CHAPTER VIII.

FATHER RASLE.

One summer morning, Mr. Yorke appeared at the breakfast-table with a very sour face. He was bilious, and he had not slept well. Even Hester's cooing ways failed to mollify him.

"Why, you are feverish, papa," she said. "Your hand is hot and dry."

He moved his chair impatiently. "Yes, your mother insisted on my taking charcoal instead of calomel, and I think she must have slily administered a lucifer-match with it: I radiate heat."

Mrs. Yorke took these complaints very quietly. She knew that nothing could be further from her husband's heart than to be dissatisfied with anything she did. "We were disturbed by that fearful noise," she said quietly, taking her place at the table.

Owen began to laugh. The Seaton "cast-iron band" had been out the night before, and the young man found himself very much amused by it.

"Do you like lawlessness, sir?" demanded Mr. Yorke.

"That depends on what the law is," the son replied pleasantly.

"Well, sir, in this case it is the law of common decency, of respect for the clergy, and courtesy to strangers. Father Rasle, the Catholic priest, came here yesterday, and that Babel of cow-bells, and sleigh-bells, and mill-saws, and tin trumpets, and wooden drums, and I know not what else, was before his door. I call it a shameful outrage."

"So do I," Owen replied promptly. "I had no idea what it meant."

The young ladies all exclaimed indignantly; but Edith dropped her eyes and was silent. Theology was nothing to her, and as yet her faith had no life in it. She was deeply ashamed of that religion which all seemed to scoff at save those who tolerated it for her sake. Only her promise held her to it. That the voice of the people is not always, is very seldom, the voice of God, she could not be expected to know; neither could she be expected to love that church which as yet she had heard spoken of only by its enemies. She did not dream of forsaking the religion of her mother; but her constancy to it seemed to her of the same nature as Mrs. Rowan's constancy to her drunken husband.

After breakfast, her uncle bade her dress to go with him to call on Father Rasle. She obeyed, though with a shrinking heart. She had heard priests spoken of in the street and by the school-children with contempt and reviling, and her impression was that they must be very disagreeable persons to meet. But the religion was hers, and she must stand by it, never confessing to a doubt nor allowing any one to reproach it unchallenged by her. And if she stood by the religion, she must stand by the priest.

Father Rasle, being only a missionary there, had no house in Seaton, but stopped with a decent Irish family. It was a poor place, and the room in which he received Mr. Yorke and his niece was as humble as could well be imagined. But there needed no fine setting to show that he was that noblest object on earth, a Christian gentleman. His age might have been a little over forty, and his manner was almost too grave and dignified, one might think at first; but it soon appeared that he could be genial beyond most men.

Mr. Yorke presented his niece, and, before explaining their errand, apologized for the insult that had been offered the priest the night before.

"Oh! I certainly did not expect the honor of a serenade," said Father Rasle, laughing pleasantly. "But, if it gratified them to give it, I am not in the least offended. It is, perhaps, a loss to me that I did not care; for I might have derived some profit from the mortification. On the contrary, I own to you, sir, that I enjoyed that concert. It was the most laughable one I ever heard."

Mr. Yorke looked at the speaker in astonishment. Here was a kind of pride, if pride it could be called, which he could not understand. In such circumstances, his own impulse would have been to shoot his insulters down instantly. What he despised he wanted to crush, to rid the earth of, to spare himself the sight of; what the priest despised he pitied, he wished to raise, to excuse, to spare God and the world the sight of. It was admirable, his visitor owned, but inimitable by him.

Not being able to say any more on the subject, he then stated Edith's case. "You will know what she needs," he concluded, "and I shall see that she follows your directions."

The father questioned his young catechumen, and found her in a state of the most perfect ignorance. "The child is a heathen!" he said, in his odd, broken English, his smile taking the harsh edge off the words. "She must study the catechism--this little one--and see how much of it she will have to say to me when I come here again in a month. I will then prepare her for her first confession."

Edith uttered not a word, except to answer his questions. She was not sure whether she liked him or not; she was only certain that he did not offend her.

There was a little more talk, then Mr. Yorke rose to go, cordially inviting the priest to visit him. As they were going, "I think, Edith," he said, "that you should kneel and ask Father Rasle's blessing."

She knelt at once, for her mother's and her uncle's sake, with a murmured, "Please to bless me, sir!" But when he had given the blessing, laying his hand upon her head, and looking down into her face with that expression of serious sweetness, she felt a dawning sense of reverence and confidence, and perceived dimly some sacredness in him.

She went to Mass the next day in the little chapel that had been desecrated. The picture-frames still hung on the walls, with the rags of the stations in them. There was enough left to show how Christ the Lord had suffered, and this new insult was but a freshening of the original text. Mr. Yorke sat on the bench beside his niece, and she stood, or knelt, or sat with the rest, not in the least understanding what it all meant, but impressed by the gravity and earnestness of those around her. When Mass was over, the priest, who had seen them, sent for them into the sacristy. He had some books for Edith, and wanted to point out the lessons she was to learn first.

"And I have a present for you," he said, giving her an ormolu crucifix, with a broken foot that showed marks of violence. "This is the crucifix that was torn from our tabernacle. I want you to keep it; and whenever you are called upon to suffer, and feel disposed to complain, look at this, and remember that our Lord was not even allowed to hang upon his cross in peace."

She took the crucifix from his hand silently, and held it against her breast as she went out. She did not propose to endure suffering; she desired and looked for happiness; but something in this relic stirred her to a strange pity, mingled with anger. The idea that lay behind it was to her dim and vague; but, failing to grasp that, she would have defended with her life the symbol of that monstrous wrong and that heart-breaking patience. Reaching home, she went directly to her own chamber and hung the crucifix beneath the picture of her father, then stood and looked at it awhile. There was a wish in her heart to do something--to offer some reparation to the real Sufferer behind this image of pain. She kissed with soft lips the broken foot of the cross, and a tear fell where she kissed. She took it down, and pressed the rough edge against her bosom till the sharp points pierced the skin and brought a stain of blood. Then, hearing some one call her, she hastily replaced it, and brought as an offering to it a precious bouquet of ribbon-grasses, that Carl had gathered that morning to fasten in her hair. She had meant to keep it because of some sweetness with which it was offered, but now she gave it up to that unseen Patience and Love. Her instinctive action proved that the feeling and precept of the church only sanctifies, but does not change the impulse of a pure and tender nature.

Meantime, the child was being discussed down-stairs.

"I observe that Edith has an inclination to stay alone a good deal," Mr. Yorke said, "and I do not wish to have that encouraged. It is not a wholesome disposition. Her father was a visionary, her mother was a visionary, and she is--"

"A vision!" concluded Mrs. Yorke, as Edith appeared, with the thoughts of the last few hours still in her eyes and on her lips.

About that time, Carl received a letter from Miss Mills which he read many times. "You ask my advice," she wrote, "and you tell me that I know better than you know yourself. I would not claim so much as that, but I think I may tell you something more clearly than you yourself perceive it, or confirm you in some thought which you doubt or wish to doubt. As to your choice of a profession and staying in Seaton for the present, you might well try the experiment; but I cannot express any great confidence as to the result. It is almost a disadvantage to you that your powers are so various. There are a good many things which, with application, you could do excellently; whether you have any specialty remains to be proved, and will be hard to prove; for, in order to find that out, you must concentrate your powers, and that you hate to do. If this world were but a playground, then you would have nothing to do but follow in the trail of every new beauty which calls you; but life is earnest, and you must work, or you not only lose what you might accomplish, but you lose yourself. You are one of those whom the devil finds worth fighting for, and, lacking faith to your armor, you have all the more need of labor. _Qui laborat orat_, might have a sort of truth even for one without faith.

"Let me warn you against two dangers: one is, that you may be injured by flatterers. Not that you like flattery in itself, but it will soothe your painful sense of not having reached your own ideal. It will seem to you that your best must have transpired at least, and that you must have done better than you thought. Not so; receive that soothing praise only when you have striven hard, even though you failed, but never when you have tried weakly or not at all. What the flatterers like in you is not your best, but your worst. They have no wish for you to rise above them; they praise you to keep you low.

"I warn you, too, against your excessive love for the beautiful, in which you are an ultra-pagan. The infinite beauty is alone worthy of that passion with which you seek and admire; and infinite beauty is infinite truth. Seek truth first, and you will always be rewarded by the vision of beauty; but, if you seek beauty first, you will find to your sorrow, possibly to your ruin, that it is often but the mask of falsehood.

"Lay aside some of your fastidiousness, my dear friend, and take up your life strongly with both hands. Do something, even if it should prove to be the wrong thing. Wrong work done honestly prepares us for right work. Strengthen your will, and be manly, as a man should be. Discipline yourself, and you will escape much pain and loss of time, for, let me assure you, Carl, you need either an immensity of resolution or an immensity of suffering.

"My lecture is done, and I am Minerva no longer. My thoughts follow you with solicitude and indulgence. On the night after you left, which you spent on the sea, I went to the quiet chapel near me, and placed you under the protection of _Stella Maris_. But life has waves and gulfs more fearful than those of the sea, and my prayers for you do not cease with the end of your journey.

"Look well at Robert Yorke's child, remembering what the story of my life is; and then, if you think that I could love her, kiss her on the forehead for me, and tell her that I send a loving greeting."

Owen folded the letter, and hid it in his bosom. He had been walking in the woods, and he returned thoughtfully homeward. The afternoon was sultry and still. The low brooks hissed along like white flames, the branches drooped over the birds that murmured, and the flowers hung wilted. All about the house was silent as he entered. Going through the kitchen, he saw Betsey sitting in the northern window reading a novel. Betsey was the most romantic soul alive, and, having got hold of _David Copperfield_, was crying her eyes out over poor little Dora. Passing on to the sitting-room, he found his father sitting asleep in a deep wicker-chair, a copy of _Religio Medici_ lying open on his knee. The quiet tone of the book, familiar by many readings, had lulled him into a pleasant slumber, and his hand had dropped with the finger pointing to a passage on which he had closed his eyes: "I love to love myself in a mystery, to pursue my reason to an _O altitudo_!" From that the reader had gone out into the mystery of sleep with a smile lingering on his face.

"It is the castle of indolence," muttered Owen, stepping noiselessly on. He paused at the foot of the stairs and listened. No sound came down. His sisters, in white wrappers, each with a pillow under her head, were lying on the cool matting in the north chamber, too much exhausted to talk. He went out into the portico, and stood there a moment, seeing no one. Then, turning, he beheld Edith asleep on a bench in the shadow of the vines, her arms thrown up over her head. Smilingly he approached her, literally to obey the command of his friend, and look well to see if his uncle's deserted mistress could love his uncle's child. She was fair enough to love, for all the roughness of her former life had passed away. The bloom of the lily was in her face, warmed now to a rose by the heat, and her hair had a shine of gold.

"Dear little cousin," he said, "a friend of yours sends loving greeting."

She stirred, her face grew troubled, and she started up with a cry: "Dick, come back. I did not mean to!"

She sighed on seeing Owen. "I was dreaming that I had hurt Dick, and he was going away angry," she said.

"Are you, then, so fond of him?" Carl asked, seating himself by her.

"O Carl!" she said earnestly, "you have no idea how fond he is of me."

"And you of him, then, of course," said Carl.

"Why, of course!" she echoed, with a look of surprise. "If I were to do anything to Dick to make him unhappy, I should never forgive myself, never! I have written him a letter to-day, and told him I want him to be a Catholic."

"You have!" said Carl with a faint smile. "Do you think he will obey you?"

"Oh! yes," she said confidently; "I told him some good reasons why he should."

And may I ask what the good reasons were, Edith?" was the smiling question.

"Why, in the first place, I want him to."

"Excellent!" laughed the young man. "The doctors couldn't do better."

Edith blushed deeply. "No; the good reasons were the reasons why I wanted him to," she said.

TO BE CONTINUED.

SAINT CECILIA.

HER INFLUENCE ON LITERATURE AND THE ARTS.

FROM THE REVUE GENERALE.

While the great men who have dreamed of distinguishing their names die and are forgotten, or at least, as Juvenal said of Alexander, become the idle theme of a rhetorical recitation, those who in this world have lived and suffered for God leave behind them, through all ages, an immortal memory.

The work for which each of us has been sent into the world has been conspicuously accomplished by the saints. This makes them our rightful masters; and, while we rarely imitate them, we can at least understand that such heroism must elevate the soul, and we admire them all the more that we feel ourselves unable to follow in their steps. Nor is such a recognition a useless sentiment. From the mansion of glory whence they see all things, the saints never cease to interest themselves in the affairs of the world, and among the dogmas of the Catholic Church which our estranged brethren have rejected, the communion of saints is one of the most touching and sublime.

There is indeed between the two worlds, visible and invisible, a strange but undeniable communication. Each of us, in investigating his own soul, will find there certain phenomena which have their origin neither in ourselves nor in the outer world: sadness from no apparent cause, inexplicable sensations of internal happiness, bursts of enthusiasm or sudden inspirations which Plato attributed to superior intelligences. Many of us, recalling some miraculously escaped danger, and profoundly touched by this heavenly protection, will bear willing witness, unless checked by dread of worldly criticism, to this influence of the saints and angels on our human career. "The people," with the good sense which so happily inspires them (at least, where the sophists have not succeeded in corrupting them)--"the people" believe in it; and when the peasant or the poor working-woman gives a name in baptism to the child just entering on the struggles of life, she believes, in her simple, lucid faith, that she is securing a patron for it. It is not in vain, they say, that a young girl is called Mary; surely she will the more readily share in the sweetness, the self-denial, the incomparable purity, of the Queen of Virgins; the name of Agnes will be a pledge of innocence; that of Theresa promises a heart of fire; that of Cecilia, a soul gentle yet strong, eager for harmony; while the name of Francis recalls heroic isolation; those of Paul and of John, indefatigable zeal and perfect charity. If it is not always thus, it is because the human soul is free to resist grace; but these occasional rebellions do not prevent a harmony between heaven and earth as mysterious as it is sure.

These thoughts have frequently passed through our mind; but one day last October, while visiting the church of St. Cecilia in Rome, they monopolized it.

In such moments, we persuade ourselves very easily that we can express them in writing. Undoubtedly, they are not new; but, if the life of this great saint, one of the glories of Rome, is well known, it is a story which will bear repetition: really fine old melodies never lose their charm, and, if they thrill one human soul with a divine emotion, who will complain of hearing them again?

HISTORY OF SAINT CECILIA.

In the year 250 after Christ, in the reign of Septimus Severus, at a time when the Roman Empire was still the most formidable power of the world, there lived in Rome a young girl who will be famous when the imperial glories shall be forgotten.

Beauty, the reflection of heaven in the human countenance; grace, mysterious charm whose origin is invisible; modesty, that exquisite reserve of a virgin soul; nobility, precious perfume of the past; and, above all, the power of loving, the most magnificent and the most powerful present of the Creator to the created: all these gifts were united in the daughter of Cæcilius. It was an illustrious family: in the records of the Republic it counted eighteen consuls and several conquerors, nor had it degenerated under the Empire.

To-day, when the traveller, weary from a day spent in the galleries of Rome, setting forth from the city towards sunset, wanders pensively down the long Appian Way, while he contemplates with emotion the outlines of the aqueducts with their broken arches, the Sabine mountains gilded by the light, and all that celebrated landscape of the environs of Rome, majestic and melancholy as a fallen queen, he finds upon his right, rising like a great tower, the tomb of Cæcilia Metella. There slept of yore the long-forgotten ancestress of her who will render immortal, for time and for eternity, the name of Cæcilius.

Cecilia was eighteen. The Roman poor knew her charity. Often had they seen her in the caves of the martyrs alone, or only accompanied by a faithful servant. Her father, although he respected her religion, did not share it: he hoped, indeed, at a suitable time to marry his daughter to some distinguished husband, and to see himself, through her, live again in her beloved children. But Cecilia had raised her heart above this world, and night and day prayed that the palm of virginity she had dreamed of should not be taken from her.

He whom her parents had chosen for her seemed not unworthy of the honor. Though still a pagan, Valerian possessed at least those natural gifts which prepare the soul for faith, hope, and charity, the supernatural gifts of Christ crucified. Nevertheless, who can express the fears of the young Christian? Had not God accepted all her heart as she had offered it? Could a pagan understand this mystery, and would not this union of the soul with an invisible spouse seem a strange folly to a man still living in the world of the senses? More than one Christian soul has felt these chaste doubts. It is honorable to hesitate before making for a mortal a sacrifice for which a young girl sometimes can never console herself. Cecilia felt these terrors most acutely, but she loved God well enough to feel perfect confidence in him. So she poured forth her whole soul in prayer, and, against all hope, trusted in his aid.

