CHAPTER XXI.

It is not to be credited with how great an admixture of pleasure and pain I do set myself to my daily task of writing, for the thought of those spring and summer months spent in Lady Tregony's house doth stir up old feelings, the sweetness of which hath yet some bitterness in it, which I would fain separate from the memories of that happy time.

Basil had taken up his abode at Euston, whither I so often went and whence he so often came, that methinks we could both have told (for mine own part I can yet do it, even after the lapse of so many years) the shape of each tree, the rising of each bank, the every winding of the fair river Ouse betwixt one house and the other. Yea, when I now sit down on the shore, gazing on the far-off sea, bethinking myself it doth break on the coast of England, I sometimes newly draw on memory's tablet that old large house, the biggest in all Suffolk, albeit homely in its exterior and interior plainness, which sitteth in a green hollow between two graceful swelling hills. Its opposite meadows starred in the spring-tide with so many daisies and buttercups that the grass scantily showeth amidst these gay intruders; the ascending walk, a mile in length, with four rows of ash-trees on each side, the tender green of which in those early April days mocked the sober tints of the darksome tufts of fir; and the noble deer underneath the old oaks, carrying in a stately manner their horned heads, and darting along the glades with so swift a course that the eye could scarce follow them. But mostly the little wooden bridge where, when Basil did fish, I was wont to sit and watch the sport, I said, but verily him, of whose sight I was somewhat covetous after his long absence. And I mind me that one day when we were thus seated, he on the margin of the stream and I leaning against the bridge, we held an argument touching country diversions, which began in this wise:

"Methinks," I said, "of all disports fishing hath this advantage, that if one faileth in the success he looketh for, he hath at least a wholesome walk, a sweet air, a fragrant savor of the mead flowers. He seeth the young swans, herons, ducks, and many other fowls with their broods, which is surely better than the noise of hounds, the blast of horns, and the cries the hunters make. And if it be in part used for the increasing of the body's health and the solace of the mind, it can also be advantageously employed for the health of the soul, for it is not needful in this diversion to have a great many persons with you, and this solitude doth favor thought and the serving of God by sometimes repeating devout prayers."

To this Basil replied: "That as there be many men, there be also many minds; and, for his part, when the woods and fields and skies seemed in all one loud cry and confusion with the earning of the hounds, the gallopping of the horses, the hallowing of the huntsmen, and the excellent echo resounding from the hills and valleys, he did not think there could be a {474} more delectable pastime or a more tuneable sound by any degree than this, and specially in that place which is formed so meet for the purpose. And if he should wish anything, it would be that it had been the time of year for it, and for me to ride by his side on a sweet misty mornings to hear this goodly music and to be recreated with this excellent diversion. And for the matter of prayers," he added, smiling, "I warrant thee, sweet preacher, that as wholesome cogitations touching Almighty God and his goodness, and brief inward thanking of him for good limbs and an easy heart, have come into my mind on a horse's back with a brave westerly wind blowing about my head, as in the quiet sitting by a stream listing to the fowls singing."

"Oh, but Basil," I rejoined, "there are more virtues to be practised by an angler than by a hunter."

"How prove you that, sweetheart?" he asked.

Then I: "Well, he must be of a well-settled and constant belief to enjoy the benefit of his expectation. He must be full of love to his neighbor, that he neither give offence in any particular, nor be guilty of any general destruction; then he must be exceeding patient, not chafing in losing the prey when it is almost in hand, or in breaking his tools, but with pleased sufferance, as I have witnessed in thyself, amend errors and think mischances instructions to better carefulness. He must be also full of humble thoughts, not disdaining to kneel, lie down, or wet his fingers when occasion commands. Then must he be prudent, apprehending the reasons why the fish will not bite; and of a thankful nature, showing a large gratefulness for the least satisfaction."

"Tut, tut," Basil replied, laughing; "thinkest thou no patience be needful when the dogs do lose the scent, or your horse refuseth to take a gate; no prudence to forecast which way to turn when the issue be doubtful; no humility to brook a fall with twenty fellows passing by a-jeering of you; no thankfulness your head be not broken; no love of your neighbor for to abstain in the heat of the chase from treading down his corn, or for to make amends when it be done? Go to, go to, sweetheart; thou art a dextrous pleader, but hast failed to prove thy point. Methinks there doth exist greater temptations for to swear or to quarrel in hunting than in fishing, and, if resisted, more excellent virtues then observed. One day last year, when I was in Cheshire, Sir Peter Lee of Lime did invite me to hunt the stag, and there being a great stag in chase and many gentlemen hot in the pursuit, the stag took soil, and divers, whereof I was one, alighted and stood with sword drawn to have a cut at him."

"Oh, the poor stag!" I cried; "I do always sorely grieve for him."

"Well," he continued, "the stags there be wonderfully fierce and dangerous, which made us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all; and it was my misfortune to be hindered in my coming near him, the way being slippery, by a fall which gave occasion to some which did not know me to speak as if I had failed for fear; which being told me, I followed the gentleman who first spoke it, intending for to pick a quarrel with him, and, peradventure, measure my sword with his, so be his denial and repentance did not appear. But, I thank God, afore I reached him my purpose had changed, and in its stead I turned back to pursue the stag, and happened to be the only horseman in when the dogs set him up at bay; and approaching near him, he broke through the dogs and ran at me, and took my horse's side with his horns. Then I quitted my horse, and of a sudden getting behind him, got on his back and cut his throat with my sword."

"Alack!" I cried, "I do mislike these bloody pastimes, and love not to think of the violent death of any living creature."

{475}

"Well, dear heart," he answered, "I will not make thee sad again by the mention of the killing of so much as a rat, if it displeaseth thee. But truly I mislike not to think of that day, for I warrant thee, in turning back from the pursuit of that injurious gentleman, somewhat more of virtue did exist than it hath been my hap often to practice. For, look you, sweet one, to some it doth cause no pain to forgive an injury which toucheth not their honor, or to plunge into the sea to fish out a drowning man; but to be styled a coward, and yet to act as a Christian man should do, not seeking for to be revenged, why, methinks, there should be a little merit in it."

"Yea," I said, "much in every way; but truly, sir, if your thinking is just that easy virtue is little or no virtue, I shall be the least virtuous wife in the world."

Upon this he laughed so loud that I told him he would fright all the fishes away.

"I' faith, let them go if they list," he cried, and cast away his rod. Then coming to where I was sitting, he invited me to walk with him alongside the stream, and then asked me for to explain my last speech.

"Why, Basil," I said, "what, I pray you, should be the duty of a virtuous wife but to love her husband?"

So then he, catching my meaning, smiled and replied,

"If that duty shall prove easy to thy affectionate heart, I doubt not but others will arise which shall call for the exercise of more difficult virtue."

When we came to a sweet nook, where the shade made it too dark for grass to grow, and only moss yielded a soil carpet for the feet, we sat down on a shelving slope of broken stones, and I exclaimed,

"Oh, Basil, methinks we shall be too happy in this fair place; and I do tax myself presently with hardness of heart, that in thy company, and the forecasting of a blissful time to come, I lose the sense of recent sorrows."

"God doth yield thee this comfort," he answered, "for to refresh thy body and strengthen thy soul, which have both been verily sorely afflicted of late. I ween he doth send us breathing-times with this merciful intent."

By such discourses as these we entertained ourselves at sundry times; but some of the sweetest hours we spent were occupied in planning the future manner of our lives, the good we should strive to do amongst our poor neighbors, and the sweet exercise of Catholic religion we should observe.

Foreseeing the frequent concealing of priests in his house, Basil sent one day for a young carpenter, one Master Owen, who hath since been so noted for the contriving of hiding-places in all the recusants' houses in England; and verily what I noticed in him during the days he was at work at Euston did agree with the great repute of sanctity he hath since obtained. His so small stature, his trick of silence, his exceeding recollected and composed manner filled me with admiration; and Basil told me nothing would serve him, the morning he arrived, when he found a priest was in the house, but to go to shrift and holy communion, which was his practice, before ever he set to work at his good business. I took much pleasure in watching his progress. He scooped out a cell in the walls of the gallery, contriving a door such as I remembered at Sherwood Hall, which none could see to open unless they did know of the spring. All the time he was laboring thereat, I could discern him to be praying; and when he wot not any to be near him, sang hymns in a loud and exceeding sweet voice. I have never observed in any one a more religious behavior than in this youth, who, by his subtle and ingenious art, hath saved the lives of many priests, and procured mass to be said in houses where none should have durst for to say or hear it if a refuge of this kind did not exist, wherein a man may lie ensconced for years, and none can find him, if he come not forth himself.

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When he was gone, other sort of workmen were called in, for to make more habitable and convenient a portion of this large house. For in this the entire consenting of our minds did appear, that neither of us desired for to spend money on showy improvements, or to inhabit ten chambers when five should suffice. What one proposed, the other always liked well; and if in tastes we did sometimes differ, yet no disagreement ensued. For, albeit Basil cared not as much as I did for the good ordering of the library, his indulgent kindness did nevertheless incline him to favor me with a promise that one hundred fair, commendable books should be added to those his good father had collected. He said that Hubert should aid us to choose these goodly volumes, holy treatises, and histories in French and English, if it liked me, and poetry also. One pleasant chamber he did laughingly appoint for to be the scholar's room, in the which he should never so much as show his face, but Hubert and I read and write, if we listed, our very heads off. The ancient chapel was now a hall; and, save some carving on the walls which could not be recovered, no traces did remain of its old use. But at the top-most part of the house, at the head of a narrow staircase, was a chamber wherein mass was sometimes said; and since Basil's return, he had procured that each Saturday a priest should come and spend the night with him, for the convenience of all the neighboring Catholics who resorted there for to go to their duty. Lady Tregony and her household--which were mostly Catholic, but had not the same commodities in her house, where to conceal any one was more hard, for that it stood almost in the village of Fakenham, and all comers and goers proved visible to the inhabitants--did repair on Sundays, at break of day, to Euston. How sweet were those rides in the fair morning light, the dew bespangling every herb and tree, and the wild flowers filling the air with their fresh fragrance! The pale primroses, the azure harebell, the wood-anemone, and the dark-blue hyacinth--what dainty nosegays they furnished us with for our Blessed Lady's altar! of which the fairest image I ever beheld stood in the little secret chapel at Euston. Basil did much affection this image of Blessed Mary; for as far back as he could remember he had been used to say his prayers before it; and when his mother died, he being only seven years of age, he knelt before this so lively representation of God's Mother, beseeching of her to be a mother to him also; which prayer methinks verily did take effect, his life having been marked by singular tokens of her maternal care.

In the Holy Week, which fell that year in the second week of April, he procured the aid of three priests, and had all the ceremonies performed which do appertain to that sacred season. On Wednesday, toward evening began _Tenebrae_, with the mysterious candlestick of fifteen lights, fourteen of them representing, by the extinguishing of them, the disciples which forsook Christ; the fifteenth on the top, which was not put out, his dear Mother, who from the crib to the cross, was not severed from him. On Thursday we decked the sepulchre wherein the Blessed Sacrament reposed with flowers and all such jewels as we possessed, and namely with a very fair diamond cross which Basil had gifted me with, and reverently attended it day and night. "God defend," I said to Basil, when the sepulchre was removed, "I should retain for vain uses what was lent to our Lord yester eve!" and straightway hung on the cross to our Lady's neck. On Friday we all crept to the crucifix, and kissing, bathed it with our tears. On Saturday every fire was extinguished in the house, and kindled again with hallowed fire. Then ensued the benediction of the paschal candle, and the rest of the divine ceremonies, till mass. At mass, as soon as the priest pronounced "Gloria in excelsis," a cloth, contrived by Lady Tregony and me, {477} and which veiled the altar, made resplendent with lights and flowers, was suddenly snatched away, and many little bells we had prepared for that purpose rung, in imitation of what was done in England in Catholic times, and now in foreign countries. On Easter Sunday, after mass, a benediction was given to divers sorts of meat, and, in remembrance of the Lamb sacrificed two days before, a great proportion of lamb. Nigh one hundred recusants had repaired to Euston that day for their paschal communion. Basil did invite them all to break Lent's neck with us, in honor of Christ's joyful resurrection; and many blessings were showered that day, I ween, on Master Rookwood, and for his sake, I ween, on Mistress Sherwood also. The sun did shine that Easter morning with more than usual brightness. The common people do say it danceth for joy at this glorious tide. For my part, methought it had a rare youthful brilliancy, more cheering than hot, more lightsome than dazzling. All nature seemed to rejoice that Christ was risen; and pastoral art had devised arches of flowers and gay wreaths hanging from pole to pole and gladdening every thicket.

Verily, if the sun danced in the sky, my poor heart danced in my bosom. At Basil's wishing, anticipating future duties, I went to the kitchen for to order the tansy-cakes which were to be prizes at the hand-ball playing on the next day. Like a foolish creature, I was ready to smile at every jest, howsoever trifling; and when Basil put in his head at the door and cried, "Prithee, let each one that eateth of tansy-cake to-morrow, which signifieth bitter herbs, take also of bacon, to show he is no Jew," the wenches and I did laugh till the tears ran down our cheeks. Ah me! when the heart doth overflow with joy 'tis marvellous how the least word maketh merriment.

