sleek and shining, and gave us a 
hearty though embarrassed welcome, 



bowing before Blanch wUh a move- 
ment like the shutting up of a pocket- 
knife, and greatly confused on find- 
ing himself obliged to take her small 
hand. 

I am bound to say that Blanch 
behaved exquisitely. She could not 
help being dainty and delicate; but 
she showed herself so unaffectedly 
delighted with every thing and evay 
body that her daintiness was not I^ 
membered against her. Besides, she 
had the good taste not to try to imi- 
tate their rough ways, but remained 
simply herself. 

Sally disappeared presently, and in 
a surprisingly short space of time re- 
turned to teU us, with a very red &ce, 
that supper was ready. 

There was a momentary cloud of 
doubt over Blanch's face ; but I went 
unfearing, and the event justified my 
confidence. The coarsest of delf, to 
be sure, and a cotton cloth, and sted 
forks, and a tin coffee-pot. But what- 
ever could be polished shone like the 
sun, and whatever could be white 
was like snow. As to the supper, it 
was worthy of the pen of Mr. Seat- 
tary Pepys. The traditional delia- 
cics of a country table are taken for 
granted ; but the coffee was a glori- 
ous work of supererogation, and deli- 
cious enough to be handed abont in the 
j)aradise of Mohammedans. Besides 
this, Sally, with a recollection of one 
of my mother's pretty ways, had laid 
a sprig of fragrant sweet-brier beside 
each plate, and with mine a drowsy 
dandelion just shutting its golden 
rays. 

** You must excuse me for giving 
you deer meat," said our hostess with 
great humility ; " I haven't any other 
kind on hand to-day; but to-mor- 
row — ^" 

She stopped short in the act of set- 
ting the dish on the table, unspeaka- 
bly mortified by the incredulous stare 
with which Blanch regarded her. 



In the Greinwaod. 



595 



[f you don't like it — ^ she began 

mering. 

e immediately explained that 

ch was simply astonished at an 

9gy being offered with venison, 

•eat Sally grew radiant 

r. Smith did not appear at the 

;. He insisted that he had been 

ipper, but abstained from men- 

ng the day on which he last par- 

of that meal. Indeed, during 
he time Blanch and I were in 
house we never saw the master 
eat one mouthful 
Eie never will sit down with 
," Sally whispered privately to 
Ls we left the table, 
hen Sally said "he," pure and 
le, she always meant her hus- 
« She had a dim consciousness 
there were other, nebulous mas- 
es in the world ; but to her mind 
Thomas Smith was the bright 
cular HE. 

: eight o'clock we went to bed 
lie pure, pale twilight of June, 
sank up to our eyes in feathers. 
Dhr* cried Blanch, "I'm going 
igh to China !" 

Never mind!" I said encourag- 
', "to-morrow we will put this 
rd puff-ball underneath, and pro- 
; the straw-bed." 

5traw I" exclaimed a voice from 
iepths. 

if es ! pretty, yellow, shining straws, 
as you suck mint-juleps through. 
, don't get excited 1 Straws such 
our brother Tom sucks mint-ju- 
through. Good-night, honey 1" 
leard her whisper a prayer. Then 
[ropped asleep peacefully ; while 

steadfast eyes of holy fire our 
Is kept watch and ward. 

III. 

BIPEDS WITH FEATHERS. 

ie next morning the unaccustom- 
;illness woke us early ; and there 



was a long, golden beam of sunlight 
stretched across the bare floor. The 
hop-leaves hanging over the eastern 
window were translucent, and more 
gold than green, and all round their 
edges hung radiant drops of dew, 
slowly gathering and falling. 

Blanch smiled, but said nothing, 
scarcely spoke a word to God, even, 
I think, but knelt and let her prayer 
exhale firom her, like dew from the 
morning earth. 

The kitchen was all in order when 
we went out It was shaded, exqui- 
sitely clean, swept through by a soft 
draught, and finely perfumed by the 
new cedar broom which Thomas had 
made that morning. In the fire-place 
lay a heap of hard-wood coab in a 
solid glow, but the heat of them all 
went up chimney. The table was 
set for two, and breakfast ready all 
but cooking the eggs. Sally held a 
bowl of these in her hand, while, out- 
side, the hens were making loud affi- 
davit to their freshness. 

After breakfast, Blanch put on a 
little scarlet sack, took her parasol, 
and went out to reconnoitre. Sally 
and I staid in the house and talked 
over old times, while she washed the 
dishes and I wiped them. Old times, 
even the happiest, are sad to recall, 
and we soon fell into silence. In 
that pause, Sally wrung out her dish- 
cloth, gave it a scientific shake that 
made it snap like a whip-lash, and 
hung it up on two nails to dry. Then 
she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 

" Land sakes !" she exclaimed, 
" what's that ?" and rushed out doors, 
catching the broom on her way. I 
followed with the shovel, for " tiiat " 
was a scream which unmistakably 
came from Blanch. 

There was neither savage nor wild 
beast in sight, nor was Blanch visible; 
but there was a great commotion in 
the poultry-yard, and a large turkey- 
gobbler of a military ap^Qax:dXLC.^'«i^& 



!96 



In the Greenwood, 



■trulting about in full feather and de- 
claiming in some foreign language. 
It sounded like low Dutch. What 
he said seemed to make a great im- 
pression on the hens and geese, for 
they looked awe-struck. 

Presently we «pied Blanch at the 
very top of one of the highest board 
fences that ever waa built, clinging 
for dear life. 

" I don't know how I ever got 
here," she said piteously. " The last 
Tccollcction I have is of that horrid 
creature mining himsdf all up and 
coming at me. Then I came right 
up. And that's all I know. Bui I 
can't get down again." 

I got a little ladder and helped 
Blanch down from her dangerous 
perch, while Sally kept tlie turkey- 
gobbler at bay, standing, broom in 
hsnd, in that position called in he- 
raldry rampant-regardant. 

" He doesn't like scarlet very well," 
she remarked. " It isn't his favorite 
color." 

Then we went to see Mrs, Parting- 
ton, a large gray hen, which was that 
morning taking her first airing with a 
new brood. She had been set on 
goose-eggs, which had, naturally, 
hatched out goslings; but she did not 
know it. 

" Now," said Sally, " if you want 
to see an astonislied hen, come along." 

Tliere was a duck-pond near, and 
some instinct in the goslings led them 
that way. Mrs. Partington yielded, 
like a fond, indulgent mother, and 
clucked along full of naive conse- 
quence and good-nature. But at a 
little distance from the margin she 
paused, called her brood about her, 
and began to talk to them in a gray, 
comfortable, complacent voice. I 
suppose she was telHng them how 
dangerous water is. They listened 
first with one side of tlieir heads, then 
with the other, and two of them 



winked at each otlicr, and made Gl 
irresistible shies toward the pu 
They looked like green eggs od t 
sticks. Tlie hen left off ho lean 
clucked loudly, spread her win^a 
ran after them. Bui the next insti 
a sliriek broke from het bill ; for, 
everybody knows, of course, the g 
lings all plunged headlong into I 

Poor Mrs, Partington was, 
an astonislied hen. She was 
she was a transfixed hcu. She st» 
gazing at Diem in horror, ev 
expecting to see every one of 
keel over and go to the bottom. 
no ; the little voyagers floated 
quite at their ease, striking out 
their tiny paddles, tiieir downy 
and absurd little heads shedding t 
water beautifully. 

" She must know now that they i 
goslings," said Blanch. 

"Goslings? Not she I" answa 
Sally. " Ten to one she thinks d 
she is a goose. No, that heo i 
go down to the platter without ft 
ing out that she has been dieated* 

We had a busy day. \Ve wot 
see the frame-house that Mr. Sidi 
had begun to raise, and Sally's d* 
in the cellar of it; we promoted ( 
straw-bed, filled our fireplace « 
pine boughs, thus cutting off the vi 
through the chimney-back; w^Mck 
our trunks and set up our gtSf 
images ; and, when sunset was ac 
went out into the woods at the ft 
of Spruce Mountain to get a paD i 
water from a little Johannisbergeri 
a spring there. Tlie mountaio ■ 
between us and the sunset, and t 
woods were in shadow ; but np 01 
the lofty tree-tops the red and 
lights floated past, and every 
pool, among its treasures 
foliage, airy nest of bird, 
flower, held warmly its 
sky, and crimson or 



jrcsofjjlil 
ird,Rod|^^^| 



In the GretnwooJU 



597 



Presently we came to where, at the 
foot of a spruce-tree, our spring lay- 
like a fire^pal, with that one spaiic 
down among its haunting shadows, 
A cool green darkness fell into it from 
theover-hanging boughs, velvet moss- 
es growing close rimmed it with a 
brighter emerald, gray of trunk, 
branch, and twig melted into it, milky 
little flowers nodded over at their 
milky little twins below, and in the 
midst burned that live coal of the 
sunset When we plunged our tin 
pail into this spring, it was as though 
we were going to dip up jewels. But 
instantly we touched the water, it 
whitened all over with a silvery-rip- 
pled mail, the colors disappeared, and 
we brought up only crystal clearness. 
The next moment, though, the throb- 
bing waters subsided, and the many- 
tinted enchantment stole tremulously 
back again. 

When we went to bed that night, a 
shower was prowling about the hori- 
zon, and over on Spruce Mountain the 
wolves were howling back defiance 
to the thunders. 

What a lovely, savage week it was 
that followed! Somewhere in it was 
dissolved a Sunday; but we were 
scarcely aware of it, there was so lit- 
tle to mark the day. 

In that week we learned one fact 
that was new to us, and that was the 
profound melancholy that reigns in 
the woods. Looking back, we could 
recollect that the impression had al- 
ways, though imconsciously, been the 
same. Is it that in the forest Fan 
alone is the chosen god? and that 
there is still mourned that day when 

" The pwtiAg genius was with sighinf rent.*' 

Or is the sadness because He who 
once came down to walk among the 
treesy and call through the dews, 
comes no more ? 

Whatever may be the reason, me- 
lancholy is enthroned in the forest 



nr. 



A DIAMOND-WASHING. 

On one of those days, Blanch and 
I, after a severe dispute on the sub- 
ject with Sally, did a washing. Sally 
said we shouldn't ; but wash we would, 
and wash we did. 

We rose at early white dawn, kilt- 
ed up our wrappers, shouldered our 
dothes-bag, took soap, matches, and 
kindlings, and started. A path led 
us past the new frame-house and a 
grove beyond it to the wash-room. 
This was a noble apartment about 
forty rods long by thirty wide, and 
was walled in by cedar and pine co- 
lumns with the branches and foliage 
left on, a great improvement on Solo- 
mon's building. The cornice was 
delicately traced against a pale-blue 
ceiling frescoed with silver, the most 
beautiful ceiling I have ever seen. 
The carpet was a green velvet pile, 
thickly diapered with small gold-col- 
ored and white flowers in an irregu- 
lar pattern, and beaded all over with 
crystals. Near the door by which 
we entered was one of the most 
charming imitations of rustic scenery 
to be found at home or abroad. A 
huge granite boulder, broken and hol- 
lowed roughly, had a thread of spark- 
ling water bubbling up through a rift 
in it, and overflowing its basin in a 
rivulet Near this stood two forked 
poles with a large copper kettle sus- 
pended fh>m a cross-pole. Under- 
neath the kettle were the ashes of 
more than one fire. Countless birds 
flew about, singing as well as if they 
had been sent to Paris. On the 
whole, it was a picture which would 
have drawn a crowd at any exhibi- 
tion. 

Wood was there, covered firom the 
dew with green boughs. We placed 
our kindlings, lighted them with a 
match scraped inside Blanch's alb- 



598 



In the Greenwood. 



per, and soon a blue column of 
smoke was rising straight into the 
morning air, and the flames were 
growing. Then we filled the great 
kettle with water from the fountain 
of Arethusa, and, as soon as it was 
warm, began to wash. For one hour 
there was nothing but silence and 
scrubbing; then a loud war-whoop 
through Sally's hands announced that 
breakfast was ready. By that time 
our clothes were all washed and 
bubbling in the boiler. Looking 
about then, we saw that every cedar 
pillar had a golden capital ; cloth of 
gold was spread here and there in 
long stretches, and the frescoes had 
changed their shape, and, instead of 
silver, were rosy and golden. 

Poor Sally, looking at us ruefully 
when we went in, asked to see our 
hands. They were worth looking at, 
all the skin being off the backs of 
them, and the insides puckered up 
into the most curious and complex 
wrinkles. We ate with glorious ap- 
petites, though, had another engage- 
ment with Sally, who wanted us to lie 
down to rest, and have our hands ban- 
daged, and went back to find our 
clothes wabbling clumsily, but quite 
to our satisfaction. We upset our tubs 
and rinsed tliem, then set them up 
and filled with cold water again. Next 
we took each a clothes-stick, fished 
something from the ketde with it, ran 
with it boiling hot at the stick's end, 
and soused it into one of the tubs. 
We had to run a good many times, 
probably a mile in all. We squeezed 
the clothes out of this pickle, called 
by the initiated " boiled suds ;" refilled 
our tubs, and performed that last op- 
eration " of rinsing," which took the 
puckered insides quite out of our 
hands, leaving them almost innocent 
of cuticle. 

" My dear," said Blanch, as we 
spread our washing out on the green, 
<< every woman on earth ought to do 



one washing. It would do their souls 
good, though it should temporarily 
damage their bodies. My laundress 
is a new being to me from this day. 
I mean to double her wages." 

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenlv, 
and held up the bleeding forefinger 
of her left hand. " My ring I I have 
lost it ; it is washed away." 

The poor child looked distressed, 
and no wonder; for the missing dus- 
ter was a souvenir. 

We set ourselves to search, but in 
vain. On each side of our grassy 
bench, three tubs of water had been 
spilt, and had wandered in devious 
ways, and to some distance. We 
sawed our sore fingers on the notch- 
ed edges of the grass-blades, to do 
purpose. 

" It was careless of you, Blanch," 
I said austerely. " You should have 
recollected that the ring was loose — " 

A twinkle appeared in Blanch's 
eyes, if not on her finger. I followed 
the direction of her significant glance, 
and behold ! where the lambent soii- 
taire had burned on my hand, was 
an aching void ! 

" My angel," said Blanch sweetly, 
" did you ever hear of diamond-wash- 
ings?" 

V. 

A MISS IS AS GOOD AS A MILE. 

When Sunday came round a se- 
cond time, we were aware of it. 
Every day liad been to us like a crystal 
brimming cup overflowing to quench 
the day's thirst ; but looking out into 
this Sunday, we saw only a golden 
emptiness. 

Tears hung on Blanch's long eye- 
lashes. "Think of all the blessed 
open church-doors," she said. "It 
makes me liome-sick. I want to go 
to mass. Even a fiddling, frescoed, 
full-dress mass would be better than 
none." 



In the Greenwood. 



599 



I quoted my friend, Sir Boyle 
Roche, ' Can a man be like a bird, 
in two places at once ? ' Besides, lit- 
tle one, if you were in town, it is not 
imlikely that you might stay at home 
all day because your new hat was not 
becoming, or because of the hot sun, 
or the east wind, or the mud, or the 
dust." 

The dear child blushed. "But 
then one likes to know that one can 
go," she said meekly. 

Sally and her husband were going 
five miles to meeting that day. They 
started early ; and we watched them 
go soberly off in single file till the 
trees hid first the large brim of Sally's 
preposterous bonnet, then the ctown 
of Mr. Smith's antique hat. Then 
we went in and prepared a little altar, 
with a statuette of the Virgin, a cru- 
cifix, candles and flowers, and, lifting 
up our hearts in that wild solitude, 
assisted at some far-away mass. 
There was no interruption, only a 
group of deer stood without, at the 
distance of a stone's throw, 'as mo- 
tionless as gray marble statues, and 
watched us with soft, intent eyes. 
After we had got through and were 
sitting silently, the candles still burn- 
ing, some Roman Catholic humming- 
birds dashed in and sucked the honey 
out of the wild roses we had given 
our Lady, but left a sweet thought in- 
stead. When the buzz of their wings 
was gone, we heard robins and a 
bobolink outside, and a chorus of 
little twitterers singing a Laudate. 
"Amen I" said Blanch. The un- 
clouded sunlight steeped the sur- 
rounding forest in sultry splendor, 
and clouds of perfume rose, like in- 
cense, from pine, and fir, and hem- 
lock, from thousands of little blos- 
soms, from plots of red and white 
clover, heavy with honey, from cen- 
sers of anemones, and, threading all 
these sweets of sound, perfume, and 
sight together, was the bubbling voice 



of a brook murmuring Paters and 
Aves over its pebbles. 

Blanch smiled, and repeated softly: 

** The waters all over the earth rejoice 

In many a hushed and silvery voice ; 
' In Jordan we covered Him, foot and crown, 
While the dove of the Spirit came fluttering down. 

'* ' We steiidied his keel at the crowded beach, 
When the multitude gathered to hear him teach ; 
The feet of our Master we smoothly bore. 
And he walked the sea as a paven floor. 

*' * When the tempest lashed each foamy crest. 
At his ' Peace, be still I * we sank to rest. 
And we laughed into wine, when he came to see 
The marriage in Cana of Galilee.* 

" The stars that fiide in the growin;; day 
Have each a tremulous word to say ; 
' We sang, we sang, as we hun;; above 
The lowly cradle of Infiuite Love.' 

" The low winds whisper, ' We fanned in his hair 
llie flame of an unseen aureole there.' 
And the lily, pallid with rapture, cries, 
' I blanched in the light of his fervent eyes 1 * 

*' Voices of earth and air unite. 
Voices of day and voices of night. 
Flinging their memories into the way 
Of the coming in of the dear Lord's day. 

" O Christ ! we join with them to bless 
Thy name in love and thankfulness ; 
And cry as we kneel before thy thrcns, 
We are all thine own I we are all thine own !** 

When Sally and Mr. Smith came 
home that afternoon, they were ac- 
companied by a tall, stiff, severe man 
in black, at the first sight of whom 
Blanch and I got our hats for a walk. 
It was Elder Samson, come up to 
convert the idolaters. We knew well 
what hydra-headed discourse he had 
prepared to devour our patience, out 
charity, our civility even. Discretion 
was the better part of valor, we con- 
cluded, and fled, leaving, alas! the 
statuette of our Lady, with the can- 
dles burning beside her, and the wild 
roses clinging about and kissing her 
feet If we had but known! But 
we did not then, nor till long after- 
ward. When we came back, every 
thing was, apparently, as we had left 
it. But, when Sally came to town in 
the fall, she told how, the moment 
the elder saw our graven image, he 
flew into a holy rage, flung it, roses 
and all, out the window, and would 



600 



In ths Greenwood, 



have flung the candles after it, if she 
had not rescued them by main force. 
ITie result was an illustration of the 
church militant, in which rather high 
words passed between Sally and the 
elder. Mr. Smith, feebly interposing 
to take the part of his clerical visitor, 
was routed utterly. 

But meantime, in happy uncon- 
sciousness, Blanch and I walked 
down the road, and down and down 
the road, a mile, and another mile, 
and again a mile, through the green 
and flowery solitude, flecked and 
flickering with sunlight and shadow, 
the silence only softly stirred by a mul- 
titudinous rustling of leaves. Now 
and then we saw a deer by the road- 
side ; and far away in the woods rhe 
foxes snarled and barked. 

Our walk ended on a long log that 
bridged a brook, and there we stood 
and looked up to see the waters 
come down to us. Presently, instead 
of their flowing down, we seemed to 
float up. We were going up to the 
cradle of this dancing stream, to 
some enchanted land where the baby 
rivulet first saw the sun. We were 
going back, also, to our own child- 
hood, floating up and up to careless 
days, leaving the heavy years be- 
hind. 

When we came back from that 
far-away country, a little sea-sick with 
our journey, I turned to see Blanch 
looking at me with great attention. 

" My dear," she said, " you are the 
most absurd figure I recollect to have 
seen in the whole course of my life. 
If it were not deplorable that human 
taste should be so perverted, I should 
find you ludicrous." 

" So you have found it out," I re- 
plied, highly edified. " I have been 
thinking the same of you this week 
past Of course any one with eyes 
can see that Sally in her straight 
gown and big apron, with her hair in 
a pug, is better dressed tlian we." 

Blanch had brought Mr. Smith's 



pistol with her. She alwa3rs took it 
when we went into the woods; for 
she considered herself a pretty good 
shot. She had at home a pasteboard 
target full of little holes, the best one 
about six inches firom the centre, all 
made by shots flred by her at a dis- 
tance of twenty feet 

She felt safer to take the pistol, 
she said; for if any animal were to 
attack us, she could be sure to wound 
if not to kill it. '' No animal," she 
argued very sensibly, ** could be dan- 
gerous at a distance of twenty feet 
or more. And if he should come 
within that, I could not fail hitting 
pretty near his head or heart You 
see, I missed only six inches in the 
shooting-gallery, and a bear or a 
wolf would be much larger than my 
target." 

AVhen you want to convince others, 
always speak as though your propo- 
sition is unquestionable. Every body 
knows that the majority of persons 
in the majority of cases find it troa- 
blesome to think for themselves, and 
that if you are positive enough, you 
can make them believe any thing. 
If Blanch had been a shade less logi- 
cal and decided, I might have sub- 
mitted that a pasteboard target does 
not pounce upon you and hug you 
to death, or tear you into inch pieces 
while you are taking aim, and that 
with a wild live creature to glare 
back with two great threatening eyes 
into her one blue eye looking at hira, 
like a murderous violet, over the pis- 
tol-barrel, her nerves might be shaken 
to the extent of another six inches 
from the mark. But her air was one 
of such perfect conviction that my 
subjunctive case expired without a 
sigh. 

The tree-tops were still full of sun- 
shine when we started to go home, 
but the road was shaded. Blanch 
seemed a little uneasy. 

" I believe we'd be awful good to 
eat," she said apprehensively. 



In the Grunwood. 



6oi 



Even In speaking, she stopped 
short, I stopped, we stopped all two, 
as the French say. Directly in front 
of us and not far away, sitting with 
an air of deliberation in the middle 
of the road, was a large, clumsy, 
shaggy beast that looked at us with 
an inexplicable expression. I had 
never had the pleasure of an intro- 
duction to this animal, but none was 
needed. I had seen his portrait on 
the outside of hair-oil bottles. The 
resemblance was striking. 

Blanch turned very red, and raised 
her pistol. 

** Shall I fire ?" asked the little he- 
roine in a stage-whisper. 

« Fire 1" 

Her hand was trembling like a leaf 
in the wind : but she took beautiful 
aim, and I am bound to confess that 
her pasteboard target could not have 
received the attention with more un- 
moved tranquillity. The pistol went 
hard, though, and the pull she had to 
give the trigger brought the muzzle 
down, so that instead of the shot 
striking within six inches of the bear's 
heart or brain, it struck up a little 
puff of dust, and took off the devoted 
head of a buttercup about five feet 
from us. 

" Have I hit him ?" she asked 
breathlessly, opening her eyes. She 
had shut them very tight on firing. 

She had not hit him ; but he took 
the hint, and got himself clumsily out 
of the way. I thought he acted as 
though his feelings were hurt. 

I have forgotten whether we ran, 
I am inclined to think that we did 
jiot But we were not long in getting 
home, and then the elder was gone. 

VI. 
HOMESICK. 

A pathetic little incident happened 
that week, which suggested many 
tlioughts to us. Passing by a cleared 



space in the woods one afternoon, Mr. 
Smith saw a deer family quietly graz- 
ing there. Plentiful as these creatures 
were in that region, they never suffer- 
ed a near approach ; but this group 
looked at the intruder peacefully and 
showed no sign of alarm. 

Is there on earth an animal more 
fierce and cruel than roan in deed if 
not in intention ? This man did not 
deliberately mean to perpetrate a fiend- 
ish act ; but no otherwise could what 
he did be characterized. He did not 
want the venison, the skins, the grace- 
ful antlers ; but he fancied it rather a 
fine thing to have that bounding tar- 
get still for a moment. His rifle was 
over his shoulder ; he lowered it, and 
took aim at the stages stately front. 
There was a report ; the creature gave 
one leap into the air, then fell, shot 
through the forehead. 

Not even then did the others fly. 
While he loaded his rifle again, they 
bent over their prostrate companion, 
touching him, moved by what mute, 
incredulous grief, who can say ? The 
marksman gleefully took aim again, 
and the doe fell with a bullet through 
her heart, and sobbed her life away. 
When Mr. Smith saw the young one 
put its head down to the mother's, for 
the first time some compunction touch- 
ed his coarse, unsympathetic souL 
But he had gone too far to retreat, 
and in a few minutes the fawn lay 
dead beside its mother. 

Sally reproached her husband pas- 
sionately when he told her the story 
of his wonderful feat 

" If dumb creatures were like men," 
she said, " the wild beasts would get 
up a mob to-night, and come here 
and lynch us; and not be t<» blame 
either !" 

Blanch and I left Mr. Smith meek- 
ly taking his castigation, and went 
out to see his victims. 

They lay where they had fallen, 
on the greensward, poor creatures i a 



603 



The ^Adam " cf Andreinu 



sad blot upon the peaceful scene, their 
innocent, happy lives quite ebbed 
away. We stood by them a little 
while in the sunny silence, and it 
seemed as though every thing living 
shrank from us. We had never be- 
fore been out without seeing some 
form of that wild animal life with 
which the woods were teeming. But 
now there was no sound of skittish 
steps evading us, no glimpse of sha- 
dowy figures among the trees. All 
was silent and dead. 

We went to the road-side, and, seat- 
ing ourselves on the moss under an 
aspen-tree, mourned silently. And 
thinking of the slaughtered deer, I 
thought of the first death in Eden; 
and from that, of the first sin in the 
world ; and from that, of all the sin 
and sorrow that is in the world ; and 



fi-om that, of Him who came to restore 
us to the true Eden, the city of real 
peace, and how he stays here unseen, 
and watches lest we kill or are killed; 
and then I thought, '' The nearer one 
keeps to the place where he is, the 
better." 

Blanch half reclined, leaning on her 
elbow, and her face looked like a pale 
flame in the flickering shadow of the 
tree above us. She stretched her hand 
and touched tenderly a lovely spray 
of partridge-berry that trailed over the 
moss, but did not break it llieu she 
looked up. 

" Minnie," she said, " I*m home> 
sick." 

" So am I." 

« When will we start ?" 

" To-morrow." 



THE "ADAM" OF ANDREINI. 



Voltaire, in his life of Milton, 
mentioned the fact that in his youth 
the poet witnessed at Milan the re- 
presentation of a drama entided, 
Adam ; or. Original Sin, written by 
" a certain Gio. Battista Andreini," a 
Florentine, and dedicated to Marie 
de* Medici, Queen of France. The 
French writer stated that Milton must 
have taken with him to England a 
copy of the work. His account was 
repeated by other biographers of the 
great English poet, some of whom al- 
luded to the Italian poem as " a farce." 
In consequence of their unfavorable 
judgment, the impression has pre- 
vailed that Milton was not indebt- 
ed to Andreini for the conception 
of his Riradise Lost, but that the 
grandeur and sublimity of the in- 



vention belong solely to him. An- 
dreini*s work fell into oblivion soon 
after its production, and has remained 
unappreciated even by the author's 
countrymen ; so that it is not surpris- 
ing that the honors due the Catholic 
poet have not been rendered by Eng- 
lish or American critics or readers. 

The mystery, tragedy, or sacred 
drama of Adam, composed by An- 
dreini, was represented at Milan 
early in the seventeenth century, and 
was received with such enthusiasm 
that the author was invited to the 
French court by Queen Mary, and 
was there loaded with honors. A 
splendid edition of his work, dedicated 
to the queen, illustrated with plates 
and a portrait of the author, was is- 
sued at Milan in 1617. Such a xc* 



Th4 ''Adam "" of AndrnnL 



603 



ception shows the estimation in which 
his production was held at the time. 
Defects which did not interfere with 
the grandeur of the original design im- 
paired its popularity afterward. The 
author was numbered among the Sei- 
centisti^ and belonged to a school 
noted for its departure from simplici- 
ty; for false refinements and extra- 
vagant conceits. Under the influence 
of such writers as Marini, Lappi, 
Redi, etc., in an age of pedantry, 
poetry was removed from nature, and 
dragged from her proper sphere. But 
though Andreini lived amidst the 
prevalence of a corrupt taste, and his 
style was in some degree tainted, it 
could not have been expected that 
any succeeding school, however cor- 
rect, should trample under foot the 
substance of his work, and slight its 
sublimity of conception, to which a 
more enlightened age should have 
done justice. Such justice, neverthe- 
less, has been denied him. 

After it had been forgotten more 
than two hundred years, a tardy ac- 
knowledgment of Andreini's merit 
was paid by a few Italian critics, and 
a small, unadorned edition of his work 
was again published at Lucano; but 
in such an unattractive form that it 
seems to have awakened little atten- 
tion. A few copies of the first edi- 
tion were sold as a great literary cu- 
riosity. One, purchased at a large 
price, affords us an opportunity of 
examining the claim so long buried in 
obscurity, and to see how much the 
author of Baradise Lost has really bor- 
rowed. 

It is well known that Milton's first 
idea, in treating the subject, was to 
write a tragedy ; and that he had ac- 
tually composed some scenes before 
he finally resolved to transfer his pen- 
cil to a vaster canvas. The difference 
between the epic and dramatic form 
gave a great advantage to the Eng- 
lish poet All the ornaments of de- 



scription, in which Paradise Lost is 
so rich, were denied to Andreini, 
since they could not be admitted into 
dialogue. That Milton saw and pro- 
fited by Andreini's tragedy, can be 
proved not only by external testimo- 
ny, but by evidence contained in al- 
most every page of his work. We 
must look to the conception and to 
the expression of thought, in drawing 
the comparison between the two, 
which will conclusively show Andre- 
ini to be in truth the precursor of 
Milton, the original author of the 
design elaborated in Ihradise Lost, 
We will give an analysis of the drama, 
with extracts faithfully translated, ren- 
dering the literal sense of the origi- 
nal.* 

The scene of the tragedy is in the 
terrestrial paradise. The interlocu- 
tors are the Eternal Father, Michael 
and a chorus of angels, Adam and 
Eve, Lucifer, the Prince of Hell, Sa- 
tan, Beelzebub, the Seven Deadly Sins, 
besides various allegorical persona- 
ges, such as the World and the Flesh, 
Hunger, Fatigue, Despair, Death, and 
Vainglory, with a chorus of infernal 
messengers and spirits of the elements. 
The author's own summary will give 
the most accurate idea of the piece. 
A chorus of angels in the prologue 
sing the glory of the eternal God, 
calling upon the new creation to 
praise him. The future advent of 
the Incarnate Word is dimly predicted. 
The Almighty is completing his vast 
work by the formation of man ; the 
new being is welcomed in strains of 
jubilee and rejoicing by the shining 
choir about him, and the scene pro- 
ceeds with solemnity and magnifi- 
cence, in language elevated and sub- 
lime. The ecstasy of the newly creat- 
ed at the glory revealed to his senses 
by the celestial train who " cleave hea- 
ven with their wings of gold," and his 

* A copy of this rare poem in the original Italian 
nay be found in the Aator Libraiy. 



devout aspinttions of love and hom- 
age toward his Creator, are admirably 
expressed. Adam adores the ineffa- 
ble mysteries of tlie Trinity and the 
coming Incarnation. 'ilie verse 
throughout this scene is in lyrical 
measures adapted to ihe subject, and 
to the emotions uttered, 

Adam falls into sleep, and Eve is 
created and named " woman" by the 
eternal Father. A resemblance may 
be discovered by the curious between 
die ascent of the heavenly train from 
Eden, after the blessing is pronounced 
and the work completed, and a simi- 
lar description in the seventh book of 
J^raiiise Lost. Adam then points 
out to Eve the wonders of the new 
world, rehearses the dix'ine command 
and prohibition, and inspires her with 
love for the beneficent Being who 
gave them all : 

"Adam, Lot Ox dnp oiure of yn liuT«ii, 
Khtn oft 
TKil bright ind vandeting lUr, 

Shall dul iu mlctma ay 

Td Dpi Iha ridwr glatis «( ihe di|r. 

ThtD the na>eMic hui. 
Te 611 Ih* unh witb jof. 
(Xh htr (bd Ikc ihiU fling bis laMcn llEhl i 
TMwavjal bit reign. 

With aU her •Bur ■«'«. 
Shill coinF to cncc ihe feual p«np ef nig 



re the »ft traaiparCTit 



Th* nibtic fla 

Ln ! when 

Brijlit-plum 

Uotur' 

With opeaiaft flowen, with glowii 
aing tnc*. Behnld I ibt 






And parplB geiqa. hit tHllowi roll and plough. 
Croaatd with Ihe piluHli rilled Aera Ihe deep- 



Their ETcat Creator 1" 

In the second scene, Ludfer rises 
from the abyss; and at the first 
glance we recognize the conception 
which is one of the chief glories of 
JbraJis^ Loit. The apostate of this 
piece, like Milton's Satan, is a majcs- 



' 'fc 



tic being, stern, defying, 
less, even in despair. Pride, 
table pride, is still his maMer p« 
sion ; in the midst of his blood-chil 
ing irony and impiety, wc lose 
the awe inspired by a mighty oaiun 
still mighty and commanding, ihou^ 
perverted to evil; nor forget that faj 
" faded splendor wan " is but • 

Of tlarr obtcurcd,'* 

In fl bold and haughty strain, 
befitting the " lost archangel," 
ing aloud, lIiougLi racked with dc^ 
despair," he gives vent to the en*} 
and hatred of his rebellious spirit 



That thou hast mide on ear 
A paradise ut huji 

~ ■ ■ ihou pliMJ bl 



ired. O Cod I U bllM BT llfktf 




ihritht and cl«iiHi H nf oU ) 
Ta pniie at lenflh ho* «ia and aaaraaj ^ ti 
I-l aJanc-wppUed iku light oUch acH 
A Ihouiand tplcadon to the frnhol hEafVa^ 
To ithich Iheie lightt ai« ihaAnr^ or i illii I 
With Clint »d feeble sleam n; ptaUr ■lB^ 
Yet mk I ooi. whale'er thew thing* nait bs 
Or tint new being : atera. uayialdiaf Hill, 

Implacable 'gaioat nun, and Iiearea, and Od< 1* 

ActL«l| 



Tlie partners of his guilt and 
isiiment, who join liim in Ihe ganlei^ 
now surround him ; and we have i 
vivid picture of hell in ttie mitlst cf 

Paraiiise : 



And deep the Haad of ve 
£acb glaiKK la mrd^ini 



Tks **Adam ^ of Andreitn, 



«0S 



tips of fire I From my seared front I wwild 

Mck the serpent locks that shroud my iacef 

: opon this boasted work of heaven-^ 

te new demigods I • . . 

rits ! the lustre of eternal day 

■r quenched for you, and every snn 

"es the empyrean 1 A lost, sorrowing race 

t deems you now. Ye who were wont to tread 

liant pathwajrs of the skies, now press 

ds of endless night For golden locks 

en celestial, slimy serpents twine 

your brows, hiding the vengeful glance ; 

iggard lips are parted to receive 

•us air — while on them blasphemies 

lick, and ever with the damning words 

foul fumes of belL" 

e remainder of the picture, in 
nuteness of horror, partakes too 
of the prevailing want of taste 
disfigured the best productions 
e Italians of the seventeenth 
ry. We select, of course, some 
) striking passages of the poem, 
h we by no means include all 
luties in our extracts. 
m Satan says : 

*' In deep abodes 
n, and horror, and profound despair, 
we angeU f Still do we excel 
even as the haughty lord excels 
ible, grovelling slave. If we unfold 
;s so far firom heaven, yet, yet remember 
are lords, while others wear the yoke ; 
ting in you heaven a lowly seat, 
■ instead, stupendous and sublime, 
hrone, whereon our chosen chief, 
by high deeds, mocks at his fate I 
vast mountain, bounded by the skies, 
I its kindling wrath against high heaven, 
IS the stars, and wields a mighty sceptre 
flame, consuming while it shines, 
idly than the sun's intensest ray, 
en his beams are brightest 1* 



!•( 



. we not discover in the above 
e the same spirit that animates 
i*s lines ? 

natter where, if I be still the same, 
tiat I should be, all but less than He 
thunder hath made greater ? Here, at least, 
ill be free : the Almighty hath not built 
» his envy ; will not drive us hence ; 
^e may reign secure ; and, in my choice, 
n is worth ambition, thou;;h in hell ; 
to reign in bell than serve in heaven !' * 

same thought is expressed in 
ni's tragedy : 

** Since greater happiness 
Is to live, though damned, in liberty, 
an subject to be ble»t.*' 

Act iar. sc a. 

ifer, the chief, then discovers 



himself to his companions in iniqmty, 
and addresses them: 

**0yt pofwers 
Immortal, valiant, great t 
Angels, fat lofty, warlike daring bora I 
I know the grief that gnaws your inmost heartiy 
A living death I to see this creature man 
Raiaod to a state so high 
That eadi created being bows to him. 
In yoor minds* depths the rankling fear !s wrought 
That to heaven's vacant seats, and robes of lights 
(Those seats once ours, that pomp by os disdainod,} 
These earthly minions one day may aspire* 

With their vmnombered hosts of future soos." 

Satan then darkly alludes to the 
future incarnation of the Son of God ; 
and Lucifer answers : 

** And en it be that firom so fieeble dust 
A deity shall rise ? 

That Flesh — that God — whose power omnipotent 
Shall biikd us in these chai..^ of hell fer ever ? 
And can it be those who did boast themwlves 
The adored must stoop in humble suppliance 
To such Tile clay? 

Shall angel bend a worshipper to man ? 
Shall flesh, bom firom impurity, surpass 
Celestial nature ? Must such wonders be. 
Nor we divine them, who at price so vast 
Have bought the boast of knowledge ? 

• • • • • 

I — I am he who armed your noble minds 
With haughty daring ; to the distant north 
Leading you firom the wrathful will of Him 
Who boasts to have made the heavens. Yon I 

know ; 
I know your soaring pride ; your valor too. 
That almost wrmig firom heaven's reluctant hand 
The mighty victory. Yes. the generous love 
Of glory fires you still 1 It cannot be 
That He whom you disdained to serve above 
Shall now be wwshipped in the depths of hell I 

e e e e e 

Ah ! matdiless u our insalt I grave the wound 
If we ooite not promptly to avenge it 1 
Already on your kindled brows I see 
The soul's high thirst— and hope, by hate inflamed I 
Already I behold your ample wings 
Spread to the air, eager to sweep the world 
And those stern heavens to the abyss of rain. 
And man, new bora, with them to overwhelm t 

Sn/an. Alas I command 
And say what thou wouldst do I With hundred 

tocgues 
Speak, speak — that with a hundred mighty deeds 
Satan may pant, and hell be roused to actioo." 

The conspiracy to draw man into 
sin and prevent the incarnation is 
then entered into. 

*' Ltuifer. Most easy is the way of human nun 
Opened by God to his terrestrial work ; 
Since nature wills with mandate absolute 
Man shall his life preserve with various food. 
And oft partaken. Ay, it well may chance— 



*' Into oar room of bliss thus high adraaoed 
Crwturae of other wNild.*' 



>u 



T/ie "Adam " of Andrftni. 



Th4l bo nuy taste Ihii Axy Uic fruil lorbidLlco, 
Frum uushl CRiled, oilo ninghl tetum," 

His plan for the destruction of 
man is hailed with joy ; and Lucifer 
next calls up the Seven Deadly Sins to 

assisthim in his infernal work. To each 
of these mysterious impersonations 
a different task is assigned, and de- 
tailed at lengdi in the piece. They 
are severally commissioned to assail his 
intended victims with every variety 
of temptation, Ptide and Envy are 
directed to fill the soul of Eve with 
discontented thoughts, and awaken 
vain imaginations of superiority; to 
suggest regrets that she was not 
formed before Adam, as every man 
hereafter must receive his being from 
woman. 

■ " T-uc'/f. T«ll li*r, ihe lovely ji.Ti 
She hllb nnind do neril nol thcLi doom— 
SubmiHwn id Iha will of haushly man : 
Thil tht in price aath fu actti hei loril, 
CretUd ofhll fldti-U til at dun ; 
Bh« [r brifhl Eden 1»d ha penile binb— 
He in Ihe Dunir fieldi." 

Dulciato, who personates Luxury, 
declares the heart of woman pecu- 
liarly open to his fascinations. 

" Eitn oo* hif Et* U yonder 07x1! Cmnl 



Hilclwd Vf lb* •hflencB oT hir betiinE bnul ; 
AIlcMly. (baniwd. >h> wrealhu her flDniiiE hair 
Likelliindiaritell boned b; Ihe iroaincbrcuc. 
And deine bcr jovily c)« iwo loni of tort, 
To ktndlt with (hiir bumi the coldol hcuL" 

In the beginning of the second act 
we have a scene quite different. The 
angelic train descends to hymn the 
goodness of the Creator and the hap- 
piness of man, 

" Wenr. •reiH the (itliDdi lifht 

Lei eKh celeuiil voice 
Willi melody rejV«s, 
Pni^ifiE Gut'i work oTtatat, nobleil binb ; 



The picture of the first pair, in a^u 



their primeval innocence and enjoy- 
ment, full of gratitude to heaven and 
love for each other, is so captivating 
in its simplicity and beauty that it 
would alone be sudicicnt to icde«ni 
more sins against taste than ihc whole 
book contains. We do not imagine 
we are saying too much in CAllmg it 
the original of Milton's (lelineation, 
as that of the infernal chief undoubt- 
edly is. The same graceful and 
feminine qualities blend in tlie exqui- 
site character of Eve ; the same su- 
periority of intellect, protectiug gen- 
tleness, and exalted devotion ore seen 

in Adam. They are surrounded 
invisible spirits, the emissaries of 1 
cifer, who " with jealous leer maligDi 
mock at the peaceful purity and h 
piness that blasts their envious »{ 
and hurl vague threats agajmt 
beings who, while innocent, ore t 
from their hostility. Eve weaves 
Adam a garland of floweis, wliicb 
places on his brow as a chain of I 
In reference to this Lutcone sayi^ 



At the prayers of Adam and Ei 
offered with thanksgiving for tin 
blessings, the evil spirits precipit 
fly — the agonies of hell burning 
their hearts. Adam gives names 
the various animals, passing in revi 
before him. 

Scene third Is occupied by Luclfi( 
in the form of a serpent, Vain^oiyi 
a gigantic figure, magnificently 
cd, and his attendant spirits. Hn 
arch-demon exults over his enpectad 
success, the ruin of so smiling 

- StrMmt. Hew lowly HnOe ilww ■«• 



Tk€ ''Adam ** of Andreim. 



607 



Volano acquaints Satan with the 
decision of the infernal council, and 
Vainglory and the serpent hide them- 
selves under the tree of knowledge. 
Eve enters ; the wondrous beauty 
of the tempter, gorgeously described, 
fascinates her admiring gaze. He is 
half-hid in the clustering foliage. Un- 
conscious of evil^ she approaches 
nearer, surprised at his aspect; for the 
fiend exhibits a form like the fabled 
inhabitants of the sea, human to his 
breast, the rest of his body enveloped 
in scaly folds. Vainglory is invisi- 
ble, but is sui)posed to be secretly 
exerting his influence. The serpent, 
accosting Eve in the accents of flat- 
tery, enters into conversation w^ith 
her, informing her that he was placed 
in Eden to take charge of its fruits 
and flowers, and gifted with superi- 
ority over the brute creation. He 
boasts of his knowledge, which he 
vaunts as superior even to hers and 
Adam's, notwithstanding that he oc- 
cupies a lower rank in the scale of 
the creation. He intimates that her 
knowledge and Adam's is far from 
corresponding to their superior excel- 
lence of form and high capabilities. 
Eve inquires how he can regard 
Adam's knowledge as trifling. " Doth 
he not know," she cries, " the hidden 
virtue of each herb and mineral, each 
beast and bird, the elements, the 
heavens, the stars, the sun?" The 
serpent repliej : 

*' Ah f how much worthier to know good and evil f 
This is the highest knowledge : this doth hold 
Those mighty secrets dresd, sublime, which could 
Make you, on earth, like God." * 

"Doth not this ignorance," he savs, " out- 
raging your liberty with unworthy yoke, 
make you inferior even to the savage beasts, 
who would not submit to such a law ? t Or 
is it that God fears you will equal him in 
knowledge ? in the essence of divinity ? No ! 



* See PartuUu LoH^ Book ix. line 705. 
t ^ Shall that b* shut to man which to the beast 
It openr Pmrmditt Lut^ B. is. 



if you become like him by such means, there 
would still be difference," etc* 

The Serpent then enters upon the 
immediate object of his design, em- 
ploying his subtie and persuasive elo- 
quence to overcome Eve's scruples 
and induce her to eat of the forbidden 
fruit, whose taste is to impart to her 
heavenly wisdom. The whole scene 
of the temptation is admirably manag- 
ed. The advances of the arch deceiv- 
er — now cautiously sounding her, now 
eagerly urging her to disobedience — 
the unsuspecting credulity, the in- 
creasing curiosity of Eve, are drawn 
with the pencil of a master. 

The Serpent's arguments become 
still more specious and pressing : 

"Thus I lire 
Feeding on this celestial fruit ; 
Thus to mine eyes all paradise isx)pen— 
Mine eyes, enlightened by the knowledge stored 
In this most wondrous ftwd.'* f 

The Serpent speciously insinuates 
that man is degraded by being com- 
pelled to seek his food from the same 
source with the inferior creation : 



II 



Ah I 'tis too true that drawing sustenance 

From the same source with brutes that throng the 

field. 
In this, at least, renders you like to them. 
Surely it b not meet or just that ye, 
Noblest creations of all-forming power, 
The favored duldren of the Eternal King, 
In such unworthy state, 'mid rocks and woods, 
Should lead a life of vile equality 
With baser animals 1" 



The temptation takes place neces- 
sarily in dialogue. The thoughts are 
natural and elevated, and the language 
even magnificent. Eve asks the Ser- 
pent what is the cause of his apparent 
anxiety that she should eat of the pro- 
hibited fruit; he explains it by inform- 
ing her that he will be lord over Eden 
when she and her partner, by means 
of the mystic food, shall have ascend- 
ed to mingle with deities. This is a 

• " Or is it envy ? and can envy dwell 

In heavenly breasts ?** Paradise Lost^ B. ix. 

t " Henceforth to speculations high and deep 

1 turned my thoughts ; and with capacious mind 

Considered all things visible in heftven 

Or Mfth." PwrmdUi Loift^'^Vi^. 



The "Adam " of Anireim. 



new ami lemarkable trail, of wli 
Milton has not availed himself. 



quenccs of her crime ; she comes .^_ 
persuade hei companion tu {Xitill 

her guilL 



Bui when, bjr Tirtne of ihli lovellrtt 

Of ill-Bur Eidn'j fniili. accund ind tnlAi. 

Yi shall be mad* u godi-rull mil I kmxv 

Ti bolb, (mnkiiig <tM fnit ipbcR, will vtrt 

To (mineKc dinns. leinng n be 

The henlo^ of power, Ihe soVEiYijiiity 

O'tT eveiy liTing diinff, by your M«nl 

To faigbu bliv KCURd. Full well Ihau kno^'at 

rieail>t la Cod. Id man. ud IQ llu lerpcnt I 
Ah. I iwa Id ober UtH. Al. I -hat would I 

<1dF 
Strttni. Sar. nAw, leave undDDC ! Pluck il. 

Ttiyielf > g^il«t In thi hishesl hcaicni, 
And me a |^ on euLh :*' 

Here occurs an exquisite touch. 
Eve, having never before experienced 
a painful moral emotion, is ignorant 
of its meaning, The tempter, with 
consummate art, interprets her very 
fear into encouragement. 



An icy mnuit thnugh n; dnddcrlBJ fnine. 

StrfnU. lliillirUiiriahbie 

C/morlal Kitm '<Htlk l»ifhri^i miij.U 
Ollkil dtvinUy a*K*. UIh a erttiiH, 

Behold the bvelTlTM, 

Than it indeed, it pointed toward Ihc sVies 
nranchea of ^Id wiih emenldi bedeclivl ; 
Than if ill ranU wen conl. and ■» Irunk 
Unipolled lilyet. Lo I Ihe |eni:like fruil, 
CkntiuK wilh giAi of iimmvUllly ' 



In evil hour her rash hand plucks 
thKfruit ; and the act closes with the 
exulting gratulations of the Deceiver 
and Vainglory. 

In the succeeding interview with 
Adam, in Act iii., the intoxicated Eve 
has not begun to taste the conse- 



leidul mcida wilh ■ 



n thai *dan» Uw blliiU I 



Al iho» (WKi Aowen wlmc c; 
tn the ^It tardea of thy beau tr 
Be abn, Jt i^ama oTcarA \ ai 



or my bved En u 



Tliil lighl Ih 

Thcii DWD unTit-.illed pafadiae.'' 

Death, in the eyes of A4aiB, 
more welcome than sc|)arattoa fin 
his beloved; as in I\iradae £aii,\ 
rushes on his fate voluntarily, wil 
out partaking in any of those dicai 
of greatness which had l>egiulcd I 
frail consort. \Vhcn the mortal I 
is comj>lL'ted by his panic!] 
Volano with his trumpet si 
the infernal spirits, who crowd i 
scene with shouts of exultation 
pressed in lyrical measures, 1 
Serpent and Vainglory arc w 
shipped for their success. The I 
spirits vanisli before tlie voice 
the Eternal, who descends with 
angels to pronounce sentence u; 
the guilty pair. The solemn acc«M 
to which the Judge calls them, th 
guilty evasion and detection, and \ 
stern malediction on the earth cun 
for man's sake, with the punisl 
denounced on the human offenidl 
and on the serpent, are d^cribed ' 
the scriptural language, and with 
simplicity which is in itself 
No (ontftii are here allowed to n 
the impressive greatness of the »co 
An angel remains aAer the depwti 
of the Almighty, and clothes llie a 



Tki ''Adam " of Andnini. 



609 



vering pair with the skins of wild 
beasts, reminding them that the rough- 
ness of their new raiment signifies the 
suflfering they are to sustain in the jour- 
ney of hfe. Then the stem Archangel 
Michael, the minister of divine ven- 
geance, appears and commands them 
to leave paradise, while the cherubic 
host, who had hitherto hovered round 
them, forsake their accustomed charge 
and reascend to heaven. The flam- 
ing sword of Michael chases the im- 
happy fugitives from their lost home, 
and his lips confirm their own appre- 
hensions : 

" Mkluul These ttooy fiel<l« yoor naked feet 
•hanpreae, 
lo place of flowenr tuii^ Mnce fiiul ein 
Forbkb you lonjcer to inhabit here. 
Know me the minister o£ wrath to thoit 
Who haTe rebelled against their God. For this 
Wear I the armor of almighty power, 
Dasxling and terrible. Yea» I am he 
Who, in the conflict of immortal hosts, 
Dragged captire from the north the banghty chief 
Of rebel spirits, and to heU*s abysa 
Hurled them in mighty ruin. 
Now to the Eternal King it seemeth good 
That man, rebellions to his sorereign will, 
I should drive forth from his fiur paradise 
With sword of fire. 

Hence, angels, and ^th me 
Speed back to heaven your flight ! 
Even as like me ye have been wont to joy 
On earth with Adam— once a demi-god. 
Now feeble day. Then, armed with fiery sword, 
A cherub guardian of tlus gate of bliss 
Shall take your place." Act iiL se. & 

The chant of the departing angels 
mingles with lamentation over the 
fall an intimation of peace in the 
future. 

The poem does not end with the 
expulsion fi'om Eden ; a second part, 
as it were, is contained in the last 
two acts, in which the dim promise 
of a Redeemer is shadowed forth, 
the triumph of hell is turned to rage 
and shame, and penitence is comforted 
with hope. This completion of the 
great plan gives a new grandeur to 
the piece, since it is thus made to 
embody Uie most solemn and strik- 
ing of all morals. 

In Act iv. Volano summons the 
spirits of the elements to meet Lu- 

VOI. XL — ^39 



cifer, who calls a council. The 
spirits still utter their songs of tri- 
umph over the fall of man ; but the 
mien of their leader is deject, his 
clear-sighted vision already discerns 
in the just wrath of God against the 
human offenders the latent promise 
of mercy. He foresees the pardon 
of man, and his restoration dirough 
a Redeemer to the heavenly blessings 
firom which his destroyer vaunly hoped 
his transgressions had cut him ofil 
He is racked with anguish at the 
prospect of his work being undone ; 
but it is no time now to pause ; he 
must build up still higher the edifice 
of his own greatness and his defiance 
of Omnipotence. The deep pride of 
his character is further illustrated in 
the infernal council He causes to 
issue from the earth four monsters hurt- 
ful to man: Mondo, Came, Morte, 
and Demonio^World, Flesh, Death, 
and Devil 

Adam and Eve appear in their fal- 
len condition, the prey of a thousand 
fears and ills, haunted by miseries be- 
fore unknown. They bitterly deplore 
the changes that have passed on the 
creation. The animab manifest ter- 
ror at their presence. Four mon- 
sters beset Adam — the impersona- 
tions of Hunger, Thirst, Fatigue, and 
Despair, that threaten to follow him 
unceasingly. Death menaces them 
with mortal peril; the heavens grow 
dark, thunders roll, and the air is 
convulsed with tempest The scene 
closes in gloom and horror. 

In the fifth act. Temptation, in al- 
luring forms, invites the fallen pair 
to new crimes. Flesh, in the figure 
of a lovely young woman, accosts 
Adam, showing him how all things 
breathe of love ; and Lucifer, in hu- 
man shape, persuades him to yield to 
her enticements. Here occurs one 
of the most exquisitely delicate and 
beautiful touches in the poem, and 
one that none but a true poet could 



6ro 



The " Adam " tf AmJreim. 



have conceived. The guardian an- 
gel of man yet hovere, unseen, at a 
distance ; when he sees him thus sore 
beset, he comes to his assistance. 
Tlie protector is invisible; but his 
warning voice, soft as the prompt- 
ings of a dream, sounds in the sin- 
ner's ear; 



p 

I Soi 

I H< 

I 



Mti/tr. fU AJam.) Why nmiio'il ihdo 



HoMwiEiched Adun?"* Aa v. «. j. 

Following the promptings of the 
angel, which aje continued through 
the scene, Adam proposes that Luci- 
fer and his companion shall kneel 
with him in prayer. Thus he escapes 
the temptation and danger. Lucifer 
and his demons refuse to pray, and, 
assuming their proper shape, next 
assail him by force; but from this 
peril he is also guarded. 

We then beliold Eve wandering 
desolate and desponding, affrighted 
at all that meets her eyes. Her la- 
mentation has much simple beauty. 

" £h. Du'R IhiM, O wRichcd Bit I 
Lift up Iby guilLT tj^t to ncEl (hi tan ? 
Ob I no : (bcT ue iiniRin1i|>— well ihoo know*!! 1 
Once, wilb an&luibif gau Ibay coali] behold 



tation personilied under ihe name of 
World. This allegorical |>er5oaag^ 
arrayed in rich and gorgeous i 
ments, crowned with gold and ^ 
endeavors to captivate her bn 
tion by artful flatteries ; by visions ti 
splendor and legal power resoYed 
for " the queen of the UQivose." 
From avisioned p.ibcecontesatTDC 
of nymphs laden with omanKnl 
with which tliey offer to adorn tbl 
mistress, dancing and singing nrgoi 
her; but Eve, deal lo Worid's fli 
tcries, resists and flics from hiwif 
both she and her consort are I 
penitent to listen to evil soticiiatioa| 
and at Adam's rebuke the UtK>p d" 
appears in confusion. Then I 
and his devils, armed for irum's <le< 
struction, rush in to seize their tifr 
tims. The fierce and Ana] i 
between the powers of heaven a 

hell, for (he dominion of earth, K 

place; for the arch-fiend eQCOUBlCOl 
Michael and his angels, sent to at^ 
cue Ihe ftail beings of day, who, ii 
terrified astonishment, witness the b<^ 
tie. It would be doing injustice K 
the poem not to give some cxtncB 
from this striking scene. 

"Jin^iart. Trtmble. IhoaKB ofwnHik 
At the ficice lighmin^ of ibii biibed (fur. 
The HBiiing hind of him who ltad> hsnal tM 
N« aiainit Cod. but 'gainM ih)>iclriheB aafV 
Wu, *nd ID lUne atfcoa oBeaf*! (bjwK 
Back lo the ihidcx. them wiiideriD( i|a>il itf lA 
From thil nJniia] Jisht ihul out far ck> I 
Drop ibj darii ningi bmcufa ib* gfaii MA 
The Filhei ufiJI lighl, whs (armed lb* m^ 






Mb. 



IfDlll 

ToU] 

The oTiUl wax defiled, « 

Uoup iu plicc. U liniiihed. I mum 

Toplitck ih«En1elu] Irail (roin beradioi 

la uiM ii UtUr M me : or ihe wenn 

With btutins louch daih mel on lu ti 

tf, iB<aned, I ndino omoof the flDwer^ 



Theie 



bcD, 



ig tbfl doateting 1 
le Ibkk mod. 1 



hlolalmyaidt 
It, srhiuini glidct 



hai, I mk the shid* 



Andtunwiih dmd iThMtbc lighicBlcif 
Slii Kilb tbl miirf," 

She also is assailed by a new tcmp- 



Thue iKcdncu lo roliulo. to icxtu 
l-farough nu'i pan (it s( Ule I 
No itiOR Ihr hibing vile, fcTpcnt a 

Lmiftr- Loquadoiu mHeen^ci 
Of heinii'e high will, clothed in the ■mnatA ** 
OfipleDd«^&ilii«iBIbciur>bul* 
OfdaringBDul — iniaiOD of hcAtvo' 
Angel of wftne- r who in •olemn 
In icUe of (lolh. nuU of htimililr 
Dotl lufboT — on ihr face and in Ij 

Spieid, tprejd lb/ wil;g^ and atik rh7^rtirt 

Thera ahclicr, tbert cottGde the* t too *rr*i|Mi 

• See />iniAjr Z.M(. Book It, liD*«» 



The "Adam " of AndreinU 



6ii 



The strife would be 'twixt fear and bravery: 
Betwixt the warrior and the unwarlike one. 
Hie weak and strong ; betwixt a Michael vUe 
And a proud Lucifer. But if thjr boldacsa 
Aspire to rifle from my mighty hand 
This frail comiiound of ciay, 
This animated dust, I here declare 
Against thee war, bitter and mortal war, 
Till thou shah see, by this avenging hand. 
The wide creation of thy God laid waste 1 

Michael. The dolefiil victory, 
Of fierce and desperate spirit, which thon gainedst 
Against Iieaven's forces once— against this man. 
Whom thou confused bast vanquished — conquest 

poor 
Already snatched from thee ! while in the drains 
From which thy prey is freed thou art involved- 
May teach thee with what justice thoa canst claim 
llie palm of honor I" 

The haughty monarch of hell then 
reminds Michael of his first great re- 
bellion against the Most High, and 
his success in dragging into ruin '' the 
tRird part of heaven's host," (terza 
parU di stelU,) Vaunting these proofs 
of his might, he boldly threatens de- 
struction to the throne of God him- 
self: bidding the inhabitants of hea- 
ven flee from a place which can no 
longer afford them a refuge of safety ! 

^3fuhael, Wherefore delay to check the iin]^oas 
vaunts 
Ofthis proud rebel? 

Written indeed with pen of iron, marked 
In living characters of blood, npoa 
The page of everlasting misery. 
Shall be thy glory fat this victory I 
To arms 1 to arms, then : for the swift deatnictioQ 
Of outcast devi!s I — ^and let man rejoice^ 
Heaven smile, hell weep I 

Ltici/er, To the ratemperate boast 
Of lips too bold, but rarely doth the daring 
Of truth succeed. To arms I and thou with ne 
Sustain the contest. Ye,' my other foes 
Invincible, avoid the impious strife, 
Efiiuninate followers of a peaceful chief I 
• . . Alas 1 he who already hath received 
From heaven small grace, of ill a plenteeus dole. 
On earth must also prove his strength unequal, 
Despite the powerful spirit, to the stroke 
Of power supernal, driving to the abyrs 
Ol gloom again I It is well meet, the wretch 
Vanquithed in battle should lose too the light 
Of this celestial sun I 
Angels and God I 
Ye are victorious I Ye at length have conqnered I 
Proud Lucifer and all his vanquished train 
Have dearly paid the forfeit They forsake 
The day ; they sink to everlasting night 

Mkhael. Fall from the earth I baffled and wound- 
ed fidl. 
Monster of cruel hell, 
Down to the shades of night, where thon shalt die 

An everlasting death ; 
Nor hope to spread thy wings again toward heaven, 
Since impious wishes fire thee desperate, 
Not penitence. And thon art fiiUen at length. 
Proud fiend, despamng in thy downward course^ 
KviB ae esiiltini^ thou tbo«g^*at to aoar 



To height divine : Once more thon know'st to sink 
Thundering to hell's dark caverns. Thou didst 

hope. 
Fool I to bear back with thee thy prisoner, man ; 
Alone thou seek'»t thy dungeon vast, profound. 
Where to its depths pursued, the added flames 
Of endless wrath thou bearest, to increase 
Its ever-burning fires I . . . 
Thou wouldst have made this fiiir world with thine 

ire 
A desolated waste : where at thy breath 
Summoning to devastation, clouds and winds. 
And lightnings tempest-winged, and thunders loud. 
Vengeful should durong the air, should shake the 

hills; 
And make the valleys with Aeir din resomid. 
AimI lo I in skies fhmi thy foul presence freed. 
The spheres with louder music weave their dance. 
And the majestic sun with purer rays 
Gladdens the axure fields on high. The sea 
Reclines in tremulous tranquillity. 
Or joyous pours upon tile i^istening strand 
His pearls and corals. Never wearied sport 
H» glossy tribes, and swim the liquid sappbiro. 
Lo I in a green apd flowery vesture robed. 
How shine these valleys in rejoicing light 1 
While the sweet, grateful notes of praise ascend 
From every soaring habitant of aur. 
That now, a pilgrim in the scented vale. 
Makes vocal all the woods with melody. 
Let all, united on this glorious day 
Of scorn and shame to hell, exulting raise 
llie hymn of joy to heaven ; and widely borne 
By eager winds, the golden trumpets sound 
To tell in heaven of victory and peace I 
Adam. O welcome sound that calls me badt to 

joy 

Whence sad I fled I Ah me t I fear to blot, 
Tainted by sin, the holy purity 
Of angels* presence 1 

O thou who wear*st the glorious armor wrought 
With' gems celestial I Archangel bright I 
Dread warrior, yet most mild I thy golden locks 
Hiding vrith helmet of immortal beams I 
Wielding in thy right hand the conquering spear I 
Qose the rich gold of thy too dazxling wings, 
And turn a gentle and a pitying look 
On him who prostrate at thy feet adores I* 



i»t 



The archangel is no longer the 
avenger ; and he raises with pity the 
repentant sinners. 

** Michtuh Rise both, ye works of God 
Thus fiivored : banish firom your bosoms dread 
Of portents unpropitious. If our Master 
With one hand smite, the other <^ers yoa 
Healing— salvation I" 

Adam and Eve, delivered from their 
foes, are comforted by the heavenly 
messenger, who assures them of for- 
giveness on condition of future obe- 
dience. With his promise we con- 
clude our extracts. 

" Micfuul. Now smce in heaven the star of lore 
and peace 
Shines forth, and in ambitions hell^s despite 
The victor to the vanquished yields the palm, 
Rabe still your hanibie» paMEslWcka^ifiQot^v 



FineUm. 



613 



F^NELON/ 



BY THE LATE REV. J. W. CUMMINGS, D.D. 



Ladies AND Gentlemen: It would 
be possible to fix a point of time in 
the reign of King Louis XIV. un- 
equalled in brilliancy by any other in 
the eventful history of the French 
nation. Such a period would pre- 
sent to us the great monarch crowned 
with the |;lory of his early successes, 
unsullied as yet by the shame of his 
later weakness and degradation. A 
tableau of the court of Versailles 
would show us the throne surround- 
ed by groups of men illustrious in 
every department of human great- 
ness. To name a few only : military 
fame would find its representatives in 
Condd, Turenne, Luxembourg, Vau- 
ban, and Villars; poetry, in Malherbe, 
La Fontaine, and Boileau; the drama, 
in Racine, Comeille, and Molifere; 
political science, in Mazarin, Colbert, 
and Louvois; philosophy, in Pascal 
and Descartes; eloquence, in Bour- 
daloue, Flechier, Massillon, and Bos- 
suet; painting, in Poussin and Le- 
sueur; archaeology, in Mabillon and 
Montfaucon; general literature, m 
La Rochefoucauld, La Bruyfere, Bal- 
zac, and Madame de S^vigntf. Yet 
among all the great men of that 
wonderful period there is not one, 
probably, who, if given a choice, 
would not willingly exchange his re- 
putation with that of F^nelon, who in 
early life moved in that brilliant 
court as an obscure priest, and in the 
fulness of manhood was sent away 
from it into honorable exile. 

I would it were in my power, ladies 
and gendemen, to lay before you such 



• A Lecture deliTered before the Yonng Meii*s 
Christuin Aasodation of Boston, by the bite Rev. Dr. 
CiuiuaiDc^ ptttor of Sc Stq>hai*s Chor^ Nfw 
York. 



a sketch of the life of F^nelon as 
would hilly explain to you by what 
secret a Roman Catholic priest, who 
devoted himself so entirely to preach- 
ing and to proselytizing for his church, 
became popular to such an unwont* 
ed degree, and remains so to this day, 
not less in the Protestant world than 
among men of his own creed. 

I have neither the time nor, I fear, 
the ability to do justice to so excel- 
lent a theme. I do hope, however, 
that my brief remarks may have the 
effect of so far engaging the curiosity 
of the younger portion of my hearers 
as to lead them to study F^nelon's 
life and writings. Nobody ever rose 
from the perusal of either without 
feeling an inclination to love himself 
less, and to extend a larger and 
warmer charity to his fellow-men, 
whatever their condition or their 
creed. 

Francois de Salignac de la Mothe, 
Marquis of Frfnelon, was bom in the 
chateau of F^nelon in the year 1651, 
and came of distinguished lineage on 
the side of both parents. His early 
education was judicious, his father 
and mother training him in morals 
and religion both by word and exam- 
ple, and his able preceptor making it 
his aim to teach him the love of study 
for its own sake. 

The child's brain was not devd- 
oped at the expense' of the rest of his 
body, and abundant daily exercise in 
the fresh open air united with regular 
and frugal habits to form a sound 
body for the dwelling of a noble and 
gifted souL 

His decided fondness for Greek 
and Latin literature made him a 
great reader, yet without effort oc 



constraint, and led gradually to the 
formation of that mixture of grace 
and melody in his style for which he 
stands preeminent among the great- 
est French writers. 

He spent five yeare in Paris at the 
Seminary of St Sulpice, and look 
ordere at the age of twenty-four. 
His first impulse was to dedicate his 
life to the foreign mis,sions; and he 
was prevented only by the influence 
of his family from coming to America 
and settling among the Indians in 
Canada. 

A mission was provided for him in 
the heart of Paris, and there, while 
visiting the sick, instructing tlie igno- 
rant and the young, comforting and 
relieving the poor, and exercising all 
the various duties of the Christian 
ministry, he acquired that knowledge 
of the human heart, and of the mode 
of touching and persuading it, that 
fitted him, no less than his long and 
patient devotion to books, for the 
work of improving his fdlow-men. 
A new field of observation and be- 
nevolent labor was the institution 
known as " Les Nouvelles Catho- 
liques," a seminary under royal pa- 
tronage for the education of young 
ladies, chiefly recent converts to the 
church. The Ahb6 Fenclon presided 
for ten years over both the ladies in 
charge and their pupils, giving both 
the benefit of his learning, his refine- 
ment, his gentle and cheerful religi- 
ous spirit, and his high-minded and 
enlightened devotion- To his know- 
ledge of the heart of woman, of her 
weakness and her strength, gathered 
while in this positron, we owe his ear- 
hest book, the Treatise on the Mdu- 
■eation of Girls, a work which made 
its auihor widely known, and pro- 
cured for him in time the appoint- 
ment of tutor to the grandson of 
Louis XIV. 

In J685, the king signed tlie revo- 
•eition of the edict of Nantes. The 



effect of tilts measure was to reduce \ 
his Protestant subjects, amounting to { 
about two millions, to the truel al- 
ternative of abjuring their Ciith of 
quitting France for ever. Of the 
many that left, some found llieir way 
to the United Sutcs, and the de- , 
sccndants of the Huguenots haTB ; 
contributed their share to the prw- 
perity and advancement of the Liml 
of liberty. The king undertook to 
bring about the conversion of those 
who remained, and, happily for the 
Protestants of Saintange and Annis, 
the missionary selected for theia w 
the Abbrf de F^nelon. Royal ord( 
had been given that the missionair , 
should be supported by a dctAchmat 
of dragoons. The proffered . 
tancc was gently but firmly dectined. 
" Our ministry," said the abbtf, " it 
one of harmony and peace. We are,' 
going to our brethren who are astra;; 
we shall bring them back to the lidd 
by charity alone. It is not by n 
of violence and constraint that t»n- , 
viction can be made to penetrate the . 
souL" His reasoning prevailed, and 
he was allowed to depart alone. The , 
stern Calvinists of Poitou soon came 
to look upon this new pastor with ' 
kindness and aftection, and, i 
turn, his influence saved them &on, , 
further annoyance on the part of tiM, 
civil authority. 

In 1689, a happy event for tbe 
worid of letters occurred in the 9^ 
pointment of F^nelon to be the tutor 1 
of Louis, Duke of Burgundy, the s 
of the dauphin. He applied hiinsdf 
to his new task with untiring and 
conscientious devotion, and the ac- > 
count of his manner of fulBlllng it i 
exceedingly interesting. His first 1 
care was to study well tlic chanciet ► 
and disposition of his pupil. Tbs 
result of this investigation was any > 
thing but encouraging. The Oukc 
of Saint Simon, who was well ai 
ed with the young piince, i 



Fdmlan. 



6iS 



ras naturally stubborn, haughty, 
unkind. He was endowed with 
ig passions, and fond of every 
of animal gratification. His 
)er was so violent that in his fits 
ige it was dangerous to attempt 
mtrol him. He would tear and 
k whatever- came to his hands, 
be carried away by such out- 
ts of fury that his life seemed to 
eally in danger. He was fond 
le pleasures of the table and of 
chase, naturally cruel, and brim- 
•f a pride that led him to look 
I other men as objects of useful- 
and amusement, rather than as 
7s equal to himself. 
;ch was the pupil confided to the 
of F6nelon ; and under his wise 
gentle guidance the headstrong, 
h, and cruel boy became kind, 
rous, modest, and remarkable for 
ct and unfailing self-control, 
le besetting sin ot the young 
:e was a perverseness of temper 
ys hard to manage and ready, for 
lightest cause, to break out into 
rebellion, on which occasions 
ne had been able to control him. 
Jon's manner of correcting this 
is full of instruction. He avoid- 
lirect attacks and punishments, 
ng, by gentle remonstrance and 
!-natured raillery, to lead the boy 
3eing ashamed of his fault. When 
; was a prospect of being listened 
t would make use of simple max- 
howing the folly and wickedness 
igry passion, and explaining his 
rks by familiar illustrations likely 
5 easily understood and remem- 
i. Sometimes he yielded with- 
jmonstrance, avoiding all recourse 
ithority or personal influence un- 
le was well assured that it would 
B successful. The little work 
m as FinelofCs Fables was com- 
1 piecemeal, each fable being 
d forth by some fault the prince 
:x}mmitted, or for the purpose of 



helping him to remember some moral 
point, and leading him gradually on 
in the system of improvements his 
tutor had adopted. 

One day, when the prince had made 
all around him unhappy by indulging 
in repeated bursts of spleen and dis- 
obedience, Fdnelon took a sheet of 
paper and wrote in his presence the 
following sketch, which we find among 
the fables : 

"What great disaster has happened to 
Melon thus ? Outwardly nothing, inwardly 
every thing. He went to bed last night the 
delight of all the people ; this morning we 
are ashamed of him ; we shall have to hide 
him away. On rising, a fold of his garment 
has displeased him, the whole day will there- 
fore be stormy, and every body will have to 
suffer : he makes us fear him, he makes us 
pity him, he cries like a child, he roars like 
a lion. A poisonous vapor darkens his im- 
agination, as the ink he uses in writing soils 
his fingers. You must not speak to him 
about things that pleased him an hour ago ; 
he loved them then, and for that veryf^eason 
he hates them now. The amusements that 
interested him a little while ago are now 
become intolerable, and must be broken up ; 
he wishes to contradict and to irritate those 
around him, and he is angry because people 
will not get angry with him. When he can 
find no pretext for attacking others, he turns 
against himself; he is low-spirited, and takes 
it very ill that any body should try to comfort 
him. He wishes for solitude, and he cannot 
bear to be left alone ; he comes back into com- 
pany, and it exasperates him. If his friends 
are silent, their affected silence goads him ; 
if they speak low, he finncies they are talking 
about him ; if they speak loud, it strikes him 
they have too much to say. If they laugh, 
it seems to him that they are making game 
of him ; if they are sad, that their sadness is 
meant to reproach him for his faults. What 
is to be done ? Why, to be as firm and 
patient as he is intolerable, and to wait quiet- 
ly until he becomes to-morrow as sensible 
as he was yesterday. This strange humor 
comes and goes in the strangest fashion. 
When it seizes him, it is as sudden as the 
exploding of a pistol or a gun ; he is like 
the pictures of those possessed by evil spi- 
rits ; his reason becomes unreason ; if you 
put him to it, you can make him say that it 
is dark night at twelve o'clock in the day ; 
for there is no distinction of day or night 
for a man who is out of his head. He sheds 



tears, lie Innglis, he jokes, he is mad. In 
his madness he can be eloquent, amusing, 
sufaile, lull of cuiuiinE although be has not a, 
pariidc of common tense left. You have 
to be eilrctnely careful to pick jraur words 
wtlh him i for although bereft of sense, he 
can become suddenly *ery knowing, and 
find his icDson for a moment to prove to 
you ilial jou have lost youts." 

It is easy lo tinrferstand the effecl 
of a lesson like tiits on a high-spitited 
but self-conceited boy. He sought 
to overawe those around him and 
finds out that he has made himself 
unmistakably ridiculous 1 The in- 
structor who wishes to correct his 
pupil's faults will succeed oftencr by 
wounding his vanity than he will by 
flattering it. 

His fables at another time present 
in ch.inning images the happineu of 
being good, 

'■ Who is," Eay»on« oflheni, "this pul-like 
shepherd who enters the peaceful shade of 
our forest? He loves poetry and listens to 
our siin|;s. Poetry will soften his heart, 
and render him a« gentle as he it ptoud. 
May this young hero grow in virtue as a 
flower unfolds in the genial air of spring. 
May he love noble thoughts, and may grace- 
ful words ever sit upon his lips. May the 
wisdom of Minerva reign in his heart. May 
he equal Orpheus in the charms of his voice 
and Hercules in thegreatnessofhis achieve- 
ments. May he possess all the botdnesi of 
Achilles without his fiery temper. May he 
be gnod, wise, and bcneficenl, lore mankind 
tenderly, and be ranch loved by all in return. 
He lovei oor sweet songs, they reach his 
heart even ai cooling dews reach the green 
swatd parched by the beat of mid-summer. 
Oh ! may the gods teach hira moderiiion 
and crown him with endless toccess. May 
be hold In his hand the horn of plenty, and 
may the golden age relum under his sway. 
May wisdom fill his heart and run over into 
the hearts of his fctlow-men, and may flowers 
spring up in his footstep* wherever he may 
go." 

These fables gave a moral and prac- 
tical meaning to the details of myth- 
ology which the prince was study- 
ing, and furnished him also with mo- 
dels of style. They speak to him 
and of Iiim as one who is in time lo 



be a king ; but it wiB be obseirtd that 
no traits of character are praised o- 
cept those which it was desirabte he 
should possessL 

The main difficulty with tlie yousg 
prince still recurred — his impctuoid 
outbreaks of temper, ac^romponiol 
by the stublKim determinatioo ta 
make every body around him ridd 
and allow him to have his way, bov- 
ever unreasonable. This dangenMB 
condition of mind was always tna- 
ed by Finelon's advice inthcsime 
manner. The Duke dc BcaavB- 
liers, whowas his governor; tbcAbW 
de F^nelon, .ind his assistant tutor, 
(he celebrated historian Fleury ; ereii' 
the officers of his household and 
his domestics, all treated him "ith 
proof not of apprehension but o( 
liumtliating compassion. When bit 
ill-humor grew furiously excited, thtf 
kept aloof and avoided htm as one, 
who had lost the use of his «•', 
son by some sad distemper. If l!*' 
fit held out, his books were taken from _ 
him, and instruction was refused bin. 
as being altogether useless in the de- 
plorable condition into which he l»d 
now fallen. Left alone, denied iB 
sympatliy, given time to cool down, 
made to feel that his rage was undi|- 
nified and incfTectunl, the boy soon 
grew weary, ashamed, and at Icnstb 
repentant. He would then sue for 
pardon, which was only granted aftrr 
many promises on bis honor thai be 
would not beliave so foolishly sad 
wickedly again. 

One of these promises of amend- 
ment, made in writing, has been pre- 
sen'ed and it reads as follows : 

*' I promise, on my word of honor U • 
ptinco, to the \hhi de Fenelon (o du on tlx 
intlant whatever h« may tell mt, *iiA U 
obey immediately when he may foitikd me 
to do an^ thing ; and if I fail, 1 hereby tab- 
mil myself to every sort of punishment tnd 
dishonor. Done Bt Versailles, Nov, tyb. 
16S9. Signed Louis," 

This touching engagemenl upon 



Finelon. 



617 



by a boy under ten years of 
as made in the first year of Ffene- 
:harge over him. He had al- 
begun to make some progress, 
te of a disposition the ugliness 
ch had been previously set down 
orrigible. 

i tutor had determined to mas- 
3 pupil's rudeness, as an indis- 
Me condition of any improve- 
moral or literary. 
5 day he had recourse to a stra- 
that might present his conduct 
1 in a new light. The young 
stopped one morning to exam- 
I tools of a carpenter, who had 
ummoned to do some work in 
•artment The man, who had 
1 his part from Finelon, told 
the roughest manner possible 
bout his business. The prince, 
iccustomed to hear such Ian- 
began to resent it ; but was in- 
ed by the workman, who, rais- 
voice and trembling with rage 
lead to foot, screamed to him 
beyond his reach. ^*I am a 
:ried he, " who, when my temper 
ed, think nothing of breaking 
ad of any person that crosses 
The prince, frightened beyond 
e, ran to his master to tell him 
Tazy man had been allowed to 
nto the palace. ** He is a poor 
," said Fdnelon coldly, ** whose 
Lult is giving signs of violent 
' "But he is a bad man," 
he boy, " and must leave my 
ent." " He is worthy of pity 
than punishment," added his 
**You are surprised at his 
angry because you disturbed 
his work; what would you 
w of a prince who beats his 
t the very time that he is try- 
io him a service ?" 
another occasion the young 
iqued by the tone of severity 
his tutor had found it neces- 
assume, answered him in the 



most arrogant manner, "I will not 
allow you, sir, to command me; I 
know what I am, and I know what you 
are." Frfnelon answered hot a word ; 
for remonstrance or reproof would 
have been useless. He determined, 
however, to give his pupil a lesson he 
should not easily forget. For the rest 
of that day he did not speak to him, 
his sadness alone evincing his dis- 
pleasure. On the following morning 
he entered the duke's chamber im- 
mediately after his being awakened. 
** I do not know, sir," said he to his 
pupil with cold and distant respect, 
" if you recollect what you told me 
yesterday, namely, that you knew 
who you are and who I am. It is 
my duty to make you understand that 
you know neither one nor the other. 
You fancy then, sir, that you are more 
than I. Some lackey may have told 
you so ; but I hesitate not, as you force 
me to it, to tell you that I am far 
above you. There is no question 
here of birth, which adds nothing to 
your personal merits You cannot 
pretend to surpass me in wisdom. 
You know nothing but what I have 
taught you, and that is nothing com- 
pared with what remains for you to 
learn. As to power, you have none 
whatever over me ; but I have autho- 
rity full and entu« over you. The 
king and monseigneur the dauphin 
have told you so often enough. You 
may think that I consider it a great 
thing to hold the situation I fill near 
your person. Let me tell you that 
you are altogether mistaken. I have 
accepted it only to obey the king and 
to please monseigneur, not certainly 
for the painful advantage of being your 
preceptor. To convince you of all I 
have said, I am about to lead you to his 
majesty, and to beg him to give you 
some other tutor, who will meet, I 
hope, with more consoling success 
than I have." 
This speech threw die prince into 



6iS 



^/jujiwft 



the greatest consternation. " my side the door when I am with j 

inaslerl" he exclaimed, bursting into and I am noUuiig but httle Louis.' 

tears, " if you abandon me, what will He closes the sketch by this splcndl 

become of me ? Do not make the tribute to the change which had b< 

king my enemy for life. Forgive me wrought in his pupil's whole diai 

for what I said yesterday, and I pro- ter : "I have never known a perw 



whom it was more easy to tell of 
own faults, or who would listen mc 

readily to unpalatable truth." In pro 
of the excellent literary and scicnti 
training of the prince, we find 



you never, never, to displease 
you again." 

i'^nelon did not yield easily, al- 
though on the following day he con- 
sented 10 be reconciled to his pupil. 

His main dependence, however, in the great Bossuet, after examiniu 
forming the character of the boy, was him for several hours, expressed h" 
die sound religious principles which selfsatisfiedaodsurprisedatEheyottq 
he never grew tired of instilling into man's proficiency; and thus bore t< 
liis mind by word and example. He timony to the ability and success 4 
would at any moment interrupt lite- his tutor. Two works be&ides tl 
rary instruction to explain some point Fabki deserve to be mentioned x 
of duty upon which his pupil might fruits of this course ol 
desire to converse- He taught him Om, I^nehris Dial0pies,\avi^jsik\ 
to look up to God, not with servile presents to his royal pupil the t"~ 
fear, but to love him ; and to love to rent personages of history, sp* 
think and speak of him as the author their true sentiments, and 
of all that is beautiful in nature and in known the secret motives ol their ■< 
man. F^nelon gives us himself an '\^gA tions. The other is the far-C 
stance of the empire of religion over prose-poem, TTie Adventures vj TA 
his soul in a beautiful sketch which mmhusySan of Ufysses,\i\{\^\%as-m 
he wrote after his pupil's death. " One for its author the glory of ha\-jng p 
day," he says, " when he was in a very duced the most perfectly-written b 
in the French language. 

Litde more remains to be said O 
the Duke of Burgundy. F^ada 
labored long and faiihlully to i 
hira fit to ascend the throne of Franca 
he lived to see this work, involrinj 
such immense future good or < 



bad humor, and when he was seeking 
to conceal some act of disobedience, 
I asked him to tell me before God 
what he had done. ' Before Cod I ' 
he exclaimed with great anger; ' why 
do you ask me " before God " ? But 
since you do so ask me, I cannot de- 
ceive you ; I therefore acknowledge completed, and completed to bJS 
my guilt.' He spoke thus, although tire satisfaction. By an early di 
he was at the moment frantic with the dear young prince, in whom 
rage, But religion had over him so vast expectations were centr<ed, \ 
much power that it forced from htoi lost to the love of his master and 
the painful avowal," France. Had he lived to reign 

It is difficult to record without emo- place of the weak and dissolute Count 

tion what Fijnelon says further on of d'Artois, afterward Louis XV., lb? 

this noble youth, whom he came to pajje of history selling forth in IctteS 

love with paternal tenderness, and of fire and blood the scenes of the i!e«' 

whose untimely death filled his heart struclion of the French monarchal 

with sorrow. " He would often tell might [terhaps have remained unwnt- 

mc in our unrestrained conversations, ten. 

' 1 leave the Duke of Burgundy out- F^nelon had not been mode bisbosv' 



FiiuUm. 



619 



he became acquainted with Ma- 
de Guyon. He approved of 
ritings of this gifted woman as 
in the light of Catholic theolo- 
Ele defended her character as 
rom the slightest ground of re- 
\ and avowed the opinion that 
IS guided by a spuit of goodness 
■uth. She was looked upon by 
Iversaries at the court as vision- 
her piety, heretical in doctrine, 
iar from irreproachable in her 
ct. Fdnelon, now become Arch- 
) of Cambrai, was forced into a 
)versy in reference to her affairs, 
de of which he conducted alone, 
on the other there were ranged 
it him the great Bossuet, the 
\\ court, the king, the court of 
, and, finally, the supreme pon- 
flself 

I modem student of history is 
;ed to discover the loose cour- 
)f Louis XIV., both men and 
n, hotly engaged in a contro- 
on an abstract point of ascetic 
gy ; to see the ungrateful king 
ling from his presence the sa- 
of his grandson, and the most 
. man in his court ; to see Bos- 
llowing his powerful mind to be 
LS a weapon for the persecution 
nelon ; to see F6nelon, in a po- 
of SO great difficulty and deli- 
dways consistent, always consci- 
s, always refined, always elo- 
always pious, and yet speaking 
Idly and bravely, without regard 
sequences, what seemed to him 
right and true. 

: controversy, in course of time, 
arrowed down to the question 
er the doctrine taught in a book 
lelon's, entided the Maxims of 
lints^ was or was not the doc- 
f the Roman Catholic Church. 
I long investigation, the pope, 
1 judge in the matter, condemn- 
\ book, while extolling the per- 
rirtues of the author. Without 



the slightest hesitancy, F^nelon bow- 
ed to the decision of the tribunal of 
final appeal, and condemned the book 
himself firom the pulpit of his own ca- 
thedral There was no mistaking his 
motive. He had shown clearly that 
he was beyond the influence of hope 
and fear, and that he humbled him- 
self only because he truly believed 
now that he had been faulty, at least 
in expression. So noble an act of 
self-denial, humility, and obedience 
was attributed on all sides to its true 
source, namely, his sense of duty, and 
nothing else. Honest and upright 
dealing, according to the dictates of 
his conscience^ proved the very best r 
policy he could have followed in. self- 
protection; for good and bad alike 
admired and applauded him all over 
the world. The book, abandoned by 
its author, ceased henceforth to be an 
object of interest, and F^nelon was 
the only one who gained any credit 
from a controversy in which good 
men and bad men had been strange- 
ly mixed up together, and fair means 
and foul were used in a fiiiitless en- 
deavor to crush him. 

The last years of Fdnelon were 
passed in Cambrai, of which he was 
both archbishop and duke, and in 
which he was admired and beloved 
by all, whether rich or poor. Faith- 
ftil in the discharge of every pastoral 
duty, he divided his time among the 
poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the 
young, and the ignorant, helping, re- 
lieving, instructing, consoling all. The 
rest of the day he spent among his 
books, or in the company of intellec- 
tual and virtuous friends. The poor- 
est villagers feared not to approach 
and speak to one whose simplicity 
and gentleness they well understood, 
and to whose goodness of heart no 
one ever appealed in vain. 

His peaceful diocese soon became 
the theatre of scenes of bloodshed 
and desolatioOy caused by that war 



Finelofu 



621 



people, and the names of Diderot 
and the Encyclopaedia, of Robes- 
pierre and the Directory, might have 
remained unknown for ever I 

We need not delay here further 
than to say that, while F^nelon look- 
ed into the heart of the people for 
the source of national strength, a 
succession of rapid events sa^ed the 
king from the terrible alternative in 
which he was placed. The Emperor 
Joseph I. died, Marlborough fell into 
disfavor at home, Marshal Villars 
gained the victory of Denain, and 
the whole face of Europe was diang- 
ed. A treaty o( peace was signed at 
Utrecht in 17 13. 

Several of F^nelon's friends died 
in rapid succession, and his loving 
spirit was penetrated with grief at 
their loss. His death was hastened 
beyond doubt by the poignancy of 
his regret at these repeated afflictions. 
Why delay the sequel? His work 
was done, his views of life, his prin- 
ciples of duty to God, to one's coun- 
try and to one's self, had been faith- 
ftdly chronicled by his pen, and taught 
by the example of his serene and pa- 
tient virtue. His hour was come, 
and in loving peace with all mankind, 
with words of faith on his lips, and 
the bright smile of Christian hope on 
his countenance, he breathed forth his 
pinre spirit into the hands of his Ma- 
ker. After his death, no funds were 
discovered belonging tp him. They 
had been all distributed among the 
poor. He was buried without pomp 
in his church of Cambrai. During 
the Reign of Terror, the ancient tombs 
of that church were rifled, the leaden 
coffins were sent to the arsenal to be 
melted into bullets, and their con- 
tents thrown into the common burial 
ground. But when the invaders came 
to the bier of F^nelon, it was borne 
with decency and veneration into the 
dty, and placed in a monument erect- 
ed to his memoij at a time when the 



sepulchres of emperors and kings 
were ruthlessly dismanded, and their 
ashes scattered pitilessly to the four 
winds of heaven. 

Other great men of the age of F^ne- 
lon still live in history; few are ad- 
mired more than he, and none is so 
much loved by men who upon other 
points are far from agreeing together. 
The wish expressed by one of his dis- 
tmguished countrymen, that his me- 
mory might have the same advantage 
as his life, namely, that of making 
men love religion, has been fulfilled. 

He wrote learnedly and eloquendy 
in defence of his faith, and in refuta- 
tion of the views of his opponents; 
and yet he avoids in all his works the 
extremes both of flattery and of harsh- 
ness. Men of all religions recognize 
in him a friend, for all were embraced 
in his world-wide Christian charity; 
and yet they must bear with us, his 
fellow-Catholics, when we claim for 
our church the special honor of hav- 
ing made him the great and good 
man which all acknowledge him to 
have been. The earliest lessons he 
received came from the lips of devot- 
ed Catholic parents; and when his 
will was opened after his death, the 
first words read were the following 
emphatic expressions: **I declare 
that I wish to die in the arms of 
the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman 
Church, my mother. God, who reads 
the heart, and will be my judge, 
knows that tliere has not been an 
instant of my life in which I have not 
cherished for her the submission and 
docility of a little child." A noble 
tribute this, and one which leads us 
to look not despondingly to the tree 
which is capable of producing such 
sound and genial fruit. 

This transient reflection, ladies and 
gentlemen, presents itself naturally to 
the mmd, and nothing is further from 
my thoughts than an attempt to 
eiUist your hearts against youi co^V 



i 

I Cat! 



Igment in favor of tlie Roman authorized teaching*, and slie inti- 



Catliolic Church. The claim which 
that church puts forth to your atten- 
tion is based officially by her on her 
divine right to the reverence of man- 
kind. She has never refused to give 
man the history of her origin, and to 
submit to his earnest scrutiny the 
proofs of her divine commission. She 
claims to be the only institution es- 
tablished on this earth to tc.ich man 
■hat is necessary- that he may be sav- 



mates to every roan who sicis tip; 
altar against herallor that he docsCo^ 
and his fellow- mortals no good SO- 
vice, either temporal or eternal. 

Whatever religious symbolisni 
been ofi'ered in the world hithcno 
a substitute for her apostolic 
has been founded on tlie {H 
that man is fit to lake into lus i 
hands the managcmcDl of tbc •■ 
of his own soul; but the CalboSc' 



ed, and asks and accepts no stinted Church tells man that bis janVt 

or divided allegiance. She alleges judgment is sure to mislead 

distinctly that human reason is unable matters of religion, in Bjiitc of 

without assistance to find and em- aspirations and parity of rateni 

brace the true, and that the human that he is bound not only lo n 

will is unable without assistance to obedience 10 his God, but IB 

find and embrace the good. She un- manner God requires it ; jumI 

dertakes to impart the highest truth thelcss th.-it religious direction i 

and tlie highest good to all who take not be arbitrary ; thai it no more 

her for their guide and their mother, lates the freedom of roan's will 



the strong h.-md of a parent rio 
the freedom of the little child w 
it leads lovingly onward and prweMi 
from falling weakly to the ground. 

No system which presents lomuid 
fort and self-res trainl in the present,ail4 
advantage and freedom ii 
only, can flatter his love of ease and M 
fish enjoyment. He is thus, at intervd 
at least, impatient of order, though ilii 



She has been more cordially hated, 
and more devotedly beloved, than any 
object that history in al! its witness- 
ing can tell of. She claims not only 
to be a teacher, but a teacher endow- 
ed with unerring authority, and offers 
as vouchers for that claim the clear 
promise of her divine Founder, to 
alride with her until the end of time, 
and the lives and deaths of innume- 
rable men and women Uught by her heaven'sfirsttaw;oflegislation, 
lo live perfectly upon earth. She has it h.is for its object the greatest 
never disguised the greatness of that of the greatest number, of 
sactificeofsclfwhichmustbemadeby though its proper aim is to makceai 
every man who would enjoy the peace a friend and a helper to all, and ^ 
here and the iramorlahty of happiness friends and helpers lo each; and at 
hereafter, which she pledges to her science, that teaches him the Um 
faithful children ; but she promises, in of nature and the sad effects of 
the name of God, supernatural assis- violation. By the same spirit ii 
lance for making that sacrifice in spite urged to resent and cast off the n- 
of its seeming terrors. She uses no ei- straints imposed upon him by rdlgioa 
forts lo gain popularity; her system and the church. But in thiscase^ 
moves slowly, and rarely in such form in the others the opposition CQ 
as to take advantage of the interests not from reason ; it is the uprians at 
or aspirations of the day. She never selfish interest or passion, 
aims to be found on the side of hu- speak out for the whole man, and tat 
man pas»ons. She hesitates not to all time. 
condemn those who differ with her Again, thai which is spolteo 



Dion and tlie Sibyls. 



623 



as tlie church is not the church ; that 
which is spoken against as the belief, 
or practice, or requirement of the 
church, is hers perhaps in appearance, 
but in very truth it is not what she 
upholds, but what she reproves and 
opposes. There is a weird present- 
ment bodied forth in English litera- 
ture and called popery. It is certain- 
ly a figure of no amiable or attrac- 
tive lineaments ; it is worthy of the 
hatred of honest men. But it is not 
the Catholic Church. If the Catho- 
lic Church were the same thing as 
this ghost which goes by the name of 
popery, we should hate it too ; for it 
deserves to be hated, and we are men 
possessing the same faculties as our 
neighbors who hate it We do not 
hate the Catholic Church; we love 
her, and honor her as our mother, 
and so would our neighbors, if they 
saw her and knew her as we do. 

Let ms here understand the thing 
plainly. I uphold the doctrine and 
the practice of the Catholic Church; 
for I believe her to be the true church 
that the Son of God established on 



this earth, and ransomed at the price 
of his precious blood. But I can say 
for myself and for every Catholic who 
has been properly instructed in his 
religion, that we do not undertake to 
defend what has been done weakly 
or wickedly by men, even though 
they too called themselves Catholics. 

I believe that light travels from east 
to west, and the faith which Judca 
gave to Rome, and Rome to Europe, 
and Europe to us, is the faith by 
which we are to be saved, if saved at 
all. But while thanking Europe for 
the true religion, I pray to my God 
that all the ancient feuds and heart- 
burnings which have distracted older 
countries in the name of religion may 
not be transplanted to this virgin soil 

AUow me to close my remarks, ladies 
and gentleman, with the heart-felt 
wish that we may all live faithful to 
our honest convictions, preach our 
religion by word and example, and 
force upon each other nothing but 
the endearing offices of fhitemal cha- 
rity. 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 



BY MILES GERALD REON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUOA| AUTHOR OP 

'< HARDING THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC. 



PART II. 



CHAPTER I. 