So, when, towards evening, already married in the eyes of the world, she found herself alone with her husband, she said to him in that incomparable conversation whose charm has come down to us in her life:

"There is a secret, Valerian, that I wish to confide to you. I have a lover, an angel of God, who watches over me with jealous care. If you preserve inviolate my virginity, he will love you also as he loves me, and will overpower you with his favors."

Much astonished, Valerian wished to know this angel.

"You shall see him," said Cecilia, "when you are purified."

"How shall I become so?"

"Go to Urban. When the poor hear my name, they will take you to his sanctuary: he will explain to you our mysteries."

Drawn by an unknown power, the young man consented to go. We know the result of this decision--his interview with the Pope in the catacombs, his conversion, and his baptism. Still dressed in his white robe, he returned to Cecilia. He could now understand the love of the angels, and its perfect beauty. In future, he loved Cecilia as his sister in God, to whom belong the heart and mind.

In those Christian ages others loved as he did. Undoubtedly most of them carried their secret with them to the tomb; but among those whose genius has made them famous, Dante had his Beatrice; Petrarch sang of Laura: and these pure loves, unknown to the ancient pagans, and scoffed at by our modern pagans, will remain an ornament to the soul, an act of faith in its immortality, and for us who read their history a breath of heaven on earth.

No one knows what conversation took place, in those hours of rapture and prayer, between this pair, whose marriage was to be perfected in heaven; what thanksgivings they rendered to God, who in a moment transforms hearts: nor would it be easy to describe. Of all the arts, music alone might perhaps dare to attempt it, and the revelation would require the genius of Handel or Beethoven.

In his ardent zeal, Valerian, like Cecilia, understood the value of the soul.

So, when the beloved brother Tiburtius sought them, what eloquence they displayed to prove to him that his gods were only idols! Subdued by the mysterious charm of the Christian virgin, conquered by the eagerness of the convert, Tiburtius also wished to see the angel who watched over Cecilia. If for this it was necessary to be purified, purified he would be; and thus became the first conquest of his brother, who had besought God for it.

Such souls were too beautiful for pagan Rome. In the absence of Septimus Severus, Almachius, the governor, summoned Valerian and Tiburtius before his tribunal. The two young patricians avowed their faith in Christ, to the great scandal of the worldly and prosperous. Valerian went to his martyrdom as to a triumph. He went to wait for Cecilia in heaven.

Tiburtius did not forsake him. On the Appian Way, four miles from the city, they were beheaded for having dared to worship a different God from those of the Empire. Cecilia piously reclaimed their bodies, and prepared to rejoin them. Called in her turn to answer for her conduct, she disconcerted the judge. Before such purity, innocence, and heroism, entreaties, artifices, and threats failed; the daughter of Cæcilius, convicted of loving the poor and a crucified God, was instantly confined in the bath-room of her own house, there to be suffocated in a hot vapor bath. But in the midst of this fiery atmosphere she remained uninjured. The stupefied jailers related how they had discovered her singing the praises of God. Such a delusion could but provoke Almachius. The executioner was summoned. With a trembling hand, he inflicted three wounds on the neck of the virgin martyr, without succeeding in severing the head. Then, terrified himself, he fled. Stretched on the flags, bathed in her blood, Cecilia lived three days. The Christians gathered round her. She was able to bid farewell to the poor, to whom she had bequeathed her property. Then, feeling her strength fail, while Urban was in the act of giving her his blessing, she drew her robe around her, and, turning her face away, gave back her soul to God.

According to her last desire, the Pope transformed the house that had witnessed her martyrdom into a church. The bath-room became a chapel; and by its arrangement bears witness to-day to the truth of the saint's life. One can still see the mouth of the pipes which let in the vapor, covered with a grating; and on the same flags where the Roman virgin expired, the kneeling Christian can ponder in his heart the example of heroism that she has given to the world. He who has not had the good fortune to pray on the tombs of the martyrs cannot appreciate the strength one finds there, or what precepts their relics give forth. The martyrs are the incontrovertible witnesses of the value of faith, of the power of love; and it is said that their beatified spirits lend to these bones, which were their bodies, an all-powerful eloquence.

The remains of the young girl were taken down into the catacombs of St. Callixtus, and remained there six centuries. After the invasion of the Lombards, most unhappily, all trace was lost of them till, in 822, the place where they were hidden was revealed to Pope St. Pascal.

The long-sought coffin was placed in the basilica of St. Cecilia, which had been repaired by the Pope's care. It was placed under the high altar. And even in our day the custodian points out to the pilgrim a curious fresco of the thirteenth century, representing the apparition of the saint to the sleeping Pope. In 1599, Cardinal Sfondrate ordered the tomb to be opened with solemnity. To the great delight of Christian Rome, the corpse of the Roman virgin, respected by centuries, appeared, miraculously preserved.

The chaste folds of her dress were restrained by a girdle. At her feet were found the blood-stained cloths which had bound her wounds; and her arms, thrust forward, still seemed to serve as a veil. Three fingers of her right hand were open, only one of the left, as if even in dying she had wished to avow her belief in one God in three persons. Finally, so that she might not give to the world her last look, but think only of Christ, her spouse, by a supreme effort she had turned her head aside.

Thus she reposes on her bier of cypress; thus extended on the flags she had died; and thus a great artist has faithfully represented her to us. The celebrated statue of Etienne Maderno, lying on its side, full of modesty and of grace, seems the dying virgin herself; and the whiteness of the marble, which so resembles the paleness of death, adds yet more to the illusion. Seen in this honored place, in this house which was the saint's and has become God's, this masterpiece of Christian sculpture, admirably executed and in exquisite taste, touches the heart profoundly.

THE INFLUENCE OF ST. CECILIA ON LITERATURE.

Such a beautiful story could not fail to be repeated. As long as the persecutions lasted, to strengthen their courage, the faithful passed from mouth to mouth these details which had been so affectionately collected. So great, indeed, was the enthusiasm for the memory of Cecilia that she obtained the great and rare honor of being mentioned in the canon of the Mass with Saints Felicitas, Perpetua, Agatha, Lucy, Agnes, and Anastasia. Thus for fifteen centuries, throughout the Catholic world, wherever the holy sacrifice is celebrated, her name is invoked; and, truly immortal, each hour, each moment perhaps, her memory rises from earth to heaven with incense and with prayer.

Her acts, chronicled in the fifth century, have since then been the subject of several works. We shall only mention the Greek translation of Simeon Metaphrastes, the verses of St. Adhelme and of the Venerable Bede in England, the works of Flodoard at Rheims, and Rhoban Maur. Then, during that magnificent efflorescence of philosophy and Catholic literature, we see Victor de Beauvais relate the story of St. Cecilia;[109] Albert the Great, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Bonaventure, preaching several sermons in her honor. In the fifteenth century, the eloquent St. Vincent Ferrer recited her praises; but the Reformation came soon after, and it is only in Italy now that they think of the glories of St. Cecilia.

In vain her history is its own defence; in vain may it claim in its favor the imposing testimony of Christian tradition, in the East as in the West, during fourteen centuries; in vain the liturgies of the churches of Rome, of Milan, of Toledo, of Greece, and of Gaul have inserted in the office for the 22d of November fragments of the text; in vain even the discovery of her body testified anew to its veracity. Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, the Jansenist school rejected it.

The historical works on the first centuries of Christianity which during the last forty years have been undertaken in France and Germany, by tracing out the original sources with scrupulous care, and taking advantage of monuments, have dealt justly with this excessive criticism.

But error is more prone to spread than easy to uproot. Launoy, that "great demolisher of saints," who, in attacking the most poetic beliefs of the faithful, strayed into the road to rationalism, made a school. Even now Feller's _Dictionary of Universal Biography_, and, following him (for these works usually copy each other), those of Michaud and of F. Didot, have repeated, on the authority of Tillemont and of Baillet, that the authenticity of the life of St. Cecilia is very doubtful, although the arguments cited in support of this thesis had been successfully refuted by Laderchi early in the eighteenth century,[110] and annihilated for ever twenty years ago by R. P. Dom Guéranger, in his excellent book on St. Cecilia.[111]

The touching story of St. Cecilia must also inspire poets. Without mentioning the ancient hymns to be found in the Italian, Spanish, and Gallic liturgies, several poems in her honor may be quoted. At the time of the Renaissance, Baptiste Spagnuolo made it the subject of a real epic poem, where we find, as in the _Æneid_, the speeches of Venus and Juno, and the conspiracies of the inhabitants of Olympus against common mortals. The god of pagan love, accompanied by his mother, comes sadly to Juno to complain of the disdain of Cecilia, who wishes to remain a virgin. Forgetting her resentment, the wife of Jupiter inspires the father of Cecilia with the idea of uniting his daughter to a pagan. Foiled in their attempt by the conversion of Valerian, the angry goddess instigated Mars to suggest to Almachius the plan of drowning in blood this Christian band, rebels against the Olympian gods. Among the nine hundred verses may be found some fine ones, but we must confess that these unfortunate pagan reminiscences, so popular in the sixteenth century, ruin the poet's work for us.

Happily, the Roman virgin was to have her life, her death, and her glories sung in poems of purer inspiration. Angelus Tangrinus, priest of Monte Cassino,[112] wrote on this subject a long epithalamium,[113] which lacks neither grace of expression nor of thought.

The English poet Pope has also written an ode to St. Cecilia. The poem is elegantly versified, but cold and unmarked by any Christian feeling. The classic author recalls the magical effect of music in all ages, nor has he forgotten the adventure of Eurydice; he speaks with complacency of the Styx and of Phlegethon, of Ixion and of Sisyphus, of Proserpine and the Elysian Fields. Finally, feeling a pang of remorse, and remembering that he had dedicated his ode to a virgin martyr, he asserts that the poets must instantly abandon Orpheus and proclaim Cecilia the queen of music; for if the musician of Thrace drew by his music a spirit from hell, Cecilia by hers raised the soul to heaven.[114]

Very recently, Count Anatole de Ségur has published a dramatic poem, which seems to us the finest homage that poetry has yet offered to St. Cecilia. The style pure and musical, the interest sustained and engrossing, it merits the praises which the best judges have bestowed on it;[115] and we should willingly quote some verses of this exquisite book,[116] did we not prefer to leave our readers the pleasure of perusing it as a whole.

THE INFLUENCE OF SAINT CECILIA ON THE FINE ARTS.

We have seen the story of St. Cecilia inspire eloquence and poetry, but it was destined to exercise a still greater influence on the fine arts. There are, indeed, some general rules for these intimate relations between art and holiness that it would be well to remember. Besides, we may say that the saints were themselves powerful artists. Who has sought the ideal more eagerly than these indefatigable lovers of heavenly things? But they have not contented themselves with seeking infinite beauty in an abstract form; they have endeavored, as far as it was possible to human weakness, to realize it in their lives. As the sculptor cuts into a block of marble to render it into beautiful forms, they, with obstinate labor, have sought to model their souls, to render them more pure, less unworthy of God. The contemplation of martyrdom, so habitual to the first Christians, gave them that serene dignity now become so rare. As a bride prepares herself for the bridegroom, so did these souls of virgins, of mothers, of the young and of the old, endeavor, day by day, to grow in grace in the eyes of Jesus Christ, till the blade of the executioner harvested them for heaven. The soul, grown beautiful, transfigures in its turn the body which it animates, and the living mirror of the countenance reflects strength and gentleness, peace and ardent zeal, purity and ecstatic rapture. Thus we may fairly conclude that Christianity has offered to artists, through the saints, not only the perfection of form, but a type of human beauty elevated by an ever-constant love.

But why was St. Cecilia singled out from such an innumerable band of the beatified to become especially dear to artists? Many others, gifted with all worldly advantages, in all the radiance of youth and beauty, died, like her, virgins and martyrs, without attaining her distinction. We will examine later the motives of the musicians in taking her for their patron. As for the artists, they had no long discussion on the causes of this secret sympathy. Each one, when he dreamed of heaven, painted Cecilia, saying to himself, probably, that there was not in the world a young girl's face which could so perfectly express the rapture of the soul listening to ineffable harmony.

It would require time to glance even hastily over the long gallery of pictures of which our saint has been the subject. We will only mention the most celebrated. It is probable that many, scattered through the many galleries of Europe, have escaped us; but we wish only to discuss those which we have appreciated with our own eyes, and, also, the limits of this article would prevent our attempting to mention all.

In order to preserve some regularity in this examination, and that it may not become an adventurous journey through all ages and countries in search of pictures of St. Cecilia, we will separate these works into three classes, and, according to their nature and their predominant tendencies, we will class them, one by one, in the sensualistic, rationalistic, and mystical schools.[117] Nevertheless, we must say that here, as in all other classification, the confines of each class are very apt to mingle with each other. Sometimes, indeed, in the same picture one figure will express sensuality and the others religious emotion.[118]

But let us render judgment on the entire effect of the picture and its predominant tendency. We must repeat here that in all artistic works we note two things: first, the idea of the artist, and, in consequence, the order of psychological effect--sensual pleasures, spiritual joy, or heartfelt rapture--which the picture gives rise to in the souls of those who behold it; secondly, the execution, the dexterity, more or less perfect, with which the idea has been expressed, and, consequently, the greater or less satisfaction felt by connoisseurs, whom a special education has fitted to appreciate the technical merits or faults of a picture. These are two widely different points of view; and, to be just, one should specify from which standpoint a picture is judged, for it might easily happen that the spirit of a picture would be really beautiful and the execution very feeble; the coloring perhaps unpleasing, the perspective faulty, or even the drawing incorrect.

First, The sensual school. Among the greatest geniuses, Rubens, perhaps, falls oftenest into sensualism. It is to the senses, indeed, that he usually addresses himself; hence the vividness of his coloring, the brilliancy of the flesh, which seems palpitating with life and ready to rebound under the critic's finger. But, indeed, except "The Descent from the Cross" and "The Elevation of the Cross," nothing could be less religious than most of his religious pictures. In vain his "St. Cecilia" passionately raises her eyes; her plumpness and her dress wake only worldly thoughts. Others may admire the intensity of the flesh tints, the lustre of the robes. We think such exuberant health little suited to the young Christian who watched and fasted the more entirely to give herself up to prayer. As for the pouting cherubs which frolic round her, they are not adapted for inspiring heavenly aspirations.

But let us look no longer to the sensual school for a type of beauty which it cannot give us. Let us see how St. Cecilia has been understood by those artists who, without troubling themselves much to express Christian ideas, have, at least, endeavored to satisfy the intelligence and to appeal to the mind through the eyes.

Second, The rationalistic school. Of all the painters whom we class under the name of the rationalistic school (that is, spiritual without being Christian), Domenichino is the most celebrated, or, at least, the one who has consecrated the most important works to the glory of St. Cecilia. His frescoes in the church of St. Louis des Français, at Rome, are considered classics. There we see St. Cecilia distributing, from the terrace of her house, her garments to a crowd of poor people, who, in picturesque groups, are disputing over them. Then, Almachius, on his judgment-seat, commanding, by an imperative gesture, the saint to sacrifice to the idols. But she expresses with dignity her horror; and it is in vain for the priests to offer a goat, and in vain incense smokes on a tripod before a statue of Jupiter. Here Cecilia dies, surrounded by kneeling women; some watching her, others putting the blood from her wounds into vases by the aid of sponges. In the meanwhile, the Pope, Urban, gives her his blessing, and an angel brings her, from heaven, a crown and a palm. In yet another fresco, an angel presents crowns to Cecilia and Valerian. And last, on the ceiling is painted the apotheosis of the saint supported in the arms of angels, and borne to heaven.[119]

But Domenichino's picture in the great gallery of the Louvre is more generally known than the frescoes of St. Louis. Here St. Cecilia is standing, and while she sings the glories of God, accompanying herself on a violoncello, an angel offers her a music-book. But she does not heed it, and raises to heaven eyes that seem just melting in tears. Undoubtedly the head is truly dignified and inspired, but we must regret that the religious sentiment is not more manifest in this fine picture, for without the nimbus round the head one might take the saint for a sibyl.[120]

Guido, with his usual grace, has represented Cecilia dying, lying on her side, as in Maderno's statue. She has, however, her arms crossed upon her breast, and the head is not turned aside; two women staunch her bleeding wounds with cloths, and in the background an angel holds a palm, which he hastens to give her.

To Annibal Carracci is usually attributed the St. Cecilia which is to be found in the Museum of the Capitol at Rome. At all events, one easily recognizes, by a certain shade of naturalism, a work of the Bologna school. As before, the saint is singing and accompanying herself on an organ; but here, we see beside her the Blessed Virgin holding the infant Jesus in her arms, and a Dominican priest--expressive faces, apparently enraptured with the celestial concert.

The majority of French artists, above all in the reign of Louis XIV., belong to the rationalistic school. Their composition is clever, their drawing correct, the style dignified, sometimes almost theatrical. They are indeed almost always natural, but with the exception of some of Lesueur's, one rarely perceives in their works the inspiration of a superhuman emotion. There are in the galleries of French art in the Louvre two pictures which do not contradict these observations. Jacques Stella, who lived during the first half of the seventeenth century, has left us a St. Cecilia. She is standing playing on an organ, her eyes modestly lowered, while two angels are singing at her side. She wears a wreath of roses in her hair; but, more charming than inspired, resembles the portrait of a young girl of the age of Louis XIII. with a taste for music.