One day late in April I rode with Basil for to see some hawking, which verily is a pleasure for high and mounting spirits; howsoever, I wore not the dress which the ladies in this country do use on such occasions, for I have always thought it an unbecoming thing for women to array themselves in male attire, or ride in fashion like a man, and Basil is of my thinking thereon. It was a dear, calm, sun-shiny evening, about an hour before the sun doth usually mask himself, that we went to the river. There we dismounted and, for the first time, I did behold this noble pastime. For is it not rare to consider how a wild bird should be so brought to hand and so well managed as to make us such pleasure in the air; but most of all to forego her native liberty and feeding, and return to her servitude and diet? And what a lesson do they read to us when our wanton wills and thoughts take no heed of reason and conscience's voices luring us back to duty's perch.

When we had stood a brief time watching for a mallard, Basil perceived one and whistled off his falcon. She flew from him as if she would never have turned her head again, yet upon a shout came in. Then by degrees, little by little, flying about and about, she mounted so high as if she had made the moon the place of her flight, but presently came down like a stone at the sound of his lure. I waxed very eager in the noticing of these haps, and was well content to be an eye-witness of this sport. Methought it should be a very pleasant thing to be Basil's companion in it, and wear a dainty glove and a gentle tasel on my fist which should never cast off but at my bidding, and when I let it fly would return at my call. And this thought minded me of a faithful love never diverted from its resting-place save by heavenward aspirations alternating betwixt earthly duties and ghostly soarings. But oh, what a tragedy was enacted in the air when Basil, having detected by a little white feather in its tail a cock in a brake, cast off a tasel gentle, who never ceased his circular motion till he had recovered his place. Then suddenly {478} upon the flushing of the cock he came down, and missing of it in that down-come, lo what working there was on both sides! The cock mounting as if he would have pierced the skies; the hawk flying a contrary way until he had made the wind his friend; what speed the cock made to save himself! What hasty pursuit the hawk made of the fugitive! after long flying killing of it, but alack in killing of it killing himself!

"Ah, a fatal ending to a fatal strife!" exclaimed a known voice close unto mine ear, a melodious one, albeit now harsh to my hearing. Mine eyes were dazzled with gazing upward, and I confusedly discerned two gentlemen standing near me, one of which I knew to be Hubert. I gave him my hand, and then Basil turning round and beholding him and his companion, came up to them with a joyful greeting:

"Oh, Sir Henry," he exclaimed, "I be truly glad to see you; and you, Hubert, what a welcome surprise is this!"

Then he introduced me to Sir Henry Jemingham; for he it was who, bowing in a courteous fashion, addressed to me such compliments as gentlemen are wont to pay to ladies at the outset of their acquaintanceship.

These visitors had left their horses a few paces off, and then Sir Henry explained that Hubert had been abiding with him at his seat for a few days, and that certain law-business in which Basil was concerned as well as his brother, and himself also, as having been for one year his guardian, did necessitate a meeting wherein these matters should be brought to a close.

"So," quoth he then, "Master Basil, I proposed we should invade your solitude in place of withdrawing you from it, which methought of the two evils should be the least, seeing what attractions do detain you at Euston at this time."

I foolishly dared not look at Hubert when Sir Henry made this speech, and Basil with hearty cheer thanked him for his obliging conduct and the great honor he did him for to visit him in this amicable manner. Then he craved his permission for to accompany me to Lady Tregony's house, trusting, he said, to Hubert to conduct him to Euston, and to perform there all hospitable duties during the short time he should be absent himself.

"Nay, nay," quoth Sir Henry, "but, with your license, Master Basil, we will ride with you and this lady to Banham Hall. Methinks, seeing you are such near neighbors, that Mistress Sherwood lacketh not opportunities to enjoy your company, and that you should not deprive me of the pleasure of a short conversation with her whilst Hubert and you entertain yourselves for the nonce in the best way you can."

Basil smiled, and said it contented him very much that Sir Henry should enjoy my conversation, which he hoped in future should make amends to his friends for his own deficiencies. So we all mounted our horses, and Sir Henry rode alongside of me, and Basil and Hubert behind us; for only two could hold abreast in the narrow lane which led to Fakenham. A chill had fallen on my heart since Hubert's arrival, which I can only liken to the sudden overcasting of a bright sun-shiny day by a dark, cold cloud.

At first Sir Henry entered into discourse with me touching hawking, which he talked of in a merry fashion, drawing many similitudes betwixt falconers and lovers, which he said were the likest people in the world.

"For, I pray you," said he "are not hawks to the one what his mistress is to the other? the objects of his care, admiration, labor, and all. They be indeed his idols. To them he consecrates his amorous ditties, and courts each one in a peculiar dialect. Oh, believe me, Mistress Sherwood, that lady may style herself fortunate in love who shall meet with so much thought, affection, and solicitude from a lover or a husband as his birds do from a good ostringen."

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Then diverting his speech to other topics, he told me it was bruited that the queen did intend to make a progress in the eastern counties that summer, and that her majesty should be entertained in a very splendid manner at Kenninghall by my Lord Arundel and also at his house in Norwich.

"It doth much grieve me to hear it," I answered.

Then he: "Wherefore, Mistress Sherwood?"

"Because," I said, "Lord Arundel hath already greatly impaired his fortune and spent larger sums than can be thought of in the like prodigal courtly expenses, and also lost a good part of the lands which his grandfather and my Lady Lumley would have bequeathed to him if he had not turned spendthrift and so greatly displeased them."

"But and if it be so," quoth he again, "wherefore doth this young nobleman's imprudence displeasure you, Mistress Sherwood?"

I answered, "By reason of the pain which his follies do cause to his sweet lady, which for many years hath been more of a friend to my poor self, than unequal rank and, if possible, still more unequal merit should warrant."

"Then I marvel not," replied Sir Henry, "at your resentment of her husband's folly, for by all I have ever seen or heard of this lady she doth show herself to be the pattern of a wife, the model of high-born ladies; and 'tis said that albeit so young, there doth exist in her so much merit and dignity that some noblemen confess that when they come into her presence they dare not swear, as at other times they are wont to do before the best of the kingdom. But I have heard, and am verily inclined to believe it, that he is much changed in his dispositions toward his lady; though pride, it may be, or shame at his ill-usage of her, or fear that it should seem that, now his favor with the queen doth visibly decline, he should turn to her whom, when fortune smiled upon him, he did keep aloof from, seeking her only when clouds gather round him, do hinder him from showing these new inclinations."

"How much he would err," I exclaimed, "and wrong his noble wife if he misdoubted her heart in such a case! Methinks most women would be ready to forgive one they loved when misfortune threatened them, but she beyond all others, who never at any time allowed jealousy or natural resentments to draw away her love from him to whom she hath vowed it. But is Lord Arundel then indeed in less favor with her majesty? And how doth this surmise agree with the report of her visit to Kenninghall?"

"Ah, Mistress Sherwood," he answered, "declines in the human body often do call for desperate remedies, and the like are often required when they occur in court favor. 'Tis a dangerous expedient to spend two or three thousands of pounds in one or two days for the entertainment of the queen and the court; but if, on the report of her intended progress, one of such high rank as Lord Arundel had failed to place his house at her disposal, his own disgrace and his enemies' triumph should have speedily ensued. I pray God my Lord Burleigh do not think on Cottessy! Egad, I would as lief pay down at once one year's income as to be so uncertainly mulcted. I warrant you Lord Arundel shall have need to sell an estate to pay for the honor her majesty will do him. He hath a spirit will not stop half-way in anything he doth pursue."

"Then think you, sir," I said, "he will be one day as noted for his virtues as now for his faults?"

Sir Henry smiled as he answered, "If Philip Howard doth set himself one day to serve God, I promise you his zeal therein will far exceed what he hath shown in the devil's service."

"I pray you prove a true prophet, sir," I said; and, as we now had reached the door of Lady Tregony's house, I took leave of this courteous gentlemen, and hastily turned toward {480} Basil--with an uneasy desire to set him on his guard to use some reserve in his speeches with Hubert, but withal at a loss how to frame a brief warning, or to speak without being overheard. Howsoever, I drew him a little aside, and whispered, "Prithee, be silent touching Owen's work, even to Hubert."

He looked at me so much astonished, and methought with so great a look of pain, that my heart smote me. We exchanged a brief farewell; and when they had all ridden away, I felt sad. Our partings were wont to be more protracted; for he would most times ask me to walk back with him to the gate, and then made it an excuse that it should be unmannerly not to see me home, and so three or four times we used to walk to and fro, till at last I did laughingly shut the door on him, and refused to open it again. But, ah me! that evening the chill I spoke of had fallen on our simple joys like a blight on a fair landscape.

On the next day two missives came to me from Euston, sent by private hand, but not by the same messenger. I leave the reader to judge what I felt in reading these proofs of the dispositions of two brothers, so alike in features, so different in soul. This was Basil's letter:

"MINE OWN DEAR HEART-- The business which hath brought Sir Henry and Hubert here will, I be frightened, hold me engaged all to-morrow. But, before I sleep, I must needs write thee (poor penman as I be) how much it misliketh me to see in thee an ill opinion of mine only and dear brother, and such suspicion as verily no one should entertain of a friend, but much less of one so near in blood. I do yield thee that he is not as zealous as I could wish in devout practices, and something too fond of worldly pleasures; but God is my witness, I should as soon think of doubting mine own existence as his fidelity to his religion, or his kindness to myself. So, prithee, dear love, pain me not again by the utterance of such injurious words to Hubert as that I should not trust him with any secrets howsoever weighty, or should observe any manner of restraint in communicating with him touching common dangers and interests. Methinks he is very sad at this time, and that the sight of his paternal home hath made him melancholy. Verily, his lot hath in it none of the brightness which doth attend mine, and I would we could anyways make him a partaker in the happiness we do enjoy. I pray God he may help me to effect this, by the forwarding of any wish he hath at heart; but he was always of a very reserved habit of mind, and not prone to speak of his own concernments. Forgive, sweetheart, this loving reproof, from thy most loving friend and servant," "BASIL ROOKWOOD."

Hubert's was as followeth:

"MADAM--My presumption toward you hath doubtless been a sin calling for severe punishment; but I pray you leave not the cause of it unremembered. The doubtful mind you once showed in my regard, and of which the last time I saw you some marks methought did yet appear, should be my excuse if I have erred in a persistency of love, which most women would less deserve indeed, but would more appreciate than you have done. If this day no token doth reach me of your changed mind, be it so. I depart hence as changed as you do remain unchanged. It may be for mine own weal, albeit passion deems of it otherwise, if you finally reject me whom once you did look upon with so great favor, that the very thought of it works in me a revived tenderness as should be mine own undoing if it prevailed, for this country hath laws which are not broken in vain, and faithful loyal service is differently requited than traitorous and obstinate malignity. I shall be the greater for lacking your love, proud lady; but to have it I would forego all a sovereign can bestow--all that ambition can desire. These, then, are my last words. If we meet not to-day, God {481} knoweth with what sentiments we shall one day meet, when justice hath overtaken you, and love in me hath turned to hatred!"

"HUBERT ROOKWOOD."

"Ay," I bitterly exclaimed, laying the two letters side by side before me, "one endeth with love, the other with hate. The one showeth the noble fruits of true affection, the other the bitter end of selfish passion." Then I mused if I should send Basil, or show him later Hubert's letter, clearing myself of any injustice toward him, but destroying likewise for ever his virtuous confidence his brother's honor. A short struggle with myself ensued, but I soon resolved, for the present at least, on silence. If danger did seem to threaten Basil, which his knowledge of his brother's baseness could avert, then I must needs speak; but God defend I should without constraint pour a poisoned drop into the dear fount of his undoubting soul. Passion may die away, hatred may cease, repentance arise; but the evil done by the revealing of another's sin worketh endless wrong to the doer and the hearer.

The day on which I received these two letters did seem the longest I had ever known. On the next Basil came to Banham Hall, and told me his guests were gone. A load seemed lifted from my heart But, albeit we resumed our wonted manner of life, and the same mutual kindness and accustomed duties and pleasures filled our days, I felt less secure in my happiness, less thoughtless of the world without, more subject to sudden sinkings of heart in the midst of greatest merriment, than before Hubert's visit.

In the early part of June, Mr. Congleton wrote in answer to Basil's eager pressings that he would fix the day of our marriage, that he was of opinion a better one could not be found than that of our Lady's Visitation, on the 2d of July, and that, if it pleased God, he should then take the first journey he had made for five-and-twenty years; for nothing would serve Lady Tregony but that the wedding should take place in her house, where a priest would marry us in secret at break of day, and then we should ride to the parish church at Euston for the public ceremony. He should, he added, carry Muriel with him, howsoever reluctant she should be to leave London; but he promised us this should be a welcome piece of constraint, for that she longed to see me again more than can be told.