The die was cast, and Paulus went 
away plighted to an undertaking 
which appeared sufficiently arduous, 
and some of the chances of which 
were even full of horror. 

The news of the arrangement 
spfefid through the palace of the Ma- 



murras before he had well quitted 
Formiae. From the palace it circulat- 
ed through the town, from the town 
it reached the camp the same eve- 
ning; and next day the surrounding 
country knew it. Carrier-pigeons* 
had borne to Rome a hint of the gay- 
eties, the interest, and the splendor 

* It was some fifty years before, at the siege of Mo- 
dena, that the first recorded instance, so fiir at I am 
aware, occurred of making the picsoa aUmte-osoRst. 



2)ieH and M< Sifyls. 



which the simultaneous occurrence of 
the emperor's visit, and the collection 
of an anny for real lighting puqjoses, 
(in fact, to repel the German invasion,) 
were iUtely to call forth in the old 
Latian town; and now the same 
aerial messengers apprised many a 
sated circus^oer in the capital that 
a very pretty novelty indeed would 
be added to the contests of gladia- 
tors and the battles of wild beasts. 

The concourse pouring into and 
converging from all parts toward For- 
mia:, which had already been so ex- 
tensive, increased, therefore, into an 
enormous concentric movement. No- 
thing can better show what a prodi- 
gious multitude was thus accidentally 
collected than the fact that, even at 
Rome, (which then contained four 
millions of inhabitants,) a diminution 
of pressure was perceptible, for the 
time, to those who remained. This 
change resembled what Londoners 
experience on the Derby day. 

Paulus, that evening, having pass- 
ed a considerable time with his mother 
and sister, (to whom he communicat- 
ed the fact of his engagement with- 
out alarming them by explaining its 
peculiar horrors,) (clt little inclined to 
sleep. When, therefore, the lanista 
Thellus, who had, as Claudius said he 
would invite him to do, brought back 
Benigna to Crispus's inn, was taking 
his leave of the Lady Aglais and of 
Agaiha, Pauius said to him, 

" Do not go soon; but come down 
into the garden and let us take a 
stroll. We may not often be able to 
converse with each other hereafter." 

" Gladly, my valiant youth," said 
Thellus; and they descended toge- 
ther. 

A beautiful starry and moonlit 
nighl looked down over Italy, as 
they sauntered in the fragrant gaJrden, 
conversing a little and then relapsing 
into thoughtful silence. 

Presently Thellus said, 



"This adventure of jrouis makcj 
me unhappy." 

" Well," returned Pauius, " my mo- 
ther and sister have such nectl ul mj 
protection that 1 feel ao levity alwut 
it myself. I confess that it b a gnve 
business." 

Tliey now walked up and dawn 
the laurel alley a few tams, alunrbcd 
in thought. 

Suddenly two men approached tbem 
along two different gravd-walks fai 
the garden, one dressed as a slave, 
the other in the uniform of a decurioa, 
a legionary officer, slightly more i 
portant than a modern sergeant i 
the line in the English army.. 

The slave had one of the wti 
countenances, and the decurion onci 
the most honest, that Pauius in I 
very limited or 'llicllus in his iminai 
experience had ever beheld. Paul 
recognized the slave at once ; it « 
that Lygdus who had endeavored 
bring him to the ground by a sidc^we 
of Cneius Piso's sword, which tU 
man, as the reader wiU rcmembc^ 
was carrying at the time. 

The decurion gave Pauius ; 
directed in the same handi 
folded in the same style, and its 
thread sealed with the same 
of a frog, as a certain communicaiM 
which he had once before reccivcdi 
The moon shone high, anil i 
calm was the night that it pi 
easy to read the bold charac^n. 
They ran thus : 

"Velleius Paterculus, military 
bune, salutes Pauius Lepidus 
lius. Renounce this absurd 
ment, which cannot concern 
It is yet possible, but will be loo 
to-morrow, to plead ignorance of ^ 
youwcreundertaking. Leave wr 
ed slaves to their fate I — Vale." 

Pauius, alter reading this note, 1 

gcd the decurion to wait, and, t 

ing to Lygdus, asked his bminen 

The slave stated his namci 



Dion and the Sifyls. 



625 



said he was appointed to receive, 
dating from the day after the next, 
the provender which he understood 
Paulus to be desirous of furnishing 
for the use of the Sejan horse. 

" Has Tiberius Csesar appomted 
you." 

" Sir, yes.** 

*« Of course, then, you are used to 
horses?" 

**Sir, I have always belonged to 
the stable," said Lygdus. 

^ But," pursued Paulus, " am I then 
forbidden to enter the stable myself, 
and make acquaintance with the 
horse I have to break ?" 

" Sir, I have orders," answered this 
Lygdus — who, as I think I have al- 
ready mentioned, was destined, as 
the instrument of Cneius Piso and 
Plancina, some few years later, to be 
the cruel assassin of Germanicus — " I 
have orders always to admit you, and 
always to watch you." 

" You to watch a Roman knight !" 

"For that matter, most honored 
sir," answered Lygdus, " the rank of 
the person watched does not alter 
the eyes of the watcher. I could 
watch a Roman senator, or even a 
Roman Csesar, if necessary." 

**I will be security you could,' 
said Thellus, whose great and almost 
diaphanous nostrils quivered as he 
spoke. 

Lygdus, by way of answer, with- 
drew a pace. 

The decurion, meanwhile, had tak- 
en off his helmet, and the starry hea- 
vens were not more clear than his 
indignant, simple countenance. 

" It is well," said Paulus. " I will 
ask for you at Formiae. Go now." 

Lygdus therefore went away. 

** Decurion," said Paulus, "say to 
the esteemed Velleius Paterculus that 
I am very grateful to him; but what 
must be, must be." 

" And what is M<j/, noble sir?" anr 
swered the decurion, ^in case my 
VOL. 3CL — ^40 



commanding officer should ask me 
for an explanation ?" 

** That I have given my word ad- 
vertently, and will keep it faithfully," 
replied Paulus. 

" Is this, noble sir," said the decu- 
rion," what you mean by ^Aat which 
must be?'* 

" Have I, then," answered Paulus, 
" said any thing obscure or confused ?" 

"Only something unusual, excel- 
lent sir," said the decurion ; " but not 
any thing confused or obscure. Per- 
mit me to add, that the whole camp 
knows the circumstances of this mis- 
erable undertaking, and wishes you 
well ; and I feel in my single bosbm 
the good wishes of the whole camp 
for your success." 

" What is your name, brave decu- 
rion ?" 

" Longinus." 

" Well," replied Paulus, " if I sur- 
vive the struggle with this creature, 
I mean to join the expedition of 
Germanicus Caesar, and I will have 
my eye upon you. I should like to 
be your informant that you were pro- 
moted to a higher rank, and to call 
you the Centurion Longinus J* 

Tears were standing in the Roman 
decurion's eyes as he bowed to take 
leave. 

Thellus and Paulus, being now left 
again alone, resumed their walk up 
and down the laiurel alley. 

"I am not so conversant with 
horses," observed Thellus, "as I 
could for your sake at present wish to 
be. But all animals, I notice, are 
more quiet when blindedP 

At this moment the branches of a 
cross-walk rustled, and a stately figure 
in the Greek lana (;^Aaivo) approach- 
ed them. 

" Are you not -^milius, the nephew 
of the triumvir ?" asked the strangen. 

" Yes," replied Paulus. 

" Who is this ?" continued the new- 
comer, looking at Thellus. " I ba^^ 



r626 



Dtoii and the Sibyls. 



^ 



something to say whicii r 
your safely," 

" Vou may trust this brave man," 
saidPaulus; "itismylriendThellus." 

" Well," pursued the other, in a very 
low tone, " take this little pot of oint- 
ment ; and two hours before you have 
to ride the Sejan horse, go into liis 
stable, make friends with him, and 
rub his nostrils with the contents. He 
will be then muzzled, you know. You 
ftill find him afterward docile." 

" Whom have I to thank for so 
much interest in me ?" demanded 
Paul us. 

" My name is Charides," replied 
the stranger hesitatingly, and still 
speaking almost in a whisper; "and 
I have the honor of numbering Di- 
onysius of Athens among the best of 
my friends." 

" My mother," returned Paulus, 
" would, I think, be glad to see you 
wme day soon." 

" I shall feel it an honor ; but pray 
excuse me to her to-night," said Cha- 
rides. "Tiberius Cxsar knows no- 
thing of my absence, and I had bet- 
ter return at once to Forraiic I will 
visit you again." 

" But would this ointment injure 
the horse ?" inquired Paulus. 

" Not by any means," said Chari- 
clcs; "it comes torn a distant east- 
em land. It will merely make him 
sleepy. I have been more than an hour 
and a half handling tlie ingredients, 
and I can hardly keep awake myself. 
Forgive ray huny — farewell" And 
the stately Greek made an obeisance 
as he disappeared. 

Faulus remained, holding the pot, 
which consisted of some kind of por- 
cel^, in his hand, and looking at it, 
when Thellus exclaimed, 

" Why, this laurel hedge is alive !" 

In a moment he had sprung through 
it and returned, dragging in his mighty 
grasp Lygdus the slave. 

Not yet departed ?" said Thellus. 



" Sir, I was asleqi," replied 
slave, with a look of terror. 

*' I have but to tighten my &og( 
cried Thellus, " and you will slcflj 
as not to awake in a hurry." i 

" Thellus," observed Paulus, •• t 
not depending either on this 
knowledge or on this man's ign< . 
I have quite other hopes and *A 
grounds of confidence. Let liim 

" Ah 1" said Thellus, " 1 would 
tohave the chastising of you- Bu 
as this noble gentleman desires', 
then, as the young Romao kirf 

He shook the reptile-headed, d«ri 
looking, and side-looking slave * 
and the latter disappeared. 

" O friend and noble sir 1" 
Thellus, "it nearly breaks my 1 
to see you thus bound hand and 
and doomed to destruction." « 

" Have a good heart, dearTbd| 
said Paulus. 

So they parted, the gladiator 
ing to his vehicle, and Paulus i 
to his room, where, as he lay 
bed and listened to the plasli of 
fountain in the impluvium, he sil 
and calmly offered back to the ; 
unknown God whom Dionysius 
shipped the life which he, tbalf 
known Deity, could alone have g 

CHAPTER II. 

Next morning, before the d 
were out of their beds, Phylis thei 
had returned from Monte Ciiv 
with the following note : 

" Marcus Lepidus ^milius 
the widow of his brave and w 
brother. Come with your chJI4 
The last of mine has, alas I died 
the clemency of one man, and 4 
liberality of another. The clcH 
man is Augustus, the liberal man 
Mxcenas. Ail that I now refM| 
yours ; and yours shall be oU I 
be able to leave, FarewcU." 



J 



Dion and Hu Sibyh. 



62T 



But despite of this note, Paulus 
could not persuade his mother to de- 
part from that neighborhood till after 
the trifling display of horsemanship, 
as he called it, which he had to afford 
for the amusement of the Roman world 
on the evening of the third day en- 
suing. A little ruffled at his failure 
to persuade the Lady Aglais to go 
away, he summoned their freedman 
Philip, and with him for a companion 
started on foot for Formiae before 
noon, along a road as thronged at 
that moment and as animated as the 
road to Epsom is the eve of what 
Lord Palmerston has rather affected- 
ly, and, as applied to an annual event, 
very incorrectly, called the Isthmian 
games of England. 

Scarcely had he and Philip entered 
the southern gate, when they noticed 
a little crowd around some nurses, 
one of whom, apparently a Nubian, 
held the hand of a magnificently-at- 
tired child of any age between five 
and eight At his side was an eastern- 
looking youth of about eighteen, whom 
the reader has met before. Thellus 
the gladiator was standing with folded 
arms on the outskirts of the suddenly- 
collected concourse. The child had 
dropped some toy, which a dog had 
seized in his mouth, and had thereby 
defaced. The dog was now a prison- 
er, held fast by the throat in a slave's 
hands. 

" The poor dog knew not what he 
was doing,'' said the nurse. 

" I care nothing for that," cried the 
child, who was purple with passion. 
" Strangle him, Lygdus." 

And accordingly Lygdus tightened 
his grasp of the dog's throat till the 
animal's tongue was thrust forth ; the 
grasp was yet longer maintained, and 
the dog was throttled dead. 

" Is it dead ?" screamed the child. 

" Quite ; see," replied Lygdus, cast- 
mg away upon the street the breath- 
less carcasSi 



« Ah I beautiful !" cried the child ; 
" now come away." 

'' Nice and neat as an execution," 
said a powerfully-built, dusky, middle- 
aged man, having a long, ruddy beard, 
streaked with gray, around whom 
were several slaves in Asiatic dress. 
This person also the reader has met 
before. "But," added he, "I am 
going up for my own trial, and I hope 
it will not be followed by another exe- 
cution." 

"I only hope it w/V/," cried the 
interesting child. '' What fun it would 
be to see a man strangled." 

"Who is that infant monster, Thel- 
lus ?" asked Paulus.* 

" He is the son of Germanicus and 
Agrippina ; his name is Caius. You 
see, young as he is, he already wears 
the ca/i£^ of the common soldiers, 
among whom he continually lives. 
It is his delight. They nickname 
him Caligula. Do you know, there 
are good chances he yet wears the 
purple, and succeeds Augustus, or at 
least Augustus's next heir, as emperor 
of the world." 

" Happy world will it be under his 
•rule," said Paulus. 

Suddenly there were cries of" Make 
way." Lictors moved, making large 
room among the crowd. Sejanus ap- 
peared in the robes of a praetor ; and 
Paulus and his fiiend Thellus found 
themselves borne along, like leaves in 
a stream, toward the back of the 
Mamurran palace, in a large room on 
the ground floor of which they pre- 
sently beKeld the big, dusky-colored 
man of fifty or thereabouts, with the 
long, ruddy, gray-streaked beard, 
standing before a sort of bar. Behind 
the bar, on a chair of state, like the 
ciu-ule chair of the senators, Augiistus 

• 

* I am aware of an apparent anachronism here of 
some four or five years, according to Dio, Tacitus, 
Suetonius, and others ; btit Caligula was, I think, m 
few years older than these authors re{Mresent ; for 
Josephus furnishes a somewhat different calendar 
from thein. 



62g 



Dum and tht Sibyh^ 



vsssittiDg. Acrowdof Cunonsper- 
sonSf maiiT of whom we have ahready 
had occasioQ to mcntioii, stood be- 
hind him, and on eidier hand Livy,' 
Ludos Varius, Haterius, Domitius 
Am; Antistios Labio, Germanictis^ 
and TlberiiB Caesar were there. In 
a TOW b^iind were Cneius Piso, 
Fontins Pilate, and the boy Herod 
Agr^)pa. 

"^And so," said Augustus, ''you 
tell us vou are the son of Herod the 
Great, as he is called ; in other words, 
Herod the Idumxan ; his son Alexan- 
der?'* 

*• We have seen," said Paulus to 
ThcUus, in a whisper, '* the fate of a 
ifog ; we are now to learn that of a 
king, or a pretender to the dignity.** 

*^ Great and dread commander, 
such I am»*' answered the red-beard- 
ed^ big, dark man. 

*• But," said Augustus, ** the acoed- 
iced rumor runs that Herod condemn- 
ed his two sons« Aristobulus and Al- 
exander, to death. Nay, I have the 
^^v'kd re|>ort sent to me at the time by 
the prctlvt of Syria, and letters firom 
Hcrvxl (he Iduxnxan himsel£" 

*' lloKvl condemned them, but the 
exev'Utioncr killed others instead." an- 
swerevl the Jew. *• Tfuy escaped to 
Sidon." 

*• Pu*m and they f* said Augustus ; 
** you mean that others were executed 
insteavl oii/umf'^ 

" Ves, mv commander." 

'• Why do you not," pursued Au- 
gustus, "say INSTEAD OF us?" 

** 1 do not understand," replied the 
Jew. 

"Aie you not," asked Augustus, 
'• one of them ?" 

•• I am the son of Herod." 

**You s))eak as though you had 
gone out of that person. You speak 
rather like a historian than like a suf- 
ferer and an actor. You are talking 
of yourself and your brother, yet you 
say THEY, not WE 1" 



^ Such is the style of the east; em- 
peror." 

^Pardon me," said Augustus; ^I 
know the style of the east peifecdy 
well Solve me now another diffi- 
culty: I also wdl know Herod the 
Idumaean, many cases connected with 
whom were htigated before me, and 
decided by me. Now, I never knew 
a man who, having determined that 
any body was to die, toc^ such me- 
thodical pains to carry that deter- 
mination into effect He dealt large- 
ly in executions; and if there was 
a person in the world, it was Herod, 
who saw with lus own eyes that his 
intended executions should be reali- 
ties." 

" Mine was not," said the Jew, and 
a laugh arose in court '^ All the Jews 
in Sidon know that I am Alexander, 
son of Herod; all those in Crete know 
it; all those in Mdas know it; and 
when I landed at Dicearchia, all the 
Jews received me as their king; and 
you are not ignorant, great emperor, 
that thousands of my countrymen in 
Rome, the other day, carried roe upon 
a royal litter through the streets, and 
clothed me in royal robes and orna- 
ments, and received me, wherever I 
went, with shouts of welcome xis He- 
rod's son." 

^ And you have then," replied Au- 
gustus, after a pause, " been nurtured 
as a royal person is in the east ?" 

" Always," answered the Jew. 

"I myself," returned Augustus, 
** have seen and known the son Alex- 
ander, as well as his father Herod; 
and though you are not unlike the 
son, yet you — shmv me your handsP 

The Jew stretched forth his hands. 

" Those hands have toiled from in- 
fancy. Uncover your neck and shoul- 
ders." 

This was done. 

Augustus immediately ordered the 
room to be cleared ; and it was after- 
ward known that he had extorted a 



Dion and tJu Sibyls. 



67^ 



confession of his imposture from this 
Alexander ; and that, sparing his life, 
he condemned him to row one of the 
state galleys in chains for the rest of 
his days. 

'' Not much like dotage, all this,** 
muttered Tiberius to Cneius Piso. 

The eastem4ooking youth, holding 
the hand of the child Caius Caligula, 
and followed by Pontius Pilate, w£dt< 
ed for Augustus in a passage — through 
which Paulus and Thellus were now 
trying to make their way into the 
street. 

When the emperor came out, ob- 
serving that the youth desired to 
speak with him, he stopped, saying, 

** What wish you, Herod Agrippa ?" 

•Emperor, I have told you that 
this man is not my unde." 

** And I," said Augustus " have now 
settled the question. He is not" 

** This officer behind me (Pilate is 
his name) has been very obliging to 
us ever since our arrival I wish, my 
sovereign, you would send him to 
Judea as procurator." 

•* He is too young," replied Augus- 
tus ; ''but I will put his name in my 
tablets. Perhaps, under my succes- 
sor, he may obtain the office." 

" I want a favor," cried the child 
Caius. 

" What is it, orator ?" asked Augus- 
tus. (Caligula displayed as a child a 
precocious volubility of speech, which 
procured him the epithet by which 
he was now addressed.) 

**That man, that black Jew — who 
pretended to be my friend's imcle— 
won't you put him to death ?" 

** Externi sutit isH ntores^^ replied 
Augustus, quoting Cicero; "that 
would be quite a foreign proceeding. 
The anger that sheds unnecessary 
blood belongs to the levity of the 
Asiatics, or the truculence of barba- 
rians." 

Meanwhile Paulus and Thellus, 
who had unavoidably overheard these 



scraps of conversation, emerged now 
once more into the street, and Thel^ 
lus guided Paulus to the stables of 
Tiberius Caesar, where they f(9und 
Lygdus expecting the visit. He led 
them into a long range of buildings, 
and showed them, standing in a stall 
which had a door to itself, so contriv- 
ed as to avoid the necessity of let^ 
ting any other horses, when coming 
or going, pass him without some in-' 
tervening protection, the &mous Se- 
jan steed. The walls were tapestried 
with leafy vine-bou^is, and tiie stable 
seemed veiy cool, dean, and well 
kept 

The stature of the ominous horse, 
as we have had occasion already to 
mention, was unusually large; but the 
fineness of his form took away the 
idea of unwieldiness, and gave a 
guarantee of both power and speed. 
However, any person who had stu- 
died horses, and was learned in their 
faints^ (which to a great extent mere- 
ly means learned in their anatomy,) 
would at a glance have condemned 
this one's head. It was, indeed, not 
lacking in physical degance, although 
not lean enough; the forehead was 
very broad, but the eye was not suffi- 
ciently prominent nor mild in expres- 
sion, and it shot forth a restless light; 
the muzzle and the ears, moreover, 
were coarse; the bones, firom the e3re 
down, were too concave, and the nos* 
tril appeared to be too thick. Some- 
thing untrustworthy, and almost wick- 
ed, characterized the expression of 
the head altogether. The jaws were 
wide, and the neck was extraordinarily 
deep. The shoulders were not so 
fiat or so thin as the Romans liked 
them to be; the girth round the heart 
was vast; the chest broad and full; 
the body barrd-shaped. The limbs 
were long, (which, says Captain No- 
lan, ''is weakness, not power;") but 
then the bones were everywhere well 
covered with nuisde, the hiiid4e^ 



D$0H and the Sibyls. 



631 



IS drank a little, wiped the 
f the flask with a vine-leaf, 
ered it once more to Philip, 

first and second of your re- 
em to me to be appropriate, 

I think the Gaulish riders 
the ^tolians. I should like 
lie third circumstance." 

sipped some of the wine, 
k the vessel to the slave, and 

third has relation to your 
I fear.' My master, Paulus 
^milius, has been born and 
fear death not over-much." 
ol /" cried Lygdus ; " what is 
red more ?" 

," said Philip, " various things 
5, and /fancy so too. Con- 
that all men must die, and 
inly once, and that it has be- 
lehow, I suppose, by practice 
se, as natural as to be born, 
we have been doing nothing 
sands of years but making 
rach other in that manner, it 
: an error to look upon death 
greatest evil. Why, man, I 
3 mad if that which none can 
LS the greatest evil that any 

• 

^//" exclaimed the slave 
*you are apparently right, 
t can be conceived worse 
ath? You mean immense 
g continuing; in which case 
in would put an end to him- 

/" returned Philip; "but it 
J useless to reason with such 

You should have heard, as 
heard him, Dionysius the 

upon this topic. When you 
:h deflections, is it your big 
example, or your belly, or 
)w, or any part of your body, 
es them ? You may put an 
)ur body, and we know what 
of it. When it is no longer 



fit, as the young Athenian says, to be 
the house of that which thinks and 
reflects within it, this last departs; for 
the body, once dead, ceases to think or 
reflect, and as soon as the thinker does 
thus depart, the body rots. 

" But that other thing which kept 
the body from rotting, that other thing 
which thinks and reflects, and which 
is conscious that it is always the same, 
that it always has been itself — ^that 
other thing which knows its own un- 
alterable identity through all the 
changes of the body, from squalling 
childhood to stiff-kneed age — ^how can 
that other thing, which may easily 
depart out of the body and leave it to 
perish, depart out of itself f A thing 
may leave another thing; but how 
can any thing be left by itself? When 
this thing, says Dionysius, goes away 
from the body, the body always dies. 
It was, therefore, the body's life. But 
out of its own self this life cannot go 
(can any thing go out of itself?) and 
if it goes out of the body unbidden, 
what will it say to him who had put 
it therein when he asks, Sentinel, why 
have you quitted your post? Ser- 
vant, why have you left your charge ? 
What brings you hither ? I am angry 
with you I What will this always con- 
scious, always identical thing, then re- 
ply?" 

"You frighten me," said Lygdus. 
" What, then, can be more feared by 
a reasonable man than death ?" 

" My young master, for example," 
replied Philip, " so long, be it always 
understood, as he is not his own 
murderer, would prefer to die in hon- 
or than to live in shame. His father, 
the brave Roman tribune, used to 
say to him as a boy, that a disgraced 
life was worse than a useless life, and 
a useless life worse than a noble death. 
But who comes hither ?" 

The interesting little child Caius 
Caligula, and the boy Herod Agrippa, 
entered the stable as Philip spoke. 



Dion emd the Sibyts. 



^3 



certainiDg that the injury was super- 
ficial, they returned to the stable, 
where they were now lefl alone. 

" I heard him tell you, my master," 
said Philip to Faulus, '^ that he would 
fasten his eyes upon you, when you 
moimted yonder brute ; now, he will 
not open those eyes for a week, and 
whatever happens to you, he is not 
going to see iL He is not seriously 
hurt; he'll be as well as ever in ten 
days ; but for the present his beauty 
is spoilt, and he*s as blind as the 
dead." 

Paulus now in a low tone related 
to the freedman, whose services 
would be necessary in the matter, the 
visit of Charides, and the gift to him 
by that learned man of an unguent 
which, if rubbed into the horse's nos« 
trils, would render him sleepy, and, 
therefore, quiet The old servant ex- 
pressed great wonder and admiration 
at such a device, and Paulus felt with 
his hand for the litde porcelain pot 
where he remembered to have placed 
it Needless to say, it was gone. 

**Well," said the youth, after a few 
questions and answers had been ex- 
changed, "I must even take my 
chance without it Charicles, I hear, 
has just been summoned to Rome, so 
that I cannot get any more of the 
compound. Farewell ; I must now re- 
turn to Crispus's inn," 

CHAPTER III. 

The day when the singular strug- 
g^ was to occur, the expectation of 
which had excited such curiosity, arose 
bright, breezeless, and sultry, and so 
continued till long past noon; but 
the sun was now sinking toward the 
Tyrrhenian Sea, and a cool, soft air 
had begun to blow as the hour ap- 
proached when the nephew of the 
triumvir was to mount the horse Se- 
janus, in the presence of such a mul- 
titude .as the fields of Formiae had 



never before beheld, whether in times 
of peace or times of war. 

At the distance of a few miles on 
every side, the fair vales and slopes 
of Italy presented the appearance of 
a deserted land, over which no sound 
was heard save the drowsy hum of 
insects, the occasional sough of the 
rising breeze in the tops of the woods, 
and, predominant over all, far and 
near, the piercing ring of the cicala, 
with its musical rise and fall and its 
measured intervals. The fire of the 
way-side forge lay under its ashes; 
all its anger taldng rest, its hoarse 
roar asleep, till the breath of the bel- 
lows should once more awaken it to 
resistance and torment it into fury. 
All the labors of tillage were suspend- 
ed ; the plough wearied no team of 
oxen; litde girls were watching the 
flocks and herds. Their fathers and 
mothers and brothers had all gone 
away since early morning, and would 
not return till nightfall. A lonely 
traveller from the south, whose horse 
had cast a shoe and fallen lame, had 
no alternative but to take off bridle 
and housings, leave them under a tree 
in charge of a little damsel five or six 
years old, turn his steed loose in a 
soft field of clover, and continue his 
own journey on foot along the silent 
highway, amid the silent land. 

The seats of the temporary amphi- 
theatre were all filled; while within 
and beneath them, standing, but 
standing on three several elevations, 
contrived by means of planks, (the 
reannost being the highest,) were six 
ranks of soldiers from the camp ; the 
two inner ranks consisting exclusive- 
ly of iElius Sejanus's praetorians. Im- 
mediately behind the centre of the 
amphitheatre, where Augustus with 
his court sat upon a strongly-built, 
lofly, and somewhat projecting wood- 
en platform, canopied fi-om the "glare, 
a grove of tall and shady trees o£fer- 
ed in their branches an accommoda- 



{ 



Hum and tht Sibyls. 



635 



wish every one present was 
blind at this very moment," said 
ar child. 

iianks, orator, on the part of all 
resent," answered Piso. 
nderstand me — only for the mo- 
' hastily returned Caligula ; " I 

give them their sight again 
I recovered my own." A pause, 
even when to-day's sliow was 
Derhaps." 

lie yet he spoke, the hum and 
ar, which had been incessant, 
ipidly away. 

hat is it ?" asked Caligula, 
lie Sejan horse is being led into 
ena; two men, as usual, hold 
ivassons on opposite sides. He 
zzled; two other grooms are 
lackening the muzzle, in order 

the bit well back between his 
by pulling up the reins which 
ider the muzzle, as the horse 
his mouth. 

ley have the bit properly plac- 
w, and have quitted his head, 
ivhat a spring! It has jerked 
rther cavasson-holder clean oflf 
et. O gods! he has lost the 
on, and the other man must be 
yed. No, bravo! the fellow 
jgained the loop of liis rein or 
and hauls the beast handsome- 
k!" 

ow can one man on either side," 
Caligula, " hold him ? I have 
vfo on each side." 
understand," replied Piso; but 
he could finish his explanation 
lark, or whatever it was design- 
be, a sudden and impressive si- 
fell upon that vast assembly, 
iso stopped short, 
hat has happened now ?" whis- 
the child. 

iie rider has come forth," an- 
1 Piso, " and is walking toward 
jrse from the direction of the 
space in front of us. By Jupi- 



ter! a splendid youth ; it is not to be 
denied." 

*' How is he dressed ? Has he his 
whip and stimuli (spurs)? He will 
not need such helps, I surmise." 

<^ He has no spurs, and he carries 
nothing in his hands. He wears that 
foreign-looking head-gear, the broad- 
rimmed petasus, as a shade, no doubt, 
against the level rays of the sunset ; for 
I see he is giving directions to the 
grooms, and they are contriving to 
bring the horse round with his head 
toward the west. Ah I he thus faces 
the opening ; I dare say he will try 
to push the animal into the excite- 
ment of a grand rush, and thus wear}' 
him at the outset In that case, we 
shall not see much of the business; 
he will be miles away over the coun- 
try in a few minutes.** 

"You will find that such an injus- 
tice will not be allowed," answered 
the child. " We must not be cheated 
out of our rights." 

"His tunic," continued Piso, "is 
belted tight, and I perceive that he 
wears some kind of greaves, which 
reach higher than the knee, that will 
protect him from the brute's teeth. 
Moreover, I notice a contrivance in 
the horse's housings to rest the feet — 
you might call them stapedtB ; they 
seem to be made of plaited hide." 

" I don't care for his greaves," re- ' 
turned the child; "the teeth may not 
wound him, but they will pull him 
off or make him lose his balance all 
the same. It is agreed, is it not, that, 
as soon as he is mounted, the muzzle 
is to be slipped oft* the horse ?" 

" Certainly," said Piso. 

"Then the rest is certain," said 
the other. " How is it contrived, do 
you know?" added he. 

"The muzzle consists of a mere 
roll of hide," replied Piso ; " and it is 
those long reins alone which keep it 
folded, being passed in opposite di- 



Dum and thg Sifyb. 



637 



(with scores of similar stairs) the means 
contrived for reaching and quitting 
the higher seats in the temporary cir- 
cus. A few moments afterward, he 
was seen in the arena nding by the 
side of Tiberius to and fro. 

" Now, slave, remember your duty," 
cried the child Caligula; '' let nothing 
tscsipeyaur eyes or my ears. What 
next?" 

"Those queer-looking staves, my 
lord, which the illustrious Cneius Pi- 
so has mentioned as being in the 
hands of Thellus, have passed into 
diose of the young knight, who is to 
conquer the terrible brute." 

** What ? the two truncheons with 
black, thick ends, and the rest of their 
length sheathed in metal ? do you say 
that the knight Paulus has taken them 
into his hands ? What good can they 
do him ?" 

" Yes, my lord ; he has now passed 
both of them into his left hand, and 
holds them by the thin ends. Thel- 
lus has withdrawn a few paces ; the 
old freedman, Philip, remains still near 
Ac youth. Hal" 

« What 1" 

"Tiberius C«sar has signalled the 
trena to be cleared. O gods! we 
shall soon see the issue now. I care 
not for my freedom ; I care for the 
afety of that brave young knight." 

•• Does he, then, seem to shrink ?" 
asked the child. 

** I do not," replied Claudius, " ob- 
serve any shrinking, my lord. It is I 
who shrink. He has drawn slowlv 
near the horse in front, and stands 
about half a yard from his left shoul- 
der. He is following Tiberius Caesar 
with his eyes." 

« Go on !" 

" The arena is now clear of all save 
on the one hand the two Caesars and 
their retinues, who have taken their 
stand very near to us, just opposite to 
and beneath this platform, my lord; 
and on the other handi the group 



around that horrible animal. Ah! 
me miserable! Tiberius Caesar lifts his 
hand, and you hear the trumpet ! That 
is the signal." 

" I heax: it ! I hear it 1" cried the 
child, in a sort of ecstasy. " What 
follows now ? Has the knight Pau- 
lus mounted ?" 

" No, my lord ; he has — " 

** He shrinks, does he not ?" inter- 
rupted the other with a taunting gig- 
gle. 

" The horse trembles in every limb," 
said the slave ; '^ his nostrils dilate and 
quiver, and show scarlet, as if on Are; 
and his eyes shoot forth a blood-red 
gleam, and he has stooped his head, 
and—" 

" But the man, the man ?" scream- 
ed Caius ; '^ what of him ? Has he 
not failed, I say — lost heart ?" 

The most profound stillness had 
succeeded to the hubbub of blended 
sounds which a moment previously 
filled the ari 

A trumpet blew a shrill prolonged 
minor note, and the child, laying his 
hand upon Claudius's shoulder, and 
shaking him violently, cried to him to 
proceed with his descriptions; ad- 
dressing to him again the query, << Has 
that young man mounted ? And if 
so, in what style, with what success ?" 

Notwithstanding the despotic im- 
patience with which the inquiries 
were urged, the slave Claudius did 
not at first reply ; and the infant heard 
rapid, eager murmurs on all sides fol- 
low the trumpet blast, then a general 
burst of exclamations, which were in- 
stantly hushed. 

" Why do you not speak ?" said 
Caius, in a species of whispered scream. 

" Pardon a momentary abstraction," 
replied Claudius. " While the trum- 
pet was yet sounding, the young 
knight Paulus took off his hat quick- 
ly, and bowed toward Tiberius Caesar 
and the emperor ; and replacing his 
hat, he beckoned to the freedman PhL 



638 



ZHait and t/u SU^ 



lip. This last has approached him, " Wh 

and they arc even now speaking to- " I fc 

gethcr." "I ■ 

"Hal ha!" interrupted the child; said the 

" then he has not mounted. He nei- hoise to 

ther dares nor can he." your vi 

"Philip," pursued Claudius, **ha» fearthel 

opened the lantern ; his young mas- then to 

ter is thrusting the staves toward the horsema 

light ; the ends have caught fire, in a " Anc 

dull degree, with some smoke accom- sir," rei 

panying the flame. He turns quick- have lu 

ly away from the freedman, and hold- youth, 

ing the staves still in his left hand, loose, 

and a little away, he approaches the and the 

horse; now he stands with his feet seems oi 

close together. Oh ! he has sprung a demigi 

clean from the ground ; he is in his " Is h 

seat. He has seized the bridle in his " Noj 

right hand, and carried it to his mouth ; but is o£ 

he takes it between his teeth. He is " Exp 

now relieving his left hand of one of proceed 

those torches ; he holds one in each " The 

liand, somewhat away from the body, plunges, 

nearly horizontal. The cavasson- nearly g 

holders at a distance are removing tion upo 

the muzzle, and the rider sends his pawing t 

feet firmly, yet I think not very far, edtobe. 

through those rests which the illustri. he had 1: 

ous Cneius Piso mentioned, those sl<t- quickly ] 

peifa of hide, the like of which I never the far si 

saw before. I wonder they are not die from 

always used." the hitht 

" What of the horse ? Is he mo- the eras 

tionless?" have cor 

" Not less so than a statue," repli- ed to be 

ed the slave ; " excepting the eyes and but after 

nostrils, which last exhibit a tremu- seconds, 

lous movement, and show scarlet, like tre of hit 

liollow leaves or thin shells on fire, rearward 

The brute's concave head, from the ye gods 

scarlet nostril to the lurid eye, looks dcrous tl 

wicke<l and dire." upon hi: 

" How looks the rider ?" from thi 

" Calm and heedful; the slight oc- his first, 

casional breath of air from the east back as 

carries away to the front the slow horse's r 

flame, blent with a little smoke of in his te 

those torches which he holds one in face aga 

each hand." Ohl ho* 



Dion and i/ut Sibyls. 



639 



a hundred thousand sjrmpathetic 
voices !" 

•*Ah my sight!" cried the child 
Caligula. 

**Ha! ha!" continued Claudius, 
transported out of himself. " I shall 
get my liberty to-day ! Nor will my 
b«iefactor be injured. Ha! ha! 
The fell beast of a horse seems aston^ 
ished. How he writhes his back, 
curving it like some monstrous cata- 
mount And lo ! now he leaps £rom 
the ground with all four feet at the 
same timel I never saw the like, 
except in animals of the cervine tribe. 
Ha! ha! leap away! Yes, stoop 
that ferocious-looking head, and shake 
it; and lash out with your death- 
dealing hoofs. Your master is upon 
you, in his chair of power, and you'll 
shake your head off before you dis- 
lodge him from it. It is not with 
the poor literary slave Claudius that 
you have to deal ! Oh ! what a pa- 
roxysm of plunges. I was frighten- 
ed for you, then, brave young knight; 
but there you sit yet, calm and clear- 
fiu:ed. If I was frightened for you, 
you are not frightened for yourself." 

" Oh ! for a few minutes* sight !" 
said the child. '* Has not the horse 
tried to twist his head round, and so 
to bring his teeth into play ?" 

•* Even now he tries," replied Clau- 
dius ; ^ but he is met on either side 
by the torch. The fiercest beast of 
the desert shrinks from fire. Prudent 
and fortunate device ! Lo! the horse 
seems at last to have ascertained that 
he who has this day mounted him is 
worthy of his services ; do you hear 
the tread of his hoo&, as he traces 
the circle of the arena, guided by 
those steady hands from which flames 
appear to flow. Faster and faster 
rushes the steed, always restrained 
and turned by die outer torch, which 
is brought near his head, while the 
inner is held further to the rear. His 
sides are flecked with foam. The 



pace grows too rapid for a short 
curve, and the steed is now guided 
straight for the western opening in 
the arena opposite to where we sit ; 
while the light breeze firom the east 
counteracts the current of air made 
by the animal's own career, and keeps 
the flare of those torches almost even. 
They are gone ; and again hark ! Is 
not that shout like the roar of waters 
on a storm-beaten shore, as a hundred 
thousand men proclaim the success 
of a generous and brave youth, who 
could face the chance of being torn 
limb from limb in order to give to 
a poor slave like me, condemned to 
a frightful death, his life and his liber- 
ty, a home and a future ?" 

" But surely," said the imperial 
child, <^ it is not over so soon. It is 
like a dream." 

'^I have tried to make you see 
what I saw," returned Claudius. " It 
was a wonderful struggle — the youth 
looked beautiful; and in the swift 
whirl, as you beheld the graceful and 
perfect rider, his hands apparently 
streaming with flames, and his face 
so calm and clear, you would have 
imagined that it was one of those 
beings whom the poets have feigned 
and sung, as having gifts superior to 
the gifts of ordinary mortals, who was 
delivering some terror-stricken land 
from a demon, from a cruel monster, 
and compelling ferocity, craft, uproar, 
and violence to bend to far higher 
forces, to man's cool courage and 
man's keen wit." 

Augustus, in his later years, showed 
a decreasing relish for the bloodier 
sports of the arena; and, in defe- 
rence to his taste, the next spectacles 
were, first a mere wrestling-match, 
and then a combat at the cestus, in 
which the effort was to display skill 
rather than inflict injury. 

This contest was just over, and the 
sun, as if in wide-flowing garments 
of red and golden douds, had sunk 



Dion atid tkg Sibyls^ 



Q41 



this happy day remains to be told. 
I am sure that the great and mys- 
terious Being who is expected by 
Dionysius here soon to descend upon 
earth, and to whom I offered my life, 
has protected me this day. He has 
surely protected me, and has receiv- 
ed with favor my endeavor to rescue 
from brutal power an oppressed and 
innocent young couple. The most 
extraordinary incident connected with 
my undertaking, I say, is not yet 
known to you. Last night I could 
not sleep soundly. At last, long be* 
fore daybreak, I rose, dressed myself, 
and, kneeling down, besought that 
Being who is to appear among us to 
lemember that I was trying to please 
him by this enterprise, and Uiat I 
was acting just as Dionysius and I 
had concluded it would be agreeable 
to this beneficent being. An inex* 
pressible feeling of calmness and con- 
fidence arose in my heart as I rose 
from my knees. I then took my hat 
and went out of doors. I first stroll- 
ed yonder, up and down that laurel 
walk in the garden, and afterward 
sauntered into the fields and wander- 
ed pretty far, but I observed not 
whither. Presently I began to feel 
tiiat inclination to sleep which had 
deserted me in my bedroom; and, 
knowing the sun would soon rise, I 
chose a shady spot under a clump of 
trees, and, lying down, fell fast asleep 
immediately. / had no dream^ but 
was waked by feeling a hand upon 
my forehead. Opening my eyes, I 
beheld a woman, very aged and 
venerable, but with a most beauti(^l 
countenance, despite her years, bend- 
ing over me. Her countenance was 
solemn as the stars, and, I know not 
how, impressed me like the face of 
the heavens at midnight, when the 
vou XL — ^41 



air is clear and calm. Her hair was 
not gray, but white — white as milk. 
She wore a long, black mantle, the 
hood of which, like that of Agatha's 
ricinium^ was brought over the head, 
but not further than the middle of 
the head, so that I could see, when 
I rose to my feet, (as I instantly did,) 
that her long flowing white locks 
were parted evenly and fell below the 
shoulder on each side. She held in 
her left hand a long staflf^ and her 
right was extended toward roe as if 
bespeaking attention. She said to me 
in Greek these words: *By means 

OF FIRE YOU CAN SUBDUE THE FERO- 
CIOUS BEAST.' She then laid the 
hand which was stretched forth upon 
my head for a second, drew the hood 
further over her head, and departed 
with swift steps, leaving me to gaze 
after her in amazement — an amaze- 
ment which increased when I per- 
ceived that her words could be ap- 
plied to the Sejan horse. It was 
those words, mother, and nothing 
else^ which gave me the idea of em- 
ploying the torches, which my good 
Thellus here afterward prepared for 
me out of some gladiatorial exercise- 
weapons which he possessed; and I 
may for certain say that, without the 
torches, I must have been destroyed 
by that horrible brute." 

'' You truly describe this incident 
as extraordinary, my son," said the 
Lady Aglais, after a pause. 

^ Paulus," said Dionysius, ^^y&uhave 
seen the SityL You must accompany 
me in a few days to Cumae, where 
we will seek an interview with her, 
upon the subject concerning which 
all the Sibyls sing and prophesy — ^the 
general reparation of this disorder- 
tortured world." 



TO 



GOMTunnow 



Mailer and S/iirit in tS^ Light of Modetn Scunet, 



MATTER AND SPIRIT IN THE LIGHT OF MODERN 
SCIENCE,* 

Tkeire is nothing more advanta- e,i harmony of Leibnitz was the UH 
geous, and ai the same time more term of the sqiaration of these t 
dangerous; more beneficial to the worlds, which bad no longei ■ 
cause of iruth, and yet more apt to thing in common even la Ihdr a 
induce error, than the modem ideaof ment, and only existed in juuapo^ 
studying man in nature alone ; or ra- Uon without mutual action or Ty 
ther, of scrutinizing its depths with cal influence. 
the design of discovering all thai con- This was an excess of which n 

physics was at the same tiixiic the U 
thor and the victim ; il deprived Jl 
self of a powerful clement of iam 
ligation; il veiled one of the fuot 
of nature; and closed the door lo i^ 



cems him. 

Doubtless there were limes when 
philosophy did not pay sufficient re- 
gard to the study of the physical sci- 
ences; when philosophers put them- 
selves too far outside the physical search and knowledge in one of 
world. Metaphysics were too full of great domains of the world. 
abstractions, too much confmed lo the physicians, in striving to obi 
me and consciousness. exclusive and victorious rcign of ^li* 

Some systems wished to dig an lit, compromised iu triumph. 

abyss between the world of matter Doubtless that which at the 

and that of spirit, regarding the pas- time unites and separates tlic u 



tual from the material world wiflBfr 
vcT be perfectly understood. 
will always be necessary to throtf 
light on both sides of ihc probletf) 



sage from the one lo ihe other 
possible. Even the discoveries of 
Des Cartes in the realms of physical 
nature, as well as in the kingdom of 

Uis own consciousness, notwithstand- bycomparing them without coi 
ing their importance and grandeur, ing them ; to place both face lo 
only served to widen the abyss ; for without partiality or esdusion ; 
the Cartesian theory supposed the working of thought and of ma 
mind lo be incapable of communicat- and between the two the mystei 
ing with the exterior world save by a phenomenon of life which is lhdr< 
chain frequently broken— by a long necting link and lerm of similitude, 
and devious path. The prtestablish 



It could not be expected thai [M 
losophy should hist and alODc f 
pare tlie ground of this conciltM 
and comparison. The peculiarly spw* 
cubiive studies of inetaphyMcii 
would not naturally carry them i 



PtMtmimH N-lanli. Fir Emile Si^'y- >*»<> ■■ 
Gcmer-Billliin. lU;. 

La PniamM ii it Xtlm-Ui PrMlm,, i, U 
Vm. -PbLiukcI. PuiL iM;. 

Dt U Scina II Jl !• Katnrw. Eami lU PUlHr- 

RiZutu'dt Mcam^KM Mtttcmiain. pu It P. this point ; And besides, the very elot^ 
" — ments necessary for litis compar— *' 

'^pkytif *ere wanting lo ihcm. 
h L4.t<iu<. iijintw, .»7; It is, therefore, to the n.-ilural 8( 
ces, as they are called, that we f 



fl^ti^m MtUn-lmii. Pir 



Matter and Spirit in the Light of Modem Science. 643 



owe the most of our knowledge and 
comprehension of the two worlds, 
which co-penetrate each other. Not 
that the sciences have preconceived 
the thought of this result, and formed 
a plan on the subject ; for the science 
of the day, especially that which real- 
ly deserves the name, has confined 
itself generally to impartial discove- 
ries, and for premise and conclusion 
has taken merely the facts themselves. 
Notwithstanding evil examples, which 
would persuade a different course, it 
still perseveres, and on this account 
it deserves praise in its isolated labors 
and exclusive studies. It would not 
be difficult to cite the names of some 
of the most distinguished savants^ 
who, impartially and without being 
{M^eoccupied with conclusions, have 
enriched the domain of truth with 
most important and curious disco- 
veries. But the occupation of the 
savanty which is not without merit and 
trouble, cannot satisfy mankind. 

By a natural instinct man feels the 
want of synthesis ; he is not content 
with mere phenomena. He wants 
to go further than analysis ; he longs 
to generalize and draw consequences. 
He wishes to profit by past labor; he 
wants to know not only results but 
causes. 

Here philosophy must again be 
called in to judge of and compare 
facts, to deduce consequences from, 
and erect systems upon them. If the 
spiritualist philosophers, quitting ab- 
stractions and leaving the solitude of 
consciousness, have by an enlighten- 
ed change, which will be serviceable 
both to truth and to their own cause, 
begun to dig deeply into the scientific 
mine which is so rich and productive; 
on the other hand, the positivists and 
materialists, forced by the natural in- 
clination of the human mind to draw 
conclusions and build theories, even 
afler proclaiming the sovereign reign 
of matter^ and dter trying to remain 



in it alone ; after attributing to it eve- 
ry property and every function ; after 
making it the absolute foundation of 
their doctrine and teaching, have here 
admitted that an inferior supposes a 
superior order; there accepted final 
causes; elsewhere invoked the ideal 
or spoken of truths which are eter- 
nal ; and in their desire to explain the 
phenomena of matter or the forms of 
life, they have been compelled to 
leave the region of purely material 
facts and to ascend to those meta- 
physical ideas which in theory they 
so strenuously reject.* 

But although the human mind, plac- 
ed in presence of problems, goes fas- 
ter and further than science, yet it can- 
not do without its aid; it rightly seeks 
its assistance, and finds in it one of 
its most solid and safe foundations. 

We have, therefore, deemed it in- 
teresting to indicate at what point 
the labors of the physicists have 
arrived, even by exhibiting their pre- 
mature solutions. We think it useful 
to examine some of their conclusions, 
which have been deduced rather pre- 
cipitately perhaps, but which, while 
treating only of bodies, concern more 
or less directly the sovereign ques- 
tions of the soul and of the intelli- 
gence. 

We must say that, in consequence 
of so many deep researches and fruit- 
ful experiments, the empire of the 
natural sciences has been so vastly 
extended that nothing in the future 
seems impossible of attainment, while 
most unexpected results, intoxicating, 
as it were, and turning the heads of 
savantSy have seemed to furnish a jus- 
tification of their defence of even the 
most rash and surprising theories. 

There has been a regeneration of 
ideas regarding the material world; 

^ See for further dttaili : Rtcmildtt RappcrU *ut 
ks Progrh tU* LtUrts et tUt SckmctM ; la PkU^epkU 
tn Franc* mm dix»9uuvihiu siM*. Par Felix Ravai«- 
Mo. Rt0m in Cmtn Littkfmim% Na 34 ; art. by 
M. E. BeauBsire. 



1 thin 



644 Matter and Sfirit iu tht Light of MoJtrm Scitacc 

analysis has probed lo its lowcsl 
depths and let in the light of day. 
Men think they have discovered its 
mode of action and arrived at its 
very elements. 

Two leading theories have been 
produced, both of which pretend lo 
lie based on the most minute verifi- 
cation of details and the most recent 
facts. If they ate not absolutely 
irreconcilable, they present at least 
very different formulas. 

The one affirms that there is no- 
thing in matter except movement. 

The other declares that there is 
:hing in matter but forces. 



The system which reduces every 
thing in matter to movements is as 
simple as it is curious. It exhibits 
at the same time a character of gran- 
deur and of unity which is seductive. 
Matter in the universe, it says,' re- 
mains the same in quantity; it is 
neither created nor destroyed ; its 
phenomena rre merely transforma- 
tions. 

According to this system, the ab- 
stract nation of font does not exist. 
Force is a cause of motion ; and the 
cause of motion is a motion itself. 
Physical phenomena, as heat, light, 
electricity, and magnetism, are cer- 
tain kinds of motion, which beget 
each other. Heat is transformed into 
etectncity and electricity into light. 
Transformations take place according 
to fixed rules, and are reduced to 
rigorously determined unities. 

In another order of facts, cohesion, 
chemical affinity, and gravity, are 
equally the effects of communication 
of motion, since the phenomena which 



tilmrCUnM d.1 F**»r- 



derive from them exist only ly tt- 
traction — that is to say, by the mote- 
ment of molecules and bodies towird 
each other. 

The same rule holds good in the 
syateni of the universe ; the hatymly 
as well as the terreslrixl bodta lian 
not in themselves that which anncti 
them to each other. Unirenal gi»- 
vitation b only the cxpnssioa of s 
result; it merely means that eveiy 
tiling happens as if bodies had tiK 
intrinsic property of attracting taA 
otbdr in the direct ratio of their <)asi>> 
tity and the inverse ratio of their dis- 
tance. 

It is not tliis force at property; it 
is the ctlier which b (he cause cif » 
traction, llie ether is composed of J 
atoms which collide with each o 
and with nnghboring bodies. It ■ I 
everywhere diffused, forming « i ' 
verbal medium, and exercising a a 
tinual pressure on all the in 
in nature. The gravity of ti 
owing to the pressure of thi>^ 
Their movement is, as itw 
formation of the motions^ 
Thus, the ether, moving ^ 
direction, and obeying no fixed \ 
sure, produces material aitractiaA I 
without being subject to it ; it j' 
to bodies their gravity, while it I 
mains itself imponderable.* 

It had been already pbysicalljr d 
monstrated that sound and light W 
the TL-sult of undulations — that i^l 
; sonorous and \ 
which have I 
sured and verified in ail thdiy 
The nature of caloric move 
not yet been so complet 
stood ; but the mechanical e 
heat have been established in t 
most precise manner. The ident 

■ The cviniKU of milKalei txA th 
tioa aE (ibcRil uoma 
all unuiulKia. 'Ihifai 

KhUelbalulir. vitKwi 



Matter and Spirit in the Light of iftniem Science. 645 



of heat and of mechanical labor has 
become a commonly received idea 
for several years past. Heat, which 
was formerly regarded as a material 
substance, is now considered as a 
mere mode of motion ; it is by their 
repercussion that the molecules of 
bodies cause us to esfperience the 
sensation of heat; and the mtensity 
of these repercussions determines the 
degrees of temperature. This heat, 
manifesting itself by different effects, 
produces now light or sounds, again 
mechanical labor. 

The energy or the living force 
which molecules or bodies in motion 
possess, in a degree exactly known, is 
partially lost if these molecules pro- 
duce a work, that is to say, if they 
displace a quantity of matter ; but in 
that case the living force which they 
lose is stored up in the labor pro* 
duced, and is reborn when the latter 
ceases to exist. 

Just as the calorific and luminous 
fluids are no longer regarded as pos- 
sessing a special substance and exist- 
ence, so also the electric fluid, positive 
as well as negative, and the magnetic 
fluid, which is only one of its deriva- 
tives, are but opposite movements of 
matter. The electrical movement of 
imponderable matter, or ether, is not 
even a vibratory motion ; it is a real 
current, a real transport which takes 
place in the conducting body; amd 
it is so far of the same nature as the 
luminous motion that it has approxi- 
mately the same velocity — that is to 
say, it travels seventy-five thousand 
leagues a second. 

Now, all these motions of heat, all 
these motions of light and electricity, 
which correlative phenomena offer, 
are all reducible to the idea of me- 
chanical labor. Produced by one la- 
lx)r, they reproduce another. Thus 
disappear from chemistry, as from the 
natural sciences, the forces called re- 
pidsivc as well as those called at- 



tractive. The molecules no longer 
act at a distance ; actions take place 
by contact, by the communication 
of movements. In the same way 
the pressure exercised by the etheresd 
atoms on the molecules of the side- 
real bodies takes the place of the 
initial force or acquired velocity 
which astronomy regarded as the 
cause of their movements. 

According to this sovereign unity^ 
the physical world is composed of 
one single element. There are no 
simple bodies. Oxygen and hydro- 
gen, like gold or platina, are composed 
only of atoms. There is no differ- 
ence in material quality; properties 
vary according to the diversity of 
movements. Becoming grouped and 
interwoven, the atoms form the mole- 
cules, and the changes of these move- 
ments constitute for us the different 
phenomena, the mode of which de- 
pends on the masses and the veloci- 
ties which are in play. 

Consequently, ethereal atoms, ele- 
mentary molecules, compound or 
chemical molecules, particles of gase- 
ous bodies, liquids, solids— such is the 
hierarchy of phenomena. 

The system is triumphandy epito- 
mized in these words : 

Atoms and motion form the uni- 
verse. 

Let us pause before this conclusion, 
the simplicity of which is not with- 
out grandeur, although the theory is 
absolute and hasty. Let us be al- 
lowed to interfere in the name of the 
notion of causality, in the name of 
that metaphysics to which the sys- 
tem itself, although taking its starting- 
point from facts alone, renders hom- 
age by its generalizations and by its 
synthesis. If it confined itself exclu- 
sively to its conclusion, that atom and 
movement form the supreme axiom 
of the universe, we should have down* 
right materialism. The author avoids 
this absolute conclusion, which would 



fi4fi Matter end Spirit in tht Light tf Modem SHeMe. 



cause us, moreover, to go outside ihe 
iiinits of scientific research, and he 
admits that even in motion there are 
original causes which remain entirely 
unknown. 

But this cannot suffice. Our mind 
sees this reserve and will not rest 
satisfied with It. 

If the system merely gives to ethe- 
real aton>5 the intrinsic force and 
primitive motion which it takes away 
from the molecules and bodies, it 
only postpones tlie difficulty and 
avoids the true solution. It merely 
admits an clTcct without assigning 
to it an origin or a reason of being. 
it docs not indicate the primary 
cause of motion; it docs not make 
known the prime mover, which neither 
^ts nor reason can place in the atoms 
or in the plicnomena. 

Nor can the formation of worlds 
be explained by atoms and motion. 
The author* gives up facts, reality, 
and the logic of his own system when 
hesupposes some of the chief primitive 
atoms forming the centre of a group 
for several oilicni, and thus constitut- 
ing a sphere. Then, after this opera- 
tion in the univers-i! mass, the mole- 
cular groups appear gifted with gra- 
vity and enter into that evolution 
which constitutes the admirable order 
of the univerbC. 

We have no longer modennscience 
arriving, by way of decomposition and 
analysis, at results as curious as they 
are mconlcstabtc. It is, in truth, but 
the renewal of an old system which 
goes as f.u' back as ancient philoso- 
]>hy — to Leucippus, to Dcmocritus,to 
Epicurus ; a system without founda- 
tion or reality, which brings us to 
gross materialism, and gives us no ra- 
tional or cx|>erimental explanation of 
phenomena. 

For whence have these atoms 
come? Do you give them their 
reason of being by simply calling 
• M. Slater- 



them primitive ? Do they exist Jra| 
all eternity, or have they crcatal 
themselves i After being procUi 
indivisible points, they are, comtraiy 
to this principle of unity, made uih^ 
etjual and pteponderaUng. Whewf 
do they derive these contradlctotTf 
and at the same time indispensaUf 
characters, which enable them la 
form their functions ? Who has giva 
them the first motion necessary fat 
theii meeting ? Or, if they have bea 
eternally in .motion, does it not fbt 
low that the formations that are >t 
tributed to them must be also 
nal ? What causes them to product 
ponderable molecules and to becoina 
heavy bodira while they arc'tssca? 
tially imponderable and devoid of Jl- 
traction ? 

As for us, a friend of truth, and \» 
lieving that it can never be oppoied 
to itself, having in its regard no fiat 
or party prejudice, wc are dUpoied 
to accept willingly the results giva 
by scientific observation and txpa- 
ence, provided there be no di^xs- 
tion to draw conclusions fix>m tlica 
which are not legitimate. Wc an 
far from disputing that matter i» one 
in its grand simplicity, aod that it it 
reducible to elements of one specEo; 
that phenomena of a single oida, 
motion, produce all the effects of M- 
ture which we admire. The spiri- 
tualist philosophy will readily fiod in 
these atoms tlieir first author, Co<t 
and in these movements Cod, tbc 
prime mover. 

We also admit willingly that thil 
theory holds good even in the do> 
main of organized matter, and tliai, 
in the regular order of succession, R 
runs through all tlic kingdoms. We 
see nothing in this admission whicb 
contradicts directly our belieC 

In fact, the system extends even tO 
the order of linng nature, and tfaert 
it points out two things. 

On the one hand,it indicates, as the 



Matter and Spirit in t/ts Light, of Modem Science, 64J 



basis and chief constituent of living 
beings, the very materials of the inor- 
ganic world, the solid bodies, liquidsi 
gases, which we find in all organiza- 
tions, and especially in the human or- 
ganization, the most complex of all ; 
for this organization comprises four- 
teen of those elements which we call 
simple bodies, because we have not 
been able as yet to reduce them. 

On the other hand, in animated na- 
ture itself there takes place a series 
of motions which succeed each other 
according to a determined order, with 
an especial character, yet not oppos- 
ed to the laws of molecular mecha- 
nism ; so that in the human body in 
motion heat is transformed into work 
and work inta heat, according to the 
ordinary relation of calorics, and the 
human mover gives in labor the same 
proportion of heat produced as the 
other movers.* 

Does this mean, continues the au- 
thor of the system, that we have in 
this process all the elements of life ? 
What is the cause which forms the 
first cell, the basis of living bodies ? 
What deduces from it the develop- 
ments of being? What limits and 
regulates its evolution ? " Here we 
must suspend our judgment, or admit 
a special cause, the principle of which 
is peculiar to vital phenomena." 

This cause, although its nature is 
unknown and undetermined, is mani- 
fested by movements, and may take, 
according to the same order of ideas, 
the rdle and name of vital force. 
This force is endowed with a peculiar 
activity, which transforms without 
creating, just as motion only trans- 



* According to die Tery curioot experiments of M. 
Hiin, the unity of heat or caloric in man, as well as 
m inorganic matter, corresponds to four hundred and 
twenty-fiire unities of mechanical labor— that is to say, 
to four hundred and twenty-five kilogrammes raised 
one metre high. Man gives in work twelve per cent 
of the heat produced, which is almost equal to the 
labor of our mort ptrfect machines 



forms in virtue of anterior move- 
ments. 

This doctrine, pushed to extremity, 
seems to infer that the phenomena of 
thought and volition are only pure 
movements, the result of physic^ or 
vital actions. But is not the human 
soul, the animating principle, thereby 
put in danger ? 

The author thinks not. "In the 
midst of material transformations," 
says he, " causes active by nature may 
intervene, and we have instanced 
some of them, in marking the nature 
and limits of such intervention. This 
is sufficient to leave the ground free 
to all the solutions of metaphysics." 

We are more affirmative and pre- 
cise. These causes, from the starting- 
point of the atom and movement, 
necessarily exist and act In fact, if 
the atom and movement are the uni- 
verse, outside the imiverse there must 
be and there is something superior to 
the atom and to motion — that which 
has given them birth ; for we cannot 
suppose that the atom exists by itself, 
nor that motion is produced by itselC 
All that we see and conceive about 
atom and motion only gives us phe- 
nomenal relations and contingent re- 
sults. Beyond this is the absolute. 
The observations and relations which 
experience offers us may be fruitful 
enough to render an account of the 
facts,to extend and enlighten our know- 
ledge, to establish laws and attest ac- 
tions. But let us not grow tired in 
repeatmg that these actions are not 
produced alone, and that these laws, 
suppose an ordainer. 

Especially when we endeavor to* 
understand the nature of life, atoms 
and movement may come again into 
play ; but the cause increases and is- 
detached from the functions of beings;; 
and the superiority of the effects more 
imperiously establishes the necessity- 
of an author. 



Matter and Spirit in th$ Light of Modem Science. 649 



dve force, consequently material- 
reason to exist ; there is no lon- 
re any thing but spiritualism, or, to 
e correctly, dynamism. This dy- 
s nothing which attacks the dig- 
reeminence of the soul. The soul 
ipable of thinking or willing, be- 
»ne is a simple force, whereas the 
tody is a compound of simple 



re the theories which, accord- 
leir supporters, are stxstained 
ost recent discoveries of sci- 

us, we admit that from a 
stand-point there have been 
w and curious observations 
; that the analysis of matter 
>ed to view the most aston- 
lenomena; that the mate- 
ent has been almost appre- 
ts depths investigated; that 
en stripped of extension as 
ial property, its mode of ac- 
constituting principle discov- 
t it has been reduced to a 
overeign as it is marvellous ; 
follow with the most lively 
hese results of disinterested 
irtial science. We go fur- 
ording as the plan gains in 
. grandeur, appearing at the 
: more imposing and proba- 
ings us nearer to Him who 
jived it, who has given it or- 
completion. Tlie more of 
re discover in the universe, 

we bow with admiration, 
)ut astonishment, before the 
and will of the Sovereign 
\it origin and reason of the 

of these wonders and of 

r reason cannot go beyond 
and the metaphysical con- 
» which some have attempt- 
iw from these phenomena, 
not up to the present been 
Imit. 

leory which reduces all to 
ich recognizes in bodies an 



intrinsic mode of acting, whether it 
divide these forces in the mass of 
matter, or cause them to mount up 
to the primitive element, to the atom, 
indivisible point, or roonad, seems to 
us in every case to beg the question. 
What is in fact a force, and especial- 
ly a force attributed to any object ? 
It is undoubtedly neither a being, 
since it is joined to a first dement, 
nor a substance, since it is consider- 
ed as an attribute. It is only a man- 
ner of indicating an action, the cause 
of which is unknown. To say that 
matter acts because it bears in it the 
power of acting, is simply to say that 
it acts because it acts; to reply by as- 
serting the fact itself which is in ques- 
tion. Therefore we have only one 
of those words, new or old, which 
may cause illusion for an instant, but 
which do not stand a serious analy- 
sis. 

Moreover, to attempt to compare 
and assimilate matter and spirit by 
giving to both the name of force, and 
attributing to them the properties at- 
tached to this name, is merely to 
use a word without a definite mean- 
ing ; for if they were both forces, they 
would be forces of entirely different, 
if not opposite action. And if we 
say that force, being half body and 
haif spirit, is the link which unites 
them to each other, we create, merely 
to suit our ptirpose, a third being 
which is discovered nowhere, a mere 
phantasmagoria without reahty, which 
the imagination itself is incapable of 
representing to us. 

Finally, in the parallel and assimi- 
lation between body and soul, to re- 
serve, with the power of thinking, pre^ 
eminence to the mind because it is a 
simple and unique force, while the 
smallest body is a compound of these 
same simple forces, amounts to saying 
that a body could think if it were 
only decomposed and reduced to its 
simple dements^ and to the unity of 




ef Modem Sdtitet. 



^^oif 



e. There is siich a difference in 
act, mode, and aim between what is 
called the force of resistance, attribut- 
ed to bodies, and designated, we know 
not why, by the name of active force, 
and between the faculty of thinking, 
that no common appellation, no mat- 
ter how specious it may be, can 
ever confound or identify them. 

We would not be able to compre- 
hend liow the soul, considered as a 
monad or simple element, should have 
by this fact the faculty of thinking, 
and yet two or several monads unit- 
ed and forming a body would not 
possess the same power. Why, in 
the latter case, should there be ab- 
sence of thought instead of a union 
of two or several tlioughts, concor- 
dant or contrary ? How could we 
say that, because there \& an assem- 
blage of forces, there i» an impossiljt- 
lily of thinking, and that the part is 
capable of doing what the whole can- 
not do ? It is useless to choose and 
isolate the most delicate and ethereal 
element in a body; we can never im- 
agine the soul to be really one of its 
parts, no matter how pure that part 
may be. 

The notion of force, for the soul as 
well as for the body, must be put 
among those appellations which ex 
plain nothing, and only serve to cloak 
our ignorance. 

Science itself begins to renounce 
this name of force; and the first theo- 
ry which we have exposed, that which 
recognizes only motions in matter 
combats the theory of forces with 
energy, and considers it as vain and 
illusory. It is not here, consequent- 
ly, that we shall find the philosophi- 
cal explanation of phenomena, nor 
the reconciliation between the two 
orders of spirit and matter. 

The theory of motions rests on a 
more solid foundation; at least, it 
imploys a word having a precise sig- 
nification and resting on a. real fact, 



motion. It is only by induction ■( 
reasoning th.it it ascends to etbcr a 
tlic atom. It has never se«n eitll 
of them, although it affirms their e 
istence. It makes a synthesis. ' 
admits in the universe something d 
besides atoms and movement, siM 
the thought which it expresses 'A 
plies the idea of being, of subslam 
and cause. It has seen RK'ti'ins, V 
bralions, radiations, currents, an ~ 
has concluded from tliem that L 
is something which moves, vibr. 
radiates ; thus it has mounted up j 
a second cause, lo ether, to the ato 
But this is not suiEcient. l( ii 1 
seen that there is no motion will 
an object which moves, logic c 
pels it to acknowledge that iIkmI 
no change without an agent, i 
movement without a mover ; and \ 
the atom exists and moves, this a 
also has an origin, a reason of bdiHL 
a principle from which it ha$ Fcceinl 
the gift of existence and tlie povod 

If an admirable plan embraca dl| 
universe, if a sovereign unity di' " 

and governs all phenomena, i 

must be a cause for them. THc pb| 
appears more manifestly, and 
cause shows itself more necessanly if 
the very simplicity of the work, fn ill 
grandeur in this double quality raistrf 
to a higher power. 

If the world be, as it is ackiu)» 
lodged to be, the work of thought; it 
a general and supreme reason prfr 
sides over the universe, this thou^ 
lives in a spirit, this reason beloi^ 
to a soul.* Can there be a tboujlB 
without a thinking subject and bcingl 
A thought implies a thinking bdlg; 
reason means a living intelUgnce; 
or it must mean nothing, and tfaea 
there is no sense In words, no icaliqr 

It is useless to object; the \ 



• Cti. Uvfciu*, Sm 



'M«KvJ»- 



Mattir and Spirit in the Light qf Modem Science. 65 1 



mind will have it so ; it is the law of 
its conscience, it is the result of its 
profound conviction that it does not 
derive all from itself, and that nothing 
can produce nothing. 

Now, can we say of the atom 
and motion combined, behold the 
universe ? Yes, the mechanical uni- 
verse, perhaps. But the mechanical 
universe is not self-sufficing; for we 
can always say, Who has made the 
atom? who has created motion? 
And then we have the right to pro- 
pose another affirmation and to con- 
clude : the notion of causality is the 
entire world — the physical, intellec- 
tual, and moral world. 

This has been true from the very 
beginning of thought and the com- 
mencement of human reason. This 
has been true from the days of an- 
cient philosophy, proclaiming through 
its greatest logician that whatever is 
in the effect ought to be found in the 
cause, that the cause must really ex- 
ist before the effect, and that the per- 
fection of all eflfects supposes the ex- 
istence of a primary cause which con- 
tains them — a living, spiritual, and 
perfect cause, which cannot be prQ- 
duced by what is imperfect, inferior, 
material, or deprived of life, but which 
is and must be necessarily its generat- 
ing principle and producing power. 



III. 



Thus the two systems of motions 
and of forces, brought before the me- 
taphysical world, for they call them- 
selves syntheses, fall short of the 
mark and do not reach the true prin- 
ciple. The one assigns no cause for 
the elements and phenomena which 
it^represents. The other attributes 
to these same elements and pheno- 
mena, a word and a name which can- 
not be a cause. The former does 
not give, and does not pretend to 
give, a real explanation. The latter 



formulates an explanation, but pre- 
sents nothing satisfactory. 

It appears, however, that all the 
tendencies of modem science are to- 
ward the idea of unity in the univer- 
sal system, toward a simplification 
and spiritualization in the plan ; and 
the belief of some goes so far as to 
admit that this plan offers parallel 
lines more or less similar in both the 
material and the spiritual world. But 
here again the rock rises and the 
danger appears. In making bodies 
so like spirits, we run the risk of mak- 
ing the spiritual too much like the 
material, and, in both cases, by such 
confusion we almost touch on pan- 
theism, the theory of which, consist- 
ing in the admission of but one sub- 
stance, is equally dangerous whether 
this one substance be material or spiri- 
tual. We will allow matter, therefore, 
to raise itself toward unity, purify itself 
more and more, and disentangle its es- 
sence from its innumerable and marvel- 
lous combinations, provided that it 
be admitted that it possesses a real ex- 
istence, that it is really matter, that it 
can never become spirit or thought, 
and that it is not its own force or 
cause or reason of being. What 
would be gained for it from a spiri- 
tualist point of view, to admit in mat- 
ter an immediate power, to clothe it 
with intrinsic qualities which nothing 
either in ideas or facts manifests or 
demonstrates? No problem would 
be solved thereby, no mystery clear- 
ed up ; it would be necessary to es- 
tablish why and how the same sub- 
stance, at the same time and alter- 
nately, feels and does not feel, wills 
and is inert, thinks and is devoid of 
intelligence, is immovable in the 
stone, awakes in the plant, and is 
organic in the animal, and finally 
creates and vivifies the genius of 
man. 

There must be logic in the asser- 
tion that the essence of matter is 



MMer and Spiiit in llr Light tf Modtrn Scitnct. 



found in an atom or in a force, that 
it is Inactive or endowed with move- 
ment, that riierc ia in bodies unity 
or variety of substance, that the dif- 
ferent kingdoms are united by greater 
affinities or separated by more mark- 
ed distinctions; these properties, com- 
parisons, and differences must have 
their logic and their reason of being, 
and do not derive the laws which 
govern thera from a spontaneous or 
fortuitous formation. 

Nothing, consequently, in the se- 
condary explanations which are given 
to us, can satisfy our metaphysical 
wants. The mind of man will never 
stop at the mere properties of things 
or their effects. Its instinct of cau- 
sality does not accept incomplete 
theories and theses which do not 
sound the depths. Casting aside aU 
idea of confusion and of inexact com- 
parison, the human mind wishes lo 
rise higher; it wishes, in its admira- 
tion for order and the harmony of 
phenomena, to ascend to the very 
summit of being. Yes, it admits 
and recognizes the fact that every 
thing which exists has a single and 
sovereign cause, and this cause is 
itself tlie most spiritual of spiritual 
substances — God the creator and or- 
dainer of worlds. Author of all 
things, God causes with the qu.iiities 
which belong to him the different 
manifestations of nature; he acts on 
matter, possesses it, causes it to sub- 
sist, gives it the power of producing 
its phenomena, is its force, its order, 
its law; and thus, if we may say so, he 
animates the world, not indeed in the 
same manner as the human soul ani- 
mates the body, because we cannot 
compare essences and actions so un- 
like each other, but with a certain 
superior and divine power of anima- 
tion which produces the being, mo- 
tion, and life of all thai exists iu ihe 
universe moves or breathes, as the 



fc. . 



soul is the source and focasof tbe IA 
of the body. 

To destroy thin supreme cans 
to degrade at the same time Ihe 
terial and the intellectual wortd; it 
is to renounce the notion of perfec- 
tion and of ihe absolute ; it is to coiw 
denm, together with one of the 
ther-ideas, one of the axioms of tiie 
human mind, that logic which 
never see aught complete or satisfaO: 
tory in mere effects or phenometMt' 
it is to attack one of the most beao- 
tiful faculties of the intelligence, o( 
that intelligence which the coniingnt 
cannot content, which will not allov 
itself to be restrained by the men 
limits of time and space, which, frmn 
the present which it studies, (h» 
facts which it investigates, and pccik 
liarities which it admires, ascends to 
the infinite, to the aU-powerful, lotlie 
Eternal. 

Thus we consider that the mo!t 
recent discoveries of science, in tbdr 
rational and superior inierprt-taiioi^ 
lead us naturally to God, and M 
have at the same time the belief and 
the hope that materialism will be iiv 
voluntarily stricken down, and wiO 
perish perhaps by the very hands of 
those who study and search afiet 
matter alone. 

No doubt the considera lions whidi 
might be actually drawn from the re- 
sults obtained do not lead to defiaiM 
theories nor do they offer any ttuag 
but premature conclusions. The ou- 
jority of the savanU, moreover, pro- 
perly refuse to touch on the domuB 
of the supernatural and metaphysical ; 
they confine themselves to Unxt', 
some so veil their opinions and pbflo- 
Bophical doctrines as even lo cause 
us to doubt whether they follow the 
standard of spiritualism or of mate- 
rialism. They do not arrogate lo 
themselves either the right or tbe 
power of drawing conclusions; and 



Naganth. 



653 



the synthesis which results fh>m their 
experiments can only be a prema- 
ture conjecture, more or less plausible. 
But since their researches already 
give occasion to perceptions so sim- 
ple and so grand, since they open 
horizons in the distance where light 
certainly exists, since there is from 
the stand-point of truth a serene and 



unalterable confidence in the final 
and definite results of modem disco- 
veries, we may be permitted even 
now to describe them for the eleva^ 
tion and the encouragement of the 
mind, for the justification and the 
honor of human science, for the re- 
vindication of the grandeur and of 
the glory of God. 



NAZARETH. 



After a residence of two months 
in the holy city of Jerusalem, the 
writer of this sketch left the shrines of 
the Cross and the Tomb to visit the 
sacred localities of Palestine. Going 
northward, and passing by Jacob's 
well and Samaria, our party came to 
Jenin, on the borders of the plain of 
Esdraelon, where we encamped for 
the night; and on the next day, which 
was Thursday, April 5th, 1866, went 
to Jeasreel, to the great fountain which 
springs firom the base of the mountain 
oif Gilboa, on which Saul and Jona* 
than were slain ; then passed through 
Nain, where our Lord raised the 
widow's son, and Endor. Leaving 
Mount Thabor on our right, we came 
to the foot of the steep hill on the 
other side of which is Nazareth. After 
a wearisome ascent, in the middle of 
the afternoon, we saw the city of the 
annunciadon at our feet. 

Nazareth is in a valley about one 
mile long, running east and west, and 
only a quarter of a mile wide. Fifteen 
hills inclose this small space. The 
whole of this valley, not occupied by 
the houses, is filled with gardens, com* 
fidds, and small groves of olive and 
fig-trees. The houses are irregularly 
plaoedy and are evidently more com* 



fortable than many others in the Holy 
Land. Being all constructed of white 
stone, they have a substantial appear- 
ance. But the streets cannot be 
praised. Irregular in their course,' 
they are the filthiest we had an3rwhere 
seen. This wretched condition of the 
streets is the more noticeable because 
the people are superior to other dwd- 
lers in the land, and apparently more 
intelligent, well^ied, and housed. Sev- 
eral buildings were in the course of 
erection ; and it seemed that the vil- 
lage was prospering. The houses 
stand on the lower slope of a hill about 
four hundred feet high, and on the 
adjacent ridges. About four thousand 
people make up the population, aU 
Christians except seven hundred Mo- 
hammedans. Of the Christians, the 
schismatic Greeks number about one 
thousand, and the Roman Catholics 
and Greek Catholics have each about 
five hundred persons. There is an 
air of independence and relative com- 
fort about all the people here which 
contrasts with the sad and despond- 
ing manners of the residents in other 
eastern places. Wherever Turks rule, 
cheerfulness is unknown. 

On entering Nazareth, we rode to the 
further end of the village, and encamp 



ed in a pleasant spot quite near the 
fountain of the Virgin, a place to 
which all travellers who remain in 
iheir tents resort, as it is usual to en- 
camp in the vicinity of water. Be- 
ades this, the fountain is the best place 
to see ihe people of the village, it be- 
ing the common place of resort, es- 
pecially for women. Tliis spring is 
the only one in the place; and for 
that reason it has many visitors. 
From early dawn until lale in the 
afternoon, women of every age come 
here with jars or pitchers on their 
heads or shoulders. The streams of 
water are not copious, and there is 
often delay in obtaining the supply, 
especially in seasons of drought. While 
waiting here to fill their jars, the wo- 
men gossip and char, and thus each 
one hears the news of the day. Wc>- 
men of every rank go to the fountain 
for water — partly that they may not 
appear to be above their neighbors, 
and pardy, it may be surmised, to hear 
what is going on. Liitle girls are 
trained to carry the water -jar on the 
head — for them, of course, the jar is 
small — and every person h.is a small 
pait or cushion on her head to support 
the jar and prevent injury. From this 
habit of so bearing these jars, all the 
women of Nazareth are straight and 
erect m their carriage, and have much 
grace and dignity of motion. Not 
only are they finely formed, but their 
faces are the most beautiful in Pales- 
tine; and there is a pleasing tradition 
that the Blessed Virgin M.iry left Ihe 
gift of beauty to the women of her city. 
Their dress is also graceful, consisting 
of large, short trowsers, a close-fitting 
jacket, and a long white veil which 
does not cover the face. For orna- 
ment ihey use a string of silver and 
gold coins around the head and chin, 
many of which are \'ery heavy and 
valuable — uncomfortable decorations 
at the best, but showing the dowry 
L the wearer. 



I thought that the water of the 
fountain of Nazareth was Ihe best 1 
had ever tasted ; periiaps this wibi 
fancy, but certainly llie water is n 
pure and escellent, and b reaowi 
for those qualities. To thb Inanui^ 
without doubt, the Blessed VirgBt| 
came hundreds of times, being trail 
ed like other children to bear tl 
water-jar from early years. Here ti 
talked with her neighbors, and li« 
inamannerundistinguishcdfromotha 
poor girls.. And whoever will go to- 
day to that fountain in Nazareth, ( 
to the one near the shrine of it 
Visitation in Ihe hills of Judca, wi 
see young women looking just i 
Mary did eighteen hundred 
ago; for habits of life and dress hm 
scarcely changed in the east i 
that long time. The water at Nai 
reth rises about eight or ten rods &ti 
the place where it is poured into ll 
jars, being conveyed to ihc latter \iaEt 
in an aqueduct; and the schiffiiatis 
Greek Christians have built a c 
at the spot where it issues from dli 
ground, on account of an old r "^ 
rion that the annunciation took plact 
at the spring when the Blessed Virg 
went there for water. Thert is H 
great advantage resulting from tl 
error of the Greeks, that, on account* 
of their belief in it, they leave At 
spot where the annuncLiiion reallf 
took place in Ihe quiet possessioa of 
the Catholics, the Franciscan monk 
being the castodians of the shrin& 

Now let us walk to the ruosi Mtf' 
place, which is at the other end of lh« ■ 
village, and some distance from ( 
tents. The premises are extensive^ 
and consist of large buildings, » 
rounded by a high wall. ¥asmf) 
through the gate, we come to a conn,^ 
around which are the schoot-roomv - 
the pharmacy, the quarters of the so> 
perior and other monks; from tkii 
larger area we go to a smaller c 
immediately in front of the chHKil ' 



^ J 



NaxarHK 



655 



The church itself is about seventy 
feet square, and the roof is supported 
by four very heavy piers or square 
columns. These piers, and much of 
the walls, are covered with tapestry 
hangings, with embroidery and paint- 
ings; and the whole edifice, though 
not very large, has a fine, rich, and 
cheerfiil appearance, as if arranged 
for a perpetual festival. As we enter 
the church, immediately before us is 
a flight of fifteen very broad steps, 
leading down to the shrine. At the 
foot of these stairs is a vestibule, 
about twenty-five feet long by ten 
wide, and a low arch, opening in the 
middle of this space, admits to the 
holy place. There is a marble altar, 
and under the altar is a marble slab, 
four inches above the floor ; it has the 
Jerusalem cross in the centre, with 
the Franciscan coat of arms on the 
right, and the sacred stigmata, or five 
wounds of the crucified Saviour, on 
the left. This marble marks the spot 
where the Blessed Virgin stood at the 
time of the annunciation. On the 
back wall, under the altar, is the in- 
scription, " Verbum caro hic factum 
EST," {Here the Word was made fleshy 
the most wonderful and important 
inscription in the world. That at 
Bethlehem, where it is written that 
'* Here, of the Virgin Mary, Jesus 
Christ was born," could never 
have been engraved but for the event 
commemorated in the words of the 
shrine at Nazareth. Above the altar 
is a picture well painted and old, but 
spoiled by the flat gold crowns which 
have been fastened to the canvas 
over the heads of the Blessed Virgin 
and the angel. Below the table of 
the altar, and over the marble slab, 
hang several silver lamps which bum 
continually. Immediately behind this 
altar and picture are another altar 
and picture, back to back with those 
of the shrine. The second altar has 
the iDscriptioD^ '< Hic erat subditus 



iLLis," {Here He was subject to tJiem,) 
Behind these, and reached by a nar- 
row rock-hewn stair-way, is the kit- 
chen of the Blessed Virgin, where the 
fireplace and chimney are shown. 

As we come into the church by the 
chief entrance, a most cheerful and 
pleasant scene welcomes the pilgrim. 
The gay decorations, the many paint- 
ings, the statues and silver lamps, 
with other objects, make a contrast 
with the dreariness of the ride to Na- 
zareth, which seems to the Christian 
like a glimpse of heaven. He raises 
ihis eyes, and sees the choir where the 
Franciscan monks chant their office. 
Here is an altar with a large statue 
of the Blessed Virgin and the Infant 
Jesus, surmounted by a canopy. 
There are two large organs in the choir, 
one at the right, the other at the left. 
This choir is raised about sixteen 
steps above the floor of the church, 
and is immediately over the most 
holy place, of which it may be said 
to form the roof. As the shrine is 
about fifteen steps below the level of 
the church floor, the distance between 
the spot of the annunciation and the 
choir above it is about thirty steps. 
It gives the idea of three churches 
— the first being the main building, 
the second that of the holy place, 
which is below, and the third that of 
the monks' choir, which is immediate- 
ly over the shrine. As we look down 
the broad stair which leads to the 
shrine, we see that the walls are cas- 
ed with marble and adorned with 
paintings. Before us is the holy place, 
to which the eye is at once drawn ; 
but before we reach it, in the vesti- 
bule, on the right and left hand, stand 
beautiful marble altars, each with a 
painting over it. In the whole ar- 
rangement there is a dignity and pro- 
priety which strike the pilgrim most 
favorably, and he recognizes it as 
planned by men who had a vivid reali- 
zation of the event which is the ^otr) 



Ihl 

II ''' 

k 



To the left of ihc altar 
is the upper iwo thirds 
of a Ingv granile column suspended 
6am the roof, with a fragment of a 
RuiUe column under it ; though these 
«e U>th of dark stone, and of nearly 
tbc same color and size, it is easy 
to note the difference in the material 
of which they are composed. 

It was on Friday, April 6th, that I 
fint said mass at the shrine of the an- 
nunciation. The interest of this spot 
is very great, even when compared 
with other places in Palestine; and I 
had looked forward, with great hope, 
and expectation, to the day when I 
would be permitted to kneel and pray 
here. At last my wish was realized, 
and 1 offered the holy sacrilice on 
the very spot where the incarnation 
of God took place. By a concession 
of the holy see. the mass of the an- 
nunciation may be said on this altar 
nearly every day in the year; so that 
the pilgrim, coming at any seasoo 
may have the consolation of being pre- 
sent at the same mass as is said on 
the asth of March. Of course, every 
priest avails himself with eagerness 
of this privilege ; and no words can 
express the emotion of his soul as, 
when reading the last gospel, in 
speaking the words et Verbum Caro 
FACTUM EST, he kneeb down on the 
very sjMJt where riiat mystery took 
jjlace, where the incarnation of God 
began. For it was to Nazareth that 
God sent his holy Archangel Gabriel : 

"lo ft yiri*!n tipouscd lo h man whose name 
wai Joseph, of the house of David ; and the 
virgin'f name wu Mary. And the angel 
b«n|Coniein, laid loher, Iloil, faU^paxe, 
the Lonl is wilh Ihee : bluicd art than 
•niang women. And whm she had heard, 
the wu Irnubled at ha laying, and thought 
with herself what manner of salutation Ihii 
ihould be. And the inKel said to her, 
Fnr not, Mary, for ihou bast found grace 
wilh God. Behold, Ihou shalt conceive in 
lliy womb, and ihalt bring forth a son : and 
' ihalt caU his name Jesa<i. Me shall b« 
:, ud shall be called the Son of the 



Most High : mod the 1m4 Cod Adl i 
sDlohim the throne of David bis faibEt: i 
be shall reign in the boose oTJacob let en 
and of his kingtlom there s^U be »a a 
And Mary said to the an^el. Uom d 
this be done, because I know not man I t 
Ihe angel ansvcdns. aaiil to her i TW II 
Ghost shall come uj>on ih«, tad the pat 
of ihe Most High shall orerthadow iIm 
and iherernre also the Holy whidi thoU 
born of thee, shall be called xbf Son 
God. . . , And Mary said, &ckddt 
handmaid of the Lotd ; be it done lo ne \ 
cording to Ihy word. (St. Luke L) 

And the Word was made Beih aiid i» 
among us." (St. John i.) 

After having prayed a long tiiW 
prostrate at the shrine, I sat doal 
at the side of the broad flight of s 
leading to the holy place, and in 
tated for an hour. Before me 
the spot where all these things oc 
red, and where man's redemptioQ 
begun. It was easy to go back oak 
thousand eight hundred yean, nj 
picture the scene. ITie lowly m 
in her humble home, engaged, it mqt 
have been, in the ordinary oc 
tions of the day, or perchance restiof 
for a time from them, and mcdilati>i( 
on God, when suddenly the rooa 
was tilled with light, and theaogdi^ 
peared and deli^'cred his august mA 
sage. Then in the house whidb 
once stood here the child jesus Utvi, 
and grew in favor with Gotl and mtb 
He ran about the bumSile but saatd 
home in his boyhood, and wanderd 
among the hills that are so doH 
around Nazareth. Many a time did 
he go with Mary to the fountain wbn 
she brought water for the use of tfai' 
family. By her side he kept in hs 
early years, as children are wont ta 
cling to their mothers. When h« haoi' 
grown older, he helped Joseph in tlH' 
work of carpentry, and went with hiH 
as he journeyed to the various placM 
where he found work. No doiAt 
the employment was humbly ifal 
tools rude and few ; and it is rcasoDa- 
ble to suppose thai such wotk as ft 



Nazarethm 



657 



humble carpenter might find among 
poor villagers or fishermen at the Lake 
of Tiberias was not of the most ele- 
gant and costly kind. Even to this 
day there is great simplicity and rude- 
ness in all the mechanic arts, which 
is noticed by the traveller, and it 
must have been equally so in the 
country places in the days of our Sa- 
viour. 

Thus for thirty years did Jesus dwell 
in Nazareth, undistinguished from 
others by any external appearance, 
and leading a hidden life of contem- 
plation and communing with his hea- 
venly Father. 

When his ministry had begun, afler 
his baptism in the Jordan and his 
temptation of forty days in the wilder- 
ness, he came to Nazareth, and went 
into the synsCgogue, according to his 
custom, and read out of the book 
which was handed to him the words 
of Isaias, 

"The spirit of the Lord is upon me; 
wherefore he hath anointed me to preach 
the Gospel to the poor. He hath sent me 
to heal the contrite of heart, to preach de- 
liverance to the captives, and sight to the 
blind ; to set at liberty them that are bruised, 
to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, 
and the day of reward. And he began to 
say to them, This day is fulfilled thi^ Scrip- 
ture in your ears." 

When they had rejected his teach- 
ing, he went to Capernaum, on the 
borders of the Sea of Galilee, fifteen 
miles east from Nazareth, and the 
people there were astonished at his 
doctrine and the miracles which he 
performed Subsequently he visited 
Nazareth a second time, and was 
taunted by the people of the place, 
who regarded him as only one of their 
neighbors. They said, "Is not this 
the carpenter, the son of Mary, the 
brother of James and Joseph, and of 
Jude and Simon ? are not also his 
sbters here with us ? And they were 
scandalized in regard of him/' The 
VOL. XL.-— 43 



greater portion of our Lord's life, 
during the three following years, was 
passed in the neighborhood of the 
Lake of Tiberias, or near Jerusalem. 

Nazareth has one or two other 
places of interest, yet they are of small 
note in comparison of the shrine of 
the annunciation. One of these is 
the place where stood the work-shop 
of Joseph; a chapel is built here. 
Another is the rock called Mensa 
Christie or Table of Christ, which is 
venerated as the place where our Lord 
often ate his food. It projects three 
feet above the ground, and is about 
twelve feet long and eight feet wide. 
A new church is over it. 

The hill back of Nazareth is always 
ascended by travellers for the sake of 
the fine view which may be had there. 
The whole country for miles around 
is visible — Mount Hermon, Mount 
Carmel, the Mediterranean Sea, and 
the great plain of Esdrselon. Just 
around Nazareth the hills are rather 
bare; but everywhere else they are 
wooded, and sink down into green 
valleys. We see how the city lies 
off ail the great routes of travel in 
former days, and is shut up by the 
hills, and thus separated (as the name 
Nazareth impUes) from other places. 
Its isolated position, and the result- 
ing obscurity, is the reason why it was 
unknown to ancient writers, and there 
is no mention made of it in the Old 
Testament. Prom the Gospel narra- 
tive we learn that |he contemptuous 
inquiry was made "Can any good 
thing come out of Nazareth ?" To 
this the Christian answers from the 
depth of his soul. Yes I all gopd 
Cometh thence. The Child of Naza- 
reth has passed from obscurity and a 
hidden life to a prominence which no 
description can adequately portray. 
He who was conceived of the Virgin 
Mary in this little village is our Lord 
and our God, and in him centre all 





In accordance with the teacher's 
announcement, the day following Mi- 
chael's return was given up to rejoic- 
ings, and Mr. Blair invited the school 
to pass it at his place. 

It was one of those golden days 
not so frequent in our autumnal sea- 
son as to lose the charm of novelty, 
or the full sense of their value in re- 
deeming its general sternness; and it 
seemed to the boys as if nature her- 
self shared in the universal delight 
The spacious ground encircling Mr. 
Blair's residence afforded ample scope 
for their pastimes, and their dinner 
was served under the trees in the yard. 

To those who had known Michael 
Hennessy only as the thoughtless, fro- 
licsome boy, it did not seem possible 
that a few short weeks could have 
wrought the change now apparent in 
him. The fiery trial through which 
he had passed accomplished the work 
of lime upon his character, and he 

kerged from it purilied and ma- 
face still wore the sunny smile 
it had made it a joy to all, but the 
It which lingered ujwn it was chas- 
led and subdued. His manners 
charmed by the warm, ingenuous 
frankness that made him ihe village 
pet, but their former reckless gayety 
was sobered by the spirit of piety, 

rhich tuul established its abode wilh- 



his youthful heart from tiic m 

when the blessed hand of adit 

sity opened wide its portals, and prfr 

pared it to become tbenc«furtfa ■ 

home of the celestial guesL 

He was more tlian ever the favonie 
of the boys, and the leader i 
their sports; butbisdevotioa to Stodf 
was more faitliful, his altenuoa I 
every religious duty more recall 
and his conduct under all circuinsBiW 
ces more exemplary than ever befom 

Soon after his return, farmer Bra**' 
celebrated the event by inviting (he 
school — without any exceptions t" 
time — to spend another day at tli» 
farm, as the season for gatlicring n 
bad arrived. Such a gay time as ihtf 
had ! whisking the deep beds of fUk 
en leaves about in search for luddM 
treasures, and watching the squiird^ 
gleaning in the path from which thef 
had thrown off nature's covering tct 
stray nuts, whose hiding places bad 
thus been revealed. 

The day passed delightfully, 
not, like their former holidays, in OD* 
alloyed and careless pleasure. The 
thought would intrude upon its ha|^ 
piest moments, that their little bond 
was soon to be broken up, and that tha 
was to be the last occasion 1 
which ihey would all meet in ibe hej^ 
day of boyish glee, to join in boyisli; 
pastimes. 

For the change was now stctl- 
ing upon them apace which pressei 
closely on tlie footsteps of bc^hood 
— and &om which oui " yoiu 



.M 1_ 



The Young Vermonters^ 



6S9 



monters " were not to be exempted — 
when one and another must pass from 
its arena, to enter upon a new stage 
of action and form new associations. 
When the dear old school-house, 
with all the memories that were to 
link it with the shifting scenes of each 
single life — to which it had been the 
starting-point in quest of knowledge- 
was to be exchanged for college halls, 
the office, the counter, or the farm, 
with all their excitements, laborious 
duties, and temptations, and their 
weary anxieties. 

The next week after their visit to 
the farm, Frank Blair took his leave 
of home and friends to enter the na- 
val school at B . Not long after, 

George Wingate, Henry Howe, and 
Johnny Hart entered the College of 
the Holy Cross. The same week, Pat- 
rick Casey was appointed clerk in a rail- 
road office, and Deiinis Sullivan left 
to take his place as clerk in a whole- 
sale establishment in Boston. 

Who shall say what pangs all these 
changes, so easily related, and so 
much a matter of course in this 
changeful world, cost the young ex- 
iles now banished from the sheltering 
bosom of home, and standing for the 
first time face to face with the stem 
realities of life ? The homesick look- 
ing back to the dear and peaceful 
past, the timid, shrinking glances into 
the dim vista of the dreaded future— 
the one bathed in all the effulgence 
of morning, the other bearing already 
upon its sombre wings foreshadowings 
of the night ! 

And who shall describe the loneli- 
ness of each home from which the 
brightest, warmest ray of sunshine had 
been stricken, when the school-boy 
with his " shining morning face " van- 
ished from its precincts, to return no 
more for ever with the light of his 
young life upon his brow ? 