Mignard's picture is, however, more celebrated. Of finished execution, perfect in detail, so that even the glimpse of landscape seen through the pillars of the portico is treated with great care, it inspires artists with admiration also by the beauty of its coloring. The saint, richly dressed, and wearing a large turban, which gives her a very oriental look, is seated playing on the harp. No wonder that this picture pleased the king, or that he desired it to adorn his collection. Unfortunately, all this magnificence fails to move us. We see the Persian sibyl executing a prelude to her oracles, but nothing reminds us of Rome and the early martyrs, and neither in the piteous figures nor in those up-raised eyes can we trace any Christian feeling.[121]

Third, the mystical school. Beyond the region of the senses and of that which usually bounds the human spirit, opens the supernatural and divine world. One cannot enter here without a pure heart, and to enjoy its beauty we must by prayer and humility, those two wings of the soul, rise above ourselves and transitory things. Thus the mystical school of art, disdained by hypercritical connoisseurs, requires a sort of moral preparation, and might write above its door, as a salutary warning, "Let none enter here save him who loves God entirely." It is here that we must finally seek the type of St. Cecilia in all its supernatural beauty: a human face illuminated by ecstasy.

We shall only mention, for the satisfaction of antiquaries, the St. Cecilia of Cimabue at the entrance to the magnificent Uffizi Gallery at Florence. This also is a type of the Byzantine virgin, not however without a certain majesty in its stiffness. Far more celestial is the impression left on us by the St. Cecilia of blessed Fra Angelico da Fiesole, in that wonderful picture of the "Incoronazione della Vergine," which so worthily commences the great gallery of the Louvre. Cecilia is in the foreground, close to St. Magdalen, recognizable by her long golden hair. Entirely absorbed in the contemplation of Christ, and indifferent to the world, she turns away, so that one sees only the long blue mantle and the crown of roses, emblems of virginity, which encircles her head. Nevertheless, the lost profile which we can only glance at is not without grace, and suggests a countenance radiant with love and purity.

To the mystical school also may be attributed five little pictures by Pinturicchio in the gallery at Berlin, which were much admired by Dom Guéranger. Undoubtedly, Pinturicchio has none of Cimabue's stiffness; we willingly acknowledge his ease and natural grace; but how far he is from the angelic touch of Beato, or the perfection of Raphael!

Perhaps Bologna contains the largest array of fine pictures. In the chapel of St. Cecilia, behind St. Giacomo Maggiore, ten admirable frescoes represent the entire history of St. Cecilia. By the hand of Francesco Francia himself, we have her marriage with Valerian, and her funeral; six other scenes were painted by his pupils, G. Francia, Chiodarolo, and Aspertini. The two representing Pope Urban instructing Tiburtius, and the virgin distributing her property to the poor, are considered Lorenzo Casta's masterpieces. But it is to the Museum one must turn to admire the St. Cecilia of Raphael, one of the most beautiful of pictures, and certainly the most splendid homage offered by art to the Roman virgin. It was to be seen in Paris from 1798 till 1815, when it was taken back to Bologna; and it is well worth a voyage across the Alps. Letting fall the organ she still retains in her hands, St. Cecilia stands, seeming to listen in ecstasy to the concert of angels, contemplating this transporting choir, which the artist has revealed in the yawning skies. At her side stand St. John, St. Paul, St. Magdalen, and St. Augustine; at her feet lie the broken instruments of earthly music. Apparently Raphael wished to recapitulate on this sublime page the highest precepts of philosophy. Here is typified by the instruments of pleasure the world of the senses, whose bonds we must break and free ourselves from. But if it is well to know something of this material world, the realm of the human intellect, it is necessary sometimes to know, like Cecilia, how to raise one's self still higher and prepare to listen to the ineffable music of the soul. Do we accuse ourselves of being sinners? Here is Magdalen with her vase of ointment, and behind her Augustine. They may well inspire us with hope, they also have experienced the temptations of the senses and the proud rebellions of the will, but there they stand to prove that humility and penitence may conquer these. Do you say that, obliged to lead an active life, you daily find yourself overwhelmed by a thousand cares? Behold St. Paul, the apostle of nations, who also experienced pain, labor, shipwrecks, and dangers of all kinds; nevertheless, leaning on his sword, he meditates. Finally, are you philosophers or theologians? Behold St. John, the master of you all. Radiant, he contemplates the enraptured saint, and seems to say, "Forget yourselves for a space; turn from the sound of human words; like Cecilia, listen to the celestial harmonies of the Word. Look at this young girl. She has known how to find love, peace, and happiness."[122]

According to M. Passavant,[123] it was also the history of St. Cecilia, and not the martyrdom of St. Felicitas, as is usually believed, which formed the subject of Raphael's fresco, formerly to be admired in the chapel "De la Magliano" at Trastavere. In 1830, an unknown vandal of a proprietor bethought himself of cutting a huge gash through the centre in order to place a "pew, where he could hear Mass without mingling with his servants!" Thus mutilated, the fresco was transferred to canvas in 1835, and has probably been bought by some more enlightened connoisseur; but the most enthusiastic appreciation cannot now repair such outrages.

Among the moderns, we shall only mention, in Germany, the St. Cecilia of Molitor, whose attitude reminds us much of Raphael's. Certainly it has not the same nobility of style, but we find there the charming grace of the Düsseldorf school. In France, we may mention with praise the St. Cecilia of Paul Delaroche. Seated on an antique chair, dressed in a robe falling in long folds, the virgin with one hand restrains her mantle, bordered with a fringe of gold, with the other she touches a little organ presented to her by two kneeling angels, under the semblance of pure-faced boys. This sweet picture, full of poetry and grace, is a happy contrast to some others, and makes us the more regret the painter of this Christian martyr, so beautiful and chaste--night brooding on the face of the waters.

But of one art St. Cecilia is especially the patron, and that is music. Why the Roman virgin was chosen from so many others, would be very difficult to explain with any precision. The mystic sense of the tradition which makes Cecilia the queen of harmony is now lost, and on this point we are reduced to conjectures. Let us hope, however, that the conjectures we shall advance may seem probable after a little reflection.

Undoubtedly Cecilia, the daughter of a noble family, enjoying all worldly advantages and instructed to please, was taught music. Without doubt, also, she consecrated to God a talent acquired for worldly ends; and in the meetings of the faithful in the catacombs she must have taken part in the psalms and canticles. But the most weighty argument in favor of this glorious patronage which the Christian ages have ascribed to our saint, is the sentence from her life incorporated in the Roman Litany: "Cantantibus organis, Cæcilia Domino decantabat: Fiat cor meum immaculatum ut non confundar."

In January, 1732, a Jansenist critic, otherwise entirely unknown,[124] remarked, in the _Mercury_ of France, "that the selection of St. Cecilia as the patron of music was not a good choice." Indeed, he says, a little farther on, "we can easily see that this saint was very insensible to the charms of music; for on her wedding day, while they played on several instruments, she remained absorbed in prayer."[125] Poor man! he could not get beyond the outer husks of things, and the material side of art. He did not know that elevated natures naturally respond to human music by prayer, that heavenly music. And undoubtedly, he had never heard those sublime melodies which a loving soul sings to itself, and of which the most beautiful concerts of this world are but a feeble echo.

But the Christian people had a better inspiration. They understood that music, and, above all, religious music--the most beautiful of all, whose highest aim is to free us from the senses and lift us out of ourselves, in order to raise us to God--might well be protected by this young girl, whose soul had become like a lyre, from which the faintest breath will wake harmonious vibrations, and who, virgin and martyr--while for three days she lay on the bloody flags, seemed in a long song of love to render back her spirit.

In Rome and Italy, musical societies early placed themselves under the patronage of St. Cecilia. We find one in France, founded in 1571, at Evreux, "by the choristers of the cathedral church, and other pious inhabitants of this city, for the purpose of learning music." Henry III. gave letters patent to the "Society of Madame St. Cecilia," established at Paris, in the church of the "Grands Augustins," by zealous artists and amateurs of music. These societies disappeared with many others in the revolutionary troubles, but their charitable intentions have been revived. Every year, on the 22d of November, the Association of Musical Artists gives in the great church of St. Eustache at Paris a musical mass,[126] whose proceeds are destined to relieve their sick and poor members. Undoubtedly one might often wish more religious music. These pretended masses are far too theatrical to seem much inspired when compared to the oratorios which Handel and Beethoven have dedicated to St. Cecilia. Nor is it there that one could find pious meditation. Nevertheless, we may still rejoice that at a time when materialism has corrupted so many hearts, these solemnities still attract crowds. Indeed, one may say of music as Tertullian said of the soul, that it is naturally Christian. To draw the soul from all that occupies it, weighs on it, and destroys it, to sustain it by prolonged melody, inspiring dreams of infinity, is also to elevate it above itself, and gently prepare it for the broken utterances of prayer.

We know, then, that St. Cecilia is powerful enough in heaven to turn an idler into yet another Christian. Never in vain was she approached while on earth, or her memory celebrated since she has reigned in heaven. She has held her court of littérateurs, poets, painters, and musicians, men with impassioned hearts, which she has gently drawn toward heaven. For each she has obtained some special grace. Let others come; for the treasures she distributes are never exhausted.

In the early Christians who read her history, she inspired love of purity and a martyr's strength; to the artists who have striven to represent her, she has revealed a type of beauty unknown on earth. For the most humble of her servants, she has smiles which heal the soul wonderfully. Who has inspired more masterpieces? who has been more loved than this virgin? who is more alive than she, who has been dead for sixteen centuries? But, martyr to love, she died for Christ. Is this really dying?

FOOTNOTES:

[109] In his _Speculum Historiale_, lib. iv., chap. 22.

[110] See the notes of Jacques Laderchi in the life of St. Cecilia published by him, and the long list of memorials which he has collected in her honor. _Sanctæ Ceciliæ, V. et M., acta_: edidet Jacobius Laderchius. 2 vols. in 4to, Rome, 1723. The work is very rare, but may be found in the Imperial Library, Paris.

[111] Justice and gratitude oblige us to acknowledge the great advantage we have received from Dom Guéranger's book. As well written as it is learned, it is still the best history of St. Cecilia. But the learned Benedictine has only touched slightly on the influence of St. Cecilia on the fine arts, and we have been obliged to fill out these notes by personal research and observations made in a recent journey to Italy.

[112] Died 1593.

[113] See Laderchi, op. cit. t. ii., pp. 438-450.

[114] See _Select Works of Alexander Pope_. One vol. in 12mo, Leipsic, 1848, Tauchnitz edition. "Ode for Music on St. Cecilia's Day."

[115] He was decorated by the "Académie Française" (Nov., 1869).

[116] _St. Cecilia_, a tragic poem. By Count Anatole de Ségur. One volume folio, at Amb. Bray's, Paris, 1868.

[117] This is not an arbitrary philosophic division. It corresponds to the three worlds recognized by the greatest geniuses of antiquity or of modern times--Plato, Aristotle, Bossuet, and Malebranche--the world of the senses, the world of human thought, and the divine world.

[118] So in Raphael's famous picture, the pearl of the gallery at Bologna; while its exacted symbolism and heavenly sentiment tempt us to class it among the masterpieces of the mystic school, it must be confessed that St. Magdalen has a very _earthly_ look. We know, alas, how this noble form has been profaned by some artists; the victim, even after her penitence, of the sensual tastes of the Renaissance, she remained a courtesan in the eyes of Titian and Correggio; and the pagans of the sixteenth century have turned our saint into a nymph lying in a grotto, or standing veiled only by the masses of her long hair.

[119] The frescoes of St. Louis have been engraved by Landon in his great book on the life and works of celebrated painters. See _Works of Domenichino_. 3 vols. in 4to, Paris, 1803.

[120] There are two more pictures of St. Cecilia by Domenichino. One is in the Rospigliosi Palace at Rome; the other was in England at the beginning of this century. See the engravings already mentioned in Landon.

[121] In this second school may be classed the pictures of Paul Veronese and of Garofolo in the Dresden Museum. As for Carlo Dolce's St. Cecilia, it is far sweeter, and forms the connecting link between the rationalistic and mystic schools. We have not seen the picture, which is in the Museum at Dresden, but it has become well-known through engravings, and has been published by Schulger at Paris.

[122] Raphael has also represented St. Cecilia bearing witness to Christ at the tomb. This may be seen at the Museum at Naples. Dom Guéranger considers the type of this picture far higher than any of the others.--C. F. Vasari, t. iii. p. 166.

[123] Raphael d'Urbin, t. ii., p. 277.

[124] His name was M. Bottu de Toulmont, it appears.

[125] _Dictionary of Plain Chant_, in the _Theological Encyclopedia_ at Migne, 256.

[126] At Brussels this mass is sung in St. Gudule.

DISILLUSIONED.

I blush that I am England's son! Yet deemed her once the inviolate home Of matchless freedom nobly won: And little thought the hour would come, When, freer on an alien strand, My soul should scorn its native land.

How mocks my ear the idle song That "Britons never shall be slaves" _These_ Britons _have been_ slaves _so long_ To fraud and falsehood, fiends and knaves, They spurn true freedom's very name, And, self-duped, revel in their shame.

O Albion! once the "Isle of Saints," The "Dower of Mary," what thy crime? Not sternest pen--not envy's--paints The annals of thy golden time In aught but glory. Whence the call For such a vengeance, such a fall?

A tyrant's lust, a woman's pride, Could rend thee from the parent stem, And lay thee wither'd by the side Of barren branches--cursed with them! Save that thy head was too elate, What hadst thou done for such a fate?

And oh! if thou hadst welcomed back The Christless worship of the Celt, Thy darkness were of hue less black-- Were less like Egypt's, "to be felt"! 'Twere rather twilight of the morn: Another day might still be born.

But no: more hellward yet thy fall! To turn and trample in her blood The Mother who had brought thee all Thou ever hadst of highest good: Behold a guilt--ay, deeplier dyed Than blinded Juda's deicide!

And lo! a sleek usurper now-- Meet tool of perjured royalty-- Rears shameless her apostate brow: Her creed a sham, her claim a lie! The children's bread no more divine, A hireling throws them husks of swine.

This vaunted church, they built her stout: And if by dint of fellest strife She failed to crush and strangle out Her foe's imperishable life, 'Twas not, I ween, from lack of force, Or craft of state, or base resource.

'Twas not that mildness ruled the day, And penal codes were voted down; And fair the question, fair the play From chair and pulpit, bench and crown; While forgery disdain'd to vie With slander in the dextrous lie.

But more. As harlots aim to link A sister's ruin with their own So thou, my England, couldst not drink The "cup of devils" quite alone, But needs must press it on a shore The rival of thy light before.

And Erin loathed it. There's a prayer That kept her then, and triumphs still. 'Twill take thee more than hate may dare To break the Patrick in her will: Though treachery _was_ the lurking sin That sold the soil thou couldst not win.

And what, at last, has hate achieved? For her, thy victim, such a name As points--and must, to be believed-- To thy long parallel of shame: The Isle of Martyrs--peerless gem In Rome's thick-rubied diadem.

Nor this alone. Not vainly fled Her patriot sons thy cruel hand; Not vainly to the West were led, Where the great future's chosen land O'er thralless ocean beacon'd fair, To find God's mission waiting there.

Thus, England, has thy baffled rage But spread the faith it sought to slay: And lo! the nations see thee wage The bigot's combat ev'n to-day! They cry: "Her very pride is o'er: The lion in her wakes no more!"

Fool-doubly fool! Art thou so strong No mightier arm can lay thee low? If patient heaven has linger'd long, This hour thy last--for weal or woe: And what 'twere penance to accord, Wilt thou but forfeit to the sword?

Enough. My heart is too much thine To curse thee, though I blush to own: Too fondly prized thee as a shrine, Too proudly hailed thee as a throne: And, turning from the bitter truth, Finds sweetness in the dream of youth.

For memory gathers in that dream A fragrance as of morning dew: The freshness of the grove and stream, When Nature woo'd me first, and knew So well to draw me to her breast, And wed me to her love's unrest.

And if henceforth I twine my wreath To crown the land where now I sing, Content to pray in peace beneath The shadow of her eagle's wing; 'Tis not that charms of clime and scene Estrange me from thy gentler mien.

It is that truth is chainless here, And swift her march from shore to shore; And little need her children fear For coming days--though clouded o'er; For God must shape a gracious plan Where truth is free, and man is man.[127]

JULY, 1868.