Verily, pleasant letters reached me that week; for my father wrote he was in better health, and in great peace and contentment of mind at Rheims, albeit somewhat sad, when he saw younger and more fortunate men (for so he styled them) depart for the English mission; and by a cypher we had agreed on he gave me to understand Edmund Genings was of that number. And Lady Arundel, to whom I had reported the conversation I had with Sir Henry Jemingham, sent me an answer which I will here transcribe:

"MY WELL-BELOVED CONSTANCE --You do rightly read my heart, and the hope you express in my regard, with so tender a friendship and solicitous desire for my happiness, hath indeed a better foundation than idle surmises. It hath truly pleased God that Philip's disposition toward me should change; and albeit this change is not as yet openly manifested, he nevertheless doth oftentimes visit me, and testifies much regret for his past neglect of one whom he doth now confess to be his truest friend, his greatest lover, and best comfort. O mine own dear friend! my life has known many strange accidents, but none greater or more strange than this, that my so long indifferent husband should turn into a secret lover who doth haunt me by stealth, and looking on me with new eyes, appears to conceive so much admiration for my worthless beauty, and to find such pleasure in my poor company, that it would seem as if a new face and person had been given to me wherewith {482} to inspire him with this love for her to whom he doth owe it. Oh, I promise thee this husbandly wooing liketh me well, and methinks I would not at once disclose to the world this new kindness he doth show me and revival of conjugal affection, but rather hug it and cherish it like a secret treasure until it doth take such deep root that nothing can again separate his heart from me. His fears touching the queen's ill-conception of him increase, and his enemies do wax more powerful each day. The world hath become full of uneasiness to him. Methinks he would gladly break with it; but like to one who walketh on a narrow plank, with a precipice on each side of him, his safety lieth only in advancing. The report is true--I would it were false--of the queen's progress, and her intended visit to Kenninghall. I fear another fair estate in the north must needs pay the cost thereof; but avoidance is impossible. I am about to remove from London to Arundel Castle, where my lord doth will me for the present to reside. The sea-breezes on that coast, and the mild air of Sussex, he thinks should improve my health, which doth at this time require care. Touching religion, I have two or three times let fall words which implied an increased inclination to Catholic religion. Each time his countenance did very much alter, and assumed a painful expression. I fear he is as greatly opposed to it as heretofore. But if once resolved on what conscience doth prescribe, with God's help, I hope that neither new-found joys nor future fears shall stay me from obeying its voice.

"And so thou art to be married come the early days of July! I' faith thy Basil and thou have, like a pair of doves, cooed long enough, I ween, amidst the tall trees of Euston; which, if you are to be believed, should be the most delectable place in the whole world. And yet some have told me it is but a huge plain building, and the country about it, except for its luxuriant trees, of no notable beauty. The sunshine of thine own heart sheddeth, I ween, a radiancy on the plain walls and the unadorned gardens greater than nature or art can bestow. I cry thee mercy for this malicious surmise, and give thee license, when I shall write in the same strain touching my lord's castle at Arundel to flout me in a like manner. Some do disdainfully style it a huge old fortress; others a very grand and noble pile. If that good befalleth me that he doth visit me there, then I doubt not but it will be to me the cheerfullest place in existence. Thy loving servant to command, "ANN ARUNDEL AND SURREY."

This letter came to my hand at Whitsuntide, when the village folks were enacting a pastoral, the only merit of which did lie in the innocent glee of the performers. The sheep-shearing feast, a very pretty festival, ensued a few days later. A fat lamb was provided, and the maidens of the town permitted to run after it, and she which took hold of it declared the lady of the lamb. 'Tis then the custom to kill and carry it on a long pole before the lady and her companions to the green, attended with music and morisco dances. But this year I ransomed the lamb, and had it crowned with blue corn-flowers and poppies, and led to a small paddock, where for some time I visited and fed it every day. Poor little lamb! like me, it had one short happy time that summer.

In the evening I went with the lasses to the banks of the Ouse, and scattered on the dimpling stream, as is their wont at the lamb-ale, a thousand odorous flowers--new-born roses, the fleur-de-luce, sweet-williams, and yellow coxcombs, the small-flowered lady's-slipper, the prince's-feather and the clustered bell-flower, the sweet-basil (the saucy wenches smiled when they furnished me with a bunch thereof), and a great store of midsummer daisies. When, with due observance, I threw on the water a handful of these golden-tufted and {483} silver-crowned flowerets, I thought of Master Chaucer's lines:

"Above all the flowers in the mead These love I most--these flowers white and red. And in French called _la belle Marguerite_. O commendable flower, and most in mind! O flower and gracious excellence! O amiable Marguerite."

The great store of winsome and graciously-named flowers used that day set me to plan a fair garden, wherein each month should yield in its turn to the altar of our secret chapel a pure incense of nature's own furnishing. Basil was helping me thereto, and my Lady Tregony smiling at my quaint devices, when Mr. Cobham, a cousin of her ladyship, arrived, bringing with him news of the queen's progress, which quickly diverted us from other thoughts, and caused my pencil to stand idle in mine hand.

TO BE CONTINUED.

From The Sixpenny Magazine.

THE SIEGE OF MALTA.

When Solymon, sultan of Turkey, had resolved to extirpate the Knights of Malta, pursuant to his ultimate design of taking vengeance on Philip II. of Spain for the loss which he had suffered in the reduction of the (as he supposed) impregnable Penon de Valez, and for the hostility which the Spaniards had visited upon the Morescoes, to which may be added the incentive of radical religious differences, for the depredations which those famous warriors had visited upon his commerce, he gave the command of his fleet to Piali, and that of his land forces to Mustapha. Having equipped all of the ships in his empire, to which were united the corsairs of Hascem and Dragut, viceroys of Algiers and Tripoli, he ordered them to repair to the siege of Malta.

The Christian powers on the Mediterranean, having heard of his extensive preparations, were in doubt as to the destination of the Turkish fleet; but it appearing from the report of spies that it was bound for Malta, the grand master called immediately upon the Catholic king, the Pope, and the other Christian princes for their aid in withstanding their common enemy, the infidels. These powers were under no small obligation to the Knights, who had made it a part of the faith which they held in unity with these powers, to destroy them upon every occasion which presented the opportunity. But, to their disgrace, these powers discovered an ungrateful hesitancy in responding to this demand, save Philip, and even he, the historian relates, was actuated by motives not wholly engendered by a sense of honor, and whose tardiness was well-nigh fatal to the cause which he professed to zealously espouse, and upon which the Knights of Malta relied for success.

About the middle of May, three hundred years ago, the Turkish fleet arrived in sight of Malta, with a strength of upward of 40,000, composed chiefly of janissaries and serapis, the bravest troops of the Ottoman empire.

John de la Valette, the master-spirit of the defence, commands our highest admiration for his intrepid efforts in inspiring every aspect with the buoyancy of hope. The troops at his disposal to stay this tide of destruction, which set so furiously against his little sea-washed isle, amounted to only 700 knights and 8,500 soldiers, which flattered Solymon into the egregious error that it was an easy conquest to {484} His janissaries and serapis, who, under their distinguished commanders, were accustomed to victory.

The Turks landed at some distance from Il Borgo, and, unresisted, devastated the defenceless territory; but they now drew near a goal which was calculated to deceive those who entertained the fantasy that an easy victory waited them.

Mustapha, in view of the Spanish forces daily expected to relieve the enemy, counselled an immediate attack upon St. Elmo. This was a fort deriving much of its strength, as well as importance, from its natural advantages. It was situated on a narrow neck of land which was washed on either side by important harbors; it was accessible only over a road which was either bare rock or thinly covered with gravel, and, in the rear, communications with Il Borgo were protected by the forts St. Angelo and St. Michael.

The basha, to secure himself a safer approach to St. Elmo, caused to be erected a parapet of heavy timber, covered toward the fort with a mixture of earth, straw, and rushes, to receive the enemy's missiles. Here he planted his heaviest guns and prepared for the siege.

The governor of St. Elmo delegated a member of the fort to convey intelligence to La Valette, the grand master, that the place could not sustain an action for a great length of time; the messenger represented, in exaggerated coloring, the information that the fort could not withstand the siege for more than a week. La Valette, in his reply, administered a rebuke, although convinced that it could not, with its limited capacity for sustaining troops, remain long in the possession of the order; but he was none the less impressed with the policy of holding it, even at a great sacrifice, till the arrival of the Viceroy of Sicily, who had been instructed by the King of Spain to represent the kingdom, in response to the call of the grand master. He concluded, in view of the necessities of the case, to head in person a body of reinforcements; but being dissuaded by the importunities of the Knights, he consented to intrust its charge to De Medran, in whom he placed implicit confidence.

Stung by the rebuke, and encouraged by their new accessions, the garrison sallied forth upon the offensive, dealing consternation to the unwarned foe; but having recovered from their surprise, the Turks turned upon their assailants, who were discomfited by a perverse wind which blew the smoke so as to obscure the enemy, and drove them within the walls. When the smoke cleared away, what was the dismay of the Knights to discover that the Turks had planted a battery in such juxtaposition as to compromise much the security of the fort. It was, unquestionably, a doubtful advantage which the Christians obtained by quitting their works, as they now found it necessary for a greater vigilance to be called into action.

The tireless infidels having discovered a gun-port but a few feet from the ground, well-nigh made themselves masters of the cavaliers by means of ladders. But after slaughtering many Christians, the garrison, aroused from sleep and inspired by their sense of danger, compelled, by the fury of their assault, the Turks to retire into the ravelin. The conflict was now renewed upon the part of the janissaries, and the contest raged with unabated vigor from daylight till noon, when the besiegers were forced to withdraw. About a hundred and twenty soldiers and Knights were killed, at a cost of nearly three thousand to the enemy.

The situation of the fort was now grown critical. Mustapha held the ravelin, and, conscious of its significance to the foe, whose attempts to regain it were strenuous, filled up the ranks as fast as the desperate struggles thinned them. La Valette sent reinforcements; still the infidels persevered in battering breaches in the walls. Fearing lest Mustapha would attempt to effect his purpose by {485} storming, the faltering Knights applied a second time to the grand master, recommending a desertion of the works.

La Valette, in opposition to the majority of his council, held, though regretting the fate which awaited his brothers in the order, that the place must not be evacuated, and called upon the defenders to execute their vow, if necessary, which bound them to sacrifice their lives for the welfare and perpetuity of the order. He also determined to follow soon his reply in person, and fall in the common cause of Christianity. Such was the grand master who withstood, alone and unsupported, as we might say, the whole infidel forces, and who declared his fealty to the cause in so determined a manner--a manner not weakened by faltering acts--as to inspire courage into the most craven heart.

Some murmured at this response, and fifty-three of the malcontents addressed him a letter, in which they expressed the purpose that, unless on the next night he sent boats to take them away, they would seek sudden death without the shelter of the fort. To this letter he replied by sending three commissioners to examine the tenability of the works, and explaining to the disaffected soldiery their paramount duty to the organization, and the futility of sacrificing their lives to no good end, which were now so needful to sustain the defence against the enemies of their holy faith. Two of these commissioners concurred in pronouncing it untenable, but the third, Constantine Gastriot, esteemed the fort far from being reduced. To guarantee his good faith he offered to attempt its defence with what soldiers the dangerous post would voluntarily command.

La Valette gladly accepted the offer, and, with consummate address, informed the hitherto clamorous Knights that they might now obtain their discharge; that he would relieve them by another garrison; and also promising them facilities for transportation to II Borgo. "You my brethren," concluded he, "may be in greater safety here, and I shall then feel less anxiety for the preservation of the fort."

Conscious of the infamy that would await them upon their return, and stung by the latent expression of the letter, they resolved to only quit the fort when called to face the enemy. The grand master, to try their feelings, intimated that willing troops were preferable to those who were mutinous. This answer greatly affected the Knights, and they humbled themselves still more till La Valette gladly receded from his rigor.

Having now consecrated themselves for the immolation, and more troops having come to their relief, operations were resumed. An invention productive of great mischief to the enemy was resorted to by the fertile genius of the besieged. Hoops were constructed of very combustible material, and ignited and thrown among the Turks as they were crowding to the assault. These were calculated to clasp a few of them together, and, in confusion, to render relief impossible, and a horrid death probable.

For a month the engagement was daily renewed, and Mustapha was as frequently repulsed. On the 16th of July, intent upon a grand, overwhelming assault, the Turkish fleet was drawn up near the fort, supported by 4,000 musketeers and archers in the earthworks. The Turks attempted to rush in at the breaches, now filled up with the invincible Christian soldiery. But the immense number of the former defeated the end they sought by so great a force. The cannon belched forth a broad-sweeping desolation among the assailants for six hours; the enemy were terrified almost beyond control of the officers, till, at length, Mustapha was mortified in having, without gaining any advantage by the slaughter which his command had sustained, to recall them.

Mustapha despairing, after this sanguinary resistance to his arms, of subduing the garrison so long as communication was kept open with the town, by which the attenuated ranks were {486} supplied with fresh troops, resolved, as his surest resort, to extend his works across the neck and connect with the harbor in the rear. This work was executed with much difficulty and loss. At this time Dragut, the most accomplished naval officer of the Ottoman empire, was killed. Great as was this loss, Mustapha did not hesitate, but seemed with every new adversity to strengthen in his purpose of encompassing the Christians with ruin.