None but mothers can know the 
depth of the shadow that remains to 



them in the place of their mirthful 
boys. But take courage, ye mothers I 
Rest not in supine regrets and gentle 
memories, but betake yourselves with 
renewed energy and diligence to the 
use of the all-conquering weapon of 
prayer, for now more than ever do 
your darlings need its aid. Remem- 
ber what the holy bishop said to the 
afflicted St Monica in the olden time, 
'< It cannot be that the child of so 
many tears should perish." Let your 
sons, in the midst of their temptations 
and trials, be shielded and sustained 
by the firm assurance that their mo- 
thers are constantly lifting up pure 
hands and fervent hearts to heaven 
in their behalf. So, following the 
example of that saintly mother, may 
you hope to gain that mother's re- 
ward. For it is true now as it was 
then, and will be unto the end of 
time, that, " They who sow in tears 
shall reap in joy !" 

Michael remained at home, pursu- 
ing his studies diligently until the 
winter was far advanced, when his 
father was taken alarmingly ill, and 
he was obliged to relinquish them 
and devote himself to his care, and 
that of the family. He had long 
known that some trouble was weigh- 
ing upon his father, and he was now 
made acquainted with it. 

When Mr. Hennessy first came to 

M f he rented a very pretty place 

just out of the village, to which they 
became so much attached that he 
finally purchased it, and had from time 
to time been able to make improve- 
ments and add little embellishments 
within and around the premises, be- 
sides meeting the payments as they 
fell due. Latterly, with failing health 
and an increasing family, he had been 
unable to do more than support his 
household comfortably, and two pay- 
ments remained to be met; they were 
now both due, and his creditor threat- 
ened to foreclose the mortgage upon 






the place, if ihey were not promptly 
paid. 

Michael was deeply distressed when 
the slate of their affairs was made 
known to him. The thought of los- 
ijig their all, and the home they so 
dearly loved, the scene of so many 
tranquil joys, weighed heavily upon 
his young heart He sought in fer- 
vent prayer the refuge of the Catholic, 
commending himself and all his dear 
ones anew to the protection of the 
Blessed Virgin Mother, and leaving 
all his troubles at her feet Suddenly 
it flashed upon his remembrance 
that Mr. Blair had told him if he 
should ever need assistance or advice 
not to fail of applying to him, and 
that he should consider it a lavor if 
he would do so. To him, therefore, 
he resolved to go at once, though it 
was not without much of tlie old ap- 
prehension of his sternness that he 
sought the oiBce of that gentleman, 
mingled with uprisings of a pride that 
rebelled against asking favors from one 
who had formerly despised his people. 
Forduty'ssake, however, he mastered 
all these feelings, and was received 
with the utmost kindness. With a fal- 
tering voice he laid the whole case 
open to Mr, Blair, and concluded by 
saying, " Now, sir, you see the sum 
due on the place is not a large one, 
and if you feel disposed to advance it, 
I will guarantee the payment of inte- 
rest and principal as soon as I can 
leave ray father and get into a situa- 
tion to earn it." 

" What do you intend to do ?" said 
Mr. Blair. 

" I must seek a place as book-keep- 
er or clerk in some establishment ; and 
will do so without delay," 

" Do you prefer such a position to 
any other ?" inquired his friend. 

I have," said Michael, blushing 

ith bashful earnestness, " always in- 
dulged the hope that I might be able 
study law ; but this must, now be 



relinquished," he added alter a sli^ 
pause. 

" Well, my young friend," said M^ 
Blair kindly, " I will now tell JOB. 
what I think had better be dona. M 
will raise this money for you, aiKl fOt 
may take your own time to pay ib 
I have no fears on that score. 1 will 
see that matters in relatioa to ibft 
home are, put upon a safe rooting with- 
out delay. Vou will take care (tf 
your father and the family until he i| 
sufficiently recovered to spare y(i% 
and then you will enter my office af 
a student, Ihavefeh veryloudysioce 
Frank went away, and will be pleased 
to have his best friend with me. U^ 
sides, you are an exceLient and lapi^ 
penman; I need such a one la my lxi»- 
ness just now very much, and can at* 
ford to pay you liberally for yois 
assistance. My old hands are geb^ 
ting too stiff to write much, aad Wf, 
business is increasing. If this pioj 
posal suits you, consider the maite^ 
settled for the present." 

It need not be told how ihiinkfiiBy, 
Miciiael accepted the o&i;r, nor wrhi^ 
fervent thanksgivings were poutca 
from pious hearts in that home mhtm 
the arrangement was made known. 

Mr. Hennessy recovered nipidlf 
when the pressure of adverse circua- 
stances and the fears of impendiaf 
calamity were removed ; and Micbaet 
soon entered Mr. Blair's office as A 
student. Here his close attention iq 
business, liis application to study, and 
his fidelity to every duty, gained lix 
him the highest esteem and confidence 
of his superior, who would often ex- 
claim to himself, " Oh 1 why could not 
my boy have been such a one as this? 
With every obstacle removed from 
path and every encouragement I 
why would he persist in casting all 
advantages aside, to pursue a recklt 
career of folly ?" 

And indeed he heard little that 
encouraging from Frank in his 



The Young Verfnouters. 



66i 



position. He was so homesick, dis- 
contented, and dissatisfied with every 
thing as to unfit him for the studies 
and duties of the school, the disci- 
pline and restraints of which were in- 
supportably irksome to him. But his 
father was only convinced that they 
were remedies the more necessary to 
a restless spirit which chafed so fierce- 
ly under them. His passion for mis- 
chief and fun continually drew the 
chains he hated more closely around 
him, and involved him daily in new 
difficulties. One circumstance alone— 
humanly speaking — prevented him 
from falling into utter ruin. He had 
formed an enthusiastic friendship for 
his sister Fanny's dearest friend, the 
eldest daughter of Mrs. Plimpton, 
Julia Plimpton — one of those gentle, 
lovely girls, who wield a controlling 
influence over such impetuous, restless 
characters. He was in correspon- 
dence with her, and to her he com- 
municated all his troubles and his 
peevish, fretful repinings, in perfect 
confidence, receiving just the advice 
he needed from time to time to keep 
him firom breaking rudely away from 
all restraint 

CHAPTER XII. 
DEVELOPMENTS. 

Two years elapsed without any 
material changes in the circle to which 
this narrative relates. 

During this period, Miss Carlton, 
one of Miss Blair's best friends, near 
her own age, and a lady of intelligence 
and wealth, with strong philanthropic 
impulses, had set herself with great 
enthusiasm to gather a large number 
of poor French Catholic children, who 
would not attend the public schools, 
into a sort of boarding-school at her 
own cottage on the confines of the 
village. She solicited aid from Miss 
Blair in dressing her young wards 



suitably, and entered zealously into 
the task of educating them, as a ne- 
cessary prelude to their conversion to 
Protestantism, which must inevitably 
follow. Miss Blair willingly assisted 
her with funds, and the use of her 
needle in preparing clothing ; but could 
not be persuaded to go any further. 
Miss Carlton at length becoming vex- 
ed and irritated by the cool scepticism 
with which her efforts were regarded, 
insisted on knowing the reason. 

** I am sure it is not want of be- 
nevolence," said she; **fpr I have 
known you too long and too well to 
doubt the kindness of your heart 
Do tell me, then, why you will persist 
in looking upon my exertions with so 
much apathy ?*' 

" Precisely because," said Miss Blair, 
laughing, " I once tried the experiment 
mjrself, under as much more promis- 
ing auspices as the superior numbers 
and greater necessities of that class 
of children in a city could furnish. 
My failure was more grand than yours 
will be, because my operations were 
on a grander scale." 

" But why must I of necessity fail ?" 

"Ah! there lies the mystery. I 
cannot tell you why ; nor do I deny 
but you may benefit them so far as 
learning to read and write, and even 
some little smattering of further know- 
ledge may go ; but make Protestants 
of them ? Never ! When you think 
you have secured them by catching 
the unfledged brood and attaching 
them to the Protestant cage by food 
and favors, just one chirp from the 
mother-bird, and Presto I your flock 
is gone I If you will take the pains 
to follow, you will find them nestled 
under the parent wing and peeping 
out at you so contentedly and com- 
placently ! I know, for I have tried 
it ; and am forced to laugh now when 
I think how provoked I was, and how 
puzzled to account for the mysterious, 
irrepressible, and ifpparently irresistible 



663 



The Young Vennottttn, 



power that majestic mother exercised. 
Since I came to this pari of Vennont, 
my conviction of the futility of all 
such attempts has been confinned. 
There have been great rejoicings 
among the Methodists and Baptists, 
al one time and another, over acces- 
sions to their numbers from the 
ancient ark ; but let a priest appear 
in those localities and utter the rally- 
ing call of their church — away scam- 
per the converts, and their Protestant 
tonfrh-(s have seen the last of them !" 

As Mrs. Blair had intimated during 
the colloquy with Mrs. Plimpton, her 
sister-in-law had become interested in 

the converts of M and in reading 

fhcir books. She began listlessly, from 
a mere willingness to hear what could 
be said on that side, and to see fnir 
play, perhaps unconsciously hoping 
to itndsomesolution for that "mysteri- 
ous power" which so puzzled her. But 
the investigation thus indolently open- 
ed soon awakened new ideas as to 
the importance of issues which involv- 
ed eternity. From that moment no- 
thing could exceed the fervent energy 
with which she followed up the sub- 
ject, determined to know and follow 
the truth, if it was to be found on earth. 
Her labors resulted as all such labors 
honestly entered upon, diligently pur- 
sued, and governed by the spirit of 
justice, must inevitably result. She 
found herself safely sheltered under 
the wings of the gentle mother whose 
loving attractions had formerly aston- 
ished her ignorance. Her brother 
made no comments, but poor Mrs. 
Blair was utterly disgusted. 

Meanwhile her favorite niece — be- 
cause Frank's favorite and petted sis- 
ter — Fanny was drawn by casually 
looking into the books which her aunt 
was studying so closely to lake a 
lively interest in the same subject 
But the reading of " prosy books of 
controversy ," as she called them, was 
an cflfort quite beyond her patience. 



so she would seek the office occult 
ally and question Michael. Hc' 
ed, as far as he could in conscience, 

assist her in the matter, thinking 
to do so would be in some son 
breach of the con&dence reposed 
him by her father. 

At length one day, when be 1 
been even more provokingly indif 
ent than usual, and pursued his « 
ing diligently despite her qucstioni 
she exclaimed, 

" 1 never did see such a vexati 
fellow as you are! I can't imag 
what Frank could have seen in ] 
to like so well. One might just 
well talk to a stick; there' 
interesting or sociable about you I 
suppose you think you're going 
keep me from being a CathoBc 
your hatefLil ways ; but you woa'i 
can tell you. I can remi, if y 
won't talk, only I do hate the m 
ble." And she departed, leaving fa 
amused beyond measure at her i 
hemence. 

She was engaged in a coi 
dence with Julia Plimpton, of 
frequent and confidential natuiv 
which girls of that age are wont 
indulge, and of course opened ! 
heart to her friend upon the 
wliich now most interested her. 
letters were soon tilled witli the i 
cussion of religious questions, in wfa 
after a time Mrs. Plimpton joincdf 
pressing her surprise that so dm 
coul<i be said in favor of a en 
which she had always regarded 
the height of absurdity, and the I 
stronghold of bigotry, supersliii 
and ignorance, in this proj 
age. 

At the stage of our narrative H] 
which this chapter opens, Mr. H 
nessy was one day looking over 
eolumns of the Boston PUei^ 
which Mr. Sullivan was : 
— when his eye fell upon the 
ing paragraph : 



The Young Vermonttrs. 



663 



** If Patrick Hennessy or any of his fa- 
mOy^who landed in Boston from the ship 
Hibcrnia in the summer of 18 — , will call 
at the Pilot office, they will hear something 
greatly to their advantage.'* 

After consulting with Mrs. Hen- 
nessy, Michael, and Mr. Blair, he de- 
cided to start for Boston without de- 
lay. 

The editor of the Filot, when found, 
asked him many questions as to his 
place of residence in Ireland, the 
name of his wife, of the priest who 
married them, of his other family 
connections, and where he had lived 
since he came to America ; all which 
being satisfactorily answered, the fol- 
lowing letter was put into his hands 
to read : 



<< 



San Francisco, Sept. 8, 18 — ^ 
" To THE Editor of the Boston Pilot: 
<*Dear Sir: When I was on board the 
Golden City, bound for this place early 
in the summer of 18 — > the sailor on the 
* look-out ' discovered an object floating 
at some distance astern, and notified the 
captain, who ordered the boat manned to 
overhaul it. The object proved to be a 
man lashed to a table and apparently 
dead. They brought him to the vessel, 

^where, after a time, he began to show signs 
of life, and in a few hours was able to give 
an account of himself. The Polar Queen, 
on which he was a passenger, was struck 
by an iceberg in the night At the first 
shock he secured himself firmly to the table 
and sprang overboard; after which he re- 
membered nothing, and could give no idea 
how long it was since the event, but sup- 
posed the vessel went down with all on 
board, as she was badly shivered and rapid- 
ly filling the last he knew of her. 

** His name was Michael Hennessy, and 
he was a tradesman like myself, and from 
the same county at home. He had a bro- 
ther Patrick, who was to sail for America 
the same year. The two brothers married 
two sisters, by name Mary and Bridget 
Denver, the year before. Michael married 
Bridget They had no children when Mi- 
chael left home. There was great call for 

. work at our trades in San Francisco, and 
Michael came on here with me. As soon 
as we reached this place, he wrote home to 
the parish priest, Father O'Reilly, to have 
Patrick come to California, sending money 
idiich I loaned him. He received answer 



that his brother, with their two wives and 
Patrick's new-bom infant, left soon after 
he did on the Hibemixi, bound for Boston. 
He then applied to you, as you may remem- 
ber, to get information of them, if you could. 
In due course you informed him that the 
Hibemia arrived safely at Boston; that 
you found the people with whom they stop- 
ped, who stated that Michael's wife and 
child died during a severe storm on the voy- 
age out; that Patrick stopped in Boston 
until he heard of the loss of the Polar 
Queen with all on board, when he started 
for the western country, and they had heard 
nothing from him since. 

" Michael then sent notices to papers in 
all the western cities, but could get no tid- 
ings from his brother. We continued to 
work at our trades, and the master builder 
who employed us, owning a deal of land near 
the dty, paid us in dty lots, on which we 
built houses, to rent according as we could, 
when work was scant Rents were very 
high, for there was a great rush to the city, 
and buildings scarce, and the city lots went 
up in a way that would astonish the world. 
So Mike and I found ourselves rich of a 
sudden; but he always uneasy about his 
brother. At last, when he could stand the 
heavy heart no longer, he determined to go 
in search of him. In case any thing might 
happen him on his travels, he executed pa- 
pers leaving all he had with me in trust for 
his brother or family, should they ever be 
found. Just when he was ready to start, he 
took sick of a fever and died the fourth day, 
which was the 27th of last month. I will 
do all in my power, as I promised him, to 
find his brother if he is still living; and my 
request is that you will help me. I have 
notices out through all the western country. 
He left a large amount in gold on deposit, 
and a stilP larger property in buildings and 
lots in the dty. The rents are accumulat- 
ing on my hands, but I will make no fur- 
ther investments until I know what will 
happen. Yours respectfully, 

"James Tracy." 

After making arrangements to com- 
municate with Tracy through the 
editor, who was to receive and for- 
ward drafts for him, Mr. Hennessy 
set out for home. 

The surprise of all upon hearing the 
news may be imagined. 

After a long consultation with hit 
wife, Mr. Hennessy sought Mr. Blaifi 
to whom he communicated the fact 



that tlie Michael of our narrative 
was the son of his brotlier Michael ; 
that their own baby died in a fit on 
the night of Bridget's death, and they 
adopted the little motherless one in 
its place, without saying any thing to 
their companions, but intending to 
inform his brother of the fact when 
they should meet. Subsequent events 
determined them to keep it still con- 
cealed; but now that Michael was 
the rightful heir to all this wealth, it 
must be revealed. 

Mr. Blair urged that, as his brother 
left the property to him, it was just 
as well to make no revelation on the 
subject; but Mr. Hennessy insisted 
that his brother made that arrange- 
ment in ignorance of the existence of 
his own child, and it would not be 
right for him to take advantage of 
it, and, in fine, that he would have 
nothing to do with the property. It 
was far more painful for him to give 
up his claim upon Michael as his son, 
and he did not feel equal to doing it , 
in person. He tlicrefore begged Mr, 
Blair to communicate tliese facts to 
Michael for htm. 

That gentleman lost no time in ful- 
filling the commission, and Michael 
was of course ovenvhelmed with 
amazement. He liastened to assure 
his father that lie would not consent 
to any release of claims on the score 
of family ties, and they both went 
into a council with Mr. Blair upon 
" the situation." Finally they deter- 
mined that Michael should transfer 
all the money lo his father, and, re- 
taining the real estate in his own 
hands, go into the practice of law in 
San Francisco himself. He at first 
proposed lo have the family go with 
him to that place ; but they had lived 
so long in Vermont, and become so 
much attached lo M-— , that ihey 
preferred not to leave. 

Before Michael set out for Califor- 
nia, he had a long conversation with 



Mr. Blair, at the 
it was arranged that, after he had 
tablished himself ia his new hoc 
and opened an office there, beshoi 
come back, and if a certain 
lady (who was about to become 
Catholic in " spile of him") could 
persuaded to accompany his 
as he had good leasgn to hope a 
would— his next journey to Uiat 1 
off land would not be a solitary oi 

CHAPTER XIII. 



co.-iCLcsio:*. 

During the progress of tliesc crc 
the health of George Wingatc I 
been gradually failing, but so ti 
ceplibly as to create no serious a! 
and he could not be prevailed tip< 
to abandon his studies, or ibe ho| 
that he would live (o consecrate li 
young life to his God in holy ordci 
until it was near its close, Heot 
Howe and Johnny Hart devoid 
themselves tenderly to him, and watcj 
cd his decline with the grief whio' 
under such circumstances always fl 
tends friendships created and cemail 
ed by religion. He began at Icogd 
to fail so rapidly that his family mi 
sent for, and he never returned li 
the home of his childhood, but ^ 
in peace under the shadow of ll 
" Holy Cross " which he so deady k 
ed. 

His mantle seemed to have fidli 
upon his devoted friend, Johnny Hnt 
who in due course of time enicreil 
upon the vineyard from which 
beloved companion had been wi 
drawn while the dews of the mc 
ing stiil lingered upon his head, ■ 
ihe labors of the day were hanlly 
gun- 
Soon after the death of Ge<Wg() 
his oldest sister, Mary, joined the 
tet^ of Charity. 

In the same year, Henry Howe 



The Young Vermmtters. 



<»s 



took his father's place in the mercan- 
tile business, which was rapidly in- 
creasing in importance with the growth 
of the village, and Dennis Sullivan 
went into partnership with him. 

After Michael reached San Fran- 
cisco, he arranged his affairs, and 
opened an office in one of the best 
locations in the city, without delay. 
He foimd a home in James Tracy's 
house, and one of the best friends in 
that worthy man, who took a pride 
and interest in the son of his lament- 
ed friend scarcely less than that of a 
father. 

Frank Blair became importunate in 
his solicitations for the hand of Julia 
Plimpton. Her mother steadfastly 
declining to consent until he should 
have established a character for so- 
briety and stability, he became exas- 
perated, and abruptly left the navy. 
His disconsolate family could get no 
trace as to the course of his flight 

One day, as Michael Hennessy 
was passing down the street to his 
office, he observed a young man walk- 
ing rapidly in advance of him, and, 
accidentally catching a side glimpse 
of his face, what was his astonish- 
ment to recognize Frank Blair. 

" Why Frank, my lad, where in the 
world did you come from ?" he cried 
out 

"Rather answer that question on 
your own account!" replied the as- 
tonished Frank. " How in the world 
do you happen to be in San Fran- 
cisco?" 

" If I could have seen you as I 
passed through New York, you would 
have known all ; but I could not find 
you, and had no time to spare for a 
long search," said Michael. " It is a 
long story ; so come with me to the 
ofl^ce, and you shall hear it" 



When the friends were seated, Frank 
told Michael that he had left the navy 
without a discharge, and shipped as 
seaman on board a vessel bound for 
Panama; and that he supposed his 
friends were wild with anxiety about 
him. 

Michael communicated the details 
relating to his own affairs, with which 
our readers are already acquainted. 
He then wrote to Mr. Blair the story 
of Frank's arrival in safety, and that 
if he had no objections Frank would 
study law with him-in San Francisco. 
Upon receiving the letter, Mr. Blair 
obtained an honorable discharge for 
his son from the navy, and consented 
to his remaining with Michael. In 
the course of time he went into part- 
nership with his friend — now his bro- 
ther-in-1 aw — who hasbecome one of 
the most celebrated criminal lawyers 
in that city. 

Two years after the marriage of 
Michael, Frank was permitted to claim 
the hand of Julia Plimpton. At the 
same time, Henry Howe was married 
to Mrs. Plimpton's youngest daugh- 
ter, Mary, and her mother came to 
live with them. 

Mrs. Plimpton's son Charles is a 
lawyer in Massachusetts, and it is 
said he is coming for Lucy Wingate 
soon. 

The people of M , having no- 
ticed the frequent visits of Dennis 
Sullivan and Patrick Casey at Mr. 
Hennessy's, and that two beautiful 
cottages are building on lots purchas- 
ed by that gentleman each side of his 
own, have settled the question that 
two more weddings are soon to take 

place in M , but have not yet 

"named the day." 



666 Reading Homer. 



READING HOMER, 

How my dreamy childhood pondered 

On that old heroic tongue I 
Then, the dream-land where I wandered 

Was the Olympus Homer sung ; 

The cloud-cleaving peaks that trembled 

When the mighty gods assembled. 

Dazzled saw I blue-eyed Pallas 

Throned by Zeus on golden seat. 

Sipped from Hebe's nectar chalice, 
Plucked Cythera's roses sweet — 
Breathless watched, as from those portals 
Battleward clashed down the immortals. 

Naiads from Scamander's fountain 

Lifted to my lips the cup ; 
Oreads skimming Haemus' mountain 

To the tryst-place caught me up ; 

Gleamed athwart the forest's grace 

The white light of Dian's face. 

Burst upon my ear the townward 

Thunder of Achilles' wheel, 
When the fair long locks trailed downward. 

And the shriek made Ilium reel. 

Conquering torches, steep to steep, 

Flashed along the wine-dark deep. 

But my heart — that restless roamer — 
Quit those fields of kingly strife. 

That old world of Greece and Homer, 
For the world of love and life. 
Dead, like leaves on autumn clay, 
Those old gods and wonders lay. 

O the spirit's aspiration. 

Glorious through all nature's bound I 
The soul yearning through creation — 

All the sought, and all the found \ 

Oh ! what is — and what shall be 

In far immortality ? 

For truth's marvels well are able 

All of fiction to eclipse, 
And the wine of classic table 

Tasteless palls upon the lips. 



^ 



The Works of Gerald Griffin. 

From the living fount of truth 
Wells the soul's immortal youth. 

Still at times when basks the river 
The long summer afternoon, 

When the broad green pastures quiver 
In the rippling breeze of June, 
I unclose the Iliad's pages, 
To unearth those buried ages. 

But no Ilium now, nor tragic 
Plains I find in Homer's lay; 

With a new and stranger magic 
Now it leads another way— 
Whirls me on a sudden track 
To my merry childhood back. 

All that firesh young joy rejoices, 
Beats the child heart as of yore, 

And again I hear — oh I voices 

That I thought to hear no more, 
Till — the dusk has round me grown; 
Clos6 the book — the dream has flown. 



C.E.B. 



THE WORKS OF GERALD GRIFFIN.* 



the works of fiction in the Eng- 

iguage of which the first half 

century has been so prolific, 

has contributed at least a 

>ortionate share. Her writers 

department of literature are 

s, and their productions have 

erally received with due favor 

de of the Atlantic as correct 

es of the habits and manners 

e in whom we take so deep 

, and whose very contradic- 

iracter render them interest- 

for the curious and philo- 

^f so large a number four 

*rve special notice, stand- 

r do, prominently in the 



' Works of Gerald Griffin, 
: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 



XOTOls. 



front rank of Irish authors and exhi« 
biting in a marked degree a pleasant 
diversity of talent and invention, as 
varied as the peculiar characteristics of 
the provinces to which they belong. 
Carleton, for example, was an Ulster- 
man, rugged and tmgraceful, yet pos- 
sessing a deep vein of caustic humor, 
while his figures are struck out as 
distinctly as if his pen had some of 
the power of Michael Angelo's chisel ; 
John Banim was the embodiment of 
Leinster propriety and stability ; Lever 
is never so much at home as at the 
mess-table of the " Rangers," or when 
endangering the neck of his hero or 
heroine over a Galway fence ; while 
throagh Gerald Griffin's pages flow, 
now gently as a meanderingstreamand 



Thg Works of Gerald Griffin. 



669 



figures greater depth and bqldness. 
He also labored under the disadvan- 
tage of all tragic minds; for, though 
he never can be said to have ignored 
the ** eternal fitness of things" in re- 
warding the good and punishing the 
wicked, we close many of his volumes 
with a feeling more akin to sorrow 
than rejoicing, and while admitting 
the righteousness of his judgments, we 
sigh to think how God's best gifts to 
man may be turned to his own de- 
struction. It seems to be the law 
of tragedy that the bad men must be 
more men of action than the good, 
in order to produce the proper effect 
They dress better, talk more persua- 
sively, and display high mental and 
physical qualities which, say what 
we may, will generally provoke a 
certain sympathy for them, evil as 
may be their acts. This inherent 
defect Griffin labored to modify, if 
he could not entirely eradicate. His 
moral heroes are good enough in 
their way, but their virtues are of 
too negative a character. Kyrle 
Daly, in the CoUegianSy and young 
Kingsly, in the Duke of Monmouth^ 
have all the qualities we could desire 
in a friend or brother; but while we 
honor and respect them, a something - 
akin to sympathy is clandestinely 
stealing out to the proud and wilful 
Hardress Cregan, and even to the 
cool malignity of that unparalleled 
scoundrel, Colonel Kirke. O'Haed- 
ha, in the Invasion^ is an exception. 
He lASui generis in Griffin's panthe- 
on, being not only a man of pure 
morality and well up in the lore of 
hb times, but he is also a chieftain 
governing wisely and firmly, a man 
of war as well as of love and peace, 
strong in his affections and hatreds, 
living, moving, and breathing like 
one who has a subtle brain, warm 
blood, and a powerful arm to enforce 
his authority. He is decidedly not 
only Griffin's grandest conception. 



but will stand in favorable compari- 
son with any we can recall in histo- 
rical romance. 

The Coiiegians is Gerald Griffin's 
best known and most popular novel ; 
and, when we consider the early age 
of the author at the time it was writ- 
ten, and the circumstances amid 
which it was composed, we are equal- 
ly surprised at his knowledge of the 
springs of human action, and at the 
excellences of the book, both as re- 
gards correctness of style and com- 
pleteness of plot. Tho'jgh the work- 
ing of some of the strongest passions 
of our nature is portrayed in it — ^love, 
hatred, revenge, ambition — there is 
nothing about them sensational or 
melodramatic ; and though many dif- 
ferent characters are introduced, and 
incidents necessarily occur in a short 
space of time, there is nothing hur- 
ried or disjointed, one character act- 
ing upon another and each event fol- 
lowing and hinging on the one pre- 
ceding so gracefully and naturally 
that the reader is borne along on an 
unbroken cunrent, as it were, firom 
cause to effect till he reaches the 
final catastrophe. It is related that 
a portion of this admirable book was 
written in court while the author, who 
had attained considerable proficiency 
as a short-hand writer in London, 
was engaged in reporting an impor- 
tant law case. During an interval in 
the proceedings. Griffin took out his 
manuscripts, and, as was his habit, 
when a moment of leisure presented 
itself, proceeded to continue his story, 
regardless of his surroundings. It 
happened that Daniel O'Connell was 
employed professionally in tlie suit, 
and not knowing the writer, and sup- 
posing him to be occupied transcrib- 
ing his notes, looked over his shoulder 
to read the evidence; but finding that 
it was something very different from 
the dry question and answer of coun- 
sellor and witness, the great advocate 



The Works of Gerald Griffith 



671 



:h of a morning on the Shannon, 
a breakfast scene, as a specimen 
le author's power of minute de- 
tion ot rural scenery and felici- 
rendering of social life : 

liey Kad assembled, on the morning 
y's disappearance, a healthy and bloom- 
ousehold of all sizes, in. the principal 
j-room, for a purpose no less impor- 
han that of dispatching breakfast. It 
I favorable moment for any one who 
: be desirous of sketching a family pic- 
The windows of the room, which 
thrown up for the purpose of admitting 
esh morning air, opened upon a trim 
loping meadow, that looked sunny and 
'ul with the bright green after-grass of 
eason. The broad and sheety river 
k1 the very margin of the little field, 
ore upon its quiet bosom (which was 
ufHed by the circling eddies that en- 
:red the advancing tide) a variety of 
such as might be supposed to indicate 
tproach to a large city. Majestic ves- 
loating idly on the basined flood, with 
lalf-furled, in keeping with the languid 
r of the scene ; lighters burdened to 
iter's edge with bricks or sand ; large 
3f timber borne onward toward the 
x>ring quays under the guidance of a 
an's boat-hook; pleasure-boats with 
pennons hanging at peak and topmast ; 
f-boats with their unpicturesque and 
::eful lading, moving sluggishly for- 
while their black sails seemed gasping 
>reath to fill them — such were the in- 
s that gave a gentle animation to the 
jct immediately before the eyes of the 
e dwellers. On the further side of the 
arose the Cratloe hills, shadowed in 
s places by a broken cloud, and ren- 
b^utiful by the checkered appearance 
ripening tillage and the variety of 
hat were observable along their wood- 
es. At intervals, the front of a hand- 
nansion brightened up a passing gleam 
shine, while the wreaUis of blue smoke, 
ling at various distances from among 
5CS, tended to relieve the idea of ex- 
solitude which it would otherwise 
^resented. 

he interior of the cottage was not less 
iting to contemplate than the landscape 
lay before it The principal break- 
ble Xfor there were two spread in the 
was placed before the window, the 
ad snow-white damask cloth covered 
are that spoke ^tisfactorily for the 
(Stances of the proprietor, and for the 



housewifery of his helpmate. The former, 
a fair, pleasant-faced old gentleman, in a 
huge buckled cravat and square-toed shoes, 
somewhat distrustful of the meagre beverage 
which fumed out of Mrs. Daly's lofty and 
shining co0ee-pot, had taken his position 
before a cold ham and fowl which decorated 
the lower end of the table. His lady, a 
courteous old personage, with a face no less 
fair -and happy than her husband's, and with 
eyes sparkling with good nature and intelli- 
gence, did the honors of the board at the 
further end. On the opposite side, leaning 
over the back of his chair with clasped 
hands, in an attitude which had a mixture 
of abstraction and anxiety, sat Mr. Kyrle 
Daly, the first pledge of connubial affection 
that was born to this comely pair. He was 
a young man ahready initiated in the rudi- 
ments of the legal profession ; of a handsome 
figure, and in manner — ^but something now 
pressed upon his spirits which rendered 
this an unfisivorable occasion for describing 
him. 

" A second table was laid in a more retired 
portion of the room, for the accommodation 
of the younger part of the family. Several 
well-burnished goblets, or porringers, of 
thick milk flanked the sides of this board, 
while a large dish of smooth-coated potatoes 
reeked up in the centre. A number of 
blooming boys and girls, between the ages 
of four and twelve, were seated at this sim- 
ple repast, eating and drinking away with 
all the happy eagerness of youthful appetite. 
Not, however, that this employment occu- 
pied their exclusive attention ; for the prattle 
which circulated round the table frequently 
became so boisterous as to drown the con- 
versation of the older people, and to call 
forth the angry rebuke of the master of the 
family. 

" The furniture of the apartment was in 
accordance with the appearance and manners 
of its inhabitants. TTie floor was handsome- 
ly carpeted, a lofty green fender fortified the 
fireplace, and supplied Mr. Daly in his fe- 
cetious moments with occasions for the fre- 
quent repetition of a favorite conundrum, 
• Why is that fender like Westminster Ab- 
bey ?' — a problem with which he never fail- 
ed to try the wit of any stranger who hap- 
pened to spend a night beneath his roof. 
The wainscoted walls were ornamented with 
several of the popular prints of the day, such 
as Hogarth's Roast Beef, Prince Eugene, 
Schomberg at the Boyne, Mr, Betterton 
playing Cato in all the glory of 

' Full wig^ flowered gown, and lackered chair;' 
of the royal Mandane, in the person of Mrs* 



Tk$ Works of Gerald Griffitu 



673 



sketch of the Collegians without com- 
mending the treatment of the humbler 
personages introduced, equally free 
as they are from that stilted phraseo- 
logy and broad caricature which too 
often disgrace Irish novels and so- 
called Irish plays. Poor Eily O'Con- 
nor, in all her simple innocence and 
ignorance of the world, is a beautiful 
creation; and though travestied in 
three or four different forms on the 
stage, she still holds a lasting place in 
our affections. Her meeting with her 
discarded lover, Myles Murphy the 
mountaineer, presents us a scene of 
touching pathos such as only, we ima- 
gine, an Irish f)easant could express 
in his native tongue : 

" ' There is only one person to blame m 
all this business,' muimured the unhappy 
girl, 'and that is Eily O'Connor.* 

** * I don't say that,' returned the moun- 
taineer. "It's no admiration to me you 
should be heart-broken with all the persecu- 
tion we gave you day afther day. All I'm 
thinking is, I'm sorry you didn't mention it 
to myself unknownst. Sure it would be bet- 
thcr for me than to be as I was afther, when 
I lieerd you were gone. Lowry Lovby told 
me first of it, when I was eastwards. Oh 
ro 1 such a life as I led afther. Lonesome 
as the mountains looked before, when I used 
to come home thinkin' of you, they looked 
ten times lonesomer afther I heerd of that 
story. The ponies, poor crathers — see 'em 
all, how they're lookin' down at us this mo- 
ment — they didn't hear me spring the rattle 
on the mountain for a month afther. I sup- 
pose they thought it is in Garryowen I was.' 

" Here he looked upward, and pointing to 
his herd, a great number of which were col- 
lected in groups on the broken cliffs above 
the rood, some standing so far forward on 
the projections of rock as to appear magni- 
fied against the dusky sky, Myles sprang 
the large wooden rattle which he held in his 
hand, and in an instant aU dispersed and 
disappeared, like the clan of a Highland 
chief at the sound of their leader's whistle. 

" « Well, Myles.' said Eily, at length col- 
lecting a little strength, < I hope we'll see 
some happy days in Garryowen yet' 

'* * Heaven send it I I'll pack off the boy to. 

night to town, or I'll go myself, if you like, 

or I'll get you a horse and truckle, and guide 

it mjsdf for you, or I'll do any thing in the 

VOL. XI. — ^43 



whole world that you'll Iiave me. Look at 
this. I'd rather be doing your bidding this 
moment than my own mother's, and heaven 
forgive me, if that's a sin ! Ah Eily ! they 
may say this and that o' yon, in the place 
where you were born ; but I'll ever hold to it, 
I held to it all through, an' I'll hold to it to 
my death, that when you darken your father's 
door again, you will send no shame before 
you.* 

" * You are right in that, Myles.' 
•* * Didn't I know I was ? And wasn't it 
that that broke my heart ! If one met me 
afther you flitted away, an' saw me walking 
the road with my hands in my pockets and 
my head down, an' I thinking ; an' if he 
sthruck me on the shoulder, an' "Myles," 
says he, "don't grieve for her, she's this an' 
that," and if he proved it to me, why, I'd look 
up that minute an' I'd smile in his face. I'd 
be as easy from that hour as if I never cross- 
ed your threshold at Garryowen ! But know- 
ing in my heart, and as my heart told me, 
that it never could be that way ; that Eily 
was still the old girl always, an' hearing what 
they said o' you, an' knowing that it was I 
that brought it all upon you — O Eily ! Eily ! 
— O Eily O'Connor ! there is not that man 
upon Ireland ground that can tell what I 
felt. That was what kilt me! That was 
what drove the pain into my heart, and kept 
me in the doctor's hands till now.' " 

Altogether different in design and 
scope is the Invasioriy a historical novel 
intended to describe the institutions, 
manners, and ways of life of the ancient 
Irish, and it is much to be regretted that 
it is so little read by the descendants 
of that peculiar people, especially by 
those who turn aside from the difficul- 
ties of nomenclature presented by the 
actual history of Ireland. With the 
same motive that actuated Scott to 
present the otherwise unattractive and 
obscure facts of the early history of 
Britain in the fascinating garb of ro- 
mance, our author, always deeply im- 
bued with love of country and reve- 
rence for the past, sought in this book 
to give a complete picture of the public, 
social, and religious life of his ancestors 
as it was known or supposed to exist 
in the eighth century, before the re- 
peated incursions of the Northmen had 
desolated their valleySi razed their 



Tht Works of Gerald Griffin. 



675 



the sick, the entertaining of strangers, the 
giving of alms, and the instruction of the 
numeroas youth who flocked hitherward in 
great numbers from different parts of the 
island, from the shore of Inismore, and even 
from those of some continental nations. 
Those who were skilled in psalmody succeed- 
ed each other in the choir, night and day, 
which for many a century sent forth its 
never-ceasing harmony of praise ; while far 
the greater number were employed in culti- 
Tating with their own hands the extensive 
tracts of grround which lay around the con- 
rent and the neighboring city. Mom after 
mom, regular as the dawn itself, the tolling of 
the convent-bell, over the spreading woods 
which then enriched the neighborhood, 
•woke the tenants of the termon -lands, warn- 
ing them that its cloistered inhabitants had 
commenced their daily rule, and reminding 
them also of that etemal destiny which was 
seldom absent from the minds of the former. 
The religious, answering to the summons, 
resumed their customary round of duties. 
Some aided the almoner in receiving the 
applications of the poor and attending to 
their wants. Some assisted the chamber- 
lain In refitting the deserted dormitory. 
Some were appointed to help the infirnuu 
liaa in the hospital. Some aided the pit- 
tanoer and cellarer in preparing the daily re- 
fection, as well for the numerous members of 
the confraternity as for the visitors, for whose 
■ooommodation a separate refectory was fur- 
nished; and after the solemn rite of the 
morning, at which all assisted, had been 
oonduded, the great body of the monks de- 
parted to their daily labor on the adjoining 
tillage and pasturage lands. 

" Sometimes at this early hour the more 
infirm and aged, as well as the more pious 
of the neighboring peasantry, were seen 
thridding their way along the woodland 
paths to mingle in the morning devotions 
of the religious. The peasant as he trotted 
on hy his car, laden with the produce of the 
season, paused for an instant to hear the 
aaatin hymn, and added a prayer that hea- 
ven nug^t sanctify his toil. The fisherman, 
whose cnrach glided rapidly along the broad 
sarfitoe of the river, rested on his oars at the 
same 8<>lemn strain, and resumed his labor 
with a more measured stroke and less eager 
spirit The son of war and rapine, who 
^dloped by the place, returning with sated 
passions from some nocturnal havoc, reined 
np his hobbte at the peaceful sounds, and 
yielded his mind unconsciously to an inter- 
▼al of mercy and remorse. The oppressive 
chieftain and his noisy retinue, not yet re- 
covered the dissipation of some country 



coskerin^t hushed for a time their unseemly 
mirth as they passed the holy dwelling and 
yielded in reverence the debt which they 
could not pay in sympathy. To many an 
ear the sounds of the orison arrived, and to 
none without a wholesome and awakening 
influence.'' 

Arrived at manhood, the future 
chieftain is duly installed in office 
according to the prevailing customs 
of the sept, and henceforth we find 
him performing all the duties apper- 
taining to his high position, including 
his attendance at the triennial assem- 
bly of Tara, apropos to which we have 
an elaborate and highly interesting 
account of that historical gathering 
of all the estates of the kingdoms into 
which the island was then divided. 
A romantic adventure, ending in a 
love scene, of course, brings him 
among the Hooded people, the last 
remnant of those who, rejecting the 
teachings of St Patrick and his disci- 
ples, continued to practise the Drui- 
dical rites in seclusion ; and, as a con- 
sequence, we find a detailed descrip- 
tion of the objects and forms of that 
extinct species of idolatry. The in- 
vasion itself, the first descent of the 
Northmen on the coast, successfully 
repulsed by O'Hea's forces, naturally 
leads to a disquisition on the gloomy 
superstition and uncouth manners of 
those terrible barbarians. Thus we 
find grouped together, gracefully and 
artistically, the leading historical fea- 
tures of the period, the old supersti- 
tions and the beneficent fruits of the 
new faith, the faults and follies, vir- 
tues and graces of the christianized 
Celts, contrasted with the physical 
prowess and ferocious temperament of 
the hordes who were so soon to de- 
luge with blood, not only Erin, but 
the adjacent isles and the greater part 
of the coasts of Europe. Strange to 
say, the Invasion is the only Irish his- 
torical novel ever written, and, as 
Augustin Thierry was induced to write 
his celebrated history of the iVbr- 



The Works of Gerald Griffiiu 



677 



tain up to the present time — evils 
which have become so glaring that a 
thousand acts of parliament cannot 
hide them, and distress, ignorance, and 
its attendant vices, so gross and general 
as to be beyond the cure of the poor- 
house and the penitentiary. Consid- 
ered in the aggregate, England is one 
of the wealthiest countries in the 
world. Individually, her people are 
the poorest in Christendom ; for she 
contains within her boundaries a lar- 
ger percentage of paupers and those 
who live by crime of various degrees 
than any civilized country on the face 
of the globe. 

It was while in this transition state, 
from " merrie " England in Catholic 
tiroes to her present anomalous con- 
dition, that the Duke of Monmouth, 
relying on the ignorance and anti-Ca- 
tholic prejudices of the rustic popula- 
tion, resolved to dispute the possession 
of the throne with James II., whose 
only fault, in the eyes of his enemies 
at diat time, was his desire to concede 
iome degree of toleration to his dis- 
senting and Catholic subjects. Mon- 
mouth's miserable failure is a matter 
of history ; but in this book we have 
likewise a glimpse of the feeling of the 
people who followed his standard, and 
which afterward led to the elevation 
of William of Orange, and of the sen- 
dments which actuated the British por- 
tion of that prince's army in his sub- 
sequent wars in the sister island. The 
author also gives a very just idea of 
Monmouth and his subordinate rebels. 
The duke himself is represented as 
possessing all those exterior graces 
which are said to have distinguished 
the Stuarts, with more than all their 
vices and instability of character — false 
to his friends, cringing to his enemies, 
supeistitious without faith, and ambi- 
tious without the courage or capacity 
to command success. Fletcher, his 
chief counsellor and best officer, is a 
keen, hard-headed, but passionate 



Covenanter, a theoretical republican 
of the Roundhead school engrafted 
on the antique ; Lord Grey and Fer- 
guson are simply respectable adven- 
turers, equally destitute of honesty or 
brains, and worthy instruments in so 
desperate an enterprise. In compari- 
son with those men, the devotion of 
young Fullarton to a hopeless cause 
becomes less blamable ; and even the 
ultra loyalty of the old cavalier. Cap- 
tain Kingsly, is respectable. 

In addition to what we have before 
remarked of the design of this work, 
there is a feature in its composition 
which by some readers may be con- 
sidered a grave defect. The interest 
which surrounds the heroine, Aquila 
Fullarton, from the very beginning of 
the tale deepens by degrees until it 
becomes painfully intense, and the 
scene between her and Kirke, wherein 
that monster perpetrates one of the 
greatest crimes known to humanity, 
and she in consequence loses her rea- 
son, though founded on well-authenti- 
cated facts, and described with all the 
delicacy of diction possible, is almost 
too horrible to receive mention. 
The necessarily gloomy pages of the 
story are occasionally enlivened by the 
introduction of two Irish characters — 
brothers — Morty and Shamus De- 
laney, who, like so many of their 
countrymen, then and since, have left 
home to seek their fortunes, and find 
themselves in Taunton on the eve of 
the stirring events related in the novel. 
Morty, being of a practical turn of 
mind, forthwith enlists in "Kirke's 
Lambs ;"but Shamus, whose tastes are 
also pugnacious, but whose ambition 
is to wear epaulettes, takes service on 
the other side, and raises a company 
of ragamuffins not unlike that which 
shamed the redoubtable FalstafT at 
Coventry. There are many exquisite 
bits of humor scattered through Grif- 
fin's works, which might be quoted as 
evincing his keen appreciation of the 



Th$ Works of Gerald Griffin. 



679 



novels, and not a few were written to 
gratify his friends, and were first given 
to the public when his entire poetical 
works, as far as it was possible, were 
collected together in book-form, and 
now fill a large volume, not the least 
important of the present edition. 
We are not aware that he ever at- 
tempted an epic or any thing more 
extended than the beautiful ballad of 
Afa/t Hyland^ of the merits of which 
we can only judge by the fragment 
which has been preserved, the origi- 
nal having been destroyed by the 
author immediately previous to his 
joining the order of Christian Bro- 
thers ; nor do we think his ambition 
ever soared to higher flights than 
songs and short descriptive poems. 
ITie most meritorious of these, or, at 
least, the one which has obtained the 
greatest popularity, is the ^Ur of 
Charity^ written on the occasion of a 
dear friend becoming a religious ; and, 
though several gifted pens have been 
employed on the same subject, we 
know of none who has embodied so 
true an appreciation of the self-denial 
and entire devotion which mark that 
cnxler — the boast and glory of all 
womanhood. Several of his best 
pieces, indeed, are written in the same 
devotional spirit, particularly the fol- 
lowing verses, in illustration of a seal, 
representing a mariner on a tempestu- 
ous ocean who, reclining in his bark, 
fixes his eye on a distant star, with 
the motto-^* 

•"SI JE T£ PERDS, JE SUIS PERDU. 

(IP I LOSS TKIB, I'm lost.) 

** Shine on, thon brif^t beacoiv 

Undoaded and finee, 
From thy high place of cahniMHy 

0*er life's troubled sea I 
Its morning of promise. 

Its smooth seas are gone, 
And the billows raTO wildly^ 

Thenb bright onib •^uat on. 



*' The wings of the tempest 

May rise o'er thy ray. 
But tranquil thou smiles^ 

Undiromed by its sway ; 
High, high o'er the worlds 

Where storms are unknown. 
Thou dwellest, all beauteous. 

All glorious, alone. 

" From the deep womb of darkness 

The lightning flash leaps, 
O'er the bark of my fortune 

Each mad billow sweeps ; 
From the port of her safety 

By warring winds driren. 
Had no light o'er her course 

But yon lone one of heaven. 

^ Yet fear not, thou frail on«b 

The hour may be near 
When our own sunny headlands 

Far off shall appear; 
When the voice of the storm 

Shall be silent and past; 
In some island of heaven 

We may anchor at last 

** But. bark of etemi^, 

Where art thou now? 
The tempest wave shrieks 

O'er each plunge of thy prow ; 
On the world's dreary ocean 

Thus shattered and lost— 
Then, lone one, shine on. 

If I lose thee, I'm lost.'* 



or his dramas but one remains to 
us, Gisifipus, and enough dramatic 
ability is displayed in that to make 
us regret that Grifhn abandoned writ- 
ing for the stage so early in life. 
We are inclined to imagine that a 
young man, scarcely twenty years of 
age, who was capable of managing 
so successfully a subject that requir- 
ed the highest powers of Boccaccio, 
could in his maturer years have effect- 
ed even greater things. However, we 
must console ourselves with the re- 
flection that what has been lost to 
the drama, we have gained in the ex- 
cellent works before us; and as the 
drama is necessarily limited to the* 
few, the world is also the gainer by 
the change. 



TAf Pep* and tk* Burnett, fy ^^ntiwx. 



THE POPE AND THE COUN'CIL, BY JANUS. 



ISIDOKIAK FORGERIES. 

Of all arguments brouglit forward 
by y'liius to undermine what he 
woukUerm tlie historical groundwork 
of papal supremacy, and the preroga- 
tives exercised by the successon of 
St. Peter, none seem to have greater 
weight, or more forcibly convince his 
admireis, than the long narration on 
" Forgeries ;" and hence throughout 
his work the " Isidorian fabrications " 
play a great rSU^ Ostensibly these 
forgeries are developed at great length 
with a view of merely overthrowing 
and combating this "powerful coali- 
tion" of ultramontanism, but in reali- 
ty the arguments deduced from these 
forgeries go far beyond this avowed 
intention of our authors. 

Up to the ninth century no change 
had taken place in the constitution 
of the church, as they readily admit: 

"But in theroiddleorthat cent urf, about 
845, arose Ihe huge fabrication o( the Isidu- 
rian decietals, which hod results far beyond 
what its author contemploted, and graduol- 
Ijr bul surely changed the whole cooslitu- 
lioftandeovernmcnt of Ihe church." (P. 76,) 

isL In our first article (p. 330) wc 
have already pointed out this illogical 
inconsistency of yaiius, when assum- 
ing a lawful devdopment of the con- 
-slituiion of the church in the first 
■eight centuries; whereas he by no 
means defines what he understands 
II >by a lawful development of the dt- 

rf'wconslitution of theancient church. 
How can he, therefore, decide that the 
i Isidorian decretals wrought an entire 

I and unlawful development of the 

I rights and privileges of the primacy ? 

L ad- \i \ht picture 0/ Ike organization 

^^^m^lhe ancient church is quietly, and as 



a matter of course, presented u C 
of divine origin,* we have no heiifi 
tion in declaring tliat picture a fi 
one, and contrary to the most and 
history of the church. ItcaDnoie* 
claim apostolic origin in so compl 
hensive a meaning as ^inus wot 
have it. The different grades of ( 
hierarchy, established bctircen the | 
macy and episcopacy, is the le 
of a hiitoricaf development, wha 
divine institution can only be claim 
for tlic primacy and episccipaej d 
sclves.f 

What difference is there 1 
bishops as to power and jtirisdictid 
over one another by divine ri^7 
If patriarchs, primates, and tncUDpO^ 
litans have exercised certain pmof^ 
lives greater than those enjoyed t 
other bishops, will jFanus tell as ti 
this is owing to divine origin ? How, 
then, will he account for the fact did 
no such distinction H-as univensDjr 
acknowledged ( until the third «■• 
tury in the east? nay more, that t^ 
the west there were no mctropoUoi 
before the latter half of the /mi 
century, if we except .Urica, and r 
in tliis latter country many bisluff 
were exempt, and directly subject 19 
the see of Rome? 5 

It is a notorious fact, though ^jfMm 
elsewhere so boldly denies it, that dit , 
bishops of Rome deputed oihet bt 
shops as llieir representatives in nai 
provmces, who by that very iacl « 
•P. 69- 

t ThomuvD, Vet ct Nin^ E«cLIMMlL(^»iit 



t See Cinon vi. CxuboI of N^ in 
co^iiH ilie paiKucbtl hglirt of Anii 
undTiii, in tbe caM, uttroduad trj ai 






TMs Pope and the CouncU^ by yanns. 



68i 



ercised authority over other bishops, 
because to them the popes delegated 
the exercise of primatial prerogatives. 
Thus, the Bishop of Thessalonica is 
constituted, by the pope, Primate of 
lUyricum, and the Bishop of Aries, 
Primate of Gaul. 

There are .still many letters of the 
popes addressed to the bishops of 
Thessalonica as early as the fourth 
century, by Innocent I., Boniface I., 
Celestine I., and Sixtus III., wherein 
instructions are given concerning the 
exercise of the special power confer- 
red on them .• Hence it came to pass 
that certain episcopal sees retained 
that high rank granted to their first 
incumbents, either as primates or me- 
tropolitans, after having acted in the 
beginning in the quality of apostolic 
legates. St. Leo the Great, in his 
letter to Anastasius of Thessalonica, 
says: 

** We have intrusted our charge in such 
a way to you that you are called on to skan 
our solicitude, nM possessing the plenitude 
of power." t 

To grant to the Bishop of Rome 
the honor of being the " first patri- 
arch," is nothing less than ignoring or 
setting aside numerous and indubita- 
ble facts long before the existence of 
the Isidorian decretals. % We should 
like to be informed by Janus and 
his abettors where the documents 
exist proving the rights of patriarchs 
as of divine institution? All cano- 
nists of any repute maintain that the 
preeminence of rank and jurisdiction 
accorded to patriarchs, primates, and 
metropolitans is not due to the epis- 
copate by divine institution ; but, on 

* Caostant Ep. Rom. PootiC Ina. I. ep. 13. Bo- 
BiC I. ep. 4. Coelest I. ep. 3. Sixt. III. ep. xa 

t " l^oet enim BOttrat ita tuae credidimoa caritatt, 
«t in partem aia Tocatus aoUidtudinia, noa in pleoitu- 
dlnem potestatis.*' £p. 24. ad AnasL Thessal. edit 
Ball. torn. L 

X The name of ^rianh ia first mentioned m the 
Cooncil of Chalcedon, Act 3, where Pope St Leo is 
thtu addressed : ** Sanctissimo et universali Archie- 
piscopo et Pairianhm magnx Romje." (Labbe, Col 



the contrary, all agree that this is a 
concession, whether express or tacit^ 
on the part of the popes of Rome as 
successors of Peter, being admitted 
by them to a participation of their 
primatial prerogatives. Hence all 
are the representatives of the prima- 
cy, whenever they are appealed to as 
a higher tribimal, and as such can 
only lawfully hold this preeminence 
among their brother bishops as long 
as they do not come in conflict with 
the divinely established order in the 
church, which consists in the principle 
that the pope possesses, by divine or- 
dinance, jurisdiction over the entire 
episcopate. Pope St. Leo the Great 
gives a beautiful portrait of this or- 
ganization in the church very dissimi- 
lar firom that of Janus^ 

"The connection of the whole body de- 
mands unanimity, and especially unity among 
the prelates. While the dignity is common 
to all, there is no general equality of order ; 
because even among the blessed apostles, 
though sharing the same honor, there was 
a difference of power, {quadam discretiopO' 
iestatist) and while all were equally chosen, 
yet to one was given the prerogative of 
presiding over the others.t From which pre- 
cedent also arose a distinction among bishops, 
and with perfect order was it enacted that 
all should not in like manner assume all 
powers, but that there be in every province 
some who exercise the right oi first judges 
among their brethren ; and again, that there 
should be some (bishops) in the larger cities 
possessing more ample powers, through 
whom the care of the universal church de- 
volves upon the one chair of Peter, and that 
in. this manner there may never be any se^ 
paration from the head." 

3d. According to Janus^ Nicolas 
I., by means of the Isidorian forgery, 

" opened to the whole clergy in east and 
west a right of appeal to Rome, and made 
the pope the supreme judge of all bishops 
and clergy of the whole world." (P. 79.) 

That " bold but non-natural " tor- 
turing of the seventeenth canon of 

* Leo M. ep. T4, cap. ti. 

t ** Quoin omnium par esaet election oni tamen datum 
•at, vt caeteria praeeminestti*' 



Tks Pope and the Council, fy ytauu. 



the Coundl of Clialcedoa attribulcil 
to Nicolas I., is nothing else but a 
pure fiction on the part of JanHs. 
The letter sent by the pope to the 
Emperor Michael III. is a document 
evincing the learning, sagacity, and 
prudence of Nicolas I., in that grave 
disturbance caused by Phoiius and 
corrupt courtiers against the lawful 
patriarch, Ignatius of Constaniinople. 

When the latter, for the conscien- 
tious discharge of his pastoral duly 
and vigilance toward a licentious 
court, had been violently deposed, 
and Photius, a relative of the empe- 
ror, put in his place, recourse was had 
to Rome to obtain sanction of these 
proceedings. The pope sent legates 
to Constantinople to investigate the 
matter laid before him ; these in their 
turn, being partly misled, partly brib- 
ed, ratified all that had been done. 
Pope Nicolas, upon hearing this, 
excommunicated the legates and an- 
nulled the election of Photius. The 
latter, seconded by the intrigues of 
the court, protested against this act 
of the pope whose authority he had 
previously involtcd. Hence, Nico- 
las I., in the above-mentioned letter, 
reasons by analogy that the seven- 
teentb canon of the Council of Chal- 
cedon, respecting appeals to primates 
or to tlie patriarch of Constantinople, 
was in a higher sense applicable to 
the Bishop of Rome.* It clearly fol- 
lows from the canon in question t 
that it merely intended to regulate 
the several instances of appeal for 
clerics, and alluded to the special 
privilege of appealing to the Patri- 
arch of Constantinople.} 

In the present instance, however, 
is it not evident that the patriarch 
could not be his own judge, and, 
^ce a final decision was demanded, 
on whom did this right devolve, we 



lin&caa 
ins,fiBfl 

of M 



may ask, if not on the Btsbop i 
Rome ? A similar and crcn nc 
striking argument may be seen in t 
letter addressed by Nicolas L 
the Frankish king, Charles the Ba 
Rothad, Bishop of Soissons, havj 
been deposed by Hinctnar, Arch 
shop of Rheims, appealed to Fc 
Nicolas, who, after cxamioin^ a 
the bishop to be restored ; 
reasons for doing so sustains, fi 
divine right of the chair of F 
receive appeals and to act as toiiRi 
judge ; and then goes od stating di 
as the canon of Chalcedon grxni 
the right of judging to the priau 
orto the see of Constantinople, iai 
manner also, and with much nuHCi 
son, must the same rule be obic 
ed regarding the right of the see 
Rome. If, therefore, adds the po 
Rothad of Soissons appealed to 
chair of Peter conformably to 
Synod of Sardica, this action was \ 
fectly lawful, and lliare were ta; 
precedents for this in history ; as, 
example, the appeals made by 
Athanastus to Julius Land St J< 
Chrysostom to Innocent I.* H< 
then, the reader will judge of tbc i 
tarical fairness of our authois, wt 
asserting that Pope Nicolas L. 
torturing a single word a^ioK i 
sense of a whole code of law, " n 
aged to give a turn to » canoo O 
general council." 

Are we to believe, upon the i 
word and authority of yanus, t 
the whole constitution af the chii 
underwent a change by mcaits 
these Isidorian decretals, when 
many men, distinguished for tt 
learning and deep researches, lu 
.exploded this theory long ago 
vanced by the Magdeburg C«itni 
tors? It is certainly nothing I 
than presumption and arrogance 
disparage the knowledge and scici 



Tke Pope and the Council^ fy yamts. 



683 



of so many eminent men * who unani- 
mously agree on the following points: 
I. That the pseudo-Isidorian decre- 
tals were not written with a view of 
exalting the papal power, but rather 
that of the bishops. 2. That the 
contents of this collection are, for the 
most part, taken from ancient and 
genuine documents. 3. That the 
fictitious decretals contained therein 
are quite generally known, and even 
these imply nothing novel or contra- 
dictory to the then established disci- 
pline of the church. 4. It is certain 
that this collection was not compiled 
at Jiome^ and much less known or 
used by Pope Nicolas as a genuine 
document of binding force. 

It will be necessary to support 
these points by a few and, we hope, 
unexceptionable arguments, yanus 
might have indeed spared himself the 
pains of such a minute and tedious 
disquisition on these Isidorian forge- 
ries, as many t of similar disposition 
with himself made extensive use of 
this unauthorized collection of pseudo- 
Isidore, in order to show upon what 
grounds were based the principles of 
the present constitution of the church, 
and particularly that the prerogatives 
exercised by the Roman see rested 
on these forged documents. If the 
power of the Bishop of Rome had no 
other foundation but the Isidorian 
forgery, then indeed might we be 
obliged to join in the triumphant 
chorus of yanus and his abettors; 
but the question, not to be misplaced 
or adroitly shifted, is simply this : Did 
the prerogatives exercised by the 
popes need these forgeries to estab- 
lish the lawfulness of their claims ? 
It is to no purpose to conceal and 
cover up, as it were, the principle in 

•ThonuMiii, Banerini, Dttod, Walter. Philippt, 
Scholte, DOQmger, Blondel, Ludeo, Schdnenuuin, 
tfM bit three Pro te rt»Bti» all of whom, says yanmt, 
faetfay aTcryimpcriiBCt *'kaowladgtof Um decretala.*' 

(P. 7*.) 
t LaoBoy, Amoold, Ftfaraniai^ Bahixa^ Dt ICaiak 



question by tedious and showy di- 
gressions — whether these decretals 
were fictitious and whether they were 
used ; but the whole problem to be 
solved is. Has the pseudo-Isidorian 
collection introduced or enforced an 
innovation in the ancient constitution 
of the church, as it was in vigor at 
that period, or were the principles 
enunciated by pseudo-Isidore con- 
formable to the doctrine of the church 
and in accordance with the canons 
of fomier councils, or not? What 
does it matter whether one or an- 
other theologian, and even a pope, 
made use of tiiese decretals, not 
doubting of their genuineness, and con- 
sequently deceived, provided nothing 
new and unwarranted by previous 
tradition was thereby admowledged 
or enacted ? If such a theologian as 
St Thomas Aquinas was deceived as 
to a spurious passage of St Cyril, 
and followed herein by Bellarmine, 
is that enough to condemn their 
whole system or to impeach their 
honesty ? 

We might by such a method of 
arguing overthrow the entire histori- 
cal edifice of the first thousand years 
of the church, and begin to build up 
a new system on this tabula rasa with 
the aid of this hypercritical process 
of yanus and his school, and we 
scarcely doubt but that he himself 
would be in the worst plight 

It is certainly true that the author 
of the Isidorian decretals, as he him- 
self avows in the preface, wished to 
give a complete code of ecclesiasti- 
cal laws to the clergy, though for the 
greater part he insists on such points 
of discipline as Were at that time 
greatly endangered and often ne- 
glected. 

''The immediate olject," says Jbrnu, 
"of the compiler of this forgery was to 
protect bishops against their metropolitans 
and other authorities, so as to secore abso- 
lute impunity." (P. 77.) 



TA£ Pcpt aiui t&s CmuuU, fy ^^aata. 



This should be effected, of course, 
by the right of appealing to Rome, 
and, consequently, making ihe pope 
the supreme judge of all the bishops 
and clergy, that is, of the entire 
church. I'hese are the principles 
that woikecl their way and became 
dominant; and that tliey " revolution- 
ized tlie whole constitution of the 
church, introducing a new system in 
place of the old on that point," our 
author assert " there can be no con- 
troversy among candid historians," 
(P. 79.) With all deference to the 
historical erudition of our authors, we 
cannot refrain from interrogating his- 
tory and assuring ourselves of the 
truth of these grave charges. 

Having once granted that Christ 
intrusted Peter and his successors 
with the chief care of his flock — both 
pastors and people — it is impossible 
to suppose that in this supreme 
charge should not be included the 
right of bearing appeals and giving 
final decision; for where could this 
preeminence find any application, if 
the whole church be thus cut off 
from communicating with its head ? 

The Synod of Sardica had formally 
defined this right of hearing appeals 
in several of its canons, as our au- 
thors acknowledge, though their ef- 
forts to cancel Uiis ancient testimony 
and to do away with the binding 
force of these canons are useless and 
unavailing; for the canons of the 
Council of Sardica* did nothing more 
than solemnly acknowledge what had 
been handed down from apoUolk 
times, attesting the doctrine of the 
church as fully practised long before. 
We may be permitted to signalize 
two most remarkable and indubitable 
instances from history. Marcianus, 
Bishop ol Aries, having espoused the 
heretical' doctrine of Novatian, was 
denounced by Fauslirus of Lyons, 
and Other bishops, to the sec of Rome ; 



at the same time FAUsttnus also 
formed St. Cyprian, Bishop qI-j{ 
thage, who, in his turn, I>egj 
Stephen to terminate this 1 
his power as supreme pastor 4 
church, requesting the tlei 
Marcianus and the 1 
another in his place.* 
Icsi conspicuous proof we fintt 
fact of the two Spanish 1 
silidcs and Martial, in which e 
Cyprian t approved of the a 
Pope Stephen, and saw no u 
of power when the latter 1 
Bosilides to his bishojiric, ai)d\ 
regretted that by a f;tlse st^iteiBi 
of facts the pope was misled ami < 
ceived-t Our argument becon 
more conclusive frooi the follof 
great event in the eastern 1 
where the jurisdiction in the 4 
tauset [cama majores) app( 
most resplendent light. Id the C 
of Athanasius, Archbishop of jUcxi 
dria, when the Eusebiam,^ suppnr 
by the weak and tyrannical Empe 
Constanttus, drove him from 
episcopal sec, we find, first, th:U 
numerous assembly of Kgyptian 
shops who met at Alexandria, appe 
ed to Pope Juhus I. After the An 
Synod of Antioch in 314, Crego 
a Cappadocian, was forced on I 
episcopal see of Athanasius, and I 
latter, with the Bishops Marcdlus 
Ancyra, Lucius of .\drianopIc, Aic 
pas of Gaza, Paul of Constantinoc 
and many others, fled to Rome, 1 
ploring tlie protection of Pope J 
lius, who caused a synod to be hi 
in 343, at which a great number 
eastern prelates from Thrace, Cce 
Syria, Fhcenicia, and Palestine 
tended. The case of St. Athanas 
and his fellow-exiles was exanuiu 
and they were declared innocent 
tha charges brought against the 



t:^ 



The Po^e and tfie Council^ by yanus. 



68s 



and reinstated m their sees, from 
which only violence and force kept 
ihem for some time. Here, then, we 
have another argument for these high 
prerogatives exercised by the Bishop 
of Rome four years before the Synod 
of Sardica. Confront this fact with 
the following passage from our au- 
thors: 

'• Only after the Sardican Council, and in 
reliance solely on it, or the Nicene, which was 
designedly confounded with it, was a right 
of hearing appeals laid claim to.'' * 

We have to deal with men of far 
too evasive minds, in the authors of 
this " contribution to ecclesiastical 
history," to limit ourselves to any one 
point of their argumentation. If, on 
the one hand, we adduce from history 
long before the existence of the Isido- 
rian forgeries, the testimony of such 
great and holy popes as Innocent I.,t 
Zozimus,! Boniface !.,§ Celestine I., 
Leo the Great,|| Gelasius I.,fland even 
before, Julius I.,** (337 to 352,) who 
all claim, assert, and exercise the right 
of final decision as supreme judges 
for both east and west, from whom 
there is no appeal, and this, too, in 
all great and weighty matters, (j^a- 
viora ne§otia^ as Pope Gelasius says ; 
then we are told that this right rests 
only on the canons of Sardica, and 
that the " fathers gave the see of Rome 
the privilege of final decision." If, on 
the other hand, we show ourselves 
satisfied with so ancient and indubi- 
table an authority as the great Synod 
of Sardica, why, then, does ydnus 
resort to the simple expedient of de- 
claring that the "Sardican canons 
were never received at all in the east " ? 



•p. 66. 

t Apod Constant Epitt Rom. PoDti£ EpisL 37, 
ad Felic. col. 910. 

X £pi«t. 1. ad Episc GalL coL 933. 

f EpUt. ad Episc Illyr. col. 103S. 

I Epist. ad Episc. Vienn. Prov. (Bailer Opp. torn. 
L ool. 634 ) 

\ E^MSt ad Epiac Dardan. (Hardouia Concfl. 
loin. h. ooL 909.) 

** Epbt. ad Eoaeb. ooL 385, api Const 



Nor can his bon-mot, in styling greater 
causes (in which final decision is re- 
served to the Roman see) an " elastic 
term," supply the want of logic and 
historical accuracy. A slight acquain- 
tance with the historical incidents con- 
nected with the Council of Sardica • 
will at once convince every unbiased 
mind that the opposition came fipom 
a party of reckless Eusebians, who 
withdrew from the synod when they 
could not attain their nefarious object, 
and repaired to Philippolis in order to 
crown their treacherous proceeding by 
excommunicating such holy and illus- 
trious prelates as Athanasius and the 
aged Hosius, legate of Pope Julius, 
and even the pontiff himself, who re- 
mained steadfast in their defence of 
the Nicene doctrines. And such are 
the reasons, let it be observed, which 
cause yanus to say that the canons 
of Sardica were not at all received in 
the east. What can be a more con- 
vincing proof than their insertion into 
collections or codes of law compiled 
by official authority ,t havmg been in- 
serted not only in the Latin collection 
of Dionysius^ under the pontificate 
of Anastasius II., about the year 498, 
and later in the Spanish code called 
Liber Canonum^ commonly attributed 
to Isidore of Seville, but also in the 
Greek collection of canons by John 
Scholasticus, and in the Nomocanon 
compiled by the same author, who 
died Patriarch of Constantinople in 

S78-§ 
From these premises we arrive at 

the following conclusions: ist, that 

the right of appeal to Rome and her 

jurisdiction, in all greater causes^ was 

taught and practised in the church ai 

•DmngtT, l/u(, ^ifihtChmxh^yd. il pp. xo\ 
109. 

t The code of Dionysius presented bj R. Hadrian 
to Charlemagne, known hence in Gaul as the Codex 
Hadrianeus. 

X BibKoth. Jar. Canon, torn, t p. 97-i8a Fr. Pi- 
thoeus. Codex Canon. Ecd. Rom. Vet. pp^ 119, lao^ 
can. iii. vii. (edit. Paris.) 

% Bibiioth. Jar. Canon, tea. tt. v^ VVK^V 



Tit Pope and the Council, by yanm. 



kaU four centimes before the Istdo- 
rlao decretals were known ; ad, that 
the jurisdiclion of the pope as supreme 
judge of the whole church is trium- 
pliantly attested by historical docu- 
maits of the same age; 3d, that the 
canons of Sardica acknowledged a 
divine right of the bishops of Rome — 
merely introducing a new form that 
affecled the application and exercise of 
this right, from which, however, the 
popes could deviate for reasons of 
wise and prompt administration.* 

Id this connection we must briefly 
notice another charge made by Jet- 
tius, namely, that on the fiibrication 
of pscudo- Isidore, 

"wBS based the mailm tliat the pope, u 
supreme judge of (he church, could be judj;- 
ed by no m»n." (P. 78.) 

In this maxim our authors discover 
the foundation of the edifice of papal 
infaDibility already laid. If such be 
the case, let us inquire whether this 
maxim was not known before pseudo- 
Isidore. A synod of Rome held in 
378, under Pope Damasus, declared 
in a letter to the Emperor Gratiant 
that it was sanctioned by ancient cus- 
tom that the Bishop of Rome, since 
his case was not submitted to a gene- 
ral council, should answer for himself 
before the council of the emperor; 
&ut this was only to be understood in 
accusations of civil and political offemes. 
The highest judicial authority in the 
church having been vested by Christ 
in Peter and his successors, ihcir voice 
was the judgment from which there 
was no apped; neither did any bishop 
or any assembly of bishops receive 
power over the head of the church. 
This principle, acknowledged by civil 
codes in temporal principalities, was 
likewise solemnly affirmed by the Ro- 
man synod in the year 501, which 

• DBllingrr, Hal. ff n. C*.fr*, ml. H p, «», 
gin* imn\ Rmarkibli iniunou ol inch eiop- 

t CondL Km. id Cntian, tnpenL op, il 



was called by King Theodoric to exa- 
mine the complaints brought agaimt 
Pope Symraachus, and to judge him 
accordingly. But behold the decla- 
ration of the assembled bishops, pro- 
testing that it belonged to the bishop 
of the apostolic chair of Peter to con- 
vene a synod ; for it was a thing un- 
heard of that the high-priest of ih« 
aforesaid see should be placed in 
judgment before his own subjects.' 
The bishops pronounced that be wst 
innocent before men, and left all to 
the tribunal of God. An apologjr, 
written for this Roman synod by the 
Deacon £nnodiu$,f ailcrward Bishc^ 
of Pavia, declared that a council 09 
the more important affairs could tn 
assembled only by the pope, or at 
least must be confirmed by him. Ano- 
ther striking passage illustrating this 
principle is to be found in the lettet 
of Avitus, Bishop of Vieane, addreu^ 
ed to the senators of the city of Rome 
in the name of the bisliops of Gauli M" 
follows : 

"That the pope, a* ivperiot. coatd fat 
judged by no one according to teuea «r 
law; and tlial if Ihls privilege of tfa> popi 
be called in quntlon, the whule epixopK^ ' 
would be shaken." t 

yarius likewise lets Pope Nicolrt 
assert, on the strength of the Isidorian 
forgery, "that tlie Roman Churdt 
keeps the faith pure, and is free (rort 
every stain." (P. 80.) Now, whodod 
not know that beautiful testimony of 
St. Irenteus, according to wluch " th« 
whole church, that is, all the faithful, 
must be in union with this church, on 
account of its more powerful princi- 
pality ; in which communion the faith- 
ful of the whole world have preserved 
the tradition that was handed down 
by the apostles " ? $ 

•Mmnii, lam. Till, [l ■(?. 
t LibcU, ApologEL £iuiDd apnd Btfaniv toCL tL 
p. ■)■. 
1 EpiO. ad Scoilor. Uibii Kcm. um. jai. MbA 



Tin Pope and the Council^ by yianus. 



687 



That the words in question employ- 
ed by St Jxtuz^ns, frcpUr poUntiorem 
principalitattm.zxt by no means capa- 
ble of the construction as meaning 
greater antiquity^ is clearly demonstrat- 
ed by Dr. Dollinger.* St Irenaeus 
likewise concludes from the uninter- 
rupted succession of bishops in the 
Church of Rome by saying, " When, 
therefore, you know the faith of this 
church, you have learned the faith of 
the others." St Cyprian, too, uses the 
following expressive language, *' He 
who does not preserve the unity of 
this churchi how can he hold the 

faith ?"t 

Theodoret, about the year 440, calls 
the Roman see 

"That most holy see which possesses the 
supremacy of the churches in the whde 
world, in virtue of many pririleges, and 
above all others, of this one, that she has al- 
ways ttmamtAfreeJrom the stain 0/ heresy ; 
nor has any one had possession of it hold- 
ing any thing contrary to fiuth, but she has 
preserved entire this i^postolic privilege V*X 
** Nee ullus fidei contraria sentiens in ilia 
sedit, sed apostolicum gratiam integram 
serravit" 

We might multiply our references § 
on this point to exhibit the htstarkal 
&brications of yanus and his school ; 
but we trust that all judicious and 
discriminating minds will have come 
to the conclusion, from the testimonies 
already adduced, that the pseudo-Isi- 
dorian principles have neither chang- 
ed ViQit' revolutionized the ancient con- 
stitution of the church, and that the 
papal prerogatives, at which our au- 



* Hist ToL i. |}. 957. If " poteii6or principalitas *' 
tignifiwt tKAjgrtmUr atUifuUy^ how oould the cfaarch 
of Rome daim prdlminenct above the churches of 
Aotiodi and Ephesus? 

t **Hanc Ecdesia unitatein qui non toiet, ttntrt «r 
fiigm crtdU r De Unit Ecd. p. 349- (Edit Wir.) 

St Ai^ust in bis 43d eptst, says of the church of 
Room, " Semper viguit apostolicae cathedrae prind- 
patus.* 

X Epist czvil ad Renat Presbyt Rom. 

f The very words of pseudo- Isidore on the parity 
of the ** fiuth of Rome " are literally transcribed 
from the epistle of Pope Agatho to the Emperor 
Coostantin* ia the year 680. (Maoai, torn. xL coL 



thors seem so very much incensed 
did not stand in need of forgeries — 
least of all, of those that came from 
the " Isidorian workshop ;" and we, 
at the same time, apprehend that they 
will have to go further back — perhaps 
to the apostolic fathers — to trace an^ 
other history of the constitution of the 
church and the prerogatives claimed 
by the successors of St. Peter. 

As to the materials from which 
these Isidorian decretals were formed, 
we may briefly state that they were 
ancient documents to which the au- 
thor had access. In many instances 
he attributes some genuine letters of 
popes to others than their real au- 
thors, and many other spurious do- 
cuments had ahready been inserted 
in private collections, as the bro- 
thers Ballerini have demonstrated 
most clearly by their profound re- 
searches. Sixteen pieces of this kind 
are enumerated by them.* Accord- 
ing to the most ancient code, this 
collection of pseudo-Isidore is divid- 
ed into three parts, as we find in the 
Codex VaticanuSj n. 630, recorded by 
Ballerini; and in more recent times,t 
this codex being brought into the li- 
brary of Paris, Camus compared it 
again with four other manuscript oh 
diees.X Part I. comprises the fifty 
apostolic canons which were compil- 
ed about the time of the Council of 
Chalcedon, as is generally supposed ; 
fifty-nine spurious letters of the first 
thirty popes, from Clement to Mel- 
chiades;§ the introduction to the 
whole is taken partly from the old 
Spanish collection, which circukited 
under the name of St Isidore, Bishop 
of Seville. Part II. gives, after a 
brief preface, the false act of dona- 
tion by the Emperor Constantine;|| 

• De Antiquis Collect pars iiL capp. iv. Gallandi, 
Sylloge. tom. I p. 538 sqq. 

t About 1809. under Napoleon. 

t Nttictt €t ExtraiU de$ Hamucr, dt la BiblML 
NiU^n. torn. tI pi S65 sqq. % Died 313. 

I Which was already kaowa from ili beuif userted 
in former coUediona. 



The Pope and the Ceufteil, by yams. 



two introductory pieces, one taken 
from (he Spanish code, the other from 
the Gallic coAt;* lastly, the acu of 
Greek, African, Gallic, and Spanish 
councils, as the Spanish code of the 
year 6S3 recorded lliem. In the third 
part we find another introduction co- 
pied from the Spanish collection, and 
then follow in order of time the de- 
cretals o[ the popes, from Sylvester 
(diwl 33s) to Gregory II., (died 731.) 
Among these latter there are thirty- 
five forgai leltere and several false 
councils, though, let it be clearly un- 
derstood, in many portions the f«n- 
Unts of these forged decretals corre- 
sponded to genuine documents which 
the author extracted for this purpose.! 
Two councils are falsely attributed to 
Pope Symmachus, All these records 
of pseudo- Isidore cover the whole 
field of ecclesiastical discipline; they 
are partly dogmatical, directed against 
the errors of the Arians, Nestorians, 
and Monophysites ; partly they con- 
tain moral precepts and exhortations; 
partly they refer to liturgy, giving the 
accompanying ceremonies to the ad- 
ministration of the sacraments; ano- 
ther no less conspicuous part is the 
enactments of papal decrees and ca- 
nons of councils, regarding the pro- 
tection of the clergy against arbitra- 
ry oppression, accusations, and depo- 
sitions, the security of ecclesiastical 
property, the dignity and rights of 
the Roman Church, the appeals to " 
the apostolic sec, and the prerogatives 
of patriarchs, metropolitans, and bi- 
shops. From all this we can infer, 
that the object of the author in com- 
piling this code was a very compre- 
hensive one, and he drew quite copi- 
ously from the Scriptures, from the 
Roman pontifical book, J the histori- 



cal books of Rufinus" i 
dorus, the author of the Jiiti, 
THpartila ;\ also from the whtinK 
of the Latin fathers, and from mai" 
collections or commentaries of Romi| 
law. By a subscciucnt muhiplyiii| 
of copiL-s, several changes and axid 
tions were made during the clcvend 
and twelfth centurics.J 

Having already produced li 
nics to prove that the prindplo^ 
which are said to have "surely bl 
gradually changed the ancicDt am. 
stitution of the church " by means oj 
these Isidorian fictions — n 
and acknowledged long ^^/^pKOdt 
Isidore, we have thereby made goori 
our third point, and we can fully a 
cur in the following conclusion of J 
learned historian, who saj-s of li 
pseudo- Isidorian code: 



,"2 

l<4 



" Hnil his book Ijcen in open t 
viih the ijiief points of the pievailing H 
cipline, ii voutd at once hai-e awakened n 
pidoQ ; eiaiiunoiioos would fuvg b 
itituCcd, and in an age which p 
lii^al acumen tuHident 10 delect li 
of the title of a book (tlie 
which was circulated under the n 
Augustine, the impoiiiion Honld hne b 
delected — an imposition wltich, ndl Mil 
really was, hiy cuncoled, twcaiue (he pk 
ciples and laws of eoclesiaslickl iliiHpij 
of the age corrctponding with the COnUaT 
of Ihe work, thej exdled no snrptue." 

That the Isidorian collection wi 
not compiled at Rome, is adnuiH 
by all historians^ and canonists a 
any standing; II nor did JTUam dared 
revive an antiquated and unfoundod 
opinion of this import. Howc^'cr,* 
have to deal with anothn do lea lu 
zardous, nay, we might state at o 
Jaiie assertion in the following liats^ 

"Al»nl a hundred pretended deaecsci 
the earliest popes, to);cthci vith cc 
rioBS writings of other chiucb d 



• Kbowi. io ilw fifth cmtiifT (QmnfTicCl.) * tivSma trrai 

t BlndiL Pniccnn. op, ii HUmi, Dc Ccl- vIiKh ht HUed n 
t. CuMB. Iiid UcnaL cap. iL Ctaadi. uk li. t Eilit Va ■ yA 



t Mwanri^ tdh. ttK fiL pm t. Kb. OmUc. 



I S« JUiW HkL i«l 






Th* Pop* and tb* Council, by yanvs. 



689 



of synods, were then fabricated in 
: of Gaul, and eagerly seiudupon by 
'^oias I, at Romet* to be used as 

documents in support of the new 
vox forward by himself and his sue- 

• (P. 77.) 

)rder to judge fairly of this 
[question raised by Janusy and 
irs before him, we may be par- 
for premising that the coUec- 
f pseudo-Isidore became first 
in Gaul about the middle of 
th century. The most recent 
ent which has been traced is 
■nod of Paris, of 829, firom 
extracts are made. Other re- 
js have led Ballerini t and oth- 
nippose that the Synod of Aix- 
pelle, held in the year Zt^^^ was 
to the author, since he dwells 
It length on the rights of pri- 
or apostolic vicars, which dig- 
is restored in France, or west- 
ul, after a long interruption, in 
ir 844. Mention is first made 
se decretals at the Synod of 
y, J in 857, so that the time of 
ompilation must certainly be 
jd between these fast-named 
)f 845 and 847. We might ar- 
: a more precise rime by the 
It a collection of Capitularies^ § 
by Benedict, levita or deacon 
inz, between the years 840 and 
)ntains entire passages identical 
hose in the pseudo-Isidorian 
The only explanation of this 
ity is either to be sought in the 
.at both collections come from 
ne author, or that the Capitu- 
of Benedict have copied from 
dorian code ; and in that issue, 
;ter must have been compiled 
the year 847. || The corre- 
jnce between Pope Nicolas I. 

italics are our own. 
Part iiL cap. 6. n. 13. GaUaod, tip. 

n. torn. XT. coL 1J7. 

I of the empire of Charlemagne, divided into 

or chapters. 

r. d« Caaoa. Collect p. iii. ctpti dt. 

VOL. XI. — ^44 



and Hincmar of Rheims attracted 
general attention to the pseudo-Isido- 
rian collection, and in this way Pope 
Nicolas I. was first apprised of their 
existence, as is evident from his letter 
to the bishops of Gaul,* where he 
upholds the authority of the papal 
decretals in general, independendy of 
their insertion in any collection. The 
pope mentions the sources firom which 
the Roman Church took its ecclesias- 
tical discipline, alluding to the codex 
of Dionysius. The objection usually 
brought forward, that the pope says 
that these decretals were preserved in 
the archives of the Roman Churchy 
does not refer to the pseudo-Isidorian 
decretals, since there is only question 
of the authority to be attributed to 
those documents in general.t Hinc- 
mar, who had previously appealed to 
the pseudo-Isidorian collection, later 
rejected the authority of those decre- 
tals which seemed to condenm his 
own views and position in the affair 
with Hincmar, Bishop of Laon.| To 
leave no doubt on this head in the 
mind of the reader, we submit the 
very words of Nicolas I. : 

** We do not unreasonably complain," (ad- 
dressing the bishops of Gaul,) "that you 
have set aside the decrees of several bishops 
of the apostolic see in this matter. Far be 
it from us of not receiving with due honor 
either the decretals or other enactments con- 
cerning ecdesiastical discipline, all of which 
the holy Roman Church has preserved and 
given over to our care, retaining them pre- 
viously in her archives and in ancient and 
genuine monuments." % 

A few lines further the same pope 
exhibits the inconsistency of Hincmar 
and other bishops, when acknowledg- 
ing only such decretals as favor their 
own position, and rejecting others 

• Epist 4a. ad Univ. Epiac Gall, in the year 865. 
(MansL xv. coL 695.) 

t MansL xv. col. 693, et sqq. 

X Epist ad Hinc Laudun. tom. iL (edit Sinnoodi,) 
Paria. 

% " Sancta Romana Ecdeaia oonaenrana, nobis quo- 
que custodienda mandavit, et peneaae in suis archi- 
via, et vetnstis lit* monnmentis leoondita voienUii.*' 
(I.CC0L694.) 



Tlu Pope and tht Council, by yamts. 



merely because they were not found 
pin the code known to tliemselves. 
The principle, as though the authori- 
I Qf of a decree of llie popes or a synod 
CkWBs not to be recognized unless it 
fijtas been received into some code, 
I combated and the whole issue 
M to this, whether such decrees 
tuthentic and genuine. In fine, 
die pope in this episile combines an 
extraordinary knowledge of the aji- 
dent canons with great force of logic 
and historical accuracy. Our conclu- 
sion is that Fope Nicolas I. has 
never appealed to the pseudo-Isido- 
rian decretals, though he frequently 
had occasion to do so. This is ad- 
mitted by the reformed preacher 
Blondel,* and by filasco,t and, among 
other modem historians, by Dr. D61- 
linger, who remarks that Pope Nico- 
las I. " makes no use of the Isidorian 
BoUection, adduces none of its decre- 
, and it may be even doubled 
Whether he had seen the work."} 
* During the eleventh century only, the 
popes begin to quote from pseudo- 
Isidore. Here, then, we have given 
■noUier specimen of the " historical 
&imess " and " canonical erudition " 
of yaims and associates; and if our 
authors imagined that it was enough 
Xaimpme on their readers by the mass 
of "original auihorilies," they have 
indeed succeeded to some extent, 
and we have but one restriction to 
make, that is, that they cannot be 
saved from the charge of deliheraU 
falsifitation. For, singularly enough, 
and much to the credit of the histori- 
cal erudition of ytnus, let it be re- 
marked that there is always something 
in the authorities quoted bearing on 
<he point under discussion. Who is 
Acre who does not see that Janus 
stamps himself as a fabifier of history, 
whenc-er he mutilates and distorts 



t Cb. Hat. nL ik p. au. 



the contents of authorities qwited bf 
him ? In conclusion, we wirii to 
lude to one more insidious [KUs: 
of our audiois, when tlicy say, 

"The spuctout cbmctcr of tbe IiiiocMi 
decieltkia hid been exposed I17 tlw Utfdf 
burg Ccnturialnrs, and no ooK vilh iq 
knnwlectge of ChK^tian 8n[iqaEl;onUltr 
tain ■ doubt of Ihdr being a Ukt ' ' ' - 
ibn." CP- 3'90 

Alas I Nothing easier than to cUia 
this merit for such I'.i/jiA/ and iM/V^ 
tial historians as the avowed chuO' 
pions of Lutheranism! Besida 
doubts entertained by Hincmar 
other bishops in the ninth cestui)', 
a writer of the twelfth century, fe 
ter Comesior,* called the genuine^ 
neas of this collection in qitettiaa, 
In the middle of the fifteenth c 
tury, the learned Cardinal Nicolu 
Cusanust and such an eminent £nac 
as JohndeTurrecremata} provedSi; 
fictitious character of the most u 
cient pap;il decretals coataiiie4 k 
pseudo-Isidore; they wen feUoirN 
in these investigations by other cm 
nent scholars, both in Gcnnany u 
France, tf/on the dawn of the n 
teenth century, and hence no tiDpliia 
on this field, could have btxo ■ 
by the historians of &lagdebui;g 1 

If, notwithstanding all these elucidb 
tions, a certain Jesuit, Turrianns, wnd 
in defence of the pseudo-Ii 
decretals, we do not sec bow I 
this fact yanus concludes that the " J« 
suit Order were resolved to 1' ' 
ihem." (P. 3ig.) Uid not the I 
lustrious Jesuit BellarmtQe j 
ledge the fictitious character of p 
do-lsidorc? And yet ourauihoa it 
boldly continue as follows: 



*BtiicI>tC>ll«t c 



Tht Superstition of Unbelief. 



691 



ce of traditional evidence." (P. 

are sorry to say that we have 
en able to discover any such 
on on the part of Cardinal 
line; but on the contrary, 
inswering the objection of the 
iators concerning the fictitious 
of the first thirty popes to 
ades, we find the following 
iew on thb subject : 

LOugh I do not deny that some er- 
e slipped into these letters, nor do 
3 claim for them undoubted autho- 
I doubt not but that they are of 
dent origin.' 



>> • 



IS not precisely on the faith of 
lorian collection or its compiler 
iellarmine used any of these 
ents; but he endeavored to 
strate their authenticity accord- 
the rules laid down by histori- 
icism. It is simply false that 
de ** copious use of the Isido- 
:tions." None deserve greater 
for the clear and elaborate 
tion of this great question 
udo-Isidore than the brothers 



Ballerini, who have supplied an im- 
mense material whence the eminent 
canonists and historians of our days 
have been enabled to weigh every 
thing carefully, and the result has 
been a glorious one to Catholic learn- 
ing and science; The attempts which 
have been made for three hundred 
years, and more, to create a fictitious 
foundation for the present constitu- 
tion of the Catholic Church, and to 
brand it with the specious appella- 
tion oi forgery — ^these inglorious at- 
tempts, we say, have in our days 
been renewed by Janus and his de- 
luded admirers. If yanus hoped to 
strengthen his position by a novel 
method, we dare assert his signal 
failure — indeed, our enemies have se- 
cured a poor and feeble leader. Should 
the present contribution produce fur- 
ther curiosity, and lead to more ex- 
tended and serious researches on this 
subject, we are confident enough to 
express the hope that many unfound- 
ed prejudices will be thereby dispell- 
ed, and the triumph of ancient and 
present Catholic doctrine be hasten- 
ed* 



THE SUPERSTITION OF UNBELIEF. 



•IN an age has abandoned God, 
lity delivers it over, like Faust, 
devil, and he becomes its deity, 
ef is everywhere followed by 
ition. Where the gods are 
le demons reign, says a mo- 
rerman poet. " We are ready 
[eve every thing when we be- 
lothing," remarks Chateaubri- 
•We have augurs when we 
.0 longer prophets; witchcraft 
are have no longer religious ce- 

^De Rom. Pooti£ Iib.liL cap. ziv. 



remonies. When the temples of God 
are closed, the caves of the sorcerers 
are opened." 

It is certainly a monstrous pairing 
when, with boasted enlightenment, 
fortune-telling, card-divining, and the 
other superstitions of darkness go hand 
in hand. But it is nevertheless an old 
and well-known fact — one constantly 

* The EaKlish tnmtlation of Dr. HersenrSther't 
complete and masterly refutation of Jantu^ whkh we 
reviewed some time since in the original German, is 
announced in the English papers as nearly ready, and 
will be for sale at the office of this niagwne as toon 
as it is isMwd.— KxK Catholic Woeld. 



TA^ Superstitun 4^ Ui^litf. 



dcraonstrated by human experience — 
' that unbelief is invariably associated 

; with ihc grossest superstition, A ra- 

' pid glance at the history of peoples 

, in all other essentials most widely dif- 

' fering from each other will readily 

■ prove this. 

[ Beginning witli the Hindoos, the 

oldest people on the earth, we find that 
I A. W. Schlegel has already effectually 

• refuted the theories of modem writers 

on religion by demonstrating to us 
a steady retrogression from the spiri- 
I tual to the sensual, from belief to un- 

belief and superstition. Dubois, who 
had spent thirty years among the 
Brahmins, and studied their philoso- 
phy, traces the degrading superstition 
into which the Hindoos have lapsed 
to their having lost faith in llie reli- 
gion of their ancestors. Once their 
schools taught the maxim. Before 
\ earth, water, air, wind, fire, Brahma, 

Vishnu, Chieva, sun, and stars, there 
I was the only and eternal God, who 

had sprung out of himself. These 
pure ideas of religion have long been 
abandoned for an atheistic material- 
ism. A superstitious deraonology, 
I spirit-raising, sorcery, and magic have 

grown out of this unbelief, and thesame 
people now adore Kapel. the serpent, 
' and Gamda, the bird. They observe 

annually a feast in honor of Darhba, 
an ordinary weed, and offer up sacri- 
fices to spade and pick. To kill a 
cow is by them considered a crime 
more heinous than matricide, and their 
philosophers esteem it a great piece 
of good luck, a sure passport to para- 
dise, if they can catch hold of a cow 
I by the tail instead of the head, when 

dying. " Modern materialism," ob- 
serves Dr. Hwffner, comparing the 
unbelief of the Hindoos with our own, 
" has closely approached the abyss 
of Buddhism.* Manifestations like 
Mormonism, or the spiritualism of 
New York, Paris, and Berlin, already 
L suggest to us the religious and moral 



practices of the Hindoos^ and we bid 
fair soon to reach their lowest 
vilest forms — the Lamaism of Thibet 
and Ceylon. As in the opening of the 
present centm'y, adnniration of gentp 
led men to adore the poetical geniui 
of Schiller and Goethe, so, changii^ 
their idols, they will eventually woi^. 
ship those who have deified 
The Buddhas of modem atheism can 
only be the materialistic notabilities^ 
of the day ; and for this reason a " 
morous writer recommends Cari Voj(. 
for Delai-Lama, he being not onlji ft' 
high scientific but a great political 
thority. 

Passing from the east to the * 
we find, and especially in Roman 
tory, that tlie increase of supi 
lias steadily kept pace with the 
nution of faith. The religiou) 
dence of ancient Rome dates ~ 
dose of the Funic wars and tbe*<!i>> 
mestic commotions of the republic,] 
which period we lirst notke A 
strange hankering after what is ol 
scure and mysterious in paganism, and 
which attained its zenith uoder tte 
Csesars. This remark applies, 
ever, more to the cities than ihe^ 
try ; for, from the days of AuguStW 
down to those of the Antonines, tbi 
latter had not yet been s* gem 
corrupted as the former. Sulla, I 
dictator — to cite a few examples — | 
the utmost confidence in a small inn 
of Apollo, brought from Delphi, vria 
be carried about on his person, i 
which he embraced publidy before 
troops with a prayer for victory, i 
guslus, who allowed himself to 
worshipped as a god in tlic provinc 
regarded it as an evil omen lo 
handed the left shoe instead of thar 
right when he rose in tlie morning 
He neither set out on a joumcy rf' 
ter the Nundines nor undertook tof' 
thing of importance during the N' 
When one of his fleets had been lott 
at sea, he punished Neptimc by ex- 



Tke Superstition of Unbelief. 



693 



J his image from being carried 
:ession at the Circensian games, 
r the doctrine of Polybius, that 
1 is nothing more than a tissue 
and traditions, began to prevail 
ne, the phenomena which usu- 
end the decadence of a people 
e plainly apparent Those who 
liliar with the epidemic capers 
fanatics of that age, who jerked 
eads and distorted their limbs 
pretending to utter the will of 
ds, will be reminded of that 
md religious degradation which 
oduced the same effects in all 
!es and times — effects distinctly 
among all Christian peoples 
lose life the ancient heathenism 
ters, or where false civilization 
lore tends to barbarism. The 
)f Alexander of Obonoteichos 
the extremes to which super- 
may lead men. This auda- 
impostor buried in the temple 
)llo, at Chalcedon, but so that 
>uld be easily found, a set of 
tablets, promising that Escu- 
and his father Apollo would 
come to Obonoteichos. He 
jcreted an ^%% containing a 
snake, and mounted the next 
; altar in the market-place to 
m as one inspired that Escula- 
is about to appear. He pro- 
the ^g%^ broke its shell, and 
)ple rejoiced over the god who 
sumed the form of a serpent. 
2WS of this miracle attracted 
se crowds. A few days later, 
der announced that the serpent- 
id already reached maturity, 
exhibited himself to the public 
rtially darkened room, dressed 
•ophet, with a large tame ser- 
secretly imported from Mace- 
-so twisted around his waist 
> head was out of sight, and 
:e supplied by a human head 
;r, whence protruded a black 
. This new serpent-god, Gly- 



kon, the youngest Epiphany of Escu- 
lapius, received the honors of temple 
and oracle service. Alexander be- 
came a highly respected prophet; 
Rutelia, a noble Roman, married his 
daughter, and the prefect Severian 
asked him for an orade on taking the 
field against the king of the Parthi- 
ans. 