FOOTNOTE:

[127] Though the above lines were written before the disestablishment of the State Church in Ireland, their author's indignation has been little appeased by that extorted act of justice. The measure was unaccompanied by any attempt at reparation for the past. At the very least, the old Catholic churches might have been returned to their lawful owners. And is there any sign to-day of full justice ever being done or half-done? None--except in the event of divine vengeance forcing England to kneel to her generous victim and "sue to be forgiven." Fiat, fiat.

ORIGIN OF CIVILIZATION.[128]

Sir John Lubbock, though his name is not euphonious, is, we understand, an English scientist, highly distinguished and of no mean authority in the scientific world, as his father was before him. He certainly is a man of large pretensions, and of as much logical ability and practical good sense as we have a right to expect in an English scientist. He, of course, adopts the modern theory of progress, and maintains that the savage is the type of the primitive man, and that he has emerged from his original barbarism and superstition to his present advanced civilization and religious belief and worship by his own energy and persevering efforts at self-evolution or development, without any foreign or supernatural instruction or assistance.

One, Sir John contends, has only to study and carefully ascertain the present condition of the various contemporary savage tribes, or what he calls the "lower races," to know what was the original condition of mankind, and from which the superior races started on their tour of progress through the ages; and one needs only to ascertain the germs of civilization and religion which were in their original condition, to be able to comprehend the various stages of that progress and the principles and means by which it has been effected and may be carried on indefinitely beyond the point already reached. Hence, in the volume before us the author labors to present us a true picture of the present mental and social condition of contemporary savages as that of the primeval man. He assumes that the mental and social condition is that of the infancy of the human race, and by studying it we can attain to the history of "prehistoric" times, assist, as it were, if we may be pardoned the Gallicism, at the earliest development of mankind, and trace step by step the progress from their first appearance on the globe upward to the sublime civilization of the nineteenth century--the civilization of the steam-engine, the cotton spinner and weaver, the steamboat, the steam-plough, the railway, and the lightning telegraph.

This theory, that finds in the savage the type of the primitive man, is nothing very new. It was refuted by the late Archbishop Whately, by the Duke of Argyll in his _Primeval Man_, and on several occasions by the present writer in THE CATHOLIC WORLD. The facts Sir John adduces in the support of this theory, as far as facts they are, had been adduced long ago, and were as well known by us before we abandoned the theory as untenable, as they are by Sir John Lubbock or any of his compeers. They may all, so far as they bear on religion, be found summed up and treated at length in the work of Benjamin Constant, _La Religion considerée dans sa Source, ses Developpements, et ses Formes_, published in 1832, as well as in a mass of German writers. Sir John has told us nothing of the mental and social condition of savages that we had not examined, we had almost said, before he was born, and which we had supposed was not known by all men with any pretension to serious studies. In fact, we grow rather impatient as we grow old of writers who, because they actually have learned more than they knew in their cradles, imagine that they have learned so much more than all the rest of mankind. No men try our patience more than our scientific Englishmen, who speak always in a decisive tone, with an air of infallibility from which there would seem to be no appeal, and yet utter only the veriest commonplaces, old theories long since exploded, or stale absurdities. We have no patience with such men as Herbert Spencer, Huxley, and Darwin. We are hardly less impatient of the scientists who in our own country hold them up to our admiration and reverence as marvellous discoverers, and as the great and brilliant lights of the age. We love science, we honor the men who devote their lives to its cultivation, but we ask that it _be_ science, not hypothesis piled on hypothesis, nor simply a thing of mere conjectures or guesses.

The modern doctrine of progress or development, which supposes man began in the lowest savage, if not lower still, is not a doctrine suggested by any facts observed and classified in men's history, nor is it a logical induction from any class of known facts, but a gratuitous hypothesis invented and asserted against the Biblical doctrine of creation, of Providence, of original sin, and of the supernatural instruction, government, redemption, and salvation of men. The hypothesis is suggested by hostility to the Christian revelation, prior to the analysis and classification of any facts to sustain it, and the scientists who defend it are simply investigating nature, not in the interests of science properly so-called, but, consciously or unconsciously, to find facts to support a hypothesis which may be opposed to both. Any facts in nature or in history, natural or civil, political or religious, that seem to make against Christian teaching, are seized upon with avidity, distorted or exaggerated, and paraded with a grand fanfaronade, sounding of trumpets, beating of drums, and waving of banners, as if it were a glorious triumph of man to prove that he is no better than the beasts that perish; while the multitude of facts which are absolutely irreconcilable with it are passed over in silence or quietly set aside, as of no account, or simply declared to be anomalies, which science is _not yet_ in a condition to explain, but, no doubt, soon will be, since it has entered the true path, has found the true scientific methods, and is headed in the right direction. Science is yet in its infancy. In its cradle it has strangled frightful monsters, and, when full-grown, it will not fail to slay the hydra, and rid the world of all its "chimeras dire." But while we do not complain that your infantile or puerile science has not done more, we would simply remind you, men of science, that it is very unscientific to reason from what you confess science has not yet done as if it had done it. Wait till it has done it, before you bring it forward as a scientific achievement.

We confess to a want of confidence in this whole class of scientists, for their investigations are not free and unbiassed; their minds are prejudiced; they are pledged to a theory in advance, which makes them shut their eyes to the facts which contradict it, and close their intelligence to the great principles of universal reason which render their conclusions invalid. There are other scientists who have pushed their investigations as far into nature and history as they have, perhaps even further, who know and have carefully analyzed all the facts they know or ever pretended to know, and yet have come to conclusions the contrary of theirs, and find nothing in the facts or phenomena of the universe that warrant any induction not in accordance with Christian faith, either as set forth in the Holy Scriptures or the definitions of the church. Why are these less likely to be really scientific than they? They are biassed by their Christian faith, you say. Be it so: are you less biassed by your anti-christian unbelief and disposition? Besides, are you able to say that these have not in their Christian faith a key to the real sense or meaning of the universe and its phenomena which you have not, and therefore are much more likely to be right than you? Do you know that it is not so? There is no science where knowledge is wanting.

The unchristian scientists forget that they cannot conclude against the Biblical or Christian doctrine from mere possibilities or even probabilities. They appeal to science against it, and nothing can avail them as the basis of argument against it that is not scientifically proved or demonstrated. Their hypothesis of progress, evolution, or development is unquestionably repugnant to the whole Christian doctrine and order of thought. If it is true, Christianity is false. They must then, before urging it, either prove Christianity untrue or an idle tale, or else prove absolutely, beyond the possibility of a rational doubt, the truth of their hypothesis. It is not enough to prove that it may, for aught you know, be true; you must prove that it is true, and cannot be false. Christianity is too important a fact in the world's history to be set aside by an undemonstrated hypothesis. And it is anything but scientific to conclude its falsity on the strength of a simply possible or even probable hypothesis, not as yet indeed proved, and of which the best you can say is that you trust science will be able to prove it when once it is out of its nonage. You cannot propose it at all, unless you have scientifically demonstrated it, or previously disproved _aliunde_ the Christian revelation. So long as you leave it possible for me to hold the Christian faith without contradicting what is demonstrated to be true, you have alleged nothing to the purpose against it, and cannot bring forward your theory even as probable, far less as scientific; for, if it is possible that Christianity is true, it is not possible that your hypothesis can be true, or even scientifically proved. The scientists seem not to be aware of this, and seem to suppose that they may rank Christianity with the various heathen superstitions, and set it aside by an unsupported theory or a prejudice.

Let the question be understood. Christianity teaches us that in the beginning God created heaven and earth, and all things therein, visible and invisible, that he made man after his own image and likeness, placed him in the garden of Eden, gave him a law, that is, made him a revelation of his will, instructed him in his moral and religious duty, established him in original justice, in a supernatural state, under a supernatural providence, on the plane of a supernatural destiny; that man prevaricated, broke the law given him, lost his original justice, the integrity of his nature attached thereto, and communion with his Maker, fell under the dominion of the flesh, became captive to Satan, and subject to death, moral, temporal, and eternal; that God, of his own goodness and mercy, promised him pardon and deliverance, redemption and salvation, through his own Son made man, who in due time was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, was dead and buried, and on the third day rose again, ascended into heaven, whence he shall come again, to judge the living and the dead. This doctrine, in substance, was made to our first parents in the garden, was preserved in the tradition of the patriarchs, in its purity in the synagogue, and in its purity and integrity in the Christian church founded on it, and authorized and assisted by God himself to teach it to all men and nations.

According to this doctrine, the origin of man, the human species, as well as of the universe and all its contents, is in the creative act of God, not in evolution or development. The first man was not a monkey or a tadpole developed, nor a savage or barbarian, but was a man full grown in the integrity of his nature, instructed by his Maker, and the most perfect man of his race, and as he is the progenitor of all mankind, it follows that mankind began not in "utter barbarism," as Sir John asserts, but in the full development and perfection of manhood, with the knowledge of God and Providence, of their origin and destiny, and of their moral and religious duty. Ignorance has followed as the penalty or consequence of sin, instead of being the original condition in which man was created; and this ignorance brought on the race by the prevarication of Adam, the domination of the flesh, and the power of Satan acquired thereby, are the origin and cause of barbarism of individuals and nations, the innumerable moral and social evils which have afflicted mankind in all times and places.

Now, to this doctrine Sir John opposes the hypothesis of the origin of man in "utter barbarism," and his progress by natural evolution or self-development. But what facts has he adduced in its support, or that conflict with Christian teaching, that prove that teaching false or even doubtful? He has adduced, as far as we can see, none at all, for all the facts that he alleges are, to say the least, as easily explained on the supposition of man's deterioration as on the supposition of progress, development, or continuous melioration. Some of the facts he adduces _might_, perhaps, be explained on his hypothesis, if there were no reason for giving them a contrary explanation; but there is not one of them that must be so explained. This is not enough for his purpose, though it is enough for ours. He must go further, and prove that his facts not only _may_ but _must_ be explained on his hypothesis, and can be explained on no other. If we are able to explain, or he is unable to show positively that we cannot explain, all known facts in accordance with the Christian doctrine, he can conclude nothing from them against Christianity or in favor of his naturalism. We do not, he must remember, rely on those facts to prove the Christian doctrine, but he relies on them to disprove it, by proving his hypothesis; and if he cannot show that they absolutely do disprove it, or positively prove his hypothesis, he proves nothing to his purpose.

Sir John dwells at great length on the real or supposed rites, forms, and barbarous customs observed by outlying savage tribes or nations, but, before he can draw any conclusion from them in favor of his theory of progress, he must prove that they were primitive. He knows them only as contemporaneous with what he would himself call civilized marriage: how then, without having first proved that the race began in "utter barbarism," conclude from them that they preceded civilized marriage? One thing is certain, we never find them without finding somewhere in the world contemporary with them the civilized marriage. There is no history, historical intimation, or tradition of any custom or conception of marriage older than we have in the Book of Genesis, and in that we find the true idea of marriage was already in the world at the earliest date of history, and the vices against it are plainly condemned in the Decalogue, contemporary with these very usages, customs, and notions of savages on which Sir John dwells with so much apparent delight, and which are barbarous, and lax enough to satisfy even our women's-rights men; and, so far as history goes, preceding them, the true idea of marriage as something sacred, and as the union of one man with one woman, was known and held, and therefore could not have been, at least so far as known, a development of barbarian marriages.

The same answer applies to the question of religion. Contemporary with the savage and barbarous superstitions of the heathen, and even prior to them, we find practised in its fervor and purity the true worship of the true God. True religion is not developed from the impurities and absurd superstitions of the heathen, and is by no means the growth of the religious sentiment becoming gradually enlightened and purifying itself from their grossness, for it is historically as well as logically older than any of them. Men worshipped God the creator of heaven and earth before they worshipped the fetish, the elements, or the hosts of heaven. Religion is older than superstition, for superstition is an abuse of religion, as the theologians say, by way of excess, as irreligion is its abuse by way of defect; but a thing must exist and be entertained before it can be abused. Nothing can be more certain than that true religion has never been developed from false religions, or truth from falsehood; for the true must precede the false, which is simply the negation of the true. Christianity is, if you will, a development, the fulfilment of the synagogue or the Jewish religion; Judaism was also, if you will, a development of the patriarchal religion; but in neither case a self-development; and in neither case has the development been effected except by supernatural intervention. It would be absurd to suppose the patriarchal religion was a development of heathenism, since it is historically prior to any form of heathenism, and every known form of heathenism supposes it, and is intelligible only by it. So far was Judaism from being self-evolved from the superstitions of the heathen, that it was with the greatest difficulty that the Israelites themselves, as their history shows, were kept from adopting the idolatry and superstition of the surrounding nations, which shows that their religion was not self-evolved, and that it was above the level of the moral and religious life of the people. Christianity develops and perfects Judaism, but by supernatural agency, not by the natural progress or self-development of the Jewish people; for if it had been, the bulk of the nation would have accepted it, and we know that the bulk of the Jewish people did not accept it, but rejected it, and continue to reject it to this day.

We know, also, that the progress of the heathen nations was very far from raising them to the level of the Christian religion. Traces of some of its principles and several of its moral precepts may be found with the Gentile philosophers, as we should expect, since they pertained to the primitive revelation; but these philosophers were not the first, but rather the last to accept it. Nowhere amongst the heathen did any Christian communities spring up spontaneously or were of indigenous origin. Christianity sprang out of Judea, and the nations adopted it, in the first instance, only as it was carried to them by Jewish missionaries. And who were these missionaries? Humble fishermen, publicans, and mechanics. Who first received them, and believed their message? Principally the common people, the unlettered, the poor, and slaves of the rich and noble. "For see your vocation, brethren," says St. Paul (1 Cor. iv. 26), "that not many are wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble." Were the fishermen of the Lake Genesareth, and the slaves of the Roman Empire, we may ask with Mgr. Maret, "the most enlightened and advanced portion of mankind"? Who dare maintain it, when it is a question of natural development or progress? Had Christianity been the natural evolution of the human mind, or the product of the natural growth of human intelligence and morality, we should have first encountered it not with the poor, the ignorant, the unlettered and wretched slaves, but with the higher and more cultivated classes, with the philosophers, the scientists, the noble, the great generals and the most eminent orators and statesmen, the _élite_ of Greek and Roman society, those who at the time stood at the head of the civilized world. Yet such is not the fact, but the fact is the very reverse.

The Biblical history explains the origin of the barbarous superstitions of heathendom in a very satisfactory way, and shows us very clearly that the savage state is not the primitive state, but has been produced by sin, and is the result of what we call the great Gentile apostasy, or falling away of the nations from the primitive or patriarchal religion. When language was confounded at Babel, and the dispersion of mankind took place, unity of speech or language was lost, and with it unity of ideas or of faith, and each tribe or nation took its own course, and developed a tribal or national religion of its own. Gradually each tribe or nation lost the conception of God as creator, and formed to itself gods made in its own image, clothed with its own passions, and it bowed down and worshipped the work of its own hands. It was not that they knew or had known no better. St. Paul has settled that question. "For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all impiety and injustice of those men that detain the truth of God in injustice. Because that which is known of God is manifest in them. For God hath manifested it to them. For the invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made: his eternal power also and divinity; so that they are _inexcusable_. Because when they had known God, they glorified him not as God, nor gave thanks; but became vain in their thoughts, and their foolish heart was darkened; for, professing themselves wise, they became fools. And they changed the glory of the incorruptible God into the likeness of the image of a corruptible man, and of birds, and of four-footed beasts, and of creeping things. Wherefore God gave them up to the desires of their hearts, to uncleanness; to dishonor their own bodies among themselves, who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen." (Rom. i. 18-25.)

St. Paul evidently does not believe Sir John Lubbock's doctrine that the race began in "utter barbarism," and have been slowly working their way up to the heights of Christian civilization. He evidently ascribes the superstitions, and consequently the barbarism, of the heathen to apostasy. Sir John, of course, does not accept the authority of St. Paul; but, if he cannot prove St. Paul was wrong, he is debarred from asserting his own hypothesis, even as probable. If it is possible to explain the facts of the savage state on the ground of apostasy or gradual deterioration, the hypothesis of development, of self-evolution or natural and unaided progress, falls to the ground as wholly baseless. His hypothesis becomes probable only by proving that no other hypothesis is possible.

But all the known facts in the case are against our scientific baronet's hypothesis. Take Mohammedanism. It sprang up subsequently to both Moses and the Gospel. It is a compound of Judaism and Christianity, more Jewish than Christian, however, and is decidedly inferior to either. How explain this fact, if the several races of men never fall or retrograde, but are always advancing, marching through the ages onward and upward? Many of the ancestors of the present Mussulmans belonged to highly civilized races, and some of them were Christians, and not a few of them Jews. Yet there is always progress, never deterioration.

