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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*^
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v
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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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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.
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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
//
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jf Sl A-itus.
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ff.i ', . r A .:. ir. nr.fr.:. :«r U-ni "?a.-«*.*
r ■. ,-i:m r.a-'.u.->:'i'. v. -ii -,j* c . .^.: a •!,
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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 ;:
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r rr« r.^ ..e ; a.ss -tl!i iirc 1. -Tie. rrr^ls
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I- --": " '- i;r-#. :",: N .e -Ti^siev
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\hu
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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.-
3 kins DO? 3SD 751 _,
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