If we wish to see how the same 
impostures are reenacted in our own 
times, we need only read the accounts 
of certain evening amusements at the 
Tuileries. There sat one night the 
Emperor Napoleon III., the Empress 
Eugenie, the Duke de Montebello, 
and Home, the medium. On a table 
before them were paper, pens, and 
ink. Then appeared a spirit-hand, 
which picked up a pen, dipped it into 
the ink, and wrote the name of Na- 
poleon I. in Napoleon's handwriting. 
The emperor prayed to be permitted 
to kiss the spirit-hand, which advanc- 
ed to his lips, and then to those of 
Eugenie. This shance^ and one of 
a similar kind at the Palais Royal, 
where the Red Prince, known for his 
hatred of the church, devoutly watch- 
ed the ball which Home caused to 
move over a table, remind us involun- 
tarily of the Jesus-contemning apos- 
tate Emperor Julian, as he followed 
Maximus, the Neo-Platonist, into a 
subterranean vault for the purpose of 
seeing Hecate, and looking credulous- 
ly on when the former secretly set fire 
to a figure of Hecate, painted in com- 
bustible materials on the wall, and at 
the same time let fly a falcon with 
burning tow tied to his feet. Fuller 
information on this subject the curi- 
ous may glean from the stories pub- 
lished in the French journals, of hands 
growing out of table-tops and sofa- 
cushions, which furnish the Paris klite 
with the only luxury of terror it seems 
still capable of enjoying; or they may 
consult the numerous patrons of the 
fashionable clairvoyants and physiog- 



694 



Tht SuperstittM ^ UtOeUtf. 



nomists, l)ie Mesdames Villeneuve, of 
the Rue St. Denis, as well as ihe suc- 
cessors of Lenorroand, the famous cof- 
fee-grounds seer, toward whom Na- 
poleon I. felt himself irresistibly at- 
tracted, (though he sent the luckless 
Cassandra occasionally to prison,) and 
whom the Empress Josephine held 
in high esteem. 

The eighteenth century furnishes 
some striking illustrations of our theo- 
ry. An epidemic tendency to unbe- 
lief, like that which characterizes this 
century, is without precedent since 
the dawn of Christianity. Its fruits 
recall tlie worst abuses of the Mani- 
chreans and the Albigenses. We do 
not here allude to the thousands of 
innocent superstitions, which Grimm 
says are a sort of religion for minor 
domestic purposes, and may be met 
with in all ages, but to those more 
glaring ones which show how bsepa- 
rablcare an arrogant unbelief and the 
grossest superstition, Hobbcs, who 
labored already in the seventeenth 
century to undermine Ihe Christian 
religion, was so afraid of ghosts that 
he would not pass (he night without 
candles. D'Alembert,the chief of the 
Encyclopaedists, used to leave the ta- 
ble when thirteen sat down to it The 
Marrjuis D'Argens was frightened out 
of his wits at the upsetting of a salt- 
cellar. Frederick II. had faith in as- 
trology- At the court of his succes- 
sor, General Bishops werder imposed 
on the king by magic tricks, and his ac- 
complice, Wollner, who raised spirits 
by the agency of optic mirrors, be- 
came minister. The custodian of the 
Nauona! Library at Paris related to 
Count Portalis that some time previ- 
ous to the great revolution books on 
fortune-telling and the black arts were 
in general demand. Oerstedt speaks 
of a man who paraded his atheism 
with great insolence, but whom no- 
thing could have tempted to pass 
through a graveyard alter dark. Na- 



poleon I. dispatched, b iSii, a ^ 
cial messenger to Bcyrtnth, with '■^■ 
structions not to be lodged ia the 
apartments which the " white tio- 
man " of ihe Hohcnzollerru was it 
puted to haunL In the same wi^ 
we see by the side of this league of 
unbelieving philosophers spring ^ 
such superstitious sects as the Buiie' 
rians, whose head, Margaret Butlei; 
with Justus Winter for God the FadiS', 
and George Oppcniollcr for God i 
Son, representwl herself to be 
Holy Ghost. 

The alleged miraculous cnies cm' 
grave of Paris, the Jansenist dcaoo^ 
in the flrst, and ilic exorcisms of 
devil by Gassncr, in the second bait 
of the eighteenth century, form 
other instructive chapter in tlie fats 
of superstition. WhJc the AttUb 
shop of Vontimiglii, the Bi^op 
Sens, and other distinguished pi^ 
lates, denounced the cures pcrfonxd 
with the earth from the grave of " 
as a cheat, Montegon, the all 
wrote three volumes to pro« 
aulhenlicily. While the Archbidu) 
of Prague and the papal chair, by 
decree of the Congregation of ~' 
issued in October, 1777, cond< 
the miraculous pretensions of Ga 
Walter, Leitner, and other deiitic pii|> 
sicians, upheld them. While th« 
tcbank Cagliostro, who pretended k 
have learnt in Egypt the secret off 
nerating magical powers from 
ing surfaces, was called to accoont 
Rome, the Free-Masons of 
made him visitator, anil JfttJ him 
their lodges. The unbelief of t 
eighteenth century rcacheit at last il 
culminating point during the Fiend 
revolution in the abolishnscat of llH 
Supreme Being, though the rites of 
Mile. Aubry or Mme. Momoro 
as silly as the worship of the 
plucked from Voltaire's raAf de {i _^^ 
trr. The names in the pkilost^lnclj 
calendar teinind us strong))^ at 



Tkf Superstitum of Unbelief. 



69s 



00 worship of the spade and 
and who knows but some super- 
itened atheist may be prepared 
ascribe to the Brahminic dogma 

the ox, an animal which has 
ly played a prominent rble at 
l-republican festival ? Burke's 
:tion has been fulfilled, " If we 
d Christianity, a coarse, ruinous, 
ding superstition will replace it." 
is war against faith and every 
spiritual has continued into the 
:enth century, until once more 
materialism is found on every 

Already, during the fourth de- 
the darkest superstition threa- 
to overwhelm the so-called in- 
:nt world with the manifestations 
gnetism. The campaign against 
pernatural opened with the trial 
; devil. As the Strasbourg Ca- 
satirically observed, the very 
nd hour had been fixed when it 
?quired that he should establish 
wn existence by tangible proof, 
yarding the summons, the scamp 
romptly declared in contumaciam 
\red and cashiered along with the 

host of unclean spirits. The 
summary mode of treatment 
►ursucd with the opposite side, 
he same judgment was passed 
: angels, cherubim, and seraphim, 
ere pronounced to be equally 
;ss, scentless, inaudible, and im- 
:rable, and declared to be mere 
res of the imagination. Their 
md Master was next put on trial ; 
t very considerately with closed 
and in a secret inquisitorial man- 
rhe results of the trial were put on 
I, and for a while imparted only 
initiated, who gradually divulg- 



ed the news to the masses. At last 
the spirituality of our own soul was 
arraigned, and its activity explained 
as the result of a mere change of mat- 
ter. The Beelzebub of ancient super- 
stition was thus exorcised and expell- 
ed ; but he soon returned to the house 
which the besom of criticism had 
cleaned, and brought back with him 
seven other evil spirits, so that nothing 
was gained by the proceeding. The 
age, having cut loose from the invisi- 
ble, naturally plunged into a most ab- 
ject dependence' on the visible. As 
the negro races kneel before their fe- 
tiches, trees and serpents, so this cen- 
tury kneels before sleeping somnam- 
bulists, dancing and writing tables, 
and mixtures and nostrums from the 
apothecary shop. 

Should civilization much longer con- 
tinue on the present road, the most 
deplorable consequences must follow. 
As in all former times, so in this age 
unbelief has led where it always 
will lead — to superstition. Man, cre- 
ated for immortality, needs the won- 
derful, a future, and hope. When such 
a sceptical enlightenment as distin- 
guishes modem philosophy has sapped 
the foundations of religion, its absence 
leaves in his thoughts and feelings an 
immeasurable void which invites the 
most dangerous phantoms of the brain. 
The moment man boldly declares, " I 
no longer believe in any thing," he is 
preparing to believe in all things. It 
is high time that so-called philosophy 
should again draw near to that reli- 
gion which it has misunderstood, and 
which alone is capable of giving to 
the emotions of the heart a generous 
impulse and a safe direction. 



R^ormatories for Boys. — Mettmy. 



REFORMATORIES FOR BOYS.— METTRAY. 



scali 
1^^^ issu 

I * " 

r had 



I Thes 

I basis 



It needs but a slight glance at the 
condition of things around us to dis- 
cover, as a consequence of the crimi- 
nal and most deplorable neglect of 
the moral education of a large pro- 
portion of our children, that if they 
be not already on the broad road to 
ruin, they give, at least, little hope of 
becoming useful members of society. 
This remark is intended chiefly, but 
not exclusively, for boys, whose con- 
stantly increasing lawlessness, con- 
nected with the steady growth of 
crime among us, cannot fail to awaken 
the most serious apprehensions in the 
mind of every attentive observer of 
passing events, while nothing ade- 
quate to the emergency is offered to 
(Aecfc this growing evil; yet on the 
children of the present generation are 
based our hopes for the future of our 
country. Every one knows with 
what facility these young, fresh minds 
may be guided toward what is truly 
good; for, though the tendency of 
human nature to the descending 
scale in morals as well as in physics 
is sufficiently evident, the one may be 
lunteracted with almost as much 
:ainly as the other, if judicious 
'Measures be early taken to give them 
a right direction. The writer has 
had much experience in the domestic 
training of boys, and yields the hearti- 
est adhesion to the precept, " Train 
up a child in the way he should go ; 
and when he is old, he will not de- 
part from it." This training, how- 
ever, is not by means of pampering 
animal appetites or self-wiil, but by 
inculcation of strict though gentle 
laws of obedience and self-denial. 
These habits once acquired, a solid 
basis is laid for good principles and 
conduct, and these can, I venture to 



say, always be fairly established 
in the first ten years of life, ' 
have been justly pronounced iJw 
most important period of human o- 
istence, for they conta' 
from which the future cliaractet it 
formed. A profound thinker Tcm.iil 
that " in the education of the fam^ 
is concentrated the strength of ^ 
nation;" an observation which 
well be applied to these United 
States, where the moral character o^ 
every individu^, through our vfmat 
of universal suffrage, assumes i c» 
tain weight, and thus, to a greater at. 
less extent, influences the best iota* 
csts of the whole country. We taf 
here be permitted, in view of the in- 
mense importance of iliis educotioa 
of early childhood, to suggest a hiai of 
a strange inconsistency which is scircei 
ly ever noticed in the systems of edav 
cation adopted to prepare the &(^ 
thers and mothers of our posienQ^ 
for tlieir respective callings. Evoj-y 
where, even where morai influencciM 
are neglected, means are pronde^^ 
for the preparation of boys isa i 
career in life; yet, notwithstani 
the multitudinous volumes of pbiliihs 
thropy expended upon " 
sphere," "her rights," eta, 
have scarcely heard of a single 
directed eflbrt, beyond the ei 
of the domestic circle, 
young women in the supreme, 
inexpressibly momentous know! 
of the vocation that must suidjr fa 
the lot of nearly every one of 
Tliey are destined fo be moth< 
train up lender minds for tinK 
for eternity ! To them is cod 
the most precious of our earthly 
sures: for what is untold goIJ 
dust in comparison with ihe 



Reformatories far Boys. — Mettray. 



697 



of our children? Why are 
ot imbued with the most pro- 
respect for the dignity of mo- 
od, as well as instructed con- 
ously in its practical duties 
sponsibilities ? 

in the mother's work is ill done, 

is but too often the case, total- 

;lected, of what avail are the 

of the professor, but to make 

man intellectually strong and 

capable for the accomplishment 

evil designs? Who can pre- 

le safety of the noblest struc- 

superimposed on a false or in- 

foundation ? Knowledge is a 

equally available for good or 

irposes, according to the direc- 

iven by the moral force that 

; it May the Almighty dis- 

Df events teach us even at this 

ly to learn wisdom from the ex- 

:e of the past. If, for example, 

le volume were prepared and 

among the closing studies of 

irse in girls' schools, embracing 

tions in the duties of woman — 

tress of the family, as the wife, 

other, whose highest faculties 

[juisite in the early training of 

in — and if the whole were 

in so attractive a garb as to 

leir love and admiration for 

iromanly duties and perfections, 

we not hope that many young 

liileless minds would be gained 

lie mazes of folly ever ready to 

e their true instincts and affec- 

Craving pardon for this di- 

n, we proceed to the primary 

of this article. 

r TO THE AGRICULTURAL AND 
DRMATORY COLONY OF MET- 
Y, NEAR THE CITY OF TOURS, 
NCE. 

J admirable institution, which 

ceived the highest stamp of 

approbation in the form of 

than eighty kindred institu- 



tions that have adopted its rules and 
practice as their models, in France, 
Belgium, and other countries, was 
founded about thirty years since, by 
the venerable M. Demetz, at that 
time a distinguished magistrate, in 
union with a saintly man* whose 
honored remains repose in the neigh- 
boring cemetery. M. Demetz still 
lives to bless and guide this noble 
monument of his early wisdom and 
beneficence. 

In the midst of a beautiful and 
highly cultivated rural district, the 
pretty village of Mettray is built in 
the form of a spacious hollow square, 
and consists of some twenty or thirty 
detached cottages of brick, symme- 
trically placed on two opposite sides 
of the quadrangle, each having pen- 
dent roofs to protect the walls. A 
circular basin of running water occu- 
pies the centre, and the open space 
is planted with fuie shade-trees. Be- 
tween each of the cottages there is 
a gallery about thirty feet wide, and 
roofed to protect from rain the plays 
of the inmates of the adjoining cot- 
tages. All are white and of two sto- 
ries, chiefly covered with climbing 
vines and flowers. 

The entrance is on the side oppo- 
site the fine church, which, with the 
school-house and grounds, fills that 
portion of the spacious quadrangle. 
On entering, between two houses of 
larger dimensions, (one being appro- 
priated to the use of the director, the 
other to the normal school, in which 
the future teachers of Mettray are 
trained in their work,) the visitor is a 
little startled at the view of a large 
ship with all its spars and rigging, 
moored in the solid earth. This is 
intended for the instruction of boys 
who manifest a taste for the sea. 
The view of the whole is most pleas- 
ing. Every cottage bears an inscrip- 
tion on its front, which on inspection 

• Yiscofont Bretisai^res de CoorteillM. 



Reformatories for Boys.^^Mettray. 



699 



of their comrades most expert 
sic, who had meantime taken 
post near the centre of the 
, at which the various groifps, 
by their two directors, filed 
eerily, each to its home. The 
ans then laid aside their instru- 
and hastened after their com- 
is. They partake of their fru- 
t wholesome and cheerful meals 
second story of their respective 
es, accompanied by their direc- 
:nd in the evening, when the 
past is ended, the tables are ex- 
suspended against the walls, 
single row of hammocks, which 
lid aside after the same fashion 
breakfast, are again placed in 
!br the night. The rooms are 
;ly well ventilated, and there is 
t gain in economy from this dou- 
rangement. After each meal 
s recreation, and the hour being 
Qusic again recalls each family 
J square, from which, to the 
of lively airs, they move off in 
pirits to their various employ- 
Here goes a class of farmers, 
are the gardeners, and further 
e carters, etc. etc., all on their 

• the farm, while the lesser num- 

* shoemakers, tailors, and others 
heir steps in the direction of 
vrarious shops, and a goodly 
vind their way to the school, 
he children are accustomed to 
to their allotted labor as if on 
day. Music salutes their de- 
s, and its notes leave a joyous 
sion on the mind. The lower 
of the cottages are all occupied 
k-shops. 

m this brief sketch may be in- 
the regularity that prevails in 
Jony. Every thing is done to 
ate the boys to a willing and 
il performance of their duty, 
rshness is permitted that might 
chill these young hearts, that 
once been abandoned to vice 



before they were capable of dis- 
crimination, The system of rewards 
is quite original, and serves its purpose 
admirably. For grave offences con- 
finement in a cell is the only punish- 
ment found necessary. Lying is re- 
garded as the worst of faults. 

Within the narrow limits prescrib- 
ed for this article it would be impos- 
sible to give any adequate account 
of an institution which, wherever it is 
known, is recognized as being equal- 
led only by such others as most 
closely obey its spirit and maxims. 
Its founders have aimed, so far as 
possible, to restore and cultivate the 
family affections, prematurely shatter- 
ed through vicious examples, by di- 
viding, as we have seen, into groups 
this large mass of youthful humanity, 
and forming them into families under 
regulations tending to establish a sin- 
cere and lasting attachment among its 
members. In their respective cot- 
tages they live and work together, in 
tlie interchange of mutual kindness 
and regard, and are inspired with the 
idea that each, in a certain sense, is 
responsible for the good conduct, the 
respectability, the happiness, of his 
brothers. The ever-ready sympathy 
*and motherly counsels of the sisters 
must not be forgotten. The directors 
at Mettray are, thus far, laymen ; but 
in many other like institutions it has 
been found impossible to dispense 
with the aid of religious orders. In 
this country we should be obliged to 
have recourse to them for want of lay- 
men possessed of the needful qualifi- 
cations ; for they must give their en- 
tire lives to the work. 

The success achieved by this insti- 
tution during its thirty years* existence 
in the entire reformation of the youths 
subjected to its wise and wholesome 
discipline, is unexampled. The sta- 
tistical tables, of France, unsurpass- 
ed in exactness, inform us that an 
average of 96.81 of the youth 



Refontiatorjes for Boys. — Mettrey. 



rpro 

brought up at Mettray are restored 
to society, thoroughly reformed, and 
continue to fulfil their parts in life as 
useful citizens. They are usually de- 
tained in the colony to the age of 
twenty-one, when suitable situations 
having been provided, according to 
the trade of each, they are allowed to 
depart. Still, a sort of guardianship 
is maintained for years over those 
within reach ; and the young men who 
find employment among the neighbor- 
ing farmers are expected to pass the 
Sundays at their old home ; a privilege 
which they relish in the highest de- 
gree. Nearly half their number en- 
gage in agricultural work. Others 
enter the army or navy, in both of 
which several have attained honora- 
ble distinction. Many are married, 
and present good examples in domes- 
tic life. An honorary association has 
been formed, which affords additional 
incentives to good conduct after leav- 
ing Mettray. Two years of an irre- 
proachable life entitles each who me- 
rits it to a diploma; and this secures 
him a membership. 

It is really difficult to do justice to 
this admirable institution without be- 
ing suspected of exaggeration. To 
understand the wonder-working pow-* 
er of the wisdom that pervades it, 
that transforms the juvenile criminal 
into a sober-minded, industrious, and 
devout man, it must be seen and 
closely scrutinized. Christian educa- 
tion has taken the place of the penal 
code, and the boy is " trained in the 
way he should go," on the firm basis 
of religious principles of faith and prac- 
tice. The general expression beam- 
ing on every countenance, of cheer- 
ful confidence, even of the gentle 
and alTectionate temper that prevails, 
affords an affecting contrast to that 
of the newly-arrived boy, fresh fix)m 
the haunts of vice. His pale and 
haggard looks betray evil propensi- 
ties, as well as wasted healdi. His 



iQed wUlilitf^ 



litde heart is already filled 
tred, restrained only by the fear that 
he betrays, either by attempts ai a 
h}'pocnucal humility or an impudnt 
daring. Years pass on, sn<l ttus inci- 
pient wild beast becomes bencvoltiu, 
Irank, and good. 

Within a few years a kittdred i 
tution has grown up, adjoining 
village, but skilfully concealed ' 
the public gaze by thick 
This is the " Paternal Home," for I 
reformation of the dimibedicnt si 
of families in the higher walks of I 
A close while wall, behind «td 
trees and climbing vines ippMr.' 
pierced in the centre by an eqd 
close door. A small bell-puU b ml 
ed.andthevisitorenten a pretty eai 
laid out with flowers and dud 
Through this the home appeanail 
distance of a few paces. We enM 
narrow hall, furnished with simple f 
gance. Doors on either sjik It 
into small rooms, containing a In 
table, bookcase, etc. Engravisgti 
presenting some generous or od 
action adorn the walls. As the y« 
becomes more docile and stodioW 
singing bird in a cage ts given 
for a companion ; and, finaljr, I 
permitted to occupy two rooms. 1 
ing all this period, the boy b i 
to understand that he is Ihe object 
the tenderest affection of h« fiw" 
who inflict the greatest paJn « 
their own feelings in subjeettng 
to this temporary punishment, wi 
is solely for his own good. Ptofes 
altend him, and continue, wilhoM' 
terruption, the collegiate coura 
has been interrupted, and he 
daily benefit of fresh air on foo^ 
on horseback, attended by s pro" 

It must be understood that thb 
joum at the Paternal Home b i 
knon-n to all but the bnrilf. 
DcmeU alone b made acqi " 



The Vatican Council. 



701 



e.* To others who approach 

is simply Mr. A , B , 

— • Gradually this isolation 
s its efifects — and the intracta- 
t in this seclusion begins to me- 
) reflect, to examine himself — 
lemn his former vices, and 
: the studies that alleviate 
xiness of solitude. Two or 
onths usually suffice to effect 
)rable change. He finds re- 
>ccupation, and as he carries 
course of the classes he has 
begins to take an interest in 
tion. Let it not be imagined 
3 seclusion, though severe, is 
to afifect the health of the re- 
rhis would be entirely to mis- 
ind the parental foresight of 
[ider. The boys take long 
the country, each in turn, as 
said, accompanied by a pro- 
They visit the neighboring 
[id sometimes enter a cottage 
sit of charity ; practise gym- 



nastics, or take lessons in fencing 
and when their conduct is unexcep- 
tionable, they are invited to dine with 
M. Demetz. If, after returning home, 
they are tempted to relapse into bad 
habits, they are sent back again, but 
to a more austere rkgime. Such is 
the effect produced by this system, at 
once tender and severe, that very 
often his former pupils request of M. 
Demetz the privilege of again passing 
a few days of calmness in peaceful re- 
treat, or to finish some task that de- 
mands seclusion,at the Paternal Home. 
To them, the retreat where they were 
restored to a sense of duty is really 
a home of the heart, and the hand 
that raised them up is blessed as that 
of the father, who spared neither se- 
verity nor tenderness for their com- 
plete restoration. What wonder that 
he is the object of their devoted affec- 
tion ? Is there no American capable 
of imitating such a model ? 



FIRST (ECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. 



NUMBER SEVEN. 



preamble and first four chap- 
the dogmatic constitution 4Sf 
'fwlica having been irrevocably 
I of in the public session held 
•Sunday, are now before your 
uid the world. 

urithdrawal of the veil of se- 
)m this portion of the schema 
Dved firom the eyes of many, 
es of doubt and misgiving. 



vgA is 80 constructed that, though each 
s in fiiU view of the altar and the priests, 
the recluses can have even a glimpse of 
Fwo brothers once passed some time in 
lad neither was aware of the proximity of 



blinded as they were by the repeated 
statements of certain newspaper cor- 
respondents; and as future decrees 
come to light, they will equally con- 
foimd the pretensions of the false pro- 
phets, and amply reward the patient 
hope of the faithful. 

The Vatican Council took a fresh 
start on the following Friday, April 
29th. In the general congregation 
of that day, the fathers passed from 
faith to discipline, and began to dis- 
cuss the reformed schema on the LitiU 
Catechism. 

After the mass, which was said by 



702 



The Vatican CounciL 



the Archbishop of Corfu, the council 
was addressed by Mgr. Wierzchleyski, 
Archbishop of Leopoli, in Gahcian 
Poland, who spoke in the name of 
the deputation on disciplme, of which 
he is a distinguished member. 

Speeches were afterward made by 
the Cardinal Archbishop of Bordeaux, 
Cardinal Rauscher of Vienna, and by 
the Bishops of Guastalla, Saluzzo, and 
St. Augustine, Florida. 

The next morning, Saturday, the 
30th, the discussion was resumed. The 
Archbishop of Avignon, and the Bi- 
shops of Lu^on and Parma made some 
remarks on the general features of the 
schema. These prelates were follow- 
ed by the distinguished Bishop Von 
Ketteler of Mayence, the Bishops of 
Plymouth and of Clifton in England, 
and the Bishop of Trfeves in Germany ; 
all of whom confined themselves to 
some particular points of the docu- 
ment Bishop Von Ketteler, who be- 
longs to a baronial family in Germany, 
before becoming a chief in the church 
militant, served his country with dis- 
tinction as colonel in the German 
army. He must be at least six feet 
high, has quite a soldierly bearing, and 
is concise and to the point in his re- 
marks. The last speaker was the 
Bishop of Seckau in Germany, a 
member of the deputation. 

As the rules of the council authorize 
the members of the deputation to re- 
ply to the obser\'ations of the fathers 
at any stage of the discussion, the 
committee avail themselves of that 
privilege by making the final speech, 
which in ecclesiastical convocations, 
as well as in civil meetings, is gene- 
rally the most telling one. 

At the conclusion of the remarks 
by the Bishop of Seckau, the presi- 
dent declarevl that the debate on the 
////.> CKiiechhm was closed, and that 
the vv">te would l^ taken on the fol- 
low in.:; Wednesdav, on all the amend- 
raents proposed* 



In the congregation of Wednead 
May 4th, the Bishop of Tyre and 
don celebrated mass in the pecu] 
and impressive form of the Marox 
rite. The president asked the pnj 
of the fathers for the venerable Bisl 
of Evreux in France, who died in 
seventieth year, and survived 
two days after returning home fr 
the council. 

Permission was granted to n 
foreign bishops to return to tl 
sees. Among them were the Bish* 
of Arichat and Charlottetown, 
British America. The regular bi 
ness commenced with a second spe 
by the Bishop of Seckau, who revici 
all the amendments propc^ed in 
preceding congregation. The fi 
vote was then taken on the LiiiU G 
chism as a whole. Each bishop vol 
vwa voce. The term placet was u 
by the prelates who gave unqualifi 
approbation to it ; placet juxta nud 
by those who had some modificati 
to propose, while assenting to 
general features; and fu?n placet 
those who dissented fi'om the measn 
The total number of votes given 1 

59'- 
The Little Catechism^ which has 

ceived no small share of public atti 

tion, now "lies over" till the fii 

seal of approbation is stamped op 

it at the next public session. 

The general congregations were 

sumed on the 13th. After them 

religious exercises, leave of absa 

without the obligation of retumi 

was granted to the following prdati 

The Bishop of Gezira, Mesopotamii, 
riac rite ; the Bishop of Merida. Vcncx* 
South America ; the Bishop of Ferns, 1 
land : the Bishop of Goolbcmme, Austn! 
the Bishop of Panoi, Pern ; the Bishop 
Santiago, Chili ; the Archbishop of Mans 
Ciiiciju Armealin rite; and the Bishop 
Mardin, Chaldea, Armenian ntc 

The oral discussion then commei 
cdon the great and fundamental qw 



7}i# Vatican Council. 



703 



de Romani Ibniifids JMmatu ei 
UibUitate^ which is comprised in a 
nble and four chapters, and which 
J the first part of the dogmatic 
itution de EccUsia ChrisH, 
lese four chapters had already 
;d through several manipulations 
e being submitted to oral discus- 
First, the text had been dislri- 
1 to the fathers, who in due course 
Qe transmitted their observations 
it to the deputation de fide. 
e observations were then mature- 
amined by the members of the 
tation, and a printed report of 
views on them was sent to the 
snce of each bishop. 
le Bishop of Poitiers, in the name 
e deputation, opened the discus- 
tKrith a lucid exposition and vin- 
ion of the substance and form 
e text. With this lengthy and 
ed speech closed the congrega- 
3f the 13th. 

;xt day, the debate was resumed. 
Venerable Constantino Patrizzi, 
inal Vicar of Rome, and, with the 
)tion of Cardinal Mattei, the oldest 
ber of the Sacred College, corn- 
ed the discussion. He was fol- 
1 by the Archbishop of San 
Cisco, United States; the Archbi- 
of Messina, Sicily; the Archbishop 
tania, Italy ; the Bishop of Dijon, 
ce ; the Bishop of Vesprim, Hun- 
; the Bishop of Zamora, Spain, 
the Bishop of Patti, kingdom of 
es. 

Tuesday, the 17 th, Archbishop 
lamps. Primate of Belgium, ad- 
ed the fathers in the name of the 
tation. Speeches were also de- 
jd by the Bishops of St. Brieux, 
ce; Santo Gallo, Switzerland, and 
lottenburg, Wiirtemberg. The 
ient announced the death of the 
)p of Olinda, in Brazil, and re- 
nended him to the prayers of the 
cil. 
ednesday, the i8th. The Arch- 



bishop of Saragossa opened the dis- 
cussion, representing the deputatioUi 
The other speakers in the congrega- 
tion were all cardinals, namely, Car- 
dinal Schwarzenberg, Archbishop of 
Prague, Bohemia; Cardinal Donnet, 
of Bordeaux, and Cardinal Rauscher, 
of Vienna. 

Thursday, the 19th. Cardinal CuUen 
of Dublin was the first speaker, and was 
succeeded by the Cardinal Archbishop 
of Valladolid, Spain, and by the Greek- 
Melchite Patriarch of Antioch. 

Friday, the 2otfi. The Primate of 
Hungary had the advantage of the 
opening speech. The venerable Dr. 
McHale came next " The Lion of 
the fold of Juda,'' as he is called, looks 
as hale as a man of forty -five, though 
he is a bishop since 1825. The Arch- 
bishops of Corfu and Paris occupied 
the pulpit during the remainder of the 
session. 

Saturday, the 21st. Bishop Leahy, 
of Cashel, reviewed some of the pre- 
ceding speeches as a delegate of the 
deputation, and was followed by the 
Bishops of Strasburg, Forli, and Cas- 
tellamare, Italy. 

Intense and unwavering interest 
was manifested in each of the fore- 
going congregations, both on account 
of the grave character of the subjects 
under deliberation, and the eminent 
prelates that took part in the discus- 
sion. I wish that, together with the 
names, I were permitted to give also 
the living words which fell fi'om the 
lips of these learned and eloquent 
prelates. They would prove to you 
that the Christian oratory of the foiuth 
and fifth centuries is reechoed in the 
nineteenth, and that it is confined to 
no nation, but extends over the length 
and breadth of the Catholic world. 

The longest speech yet pronounced 
in the council was delivered by the 
Cardinal Archbishop of Dublin, who 
spoke for an hour and forty-two mi- 
nutes. Its length was the more le- 



704 



The Vatican ComtcH. 



inarlcxlile, as Cardinal Cxilleii trusted 
to his memory, and illustrated his dis- 
course by an abundance of facts and 
figures. 

It is well known thai all the bi- 
shops not only have the same faith, 
but speak the same language in coun- 
c3 1 and, with the exception of the ori- 
entftls, and members of religious or- 
ders, they wear the same episcopal 
garb. Yet it is worthy of remark thai, 
in spite of this uniformity in dress and 
language and outward mien, scarcely 
has a prelate opened his mouth from 
the pulpit when bis nationality is at 
once duwovered. He utters his ihib- 
hchlh, which reveals him to his breth- 
ren as soon as Ephraim was betrayed 
to Galaad. 

You will hear a bishop whisper to 
his neighbor, That speaker belongs to 
the Spanish family of nations. He 
hails either from the mother country or 
from one of her ancient colonies of 
South America, or Mexico, or Cuba. 
How does he know ? He forms his 
judgment not merely from the little 
green tuft you sec on the crown of 
the speaker's biretium or cap, but 
cliicfly from his pronunciation. He 
will detect the Spaniard at once by 
his guttural sound of qui, and his lisp- 
ing placet, besides many other pecu- 
liarities of utterance. 

The Spaniards and their South Ame- 
rican and Mexican cousins, though 
models ot episcopal gravity, have 
not acquired the reputation in the 
council of being generally the best 
models of elocution. Their delivery 
b said to be sometimes indistinct, and 
their pronunciation so peculiar that, 
like the rose in the wilderness, they 
waste the odor of their wisdom on the 
desert air. Gems of thought fall, 
indeed, in profusion Irom their lips, 
but they escape occasionaUy in the 
too rapid current of words. 

There are several bishops of Spanish 
origin, however, who have distinguish- 



eil themselves alike by 4 
of uttoance and by a remiifaLUe 
fluency. Among Others, I niigbt mcif 
tion the Bishop of CiuiDatigo, in 
Peru, and the Bishops of Uamu, 
and S. Concezionc, tn ChilL 

The next s]>eaker is evidently U 
Italian. You know it irom the aw- 
sical sentences, which Sow i 
lips in such a smooth and i 
strain that he almost apjiean to be ^ 
citing a select picccofVirgilian p 
He might seem, were not his c 
style so natural to him, to be annif 
at making a good impressioo not 
only on your mind and hean, but ab) 
on your ear. Whenever the lelia t 
is followed by e or i, he gives it tk 
saS.t sound of ch, as in our EngU 
word cheerful; and he is carefol V 
soften down every word which ■ 
sound harsh or grating. 
indeed, a prelate of anotfa 
wilt adopt for the nonce | 
style of pronunciation; 
is deceived. Jacob's 
nized, though he tries to H 
words in the form of bis b 

It is almost impossible i 
lian bishop to make a speech i 
out a formal introduction and p 
tion, either because of his r 
his hearers or for the ^ 
masters. He may protest | 
brief, but that word huMJ 
meaning. But it must \ 
that, for delicacy and i 
thought, for fecundity of i 
clearness of exposition, s 
Italians have seldom been u 

The prelate now before yoo, a 
can tell at once, belongs to the Tcp 
tonic family. He is an Austrian, B 
Prussian, or Bavarian, or ]>eTbaptal 
Hungarian. TheCerman pranoiuici 
g hard before e or i, contrary to li 
usual practice of Latin speakers, 
makes sch soft before tbe same 
we!s, pronouncing, for instanet^ 
word schema as if it wa« hn 



The Vatican Council. 



705 



without a e. Hence the gravity of 
the English-speaking bishops is occa- 
sionally relaxed, on hearing schetnatis 
sound as if it were written shame it is. 

The German is more tame in de- 
livery than either the Italian or the 
Spaniard. His colder climate tends to 
subdue his gestures, as well as to mo- 
derate his sensibility. He is not so 
fond of dealing in compliments as 
the Italian speakers, but goes at once 
in medias res. He is generally short 
and precise, and more inclined to ap)- 
peal to your head than to your heart. 
At the same time, religious and logi- 
cal, the sublime sup>erstructure of his 
&ith is built upon the solid founda- 
tion of common sense. 

If a French prelate were not known 
by his radatj he would be easily 
distinguished by his utterance of La- 
tin. He has a strong tendency to 
shorten the infinitive in the second 
conjugation, and to lay a particular 
stress on the last syllable. There is 
indeed no bishop in the council who 
is so readily recognized by his voice 
as the Frenchman. Every one can 
say to him what the Jews said to St. 
Peter : " Surely thou art one of them, 
for thy speech doth discover thee." 
But, like Peter, he has no reason to 
be ashamed of the discovery ; for his 
speech is not less pleasant than pecu- 
liar. He is no exception to the cul- 
tivated taste of his countrymen. He 
is generally well tmderstood, because 
he speaks distinctly, and listened to 
with pleasure, because to solid learn- 
ing he imites an animated and a ner- 
vous style. 

For obvious reasons, a continen- 
tal writer would be the fittest person 
to pronounce a correct judgment on 
the style and Latinity of the English- 
speaking prelates of the council. 

I will venture, however, an obser- 

iration. Though the style of the 

American, English, and Irish prelates 

may have less claim to merit for 

vou XL. — ^45 



polish and studied classical Latinity* 
their discourses will certainly com- 
pare favorably with those of their 
episcopal brethren firom other parts 
in strength of argument, in clearness 
of expression, as well as in their tell- 
ing effect upon their discriminating 
audience. 

The bishops of these countries 
adopt what is called the parliamen- 
tary style. They are usually concise, 
and always practical. They are in 
earnest. They look and talk like 
men fresh firom the battle-field of the 
world, who have formidable enemies 
to contend with, and come before 
the council well stocked with experi- 
mental knowledge. They content 
themselves with a brief statement of 
the measure they propose, and a 
summary of the reasons best calcu- 
lated to support it, without occupying 
the council with elaborate disquisi- 
tions. 

The number of English, Irish, and 
American bishops up to the present, 
who have delivered oral discourses 
before the Vatican Council is com- 
paratively small. It must not, how- 
ever, be inferred from this that the 
other prelates of these nations have 
all remained inactive spectators, for 
many of them have handed in written 
observations on the subjects under 
deliberation. 

The following are the English- 
speaking fathers who, up to the pre- 
sent date, (June 2d,) have addressed 
the council : 

Archbishops Spalding, Kenrick, 
and Purcell, and Bishops Whelan and 
Verot, United States; Archbishop 
Connolly, Nova Scotia; Archbishop 
Manning, and Bishops UUathome, 
Vaughan, Clifford, and Errington, 
England; Cardinal CuUen, and Bi- 
shops Leahy, McEvilly, and Keane, 
Ireland. 

None of the Scotch or Australian 
bishops have as yet spoken. 



— • T 



^'- ".ne 






-.: ind 



11. 

cli 

wi! 

his 

ing 

llarr 

'li 
rican 
modi 
not a- 
counci: 
models 
is said t 
their pn- 
hko the 1 
waste the « 
desert air. 
indeed, in ] 
but they e* 
too rapid cur: 

TlierearescK 
origin, however, 



^c JUt 



-» 1 !iive 



*i 




.*:ci the oldest representative of the 
^C'.icopal hierarchy. 

Of the thousand bishops now in th« 
:hurch, fully three fourths are between 
:he ages of fifty-five and ninety-six. 
The ages of the other founh range 
between thirty-five and fifty-five. 
Scarcely half a dozen of these prelates 
are more advanced in vears than the 
Holy Father, who yet exhibits more 
oh\*sical endurance and mental ac- 
livinr than any bishop ten years his 
iunior. 

So much for a comparison as to 
ize. Next as to the sp>eeches in both 
assemblies. The bishops embrace a 
wider field in their discourses than 
our senators. Tliey are circumscrib- 
ed by no limits of country. They 
make laws which bind the consciences 
oi two hundred millions of ^uld— 
Europeans, Americans, Australians, 
Asiatics, and Africans; while Con- 
gress legislates for scarcely one fifth 
that number, and these confined with- 
in a portion of a single continent 
Hence, in this single aspect of the 
case, the great ecclesiastical synod as 
far excels the Federal Congress of the 
United States as Congress itself sur- 
passes the New York Legislature, or 
this latter the city council. 

The si>eeches of the Vatican Coun- 
cil are usually much shorter than 
those delivered in Congress. The 
addresses of the fathers seldom ex- 
ceed half an hour,* except those of 
the members of the deputations, 
whose remarks generally embrace 
a critical analysis of the questions 
before the council and a reWew of 
the amendments proposed by the 
bishops, usually occupying about the 
space of an hour. The reason for 
this brevity b obvious. No prelate 

♦ The speeches on the Primacy and /ii/a.'.'i? .•■/:''.? 
^tk* R0$mam PcniiffYiVr^ exceeded in length ih«"C 
delivered on the preceding subjects, their average 
diirataGn haTJng been fiarty-three minutes ufi te tic 
pneeat dale, June sd. 



The Vatican Council. 



707 



wish to be guilty of the bad 
Df occupying unnecessarily the 
us time of his brother bishops. 

fully convinced, on ascending 
ilpit, that every word he says 
e carefully weighed in the ba- 
by a discriminating body of 
s, who are influenced only by 

logic, and not by plausible 
ic. 
ides their brevity, perhaps I 

also add that the speeches of 
thers are characterized by more 
lal independence, sincerity, and 
itness of tone, than those of 
:gislators in Washington, while 
5t be admitted that public opin- 
immonly attributes to the epis- 
character a higher order of vir- 
Yet, apart from this considera- 
ire may find a reason for this dif- 
e in the fact that our national 
entatives have m^e tempta- 
to sin against singleness of pur- 
han the prelates of the council. 
2S the members on the floor of 
ouse and Senate, there are often 
lied galleries ready to hiss or to 
lid, according to the prejudices 

day, and we know how human 
I dreads the finger of scorn and 
the popular plaudits. There is 
itical party which must be sus- 
l per fas et nefaSy and though 
lot least, there are dear consti- 
; to be pleased. 

e fathers of the council have no 
temptations to withdraw them 

the strict line of duty which 
ience dictates. All their gene- 
)ngregations are so many secret 
ns. There are no frowning or 
ng galleries to allure or to in- 
ite. There is no party lash 
ng over the bishops' heads ; for 
lave no private measures to pro- 
in behalf of their " constituents." 
id, one of the rules of the coun- 
Kiuires that every bill brought 
I it must necessarily aflect^e 



general interests of the church, and 
not the special wants of any particu- 
lar diocese or country. 

The consoling imanimity which 
marked the public session held on 
Low-Sunday, seems to have put an 
effectual quietus on the erratic corre- 
spondent of the London Times; for he 
no longer, like another Cassandra, 
utters his prophetic warnings to the 
council, since the fathers, on the oc- 
casion alluded to, by a single breath 
demolished all his previous predic- 
tions about the threatened rupture of 
the assemblage. 

Directed, no doubt, to view every 
thing in Rome with distorted vision, 
this writer literally fulfilled his instruc- 
tions. If he met bishops walking to 
St Peter's, he would despise them as 
a contemptible set Should they pre- 
fer to ride, they were, in his estima- 
tion, pampered prelates crushing poor 
pedestrians under their Juggernaut 
Should a schema be approved by the 
bishops afrer a brief discussion, they 
were pronounced by our seer a pack- 
ed jury, the obsequious slaves of the 
pope. If the discussion happened to 
be prolonged, he would solemnly an- 
nounce to his readers the existence 
of an incipient schism among the fa- 
thers. The truth is, the gentleman 
could never ascend high enough to 
comprehend the true character of the 
bishops. He could not associate in his 
mind independence of thought and the 
fullest freedom of debate with a pro- 
found reverence for the Holy Father. 

Upon every question, from the be- 
ginning of the council, there has been 
prolonged and animated discussion. 
A council necessarily supposes discus- 
sion ever since that of Jerusalem. 
Deprive an oecumenical synod of the 
privilege of debate, and you strip it 
at once of its true character and the 
bishops of their manhood. No stone 
was left unturned that the whole truth 
might be brought to light 



L 



But if there has been " in dubiis H- 
bertiis," there has been also "/« ni-ees- 
sariis unilas." There is no Colenso 
ill the Council of the Vatican. With 
regard to doctrines of the CathoUc 
failii already promulgated, there has 
not been a whisper of dissent. A 
bishop might as well attempt to pull 
down the immortal dome of Michael 
Angelo suspended over his head, as 
touch with profane hands a single 
stouc of the glorious edifice of Catho- 
lic faith. 

There has been also "inomniius eari- 
tns." Never was more dignity manifest 
in any deliberative assembly. A single 
glance at the council in session, from 
one of the side galleries, would at 
once impress the beholder not only 
with the majesty of the spectacle, but 
also with the mutual respect which 
the members exhibit toward each oth- 
er, and the patient attention with 
which the speakers are listened to, 
often under a trying ordeal of seve- 
ral hours' continuous session. As for 
violent scenes, there have been none, 
except ia the imagination of some 
correspondents; nor bantering, nor 
personalities; nor collisions between 
the presidents and speakers. Since 
the commencement of the discussion 
on the present schema, upward of 
sixty fathers have already spoken, 
only one of whom was called to or- 
der — and he at the end of hb dis- 
course, because, in the judgment of 
the president, he had broached a sub- 
ject foreign to the debate. In a word, 
there is learning without ostentation ; 
tiiffetence of sentiment without ani- 
mosity j respect without severity; li- 
berty of discussion without the license 
of vituperation. 

May 33d, tlie congregations were 
resumed. The opening speech was 
delivered by the Armenian Patriarch. 
The Bishops of Mayence, Angouleme, 
and Grenoble occupied the attention 



of the fathers during the 1 
of the session. 

On the following day, pcTRoanil 
leave of absence was granted to ei^t 
prelates, among whom were two C*- 
nadians, namely, the Bishop of ^ 
Hyacinthc, and the coadjuiot of 
Dr. Cooke, Bishop of Three Eivers. 
lately deceased. The counul wu 
then addressed by the Bishop of Son, 
Switzerland, one of the depntatioa. 
and by the Bishops of Urgd, Spnt, 
S. Concezione, Chili, and GoaMaUi, 
Italy. 

In the congregation of the isth, 
England and Ireland had tlie whole 
field to themselves, die only s^esktn 
being Archbishop Manning, and Bi- 
shops Clifford and McEvilly. Pr 
Manning's reputation as an 1.. J'> 
speaker is established whcti^K lU 
English language prevails. Ms L.-( 



1 in ^e council, which h 
minutes 



sboi 



three minutes shorter than that ol | 
his eminence of Dublin, exhibited die ' 
same energy of thought and liicsj™ 
discriminating choice of wonJs l^l■.il:. 
are so striking a feature of hi-; y-''' ''- 
discourses. Dr. Manning h.is .1 (.vm- 
manding figure. His fleshier \ifx a 
the personification of asccticinn. Hii 
sunken eyes pierce you as well as \a 
wonls. He lias a high, wcll-devdLiff 
ed forehead, which appears still mnrc 
prominent on account of partiai bald- 
ness. His favorite, almost bis ooif 
gesture, is the darting of his ro(«^ 
ger in a sloping direction from Ib 
body, and which might seem uikr 
ward in others, but in him is qnitt 
natural, and gives a peculiar force to 
his expressions. His countenance, 
even in the heat of an ergvraeni, I^ 
mains almost as unimpassioncd aia 
statue. He knows odmifably weD 
how to employ to the best advantage 
his voice, as well as his words. U'bni 
he wishes to gain a strong point, bf 
rallies his choicest battKlioo of wcnk 



Th€ Vatican Council. 



;o9 



to each of which he assigns the most 
effective position; then his voice, 
swelling with the occasion, imparts 
to them an energy and a power diffi- 
cult to resist 

The next congregation, the sixtieth 
from the opening of the council, was 
held on the aSth, the speakers being 
the Bishops of Ratisbonne, St Augus- 
tine, Csanad and Gran Varadin in 
Hungary, and Coutance in France. 
At the dose, the president announced 
that the fathers henceforth would meet 
at half-past eight a.m. instead of nine. 

The fathers assembled again on the 
30th. The Archbishop of Baltimore 
delivered the opening speech, which 
lasted about fifty minutes. He spoke 
without the aid of manuscript, confid- 
ing in his faithful and tenacious me- 
mory. He was succeeded by the Bi- 
shops of Le Puy in France, Bile in 
Switzerland, Sutri and Saluzzo, Italy, 
Constantina, Algiers, and the Vicar 
Apostolic of Quilon, on the coast of 
Malabar. 

The following day, indefinite leave 
of absence was granted to Bishops 
Demers of Vancouver, and Hennes- 
sy of Dubuque, and the newly conse- 
crated Bbhop of Alton was permitted 
to remain at home. The Archbishop 
Of Utrecht commenced the debate, 
being the first of the bishops of Hol- 
land tliat has addressed the council ; 
the other speakers were the Latin Pa- 
triarch of Jerusalem, the Bishop of 
Trajanopolis, the Archbishop of Cin- 
cinnati, who spoke without notes, and 
the Archbishop of Halifax. The death 
of the saintly and apostolic Archbishop 
Odin, of New Orleans, was announc- 
ed* The venerable prelate finished 
his course among his kindred near 
Lyons, on the auspicious festival of 
the Ascension. 

The sixty-third general congrega- 
tion was held on the 2d of June. 
The speakers were the Archbishop of 
Fogaras^ Transylvania, Roumenian 



rite, and the Bishops of Moulins, Bos- 
nia, Chartres and Tanes. 

At the close of ths session, the 
death of the Rt. Rev. Thomas Grant, 
Bishop of Southwark, England, was 
announced. Dr. Grant was bom of 
English parents in Ligny, in the dio- 
cese of AJras, France, November 25th, 
18 1 6, and was promoted to the epis- 
copal dignity June 2 2d, 1851. He 
was much esteemed by his English 
brethren in the episcopacy for his 
profound learning and solid judgment, 
as well as for his amiable disposition. 
He was one of the deputation on ori- 
ental rites. 

Thus far, fourteen general congre- 
gations have been held on the four 
first chapters of the ^JT^ma fie Constitu- 
tion of the Church of Christ. Sixty- 
one fathers have already spoken on 
the general aspects of the question, 
leaving forty-nine prelates who have 
declared their intention to speak on 
the same subject As soon as the 
draught of the schema in getural has 
been sufficiently discussed, the debate 
will commence on each particular chap- 
ter. 

As our readers would like, no 
doubt, to form a more intimate ac- 
quaintance with the venerable bishops 
now assembled in council, especiaUy 
with those who play a more conspicu- 
ous part in its deliberations, we pro- 
pose in the present number to give a 
brief sketch of a few of the twenty- 
four fathers who constitute the com- 
mittee on faith. 

It is quite unnecessary to our present 
purpose to speak of the two American 
prelates belonging to this deputation, 
namely, the Archbishops of Baltimore 
and San Frandsco, who are well 
known in the United States, and 
whose learning, zeal, and piety are not 
only gratefully acknowledged at home, 
but fully appreciated here, as the me- 
rited honors conferred upon them tes- 
tify. 



710 



Tie Vatican Cmiuil 



We will commence with Aloysius, 
Cardinal Bilio, president of the depu- 
tation oa faith, and one of the five 
presiding officers of the council. He 
was bom May 25th, 1826, at Alesan- 
dria, the celebrated fortified town of 
Piedmont, which of late years has 
played so important a part in the his- 
tory of northern Italy, His father 
was of a noble family. At t!ie early 
age of fourteen the youth, already re- 
markable for great piety and a ma- 
turity of character beyond liis years, 
asked to be admitted into the congre- 
gation of St. Paul, founded by the ve- 
nerable Antonio Zaccaria. He was 
received as a student and postulant, 
and devoted himself to study with an 
earnestness which soon broke down 
his health, apparenUy never very 
strong. He was obliged to susi^end 
his studies for several years. In fact, 
for a lime it was thought his health 
never would rally. At last, however, 
he did recover, and at once returned 
to the purpose from which his mind 
and heart had never wandered. Hav- 
ing finished his course and received 
ordination, he was made in turn pro- 
fessor of Greek, of rhetoric, and of 
mental philosophy in the college of 
Parma, and afterward in the universi- 
ty of the same city. 

It is the custom of the religions or- 
ders and congregations which devote 
themselves either entirely or in great 
part to teadiing, first by a long and 
thorough course of study to prepare 
carefully their younger members for 
future labors in the professorial chair, 
and then in their early years of teach- 
ing to appoint them from one chair to 
another, through the whole cycle, per- 
haps. So Father Bilio was sent from 
Parma to Caravaggio, and then to 
Naples, occupying various chairs, and 
finally was made professor of theolo- 
gy ajid canon law in the Bamabite 
College at Rome. His professorships 
were for the world outside his congre- 



gation. Within itt his bretliKa recog- 
nized his high personal qnalificatiotu, 
and elected him to various offices in 
their congregation, until at leQj;th he 
was made assistant-general. 

Rome could not fail to Appreciile 
qualities and talents like those of this 
learned and exemplary, religious ud 
able man. He was pressed into sa- 
vicc in many of the departments for 
transacting religious aHairs, and fiml- 
ly, June 23d, 1S66, he was named 
cardinal. He presided over one of 
the sub-commissions of ilieologitoi, 
who studied out and prepared tbc 
draughts for the council, and he ii, a 
was said in a. former number, dui^ 
man of the special committee Of (fc- 
putation of twenty-four prelates te 
treat of all mattere relating to faith. 

With the single exception of Cuili> 
nal Bonaparte, Cardinal Bilio is Hie 
youngest member of the Sacred Col- 
lege. 

France, the eldest daughter of iht 
church, is represented in the deputa- 
tion by Bishop Pie of Poitiers, ssd 
Archbishop Regnier of C.-imbmi. 

Louis Francis Desir^ Edward Pie 
was bom at Ponlgouin, in the diocese 
of Chartres, the i6th of September, 
1S15. Ordained priest in 1839, he 
exercised at first the function* of ca- 
rate of the cathedra! chmth of Chu- 
tres; and in 1845, the bishop of thai i&> 
cese ajipointed him vicar-general, not- 
withstanding his comparative youth. 

From that period, the youujj piiejt 
was ranked among the most di*tii>- 
guished preachers of France, and wat 
heard with great success in diSeKOl 
cities of that country. His ponegjne 
of Joan of Arc, which he preached it 
Orleans, is one of his best discoimei 

Named Bishop of Poitiers under Iht 
presidency, he took possession of hiJ 
see in December, 1S49. He vi* 
then only in his thirty-fourth ytat, M 
unusually early age for coBfcnitigtiK 
mitre in Europe ^^ 



TJi^ Vatican CounciL 



711 



shop Pie directed his eloquence 
zeal on various occasions against 
sorts of adversaries: those who 
the foundations of faith itself by 
cing every thing to natiuralism, 
in religion and society ; and those 

attempt to weaken Catholicity 
he ruin of the temporal power, 
inst the former the bishop issued 
* Synodal Instructions on the jyinci" 
Irrorsof the Present Time, Against 
atter he wrote, three years before 
ast Italian revolution, his Synodal 
action on Rome considered as the 
/ the Bnpacy^ in which he ably 
ed the sophistries of those who 
ht the demolition of the temporal 
jr. 
lose best acquainted with the Bi- 

of Poitiers say that his pXilpit 
>ry is characterized by an autho- 
brilliancy, and force of argument 
hy of St. Hilary, whose successor 

a 

personal appearance Bishop Pie 
repossessing. His round, full 
without a wrinkle, and his auburn 
make him seem much younger 
he really is. Though stout, and 

inclined to corpulency, he is 
c and active in his movements, 
e speaks with admiration of the 
Bishop of Boston, with whom he 
ed at St Sulpice, Paris. The Sul- 
n fathers have been accustomed 
lect as catechists in the parochial 
ch some of their ablest and most 
lising students. To both semi- 
ins a class was assigned, and the 
op of Poitiers says that his Ame- 
i friend, afterward Bishop Fitzpa- 
, always excelled in his position, 
mmanuel Garcia Gil, Archbishop 
iragossa, in Spain, was bom in St 
idor, March 14th, 1802. 
aving completed his literary stu- 

in his native city, he passed 
igh his philosophical and theolo- 

course in the diocesan seminary 
e Luga In 1825, he entered the 



(»rder of St Dominic, in which he 
made his religious profession Novem- 
ber ist, 1826. 

He was ordained the following year, 
and immediately after the responsible 
position of professor of philosophy and 
theology in the convents of the order 
at De Lugo and Compostello was*as- 
signed to hinu 

Expelled in 1835 from Spain, with 
all the members of his order, he soon 
returned to his post at De Lugo, where 
for thirteen years he filled the chair 
of philosophy and divinity in the se- 
minary of which he was successively 
director and vice-rector. 

Having subsequently devoted him- 
self to the more active pursuits of the 
ministry, he labored with great suc- 
cess in preaching the word of God, 
and in the administration of the sacra- 
ments. 

Appointed to the see of Badajoz in 
December, 1853, he was consecrated 
in the city of De Lugo by the Archbi- 
shop of Compostello ; and five years 
later, at the request of the Spanish 
government, he was transferred to the 
archiepiscopal see of Saragossa. 

Among his fellow-members of the 
Committee on Faith, Mgr. Garcia Gil 
has the merited reputation of being 
profoimdly conversant with the writ- 
ings of his great master, the '< Angel 
of the Schools,'' and hence is called 
among them the St Thomas of the 
deputation. 

Another prominent member of the 
committee is Mgr. Hassoun, Patriarch 
of Cilicia for the Armenians. He 
was bom in Constantinople, June X3th,. 
X 809, of Armenian parents. He pass- 
ed through his elementary course in 
his native city, and completed his stu- 
dies in Rome, where, in 1832, he ob- 
tained the degree of doctor of divi- 
nity. A few months later, having 
been ordained priest, and named 
apostolic missionary, he was sent to 
Smyrna, where be devoted himself tO' 



i 



The Vatican CounciL 



713 



Charlotte. Rev. Father Dechamps 
was named Bishop of Namur, Sep- 
tember, 1865. Two years later, he 
was transferred to the archdiocese of 
Mechlin, in which Brussels is in- 
cluded; and since the opening of the 
council he has been elevated by 
the holy see to the primacy of Bel- 
gium. 

Monsgr. Dechamps has written sev- 
eral valuable works, the most impor- 
tant of which are : ist Thf Free Ex- 
amination of the Thith of Faith/ 2d. 
The Divinity of yesus Christy 3d. 
7h^ Jieligious Question resolved by 
Facts ; or^ Certainty in Matters of Re- 
Ugion ; 4th. Pius IX. and Contempo- 
rary Errors ; 5th. Tfie New Eve^ or^ 
Mother of Life, all of which have been 
translated into most of the languages 
of Europe. 

The style of Archbishop Dechamps 
is calm, concise, and profound, blend- 
ed with an attractive unction. His 
round and pleasing countenance bears 
upon it the stamp of intellect and 
energy. Like so many of his gifted 
countrymen, the prelate of Mechlin 
unites in his person the mental activity 
of the Frenchman with the solidity 
of the German. 

John Baptist Simor, Archbishop of 
Strigonium and Primate of Hungary, 
was bom August 24th, 1813, in the 
ancient Hungarian city of Fehervar, 
which is memorable in history as be- 
ing the place where the kings of Hun- 
gary were formerly crowned and bu- 
ried. 

He pursued his philosophical course 
in the archiepiscopal lyceum of Magy- 
Szombat, and his course of theology 
in the University of Vienna, which 
honored him with the title of doctor 
of sacred theology. Afler the suc- 
cessful completion of his studies, he 
was ordained priest of the archdiocese 
of Strigonium in 1836. 

Appomtedi fint, assistant pastor 
of a diwdi in Peith, Father Simor 



soon after received a professor's chair 
in the imiversity of that city, and sub- 
sequently filled several responsible 
positions, both in the government of 
souls and in instructing the more ad- 
vanced candidates for the ministry 
in a higher course of theology. 

On the 29th of June, 1857, he was 
consecrated Bishop of Gyor, and ten 
years later, on the demise of Cardinal 
Scilovszky, Bishop Simor was chosen 
to succeed that eminent prelate as 
Prince-Primate of Hungary and Arch- 
bishop of Strigonium. 

Besides his ecclesiastical eminence, 
the Primate of Himgary has had distin- 
guished state honors conferred on him. 
He is the first member of the king's 
privy council. By established law, 
the ceremony of crowning the king 
devolves exclusively on the primate. 
Otherwise the coronation is not con- 
sidered legitimate. The Bishop of 
Veszprim crowns the queen. The 
present Emperor, Francis Joseph of 
Austria, received the crown of the 
kingdom of Hungary from the hands 
of Archbishop Simor, on the vigil of 
Pentecost, 1867, in the presence of an 
immense assembly of people from all 
parts of the kingdom. The primate 
is moreover eoc-officio chief secretary 
and chancellor of the sovereign of 
Hungary. He is also first magistrate 
of the county or department of Stri- 
gonium. Hungary contains fifty-two 
of these departments, each presided 
over by a chief magistrate. 

He has also a seat in the general 
assembly or parliament of Hungary, 
a privilege which is enjoyed in com- 
mon with him by every Catholic 
bishop of the kingdom. Many other 
prerogatives were inherent in the 
primatial dignity till they were swept 
away by the revolution of 1848. 

Monsgr. Simor informed us that 
the faithful of his diocese number a 
million of souls, comprising three 
distinct nationalities^ Hungarians, 



Foreign Literary Notes, 



Sclaves, and Germans, who speak as 
many distinct languages. 

The primate is consequently obliged, 
in the visita,tion of liis diocese, lo 
employ these three tongues. In cor- 
rcsfwnding with his clergy, whether 
Hungarian, Sclavonic, or German, he 
invariably uses Latin, of which he is 
a perfect master, and which, till a re- 
cent date, was the common language 
of the greater part of Hungary. 

Rome, June a, 1870. 

We add to the remarks of our cor- 
respondent the followmg items of in- 
formation concerning the doings of 



the council since the date of lut, 
ter. BclnecD June 2d and Jaac 
ten general congrcgaiionj were fatU. 
The preface, and the ioA two tJup- 
ters of the schema on the Kooun 
Pontiff, were voted tm and adt^leJi 
the discussion of the tlitrd cbipto, 
was closed, and on the ijth of juse 
the discussion of tlie founh chtyia, 
concerning the infallibility of the So- 
man PontifT) was opened. At dai 
date, seventy-four fathers had i^ 
scribed their names as intern' 
speak, and this nuaibur had 
creased to one hundred at die 
rai congregation of June iSih. 



FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES. 



WiTniN the past six months the lite- 
rary bulletins of France, England, and 
Germany are full of notices of new 
works on the subject of the Apostle St 
Paul and his writings. One of the lat- 
est in England is by Dr. Arnold, who — 
Anglican as he is — takes direct issue 
with an opinion of the French ration- 
alist Renan, which on its first appear- 
ance gave great gratification to the 
Protestant world. In his work on St 
Paul, Renan said in his flippant way '. 

"Ader having lieen for three hundred 
yexri, lliaaks to rrotettanlism, the Chtis- 
tian doctor par txteilcnei, Paul is now com- 
ing to the end of his reign." 



" Prccisrly the contrary, Ivtnlureto Ihlnir, 
is the judgment to whicji a true criticism of 
men and things leads oi. The ProtesCimlisnt 
which h«s to used and abused St Paul is 
coming to an end ; its orginications, strong 
and active as they look, are lOBched -with 
the finger of death ; its fondunental ideas, 
soundine forth slill every week frtiia ihou- 
Mods ol pulpitt, have in them no signifi- 
cance and no power for the progressive 
thought of hnmaoitj. But the reign of the 



real St Paul isonijbegi&Ding; 1 

mental ideas, disengaged fr(i|& Ihc 
misconcepdons with which Proteil 
has overlaid them, will have an infln 
the future greater than any wUd 
have yet luul— an influence proporlia 
their correi^pfindence with a number 
deepest and most permanent fftcts of) 
nature ilsctf."— /V.wi St. FtuU and i 
taaSirm, iy Maltkae Anteid. 



One of the most important «*e 
the reign of Louis XIV., and, I 
in the entire religiotts history of FiW 
was the assembly of the clergy of Fni 
in the year 1683. Numerous vn 
have been written and publi^ltcd 1 
ceming it, the best and most exhauniikl 
of which are the two last In i86i, H. 
Charles G^rin, a judge of the Gvi] Tri- 
bunal of the Seine, published bis Rt- 
ehercktt Ilistoriquet snr tAste^M 
du Ctergi de Franct Ot 1 6Sx. Tbc » 
thoT brought to his task great leanun^ 
decided ability, and an tnduttry t&it 
proved itself by the number of orij ' ' 
documents from the public archive 
the first time presented by Mm. 
result of M. Gifrin's labors was f 
rally accepted in France as fiiuL 



f ori^^ 
tm. ^H 

7m 



Foreign Literary Notes, 



715 



'erdicty however, Monseigneur 

Bishop of Sura, did not agree, 
otested against it in his work, Du 
t et de la Paix religteuse^ inti- 
; therein that the documents 
n M. G^rin's book needed fresh 
n and interpretation, which they 
receive. This announcement 
aturally accepted as signifying 

new work on the assembly of 
night be looked for. That was 

its signification, and early in 
ppeared an announcement of the 
lers, Didier & Co., Paris, of a 
ntitled, VAssembUe du CUrgi dt 
r de 1682 d*apr}s des documents 
t grand nombre inconnusjusqu'd 
-. Par TAbbe Jules-Th^odose 
I, Docteur et Professeur en Sor- 

8vo, 530 pages. To this, Judge 
soon replied in his Une Nou^ 
pologie du Gallicanismey Riponse 
VAbbi Lay son. Outside of the 
:al statements concerning the 
attending the assembly of 1682, 
orks are, in fact, a rather animat- 
emical discussion of the ques- 
»f the temporal power and the 
afallibility. 

n St Patrick entered upon his 
postolic work in Ireland, he was 

not to offend the attachment 
by his converts to their ancient 
1 traditions, the songs of their 
md the laws by which they were 
sd. On the contrary, he advised 
aise, king of the country, to have 
i to writing all the ancient judi« 
:isions, and, with the aid of two 
bishops, commenced the work 
1 To the body of laws thus col- 
was given the title of Senchus 
ollection of ancient knowledge.) 
1 A.D. 440, this book served as 
sh code before the departure of 
mans, and was in legsd force up 
>eriod of the accession of James 
» of its influence being to this 
inly visible. The most authen- 
uscripts containing the Senchus 
rmerly belonged to an English 

amateur, and through the ef- 
' Edmund Burke were acquired 

English government Their 
don was commenced in 1852, 



and has been resumed, as we perceive 
by the following announcement: An- 
cient Laws of Ireland, Senchus Mor, 
Part II. Edited by W. Neilson Han- 
cock, LL.D., and the Rev. Thaddeus 
O'Mahony. Dublin: Printed for Her 
Majesty's Stationery Office. 1870. 8vo. 

Some oirious information and revolt- 
ing details concerning the continuation 
of the slave-trade in Africa are furnish- 
ed in a work lately published at Paris, 
ILa Traite Orientate, The Mussulman 
still needs slaves and concubines, and 
three great slave marts still exist to 
supply them. These are the Island of 
Zanzibar, the southern portion of Egypt, 
and Arabia. At Zanzibar a healthy man 
sells for $42, while the women bring 
580, and more, if good-looking. 

During the past ten years the history, 
geography, and topography of the bib- 
lical countries have been studied with 
immense activity, and the best travellers 
and scholars of Germany, France, Italy, 
and England have contributed their 
offerings to the common fund of our 
knowledge concerning these most inte- 
resting regions. Successful research on 
the banks of the Euphrates and the Ti- 
gris, the Nile and the Jordan, not to 
speak of many other points, have all in 
turn confirmed the perfect veracity of 
the writers of the Old and of the New 
Testament And to these, the broken 
walls, the palaces, the towers, and the 
sculptures of Babylon, of Nineveh, of 
Persepolis, of Jerusalem, and of Sama- 
ria, rising in testimony of the truth from 
the gathered ruins of ages, bear also 
their testimony. A learned German ec- 
clesiastic. Dr. Gratz, uniting and fusing 
all the information on this subject, com- 
posed an admirable geographical histo- 
ry of oriental and occidental countries^ 
with special reference to the biblical 
period. Dr. Allioli, the celebrated scrip- 
tural commentator, recommended the 
work of Dr. Gratz as marked by so 
much erudition and exactness that the 
readers of his commentary are recom- 
mended to it for information on all points 
touching biblical localities. An excel- 
lent French translation of Dr. Gratz's 
work has just been published : Thidtrt 



7ie 



Fmign. LUtnay NoUs. 



des E-jimmen fs TOCOiiUi dans Us divitttt 
Ecriturts, oh faitcUn et U nouvel Ori- 
intiUidUaH point de vue de la Biile 
tl de L'Egliit. a vols, 8vo. 

Here are [wo new works on llic Coun- 
cil of Trent : Hisloirt dn Coitcilt dt 
Trente, par Nt. Baguenault dc Puches- 
M ; I vol. 8vo. yoHrnal du ConciUde 
Tnnlt, ridigi par uit ucrilaire Vini- 
tien prhant aux sestwHt de 1562 d 
1563- This Venetian secretary was An- 
tonio Milteilonne, attached to the em- 
bassy sent tg tbe Council of Trent by 
the republic of Venice. To the diary 
of the secretary, which forms the body 
of the latter publication, are added seve- 
ral original documents of the period 
heretofore unpublished, among liicm a 
■umm.iry of the dispalclies of the Vene- 
tian ambassadors to tiie council. M. 
Baschel, the editor, suggests (hat the 
publication of the French diplomatic 
dispatches relative to the council would 
be of the highest interest These dis- 
patches would certainly form one of the 
most curious literary monuments of the 
sixteenth century, and, in point of fact, 
the history of the latter period of the 
council cannot well be written without 
tbem. 

Baron Hiibner, formerly Austrian Am- 
bassador at Paris and at Rome, and 
well known in the diplomatic and litera- 
ry world, has just presented the fruit of 
many years' labor among the state ar- 
chives of Paris, Vienna, Florence, Ve- 
nice, Simancas, and the Vatican, in the 
shape of a work entitled Sixte QitiHt; 3 
vols. 8vo. Written on an epoch al- 
ready well investigated, and upon a life 
which has been the subject of many 
pens, Baron Hijbner's life of Pope Six- 
tus V. is by far the most remarkable 
and the most trustworthy we have had. 
And yet it is not perhaps exact to call 
his work a life of Sixtus V. The author 
does not so style it, and takes up Car- 
dinal Montalloat the conct.ive where he 
is elected pope. He scarcely refers re- 
trospectively to the early years of his 
life, and pays not the slightest attention 
to llie semi-fabulous stories which tra- 
dition has interwoven with the name of 
the {r«t Sixtus. If he finds documcD- 



lary evidence for any port of them, bt 
gives it If Dot, silence Uls b( 
them. At the outset of hia work 
merely mentions the three great nai 
connected with hislorie&of Sixtus — L 
Tempesti, and Ranke. Out be 
mentions iliem, and in no oat qi 
them. As to more modem hbto 
of Sixtus — Segretain and DumcsttU,: 
instance — he does not appear 
the slightest idea of their ei 
Baron Hiibner has written bis mrA 1 
clusively from original materials, a 
appears to have used them coexi) 
tiously and with excelleat judgaieat 

For nearly ten months sa aaiital 
historico-ecclesiastical diacassKM \ 
been going on in France, which, acoa 
ing to the reports of literary 
has passed the st^re of "c-^ ft 
iaique," and reached that described 
"/a coiilroverse patsianie." Tbe a 
ject matter of the discussion is Pn 
Honorius, Father Gratry (of th« 
torj') led off with a pamphlet 
Afgr. lEviqut dOrUans ei Afar. F. 
chivique de Malmes, and gate 
lexis of thiee councils which condi 
ed Honorius, and the confirmBtlas 1 
Iheirsentenceby PopeSt. Leo 11. 1 
this came a reply by M. Chaalnl, j 
Pape Uenerius, Premiire Lxttre i i 
tAhbiCratry, in which he pmented: 
abridged text of the letters of HoMci 
and testimony in his favor. Arcliblibi 
Dechamps also answered Father Gi 
try in La Question d/foHorimt, tS& 
an interesting passage from St i 
phonse de Liguori. Then, in ittva 
bers of the 10th and 25th ji 
loth Febmarj', Le Corm^ 
an extract from the fourth 
yet published) of the j/uj 
files, by Bishop Hiffi!!^ in 
prelate-author is severe on Horn 
Father Colombier, on ih« contniy, 
fends the orthodoxy of the incrimlnal 
lettersof Honorius in aserics ..• ■ 
published in the f/wiArffr/ii'ii. I 
toriques, et tMtiraini. Dom 1 
ger also treated the question ii^ • 
fttist de tEglitt RomaiHf e^iitre Ui F.r- 
reatt du Ji. P. Gr<Uiy, published in On 
Hevue da Monde Cittkoit^me. Htn 
comes UCi'mven with « lellcr froa 



Foreign Literary Notes. 



717 



M. Am^d^e de Marjrerie, Professor at 
Nancy, in defence of Honorius. We 
can merely enumerate other defenders 
of Honorius who have entered the lists. 
They are the AbW ConsUntin, {Revue 
dis Sciences EcclesicLstiques^ the edi- 
tors of the Civilta CattolicOy Canon Le- 
febre, (Revue CathoHqne de Louvain^ 
AbW Larroque, AbW B^let, Father 
Roque, and Father Rami^re. The A ve- 
nir CathoHque endeavors to demonstrate 
that Honorius wrote the letters in dis- 
pute not as pope, but as a simple doc- 
tor. M. L^on Gautier published a se- 
ries of articles on the question of infalli- 
bility, the last of which is specially de- 
voted to Honorius. These articles col- 
lected have lately been published by 
Palm^ in a pamphlet, entitled LVnfaiU 
tibiliU devant la Raison^ la Foi ei 
PHistoire, Then comes a second letter 
from Bishop Dechamps, and, finally, the 
Bishop of Strasburg issues an energetic 
condemnation of the letters of Father 
Gratry. 

The history of the city of Milan is. In 
Italian history, one of great importance ; 
for it is the history of Lombardy, and of 
nearly all of the north of I taly. Of chro- 
nicles and histories of the great Lom- 
bard city there were many, but none so 
good in its day as the four large and 
beautiful volumes of the Chevalier Ros- 
mini de Roveredo, which is now in its 
turn surpassed and superseded by the 
admirable work of Cusani, Storia diMU 
lanOy dair origine at nostri giorni. Vols. 
I. k V. ^ 8vo, Milano, 1 861 -1869. 

Ricotti's great work on the history 
of the Piedmontese monarchy still ap- 
proaches completion. The sixth vol- 
ume, just out, brings the work down to 
the end of the seventeenth century. The 
Storia delta Monarchia Piemontese is no 
mere cbry record of dates ; but presents 
an animated picture of the legal, intel- 
lectual, social, and artistic life of Pied- 
mont at the different epochs of its exis- 
tence. 

Professor Ferdinando Ranalli^s new 
work on the history of the fine arts. 



Storia delle Belle Arti in Italia^ 3 vols., 
attracts much attention. 

Professor Ciavarini, of Florence, has 
published an interesting work on the 
philosophy of Galileo, Delia Filosofia 
del Galilei^ and on his scientific metliod. 
The Italian press does not vomit forth 
the flood of yellow-covered literature 
with which some countries are afflicted ; 
but the number of serious and merito- 
rious* works in history, literature, and 
science constantly published would sur- 
prise most persons who suppose that 
the Italian mind is at a stand-still. 

Almost simultaneously in Germany 
and in England appear two works on 
the Epistles to the Corinthians by St 
Clement of Rome. They are dementis 
Romani ad Corinthios EpistotOy by J. 
C. M. Laurent, published at Leipsic; 
and .S*. Clement of Rome: the Two 
Epistles to the Corinthians^ a revised 
text with introduction and notes, by 
J. B. Lightfoot They are makily valua- 
ble for their discussion as to the merits 
of the texts of the various m ss. 

The most interesting archaeological 
discovery of our age, incomparable for 
its antiquity and its historic and philolo- 
gical interest, is unquestionably the one 
ktely made by M. Clermont-Ganneau, 
dragoman of the consulate of France 
at Jerusalem. It is that of a Hebrew 
inscription of the year 896 before Christ, 
cut on a monolith by order of Mescha, 
King of Moab, a contemporary of the 
kings Joram and Josaphat The stone 
on which the inscription is graven is in 
dimension three feet four inches by 
about two feet The inscription itself 
is in thirty-four lines, each line contain- 
ing from thirty-three to thirty-five let- 
ters. It is said that there is no known 
Hebrew monument comparable in an- 
tiquity with this. M. le Comte de 
Vogii^ lately presented a memoir con- 
cerning it to the French Academy of In- 
scriptions and Belles- Lettres, which is 
now published by Baudry, Paris : La 
Stile di Mesaj Roi de Moab^ 896 avant 
Jisus Christ. 



New Publicatians. 



719 



sfon which contains no definite idea, 
forms us that Sister Mary ''went 
ght to church." Who can tell 
her the author intends to say that 
vent to church immediatily or went 
s by the most direct way ? Then, 
if this book be intended to form 
3f a series of biographies of persons 
are not canonized, why call them 
dden Saints " ? The holy see has 
)rs wished us to be most careful in 
ise of this word. But these faults 
ot destroy the value of the book. 
f are only blemishes, and in a fii* 
edition we hope to find them com- 
ly removed. 



ION. A Tale of French Society 
der the Old Regime. Baltimore: 
;lly, Piet & Co, 1870. Pp. 176. 

arion is a woman of " stiff figure, 
hands, bloodshot eyes, and innum- 
e wrinkles, always reminding one of 
!s about vampires and ghouls." (P. 
'his sentence gives a fair idea of the 
and literary value of this novel It 
led with similar nonsensical and 
irawn descriptions. We must, there- 
beg leave to difier from the very 
ist opinion expressed in the pre&ce, 
the book has a character ''which 
ps it as one that the young may 
with profit" On the contrary, it 
shame that such a story should be 
lated and allowed to live in another 
tage than the one in which it was 
asdly written. However, we will do 
stice. There is one mark of corn- 
sense about the book. It is this 
th the author and translator have 
uded their names. 



HAS Francis Meagher. By Cap- 
nW. F. Lyons. New York: D. 
J. Sadlier. 1870. Pp. 357. 

e do not believe the sentiment 
\i Shakespeare has put in the mouth 
ark Antony, that 

' The erfl which men do lives after them ; 
The good it oft intenred with their bones.** 

is not true that men delight in re- 



calling the faults of their fellow-men ; 
and especially do the dead claim our 
forgiveness and compassion. We are 
truly sorry, therefore, to find in this 
volume speeches which reflect no cre- 
dit from a literary point of view upon 
General Meagher, and which, moreover, 
contain doctrines most clearly condemn- 
ed by the Catholic Church. Out of re- 
spect to the many good qualities of 
Meagher, we wish to forget his faults. 
We would wish also to remember, and 
we wish his countrymen to remember, 
his manly virtues. But until the speech 
beginning on page 280 of this volume 
is omitted, we cannot recommend this 
book to the Catholic public, or consider 
it a worthy monument of Thomas Fran- 
cis Meagher. 



History of the Foundation of 
THE Order of the Visitation. 
Baltimore : Kelly, Piet & Co. 1870. 
Pp. 271. 

Few books issued by Catholic pub- 
lishers are more interesting and useful 
than this history of the Order of the Vi- 
sitation. Besides the history of their 
foundation, it contains the lives of se- 
veral members of the order ; among them 
Mademoiselle De La Fayette, a rela- 
tive of the general so distinguished in 
our war for independence. The book 
merits a wide circulation. 



Alaska and its Rbsources ; By 
W. H. DalL Boston : Lee & She- 
pard. 187a 

Mr. Dall was " the director of the sci- 
entific corps of the late Western Un- 
ion Telegraph Expedition." His book is 
the result of great industry, and is high- 
ly creditable to him every way. Those 
who desire to know something worth 
knowing about this singular region will 
find this work very interesting. The 
writer says in his introduction that he 
"has specially endeavored to convey as 
much information as his scope would al- 
low in regard to the native inhabitants, 
history, and resources of the country. 
This end," he adds, "has been ke 



720 



New Puhttcations, 



steadily ia view, perhaps, at the risk of 
dulness." We think he has succeeded 
admirably, and have no fear whatever 
that anyone capable of appreciating the 
book is likel/ to find it dulL 



Paradise of the Earth. Translated 

from the French of Abbfi Sanson by 
Rev. F. Ignatius Sisk. Baltimore: 
John Murpliy & Qo. New York : 
Catholic Publication Society. 1870. 
Pp. S38. 

This book was originally written for 
religious, though we presume it is now 
intended to have a wider circulation. 
The means of finding happiness is treat- 
ed under a two-fold head : First, Re- 
moval of obstacles ; second, Practice 
of the solid virtues. The chapters which 
treat of the mortification of the passions 
are carefully written. Indeed, the author 
has wished to present (he teaching ot 
the saints and doctors of the church 
rather than his own opinions. 



LoRBTTo ! OR THE Choice. By George 
H. Miles. New and enlarged edi- 
tion. Raliimcire : Kelly, Piel & Co. 
1870. Pp.371. 

Tills story presents a very fair picture 
of Southern Catholic society. The cha- 
racters in it are mostly well conceived. 
They are not impossible persons. No- 
thing extraordinary happens to any one 
of them. They speak in a natural man- 
ner. The plot, too, though simple, is very 
pleasingly developed, and the interest 
of the reader constantly maintained. 
For all these good qualities, so rare in 
modern works of fiction, the book de- 
serves a hearty recommendation. But 
beyond all this, the story merits praise 
for the sound principles of morality 
which appear on every page, and which 
the author presents in a manner at once 
pleasing and truthful 



De\-otion to the SACiteo Hbakt i 
Jesus. By Seeondo Franco^ S. 
Baltimore : John Muipby & Co. 18] 

Pp- 305. 

This manual of devotion nukea a ra 
handsome appearance in its dress oJ'hli 
and gold. Its object is to csphiin cIcM 
the essence of the worship of the Sacw 
Heart. Yet this book is not in any sen 
a controversial work. It is written J 
devout Catholics. It will be of serrli 
to any one who wishes to gain a knoi 
ledgeofthe interior life of our KedeeJ 
by studying his sacred heart. 1 
book is filled with ferveal sentences 1 
devout aspirations, which wUI help 
reader to become like Him " who vM 
meek and humble of besut." 



Beech Bluff : A Tale 
By Fannie Warner. 
P. Cunningham. 



In this volume we have what pi 
to be tlie experience of a Northern brfjf 
in the sunny South, during a I'""' 
years' residence as governess ta 
State of Georgia. The tale. wUch %< 
written in a pleasing and nalural »t)(%i 
is entirely free from all sensational la ' 
dents, and has a strong undtr^vm 
of sound practical Catholicity. It 1 
be none the less acceptable to many 
being descriptive of a phase ol tt 
which is now (happily, in some n 
" among the things that were" 



To which is added a chapter on EsB 
lish Architecture. By R. Dona 



I vol 



Nef 



York : Chariei 



Scribnerit Co. 1S70. 

A beautiful little book, conttinitiK Il- 
lustrations of some of the finest crea- 
tions of the great architects of the worti 
It is both entertaining aad inatmctin; 



THE 



CATHOLIC WORLD. 



VOL. XI 






., No. 66.— SEft']fi|li«HE«f i87(v^ \ 
HEREDITARY GENIUS.* 



Mr. Galton is what in these days 
is called a scientist, or cultivator of 
the physical sciences, whose preten- 
sion is to confine themselves strictly 
to the field of the sciences as distin- 
guished from science; to assert nothing 
but positive facts and the laws of their 
production and operation, ascertained 
by careful observation and experiment, 
and induction therefrom. Their aim 
would seem to be to explain all the 
factsf or phenomena of the universe 
by means of second causes, and to 
prove that man is properly classed 
with animals, or is only an animal de- 
veloped or completed, not an animal 
transformed and specificated by a ra- 
tional soul, which is defined by the 
chorch to ht forma corporis. 

Between the scientists and philoso- 
phers, or those who cultivate not the 
special sciences, but the science of 
the sciences, and determine the princi- 
ples to which the several special sci- 
ences must be referred in order to 
have any scientific character or va- 
lue, there is a long-standing quarrel, 

* I. HtredUary Gtnha^ H* Laws and tit Conw 
fiuncts. By Francis GaJtoD, F.R.S., etc New 
York: D. Appleton & Co. 1870. 8vo, pp. 390. 
a. HtrtdUary Genius. An Analytical Review. From 
the 7<»^mal of Psychological Msdicuut April, x87a 
New York : D. Appleton &. Co, 1870, 8ro, pp. 19. 

VOL. XI, — 46 



which grows fiercer and more embit- 
tered every day. We are far from 
pretending that the positivists or Com- 
tists have mastered all the so-called 
special sciences ; but they represent 
truly the aims and tendencies of the 
scientists, and of what by a strange 
misnomer is called philosophy; so- 
called, it would seem, because philo- 
sophy it is not Philosophy is the sci- 
ence of principles, as say the Greeks, 
or of Jirst principles, as say the La- 
tins, and afler them the modem La- 
tinized nations. But Herbert Spen- 
cer, Stuart Mill, and the late Sir Wil- 
liam Hamilton, the ablest representa- 
tives of philosophy as generally re- 
ceived by the English-speaking world, 
agree with the Comtists or positivists 
in rejecting first principles from the 
domain of science, and in relegating 
theology and metaphysics to the re- 
gion of the unknown and the un- 
knowable. Their labors consequently 
result, as Sir William Hamilton him- 
self somewhere admits, in universal 
nescience, or, as we say, absolute ni- 
hilism or nullism. 

This result is not accidental, but 
follows necessarily from what is call- 
ed the Baconian method, which the 
scientists follow, and^Vivc^Ss^ \£l^x^<c^ 



: language, concluding the uni- 
il from the particular. Non-, in 
e logic we learned as a school-boy, 
id adhere to in our old age, this is 
"aimply impossible. To every valid 
argument it is necessary that one of 
the premises, called tlie major premise, 
be a universal principle. Yet the 
scientists discard the universal from 
their premises, and from two or more 
particulars, or particular facts, profess 
to draw a valid universal conclusion, 
as if any conclusion broader than the 
premises could be valid ! The phy- 
sico-theologians are so infatuated 
with the Baconian method that they 
attempt, from certain facts which they 
discover in the physical world, to con- 
clude, by way of induction, the being 
and attributes of God, as if any thing 
concluded from particular facts could 
be any thing but a particular fact. 
Hence, the aforenamed authors, with 
Professor Huxley at their tail, as well 
as Kant in his Krittk linr Hdnen Ver- 
Hun/t, have proved as clearly and as 
conclusively as any thing can be prov- 
ed that a causative force, or causali- 
ty, cannot be concluded by way either 
of induction or of deduction from any 
empirical facts, or facts of which ob- 
servation can take note. Yet tlie va- 
lidity of every Induction rests on the 
reality of the relation of cause and 
effect, and the fact that the cause ac- 
tually produces the cITccL 

Yet our scientists pretend that they 
can, from the observation and analy- 
sis of facts, induce a law, and a law 
that will hold good beyond the parti- 
culars observed and analyEcd. But 
they do not obtain any law at all; 
and the laws of nature, about which 
they talk so learnedly, are not laws, 
but simply facts. Bring a piece of 
wax to the fire and it melts, hence it 
is said to be a law that wax so brought 
in proximate relation with fire- wiJI 
melt ; but this law is only the particu- 
lar fact observed, and Ac latlsVa '»^^iKi^ 



you apply it are the identical I 
from which you have obtained h. 
investigation, in all cases where 
scientists profess to seek the bir, 
simply an investigation tu 6nd 
and establish the identity of the fx 
and what they call the law is a 
the assertion of that identity, aod 
ver extends to facts not identical, 
to dissimilar facts. 

Take mathematics; as £tr as 
scientist can admit mathemabcs, i 
are simply identical propositknu { 
on identical propositions, and 
only difference between Newton 
a plough-boy is, that Newton di 
identity where the ploueh-boy dc 
not. Take what is called the la« ( 
gravitation; it is nothing but tbesti 
ment of a fact, or a class of &m g 
served, and the most tliac it tells n, 
that if the facts are identical, tliej ■ 
identical — that is, they bear sadiai 
such relations to one another. B 
let your positivist attempt to ei 
transcendental mathentatics, and he 
all at sea, if he does not b(»Toir 6( 
Uie ideal science or philosophy wlu 
he professes to discard. How i 
the geometrician explain his mfiDlli 
extended lines, or lines that nay 
infinitely extended ? A line b db 
up of a succession of points, i 
therefore of parts, and nothing wlii 
is made up of parts is inftoltc 1 
line may lie increased or Himitiinti 
by the addition or subtntctioo 
points, but the infinite cannot be 
ther increased or diminished, 
does the mind get this idea of 
ty ? The geometrician tells 
line may be infinitely exti 
is, it is infinitely possible ; but it 
not be so unless there is an Jnl 
ground on which it can be 
An infinitely possible line can be 
sertcd only by asserting the " 

real, and therefore the mind, unless 
had the intuition of the infinitely 
cnu.Vd.Ttfit. conceive of a line as< 



Hereditary Genius. 



723 



of infinite extension. Hence the an- 
cients never assert either the infinite- 
ly possible or the infinite real. There 
is in all Gentile science, or Gentile phi- 
losophy, no conception of the infi- 
nite ; there is only the conception of 
the indefinite. 

This same reasoning disposes of 
the infinite divisibility of matter still 
taught in our text-books. The infi- 
nite divisibility of matter is an infi- 
nite absurdity ; for it implies an infi- 
nity of parts or numbers, which is 
really a contradiction in terms. We 
know nothing that better illustrates 
the unsoundness of the method of 
the scientists. Here is a piece of 
matter. Can you not divide it into two 
equal parts ? Certainly. Can you do 
the same by either of the halves? 
Yes. And by the quarters. Yes. And 
thus on ad infinitum f Where, then, 
is the absurdity ? None as long as 
you deal with only finite quanti- 
ties. The absurdity is in the fact that 
the infinite divisibility of matter im- 
plies an infinity of parts; and an 
infinity of parts, an infinity of num- 
bers; and numbers and every series 
of numbers may be increased by ad- 
dition, and diminished by subtraction. 
An infinite series is impossible. 

The moment the scientists leave 
the domain of particulars or positive 
facts, and attempt to induce from 
them a law, their induction is of no 
value. Take geology. The geolo- 
gist finds in that small portion of the 
globe which he has examined certain 
facts, from which he concludes that 
the globe is millions and millions of 
ages old. Is his conclusion scienti- 
fic ? Not at all. If the globe was in 
the beginning in a certain state, and 
if the structural and other changes 
which are now going on have been 
going on at the same rate from the 
beginning — ^neither of which supposi- 
tions is provable — ^then the conclusion 
is valid ; not otherwise. Sir Charles 



Lyell, if we recollect aright, calculat- 
ed that, at the present rate, it must 
have taken at least a hundred and 
fifty thousand years to form the delta 
of the Mississippi. Officers of the 
United States army have calculated 
that a little over four thousand years 
would suffice. 

So of the antiquity of man on the 
globe. The scientist finds what he 
takes to be human bones in a cave 
along with the bones of certain long 
since extinct species of animals, and 
concludes that man was contempora- 
ry with the said extinct species of ani- 
mals; therefore man existed on the 
globe many, nobody can say how 
many, thousand years ago. But two 
things render the conclusion uncer- 
tain. It is not certain from the fact 
that their bones are found together 
that man and these animals were con- 
temporary ; and the date when these 
animals became extinct, if extinct 
they are, is not ascertained nor ascer- 
tainable. They have discovered traces 
in Switzerland oflacustrian habitations ; 
but these prove nothing, because his- 
tory itself mentions " the dwellers on 
the lakes," and the oldest history ac- 
cepted by the scientists is not many 
thousand years old. Sir Charles Lyell 
finds, or supposes he finds, stone knives 
and axes, or what he takes to be stone 
knives and axes, deeply embedded in 
the earth in the valley of a river, though 
at some distance from its present 
bed ; and thence concludes the pre- 
sence of man on the earth for a period 
wholly irreconcilable with the receiv- 
ed biblical chronology. But suppos- 
ing the facts to be as alleged, they do 
not prove any thing, because we can- 
not say what changes by floods or 
other causes have taken place in the 
soil of the locality, even during the 
period of authentic history. Others 
conclude from the same facts that 
men were primitively savages, or ig- 
norant oC iQ^ve MS^ ol \\Qitv* ^>ax ^^ 



Jlif^ftary Gmi 



lost they prove is that, at some un- 
a period, certain parts of Europe 
were inhabited by a people who used 
stone knives and axes ; but wlielher 
becaufic ignorant of iron, or because 
unable from their poverty or their dis- 
tance from places where they were 
manufactured to procure similar iron 
utensils, they give us no informa- 
tion. Instances enough are recorded 
in history of the use of stone knives 
by a people who possessed knives 
made of iron. Because in our day 
some Indian tribes use bows and ar- 
rows, are we to conclude that fire- 
arms arc unknown in our age of the 
world ? 

What the scientists offer as proof 
is seldom any proof at all. If an 
hypothesis they Invent explains the 
known (acts of a case, they assert it 
as proved, and therefore true. What 
fun would they not make of theolo- 
gians and philosophers, if they rea- 
soned as loosely as they do them- 
selves ? Before we can conclude an 
hypothesis is true because it explains 
the known facts in the case, we must 
prove, ist, that there are and can be 
no facts in the case not known ; and, 
ad, that there is no other possible hy- 
pothesis on which they can be ex- 
plained. We do not say the theories 
of the scientists with regard to the 
antiquity of the globe and of man on 
its surface, nor that any of the geo- 
logical and astronomical h>'potheses 
they set forth are absolutely false; we 
only say that their alleged lacts and rea- 
sonings do not prove them. The few 
facts known might be placed in a 
very different light by the possibly un- 
known facts; and there are conceiv- 
able any number of other hypothe- 
ses wliich would equally well explain 
die feels that are known. 

The book before us on Hereditary 
Genius admirably illustrates the in- 
sufhciency of tlie method and the de- 
fective logic of ti\c sciefttste. ^. 



Gallon, its author, beJongs to | 
school of which such men as Herb 
Spencer, Darwin, Sir John Lubboe 
and Professor Huxley are 
chiefs, men who disdaia to rccogu 
a self-existent Creator, and who i 
no difficulty in supposing the iuuv« 
self-evolved from nothing, or in tr 
ing intelligence, will, generous afl 
tion, and heroic effort to the mcd 
nical, chemical, and elecUical a, 
ment and combination of the | 
cies of brute matter. Mr. Galtoa I 
written his book, he says, pi. i, 
show 

" that a man'i nntanl abilities are d«f 
from inheritance, nnder eiiicUr the Mb 
roilations as are the form mitt the phyi 
features of the whole oiganic world. ( 
aequcntly, as it ii essy, notwiliittaDt 
those limitations, to ohuin lijr ouvfid H 
tion a permanent hited of doei or btr 
girted with p«caliar powers of tuooiii 
of doing any thing else, so it woold be f 
pmcllcable to prodocc o bighly-glftcd t 
[breed] of men by judicious mnrriagct J 
ing several consecutive gcnerxlioiu." 

Mr. Gallon, with an air of the n 
perfect innocence in the world. pU 
man in the category of plants i 
animals, and in principle simplf i 
produces for our instruction the JV^ 
Plant, from which there is but a ■ 
to the Man-Machine of the cyia 
Lamettrie, the atlietstical 
of mathematics in the univctsitf i 
Berlin, and friend of Frederick t 
Great. 11ie attempt to prove it H 
subde attempt to prove, in the o 
of science, thai the soul, if soul tl 
be, is generated as well as the bod 
and that a man's natural abilities i 
derived through generation from 1 
organizatioa. The author ftoia i 
to last gives no hint that his d 
is at war with Christian ' 
with the freedom of the human « 
or man's moral responsibility (or Ii 
conduct, or that it excludes all moralil 
all virtue, and all sin, and tecoginu 
Qslij ijk<(sical good ot evil. "" 



Hereditary Genius. 



725 



would no doubt reply to this that 
science is science, facts are facts, and 
he is under no obligation to consider 
what theological doctrines they do or 
do not contradict; for nothing can 
be true that contradicts science or 
is opposed to facts. That is opposed 
to actual facts, or that contradicts 
real science, conceded ; for one truth 
can never contradict another. But 
the author is bound to consider whe- 
ther a theory or hypothesis which 
contradicts the deepest and most 
cherished beliefs of mankind in all 
ages and nations, and in which is the 
key to universal history, is really sci- 
ence, or really is sustained by facts. 
The presumption, as say the lawyers, 
is against it, and for its acceptance it 
requires the clearest and the most 
irrefragable proofs, and we are not 
sure that even any proofs would be 
enough to overcome the presump- 
tions against it, founded as they are 
on reasons as strong and as conclusive 
as it is in any case possible for the 
human mind to have. The assertion 
that man's natural abilities originate 
in his organization, and therefore that 
we may obtJdn a peculiar breed of 
men, as we can obtain a peculiar breed 
of dogs or horses, is revolting to the 
deepest convictions and the holiest 
and most irrepressible instincts of 
every man, except a scientist, and 
certainly can be reasonably received 
only on evidence that excludes the 
possibility of a rational doubt. 