But we need not go back to the seventh century. There has been a modern apostasy, and we see right before our eyes the process of deterioration, of falling into barbarism, going on among those who have apostatized from Christianity. The author regards as an evidence of the lowest barbarism what he calls "communal marriage," that is, marriage in which the wife is common to all the males of her husband's family. We do not believe this sort of marriage was ever anything more than an exceptional fact, like polyandry; but suppose it was even common among the lowest savage tribes, how much lower or more barbarous is the state it indicates, than what the highly civilized Plato makes the magistrates prescribe in his imaginary Republic? How much in advance of such a practice is the free love advocated by Mary Wolstonecraft and Fanny Wright; the recommendation of Godwin to abolish marriage and the monopoly by one man of any one woman; than the denunciation of marriage by the late Robert Owen as one of the trinity of evils which have hitherto afflicted the race, and his proposal to replace it by a community of wives, as he proposed to replace private property by a community of goods; or, indeed, than we see actually adopted in practice by the Oneida Community? Sir John regards the gynocracy which prevails in some savage tribes as characteristic of a very low form of barbarism; but to what else tends the woman's-rights movement in his country and ours? If successful, not only would women be the rulers, but children would follow the mother's line, not the father's, for the obvious reason that, while the mother can be known, the father cannot be with any certainty. Does not free love, the mainspring of the movement, lead to this? And are not they who support it counted the advanced party of the age, and we who resist denounced as old fogies or as the defenders of man's tyranny?

Sir John relates that some tribes are so low in their intelligence that they have no or only the vaguest conceptions of the divinity, and none at all of God as creator. He need not go amongst outlying barbarians to find persons whose intelligence is equally low. He will search in vain through all Gentile philosophy without finding the conception of a creative God. Nay, among our own contemporaries he can find more who consider it a proof of their superior intelligence and rare scientific attainments that they reject the fact of creation, relegate God into the unknown and the unknowable, and teach us that the universe is self-evolved, and man is only a monkey or gorilla developed.[129] These men regard themselves as the lights of their age, and are so regarded, too, by no inconsiderable portion of the public. Need we name Auguste Comte and Sir William Hamilton, among the dead; E. Littré, Herbert Spencer, J. Stuart Mill, Professor Huxley, Charles Darwin, not to say Sir John himself, among the living? If these men and their adherents have not lapsed into barbarism, their science, if accepted, would lead us to the ideas and practices which Sir John tells us belong to the lowest stage of barbarism. Sir John doubts if any savage tribe can be found that is absolutely destitute of all religious conceptions or sentiments, but, if we may believe their own statements, we have people enough among the apostate Christians of our day who have none, and glory in it as a proof of their superiority to the rest of mankind.

Sir John sees a characteristic of barbarism or of the early savage state in the belief in and the dread of evil spirits, or what he calls demonism. The Bible tells us all the gods of the heathens are devils or demons. Even this characteristic of barbarism is reproduced in our civilized communities by spiritism, which is of enlightened American origin. This spiritism, which is rapidly becoming a religion with large numbers of men and women in our midst, is nothing but demonism, the necromancy and witchcraft or familiar spirits of the ancient world. Men who reject Christianity, who have no belief in God, or at least do not hold it necessary to worship or pay him the least homage or respect, believe in the spirits, go to the medium, and consult her, as Saul in his desperation consulted the Witch of Endor. If we go back a few years to the last century, we shall find the most polished people on the globe abolishing religion, decreeing that death is an eternal sleep, and perpetrating, in the name of liberty, virtue, humanity, and brotherly love, crimes and cruelties unsurpassed if not unequalled in the history of the most savage tribes; and we see little improvement in our own century, more thoroughly filled with the horrors of unprincipled and needless wars than any other century of which we possess the history. Indeed, the scenes of 1792-3-4 are now in process of reproduction in Europe.

We must remember that all these deteriorations have taken place in or are taking place in the most highly civilized nations of the globe, whose ancestors were Christians, and with persons many of whom were brought up in the belief of Christianity. Take the men and women who hold, on marriage and on religion, what are called "advanced views"--free-lovers and free-religionists--remove them from the restraints of the church and of the state, not yet up to their standard, and let them form a community by themselves in which their views shall be carried out in practice; would they not in two or three generations lapse into a state not above that of the most degraded and filthy savages? We see this deterioration going on in our midst and right before our eyes, as the effect of apostasy from our holy religion. This proves that apostasy is sufficient to explain the existence of the savage races, without supposing the human race began in "utter barbarism." If apostasy in modern times, as we see it does, leads to "utter barbarism," why should it not have done so in ancient times?

We might make the case still stronger against the author's hypothesis, if necessary, by referring to the great and renowned nations of antiquity, that in turn led the civilization of the world. Of the nations that apostatized or adhered to the great Gentile apostasy, not one has survived the lapse of time. To every one of them has succeeded barbarism, desolation, or a new people. The Egypt of antiquity fell before the Persian conqueror, and the Egypt of the Greeks was absorbed by Rome, and fell with her. Assyria leaves of her greatness only long since buried and forgotten ruins, while the savage Kurd and the predatory Arab roam at will over the desert that has succeeded to her once flourishing cities and richly cultivated fields. Syria, Tyre, Carthage, and the Greek cities of Europe and Asia have disappeared or dwindled into insignificance, and what remains of them they owe to the conservative power of the Christianity they adopted and have in some measure retained. So true is it, as the Psalmist says, "the wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God." How explain this fact, if these ancient nations could by their own inherent energy and power of self-development raise themselves from "utter barbarism" to the civilization they once possessed, that they could not preserve it; that, after having reached a certain point, they began to decline, grew corrupt, and at length fell by their own internal rottenness? If men and nations are naturally progressive, how happens it that we find so many individuals and nations decline and fall, through internal corruption?

Another fact is not less conclusive against Sir John's hypothesis, that in all the nations of the heathen world their least barbarous period known to us is their earliest after the apostasy and dispersion. The oldest of the sacred books of the Hindus are the profoundest and richest in thought, and the freest from superstition and puerilities so characteristic of the Hindu people to-day. The earliest religion of the Romans was far more spiritual, intellectual, than that which prevailed at the establishment of the empire and the introduction of Christianity. Indeed, wherever we have the means of tracing the religious history of the ancient heathen nations, we find it is a history of almost uninterrupted deterioration and corruption, becoming continually more cruel, impure, and debasing as time flows on. The mysteries, perhaps, retained something of the earlier doctrines, but they did little to arrest the downward tendency of the national religion; the philosophers, no doubt, retained some valuable traditions of the primitive religion, but so mixed up with gross error and absurd fables that they had no effect on the life or morals of the people. One of the last acts of Socrates was to require Crito to sacrifice a cock to Esculapius. If Sir John's hypothesis were true, nothing of this could happen, and we should find the religion of every nation, as time goes on, becoming purer and more refined, less gross and puerile, more enlightened and intellectual, and more spiritual and elevating in its influence.

The traditions of some, perhaps of all heathen nations, refer their origin to savage and barbarian ancestors, and this may have been the fact with many of them. Horace would seem to go the full length of Sir John's theory. He tells us that the primitive men sprang like animals from the earth, a mute and filthy herd, fighting one another for an acorn or a den. Cicero speaks somewhat to the same purpose, only he does not say it was the state of the _primeval_ man. Yet the traditions of the heathen nations do not in general favor the main point of Sir John's hypothesis, that men came out of barbarism by their own spontaneous development, natural progressiveness, or indigenous and unaided efforts. They rise, according to these traditions, to the civilized state only by the assistance of the gods, or by the aid of missionaries or colonies from nations already civilized. The goddess Ceres teaches them to plant corn and make bread; Bacchus teaches them to plant the vine and to make wine; Prometheus draws fire from heaven and teaches them its use; other divinities teach to keep bees, to tame and rear flocks and herds, and the several arts of peace and war. Athens attributed her civilization to Minerva and to Cecrops and his Egyptian colony; Thebes, hers to Orpheus and Cadmus, of Phœnician origin; Rome claimed to descend from a Trojan colony, and borrowed her laws from the Athenians--her literature, philosophy, her art and science, from the Greeks. The poets paint the primitive age as the age of gold, and the philosophers always speak of the race as deteriorating, and find the past superior to the present. What is best and truest in Plato he ascribes to the wisdom of the ancients, and even Homer speaks of the degeneracy of men in his days from what they were at the siege of Troy. We think the author will search in vain through all antiquity to find a tradition or a hint which assigns the civilization of any people to its own indigenous and unassisted efforts.

Sir John Lubbock describes the savages as incurious and little given to reflection. He says they never look beyond the phenomenon to its cause. They see the world in which they are placed, and never think of looking further, and asking who made it, or whence they themselves came or whither they go. They lack not only curiosity, but the power of abstraction and generalization, and even thought is a burden to them. This is no doubt in the main true; but it makes against their natural progressiveness, and explains why they are not, as we know they are not, progressive, but remain always stationary, if left to themselves. The chief characteristic of the savage state is in fact its immobility. The savage gyrates from age to age in the same narrow circle--never of himself advances beyond it. Whether a tribe sunk in what Sir John calls "utter barbarism," and which he holds was the original state of the human race, has ever been or ever can be elevated to a civilized state by any human efforts, even of others already civilized, is, perhaps, problematical. As far as experience goes, the tendency of such a tribe, brought in contact with a civilized race, is to retire the deeper into the forest, to waste away, and finally to become extinct. Certain it is, no instance of its becoming a civilized people can be named.

In every known instance in which a savage or barbarous people has become civilized, it has been by the aid or influence of religion, or their relations with a people already civilized. The barbarians that overthrew the Roman Empire of the West, and seated themselves on its ruins, were more than half Romanized before the conquest by their relations with the Romans and service in the armies of the empire, and they rather continued the Roman order of civilization in the several kingdoms and states they founded than destroyed it. The Roman system of education, and even the imperial schools, if fewer in number and on a reduced scale, were continued all through the barbarous ages down to the founding of the universities of mediæval Europe. Their civilization was carried forward, far in advance of that of Greece or Rome, by the church, the great civilizer of the nations. The northern barbarians that remained at home, the Germans, the Scandinavians, the Sclaves, were civilized by the labors of Christian monks and missionaries from Rome and Constantinople, from Gaul, England, and Ireland. In no instance has their civilization been of indigenous origin and development.

Sir John Lubbock replies to this as he does to Archbishop Whately's assertion that no instance is on record of a savage people having risen to a civilized state by its own indigenous and unassisted efforts, that it is no objection, because we should not expect to find any record of any such an event, since it took place, if at all, before the invention of letters, and in "prehistoric times." We grant that the fact that there is no _written_ record of it is not conclusive proof that no instance of the kind ever occurred; but if so important an event ever occurred, we should expect some trace of it in the traditions of civilized nations, or at least find some tendencies to it in the outlying savage nations of the present, from which it might be inferred as a thing not improbable in itself. But nothing of the sort is found. The author's appeal to our ignorance, and our ignorance, cannot serve his purpose. He arraigns the universal faith of Christendom, and he must make out his case by positive, not simply negative proofs. Till his hypothesis is proved by positive evidence, the faith of Christendom remains firm, and nothing can be concluded against it.

But how really stands the question? Sir John finds in the various outlying savage tribes numerous facts which he takes to be the original germs of civilization, and hence he concludes that the primitive condition of the human race was that of "utter barbarism," and the nations, or, as he says, the races, that have become civilized, "have become so by their indigenous and unaided efforts, by their own inherent energy and power of self-development or progress." But the facts he alleges may just as well be reminiscences of a past civilization as anticipations of a civilization not yet developed; and in our judgment--and it is not to-day that for the first we have studied the question--they are much better explained as reminiscences than as anticipations, nay, are not explicable in any other way. The facts appealed to, then, can at best count for nothing in favor of the hypothesis of natural progress or development. They do not prove it or render it probable.

He is able, and he confesses it, to produce no instance of the natural and unassisted progress of any race of men from barbarism to civilization, and even his own facts show that barbarous or savage tribes are not naturally progressive, but stationary, struck with immobility. Where, then, are the proofs of his hypothesis? He has yet produced none. Now, on the other hand, we have shown him that, in all known instances, the passage from barbarism into civilization has been effected only by supernatural aid, or by the influence of a previously civilized race or people. We have shown him also that the Gentile apostasy, which the Bible records and our religion asserts, sufficiently explains the origin of barbarism. We have also shown him nations once civilized falling into barbarism, and, in addition, have shown him the tendency of an apostate people to lapse into barbarism existing and operating before our very eyes, in men whose ancestors were once civilized and even Christians. The chief elements of barbarism he describes exist and are encouraged and defended in our midst by men who are counted by themselves and their contemporaries as the great men, the great lights, the advanced party of this advanced age. Let the apostasy become more general, take away the church or deprive her of her influence, and eliminate from the laws, manners, and customs of modern states what they retain of Christian doctrine and morality, and it is plain to see that nations the loudest in their boast of their civilization would, if not supernaturally arrested in a very short space of time, sink to the level of any of the ancient or modern outlying savage tribes.

Such is the case, and so stands the argument. Sir John Lubbock brings forward a hypothesis, not original with him indeed, and the full bearing of which we would fain believe he does not see, for which he adduces and can adduce not a single well-authenticated fact, and which would not be favored for a moment by any one who understands it, were it not for its contradiction of the Biblical doctrine and Christian tradition. But while there is absolutely no proof of the hypothesis, all the known facts of history or of human nature, as well as all the principles of religion and philosophy, with one voice pronounce against it as untenable. Is not this enough? Nothing is more certain than Christian faith; no fact is or can be better authenticated than the fact of revelation; we might then allege that the hypothesis is disproved, nay, not to be entertained, because it is contrary to the Christian revelation, than which nothing can be more certain. We should have been perfectly justified in doing so, and so we should have done; but as the author appeals to science and progress to support himself on facts, we have thought it best, without prejudice to the authority of faith, to meet him on his own ground, to show him that science does not entertain his appeal, and that his theory of progress is but a baseless hypothesis, contradicted by all the known facts in the case and supported by none; and therefore no science at all.

Sir John's theory of progress is just now popular, and is put forth with great confidence in the respectable name of science, and the modern world, with sciolists, accept it, with great pomp and parade. Yet it is manifestly absurd. Nothing cannot make itself something, nor can anything make itself more than it is. The imperfect cannot of itself perfect itself, and no man can lift himself by his own waistbands. Even Archimedes required somewhere to stand outside of the world in order to be able to raise the world with his lever. Yet we deny not progress; we believe in it, and hold that man is progressive even to the infinite; but not by his own unaided effort or by his own inherent energy and natural strength, nor without the supernatural aid of divine grace. But progress by nature alone, or self-evolution, though we tried to believe it when a child, we put away when we became a man, as we did other childish things.

Thus much we have thought it our duty to say in reply to the theory that makes the human race begin in utter barbarism, and civilization spring from natural development or evolution, so popular with our unchristian scientists or--but for respect to the public we would say--sciolists. We have in our reply repeated may things which we have said before in this magazine, and which have been said by others, and better said. But it will not do to let such a book as the one before us go unanswered in the present state of the public mind, debauched as it is by false science. If books will repeat the error, we can only repeat our answer.

FOOTNOTES:

[128] _The Origin of Civilization and the Primitive Condition of Man: Mental and Social Condition of Savages._ By Sir John Lubbock, Bart., M.P., F.R.S., etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1871. 16mo, pp. 380.

[129] See _The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex_, by Charles Darwin.

PAU.

American tourists make a great mistake in not generally including the Pyrenees in their route of European travel. Unless ordered there by a physician to repair a wasted or broken-down constitution, they scarcely think of visiting the most beautiful country perhaps in the world. Paris is France, and, as the route from Paris to Spain lies direct, they pass through the Pyrenees, admire them casually, but rarely pause to examine their beauties and the curiosities of the quaint old towns embedded in their hills. Since chances of this nature alone led me to discover what since has remained in my memory an exquisite picture to be revivified at any moment, I cannot blame others for following the usual guide-book routes of Europe, and spending their money freely on places far less worthy their attention. After a severe typhoid fever of ten weeks in Paris, and still so feeble that I had to be almost carried to the depot, I set out on the 5th of January, 1869, accompanied by my nurse, to make the journey to the Pyrenees, if possible, in a day and a half. We left Paris at 10.45 A.M., by the Chemin de Fer d'Orléans. Resting for a few minutes at the historical old towns of Orléans, Tours, Poitiers, Angoulême, and Livourne, we arrived at Bordeaux at eleven P.M., where we remained for the night. The next morning at eight we pursued our journey, passing Dax, so celebrated for its warm mud-baths, said to be a remedy for rheumatic complaints, and a little after one P.M. I found my friends awaiting me at Pau. Entering one of the queer little half-omnibuses that hold six people and their luggage, I was carried through the oddest of small white streets to my lodging in the Jurançon, near the villa of my friend.