Having rendered, by this precautionary expedient, the reception of supplies from the town impossible, he again renewed the assault. The four spirited attacks which were made upon the 31st of July were repulsed by the Knights and soldiers, displaying, in the words of our author (Watson), "a degree of prowess and fortitude which almost exceeds belief, and is beyond the power of description."

Intelligence having been conveyed to the grand master of the perilous situation of the fortress, troops were despatched to the rescue; but they were forced to return, leaving the little garrison weak but determined, faced with certain destruction, yet prepared to meet it heroically. It commands our deepest admiration to see, even through the film of distance, that little band, undaunted, cooped up within that fiery furnace awaiting that doom which was drawing nearer and nearer, and which heralded its dreadful approach with a pageantry at once terrible and sublime; to see them with the blazing canopy showering death down upon their uncovered heads; to see them, having only to regret their former cowardice, adding to their already resplendent laurels. A prouder moment does not come to the historian--a moment more replete with the fulness of joy than can ever be known to the fictionist, as he lingers with enchanted pen upon such scenes; and yet, when followed by those which are revolting to our more refined sense of enlightenment, he painfully discharges his duty.

Having spent the night which witnessed the blasting of every hope of relief in prayer, they bade each other affectionate adieus, and repaired to their death posts. To throw themselves upon the mercy of a foe which indeed knew no mercy, was not for a moment entertained by those who were wedded to the Catholic Church. The wounded and disabled, at their request, were placed where sure death might meet them. St. Elmo was attacked upon the 23d of July, 1505, which day saw the infidel flag flaunting triumphantly over its ramparts, so soon to be struck in disgrace and be replaced by the standard of St. John. The resistance which its handful of defenders made provoked rather the rage of the Turks than incited their admiration, and, after an unparalleled struggle of four hours, nothing was left but the broken walls to urge resistance to the overwhelming foe. Supremely grand was the terrific display which its heights commanded amidst the fiercest of the strife! A multitude of swaying human beings, actuated by a maddened revenge, hurtling one against the other, stretching away, whilst those more closely drawn to its sides were in numbers joined in fiery chains, and in the embrace of their blazing bonds expired with the wildest shrieks of agony! St. Elmo, wrapped in fire, arrayed in its funereal pall of lowering smoke, became the prey of the Turks.

Mustapha surveyed the scene of his dear-bought victory with feelings no doubt adverse to those which flattered him upon his arrival. Brutal, indeed, were the means by which he sought to carry consternation to Il Borgo; all that had been found yet alive were ripped open, and, with the holy symbol of their faith gashed upon their bodies, they were thrown into the harbor, and winds and tides invoked to beat these messengers to the gates, to inform the town of the fall of St. Elmo.

But a period awaited the siege of Malta which reflected more disgrace upon Mustapha than one hundred victories could efface.

La Valette looked out upon the harbor now filled with the floating bodies, {487} horribly gashed, of the gallant defenders of St Elmo, but no one could read his reflections as he viewed those dead-freighted waves depositing their burden upon the beach; no matter what his acts may have been when suggested by such an inspiration, for they were no index by which to read his heart.

We are informed by the historian that he dissembled his true feelings that the Knights and soldiers might not see in him a cowardly exemplar. But it is not impossible that the grand master looked unmoved upon those whose dress and sacred wounds alone betrayed them to have been bound to him by the endearing ties of the order. His retaliation, however, is not in accordance with our finer conceptions of right, but who will question the justness of _war_-expedients? La Valette was the master-spirit of the defence, and he evinced himself not unworthy his station. For had he been less decided, and succumbed to the importunities of his subordinates, indeed the siege of Malta would have been of short duration; no Spanish forces that would have been sent could have retrieved the advantages that would have been lost by a cowardly precipitation. And thus to him may we ascribe the glory of the long masterly defence which kept an enemy, thirsting for Christian blood, at bay, and which made an ultimate recovery practicable; which, indeed, made the Turkish triumph but preparatory to an indelible disgrace. La Valette's emotions of sorrow soon hardened, and he ordered his captives to be decapitated and their heads shot from the cannon's mouth into the enemy's camp. The significance of this act, in part, may justify its commission, though it would be more in harmony with our ideal to believe him incapable of perpetrating such an offence. The object which Mustapha aimed to accomplish in forwarding those ghastly dead to Il Borgo was to intimidate the place into submission; the return which La Valette made was designed to bespeak an unwavering disposition, and to hurl defiance in the face of the infidels.

Mustapha, incensed at the undaunted response made to his white flag, and the message sent back by his Christian slave, that they hoped soon to bury him and his janissaries in the only ditch which they could consistently surrender, immediately invested the town and re-commenced the carnage. Subsequent to the fall of St. Elmo, the basha had been strengthened by the arrival of Hascem with the bravoes of Alters, amounting to 2,500 choice troops.

Il Borgo and St. Michael were now continuously under fire; but, to expedite his purposes, Mustapha adopted the suggestion of Piali, to make the Christian slaves draw their shipping across the neck upon which stood St. Elmo, into the harbor, that there might be a simultaneous charge from both land and Naval forces. This hardship was rendered necessary because the grand master had caused a heavy chain to be swung across the mouth of the harbor, to which impediment were added the resources of St. Angelo, which commanded its entrance.

Having mastered this difficulty, Mustapha consented to the pompous demands of Hascem to intrust to him the assault of St. Michael, promising to support him if necessary. Hascem shared his command with Candelissa, an experienced corsair, who was to sustain the attack by sea.

With much display Candelissa proceeded to perform his part. Meeting with unexpected resistance in the staccato which had been erected to perplex his landing, he suffered great loss from the fort, which did not delay in improving so cardinal an advantage, He resolved to abandon this and attempt the intrenchments under the care of Gulmaran; the Christians reserved their fire until it might be spent effectively, and, at their first discharge, cut down 400 of the assailants. Candelissa pushed vigorously on whilst Gulmaran was reloading, and gained the shore; the latter, having prepared {488} for such an emergency, now threw from his cannon grapeshot, which did overwhelming execution, and Candelissa, seeing with dismay his wavering troops, ordered his boats to be put off a little from the shore.

The Algerines, seeing no avenue of escape, were conscious that through success alone could they secure their safety. They therefore marched forward with maddened resolution upon the earthworks. Before their irresistible charge the Knights fell back in confusion. But stung with shame upon seeing the infidel colors planted upon their works, they rushed to the rescue, having been reinforced; the ardor of their charge struck terror to the hearts of the assailants, and Candelissa was among the first that fled. Of 4,000 only a fifth escaped. The Christians continued firing upon the boats, sinking many, and covering the waters with wrecks. Amidst this vast devastation, dying and dead bodies were mingled in the wildest confusion. This defeat was decided, and Candelissa's untimely exultation, which characterized his reparation to the contest, was of a marked contrast to his inglorious return as his craft ploughed their way through the thickly strewn waters. The Knights were in nowise discouraged in this sudden turn in the fortunes of the day.

In the meantime the attack was also going on by land. Hascem had well-nigh expiated in disgrace his taunting threat; having led his troops to the charge, he was confounded with the confusion which the fearful havoc wrought among the ranks. Being driven back, he renewed the assault in the face of the belching cannon roaring defiance to his arms in vindication of the sanctity of invaded rights, but to no purpose. His mortification was extreme in being compelled by the intrepid garrison to sound a retreat. The basha now advanced with his janissaries, and the united forces compelled the Knights to retire from the beach, where, with undaunted spirits, they had proceeded to meet the fresh troops. But they did not yield without the most strenuous exertions, and the invaders had paid a dear price for the dreadful spot. Though exhausted by fatigue, their determination knew no abatement, and they awaited within the breach the renewal of the conflict. Their hopes were now reinspired by the addition of those forces which had contributed so largely to the discomfit of Candelissa. The janissaries, unable to withstand their onslaught, were forced to retire amidst the showering missiles and cheers of the gallant Christians.

Mustapha, enraged beyond control by the obstinate defence, employed one-half of his troops under Piali against the town, and with the remainder resolved to reduce the fort at any cost. To secure every chance of success he raised more batteries, dug new trenches, sprung mines, and prepared in every way possible to facilitate his design. But upon every hand did the valiant Christians, animated by the presence of the grand master, baffle his arms. Mustapha's principal engineer constructed a machine, upon the efficacy of which they entertained high hopes; it was a huge cask, firmly made, and filled with powder, chains, bullets, and everything calculated to work mischief which the place could command. This was projected into the midst of the Christians, who, ere it exploded, managed to roll it back upon its artificers, which did fearful execution among them. Whilst yet the Turks were paralyzed by the effect of its report, the Knights rushed out and engaged them hand to hand. Many of the infidels were killed, and the remainder made good their escape. But Piali was not idle. Though coping with superior strength, he was more successful against Il Borgo than his rival against St. Michael. He had gained great advantages, and, as night terminated his operations, he prepared the minds of his intimates for the glorious entry which he proposed to make on the morrow. He had, by a piece of stratagem in calling off the {489} attention of the garrison by a furious assault, managed in another and important position to erect a platform of earth and stones. It was upon this that night closed his work, and which inflamed within his breast lively hopes of speedily terminating the siege, and of reaping new laurels.

A council of the Knights was now held, and an abandonment of the works advised by the principal part; but La Valette was inexorable, and defeated every such proposition by his superior wisdom. He employed all available hands in digging trenches during the night, and by a master-stroke gained possession of the cavalier which had so excited the exultation of the Turkish basha. He detailed a select body of troops to steal along the foot of the wall, and who, when arrived at the spot designated, raised a loud shout and rushed upon the guard; these, supposing that the whole garrison were upon them, precipitately fled. The Christians were not slow in securing this advantage beyond any hope of recovery which the Turks might entertain.

The delay of the Spanish troops was inexplicable to La Valette, who attributed it to the treachery of the Viceroy of Sicily, but which historians impute to the infidelity of Philip. Now, the grand master was aware that their only hope was to hold out till they brought relief; and the bashas were fearful lest they should arrive after so long a delay at this very opportune moment.

Piali, receiving intelligence that the Spanish forces were to be landed at St. Angelo, lay in wait there, after interposing every obstacle practicable to impede their progress. Resolved to urge every possible resistance, the infidels awaited the Spanish sail, and were ill prepared for the tidings which came, to the effect that they were already landed in another part of the island. Thus was accomplished by the duplicity of the Catholic king a result which was not anticipated; his object in landing his forces at the extreme of the island was to shield, as far as possible, his subjects from the rigors of the siege. But Mustapha no sooner learned of their approach than he withdrew all of the Turkish forces into the shipping. In his haste he had deserted St. Elmo, manned with his best cannon. Ere long he was informed by a deserter that he had thus disgracefully fled before a force of 6,000 poorly officered Spaniards, the same being only little more than one-third of his own numbers. His rage knew no bounds. From this indelible disgrace he knew his only escape was to disembark and retrieve his fallen fortunes; but his command was shared by those whose personal considerations and jealousies prevented them from extending any sympathy to him.

La Valette improved the interim in taking every precaution to prevent the fort from again falling into the hands of the Turks. The grand master was now looked upon as the one to whom too much credit could not be given, and whose orders were obeyed with cheering alacrity by all who were able in any way to assist. A stronger affection was generated toward him, to which his merits entitled him, as the most fitting reward which the Knights could return.

Mustapha having convened a council of his principal officers, they determined with little dissent to land and renew the siege. The soldiery, greatly disheartened at their late reverses, were very reluctant to obey, and frequently force was resorted to to compel them. But it must have been patent to the commanders that thus, being forced to use compulsory means, they could not expect them to effect what willing and eager troops could easily accomplish. Mustapha was unable to stay the current of flying soldiers, and was hurled along with it; twice was he jostled from his horse, and was with difficulty rescued from being captured. Such was the overwhelming defeat visited upon Mustapha's command, who, we doubt not, would have welcomed even captivity rather than face the sultan, whose arms he had {490} thus signally disgraced. What the reflections were that this destiny animated in his mind, we are left to infer--a destiny so different from what he anticipated for the thousands who were to destroy the Knights of Malta, only as an insignificant incident collateral to the brilliant career which awaited them at the hands of the larger Christian powers. When he saw the mere skeleton of his army returning, he might well be impressed with the vanity of human calculations.

The siege of Malta continued four months, and it, amid the general destruction, worked no little benefit to the Knights of Malta. This success created joy throughout Christendom, which was expressed in the most gratifying manner. If they were left to fight their battles alone, it was only to achieve the greater glory. And thus ended the famous siege of Malta, whose valorous defence is unparalleled in the records of history.

From The Literary Workman.

A SONG OF THE YEAR.

Solemnly comes thy last hour, Old Year, Mercy and love were thy dower, Old Year; Though with thy gifts came the sigh or tear. Parting, we'll bless thee, Old Year, Old Year.

With thy best gifts in thy hand, Old Year! Dying while blessing the land, Old Year! Welcoming Christians again, again. Joyous Old Year, how we loved thee, then!

Softly thou com'st in the night, New Year! Robed all in pure virgin white, New Year! Deeds all unknown of shall fill thy days. Songs now unheard of will sound thy praise.

Meeting, we fear thee almost, New Year, Welcome might sound like a boast, New Year When thou art old, like the year just past, Then let us bless thee, New Year, at last.