Mr, Galton proves, or attempts to 
prove, his theory by what he no 
doubt calls an appeal to facts. He 
takes from a biographical dictionary 
the names of a few hundreds of men, 
chiefly Englishmen, during the last 
two centuries, who have been distin- 
guished as statesmen, lawyers, judges, 
divines, authors, etc., and finds that 
in a great majority of cases, as far as 
is known, they have sprung from fa- 
milies of more than average ability, 



and, in some cases, from families 
which have had some one or more 
members distinguished for several 
consecutive generations. This is really 
all the proof Mr. Galton brings to 
prove his thesis; and if he has not ad- 
duced more, it is fair to conclude that 
it is because no more was to be had. 
But the evidence is far from being 
conclusive. Even if it be true that 
the majority of eminent men spring 
from families more or less distinguish- 
ed, it does not necessarily follow that 
they derive their eminent abilities by 
inheritance; for in those same fami- 
lies, bom of the same parents, we 
find other members whose abilities 
are in no way remarkable, and in no 
sense above the common level. In a 
family of half a dozen or a dozen mem- 
bers one will be distinguished and rise 
to eminence, while the others will re- 
main very ordinary people. Of the 
Bonaparte family no member ap- 
proaches in genius the first Napoleon, 
except the present emperor of the 
French. Why these marked differences 
in the children of the same blood, the 
same breed, the same parents and an- 
cestors ? If Mr. Galton explains the 
inferiority of the five or the eleven by 
considerations external or indepen- 
dent of race or breed, why may not 
the superiority of the one be explain- 
ed by causes alike independent of 
breed? Why are the natural abili- 
ties of my brothers inferior to mine, 
since we are all bom of the same 
parents? If a man's natural abili- 
ties are derived by inheritance from 
organization, why am I superior to 
them? Every day we meet occa- 
sion to ask similar questions. This 
fact proves that there are causes at 
work, on which man's eminence or 
want of eminence depends, of which 
Mr. Galton's theory takes no note, 
which escape the greatest scientists, 
and at best can be only conjectmred. 
But con^ecluie \s noX. ^caewot* 



726 



Hersditaty GtHtus. 



» 



This is not all. As far as known, 
very eminent men have sprung from 
parents of very ordinary natural abili- 
ties, as of social position. The foun- 
ders of dynasties and noble families 
have seldom had distinguished pro- 
genitors, and are usually not only the 
first but the greatest of their line, 
Tlie present Sir Robert Peel cannot 
be named alongside of his really 
eminent father, nor the present Duke 
of Wellington be compared with his 
father, tlie Iron Duke. There is no 
greater name in history ihan that 
of St. Augustine, tlie eminent father 
and doctor of the church, a man 
beside whom in genius and depth, 
and greatness of mind as well as ten- 
derness of heart, your PJatos and 
Aristotles appear like men of only 
ordinary stature; yet, though his 
mother was eminent for her sanctity, 
his parents do not appear to have 
been gifted with any extraordinary 
mental power. Instances are not 
rare, especially among the saints, of 
great men who have, so to speak, 
sprung from nothing. Among the 
popes we may mention Sixtus Quin- 
tus, and Hildebrand, St. Gregory 
VII.; and among eminent church- 
men we may mention St. Thomas of 
Canterbury, Cardinal Ximenes, and 
Cardinal Wobey. The greatest and 
most gifted of our own statesmen 
have siJTung from undistinguished 
parents, as Washington, the elder 
Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Jackson, 
Webster, Calhoun. Who dares pre- 
tend that every saint has had a saint 
for a father or mother; that every 
eminent theologian or philosopher 
has had any eminent theologian or 
philosopher for his fiither; or that 
every eminent artist, whether in paint- 
ing, architecture, sculpture, or music, 
has been the son or grandson of an 
eminent artist ? 

Then, again, who can say how 
much of a great matfs gcea.\.acs5 Ss 



due to his natural atMlitieswith « 
he was bom, and bow much il 
to the force of exaniplc, to I 
tradition, lo educfitioD, to ha 
application, and the < 
circumstances? It is in no : 
power to tell, nor in any sc 
power to ascertain. It is a ci 
remark that great men in 
owe their greatness chiefly to 
mothers, and lliat, in (lie gtd 
jority of cases known, cminciil 
have had gifted mothers. Thi 
fact, is against Mr. Gallon's tli 
for the father, not the mother, ! 
mils the hereditary character < 
ofispring, the hereditary i 
the line, if the physiologists a 
believed. Hence nobility in d 
lized nations follows the Eatbcr.il 
mother. The fact of great 
owing their greamess more I 
mother is explained by her | 
influence in forming the i 
moulding the character, io si ~ 
and directing the exercise of h 
faculties, than that of the f 
is as^educator in the largca 
that uie mother fonns her t 
racier ^nd influences his dd 
is her womanly instincts, i 
and care and vigilance, hei 
sympathy, her love, her t 
and power to inspire a nobtc. 
tion, kindle high and generous 
rations in the breast of her s( 
do the work. 

Even if it were unifonnly ti 
great men have always de 
from parents remarkable for 
natural abilities, Mr. Galton^ i 
that genius is hereditary ( 
be concluded with scientilic c 
The hereditary transmis»on of 
might indeed seem probable; 
the empirical principles of the 
tists, it could not be i 
that could be asserted would I 
relation of concomitance OC of 
Yaiv'MKi, aot the relation of 



Hereditary Gefiit$s. 



727 



and effect. The relation of cause 
and effect is not and cannot, as the 
scientists tell us, be empirically ap- 
prehended. How can they know 
that the genius of the son is derived 
hereditarily from the greatness of his 
progenitors? From the juxtaposi- 
tion or concomitance of two facts 
empirically apprehended there is no 
possible logic by which it can be in- 
ferred that the one is the cause of the 
other. Hence, Mr. Herbert Spencer, 
Stuart Mill, Sir William Hamilton, 
Professor Huxley, and the positivists 
follow Hume, and relegate, as we 
said, causes to the region of the un- 
knowable. In fact, the scientists, if 
they speak of the relation of cause 
and effect, mean by it only the rela- 
tion of juxtaposition in the order of 
precedence and consequence. Hence, 
on their own principles, though the 
fsw:ts they assert and describe may be 
true, none of their conclusions from 
them, or hypotheses to explain them, 
have or can have any scientific va- 
lidity. For, after all, there may be a 
real cause on which the facts depend, 
and which demands an entirely dif- 
ferent explanation from the one which 
the scientists offer. 

We refuse, tlierefore, to accept Mr. 
Galton's hypothesis that genius is 
hereditary, because the facts he ad- 
duces are not all the facts in the 
case, because there are facts which 
are not consistent with it, and be- 
cause he does not show and cannot 
show that it is the only hypothesis 
possible for the explanation even of 
the facts which he alleges. Even his 
friendly and able reviewer. Dr. Mere- 
dith Clymer, concludes his admirable 
analysis by saying, " A larger induc- 
tion is necessary before any final de- 
cision can be had on the merits of 
the question." This is the verdict of 
one of the most scientific minds in 
the United States, and it is the Scotch 
verdict, not proven. Yet Mr. Gal- 



ton would have us accept his theory 
as science, and on its strength set 
aside the teachings of revelation and 
the universal beliefs of mankind. 
This is the way of all non-Christian 
scientists of the day, and it is because 
the church refuses to accept their 
unverified and unverifiable hypothe- 
ses, and condemns them for assert- 
ing them as true, that they accuse 
her of being hostile to modern sci- 
ence. They make certain investiga- 
tions, ascertain certain facts, imagine 
certain hypotheses, which are nothing 
but conjectures, put them forth as 
science, and then demand that she 
accept them, and give up her faith 
so far as incompatible with them. A 
very reasonable demand indeed ! 

Press these proud scientists closely, 
and they will own that as yet their 
sciences are only tentative, that as 
yet they are not in a condition to 
prove absolutely their theories, or to 
verify their conjectures, but they are 
in hopes they soon will be. At pre- 
sent, science is only in its infancy, it 
has only just entered upon the true 
method of investigation; but it is 
every day making surprising progress, 
and there is no telling what marvel- 
lous conclusions it will soon arrive at. 
All this might pass, if it did not con- 
cern matters of life and death, heaven 
and hell. The questions involved 
are too serious to be sported with, 
too pressing to wait the slow and 
uncertain solutions of the tentative 
science which, during six thousand 
years, has really made no progress 
in solving them. The scientists re- 
tard science when they ask from it 
the solution, either affirmative or ne- 
gative, of questions which confessed- 
ly lie not in its province, and dis- 
honor and degrade it when they put 
forth as science their crude conjec- 
tures, or their unverified and unveri- 
fiable hypotheses. They, not we, are 
the real enemies ol «:v^tLC.^^>icv^\iL^^>x 



73B 



Hereditary GeniUi, 



would require a miracJe to make 
them see it. Dduded morials I tliey 
start with assumptions that exclude 
the very possibility of science, and 
then insist that what they assert or 
deny shall be accepted by theolo- 
gians and philosophers as established 
with scientific certainty! Surely the 
apostle must have had them in mind 
when he said of certain men that, 
" esteeming themselves wise, they be- 
came fools," 

Genius is not hereditary in Mr. 
Gallon's sense, nor are a man's natu- 
ral abilities derived by inheritance in 
the way he would have us believe; 
for both belong to the soul, not to the 
body ; and the soul is created, not ge- 
nerated. Only the body is generated, 
and only in what is generated is there 
natural inheritance. All the facts Mr. 
Gallon adduces we are prepared to 
admit; but we deny his explanation, 
Wc accept, wiih slight qualifications, 
his views as summed up by Dr. Cly- 
mer in the following passage : 

"The doctrine of Iheprelfnsians of natu- 
ral equality in intellect, which teaches that 
the sole ogencies la creating dilTetenccs be- 
tween boy >nd boy, and man .ind man, are 
steady application and moral eflbrl, is doily 
contradicted by the experiences of the dot- 
SC17, achooU, universkies, and ptofcsslonat 
careers. There is a definite limit to the mus- 
cular powers of every roan, which he cnnnot 
by any training or exertion overpais. It il 
only [be novice gymnast who, noting his ra- 
pid daily gain of strength and skill, believe; 
in illimitable development; but he leoms in 
lime that his maximum peironnaDcebecunies 
a figidly-dc terminate quantity. The same 
is Ime of tbe experience of Ihc student in 
the working of his mental powers. The ea- 
ger boy at tlie outset of hit career is ssion- 
i&hed at his rapid progress ; he thinks fur a 
while that every thing i^ vilhin his grasp; 
hut he too soon finds his place among his 
fellows; he can beat such and such i^ his 
males, and run on equal terms with others, 
wlule there will be alwjys some whose in- 
lellectoal and physical feats he cannot ap- 
proach. The same experience awaits him 
when he enters a larger lield of competition 
{n the battle ot Ute; ^et \aai^oiV'(iitli all 



brid£e,BM , 



his ililigence, he cannot teoAfl 
him have oppotlunilics, li< 
them; he tries and it tried, aial faa fad^ 
learns his gauge — what he can d«. and wtial 
lies bejMnd his capacity. He ha* been iiughi 
the hard lesson at his weakness and lus 
strength; he comes to rate hinuelf as the 
world rates him ; and be salve* lus wmukIoI 
ambition with the conviction IhU he udomt 
all his nature allows him. An evidence af 
the enormous inequality between tlie oM- 
lectual capadly of men is sliQWB in Ibe p» 
digioDS ilifTerences in (he nnmber of v^Ai 
obtained by those who gain matheBalical 
honors at the University of Combridfe, B 
land. Of the four hnndred 01 " 
and fifty students who take their dtgreaiJ 
year, about one hundred succeed il 
honors in mathematics, and these ai 
ed in strict order of meriL Forly of U 
have the title of ' wrangler,' and to he even 
a low wrangler is a creditable thinfr. Tbi 
distinction of being the first in this U»lil 
honors, or 'senior wianglcr ' of the jcv, 
means a great deal more than lieing the fnr 
most mathematician of four hunrltrd or [ou 
hundred and (ifty men talten at h]pbmr>L 
fully one half the wranglers have Iwenbop 
of mark at their schools. The sciiliit utoa- 
gler of tbc year is i!ie chief ol these oi ir- 
gards mathemitici. The jrouths slut «• 
tlieir tlirce-years' race fairly, and Ihelf Mk j 
is siimulalcd by powerful inducei ~ 

the end lliey ore examined r'_ 
five and a half hours a day for ei^lt a 
The marks are then added up, and tbc* 
didnles strictly rated in a scale of d 
The precise number of tnarki ffH b 
senior wrangler, in one ol the lkre± ]| 
^ven by Mr. Calton, is 7634 ; by tt 
wrangler, 4133; and by the lowest annb 
the litt of honors, aj7. The sem'or wrM- 
gler, consequently, had nearly twice at (nun 
marks as the second, and more than Xtaltj- 
two times as many as the lowest nuu>. ta 
the other eicitminatloTU given, the results ds 
not materially diScr. The senior wiatt^ 
may, therefore, be set down as hating Mf- 
ty-lwo limes the ability of the lowrit a 
the lists ; or, as Mr. Calton put* i^.d 
would tic able lo grapple with prohlanaan 
than thirty-two times as difficult; 
deaUng with subjects of the same 
but intelligible to all, wonbl c 
them more rapidly in, perhaps, the s 
root of that proportion.' But the ■ 
matlcal powers of the d 
honors-list, which are so low when c( 
ed with (hose of the f wcmost man, are aliorc 
mediocrity when compared will) the pits *t 
Caglishmen geDendly; for, ll>OWtHd»<» 



Hereditary Genius. 



729 



mination places one hundred honor-men 
above him, it puts no less than three hun- 
dred * poll-men ' below him. Admitting 
Hiat two hundred out of three hundred have 
refused to work hard enough to earn honors, 
there will remain one hundred who, had they 
done their possible, never could have got 
them* 

•* The same striking intellectual differences 
between man and man are found in what- 
ever way ability may be tested, whether in 
statesmanship, generalship, literature, sci- 
ence, poetry, art. The evidence furnished 
by Mr. Galton*s book goes to show in how 
small degree eminence in any dass of intel- 
lectual powers can be considered as due to 
purely special faculties. It is the result of 
concentrated efforts made by men vddcly 
gifted — of grand human animals; of natures 
bom to achieve greatness." 

We are far from pretending that all 
men are bom with equal abilities, and 
that all souls are created with equal 
possibilities, or that every child comes 
into the world a genius in germ. We 
believe that all men are bom with 
equal natural rights, and that all 
should be equal before tl^e law, how- 
ever various and unequal may be their 
acquired or adventitious rights; but 
that is all the equality we believe in. 
No special effort or training in the 
world, under the influence ofthe most 
favorable circumstances, can make 
every child a St. Augustine, a St. Tho- 
mas, a Bossuet, a Newton, a Leibnitz, 
a Julius Caesar, a Wellington, a Na- 
poleon. As one star differeth from 
another in glory, so does one soul dif- 
fer from another in its capacities. on 
earth as well as in its blessedness in 
heaven. Here we have no quarrel 
with Mr. Galton. We are by no 
means believers in the late Robert 
Owen's doctrine, that you can make 
all men equal if you will only surround 
them from birth with the same circum- 
stances, and enable them to live in 
parallelograms. h- 

We are prepared to go even farther, 
and Jto recognize that the distinction 
between noble and ignoble, gentle and 
simple, recognized in aU ages and by 



all nations, is not wholly unfounded. 
There is as great a variety and as 
great an inequality in families as in 
individuals. Aristocracy is not a pure 
prejudice ; and though it has no poli- 
tical privileges in this country, yet it 
exists here no less than elsewhere, and 
it is well for us that it does. No great- 
er evil could befall any country than 
to have no distinguished families ris- 
ing, generation after generation, above 
the common level ; no bom leaders of 
the people, who stand head and shoul- 
ders above the rest; and tlie great 
objection to democracy is, that it tends 
to bring all down to a general average, 
and to place the administration of 
public interests in the hands of a low 
mediocrity, as our American experi- 
ence, in some measure, proves. The 
demand of the age for equality of con- 
ditions and possessions is most mis- 
chievous. If all were equally rich, all 
would be equally poor; and if all were 
at the top of society, society would 
have no bottom, and would be only a 
bottomless pit. If there were none 
devoted to learning, no strength and 
energy of character above the multi- 
tude, society would be without lead- 
ers, and would soon fall to pieces, as 
an army of privates without officers. 

There is no doubt that there are 
noble lines, and the descendants of 
noble ancestors do, as a rule, though 
not invariably, surpass the descen- 
dants of plebeian or undistinguished 
lines. The Stanleys, for instance, 
have been distinguished in British his- 
tory for at least fifteen generations. 
The present Earl Derby, the fifteenth 
earl of his house, is hardly inferior to 
his gifted father, and nobly sustains 
the honors of his house. We expect 
more from the child of a good family 
than from the child of a family of no 
accoimt, and hold that birth is never 
to be decried or treated as a matter 
of no importance. But we count it 
so chiefly beca.\is^ \\. %^oa^& X^^xxsx 



Hereditary GmiiUt 

Lbreeding, and subjection to higher, The soul !s distinct from tfac bod); 

l-nob!cr,and purer formalive influences, and is 'Hs/arm, its Kfe, or its vivifyai^ 

from the earliest moment. Example and informing principle; yet 

and family traditions are of immense the body as the organ of its articb 

reach in forming tlie character, and it Hence, De BonaJd defines tnui, 

is not a litlle to have constantly pre- intelligence that serves himself hy 

sented to the consideration of the gans, not an intelligence served 

child the distinguished ability, the organs, as Plato said. The utit-iiji 

worth and noble deeds of a in the soul, not in the organs. "" 
organ we call the eye docs not see ; I 
soul sees by means of the eye. 
of the ear, the smell, the taste, t 
touch. Wii speak of the five » 

which a but we should speak more coned 

dignity if we spoke, not of five senses, buti 

and worth through several generations five organs of sense; for the sen 

is a capital, an outfit for the son, se- psychical, and is one like the souli 

cures him, in starting, the advantage senses through the organs. In 

of less well-bom competitors, and all manner, the brain appears to be 

the aid in advance of a high position organ of the mind, through wbich,t» 

tnd the good-will of tlie community, gether with tlie several nerves iM 

More is exacted of him than of them ; centre in it, the mind petfonw 

lie is eady made Co feel that noblesse various operations of thinking, willi 

oblige, and that failure would in his reasoning, remembering, rcflectia^ 

case be dishonor. He is thereby sti- etc The nature of the reUtion ^ 
mulated to greater effort to succeed. 



long line of illustrious ancestors, es- 
pecially in an age and country where 
blood is highly esteemed, and the ho- 
norable pride of family is cultivated. 
The honor and esteerr 
family has been held for 



Yet we deny not tha 
thing else than all this in blood. A 
man's genius belongs to his soul, and 
is no more inherited than the soul 
itself. But man is not all soul, any 



the soul, which is one, simjilc, 
immalerial, with a material bodyi 
its various organs, nervous and | 
glionic systems, is a mystecT wt 
we cannot explain. Vet wc cu 
doubt that there is a reciprocal aci 



more than he is all body ; body and '"and reaction of the soul and 



t least, the bodily organs 
do olTcr, at times, an obstacle 10 
external action gf the souL I cafl 
by my will raise niy arm, if it be 



k 



soul are in close and mysterious rela- 
tion, and in this life neither acts w-ith- 
out the other. The man's natural 
abilities are psychical, not physical, 

and are not inherited, because the ralyzcd, though my psychical 

Goul is created, not generated; but to will to raise it is not therebjr 

their external manifestauon may de- ed. If the organs of seeing and hi 

pend, in a measure, on organization, ing, the eye and the ear, are bija 

and organization is inherited, Mr. or originally defective, my exief 

Galton's facts may, then, be admitted sight and hearing are thereby injM 

without our being obliged to accept or rendered defective ; butnolinot 

his theory. The brain is generally psychical relations, as evinced 

considered by physiologists as the or- the lact that when the pliyiical del 

gan of the mind, and it may be so, is removed, or the physical injiv] 

witliout implying that the brain secretes cured, the soul finds no difficulty 

thought, will, affection, as the liver se- manifesting its ordinary power cf i 

cretes bile, or the stomach secretes the ing or hearing. So we may say of 

gastric juice. "" " - - - 



o\K>iT Qt^ms of sense, and of the 



Hereditary Genius. 



731 



lerally, in so far as it is the or- 
* the soul, or used by the soul* 
external display or manifestation 
powers. 

doubt the organization may be 
)r less favorable to this external 
f or manifestation, or that, under 
i conditions, and to a certain 
, the organization is hereditary, 
ismitted by natural generation. 

may be transmitted from pa- 
or ancestors a healthy or dis- 

a normal or a more or less 
nal organization; and so far, 
1 this sense, genius may be he- 
y, and a man's natural abilities 
e derived by inheritance, as are 
m and features; but only to this 
, and in this sense — ^that is, as to 
jxtemal display or exercise ; for 
I may be truly eloquent in his 
nd even in writing, whose stam- 
l tongue prevents him from dis- 
g any eloquence in his speech. 
)rganization does not deprive 
ul of its powers- My power to 
) raise my arm is not lessened 
: fact that my arm is paralyzed, 
n all ordinary cases, the soul is 
It least by the help of grace, 
given to all, to overcome a vi- 

temperament, control, in the 
order, a defective organization, 
laintain her moral freedom and 
ity. It has been proved that 
af-mute can be taught to speak, 
liat idiots or natural-bom fools 
e so educated as to be able to 
t no inconsiderable degree of 



yence. 



do not believe a word in Dar- 
theory of natural selection ; for 
* facts on which he bases it ad- 
' a different explanation, nor in 
dred theory of development or 
ion of species. One of our own 
orators has amply refuted both 
es, by showing that what these 
es assume to be the development 
elation of new species, whether 



by natural selection or otherwise, is 
but a reversion to the original type 
and condition, in like manner as we 
have proved, over and over again, 
that the savage is the degenerate, not 
the primeval man. It is not impro- 
bable that your African negro is the 
degenerate descendant of a once over- 
civilized race, and that he owes his 
physical peculiarities to the fact that 
he has become subject, like the animal 
world, to the laws of nature, which 
are resisted and modified in their ac- 
tion by the superior races. We do 
not assert this as scientifically demon- 
strated, but as a theory which is far 
better sustained by well-known facts 
and incontrovertible principles than 
either the theory of development or 
of natural selection. 

Yet the soul as forma corporis has 
an influence, we say not how much, 
on organization ; and high intellectual 
and moral culture may modify it, 
and, other things being equal, render 
it in turn more favorable to the ex- 
ternal manifestation of the inherent 
powers of the souL This more fa- 
vorable organization may be trans- 
mitted by natural generation from 
parents to children, and, if continued 
through several consecutive genera- 
tions, it may give rise to noble fami- 
lies and to races superior to the 
average. Physical habits are trans- 
missible by inheritance. This is not, 
as Darwin and Mr. Galton suppose, 
owing to natural selection, but to the 
original mental and moral culture 
become traditional in certain fami- 
lies and races, and to the voluntary 
efforts of the soul, as is evident from 
the fact that when the culture is ne- 
glected, and the voluntary eflforts 
cease to be made, the superiority is 
lost, the organization becomes de- 
praved, and the family or race runs 
out or drops into the ranks of the 
ignoble. The blood, however blue, 
wiU not ol it&^M ^otl^ ^>^c^ \a\AK^ 



732 



Hereditary Genius. 



up the auperiorin- of the family or 
the race; nor will marriages, however 
judicious, through no matter how 
many consecutive genwations, with- 
out the culture, keep up the nobility, 
as Mr. Gallon would have us believe ; 
for the superiority of the blood de- 
pei)ds originally and continuously on 
the soul, its original endowments, 
and its peculiar training or culture 
through several generations. 

It is in this same way we explain 
the origin and continuance of nation- 
al characteristics and differences. Cli- 
mate and geographical position count, 
no doubt, for something ; but more in 
the direction they give to the national 
aims and culture than in their direct 
effects on bodily organization. It is 
not probable that the original tribes 
of Greece had any finer organic 
adaptation to literature and the arts 
than had the Scythian hordes from 
which they sprang ; but their climate 
and geographical position turned 
their attention to cultivation of the 
beautiful, and the continual cultiva- 
tion of the beautiful through several 
generations gave the Greeks an or- 
ganization highly favorable to artistic 
creations. Then, again, Rome cul- 
tivated and excelled in the genius of 
law and jurisprudence. But under 
Christian faith and culture, the various 
nations of Europe became assimilat- 
ed, and the peculiar national charac- 
teristics under Gentilisra were in a 
measure obliterated. They also re- 
vive as t!ie nations under Protestan- 
tism recede from Christianity and re- 
turn to Gentilism, and are held in 
check only hy the reminiscences of 
Catholicity, and by the mutual inter- 



course of nations kept up by I 
and commerce, literature and the noi 
The facts alleged by Mr. Gallon 
and his brother materialists are, ihcw- 
fore, explicable without impusniitg 
the doctrine of the simplicity and im- 
materiality of the soul, and ihit tht 
soul is created, not generated is il 
the body. They are perfectly e 
cable without supposing oar r 
abilities originate in or are the P 
of natural organization. They ( 
be exjilained in perfect conMSiencjt 
with revelation, with the teadunp 
of the church, and iviih the unircnd 
beliefs of mankind. Thus it wodM 
be supreme unreason to require nst* 
reject the Gospel, or our holy r* 
gion, on the strength of ihc unrci* 
fled and unverifiable hypo theses of ifce 
scientists, and degrade man, the Ion) 
of this lower creation, to the level rf 
the beasts that perish. The <iuvrct 
we began by speaking of is tn no 
sense a quarrel between faith and wt 
son, or revelation and science; but 
simply a quarrel between wh»t ii 
certain by faith and reason on the 
one side, and the unverified and un- 
verifiable hypotheses or conjccftBO 
of the so-called scientists on tte 
other. We oppose dodc of the ml 
facts which the scientists i 
we oppose only their tin: 
theories and unwarranted in 
We conclude by reminding I 
cntists that others have studied % 
ture as well as they, and are ss S 
liar with its facts and as able t 
son on them as they ars, u 
have no difficulty in reconciling II 
science and their faith. 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



733 



DION AND THE SIBYLS. 



A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL. 

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



CHAPTER IV. 

ivo days afterward, Dionysius 
Athenian called at the inn, and 
med Aglais, Paulus, and Agatha, 
after the banquet in the Mamur- 
palace at Formiae, that evening, 
5 was to be a great gathering of 
Bvritty, the noble, the fashionable, 
the wise, and that he was charg- 
) invite Aglais and her two chil- 
as friends of his. 
glais decHned the honor for her- 
and her daughter, but said she 
ed Paulus to go with Dionysius. 
us, therefore, laid aside the out- 
ish costume in which he had tra- 
d from Thessaly, and dressed 
€lf with care in the fashion suit- 
to a young Roman of equestrian 
Dionysius remained to join 
family in their repast, which was 
ally what we should in modem 
s call the early dinner, after which 
two friends mounted Dion's cha- 
and proceeded toward Formiae 
ji easy pace, along the smooth 
rment of the " queen of roads," 
uring the drive they had a con- 
ition which was, for good reasons, 
interesting to Paulus. 
A most capricious course," said 
lysius, " is your suit or claim run- 
. In seeking to recover your 
\y estates you prudently avoid at 
bringing the holder into a court 
iw ; for the judges might shrink 
I voiding a title which not only 
8 out of an express gift of Au- 
m^ but is identical with the tide 



under which half the land of Italy 
has been held since the battle of Phi- 
lippi. Instead of an immediate law- 
suit, therefore, you try a direct appeal 
to Augustus, offering to show him 
that at the very time when your fa- 
ther's estate was taken away he had 
just rendered the same services for 
which, had he been willing to accept 
it, he would, like so many others, have 
had a right to be endowed with a new 
estate, taken from some member of 
the defeated party. But Augustus 
refers you back to the courts, where, for 
the two reasons mentioned, you fear the 
result But two other reasons might 
be added for fearing it still more : first, 
the present holder is dreaded on ac- 
count of his political power and his 
station ; Tiberius is the man who, by 
marrying the daughter of Agrippa 
Vipsanius, has come into possession 
of your property ; secondly, wealth b 
necessary for the success of such a 
suit; wealth he has, and wealth you 
have not. The courts present, con- 
sequently, but small hopes; yet you 
fail to get Augustus to decide your 
case himself. 

" Have I correctly stated the posi* 
tion of your afiairs ?" 

"To a nicety," replied Paulus. 
" Had I interest at court, I should 
find justice there." 

"In your case," said Dionysius, 
" interest at court would be equivalent 
to justice in the courts. As I took 
precisely this view of the business, 
and as Augustus has paid me such 
honor, and ^ov^u m^ ^mOci '^ds!^^:^^:] 



734 



Dton and t!u Sibyh. 



as few have found with him for many 
years, it occurred to me that if I tlirew 
ray unclaimed and unexpected interest 
into the same scale wherein your just 
demands already lay — " 

"Ah kind and generous friend!" 
interrupted Paulus; "I understand." 

" Not so kind, nor sa generous," 
replied Dionysius, "to my friend 
Paulus, as I saw Paulus show him- 
self to be tlie day before yesterday to 
a stranger and a slave. But hear me 
out. No sooner did I tell Augustus 
that I had a favor to ask of liim, than 
he placed his hand on my mouth, 
and said, ' I like to hear you talk ; but 
mine has been too busy a life to per- 
mit me to draw forth by properly op- 
posing you the full force of your own 
opinions — or the truth. The truth 
in these matters (not your affair, Pau- 
lus, but philosophy) is the only truth 
which can interest a man about to die. 
You must state these views in the 
presence of young, vigorous, and not 
preoccupied intellects. If you hold 
your own as well against what they 
can allege as against my objections, 
submit to me aftenvard your petition. 
One thing at a time.' This and the 
like, with the indomitable whim and 
obstinate waywardness of age, he has 
continued to fling at me, whenever I 
have renewed the attempt to stale 
your case ; and I have done so five 
or six times. Titus Livy and Quinlus 
Haterius, whom I have consulted, ad- 
vise me to take literally and in the spi- 
rit of do^vnright business this curious 
caprice. Now, do you know, to-night 
is appointed for a sort of arena-fight? 
All the gladiatorial intellects of the 
west are to be arrayed to crush the 
fantastic theories and pretty delusions 
of a Grtek, an Athenian. All motives 
chain me, all pledges prevent me; 
moreover, honor and truth, to say 
nothing, my friend, of your own per- 
sonal future, interdict me from flight." 

'■Flight'." cried p3Lw\MS-,"jouft-jT 



"Ah!" said Pionj-sius; "yoob 
not all that I mean. You and 1 h 
been differently reared, yrt in 
same spirit. However, as you i 
when at the risk of your own life 
stood between oppression and so 
nocent young couple, the great ' 
ing whom we both expect will 
pleased with a willing effort 
is right. 

" Hut here we are at the gates 
Formias. How the palace <rf 
Mamurras glitters! How these I 
row streets flare with torchesi 
must go at a walk. Charioteo; 
the litters pass first. Vcs, my 
in the painful position in which 1 1 
be forced to stand to-night, (an 
blush beforehand, knowing XKf 
competence, my ignorance, and 
intrinsic difficulty of what I an 
pected to do,) your future fbnv 
and the rights of your family ne 
a strange caprice ina.de depoid 
upon the success with which I n 
be able to defend ideas of gcncnil 
unchangeable value, beauty, andtid 
ideas which it debases a raan oM 
have, and exalts him to enteit^ 
ideas which were always dear lo I 
greatest minds that have preceded* 
and which are reflected in everyei 
and pure soul, as the stars ia f 
sweet lakes, although the putrid, ifi 
pool, and the waters tossed ■ 
storm.';, and an atmosphere darim 
with clouds, may forbid the iroagrt 
intercepting the heavenly lighi on 
lacing the earthly mitror," 

While Dionysius thus ml 
Paulus of the singular and close C 
nection which had arisen betweoi 
future prospects of his motlier, 
sister, and himself, as well as the 
tablishment of their rights, and ihei 
cess with which Dionysiua night I 
night be able to make good his pbdk 
phical doctrines against the wfti^ I 
orators, and the sophists of the i 
^\is,\Mi.cji\n^,ittlie same 



Dioft and the Sibyls. 



735 



was conversing upon the same 
t with Domitius Afer and An- 
Labio in a room of the Ma- 
n palace. 

ist," said he, in continuation of 
creation previously commenced, 
a pereon's claim to an estate 
be rendered either better or 
by the style of his horseman- 
re Domitius Afer laughed hear- 
nd showed his admiration of 
's wit. Labio, a saturnine, la- 
s man, son of one of the assas- 
f Julius Caesar, and author of 
irless works, preserved a grim, 
ling air, as he observed, 
man may ride over an estate, 
ver all its hedges and ditches ; 
must be no bad rider if he can 
his horee into a title to become 
prietor." 

evertheless, the infatuation of 
itus for the Greek friend of the 
int is such that if the Athenian 
s himself successfully to-night 
J Maecenas-like criticisms and 
like discussions which are, I 
:t, to vary our entertainments, 
I next suffer the golden-tongued 
to state the case of Paulus 
us -^milius. The effect at 
you must aim is to make a fool 
I Athenian; and you are the 

do it. Refute every thing he 
ridicule him, cover him with 
»ion ; make him the gibe of the 

court, the derision of the bril- 
3ircle assembling here to-night. 

1 end to his influence. We want 
)re mind-batries in Italy. I set 
upon a dog. Arouse all your 
ion. Bend all your energies. 
lie stranger retire from among 
disgrace." . 

It night, the most brilliant com- 
which could then be culled out 
i human race was assembled in 
■itial impluvium of the Mamur- 
fdietind its axcades. Lamps, 



hanging from the festoons of creeping 
plants which adorned and connected 
the porphyry pillars of the colonnades, 
mingled their gleam with the light of 
the moon and stars. The variety of 
rays, of shadows, and of coloring 
which were thus sprinkled over the 
flowers, the leaves, the walls and 
pillars, the faces, figures, and dresses, 
produced a scene which a painter 
could better render than words can. 
The central fountain was smitten into 
a sorcery of tints, as it shed into a 
large basin of green marble the droop- 
ing sheaf of waters, of which the ma- 
terials were perpetually changing, and 
the form and outlines perfectly main- 
tained, or instantly and perpetually 
renewed. 

The Emperor, and the Caesars, 
Tiberius and Germanicus, with the fa- 
mous authore we have already more 
than once mentioned, Livy, and Lu- 
cius Varius, and Velleius Paterculus 
were present, -^lius Sejanus, the 
prefect of the Praetorians; Cneius 
Piso, the gambler; Plancina, his rich 
wife ; Lucius Piso, his brother, gover- 
nor of Rome; with many persons 
who then sparkled in the court orbits, 
but whose names have perished out 
of human memory; and Julia, the 
emperor's daughter, Tiberius*s new 
wife ; and Agrippina Vipsania, lately 
his wife ; and Agrippina Juha, daugh- 
ter of the former, sister of the latter, 
wife of Germanicus, and mother of 
Caligula ; and Livia, the aged wife of 
Augustus himself, all appeared among 
the guests. Chairs and couches had 
been placed here and there. Augus- 
tus and the ladies we have mentioned 
were seated, some just within, others 
just without one of the arcades, be- 
tween two of its columns, so that the 
moonlight fell upon some heads, the 
lamplight upon others; and a way- 
ward, dubious mixture of both upon 
the golden tresses of Agrippina Julia, 
and of a beauti£\]\'^owii%^BATL<^ax>aKt^ 



73*5 



Diort and the Sibyls. 



on whom Domitius Afer, the celebrat- 
ed orator, was gazing with admira- 
tion. But she, when she at last ob- 
served liis glance, fixed upon him 
such a look of combined scom and 
amazt'nient that the advocate winced 
and became livid. She was destined, 
one day, to be the subject of his fatal 
eloquence, and to appease by no- 
thing less than her execution the 
vindictive vanity of the orator, be- 
cause she had spumed the ambitious 
love of the man. 

Tacitus alludes to the poor Claudia 
Pulchra's brief tale. Quinlus Hate- 
rius, whose Shakcspeare-Ukc varie- 
ty of mind and bewitching eloquence 
had, as Ben Jonson implies in a com- 
parison already cited by us, few rivals, 
was seated not far from .\ugustus. 
Next sat Livy. Antistius Labio and 
iiis rival Domitius Afer, who now 
occupied the place and fame in the 
forum from which Haterius on ac- 
count of his age had withdrawn, stood 
leaning agajnst a pillar, each with his 
arms folded. Both these pereons, as 
well as Livy and Haterius, wore the 
toga; Sejanus, the scarlet /a/Ml/tfWl-/^ 
turn. The other male guests — except 
Tiberius, whose dark purple robe was 
conspicuous, and Germanicus, who 
was dressed in the costume of a com- 
mander-in-chief— wore a species of 
large tunic, called lacema, which 
(contrary to tlie taste of the emperor, 
and despite of his frequently expressed 
disapproval) had become fas!)ionable. 
The story mentioned by Suetonius is 
well known. One day Augustus, see- 
ing numbers of tlie people wearing the 
/acfma, asked indignantly, in a line 
of Virgil's, could these be Romans, 
" Xomatios rerum dominos, centem- 
QUE TOCATAM," and ordered the aedi- 
les to admit none but toga-wearers 
into either the forum or the circus. 
But this was many years before the 
evening with whidi we are now en- 
gaged. 



Among the groups collected ii 
Marauiran palace were rcprcsenifr 
tives of the three great ans, in mu- 
tering which the highest educaticn of 
classic antiquity was exhausted; it 
mean the arts of politics, of pubk 
speaking, and of strategy — gorenv- 
ment, eloquence, and wax, "naif 
were all represented, each of then 
had its proper image in the grovfi 
we have described. As those pn- 
suits constituted the favorite iotcfi 
tual sphere, and comprehended oSil 
fields of ambition, to be emin 
any one of them was to succ 
life, and to be adopted into thatd 
of society of which so many i~ 
guished members were enie 
in the Fortnian paJace c 
at which our tale has arrived. 

If a man excelled, like Julius l> 
sar, m all the three arts named hs^ 
could revolutionize the worid. 
mechanic arts, the fine ; 
phy, physical science, inathcmatic 
tractcd individual volaincs 
but were neglected by the antl 
of a few, as well as by the i 
of many. 

'Ilie mention of physical si 
calls Strabo, the geographer, i 
among the guests this evening il 
palace. 

Many others who i 
need not enumerate; 
claim a word and a glance. 
Dionysius arrived, and 
Paulus to the aged knight, Mu 
the company was already niun 
Mamurra patted Paulus on thedwfS 
der, and said, alihougb the odis 
day in the road he had not at <aK> 
recalled old times, he i 
Paulus's brave father very % 
battle of Philippi; and that t 
murra, had seen him and / 
Vipsanius together, rallying tl 
which Mark Antony hail b 
that he himself had charged ir 
t.a.\».\i-j to hdp him. This i 




Dion and the Sibyls, 



m 



:ry gracious, and our hero, who 
lew it to be true, blushed with 
ind pleasure. While the glow 
J natural and honorable emo- 
as still coloring his young face, 
bowed to Mamurra, the latter 
lim by the arm, and said in a 
ice, 

)me, let an old soldier present 
1 of a former comrade, whose 
s honorable, and whose memo- 
lorious, to the master for whom 
oth fought with equal zeal, al- 
1 unequal fortune." 
;ustus returned Paulus's low 
ion with a faint yet not unkind- 
le, and then looked with a sort 
py steadiness at Tiberius, who 
Mamurra's words, and whose 
as apparently flaming with a 
ed rage. Near Tiberius, who 
irew himself upon the cushions 
ouch plated with gold, just op- 
the chair which Augustus had 
d, stood a tall, regular-featured, 
jn-like man, in Asiatic dress, 
ext to this individual, Sejanus, 
is usual air of supercilious com- 
:, yet intent watchfulness. 

couch we have mentioned 
ng and large, and two ladies, 
d, the other young, were alrea- 
ing at the further end of it 
rst was Antonia, the mother of 
inicus, tlie second was Agrip- 
ulia, his wife. Just in front of 
upon a low stool, sat the son 
latter, Caius Caligula, with his 
;t bandaged, as the reader will 
surprised to hear \ while at his 
Jgeting with large, red, lubberly 

stood a big, loutish, heavy- 
5 boy, who was considerably 
nior of that dear child. This 
' other than Claudius, the fourth 
Caesarian dynasty, (or the fifth, 
IS Caesar be accounted the first,) 
id, against his will, to mount 
tione of the world amid panic 
onor, that day when Caligula 



shall be hacked to pieces by Cassius 
Chaerias, in the theatre of the palace 
at Rome. 

Thus, three future rulers of man- 
kind, destined to bear dire sceptres in 
dark and evil days, were around the 
white hairs of Augustus Csesar to- 
night.' 

As Paulus stepped backward after 
Augustus's languid but not unkindly 
reception of him, Dionysius, who was 
just behind, moved quickly and grace- 
fully out of his way, and Claudius, 
the big, loutish lad, being impelled 
thereto by the nature of him, shuffled 
forward so as to come in collision 
with Paulus. 

" Monster !" exclaimed Antonia, 
ashamed of her son's awkwardness; 
" if I wanted to prove any one void 
of all mind, I would call him more 
stupid than you ! " * 

Paulus glided into the background, 
saying with a bow and a smile, '^ My 
fault !" 

He now found himself in the imme- 
diate neighborhood of that eastern 
group which his young sister had de- 
scribed as presenting themselves one 
morning at the entrance of the bower 
in the inn garden, when she was there 
listenmg to the strange conversation 
of Plancina ; we mean Queen Bere- 
nice and her daughter Herodias, and 
her son Herod Agrippa. 

They all three fixed their gaze upon 
him with that unabashed, hardy man- 
ner peculiar to the family, and Pau- 
lus was beginning to feel uncomforta- 
ble in their vicinity and under their 
scrutiny, when Germanicus Caesar ap- 
proached, and complimenting him 
upon his brilliant exploit two evenings 
before, asked him whether he would 
like to join the expedition which was- 
to start next day to drive the Germans- 
firom the north-east of Italy ? 



hoi ; nee mAsplmitim i maturi, std UuUum mck^a- 
turn ; ae si f$um *0C0rdim mrguertt^ thtUi^nm mie- 



738 



Dion and the Sibyb. 



\ 



i 



If he would, Germanicus offered to 
mount him splendidly, and keep him 
near his own person, and make him 
the bearer of orders to the generals; 
in modem phrase, give him a place on 
the staff. Paulus thanked the com- 
mander-in-chief briefly and respectful- 
ly, and asked to be allowed to wait till 
noon next day before giving a more 
definite answer than that he should 
rejoice to accept the gracious offer ; 
his mother and sister had no protec- 
tor except himself, and he should not 
like to leave them, without first hear- 
ing what they said. Germanicus as- 
sented. 

During the short conversation of 
which this was the substance, Ger- 
manicus had moved slowly up the 
gravel-walk ; and Paulus of course at- 
tended him, listening and answering, 
not sorry besides to put some space 
between himself and the unpleasant 
Jewish group. By the time they had 
finished speaking they had arrived 
opposite the couch where Tiberius, 
Antonia, and Agrippina were seated, 
with Germanicus's child, Caligula, as 
we have described, occupying a low 
stool in front of his mother Agrippi- 
na. Close by, leaning against a pil- 
lar, stood a youth in the uniform of a 
centurion who had a most determined, 
thoughtful countenance. 

On the approach of Germanicus, he 
briskly quitted his lounging attitude 
to salute his commander. 

" Young knight," said Germanicus 
to Paulus, " let me make you ac- 
quainted with as brave a youth, I 
think, as can be found in all the Ro- 
man legions ; this is Cassias Charias" 

"Who, father," asked the shrill 
voice of the child Caligula, " is the 
brave youth, do you say ?" 

" Cassitis Cha^r'uur 

" Are you so brave ?" persisted the 
impudent child, shoving up his ban- 
dage impatiently, and disclosing a 



truly disfigured and malicious 
face. 

" I can't see you, or what yw 
like. But I think I could make 
afraid if I was emperor." 

The man destined hereafter t( 
liver mankind from the boundless 
fligacy, the wicked oppression, 
the insane, raging, incredible cru 
of which it was daily the mise 
victim by killing Caligula the t 
ror, looked steadily at CaliguL 
child, and said not a word. 

" I should like to feel your si 
whether it is heavy," pursued 
child. " Give it me." And he 
ed to his feet. 

"Silence! pert baby," said 
manicus, pushing him back int( 
place. 

"It seems to me," said Augi: 
looking round, and there was ai 
stantaneous hush of general coi 
sation as he did so ; " that wc ! 
represented aroimd us Europe, ^ 
and Africa. Young Herod anc 
friends may count for Asia." 

"You," added Augustus, add 
ing the tall, Brahmin-like man 
stood near Tiberius, ''come : 
Egypt, do you not ?" 

"Mighty emperor," returned 
other in measured and sepuk 
tones, " I come from the land w 
great Babylon once was the scs 
empire." 

No sooner had this man op 
his mouth than the observant Sej; 
started. 

Approaching his mouth to 
other's ear, he whispered, 

" I have heard your voice bcf 
you are — ?" 

" I am," replied the other, c 
posedly eyeing his questioner, **T 
syllus Magus — Thrasyllus, tliestui 
of the stars." 

Sejanus smiled, twisted his m 
tache in his white fingen, and 



. _ .^ 4^ _ >. 



Dion and the Siiyls. 



739 



re you sure that you are not 
)d Hermes? and that you do 
)metimes ride of nights, with 
iorse*s hoofs wrapped in cloth ?" 
was now tlie other's turn to 

you suppose," pursued Se- 
still in a whisper, " that I had 

rery stable in Formiae searched 
ght you played that trick on 
ad? I know my roaster Ti- 
s taste for divination and the 
s deep things you practice, 
hen, are the oracle who reveals 

1 the decrees of fate ?" 

! exchange of further remarks 
in these worthy men was here 
ided ; for Augustus again spoke 
general attention, 
think," said he, " that we should 
w be glad to hear Dionysius 
thenian." An eager hum of 

and approval arose from the 
and sated, but inquisitive and 
I society around, 
lere are in your philosophy," 
ued Augustus, " two leading 
)les, my Athenian, in support 
ich I am both curious and 
is to hear you advance some 
and convincing reasons. You 
e, as Cicero despised it, the no- 
)f a plurality of gods. You 

there is only one. You say 
. god who could begin to be a 
>r begin at all, can be no god ; 
lat the true King of all kings, is 
i^er of whatever exists, and the 
?nt of nothing. That he is 
It a body, a pure and holy in- 
ice. That as every thing else 

work, there never were, and 
will be, and never could be, 
aits either of his power or of 
owledge. At the same time, 
iject the notion, adopted in 
Greek systems, that he is the 
f the visible universe, and this 
se his body; affirming him to 
^cedent to and independent of 



all things, and all other things to be 
absolutely dependent upon him. 

" Is it not so ?" 

" Yes," answered Dionysius; "such 
is my assured conviction." 

"This, then," said Augustus, "is 
the first question upon which I wish 
to hear you ; and the second is, whe- 
ther that force or principle within 
each of us which thinks, reflects, rea- 
sons, and is conscious of itself, will 
perish at our death, or will live be- 
yond it, and is of such a nature that 
it will never perish, as Plato, Xeno- 
phon, Cicero, and many other illus- 
trious men and very great thinkers 
have so ardentiy contended." 

" Ah !" said Dionysius, in a voice 
indescribably sweet and thrilling, 
while all turned their eyes toward 
hjfn; "unless that God himself as- 
sist me, I shall be quite unequal to 
the task you impose upon me, Au- 
gustus. I am not worthy to treat 
the subject upon which you desire 
me to speak. You are aware that 
many learned persons in our Europe 
expect, and for a long time have ex- 
pected, some divine being to appear 
one day among men. I see the able 
governor of Rome, Lucius Piso. 
None will accuse Piso of credulity, 
none suppose him a weaver of idle 
fancies, or a dreamer of gratuitous 
reveries. An able administrator, an 
accomplished man of the world, and, 
if he will pardon me, more inclined 
to be too sarcastic than too indul- 
gent, he, nevertheless, despises not 
this expectation. Our learned friend 
Strabo, whom I see near me, will tell 
you moreover how it prevails, and 
has from immemorial times prevailed, 
in various and often perverted forms, 
yet with an underlying, essence of 
permanent identity, among the.innu- 
merable nations which make some 
thirty languages resound through the 
immense expanses of Asia. But Do- 
mitius Afer desires to interrupt ma." 



740 



Dion and tJie Sibyls. 



Afer said, 

** I do not discern how this ancient 
and mysterious expectation which 
floats vaguely through the traditions of 
all mankind, and in a more definite 
shape forms the groundwork for the 
whole religion of the Jewish nation, 
can be at all connected either with the 
immortality of the thinking principle 
inside of us, or with the question 
whether there is one supreme, abso- 
lute, and eternal God who made this 
universe." 

" All I would have added," replied 
Dionysius, " in regard to that expec- 
tation was, that after the appearance 
of this universal benefactor, many 
sublime ideas which hitherto only the 
strongest intellects have entertained, 
will probably become familiar to the 
meanest— common to all 

" I pass to the two questions which 
Augustus desires to hear argued; 
and, first, let me collect the opinions 
of this brilliant company ; I will then 
compare them with mine. What 
does Antistius Labio think ?• 

" I should have to invent a term 
to express my notion," said Labio. 
'' I think all things are but emana- 
tions firom, and return to, the same 
being. What might be called pan- 
iheism^ if we coined a word from the 
language of your country, best ex- 
plains, I fancy, the phenomena of 
the universe. Every thing is growth 
and decay; but as decay furnishes 
larger growth, every thing is growth 
at last and in the total sum." 

" Is this growth of all things under 
any general control ?" asked Diony- 
sius. 

"Each thing," replied Labio, "is 
under the control of its own nature, 
which evidently it cannot change, 
and every inferior thing besides is 
under the control of any superior 
thing with which it may come into 
relations. Thus what is active is su- 
perior as such to what is passive,' it 



is more excellent and a higher ft 
to act upon, or sway, ot change 
move, or form, than to be acted uf 
moved, or modified. The mind 
an architect, for instance, is a hi^ 
force than the dead weight of 
inert stones fi'om which he build 
palace." 

" Then you hold that some thi 
have force, and that there are gre^ 
and smaller forces?" asked Die 
sius. 

" Undoubtedly," said I^abio. 

" Which is more excellent," asl 
Dionysius, " a force which can m< 
itself, or a force which, in order 
exist, must be set in motion by 
other ?" 

" This last," said Labio, " is oi 
the first prolonged ; it is but a o 
tinuation, an effect." 

"And an effect," pursued I 
Greek, " is inferior, as such, to wl 
controls it; and inferior also in 
very nature to that which requires 
cause ?" 

" Certainly," returned Labio ; 
am not so dull as to gainsay that ' 

" Now favor me with your att« 
tion," returned the Athenian; 
want you to extricate me from 
dilemma. Either every thing wh 
possesses force has received its fc 
from something else; or there 
something which |x>ssesses force, i 
which never received this force ft 
any thing else, and which, thercfi 
has possessed it from all etera 
Which of these two alternatives 
you select ?" 

Labio paused, and by this time 
whole of that strangely mixed see 
was listening with the keenest re 
and the most genuine interest to 
conversation. 

"I see whither you tend," rep 
Labio, *• but I do not believe in I 
universal ruler and original mind 
first force, which you think to den 
strate. All things go in circles < 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



741 



y. Every force which exists 
een derived from some other; 
rach in its turn continues the 
ntnty or communicates the im- 

rettily expressed," remarked Vel- 
Paterculus. 

beg Augustus," said the Athe- 
" to mark and remember La- 
jvords. Every thing which has 
has received its force from some- 
else. Do you say every things 
, without exception ?" 
es, every thing," said Labio. 
nceive the chain to be endless." 
ut not having, good Labio," 

I the Athenian, " goes before 
ng, I cannot, and you cannot, 
e that which we have already, 
der to say that we receive any 

we must first be without it — 
we not ? The state of not hav- 

repeat, precedes the act of re- 
g. Does any person deny this ? 
Labio ?" 

one here spoke. 

hen," said the Athenian, "in 
aining that every thing which 
ses force has received that force 
K)mething else, Labio necessari- 
.intains that every thing which 
ses force was first without it. 
•efore perceive there must have 
a time when nothing possessed 
Dree whatever. The very first 
which possessed any, received 
it whence ? For, at that time, 
was nothing to give it. What 
-Abio ? Is pantheism silent ?" 
wish to hear more," said Labio; 

II answer you afterward." 
nomentary smile, like a passing 
, lit up the faces of those around, 
; Athenian, looking toward Do- 
; Afer, requested him the next 
or the company with his opin- 
pon the two momentous ques- 
propounded by Augustus. 

need not, like Labio, coin a 
5rom the Greek," said Afer, " to 



describe my system. I am a mate- 
rialist. I believe nothing save what 
my senses attest They show me 
neither God nor soul ; and I am de- 
termined never to accept any other 
criterion." 

" Are you quite sure," asked Dio- 
nysius, " that you are thus determin- 
ed ? I should like to shake such a 
determination." 

"You'll fail," replied Afer, smiling.' 

" Which of your senses, then, has 
attested to you that very determina- 
tion ? Can you see, taste, smell, hear, ' 
or touch it? And^yet you tell us 
you are sure of it. If so, you can 
believe in, and be sure of, something 
which has never been submitted to 
the criterion which alone you admit." 

" A determination is not a thing," 
said Afer hastily, and with a little ; 
confusion. \ 

" Was Julius Caesar a thing ?" per- 
sisted Dionysius; "because if you 
believe that Julius Caesar existed, hav- 
ing heard of him and read of him, ; 
your senses of hearing and seeing do 
not attest to you in this case the exis-l 
tence of Julius Caesar, but simply the 
affirmations of others that he has ex- 
isted. My hearing attests to me that 
Strabo says he has been in Spain; 
and this, if there were no other rea- 
son, would satisfy me that Spain ex- 
ists; yet it is Strabo whom I hear. 
I do not hear Spain." 

Augustus clapped his hands gently, 
and laughed. Domitius Afer, with vi- 
sible anger, exclaimed, 

" I mean, that I will take nothing 
but upon proof. Prove that the soul 
is immortal ; prove that one supreme 
God exists. Every thing which a 
reasonable man believes ought to be 
demonstrated." 

" I hope," said Dionysius, " to prove 
those two truths to your satisfaction. 
But as you say that all we believe 
ought to be demonstrated, I will first 
offer you a demoiffiXxd&ot^^(^cAX\SL>& 



DtoH and the Sibyts. 



impossible to demonstrate every thing. 
To prove any proposition, you require 
a second ; and to prove the second, 
in its turn, you require a third ; and 
it is ui>on this third, if you admit it, 
that tlie demonstration of the first 
depends. Bat if you had fifty pro- 
positions, or any nunaber, in the chain, 
what proves Iht last of litem 7" 

" Another yet," said Afer. 

" But," said the Greek, " either you 
come to a last, or you never come to 
a lasL If you never come to a last 
proposition, you never finish your 
proof; you leave, it uncompleted ; (/ 
remains still tio proof at all; you have 
not performed what you undertook. 
And if you do come to a final propo- 
sition, which is supported by no oth- 
er, what supports it ?" 

There was a little stan of pleasure 
in the company at the sudden and 
clear closes to which the Athenian 
was, each and every time, bringing 
what seemed likely to have grown 
into intricate and long disquisitions. 

'' My object, Augustus," pursued 
Dion, •' was to show that we are all 
so made that we feel compelled to 
believe much more than we can prove, 
OtherH*i:ie, our knowledge would be 
confined within narrow limiu indeed. 
He who knows no more than he can 
demonstrate, knows but little. May 
I now ask the distinguished orators, 
Montanus and Capito, for their theo- 
ries respecting tlie questions which in- 
terest us so much lo-night ?" 

Quintus Haterius prevented any 
answer to this appeal. " The elo- 
quent and learned thinker," said he — 
'• who will yet, I have no doubt, be 
the ornament of the Athenian Are- 
opagus — has placed rae, and, I think, 
many others near me, completely on 
his side, in what has hitherto passed. 
Young as he is, he has made us feel 
the masterful facility with which he 
is able to throw light upon errors 
placed where tiutiv om%\\\. \.q s\awl. 



The operation b highly amusing; *c 
could pass a long evening in watch- 
ing it repeated against any number 
of antagonists. But come, Diony- 
sius, reverse the process; lake youi 
own ground; maintain it; raise that 
your system like your castle ; and kt 
those assail it, if they please, •honi 
your aggressive genius on the contra- 
ry turns to assail." 

" Haterius is right," said AufiuslK 
" I could assist at any number of 
these collisions ; but they take a funa 
which presents your mind to us, m 
Athenian, as a hunter and conquewi 
rather than a founder." 

" But I am no founder," replied 
the youth, earnestly and modcalj; 
" and I aspire to nothing of the loniL 
The fact is merely and simply thii: 
After much study I have arrived it 
the conviction — first, that there \s.wi 
absolutely perfect and eternal Being 
who governs the universe ; and, nai, 
that what thinks within each <A u 
never will die. Since you desire K> 
hear the reasons which haxT brou|[hl 
rae to these conclusions, I cannot de- 
cline to state one or two of them it 
least — though this place, this «c»- 
sion, and this dazzling company beb 
the subject far less, I fear, than ifl 
few studious friends discussed il, 
ting under the starry sky, on 
quiet, unfrequented shore." 

" Now we shall hear Plato," pfl 
Tiberius, with something almost Qs 
a sneer. 

" Pardon me," said Dionysius, " 0* 
to may speak for himself. You hi« 
him to read; why should I rqxit 
him ? Those who raiss I'laio's incso- 
ing in his own pages would miss & 9 i 
my commentary." 

Julia uttered a taunting Uu^*] 
she glanced at her new husband j 
berius, whom she always treated ■ 
scorn. 

"You remember, Augustas," Db 
«ius cuniinucd, " that a few miai 



1 III 



DioM and the Sibyls. 



743 



Antistius Lablo, in answering 
of my questions, stated that a 

which could move itself was 
I excellent, as such, than one 
h required to be set in motion 
nother, as the mind of the archi- 
said he, is superior to the stones 
which he builds a palace. La- 
then very justly added, in reply 
tiother question, that what was 
jd only by the force of something 
possessed no proper force of its 
its force being but a continua- 
Df the first, an eflfect of the im- 
He finally assented, when I 
ed that it is impossible that eve- 
ing without exception which pos- 
5 force should have received it, 
ise rwt having goes before receiv- 
md because this is only another 
\ of saying that every thing with- 
ixception was once devoid of 
If a particular being has re- 
d the force it possesses, that par- 
r being must once have been 
>ut it ; and if all beings without 
jtion who possess force have re- 
d it, they likewise without excep- 
must all, in the same manner, 
first been without it, a supposed 
during which no force at all ex- 

anywhere. That any being 
d ever acquire force, when there 
lowhere any force for it to ac- 
, would be an unsatisfactory phi- 
hy." 

Tiere has, perhaps, been," said 
ius, " an eternal chain of .these 
; transmitting themselves on- 



II 



f," said the Athenian, " you ad- 
he existence of any one being 
possesses a force which he never 
'ed firom another, that being is 
Qtly eternal. But to say that a 
has received its force, is to say 
its force has had a beginning; 
o say that any thing begins, is 
' that once it was not. A chain 
x:es all received is, therefore, a 



chain of forces all begun — is it not ? 
Now, if they have all begun, they 
have all had something prior to them. 
But nothing can be prior to what is 
eternal ; such a chain or series, there- 
fore, cannot itself be eternal." 

" No link is eternal," said Tiberius; 
" but all the links of the chain toge- 
ther may surely be so." 

The Athenian looked round with a 
smile at Tiberius, and said, " If all 
the forces which exist now, and all 
those which ever existed in the imi- 
verse, without exception, have been 
received fix>m something else, what 
is that something else beyond all 
the forces of the universe f They 
would all without exception have be- 
gun. To say this of them, is merely 
to say that they were all non-existent 
once; and thb without exception. In 
other words, the whole chain, even 
with all its links taken together, is 
short of eternal. If so, it has been 
preceded either by blank nothing, or 
by some being who has a force not 
thus received, a force which is his 
own inherently and absolutely, as I 
maintain. Tell me of a chain, the 
top of which recedes beyond our ken, 
that the lowest link depends on 
the next to it, and this on the 
third, I understand you ; but if I ask 
what suspends the whole chain, with 
all its links taken together, it is no 
answer to say that the links are so 
numerous and the chain is so long 
that it requires nothing but itself to 
keep it in suspension. The longer it 
iS) the greater must be the necessity 
of the ultimate grasp, and the strong- 
er must that grasp be ; and observe, it 
must be truly tdtimate, otherwise you 
have not solved the difficulty; nay, 
the suspending force must be distinct 
fi-om and beyond the chain itself, or 
you do not account for the suspen- 
sion. But I will put all this past a 
cavil. What I said respecting proofs 
to Domitius Afer, I say respecting 



744 



DioH and tlu Sifylt, 



causes to Tiberius Cresar. No one 
denies that various forces are operat- 
ing in the universe. Now, of two 
Ihings, one: Either there is a first 
force, acting and moving by its own 
freedom, which, being antecedent to 
all other forces, not only must be in- 
dependent of them all, but can alone 
have produced them all ; or else there 
is ID the universe no force which has 
not some other antecedent to it. This 
last proposition is easily shown to be 
an absurdity ; for to say that every 
force has a force antecedent to it, is Ike 
same as to say that all ferees have ano- 
ther force antecedent to them ; in other 
words, that, wer and above all things 
of a ^ven class, there is another thing 
of that class. Can there be more than 
the whole ? Can there be another 
thing of a certain kind, beyond all 
ihings of that kind ? Besides every 
force, is there yet another force ? If 
any one is here who would s.iy so, I 
wail to hear him." 

No one said a word. 

"Then remark the conclusion," 
pursued Dionysius. " It is a sel/con- 
Iradiclion to contend that there can 
be one thing more of a class than all 
ihings of that class ; therefore there 
is not, and cannot be, a force ante- 
cedent to every force in the universe; 
therefore there is, and must be, in the 
universe, a force which is the first force, 
a force which has not and could not 
have any other antecedent lo it, Now 
this force, being the first, could be 
controlled by no other; by iis action 
every other must have been produced, 
and under its control every other must 
lie." 

" Do not you contradict yourself?" 
inquired Afer; " you show there can- 
not be a force antecedent to all forces, 
and still you conclude that there is." 

"There carmot," said Dionysius, 
"be a force antecedent to all forces, 
because this would be one more of a 
class beyond all of a class. But there 



may be the first of the class, t 
whicli no other was ; and thb \t 
I have demonstrated to exist. Thit 
first force is antecedent, not to aS, 
but to all others ; there yoo slop; 
there is none antecedent to Him, As 
he is the first force, all things nut* 
have come from him. He made asd 
built this universe ; it is his imperial 
palace. Vou have asked mc to prove 
that one eternal and omnipotent God 
lives. I have now given yon an ar- 
gument which I am by no meant 
afraid, in this, or any other assemUv, 
to call a demonstration. Audit is bit 
one out of a great many." 

K low murmur of spontancom 
plaudits and frank assent ran romid 
that luxurious, but highly culli' 
appreciative, and brilliant com, 
and one voice a little too load*| 
heard exclaiming, 

" It is as clear as the light of J 
dear Dion!" 

All eyes turned in 
and Paulus, whose feelings ofadid 
lion and sympathy had thws betrardF 
him, blushed scarlet as he wittidfcv 
behind the stately form of ( 
cus, who looked round at him Si 
half in amusement, half in ktndi 

" I do think it a demotistniioo^ 
deed," said Augustus, musing e 

" How strangely must that s) 
dous Being," said Strabo, the g 
pher, "deem of a world whid 
come so completely to fofigeCJ 
ignore him !" 

" Your reasoning," resumed A 
tus, "differs much, as you said It w 
from Plato's. Plalo it 
our Roman taste." 

" So is he," said Dionysiiiv 4 
subtle, and, I think, too 1 
for the taste of most r 
I admire his genius, but I 
many of his theories, and i 
disciple of his school." 

" Of what school are you ?" 

"I am dissatisfied witb 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



745 



school," replied the future convert of 
St. Paul, blushing. '* But I am quite 
certain that there is only one God, 
and that he is eternal and all-perfect. 

** What I have said, I have said be- 
cause I believe it; not in order to 
play at mental swords with these elo- 
quent and gifted men, whom I honor. 
There is, if we would look for it, a 
reflection of this great Being in our 
minds like that of a star in ^-ater; but 
the water must be undisturbed, or the 
light wavers and is broken. We see 
many beings, greater and smaller. 
Now, who can doubt that, where there 
are greater and smaller, there must 
be a greatest? Each one of us is 
conscious and certain of three things : 
first, that he himself has not existed 
from all eternity ; secondly, each of 
us feels that he did not make his o\^7i 
mind ; and thirdly, that he could not 
make another mind. Now, the mind 
who made ours must be superior to 
any thing contained in what he thus 
made; therefore, although we can 
conceive a being of whose power, 
knowledge, and perfection we dis- 
cern no possible limit, this very con- 
ception must be inferior to its object. 
There must exist outside of our mind 
some being greater still than the 
greatest of which we can form any 
intellectual idea, however boundless. 
The lead fused in a mould cannot be 
greater in its outlines than the mould 
which presents the form. Again, no 
person will contend that the sublime 
and the absurd are one and the same 
thing — that the terms are convertible. 
But yet, if an absolutely perfect and 
sovereign being did not exist, the con- 
ception which we form of such a be- 
ing, instead of constituting the high- 
est heaven of sublimity to which our 
thoughts can soar, would constitute 
the lowest depth of absurdity into 
which they could sink." 

A little pause followed. 

** Do you, then," said Afer, with a 



subtle smile, "introduce to us the 
novel doctrine, that whatever is sub- 
lime must therefore be true ?" 

" If I said yes," replied Dionysius, 
" and I am not a little tempted, you 
would succeed in drawing me aside 
into a very long and darkling road. 
But I have advanced nothing to that 
effect My inference depended not 
on assuming that every thing which 
is sublime must be true, but on the 
supposition that nothing which is 
absurd could be sublime." 

"Quite so," remarked Haterius; 
" and was there not e another, infe- 
rence dormant in what you said ?" 

" There was," said Dionysius ; " but 
it looks like subtilizing to wake it and 
give it wings ; and, as I am a Greek, 
I fear — I — in short, I have tried to 
confine myself to the plainest and 
broadest reasonings." 

"Fear not," said Germanicus; 
" learned Greece, you know, has con- 
quered her fierce vanquishers." 

Tiberius gnawed his under - lip ; 
and the Lady Plancina, glancing at 
him and then at her husband Cneius 
Piso, who was listening attentive but 
ill at ease, exclaimed, 

" Enervated them, you mean !" 

Germanicus threw back his head, 
smiled, and remarked, " To-morrow 
the legions are going forth to try 
against the Germans whether the Ro- 
man heart beats as of old ; what was 
the further inference, Athenian ?" 

"Since there must," said Dion, 
"where greater and smaller beings 
exist, be a greatest, we can all try to 
form some conception of him. Now, 
this conception must fall short of his 
real greatness. Why ? Because as I 
have demonstrated that this being is 
the first force, from which all others 
in the universe, including our minds, 
must have come, no idea contained 
in our minds can be greater than the 
very power which made those minds 
themselves. But, a^ax^ ^o\sv >iKfik ^^- 



746 



Dum and the Sibyls. 



monstration, every one of us can say, 
a being may exuc so great as to be 
iDcapabte of non-existence. Such a 
bdng is conceivable ; it is his non-ex- 
istence which then, by the very suj)- 
position, is inconceivable. Now, if 
there be something the non-existence 
of which would be inconceivable, 
while of the being himself you possess 
a notion, thinking of him as, for ex- 
ample, and terming him, the ^xfA force, 
eternal, boundless — giver of all, re- 
cipient of naught — the certainty of 
bis existence Is established already 
for the Iteart ; for that faculty which 
precedes demonstration in accepting 
truth — for remember I have shown, 
and I have proved, that we are so 
made as to be compelled to believe 
far more than any of us can ever de- 
monstrate." 

" This, then," said Augustus," is the 
dim image of which you spoke ; the 
reflection of the star in water?" 

" Yes, emperor," replied Dionysius ; 
" but not always dim ; the deepest and 
the purest of all the lights which that 
water reflects. Often it reflects no 
image, however; and often it reflects 
but clouds and storms. To say you 
truly conceive a thing, is to say you 
are certain of it in the way you con- 
ceive it. If you conceive any diing to 
be certain, you possess the certainty 
of ii. You may be certain that a 
thing is nfjcertam ; in other words, 
you have arrived at a clear notion of 
its uncertainty. To conceive llie 
contingency of an object, is to possess 
the positive idea that it is contingent. 
To conceive a necessary being, is to 
have the dear idea not simply that 
he is, dul that he must be. He 
could not be conceived at all, he 
could not even be an object of 
thought, as both necessary and non- 
existent. All conceivable objects, ex- 
cept one, are conceived as either 
possible or actual. But that one alone 
is conceived as necessary, and, there- 



fore, tteeesiorily actual. EiUier j 
cessary being is not concelvaG 
and which of us, I should like to 
know, cannot sit down and inilutfe 
in the conception ? — or, if he be w 
much as conceivable, then his Tcign 
is recognized, because for more ihtn 
his existence is Involved — I man 
the impossibility of his non-existence-* 

" Are all the dreams," said DuimliBS 
Afer, " of a poet's imaginatioa tnithi 
because they are conceptions?" 

A few moments of silence fotla»oi 
and Faulus .iSmilius looked at int 
friend with an expression of lonr 
whicli he had not exhibited in lib 
own contest with the Scjan hone. 

" When the poet," reijlied Uiooy- 
sius, " imagines what might havcbeo, 
he believes it might have been, aiui 
asks you to believe no more; but be 
would be shocked if you IwUevid 
less; would be shocked if you nU 
him he was depicting not thai whkb 
had not been, for this be clteerfiil^ 
professes, but that which tould m/tivit 
be supposed. What 1 say here," addcil 
the Athenian, " belongs to a diftfoc 
and somewhat higher plane of thoo^ 
Tlie impossibility to suppose (kmmi- 
istent an infinitely perfect being, wbilt 
on the other hand, is tiimtetf toood 
not impossible to suppose, ooi!bfcl| 
bring home &> the heart the £uX.-|S 
he lives. I'o be able, in the fiisi|dH 
to conceive him existing, and Vi:ri^lA 
way (liereafter to feel an utter inaA- 
ty to form even the concc]>tioo of ttf 
non-existence, because it is only M 
the necessary being and hist ^tet 
that we can think of him at all. an i 
handwriting upon the porch oi" evoj 
human soul. He lives, I say Ji J| 
jo icing, an etem.il, neccatMry^ 
personal reality ; the very c 
of him would be an iinpos 
his existence were not a fact; 
far more than a fact, 
truth and a primonlial ncccs&itjj 

As the Athenian thus i 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



7A7 



clear and firm voice, which seemed 
to grow more musical the more it was 
raised and exerted, Augustus stood 
up and paced to and fro a few steps 
on the gravel walk of the impluvium, 
with his hands behind him and his 
eyes cast down. All who had been 
sitting rose at the same time, except 
Livia, Julia, Antonia, and the two 
Agrippinas. 

"This," whispered Tiberius in 
Afer's ear, " is not much like failure, or 
derision, or disgrace for the Greek." 

"My predecessor, Julius Caesar," 
said Augustus at length, looking 
roimd as he stood still, " was the best 
astronomer and mathematician of his 
age — we have his calendar now to 
record it ; the best engineer of his age 
— ^look at his bridge over the Rhine ; 
the best orator, except one, to whom 
Rome perhaps ever listened ; a most 
charming talker and companion on 
any subject ; a very great and simple 
writer; as great a general probably 
as ever lived; a consummate politi- 
cian ; a keen, wary, swift, yet profound 
thinker at all times ; a man whose in- 
tellect was one vast sphere of light; 
and yet I remember well in what 
anxiety and curiosity he lived respect- 
ing the power which governs the 
universe, and with what minute and 
even frivolous precautions he was for- 
ever trying to propitiate a good award 
for his various undertakings ; how he 
muttered charms, whether he was as- 
cending his chariot or descending, or 
mounting his horse or dismounting — 
in short, at every turn. Evidently it 
is not the brightest intellects, or the 
most perfectly educated, which are 
the most disposed to scout and scorn 
such ideas as we have just heard from 
Dionysius; it is precisely they who 
are prepared to ponder them the 
most." 

"Julius Caesar," said Tiberius, 
** thought, I suspect, pretty much as 
a great many others do, that this is a 



very dark, difficult subject ; and that 
we cannot expect to come to any 
certain conclusions." 

"Not to many conclusions," said 
Dionysius ; " that much I fully grant 
But two or three broad and general 
truths are attainable by means of 
reasonings as close, secure, and irre- 
sistible as any in geometry. One 
such proof — and pray do not forget 
that I said it was only one out of 
many — making clear the fact that a 
single eternal God reigns over all 
things, I have laid before Augustus 
and this company already. My last 
remarks, however, were not disputa- 
tions, but were only intended to show 
how those conceptions — to tear which 
from the mind would be to tear the 
heat from fire and the rays from 
light — tend exactly to that conclusion 
which I hadyfrj/ established by a ri- 
gorous demonstration." 

"Would not some call your infe- 
rence from those conceptions them- 
selves a demonstration also ?" asked 
Germanicus. 

"I think," replied the Athenian, 
" that all would so call it if we had 
but time to examine it thoroughly. 
There are three other complete lines 
of argument, however, each of them 
as interesting as a poem ; but so ab- 
struse that I will not travel along 
them. I will merely show the gates 
which open into these three ascents 
of the glorious mountain. It could, 
then, be demonstrated, first, that all 
things are objects of mind or of know- 
ledge, somewhere; secondly, that all 
things undergo some action, or are 
objects of power, somewhere ; thirdly, 
that all things are loved and cared for 
somewhere ; and this as forming one 
whole work or production that is, in 
their relations with each other. Now, 
the knowledge, the power, and the 
love (or care) in question can belong 
only to that first force of whom I 
speak; and I distinctly a&icv^ Au^asr 



748 



Ditm and the Sibyls. 



lus, thnt I bdicve I should be quite 
able, not to prove by probable rea- 
sons merely, but to demonstrate posi- 
tively and absolutely, the existence of 
one omnipotent God, by three dis- 
tinct arguments, starting from the three 
points I have here mentioned. Yet 
I pass by those golden gales with a 
wistful glance at them, and no more," 

" It is the horn gates, you know," 
said Labio, smiling, "which "pen to 
the true dreams." 

"Ah! poor Virgil!" said Augustus, 
first with a smile, and then with a 
long, heartfelt sigh. " I wish he 
could hace heard you, my Athenian." 

" The natures of things," said the 
Athenian, "and the number of indi- 
viduals are knonn and counled soine- 
•mhere; the attraction of physical 
things is weighed in a balance some- 
where, and ail things arc maintained 
in their order by limits, and protected 
in their relations by a measured mark, 
somnvhert. But as I have forbidden 
myself this vast and difficult field, I 
will turn elsewhere." 

" lieforc you turn elsewhere," ex- 
claimed Antistius Labio, " I would 
fain test by a single question the 
soundness of the principle from which 
you will draw no deduciiuns; you 
say all things undei^o some action. 
Does not this imply the actual pre- 
sence of some force in or upon all 
things ?" 

" It is not to be denied," answered 
the Athenian. 

" What force," asked Labio, " ts 
actnally present in or upon inert mat- 
ter t" 

"The force of cohesion," replied 
the Athenian ; " and, moreover, the 
force of weight, which I take to be 
only the same force with wider mter- 
vals ordained for its operation." 

A de.id pause of an instant or two 
followed, and was broken by Herod 
Agrippa, who was a person bad in- 
deed and odious, but of great acute- 



ness and natural abilities, exdirim 
" The Athenian reminds me of 
number, weight, and meature of 
holy books," 

" It is there, indeed, I found the 
said Dionysius. 

"You mentioned," observed . 
gustus, after musing a few sccoi 
"that tJie demonstration you g 
us a while ago of a single eta 
God was only one out of many, 
do not want many more, nor ser 
more ; but one more, might glutt 
ask of hospitality? We roam 
halls of a great intellecliiAl fon 
and mental palace (o-night, swpe 
to the palace of the Mamiinas." 

" Has it such an impluvium. , 
gustus?" chuckled the old tmil 
caressing his white moustache: 

" The impluvium," said Dionyi 
" is that part of the palace when 
light of heaven falls. But the 
Augustus, I take to be the i 
theme; ray poor mind is only 
beggarly porter and ostiarius. S 
pose, then, there were only two 
ings in all ijic universe, one more 
cellent than the other, which of th 
would have preceded the other?" 

No one replied. 

" If the inferior be the senior," | 
sued the Greek, *' by so much M 
superior afterward came to excd fa 
by so much that superior must hi 
obtained his perfections from 
whatever, from blank Qoneittitjr; 
cause the inferior, by the voy ' 
position, (ex hyfiolheii,} had them 
to bestow." 

"The superior being," answ 
Augustus, " must therefore be 
elder." 

" You speak justly, Augustus," 
the Athenian, "Therefore ih« 
perfect could never exist, if the ■ 
perfect had not first exited. 
existence, then, of imi>errcct he 
proves the prior existence of one 
perfect being, self-dependent, I 



Dion and tlie Sibyls, 



749 



whom the endowments of the others 
must unquestionably have been de- 
rived." 

"Cannot things grow?" asked 
Labio. 

** Growth is feeding," answered 
Dion ; " growth is accretion, assimi- 
lation, condensation in one form of 
m^uiy scattered elements. Growth is 
possible, first, if we have a seed, that 
iSy an organism capable, when fed, of 
filling out proportions defined before- 
hand ; and, secondly, if we have the 
food by which it is sustained. But 
who defines the proportions ? Who 
ordained the form? Who formed 
the seed ? Who supplies the air, the 
light, the food ? Would a seed grow 
of its own energy if not sown in fos- 
tering earth, or placed in fostering 
air and light — in short, if not fed by 
the proper natural juices? Would 
it grow if starved of air, earth, light 
— thrown back upon its sole self? 
Is not growth necessarily stimulated 
from without?'*^ 

•* Growth is a complicated and 
manifold operation," said Augustus, 
•* implying evidently a whole world 
previously set systematically in mo- 
tion." 

** Whence, Labio," asked the Athe- 
nian, "comes your seed that will 
grow?" 

•* From a plant," replied Labio. 

*■ Whence the plant ?" pursued the 
Greek. 

*• From a seed." 

" Which was first ?" asked Dion. 

" The plant" 

"Then that plant, at least, never 
came from a seed," said Dionj'sius. 
" Whence came it ?" 

** The seed was first," said Labio. 

••Then M^/ seed," said Dionysius, 
•* never came firom a plant Whence 
came it ?" 

There was a laugh, in which not 
only Labio, but even Tiberius joined. 

•* No," said Dionysius; " whatever 



the power which traced out before- 
hand the limits and proportions which 
the seed, by growing or feeding, is to 
fill; whatever the power which sur- 
rounds that seed, or other organism, 
with the manifold conditions for its 
development, that power must be 
something more perfect and excellent 
than the elements which it thus dis- 
penses and controls; and the exist- 
ence of these less perfect things would 
have been impossible, had not the 
other existed first Thus, ascending 
the scale of beings, from the less to 
the more excellent, the simple fact 
that each exists, proves that a being 
superior to it must somewhere else be 
found, and that the superior was in 
existence first; until we reach that 
self-existent, all-perfect, eternal being 
whose life accounts for a universe 
which his power governs, and which 
without him would have been an in>- 
possibility. 

" Without him imperfect things 
could never have obtained existence, 
and could not keep it for an instant ; 
and without recognizing him they 
cannot be explained. This, Augus- 
tus, is the second demonstration for 
which you have asked me. I have 
just touched, in passing, the porches 
which led to three others. A sixth 
could be derived fi"om the nature of 
fi*ee force. No force is real which is 
not fi"ee. The force of a ball flung 
through the air, is really the force of 
something else, not oi the ball; a 
hand imparted it; that hand was 
moved by the mind. In the mind 
at last, and there alone, the force be- 
comes real, because there alone it is 
fi-ee. All the forces of nature could 
be shown to be thus communicated, 
or derivative; and the question, 
where do they originate? would 
ultimately bring us to some mind, 
some intelligence. That intelligence 
is God." 

" Could not all the forces of the 



750 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



universe be blind and mechanical ?" 
said Afer. 

"If so, they would none of them 
be free," said the Athenian. 

" Well, be it so," said Afer. 

" If not free," persisted the Greek, 
"they are compulsory; if compulso- 
ry, who compels them ? I say, God. 
You would have to say, nothing; 
which is very like Staving nothing to 
sayr 

A clamor of merriment followed 
this, and Dionysius had to wait until 
it subsided. 

" I am only showing," he resumed, 
" where and how the proof could be 
found. A seventh demonstration can 
be derived from the moral law. To 
deny God, or to misdescribe him, 
would necessitate the denial of any 
difference between good and evil, be- 
tween virtue and vice. It would be 
a little long, but very easy to establish 
this ; far easier than it was to make 
intelligible the two proofs which I 
have already submitted to you. I 
have said enough, however. This 
brilliant assemblage perceives that the 
belief in one sovereign and omnipo- 
tent mind is not a vain reverie for 
which nothing substantial can be ad- 
vanced; but a truth demonstrable, 
which neither human wit nor human 
wisdom can shake from its everlasting 
foundations." 

** I wonder," said Strabo, " whether 
this being, of whose knowledge and 
power there are no limits, is also mild 
and compassionate." 

Dionysius was buried in thought 
for a short time, and then said, 

*' Pray favor me with your attention 
for a few moments. Love draws nigh 
to its object ; hatred draws away from 
its object, which it never approaches 
except in order to destroy it. But 
the non-existent cannot be destroyed; 
therefore the non-existent never could 
draw hatred toward it. Hatred would 
say, those things are non-existent 



which I should hate, and which I 
would destroy if they existed ; there- 
fore let them continue non-existent 
But this sovereign being is antecedent 
to all things ; in his mind alone could 
they have had any existence before 
he created them. If, then, he drew 
near them, so to speak, approached 
them, called them out of nothing into 
his own palace, the palace of being, 
love alone could have led him. Thc^^ 
fore, by the most rigorous reasoning, 
it is evident that creation is inexpli- 
cable except as an act of love. It is 
more an act of love than even pre- 
servation and protection. This om- 
nipotent being, then, must be love in 
perpetual action; love in universal 
action, boundless and everlasting love." 

" Certainly yours is a grand philo- 
sophy," said Augustus. 

" This sublime being," pursued Dio- 
nysius, " is, and cannot but be, an in- 
finite mind; he is boundless know- 
ledge, boundless power, and boundless 
goodness. The mere continuance 
from day to day of this universe—" 

Here the Athenian suddenly stop- 
ped and looked round. 

"Why, were the most beneficent 
human being that ever lived," ex- 
claimed he, " able by a word to cast 
the universe into destruction ; were it 
in his power to say, at any moment 
of wrath or disappointment, that the 
sun should not rise on the morrow, 
mankind would fall into a chronic 
frensy of terror." 

" If," cried a shrill voice — ^that of 
the child Caligula — " if the sun shines 
and one cannot see, it is no use ! I 
know what I would do with the sun 
to-morrow morning, unless I recover 
the use of my eyes." 

« What ?" asked Dionysius. 

" I'd blow it out I" cried the dear 
boy, tearing off his bandage, stamp- 
ing his feet, and turning toward lus 
interrogator a face neither beaudfoi 
in feature nor mild in expression. 



Dion and the Sibyls. 



7 SI 



** The sun is in good keeping," said 
the Athenian. 

Augustus turned, after a short, brood- 
ing look at Caligula, to Haterius, and 
said, 

" What think you, my Quintus ? 
Has our Athenian made good his 
theories ?" 

" He has presented them like rocks 
of adamant," responded Haterius. 
" Dionysius has convinced me per- 
fectly that the universe has been pro- 
duced and is governed by the great 
being of whom he has so earnestly 
and so luminously spoken." 

"Yet one word with you, young 
philosopher," said Antistius Labio, 
sending a glance all round the circle, 
and finally contemplating intently the 
broad, candid brow and kindly blue 
eyes of the Athenian ; " one word ! 
You remarked that you could prove 
all things to be cared for and loved 
somewhere. You afterward mention- 
ed that the care or love in question 
could be exercised by none save the 
stupendous king-spirit whose exis- 
tence, I confess, you almost persuade 
me to believe. But now solve me a 
difficulty. You have alluded to the 
moral law. You maintain, although 
this has not been a subject of our de- 
bate to-night, the immortality of our 
souls. Finally — none can forget it — 
you hinted that there could be no 
morality, no difference between right 
and wrong, virtue and vice, were there 
not one sovereign God. Does this 
mean, or does it not, that morality is 
that which pleases his eternal and 
therefore unchanging views ?" 

" Ah !" said Dionysius, " I perceive 
your drift. You land me amid real 
enigmas. But go on ; I answer ho- 
nestly— K'j." 

''Then," pursued Labio, -"if the 
ghost within -us be immortal, it will 
be happy after death, provided it shall 
have pleased this being, and miserable 
should it have offended him.** 



" Yes." 

" Now, Augustus," persisted Labio, 
" what would you think of the jus- 
tice of a monarch who proclaimed 
rewards for conforming with his will, 
and punishments for thwarting it, but 
at the same time would not make it 
known what his will was, nor afford 
any protection to those who might 
be desirous of giving it effect? 

" Can Dionysius of Athens or any 
body else tell us what are the special 
desires of this great being in our re- 
gard ? Does he imagine that unlet- 
tered, mechanical, toiling men have 
either understandings or the leisure 
to arrive at the conclusions which his 
own splendid intellect has attained ? 
Then why is there not some authori- 
tative teacher sent down among men 
from heaven ?" 

Dionysius answered' not Labio 
contil^ued, 

*' I speak roughly and plainly. I 
transfix him with his own principles. 
He is too honest not to feel the force 
of what I say. He cannot reply. 
Mark next : we live but a short while 
in this world; and if we be immortal, 
our state here is downright contemp- 
tible in importance compared with 
that which has to come ; and yet he 
tells us that this contemptible point 
of time, this mere dot of existence, is 
to determine our lot for everlasting 
ages, and he that says this proclaims 
the being whose existence he cer- 
tainly has demonstrated to be the 
very principle of love itself Yet this 
being who will establish our destinies 
according as we please him, tells us 
not how to do it." 

Again the Athenian refrained from 
breaking the expectant silence which 
ensued. 

"Would not one imagine," said 
Strabo, " that the most particular in- 
stractions would be given to us how 
to regulate a conduct upon which so 
much depends ?" 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



753 



»m the full and authentic history 
Lasserre, a work which has re- 
the favorable notice of the most 
tent judges, and has been hon- 
y a brief of felicitation from the 
Father. The author, who was 
f one of the subjects of the mi- 
js efficacy of the water of the 
in of Lourdes, has spared no 
:o make his work perfectly satis- 
'. The evidence, which he has 
ed and arranged with consum- 
:are and skill, leaves nothing to 
lired in respect to the proof of 
ility and the supernatural cha- 
pf the events related. The charm 
style, the subtle and powerful 
vhich he employs with so much 
against the sceptics who deny 
ssibility of any sort of supema- 
icidents, and the vivacity of his 
)tions, make his work extremely 
nt and profitable reading. Our 
: Catholic readers will find great 
t in perusing M. Lasserre*s nar- 
; and others, although they may 
5 it with a smile of incredulity, 
jrhaps favor us with a few witti- 
in respect to its contents, will 
to be, as the French sceptics 
found it, a very tough subject 
yr thing like serious and reason- 
ifutation. — Editor of The Ca- 
:: World. 



I. 



I little town of I.ourdes is situat- 
the department of the Upper 
ees, at the entrance to the se- 
ales of Lavedan, and between 
m hills that sink into the plain 
bes and the steeper ranges which 
into the Grande Montagne. Its 
s, built irregularly on a natural 
s, are grouped, in almost abso- 
isorder, around the base of a 
spur, on the summit of which 
rmidable castle sits like an eyrie. 
; the base of the difif, on the side 

VOL. XL — ^48 



opposite the town, the Gave dashes 
boisterously through groves of alder, 
ash, and poplar, and, pausing at nu- 
merous dykes, turns the equally sono- 
rous machinery of several mills. The 
hum of the driving-wheels and the 
jar of the rattling stones mingle with 
the music of the winds and the splash 
of the rushing water. 

The Gave is formed by several tor- 
rents from the upper valleys, which 
spring from the glaciers, whose spot- 
less snow covers the barren sides of the 
Haute Montagne. The principal tri- 
butary comes from the cascade of 
Gavamie, which falls from one of 
those peak^ never scaled by man. 
Leaving on its right the town, the cas- 
tle, and, with one exception, all the 
mills of Lourdes, the Gave hastens 
toward Pau, which it passes with all 
speed, to throw itself into the Adour, 
and thence into the sea. 

In the neighborhood of Lourdes, 
the country which skirts the Gave is 
by turns wild and savage, and fair and 
smiling. Blooming meadows, culti- 
vated fields, woodland, and barren 
clifis are alternately presented to the 
gaze. Here are fertile plains and 
smiling landscapes, the highway of 
Pau, never without its wagons, horse- 
men, and pedestrian travellers ; yon- 
der, the giant mountains and their aw- 
ful solitudes. 

The castle of Lourdes, almost im- 
pregnable before the invention of artil- 
lery, was formerly the key of the Py- 
renees. Tradition says that Charle- 
magne, warring with the infidels, was 
unable to carry this stronghold. 
Scarcely had he determined to raise 
the siege, when an eagle seated itself 
on the highest tower of the citadel, 
and let fall a large fish which it had 
caught up from some neighboring 
lake. Either because it happened on 
the day when the holy church pre- 
scribes abstinence firom flesh-meat, or 
because the fish was at that time the 



754 



Our Lady ef LourtUs. 



popular symbol of Christianity, the 
infidel commander, Mtrat, saw in this 
fact a prodigy, and, demanding in- 
struction, was converted to the true 
failh. This conversion was all that 
was necessary to bring his castle into 
the hands of Ciiristendom. Never- 
theless, the Saracen stipulated, as says 
the chronicler, " that in becoming tlie 
knight of Our Lady, the Mother of 
God, his lands, both for himself and 
his descendants, should be free from 
every worldly fief, and should belong 
to her alone." 

The arms of the to\vn still bear, in 
testimony of this extraordinary fact, 
the eagle and the fish, Lourdes car- 
ries, on a red field, three golden tow- 
ers, pointed with sable, on a silver 
rock; die middle tower is higher than 
the others, and is surmounted by a 
black spread eagle, limbed with gold, 
holding in his beak a silver trout 

During the middle ages, the castle 
of Lourdes was an object of terror to 
the surrounding country. At one 
time in the name of the English, at 
another in that of the Counts of 
Bigorre, it was occupied by robber 
chieftains, who cared for little besides 
themselves, and who plundered the 
inhabitants of the plain for forty or 
fifty leagues around. They even had 
the audacity, it is said, to seize goods 
and men at the very gates of Mont- 
pellier, and then to retreat, like birds 
of prey, to their inaccessible abode. 

in the eighteenth century, the casde 
of Lourdes became astate-prison. It 
was the Bastille of the Pyrenees. The 
revolution opened the gates of this 
prison to three or four peraons, con- 
fined there by the arbitrary command 
of despotism, and in return peopled it 
with several hundred criminals of quite 
another description. A contemporary 
writer has copied from the jailer's re- 
cord the offences forwhich the prison- 
ers had been immured. Besides t!ie 
name of each prisoner, the specifica- 



tions of the crime are tlitu (b 
" Unpatriotic. — Refusng tofl 
kiss of peace to citiie 
the attar of our counny.- 
— Drunkard. — Inditi^rent i 
reolution. — Hypocritical chmcM 
served in his opinions. — Lying i 
ractcr. — A peace-loving mbef'— -Ii 
ferent toward the revoluiioD," dcj 

We may tlius see what Ksieo 
revolution had to compUiD of Hi 
bitrary conduct of kings, and aisol 
it changed the frightful dcsgiooa 
the monarchy into u r^ign of }t 
toleration, and pcrfcci liberty. 

The empire still retained the 
tress of Lourdes as a siate-praoa,! 
this character it kept until the td 
of tiie Bourbons. After the lOB 
tion, the terrible castle of the e» 
ages naturally became a place of i 
importance, garrisoned by a a 
of infantry. 



Tlie tower still remains ^ 
the Pyrenees, but in a i-a 
way from what it was forniei 
des is at the junction of tl 
tlie various watering-places. J 
to Barfeges, to Sajnt-Sauvi 
terets, to Bagn^es-de-BJ 
fi'om Cauterets or Paa to ] 
any case, one m ust pass tt 
des. During the fashionable 4 
countless diligences, employed b 
service of the baths, stop at the H 
de la Foste. Generally Hxy ii 
the travellers sufficient tioae ^ 
to visit the castle, and to ■ 
country, before passing on. 

Thus from tlie constant i 
bathers and tourists from allj| 
Europe, this little town 1 
brought to quite an advai 
of civilization. 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



755 



In 1858, the earliest date of our 
story, the Parisian journals were regu- 
aily rec eived at Lourdes. The jRe- 
tme des Deux-Mondes counted there 
many subscribers. The inns and 
caf<fs presented their guests with three 
.numbers of the SihcU^ that of the la- 
test date and the two preceding ones. 
The bourgeoisie and clergy divided 
tiieir patronage between the journal 
des jDibatSj the Pressey Moniteur^ 
Unrvers and Union. 

Lourdes had a club, a .printing- 
house, and a journal. The sous prS- 
fet was at Argel^s ; but the sorrow 
which the inhabitants of Lourdes 
showed for the absence of this func- 
tionary was tempered by the joy of 
pdissessing the Tribunal de premiere 
instance^ that is, three judges, a presi- 
dent, a procureur impkrial^ and a de- 
puty. Around this brilliant centre 
revolved as inferior satellites, a jus- 
tice of the peace, a commissary of po- 
lice, six constables, and seven gen- 
darmes, one of whom was invested with 
the rank of corporal. Inside of the 
town we find a hospital and a prison ; 
and circumstances sometimes come to 
pasSy as we shall have occasion to 
state, in which independent spirits, 
nourished with the sound and humane 
doctrines of the SikcU^ think that cri- 
minals should be put into the hospital 
and the sick into the jail. But these 
gentlemen of such extraordinary rea- 
soning powers are not in exclusive 
possession at the bar of Lourdes and 
in the medical profession; men of 
great learning and high distinction 
are to be met — ^remarkable minds and 
impartial observers of facts — such as 
are not always to be found in more 
important cities. 

Mountaineers are generally endow- 
ed with strong and practical good 
sense; and the people of this neighbor- 
hood, almost unmixed with foreign 
blood, excel in this respect. Scarcely 
one place in France could be cited 



where the schools are better attended 
than at Lourdes. There is hardly a 
boy who does not for several years go 
to lay-teachers or to the institution of 
the ** Brothers;" hardly a little girl 
who does not complete the course of 
instruction at the school of the Sisters 
of Nevers. Far better taught than 
the mechanics of most of our cities, 
the people of Lourdes still preserve 
the simplicity of rural life. They 
have warm veins and southern heads, 
but upright hearts and a perfect mo- 
rality. They are honest, religious, and 
not over-indined to novelties. 