Never shall I forget my impressions while entering the room prepared for me, and leaning on the arm of the dear girl who with her mother and sister had done everything for my comfort. It was the Epiphany, the day of light; and it seemed as if the soft sunlight that shone in that pretty room and rested on the fragrant flowers was to me the foreshadowing of a renewed life and happy future. The air was balmy as a June day, and from my window rose the glorious Pyrenees. Covered with their everlasting mantles of snow, they rose proudly to heaven, as if they defied the clouds above them. A second lower range, with its varied shades of green and the tropical luxuriance at its base, completed the picture. Exhausted with my journey, my eyes filled with tears of joy at all my sweet surroundings, I could have begged my God there and then to let me sleep for ever.

Day after day I walked my few steps in my balcony and took in this lovely picture. As yet I had not seen the town; my strength was insufficient, and I simply rested and recuperated. The climate seemed to me a strange one for invalids--a queer mixture, as I thought it, of flannels and sun-umbrellas. The mornings and evenings were cold and chilly with the air that blew down from the mountains, and the middle of the day, from eleven until three o'clock, so intensely hot that it was necessary to be well protected against sun-stroke. Still, it is the great resort of consumptives, and at almost every turn one encounters the muffled-up pale countenance of the poor invalid. But for this one sad feature, the exquisite scenery, the tropical foliage, the picturesque villas, and the town itself, of white limestone, rising around its great chateau to the very heavens, with the merry hum of voices, that greets you on every side, might well make you imagine you had at last found the fairy dreamland--a country that realized the fairy ideal of childhood.

This, too, is the land of the troubadour, and the quaint wild music chanted by the peasantry has a something about it irresistibly attractive, something one hears nowhere else; now dreamy, now bright, almost monotonous at times, then suddenly bursting into strains of sadness in which the whole depths of a life are portrayed. Then there is the ringing mountaineer song, too, with its clear and measured cadence, and a certain bravery in its tones which could easily foretell the difficult mastering of such a people, should it ever again be required.

The mixture of Spanish merchants and wanderers among the population gives to their parks and squares a pretty effect. They cross the Pyrenees with their showy wares, their strings of perfumed beads, bracelets, necklaces, rosaries, all made of the wood that grows at the foot of their mountains. Dressed in their own picturesque costumes, and carrying their merchandise of every imaginable color--red and bright yellow predominating--they accost you with a grace which renders them irresistible, and you find yourself rather poorer for the encounter.

I improved so rapidly in this climate, getting wholly rid of my cough and gaining twenty-five pounds in little over four weeks, that I concluded I was well enough to return to Paris, and thence, after another rest in England, home. I resolved, therefore, to see all that Pau offered to the sight-seer.

I drove with my kind friends several times to and around the varied and pretty villas: the primroses peeped at us from under the hedges, and here and there the rarest tropical trees and plants riveted our attention--and this in February, when the most of the world was ice-bound. The snow-capped mountains, however, rising around us on every side, would not permit us to entirely forget winter. The town itself, of twenty-one thousand inhabitants, is almost a miniature Paris, some squares duplicating those of the great city, and the bridges separating Pau and the Jurançon, though crossing a much prettier river than the Seine, heightening the resemblance.

The churches are costly and beautiful; one built by the Society of Jesus, entirely of white marble, and lined with exquisite pictures and gifts of the wealthy strangers who pass the season at the different hotels, is a perfect gem in its way.

The hotels, the Place Royale with its music every Thursday--weather permitting, as say our friends of the Central Park--where crowds walk up and down and listen to but little, I imagine, are all attractions for the health or pleasure seeker.

Very odd old houses with gabled roofs, and reminding you of Dutch pictures, start out occasionally from among the more modern and fashionable ones, and seem to tell the story of change and decay.

Not unfrequently a merry peasant wedding party, in a whole line of carriages trumpeting vigorously and raising the dust, pass you with shouts, and compel your curiosity to recognize and salute the bride. It is said the strangers with their wealth and fashionable follies are gradually obliterating these good old Béarnais customs, through the spirit of emulation they excite in a hitherto perfectly happy peasantry. Women, however, still walk the streets with their distaffs, and men knit as they guide the plough. Something of primeval innocence still remains. Certainly no country was ever more paradisiacally formed to retain it.

My time was limited, however; I could not stay and study these people and their customs as I would have wished. I could not visit the great summer resort, the famed Eaux Bonnes, so beautifully nestled, they told me, among the higher Pyrenees, but must exert all the strength I had to see before I left the great monument of Pau, the grand old

CHATEAU OF HENRY IV.

The street ascends to it, and through an arcade by stone steps to its park, which is now the everyday public resort. The park extends all around the chateau, and, crossing a pretty bridge erected over the Rue Marca, it continues for some miles in an ornamented walk containing two principal avenues; one so shaded that it is cool all summer, and the other sunny enough at any time to welcome and warm the poor invalid who could not exist without his daily walk.

We do not find here the rich and varied architecture so attractive in other imperial parks, Versailles, for instance; the hand of man is displaced by that of nature, but the woods of rare trees on hills that give everywhere the exquisite panorama of the encircling Pyrenees are more than compensatory for any omissions of art.

The gate of St. Martin greets you as you enter. Built in 1586, it was formerly the main entrance to the chateau when the drawbridge was used. Now it leads to the Hôtel de la Monnaie, a dependence inhabited by the subalterns and furnishers of the palace. Here the money of Béarn was formerly made. Now we approach a hemicycle containing two large vases in Medici form of Swedish porphyry, and given to the chateau of Pau by King Bernadotte, who was born here. The statue of Gaston Phœbus in white marble, the work of the Baron of Triquety, towers between them. He stands the guard perpetual of the chateau.

Much of the land belonging to the former park has been divided and sold, and is now the Place Napoléon. Vestiges, however, of ancient walls are still allowed to exist, and on the left may yet be seen the remains of the Hermitage of Notre Dame des Bris, attributed to William Raymond, ravaged during the religious wars, and entirely destroyed in 1793.

At the foot of the hill on the north side stood also the Castet Beziat (in Béarnais dialect, _dearest castle_). And here let me speak of this odd native patois. It is a mixture of French, Spanish, and Italian, and is understood only by strangers who know the three languages, yet it is euphonious and occasionally dignified. The better class of the peasantry speak both it and a pretty French. They prolong the syllables more than in Paris, which adds greatly to the sweetness of the sound. This _Château Chère_ was built after the model of the Château de Madrid in the Bois de Boulogne, by Marguerite of Valois.

Jeanne d'Albret made it her favorite residence, and here occupied herself exclusively with the education of her children, Henry IV. and Catherine, who, after the death of her mother, made it the secret residence of the Count de Soissons, whom she passionately loved but could not marry. No trace of this Castet Beziat exists now. But let us enter the great chateau, and first consider somewhat its origin. Centule le Bieux was its founder toward the end of the year 982, and his successors continued the southern portion, but it was not finished until the time of Gaston Phœbus, who completed also the great square tower that bears his name, the ramparts and parapets, and the mill-tower, in order that he might make it his residence. This mill-tower gave entrance to the Place de la Basse Ville, or former field of battle, where hand to hand the armed knights decided their judiciary combats. About 1460, Gaston X., desirous to give his Béarnais people a truly royal residence, constructed the north and east portions of the edifice, laid out the park, and decided that the states of Béarn should be always represented in the halls of the castle.

In 1527, the Margaret of Margarets, the sister so dear to Francis I., becoming queen of Navarre by her marriage with Henry II., made it a true palace of the Renaissance, restoring it entirely and refurnishing it from top to bottom.

Abandoned later by Henry IV., become king of France, and despoiled of everything precious it possessed by him and Louis XIII., entirely neglected by their successors, it fell into the hands of governors, then was seized by the republicans, who, not contented to sell at the lowest price and piece by piece the lands of the royal domain, converted into a tavern and stables the palace that formerly was the cradle of the great king.

Not until the short reign of Louis XVIII. was any attempt made to restore the castle to its former condition, a work soon neglected and abandoned, but recommenced in 1838 by Louis Philippe, who ordered besides the complete refurnishing of the apartments pretty much as they are seen to-day.

Napoleon III., however, with his taste for the restoration of all fallen grandeur that may recall royalty or the Empire, has done all in his power to produce an almost magic transformation, a complete resurrection of the old chateau, and at the present time the work continues under the supervision of the most able architects.

The beautiful exterior that presents itself so commandingly, the harmony that prevails in every part of the building surrounding the Court of Honor, the pretty windows opening on the chapel, the sculptures everywhere newly restored, the incessant labor on the southern portion, all denote the desire of Napoleon to preserve and embellish one of the most precious monuments of history.

The letters =G-P= in gold are placed in different parts of the building. To Gaston Phœbus is accorded the honor of its construction.

You enter the chateau from the town-side by a bridge of stone and brick, built by Louis XV. to replace the drawbridge that formerly occupied the site of the present chapel.

Pause on this bridge, and look around you. On either side is a deep ditch which once defended the entrance of the chateau, now a magnificent avenue planted with trees and covered with flower-beds. At your left is the chapel, whose date is 1840. The doors and windows are elaborately sculptured. In front, you will notice three arcades constructed in the style of the Renaissance, covered with a terrace and carved balustrade, which serves for the principal entrance.

On your left and under the portico is the porter's lodge. At the right in the new building are the bureaus of administration and service; on the first story, the apartments of the military commander; on the second, those of the register; and on the third and last, the housekeeper's rooms for linen, etc.

The Court of Honor arrests your attention by its original form, its deeply graven sculptures in the niches of the windows and doors representing the different Béarnais sovereigns, and the statue of Mars that faces the principal entrance. If these walls could speak, they would tell how often the Béarnais people have assembled here with shouts of respect or cries of vengeance, according as the qualities of their prince called forth the one or the other.

The towers of the chateau are six in number: at the left on entering, the Tower Gaston Phébus; at the right, the new Tower and Tower Montauzet; at the lower end, the northwest, the Tower Billères; and at the southwestern end, the two Towers Mazères.

The tower Gaston Phébus, or donjon, was called the tile tower, because it is built almost entirely of brick. It has a roof of slate which was carried off in a terrible storm in 1820.

A balcony faces the church of St. Martin, where the president of the states of Béarn took his place to proclaim the name of each newly elected sovereign.

Several illustrious personages have inhabited this tower. Among others, Clement Marot, the favorite and unfortunate adorer of the Queen Margaret, and Mademoiselle de Scudery, who passed the summer here of 1637.

Under the reign of Louis XIV. it was converted into a prison of state, and so continued until 1822.

Each story is now inhabited and richly furnished, and on the fifth is a terrace that commands a most imposing view of the surrounding country.

The tower Montauzet, in the Béarnais dialect, takes its name from the circumstance that only birds could reach the top; Montauzet meaning Mount Bird! In truth, it has no staircase, and history tells us that in case of a siege the garrison ascended it by ladders, which they drew up after them.

It had its dungeons, terrible wells into which criminals were lowered. An iron statue armed with steel poniards received them, clasped them in its arms, and, by ingenious means that the legend does not explain, murdered them in unspeakable tortures. Henri d'Albret closed up the entrance to these dungeons, and they were forgotten until the reign of Louis XV. He caused them to be opened, and discovered skeletons and iron chains fastened to the walls.

The ground-floor of the tower Montauzet formerly contained a fine fountain. This will be replaced. The three stories above are occupied generally by the domestics of the great dignitaries of the crown.

The other towers have nothing of interest. They are named from the villages they face, and are simply advanced sentinels to defend the approach of an enemy from the Pyrenees.

As soon as a visitor arrives at the chateau, he is ushered into the waiting-room called Salle des Gardes, because during the presence of majesty the valets waited here under the supervision of an officer of the household. But little furniture is seen, a few old-fashioned chairs surmounted by lions and the arms of France and Navarre.

From this room we enter the dining-room of the officers of the service. There is nothing remarkable in its furniture, a long and very wide table occupying the centre, and comfortable chairs placed against the wall. Two statues, the one of Henry IV., the other of Tully, stand on either side of the door, and are singularly imposing.

We pass on to the dining-room of their majesties. This is far more elegant. Flemish tapestry adorns the walls, which was brought here from the Château de Madrid in the Bois de Boulogne. It represents the chase in the different months of June, September, November, and December. A clock of the time and style of Louis XIV., and a statue of Henry IV. in white marble, by Francheville, which is said to be older, and to represent the king more correctly than any other, are the principal ornaments.

The Staircase of Honor leads us to the first story. It is richly sculptured with astonishing beauty and skill. Doors lead from it to the kitchens below, and to the different towers.

We ascend and gain the waiting-room. During the presence of their majesties, the door-keepers remain here. When the emperor is alone, he chooses this for his slight repasts.

The most beautiful tapestry covers the walls. The subjects are of all kinds, mostly rural scenes, in which children or fairies predominate. The furniture is of oak, and covered with leather.

The reception-room, the largest and most elegant in the chateau, awaits us next. Here, by order and under the eyes of the cruel Montgomery, general of Jeanne d'Albret, ten Catholic noblemen were treacherously murdered. The sun shone in on us through the large bay-windows, and gilded the richly ornamented stone chimney, and threw the reflection of the mountain-tops across the floor. We stood, perhaps, on the very spot where these brave souls had met their death so many years before, though no trace remained of the horrors of that day. The guide told the story, and most of our party passed on to admire the tapestry and the costly vases that lend enchantment to what should be a chamber of mourning. With all its beauty, I was glad to escape to the family apartment.

Here, it is said, Queen Margaret presided. Her picture, and those of Francis I., Henri d'Albret, and Henry IV., formerly graced the walls, but the hand of vandalism, in 1793, spared not even them. They were burned with all the other pictures of the chateau. A bronze statue of Henry IV., when a child, which graces a pretty bracket, and a table, the gift of Bernadotte, ornament the room.

The sleeping apartments of the emperor and empress follow, furnished tastefully with Sèvres china ornaments, on which are representations of Henry IV., Tully, and the Château de Pau, beautifully executed. The walls are hung with Flemish tapestry; but in the boudoir of the empress are to be seen six pieces of Gobelin tapestry, so finished that it was some time before it could be decided they were not oil-paintings. The subjects are: "Tully at the feet of Henry IV.;" "Henry IV. at the Miller Michaud's;" "The Parting of Henry IV. with Gabrielle;" "The Fainting of Gabrielle;" "Henry IV. meeting Tully Wounded;" "Henry IV. before Paris."

An odd Jerusalem chest, also in this room, is the admiration of strangers. It is made of walnut, inlaid with ivory, and was brought from Jerusalem, and purchased at Malta in 1838.

A bath-room of red marble of the Pyrenees is attached to these apartments, from which we ascend to the second story.

Here are large rooms much in the same style as the others, yet not quite so elaborate. In 1848, Abd-el-Kadir and his numerous family occupied this suite. An interesting model of the old chateau is here shown, executed by a poor man named Saget, who presented it to the Orleans family at a very low price, hoping, no doubt, another recompense, which he never received.

A room whose tapestry is devoted to Psyche leads us to a chamber which formed part of the apartment of Jeanne d'Albret, where it is said Henry IV. was born, and where his cradle is still preserved. The bed that Jeanne d'Albret occupied ordinarily is in the room adjoining, and a quainter piece of architecture cannot be imagined. It is of oak, richly carved, covered and mounted by a sleeping warrior and an owl, emblems of sleep and night. In the inner portion, towards the wall, is the Virgin, on one side, holding the infant Jesus, and an Evangelist on the other. Very rich cornices, with lion heads projecting and the framework of the arms of Béarn, complete the description. How, without steps, they ever got into those beds is a mystery; the upper berth of a steamer is easy of access in comparison, but there we have always steps or underberths that serve the same purpose.

The cradle of Henry IV. is a single tortoise-shell in its natural state. It must have been a good-sized tortoise that gave its back to the honor, but he must have been a very little baby to have slept in such a couch. The cradle hangs very gracefully, supported by six cords and flags embroidered in gold, with the arms of France and Navarre. Above is a crown of laurel, surmounted by a white plume of ostrich feathers, and underneath all a table covered with a blue velvet cloth.

The chapel and library are the only remaining objects of interest. The volumes of the library were presented by the emperor a short time ago, and they are well selected.

There were formerly two chapels, but the older one has been done away with. The present one was built in 1849, on the site of the old gate of the drawbridge. The gate is still preserved, and on it a marble slab that formerly bore this inscription:

HENRICUS DEI GRATIA CHRISTIANISSIMUS REX FRANCIÆ NAVARRÆ TERTIUS DOMINUS SUPREMUS BEARNI 1592.

The interior of the chapel has lately been restored and repainted. It is not remarkable for anything, however. The altar-piece is tawdry, and not in the usual good taste of the chateau.

We left this again for the beautiful park, roamed through it once more, and I took my last look at the imposing structure I had studied with so much interest.

I would advise all who visit Europe to see Pau and the Pyrenees. Those who do so will certainly say with me that, had they crossed the ocean for nothing else, they would have been more than compensated.

ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

The winds of autumn whisper back soft sighing To the low breathing of the Magdalen; She on her couch of withered leaves is lying-- Dreams she of days that come not back again? No--past and present both within her dying, Her earnest eyes upon the page remain; While the long golden hair, behind her flying, No more is bound with ornament and chain. The storm may gather, but she doth not heed; Nature's wild music enters not her ears; Her soul, that for her Saviour's woes doth bleed, One only voice for ever sounding hears: "Follow his footsteps who thy sins hath borne, And who for thee the thorny crown hath worn."

MEMOIR OF FATHER JOHN DE BRÉBEUF, S.J.[130]

Among the foremost and most distinguished of the Catholic missionaries of America stands the name of Father John de Brébeuf, the founder of the Huron Mission. Normandy has the honor of giving him birth, and Canada was the field of his splendid and heroic labors; yet the mission of which he was the great promoter was the prelude to, and was intimately connected with, subsequent missions in our own country; and at the time of his glorious death, his heaven-directed gaze was eagerly and zealously turned towards the country of our own fierce Iroquois, the inhabitants of Northern New York, amongst whom he ardently longed to plant the cross of the Christian missions. His labors and those of his companions opened the northwestern portions of our country, and the great Valley of the Mississippi, to Christianity and civilization, and the discoveries and explorations which followed were partly the fruits of his and their exalted ministry and enlightened enterprise; for, as Bancroft says, "the history of their labors is connected with the origin of every celebrated town in the annals of French America; not a cape was turned, not a river entered, but a Jesuit led the way." His fame and achievements belong to all America, indeed, more truly, to all Christendom. Saint, hero, and martyr as he was, his merits are a part of the heritage of the universal church; and while his relics are venerated on earth, and even the enemies of our religion accord to him the most exalted praise, Catholics may, with the eye of faith, behold him in that glorious and noble band of martyrs in heaven, decked in resplendent garments of red, dyed in their own blood, passing and repassing eternally, in adoration and thanksgiving, before the throne of him who was the Prince of Martyrs.

"It hath not perished from the earth, that spirit brave and high, That nerved the martyr saints of old with dauntless love to die. In the far West, where, in his pride, the stoic Indian dies; Where Afric's dark-skinned children dwell, 'neath burning tropic skies; 'Mid Northern snows, and wheresoe'er yet Christian feet have trod, Brave men have suffered unto death, as witnesses for God."

While historians outside of the Catholic Church have marvelled at such extraordinary virtues and unparalleled achievements as have been displayed, not alone by a Xavier, but by the missionaries of our own land, and have extolled them as an honor to human nature, Catholics may be excused for regarding them as miracles of the faith, triumphs of the church, and martyrs of religion. It seems strange that the general historians of the church have bestowed so little notice upon the planting and propagation of the faith in America. The history of these events presents to our admiration characters the most noble, deeds the most heroic, virtues the most saintly, lives the most admirable, and deaths the most glorious. While the church of America, in our day, counts her children by millions, what more inspiring lesson could she place before their eyes than the history of her early days, when her priests and missionaries were confessors and martyrs? Of these was the subject of the present memoir.

John de Brébeuf was born in the diocese of Bayeux, in Normandy, March 25, 1593, of a noble family, said to be the same that gave origin to the illustrious and truly Catholic house of the English Arundels. He resolved to dedicate himself to the service of God in the holy ministry, and, with this view, entered the novitiate of the Society of Jesus, at Rouen, October 5, 1617. Having completed his noviceship, he entered upon his theological studies. He received subdeacon's orders at Lisseux, and those of deacon at Bayeux, in September, 1621; was ordained a priest during the Lent of 1622, and offered up the holy sacrifice of the Mass for the first time on Lady-day of the same year. He was, though of the youngest, one of the most zealous and devoted priests of his order, and, from the time that he consecrated himself to religion, was given to daily austerities and rigorous self-mortifications.

Catching the spirit of his divine Master, Father Brébeuf conceived an ardent thirst for the salvation of souls, and the foreign missions became the object of his most fervent desire. This chosen field was soon opened to his intrepid and heroic labors. When Father Le Caron, the Recollect missionary in Canada, asked for the assistance of the Jesuits in his arduous undertaking of conquering to Christ the savage tribes of North America, Fathers John de Brébeuf, Charles Lallemant, and Evremond Massé, themselves all eager for the task, were selected by their superiors for the mission. These apostolic men sailed from Dieppe, April 26, 1625, and reached Quebec after a prosperous voyage. The reception they at first met was enough to have appalled any hearts less resolute and inspired from above than were the hearts of Father Brébeuf and his companions. The Recollects, a branch of the Franciscan Order, who, through Father Le Caron, had invited them over, had received at their convent on the river St. Charles no tidings of their arrival; Champlain, ever friendly to the missionaries of the faith, was absent; Caen, the Calvinist, then at the head of the fur-trading monopoly of New France, refused them shelter in the fort; and the private traders at Quebec closed their doors against them. To perish in the wilderness, or to return to France from the inhospitable shores of the New World, was the only alternative before them. At this juncture the good Recollects, hearing of their arrival and destitution, hastened from their convent in their boat, and received the outcast sons of Loyola with every demonstration of joy and hospitality, and carried them to the convent. It is unaccountable how Parkman, in his _Pioneers of France in the New World_, in the face of these facts, related by himself in common with historians generally, should charge against the Recollects that they "entertained a lurking jealousy of these formidable fellow-laborers," as he calls the Jesuits; who, on the contrary, were the chosen companions of the Recollects, were invited to share their labors, and with whom they prosecuted with "one heart and one mind" the glorious work of the missions. The sons of St. Francis and St. Ignatius united at once in administering to the spiritual necessities of the French at Quebec, and the latter, by their heroic labors and sacrifices, soon overcame the prejudice of their enemies.

From his transient home at Quebec, Father Brébeuf watched for an opportunity of advancing to the field of his mission among the Indians. The first opportunity that presented itself was the proposed descent of Father Viel to Three Rivers, in order to make a retreat, and attend to some necessary business of the mission. Father Brébeuf, accompanied by the Recollect Joseph de la Roche Dallion, lost no time in repairing to the trading post to meet the father, return with him and the expected annual flotilla of trading canoes from the Huron country, and commence his coveted work among the Wyandots. But he arrived only to hear that Father Viel had gained the crown of martyrdom, together with a little Christian boy, whom their Indian conductor, as his canoe shot across the last dangerous rapids in the river Des Prairies, behind Montreal, seized and threw into the foaming torrent together, by which they were swept immediately into the seething gulf below, never to rise again. Neither the death of Father Viel, nor his own ignorance of the Huron language, appalled the brave heart of Father Brébeuf, who, when the flotilla came down, begged to be taken back as a passenger to the Huron country; but the refusal of the Indians to receive him compelled him to return to Quebec. On the twentieth of July, 1625, he went among the Montagnais, with whom he wintered, and, for five months, suffered all the rigors of the climate, in a mere bark-cabin, in which he had to endure both smoke and filth, the inevitable penalties of accepting savage hospitality. Besides this, his encampment was shifted with the ever-varying chase, and it was only his zeal that enabled him, amid incessant changes and distractions, to learn much of the Indian language, for the acquisition of the various dialects of which, as well as for his aptitude in accommodating himself to Indian life and manners, he was singularly gifted. On the twenty-seventh of March following, he returned to Quebec, and resumed, in union with the Recollects, the care of the French settlers. The Jesuits and Recollects, moving together in perfect unison, went alternately from Quebec to the Recollect convent and Jesuit residence, on a small river called St. Charles, not far from the city.

The colony of the Jesuit fathers was soon increased by the arrival of Fathers Noirot and De la Nouë, with twenty laborers, and they were thus enabled to build a residence for themselves--the mother house and headquarters of these valiant soldiers of the cross in their long and eventful struggle with paganism and superstition among the Indians. Father Brébeuf and his companions now devoted their labors to the French at Quebec, then numbering only forty-three, hearing confessions, preaching, and studying the Indian languages. They also bestowed considerable attention on the cultivation of the soil. But these labors were but preparatory for others more arduous, but more attractive to them.

In 1626, the Huron mission was again attempted by Father Brébeuf. He, together with Father Joseph de la Roche Dallion and the Jesuit Anne de Nouë, was sent to Three Rivers, to attempt a passage to the Huron country. When the Indian flotilla arrived at Three Rivers, the Hurons were ready to receive Father de la Roche on board, but being unaccustomed to the Jesuit habit, and objecting, or pretending to object, to the portly frame of Father Brébeuf, they refused a passage to him and his companion, Father Nouë. At last, some presents secured a place in the flotilla for the two Jesuits. The missionaries, after a painful voyage, arrived at St. Gabriel, or La Rochelle, in the Huron country, and took up the mission which the Recollects Le Caron and Viel had so nobly pioneered.

The Hurons, whose proper name was Wendat, or Wyandot, were a powerful tribe, numbering at least thirty thousand souls, living in eighteen villages scattered over a small strip of land on a peninsula in the southern extremity of the Georgian Bay. Other tribes, kindred to them, stretched through New York and into the continent as far south as the Carolinas. Their towns were well built and strongly defended, and they were good tillers of the soil, active traders, and brave warriors. They were, however, behind their neighbors in their domestic life and in their styles of dress, which for both sexes were exceedingly immodest. Their objects of worship were one supreme deity, called the Master of Life, to whom they offered human sacrifices, and an infinite number of inferior deities, or rather fiends, inhabiting rivers, cataracts, or other natural objects, riding on the storms, or living in some animal or plant, and whom they propitiated with tobacco. Father Brébeuf had acquired sufficient knowledge of their language to make himself understood by the natives, and he was greatly assisted by the instructions and manuscripts of Fathers Le Caron and Viel. Father Nouë, being unable to acquire the language, by reason of his great age and defective memory, returned to Quebec in 1627, and was followed the next year by Father de la Roche, who had made a brave but unsuccessful effort to plant the cross among the Attiarandaronk, or Neutrals. The undaunted Brébeuf was thus in 1629 left alone among the Hurons. He soon won their confidence and respect, and was adopted into the tribe by the name of _Echon_. Though few conversions rewarded his labors among them during his three years' residence, still he was amply compensated by his success in gaining their hearts, acquiring their language, and thoroughly understanding their character and manners. So completely had he gained the good-will of the Hurons, that, when he was about to return in 1629 to Quebec, whither his superior had recalled him, in consequence of the distress prevailing in the colony, the Indians crowded around him to prevent him from entering the canoes, and addressed him in this touching language; "What! Echon, dost thou leave us? Thou hast been here now three years, to learn our language, to teach us to know thy God, to adore and serve him, having come but for that end, as thou hast shown; and now, when thou knowest our language more perfectly than any other Frenchman, thou leavest us. If we do not know the God thou adorest, we shall call him to witness that it is not our fault, but thine, to leave us so." Deeply as he felt this appeal, the Jesuit could know no other voice when his superior spoke; and having given every encouragement to those who were well disposed toward the faith, and explained why he should go when his superior required it, he embarked on the flotilla of twelve canoes, and reached Quebec on the seventeenth of July, 1629. Three days after his arrival at Quebec, that port was captured by the English under the traitor Kirk, who bore the deepest hatred toward the Jesuits, whose residence he would have fired upon could he have brought his vessel near enough for his cannon to bear upon it. He pillaged it, however, compelling the fathers to abandon it and fly for safety to Tadoussac. But Father Brébeuf and his companions were, together with Champlain, detained as prisoners. Amongst the followers of Kirk was one Michel, a bitter and relentless Huguenot, who was by his temperament and infirmities prone to violence, and who vented his rage especially against the Jesuits. He and the no less bigoted Kirk found in Father Brébeuf an intrepid defender of his order and of his companions against their foul calumnies, while at the same time his noble character showed how well it was trained to the practice of Christian humility and charity.

On the occasion here particularly alluded to, Kirk was conversing with the fathers, who were then his prisoners, and, with a malignant expression, said:

"Gentlemen, your business in Canada was to enjoy what belonged to M. de Caen, whom you dispossessed."

"Pardon me, sir," answered Father Brébeuf, "we came purely for the glory of God, and exposed ourselves to every kind of danger to convert the Indians."

Here Michel broke in: "Ay, ay, convert the Indians! You mean, convert the _beaver_!"

Father Brébeuf, conscious of his own and his companion's innocence, and deeming the occasion one which required at his hands a full and unqualified denial, solemnly and deliberately answered:

"That is false!"

The infuriated Michel, raising his fist at his prisoner in a threatening manner, exclaimed:

"But for the respect I owe the general, I would strike you for giving me the lie."

Father Brébeuf, who possessed a powerful frame and commanding figure, stood unmoved and unruffled. But he did not rely upon these qualities of the man, though he knew no fear, but illustrated by his example on this as on every other occasion the virtues of a Christian and a minister of peace. With a humility and charity that showed how well the strong and naturally impulsive man had subdued his passions, he endeavored to appease the anger of his assailant by an apology, which, while it was justly calculated to remove all cause of offence, was accompanied with a solemn vindication of himself and companions from the unjust imputation just cast upon them. He said:

"You must excuse me. I did not mean to give you the lie. I should be very sorry to do so. The words I used are those we use in the schools when a doubtful question is advanced, and they mean no offence. Therefore, I ask you to pardon me."

"Bon Dieu," said Champlain, "you swear well for a reformer!"

"I knew it," replied Michel; "I should be content if I had struck that Jesuit who gave me the lie before my general."

The unfortunate Michel continued in this way unceasingly to rave over the pretended insult, which no apologies could obliterate. He died shortly afterward in one of his paroxysms of fury, and was interred under the rocks of Tadoussac. It was not permitted to him to execute his threatened vengeance on the Jesuit, whom he was the first to insult, and whom he never forgave, though himself forgiven.

Father Brébeuf, together with the truly great and Catholic Champlain, the governor of Quebec, and with the other missionaries, were carried prisoners to England, whence they all made their way to France.

Sad at this interruption of their work of love among the benighted sons of the Western wilds, the missionaries did not despair, but only awaited the restoration of Canada to France in order to resume their labors. In the volume of his travels published by Champlain in 1632, is embraced the treatise on the Huron language which Father Brébeuf had prepared during his three years' residence with that tribe, and which, in our own times, has been republished in the _Transactions of the American Antiquarian Society_, as a most precious contribution to learning.

The English government disavowed the conduct of Kirk, and Canada was restored to France during the year 1632. As the conversion of the native tribes was ever one of the leading features in the policy of Catholic statesmen in the colonization of this continent, it was determined to renew the missions which we have seen interrupted. In selecting missionaries for this task, the choice fell not upon the Jesuits, nor the Recollects, as might have been expected, but upon the Capuchins; and it was only when these good fathers represented to Cardinal Richelieu that the Jesuits had already been laboring with fidelity and success in that vineyard, and requested that the missions might be again confided to them, that Fathers Paul Lejeune and Anne de Nouë, with a lay brother, were sent out in 1632. They arrived at Tadoussac on the twelfth of July. It soon became Father Brébeuf's great privilege and happiness to follow them. On the twenty-second of May, 1633, to the great joy of Quebec, Champlain returned to resume his sway in Canada, and Father Brébeuf accompanied him together with Fathers Massé, Daniel, and Devost. Though Father Brébeuf was not inactive about Quebec, still his heart longed for the Huron homes and council-fires, and still more for Huron souls. Shortly afterward, he had the consolation of beholding the faithful Louis Amantacha, a Christian Huron, arriving at Quebec, followed by the usual Indian flotilla of canoes. A council was held, sixty chiefs sat in a circle round the council-fire, and the noble Champlain, the intrepid Brébeuf, and the zealous Lallemant, stood in their midst. A treaty of friendship was concluded between the French and the Hurons, and, in confiding the missionaries to his new allies, Champlain thus addressed the latter: "These we consider as fathers, these are dearer to us than life. Think not that they have left France under pressure of want; no, they were there in high esteem: they come not to gather up your furs, but to open to you the doors of eternal life. If you love the French, as you say you love them, then love and honor these our fathers." This address was responded to by two of the chiefs, who were followed by Father Brébeuf in his broken Huron, "the assembly jerking in unison, from the bottom of their throats, repeated ejaculations of applause." The members of the council then crowded round him, each claiming the privilege of carrying him in his canoe. And the Indians from the different towns began now to contend among themselves for the honor of possessing Father Brébeuf for their respective settlements. The contest was soon decided in favor of Rochelle, the most populous of the Huron villages. On the eighth of August, the effects of Father Brébeuf and of his companions, Fathers Daniel and Devost, were already on board the canoes, when another more serious difficulty arose: an Indian murderer had been arrested by order of Champlain, in consequence of which an enraged Algonquin chief declared that no Frenchman should enter the flotilla. The Hurons were ready and anxious to convey the fathers, but they feared the consequences of a rupture with the Algonquins. The fathers were thus constrained, to the common sorrow of themselves and their Hurons, to behold the flotilla depart without them. But the last scene in this separation was yet more touching. The faithful and pious Louis Amantacha, overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss of the fathers, lingered in their company to the last moment, humbly made his confession, and, for the last time for him, this Christian warrior received the holy communion from the hands of Father Brébeuf. Then, having rejoined his companions, the flotilla quickly glided from the view of those who would have laid down their lives to save the souls of those benighted and thoughtless voyagers.