{491}

Translated from the Civiltà Cattolica.

THE RELIGIOUS STATISTICS OF THE WORLD.

1. NUMBER OF CATHOLICS IN FIVE DIVISIONS OF THE WORLD.

2. CLASSIFICATION OF THE INHABITANTS OF THE EARTH AFTER THE DIFFERENT RELIGIONS.

3. PROGRESS OF CATHOLICITY IN GREAT BRITAIN.

4. IN HOLLAND.

5. IN THE UNITED STATES.

6. MISSIONS OF ASIA.

7. ITALIAN MISSIONARIES.

I. Let us, at first, take a comprehensive view of the number of Catholics scattered over the globe. In this very year some writers have limited their number to _one hundred and fifty millions_, with the remark that the figure is rather above a real census. Mr. Balbi, a writer of fame in statistics and in geography, gave, as far back as 1827, in his work published in Paris, his own estimate of the various populations of the world, classifying them under the heading of Religions Professed; and, according to his calculations, he allotted to the Catholic Church only _one hundred and thirty nine millions_(139,000,000), his figures exceeding those of many geographers who had preceded him. The _eleven millions_ by some authors allowed this day to the Catholic denomination, are rather a restitution than an augmentation. The former reckoning was a mistake, and new statistics, when accurately put together, have exhibited a far larger number both of inhabitants and of Catholics. But we still take this restitution as very inadequate. From an accurate investigation of the matter, we aver that the _minimum_ of Catholics, over the world, amounts to _two hundred millions_ (200,000,000). To afford the reader the means of testing the accuracy of our opinion, we shall here give the number of Catholics found in the different states of every part of the world. We have taken for our guide official statistics, either civil or ecclesiastical, whenever we could obtain them, or, otherwise, statements of modern geographers and of most trustworthy national writers. We have only omitted such fractions which were under _five hundred_ (500); but when they were above the _half thousandth_ we have set them down at _one thousand_. Thereby, in a computation, which cannot be but approximate, omissions will counterbalance the additions, and the final result will not undergo any material change. Let it, moreover, be borne in mind that we have not been actuated by any desire to attain large figures. We have only aimed at fixing the surest, or, at least, the most probable amount. Thus, for example, we have accepted only _six hundred and ninety thousand_ (690,000) Catholics for the Portuguese possessions in Africa, although national authors, by no means exaggerating, have reckoned them at _two millions_.

With such preamble, here is the result of our investigations:

[Transcriber's note: View these tables with a fixed pitch font.]

NUMBER OF CATHOLICS.

I. EUROPE.

Papal States 900,000 Two Sicilies 9,500,000 Tuscany 1,900,000 Sardinian States and Lombardy 7,700,000 Modena 660,000 Parma 560,000 Monaco and San-Marino 10,000 Spain 17,000,000 Portugal 4,300,000 Andorra 12,000 Switzerland 1,120,000 Great Britain 7,500,000 France 36,000,000

Carried forward 89,462,000

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Brought forward 89,462,000

Belgium 4,800,000 Netherlands 1,300,000 Austrian Empire 30,000,000 Bavaria 3,500,000 Prussia 7,000,000 Baden 960,000 Brunswick 6,000 Bremen 5,000 Frankfort 12,000 Hamburg 8,000 Grand Duchy of Heese 240,000 Hesse Electoral 200,000 Würtemberg 580,000 Mecklenburg-Schwerin + Mecklenburg-Strelitz 4,000 Nassau 226,000 Oldenburg 86,000 Lesser Duchies of Sachsen-Weimar, Sachsen-Coburg, Sachsen-Altenburg, etc. 60,000 Lubeck 3,000 Hanover 256,000 Luxemburg 209,000 Saxony 65,000 Denmark 5,000 Sweden and Norway 7,000 Poland 4,000,000 Russia 3,000,000 European Turkey and Montenegro 1,000,000 Greece 100,000

Catholic population in Europe 147,194,000

H. ASIA AND OCEANIA.

Asiatic Turkey 600,000 Moldavia and Wallachia 130,000 Asiatic Russia 100,000 British India 1,100,000 Netherland India 25,000 French India 170,000 Portuguese India, Islands, and Macao 546,000 Spanish India and Philippine Islands 4,750,000 Persia 120,000 Anam 600,000 Siam 25,000 China 1,000,000 New Holland 300,000 Tasmania 40,000 New Zealand 60,000 New Caledonia and adjoining islands 70,000 Sandwich Islands 80,000

Catholic population in Asia and Oceania 9,666,000

III. AFRICA.

Egypt 172,000 Abyssinia 2,000,000 Tripoli, Tunis, and Morocco 30,000 Spanish Possessions 25,000 Canaries 260,000 Portuguese Possessions 690,000 Madeira and islands 260,000 Continental French Possessions 250,000 Reunion and other islands 180,000 Continental British Possessions 30,000 Mauritius and other islands 150,000 Liberia 4,000 Madagascar 10,000 Gallas 10,000

Catholic population in Africa 4,071,000

IV. AMERICA.

United States 5,000,000 Mexico 8,500,000 Guatemala 1,200,000 San Salvador 700,000 Honduras 400,000 Nicaragua 500,000 Costa Rica + Panama 200,000 New Granada 3,000,000 Venezuela 2,000,000 Ecuador 1,500,000 Bolivia 2,200,000 Peru 2,800,000 Chili 1,800,000 Argentine Republic 1,500,000 Paraguay 1,600,000 Uruguay 360,000 Brazil 3,500,000 British Guiana 60,000 Netherland Guiana and Islands 40,000 French Guiana and Islands 305,000 Jamaica, Trinidad, and other British Isles 150,000 Spanish Islands 2,260,000 Danish Islands 34,000 Canada and British Possessions 1,560,000 Hayti 800,000

Catholic population in America 46,970,000

RECAPITULATION.

I. Catholic population in Europe 147,194,000

II. Catholic population In Asia and Oceania 9,666,000

III. Catholic population in Africa 4,071,000

IV. Catholic population in America 46,930,000

Catholic population in the four parts of the globe 207,801,000

Thus we reach the sum of nearly _two hundred and eight millions_; nor do we fear exaggeration in the number. But were even some one reluctant to accept our results, such attenuating doubts could never diminish our total beyond _eight millions_. Thus when we asserted that there are _two hundred millions_ of Catholics in the world, we gave a figure far under our calculations, in order to place it above all doubt.

II. We will now exhibit, in very simple tables, the grand division of the inhabitants of the world, according to the different religious creeds:

_Christianity_ 344,000,000 Catholic Church 208,000,000 Eastern Churches, schismatic or heretical 70,000,000 Protestantism 66,000,000 Total 344,000,000

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_Judaism_ 4,000,000 _Islamism_ 100,000,000 _Brahminism_ 60,000,000 _Buddhism_ 180,000,000 _Worship of Confucius, Sinto, of Spirits_, etc. 152,000,000

Total of inhabitants of the world 840,000,000

These results are not from data as certain as those which we were enabled to obtain for the Catholic Church; yet they are founded on great probability. There is a remarkable increase in all, owing to the fact that more reliable researches have given a larger number of inhabitants on the globe.

Let us now compare our own results with those of the most celebrated geographers. Malte-Brun wrote in 1810, Pinkerton and Balbi in 1827, and yet, although so near to one another, they are not of one accord as to the inhabitants of the earth, and consequently they do not agree in their divisions. More recent geographers admit a number far larger than that allowed by Balbi, and seem to hesitate between _eight hundred and a thousand millions_. We are of opinion that the grand total cannot, with any good reason, be reckoned beyond _eight hundred and forty millions_ (840,000,000); at the same time it cannot be set at any figure much below it. The following figures represent _millions_:

Malte-Brun. Pinkerton. Balbi. Civ. Catt's.

_Christianity_ 228 235 260 344 _Judaism_ 5 5 4 4 _Islamism_ 110 120 96 100 _Brahminism_ 60 60 60 60 _Buddhism_ 150 108 170 180 _Other creeds_ 100 100 147 152 Total 653 700 737 840

III. A glance at some particular countries will show how much the Catholic Church has gained in numbers and influence within a few years. Let us begin from two Protestant countries in Europe.

The "Catholic Directory," annually issued in England for the last hundred years, will, by comparing a few data, exhibit the progress of Catholicity in Great Britain's most Protestant sections--we mean England and Scotland. We limit ourselves to the official returns given within the last nine years. We mass them in two tables, which will place our assertion upon the strongest basis of truth. The _first_ will show that in these two kingdoms, so totally averse to Catholicity--nay, intensely hostile to it--England and Scotland, the number of clergymen has increased, within _twenty-five_ years, at the rate of 137 per centum; that of churches 30; religious houses for men 222, for women 105. The _second_ table will give the same numbers, but divided in the various dioceses, in varied ratio indeed, but everywhere with the same tokens of increase:

GENERAL STATISTICS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND.

Years |Clergymen| Churches | Relig Men | Relig Women | Colleges &Chapels 1856 1142 849 17 91 12 1857 1162 894 23 106 11 1858 1204 902 27 109 11 1859 1222 926 34 110 11 1860 1236 950 37 123 12 1861 1342 993 47 155 12 1862 1388 1019 50 162 12 1863 1417 1065 55 177 12 1864 1445 1098 56 186 12

But if we draw our figures from earlier dates, the comparison will be even more striking. Behold the result within the last twenty-five years:

1839 610 513 0 17 10 1849 897 612 13 41 10 1864 1445 1098 56 186 12

Limiting our researches only to England, we find the increase within _eight_ years, between 1856 and 1864, stated in the official returns of the several dioceses, at the following rates:

Churches Clergyman Convents Monasteries Dioceses 1856 1864 1856 1864 1856 1864 1856 1864 Westminster 56 117 129 214 5 15 18 31 Beverly 75 90 93 116 3 6 7 19 Birmingham 96 100 132 141 3 3 19 27 Clifton. 37 49 50 62 2 3 5 13 Hexham 63 81 72 99 -- 1 4 11 Liverpool 94 110 166 195 2 5 12 25 Newport 35 42 29 47 -- 3 3 6 Northampton 30 36 25 31 -- -- 2 5 Nottingham 42 52 47 59 3 5 5 5 Plymouth 26 35 28 34 -- -- 3 8 Salford 47 70 72 107 1 5 9 14 Shrewsbury 53 59 52 71 1 3 3 7 Southwark 79 100 90 147 3 9 10 15

Total 730 941 985 1321 23 58 100 187 -730 -985 -23 -100

Increase 211 336 35 87

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IV. Let us now step over to the Continent, and investigate the increase of Catholicity in a province where Protestantism has had it all its own way since the beginning of the Reformation--we allude to Holland. To understand the progressive development of Catholicity in the Low Countries, we need only compare the figures of two years, with an interval of half a century intervening between them:

Years |Catholic population | Parishes | Clergyman | Churches 1864 1,300,000 941 1725 976 1814 850,000 814 1216 898 Increase in 50 years 450,000 127 310 78

The amount expended in repairing the old and building new churches is reckoned, during this lapse of time, at _thirty_ millions of Dutch florins, a little more than _sixty-four_ millions of francs [over $18,560,000--Ed. CW.] All that government has contributed of its own toward this sum amounts only to _two_ millions of florins. In the above sum of _thirty_ millions no account is taken of what has been expended in churches and chapels belonging to religious communities, or for convents, hospitals, charitable institutions, orphan asylums, and the like. Add to this what has been contributed for the endowments of those places, and the original sum of sixty-four millions of francs becomes well-nigh double its amount.

V. But nowhere has the Catholic Church increased so prosperously, within the last fifty years, as in the United States of America. Above two thousand churches and chapels built; an increase of one thousand and eight hundred clergymen; one hundred and sixty schools established, for the Catholic training of 18,000 boys and 34,600 girls. Moreover, there existed in 1857 _sixty-six_ asylums, with 4,963 orphans of both sexes; _twenty-six_ hospitals, with _three thousand_ beds; _four_ insane asylums, with _eighty-two_ patients, beside many other charitable institutions, all established and supported by the private charity of Catholics. Here we copy a comparative table from the "Metropolitan Catholic Almanac" of 1857:

Year Dioceses Vicariates Bishops Clergyman Churches Ecclesiastic Colleges Schools Apostolic & Stations Institutions for Girls 1808 1 -- 2 68 80 2 1 2 1830 11 -- 10 232 230 9 6 20 1840 16 -- 17 482 812 13 9 47 1850 27 -- 27 1081 1578 29 17 91 1854 41 2 39 1574 2458 34 20 112 1857 41 2 39 1872 2882 35 29 134

1861 43 3 45 2317 3795 49 -- -- [Ed. Cath. World]

VI. Canon Joseph Ortalda, in a work of great value, [Footnote 68] the result of much labor and accurate investigations, supplies us with two very interesting documents. One is a _Synoptic Table_ of the _missions_ in Asia, exhibiting both the number of Catholics in each _mission_ and that of missionaries employed in them; a number, by the way, generally very inadequate, especially when we take into consideration the vast territories over which every mission is extended.