Certain local institutions, dating 
back to forgotten times, contribute 
toward maintaining this happy state 
of things. The people of these re- 
gions, long before the pretended dis- 
coveries of modem progress, had 
learned and practised, under the sha- 
dow of the church, those ideas of 
union and prudence which have gi- 
ven rise to our mutual aid societies. 
Such associations have for centuries 
existed and worked at Lourdes. They 
date firom the middle ages; they have 
survived the revolution, and philan- 
thropists would long since have made 
them famous, if they had not drawn 
their vitality firom religion, and if 
they were not called to-day, as in 
the fifteenth centiuy, "confraterni- 
ties." 

•* Nearly all the people," says M. de La- 
gr^ze, "enter these pious and benevolent 
associations. The mechanics, whom the title 
of brotherhood thus unites, place their labor 
under heavenly patronage, and exchange 
with one another assistance in work and the 
succors of Christian charity. The common 
alms-box receives a weekly offering from the 
stout and healthy artisan, to return it at 
some future day when the charitable hands 
can no longer earn wages." 

On the death of a laborer the as- 
sociation pays the fimeral expenses 
and accompanies the body to its rest- 
ing-place. 
'* Each confraternity except two, who share 



Onr Lady of Lourdes. 



756 

llje liigh alWr between them, his n parilcu- 
lar chapel, whose name it takes, and which 
iisopporUbythecoUcclicminiide every Sun- 
day. The conrralernityaf Notre Dames des 
GtScet is made up of farmers, tillers of the 
loil ; that of Notre Dame de Monsarrat, of 
m.-iions; ihatof Notre Dame du Mont Car- 
mel, of slaterE ; thai of St. Anne, of carpent- 
ers; that of St. Lucy, of tailors and ilies^ 
makers; that of the Ascension, of quarrf- 
workcfs ; that of the Blessed Sacrament, of 
churdi-wBidens 1 that of Sl Jamei and St, 
John, ofall who have re«ived either of these 
niuncs in holy baptism." 

The women arc likewise divided 
into similar religious associations. One 
of them, " the Congregation of Chil- 
dren of Mary," has a special character. 
It is also a society for mutual aid and 
encouragement, but in relation to 
spiritual things. To enter tliis con- 
gregation, although it is merely an 
association of persons living in the se- 
cular state, and not a religious society, 
a young person must give evidence 
that she possesses a well-tried steadi- 
ness of character. The young girls 
look forward to it for a long time be- 
fore they reach the proper ^ge for ad- 
mission. The members of the con- 
gregation are bound never to put 
themselves in danger by frequenting 
worldly festivities where the religious 
spirit is lost, nor to adopt eccentric 
fashions, but (o be exact in attending 
the meetings and instructions on Sun- 
day. It is an honor to belong to this 
association, a disgrace to be excluded 
from it. And the amount of good 
which it has done in maintaining pub- 
lic morality and preparing good moth- 
era of families, is .truly incalculable. 
In many dioceses, confraternities have 
been founded on the same plan and 
after this model. 

This part of the country has ever 
shown great devotion to the Blessed 
Virgin. Her sanctuaries are nume- 
rous throughout the Pyrenees from 
Pic'tat or Garaison to B^tharrani, 
AU the altars oi \ive dwiOi q^ Vauides 




rhnonJ 

th»;| 



Such was Lourdes ten j'csK^ 

The railway did not pa» ihn 
il; indeed, no one then dresincd 
it ever would. A much n 
route seemed to be mukedll 
advance for tlic line 
Pyrenees. 

The entire town and fottica 
situated, as we have said, on tbei 
bank of the Gave, which, prcvr 
from going north by therodcf dig 
tion of the castle, titms st • 1 
angle to the west An old bd 
built at some distance above (he 
houses communicates with th«|d 
meadows, forests, and mauntain 
the left bank. 

On this side of the stream, Ik 
the bridge, and nearly opposite 
castle, an aqueduct conducts ntu 
the water of the Gave into a \arf 
nal. The latter rejoins the i 
stream at the distance of ooekfll 
tre below, after having | 
the base of the difi& of 1 
The long island thus for 
Gave and by the canal is a ll 
fertile meadow. In the neigl 
it is called I'lle du Chaicl, or S 
briefly, le ChSlet. The mill of ! 
is the only one on the left bao^ 
is built across the cana], thus aa 
as a bridge. Tliis mill aiMl le Q 
belong to a citiien of Lourdei^ II 
Laflite. In 1358, as wild a plac 
could be found in the neighborti 
of the thriving little town, wbicfc 
have described, was at the foo4 
these clife of Ma^abiclle, when 
mill-race rejoins the Gave. A fn 
ces from the junction, on the taxk. 
the river, the sleep rock b pierca 
its base by three irregular cxcavair 
^ntaslicajly arranged, and 



igcd, and am 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



7S7 



ig like the pores of a huge 
2. The singularity of these ex- 
Diis renders them difficult to be 
>ed. The first and largest is on 
. with the ground. It resembles 
er's booth, or a kiln roughly 
and cut vertically in two, thus 
g a half dome. The entrance, 
1 into a distorted arch, is about 
letres in height The breadth 
'. grotto, a little less than its 

is from twelve to fifteen me- 

From this entrance the rocky 
)wers and narrows on the right 
ft. 

>ve and to the right of the spec- 
are found two openings in the 
vhich seem like adjoining caves, 
rom without, the principal one 
se openings has an oval form, 
about the size of an ordinary 
window or niche in a church 

It pierces the rock above, and 
spth of two metres divides, de- 
Qg on one side to the interior 

grotto and ascending on the 
oward the outside of the rock, 

its orifice forms the second 
f which we have spoken, which 
ise to let in light upon the oth- 
An eglantine growing firom a 
Q the rock extends its long 
les around the base of this ori- 

the form of a niche. At the 
r this system of caves, so easy 
nprehend to one who looks 
t, but complicated enough for 
io tries to give merely a word- 
, the water of the canal rushes 

chaos of enormous stones to 
lie Gave, a few steps farther on. 
x)tto, then, is close by the low- 
it of the He du Chalet, formed, 
bave said, by the Gave and the 
The caverns are called the 

de Massabielle, firom the clifi^ 
A they are situated. " Massa- 
' signifies in the /a^is of the 

«oId diflfe." On the river 
below, a steep and uncultivat- 



ed slope, belonging to the commune, 
extends for some distance. Here 
the swineherds of Lourdes frequently 
bring their animals to feed. When 
a storm arises, these poor people 
shelter themselves in the grotto, as do 
likewise a few fishermen who cast 
their lines in the Gave. Like other 
caves of this kind, the rock is dry in 
ordinary weather, and slightly damp 
in times of rain. But this dampness 
and dripping of the rainy season can 
be noticed only on the right side of 
the entrance. This is the side on 
which the storms always beat, driven 
by the west wind ; and the phenome- 
na here take place which can be no- 
ticed on the honey-combed walls of 
stone houses, similarly exposed, and 
built with bad mortar. The left side 
and floor, however, are always as dry 
as the walls of a parlor. The acci- 
dental dampness of the west side even 
sets oflf the dryness of the other parts 
of the grotto. 

Above this triple cavern the cliflfe 
of Massabielle rise almost into peaks, 
draped with masses of ivy and box- 
wood, and folds of heather and moss. 
Tangled briers, hazel shoots, eglan- 
tines, and a few trees, whose branches 
the winds often break, have struck 
root in clefts of the rock, wherever 
the crumbling mountain has produc- 
ed or the wings of the storm have 
borne a few handfuls of soil The 
eternal Sower, whose invisible hand 
fills with stars and planets the immen- 
sity of space, who has drawn firom 
nothing the ground which we tread, 
and its plants and animals, the Crea- 
tor of the millions of men who peo- 
ple the earth, and the myriads of an- 
gels who dwell in heaven, this God, 
whose wealth and power know no 
bounds, takes care that no atom shall 
be lost in the vast regions of his han- 
diwork. He leaves barren no spot 
which is capable of producing any 
thmg. TVuK>u^o>it ^^ ^xXfixX cjl ^>aaL 



758 



globe, countless germs float in the air, 
covering the earth with verdure, where 
there seemed before no chance of life 
for even a single herb, or tuft of moss. 
Thus, O Divine Sower ! thy graces, 
like invisible but fruitful motes, float 
about and rest upon our souls. And, 
if we are barren, it is because we pre- 
sent hearts harder and more arid than 
the rocky and the beaten highway, or 
covered with tangled thorns that pre- 
vent the up-growing of thy heavenly 



It was requisite to the ensuing nar- 
rative to describe first the scene where 
its events took place. But it is of do 
less importance to point out in advance 
that profound moral truth, which is 
the startmg-point (rom which this his- 
tory begins, in the course of which, 
as we shall see, God manifested his 
power m a visible manner. These re- 
llections will, moreover, delay only 
for an instant the commencement of 
our narrative. 

Every one has noticed the striking 
contrasts presented by the various con- 
ditions of men who live on this earth, 
where wicked and good, rich and 
needy, are mingled together, and 
where a thin wall often separates Ihe 
hovel from the palace. On one side 
are all the pleasures of life, sofdy ar- 
ranged in the midst of rare delicacies, 
comfort, and the elegance of luxury; 
on the other, the horrors of want, cold, 
hunger, sickness, and all the sad train 
of human woes. For Ihe former, adu- 
lation, joyous visits, charming friend- 
ships. For the latter, indifference, 
loneliness, and neglect. Whether it 
fears the importunity of his spoken or 
his mute appeals, or shrinks from the 
rebuke of his wretched nakedness, Ihe 
worldavoids the poor man, and makes 
its artangemcTvte -wSji^oMX, tc^mA t.o 
him. Thcuchlottaana.dasvv'iiiiO.ft, 




Our Lady of LmrJes. 



which they call " good s 
they regard as tmworthy of n 
tention the existence of those wa. 
dary but " indispensable" ban 
When they hire the services of goe 
the latter— even when they are go 
people and accustomed to snccarl 
needy — it is always in a punKBii 
way. They never use, in this ca 
the language and tone Kbich d 
apply to one of ihcir own Jaad. I 
cept a few rare ChristiaQs, do c 
treats the poor man as aa eq: 
and a brother. Except the saai] 
alas 1 too rare in these days— w 
follows out the idea of looking up 
the wretched as representing Chri 
In the world, properly so called, I 
vast world, the poor are absolna 
forsaken. Weighed down beneath I 
burden of toil and care, despised a 
abandoned, does it not seem ssifth 
were cursed by their Hakcf ? Ai 
yet, it is just the contrarj*; theyi 
the best beloved of the Kadicr, Wh 
the world has been pronouocctli 
cursed by the infallible word dTQr 
on the other hand, the poor, tfaes 
fering, the humble, are Cod's "g« 
society." " Ve are my friend^" I 
has said to them in his Gospd. K 
has done more; heh,-isideatiftedta 
self with them. " What ] "^ 
done to the least of these, J 
done also to me." 

Moreover, when the Son « 
came upon tlie eanh, he chose to I 
bom, and to live and die, among il 
poor, and to be a poor man. Fro 
the poor he selected his apostles m 
his principal disciples, the &rsI-lMi 
of his church. And, jn the long li 
tory of that same diurch, it is upon ll 
poor that he lavishes his greatest 9 
ritual favors. In every age, i 
with few exceptions, apparitiei 
ions, and particular i 
been the privilege of those wbi 
world disdains. When, in his « 
^q4.v - - - 3 




Our Lady of Lourdes. 



7S9 



biy to men, by these mysterious phe- 
nomena, he descends into the dwell- 
ings of his servants and particular 
friends. And mark why he prefers the 
houses of the poor and humble. Two 
thousand years have only served to 
verify that saying of the apostle, " The 
weak things of the world hath God 
chosen, that he may confound the 
strong." (i Cor. i. 27.) 

The facts which we are about to 
state will perhaps furnish further 
proof of this truth. 



V. 



In 1858, the eleventh of February 
opened the week of profane rejoicing 
which from time immemorial has pre- 
ceded the austerities of Lent. It was 
the yeudi'Gras, or Thursday before 
Quinquagesima. The weather was 
cold and slightly overcast, but very 
calm. The clouds hung motionless 
in the heavens ; there was no breeze 
abroad ; and the atmosphere was per- 
fectly still. At times a few drops of 
lain fell from the skies. This day is 
celebrated by special privilege in the 
diocese of Tarbes as the feast of the 
illustrious shepherdess of France, St 
Genevieve.* 

Eleven o'clock in the morning had 
already soimded from the church 
tower of Lourdes. 

While all the neighborhood was 
preparing for the festivities, one fami- 
ly of poor people who lived as tenants 
of a miserable dwelling in the Rue 
des Petits-Foss^s, had not even enough 
wood to cook tlieir scanty dinner. 
The father, still a young man, was by 
trade a miller, and had for some time 
endeavored to run a little mill which 
he had leased on one of the stream- 
lets that go to make up the Gave. 
But his business exacted advances, 

• The Ordo of the dioce«e of Tarbes *>r 1858, Feb. 
tu CQataiDs die rubric^ Saneta Gnwv^m, {Pro/rium 
*""^ r.) 



the people being accustomed to have 
their wheat ground on credit; and 
the poor miller had been forced to give 
the mill back to the firm, and his la- 
bor, instead of putting him in better 
circumstances, had only helped to 
throw him into utter poverty. Wait- 
ing for brighter days, he labored — ^not 
at his own place, for he had no pro- 
perty, not even a small garden — but 
at various places belonging to his 
neighbors, who employed him occa- 
sionally as a day laborer. His name 
was Francois Soubirous, and he was 
married to a faithful wife, Louise 
Cast^rot, who was a good Christian, 
and kept up his courage by loving 
sympathy. They had four children : 
two daughters, the elder of whom 
was fourteen years of age ; and two 
boys, still quite young, the smaller 
being scarcely four years old. 

For fifteen days only, had their 
older daughter, a puny child from in- 
fancy, lived with them. This is the lit- 
tle girl who is to play an important part 
in this narrative, and we have care- 
fully studied all the details and parti- 
culars of her life. At the time of her 
birth, her mother, being ill, was unable 
to nurse the child, and she was con- 
sequently sent to the neighboring vil- 
lage of Bartrfes. Here the infant re- 
mained after being weaned. Louise 
Soubirous, having become a mother 
for the second time, would have been 
kept at home by the care of two chil- 
dren and hindered fh)m going out to 
daily service or to the fields, which, 
however, would not be the case if her 
care were limited to one. Accordingly 
the parents lefl their first-bom at Bar- 
trfes. They paid for her support, some- 
times in money, more often in kind, 
five francs a month. 

When the little girl grew old enough 
to be useful, and the question arose 
as to bringing her home, the good 
peasants who had reared her found 
themselves attached to Ivet^ ^x^si, c«cl- 



EL;^ > . . w!f -.j' 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



761 



The day, then, was Jeudi-Gras^ 
eleven o'clock had struck, and these 
poor people had no wood to cook 
their dinner. 

"Go, and gather some sticks by 
the Gave or on the common," said 
the mother to Marie, her second 
daughter. 

Here, as in many other places, the 
poor have a sort of customary right 
to glean the dried branches which 
the wind blows from the trees in the 
commune^ and to the driftwood which 
the torrent leaves among the pebbles 
on its bank. 

Marie put on her sabots. The el- 
dest child, of whom we have been 
speaking, the Httle shepherdess of 
Bartr^, looked wistfully at her sister. 
" Let me go, too ?" she finally ask- 
ed of her mother. '* I will carry my 
little bundle of sticks." 

'No," replied Louise Soubirous, 
•* you have a cough, and you will catch 
more cold." 

A little girl from a neighboring 
house, named Jeanne Abadie, about 
fifteen years of age, having come in 
during this conversation, was likewise 
preparing to go for wood. All joined 
in importuning, and the mother al-^ 
lowed herself to be persuaded. 
. The child at once covered her 
head with her kerchief, tied on one 
side, as is the custom among peasants 
of the south. This did aot appear 
sufficient to her mother. 

**Put on your capulet^^ said the 
latter. The capulet is a graceful gar- 
ment worn by the dwellers in the 
Pyrenees. It is at once a hood and 
mantle, made of very stout cloth, 
sometimes white as fleece, sometimes 
of a bright scarlet color ; it covers the 
head and falls over the shoulders to 
the waist. In cold or stormy wea- 
ther, the women use it to wrap theu: 
neck and arms, and, when . the gar- 
ment is too warm, they fold it up in 
a square and wear it as a cap upon 



their heads. The capulet of the little 
shepherdess of Bartrfcs was white. 



VI. 



The three children left the town, 
and crossing the bridge, reached the 
left bank of the Gave. They passed 
the mill of M. de Laffite and entered 
the Chalet, gathering here and there 
sticks for their little fagots. They 
walked down the river's course, the 
delicate child following at some dis- 
tance her stronger companions. Less 
fortunate than they, she had not yet 
found any thing,' and her apron was 
empty, while her sister and Jeanne 
had begun to load themselves with 
twigs and chips. 

Clad in a black gown, well worn 
and patched, her pale countenance 
inclosed in the fold of the capulet 
which fell over her shoulders, and her 
feet protected by a large pair of sabots, 
she wore an air of grace and rustic 
innocence which appealed more to 
the heart than to the senses. She was 
still quite small for her age. Although 
her childish features had been touch- ■ 
ed by the sun, they had not lost 
their natural delicacy. Her fine black 
hair scarcely appeared from beneath 
her kerchief. Her brow, open to the 
air, was free from any line or wrinkle. 
Under her arching eyebrows, her 
eyes of brown, in her softer than blue, 
had a deep and tranquil beauty whose 
clearness no evil passion had ever 
disturbed. Hers was the "single" 
eye of which the Gospel speaks. Her 
mouth, wonderfully expressive, reveal- 
ed the habitual tenderness of her soul 
and pity for every kind of suffering. 
Her whole appearance, while it pleas- 
ed, also possessed that extraordinary 
power of attraction exerted by lofty 
minds. And what was it that gave 
this secret power to a child so poor, 
so ignorant) dollied YCL\:^\X^a:&'^ Yx.^*^ 



Our Lady of Loufdes. 



763 



shrinking from it, she fell upon her 
knees. 

A vision of surpassing wonder was 
before her eyes. The child's story, 
the countless inquiries to which she 
has since been subjected by thousands 
of active and shrewd investigators, 
have brought out all the details, and 
enabled us to trace each line of the 
general appearance of that wonderful 
being who met at this moment the 
ravished glance of Bemadette. 



IX. 



Above the grotto, before which 
Marie and Jeanne, busily employed 
and bent toward the ground, were 
gathenng sticks, in the rude niche 
formed by the rock, surrounded by a 
heavenly glory, stood a lady of match- 
less beauty. 

The ineffable radiance which floated 
around her did not hurt the eyes, like 
the brightness of the sun. On the 
contrary, this aureole of sofl and gen- 
tle light irresistibly attracted the 
glance, which it seemed to relieve and 
fill with pleasure. It was like the 
gleam of the morning-star. But there 
was nothing vague or misty about the 
apparition. It had not the shifting 
contour of a fantastic vision ; it was a 
reality, a human body, which to the 
eye- seemed palpable as our own flesh, 
and which resembled the figure of an 
ordinary human person in all respects, 
except that it was surrounded by a 
luminous halo, and was radiant with 
celestial beauty. The lady was of 
medium height. She looked very 
youthful, like one who had attained 
her twentieth year, without losing any 
of the tender delicacy of girlhood, 
which iisually fades so soon. This 
beauty bore in her countenance 
the impress of everlasting durability. 
Moreover, in her features the heavenly 
Knes blended, without disturbing their 
mutual harmony, the peculiar charms 



of the four seasons of human life. 
The innocent candor of the child, the 
spotless purity of the virgin, the calm 
tenderness of the loftiest maternity, a 
wisdom surpassing the lore of centu- 
ries, blended together without effacing 
each other, in this wonderful and 
youthful countenance. To whom 
shall we Hken her in this sinful world, 
where the rays of beauty are scattered, 
broken, or discolored, and seldom 
reach us without some impure mix- 
ture ? Every image, every compari- 
son would only abase this unspeaka- 
ble type. No majesty, no excellence, 
no simplicity here below could ever 
give us an idea whereby we might 
better understand it It is not with 
the lamps of earth that we can light up 
the stars of heaven. 

The regularity and ideal beauty of 
these features surpassed all description. 
It could only be said that their oval 
curve was of infioite grace, that the 
eyes were blue and of a tenderness 
that sank through the heart of the be- 
holder to its very depths. The lips 
wore an expression of heavenly good- 
ness and mildness. The brow was 
like the seat of the highest wisdom ; 
that wisdom which combines universal 
knowledge with boundless virtue. 

Her garments were of an unknown 
fabric, woven in the mysterious looms 
which serve to robe the lily of the 
valley; for they were white as the 
stainless mountain snows, and yet 
more splendid than the raiment of 
Solomon in all his glory. The ves- 
ture, long and trailing in chaste folds, 
revealed her virginal feet, which light- 
ly pressed the broad branch of eglan- 
tine, and on each of which blossomed 
the golden mystical rose. 

From her waist a sky-blue cincture, 
loosely tied, hung, in long bands, to 
the instep of her foot. Behind, and 
enveloping in its fulness her arms and 
shoulders, a white veil descended from 
her head to the hata oi bsx ^Kk\«&* 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



765 



concentrated in recalling the 
)f this strange apparition, 
nne and Marie had seen her fall 
her knees and betake herself to 
• ; but as this, thank God, is not 
: occurrence with these moun- 
rs, and as they were occupied at 
task, they had paid ho further 
ion. 

nadette was surprised at the 
t calmness which her sister and 
e evinced. They had j ust finish- 
leir work and, entering the 
, began to play as if nothing 
rdinary had happened, 
ave you seen nothmg?" asked 
ild. 

;y then noticed that she seemed 
jed and agitated. " No," they 
1 ; " have you seen any thing ?" 
5 it that Bemadette feared to 
hat filled her soul, for fear of 
lation ? Did she wish to enjoy 
jilence ? Or was she restrained 
ashful timidity ? Nevertheless, 
id obey that instinct which 
)ts humble souls to conceal as a 
re the special graces with which 
avors them. 

you have seen nothing," said 
I have nothing to tell you." 
I little fagots were bound up. 
hree children began to retrace 
ad to Lourdes. But Bemadette 

not conceal her trouble. On 
ay, Marie and Jeanne teased 
• find out what she had seen. 
J littie shepherdess yielded to 
entreaties and their promise of 
1 secrecy. 

saw," she began, "something 
d in white." And she went on 
scribe her marvellous vision. 
; is what I saw," said she in 
ision ; " but do not, for the world, 
lything about it" 
rie and Jeanne did not doubt aL 
le. The soul in its first inno- 
18 naturally believing. Doubt 
the besetting sin of childhood. 



And even were they disposed to be 
sceptical, the earnest accents of Ber- 
nadette, still agitated and full of what 
she had seen, would have irresistibly 
led them to believe. Marie and 
Jeanne did not doubt, but they were 
frightened. The children of the poor 
are naturally timid. Nor is it strange, 
since sufferings come to them firom 
every side. 

" It is, perhaps, sometl^ing that will 
do us harm," said they. •* Let us never 
go there again, Bemadette." 

Scarcely had the confidants of the 
little shepherdess reached the house, 
when the secret fairly boiled over. 
Marie told it all to her mother. 
" What is all this stuff, Bemadette, 
that your sister has been telling me?" 
The littie girl repeated her story. 
Marie Soubirous shrugged her shoul- 
ders. 

"You have been deceived, child. 
It was nothing at all. You thought 
that you saw something, but you did 
not. This is all fancy and imagina- 
tion." 

Bemadette still adhered to her 
story. 

"At any rate," said her mother, 
"never go near that place again. I 
forbid it." 

This prohibition wounded Bema- 
dette to the heart. For, ever since 
the apparition had vanished, she had 
felt the greatest desire to see it once 
more. 

Nevertheless, she was resigned, and 
said nothing. 



XI. 



Two days, Friday and Saturday, 
passed. The extraordinary event was 
continually present to the mind of 
Bemadette, and became the absorb- 
ing topic of conversation with her 
sister Marie, with Jeanne, and a few 
other children. Bemadette still bore in 
her mind the ta<eaiOT^ olS^\k»»ts^ 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



767 



branches of eglantine, which descend- 
ed to the foot of that mysterious 
niche, where Bemadette contemplat- 
ed an unknown being. The features of 
Bemadette wore an expression that 
made it impossible to doubt that she 
really saw something. One of the 
children placed the bottle of holy 
water in her hands. Then, Bema- 
dette, remembering what she had 
promised, arose and sprinkled the 
wonderful lady, who stood in the 
niche before her. 

" If you come from God, ap- 
proach !" said the little girl. And, at 
her words, the Blessed Virgin advanc- 
ed dose to the edge of the rock. She 
seemed to smile at the precautions 
of Bemadette, and, at the sacred name 
of God, her face shone even brighter 
than before. 

"If you come from God, ap- 
proach !" repeated Bemadette. But, 
seeing the heavenly goodness and 
love of her glorious visitor, she felt 
her heart sink when about to add, " If 
you come from the devil, go away !" 
These words, which had been dictated 
to her, seemed monstrous in the pre- 
sence of this incomparable being; 
and they fled from her thoughts with- 
out mounting to her lips. She prostrat- 
ed herself again, and continued to re- 
cite her rosary, to which the Blessed 
Virgin seemed to listen, telling also 
her own. At the end of her prayer, 
the apparition vanished. 

XIII. 

Returning to Lourdes, Bemadette 
was full of joy. She rehearsed in 
the secrecy of her heart these extraor- 
dinary scenes. Her companions felt a 
sort of terror in her presence. The 
transfiguration of the countenance of 
Bemadette had convinced them of 
the reality of the supernatural vision. 
And every thing that surpasses nature 



brings with it a sense of awe. " Let 
not the Lord speak to us lest we die," 
said the Jews of the Old Testament. 

" We are afraid, Bemadette. Never 
go to that place again. Perhaps what 
you have seen will do us mischief." 
So said the timid companions of the 
little seer. 

According to their promise, the 
children retumed in time for vespers. 
When they were over, numbers of peo- 
ple came out to walk and enjoy the last 
rays of the sun, so delightful on these 
fine winter days. The story of the 
Httle girls was told among various 
groups of walkers, and passed from 
mouth to mouth. Thus it was that 
the mmor of these strange things be- 
gan to spread in the town. The re- 
port, which at first had agitated only 
a humble band of children, increased 
like a tide-wave, and reached every 
fireside. Quarry-workers, (very nu- 
merous at this place,) tailors, labor- 
ing-men, peasants, servants, waiting- 
maids, and other poor people con- 
versed about this matter, some be- 
lieving, some denying, others openly 
scoffing at, and many exaggerating, 
the facts of this rumored apparition. 
With one or two exceptions, the bour- 
geoisie did not pay the least attention 
to all this talk. Strange to say, the fa- 
ther and mother of Bemadette, while 
they confided fully in her sincerity, 
regarded the apparition as an illusion. 

" She is only a child," they said. 
<' She thinks she has seen something ; 
but she has seen nothing. It is only 
the imagination of a little girl." Nev- 
ertheless, the extraordinary precision 
of Bemadette's recital startled them. 
At times, won by the earnest accents 
of their daughter, they felt their incre- 
dulity shaken. And while they de- 
sired that she should not revisit the 
grotto, they did not dare to forbid 
her. She did not do so, however, 
until Thursday. 



Our Lady of Lourdes. 



769 



Uy hindered her from running, 
led to have left her for the time 
5. On reaching the summit, she 
neither tired nor out of breath. 
3ugh her companions were per- 
ig and panting, her face was per- 
f calm. She descended the diife, 
h she thus traversed for the first 
, with the same ease and agility, 
ig conscious that an invisible pow- 
uided and sustained her. Over 
; steep and sharp declivities, 
ig slippery stones, hanging over 
ibyss, her step was as bold and 
as if walking upon the highway. 
\ Millet and Antoinette did not 
avor to follow at the same gait. 
' descended slowly, and with the 
lution required by so perilous a 

msequently, Bemadette arrived 
le grotto some minutes before 
She prostrated herself and 
n reciting her chaplet, earnestly 
ding the niche, still empty and 
>wered by the entwining boughs 
i eglantine. 

ddenly she uttered a cry. The 
luiown light of the aureole shone 

the depths of the cave ;« she 
I a voice calling her. 
le wonderful apparition was again 
e a few steps above her. The 
jr Virgin turned toward the child 
ace lit up with eternal beauty, 
¥ith her hand beckoned her to 
>ach. 

this moment, after surmounting 
usand and one difficulties, the two 
^anions of Bemadette, Antoinette 
Mme. Millet, reached the spot 

saw the features of the child 
figured with ecstasy. She heard 
taw them. 

he is there !" the girl cried, " sHe 
>ns me to draw near !" 
ksk if she is annoyed because we 
ere with you. If so, we will go 

n 

. 

madette looked at the Blessed 

VOL. XI. — 4^ 



Virgin, invisible to all save herself. 
Then she turned toward her com- 
panions, " You may remain," she an- 
swered. 

The two women knelt beside the 
child and lighted a blessed taper, 
which they had brought with them. 
It was, beyond doubt, the first time 
that such a light had ever shone in 
this savage place. This simple act, 
which seemed to inaugurate a sanc- 
tuary, had in itself a mysterious so- 
lemnity. 

This visible sign of adoration, this 
humble flame lighted by two poor wo- 
men, on the supposition that the appa- 
rition was divine, was never more to 
be extinguished but to brighten daily, 
and to grow with the lapse of years. 
The breath of incredulity was to ex- 
haust itself against it in vain efibrts. 
The storm of persecution was to arise; 
but this flame, lit by the devotion of the 
people, was to point for ever toward 
the throne of God. While these rus- 
tic hands lighted the first illumina- 
tion in this strange grotto where a 
child was praying, the east had chang- 
ed its color firom gray to gold and 
purple, and the sun had begun to 
flood the world with light and to peep 
over the highest crest of the moun- 
tains. 

Bemadette, in ecstasy, contemplat- 
ed a cloudless beauty. '' Tata pul- 
chra es^ arnica mea^ et macula non est 
in Z^.'" Thou art all beautiful, my be- 
loved, and there is no spot in thee. 

Her companions spoke to her again. 

"Go toward her, if she makes a 
sign. Go, ask her who she is, and 
why she comes here? • • • Is she 
a soul from purgatory that needs our 
prayers, or wishes us to have masses 
offered up for her ? , . . Ask her 
to write on this paper what she de- 
sires. We are willing to do any thing 
she wishes — all that is needfiil for her 
rest." 

The little seer took the papcfi iak^ 



770 



Our Lady of Lcurdes. 



and paper, which were given her 
and advanced toward the apparirion, 
whose maternal glance brightened on 
seecing her draw near. Neverthe- 
less, at each step that Bemadetie 
made, tlie apparition receded into the 
interior of the cave. The child lost 
sight of it for a moment, and it went 
under the arch of the lower grotto. 
There, just above her and much 
nearer at hand, she saw the Blessed 
Virgin shining in the opening of the 
niche. 

ISemadetle held in her hand the 
objects which had been given her; 
she stood on tiptoe to reach the 
height of the supernatural being. 
Her two companions advanced to 
hear, if possible, the conversation 
which was about to take place. But 
Bcmadette, without turning, and as 
if obeying a gesture of the vision, 
signed to them not to approach. 
Abashed, they withdrew, 

"My Lady," said the child, "if 
you have any thing to tell me, will 
you not please write what you wish ?" 

The heavenly Virgin smiled at this 
naive request Her lips parted and 
she spoke : 

" \Vhat I have to tell you I do not 
need to write. Only do me the fa- 
vor 10 come here every day for two 
weeks." 

" I promise to do so!" said Bema- 
detie. 

The Blessed Virgin smiled again 
and made a gesture of satisfaction, 
showing her full confidence in the 
word of this poor little peasant of 
fourteen years. She knew that the lit- 
tle shepherdess of Bartrfes was pure as 
one of those little ones whose golden 
heads Jesus loved to caress, saying, 
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 

To the promise of Bemadette, she 
replied by a solemn engagement: 



1 to 1m 

4 

ne M 



" And I for my part proi 
make you happy, nut in tbia 
but in the next." 

To the child who tccofdei 
few days, she promised, ia 
eternity. 

Bernadette, without losing i 
the apparition, returned to 1m 
pan ions. 

Following her ghtnce, d 
the eyes of the Biased Virf 
kindly and for some time < 
nette Peyret, who was OD 
and a member of the Coofi: 
of ilie Children of Mary. 

Bemadette told them w1 
had seen, 

" She is looking at you ao< 
the child to Antoinette. 

The latter was filled » 
by these words and alw 
them with joy. 

" Ask," said they, " 
to have us accompany \ 
during the fortnight." 

Bemadette addressed the* 
tion. 

"They may come with.jrc 
swered the Blessed VirgiOt .^ 
any other pcrsoiis. I da ' 
every body here." 

Saying these words, shed 
leaving behind her that bt 
with which she was bu 
which slowly melted awajRKi 

In this instance, as ia i 
child noticed something wi 
ed a r.ile with regard to d 
which always suirotmdedH 

"When the ■* 
she, in her own language,.4 
the hghi and then the * " 
it disappears, the 'Lacljrf 
ishes and afterward the li 



d 



The **Pamdiu Lasf* of SL Avitus. 



771 



THE "PARADISE LOST" OF ST. AVITUS. 



The indebtedness of Milton to An- 
dreini for the conception of Paradise 
Losty is proved not only by internal 
evidence, but by the^ascertained fact 
that the English poet was well ac- 
quainted with the work of the Ita- 
lian. Another poet of merit, centu- 
ries before, had produced a noble 
work on the subject, with which we 
may suppose, from Milton's classi- 
cal and theological learning, he was 
familiar, though no proof exists that 
he had read it. We refer to the three 
poems of St Avitus, Bishop of Vien- 
ne. The Creation^ Original Sin, and 
TTIte yudgmeni of God^ which form a 
triad, or a poem in three parts. Its 
resemblance to Paradise Losij in ge- 
neral idea and in some important de- 
tails, is very striking, and a curious 
fact in literature. 'ITiese, with other 
works of the author, were published 
at the beginning of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, though written long before. 

Aicimus Exdicius Avitus, bom about 
the middle of the fifth century, was 
of a senatorial family in Auvergne. 
He became bishop a.d. 490, dying in 
525. His part in the church of Gaul 
was active and important, as he was 
chief among the orthodox bishops of 
the east and south of Gaul, and 
Vienne belonged to the Burgundian 
Arians. In the struggle to maintain 
the tme faith against the Arians, St 
Avitus had to contend not only 
against theological adversaries, but 
the civil power. In the year 499 he 
held a conference at Lyons with 
some Arian bishops, in the presence 
of King Gondebald; and he influ- 
enced King Sigismund to return to 
the true belief. 

He was the most distinguished 
among all the Christian poets from 



the sixth to the eighth century, and 
only the obscurity of the age can ac- 
count for the oblivion into which Lis 
works have fallen. It is true that his 
poetry abounds in labored comparisons 
and artificial antitheses ; but in treating 
of sacred subjects he adheres to the 
scriptural simplicity, and though living 
much nearer to the days of paganism 
than Milton, has nothing like his my- 
thological allusions and ornaments. He 
wrote a hundred letters on his own 
times, besides homilies and treatises. 
His six poems are in hexameter verse. 
They are. The Creation, {De Initio 
Mundi,) Original Sin, (De Originali 
PeccatOj) The judgment of God, (De 
Sententia Dei,) The Deluge, (De Di- 
luvio Mundi,) The Passage of the Red 
Sea, (De Transitu Maris Pubri,) and 
In Praise of Virginity, (De Consolato- 
ria Laude Castitatis, etc.) The first 
three constitute what may be called 
the Paradise Lost of St. Avitus. 

In the Creation, the peculiar fea- 
tures of tlie descriptive poetry of the 
sixth century appear, resembling the 
school founded by the Abb^ Delille ; 
elaborate beyond good taste, dissect- 
ing and anatomizing in details. This 
is almost painfully shown in the ac- 
count of the creation of man, in which 
the anatomical particulars are minute 
and scientific to the utter destruction 
of the picturesque. Then comes the 
description of paradise, which is in 
curious analogy to Milton's. We 
translate part of it : 

** Beyond the Indies* where the world begina» | 

Where, it U said, the confines meet of earth 
And heaven, there spreads an elevated plain 
To monals inaccessible, inclosed 
By barriers everlasting since for sin 
Adam was cast out from that happy home. 
There never change of seasons brings the fro«t; 

. lliere summer yields not place to winter's reign ; 
And while elsewhere the circle ot the year 
Brings stifling heat, or fields with crisp ice boundL 



// 



. u, 'j- 



jf Sl A-itus. 







S ii.J£S .-^ 




-• 



*..- 




Ywrsa jSBii Tax thbi 'Sier teTacrr 
An.-*, ini^.s.-.**. ;--t4 iat^ u^ Setr 
.\.i>i'; 'Sk -r^as.** lur^a soe^J 

T*-.* 7 * ■ " :■::%■ .'.- v^ • 

* £•■;! :"-i Tin.-in.a^..j niAit; sznr ncs:: *.iss 
■'^■i<'- ?C71: .•m .s'lni iTAZi:!!^ iz^sq 

I>cr:il.: a^;.'>Li irn-s-r- :r nji3 ii;cr>x. 
Av-* ■■«* i-T"-* c; c I le-:^ r^--i-=iaL 
O^ rtf-ei VEt ur.c'^ Ud' i-xac VLa m:u 
y .c r..c A.'£7'.i *oc:£^: ^snu.rs lai^itiiii 

Ve. l-sc^*.-.-? ze s -uzjes^vcz ar.-a jr-iic.*. 
H^. IT *« .i...i."3 :-* I cerac:::^ iemt; 

N*' ;>-.--r.-: - 1: .r* . jt v^"-* - ■"- ^ *--■:■ ~:r-ru 
■v-l w'lu'.-i, \.ut tAxr.'-.t ;-i-T-. .i - — . 
P*-7>»- .-. ■/ -•: '.T.T.* vj-.Ti- •-«—?-:■.: •'■:•:-. "i 
IJ *- 1^ r. ■.»: :V.:n \'\t.'. vt" >:r . . _- ,i— » 

I. -•' . .1 » • r ^ * ' ■■"■•' »* a ■ -*— — ■ 1 I 



N 4 -. *: . 

I. 



■ . # # .■ * W *J -^B ■ «• *-- -* « • 









- -a: = 



J--^=.- 



.n -z. 



' r*iiis Taa :!ni pioce. 

r^ Mui ii' rancus r.e« : 

^J* r:LA trees itept u<ioroiu p: 



wTjcae 'zmc 'aarnished w:ih pild-fa r 
c*.-_U2.e. Hesperran ab«es S-je. 
'.<;r? -n.v. uid ^i' ieilkiinid :as:t. 
"■sm Aimib TT evei di}wrii« szdi-: 
: --£ esdcr jerb. 'vere .nccrpi'-ned, 
n:l..c:& -ir -h« di-:wer* \a[p 
rrr^TSijiu TaJey forrad her ttrn, 
T m1 :ue. ud, :v:ihi:u: '.hers the: 

"^csA. I f «nicii :he Rur£l.r< v\z 

3e2xn*nue. aiumMmg wi:m 
s J& re nils. iisperMd. -r In a lik 
r± i:rT5-d j^nk w.ih =i>7-Je cr:m 

Eirrrr luiUi. jn.:j *Ji«:r strev 
ii ^e:r -jj-.-ir iro*v i:r% rer-a. a: 
■; r.e aac:I :i aeid and ^' r*. ^S^ 
r j_a4 exna. «fiJe an: vena. Pas 
r. :ie ^racss ica 'iae aonn ji daoc 

7 truiiiig Lj^, ir x^ 



r - 



. 'JU.'.iK *.'. a: .. .a-., r.** ai-^.s r_>:rixa 
H T.^ri* ;/•?;<? io * i.if ..-. ;.: jf^M T-i :x 
S ' '. jT. l-\.r ;..-Tii, r.*r * .rr ii rtr^ei: si Mi, 
Fr-i'.'.'i I* 4'ir iTi'. .», vff f. -.7. -. ii .':=•-- a: asuiis. 
ff.i ', . r A .:. ir. nr.fr.:. :«r U-ni "?a.-«*.* 
r ■. ,-i:m r.a-'.u.->:'i'. v. -ii -,j* c . .^.: a •!, 
Ni'i:i r.'.m f.r.*: f^- ', r. <!*,;• j^r-.-'a 
.S.jr . '1-r,* \::»:mt\ q-LBi.'-a rmr-.-: rw .r-.; ; 
•••-r '• :.'»--.'4 • .'• ;a;.: jm k^m:. ••! -- r.uc; 
I.'.- •/« v«*»'rf.'. i ren'ivatur trr^r \ it \\, 
I .. -I ir.'.-, i" I :.-jri: eiord a cr«jra icn^ciaa, 
I..- -I- ■■■:r. . f.M^ra'.:ia :m. *4rai ramjs 
!'• r,.4' iirri \.T •.'n.! pin;;u: d« «:.p.te fl..zanL 
'J li.i «i f A*r. \':t.\ Rt'iv.: «;i.ram.na vtnlus, 
I-ii il. I '■^.<il.^ Ir:. M'J^ im^I.a wi^-irro, 
I»..-. s::v.i ii-m.l f/.is a«. fl"'» »aiuL»T;, 
1^ .; i;».ir..is ■ <?•• n..ivts '1 Ki*rn*ai r^/res. 
If If f'li., !•«•:■,> I -o r«.^;irii !^n« s;<jr4iU uirfiL 
'l.i'.. i in jrvn'o li'iii in'i,<\ Kraua, taniam 
>«•-' f r-. ■• < '4 Ir ili'iiit iiit'io drfr.Rorr: •ucem. 
Mifi^Mir i.'.,ifirii v.rj'lr* nitcuere la;-i.li. 
I-.* '|ii-. Id t.ti-ir iriiiii'li i-icuntia '.(emmif. 
Hi. ..h I j it t , v4Tif»% dan! arva crjlures, 
\.: iLiiural; ciiiitKi* (Jiadcfiute pinKunt" 

'1 he; jarallcl passage of Milton runs 



"i^ N-'i, acc?:r::r.jr to re! 
.:. z^.. -^is ■:-:; 'A the four 

.-:•.-,- .=-.:-' Li::-:c. Sl Av;:usi 
■ -'.mojjI i^ure, :he view ;: 



" Vier. r*--.;en. :iie r-.'-r i^-riuw^ ;*j bar%; 
r rr« r.^ ..e ; a.ss -tl!i iirc 1. -Tie. rrr^ls 
T'k ?■ * : ia.;s 4«&:i» ir.^i. -jrrrsv.ra. r^: 
T':i:S .*i ;.":■.: j n 'j'e ii !•: .r" 1 -.•;>■ a»f 
A." .rf-i*- : '■■'• ' ir .'r*~ ■■ • : • 1 . . .— "■•^ii " 
1 ■- ... »-■■% 4...I. r*'-. ■:•■•; T ."«•;•*: *«r: 
A. .•;•-.-.. LL- r-. *: ii-.j.".; i,I. ari •:a;* 
7 • ; ici*- ~ -■ --• ■» ." V- .. *,r-5 :.■< *.-.:;:■ 
H * r r i.: ■«* *Tri_ ■ ^ : i. 1= : T rr. :"■ rt r. "i 
*:rs-i: »»■:.■.:.» .-. i^.'. wiic.-e er< .--i btf: 

T'" ■-. T :.;■: \. 1 -n-.iTi ".iv- •*ri-'>;i ■.""« t 
I- --": " '- i;r-#. :",: N .e -Ti^siev 
_». f ..:.«, L* -ci: i"r- ■■ »"s*», a.~i i.i -'»*. 
■. ■ :r ~ -r I r -ir • ■ ■» ^■^.: r«r :— •«. 



v.--. 



t • 



• • ■ - I 



\hu 



.1 • 



' Ni- : ■ •?= r.-3 :o >j— :— r.: ^--: -« -?^ 
A ■ :--. e; - .;' - c;.: ;.■■-* r«~" -=i-»" ari"-* 
I" iVi* :-\ ■•-r i_ J. -t »; « Ti.lr:- 
^-:-:••■r^■:. .. i-: -; T-i .* r.'r- ^ : ;:r.A. 
1 -r. : ■ . .-.i j".: !i;- »*;>■ s-r^ ■• Mctt''. 1 
Kt a ."^r j"*--' i ;• *?:**. " -a.-^a: a^^ 

A- -.-a *■ -•'■frr.er* ». :.-.«::;:« ,.-;.i . =:a 
JfTi.. :.» - ta % i:". .i.;;« ♦ .l-*4:rT- ^<i<x, 
1:. ;j- :ic ■r.-T \ r- :■»•■;.» j^r:e ci-r.r 
h ..%. -■- :-■ ". !'. i:'*^ * .■. .f -a j>er * ^u- ri ^^an 
A*: ; *t ,\:«rT: .1-^ ■ '-v. :r..ia:* ie-n -J ?'"ti 
I. \ :.!;■' 1 :T-.i.r Ttv : »:: t •!* vi-.^era :erx. 
1' _r. : t .r N.'. i«. •; -.ivi^-ue reco :i;-: -"i* 
} •. rij-.. .• ;<::■.■■-■ '.t II. -J . ;-j:n rei-.t-r 1'*' 
Pr. :.ria r-j-arur: i..r.v:j».» :'i:^.:.:-j> cstM." ^ 

An analo.:;oiis i»lienomer.:> 
more vabt and terril^le — the ^ 



The ''Paradise Lost'* of St Avitus. 



773 



rs of the upper firmament, 
erflow of earthly floods, is 
)y St. Avitus in his poem 
luge, 

second part of the triad, 
n^ the sacred traditions are 
)llowed ; something is to be 
idreini's conception of the 
lell preserving in the de- 
andeur of the angel, carry- 
; pit of evil the traces of a 
ature. The Satan of St. 
lot the devil of mere tra- 
ious, hideous, malignant, 
levation of feeling. He 
le traits of his first estate 
in moral grandeur. Never- 
conception lacks the sub- 
Andreini's and Milton's, 
none of those fierce con- 
soul, those appalling con- 
h are so effective. It has, 
»riginality and energy, for- 
ssing the reader, 
rst entering paradise, and 
Adam and Eve, is thus 



eld the new-created pair 
ome, their happy unlets life, 
laws the sovereigns of the earth, 
joy surveying all around 
' sway confessing— jealous rage 
\ raised a tempest in his soul ; 
aic fires his fiiry burned. 
I great loss ; hurled down from heaven, 
infernal pit, and with him fellen 
o shared his fate ! The agony, 
'' such defeat, with added pangs 
ose afresh, when he beheld 
ones ; and full of bitter grie^ 
t, he poured his anger forth, 
le ; this new world sprung to life, 
ace the offspring of our ruin I 
«n was mine ; from heaven I am ez- 

arth to angels* pomp succeeding I 
feir form moulded, will usurp 
he sovereignty torn from our hands^ 
ferred I Yet not of all despoiled, 
we hold, some evil we can do. 
thout delay ! I yearn for strife I 
t these foes : yea, now to meet them, 
[icily, which knows as yet 
ceit : naught but the things they see, 
them shieldless. Easier the task 
m and mislead, while thus alone, 
e thrown a vast posterity 
lity of ages 1 — No — 
uffer any thing immortal 
HUth 1 Let us destroy the race 



Hera b its MmrM I Oh 1 that its diieTs defeat 
May be the seed of death 1 life's principle 
Give rise to pangs of death 1 all struck in one 1 
The root cut and the tree fcf ever prone ! 
Such coosolatioo in my fell is mine ; 
If I must never more aaceod to heaven, 
At least its portals shall be closed *gunst these 1 
The misery I suffer is less keen 
Knowing these creatures lost by a like feB ; 
If they, accomplices in my destruction. 
Become companions in my punishment, 
Sharing with us the flames I now disced - 
Prepared fcr us I 

But to allure them on, 
I, who have fellen, most show them the same road. 
That the same pride whidi drove me out of heaven 
May chase man from the bounds of paradise. 
He QKikc, and heaving a deep sigh, was silent" 

Bookii. 60-117. 

The Latin is as follows: 

** Vidit ut iste novoe homines in sede quieta 
Ducere felicem nullo discrimine vitam. 
Lege sob accqpta Domino femularier orbis, 
Subjectisque froi placida inter gaudia rebus : 
Conmovit subitum sell scintilla vaporem, 
Excrevitque calens in saeva incendia livor. 
Vidnus tunc forte Aiit, quo conddit alto. 
Lapsus, et innexam tnudt per prona caterram. 
Hoc rccolens, cattumque premens in corde recentem, 
Plus doluit periisae sibi quod possidet alter. 
Tunc mixtus cum felle pudor sic pectore questus 
Ezplicat, et tali suspiria voce relaxat. 
Proh dolor, hoc nobis subitum consurgere plasma, 
Invisumque genus nostra crevisse ruins I 
Me oelsum virtus habuit, nunc aroe reje 
Pellor, et angelico limus succedit honori. 
Ccelum terra tenet, vili compage levata 
Rcgnat humus, n<4>i8que perit translata potestas. 
Non tamen in totum periit ; pars magna retentat 
Vim ptopriara, summaque duit virtute nocendi. 
Nee diflerre juvat : jam nunc certamine blando 
Congrediar, dum prima salus, experts nee uUos 
SimpUdtas ignara dolos, ad tela patebiL 
£t radius soli capientur fraude, priusquam 
Fecundam mittant aetema in saecula prolem, 
Immortale nihil tern prodire dnendura est ; 
Fons generis pereat, capitis dcjectio victt 
Semen mortis erit : pariat discrimina lethi 
Vitae prindptum ; cuncti feriantmr in tmo ; 
Non fedet vivom radix ocdsa cacumen. 
Haec mihi dejecto tandem solatia restant 
Si nequeo dausos iterom cooscendere coeloi^ 
His quoque daudentur,*' etc 

Thus Milton's Satan : 

'^ O hell I what do mine eyes with grief behold I 
Into our room of bliss thus high advanced 
Creatures of other mould ; earth«bom perhaps, 
Not spirits, yet to heavenly spirits bright 
Little inferior ; whom my thoughts pursue 
With wonder, and could love, so lively shines 
In them divine resemblance, and sudi grace 
The hand that formed them on their shape hath 

poured. 
Ah gentle psur I ye little think how nigh 
Your change approaches, when all these delights 
Will vanish and ddiver ye to woe I 
More woe the more you taste is now of joy ; 
Happy, but for so happy ill secured 
Long to continue, and diis hi^ seat your heaven 
111 fenced for heaven to keep out such a foe 




More elevated, impassioned, and 
complex are the feelings of Milton's 
Satan, more eloquent his expression ; 
yet the simple energy, the menacing 
concentration of the arch-fiend paint- 
ed by Si. Avitus, has a powerful ef- 
fect. 

The third book exhibits the despair 
of Adam and Eve after the fall ; the 
coming of the divine Judge; his sen- 
tence, and their expulsion from para- 
dise. Where Milton represents Adam 
as giving way to indignatioa against 
Eve, St. Avitus causes him to rage 
against the Creator himselC 

" Adim thtlB Mw himtflif CnuSatiiDsd ; hit giull 
Ity inqaiTV oiade nuniJeM. Vrt not 
In huDbk >iipptia]ice di<l he lue Cor meicj ; 



The original poem runs thus : 



Prmiidil «t lotum diKUHW j 
Nan prece lubmba nuin 
Noq TDtii EaCTYOutve losii. 

Jimqnc aaa bctuii noadn] 
KriKiturHaMi, dnidiique acaraa 
Fenur in Idudu luin •uticfbU 
Hcu maleperdendoiDulivconjiji 
Qum KicMiH miitro priina Hh leie ' 

El fitri jam notum peniu 
lali mail caput ut, oimi 
Credulut ijjBti &i, ted oeden In di 



Sublimi Kunini jkhu. b ■ 
lib (ludcna, InMiquc tcni 
Audocun scelerit duul dvcvpU At 



But ber witb ilem rc^vd he thna k| 
Out a( my light, thou aeriii " ~ 
Bcfiu ib« with him lupied, thfiotf d 
And hateful ; nadiing mnti. b« Ihaiq 
Ijhe hilt Bid CDlor tcrp«nc», bHj -^ 



L 



Broke forth ii 



o lake the fniil ahi 



aty be invol^iKL 

mjtcf Auihn^ hii ptide 

jkirphdch. 



Kwnd u best oTbJeuino- 
hcnclf— haa conquered me 
^ inter I preniled ivilh n» 



nun, why hail thou in thy £>U dntn down 




The WUlian Girls. 



775 



And nore that aludl befUI ; ianumarable 
Disturbances on earth through female snares, 
And strait oonjonction with this sex.' '* 

Paradtsg L^t, x. 861-897. 

The scriptural simplicity ot this 
passage, as found in the poem of St 
Avitus, will be by many esteemed 
better than Milton's ornamentation. 

The book ends with a prediction 
of the advent of Christ, who is to 
triumph over Satan. The leaving of 
paradise is touchingly described at the 
close of the poem. 



«• 



The sentence given, and by the trembling pair 
Reodred, with skins of beasts the Lord himself 
C^Iothad both the man and woman. 

Then he drove 
Them out for ever from the happy garden 
Of paradise. Prone to the ground they fell. 
Those hapless ones. They entered on the world 
That was to them a wilderness. They fled 
With hasty steps, as by the avenging sword 
Pivsoed. The earth before them had its bowers 
Of trees and verdant tnrf ; green meads and foun- 



And winding streams, appear to greet their sight ; 
Yet ah I how hideous is the landscape drear 
After thy lovely face, O Paradise I 
Startled, the pair survey the dolefid scene. 
And weep to think of all that they have lost ; 
They do not see the limits of the world ; 
And ]ret it seenn a narrow cell ; they groan 
Immured in such a prison I Even the day 
Is darkness to their eyes ; while the dear son 
Is shining in his strength* they bitteriy 
Complain that all the Ught has vanished from 
them." 

A Dutch poet also — ^Joost Van Den 
Vondel — wrote a drama on the fall 
of man, before Andreini*s. Among 
the personages are Lucifer and his 
attendant evil spirits, Gabriel, the 
King of Angels, Michael, Uriel, 
etc. Adam and Eve are attended 
in paradise by a chief guardian an- 
gel. The lyrics of the heavenly 
host have considerable poetic beauty. 



THE WILLIAN GIRLS. 



Some persons have a natural enjoy- 
ment of tribulation. They take a 
real pleasure in raising their eyebrows 
lugubriously, holding their heads a 
little on one side with a sorrowful 
and resigned expression, and looking 
at the world through blue spectacles. 
They "always sigh in thanking God," 
and can fimd a cloud in the sunniest 
sky. You can never conquer such 
peo]^e on their own ground. Ifyou 
have a slight pain in your little An- 
ger, they have an excruciating pain 
in their thumb ; if you have caught 
your robe on a nail, theirs has been 
rent on a spike; if you have been 
wet *in a shower, they have been 
soaked in a torrent These persons 
have minor voices, make great use 
of chromatics in speaking, and their 
affections seem to be situated in the 
liver. 



Mr. Christopher Willian had a 
taint of this " green and yellow me- 
lancholy '* in his disposition, and his 
rapidly increasing family gave full 
scope for its development. 

" If Eva were a boy, now," he 
sighed, "I could soon have some 
one to help me in the shop. But — 
nothing but girls !" 

" Eva is a treasure !" Mrs. Wil- 
lian answered stoutly. "I wouldn't 
exchange her for the best boy in the 
worid." 

" But girls are so expensive," the 
father objected, " and they can't earn 
any thing; that is, mine can't. I 
don't want a daughter of mine to 
leave my house till she marries." 

"And there is no need of their 
doing any thing, my dear," the mo- 
ther replied cheerfully. "We own 
our house, and your business is very 



The Willian Girls. 



777 



assuming piety. Among the 
adies who, dressed to attract 
1, promenaded the public 
the Willian girls were never 
their father's house was the 
liere they made new acquain- 
nd entertained old ones. And 
i they conceal from their pa- 
Nothing. Their hopes and 
id fears, their mistakes, their 
11 were freely told. And how 
hey were! Their father se- 
ade the most flowery compa- 
^hen looking at them. He 
r challenged the dew-washed 
: roses and violets to vie with 
5h faces around the breakfast 
When at evening they formed 
Df bloom around the piano, 
ig for their parents, or for 
his private opinion was, that 
3f angels could not far excel 
and when the circle broke, 
reath falling into flowers, and 
nt about some pretty employ- 
:hen Mr. Willian had not 
Dugh with which to watch his 
iris. But once own to any 
tling, and there would be an 
his privilege of grumbling. 
I knew what a chorus would 
lis first grievance : " Why, 
)u said that we were — " etc. ; 
3w, Mr. Willian, do be con- 
With my own ears I have 
ou say — " etc. So he wrap- 
silver lining of his cloud in- 
nd showed them only the 

ne evening, for a wonder, he 
>me with a joyful face and no 
fault-finding. When Jenny, 
igest, ran to meet him, he gave 
s nearly to the ceiling; he gave 
'anny*s curls a pull in passing 
)resented his wife with a bunch 
lowers, he praised every thing 
supper-table. Finally, when 
xe gathered in the evening, 
them the cause of this unusu- 



al hilarity. He had that day made 
the last payment on the building in 
which he had his shop, and now their 
weary economies were at an end. 

"But don't imagine, you young 
witches, that all this is to go in finery," 
he said, giving the nearest one a pinch 
on the cheek. "The house here 
needs a little fitting up, and perhaps 
we will have a new piano. But I 
must begin now to lay by something. 
A man with such a load of girls on 
his shoulders has to think of the fu- 
ture." 

They were too much accustomed 
to remarks like the last to be greatly 
disturbed by them, but this threw a 
momentary dampening. Then the 
silence was broken by Miss £va*s calm 
and musical voice : " The house needs 
to be painted and papered and fur- 
nished fi-om basement to attic. It is 
very shabby." 

Mr. Willian forgot to exclaim at 
the dimensions of this proposition 
when he looked in the lair face of his 
eldest daughter, and saw the serene 
grace with which she seated herself 
beside her mother, and smoothed down 
the folds of her dress. Eva was now 
twenty, calm, blonde, and stately. 

" O papa I" cried Florence across 
the fireplace ; " do buy a lovely land- 
scape of Weber's we saw to-day. It 
is just what we want to put over the 
mantel-piece in the front parlor." 

Again the father looked, but said 
nothing. 

Florence was a girl of artistic tastes, 
was. firail and excitable, and had bril- 
liant violet eyes and an unsteady scar- 
let in her cheeks. 

" Now at last I can have a watch !" 
cried Frances in a ringing voice. " I've 
nearly got a curvature of the spine 
from looking round at the clock to 
see if I have practised long enough." 

" My dear Fanny," interposed ber 
mother, " we need a new set of china 
much more than you need a watch." 



778 



The WUlian Girls. 



Frances was the romp of the iainily, 
a large girl of sixteen, with heaps of 
brown curls around z.piquanU fiauie. 

" I wish I had a little rosewood 
writing-desk and a pearl pen-handle," 
came in a clear, insinuating voice very 
high up the scale. Anne sat in a low 
chair, with her chin in her hand, her 
elbow on her knee, and her gaze fixed 
intently on the cornice of the room. 
But perceiving no notice taken of her 
remark, she lowered her ^ance, and 
gave her father a look out of the cor- 
ners of her eyes, which thereby got 
the appearance of being nearly all 
whites. 

Anne was fourteen years of age, 
and had a quiet way of doing as she 
pleased and getting all she wanted 
without seeming to try. Frances call- 
ed her pussy-cat. 

^'O papa!" broke in Georgiana, 
''can't I have a pair of skates and 
learn to skate ?" 

" I want a silver mug 1" cried Jane, 
the youngest, striking in before Jose- 
phine. 

Josephine sat in the shadow of her 
father's chair, and had two small 
wrinkles between her brows. 

" Is there any thing else any one 
will have ?" asked Mr. Willian with ex- 
cessive politeness, after having caught 
breath. " Don't be bashful, I beg ! 
It is a pity there are only seven of 
you, with your mother maJcing eight 
Possibly by putting a mortgage on 
the house, I may be able to gratify 
your wishes. Speak up— do !" 

Ever so slight a cloud settled upon 
the gentleman's audience as he glanc- 
ed over them, bowing suavely, and 
rubbing his hands with an appearance 
of groat coniiahty. 

** Papa I" came in a little voice out 
of the shallow. Every one had for- 
gotten J osophine. 

A real smile melted the waxen mask 
of a smile on Mr. Willian's £ice. 
•• Poor J osier he said. 



She came out of her ocxne 
stood by his side. ^ Papa, hav( 
got the block insured ?" she ask 

Her father colored suddenly 
put his arm about the child and 
her closer to him. *' Here girl 
said, '' is one who thinks of the : 
as well as the end. She never wi 
any one by her extravagance." 

" But have you, papa ?" she \ 
ed. 

'' This house is all right, deai 
I'm going to insure the store t< 
row." 

He spoke carelessly, but thei 
a slight stir of uneasiness percc 
beneath. 

His wife looked at him wit! 
prise. " Why, father, how hap; 
you to let it run out ?" 

^ I was so busy to-day I forg 
about it," he said almost peti 
" The policy expired only yestc 
I'll see to it the first thing in the i 
ing. Go and sing something, g 

All but Josie gathered about 
piano, and sang one of William Bl 
songs: 

** Can I see another's woe. 
And not be in sorrow too ? 
Can I see another** grief. 
And not seek for kind relief? 

** Can I see a falling tear. 
And not feel my sorrow** shave ? 
Can a fiither see his child 
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 

" Can a mother sit and hear 
An infiint groan, an infant fear ? 
No, no I nerer can it be : 
Never, never can it be I 

** And can He, who smiles on all. 
Hear the wren with sorrows small. 
Hear the small bird's grief ai^ cart) 
Hear the woes that in£uits bear, 

" And not sit beside the nest 
Pooring pity in their breast ? 
And not sit the cradle near. 
Weeping tear oo infant's tear ? 

*' And not at both nigfit and day. 
Wiping all our tears away ? 
Oh ! no : never can it be ; 
Never, never can it be 1 

'* He doth give lus joy to all : 
He becwes an intint small. 
He becowm a man of woe, 
HtdolhfeelKlw 



The Willian GirU. 



779 



In the midst of the last soft strain 
Eva's hands paused on the keys, her 
sisters ceased singing, and her father 
and mother lifted their faces to listen ; 
for a loud gamut of bells outside had 
run up the first stroke of the fire-alarm. 
At the last stroke, Mr. Willian started 
up and went into the entry for his hat 
Not a word was said as he went out ; 
but the girls gathered about their 
mother, and stood with the breath 
just hovering on their lips, coimting 
the alarm over and over, hoping 
against hope. But, no; they had 
counted rightly at first. The loud 
clear strokes through that silence left 
no room for doubt. 

The girls drew nearer their mother, 
fteir faces losing color. 

** I can't bear the suspense, Eva," 
slie said. ^' Get our bonnets, and we 
will go down-town. Don't cry, Jo- 
sie ! You children all stay here and 
say the rosary while we are gone. 
We will soon be back, and perhaps 
we shall bring good news." 

Florence took her beads from her 
pocket, put her arm around the weep- 
ing Josie, and drew her down to her 
knees before their mother's chair. 
Mrs. Willian glanced back as the 
others knelt too, then shut the door, 
breathing a blessing on them. '' If 
it should be God's will to spare us 
now," she said, " I shall be the hap- 
piest mother in the world." 

It was not God's will to spare 
them, she soon found. As they turn- 
ed the last comer and came in sight 
of Mr. Willian's building, they saw 
it the centre of a vast crowd, firemen, 
volunteer workers, and lookers-on. 
There was no appearance of fire in 
the lower stories, but smoke was gush- 
ing through all the interstices of the 
upper windows. 

Mrs. Willian wrung her hands and 
turned away. " There go the savings 
and toil of a lifetime I" she said. 

It was impossible for the firemen 



to work well at that height, and the 
flames were creeping to the air. In 
a few minutes the smoke reddened, a 
little tongue of flame crept through 
a crevice, broadened, and the fire 
burst forth. No effort could stay it. 
Leisurely descending fi-om floor to 
floor, it carried all before it A thread 
of smoke in a comer of the ceiling, 
a tiny flame, and soon the whole 
room would be an intolerable bnght- 
ness with masses of falling flaming 
timbers. 

At midnight the family were all at 
home again ; Mr. Willian lying half- 
senseless upon a sofa, his wife and 
children ministering to him. In his 
firantic efforts to save something firom 
the buming building, one of his arms 
had been broken by the falling bricks. 

Those were sorrowful days that fol- 
lowed, verifying the proverb that it 
never rains but it pours. Josephine 
was taken ill the week after the fire; 
but she was sure to be well soon, 
they said. She was not very ill. 
There was a little cough, a little fever, 
and a great weakness. The girls 
thought not much of it. They were 
too much engaged, indeed, attending 
to their father, and doing an immense 
deal of mysterious outside business. 

" If Eva were only a boy !" sighed 
the father weakly. " A boy of twen- 
ty could eam a good salary." 

" Father," Eva began very decid- 
edly, "a girl of twenty can eam a 
good salary. Let me tell you what 
your good-for-nothing daughters are 
going to do. We haven't been idle 
the fortnight past. I am to take im- 
mediate charge of a class in the N 

school, with a salary of five hundred 
dollars to begin with, and a yearly 
advance. I shall stay at home, by 
your leave, and nearly all my money 
will go toward the housekeeping ex- 
penses. Besides that, I have a music 
class of four. So much for me. I 
doubt if that wonderful son would 



78o 



Tht WiUum Gir^. 



spare you more out of his earnings, 
Florence is to take a few more lessons 
in Indian-ink from Mr, Rudolf, and 
lie says that in four or five weeks she 
will be able to earn ten dollars a 
week, painting photographs. Fran- 
ces has got tatten and crochet-work 
to do for Blake Brothers, and they 
promise to pay her well. She does 
such work beautifully, Anne is to 
cut out paper bordering for Mr. Sales, 
who is building blocks upon blocks 
of houses. He says that he will keep 
her busy three months. Georgiana is 
to help mother about the house, and 
Dinah is going away. So now, fa- 
ther, you ean lie on your sofa and 
rest, and your troublesome daughters 
will not let you starve." 

Miss Eva ended with her cheeks 
very red, and her head very high in 
the air. But her pride softened im- 
mediately when she saw her father's 
quivering lips, that vainly attempted 
to speak. 

" It is our turn now, dear papa," 
she said, kissing him; "and we are 
quite proud and eager to begin. You 
have cast your bread upon the wa- 
ters in former times j now you must 
lie still and see it float back to you." 

" What can I do?" asked a weak 
little voice from the arm-chair where 
Josie reclined. 

" You can see which will get well 
the most quickly, you oi papa," Mrs. 
Willi an said, bending with tearful 
eyes to caress the chil<!. In this 
careful little one she saw embodied 
all the unconfessed sadness and anx- 
iety of the one despondent period of 
her life. Poor JosJe was the scape- 
goat on whose frail shoulders had 
been laid her mother's doubts and 
fears, and her father's selfish complain- 
ing. 

Success almost always attends brave 
and cheerful effort, and the Willian 
girls succeeded. Besides, they were 
heroines in their way, and every one 



icy wai 
but u 

iouIm 



was sympathizing and 
them. But for their father's dej 
sion, they would have been h^i]iM[ 
than ever before. At last they ■ 
of use, and not only of u 
cessary. They were no loag«t a 
den tenderly but complainingly b 
but they bore the family cares ^ 
labors on their own young should 
What wonderful consuliatiotu tbt; 
held, what plans they laid, what eco 
nomies they practised ! What Utcn 
administrative powers were dcvrlap 
ed at the hour of need, and wh* 
superlative managers they provd 
themselves to be t How elastic a lit 
tie money could be made when smooth' 
ed out by such coaxing taper tingcn 
and shone upon by such bright ait^ 
careful eyes ! Besides, they could Ml 
see but that they lived as well as evff. 
Their breakfasts and dmncra and v^ 
pers were as good, and their 1 
was the same. 

" Half the pleasure of wealllLlC 
the consciousness of possessing 4 
said Florence philosophically. " Wai 
it John Jacob Astor who said thai iS 
he had from his riches was food nd 
lodging ? Well, we have thai. 0( 
course it is a pity that papa's aim 19 
still bad, though tt gives him time to 
develophiscapacityfornovels, \Vlail 
ascetical works are they ? Yes ; bU 
I have seen novels too, papa. And 
here's a new one for you, TakeJ 
easy. Just lie there and make b 
that you have become so ricil ^ 
you have retired from h 
what blocks of houses you tui<R 
What ships, what lands, what bank 
slock ! Isn't it weary to think whll 
heaps of money you have to vpai 
and give away. Don't Ict'a tUnl 

" I came past the ruins of the fin 
to-day, papa," Eva said, scJiting ha 
self by hb sofa, and looking U hil 
with her calm, sweet eyes. "At An 
I was so foolish as to gI 



ndti^ 

'1 



Take) 



The Witlian Girls. 



781 



;ad away, but the next moment 
Led. And I thought, papa, that 
le what has seemed to us a cala* 
may turn out a great blessing, 
tad built a good many hopes 
:hat brick and mortar, and in- 
of the fire destroying, perhaps 
I only purified them." Seeing 
rears came into his eyes, she 
I hastily, " Fanny was with me, 
)f course, took a grotesque view 
t affair. She said that row of 
jildings, with ours gone, looked 
omebody who had lost a firont 



}i 



. Willian smiled faintly, but 
answer nothing to their cheer- 
Ik. Even while it comforted 
t made him feel bitterly ashamed 
mself. Besides, he was very 
us about Josie. 

:ame upon them like a thunder- 
Josie was dying! They could 
;ly believe the doctor, or the 
ice of their own senses. They 
I against hope. There was no 
ible disease ; but the child was 
merely because, instead of hav- 
id a healthy, careless childhood, 
ime to learn gradually that life 
all joy and sunshine, her infant 
lad looked too early upon the 
of pain, and she had seen the 
w and felt the weight of it be- 
he could understand its conso- 

• 

hatll make one less, papa," she 
faintly, looking up with faded 
s he bent over her. 
ine less what, my dear?" 



"One less girl to support," says 
Josie. 

The fether's face sank to the pil- 
low. Oh ! what a bitter punishment 
for his selfish complainings, when his 
own child, in dying out of his arms, 
thought only that she was ridding 
him of a burden ! He could scarcely 
find words 'in which to sob out his 
love, his regrets, his entreaties that 
her tender spirit might be spared at 
least long enough to witness his ex- 
piation« But even while he prayed 
it escaped him. He clasped only a 
firail waxen form that answered no 
kiss, uttered no more any childish, 
plaintive word. 

" God forgive me !" he said. " Now 
I know what real loss is; and I de- 
serve it" 

How they missed the careful, pa- 
thetic little face! How often they 
became suddenly speechless when, in 
laying their plans — they found that 
they had unconsciously included Jo- 
sie ! But they worked on bravely in 
spite of pain — worked the better for 
it, indeed. And when in afler-years, 
all happy and prosperous and with 
homes of their own, they talked over 
the past, and Mr. Willian told of the 
wonderfiil time when his daughters 
had made caryatides of themselves to 
support the edifice of his fallen for- 
tunes, Josie was gratefully mentioned 
as the noblest helper there. " For it 
was by her means that the comer- 
stone of our new home was laid in 
heaveoi" he said. 



Religion in Education. 



783 



to tell the traveller what was once 
the seat of a world-wide empire. 

Separate religion, then, from edu- 
cation, as Mr. John Stuart Mill would 
fain do; banish it entirely from the 
class-room, and you will have taken 
the most effective means of insuring 
proximate dissoluteness and ultimate 
ruin. Even the author of Lothair re- 
cognizes that " without religion the 
world must soon become a scene of 
universal desolation." If, when chil- 
dren are asked how they are occupied 
in school, they cannot say with the 
Joas of Racine, 

** J*adore le Seignenr, 00 m*explique ta loi,** 

sooner or later, we may have to say 
with Abner, 

** Juda est sang ibrce, Benja!faun sans rota." 

Intellectual culture, therefore, even 
in its highest perfection, can gain at 
best but an ephemeral triumph. It 
cannot perpetuate the civilization to 
which a people in the meridian of 
their greatness may attain ; and it cer- 
tainly has never raised a fallen empire, 
nor poured a quickening stream 
through the veins of a superannuated 
nation. This inefficiency can be ac- 
counted for only by the absence of 
that pure and sublime faith which 
commanded the respect of the hordes 
that poured from the north, to batter 
down the last remains of a gigantic 
fabric, as well as of that sublime mo- 
ral code which tamed these rude no- 
mads and raised them from a sa- 
vage state to the loftiest heights of 
Christian civilization. 

The term education is from the La- 
tin e and duco^ meaning literally to 
lead or draw out. Some writers have 
attempted to define it " the drawing 
out or development of the mental fa- 
culties." This may be a " scientific " 
view of head-culture ; but as a defi- 
nition of education, it is defective and 
very unphilosophicaL Defective, be- 
cause it embraces only a part; un- 



philosophical, because it substitutes 
the secondary for the essential. We 
maintain that instruction is but a 
branch of education, to which reli- 
gion is as the parent stem. If we 
consult the masters of thought, and 
those who shape the destinies of na- 
tions, we shall be surprised to find 
how unanimously they hold moral 
training paramount to intellectual cul- 
ture, and how strongly they insist on 
making the latter always subservient 
to the former. The better to sub- 
stantiate our assertion against the ca- 
villings of sceptics, we will give a few 
quotations, selecting only from Pro- 
testant authors. The end of educa- 
tion, according to Milton, " is to fit 
man to perform justly, skilfully, and 
magnanimously all the oflices both 
public and private of peace and war." 
" The hard and valuable part of edu- 
cation," says Locke, " is virtue ; this 
is the solid and substantial good 
which the teacher should never cease 
to inculcate till the young man places 
his strength, his glory, and his plea- 
sure in it" "The educating of a 
young man," writes Lord Kames, 
" to behave well in society is of still 
greater importance than making him 
a Solomon in knowledge ;" and " We 
shall never know," says Sir Walter 
Scott, "our real calling or destiny, 
unless we have taught ourselves to 
consider every thing else as moon- 
shine compared with the education 
of the heart." And Lord Derby: 
" Religion is not a thing apart from 
education, but is interwoven with its 
whole system ; it is a principle which 
controls and regulates the whole mind 
and happiness of the people." And 
Guizot : " Popular education, to be 
truly good and socially useful, must 
be fundamentally religious." 

Thus, then, the essential element 
of education — its pith and marrow, so 
to speak — \& the religious element. To 
exclude it from the school-room is, 



Religion in Education. 



7^S 



ty of law as well as the surest 

J of freedom." 

I philosophers of the eighteenth 

y, by their monstrous errors 

lameless depravity, have shown 

)o clearly that science without 

n 



<eAds to bewilder, and dazzles to bKnd.'* 

vaunted esprits forts had enter- 
I realms of learning and retum- 
:onquerors laden with treasures ; 
stead of consecrating the spoil 
: service of the true, the good, 
iie beautiful, they paid it as a 

tribute to the evil genius of 
* and disorder. The world then 
lese very men to whom princes 
fered the incense of adulation en- 
; an impure goddess on the altar 

Most High, and fall prostrate 

a public harlot. 

irther proof were needed of the 
*al tendency of science separated 
eligion, we could silently point 

nameless abominations of the 
lunists, Fourierists, and other 
ileand degraded fraternities; we 
dwell on the cold-blooded mur- 
nd frightful suicides that fill so 
domestic hearths with grief and 
:; the scarcely concealed cor- 
n of public and professional 
the adroit peculation and wil- 
bezzlement of the public money ; 
monopolizing speculations and 
:ary insolvencies so ruinous to 
mmunity at large ; and, above all, 
shocking atrocities so common 
believing countries — the legal 
ition of the matrimonial tie and 
mton tampering with life in its 
bud. These humiliating facts 
ifficient to convince any impar- 
ind that there can be no social 
, no morality, no true and last- 
eatness without religion. 
:e we meet the question, When 
I these salutary doctrines be in- 
ed ? As well might it be asked 
VOL. XI. — 50 



when the builder should lay the foun- 
dation of his edifice, or the farmer sow 
his field. If religious principles be 
not laid broad and deep in childhood, 
there is great danger that the super- 
structure will topple and fall. Youth 
has been called the seed-time of life ; 
and experience as well as reason 
proves the same law to hold good in 
mental as in material husbandry; 
" What you sow that you shall reap." 
Men do not seek grapes from thorns, 
nor figs fi-om thistles. Yet, by a 
strange inconsistency, some would 
expect virtuous youths from godless 
schools. But the order of nature 
cannot be reversed. Like generates 
like. 

In childhood the mind is simple 
and docile ; the soul, pure and can- 
did; and the heart may easily be 
cast into any mould. It is of the 
highest importance for parents and 
educators to bear in mind that the 
first impressions are the last forgotten. 
The pious child may in after-life, in 
an evil hour, be led astray by the 
force of passion or bad example, but 
at least, when the fires of youth have 
cooled with advancing age, there is 
great probability that he will return 
again to virtue and piety. With 
great truth the poet has said, 

** Take care in youth to form the heart aqd miiid« 
For as the twig is beat, the tree's indined." 

One of the greatest thinkers of our 
age, thoroughly convinced of the pa- 
ramoimt importance of early moral 
trainmg, would have the air of the 
school-room, as it were, impregnated 
with religion. " It is necessary,!* 
says Guizot, ^ that natural education 
should be given and received in the 
midst of a religious atmosphere, and 
that religious impressions and reli- 
gious observances should penetrate 
all its parts." It would, indeed, be 
well if those who advocate the exclu- 
sion of religion firom our schools 
would read and maturely weigh these 



Religion in Education. 



words of the illustrious Protestant 
statesman and historian. A little 
further on occurs the following re- 
markable passage: "Religion is not 
a study or an enercisc, to be restricted 
to a certain place and a certain hour; 
it is a faith and a law which ought 
to be felt everywhere, and which in 
this manner alone can exercise all its 
benelicent influence upon our minds 
and lives." In the same spirit Dis- 
raeli says, " Religion should be the 
rule of Ufe, not a casual incidence," 
It is then absurd to devote six days 
of tiie week to the teaching of hu- 
man learning, and trust to a hurried 
hour in liie Sunday-school for the 
imparting of religious knowledge. By 
such a system, we may make ex- 
pert sltop-boys, first-rate accountants, 
shrewd and thriving " earth-worms," 
as Bishop Berkeley says ; but it would 
be presumption to think of tJius mak- 
ing good citizens, still less virtuous 
Christians. 

To-day more than ever we need a 
thorough religious education. The 
enemies of Christianity are now mak- 
ing war upon its dogmas more gene- 
rally and craftily than at any former 
period. Their attacks, for being wily 
and concealed, are all the more per- 
nicious. The impious rage of a Vol- 
taire, or the " solemn sneer " of a 
Gibbon, would be less dangerous 
than this insidious warfare. They 
disguise their designs under the ap- 
pearance of devotion to progressive 
ideas, hatred of superstition and intole- 
rance, all the better to instil the slow 
but deadly poison. By honeyed 
words, a studied candor, a dazzle of 
erudition, they have spread their 
" gossamer nets of seduction " over 
the world. The press teems with 
books and joumals in which doctrines 
subversive of religion and morality 
are so elegantly set forth that the un- 
guarded reader, like Roger in Ariosto, 
is very apl to be detxwcd bj tive (as- 






cination of false charms, &■ 
take a most hideous and i 
object for the very type ( 
The serpent stealthily glid 
the silken verdure of a poltd 
Nothing is omitted. The \ 
are fed and the morbid i 
pandered to; firmness ia the \ 
of truth or virtue is called o" " 
and strength of soul, 
blindness. The bases of^ 
are sapped in the name ( 
the discipline of the chui 
not branded as sheer " mumm< 
is held up as hostile to personal 
dom; and her dogmas with on 
two exceptions are treated as < 
ions which may be received oi 
jecied with like indifference. 

Nor is this irreligious tend 
confined to literary publicatiofli 
finds numerous and powcrAil ft 
caies in men of scientific p«B 
who, like Belial in Milton, "S 
to make the worse appear the 
ter cause." The chemist Kas a 
found in his crucible that i 
bie something which men c 
so, in the name of science, I 
nounces it a myth. The ansB) 
has dissected the human frame; 
failing to meet the immaterial 
stance — the soul, he denies its 
istence. The physicist has weij 
the conflicting theories of his pi 
cessors in the scales of cniicism ; 
finally decides that bodies are i 
ing more than the accidental as 
blage of atoms, and rejects the 
idea of a Creator. The geok 
after investigating the secrets ol 
earth, triumphantly tells us dui 
has accumulated an ovenrhdl 
mass of facts to refute the 1 
cosmogony and thus subvert >( 
thority of the inspired recM 
astronomer flatters himself | 
has discovered natural and i 
lan-s which do away with the tt 
sity of admitting that a divine A 



'enrbdl 

the a 
vert 41 

«lf dfl 



J 



The Journal of Claude BlancliarcL 



787 



launched the heavenly bodies 
space and still guides them in 

courses; the ethnographer has 
jd the peculiarities of the races, 
las met with widely-different 
•rmations, arid believes himself 
iently authorized to deny the 
of the human family ; in a word, 
conclude that nothing exists but 
ir, that God is a myth, and the 
* the dream of a dream." 
us do men attack these sacred 
5 which, in the words of Balmes, 
not be shaken without greatly 
ng and finally destroying the 
I edifice." What, then, must be 

to save society from the perils 
Tienace it — to stem the tide that 
fair to sweep away eventually 
civilization itself? What is the 
iy for the profligacy that dis- 
s some of our crowded centres, 
the demoralization that is fast 
•ening our rural districts ? There 
^, and we believe there is but 

Let the rising generation be 
ught up " in a " religious atmo- 
e." If we Christianize our youth, 
lay be sure of having a virtuous 
. virile people ; for it is an ethi- 



cal truth, that "the morals are but 
the outward forms of the inner life." 

The Father of our country, then, 
was right, when he said, in his fare- 
well address to the American nation, 
that religion and morality are the 
" props " of society and the " pillars " 
of the state. History tells in its every 
page that the decline and downfall 
of nations have ever been caused by 
immorality and irreligion. 

Our national institutions, our pros- 
perity and civilization depend for 
their permanence and perpetuity not 
so much on the culture of the arts, 
sciences, literature, or philosophy, as 
on the general diffusion of the sa- 
lutary and vivifying principles of re- 
ligion. 

Let us then infuse good morals by 
the most powerful of all means. Chris- 
tian education; let doctrine be taught 
simultaneously with science; let the 
class-room be impregnated with the 
sweet and life-giving aroma of Chris- 
tianity, and we shall soon check the 
torrent of infidelity, avert impending 
evils, and prepare the golden age of 
our republic. 



TBANSLATSD FKOM THX RSVUB MILITAIXX PRANCAISB. 



JOURNAL OF THE CAMPAIGN OF CLAUDE BLAN- 

CHARD, 



IISSARY-GENERAL TO THE AUXILIARY TROOPS SENT TO AMERICA UN- 
DER THE COMMAND OF LIEUTENANT-GENERAL THE COUNT DE 

ROCHAMBEAU. 1 780-1 783. 



SPENT three years, in the capa- 
)f commissary-general, with the 
of troops which General Ro- 
beau brought to the assistance 
; Americans. During. the entire 
[ wrote down every day, dating 
our departure from Brest, both 



the events I witnessed, and those that 
were personal. This journal is not 
in very good order, and now that 
I have leisure, (Messidor, second year 
of the Republic,) I intend to copy it 
out clearly, -mXYio^aX. TC!kaiKcci% «k*j Sasw- 



The yimnuxi of Claudt BUmektiwd, 



the matter. I wrote, however, merely 
for my owd a.musemeD(, and for an oc- 

cujwttion in idle moments." 

Thus begins a manuscript, hither- 
to unpublished and entirely unknown, 
which appears worthy of being no- 
ticed and rescued from oblivion. The 
aullior of this journal. Commissary 
Blanchard, became later commissary- 
general, but was deprived of this posi- 
tion by the government of the Reign 
of Terror, whose pereecutions at the 
time — the eve of the fall of Robes- 
pierre — ending generally in a sentence 
of death, he hid himself in Paris, 
Such is the leisure he speaks of in 
t!ie passage cited above; leisure very 
short, however, and which he oc- 
cupied in the manner indicated, by 
revietving his notes of past times and 
collecting his personal reminiscences 
of the American expedition so dear 
to all who had taken part in it Soon 
afterward he was restored to active 
service, and thought no more, in a 
career occupied with the wars of 
ihe period, of the manuscript which 
he had not intended for publicity, and 
which, after his death in 1S03, remain- 
ed forgotten among family papers, as 
so many other documents have which 
are still unknown. Compared with 
the works published on the same 
events which he writes of, this jour- 
nal, now ninety years old, certainly 
has its own value and special interest 
It is apparent from the first lines of 
the manuscript, quoted at the begin- 
ning of this article, that M. Blanchard 
uTole without special thought — mere- 
ly for his own satisfaction, and prompt- 
ed by die natural desire to note dou-n 
whatever he saw, wiUtout any inten- 
tion of composing a history or a 
book of memoirs. This is an excel- 
lent disposition for sincerity, and our 
epoch loves and prefers to all others 
these unstudied writings, when they 
refer, as they do in this case, to in- 
teresting periods of the past. 



The author of this Jourad wai 
ty years of age at the time d 
Americanwar, ITioughnowcon*] 
ly forgotten, he attracted conadf 
attention in his day, and he fi 
in the " Biographies Untvcttc 
of the beginning ol the ca 
Bom at Angers, on the t6l 
May, 1742, and sprung &om 1 
tinguished family of that cit; 
appears, for the first time in 
in the war bureau, under the 4 
of one of his relations, M. £li 
" Chief of the War Bureau 
General Secietar)- of the Swim 
Grisons." • He was appoinu * 
missary in 1768, aod sensed tl 
pacity throughout the Cor^fa; 
paign, remaining on the i ' 
years. As commissary-geaoS 
1780 he accompanied G«ooil 
chambeau to America. lo 178 
was commissary at Anas, when 
following year he was put in 
mand of the national guard 
city ; and soon afterword bet 
with Camot, then anknown, its i 
sentative in the legislative aaei 
Here M, Blanchard played a m 
but active and useful part, am 
with Lacuife and Matt hi cu Di 
formed the standing committe 
military questions. Kcinoved t 
Committee of Public Sarely, he 
ward held the position of comini 
genera! successively to the an 
Sambre-et-Meuse, to that of ll 
lerior, to the army of Moltaiu 
finally to the Hotel dcs law 
where he died, leaving the t 
of an officer "remarkahJ 
talents and virtues."! 

The First Consul, on heai _ 
death, expressed deep regret, ace 
to liie testimony of GcDcral L 

■ Thui daipialEd ib III* ro)ral -'tiumiii ( 
ia>;e«. Mliiuccnuila ih< cllltt af(ciwn 
rylo dii "SwinGiiKn'm* ihc Abb* 
Dl^, IHLhoT of Lw J'rmi 



he nm 
Lablc^ 



Gmcitl BcTfil^, " Ctnvtt 






a minuur the dnth at d 



Tlu youmal of Claude Blanchard. 



789 



Blanchard, although at the time but 
sixty years of age, was the oldest 
among the commissaries of the army.* 
The journal of M. Blanchard will 
give a more correct idea of the cha- 
racter of the man, of his upright and 
honest nature, and of his strong and 
good sense. A few words are neces- 
sary, however, on the events of which 
we have to speak, and of the writers 
who have related them at first hand. 
The violent struggle of the English 
colonies against the mother country 
began in 1775; the Declaration of 
the Independence of the United States 
— the hundredth anniversary of which 
is near at hand — was made on the 
4th of July, 1776. Soon afterward, 
when the Americans were hard pressed, 
France came to their aid, and the war 
with England opened with the fight 
at Ouessant on the 17 th of June, 1778. 
It was at first a naval war which 
spread over the whole ocean. Sub- 
sequendy, when the American cause 
was in a most critical condition, 
France, at the request of Congress, 
sent pecuniary assistance, and also a 
body of troops, who were placed un- 
der the chief command of General 
Washington. 

This war, in which we acquired 
glory at sea, and which raised up our 
navy — this reappearance of the white 
flag in the new world, from which 
the seven years* war had excluded 
itf — the part taken by France in 
establishing the independence of the 
United States, and in founding a na- 
tion destined for so grand a future — 
are events of far more than ordinary 
importance, and which possess the 
same interest to-day as when they 
transpired. Nevertheless their de- 
tails are, as a general thing, but im- 



*Olsade Blanchard had a son who was himself 
a cooumsaary, and who died recently, at the age of 
ahiety, at La Fl^che, (Sarthe.) The writer of this rt- 
view is a great-grandson of Claude Blanchard. 

t The treaty of Paris (1763} had deprived France 
of Canada and T.oui«iana, 



perfectly known ; and particularly the 
campaign of the corps sent to Ame- 
rica, which brought into close contact 
the soldiers of old France and the 
militia of the young republic, is in the 
larger histories usually summed up in 
a few lines.* This doubtless arises 
fi-om the fact that no work of im- 
portance has treated this subject in 
a special manner. It is true that 
the little army commanded by Gene- 
ral Rochambeau had few opportuni- 
ties of distinguishing itself. But, al- 
though its active services were con- 
fined to a few important marches, 
and to the taking of Yorktown, which 
was forced to surrender, together with 
a division of the English army, it 
gave the Americans no inconsiderable 
moral support, as well as effective as- 
sistance which was most opportune. 
The revolution which followed soon 
after, and the twenty-five years of 
war rendered glorious by so many 
famous campaigns, effaced the re- 
membrance of the naval combat of 
Chesapeake Bay and the taking of 
Yorktown, and turned attention fi-om 
military operations which are insigni- 
ficant, if we consider the number of 
troops engaged, but important, if we 
look to the result. In fact, these 
battles between a few thousand men, 
decided the fate of one of the most 
powerful of modem nations as well 
as the future balance of the world. 

It is not, however, because docu- 
ments on the American campaign are 
wanting ; on the contrary, they are nu- 
merous and interesting ; our archives 
should possess intact the official re- 
ports ; while individual reminiscences 
contained in a number of books 
published at different times, are va- 
luable sources of information firom 
which as yet nothing has been drawn. 
Four distinguished officers engaged 



* The only contemporary history is the AIM de 
Longchamp's HisUirt dg la DtmArt Gtitnv, m 
three volumes. 



790 



Ths yournal of ClauA SSmeaan 



in this expedition among the French 
(not to mention American or Eng- 
lish writers) have found pleasure in 
recalling the memory and narrating - 
the incidents of what they considered 
the noblest or the dearest portion of 
tlieir career ; the Minioires du Mari- 
chal lie Rixhambeau, {1809,) the first 
source of iufarmation, give with 
clearness and precision, but without 
embellishment, a detailed account of 
the campaign which above all else 
has served to render his name illus- 
trious. Next comes the Corrtspon- 
dance el Maniiscrits du Giniral La 
Fiiyef/e, (1837,) although La Fayette 
took part in the war of independence 
as a volunteer and an American gene- 
ral, independent of the action of the 
royal forces. The Sourenirs du Comie 
de Sigur, (1835,) and those of ComU 
Matlkieu Dumas, (1839,) young and 
brilliant aides-de-camp to General 
Rochambeau, also furnish some par- 
ticiiJai? about this campaign worthy 
of note. We must not forget the 
Mhnoires du Due de Lausun, (1811,) 
colonel of a regiment in the expedi- 
tionary corps, and the t'oyages dans 
FAmlriiiue Septentrianale de M. U 
Mai^uu de Chastellax, (i736,}major- 
general; this work, though full of 
description and of anecdote, is of 
only moderate ability ; but the name 
of its author, a member of the Aca- 
demy and a friend of Voltaire, gave 
it a certain degree of success at the 
lime of its appearance, owing to curi- 
osity and to circumstances. 

After these works, which possess 
each a peculiar interest, and without 
pretending to the importance which 
they derive from tlie names of timr 
distinguished authors, the journal of 
Commissary Blanchard (who is men- 
tioned in all of them) deserves cer- 
tainly an honorable place. It is re- 
markable for great exactness, variety 
of informalion, and a genial and plea- 
sant tone. MotwTCt,asiXisi«.N(Ae\ 



solely to the American expafidoi 
is naturally more diffuse on this 1 
cial subject than books which t 
of an entire life. 

We shall now let the jounul s[ 
for itself: 



General the Coiml ■!« 

chambtau. having been >ppoinied(olhe< 
nand of ihe corps whidi wai anilcr 01 
M embark, although their datinURm 
not yet pCKitirely luiown, eoipcnl n 
serve wilh ibeM troops, in my capaol 
cwniniissaiy. 

" I «ccordingljr Tcpaired to Bmt OB 
aolh Of March, 1780. M. deTarlt.eom 
lary of provision i, who |icrfbrme<l 
duliei of pUTTcyor to Ihe troojii, di4 
arrive for eight or ten d«T« •Atr; 
brought me a commission as coounlii 
JD'Chicf. Finding myself alone at Bn 
usitled both (he land and nanil comiw 
crs lo ship all the supplies and wloti 
would be necessary for the ttoi)[» aftei I 
had linded. As the n»»y had n.il been -. 
In furnish a sufficient number oTtraiupc 
Ihey were obliged to leave la Fmnoe 
regiments of Neusliie and Anhjdt, wl 
wc(c lo have accompanied Ihe eipedi 
as well as two or ihree hundred am 
the legion of Lauion. lliose who embi 
ed numbered live Ihnusanil, coniialiif 
the regiments of Doucboiiiuis, SoiMooa 
Saiotonge, Koyal-deux-ronls, aboBl 
hundred atlillcrj-meii, and lii hnadred 
the legion of Lanzuo. of whom three h 
dred were lo form a body of canity. Tl 
troops, their baggage, the uiilletf, 
other thin^ necessary to an umy, M 
put on Ixttrd twenty-fire (o [Mfty tn 
ports or Elore-shipi ; they wen Mcon 
nied by seven vessels of war and mea. 
gates. 1ji Fanlasque, an < 
atmcd as a store-ship and 
hospital; they put on bonrd of 1 
money, the heavy artillery, x 
ble number of passengers. 

"All the general ollir:en slept 4 
tlie Iqth of April; 1 wu (liere ' 
embarked on the Conqu^raQt, e 
by LaCianditre. 

■' The following 1 
opal perJoni who compoacd oar •■ 

" Count de Rocbiunlieau, Beab 
lal, commandei-ia-chicC 

"llic llaruD de Viomfnil, the C 
VitnDcnll, IhcdievalieideChuldr 
marshals, (the Ust meDtiOBCdp 
duties of ( major-gencroL ) 
"\>e-S*i 



TIu youmal of Claude Blanchard, 



791 



termaster, (de Choisy, brigadier, did not 
arrive till the 30th of September. ) 

"De TarW, general commissary, acting 
as purveyor. 

•* Blanchard, commissary-general. 

** De Corny, de Villemanzy, chief of ord- 
nance. 

•*Gau, commissary of artillery. 

*• D'Aboville, commander-in-chief of ar- 
tillery . 

" D^sandrouins, commander of the engi- 
neers. 

'•"Daure, purveyor of provisions. 

•* Demars, purveyor of the hospitals. 

** There were yet many other purveyors, 
for forage, meat, etc. ; in general there 
were too many employed, particularly as 
purveyors-in-chief; all this was according 
to the taste of M. de Veym^rangers, in 
whose hands had been left the organization 
of the commissary department of our army; 
ft man skilful in business matters, but given 
to expense and extravagance, and who need- 
ed looking after. 

*• M. de M^nonville and the Chevalier de 
Tarl^, brother of the commissary, were ge- 
neral staff officers; M. de B^ville junior, 
and M. CoUot, were assistant quartermas- 
ters. 

** M. de Rochambeau had for his aides-de- 
camp M. de Fersey, de Damas, Charles 
Lameth, Closen, Matthieu Dumas, Lamber- 
di^re, de Vauban, and Cromot-Dubonrg. 

" M. de Viom^nil had also several, among 
whom were MM. de Chabannes, de Pange, 
d'Olonne, etc 

"Those of M. de Chastellux were MM. 
Montesquieu, grandson of the president, 
and Lynch, an Irishman. 

" The colonels were : 

"Of the regiment of Bourbonnais, the 
Marquis de Leval and the Count de Ro- 
chambeau, (as second in command, ) son of 
the general in chief. 

"Of the Royal-Deux-Ponts, MM. de 
Deux- Fonts, brothers. 

** Of the Saintonge, MM. de Custine and 
the Viscount de Charlus, son of M. de Cas- 
tries. 

"Of the Soissonnais; MM. de Sainte- 
Mesme and the Viscount de Noailles. 

** Of the legion of Lauzun, the Duke de 
Lauzun and M. de Dillon." * 

I have copied this page because it 
shows to some extent the formation 

* This first expedition comprised five thousand 
men ; it was followed a year afterward, by a second 
oocps of three thousand, brought firom the West-In- 
^Ues, but which remained only a short time in Ameri- 
ca. They were commanded by MM. de Saint-Simon 
and 4*ilacwbaa^ 



of the staff of an army corps of the 
last century, and also on account of 
the names which it gives. They are 
those of the very highest nobility of 
France, who threw themselves with 
enthusiasm into this expedition, which 
they called the " crusade of the eigh- 
teenth century." 

Among the companions in arms of 
M. Blanchard, whose names often re- 
cur in his journal, many who 'Were 
then young afterward became cele- 
brated. Not to speak of two gene- 
rals already distinguished, Rocham- 
beau and La Fayette, and the Cheva- 
lier, later the Marquis, de Chastellux^ 
known by his connection with the en- 
cyclopedists, and who died in 1788, 
the following are worthy of mention : 
Biron (the Duke de Lauzun) and Cus- 
tine, two generals of the republic, 
who shared the same tragic fate ; the 
Prince de Broglie, field-marshal in 
the army of the Rhine, indicted be- 
fore the revolutionary tribunal, and 
executed in 1794 ; the Count de Dil- 
lon, general in 1792, falsely accused 
of treason, put to death by his troops, 
and to whom the Convention, in gra- 
titude for his devotion, decreed the 
honors of the Pantheon; Pichegru, 
at that time only an artillery-man; the 
Viscount de Noailles, who, on the 
famous night of the fourth of August, 
was the first to propose the abolition 
of the feudal laws ; (his military future 
promised to be brilliant when he died 
in consequence of a wound received 
in the expedition to San Dommgo.) 
By the side of these men, whose ca- 
reers were cut short by death, we 
find others whose lives were long and 
illustrious. Berthier, then an under- 
officer, destined to become marshal of 
France and minister of war, Prince 
of Wagram and Neufchitel, etc. The 
Count de S^gur, general, diplomatist, 
historian, whose son, equally distin- 
guished and still alive, is the a\iO\<y: 
of ttve CamjHiigii 0/ \%\a^^^ vos^Oc^- 



TO2 



Tkf yonmal of Clemde Blatichard. 



ing recital of an eye-witness. Mat- 
thieu Dumas, a genera), an able com- 
missary and esteemed military writer, 
a peer of France in 1830; Aubert- 
Dubayet, an inferior officer in the ex- 
peditionary corps, minister of war un- 
der the republic." The Duke de Da- 
mas, the faithful companion of the 
Bourbons during their exile ; Charles 
de Lameth, equally brilliant in speech 
and in action, a member of the as- 
senabiy, lieutenant-general in 1814, 
deputy, and peer of France. The 
Count de Vauban, aide-de-camp to 
the Count d'Ariois, who fought in 
the army of Gondii and of Qui heron ; 
the Duke de Castries, who died in 
184.2, a peer of France, etc. 

On the 9th of July 1780, after a 
voyage of sixty-nine days, America 
was signalled by the French squadron. 
Nevertheless, the disembark m en t did 
not take place at Newport, Rhode 
Island, for some daj-s after. 

"On llie Ijtb, Ihc troops had notyel land- 
ed; there had even been an express prohibi- 
tion against [heir going ashore; and I had 
not permission to do so until four o'clock 
in the iftcrnoon. I then landed at Newport. 
This town is small and pietl/; the sireets 
are straight, and the houses, though for the 
most port buill of wood, make a good ap- 
pearance. There was iin illuminalion in 
the evening. A dtiien invited me to his 
house and treated mc well. 1 there tucik 
tea, which was served by the daughter of 
mj host." 

Tile daily business and special oc- 
cupations of a commissary as well 
as the incidents of a campaign 
life, dale from this day for M. 
Glancharrl. In an army in active 
service, the position of a commissary 
affords him an opportunity, if he is 
so inclined, to carefully observe, if 
not militaiy operations, at least the 
strange country to which the war has 
brought him. After his immediate 



duties, he should acqaaint himse 
with its resources, and have rd 
tions with the population, be thi 
friendly or otherwise, of every kin 
Hence arises a great variety of it 
pressions and remarks which ire i 
cordingly find in this jouiDal. 

A short time after landing, 1 
Blanchard was sent to th« aacnt 
in Boston, to ask the immediate wa 
tance of the provinoul troops in a 
of an attack upon Rhode Island I 
the English, which they aniicijnu 
A German dragoon in the Aiaaic; 
service, with whom he was obliged 
converse in Latin, acted ss his guiil 
Boston, with its Ptcsbytcrian papal 
tion descended from some of Croi 
well's followers who had emigrab 
to America, was still tlie active be: 
of the revolution. M. Ulanchai 
met there some of the renuirkali 
men connected with it : Dr. Coojx 
John Adams, and Hancock. Hcd 
scribes the general appearance of tl 
city which reminded him of Anga 
He met among the inhabitants < 
Boston two who bore the same nan 
as himself; they were the desccndaa 
of refugees driven from this cotuiB 
by the revocation of the edict < 
Nantes, and who in less than x ea 
tury had become completely A 

The expedition to America I 
from July, 1780, to Deccmhex,1 
a period of two years and «1 
and during that interval it s 
us that comparatively litllt was-fl 
Certainly in those days they did ii 
move so fast as now, and no one a| 
peared to be in a hurry ; it was i 
served for our revolution to give 
quickening impulse to the woriiL 

The corps of five thousand mc 
under General Rochambeau had,wh( 
they landed in America, no less du 
eight hundred on the sick-Un; 
frightful number, being ncaily ,gi 
fifth of the effective force. Tbfttgji 



TJks journal of Claude Blanchard. 



793 



of the voyage, and the bad quality 
of the food on shipboard, were the 
causes of this. We learn, however, 
ftom another statement of a similar 
kind made by M. Blanchard, that 
such a proportion on the sick-list after 
a sea voyage was by no means un- 
usual. The first thing to be done was 
to restore the health of the army, and 
for that purpose it remained a whole 
year inactive at Rhode Island, if we 
except the sailing of an expedition 
with a party on board intended for 
land-service, which was the occasion 
of a naval engagement in Chesapeake 
Bay. Finally the army moved firom 
its quarters to effect a junction with 
Washington and La Fayette, and, sup- 
ported by the flotilla of M. de Grasse, 
commander of the squadron, who 
landed an additional body of three 
thousand men, they proceeded in con- 
cert to invest Yorktown, where Com- 
wallis, the English commander, was 
besieged, and not long after was forc- 
ed to capitulate.* The small French 
army passed its second winter in Ame- 
rica, in the State of Virginia, in the 
vicinity of Yorktown. In 1782, it 
returned northward, threatened New 
York, the last place of which the 
English held possession, and reem- 
barked at the close of 1782. 

Such is the framework to the de- 
scriptive reminiscences of M. Blan- 
chard. Those two long marches from 
north to south, and agam from south 
to north, gave him particular facilities 
for observing the country. Some- 
times with the army^ oftcner alone, 
and going in advance to make pre- 
parations for the sick and the com- 
missariat of the army — a double duty 
with which he was charged — ^he visit- 
ed the chief cities of the United 
States, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Hart- 
ford, Fredericksburg, WilUamsburg, 



* CorawaUia, a skiUul general, though nnfortunate 
OB diie ocmtion, was highly esteemed by Napo- 
ImbL 



Wilmington, Alexandria, Providence, 
etc. Philadelphia, then the seat of Con- 
gress, counted at that time thirty-five 
thousand inhabitants; it has now seven 
hundred thousand. Every village, 
every station passed through, is re- 
corded and described by M. Blan- 
chard; frequently they are but the 
small beginnings of what are now 
great and flourishing cities. These 
pictures of other times extracted from 
the note-book of a French officer, 
the rude attempts at agriculture, im- 
provements then in their infancy, the 
plantations, as they then existed, and 
roads and public works just laid out 
but incomplete, present the contrast 
of what existed then with what is to 
be seen to-day, and give us an idea 
of the immense progress that has 
been made in the interval. There is 
also for the American reader a par- 
ticular interest attached to the names 
given of several families with whom 
he merely lodged, or whose hospitality 
was pressed upon him, and whose 
great-grandchildren perhaps still reside 
in the same places.* When our troops 
marched on Yorktown, they travers- 
ed that portion of Virginia so often 
the scene of conflict in the late 
civil war ; and in this recital, which 
seems to treat of times and events 
long since gone by, we meet with 
many names of localities common to 
both wars. There were, even at this 
time, indications of different tenden- 
cies on the part of the populations of 
the North and South, and the follow- 
ing extract from the journal makes 
allusion to this in very striking terms : 

" The inhabitants of these southern pro- 
vinces are very diiferent from those of the 
North, who, as I have already said, cultivate 
their own lands. In the South, they have 

y We qoartered with the Americans, hut we asked 
nothing fircnn them but shelter. Esch officer brought 
with him his proYisions and cooking ntensUs, his bed 
and bedding, and we occasioned no expense whaterer 
to oar hosts. I had for my use two wagons or cover- 
ed conveyances drawn by good horses, and I had all 
I stood in need o£** 



The yourftal of Claude BlancharcU 



79S 



a great portion of the day at table, 
even in the cities of the North. 

'* As they have little occupation, and sel- 
dom go out during winter, but pass their 
days by the fireside, and by the side of 
their wives, without reading or any employ- 
ment, it is a great distraction, a'^remedy 
against ennui, to eat so frequently." 

" Oh ! we have changed all that," 
will be the answer of the Americans 
of 1869. 

Their morals were singularly pure, 
and it is on that basis that liberty 
grew to its present greatness. The 
journal speaks of but one woman in 
an important city, who was talked 
of for her levity of conduct, and she 
was a European. Here and there 
throughout the journal we find allu- 
sion to young American girls, already 
possessed of that liberty and that 
queenly dignity, founded on universal 
respect, which have continued there 
to be the privilege of their sex. Here 
are two charming illustrations of the 
manners of that period : 



«« 



During my stay at Boston, I dined with 
a young American lady in whose house M. 
de Capellis lodged. We hod made the ac- 
quaintance of her sister and brother-in-law 
at Newport It was a singular contrast to 
our customs to see a young girl who, at 
most, could not have been more than twenty 
years of age, lodge and entertain a young 
man. I shall surely find an opportunity of 
explaining the causes of this singularity." 

On another occasion, it is the 
daughter of the host who comes to 
keep company with M. Blanchard in 
the room assigned to him. 

** She remained there a long time ; some- 
times we conversed. At other times she 
would leave me to attend to my business, 
and this without constraint and with a na- 
tural and innocent familiarity.*' 

It was the period when our eigh- 
teenth century, disgusted with the 
corruption of the court of Louis XV. 
and the upper classes, indulged in 
dreams of a golden age, and a 
morality pure and unaffected. The 



Americans seemed to ofifer the reali- 
zation of this day-dream ; hence the 
success of their cause, and the univer- 
sal enthusiasm in their favor through- 
out France. 

The general morality of a people 
who boldly founded a republic in the 
face of the old monarchies of Europe, 
was naturally to Frenchmen of the 
old rk^me the most interesting spec- 
tacle in the new world. The journal 
abounds in this respect with facts 
and significant remarks written inci- 
dentally in the course of the narra- 
tive. I shall limit myself to a few 
quotations : 

"The inhabitants of these provinces 
(those of the North) are in general more 
affable and more sprightly than those of 
Virginia. When our soldiers come into 
camp, they are met by crowds of women 
anxious to hear the music, and even to 
dance when they find an opportunity, which 
sometimes happens. Afterward they return 
home to attend to household duties, milk 
the cows, and prepare the meal for the fa« 
mily. During this time the men are at 
work cultivating the fields without any dis- 
tinction or inequality, all well housed and 
well clad. They choose from among them- 
selves those whom they wish, by reason of 
their merit or consideration, to be captains 
of the militia or deputies to Congress. At East 
Hartford, I was lodged in a very excellent 
house furnished with order and good taste. 
I had a bed as elegant in appearance as any 
to be found in our best country houses in 
France. The house belonged to the widow 
of a merchant who had two very handsome 
and very modest girls; one of these was 
affianced to a shoemaker, the owner also of 
a very beautiful house. I have often made 
this remark^ but I cannot help repeating it ; 
the greatest equality prevails in these North- 
ern States. All the husbandmen have farms 
of their own ; there is no one who does not 
know how to read and write, and there are 
no poor to be met with. This is as it should 
be in all the states,** 

"Note. — It was in 1782 I made, those 
reflections. I did not think that ten years 
after I should see the same equality estab- 
lished in France."* 

* Does not this remark, vritten in the darkest period 
of the Reign of Terror, and under danger of death, in- 
dicate the roost profound convictions? A very tragi- 
cal equality I and one that brought M. Blanchard and 



The ygtimal of Claude Btanehard, 



M. Blanclurd lemarks everywhere 
this equality in education, and a high 
standard of manners accompanied by 
dignity and elegant refinement. One 
day, having negotiated for the trans- 
port of some wood with a rich pro- 
prietor, a man of position in society, 
and brother of the celebrated Ameri- 
can General Green, he saw him after- 
ward come up driving his own wa- 
gons. He mentions the fact on his 
journal that evening, adding this ex- 
clamation, " Such are the customs of 
America!" 

In genera], the towns, villages, and 
country houses strike him as 

"PoistssinB a somethin£ indcstriliahly 
becoming tliat pleases one. Instead of 
tnpmr)', the walls are papered; and the 
elTecl is pleniing lo tbe eye. The houses 
are, almost williout eiceplion, well-buill, 
and kept remarkably clean, whether they 
chance to belong to t. farmer or an arlison, 
a merchant or a general. Thrir education 
is pretty nearly the same, «o that a me- 
chaoic is often lent as a deputy to the as- 
sembly where no distinction a mode ; there 
are no separate orUcn. I hive alrendy said 
Ihnt all the inhabitants of the country culli- 
yaXtA thdr own fields; they work them- 
selves on their forms, and drive their cattle. 
This hind or Ufe, this ple.isiog equaiily, pos- 
sesses a chaim for every thinking being." 

Here we recognize the language 
of the reign of Louis XVI., an echo 
of Jean-Jacques and Bemardin de 
Saint-Pierre. 

We have theori/cd on equitlity, and 
often lulled ourselves with chimerical 
dreams regarding it; but we find that 
a hundred years ago the Americans 
had practically realized it by adopting 
as a basis the participation of all cili- 
xena in the benefits of instruction and 



the tnpA hta^j tugcibn Di>d( 
h>E "f nolkc On ibe lotli < 
XVt. ind M* IwuIt io<i|bI i 



education, and the respect paid 
lionorable labor. 

So mucli for equality. We j 
to some facts of practical tiboi 

While the French cor^a w» 
ing tlirough the little town of 
pond, an American asked a vet 
indemnity for some depredation 
mitted by the troops on his pn 
This claim was taken into cod 
lion ; but without waiting for 
sion, the American carried hii 
plaint before tlie judge ot his c 
who, according to law, could i 
fuse 10 send an olficer to am 
commander of llic French i 
Tliis officer, in accordance vii 
legal custom, put his hand, with 
apologies, however, on the shoul 
General de Rochambcau, in ill 
sence of the troops. Atl the ( 
present were indignant, and will 
interfere; but General de T' 
beau said he would subnoi 
laws of the country; and I 
missed on giving bail TliiS a 
related by Rochanibeaii hiniscl 
by La Fayette, in their memoire, 
mentioned by M. Bbnchard, wi 
additional circumstance that h 
Blanchatd) found himself, a (n 
after, quartered on tbe same i 
of ihc law to whom the i 
arresting the French t 
cliicf had been intrusted. 

A Masonic procession ts d 
as follows: 

" It was St John's day, a g 
the Free-MuonSiandtheyheldaj 
Providence. It wu announced in n 
lie paper* ; Tor these kioJg of lodeti 
aulhoriied here. I met lbe»e Frcc-1 
in the strecu, bnned in ranks and 
ing two by two, holding each oibcr 
hand, all wearing Iheir apioDS, ant, \ 
cd by men canying long rods. T 
who ctoMd the procession, and «d 
peated to be the chief, had two t 




Tlte yournal of Claude Blanchard. 



797 



hese facts ? That it would seem 
^publican manners had been an- 
in the United States to the con- 
Dn itself. The laws of Congress 
only ratified, so to speak, that 
already existed. 

leral Washington frequently ap- 
in the recital of M. Blanchard, 
ometimes had personal relations 
lim. Even at that time, in the eyes 
who knew him, the commander- 
ef of the American troops was 
It man. No one doubted that 
adgraent of his contemporaries 
I be ratified by posterity. At 
ose of the first interview of our 
als with Washington, M. Blanch- 
rites : 

gracious and noble air, broad and 
t views, the art of making himself be- 
-these points in his character were 
ed by all of us who saw him. It is his 
rdinary ability that has defended the 

of America, and if she one day enjoys 
m, it will be to him she will owe it" 
. note : ** I wrote the above in 178a 
mericans are indebted for their success 
courage of Washington, to his love for 
untry, and to his prudence. He never 
itted an error, and was never discou- 

In the midst of successes as well as in 
es, he was ever calm and undisturbed, 
\ self-possessed, and his personal quali- 
ave kept more soldiers in the Ameri- 
niy, and procured more adherents to 
use of liberty, than the enactments of 
ess." 

lere is, I think, something to 
e in this judgment, where there 
dently a tendency to personify a 
J in a single man — a tendency so 
dent among us. 

I American dinner in the tent of 
lington is thus described : 

>n the 29th, (June, 1781,) I mounted 
irse to look at the barracks in which an 
ican regiment had been quartered dur- 
e winter at Fishkill Landing. My in- 
n was to establish a hospital there. On 
ay I met General Washington, who, 
5 recognized me, stopped and invited 
dine with him that day at three o'clock, 
t. There were twenty-five covers laid, 
^ests were officers of his army, be- 



sides the lady of the house in wliich tlie 
general was stopping. We dined in a tent. 
The general placed me beside him ; one of 
the aides-de-camp did the honors. The din- 
ner was served in the American style, and 
every thing was in abundance. There were 
vegetables, roast-beef, lamb, chicken, salad, 
pudding, and a pie — a kind of tart very 
much in use in England and among the 
Americans; and all was served together. 
They gave on the same plate, meat, vegeta- 
bles, and salad, (which was eaten without 
dressing except vinegar.) When dinner 
was over, the cloth being removed, Madeira 
wine was passed round, and they drank the 
health of the King of France, the army, etc. 
The general made apologies for the recep- 
tion he had given me ; to which I replied 
that I had enjoyed myself very much in his 
company, as I did everywhere in America, 
which I liked much better than Corsica, 
where I had been for many years. He then 
told me that the English papers announced 
that the Corsicans were about to rise in re- 
bellion. I replied that I did not believe it ; 
that the Corsicans were not dangerous, and 
besides, that Paoli was not General Wash- 
ington. The countenance of the general 
has something grave and serious about it ; 
but it is never severe. On the contrary, it 
is gentle, and usually wears a pleasant smile. 
He is affable, and talks in a familiar and 
lively manner with his officers. I forgot to 
mention that at the beginning of the meal 
a clergyman who was present asked a 
blessing, and at its close returned thanks. 
I knew that General Washington was ac- 
customed to say grace himself when he had 
no clergyman at the table, as is the custom 
of the heads of families in America; the 
idea being that a general in the midst of his 
armj is as the father of a fiEunily." 

Here is a last quotation, in which 
we see the American general at a very 
critical period of his career: 

«0n the 24th and 25th, (August, 1781,) 
the troops finished crossing the North River. 
The passage was a tedious one, as the river 
was wide, and they were obliged to cross it 
on boats and rafts, which had been brought 
together in great numbers. On the 25th, I 
went myself to the place, and saw many 
troops cross with their baggage. General 
Washington was there. They had arranged 
a sort of observatory for him, whence be 
superintended every thing with dose at- 
tention. He seemed to see in this passage, 
in the march of onr troops toward Che- 
si^>eake Bay, and in our junction with M. 



de Grasse— lie seemerl, I say, to 
dawn of a better desl in ]• for Americ 
al that stage of the war, with her i 
exhausted, had need of some great success 
to raise her courage and her hopes. He 
shook my hand with much emotion when he 
quitted us, and crossed the river himself. 
It was about two o'clock. He immediately 
joined his army, which marched the next 
morning. 

"' rJojE. — The event ju^Iilied his aniicl- 
pntions; tor the taking of Yorltlown, after our 
junction with M . de Grasse, did much toward 
bringing aliout peace, and the acknowledg- 
raeal of Americin independence. " • 

As for General Rochambeau, wise- 
ly chosen by Louis XVI. hitnself to 
cotumand tliis expedition undertaken 
under such peculiar circumstances, 
he made the French character appear 
in his oft-n person in the noblest light. 
The Americans, before his arrival, im- 
bued with English prejudices — preju- 
dices often justified in the eighteenth 
centurj- — against the light lone and 
reputed affectation of our young no- 
bility, were prepared to find the French 
general (as several of them afterward 
confessed) a mere courtier, opposed 
to their ideas and customs, and 
with whom their relations would be 
constrained, in consequence of diffe- 
rence of character. They saw, on tlie 
contrary, a type of our old France, 
who seemed formed on the same 
model 3s their own leading men, lov- 
ing justice, seeking good, worthy and 
dignified. 

" He has served welt in America," 
wrote our commissary, "and has 
given a favorable idea of our na- 
tion. They pictured to themselves a 
French fop, and they found a thought- 

*Ttifi prcIinunflKn of Ihii peace, «hidi ttcog- 

lolh aC JanDirj, ijti. H. Blinchairi received the 
MW> llw Mlowini Minb « Pono-CibiUa. Ntw 
Spsiin. wh«rv the fleet whicti lud brau[hr our troTjn 



Ihb peace caiued me pr^t jnjr, both becmte I an a 
dtirm. a.a4 becatiH I t*tf ia it the lermiaaiuiD of mr 
•nddiri in leguil to m^ ^nily. Tbe Bin vnu le- 
CBvcd with nthuiiulk jar bf ■■I, with (he unplioo 
of tome leiT uabttioiu men iriio Vemi^ odi tf ikuKr 
mint ui their nvo (onum." 



ful and dignified gentleman. 
gtmral is very selfp^iiested^ i 
American who dined beside roe, ul 
who observed the rooderation uiih 
which General Rochainbeaa re^iotiil- 
ed to the numerous toasts pro{iOMd, 
and which were drunk as they wea 
round by all present. He has pva 
many other proofs of moderaticHilDd 
wisdom." 

He had also his faults, and Aqr 
are related with impartiality : it nw 
trustful character, unamiabic mannent 
and an unpleasant temper, of nhidi 
his officers often complained Ne^ 
ertheless, General RochamlKiu ^^ 
mains on the whole a fine speciinenc/ 
the old army. 

AVe met-t many allusions, a 
La Fayette ; 

"On Ihal day, fSeptemTier ITfli, 4 
short time before the talting of VocT 
and the fallowing days, I w«a cm 
with M. de La Fayette, who wUbed KJ 
me in the provisioning of the tto 
would l« difficult to lind 
patience, and honesty in t 
bitsiness matters. He mwnded ■ 
Scipio Africanus in Spain, eqitaUy ] 
and modest, andvtih the repatatiaa M 
of an able general ; for his ret«nt a " 
in which, with inferior foreca. he n 
himself against Comvrallis, Ik 
much glory, and justly." 

If America and the Amertcsm of ' 
the war of independence constitute 
the chief interest of this joumal, whifr 
ever relates lo the organization of our 
troops at that time, as well as to ibcir 
spirit and military customs, is not the 
less deserving of attention. 

In this "memento" of an cxpeiB- 
tionary army coqis, there natutaJlj 
appear, in the course of the rccit^ 
the shortcomings of the past, and in 
the progress since made — In 
, in the malfrUl and weapcKS 
of war. It was necessary, u ilul 
time, to erect the baking-houses ia Ibc 
neighborhood of the encampoxots:. 



The yourtial of Claude BlancharcL 



799 



sent to establish them ahead. 
liey did not march very rapidly 
)se days. 

ere was a certain want of disr 
e among our soldiers, and a care- 
jss on this point in the officers, 
1 shock our modem ideas; and 
lie army corps of General Ro- 
beau, which was composed of 
d troops, was cited for its ex- 
iry conduct at that period. 
Marquis de Custine,* then co- 
of a regiment, having allowed 
ilf, in a fit of passion, to make 
)f intemperate language toward 
of his officers, the latter com- 
d suicide. The news spread 
I moment of parade, when M. de 
ne was hooted, insulted, and his 
ireatened by his soldiers. " Un- 
ome officers had interfered, worse 
1 have happened to him," says M. 
:hard. It does not appear that 
)unishment was inflicted for this 
IS insubordination. It would 
as if a disturbance of this kind 
,ot cause much uneasiness to the 
nander-in-chief. 

le distinctions between the offi- 
vere less marked than at present, 
military spirit was not then what 
> since become, and, in truth, war 
I less serious matter at that time 
it is now. 

e might mention, also, the pun- 
snts of the past, and thus mark the 
ges that have since been made, 
rench soldier struck an officer 
his sword. He attempted to 
limself afterward, but was taken, 
, and condemned to death. What 
of death ? His hand was cut 
nd he was then hanged. Some 
; have elapsed smce 1789 1 

bathasbecomeof the journal of M. de Cosdne, 
di the manuscript of M. Blanchard makes 
a in the following passage ? " To-day, M. de 
e, who has just been travelling into the interior 
erica, showed me his journal and the result of 
cnrations, which appear to me wise and liberaL** 
ive found no other trace of the Memoirs of 
d d« Costiiie oo the campaign in American 



These soldiers of Rochambeau are 
of our race and blood. They are our 
great-grandfathers. Nevertheless, how 
widely the French army of that pe- 
riod, which is so near and so far at 
the same time, differs from our present 
army in its esprit^ its conduct^ and 
its habits ! 

We said in the beginning that the 
history of the French intervention 
had not been written by any con- 
temporary historian. If one were to 
appear to-day who would treat fully 
this subject, hitherto so much neglect- 
ed, we should have lost nothing by 
the delay. Indeed, after nearly a 
century of the greatest changes, the 
moment would doubdess be excellent 
to treat this important episode of our 
military and political history, and com- 
pose a work based on authentic docu- 
ments, which would have at each step 
the interest of thrilling contrasts. The 
author would draw a parallel between 
the military organization of the ex- 
pedition of 1 781 and of one of the 
present day of equal importance. The 
means of action, the expenses, and 
the general way of doing things, the 
improvements of every kind, would 
be compared, and give rise to curious 
and useful observations. But above 
all, we would see in this retrospective 
view the dawning of a nation which 
has since developed to a degree 
which has no parallel, when we 
consider the shortness of the time. 
A century has not yet elapsed, and 
these three millions of rebellious 
English colonists have become the 
forty millions of Americans who hold 
so important a place in the world of 
to-day. Finally, the-author would en- 
deavor to depict the extraordinary part 
assigned to this nation toward whose 
foundation we contributed, and of 
which we might be truly called the 
god-parents. He would show its ten- 
dencies, its work, its future. Has not, 
in fact, the \>\n\v ol \3c^^ \im\&^'^\a.\ssH 



even to the dullest mind, become an 
historical fax:t of equal importance 
with the French Revolution ? In an 
important document of recent date, 
(the diplomatic circular of M. de La 
Valette, of September i6th, 1866,) 
appear the following words, which 
deserve attention : 

" \Vhne tlie old populations of rliis con- 
linent, in thdr conlineil territories, increase 
with measured ilowness, the republic of the 
Uniled Stales may, berore a century, num- 
ber a hundred miUioni at meD," 

Some will say that the indepen- 
dence of the United States was a 
necessity, and thai it would have been 
accomplished without any assistance 
from Trance. In the course of time, 
very likely- But if France had not 
come .forward when she did, with men 
and money, we can readily believe 
that the new state would have fallen 



again, for some time to come, n 
the yoke of ilie mother COUOU)V 
a consequence, the devclopnUBl 
this people, which has been ( 
largely to the principles of theAi 
can constitution, would have t 
greatly retarded, and the Ui 
States would not be to-day lit 
point where we now behold her. 

Be thia as it may, it is curiflL^ 
see the old Frcncli monarchy leaf 
its aid to tlie birth of a socieqr 
opposed to its principles and tndt 
tions. This arises from the fact da 
all unite to aid a cause when its hat 
has come. However, Bourlioa 
ally, carried away by the ni 
sentiment, performed then a wi 
generous act of the highest 
tance, the remembrance of whi<li 
never be effaced on either side of ic 
Atlantic ^ 



I lis WH 

';^ 

wisefl 
t tnvi 



THE EMIGRANT. 



L 



CHAPTER I 



" Willy, Willy darlin' ! Rise, 
agra, rise; day is breakin', and yeVe 
many a long mile afore ye this momin' 
— and for many a mornin' after iL" 

As she spoke the last words the 
woman's voice trembled, and she hid 
her face in the bed-clothes to stifle 
the grief that was welling up in great 
sobbing waves from her breaking 
heart. As the sound of her voice 
broke in upon his slumbers, a man 
rose from the bed where he had 
thrown himself, half-dressed, a couple 
of hours before, and, not yet quite 
awakened to consciousness, he looked 
around the ro»m in a bewildered way. 

Then he sat down on the side of 
the bed, and coveted W e^ci ■wV'fc 



his hand, vainly endearoring tO'l 
the teats that half-blinded h' 

A chair stood 1 
and the wife drew it toward htr^ 
sat down, laying her head »_ 
knee. Very softly and tcndt 
stroked the dark hair t 
times, then, while a great sob o 
ed his frame, he bent iUB owo^ 
till his lips touched her 1 
" Willy, Willy, don't you give way* 
she said passionately, looking op tt 
him with sorrowful eyes; "keep I 
brave heart, asthore; it's often J^ 
need it where ye're goin'." 

With a desperate efibrt be checked 
his emotion, and smDed sadly, sd 
tenJerly smoothing her hair, 

■■ Shu.-- it's dreamia' I v 
Vt^aid.-, " and the strangest d 



-'*=^*- 



«as,M»nr 
itdrofl^ 



The Emigrant. 



8oi 



It I was away in America, and 
/ in the purtiest greenwood 
eart ever picthured. The birds 
iingin* and the daisies growin' 
y wud be in heaven; the sky 
; bright and as blue as our own. 
irough the middle of the land 
great wide river, and it was be- 
you and me. I didn't care for 
luty and greenness, Mary, when 
ti't you wid me ; and although 
you stood wasn't half so purty 
as where I was, it seemed the 
beautiful place in the world, 
>e ye wiir there. Ye were longin* 
5s over to me, and the children 
at your gown and pintin* to me 
;. Some how, it seemed to me 
idden that if I stretched out my 
to ye, ye might come; and I 
and ye came without any fear 
wather, right through and across 
I almost touched Katie with 
nds, and felt Jier sweet breath 
cheek. But just as ye would 
et your feet on the ground be- 
le, something came between us 
flash of fire, and ye were gone, 
re, and I held out my hands to 
ipty air. And then, thank God I 
•d ye callin' * Willy, Willy dar- 
nd I saw yer own sweet face 
i' over me as I woke.** 
wife put one arm around her 
id's neck as he ceased speaking, 
ith the other smoothed back 
asses of wavy brown hair that 
er his forehead, while she said 
es scarcely audible through her 
"It's nothin', nothin', alanna; 
it's a sin to mind dreams at 
id ye know that it's often when 
hroubled, we carry the throuble 
into our sleep. It was all owin' 
talk we had before ye lay down 
ureary, weary way ye were goin', 
ivin' us behind. But we won't 
e time passin' till we'll be to- 
again, and we'll all be as hap- 
he da/ \s long, 'As happy as 

VOL, XL — s^ 



a queen ;* do ye mind it, Willy, the 
song ye wur so fond of hearin' me 
sing when I was a colleen and you 
the blithest boy in the three parishes ?" 

" Do I mind it, acushia-'do I mind 
it? Ah! well as I mind the merry 
voice, and the bright eye, and the light 
step that are gone for ever. God is 
good, Mary, God is good ; but Eng- 
lish tyrants are cruel, and Irish hearts 
are their meat and dhrink." 

" God is good to us, Willie ; better 
than we deserve. He's leadin' us to 
himself by hard and bitter ways ; but 
he loves his own. He's takin* you to 
a land of plenty, where there'll be no 
hard landlords nor tithe proctors to 
make yer blood bbil and yer eyes 
flash, and me and the little ones'll 
soon follow." 

By this time two little girls had 
crept from a bed at the foot of the 
larger one ; tiny things, scarcely more 
than babies, either of them, and they 
stood looking wonderingly up into 
the faces of their father and mother. 

The elder of the two, dark-eyed 
and black-haired like her mother, 
seemed, as she nestied close to her 
parents, to take in some of the sorrow 
of the situation ; but the younger, a 
beautiful blue-eyed, fair-haired little 
creature, buried her curly head in 
the bed-clothes, and began to play 
* peep " with all her heart. 

" May be I'm foolish, Mary," said 
her husband as he watched the play- 
ful child, " and it's ashamed I ought 
to be, breakin* down when you're so 
brave ; but you'll have the little ones 
to comfort ye, and I'll be all alone." 

Then with an effort he arose, and 
busied himself in completing the ar- 
rangements of his dress, while his wife 
placed breakfast on the table. It was 
a very poor and scantily furnished 
room in which the little family sat 
down to take their last meal together, 
but it was exquisitely clean atvd t\»^ 
They had kao^wn cotdSoiX. «xA ^kos^j- 



I 



» 



k 



' 802 

lity. and e\eii in their poverty could 
be seen the traces of better days. 

When Wiiham Ley den married 
Mary Sullivan, "the prettiest and 
sweetest girl in the village," they were 
unanimously voted the handsomest 
couple that ever left the parish church 
as man and wife. All the world 
seemed bright before them ; they had 
youth, health, and strength, and sor- 
row and pain seemed things afar off 
from thera then; and they loved one 
another. Smile.cynicl ascynicsdo^ 
but love is the elixir of life, and with- 
out it any life is poor and incomplete. 

For a lime— a sweet, short, happy 
time — all went well. Then misfor- 
tunes began to gather, one. by one. 

First tlic crops failed, tlie cows died, 
and Leyden fel! ill of a fever, and lay 
helpless for many months. Little by 
little their savings dwindled into insig- 
nificance, and to crown all, the land- 
lord gave them notice to vacate their 
farm, for which he had been offered 
a higher rent. 

There was but one hope and pros- 
pect for the future. Through many a 
sorrowful day and weary night the hus- 
band and wife endeavored to combat 
the alternative, but at lost they could 
DO longer deny that the only hope 
for da)'s to come lay in a present 
parting. 

So it had come to pass that Leyden 
was starting for America, leaving his 
wife and children partly to the care 
of a well-to-do brother of the former, 
partly to the resources she might be 
able to draw from fine sewing and 
embroidery, in both of which she was 
very skilful. Our story opens on the 
mormog of his departure. 

It did not lake the sorrowful cou- 
ple many minutes to finish iheir morn- 
ing meaL .\s the hour for parting 
approached, each strove to assume a 
semblance of cheerfulness before the 
odicr, while each read iu the other's 
eyes iWe sad Aeniai. 



T&e Emigrant. 



Soon kind-hearted ncighlna^ 
ped in, one by one, lo wish d 
veller God-speed, and to take a 
Ton-fitl leave of the friend from i 
poverty and misfortune had M 
trangcd bis more prosperouK i 
bors. For it is in adversity du 
fidelity of the Irish chatads I 
fcsts itself^ and proves by what 
and enduring ties heart cfia 

It was not long before theca 
was to convey Leyden to lb 
town came rolling along the 
As he heard the sound of the « 
he turned from the firc-pbcc 1 
he had been standing, aitd i: 
to a young fellow near him to 
out the heavily -strapped box 
contained all a thoughtAil A 
straitened love could provide fe 
comfort. 

As though respectful of tfaer 
the neighbors passed from the : 
and the husband and wife 1 
alone. 

Very quickly but tcndedy 
man lifted each of the childfca 
the floor, and kissed tfacm « 
times. 

Then he lumed to where boi 
stood, dose to him, yet not Mn 
him, as though she felt that a I 
presence would destroy hcf W 
sumcd calmness. lie looked a 
for an insUint yearningly, then 
her away from him for anothvt ' 
she buried her face in her I 
then with 3 convulsive sob be 
both strong arms around her, b 
wept together. 

" God and his blessed I 
the angels guard ye, 
sjidallast; "guard ye and kcqii 
breath of evil away tiU I hold jroui 
The great sea seems wider than 
datlin', and the comfort and then 
further and further awaj. Yol 
alw,i)s dear to me. always the de 



The Emigrant 



803 



irt wid ye till now. Mauria, Mau- 
acushla machree." 

answer — no wail of anguish 

1 her woman's lips; but her wo- 
*s heart grew cold as death, her 
1 leaned more heavily upon his 
ilder, the clasp of her arms about 
leck grew tighter, then slowly re- 
ed; and placing her gently upon 
bed, with one long, lingering look 
sft the house. 

^en Mary Leyden lifted her ach- 
head from the pillow, kind, wo- 
ly hands and compassionate voices 
* near to soothe and comfort her; 
her husband was far on his lonely 
ney. 

CHAPTER II. 

wriftly the emigrant ship cut the 
waves, boldly her sails wooed 
winds, and hearts that had been 
►ondent at parting grew hopeful 
buoyant as they neared the pro- 
id land. 

ort at last; and, with a party 
lis countrymen, Williank Leyden 
jht the far West, and before many 
ths had elapsed, the letters he 
atched to the loved ones at home 
ained not only assurance of his 
1 fortune, but substantial tokens 
le fact ; and Mary wrote cheerful- 
id hopefully, ever looking forward 
[le time when they would be re- 
5d. '^ 

or two years our brave Irishman 
ygled and toiled. Sometimes his 
t would almost fail him when he 
ight of the ocean that intervened 
reen him and his dearest treasures; 
^ese sad thoughts were not fami- 
visitants, forimusual good fortune 
attended his efforts. By the end 
le second year he had cleared and 
ted several acres of rich, fruitful 
y and the first flush of autumn 
the completion of as neat and 
pact a Utile dwelling as ever wes- 



tern pioneer could claim. Then went 
" home " the last letter, glowing with 
hope and promise, and sending where- 
with to defray the expenses of wife 
and children, who were at length 
to rejoin him in the land where he 
had toiled for them so hard and so pa- 
* tiently. 

" My heart is so light," Mary wrote 
to him ; " my heart is so light that I 
can hardly feel myself walkin*; it seems 
to be flyin' I am all the time. And 
when I think of how soon I'll be near 
you, of how short the time till ye'll be 
foldin' yer arms about me, many and 
many's the time I'm cryin' for joy. 
Was there ever a happier woman ? 
And Katie and Mamie haven't forgot- 
ten a line o' your face or a tone of 
your voice ; ye'll not know them, Wil- 
ly, they've grown so tall. My tears 
are all happy ones now, alanna ; my 
prayers are all thankful ones, asthore 
machree." 

How often Leyden read and re- 
read this letter, its torn and ragged 
appearance might indicate, and as the 
intervening days sped by, each seem- 
ed longer than the last. Mary atid 
the children were to come direct fix)m 
New York with a party who also ex- 
pected to meet fiiends in the West, 
and he felt quite easy as to tl^eir safe- 
ty and companionship. But ever and 
anon, as the time drew near, he half 
reproached himself that he had not 
gone to meet them, a pleasure he had 
only foregone on accoimt of his scanty 
resources. 

At last they were in St Louis — they 
would be with him in three days. 
How wearily those da)rs dragged on. 
But the beautiful October morning 
dawned at last; a soft mist hung over 
the tree-tops, and the balmy breath 
of the Indian summer threw a subtle 
perfume over the thick forest and its 
wide stretch of meadow-land beyond. 

It was fifteen miles to the ne^esl 
town, and fafttcxi motfe \o ^^ T^^«i 



The Emigrant. 



station. The earliest dawn saw Wil- 
liam Leyden up and impatient to be 
away. In company with on^ of his 
old neighbors, he took his place in the 
rough wagon that was to figure so 
prominently in the " hauling home." 
About eight o'cloct they reached their 
first stopping-place, where Leyden's 
fiiend had some little business to 
transact that would detain him a short 
time in tlie town. 

Not caring to accompany him, too 
restless to sit still in the public room 
of the lavem, the impatient husband 
and father wandered into the spacious 
yard behind the house. A young girl 
stood washing and wringing out 
clothes near tlie kitchen door. Me- 
chanically he look in every feature of 
the place ; the long, low bench over 
which she leaned ; her happy, careless 
Eace) her bare, red arms and wrinkled 
hands ; the white fiuttcr of gannents 
fromthe loosened line; the green grass, 
where here and there others lay 
bleaching; the broken pump and dis- 
used trough; two or three calves 
munching the scattered herbage; in 
the distance a wide, illimitable stretch 
of prairie. 

How well he remembered it all 
afterward ! 

As he stood watching her, the girl 
nodded smilingly and went on with 
her work. After a while she began to 
hum softly to herself, Leyden caught 
the sound, and listened. " What tune 
is that ?" be asked eagerly. " Sing it 
loud." 

" Sliure I dunno," the girl answer- 
ed. " I heard my grandmother sing it 
many's the time in the ould countliry, 
and I do be croonin' it over to my- 
sel' sometimes here at my washin'." 

" Have you tlie words of it a', col- 
leen ?" be inquired. " I'd give a date 
to hear ibera again. 'Tis the song 
my own Mary likes best ; ajid, thanks 
be to God I HI hear her own sweet 
voice singin' it shortly. It's to meet 




vaa. vm 



her this raomin' rm ( 
the childer, all the way & 
but if yc have the « 
sing it for me, I'd Hfce to It 

" Ayeh but you're the k 
this day!" she replied, '■rmtic 
of a hand at singin', but 1 bi 
have all the words, and Vm 
ye'rc welcome to bear 1 
as I can give them." 

With a prepanUoiy < 
modest little Uosh, the g 
timid voice the fam ili a r n 
was a sad, dirge-like air, » 
many of that sad, soSering 
"whose children weep in diaif 

And yet it was not in itself ai 
ful song. Ever ami anoo d 
refrain broke fonh exuItinglj-8 
ously from the monotone of li 
ceding notes. 

Simple as were the words, the; 
a welcome in the hean of the li 
and unpretending as tbey seem \ 
they may find a like rcspooBqi 
in the heart of tlie Irish r 

" Mt lore he hu A uft blof cj« 



la abBca 
From hctn 



'Tia-u minured id Ihil £ilr % 
Hb Allien lived And ditd u 
He hotdi o dot, bii ulln 

AxA }u*t b«3iuG bfi 1«« 



The Emigrant. 



805 



1 1 kindly does he soothe me wfaea 
f tnast is £unt and low ; 
r joy is his delight and all 
f gziefi are his, I know. 
the spring-time he is coming, and I count the 

days betlween; 
r with such a royal king to rule, who would not be 

a queen?'* 

i^illiam Leyden wiped the tears 
a his eyes as the girl concluded 
song. 

Thank you, dear. God bless you," 
aid, "forsingin' me Mary's song I" 
Tie next moment he saw his friend 
ancing toward him, and in anoth- 
liey had resumed their journey. 
Tot much was said on either side 
hey rode along. At intervals our 
>*s heart gave a great throb, almost 
iful in its joy, and once in a while 
made some casual remark; but 
: was all. 

lS they neared their destination, 
f noticed an unusual stir and ex- 
ment in the vicinity ; and as they 
reached the depot, they saw knots 
nen scattered at intervals, appa- 
ly engaged in discussing some 
It that had recently transpired. 
There must have been a fight here- 
uts. Will," said his fiiend ; " but as 
ry minute will seem an hour to 
now, we'll not stop to ask ques- 
s. The train has been in half an 
r by this time. I wonder if Mary *11 
w ye with that great beard ?" 
.eyden had no time to answer him, 
it that moment a man advanced 
1 a crowd that blocked up the 
i in front of them, and, checking 
horses, said quickly, " Can't drive 
further. Way up yonder block- 
vith the wreck." 

What wreck?" exclaimed both 
I with a single voice. " Haven't 
•d about it ?" he replied. " Down- 
1, this morning, met the up-train, 
md time— collision — cars smash- 
-fifty or sixty killed — as many 
nded — terrible accident — no fault 
nrhere, of course." 
ut he checked his volubility at 



sight of the white face that confront- 
ed him, and the strong, convulsive 
grasp that seized his hand. Then in a 
softened tone he said, 

" Hope you an't expecting no one ;" 
and moved back a pace. 

There was no answer; for William 
Leyden had sprung from the wagon, 
dashing like a lunatic through the 
group of men on the roadside, and in 
an instant had cleared the hundred 
yards between him and the station. 

The crowd that stood upon the 
platform made way for him as he ad- 
vanced; for they felt instinctively that 
he had come upon a melancholy quest, 
and the man whom he had clutched 
violendy as he asked, " Where are the 
dead?" pointed to the inner room, 
where lay the mangled corpses of the 
victims. 

Alas ! in a few minutes after he had 
stepped across the threshold his eye fell 
upon the corpse of a fair-haired little 
girl, beside whom, one arm half thrown 
across the child, a woman lay, with 
a calm, holy expression on her dead 
face. Just at her crushed feet, which 
some merciful hand had covered, the 
body of another child was lying ; but 
the black, wavy hair had been singed, 
and the white forehead burned and 
scarred, and the little hands were 
quite disfigured. 

And they had left the dear old land 
for this ! They had borne poverty and 
separation, and the weariness of wait- 
ing; through lingering days of anti- 
cipation they had traversed miles 
upon miles of dangerous ocean to be 
dashed, on the threshold of a new life, 
at the portal of realization, into the 
pitiless, fathomless abyss of eternity ! 
Ah! no; rather to be gathered into 
the arms of a merciful God — to be 
folded 'close to his heart, for ever and 
ever. Truly his ways are not our 
ways, and who can understand them ? 

In a moment more the husband 
and father had sunk upon his knees 



So6 



Nicelaits Copernicus. 



beside the lifeless group; but no 
words came from his lips save " Mau- 
ria, Mauria avoumeen, acusbla mach- 
ree." Then he would pass his hands 
caressingly over the ghaslly faces, 
pressing tenderly and often the little 
childish fingers ia his own, and kiss- 
ing the scarred and disfigured fore- 
head. 

He never knew who it was that 
bore him away from the dreadful spot; 
what hands prepared his loved ones 



for the gra\'e, he never koeir, aad neve 
asked to know. He only KOiemlMi 
ed waking momentahly fnxD a W 
poT on that sad night, and scong ih 
benevolent face of the priest bcodn 
over him, and hearing sometliiiig I 
was saying about Calvary and ll 
cross, to which he rcjilied half nDoa 
sciously, but with a feeling as ikoq 
there were angels near hun, ** God 
will be done." 



NICOLAUS COPERNICUS. 



The material for the biography of 
this remarkable man is not very abun- 
dant. More than a century after his 
death, Gassendi published a life of 
Copernicus in Latin; thishfc.however, 
was compiled from printed sources 
only. A German biography, by West- 
phal, appeared at Conslance in 1811. 
In 1856, an anonymous author in Ber- 
lin wrote concerning Copernicus. Be- 
sides these wehaveessays by L. Prowe, 
Last of all, a life of Copernicus has 
appeared by Dr. Hipler; of which we 
purpose in this article lo give a com- 
pendium, 

There are nineteen folio volumes 
among the episcopal archives of 
Frauenburg, which contain the rem- 
nants of an uncommonly rich corre- 
spondence by Dantiseus, Bishop of 
Ermland, who was for a time the am- 
bassador of Sigismond of Poland at 
the court of Charles V, Rich as this 
collection still remains, it is to be re- 
gretted that the greater part of it was 
carried off to Sweden by Gustavus 
Adolphtis and his successors, to be 
there divided and scattered. 



swdHI 



A portion of the fragnaents w 
lecled and relumed in 1833, tqwC 
demand made by the Prussian xavei 
ment ; another portion was subitoiliai 
ly discovered by Prowc in tlie libai 
of the university of Upsal. Thnmg 
the mediation of the Prussian tnoiirtl 
of worship, this collection was pat 1 
the disposal of Dr. Hipler. In tMH 
collections, that of Frauenbn^ ■ 
that of Upsal, very interesting cs^ 
on Copernicus are contained. 
these Dr. Hipler has made good u> 
and thereby elucidated (be hittofjp ( 
the celebrated canon. 
Hipler's researdies, the life oCC 
nicus may be summed up as ii ~ 

Nicolaus Copernicus was I 
the 19th of February, 1473, ^ 1^ 
His father, " Niklas Copcmigk," w; 
a respectable merchant of eattiwi 
business relations. Hb motlier Bi 
bara was the daughter of Lucas Wi 
zelrode, who left besides yarfwH 
son, also named Lucas, afiava 
Bishop of Ermland and the diicf p 
tron of his nephew Copeniicas. Il 
probable, as Hipler shows, t] 



ihtfjB 



Nicolans Copernicus. 



807 



receiving primary instruction in the 
excellent schools of his native town, 
Copernicus completed his third and 
fourth years* course in the high-school 
of Kulm. In the autumn of 1491, 
we find him matriculated at the uni- 
versity of Cracow, which was then 
famous for the remarkable ability of 
Its professor of mathematics, Adalbert 
Blar, commonly known as Brudjewski. 
It was in this university that the 
foundations were laid of the subse- 
quent success of Copernicus in as- 
tronomy. He commented already 
on the writings of the great astrono- 
mers, Peurbach and Regiomonban; 
and he afterward declared that he 
was indebted for the principal jpart 
of his learning to the university 
of Cracow; a fact to be attributed, 
without doubt, to the superior instruc- 
tions of Brudjewski. 

At the expiration of four years, 
being then twenty-two, he returned to 
Prussia, where he obtained from his 
uncle, the bishop a canonry at Frauen- 
burg in 1495. A statute of the chap- 
ter required that every canon who had 
not received a degree in theology, juris- 
prudence, or medicine, should before 
taking rank enter one of the charter- 
ed universities, and there during three 
years apply himself without interrup- 
tion to one of the three afore-mention- 
ed branches. Copernicus not being 
a graduate, went to Bologna in 1497, 
and there gave his attention to law. 
His choice of this branch of learning 
was determined by the circumstance 
of his being a member of the cathe- 
dral chapter, which naturally constitut- 
ed the senate or council of the bishop, 
who in those days was also a temporal 
sovereign. We can easily conceive that 
the youthful canon would make special 
endeavors to excel in his department, 
that he might by the eminence of his 
knowledge be able to cast a veil, as it 
were, over his great youth. We know 
nothing further concerning his legal 



studies, but the skill with which as am- 
bassador of the chapter and administra- 
tor of the diocese he defended, both 
orally and by writing, the privileges of 
the seignory of Ermland against the 
aggressions of the German order clear- 
ly proves that he had passed his three 
years in the study of law with great 
success. 

At Bologna, his legal studies did 
not hinder him from perfecting his 
mathematical and astronomical ac- 
quirements. An efficient aid to him 
for this purpose was his intercourse 
with the learned Dominican, Maria 
of Ferrara. It seems that he first 
led Copernicus to doubt the truth of 
the system of Ptolemy. It is possible, 
also, that through him he became ac- 
quainted with Pythagorean and Pla- 
tonic philosophy, and its theory re- 
garding the motion of the earth. In 

1499, Copernicus was still sojourning 
at Bologna, where he experienced 
the common misfortune of students, 
financial embarrassment. The main- 
tenance of his brother Andrew, who 
had followed him to that city, occa- 
sioned him considerable expense; but 
he was finally rescued fi'om his trou- 
bles by his uncle, the bishop. In 

1500, we find him at Rome lecturing 
on mathematics before a large assem- 
bly of hearers. He returned to Frau- 
enburg with the resolution, however, 
to revisit Italy at any cost It was a 
cause of annoyance to him, as he 
himself discloses, that the motion of 
the great mechanism of the world, 
devised for our sake by the greatest 
and most orderly of artificers, had 
not been more clearly and satisfacto- 
rily explained. That he might enter 
upon this investigation with a greater 
prospect of success, he determined to 
learn Greek also ; for the acquisition 
of which, Italy alone at that period 
afforded good opportunities. He 
therefore, in 1501, applied- to the 
chapter for anotherdeave of absence 



for two years. At the same time his 
brother Andrew, who had become a 
canon, requested permission to enter 
upon the three years' course prescrib- 
ed by a statute of the chapter. 

Copernicus pledged himself, in case 
his brother's request was granted, lo 
apply. (luring his stay in Italy to the 
study of medicine also, that he might 
afterward act as physician to the cliai> 
ter. The chapter had previously num- 
bered among its members a practical 
physician, whose death had left in 
their midst a painful void. From this 
circumstance it is plain that Coperni- 
cus had not as yet received any of 
the higher orders ; nor did he subse- 
quently receive any ; for the practice 
of medicine, including, as it necessa- 
rily did, dissecting and searing, con- 
stituted an irregularity which debarred 
from holy orders. 

Moreover, Mauritius, Bishop of 
Erralnnd, wrote in 1531 that his 
chapter had but one priest among its 
members. Copernicus had probably 
received minor orders only ; nor does 
he mention himself that he ever re- 
ceived any others. 

In 1501, with the consent of the 
chapter, he went to Padua, began 
the study of medicine, made himself 
master of Greek, had frequent inter- 
course with Nicolaus Passara, and 
Nicolaus Vcmia, of the Aristotelian 
school of philo^phy, and, after gra- 
duating in medicine, returned to Frau- 
enburgin 1505. 

At the episcopal residence of Heil- 
berg he served as private physician lo 
his uncle, and took a lively interest 
in the extensive projects and under- 
takings of that prelate. One of these 
projects was the establishment of a 
liigh-school at Elhing, It tailed, how- 
ever, in consequence of the narrow 
prejudices of the people of that town, 
who were opposed to having many 
strangers in their midsL The failure 
of this enterprise i& mvLc\^ xo \k t«- 



grelted; for without a doubt ih'u it 
tution would have afforded a fmc fil 
for the intellectual activity ot I 
great ^tronomer. His life undetthcK 
circumstances continued to he sinpty 
tliat of a physician and canunisL Hb 
monumental work on the rcvoluiiaiu 
of the heavenly bodies progresMd in 
secret, according as the aiUncoi* d 
member of the chapter and Uw II ~ 
suits of Ermland left him leisu 
such occupation. 

In his case, as in the 1 
many others, niodcsly esliibits I 
as the characteristic of i 
true greatness. After the dea 
his uncle, in 1511, Copernicus n 
ed to Fraucnburg, where the n 
of the canons on the banks ( 
H;iff, affording an unobstructed t 
presented great facihlies for a 
mical observations. Here he ) 
tinued lit enjoy much popularity mS 
physician. It must, however, be aii- 
niittcd that a prescription and a 
rfgimrn saiiitittit which we have 
from him show that he jtossessed luu 
the limited science of iho»e tima 
Still he enjoyed the confidence of the 
people. His brother Andrew, 1 
was afflicted with a species of li 
sy, engaged much of his attc 

From 1513 to 1523, Fabiao 1 
tinger was Bisliop of EmilaDd. At 
his decease, Copernicus was cho«m by 
the chapter as administrator. Whea 
he had tilled this office for nearly ooc 
year, Mauritius Ferber became Inshopt 
and administered the diocese frmn 
1 513 to 1 537. This prelate, w 
was an invalid, placed great r 
on the medical skUt of the I 
canon. 

Afrcr his death, Copermcus « 
socialed with three others on t' 
of candidates for the bishopric ] 
Dantiscus, Bishop of Kufan, the d 
who has left the valuable n 
for the biography of Copenkua, ^ 
nominated. The canon UvcdoaM 



Nkolaus Copeniicus. 



809 



of the closest intimacy with this pre- 
late. 

At the very beginning of his admin- 
istration, the new bishop was attacked 
by a dangerous ilbiess ; which, however, 
the skill of Copernicus succeeded so 
effectually in relieving, that the bishop 
was enabled to undertake a long jour- 
ney as a special envoy. Copernicus 
rendered effective medical assistance 
to his friend also, and former classmate, 
Tiedemann Giese, who in 1538 had 
been appointed Bishop of Kulm. 
Tiedemann prevailed on him to dedi- 
cate his work on the revolutions of the 
heavenly bodies to Pope Paul III. ; 
and in return, at the instance of Co- 
pernicus, composed a work, entitled 
Antilogicon^ against the errors of Lu- 
ther; a circumstance which is of deci- 
sive significance as regards the reli- 
gious views of the great astronomer. 
They lived together thirty years on 
terms of the most intimate friendship. 
Duke Albrecht also summoned him 
to KSnigsberg to the sick-bed of 
one of his jurists, notwithstanding 
that KOnigsberg boasted several phy- 
sicians of eminence. 

In 1539, Joachim Rheticus, then 
twenty-six years of age, who had been 
for two years associated with Luther 
and Melancthon, came from -Witten- 
berg to Frauenburg to place himself 
under the tuition of Copernicus. In 
a work which has not been preserved, 
he described the impression made on 
him by the astronomer. There is, how- 
ever, another production from the same 
pen, Rhetid Narratio Prima^ in which 
much is said about Copernicus, and 
which is, consequently, a valuable 
source of information for his biogra- 
pher. Rheticus is full of admiration 
for his instructor. It was he who su- 
perintended the publication of the lat- 
ter's famous work, which appeared at 
Nuremberg, in 1542. Rheticus re- 
paired to that town expressly for this 
purpose. 



But the last moments of the great 
scholar were drawing near. After an 
illness of six months, fortified with the 
rites of the church, he died on the 
24th of May, 1543, yielding up his 
spirit to Him " in whom is all happi- 
ness and every good," as he expresses 
himself in the preface of his work, the 
first printed copy of which was placed 
in his hands on the day of his death. 
Such is the miniature biography 
given by Dr. Hipler of the great re- 
former of astronomy. We would glad- 
ly have learned more about his politi- 
cal career, which Hipler only notices 
in passing. It is to be hoped that he 
will some day present us with a full- 
sized portrait of his great countryman. 
Dr. Hipler has, however, succeed- 
ed in establishing, on documentary 
evidence, drawn from archives, the 
chronology of the life of Copernicus, 
which rested before on the unsustain- 
ed authority of Gassendi. He has, 
hkewise, exhibited in a clear light, 
and with that certainty which results 
only from the study of reliable sour- 
ces, the education, teachers, friends, 
and offices of Copernicus, the origi- 
nation of his system, and the attitude 
he assumed in regard to the Reforma- 
tion. 

We have seen that his attitude was 
decidedly imfriendly. Hence, it natu- 
rally occurred to his biographer to 
show how the reformers were affected 
toward Copernicus. Protestant wri- 
ters generally indulge in the strange 
fancy that all the great minds of the 
period of the Reformation belong to 
their ranks ; and it is almost a subject 
of surprise that Copernicus escaped 
an inscription on the monument rais- 
ed to Luther, at Worms. No doubt, 
however, at Luther's feet would have 
been an uncomfortable place for the 
man of whom we read in Luther's 
Table-Talk : " People gave ear to an 
upstart astrologer, who strove to show 
that the earth revolves^ not the h«ac 



Nicolaus Copernicus. 



8ii 



of Charles V. He had 
• nearly one half of the 
jcn at all the European 
Iso in Asia and Africa. 
3at admirer and patron 
d scientific accomplish- 
he corresponded with 
en and men of learning, 
1 were Wicel, Thomas 
Canterbury, Melancthon, 
1 others. In 1523, hap- 
in the neighborhood of 
I desire to see Luther, 
late, as he himself ac- 
:ook possession of him. 
nted to see him. The 
Dantiscus's account of 
: "We sat down and 

a conversation which 
)urs. I found the man 
3, and fluent; but I 
that he uttered scarce 
It sarcasm and invec- 
the pope, the emperor, 
Dther princes. Were I 
> write it all down, the 
ss before I would have 
r*s countenance resem- 
3. His eyes are sharp, 
ith the weird fire to be 
latics. His manner of 
olent, and full of irony 

He dresses so as not 
jished from a courtier. 
; a first-rate boon com- 
ar as holiness of life is 
ich some have attribut- 
differs not at all from 

Haughtiness and van- 
parent in him ; in abus- 
j, and ridiculing he ob- 
eration whatever." The 
ijtwcen Luther and Co- 
1 then follows is indeed 
e: 

be difficult to imagine 
ed contrast than exists 

two men, the dates of 
id death differ but by a 
rs. For indeed, to say 
e striking dissimilarity 



in talents, disposition, and other par- 
ticulars, what could be more unlike 
than the character and destiny of the 
great revolutions in the sphere of in- 
tellect which were originated by the 
gigantic powers of these men ? On the 
one hand, we behold reason, through 
an excessively mystic tendency, en- 
slaved to a blind faith — ^in fact, stifled ; 
and faith itself, as a consequence, de- 
prived of its foundation, lifeless and 
powerless. On the other hand, we 
behold reason in a wisely adjusted 
harmony with faith and science, tri- 
umphmg over the dead-letter of the 
Bible, the deceiving testimony of 
sense, and every other illegitimate in- 
fluence, and thereby imparting firm- 
ness to faith in the suprasensible, and 
in all real authority. 

" On the one hand, we perceive the 
joyous acclaim with which the Refor- 
mation was at first hailed, and the 
general desertion, at the present day, 
of the principle of salvation by faith 
alone, a principle destructive of all 
church organization. On the other 
hand, we behold the universal recog- 
nition, at the present time, of the sys- 
tem of Copernicus, which, at its first 
appearance, was assailed with mock- 
ery, and branded with the title of revo- 
lutionary." 

Dr. Hipler has plainly shown that 
Copernicus belongs to the Catholic 
ranks. The question now arises, Does 
he belong also to Germany ? Politi- 
cally, the bishopric of Ermland was 
in his time under Polish dominion. 
Nevertheless, to say nothing of the 
quiet, modest, and genial industry 
which Copernicus seems to have pos- 
sessed as a German inheritance, it is 
certain that not only he, but also his 
mother, wrote letters in German; and 
a Greek inscription in a book belong- 
ing to his library shows that his name 
was pronounced Kdpemik, with the 
German accent. Justiy, therefore, 
does his statue occupy a j^\zsj^ im th& 
WalhaWa ol "LmAwv^I^ 



i 



The Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



813 



dy begun to gather into the fold of Pe- 
ter the tribes beyond the Rocky Moun- 
tains. In the early half of the eigh- 
teenth century, the Jesuit Reductions 
of Lower California were only less fa- 
mous than those of Paraguay ; and to 
the zeal of the Franciscans who suc- 
ceeded the Jesuits in 1767, Upper 
California owes the introduction of 
Christianity and civilization. In 1 769, 
or a few months more than one hun- 
dred years ago, Father Junipero Lerra, 
with a company of his Franciscan 
brethren and a few Mexican setders, 
founded the mission of San Diego, 
the first settlement made by civilized 
men within what is now the State of 
California. Before that year, indeed, 
although the ports of Monterey and 
San Diego were well known to the 
Spanish navigators, no European had 
ever penetrated into the interior of 
California, and even the existence 
of the noble bay of San Francisco 
was unknown to the civilized world 
until it was discovered and named 
by the humble friars. The salvation 
of souls, the hope of making known 
to the Indians the doctrines of Ca- 
tholicity, were the motives which in- 
spired the Franciscans to undertake 
a task which had long been deemed 
impracticable by the Spanish court in 
spite of its anxiety to extend its do- 
minions to the north of Mexico. 
To raise up the despised aborigines 
to the dignity of Christian men, to 
show them the road to eternal hap- 
piness in another life, and, as a means 
to that end, to promote their well-be- 
ing in this world, such were the ob- 
jects for whose attainment the devot- 
ed missionaries separated tliemselves 
from their native land and the society 
of civilized men, to spend their lives 
among savages, who oflen reward- 
ed their devotion only by shedding 
tiieir blood The Indians of Cali- 
finnia are in every respect a much 
infisrior race to the tribes on the east 



of the Rocky Mountains. Many of 
them went wholly naked, they had 
no towns or villages, and although 
the country abounded in game, they 
were indifferent hunters, and depend- 
ed mainly for subsistence on wild 
berries, roots, and grasshoppers. In 
tribal organization they were little if 
at all superior to the Australian sava- 
ges, and of religious worship or mo- 
rality they had scarcely an idea. Many 
of the southern tribes, especially, were 
fierce and warlike, and belonged to a 
kindred race to the Apaches, who still 
set at defiance all the attempts of the 
United States government to dislodge 
them from Arizona. Such were the 
men from whom the Franciscans un- 
dertook to form a Christian commu- 
nity; and of their success in so 
doing, the history of California for 
over sixty years is an irrefragable wit- 
ness. 

In spite of occasional outbreaks of 
hostility on the part of the Indians, 
and the destruction by them of a mis- 
sion, the whole of the region between 
the coast range and the ocean, as 
far north as the Bay of San Fran- 
cisco, was studded with such estab- 
lishments before the close of the 
century. Fifteen thousand convert- 
ed Indians enjoyed under the mild 
sway of the Franciscans a degree of 
prosperity almost unparalleled in the 
history of their race. The missions, 
which were eighteen in number, dif- 
fered in size and importance^ but 
were all conducted on the same ge- 
neral plan. The church and the 
community buildings, including the 
residence of the fathers, the store- 
houses and workshops, formed the 
centre of a village of Indian huts, the 
inhabitants of which were daily sum- 
moned by the church bells to mass, 
as a prelude to their labors, and again 
in the evening called back to rest by 
the notes of the Angelus. Reli^ous 
instrueUou vj2j& ©nwl X^ ^ ^xil ^^sos^r 



8t4 



TJu Church beyond the Roeky MouHtattts. 



days and Iiolidays, and to the newly 
converted and the children also. At 
other times during the day, the men 
worked at agricuhural labor, or look- 
ed after the cattle belonging to the 
mission, and the unmarried women 
were employed at spinning, or some 
otlier lahor suited to their strength, in 
a building specially provided for the 
purpose. The fathers, two or more 
of whom resided in each Reduction, 
were the rulers, the judges, the in- 
structors, and the directors of work 
of their neophytes, who held all pro- 
perty in common. The white popu- 
lation was few in number, consisting 
mainly of small garrisons at different 
posts, intended to hold the wild In- 
dians in awe, and some families of 
settlers who were chiefly engaged 
in stock-raising. The military com- 
mandant, who resided at Monterey, 
might be regarded as the governor 
of the country; but the fathers and 
their converts were entirely exempt 
from his jurisdiction, and were inde- 
pendent of all authority subordinate to 
the Spanish crown. The mission farms 
usually sufficed for the support of their 
inhabitants, but the externa! expenses 
of the communities were defrayed by 
a subsidy from the Spanish govern- 
ment and the "pious fund" of Spain, 
an association very similar to the So- 
ciety for the Propagation of the Faith. 
Such was the condition of California 
down to the end of Uie Spanish rule ; 
and during the whole of that period, 
and for several years afterward, the 
missionscontinued to grow in numbers 
and prosperity. The payments of the 
government subsidy and the remit- 
tances from the pious fund became 
indeed very uncertain and irregular 
during the struggle of Mexico for in- 
dependence; but the industrial condi- 
tion of the missions was then such 
that they stood no longer in need of 
extcmaV aid, and vcvitei -Oivt^ ■««& 
able to conmWw \m^c\-j \o ■&(; ^w^ 



ttbclen 



port of the administmtion of tbc M 
tory. The esublishment of the IT 
can Republic made for ! 
little change in the coiKlitiaD B 
missions of California, and the a 
rendered by the fathers lo c 
were more tlian once ackna wlnlged b 
the Mexican Congress. Bu (heni 
sion property was too temptiDg a ini 
to the needy revolutionists who diipBI 
ed for supreme power in thatiil-stme 
country. In 1S33, a detree of Ca 
gress deprived the Frandscans ol 1] 
authority over the missions, and placa 
their property in the hands of Ixfld 
mintstrators. The Indians wc(u 
receive certain portions of laadjM 
some stock individually, and tbefl 
was to be applied to the use of m 
state. The results were such aa niijbl 
be expected from the history of simi- 
lar confiscation in foreign lands. Tic 
fruits of sixty years' patient toil w«e 
wasted during a few years of riotcus 
plundering, in the name of slat* i^ 
ministration ; the cattle belong 
the missions were stolen or killed 
churches and public works al1o>i 
fall into ruin; thecultivationof d 
neglected; and the unfortun: 
dians, deprived of their protector 
handed over to the tender mer 
"liberal" officials, wandered awq'lk 
thousands from their abodes, andcitha 
perished or relapsed into barbarism. 
The population of the missions in nine 
j-ears dwindled from upward of thiity 
to little over four thousand Indiant; 
and when their property was tokl_at 
auction in 1845, its 'value had i~ 
from several millions to a t 
ing. The native Sparush Cal 
who clearly saw the fatal i 
the o\'erthrow of the n 
prosperity of the country, 1 
ral attempts to restore (hem lo4 
former condition, but in 
constant revolutions oi wlitdi Main 
-Maa iKe theatre e 




Tlie Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



8iS 



IS was sealed by the politi- 
langes which shortly afterward 
the country into the hands of 
;r race and another government. 
• the American rigime they 
dwindled to less than one tenth 
r former numbers, and, with the 
ion of a certain number of the 
ts of the Franciscans, who 
idopted partially the usages of 
:d life, and become amalgamat- 
h the Spanish population, the 
race seems doomed to disappear 
lie land. 

3us, however, as was the blow 
the church received from the 
row of the Franciscan missions, 
d not abandon her hold upon 
•nia. From the date of Father 
i arrival in the country, a small 
of Spanish or Mexican im- 
lon had been flowing into it, 
iilding up its " pueblos " near, 
ogether distinct from, the mis- 
itablishments. The separation 
races was one of the points 
jly attended to by the Fran- 
, as essential to the success of 
ivilizing efforts among the In- 
and the Indian churches and 
cemeteries, which still remain 
;ral of the missions, at a short 
e from the Spanish churches 
vanish burying-grounds, show 
r this policy was carried out. 
cperience of centuries of mis- 
)rk had taught the Franciscans 
:e intercourse between a civi- 
id an uncivilized race invaria- 
.ds to the demoralization of 
nd much of their success must 
ribed to the care with which 
;pt their neophytes apart from 
ite settlements. The latter, at 
le of the secularization, con- 
a population of some five or 
isand, and, including the half- 
1 Indians who still remained 
the missions, the whole Catho- 
kifdoo ptobably amounted to 



fifteen thousand at the epoch of the 
American conquest. For the benefit 
of this population, after the overthrow 
of the missions, the holy see estab- 
lished in 1840 the diocese of Cali- 
fornia, including the peninsula of 
Lower California within its bounda- 
ries. 

Had Upper California continued a 
portion of the Mexican republic, there 
would have probably been little dif- 
ference between its ecclesiastical his- 
tory and that of Sonora or Chihuahua; 
but the American conquest, and still 
more the subsequent discovery of 
gold in the Sacramento River, en- 
tirely changed the face of affairs. 
The CToyrd of immigrants that flock- 
ed into the country was so great as 
to reduce the original population to 
comparative insignificance in a few 
months. A single year sufficed to 
quadruple the number of inhabitants, 
and two to increase it tenfold. The 
new population was indeed a sttange 
one. American it was in its domi- 
nant political elements, but fully one 
half of it was made up of natives 
of other countries than the United 
States. Frenchmen, Spaniards, Ita- 
lians, Germans, Scandinavians, Irish, 
English, Mexicans, South Americans, 
Indians, Kanakas, and Chinese all 
poured by thousands into the New 
Eldorado, which might with equal 
justice be styled the modem Babel. 
Seldom has so radical a change taken 
place in the population of a country 
in so short a time, and the church, if 
she did not wish to lose the territory 
she had conquered with so much toil, 
had to commence her mission work 
over again, and under entirely differ- 
ent circumstances fi-om those under 
which the Franciscans had begun the 
work. A very large number of the 
new-comers were Catholics; but in 
the excitement of gold-seeking, the 
hold of religion 01^ their minds had 
been seiio>a:^^ Yoc^^xv^ ^sA ^ \^^- 



1 



The Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



817 



destruction, offered almost the 
protection to persons and proper- 
at could be had in many districts. 
Is of desperadoes, such as the 
mds" in San Francisco, and 
uin's gang in the southern coun- 
openly set the law at defiance, 

in the fever of gold-seeking 

pervaded the whole commu- 
no force could be obtained to 
; it respected, 

ch was the population of Cali- 
i when Bishop Allemany com- 
:ed his episcopal career ; and the 
)ect of making religion flourish 
ach a soil was indeed such as 
t well dismay a fainter heart 
jrtheless he addressed himself to 
ask, and his toils were not unre- 
ed. Gradually but decidedly, 
noral character of California be- 
to improve, and the more glaring 
ces against public decency to 

rare. The rush of immigrants 
ened in 1852, and something 
settled society began to form 
ag the older residents. Of 
agents which helped to bring 
r out of the social chaos of 
I," none was more powerful 

the influence of the Catholic 
•ch. Most of the Protestant 
ilation had thrown off all allegi- 

to any sect, and this fact, while 
)ntributed to make them to a 
t extent regardless of the rules of 
ility, had at least the good effect 
anishing anti-Catholic prejudices 

their minds. The church and 
institutions were regarded with 
h respect by all classes in Cali- 
a, even at the time when the 
w-Nothing movement was excit- 
»uch a storm of fanaticism in the 
era States. Many Americans 
married Catholic wives, or been 
settled among the Spanish Cali- 
ans; the history of the Franciscan 
ionaries was well known to all, 
their devotedness appreciated by 

VOL. XL — s^ 



Catholics and Protestants alike. All 
these causes combined to give Catho- 
licity considerable importance in the 
public opinion, and lent • immense 
strength to her efforts in behalf ot 
morality and religion. Catholic chari- 
ties stood high in the pubUc favor; the 
public hospital of San Francisco, after 
an experience of oflicial management 
which swept away no small portion 
of the city property, was intrusted to 
the charge of the Sisters of Charity; 
Catholic schools for a long time shar- 
ed in the public school funds; and 
Catholic asylums and orphanages 
were liberally aided by the public. 
Bishop Allemany was not slow in 
taking advantage of this favorable 
state of public feeling to provide his 
diocese with Catholic institutions. 
New churches were erected all over 
the State; schools established wherever 
it was practicable ; and so great pro- 
gress made generally that, in less than 
three years after his arrival in San 
Francisco, it became necessary to 
divide his diocese. The souUiem 
counties of the State, comprising most 
of the Spanish Califomians among its 
inhabitants, were formed into the dio- 
cese of Monterey and Los Angeles in 
1853. At the same time San Francisco 
was raised to the archiepiscopal rank. 
The membership of the Protestant 
churches of all denominations in the 
State was then almost nominal, scarce- 
ly amounting to two per cent of the 
population, while the Catholics form- 
ed at least thirty per cent The pub- 
lic, as a general rule, regarded the 
Catholic Church as tA^ church, and 
this feeling to a great extent still pre- 
vails. 

For some years after the erection 
of the diocese of Monterey, there 
was little increase in the population 
of California; indeed, owing to the 
falling off in the yield of the precious 
metals, and the discover] ol tns:^ 
mines m xYie XkCv^SctootvcL^ \KroXssc\R&> 



i 



The Church teyond the Roeky Mountains. 



SiS 

there was at times a considerable de- 
crease in its numbers j neverthe- 
less, the number of Catholics con- 
^ued to increase, owing partly to 
tlie large proiiortion of Irisli among 
the later immigrants, and partly to 
llie natural growth of the Catholic 
population, which was more settled 
thau the rest of ihe community. A 
further division of the archdiocese of 
San Francisco was found necessary 
in i85i. The northern portion of 
the State, with the adjoining territo- 
ries of Nevada and Utah, was form- 
ed into the Vicariate of Marysville, 
which was subsequently raised to the 
rank of a bishopric, with its see at 
Grass Valley. 

Since that period no changes have 
been made in the episcopal divisions 
of California J but the second order 
of ihe clergy, the Catholic popula- 
tion. Catholic institutions, and Catho- 
lic churches have continued to grow 
in numbers. At present, the propor- 
tion of priests to the whole popula- 
tion is ne.irly three times greater in 
California than the average for tlie 
whole of the Union, being about one 
priest 10 every three thousand five 
hundred inhabitants; while ihrough- 
•out Uie United States the average 
does not exceed one to ten thousand. 
Nevertheless, owing to the extent of 
the country over which the popula- 
tion is scattered, and the very large 
proportion of Catholics in it, there is 
still a great want of more priests and 
churclies, and it will doubtless be 
some years before it can be adequate- 
ly supplied, 

In no State of the Union have the 
religious orders taken deeper root or 
thriven better than in Cahfomia. The 
Franciscans, the Dominicans, the Je- 
suits, the Vincentians, the Cbrisban 
Brothers, the Sisters of Charity, of 
Mcrcv, of Notre Dame, of the Pre- 




of the order ol St Dom 
establishments within ii 

The Franciscans, as « 
were the pioneers of ' 
California, and, in spite <i 
sion of the Mexican govcninui 
have never abandoned the h 
number of them cootinued to 
IQ the spiritual wants of ibe 
tion, both Spanish and India 
the control of tlie latter ha 
taken from them, aod the or 
shared in the growth of the 
since the American conquest 
of their former mission cstabtii 
are still in their hands, in the 
of Monterey, in which they hi 
two schools. 

The Vincentians h.ive the i 
tablishmcnt they ]>osseui in Ca 
in the same diocese, Mbere the 
ed a college some two and 
years ago, and hnvQ siocc COI 
it with considerable sucoea. 
Angeles City also possesses aa 
asylum and a hosjiital, ond 
management of the Sisters of 
ty, and there arc several cott> 
nuns in difTcrent parts qf.J 
cesc. 

The Jesuits were the A 
ries of California, thou^.ti 
cal suppression of i' 
the barbarous exile of i 
from the dominions ol 1 
Spain, prevcnied them 1 
ing their spiritual cooqiM 
the peninsula of Lower 1 
It was not until a&ja the j 
conquest that they were petn 
enter Upper California^ bat. 
as that event openci thecoi 
them, their entry was not U 
laycd. la 1851, several btl 
the society, who had bcm pr 
engaged in tlie Indian miss 
Oregon, arri\-cd in Califoni 
were put in possesaoD of 
Franciscan Misttoa ac i 



• Sm^ 



Tlu Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



819 



about fifly miles south of San Fran- 
cisco. There they founded a college, 
which at present ranks perhaps first 
among the institutions of learning on 
the Pacific coast, and is one of the larg- 
est houses of the order on the Ame- 
rican continent The crusade against 
the monastic orders, which had been 
inaugurated in Italy shortly before, 
proved highly profitable to California, 
as a large number of Italian Jesuits 
were thus obtained for Santa Clara. 
A second college was subsequently 
opened in San Francisco, which has 
attained an equal degree of prosperity 
with the older academy, and, in ad- 
dition, the parishes of Santa Clara 
and San Jos6 are administered by the 
priests of the order. Altogether, the 
Jesuits number about thirty priests, 
and as many, or rather more, lay 
toothers in California. In the inter- 
nal administration of the order, Cali- 
fornia is dependent on the provin- 
cial of Turin in Italy, whence most 
of its missionaries came, and has 
no connection with the provinces es- 
tablished in the Eastern States. It 
possesses a novitiate of its own at 
Santa Clara, and only requires a house 
of studies to have all the organiza- 
tion of a province complete in itself. 
The Dominicans are also established 
in the archdiocese of San Francisco, 
where they have a convent at Benicia 
on the Sacramento River, besides fur- 
nishing pastors to severaJ other par- 
ishes. The archbishop himself is a 
member of the order, which well 
maintains in California its reputation 
for learning and strictness of discipline. 
Several of the Californian Domini- 
cans, including the archbishop, are 
natives of Spain, but the majority are 
Irish or Irish-Americans. The Do- 
minican nuns also have a convent 
and academy at Benicia, which ranks 
deservedly high among the education- 
al institutions of the State ; and a free 
school in San Francisco, which affords 



instruction to several hundred chil- 
dren. 

The Christian Brothers are, in point 
of time, the newest of the religious 
orders in California, having only come 
to the State some two years ago, at 
the invitation of Archbishop AUema- 
ny. Their system of education is 
eminently adapted to the require- 
ments of her people, as is shown by 
the rapid success of their first college, 
which already numbers more than 
two hundred and twenty resident stu- 
dents. The marked success which 
has so far attended the efforts of the 
brothers gives every reason to believe 
that they (and it may be added, they 
alone) can solve the great problem 
of Catholic education in California, 
which is, how to provide Catholic 
common schools for the children of 
the working-classes. Those classes 
there, as everywhere else throughout 
the Union, form the bulk of the Ca- 
tholic population, and desire to pro- 
cure for their little ones the advan- 
tage of schooling. If possible, they 
wish to obtain it fromCatholic sources ; 
but if this cannot be, they will, there 
is ground to fear, avail themselves of 
the educational facilities offered by 
the State schools, even at the risk of 
their children's faith. As the number 
of these children must be reckoned 
by tens of thousands, the task of pro- 
viding them with suitable education 
is no easy one; but the object and 
spirit of the order instituted by the 
venerable De La Salle, and the suc- 
cess which has attended its system 
of parochial schools in Missouri and 
other States, give good grounds to 
hope that it will prove equal to the 
work that lies before it in Califor- 
nia, where the circumstances of the 
country are peculiarly favorable to 
the growth of Catholic institutions. 
Nowhere else has anti-Catholic bigo- 
try less power in the government, 
or is public opvcvKoii laox^ SaNW^^^^ 



The Chunk beyot 



820 

to the cliurch ; and though the 
infidel common-scliool system finds 
strong support in a numerous class, 
yet we believe tlial in no part 
of the Union can the battle for reli- 
gious education be fought out under 
more favorable auspices. Tlie ur- 
gent need that exists for Catholic 
schools at present, may be judged of 
from the fact that while the different 
colleges and board ingschools under 
the management of the Jesuits, Fran- 
ciscans, Christian Brothers, and Vm- 
centians, provide education for about 
a thousand boys, the Catholic com- 
mon schools throughout the State 
contain a number scarcely greater, or 
less than a tenth of tlieir due propor- 
tion. Female education is better pro- 
vided for in this respecL The Pre- 
sentation and Dominican Sisters, and 
the Sislcre of Charity and Mercy, 
have about four thousand pupils in 
tiieir free schools in San Francisco,and 
there are also several similar establish- 
ments in different parts of the Stale ; 
but even these are inadequate to the 
wants of the Catholic population, 
and in California, as in the Eastern 
Slates, the problem of how to provide 
schooling for the children of the [joor 
is the most serious and difficult one 
that the church has to solve. 

California, in proportion to its 
population, is rich in institutions for 
the relief of suffering and distress. 
The male and female oqihan asyloras 
in the dioceses of San Francisco, 
Grass Valley, and Monterey main- 
tain about six hundre.l of these be- 
reaved little ones. The Sisters of 
Mercy and Charity have each a 
general hospital under their charge 
in San Francisco, where the latter 
have also a foundling hospital. They 
have also a hospital in Los Angeles, 
and the Sisters of Mercy have a 
Magdalen asylum in San Francisco. 
Altogether, the number of religious, 
of both sexes, engaged in works of 




instruction or charity i 

approaches three hundred, t 

a population of little over half sn 

lion. 

Reference has already been ma 
to the variety of races that iaan 
peculiar a feature tn the Cxliloaii 
population. It may not be anutt 
devote a few words to each scpua 
ly, especially with regard loihdti 
lations with the church. 

As the original settlers of ihe en 
try, the Spanish element deserves lo 
mentioned first, although no Ion) 
occupying the chief place in poliri> 
or numerical importance. TheS( 
nish Califomians are mostly desrcc 
ed from a few families, chiefly Eui 
peans, who settled in the country 
the palmy days of the missions, >i 
whose posterity have increased in t 
course of a century to a popnlas 
of several thousand. The prevalei 
of a few family names among tkl 
is quite as remarkable as in coti 
districts of Ireland and Scoiln 
u'here a single sept name is borae 1 
almost all the inhabitants of a plri 
or barony i and nearly all tlie bh 
wealthy families are connected wi 
one another by the ties of blood 
marriage. As a general nile, tb 
have less intermixture of Indian Mti 
than the southern Mexicans, dM 
such of the mission Indians ijifl 
survived the overthrow of thebsQ 
lectors regard themselves as 9f 
niords, and are so styled by ifac n 
of the population. Some of tbew I 
dians occupy respectable po«t>OM 
society, and one at least, Scnor I 
mingue^ was a membt:r of the a 
vcntion which drew up the State ct 
stiluiion of California. 'ITie Span 
Califomians are generally hospiia 
and generous, and, though impote 
acquainted with the rcfinemet "* 
viliwiion, they display much Ol 
Sjianish politeness in ibcir i 
with eadi other and with 1 



mentMri 
iho^l 

1 



The Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



821 



They retain the Spanish taste for music 
and dancing, and, we are sorry to say, 
for bull-fights and games of chance ; 
in Los Angeles and the other south- 
em counties, all the scenes of the 
life of Leon or Castile may still be 
witnessed. Catde-raising forms their 
chief occupation, and in the ma- 
nagement of stock they display a 
good deal of skill and energy; but 
their inexperience in the ways of mo- 
dem life, and their ignorance of Ame- 
rican law, have gradually deprived 
them of the ownership of most of 
the lands they held at the discovery 
of the gold " placers." Many of them 
lold their property at ridiculously low 
prices, others were deprived of them 
by the operation of the land tax, 
which was entirely new to their ideas ; 
while the distaste for settled industry 
and the improvident habits engender- 
ed by their former mode of life unfit- 
ted them for competing in other pur- 
suits with the enterprise of the new- 
comers. The generation which has 
grown up since the American con- 
quest, however, displays a much great- 
er spirit of enterprise than its fathers 
have shown, and promises to play a 
more important part in the country. 
Politically and socially, the Spanish 
Califomians enjoy a good deal of con- 
flderation ; some of them usually oc- 
cupy seats in the State Legislature, 
and on the judicial bench ; the 
Spanish language is used as well 
as the English in legal documents, 
and the acts of the Legislature ; and 
one of the higher State offices is gene- 
rally filled by a Spaniard. 

There is also a considerable Spanish- 
American population, chiefly Mexi- 
cans and Chilenos, in the Pacific 
States. Most of them are engaged 
in mining or stock-raising; but a 
considerable number are engaged in 
business, in which several of them 
occupy prominent positions. The 
CMenos axe generally possessed of 



at least the rudiments of schooling, 
and are tolerably well organized for 
mutual aid ; but the Mexicans, owing 
to the political condition of their 
country, are much behind them in 
both these respects. Altogether, the 
population of California of Spanish 
origin must number from forty to fif- 
ty thousand. 

Closely connected with the Spa- 
nish population are the Portuguese, 
who, of late years, have begun to im- 
migrate to California in considerable 
numbers, and now number several 
thousands there. The majority of 
them are engaged in farming or gar- - 
dening. They are, as a class, sober, 
industrious, and peaceable. They are 
settled principally in the counties 
around the Bay of San Francisco, 
and very few of them are to be found 
in the city itself. 

The American population, as it is 
customary in California to style the 
natives of the other States of the 
Union, has been drawn in not very un- 
equal proportions from the North and 
South, and its character partakes of 
the peculiarities of both sections, with 
a general spirit of recklessness and 
profusion that is peculiarly its own. 
The public opinion of Califomia is 
much more liberal and tolerant than 
that of the Eastern States, and it is 
rarely indeed that Catholics have to 
complain of any open display of of- 
fensive bigotry on the part of any in- 
fluential portion of their fellow-citi- 
zens. On one occasion, about a year 
ago, a leading evening paper of San 
Francisco attempted to raise an anti- 
Catholic cry during the excitement of 
a political campaign ; but the attempt 
met with such reprobation from all 
parties, that the proprietors found it 
expedient to apologize for it in the 
course of a day or two as best they 
could. The great foe of the church 
in Califomia is not Protestantism, but 
unbelief; and although the latter is in 



L 



The Chunk heypnd the Rocky M&unlains. 



United Stales senator, one of irti 
still represents the SUlc in Wl 
ingtoD. ^Ve are not able to | 
tlie precipe amuunt uf the Imh 
puktion in California; but, iad 
ing the children of Irish pairati 
cannot be le^ than a fourth of 
whole. It is needless lo state 
the immense majorirf of the InA 
Calilbmia. are Catholics, sod ihitl 
zeal for every thing penaining U 
ligion rorrns a marked contnsC||; 
indiflerence of thdr non-Cai 
low-ciiizcns. 

The Germans come next ^ 
Irish in importance, probably ai 
ing to two lliirds of their 1 
They are more blended with ll 
of the population than in the f 
States, and there is only one <Btt 
lively Gsrman settlement in Ciii 
nia, namely, the town of Anaheiin 
the southern coast. About one tot 
of them are Catholics, but ihejr o 
possess one Gcrmaji church in 
state, forming, in this respect, awn 
contrast to their countrymen in 
Mississippi Valley and on tlie Atlai 
seaboard. Of tltc non-CathoUcC 
mans, the Jews form s 
and very wealthy portion, 
serve tlieir distinctive natioi 
much more tenaciously tbaa ( 
of their countrymen. The ^nagq 
Emmanuel in San Francisco tsilitll 
costly and elegant place of won 
on tlic PaciBc coast, while the C 
man Protestants have scarcely acfai 
in California, and indeed, few of ft 
can be regarded as Christians in i 
sense. 

The French population of CaJi 
nia is very considerable, amtnu 
to probably from ten lo fifteen it 
sand, though, as corn para lively 
of its raembets become tutorahMi 
is not so easy to estimate its rnnat 
In itself it is more completely oq 
ized than any other chiss of the p( 
lation, having its own I * " 



833 

its nature as full of bitterness against 
her as the former, yet its champions 
find it necessary to assume liberality, 
even if they do not feel it, in obedi- 
ence to public sentiment. Some of 
the Protestant sects are indeed out- 
spoken in their bigotry, but their po- 
wer is very trifling, as the entire Pro- 
testant church membership does not 
amount to five per cent of tlie popu- 
lation, and not one sixth of the whole 
people comes under the influence of 
any Protestant denomination what- 
soever. The number of converts in 
California and Oregon is considerable, 
including several individuals of high 
political and literary eminence, and 
there are also many American Ca- 
tholics, chiefly from Kentucky, Mary- 
land, and Missouri, scattered through 
the Slate. 

The Irish are the most numerous 
of the European nationalities' repre- 
sented in the Californian population, 
and enjoy a much greater degree of 
prosperity than their countrymen in 
anyotherState ofihe Union. .Amuch 
larger proportion of their numbers are 
engaged in farming than is the case 
in the Eastern States, and the advan- 
tages arising from such an employment 
of their labor are evident to the dull- 
est eye. Much of the cultivated land 
of die State is in their possession, and 
some of them are among its largest 
land- owners. The city populaiioii 
also enjoys a greater degree of com- 
fort than the same class in New York 
or Boston. Three of tiie savings- 
banks of San Francisco, representing 
nearly half the capital of the entire 
number of such institutions in that 
city, are under Irish control, and 
Irishmen are also among the most 
successful merchants, bankers, and 
manufacturers of California. The late 
mayor of San Francisco, and an ex- 
governorof the State arc Irishmen and 
Catholics, and three Irish-Americans 
n have filled the office of 



JathoUc C 
conwttd 
Ml. aoQ 
iional>fl 
ibaa ttn 



The Church beyond tlie Rocky Mountains. 



823 



cietieSy hospitals, military companies, 
savings-banks, press, and other insti- 
tutions, all distinctively French in their 
management. The Italians, who are 
nearly as numerous as the French, 
resemble them in the number of their 
national organizations; but they are 
not as well managed as those of 
the former. The Italians are engaged 
chiefly in trade, fishing, and garden- 
ing, in which pursuits they are indus- 
trious and usually prosperous. The 
French are engaged in almost every 
avocation. The Italians have a na- 
tional church in San Francisco, and 
the French have a special pastor at- 
tached to one of the parochial churches 
of the city for their benefit. 

The Sclavonians from Austria are 
also a numerous body ; they usually 
are classed with the Italians, though 
possessing several associations of their 
own nationality. Nearly one half of 
them are schismatics ; and the Russian 
government has lately established a 
schismatic church in San Francisco for 
their use and that of the few Russians 
residing there. It is even io contem- 
plation to make that city the residence 
of the Bishop of Sitka, who has recent- 
ly been transferred along with his flock 
to the allegiance of the United States, 
but who, nevertheless, still receives his 
orders from the Russian S3mod. It is 
a curious example of the way reli- 
gious affairs are managed among the 
subjects of the czar, that the president 
of the Sclavonian Church Society is a 
German Lutheran, who fills the office 
of Russian consul, and on that account 
alone is considered sufficiently quali- 
fied to direct the spiritual concerns of 
his fellow-subjects. 

The Chinese form a very large, and, 
in many respects, the strangest ele- 
ment in the population of the Pacific 
coast. They are spread through all 
its States and territories, and, accord- 
ing to the most reliable accounts, 
number at least a hundred thou- 



sand. Few of them have families, 
or ever intend to settle permanent- 
ly in the country, but after a few 
years* toil as servants or laborers they 
almost invariably return to China. 
The immense majority of them are 
pagans or atheists, and they have se- 
veral temples or joss-houses in diffe- 
rent cities of California. A few Ca- 
tholics, however, are to be found 
among them, and a small chapel has 
lately been opened in San Francisco 
for their special use. The morals of 
the pagan Chmese are of the most 
licentious kind, and slavery in its worst 
form exists among them in spite of the 
laws, their ignorance of the language 
acting as an effectual bar to their 
availing themselves of its safeguards 
to personal fireedom. As in all other 
Chinese settlements, so in California, 
they have practically a government 
of their own, under the name of com- 
panies, the chief men of which exer- 
cise almost absolute authority over 
their countrymen, extending, it is be- 
lieved, occasionally to the infliction 
of capital punishment The white la- 
boring classes are bitterly opposed to 
the Chinese, on account of the low 
rate of wages for which they work, 
and the belief that they are slaves of 
the companies ; but nevertheless their 
numbers are steadily on the increase, 
and it is not impossible but they may 
eventually become the majority of the 
population of the entire Pacific slope. 