[Footnote 68: "Italian Apostolic Missionaries in the Foreign Missions, over the Four Parts of the World." Turin: G. Marietti, 1864. Ortalda's intent is to prove before the Senate of the Kingdom of Piedmont how the suppression of religious orders would be injurious to the Church and to civilization, whilst from their bosoms go forth so many missionaries to all parts of the world.]

APOSTOLIC VICARATES MISSIONARIES CATHOLICS Aleppo 25 80,000 Asia Minor 70 100,000

China and adjacent kingdoms: Xensi 16 30,000 Xansi 12 20,000 Hu-pè, in the Hu-quang, native missionaries, 14 11 15,865 Hu-nan, in the Hu-quang 7 10,000 Sut-chuen, North-west vicariate 15 23,000 Sut-chuen, Eastern Vicariate 12 17,000 Sut-chuen, Southern Vicariate 14 20,000 Konein-kon 7 10,000 Lassa 5 7,000 Jun-nan 6 8,000 To-chien 14 30,000 Nankin 36 73,000 Pekin, Western Vicariate 17 30,000 Pekin, Southwestern Vicariate 15 26,600 Pekin, Eastern Vicariate 12 13,000 Tse-Kiang 6 5,000 Kiang-si 8 10,000 Lenotung 9 11,000 Mongolia 8 10,000 Xan-tung 11 12,000 Ho-nan 6 5,000 Siam, Western Vicariate 12 10,000 Siam, Eastern Vicariate 20 30,000 Cochin, Eastern Vicariate 29 32,000 Cochin, Northern Vicariate 21 25,000 Cochin, Western Vicariate 19 30,000 Camboge, and the people of Laos 10 15,000 Tonchin, Eastern Vicariate 13 54,000 Tonchin, Western Vicariate 85 135,000 Tonchin, Southern Vicariate 49 80,000 Tonchin, Central Vicariate 62 150,000 Corea 12 15,000

East Indies: Japan 10 12,060 Ava and Pegu 11 8,000 Bombay, South Mission 20 15,000 Bombay, North Mission 15 13,000 Bengal, Western Vicariate (Calcutta) 12 15,000 Bengal, Eastern Vicariate 6 9,000 Ceylon--Colombo 18 84,900 Ceylon--Safnapatam 17 60,000 Madras 18 44,880 Hyderbad 7 4,000 Visagapatam 15 7,130 Pondicherry 53 100,000 Mayssour 16 17,110 Coimbatour 11 17,200 Sardhana 12 15,000 Agra 25 20,000 Patna 10 4,000 Verapolis--native priests, Latin rite 28, Syriac 340 7 330,000 Canara, or Mangalor-- Native priests 24 7 40,000 Quilon--Native priests 17 8 50,000 Madura 37 140,000

APOSTOLIC DELEGATIONS

Persia, Mesopotamia, Kurdistan, and Armenia Minor 30 25,000 Syria--Holy Land alone counts 54 28,986

APOSTOLIC PREFECTURES Aden, in Arabia 3 1,300 Hong-Kong, in China 7 5000 Hai-noou, Quan-tong, Quan-si, China 31 40,000 For the French colonies in India 12 7,000 For the Dutch colonies in India and Oceania 7 1,000 Laboan and adjacent places 6 3,000

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VII. The chief object of Ortalda's work is to show how many missionaries Italy gives to the Catholic Church. He gives the name, the grade in the hierarchy, and the residence of each, adding such items of information as will aid him in the object he has in view. We draw from his laborious work the following table, which, by way of conclusion, gives the final result of all his researches:

_Italian Apostolic Missionaries in Foreign Missions over the Whole World._

MISSIONARIES Europe Asia Africa America Oceania Total

Bishops 14 21 4 2 -- 41 Secular priests 33 45 11 65 8 162 Benedictines 7 9 -- 5 3 24 Minor Conventuals 9 2 -- 2 -- 13 Minor Observants 31 115 30 184 8 368 Minor Capuchins 369 108 35 130 5 447 Minor Reformed 60 58 29 67 1 215 Dominicans 22 11 -- 1 -- 34 Carmelites -- 39 -- -- -- 39 Augustinians 1 -- -- 1 -- 2 Jesuits 106 118 46 207 13 490 Lazarists 8 22 9 12 -- 51 Alcantarines -- -- -- 1 -- 1 Barnabites 24 12 3 10 8 57 Friars of St. Bonaventure 5 6 -- -- -- 11 Redemptorists -- -- -- -- 3 3 Servite -- -- -- -- 1 1 Oblates -- 16 -- -- -- 16 Pallottines (of A. Pallotta) 2 -- -- -- -- 2 Rosminians 16 -- -- 4 -- 20 From the Seminary of Milan 4 22 -- -- 3 29 From the seminary of Brignole Sale 17 6 -- 5 -- 23 529 610 167 696 53 2055

BOOKS.

Welcome, my books, my golden store! Your leaves my eyes, my hands explore; With you my sweetest hours have flown-- My best of life with you alone. When none in the wide world could cheer, Your wisdom dried the bitter tear; When summer skies were fresh and blue, None could rejoice with me like you. What living voice may speak among Your silent and time-hallowed throng? For you, the best of every age, I quit the world's degenerate stage. _Translation from Ranzan._

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From The Month.

THE ANCIENT FACULTY OF PARIS.

At the corner of the Rue de la Bûcherie and the old Rue des Rats, now known by the more dignified appellation of the Rue de l'Hôtel Colbert, may still be seen, unless the unsparing hand of "modern improvement" has very recently swept it away along with so many other memorials of the past, a dirty, dilapidated building topped by a round tower, which you might take for some old pigeon-house. The half-obliterated inscription upon an escutcheon on one of the facades of the edifice indicates, however, some heretofore high and venerable destination--_Urbi et orbi salus_. If curiosity lead you to penetrate into the interior of this dismal edifice, you find yourself, after mounting a damp staircase, in a great circular hall, divided into four irregular compartments. Above some empty niches hollowed in the thickness of the wall runs a wide cornice, the now-defaced sculptures of which represent alternately the cock--Esculapius's bird and emblem of vigilance--and the pelican nourishing its young, the type of self-sacrifice--watchfulness and unselfish charity, the two great duties incumbent on the professor of the healing art. You stand, in fact, in the midst of the ancient amphitheatre of the Faculty of Medicine. There studied, and there, in their turn, taught, the great anatomists of the seventeenth century, Bartholin, Riolan, Pecquet, Littre, Winslow. This building was an old adjunct to a large and handsome hotel belonging to the medical body, containing their chapel, library, laboratory, a vast hall for solemn disputations, with minor saloons for the daily lectures, etc., with the addition of a large court and botanical garden. It was abandoned long before the Revolution, and not a trace of all this corporate glory of the medical faculty now remains. The quarter of Paris in which it stood, known formerly as the Latin quarter, long preserved a peculiar stamp and physiognomy. Here were the colleges of St. Michel, of Normandy and Picardy, of Laon, Presles, Beauvais, Cornouailles, and that long succession of churches, convents, colleges, and high toppling houses, filled with a studious youth, which formerly crowded the Rue St. Jacques and the Rue de la Harpe. All these and many other sanctuaries of religion and of science, so intimately connected in the middle ages, clustered around the faculty. Here, in fact, was the centre of the university of Paris, whose origin is lost in the obscurity investing the early mediaeval period. The methodical classification under the head of faculties of the different studies pursued at that celebrated institution dates, however, from the close of the twelfth century. These faculties formed independent companies, attached to their common mother, the university, like branches to the parent stem.

Disregarding all apocryphal pretensions to antiquity, we cannot assign an earlier date for the formation of the medical body into an independent corporation than the year 1267. About that time we find the faculty in possession of its statutes, keeping registers and affixing to documents its massive silver seal. The term Faculty of _Medicine_, it must be observed, is modern. The title _Physicorum Facultas_, or _Facultas in Physica_, was long preserved. Whatever we may think of the empirical practice and dogmatic character of the medical art in those times, we cannot but see in this an {497} indication that natural science was even then the recognized basis of medicine. We have here, if not a principle clearly understood and habitually followed, at least an intuition and a kind of programme of the future. A memorial of the old designation survives in our own country in the title of physician, while in the land where it originated it has been discontinued.

Born in the cloister, medicine long retained an ecclesiastical character. Most of the doctors in early times were canons; and those who were neither priests nor even clerks were still bound to celibacy; a regulation which remained in force long after councils had decreed the incompatibility of the exercise of the medical profession with the ecclesiastical state.

The general assemblies of the faculty were held sometimes round the font of Notre Dame, sometimes at St. Geneviève des Ardents, sometimes at the Priory of St. Eloi; while, for the ordinary purposes of instruction, it shared fraternally with the faculty of theology the alternate use of some common room with a shake-down of straw in the Quartier St. Jacques. But by-and-bye riches began to pour in, chiefly through the means of the legacies of members of the medical corps or other well-wishers; and, thanks to the liberality of Jacques Desparts, physician to Charles VIl., the corporation of doctors was finally installed in the abode we have just described. To the general worth and respectability of the body in the fifteenth century we have the testimony of Cardinal d'Estoutteville, who, in 1452, was deputed by the Pope to reorganize the university of Paris, and who found less to reform in the faculty of medicine than in any other department. Indeed, no change of much importance was introduced, with the exception of the revocation of the law of celibacy, which the cardinal pronounced to be both "impious and unreasonable."

Independence of spirit and great reverence for its own traditions were characteristic of the medical body from its earliest beginnings. It loved to describe itself as _veteris disciplinae retentissima._ In those days men gloried in their respect for antiquity. In common with all the different bodies which composed the university of Paris, the medical corporation possessed great privileges--exemption from all taxation, direct or indirect, from all public burdens, from all onerous services or obligations. When we sum up all the advantages enjoyed by this and other favored bodies and classes in the middle ages, the reflection naturally suggests itself--what must have been the condition of the poor, who possessed no privileges and bore all the financial burdens? In the days, however, when standing armies in the pay of government had no existence, when the king himself was a rich proprietor with large personal domains, when national debt and its interest were things unheard of, the ordinary imposts, as distinguished from all arbitrary and accidental exactions, were, of course, very much lighter than those of modern times. Liberty in those days assumed the form of privilege; and its spirit was nursed and kept alive within the bosom of these self-ruling corporations, and in none more remarkably than in that of medicine. The _esprit de corps_ naturally existed with peculiar strength in a body not merely organized for purposes of instruction, but exercising a liberal profession, of which it had the monopoly. [Footnote 69] Hence a minute internal legislation imposed upon all its members, and willingly accepted in view of the interests of the body. Its _alumni_ were aspirants to a life-long membership; whereas with us the medical man's dependence upon the faculty virtually ceases the day he takes his doctor's degree. He has nothing more to ask or to receive from it; his affair is now with the public; {498} and the sense of brotherhood with his colleagues in the profession is lost, it is to be feared, not unfrequently in a feeling of rivalry. But it was otherwise in the olden time. The day which now sends forth the full-fledged doctor to his independent career drew the tie closer which bound him to his order, in which then only he began to take his solemn place. The honor and the interest of each member thus became common property, and unworthy conduct was punished by summary exclusion from the body.

[Footnote 69: It is probably this peculiarity which caused the medical to be considered as pre-eminently _the_ faculty. Its practice brought it into intimate contact with the world at large; and this has also doubtless led to the exclusive retention, in this instance, of a designation common in its origin to other departments of learning.]

Unfortunately this _esprit de corps_ had its bad as well as its good results. It produced a certain narrowness of mind, a love of routine, and no slight attachment to professional jargon. It is not that the faculty was actually the enemy of all progress, but progress must come from itself. As no association of men, however, can enjoy a monopoly of genius, useful and brilliant discoveries emanating from other quarters had to encounter the hostility of the chartered body. This spirit was exemplified in its animosity toward surgery, long a separate profession, in its prejudice against the doctrine of the circulation of the blood, because an English discovery; against antimony, because it originated with the rival Montpelier school; against quinine, because it came from America. To these subjects we may hereafter recur; in the meantime we note them as instances of medical bigotry, which exposed the profession to just ridicule, but which has drawn down upon it censure and disesteem of perhaps a somewhat too sweeping character. It would be unfair to judge the ancient faculty solely from its exhibitions of foolish pedantry and blind prejudice; and it is our object on the present occasion to give a slight sketch of its constitution and internal government, such as may enable the reader to form a juster and more impartial view both of its faults and of its substantial merits. Indeed, without some solid titles to general esteem, it would seem improbable that the faculty should have attained to the high position which we find it occupying in the seventeenth century.

One accidental cause, no doubt, of the importance of the doctors during the whole period which we are considering was their small relative number. From a computation made by a modern member of the medical profession in France, [Footnote 70] to whom we are indebted for our facts, the average number of doctors in the capital from the year 1640 to the year 1670 did not exceed 110. Compared with the population of Paris, which is reckoned at 540,000 souls, this gives one doctor for every 4,900 of the inhabitants. The medical corps is now 1,830 strong, while the population has risen only to 1,740,000. Great as is this increase of population, greater, we see, proportionally has been that of the medical practitioners, who are at present as 1 to 940. If sickness was as prevalent in the seventeenth century as it is now, and recourse to physic and physicking as frequent, we can imagine that the faculty must have necessarily occupied a distinguished position. Many offices now undertaken by public institutions or by government devolved, also, at that time on the faculty, which to the best of its ability supplied the want of sanitary regulations, and exercised a kind of medical police, including the supervision of articles of diet. All this must have helped to swell their importance. A large proportion of the doctors received during this selected period of thirty years were Parisians; and nothing is more common than the perpetuity of the profession in certain families. This circumstance must have combined with the corporate reverence for their traditions to intensify their attachment to a received system, and to strengthen that spirit of union which is a source of power. The respect which the lower bench paid to the upper, and the young to the ancient {499}--and by "young" we mean young in their degree, not in years--must have contributed toward the same result. It required ten years of doctorate to qualify a man to take his place amongst this venerable class; and the statutes are prolix on the subject of the respect due to the ancients from their juniors on the bench; a respect which was to be marked by every external act of deference.

[Footnote 70: Maurice Raynaud, Docteur en Médecine, Docteur ès Lettres. _Les Médecins au temps de Molière.--Moeurs, Institutions, Doctrines_. Paris, 1862. Didler.]

But the first and great tie which bound all the members together was religion. To profess the Catholic faith was long an essential condition of admission to the examinations. The faculty gave an energetic proof in 1637 of the importance it attached to this fundamental rule, when it withstood the pressing solicitations of the king's brother, the Duke of Orleans; in favor of a certain Brunier, the son of his own physician and a Protestant, although the prince condescended to address a flattering letter to the dean of the faculty, signing himself "Votre bon ami, Gaston," and although his request was backed by a royal injunction. The sovereign must needs bow to the authority of the statutes, respectfully but firmly urged in contravention of his regal pleasure. Yet this would seem to have been a closing effort, for in 1648 we find four Protestant doctors on the lists. Every year there was a solemn mass on St. Luke's day, at which all the members were bound to be present, and which even at the commencement of the seventeenth century was still sung by the doctors of the faculty. After mass the statutes were publicly read. There was a like obligation, with a penalty for its neglect, to attend an annual mass for deceased doctors, and another for benefactors, as also to accompany the bodies of their brethren to the grave.

The head of the corporation was the dean. His powers were extensive, and the honor paid to him unbounded. He was the "guardian of the discipline and statutes" of the faculty, _vindex disciplinae et custos legum_; he was at once its foremost champion and its highest dignitary. He was also its historian, entering in its great registers all facts interesting to the corporation which occurred during the course of his administration. The account of each diaconate is headed thus:

"_In Nomine Omnipotentis Dei, Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Incipit commentarius rerum in decanatu . . . gestarum._"

Amongst other topics judged worthy of registration is a necrologic notice of members deceased during the period. Take as a specimen, which marks at the same time the high estimation in which the diaconate was held, the account given of Merlet's death in 1663. He was the "ancient of the company," and had been remarkable for the zeal he exercised in its behalf. The then dean, the illustrious Antoine Morand, pays the venerable doctor a visit just before he expires; and the dying man breaks out in a kind of _Nunc dimittis_--"Now I can die contented, since it has been given me to behold once more the dean of the faculty." Valot, the king's physician, who had come to see the patient, expresses in language of much reverence his hope that Merlet may still live to illustrate the supreme dignity in which he stands amongst them. The "patriarch" with his last breath energetically refuses such excessive honors. He confesses that he holds a high rank as ancient of the school, but not the highest. "To the dean alone," he says, "belongs supreme honor." "Sublime words," observes Morand in his funeral notice: "veritable song of the dying swan, proceeding from a man truly wise and endowed with all perfection! May he rest in the peace of the Lord." Of course, it is a dean who is speaking. The charge was indeed a weighty one, both externally and internally; for in spite of general respect, the medical corporation, like most privileged bodies, had active enemies. Every two years a fresh election took place on the first Saturday after All Saints'. The dean deposed the insignia of his dignity and gave a report of the state of affairs to {500} the assembled doctors, who, as usual on all solemn occasions, had previously attended mass. All their names were then placed in two urns; one containing those of the ancients, the other those of the juniors. The dean shook the urns, and drawing three names from the first and two from the second, proclaimed them aloud. The five doctors thus chosen by lot as electors, and, as such, themselves ineligible, swore to nominate the worthiest, and retired to the chapel to implore the divine aid. They then elected by a majority of their number three doctors, two ancients and one junior. Amidst solemn silence, the dean once more drew the lot, and the name which came forth was proclaimed dean for the next two years. The professors, who for long years were but two in number, were also chosen biennially, and by a similar combination of lot and election. Some good must have arisen from the liability under which every practitioner of the medical art lay of being called on to teach it. Another not unwise regulation was that which, reversing the order observed in the case of the dean, placed in the professional urn two junior names against one ancient. Long practice of teaching is apt to wear out the powers of the most able. Considering the times, the elements of instruction were abundantly supplied. The bachelors were not permitted to do more than comment upon and expound the ancients, and their programme was furnished to them. The professors took the higher and more original branches; they alone could dogmatize from the great pulpit of the amphitheatre (_ex superiore cathedrâ_). The teaching embraced, according to the quaint phraseology of the day: 1. natural things, viz., anatomy and physiology; 2. non-natural things--hygiene and dietetics; 3. things contrary to nature--pathology and therapeutics. In the year 1634 a course of lectures on surgery, delivered in Latin, and exclusively for the medical students, was added--a practical course of surgery in French already existed for the barber apprentices; and the faculty began to perceive that if they would keep their supremacy over the barber-surgeons, it would be as well to know as much as their disciples.

The oath taken by the professors is remarkable, especially the exordium: "We swear and solemnly promise to give our lessons in long gowns with wide sleeves, having the square cap on our heads, and the scarlet scarf on our shoulders." This we see was their first duty. Their second engagement was to give their lessons uninterruptedly, and never by deputy, save in case of urgent necessity; each lecture to last an hour at least, and to be delivered daily, except in vacation time, which extended from the vigil of St. Peter and St. Paul, the 28th of June, to that of the exaltation of the cross, the 13th of September, and on festival days, which were pretty numerous, including also certain other solemnities, as well as the vigils of the greater feasts, when the schools were closed, _causa confessionis_, as the statutes have it.

Practical instruction was much more meagre than the oral, but this is hardly to be imputed as a fault. Anatomy cannot be learned except by dissection, and no bodies but those of criminals were procurable. The faculty had to look to crime to help on its progress in this study. When an execution took place, the dean received formal notice, and convoked the doctors and students on the occasion "to make an anatomy," as it was called. When the faculty was at peace with the surgeons, the latter were favored with an invitation. By a strange prejudice, theory and practice, as we have noticed, were kept distinct. The learned professor would have demeaned himself by becoming an operator, while the acting surgeon was condemned to be a mere intelligent machine, and was formally interdicted from being initiated in the higher mysteries of the profession. It was a barber who generally filled this inferior office, and he not unfrequently would display more knowledge than his masters; for which {501} offense he was sure to be severely reprimanded. "_Doctor non sinat dissectorem divagari, sed contineat in officio dissecandi_"--"Let not the doctor suffer the dissector to stray beyond his province, but keep him to his duty of dissecting." This is one of the rules laid down in the statutes. He was to work on and hold his tongue. But not only was the barber condemned to silence--a hard sentence, some will say, on one of his loquacious profession--but he was to receive no pay. For remuneration he was to look to his brethren of the razor. There were more facilities for the study of botany than for any other practical branch of the medical science. Beside the garden in the Rue de la Bûcherie, the doctors had afterward the use of the Jardin Royal founded by Richelieu; and these advantages do not seem to have been by any means neglected. Clinical instruction was peculiarly defective. Absorbed by erudition, philosophy, and the interminable disquisitions of the schools, our medical forefathers seem to have forgotten that experimental knowledge can be obtained only by the bedside of the sick. Most of the students had never seen a single patient before they reached the honors of the baccalaureate. After this they attached themselves to some doctor, whom they followed on his rounds, in order to learn the application of what they had theoretically mastered, and were by him introduced to his clients, much as was the practice in the days of ancient Rome. The poor sufferer's room was thus not unfrequently turned into a pedantic lecture-hall. We instinctively recall to mind Molière's two Diafoiruses, father and son, stationing themselves each on one side of the unhappy patient, and discoursing in pompous medical phraseology of the character of his pulse and of the humors of his body. [Footnote 71] The practical and, as such, the most important department of medical science received, it must be confessed, the least attention. All the prizes, whether of honor or emolument, which the future held out, tended to concentrate zeal and emulation on dialectics. It seemed as if the medical art were designed for the benefit of the doctors rather than the doctored, and that it was of more importance to be able to descant learnedly upon a malady than to cure it. To figure advantageously at one of those solemn public sittings of the medical body, which were often graced with the presence of members of the high aristocracy and of the magisterial body; to be able to deliver a brilliant harangue, and confound an opponent by a well-timed and well-chosen quotation--such was the highest ambition of the student. To preside with distinction over the discussion of a thesis--such was the battle-field on which the doctor hoped to win his laurels. If he acquitted himself with applause, he had gained a victory which raised him higher in his own esteem, and in that of the world at large, than the most successful practice of his profession could possibly do. The first two articles of the statutes contain this spirit in a condensed form, and may be regarded as the abridged decalogue of the faculty, summing up their duty toward God and toward man: 1. the divine offices shall be celebrated with the customary forms, and in the usual places, at the same hours and on the same days as heretofore; 2. the medical students shall frequently attend public disputations and dissertations.

[Footnote 71: "_Duriuscule repoussant, et même un peu capricant." "L'intempérie de son parenchyme splénique et l'état de ses méats cholidoques_."]

The process through which the student had to pass in order to make his way to his degree of licentiate was a trying ordeal. The examination for the bachelor's degree, after a few previous solemnities, including the usual attention first to religion, next to dress and formal state, lasted a week, during which the candidate might be questioned not only by the regular examiners on the usual round of the natural, the non-natural, and the unnatural, but by any doctor present, each having the right to propose a certain number of questions. In conclusion, the aspirant {502} had to comment on some aphorism of Hippocrates. When the examiners gave in their report, votes were taken, and a favorable majority, secured to the aspirant his degree. The new bachelors swore to keep the honorable secrets, and observe all the practices, customs, and statutes of the faculty; to pay homage to the dean and to all the masters; to aid the faculty against all opponents and all illicit practitioners, and to submit to the punishments which it might inflict; to assist in gown at all the masses ordered by the faculty, coming in at least before the epistle, and remaining till the end; and, finally, to assist at all the academic exercises and disputations of the schools during two years, where they were to maintain some theses on medicine or hygiene, observing good order and decorum in conducting their argument.

Their great ordeal was now to come. One is amazed to read of the succession of tilts they had to run in the intellectual tourney of these two probationary years; how from St. Martin to the Carnival they had to maintain, always in full dress and before a large assembly, their _quodlibetary_ [Footnote 72] theses of physiology or medicine; how from Ash-Wednesday to vacation time it was the turn of the Cardinal theses, so called from their institution by Cardinal d'Estoutteville. These chiefly related to hygienic questions. It is from among these latter that most of those puerile and absurd queries have been extracted which have drawn down so much ridicule on the faculty. It is scarcely possible to imagine that such questions as the following can have been intended for serious discussion: Are heroes the children of heroes? Are they bilious? Is it good to get drunk once a month? Is woman an imperfect work of nature? Is sneezing a natural act? It is only fair, however, to remember that by far the greater number of the subjects proposed were of a very different character, and such as might profitably be considered at the present day. But if the frequent occurrence of these intellectual jousts was trying to the combatant, their interminable length was perfectly appalling. From six o'clock to eight he had to stand a preliminary skirmish with the bachelors. For the next three hours he had to encounter nine doctors, who successively entered the lists, each bringing his fresh vigor to bear on the exhausted candidate. The sitting ended with a general assault, in which all present had liberty to take a share and overwhelm the poor bachelor with a very hail-storm of interrogatories, to which he had to reply single-handed. During the Cardinal theses the debate was still hotter and more prolonged. From five in the morning till midday, the candidate was plied with questions by the bachelors, all ready to pounce upon him at the slightest flaw in his argument or the merest slip of his tongue. As a climax of cruelty, during the _quodlibetary_ examinations he was bound to furnish his persecutors with refreshment in an adjoining apartment, of which he alone was forbidden to partake. The sound of the great clock striking twelve must have been a joyful reprieve to the athlete in the ring; the wonder is that any constitution could stand the probationary two years during which this process was energetically kept up.

[Footnote 72: So called because selected at pleasure.]