The greater part of the precedmg 
remarks are applicable mainly to Cali- 
fornia and the adjoining mining terri- 
tories of Nevada, Montana, Idaho, 
and Arizona, which have been chiefly 
setded from it, and whose inhabitants 
partake of the character of its people. 
The State of Oregon and the adjoiniog 
territory of Washington number a po- 
pulation of nearly two hundred thou- 
sand, of an entirely different character 
firom that of California, 

While Catholic missionaries were the 



824 



The Church beyond the Rocky Mountains. 



first settlers in California, the coloniza- 
tion of Oregon was mainly effected 
under the direction of Methodist mi- 
msters and the auspices of the Metho- 
dist Church. Catholic priests, it is 
true, had preceded Methodism on its 
soil, and the present Archbishop of 
Portland and the Vicar-Apostolic of 
Vancouver had visited its Indian 
tribes in 1838; but the Methodist 
colonies, which arrived in the country 
a few years later, were deeply imbued 
with hatred to Catholicity, and a good 
deal of their intolerant spirit still re- 
mains among the people. The Je- 
suits have been, indeed, very suc- 
cessful in converting and civilizing 
the Indians; but the white popula- 
tion, with the exception of a few Ca- 
nadian colonies and a not very large 
number of Catholics in the city of 
Portland and the mining districts of 
southern Oregon, is mainly under 
Methodist influence. Indeed, so high 
did anti-Catholic prejudice run among 
the first setders of Oregon, that a Me- 
thodist conference seriously proposed 
to Mr. Lane, the first governor of the 
territory, to expel all Catholics from 
his jurisdiction by force, a proposition 
which it is scarcely needful to say he 
indignantly rejected. Of late years, 
however, the number of Catholics is 



on the increase, and with the gm 
facilities for settlement offered by 
lines of railroads now in couise 
construction, their numbers will 
doubt grow still faster in the futi 
Pordand in Oregon is an archiepis 
pal see, and Washington temtor] 
a separate diocese, so that Cath< 
immigrants need not fear the want 
religious aids in spite of the limi 
number of their fellow-worshippen 
these northern districts of the Pac 
coast. 

Such, in brief, is the past hist 
and the present state of the chu 
beyond the Rocky Mountains ; am 
Catholic can hardly fail to find 
them the brightest hopes for its fiitii 
Obstacles will have to be encounter< 
no doubt ; fights be fought and sa< 
fices made ; but the successes whi 
Catholicity has already achieved, a 
the vantage-ground she now occup 
in California, leave little reason 
doubt of her final triumph. The s( 
fertilized by the sweat and blood 
the Franciscan missionaries, cane 
prove a barren one ; and no part < 
the Union gives promise of a rich 
harvest than that California which 
few years ago was regarded throug 
out the world as the chosen abode < 
lawlessness and crime. 



Our Lady 5 Nativity. 825 



OUR LADY'S NATIVITY. 



Star of the morning, how still was thy shining, 
When its young splendor arose on the sea 1 

Only the angels, the secret divining, 
Hailed the long-promised, the chosen, in thee. 



Sad were the fallen, and vainly dissembled 
Fears of " the woman " in Eden foretold ; 

Darkly they guessed, as believing they trembled, 
Who was the gem for the casket of gold.* 



Oft as thy parents bent musingly o'er thee, 
Watching thy slumbers and blessing their God, 

Little they dreamt of the glory before thee. 
Little they thought thee the mystical Rod. 



Though the deep heart of the nations forsaken 

Beat with a sense of deliverance nigh ; 
True to a hope through the ages unshaken. 

Looked for " the day-spring" to break " from on high;" 



Thee they perceived not, the pledge of redemption — 
Hidden like thought, though no longer afar; 

Not though the light of a peerless exemption 
Beamed in thy rising, immaculate star 1 



All in the twilight, so modestly shining. 

Dawned thy young beauty, sweet star of the sea ! 

Only the angels, the secret divining, 
Hailed the elected, " the Virgin," t in thee. 

B. D. XL 

■• " Thoa art the casket where the jewel lay."— Gr^fjir Htrhtri, 

t ^ Jlop^^i/of . JLXX. Tkt Viigiii, not « Viigin ; which it also more m accordance with the Hebrew 
dtha Latixk 




The moral infiuence which Plu- 
tarch exerts over posterity is of a very 
peculiar kinJ. He has not, like Aris- 
totle, laid down the law to an entire 
world for nearly two thousand years. 
He has not been deemed so perfect a 
master of style as Virgil or Cicero, who 
were the models, first of the Bencdic- 
tmes, and then of the prose writers 
and poets of the humanitarian school. 
His reputation pales by the side of tlie 
brilliant fame which the resurrected 
Plato enjoyed during the fifteenth 
century; and yet he has done wliat 
all these immoriab, whose authority 
far suqiasses in extent and duration 
that of his biographies, have failed to 
do. Among the revived ancient au- 
thors none has surpassed Plutarch in 
inspiring the modems with tlie same 
keen appreciatioaof the classic charac- 
teristics, with the same love and enthu- 
siasm for whatever is really or sup- 
posedly great in antiquity ; and none 
has therefore contributed so much to 
the revelation of what we understand 
by the purely human in man's nature. 

From the days of Macchiavelli and 
Charies V, down to the present, we 
rarely fail to meet with the name of 
Plutarch among diose writers who 
have made an abiding impression on 
the youthful minds of prominent states- 
men and warriors. In turning over 
the leaves of the biographies of our 
modem great, we are constantly re- 
minded of the words which Schiller 
puis into the mouth of Carl Moor ; 
" When 1 read of the great men in 
my Plutarch, I loath our ink-staining 
age." This sentiment has found an 
echo in every civilized land, and es- 
pecially in France. 

The first French translation of Plu- 
tarch's Parallels was welcomed by 



Montaigne with i 
liveliest joy. " We would b 
swallowed up in ignorance," 
he, {essay ii. 4,) "if this book'' 
not extricated us firom the slod 
thanks to Plutarch, we now dan 
speak and write." Rabelais le&e 
bis soul with the Moralia, "Tl 
is," writes the translator Amyol 
King Charles IX., " no better • 
next to holy wriL" The " pcrenr 
ly young " Plutarch is the " brevia 
the "conscience" of the century, 
he remains until the beginning of 
most modem time — as Madame 
land calls him — •' the pasture of gi 
souls," and the " feUow -companion 
warriors." Cond^ had him read 
aloud in bis tent, and in the histcr 
part of the books for a catnp litu 
which Napoleon BonapAtie orde 
from the citoyen J. B. Soy, " hn* 
de Ultras" March, 1798. Plua 
stands first, and Tacitus, Thug^ 
and Frederick II. lasL 3 

The home of Plutarch's adndfl 
as wc have already obscrvett, dl 
Like all Latin races, tlie Freocn 
light to revel in pictures of loQ 
greatness ; their historical imagiiiri 
is governed by fantastic idcab otj 
quity, especially of ancient RoHB 
the fountain from which thCTM 
mediately and immediatdy, Mq| 
spiration, is Plutarch's Lives, ul 
the exaggerated estimate of Plutm 
historical merits, against which I 
dcrn criticism begins to protest * 
much vigor, is greatest in that a 
try. Indeed, the principle upon xrt 
Plutarch has selected his bisict 
authorities, and the loanncr in tri 
he has used them, are dcddedljr a 
to objection. Tlicy are not «' 
according to their scientific t) 



not 4c 

\ 



Plutarch. 



827 



value, but according to their wealth 
of picturesque detail and psychologi- 
cally remarkable characteristics. He 
follows a leading author, whose name 
he usually omits to state, and whose 
testimony he only compares with that 
of other writers when there is a con- 
flict of authorities. The text is never 
cited. He reproduces the sense, but 
with that latitude which is natural to 
an imaginative mind endowed in an 
unusual degree with the giH: of realiz- 
ing the past In the choice of his 
subject matter he follows the instincts 
of a historical portrait-painter. To 
describe campaigns, to analyze great 
political changes, is not his province. 
His acquaintance with the political 
and military systems of the ancient 
Greeks and Romans is very superficia], 
and he seems to care little for a more 
intimate knowledge of them. His 
main purpose is not the study of his- 
tory, but that of the personal career 
of interesting individuals. " It is not 
histories we write," Plutarch tells us 
himself in his introduction to the life 
of Alexander the Great ; " but life- 
pictures ;" and for these, he maintains, 
some small trait, some apt expression, 
be it only a witticism, is often more 
available than the greatest military 
deeds, the most bloody victories, or 
the most splendid conquests. 

In making this distinction, which 
Plutarch repeatedly acknowledges to 
Ibe a rule with him, he forgets that he 
violates the natural connection, inas- 
much as all historical personages are 
part and parcel of the time they live 
in ; he forgets also that, thus treated, 
historical characters degenerate into 
ordinary mortals. But Plutarch does 
not aspire to the dignity of a historian; 
he simply claims to "paint souls;" and 
those readers who ignore this distinc- 
tion have never comprehended him. 

Some of the works which Plutarch 
still able to consult are lost, and 
depend, therefore, upon him for 



light on certain important periods of 
history. This has led many to regard 
him as a historical authority, to consi- 
der his biographical narratives as the 
main object of his writings, and to 
skip the moralizing comparisons of 
the parallel biographies which show 
that these portraits are to him nothing 
more than a means of illustrating his 
peculiar ethics by examples. This 
point is of great importance; for it 
proves the only view from which the 
literary character of Plutarch can be 
justly estimated. 

Not only his narratives, but the 
judgments which he bases upon them, 
and the views of the world from which 
they spring, have left their mark on 
posterity, and this to an extent sur- 
prismg even to the initiated. And 
here it behooves us to exercise still 
greater caution, a still greater distrust, 
than we entertain for his statements 
of fact Plutarch stands as far remov- 
ed from the times of the heroes upon 
whom he passes judgment, as we are 
from the characters of the Crusades. 
The full effects of this remoteness can 
only be estimated by those who have 
made Plutarch's age and the moral 
condition reflected in his non-histori- 
cal writings their special study. " Plu- 
tarch's biographies," remarks a French 
scholar of this class, " are an explana- 
tory appendix to his Moralia; both 
equally reflected a Greek provincial- 
ist*s views of the world under the em- 
pire ; the views of one who sought to 
console himself for the degradation 
and emptiness of the present by a ro- 
mandc idealization of the real and 
imaginary grandeur of a former age." 
Plutarch is an out-and-out romancist, 
and to this must be mainly ascribed 
the influence he wields over a certain 
order of minds. The historical errors 
which we are so slowly correcting are 
due to this discovery. To show how 
Kttle Plutarch was fit to play the part 
of interpreter to a period which had 



Plutarch. 



829 



the wealthy widow, could have es- 
poused an obscure man ? These were 
the principal topics which the Chae- 
roneans of Plutarch's day discussed 
when they went to sleep at night, and 
resumed again on waking in the morn- 
ing. And yet how dearly Plutarch 
loved this small, petty fatherland 1 
How happy he appears to be that it 
should enjoy the golden peace which 
at last feu upon the world after the 
empire had put an end to the terrible 
dvU wars 1 Under the iron rule of 
Rome all provinces once more breath- 
ed freely. Whatever imperialism meant 
at the capital, in the provinces it was 
still popular; and even under Domi- 
tian, as Suetonius assures us, the mo- 
deration and justice of the Caesars was 
the theme of general praise. In con- 
temporary Hellas, in the province of 
Achaia, the people appreciated these 
blessings, though they felt most pain- 
fully the loss of their former power 
and renown. Even the monuments of 
their ancient glory, which attracted 
annually crowds of strangers, became 
so many tombstones full of bitter me- 
mories, and the explanations of the 
garrulous guides must have sounded 
like reproaches in the ears of the de- 
generate race. 

The policy which imperial Rome 
pursued toward the land from which 
she had received in the palmy days 
of her transition to a more refined 
culture the most admired models in 
science and art, and from which she 
obtained in the following centuries 
the best instructors, the most learn- 
ed writers, and the most desirable 
nurses, was a strange compound of 
severe brutality and flattering caresses. 
When the great Germanicus, accom- 
panied by a single lictor, reverential- 
ly entered the sacred precincts of 
Athens, and graciously listened to the 
vaunts of the rhetoricians on the 
splendor and glory of Greece, and 
when immediately afterward the bru- 



tal Piso descended on the city like a 
thunderbolt to remind the frightened 
provincials in a bullying manner that 
they were no longer Athenians, but 
the sweepings of nations, (conluvies 
nationum^ Tac. Annal. iiL 54,) then 
this people learnt by abrupt changes 
how they stood in the regard of the 
Romans. 

When the Greeks became the sub- 
jects of Rome, they were but too 
speedily taught what she meant by 
the "liberation of the oppressed." 
All the accustomed safeguards of the 
law were suspended at one sweep. 
No marriage contract, no negotiation, 
no purchase, no sale, between city 
and city, village and village, was bind- 
ing unless ratified by special act of 
grace from Rome. All sources of 
prosperity, all public and private rights, 
passed into Roman hands. Nothing 
remained to the Greeks save the me- 
mory of their former prestige, and 
the old rivalry between the tribes and 
cities, which invariably burst out 
afresh whenever the emperor or one 
of his lieutenants favored one more 
than the other. So humiliating and 
painful were the results of this state 
of things, that even such a zealous 
local patriot as Plutarch advises the 
people, in his pocket oracle for em- 
bryo statesmen, to forget the unfortu- 
nate words Marathon, Platasa, and 
Eurymedon. And yet the same Plu- 
tarch is so thoroughly Boeotian, that 
he cannot prevail on himself to for- 
give the " father of history " the ma- 
licious candor with which he relates 
the bad conduct of the Thebans in 
the Persian war. 

Choeronea, the home of Plutarch, 
ranked among the most favored cities 
of the empire, being a municipium, or 
free city, under the protectorate of 
Rome, but governed in accordance 
with its ancient laws by officers elect- 
ed by the people. Plutarch gives us 
a very interesting picture of the local 



830 



Plutarch. 



T 



i 

k 



1 

\ 



administration. His political precepts, 
and his treatise on the part which it 
behooves an old man to play in the 
state, thoroughly enlighten us on all 
these points. The municipal officers, 
though merely honorary and unsala- 
ried, were as much an object of con- 
tention as in former days when they 
were lucrative. The candidates were 
often obliged to make extraordinary 
exertions for popular support; they 
erected public edifices; endowed 
schools and temples; built libraries, 
aqueducts, baths; distributed bread, 
money, and cakes ; got up games and 
feasts, and many wealthy men were 
thus ruined by their ambition. The 
benefits secured by public office were 
exemption from local taxation, pre- 
cedence at the theatres and games, 
the erection of busts, statues, inscrip- 
tions, and pictures ; and, after the ex- 
piration of office, perhaps promotion 
in the imperial service. 

In addition to tlie expenses inci- 
dent to such a canvass, the candidates, 
if not of low extraction and mean 
spirit, had to give up many prejudices 
which must have greatly hurt the 
pride of every true Greek. Plutarch 
fully explains in his political precepts 
what a patriot might expect in those 
days on entering tlie public service. 

"Whatever position," he tells his younjj 
countrymen, "you may attain, never forget 
that the lime is past when a statesman can 
say to himself with Pericles on putting on 
the chlamys, Remember that thou presi- 
dest over a free people, over Hellenes, or 
Athenians. Rallier remember that thouj^h 
thou hast subjects, thou thyself art a sul>- 
jcct. Thou rulest over a conquered people, 
under imperial lieutenants. Thou must 
therefore wear lliy chlamys mo<lestly ; thou 
must keep an eye on the judgment seat of 
the pro-consul, and never lose sight of the 
sandals above thy crown. Thou must act 
like the ])laycr, who assumes the attitudes 
prescrilHKl in his part, and, turning his ear 
toward the prompter, makes no mien, mo- 
tion, or sound but such as he is ordered." 

Even the officials of this free city 



were therefore only puppets, wl 
functions presented no temptatia 
the ambitious. All that was lef 
the local government were the inf< 
market and street police, the car 
the local security and order, ai 
partial participation in the appor 
ment of the imperial taxes. But \ 
there was nothing to stimulate 
ambition of the Chaeroneans, the 
tern had a tendency to promote 
cophancy. The subordinate offi 
entirely ceased to think and act i 
pendently, and applied to the ei 
ror in person for directions on 
veriest trifles, especially when the 
ler seemed inclined to encourage 
spirit of subserviency. Such an 
peror was Trajan, admired by I 
for his untiring activity, which 
him to meddle with every thing, 
took up his pen to defend the 
change of two soldiers, to decree 
removal of a dead man's ashes, 
to assign an athlete's reward. V 
his lieutenant, ruled Bithynia like 
automaton. In Prusa, Nicoilc 
Nicea, not a man, not a sest* 
not a stone, was sufferetl to ch: 
its place without the imperial s 
tion. The selection of a surv 
was made a question of state, 
emperor seems finally to have k 
the work too much for him; fo 
writes on one occasion to his lit 
nant ; " Thou art on the spot, i 
know the situation, and shouKLi 
termine accordingly." In the 
respondence of these two men 
be traced the corruption which 
dually seized and overwhelmed n 
and ruled in the Roman enipir 
the inclined plane of a rapidly spi 
ing super-civilization. 

It is greatly to the honor of 
tarch that he condemns this niisi 
vous tendency. He does not 
fault with it for the political rea 
which would lead us to oppose : 
ralyzing centralization, but for 



Plutarch, 



831 



of the manly dignity, the moral 
aspect, which should never be 
tten. " Let it suffice," exclaims 
* that our limbs are fettered ; ^it 
inecessary to place our necks 
n the halter." . 

i perceive here in the honest 
>n of Chaeronea still something 
e sturdy spirit of ancient Hel- 
!^ot in vain had he read the histo- 
his ancestors; in spite of the un- 
tious times, he still holds what 
/es of their virtues worthy of 
rvation; and it is gratifying to 
a man of this stamp serving an 
iteful public, while the conceit- 
iiilosophers of his day regarded 
cs a contamination. Nor was 
hout a good influence upon the 
ry labors of Plutarch that he did 
)oast, with Lucan, to know " no 
or country," but was content to 
ibute his share to a better state 
ngs. Yet it is nevertheless easy 
t that in such an atmosphere no 
like the one for which Themis- 
5, Pericles, and Demosthenes had 
ed and striven on the field and 
ribune — no country like that for 
1 heroes had fought and bled at 
ithon, Salamis, and Plataea— 
I hope to thrive. In this cramp- 
ommonplace sphere, amidst the 
ncial gossip and the petty inte- 
of such surroundings, the fierce 
ons which had once inspired par- 
which in Rome had fired the 
s of the Gracchi and the other 
yrs of the declining common- 
th, were altogether impossible. 
) were only the citizens of a small 
incial town, the descendants of 
ncient and highly renowned no- 
but of beggarly presence, the 
!s of a subjugated land. The en- 
asm with which the higher minds 
ich an era revelled in the remi- 
nces of departed greatness was 
ctly natural ; no less natural was 
lira twilight in which its heroes 



appeared to eyes so little accustomed 
to discriminate. We can understand 
why such a profound impression should 
have been made by all that was for- 
eign in the olden times, especially 
when the means to analyze, probe, 
and comprehend it were wholly want- 
ing. 

Plutarch's keen appreciation of all 
the qualities in which the ancients 
had the advantage over his own con- 
temporaries reflects much credit upon 
him. Yet he is incapable of compre- 
hending them individually, for there 
was nothing to correspond with them 
in the world he lived in. His ideas 
of state and freedom, of country and 
virtue among the ancients, are dis- 
torted, because in his time their mean- 
ing had partly been changed, and 
partly been lost To Plutarch's sus- 
ceptible mind, the heroes of Roman 
and Grecian history appeared like 
the effigies preserved in some ances- 
tral hall. He experienced, however, 
something of the thrill of exultation 
which electrified Sallust, when he, a 
warm-hearted youth, first tasted the 
same sensation ; but when he endea- 
vors to communicate this feeling to 
the reader, he succeeds only in de- 
monstrating his unfitness for the task. 
An historian, in our sense of the word, 
Plutarch, we know, does not aspire 
to be; he claims merely to "paint 
souls" and "to teach virtue," but 
even herein he fails. His men are 
no real personages, no flesh and blood 
beings, whom he makes step out 
from the frame of tradition, but pup- 
pets gaudily and incongruously array- 
ed in all kinds of odds and ends. He 
has never produced a single genre 
portrait, but merely supplied the raw 
materials; and these may be even 
more valuable than any artistically 
finished but misdrawn historical like- 
ness would have been. This is, how- 
ever, all that can be said in the be- 
half of Plutarch's creations, and when 



\ 



Plutarch, 



833 



r only an unmeaning formula, in sac- 
only the slaughter of helpless ani- 
but the devout feels his soul elevated, 

^art relieved of sorrow and pain." 

t implores a pious and childlike 
ence for the faith of his forefa- 
; it was these gods who have 
; Greece great, protected it in 
and evil seasons ; and those who 
lot pray to them from their in- 
hearts, should at least suffer 
s to enjoy their peace of mind 
lappy simplicity. They should 
te the Egyptian priest, who, when 
losely questioned by Herodotus, 
d his finger upon his lips in mys- 
is silence. He thinks it shows 
delicacy in the Stoics and Epi- 
ns to attempt to represent the 
as merely another name for the 
intary forces. Those who mis- 
ire, water, air, etc., for the gods, 
•t the sails, ropes, and anchor of 
;el for the pilot, the wholesome 
for the physician, and the threads 
\ web for the weaver. 
Tou destroy," says he to the 
ireans, " the foundations of socie- 
ou murder the holiest instincts 
human soul." To the Stoics he 



Tiy attack what is universally accept* 
hy destroy the religious idea which 
eople has inherited in the nature of 
is ? You ask, above all things, proofs, 
s, and explanations ? Bevrare I If 
ing the spirit of doubt to every altar, 
g will be sacred. Every people has 
n faith. That faith, transmitted for 
ies, must suffice ; its very age proves 
nne origin; our duty is to hand it 
to posterity, without stain or change, 
nd unalloyed." 

t what of Plutarch's own ortho- 
? It is just what we might have 
ted from one who was too intelli- 
:o believe the ancient myths and 
luch of an enthusiast calmly to 
lis religious heritage. Socrates 

VOL. XL— S3 



was not remiss in offering up prayers 
and sacrifices ; no Athenian goddess 
could rationally complain of him ; he 
believed not only in a Daimonion, or 
Deityjbut (if the Apology be genuine) 
also in a Son of God ; yet he was an 
atheist. Plutarch's piety is no doubt 
more enthusiastic in a ratio to his lack 
of the Socratian keenness of intellect, 
but strictly considered he has no 
greater claims to the odor of ortho- 
doxy. With him also the different 
gods resolve themselves into demons, 
and it is only in his heart that he 
knows the one true God-r-a tenet 
which has nothing in common with 
the cheerful anthropomorphism of 
the Hellenic national creed. 

In brief, we discover in Plutarch's 
character the same inconsistencies 
which are peculiar to all men of his 
kind. He stands between two eras. 
He flies from an aged civilization, 
which holds him in the iron bonds 
of custom, to new views of a world 
which, even imperfect as they are,, 
involuntarily master his reason, thought 
they fail to satisfy his imagination and 
feelings. From the prose of every- 
day life he turns to the memory of 
the glories of his nation, and becomes 
their chronicler. Repulsed by the- 
unbelief and degeneracy of his con- 
temporaries, he seeks consolation io. 
the poetical fables of the ancient faith„ 
and becomes thus the panegyrist of 
antiquity. He is, however, unable to* 
reproduce this antiquity in a pure 
state. He cannot entirely divest 
himself of all sympathy with those 
among whom he lives, and remains* 
more than he will admit the cHUd of 
his own day. Hence what he trans- 
mits to us is veiled in that solemn but 
indistinct semi-obscurity which we 
meet not only in the ancient temples,, 
but in the heads of the romancists 
themselves. 




We are not telling a romance, but 
relating an occurrence exactly as its 
details proceeded from the mouth of 
llie responsible narrator, who is an ox- 
driver. He who takes offence at the 
source, the stream, and the receptacle, 
that is to say, at the ox<driver, his 
story, and the recipi*mt who is going 
to set it down in black and white, had 
better pass ibis by; for the thought 
that we were going to be read with 
prejudice would change the nimble 
pen we hold tn our hand into an im- 
movable petrifaction. 

Id a town of Andalusia that lil\s 
its white walls under the sky tliat God 
created solely to canopy Spain, from 
the heights of Despefiapeiros to the 
«ity that Guzman c! Bueno defended, 
upon an elevation at the end of a 
long, solitary street, stands a convent, 
abandoned, as they all are, thanks to 
the/mfWK of ruin, Tliis convent is 
now, more properly than ever before, 
the last house of the place. Its mas- 
sive portal faces the town, and its 
grounds reach back into the country. 
In these grounds there were formerly 
many palm-trees — the old people 
remember them — but only two re- 
main, united like brothers. In this 
convent there were formerly many 
religious ; now but one remains. The 
palnft lean upon each other ; the reli- 
gious is supported by the charity of 
the faithful Jle comes every Tues- 
day to say mass in the magnificent 
deserted chureh, which no longer pos- 
sesses a bell to call wonhippers. 

No words can express tlie senti- 
ments that are awakened by the sight 
■of the venerable man, in this vast 



temple, offering the i 
in silence and solitude, 
help fancying that the sj 
is filled with celestial i 
midst of whom the celebniBfel 
visible. The church is of an im 
height, and so peacefully chectfi 
it would seem to have been 
solely to resound to the « 
hymn of the Tf X>cum, and ll 
less .sublime canticle of Ihc Gh 

The high altar, exquisitely, c 
in tlie most elaborate and lavisl 
of adornment, astonishes the 
with the multitude of flowers, 
garlands, and gilded heads of : 
it displays with a profusion and 
which prove that in its cxc 
neither time nor labor were take 
account. \V'hat use h made o 
in our day ? Or of time ? Ar 
better employed ? He who cm 
us that they are, will console 
the suppression of the conveutft. 
it is proved, we shall conlim 
mourn that noble choir, those i 
tuous chapels, that splendid 
nacle, cold and empty as the iw 
lous heart. ~ 

Incredulity I Grand ttiuni 
material over the spiritual,^ 
over heaven; of the api 
over the angel of light I 

The small square that sepi 
convent from the street wlii 
to it is overgrown with ^ 
it, in their hours of rest, tl 
let their oxen loose. 

Within the inclosure, in j 
sta'us, a slight terraced ascetit, S) 
ed at the sides by benches of 
mason-work, leads to the d 



Edggr 



Tlu Miracle of St Frattcis. 



835 



. On the right is the chapel 
third order ; the path to the left 
:ts to the principal entrance to 
ivent. 

der, if you love the things of 
:ient Spain, come hither. Here 
irch still stands ; here still flour- 
hout care, the two palms ; here 
a Franciscan friar who says 

I the unoccupied temple. Here 

II found ox-drivers who tell 
Q which things humorous and 
ire mingled with the good faith 
holesomeness of heart of the 
hat pla)rs with the venerated 
airs of its parent without a 
it that in doing so it is wanting 
1 respect. But hasten! for all 
hings will soon disappear, and 
ill have to mourn over ruins— 

which the past, in reparation, 
id all its magic. 

third day of the week shone 
[id gay, ignorant, doubtless, of 
ilucky quality which men at- 

to it, and very far from sus- 

1 that its enemy — a foolish say- 
rould fain deprive it of the hap- 

of witnessing weddings and 
kations.* 

a Tuesday, then, that was as 
nt of any hostile disposition as 
d been a Sunday, the lady who 
s that which we are going to 
, walked up the long street of 
rancisco to the vacant convent 
u: the weekly mass in which 
imself would fill the abandoned 
; with his most worthy presence, 
rrived before the priest, and 
\ the church closed, sat down 
t upon one of the benches that 
I the terrace. The morning 
Dol enough to make the sun- 
agreeable. In sight rose the 
ilms, like a pair of noble bro- 
bearing together persecution 
light, without yielding or hu- 

Ut ni U tauSt ni U tmbarquet, * Tiietdaj, 
larry oor embark."— Spanuh nyin^ 



miliating themselvesL The oxen lying 
down within the inclosure ruminated 
measuredly, but with so little motion 
that the small birds passing poised 
themselves upon their horns. The 
efbs, gazing at all with their intelligent 
eyes, glided along the walls in a gar- 
den of gilly-flowers and rose-colored 
caper-blooms. Light clouds, like smoke 
from a spotless sacrifice in honor of 
the Most High, floated across the 
enamel of the sky — if it is permitted 
to compare that with enamel with 
which no enamel that was ever made 
can compare. It was a morning to 
sweeten life, so entirely did it make 
one forget the narrow circles in which 
we fret oiu: lives away, and in which 
living is a weariness. 

Two drivers seated themselves upon 
the same bench with the lady. 

Your Andalusian is never bashful 
The sun may be eclipsed; but, in the 
lifetime of God, not the serenity of 
an Andalusian. Sultan Haroun Al- 
raschid might have spared himself the 
trouble of the disguises he employed 
when he mingled among his people 
without causing them the least diffi- 
dence, if he had ruled in Andalusia. 
Not that the people despise or cannot 
appreciate superiority; but they know 
how to lift the hat without dropping 
the head. 

Therefore it happened that, although 
the lady was one of the principal per- 
sons of the place, and although there 
were other benches to sit on, that one 
appearing to them the pleasantest, on 
that one they sat down, without 
thought or care as to whether their 
talk would be overheard. In the 
northern provinces, where the people 
are entirely good, and as stupid as 
they are good, they think little and 
speak less; but in Andalusia thought 
flies, and words follow in chase. These 
people can go two days without eat- 
ing or sleeping, and be little the worse 
for it; but remain two minutes sh 




lent, they cannot. If they have no 
one to talk with, they sing. 

*' Man," said one to the other, " I 
can never see that chapel without 
thinking of my father, who was a Iwo- 
iher of the third order, and used to 
bring me here with him to say the 
rosary, which the brothers recited 
every night at the Angelus." 

" Christian ! and what sort of man 
must your father have been ? There 
are no stones out of that quarry now- 
adays." 

"And how should there be? My 
father — heaven rest him ! — used to say 
that the guillotine war of the French 
upset the cart Men nowadays 
arc a pack of idlers, with no more 
devotion than that of San Korro, the 
patron of drunkards. But to come 
back to what I was telling you — a 
thing his worship once told me, that 
happened in this very convent. 

"All the people of the bonier used 
to send to the friars for assistance to 
enable them to die in a Christian 
f.ishion. In these times the majority 
go to the other world like dogs or 
Jevi-s. Every night, therefore, one of 
the fathers remained up, so as to be 
ready in case his services should be 
wanted. Each kept watch in his turn. 
One night, when it was the turn of a 
priest named Father Mateo, who was 
well known and liked in the town, 
three men knocked and asked for a 
religious to succor a person who was 
at the point of death. The porter 
informed Father Mateo, who came 
down immediately. Hardly was the 
door of the convent closed after him, 
when they told him that, whether it 
pleased him or not, they were going 
to bandage his eyes. It pleased him 
as much as it would have pleased him 
to have his teeth pulled. There was 
nothing for it, however, but to drop 
his cars; for aJthougti he was young, 
and as tall as a foremast, with a good 
pau oi fels to defend himself with. 



the others were men of 
ed. Besides, neither 
rence neglect his 
God knew the iutenti 
who had come for hira, 

"So he sajd to himsdf, *I 
have this matter to look al 
let them blindfold him.' 

"No one can know wh 
they made him walk; into 
out of that, till they came I 
rable den, and led him 
stairs, pushed him into 
locked the door. 

" He took off the band! 
as dark as a wolfs moutl^ 
direction of one comer ^ 
he heard a moan. i 

" ' Who is in distress H 
ther Mateo. ! 

" ' I am, sir,* answered' 
voice of a woman; ■ th«i 
men are going to kill me u 
my peace is made with Ciod 

" ' This is an iniquity !* 

" ■ Father, by the love of t 
ed Mother, by the dear 1 
Christ, by the breasts that 
save me 1" 

" ' How can I save 
IVhat can I do against 
are armed ?' 

" ■ Untie me, in the first pi 
the unhappy wom.m, 

" Father Mateo begun to (i 
and, as God vouchsafed him 
to undo the knots of the c 
bound the poor creature's b 
feet; but they were hard^ " 
not see, and time flew — 
had been after it, 

" The men were km 
door. ' Haven't you got 
ther ?' asked one of them. 

" ' Ea t don't be in a hu 
the father, who. though hk 
good enough, could hit 
means of saving the won 
was trembling like a drop 
silver, and wecp'mg like » ~" 



ethe^ 
stt^ 



The Miracle of St. Francis. 



837 



«««What are we to do?' said the 
poor, perplexed man. 

'* A woman will think of an artifice 
if she has one foot in the grave, and 
it entered into this one's head to hide 
heiself under Father Mateo's cloak. 
I have told you that the father was a 
man who couldn't stand in that door. 
'I would prefer another means,' said 
his reverence; 'but, as there is no 
other, we must take this, and let the 
sun rise in Antequera.* * 

" He stationed himself at the door 
with the woman under his cloak. 

" * Have you ended, father ? * asked 
the villains. 

" * I have ended,* answered Father 
Mateo, with as calm a voice as he 
could command. 

" * Do not forsake me, sir,' moaned 
the poor woman, more dead than 
alive. 

"'Hush! Commend yourself to our 
Lord of the forsaken ones, and his 
will be done.' . 

•* * Come,' said the men, * be quick ; 
we must blindfold you again.' And 
they tied on the bandage, locked the 
door, and all three descended into 
the street with the father in custody, 
for fear that he might take off the 
blind and know the place. 

" They tiuned and turned again, 
a« before, till they came to the street 
of San Francisco; then the rascals 
took to their heels, and disappeared 
so quickly that you would have 
thought they had been spirited away. 

"The minute they were out of 
sight, Father Mateo said to the wo- 
man, 'Now, daughter, scatter dust, 
and find a hiding-place. No; don't 
thank me, but God, who has saved 
you ; and don't stop*; for when those 
brigands find the bird flown, they will 
come back and perhaps overtake me.' 

^Ymlga ti »0l ^Anitqtura. A commoo ny- 
l^i; •quhndent to. And let the sky fidl ; Itt the ooue- 
be what they may. 



"The woman ran, and the father 
in three strides planted himself inside 
of his convent 

" He went right away to the cell 
of the father guardian and told him 
all that had happened, adding that 
the men would surely come to the 
convent in search of him. 

" The words were hardly out of his 
mouth when they heard a knocking 
at the door. The guardian went 
down and presented himself. ' Can 
I serve you in any thing, gentlemen ? ' 
he asked. 

" ' We have come,* answered one, 
< for Father Mateo, who was out just 
now confessing a woman.' 

" * That cannot be, for Father Ma- 
teo has confessed no woman this 
night' 

"*How! he has not, when we 
have proof that he brought her here ? ' 

" * What do you mean, you black- 
guards? brought a woman into the 
convent! So this is the way you 
take to injure Father Mateo*s repu- 
tation, and cast scandal upon our 
order!' 

" ' No, sir, we did not say it with 
that intention ; but — * 

" < But what ? ' asked the guardian, 
very indignant * What honorable mo- 
tive could he have had in bringing a 
woman here at night ? ' 

" The men looked at each other. 

«* Didn't I tell you,' grumbled 
one, 'that the thing wasn't natural, 
but miraculous ? ' 

"* Yes, yes,' said another; *this is 
the doing of God or the devil — and 
not of the devil, for he wouldn't in- 
terfere to hinder his own work.' 

" * In God's name go, evil tongues! ' 
thundered the guardian; 'and take 
heed how you approach convents 
with bad designs, and lay snares, and 
invent calumnies against their peace- 
ful dwellers, who, like Father MateOi 



sleep tranquilly m their cells; for our 
holy patron watches over us.' 

" ' You can't doubt now,' said the 
most timid of the three, • that it was 
the very St, Francis himself who went 
with us to save that woman by a. mi- 
racle.' 

" • Fatlier Mateo,' said the guar- 
dian when they had gone, ' tliey are 
terribly frightened, and have taken 



you for St. Francis. It is better 
for they are wicked men, xod 
are furious.' 

"'They honor me too much, 
swered the good man; 'but ^ 
leave, your fathership, lo i 
daybreak for a seaport, i 
thence to America, before t 
time to think better of it, a 
upon me this miracle of Sl I 



THE FIRST (ECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE V.\t 



KUMBER EIGHT. 



The proceedings of the Vatican 
Council have reached a stage that 
allows us to witness again its external 
splendor and imposing presence. 
Grand and most august as it certain- 
ly is, still every thing that strikes the 
eye fades away as one thinks of its 
sublime office, of its important, un- 
limited influence and effect. The na- 
ture of llie subject it has just treated 
will necessarily make that influence 
overshadow all ages to come, and 
that effect cease to be felt only with 
the last shock of a world passing 
away. 

The question that for more than a 
year has agitated all circles of society, 
that for the past three months has 
b:;en a subject ot exciting debate 
among the fathers of the council, 
could not have been of greater weight. 
It b one of those truths essential to 
the existence of the cliurch, and had 
it not been pracricaliy acknowledged 
among the faidiful throughout the 
world, Christianity, unless otherwise 
sustained by its Author, would have 



been an impossibility. The vital f 
examined was the essence of the 
ion of the church, of the union off 
to determine dogmatically in wh 
consists, who or what is the perec 
body that can so hold and teach 
faith as to leave no doubt of 
kind whatsoever regardmg its a 
lute divine certainty. 

Up to the present day the in 
bility of an tecumenical councB, ( 
the whole church dispersed thre 
out the world, has been rccogmic 
the ultimate rule by ail who W" 
to orthodoxy ; but with that* 
or with that church dispetwd fli 
out the world, as a requisite — Ot 
ni"! — was the communion and 
sent of the sovereign pontiff. 1\ 
he was with the bishops, there 
the faith ; no matter how man 
shops might meet together ant! d< 
if Peter was not with them, then 
no certainty of belief, no iiib 
guidance. Nay, thwr decrees 
received only in so far as nppi 
by him. C/6i Htnu, i^i « 



The Vstuam CowicU. 



«39 



lie formula recognized by tradi* 

In a wordf where Peter was, 

was to be found infallible teach* 
where Peter was not, there nei- 
^as the teaching infalUble. None 
e church ever thought ofgain- 
g this. But there came a time 

the element all agreed hitherto 
ok on as essential began to be 
ject of doubt and of discussion. 
:rs went so far as to say that the 

could be judged by the other 
of teachers, the bishops ; and this 
red naturally from a mistrust in 
infailing orthodoxy of the sove- 
pontiff. The greater phases of 
lovement are well known. The 
cil of Constance had hardly clos- 
lien the Council of Basle put in 
ce the principles broached by its 
cessor, and deposed the reign- 
sad of the church, putting in his 

Araadeus of Savoy with the 
►f Felix V. In the midst of this 
sion, Eugenius IV. held the 
cil of Florence, in which the re- 
ible decree was published that 
red the pope the vicar of Christ, 
iler of the flock, and the doctor 
B universal church. Those of 
'rench clergy who clung with 
ity to the principles of Basle, 
d to receive this decree, under 
ice of the unoecumenical charac- 

the Council of Florence. The 
nists availed themselves of the 
itage this pretext gave them, 
ugh eighty-five French bishops 

in the year 1652 to Innocent 
xording, they say, to the cus- 
)f the church, in order to ob- 
he condemnation of these here* 
he latter still held their ground, 
^ere able to accuse the French 
bly of 1682 of inconsistency, in 
pting to force on them a deci- 
if the pope, whom the assembly 
declared fallible. The celebrat- 
nould taught that the refusal of 
probation to a papal decision on 



the patt of one individual churcn was 
enough to make the truth of such a 
decision doubtful. 

We shall try to give some idea of 
the importance of the question of 
papal infallibility by a parallel devel- 
opment of two opposite teachings, in 
a rapid sketch. 

The cardinal principle of Gallican- 
ism is the denial qf the inerrancy of 
the sovereign pontiff in his solemn 
ruling in matters of faith and morals 
when teaching the whole church. Any 
one who attentively looks at the ques- 
tion must sett the close connection of 
the primacy with the claim to unerr- 
ing certainty in teaching. The do- 
main of the church b in faith, in 
spirituals; temporals being secondary, 
and the subject of legislation only in 
so far as necessarily bound up with 
the former. The only reason why a 
teacher can lay claim to obedience is 
because he teaches the truth, and this 
is especially the case where faith and 
conscience are concerned. If the 
sovereign pontiff have not this faculty 
of teaching the truth without danger 
of error, then he cannot demand im- 
plicit submission. The church dis- 
persed throughout the world, being 
infallible, cannot be taught by one 
who is capable of falling into error. 
The ordinances therefore and decrees 
of the pontiff, being intimately con- 
nected with faith, and issued on ac- 
count of it, must follow the nature of 
the submission to his teaching. But 
as this latter, in the Galilean view, is 
not obligatory unless recognized as 
just by the whole church, so neither 
are the ordinances and decrees to be 
looked on as binding except under 
a like reservation. It follows from 
this, clearly and logically, that the su- 
premacy of the pope can be called 
supreme only by an abuse of terms ; 
consequently, ist, the texts of canon 
law and of the fathers that teach a 
perfect supremacy are erroneous or 



The Vatican CountiL 



841 



tant Christians the cunning dealing 
of Celestius and Pelagius, that had 
deceived the vigilance of the eastern 
fathers, and lay bare the hypocritical 
professions that had misled even Zosi- 
mus? Who was to bring back the 
opinion or belief of these isolated 
churches without danger of misunder- 
standing or misinterpretation ? Those 
were not days when communication 
was easy. Weeks and months amid all 
kinds of dangers and uncertainty were 
required to reach even those places 
that lay near the shores of the Medi- 
terranean. It was physically impos- 
sible to ascertain with unerring sure- 
ness the belief or condemnation of 
those far-off Christians ; and as long 
as their assent was not given there 
was no adequate rule of faith. Con- 
sequently, Uiere was no prompt or 
efficacious means of correcting error ; 
the means at hand were of probable 
worth, therefore not sufficient to use 
against heresy, that could always ap- 
peal to the universal church dispersed 
throughout the world, and when con- 
demned by those near, fly to the pro- 
bable protection of those at a dis- 
tance, without the least possibility of 
ever knowing the belief of those to 
whom they appealed. In the mean- 
while, heresy crept into the flock, es- 
tablished itself there; for there was 
none to cast it forth ; and the fold be- 
came tainted. Thus from age to age 
Christianity would have been a mass 
of error, the truth bemg obscured or 
suffocated by the weight of falsity 
from the want of a prompt practical 
means by which heresy could be de- 
tected and crushed at its birth. Hap- 
pily no such state of things existed; 
the chair of Peter was the abode of 
truth ; it was set up against error, and 
the quick ear and intuitive eye of 
Christ's vicar heard and saw the evil, 
and met it at the outset 

The doctrine which teaches the op- 
posite of what we have been describ- 



ing, and which is now of faith, clears 
up all difficulties, and comes to us in 
all the beauty and consistency that 
adorns truth. Jesus Christ has made 
Peter and his successors the founda- 
tion of the church. He has given to 
him, and to each of those who succeed 
him, of his own firmness, and strength- 
ened his faith that it fail not, that he 
may confirm his brethren. In this 
office of confirming his brethren, Pe- 
ter holds the place of Christ, and acts 
in his name. The gift he possesses, 
however, is not one of inspiration ; but 
he is assisted and kept from erring in 
his judgment of what is contained in 
the revelation made by Christ to man. 
To arrive at a knowledge of what 
that revelation is, he seeks in his own 
church, and, according to the need, in 
the churches every where that he may 
know their traditions. The judgment 
he makes is infallible, and in promul- 
gating it he lays down the tenets of 
faith for the whole church. Hence 
he becomes the immovable rock 
upon which the faithful are builded, 
he is the centre around which they 
revolve, the orb from which they re- 
ceive the light of faith. Hence he 
has subject to him the minds of all, 
and the character of his primacy be- 
comes more clear and fully evident. 
It is no longer a mere point of visible 
communion, but an active power 
placed by God to rule, with unfailing 
guidance in faith, and with a con- 
sequent spiritual intuitiveness, that 
makes him discern what is for the 
good of the church at large through- 
out the world. Hence all are bound 
to obey him in what regards the faith 
and teachings of Christ; who is with 
him, is with Christ; whosoever is 
against him, is against his Master. 
Hence, too, by a direct consequence, 
there can be no power set up against 
his ; all the bishops of the church de- 
pend on him, receive their jurisdic- 
tion from him, and can exercise it 



T^ VaHctm CouHciL 



843 



of a sincere desire for conciliation and 
agreement. The effect was remarka- 
ble; a thrill of pleasure went through 
the assembly, for the moment each 
one seemed to breathe freely, and to 
hail his words as harbingers of peace 
in the midst of excitement and anxi- 
ety. 

It was shortly after this incident 
that the closure of the general discus- 
sion on the four chapters of the pre- 
sent constitution took place. The 
regulations provide for this contingen- 
cy, making it lawful for ten prelates 
to petition for the closing of a discus- 
sion, the proposal being then put to 
the vote of all the fathers, and the 
majority deciding. In this case, a 
desire not to interfere with remarks 
which bishops, for conscientious rea- 
sons, proposed to make, kept this re- 
gulation in abeyance, and it was only 
after fifty-five speeches had been lis- 
tened to, that one hundred and fifty 
bishops sent in a petition for closing, 
believing there would be ample time 
and opportunity for every one to 
speak and present amendments when 
the schema would be examined in de- 
tail. An overwhelming majority vot* 
cd the closure. It seems difficult to 
understand how this could be found 
fault with. Had there been no fur- 
ther chance to speak, there would 
have been reason undoubtedly to 
claim hearing, or complain of not 
being heard. But, as has been seen 
since, there have been discussions on 
each part of the schema; and on the 
last chapter, regarding the doctrine of 
infallibility, one hundred and nine 
names were inscribed for speaking, of 
which number sixty-five spoke, the 
remainder by mutual consent abstain- 
ing from speaking ; thus of their own 
accord putting a stop to a discussion 
in which it was morally impossible to 
say any thing new. It seems surely 
to be a strange assertion to say there 
has been any real infiingement of the 



liberty of speech in the council, when 
there appears to have been so much 
of it that the members themselves 
grew weary of it. 

While we are on this subject, we 
wish to speak a little more fully, as 
the freedom of the council has been 
publicly impugned in two works, pub- 
lished in Paris, against which the pre- 
sidents and the fathers have thought 
proper formally to protest 

The grounds of the accusation are 
chiefly three : 

I St. The appointment of the con- 
gregation, the members of which were 
named by the sovereign pontiff, and 
who received or rejected the postula- 
ta, or propositions, to be presented to 
the council for discussion. 

2d. The dogmatic deputation hav- 
ing been composed of those in favor 
of the definition, and the members 
having been put on it by manage- 
ment ; moreover, this deputation exer- 
cised a controlling influence in the 
council. 

3d. The interruption of those who 
were giving expression to their opin- 
ions, in the exercise of their right to 
speak. 

We preface our brief reply to these 
objections by two quotations. One 
is from the letter of an apostate priest, 
A. Pichler, at present director of the 
imperial library at St. Petersburg, 
which was written by him in Rome 
last winter, and was published in the 
Presse of Vienna. In it he says, " It 
seems to us no council has ever been 
freer or more independent." The se- 
cond quotation is firom one of the 
two works referred to above — Ce qui 
se passe au Concile. At page 131 we 
read : 

*< In truth, if the pope alone is infallible, it 
is not only his right, bat a duty, and a strict 
duty, to guide the bishops, united in council, 
or Aspersed throughout the world, to en- 
courage them if they be in the right way, to 
reprore them if they go oat of it, to take an 



844 



The Vatican CaumdL 



active part in the work of the assembly, to 
inspire its deliberations, and dictate its de- 
crees." 

Apart from the spirit that animates 
the writer of the above, there is much 
in what he says, and we take him at 
his word The CEcumenical Council 
of the Vatican has pronounced its ir- 
revocable and infallible decree, declar- 
ing infallibility to be and to have been 
a prerogative of the sovereign pon- 
tiff, and that his decisions ex cathedra 
are irreformable of themselves, and 
not by virtue of the consent of the epis- 
copacy. We therefore draw our de- 
duction, and justify the sovereign pon- 
tiff, by these very words, in nominat- 
ing the members of the congregation, 
and in conferring on it the ample 
powers it has. Secondly, we give 
him the praise of moderation, because 
he did not make a full use of the 
rights accorded him by the author of 
Ihe citation we have given. Were 
we to follow this writer, we should 
have to accuse the pope of having in 
part neglected a grave duty toward 
the council, for he did not dictate its 
decrees. In the very beginning, he 
told the bishops he gave them the 
scJumata^ unapproved by him, to be 
studied, altered, or amended as they 
saw fit; and, in fact, when the decrees 
prepared previously by theologians 
were proposed by the congregation, 
they were recast and amended time 
and again, and were finally decided 
by a vote of the fathers, and approv- 
ed by the pontiff without alteration. 
This is surely not dictation ; dictation 
does not admit of reply or refusal, it 
takes away all liberty whatsoever. 
The sovereign pontiff then did not 
dutate the decrees. 

Let us return to our triple objec- 
tion. First, with regard to the con- 
gregation. In the early numbers of 
The Catholic World for the current 
year, an account of the composition 
of this body is given, as well as the 



reasons for its appointmeiit Were 

our readers to the March number, 

which it may be seen that, altho\ 

possessed of sovereign powers o 

the church, defined as belonging 

him, by the Council of Florence am 

others, there was no dispositior 

exercise coercion on the part of 

pope, who, in controlling the aci 

of the council in this way, was < 

making use of a right the whole chi 

acknowledged. Moreover, the c 

position of this body was itself a | 

rantee of justice and zeal for the 

neral welfare. That there were 

named for it those who were kh< 

to be hostile to what has just I 

declared of faith, was nothing r 

than natiu^. Moreover, when tl 

high ecclesiastics had admitted pK: 

lata, their work was over ; the pp 

sitions passed into the control of 

fathers, and were decided by vote 

The answer to the second ot 

tion is easier even. This deputa 

was elected by the fathers themsel 

and as the large majority favored 

teachings of Rome, they elected r 

who was opposed to them. As 

the accusation of management, 

must say that persons who underst 

well the tendencies of the promii 

men of all parties, naturally, as 1 

pens in all such large bodies, dii 

ed the choice of candidates, and 

final vote of the fathers settled 

matter. It is hard to see how 

rights of any were violated. ' 

deputation, from the merit of tl 

that composed it, could not be ^ 

out great weight in the council; 

when we consider that it was 

choice of the large majority, and 

in harmony with the views of 

majority, it is not wonderful th 

controlled to a great extent the i 

of those composing the council. 

The third objection is one that 

be treated with great delicacy, foi 

reasons— because of the impossi 



The Vatican Council. 



845 



of knowing all the circumstances, and 
because those who are accused are 
in a position that prevents them from 
justifying themselves. The presidents 
were named to act for the sovereign 
pontiff, to preserve due order, to see 
that the discussion was limited to the 
matter in iiand, and to prevent any 
thing that might tend to disturb good 
order, or diminish respect for the au- 
thority and person of him they repre- 
sented. If, in the discharge of their 
duty, they displeased those they ad- 
dressed, this was to have been ex- 
pected ; if also they in any way did 
not observe the due mean, so hard 
to reach in every thing human, one 
should excuse, if needful, the defect, 
when especially the great merits, the 
distinguished services, the known vir- 
tue, and high position of these cardi- 
nals are taken into consideration. 

And while we are on this subject 
of objections made against the coun- 
cil we may notice two others that 
especially regard the decree of the 
infallibility; they are, ist. This deci- 
sion destroys the constitution of the 
church, doing away with the aposto- 
lic college of bishops, and changing 
the order established by Christ; 2d. 
this decree is a theological conclu- 
sion ; but theological conclusions are 
• not of faith, and cannot be so de- 
clared. 

These objections are formidable 
only in appearance. No one con- 
tends that each bishop when conse- 
crated succeeds to all the privileges 
and powers of one of the apostles. 
The bishops, then, not having them 
in the beginning when consecrated 
by the apostles, were distinct from 
the apostles, the apostolic college 
remaining. When one apostle died, 
his death did not affect the powers 
of the church, which remained the 
same, the other apostles sufficing; so 
when two, three, or more died, still 
one remained. He had the same 



full powers given to each, with subor- 
dination to Peter as head of the 
church. Thus with one apostle and 
the episcopate the essence of ecclesi- 
astical rule is preserved. When St. 
Peter died, he left a successor, being 
the only one of the twelve who did ; 
for he was the only one who had a 
see. His successor received all his 
rights, the power of binding and loos- 
ing, of teaching and legislating. He 
was thus the one apostle living still 
in the world, and each successive 
pontiff has the same character — ^the 
soUicitudo omnium ecclesiarum is his — 
as it was Paul's, John's, and Peter's. 
The essence of the hierarchy is in 
this way preserved; the apostolic 
and episcopal elements are there, and 
the phraseology of Christianity keeps 
ever before us this idea ; for the see 
of Peter is always known as the 
Sedes Apostolica, St. Peter Chryso- 
logus speaks of St. Peter living and 
ruling in his successor — Beatus Pe- 
trus qui in successore suo et vivet et 
praesidet et prsestat inquirentibus eam 
fidem. So far, then, from this definition 
destroying the character of the hierar- 
chy, it asserts and vindicates it by 
declaring that the one aposde in the 
church has never lost his apostolic 
privilege of inerrancy, and that he is 
truly possessed of the full powers 
without diminution that belonged to 
the prince of the apostles. 

To the second objection, regarding 
the nature of the definition, as being 
a theological conclusion, we reply, 
firstly, that what the Scripture, accord- 
ing to the received and now authen- 
tic interpretation of the church, taught, 
and what the practical acknowledg- 
ment of the faithful in all ages impli- 
ed, cannot be called a theological con- 
clusion; but must be regarded as be- 
ing what it is — a directly revealed 
truth; secondly, a theological con- 
clusion, though not of faith in itself, 
as being the deduction of reason, by 



Tk4 Vatican Council. 



847 



:ayeis were fecited by him; the 
yr of the saints was chanted, and 
* Veni Creator Spirrtus " intoned, 
)eople present taking part; after 
h the Bishop of Fabriano ascend- 
le pulpit and read the schema to 
Dted on, and finished with asking 
lathers whether it pleased them, 
signor /acobininext, from the pul- 
:alled the name of each prelate 
ting at the council. Five hun- 

and thirty-four answered placet^ 
replied non placet^ and one hun- 

and six were absent, some be- 
z sick, the far greater number 
wishing to vote favorably. As 

as the result was made known 
ally to Pius IX., who awaited it in 
ce, but with calmness, he arose 
in a clear, distinct, and firm voice 
lunced the fact of all, with the ex- 
on of two, having given a favora- 
^ote, wherefore, he continued, by 
e of our apostolic authority, with 
ipproval of the sacred council, we 
e, confirm, and approve the de- 
i and canons just read. Imme- 
ly there arose murmurs of ap- 
ation inside and outside the haJl, 
doors of which were surrounded 
I large crowd, and, increasing 

the impossibility those present 
rienced of repressing their feeling. 



it swelled into a burst of congratula- 
tion, and a Viva Ho Nono JPapa in- 
fcUlibiU. We shall not say any thing 
regarding the propriety of such pro- 
ceedings in a church ; but there are 
times when feeling is so powerful as 
to break through all ideas of conven- 
tionality. As soon as all were quiet, 
with unfaltering voice and excellent 
intonation the pope began the Te 
DeuQL It was taken up alternately 
by the Sistine choir and those pre- 
sent. By an accident, at the Sanctus, 
Sanctus, Sanctus, the people got out, 
and took up the part of the Sistine 
choir, and kept it to the end, alter- 
nately with the bishops, and with a vo- 
lume of sound that completely drown- 
ed the delicate notes of the papal 
singers, and which, if not as musical as 
their chant, was far more impressive. 
The session ended with the apostolic 
benediction from the holy father, ac- 
companied by an indulgence for all 
assisting, in accordance with the cus- 
tom of the church. Thus passed one 
of the most momentous and remarka- 
ble occasions the world has ever wit- 
nessed, a day henceforth memorable in 
the annals of the church and of man- 
kind, the results of which the human 
mind is scarce capable of grasping. 



Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ. 



849 



insurgunt ; Nos ad catho- 
is custodiam, incolumitatexn, 
:uni, necessarium esse iudica- 
ro approbante Concilio, doc- 
de institutione, perpetuitate, 
ra sacri Apostolici primatus, 
Dtius Ecdesiae vis ac soliditas 
, cunctis fidelibus credendam 
idani, secundum antiquam 
nstantem universalis Ecdesiae 
)roponere, atque contrarios, 
3 gregi adeo pemiciosos er- 
)scribere et condemnare. 



Sermon iv. (or iii.) chapter 3, on 
Christmas.) Novr, seeing that in 
order to overthrow, if possible, the 
church, the powers of hell on every 
side, and with a hatred which increases 
day by day, are assailing her founda- 
tion which was placed by God, we 
therefore, for the preservation, the 
safety, and the increase of the Catho- 
lic flock, and with the approbation 
of the sacred council, have judged it 
necessary to set forth the doctrine 
which, according to the ancient and 
constant faith of the universal church, 
all the faithful must believe and hold, 
touching the institution, the perpe- 
tuity, and the nature of the sacred 
apostolic primacy, in which stands the 
power and strength of the entire 
church; and to proscribe and con- 
demn the contrary errors so hurtful 
to the flock of the Lord. 



CAPUT I. 

)LICI PRIMATUS IN BEATO PETRO 
INSTITUTIONE. 

nus itaque et declaramus, 
angelii testimonia primatum 
onis in universam Dei Ecde- 
nediate et directe beato Petro 
► promissum atque coUatum 

Domino fuisse. Unum enim 
n, cui iam pridem dixerat: 
beris Cephas,* postquam ille 
idit confessionem inquiens: 
iristus, Filius Dei vivi, solem- 
: verbis locutus est Dominus : 
s Simon Bar-Iona, quia caro 
is non revelavit tibi, sed Pater 
u in coelis est: et ego dico 

tu es Petrus, et super banc 
ledificabo Ecclesiam meam, 
f inferi non praevalebunt ad- 
im : et tibi dabo claves regni 
\ : et quodcumque ligaveris 
ram, erit ligatum et in coelis : 
umque solveris super terram, 
tum et in coelis. t Atque 

43. t Matth. ZTU 16-19. 

VOL. XI* — 54 



CHAPTER I. 

OF THE INSTITUTION OP THE APOSTOUC 
PRIMACY IN THE BLESSED PETER. 

We teach, therefore, and declare 
that, according to the testimonies of 
the Gospel, the primacy of jurisdic- 
tion over the whole church of God 
was promised and given immediately 
and directly to blessed Peter, the 
apostle, by Christ our Lord. For it 
was to Simon alone, to whom he had 
already said, "Thou shalt be called 
Cephas,"* that, after he had profess- 
ed his faith, " Thou art Christ, the 
Son of the living God," our Lord 
said, " Blessed art thou, Simon Bar- 
Jona; because flesh and blood hath 
not revealed it to thee, but my Father 
who is in heaven ; and I say to thee, 
that thou art Peter, and upon this 
rock I will build my church, and the 
gates of hell shall not prevail against 
it; and I will give to thee the keys 
of the kingdom of heaven ; and what- 
soever thou shalt bind upon earthi it 

*JoliaL4** 



8so 



Dopnatic Decree on the Chunk of Christ 



uni Simoni Petro contuUt lesus post 
suam resurrectionem summi pastoris 
et rectoris iurisdictionem in totum 
suum ovile, dicens : Pasce agnos 
meos : Pasce oves meas.* Huic tam 
manifestae sacrarum Scripturarum doc- 
trinae, ut ab Ecclesia catholica sem- 
per intellecta est, aperte opponuntur 
pravae eorura sententiae, qui constitu- 
tam a Christo Domino in sua Ecclesia 
jregiminis formam pervertentes negant, 
solum Petrum prae caeteris Apostolis, 
sive seorsura singulis sive omnibus 
simul, vero proprioque iurisdictionis 
primatu fuisse a Christo instructum : 
aut qui affirmant eumdem primatum 
noh immediate, directeque ipsi beato 
Petro, sed Ecclesiae, et per hanc illi, 
ut ipsius Ecclesiae ministro, delatum 
fuisse. 

Si quis igitur dixerit, beatum Petrum 
Apostolum non esse a Christo Domi- 
no constitutum Apostolorum omnium 
principem et totius Ecclesiae militan- 
tis visibile caput; vel eumdem honoris 
tantum, non autem verae propriaeque 
iurisdictionis primatum ab eodem Do- 
mino nostro lesu Christo directe et 
immediate accepisse ; anathema sit. 



shall be bound also in heaven ; and 
whatsoever thou shalt loose upon 
earth, it shall be loosed also in hea- 
ven." ♦ And it was to Simon Pete 
alone that Jesus, after his resurrection, 
gave the jurisdiction of supreme shep- 
herd and ruler over the whole of his 
fold, saying, "Feed ray lambs;" 
" Feed my sheep." t To this doctnne 
so clearly set forth in the saoed 
Scriptures, as the Catholic Church 
has always understood it, are plainly 
opposed the perverse opinions <rf 
those who, distorting the form of 
government established in his church 
by Christ our Lord, deny that Peter 
alone above the other apostles, wh^ 
ther taken separately one by one or 
all together, was endowed by Christ 
with a true and real primacy of juris- 
diction; or who assert that this pri- 
macy was not given immediately and 
directly to blessed Peter, but to the 
church, and through her to him, as 
to the agent of the church. 

If, therefore, any one shall say, that 
blessed Peter the Apostle was not ap- 
pointed by Christ our Lord, the prince 
of all the apostles, and the visible 
head of the whole church militant; 
or, that he received directly and im- 
mediately from our Lord Jesus OxnsX 
only the primacy of honor, and not 
that of true and real jurisdiction; let 
him be anathema. 



CAPUT II. 



CHAPTER IT. 



DE PERPETUITATK PRIMATUS BEATI PETRI 
IN ROMANIS PONTIFICIBUS. 



OF THE PERPETUITY OF THE PRIMACY OF 
PETER IN THE ROMAN PONTIFFS. 



Quod autem in beato Apostolo Pe- 
tro princeps pastorum et pastor mag- 
nus ovium Dominus Christus lesus in 
perpetuam salutem ac perenne bonum 
Ecclesiae instituit, id eodem auctore 
in Ecclesia, quae fundata super pe- 
tram ad finem saeculorum usque firma 
stabit, iugiter durare necesse est. Nulli 

* Joan. zxi. 15-17. 



What the prince of pastors and the 
great shepherd of the sheep, our Lord 
Jesus Christ, established in the person 
of the blessed apostle Peter for the 
perpetual welfare and lasting good of 
the church, the same through his power 
must needs last forever in that church, 

• Matthew xvi. 16-19. 
t John xzL I5-X7* 



Dogmatic Decree on tlu Church of Christ. 



«5i 



>iuin, imo saeculis omnibus 
t, quod sanctus beatissimus- 
us, Apostolonim princeps et 
leique columna et Ecdesiae 
e fundamentum, a Domino 
esu Christo, Salvatore hu- 
leris ac Redemptore, claves 
:epit: qui ad hoc usque 
t semper in suis successori- 
:opis sanctae Romanae Sedis, 
jndatae, eiusque consecratae 
, vivit et praesidet et iudi- 
lercet.* Unde quicumque 
ahedra Petro succedit, is se- 
Christi ipsius institutionem 
I Petri in universam Eccle- 
net. Manet ergo dispositio 
et beatus Petrus in accepta 
e petrae perseverans suscep- 
:siae gubemacula non reli- 
ac de causa ad Romanam 
n propter potentiorem prin- 
m necesse semper fuit om- 
ivenire Ecclesiam, hoc est, 
junt undique fideles, ut in ea 
ua venerandae communionis 
omnes dimanant, tamquam 
in capite consociata, in unam 
compagem coalescerentf 
s ergo dixerit, non esse ex 
iristi Domini institutione seu 
no, ut beatus Petrus in pri- 
mer universam Ecclesiam ha- 
petuos successores ; aut Ro- 
Pontificem non esse beati 
modern primatu successorem ; 
a sit 



which is founded upon the rock, and 
will stand firm till the end of time. 
And mdeed it is well known, as it 
has been in all ages, that the holy 
and most blessed Peter, prince and 
head of the apostles, pillar of the 
faith and foundation of the Catholic 
Church, who received from our Lord 
Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Redeem- 
er of mankind, the keys of the king- 
dom of heaven, to this present time 
and at all times lives and presides 
and pronounces judgment in the per- 
son of his successors, the bishops of 
the holy Roman see, which was found- 
ed by him, and consecrated by his 
blood.* So thit whoever succeeds 
Peter in this chair, holds, according 
to Christ's own institution, the prima- 
cy of Peter over the whole church. 
What, therefore, was once established 
by him who is the truth, still remains, 
and blessed Peter, retaining the 
strength of the rock, which has been 
given to him, has never left the helm 
of the church originally intrusted to 
him.t 

For this reason it was always ne- 
cessary for every other church, that 
is, the faithful of all countries, to have 
recourse to the Roman Church on 
account of its superior headship, in 
order that being joined, as members 
to their head, with this see, from 
which the rights of religious commu- 
nion flow unto all, they might be 
knitted into the unity of one body.f 

If, therefore, any one shall say, that 
it is not by the institution of Christ 
our Lord himself, or by divine right, 
that blessed Peter has perpetual suc- 
cessors in the primacy over the whole 
church ; or, that the Roman pontiff 
is not the successor of blessed Peter 
in this primacy; let him be anathema. 



esini ConcilU Act. K!. 

Mi. Serm. iii. (aL ti.) cap. 3. 

Adv. Haer. L iiL c 3. Ep. CoBC Aquilci 

epp. S. Ambros. ep. zi. • 



• Counca of Eph. teat. iiL St .Peter Chiys. Ep. 
ad Eutych. 

t S. Leo, Senn. iii. diap. i!L 

X St IreoxM egaiiist Heresiei^ book iiL chap. 3. 
Epitt of Cottodl of Aquileia. 3S1, to Gralian, 
Chap. 4- of Fi» VL Briof Stqw Solidiitt*. 



Dogmatic Decree an the Church of Christ 



8S3 



-e salva fide atque salute nemo 



itum autem abest, ut haec Sum- 
>ntificis potestas officiat ordina- 
: immediatae illi episcopal! iuris- 
lis potestati, qua Episcopi, qui 
a Spiritu Sancto in Apostolorum 
successerunt, tamquam veri 
es assignatos sibi greges, singuli 
>s, pascunt et regunt, ut eadem 
remo et universali Pastore as- 
•, roboretur ac vindicetur, se- 
m illud sancti Gregorii Magni : 
honor est honor universalis 
iae. Meus honor est fratrum 
m solidus vigor. Turn ego vere 
.tus sum, cum singulis quibus- 
>nor debitus non negatur.* 



o ex suprema ilia Romani Pon- 
jotestate gubemandi universam 
am ius eidem esse consequitur, 
IS sui muncris exercitio libere 
micandi cum pastoribus et gre- 
:otius Ecclesiae, ut iidem ab 
via salutis doceri ac regi pos- 
Juare damnamus ac reproba- 
orum sententias, qui banc su- 
capitis cum pastoribus et gre- 
lommunicationem licite impe- 
se dicunt, aut eanidem reddunt 
ri potestati obnoxiam, ita ut 
lant, quae ab Apostolica Sede 
auctoritate ad regimen Eccle- 
nstituuntur, vim ac valorem 
bere, nisi potestatis saecularis 
confirmentur. 

uoniam divino Apostolici pri- 
iure Romanus Pontifex uni- 
Ecclcsiae pracest, docemus 
declaramus, eum esse iudicem 
jm fidelium,t et in omnibus 
d examen ecclesiasticum spec- 

Eulo^. Alexandria. I. viii. ep. xxx. 

VI. Breve Super SolidiUte, d. aS. Nor. 



of Catholic truth, firom which no one 
can depart without loss of faith and 
salvation. 

So far, nevertheless, is this power 
of the supreme pontiflf firom trenching 
on that ordinary power of episcopal 
jurisdiction by which the bishops, who 
have been instituted by the Holy 
Ghost and have succeeded in the 
place of the apostles, like true shep- 
herds, feed and rule the flocks assign- 
ed to them, each one his own ; that, 
on the contrary, this their power is 
asserted, strengthened, and vindicated 
by the supreme and universal pastor ; 
as St. Gregory the Great saith: My 
honor is the honor of the universal 
church ; my honor is the solid strength 
of my brethren; then am I truly 
honored when to each one of them 
the honor due is not denied. (St. 
Gregory Great ad Eulogius, Epist 

30- ) 

Moreover, from that supreme au- 
thority of the Roman pontiff to govern 
the universal church, there follows to 
him the right, in the exercise of this 
his office, of freely communicating 
with the pastors ..and flocks of the 
whole church, that they may be taught 
and guided by him in the way of sal- 
vation. 

Wherefore, we condemn and repro- 
bate the opinions of those, who say 
that this communication of the su- 
preme head with the pastors and 
flocks can be lawfully hindered, or 
who make it subject to the secular 
power, maintaining that the things 
which are decreed by the apostolic 
see or under its authority for the 
government of the church, have no 
force or value unless they are con- 
firmed by the approval of the secular 
power. And since, by the divine 
right of apostolic primacy, the Roman 
pontiff" presides over the universal 
churches, we also teach and declare 
that he is the supreme judge of the 
faithful, (Pius VI. Brief Super SoUdi- 



854 



Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ, 



tantibus ad ipsius posse iudicium re- 
curri ;♦ Sedis vero Apostolicae, cuius 
auctoritate maior non est, iudicium a 
neniine fore retractandum, neque cui- 
quam de eius licere iudicare iudicio.f 
Quare a recto veritatis tramite aber- 
rant, qui affirmant, licere ab iudiciis 
Romanorum Pontificum ad oecume- 
nicum Concilium tamquam ad auc- 
toritatem Romano Pontifice supeno- 
rem appellare. 



Si quis itaque dixerit, Romanum 
Pontificem habere tantummodo offi- 
cium inspectionis vel directionis, non 
autem plenam et supremam potesta- 
tem iurisdictionis in universam Eccle- 
siam, non solujn in rebus, quae ad 
fidem et mores, sed etiam in iis, quae 
ad disciplinam et regimen Ecclesiae 
per totum orbem diffusae pertinent; 
auteum habere tantum potiores partes, 
non vero totam plenitudinem huius 
supremae potestatis; aut hanc eius 
potestateni non esse ordinariam et 
immediatam sive in omnes ac singulas 
ccclesias sive in omnes et singulos 
pastores et fideles ; anathema sit. 



tate,) and that in all causes caDiDgftr 
ecclesiastical trial, recourse maj be 
had to his judgment, (Second Comd 
of Lyons;) but the decisinddie 
apostolic see, above which thcnino 
higher authority, cannot berecosslAs- 
ed by any one, nor is it lawfiil to ny 
one to sit in judgment on Us judg- 
ment (Nicholas I. epist ad Michu- 
lem Imperatorem.) 

Wherefore, they wander away froo 
the right path of truth who assert that 
it is lawful to appeal from the judg- 
ments of the Roman ponti& to u 
oecumenical council, as if to an autho- 
rity superior to the Roman pontiff 

Therefore, if any one shall say that 
the Roman pontiff holds only the 
charge of inspection or direction, and 
not full and supreme power of juris- 
diction over the entire church, co! 
only in things which pertain to £ii:J 
and morals, but also in those viiidi 
pertain to the discipline and goras- 
ment of the church spread thron^unt 
the whole world ; or, that he posseaes 
only the chief part and not the entie 
plenitude of this supreme power ; or, 
that this his power is not ordinal' 
and immediate, both as regards all 
and each of the churches, and all and 
each of the pastors and faithful; let 
him be anathema. 



CAPUT IV. 



CHAPTER IV, 



] 



DE ROMANI rONTIFICIS INFAI.LIBILI MAGIS- 

TERIO. 

Ipso autem Apostolico primatu, 
quem Romanus Pontifex tamquam 
Petri principis Apostolorum successor 
in universam Ecclcsiam obtinet, su- 
premam quoque magisterii potestatem 
conii)rehcndi, haec Sancta Sedes sem- 
per tenuit, perpetuus Ecclesiae usus 
comprobat, ipsaque oecumenica Con- 
cilia, ea imprimis, in quibus Oriens 

* Concil. Qllcum. Luedun. II. 

t £p. Nicolai I. ad Midiaelem Imperatorem. 



OF THE INFALLIBLE AUTHORITY OF THl 
ROMAN PONTIFF IN TEACHING. 

This holy see has ever held — the 
unbroken custom of the church doih 
prove — and the oecumenical coun- 
cils, those especially in which the cost 
joined with the west, in union of faith 
and of charity, have declared that ir 
this apostolic primacy, which the Ro 
man pontiff holds over the universa 
church, as successor of Peter th< 
prince of the apostles, there is aUc 
contained the supreme power of au 



Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ, 



8SS 



cum Occidente in fidei charitatisque 
unionem conveniebat, declaraverunt. 
Patres enim Concilii Constantino- 
politani quarti, maiorum vestigiis 
inhaerentes, banc solemnexn ediderunt 
professionem : Prima salus est, rectae 
fidei regulam custodire. £t quia non 
potest Domini nostri lesu Christi 
praetermitti sententia dicentis : Tu es 
Petrus, et super hanc petram aedificabo 
Elcclesiam meam, haec, quae dicta 
sunt, rerum probantur effectibus, quia 
in Sede Apostolica immaculata est 
semper catholica reservata religio, et 
sancta celebrata doctrina. Ab jiuius 
ergo fide et doctrina separari minime 
cupientes, speramus, ut in una com- 
munione, quam Scdes Apostolica 
piaedicat, esse mereamur, in qua est 
Integra et vera Christianae religionis 
soiiditas.* Approbante vero Lugdu- 
nenis Concilio secundo, Graeci pro- 
fessi sunt : Sanctam Romanam £c- 
desiam summum et plenum primatum 
et principatum super universam Ec- 
clesiam catholicam obtinere, quem se 
ab ipso Domino in beato Petro Apos- 
tolorum principe sive vertice, cuius 
Romanus Pontifcx est successor, cum 
potestatis plenitudine recepisse vera- 
dter et humiliter recognoscit ; et sicut 
prae caeteris tenetur fidei veritatem 
defendere, sic et, si quae de fide sub- 
ortae fuerint quaestiones, suo debent 
iudicio definiri. Florentinum denique 
Concilium definivit : Pontificem Ro- 
manum, verum Christi Vicarium, 
totiusque Ecclesiae caput et omnium 
Christianorum patrem ac doctorem 
existere; et ipsi in beato Petro pas- 
cendi, regendi ac gubernandi univer- 
salem Ecclesiam a Domino nostro 
lesu Christo plenam potestatem tra- 
ditam esse. 



* Ex formula S. Honnisdae Papae, prout ab Ha- 
driano II. Patribus Concilii Oectunenici VIII., Con- 
ttantinopolitani IV., proposita et ab iisdem subscripta 
eat 



thoritative teaching. Thus the fa- 
thers of the fourth council of Con- 
stantinople, following in the footsteps 
of their predecessors, put forth this 
solemn profession : 

"The first law of salvation is to 
keep the rule of true faith. And 
whereas the words of our Lord Jesus 
Christ cannot be passed by, who said : 
Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I 
will build my church, (Matt. xvi. i8,) 
these words, which he sj)ake, are 
proved true by facts ; for in the apos- 
tolic see, the Catholic religion has 
ever been preserved unspotted, and 
the holy doctrine has been announced 
Therefore wishing never to be sepa- 
rated firom the faith and teaching of 
this see, we hope to be worthy to 
abide in that one communion which 
the apostolic see preaches, in which 
is the full and true firmness of the 
Christian religion." [Formula of St. 
Hormisdas Pope, as proposed by Ha- 
drian II. to the fathers of the eighth 
general Council, (Constantinop. IV.,) 
and subscribed by them.] 

So too, the Greeks, with the approv- 
al of the second council of Lyons, pro- 
fessed, that the holy Roman Church 
holds over the universal Catholic 
Church, a supreme and full primacy 
and headship, which she truthfully 
and humbly acknowledges that she 
received, with fulness of power, from 
the Lord himself in blessed Peter, 
the prince or head of the apostles, 
of whom the Roman pontiff is the 
successor; and as she, beyond the 
others, is bound to defend the truth 
of the faith, so, if any questions 
arise concerning faith, they should 
be decided by her judgment. And 
finally, tl« council of Florence de- 
fined that the Roman pontiff is 
true vicar of Christ, and the head of 
the whole church, and the father and 
teacher of all Christians, and that to 
him, in the blessed Peter, was given by 
our Lord Jesus Christ full power of 



8s6 



Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ. 



Huic pastoral! muneri ut satisface- 
rent, Praedecessores Nostri indefessam 
semper operam dederunt, ut salutaris 
Christi doctrina apud oxnnes terrae 
populos propagaretur, parique cura 
vigilarunt, ut, ubi recepta esset, sin- 
cera et pura conservaretur. Quocirca 
totius orbis Antistites, nunc singuli, 
nunc in Synodis congregati, longam 
ecclesiarum consuetudinem et anti- 
quae regulae formam sequentes, ea 
pracsertim pericula, quae in negotiis 
fidei emergebant, ad banc Sedem 
Apostolicam retulerunt, ut ibi potissi- 
mum resarcirentur damna fidei, ubi 
fides non potest sentire defectum.* 
Romani autem Pontifices, prout tem- 
porum et rerum conditio suadebat, 
nunc convocatis oecumenicis Conciliis 
aut explorata Ecclesiae per orbem dis- 
persae sententia, nunc per Synodos 
particulares, nunc aliis, quae divina 
suppeditabat providentia, adhibitis 
auxiliis, ea tenenda definiverunt, quae 
sacris Scripturis et apostolicis Tradi- 
tionibus consentanea, Deo adiutore, 
cognovcrant. Neque enira Petri suc- 
cessoribus Spiritus Sanctus promissus 
est, ut eo rcvelante novam doctrinam 
patefaccrent, sed ut eo assistente tradi- 
tam per Apostolos revelationem seu 
fidei depositum sancte custodirent et 
fidclitcr exponerent. Quonim quidera 
apostolicam doctrinam omnes venera- 
bilcs Patres amplexi et sancti Doctores 
orthodoxi venerati atque secuti sunt ; 
plenissime scientes, banc sancti Petri 
Sedem ab omni semper errore illiba- 
tam permanere, secundum Domini 
Salvatoris nostri divinam pollicita- 
tionem discipulorum suorum principi 
factam : Kgo rogavi pro te, ut non 
dcficiat fides tua, et tu aliquando con- 
versus confirma fratres tuos. 



* CC S. Bern. Epist 190k 



feeding and ruling and govemmg tbe 
universal cburcb. (Johnxxi. 15-17.) 
In order to fulfil tbis pastoni 
cbarge, our predecessors have ever la- 
bored un weariedly to spread the saving 
doctrine of Christ among all the na- 
tions of the earth, and with equal caxe 
have watched to preserve it pure and 
unchanged where it had been received 
Wherefore the bishops of the whole 
world, sometimes singly, sometimes as- 
sembled in synods, following the long 
established custom of the churches, 
(S. Cyril, Alex, ad S. Coelest. Pap.,) 
and the form of ancient rule, (St In- 
nocent I. to councils of Carthage and 
Milevi,) referred to this apostolic sec 
those dangers especially which arose 
in matters of faith, in order that inju- 
ries to faith might best be healed there 
where the faith could never fail. (St 
Bernard ep. 190.) And the Roman pon- 
tiffs, weighing the condition of times 
and circumstances, sometimes calling 
together general councils, or asking 
the judgment of the church scattered 
through the world, sometimes consult- 
ing particular synods, sometimes using 
such other aids as divine providence 
supplied, defined that those doctrines 
should be held, which, by the aid of 
God, they knew to be conformable 
to the holy Scriptures, and the apos- 
tolic traditions. For the Holy Ghost 
is not j)romised to the successors of 
Peter, that they may make known a 
new doctrine revealed by him, but 
that, through his assistance, they may 
sacredly guard, and faithfully set forth 
the revelation delivered by the apos- 
tles, that is, the deposit of faith. And 
this their apostolic teaching, all the 
venerable fathers have embraced, and 
the holy orthodox doctors have re- 
vered and followed, knowing most 
certainly that this see of St. Peter 
ever remains fi-ee from all error, ac- 
cording to the divine promise of our 
Lord and Saviour made to the prince 
of the apostles: I have prayed for 
thee^ that thy faith fail not, and thou, 



Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ. 



SS7 



Hoc igitur veritatis et fidei num- 
quam deficientis charisma Petro eius- 
que in hac Cathedra successoribus di- 
vinitus collatum est, ut excelso suo 
munere in omnium salutem fungeren- 
tur, ut universus Christi grex per eos 
ab enx)ris venenosa esca aversus, coe- 
lestis doctrinae pabulo nutriretur, ut 
sublata schismatis occasione Ecclesia 
tota una conservaretur atque suo fun- 
damento innixa firma adversus inferi 
portas consisteret. 



At vero cum hac ipsa aetate, qua 
salutifera Apostolici muneris efficacia 
vel maxime requiritur, non pauci in- 
veniantur, qui iilius auctoritati obtrec- 
tant; necessarium omnino esse cen- 
semus, praerogativam, quam unigeni- 
tus Dei Filius cum summo pastorali 
officio coniungere dignatus est, solem- 
niter asserere. 

Itaque Nos traditioni a fidei Chris- 
tianae exordio perceptae fideliter in- 
haerendo, ad Dei Salvatoris nostri 
gloriam religionis Catholicae exalta- 
tionem et Christianorum populorum 
salutem, sacro approbante Concilio, 
docemus et divinitus revelatum dogma 
esse definimus: Romanum Pontifi- 
cem, cum ex Cathedra loquitur, id 
est, cum omnium Christianorum Pas- 
tons et Doctoris munere fungens, pro 
suprema sua Apostolica auctoritate 
doctrinam de fide vel moribus ab 
universa Ecclesia tenendam definit, 

^per assistentiam divinam, ipsi in beato 
Petro promissam, ea infallibilitate pol- 
lere, qua divinus Redemptor Eccle- 
siam suam in definienda doctrina de 
fide vel moribus instructam esse vo- 

' luit ; ideoque eiusmodi Romani Pon- 
tificis definitiones ex sese, non autem 
ex consensu Ecclesiae, irreformabiles 
esse. 



being once converted, confirm thy 
brethren. (Conf. St. Agatho, Ep. ad 
Imp. a Cone. (Ecum. VI. approbat.) 

Therefore, this gift of truth, and of 
faith which fails not, was divinely 
bestowed on Peter and his successors 
in this chair, that they should exercise 
their high office for the salvation 
of all, that through them the univer- 
sal flock of Christ should be turned 
away from the poisonous food of er- 
ror, and should be nourished with the 
food of heavenly doctrine, and that, 
the occasion of schism being removed, 
the entire church should be preserved 
one, and, planted on her foundation, 
should stand firm against the gates 
of heU. 

Nevertheless, since in this present 
age, when the saving efficacy of the 
apostolic office is exceedingly need- 
ed, there are not a few who carp at 
its authority; we judge it altogether 
necessary to solemnly declare the pre- 
rogative, which the only begotten Son 
of God has deigned to unite to the 
supreme pastoral office. 

Wherefore, faithfully adhering to 
the tradition handed down from the 
commencement of the Christian faith, 
for the glory of God our Saviour, the 
exaltation of the Catholic religion, 
and the salvation of Christian peoples, 
with the approbation of the sacred 
council, we teach and define it to be 
a doctrine divinely revealed : that when 
the Roman pontiff speaks ex cathe- 
dray that is, when in the exercise of 
his office of pastor and teacher of all 
Christians, and in virtue of his su- 
preme apostolical authority, he de- 
fines that a doctrine of faith or mo- 
rals is to be held by the universal 
church, he possesses, through the di- 
vine assistance promised to him in the 
blessed Peter, that infallibility with 
which the divine Redeemer willed his 
church to be endowed, in defining a 
doctrine of faith or morals ; and there- 
fore that such definitions of the Ro- 
man pontiff are irreformable of them- 



858 



New Publications. 



Si quis autem huic Nostrae defini- 
tioni contradicere, quod Deus avertat, 
praesumpserit; anathema sit. 

Datum Romae, in publica Sessione 
in Vaticana Basilica solemniter cele- 
brata, anno Incamationis Dominicae 
millesimo octingentesimo septuagesi^ 
mo, die decima octava lulii. 

Pontificatus Nostri anno vigesimo 
quinto Ita est 

lOSEPHUS 

Episcopus S. Hippolyti 
Secrctatius Concilii Vaticani. 



selves, and not by force of the con- 
sent of the church thereto. 

And if any one shall presume, 
which God forbid, to contradict this 
our definition ; let him be anathema. 

Given in Rome, in the Public Ses- 
sion, solemnly celebrated in the Vati- 
can Basilica, in the year of the Incar- 
nation of our Lord one thousand 
eight hundred and seventy, on the 
eighteenth day of July ; in the twenty- 
fifth year of our Pontificate. 

Ita est 
Joseph, Bishop of St. Polten, 
Secretary of the Council of the 

Vatican. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



Life of T. Theophane Venard, 
Martyr in Tonquin. Translated 
from the French by Lady Herbert. 
London: Burns, Oates & Co. 1870. 
Pp. 215. For sale by the Catholic 
Publication Society, 9 Warren Street, 
New York. 

China is the land of modern martyr- 
dom. She continues the work of Nero 
and Diocletian. Within a few days the 
newspapers have contained a brief ac- 
count of the latest massacre. These 
persecutions have been constant since 
her soil first drank the blood of a Ca- 
tholic missionary. Incited by their 
pagan priests, secretly encouraged by 
government officials, and sustained by 
the approbation of the mandarins, the 
ignorant and barbarous mobs of China 
are only too ready for the murder of 
those whom they term " Foreign De- 
vils." Throughout the world there 
is at least partial toleration for the 
teacher of the Christian religion ; in 
China there is only certain death. Fa- 
ther Vdnard, then, went to China with 
the hope and expectation of martyrdom. 
This was tempered, indeed, by the 
thought that he was unworthy of this 
singular grace, but still it was the con- 
stant thought of his life. In early child- 
hood it was h\s deV5i\x. Vo x^^l^ v\\^ 



"Annals of the Propagation of the Faith" 
with his dear sister M^lanie ; and once, 
when he had scarcely reached his ninth 
year, he was heard to exclaim, " And 
I too will go to Tonquin ; and I too will 
be a martyr !" Those childish lips were 
speaking a prophecy. Let twenty-two 
years pass away, and the little French 
lad will be found in a wooden cage, the 
prisoner of barbarians, and awaiting 
sentence of death. Sweet bird of para- 
dise that he was, it is not strange that 
even a pagan mob should be touched 
by his misfortunes. He hears the crowd 
about his prison saying, " What a 
pretty boy that European is !" ** He is 
gay and bright, as if he were going to a 
feast !" " He is come to our country 
to do us good." " Certainly he can't 
have done any thing wrong.'* But in 
China, as in more civilized nations, 
popular sympathy has little intlucnce 
over the authorities who administer the 
government. Doubtless there was some 
law to be vindicated, and so, on Febru- 
ary 3d, i860, at the age of thirty-one. 
Father Vdnard was behe.ided. His 
execution was not remarkable for anv 
great tortures, though it was cruel 
enough. But this was due to an un- 
skilful headsman and a dull sword ; and 
as these accidents are frequent in the 
^^<&cvition of our criminals, it would be 



New Publications. 



859 



unjust to make it a reproach to those 
who caused the death of the young 
martyr. But his life does not require 
the heroic endurance of tortures to make 
it interesting. He wins our love sim- 
ply because he was so full of love him- 
self. He was a tender and affectionate 
son, a warm and devoted brother, an 
unfailing friend. Perhaps the greatest 
of his sacrifices was made when he left 
the sister to whom he was so warmly 
attached that he might labor among the 
heathen. It may have been a more 
glorious triumph for the martyr to re- 
nounce his idolized relatives than to 
meet death bravely. We cannot, there- 
fore, see the appropriateness of Lady 
Herbert's remark, that Vdnard " was no 
ascetic saint, trembling at every manis- 
festation of human or natural feeling." If 
he did not tremble at human affections, 
at least he knew how to renounce them ; 
indeed, he saw that perfection could 
only be gained by their renunciation. 
But as Lady Herbert's sentence reads, 
it conveys a reproach to the ascetics. 
We might imagine that " an ascetic saint 
trembling at every manifestation of hu- 
man or natural feeling'* was something 
greatly to be deplored. But when we 
remember that St Aloysius was so care- 
ful in this matter that he would not raise 
his eyes to look upon his own mother, 
we may very fairly question the wisdom 
of Lady Herbert's insinuation. She has 
evidently used the word ascetic in a 
Protestant sense ; deriving it from the 
word similar in sound, but totally diffe- 
rent in meaning — iuetic. It would be 
very difficult to assign exactly the part 
which human affections play in Chris- 
tian perfection. Perhaps there is no 
rule which will apply to all. The lives 
of the saints show that they have looked 
upon it in very different lights. Some 
have completely broken all family ties ; 
others have cherished and sanctified the 
love borne to their relations. It is only 
fair, then, to conclude that God has direct- 
ed these souls in different ways. If F. 
Vdnard yields up his life for Christ and 
the Catholic faith, we will not quarrel 
with him when he calls his sister '' part 
of his very life,'* or tells her that she is his 
** second self." Yet such language could 
not come from St. Aloysius, or St. Fran- 



cis Borgia, or St Ignathis. Their piety 
was cast in a more austere mould. But 
coming from this dear martyr of Ton- 
quin, Uiese words do not seem inappro- 
priate. No one would wish them 
changed. They are the expression of 
his innocent and childish disposition. 
They prove our hero, though a priest 
and a man of thirty, to be the worthy 
companion of gentle St Agnes. Of all 
the martyrs none have resembled her 
more closely than this heroic priest ; all 
that imagination has painted her will 
be found in the reality of Father V^- 
nard's life. 

Notes on the Physiology and Pa- 
thology OF THE Nervous System. 
With reference to Clinical Medicine. 
By Meredith Clymer, M.D., Univer- 
sity Pennsylvania ; Fellow of the 
College of Physicians, Philadelphia. 
D. Appleton & Co. Pp. 53. 

This brochure fulfils the promise of 
its learned author in the introduction, in 
which he " proposes to summarize the 
recent investigations into the physio- 
logy and pathology of the nervous sys- 
tem which have a bearing on clinical 
medicine." 

The labor has been faithfully and 
skilfully performed, and the history of 
the scleroses of the brain and spinal 
cord is carefully collected from the 
English, German, and French — collat- 
ed, compared, and analyzed. ' The sum- 
mary is one of the utmost importance 
to physicians, and is interesting to men 
of general knowledge capable of appre- 
ciating this class of subjects. 

It is difficult to over-estimate the va- 
lue to science and society of the inves- 
tigations and studies into the physio- 
logy and pathology of the nervous cen- 
tres which are being conducted all over 
the world Among the students of these 
interesting subjects Dr. Clymer ranks 
high as an observer, and chief in this 
country as annalist and critic. He 
holds a position in the world of medi- 
ci(ie^nalogous to that held by Brown- 
son in the domain of philosophy and 
theology, and his servi"<?e5'are of inesti- 
mable value in correcting the hasty, 
crude, and ill-advised speculations of 



86o 



New Publications. 



men who have neither acquired know- 
ledge nor powers of original observation 
and reflection. 

It is obviously out of place to pursue 
the subject in its medical aspects in 
this place, but we commend the pam- 
phlet to physicians, scientists, and ju- 
rists, and also to theologians. 

From this class of works they can 
learn the basis on which medicine rests 
as a science, and the essential immo- 
rality of all forms of quackery. 

Out of the Past. (Critical and Lite- 
rary Papers.) By Parke Godwin. 
New York : G. P. Putnam & Sons. 
1870. 

This is a collection of nineteen arti- 
cles written for different magazines — 
principally for the Democratic Review 
and Putnam'' 5 Monthly — at various pe- 
riods from 1839 to 1856. The experi- 
ment of publishing in book form an 
author^s fugitive essays is seldom suc- 
cessful True, it was so in the cases of 
Carlyle and Macaulay. How far Mr. 
Godwin may resemble them in this re- 
spect remains to be seen. Should any 
reviewer come to the treatment of this 
book strong in the Vicar of Wakefield's 
celebrated canon of criticism — that the 
picture would have been better if the 
painter had taken more pains — he will 
find himself disarmed by Mr. Godwin's 
prefatory apology, that these essays 
"are more imperfect than they would 
have been with a larger leisure at 
my command." The subjects are 
generally interesting, and their treat- 
ment instructive. The style of these 
essays is excellent, and their author's 
opinions and criticisms on literature 
and art generally of a healthy tone. 
We cannot precisely agree with Mr. 
Godwin when he credits a certain work 
of Dutch art (p. 375) with the inspira- 
tion of patriotism, but are glad to see 
with his eyes that Thackeray 

**Took no satyr's delight in ofTensive 
scenes and graceless characters ; that he 
was even sadder than the reader could be 
at the horrible prospect before him^ that 
his task was one conscientiously under- 
taken, with lome deep, great, generous 
purpose ; and that, beneath his seeming 
scofl* and mockeries, was to be discovered a 



more searching wisdom and a sweeter, ten- 
derer pathos than we found in any other 
living writer. We saw that he chastised in 
no ill-natured or malicious vein, but in love ; 
that he cauterized only to cure ; and that, 
if he wandered through the dreary circles 
of Inferno, it was because the spirit of Bea- 
trice, the spirit of immortal beauty, beckon- 
ed him to the more glorious paradise." 

A Compendium of the History of 
THE Catholic Church. By Rev. 
Theodore Noethen. Baltimore : John 
Murphy & Co. 1870. Pp. 587. 

A hasty glance through the contents 
of this work seems to justify these con- 
clusions : The chief merit of the book 
is its numerous anecdotes. These il- 
lustrate the particular customs and dan- 
gers of Christians in different nations 
and centuries. Compendiums usually 
fatigue the mind with dates and unin- 
teresting details. Father Noethen has 
carefully avoided this fault He leads us 
into the homes and by the hearih-side 
of the Catholics of former times. N oih- 
ing can be more useful than this. His- 
tory cannot be learned until we ima- 
gine ourselves living at that very time 
and taking our part in the scenes which 
are described. So the words of a mar- 
tyr, or a sentence from a letter, or a 
pious custom will often throw more 
light upon history than whole pages of 
detailed facts and speculations. In re- 
gard to those more delicate questions 
which every writer of a church history 
must solve in some way, Father Noe- 
then appears to have acted with jjreat 
discretion. We were particularly pleas- 
ed with the remarks concerning Crimen. 
In this work that illustrious hero of the 
early church is given the praise w!iich 
he has so long deserved, but which has 
been so long denied him. By an over- 
sight, however, there is one unfortunate 
sentence in this book. It speaks of 
Constantine as " convening a general 
council." Without doubt this exj res- 
sion is incorrect ; the Christian empe- 
rors aided the meeting of oecumenical 
councils ; they never convened them. 
That power was always reserved to the 
sovereign pontiff alone. But apart from 
this clerical error the book is very 
praiseworthy, and will do good both to 
Catholics and to Protestants. 



iiiiliii J.O.- 

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