At the close of this period the candidates were subjected to private examination before the doctors, in order to ascertain their practical capacity and personal qualifications for exercising the medical art. Great strictness prevailed on all points which nearly concerned the honor and interests of the faculty; and if the candidate had ever practiced any manual art, including surgery, he was bound on oath to renounce it for the future. Then followed a separate private examination by each individual doctor as to a thousand personal details affecting the competence of the applicant. A secret scrutiny then decided on the admissibility, not as yet the admission, of {503} the candidates to the honors and privileges of actual members of the faculty. The spirit of the old days was preserved even in the seventeenth century, and the licentiates had to receive ecclesiastical sanction and a quasi-ordination. They proceeded accordingly in procession to the house of the chancellor of the academy, to whom they were presented by the dean, who, on their request, fixed a day for their reception. This form was one of the most cherished traditions of the university. Gallican as was the spirit of that body, it gloried in tracing its privileges and constitution to the Holy See; a cheap homage, which entailed no inconvenience, and of which at times it knew how to avail itself in its contests with the king and the parliament. The chancellor, who was a canon of the metropolitan see of Paris, had long enjoyed sovereign jurisdiction over the schools; and although in the seventeenth century his power was purely nominal, no one disputed his right upon this occasion to represent the sovereign Pontiff, the supreme teacher of the Catholic world. Other curious ceremonies attended the solemn admittal to the licentiate. All the high functionaries of state, and other important personages, were invited to attend the schools on an appointed day, in order to learn from the paranymph the names and titles of the medical practitioners whom the faculty were about to present to the city--nay, to the whole world: "_Quos, quales, et quot medicos urbi, alque adeo universo orbi, medicorum collegium isto biennio sit suppeditaturum._" The paranymph, as is well known, was, among the Greeks, the friend of the bridegroom, who accompanied him in his chariot when he went to fetch home the bride. Now it was held that the new licentiate was about to espouse the faculty, much as the Doge of Venice married the sea. The friend of the spouse, the paranymph, was in fact the dean, who presented the young spouses to the chancellor with a complimentary address. That dignitary invited the assembly to repair on a fixed day to the great archiepiscopal hall, which upon this occasion was thrown open to all the notabilities of the capital, who attended to add honor to the solemnity. Then the list of the candidates was read out in their order of merit, as previously decided after a strict inquiry by the doctors. They immediately fell on their knees, bareheaded, in an attitude of deep recollection, to receive the apostolic benediction given by the chancellor in these terms: "_Auctoritate Sanctae Sedis Apostolicae, qua fungor in hoc parte, do tibi licentium legendi, interpretandi, et faciendi medicinam hic et ubique terrarum, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_." A question was then proposed by this dignitary to the licentiate first in the order of merit, who was bound to give proof of his competency by solving it on the spot. As the chancellor was not a doctor, and as the assembly was miscellaneous, this query was usually religious or literary, and, to judge from the recorded questions, rather curious and subtle than profitable. The whole assembly forthwith repaired in a body to the cathedral to thank our Blessed Lady for the happy conclusion of a work begun under her auspices. With his hand stretched over the altar of the martyrs, the chancellor murmured a short prayer, the purport of which was calculated to remind the newly-elected that, belonging henceforth as they did specially to the Church, they ought to be prepared to sacrifice themselves in all things, even to their very life: _usque ad effusionem sanguinis_. It depended entirely upon the licentiates themselves whether or no they were ultimately decorated with the doctor's cap, which conferred the full privileges at once of the medical corporation and of the university to which it belonged; and although a few, from modesty or other causes, declined to aim at this honor, with by far the greater number it was the consequence and complement of the licentiate. The degree of licentiate introduced the recipient to the public; {504} that of doctor admitted him into the very sanctuary of the faculty. Accordingly it was conferred, not less ceremoniously, but more privately. It was, so to say, a family affair. Although, as we have said, there was no further examination respecting medical competency, another minute inquiry was made into the life and morals of the applicant, which was followed, if the scrutiny proved satisfactory, by a preparatory act called the Vesperie, because it took place in the afternoon. At this sitting, the president addressed the candidate in a solemn discourse, intended to impress him with a high sense of the dignity of the healing art, and of the maxims of honor and probity which ought to guide its professors. The ordeal of questions was not altogether closed; for we find the president proposing a query, and entering into a discussion with the candidate, who had thus still something to undergo before he passed on from the class of the questioned to the more enviable rank of the questioners.

Upon the great day, the doctor in _posse_, preceded by the mace-bearers and bachelors, with the president on his left, and followed by the doctors _in esse_ selected to argue with him, proceeded to the hall of the great school. The grand apparitor then addressed him thus: "Sir candidate for the doctorate, before you are initiated, you have to take three oaths,"--"_Domine doctorande, antequam incipias, habes tria juramenta_." The three oaths were: 1. to observe the rights, statutes, laws, and venerable customs of the faculty; 2. to assist the day following the feast of St. Luke at the mass for deceased doctors; 3. to combat with all his strength against the illicit practitioners of medicine, whatever might be their rank or their condition in life. "Will you swear to observe these things?"--"_Vis ista jurare?_"--asked the grand apparitor; and the candidate replied with that memorable _Juro_ ("I swear") which was Molière's last word. [Footnote 73] The president, after a brief address, turned toward him with the doctorial square cap in his hand, and making with it the sign of the cross in the air, placed it on the head of the candidate, to which he then administered a slight blow with two of his fingers, and forthwith bestowed upon him the _accolade_. The recipient was now duly dubbed doctor. He made immediate use of his new powers by asking a question of one of the doctors present. The president had then a tilt with the doctor who had presided at the Vesperie, and the sitting was closed by the new doctor's delivering a discourse of thanksgiving to God, to the faculty, and to his friends and relations present. The statutes enjoin that this speech should be _elegant_. We may conceive that the notion of elegance entertained by the faculty differed considerably from that which the word suggests to our minds. On the St. Martin's Day following the recently-chosen doctor did the honors of his new grade by presiding over a _quodlibetary_ thesis. This was a sort of bye-day, being out of course. It was called the "_acte pastillaire_," in allusion probably to the sugary wafers presented to the dean stamped with his likeness, or to the _bonbons_, of which there was a general distribution on the occasion. The next day the new doctor was entered on the registers, and took his place on the junior bench for ten years.

[Footnote 73: The great comic dramatist played the part of Argan on the first representation of his play of the _Malade Imaginaire_, now always performed on the anniversary of his death. He had probably long had within him the seeds of a mortal complaint; and after pronouncing the word _Juro_ in his character of Bachelor of Medicine taking his degree, which is the object of the famous ceremonial ballet succeeding the comedy, he was seized with a suffocating attack, and left the playhouse only to expire shortly afterward.]

Every one must be struck with the close resemblance which the famous ceremony in Molière's _Malade Imaginaire_ bears to those scholastic solemnities. Who, indeed, would now remember these antiquated customs of an age from which we are drifting more rapidly in habits of thought and {505} in manners than even the stream of time is carrying us, if the comic dramatist had not conferred upon them the immortality of ridicule? Yet it may well be questioned if it were not for Molière's ludicrous picture, from which we have formed our notions and judgment of the old faculty, whether, did we now for the first time discover in some old forgotten document the record of these proceedings, our impression might not be widely different; whether we might not see as much in them to command our respect as to provoke us to laughter. Old-fashioned ways--that is, ways which no longer reflect the ideas and feelings of the day--always lend themselves specially to ridicule. In Molière's time society was beginning to divest itself of its mediaeval garb, and men's minds were being formed, not always to their advantage, on a new type. The old type, however, was so strongly impressed on the medical corporation--in which the traditionary spirit was peculiarly powerful--that the garb, which, as we know, follows rather than precedes a change, still sat naturally on the venerable body of doctors. So entirely was this the case, that where, as individuals, they were more or less under the influence of the Spirit of the day, in their professional capacity they had as it were a second self, clinging tenaciously in all that concerned the faculty to ancient ideas and forms. Of this combination the well-known Guy Patin, to whom we may hereafter have occasion to allude, was a curious example. It is difficult to look upon men performing acts, to them most serious, however absurd in our eyes, as purely ridiculous. Assuredly they have their respectable side. Neither is it easy to believe that all these good doctors, indefatigable as we have seen them, and enthusiastically devoted as they were to their calling, were all such pedantic idiots as Molière has painted them. It is a well-known fact that the inimitable piece of buffoonery to which we have alluded was concocted in the salon of Madame de la Sablière, a noted rendezvous of the "_beaux esprits_" of the day. Molière furnished the canvas and laid-in the colors of the first painting; but his witty friends had each some lively touch to contribute. It is probable that two or three of the medical profession--men who were more or less sceptical as to the perfection of every saying and doing of the faculty, and with whom Molière is known to have lived in habits of intimacy--were present at these meetings, and supplied many of the technical expressions. It does not follow that these physicians were actuated by any spite against their order, any more than Cervantes hated chivalry, to which, while quizzing its eccentricities and exaggerations, he unwittingly gave a fatal blow.

One remark forcibly suggests itself, when we consider the hyperbolical praise which the medical body so liberally administered to itself, and with which Molière has made us familiar in passages of his comedies which can scarcely be considered as caricatures. We are apt severely to censure as grossly servile and almost idolatrous the flattery with which the men of letters and courtiers of Louis XIV.'s reign dosed the monarch. But some abatement must be made of this harsh judgment when we find the reception of an obscure bachelor to his degree made the occasion of a prodigal expenditure of the most exaggerated metaphors. He is a new star, a pharos destined to shed its light on the latest posterity; he is the compendium of all virtue, talent, and glory; he equals, if he does not surpass, all the heroes of antiquity. And if such were the eulogies bestowed on a successful candidate for the honors of the faculty, what was the laudation reserved for the faculty itself, the source of all this splendor? Hyperbole went mad. We find, for instance, an orator taking as his text, "The physician is like to God." He sets forth this resemblance in the attributes of power, beneficence, mercy: physicians are {506} the ministers and the "colleagues" of God. But this is not enough. The orator kindles as he proceeds: all comes from God; _ergo_, evil as well as good. "But from you, medical gentlemen," he exclaims, "comes nothing but good. Doubtless God is just in afflicting us, and has his reasons. But still evil is evil, and medicine is always salutary." (Rather a bold assertion!) The conclusion is, that we should owe more to the physician than to God, seeing that, while the Lord wounds, the physician heals, did we not after all owe to him the physician himself.

One lost trait to complete this sketch of the old customs of the faculty. Molière has hinted at it in the closing line of the exordium of his comic president:

"Salus, honos, et argentum, _Atque bonum appetitum_."

The culinary and gastronomic side of the medical physiognomy is not the least curious. Brillat-Savarin, who has made a classified catalogue of gourmands, places physicians under the head of gourmands by virtue of their profession. It is, he says, in the nature of things. Everything contributes to make them gluttons. The hopes and the gratitude of patients combine to pamper them. They are crammed like pigeons, and at the end of six months have become irretrievable gourmands. There seem to be reasonable grounds for this accusation. In what may be called the heroic age of the faculty--the palmy days of medical ceremonial, which had already begun to decline in Molière's time, although the ancient forms were in the main preserved--corporation repasts were frequent. After every examination the doctors dined; after every thesis they dined--on this latter occasion at the expense of the successful candidate. On St. Luke's Day they dined; and again when the accounts were given in, and when a dean was elected. When a chair of botany was erected; a "botanic banquet" ensued as a matter of course. But it would be too tedious to enumerate all these feastings, since almost everything furnished the pretext for an entertainment. At one time, the faculty even officially appointed two of their number to taste the wines before their repasts. Under the pretence of hygienic considerations, questions appertaining to what may be styled transcendental cookery were of frequent occurrence; and it was gravely debated whether salad ought to be eaten at the first course, and potatoes at the second; whether it were good to eat nuts after fish, cheese after meat, etc.

We will conclude with some reflections of a more pleasing character as to the spirit which animated the old faculty. Some of its statutes are memorials of the virtuous principles which, in spite of all absurdities of form, were held in honor by their body. For instance, the doctors were enjoined to cultivate friendship with one another. They were never to visit a patient without an express invitation. The juniors were always to rise before the ancients, and the ancients were to protect the juniors, and treat them with kindness. The secrets of the sick were sacred; and no one was to reveal what he had seen, heard, or so much as suspected in a patient's house. Gravity, mildness, and decorum were to reign in their assemblies, where each was to speak in his proper order and without interrupting others. Disorderly behavior, recriminations, and abusive language are to be banished for ever from the faculty. These regulations are admirable; and at any rate bear witness to the sound views of the body of whose collective wisdom they were the expression. Indeed the great strength of the faculty resided in its attachment to its salutary moral laws. Mere formalism would never have possessed such vitality and endurance. When we penetrate into the life of this old society, we meet with a tone of genuine uprightness, manliness, and candor quite refreshing to the mind. We may add that {507} most of the great liberal professions--the bar, the magistracy, and the educational bodies of the seventeenth century--make the same favorable impression upon us. They exhibit the _bourgeoisie_ of the day in a respectable light, as manifesting in no ordinary degree the qualities of probity, disinterestedness, and the family spirit, with all the sober virtues and homely charities which appertain to it.

We naturally know less of the life of the students; but it was probably moulded upon that of their elders and superiors. Even Molière's pompous Thomas Diafoirus, with whose rejection by Angélique for the handsome, rich, and agreeable Cléante the reader of course heartily sympathizes, is by no means a contemptible personage; and when divested of his priggish solemnity, and of all those ludicrous accidental qualities which go to make up the caricature, it cannot be denied that he is a well-principled, sober, and industrious youth. It is, therefore, no unreasonable conclusion to draw, that such was the general character of the body of aspirants to the honors of the venerable doctorate.

From The Lamp.

ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.

BY ROBERT CURTIS.