Father Brébeuf and his companions returned to labor for a time longer among the French and Indians in and about Quebec, where their labors were full of zeal and not without success. It was here that Father Brébeuf baptized Sasousmat, the first adult upon whom he conferred that sacrament. While in health, Sasousmat had requested that he might be sent to France for instruction in the faith, but he was now overtaken by a dreadful illness, which deprived him of reason. Father Brébeuf visited him while in this state, and, returning from his couch to the altar, he offered up for his benefit the holy sacrifice of the Mass in honor of St. Joseph, the glorious patron of the country; his prayer of sacrifice was heard in heaven, and Sasousmat was restored to his mind. Father Brébeuf then instructed him, and the joyful neophyte ardently and touchingly entreated the father to baptize him. But the cautious and conscientious priest deferred the sacrament, to the astonishment of the Indians, whose habit was to refuse nothing to the sick. One of Sasousmat's Indian friends said to the father, with great impatience: "Thou hast no sense; pour a little water on him, and it is done." "No," replied the priest of God, "I would involve myself in ruin were I to baptize, without necessity, an infidel and unbeliever not fully instructed." The patient was afterwards removed to the residence of Notre Dame des Anges, where he continued to receive the instructions of the father, and where he grew desperately ill, and was finally in an hour of danger baptized. At the moment of his decease, a resplendent meteoric light illumined the death-room, and shone far around about the country. There was afterwards another adult, named Nassé, a steadfast friend of the missionaries, who fell dangerously ill, and was nursed by Father Brébeuf. He too made earnest entreaties to be baptized, but the father subjected the convert to long delays and probations, and finally only bestowed the sacrament when death was imminent. Instances are related in which baptism was refused to adults, even _in extremis_, where the requisite dispositions were wanting. Such examples, of which there are not a few recorded in the Jesuit _Relations_, besides exhibiting the zeal and self-sacrificing labors of the Catholic missionaries for the salvation of souls, furnish us with a complete refutation of the wanton calumny that those early missionary priests were in the habit of bestowing the sacrament upon entire multitudes of savages without previous instruction or probation--a calumny now fully refuted by the _Relations_ and letters of the fathers themselves, who, while they penned the humble story of their labors, to be transmitted to their superiors in Europe, knew not that the same would serve as evidence for their own vindication.

With the return of spring, the time again drew near for the appearance of the usual flotilla of Indian canoes at the trading post of Three Rivers. On the 1st of July, Fathers Brébeuf and Daniel repaired to Three Rivers, to procure a passage in the flotilla for the Huron country, and Father Devost joined them in a few days. But the canoes were slow in coming in; the Hurons had sustained a terrific defeat, losing two hundred braves, and the gallant Christian warrior Louis Amantacha was among the slain. No sooner, however, had a few canoes arrived, than Father Brébeuf pressed forward to secure a passage; but the hostile Algonquin and the cautious Huron discovered innumerable obstacles in the way of his going with them, and it seemed that he was again to be disappointed in his hopes of reaching his beloved mission. At length, by the influence of the French commanders, which was supported as usual by presents, it was arranged that a passage should be given to one missionary and two men, and even then Father Brébeuf was left out. He thus describes his difficulties: "Never did I see voyage so hampered and traversed by the common enemy of man. It was by a stroke of heaven that we advanced, and an effect of the power of the glorious St. Joseph, in whose honor God inspired me to promise twenty masses, in the despair of all things." At the moment that this vow was made, a Huron, who had agreed to carry one of the Frenchmen in his canoe, was suddenly inspired to take Father Brébeuf in his stead. Thus a passage was secured. But such were the hurry, confusion, and want of accommodation, that the missionaries were compelled to leave behind them all their effects, except such as were necessary for saying Mass. Too glad to be admitted into this vineyard which they had so long sought, they cheerfully made every sacrifice. With light and joyous hearts and ready hands, they plied the oar from morning till night; they recited the sacred office by the evening fire; they nursed all who fell sick on the voyage with so much charity and tenderness as to melt the hearts of those savage sons of the wilderness; at fifty different points, where the passage was dangerous or obstructed, they volunteered to carry the packages, and even the canoes, on their shoulders around the portages; and at one place Father Brébeuf barely escaped a watery grave at a rapid where his canoe was hurried over the impetuous current. At length, after much suffering, they reached the shores of the Huron country on the 5th of August, 1634.

The following description of this remarkable journey of the fathers is from the eloquent and graphic, but not always impartial, pages of Parkman's _Jesuits in North America_:

"They reckoned the distance at nine hundred miles; but distance was the least repellant feature of this most arduous journey. Barefoot, lest their shoes should injure the frail vessel, each crouched in his canoe, toiling with unpractised hands to propel it. Before him, week after week, he saw the same lank, unkempt hair, the same tawny shoulders and long, naked arms, ceaselessly plying the paddle. The canoes were soon separated, and for more than a month the Frenchmen rarely or never met. Brébeuf spoke a little Huron, and could converse with his escort; but Daniel and Devost were doomed to a silence unbroken save by the unintelligible complaints and menaces of the Indians, of whom many were sick with the epidemic, and all were terrified, desponding, and sullen. Their only food was a pittance of Indian corn, crushed between two stones and mixed with water. The toil was extreme. Brébeuf counted thirty-five portages, where the canoes were lifted from the water and carried on the shoulders of the voyagers around rapids and cataracts. More than fifty times, besides, they were forced to wade in the raging current, pushing up their empty barks, or dragging them with ropes. Brébeuf tried to do his part, but the boulders and sharp rocks wounded his naked feet, and compelled him to desist. He and his companions bore their share of the baggage across the portages, sometimes a distance of several miles. Four trips, at the least, were required to convey the whole. The way was through the dense forest, encumbered with rocks and logs, tangled with roots and underbrush, damp with perpetual shade, and redolent of decayed leaves and mouldering wood. The Indians themselves were often spent with fatigue. Brébeuf, a man of iron frame and a nature unconquerably resolute, doubted if his strength would sustain him to the journey's end. He complains that he had no moment to read his breviary, except by the moonlight or the fire when stretched out to sleep on a bare rock by some savage cataract of the Ottawa, or in a damp nook of the adjacent forest.

"Descending French River and following the lonely shores of the great Georgian Bay, the canoe which carried Brébeuf at length neared its destination, thirty days after leaving Three Rivers. Before him, stretched in savage slumber, lay the forest shore of the Hurons. Did his spirit sink as he approached his dreary home, oppressed with a dark foreboding of what the future should bring forth? There is some reason to think so. Yet it was but the shadow of a moment; for his masculine heart had lost the sense of fear, and his intrepid nature was fired with a zeal before which doubts and uncertainties fled like the mists of the morning. Not the grim enthusiasm of negation, tearing up the weeds of rooted falsehood, or with bold hand felling to the earth the baneful growth of overshadowing abuses; his was the ancient faith uncurtailed, redeemed from the decay of centuries, kindled with a new life, and stimulated to a preternatural growth and fruitfulness."

But Father Brébeuf's trials did not end here, for the ungrateful Indians, who lived twenty miles below Father Brébeuf's destination, forgetting all his kindness and sacrifices and despising his entreaties, abandoned him on this desolate shore. In this distress, he fell upon his knees and thanked God for all his favors, and especially for bringing him again into the country of the Hurons. Beseeching Providence to guide his steps, and saluting the guardian angel of the land with a dedication of himself to the conversion of those tribes, he took only such articles as he could in no event dispense with, and, concealing the rest, started forth in that vast wilderness, not knowing whither his steps might carry him. Providence guided those steps: he discovered the site of the former village, Toanché, in which he had resided three years, and even the blackened ruins of his cabin, in which, for the same time, he had offered up the Holy Sacrifice; but the village was destroyed and the encampment shifted to another place. Striking upon a trail, he advanced full of hope, and soon he suddenly stood in the midst of his Huron friends, in their new village of Ihonatiria. A shout of welcome from a hundred voices--"Echon! Echon!"--greeted the joyous messenger of salvation. He immediately threw himself upon the hospitality of the generous chief, Awandoay, from whom he obtained men to go for his packages; he retraced his weary steps with them, and it was one o'clock in the morning before all was safely lodged in the village of Ihonatiria. The other fathers, after suffering similar ill-treatment from the Indians of the flotilla in whose canoes they came, finally found their way also, one by one, to Ihonatiria, in great distress.

For some time they partook of the liberal hospitality of Awandoay; but, Father Brébeuf having decided to make Ihonatiria the mission headquarters, they now constructed a residence for themselves, thirty-six by twenty-one feet, in which the centre was their hall, parlor, and business-room, leading, on the one side, to the chapel, and, on the other, to what was at the same time kitchen, refectory, and dormitory. This rude hut--indeed, everything about the missionaries--awakened the amazement of these simple sons of the forest. They came in crowds from all parts of the Huron country to see the wonderful things possessed by the fathers, the fame of which had spread through the land. There was the mill for grinding corn, which they viewed with admiration, and which they delighted to turn without ceasing. There were a prism and magnet, whose qualities struck them with surprise and pleasure. There was a magnifying-glass which, to their amazement, made a flea as large as a monster; and a multiplying lens which possessed the mysterious power of creating instantly eleven beads out of one. But the clock, which hung on the wall of the missionary cabin, was to these untutored savages the greatest miracle of all. The assembled warriors, with their wives and children, would sit in silence on the ground, waiting an entire hour for the clock to strike the time of the day. They listened to it ticking every second and marking every minute of the twenty-four hours; they thought it was a thing of life; inquired when, how, and upon what it fed. They called it sometimes the "Day Chief" and sometimes the "Captain," and expressed their awe of so mysterious and supernatural a being by the constant cry of "Ondaki! Ondaki!!" "What does the Captain say now?" was the repeated question. The fathers were obliged to establish certain regulations for visitors, whose presence would have left them no time for rest or devotion during the twenty-four hours, while, at the same time, they availed themselves of these curiosities for attracting the Indians to the mission cross before their door and to the first simple lessons in religion. They thus interpreted the strokes of the clock: "When he strikes twelve times, he says, 'Hang on the kettle,' and when he strikes four times, he says, 'Get up and go home.'" The Indians rigidly obeyed these commands of the little "Day Chief." The crowd was densest at the stroke of twelve, when the kettle was hung and the fathers' sagamite passed around; and at the stroke of four, all arose at once and departed, leaving their good entertainers to say their office and rosary, study and make notes on the Huron language, write letters to their superiors, and consult over the plans for conducting the mission. The fathers also gave some lessons to their Huron friends on the subject of self-defence and military engineering. The Hurons, living in constant dread of the Iroquois, were glad to learn a more perfect way of constructing their palisade forts, which they had been accustomed to make round, but which the Frenchmen now taught them to make rectangular, with small flanking towers at the corners for the arquebusmen. And, in case of actual attack, the aid of the four Frenchmen, armed with arquebuses, who had come with the missionaries from Three Rivers, was promised, to enable them to defend their wives, children, and homes from the unsparing attacks of their relentless enemies.

The Indian children were the especial objects of the solicitude of these untiring missionaries. They assembled these frequently at their house, on which occasions Father Brébeuf, the more effectually to inspire respect, appeared in surplice and baretta. The _Pater Noster_ was chanted in Huron rhyme, into which it had been translated by Father Daniel; and the _Ave_ and _Credo_ and Ten Commandments were recited. The children were examined in their past lessons, and instructed in new ones, and then dismissed joyously with presents of beads and dried fruits. Soon the village resounded with the rhymes of the _Pater Noster_, and the little catechumens vied with each other at home in making the sign of the cross and reciting the commandments.

To the adults the fathers earnestly announced Christ crucified, and endeavored to turn their admiration from the clock and other curiosities of the mission house, which, as they said, were but creatures, to the Creator, to heaven, and to the faith. The first-fruits of the mission were soon gathered; several infants, in danger of death, were baptized, and several adults were also admitted into the Christian church through the same regenerating waters.

But the enemies of religion and of truth were jealously watching these successes, and soon the fathers encountered the same opposition that always besets the introduction of Christianity into heathen nations; that is, the jealousy and hatred of the native priests, or officials entrusted with the matters of religion or the superstitious rites of the country. These, among our American tribes, were the medicine men. These wicked sorcerers accused Father Brébeuf and his companions of causing the drought, of blighting the crops, of introducing the plague, in fine, of every evil that afflicted the country or any of the people. The missionaries began to be insulted, the cross before their residence was turned into a target, and curses and imprecations greeted them on every side. But the prayers of the fathers, and especially a novena of masses in honor of St. Joseph, were soon followed by copious rains, and the medicine-men were confounded, while the fathers were received with honor and esteem. The old and young were instructed in the faith, catechetical classes were opened, and all ages and conditions took pleasure in contending for the pictures, medals, and other little rewards which were bestowed upon the studious. On Sundays, the Indians were assembled at Mass; but, in imitation of the custom which prevailed in the early church, Father Brébeuf dismissed them at the offertory, after reciting for them the prayers they had learned. In the afternoon, catechetical instructions were given, and all were examined on what they had learned during the week. In August, 1635, Fathers Pijart and Mercier, then recently arrived from France, came into the Huron country to join the little missionary band, who were, even after this increase of their force, kept constantly laboring.

In April, 1636, the missionaries attended the "feast of the dead," a great solemnity of the Indians, when the bones of their dead are taken down from their aerial tombs, and, being wrapped in the richest furs, and surrounded with various implements, are deposited in the common mound, amid the songs, games, and dancing of the living. Father Brébeuf, the courageous champion of the faith, seized upon this occasion to announce the saving word of truth in the very midst of the ancient and most cherished rites of a heathen superstition. He declared that such ceremonies were utterly vain and fruitless for souls which, like the souls of all in that mound, were lost for ever; that souls on death went either to a realm of bliss or a world of woe; that the living alone could choose, and, if they preferred the former, he and the other fathers were there to show the way. This speech was accompanied with a present to the assembled chiefs, a means most effectual in gaining the good-will of the Indians. The latter offered no opposition to the baptism of their infants, and expressed themselves as if well disposed towards the faith preached by the fathers. In December, the mission among the Hurons was formally consecrated to the Immaculate Conception. Baptism was administered to nearly thirty of the tribe, amongst whom was one, a little girl, of singular interest, named Mary Conception. This little child was remarkable for her love of prayer and her fondness for the missionaries and whatever pertained to religion; she ran as gaily to catechism as the other children to their play, and took a singular pleasure in walking beside the missionary as he was reciting his office, making the sign of the cross and praying louder whenever he turned in his walk. In 1635, fourteen baptisms were reported by the fathers, and in July, 1636, eighty-six, amongst whom was the chief, who was sincerely converted to the faith. Father Brébeuf made many excursions to distant villages and families. In October, he visited the family of Louis de Sainte Foi, who, having been taken to France by the fathers, was baptized at Rouen, but was now grown cold in his religion. This visit, in which Father Brébeuf was accompanied by Father Pijart, rekindled the ardor of the chief, and was the occasion of announcing the commandments of God to all his family. Devotion to the Blessed Virgin, appealing as it does to the best natural feelings of the human heart, as well as to the highest and purest motives of religion, was easily received, especially among the Indian mothers, to whom she was proposed for imitation by Father Brébeuf. He composed for them, and in their own language, beautiful prayers of invocation to the Mother of God. So great was his proficiency in the Huron language, that he was able to attach to his relation of this year a treatise on the language and another on the customs of the Hurons, the former of which has been published in English.

It was about this time that a delegation of Algonquin braves came to solicit the alliance of the Hurons against the Iroquois. Failing to secure their point with the Hurons, the Algonquins next turned to the missionaries and endeavored to detach them from the Hurons, and offered, as an inducement to Father Brébeuf, to make him one of their great chiefs. Father Brébeuf, with a smile, replied, that he had left home and fortune to gain souls, not to become rich or to gain honors in war, and dismissed the negotiators as usual with a present.

The removal of the headquarters of the mission from Ihonatiria to Ossossané had been several times mooted; one day, as Father Brébeuf was travelling to visit a sick Christian, he was met by the chief of Ossossané, who so forcibly urged the change that Father Brébeuf was induced to promise them a compliance with what had been in fact his previous design. A promise was readily made on the other side that the villagers of Ossossané would the following year erect the necessary accommodations for the fathers. When the people of Ihonatiria heard this, their chief, at daybreak, from the top of his cabin summoned all his people out to rebuild the cabin of the black gown. Old and young now went forth to obey the summons, and soon the work was completed. When the next season for the feast of the dead came round, a great change was observable in its celebration, a proof of the influence of Christian sentiments with the people. The accustomed magnificence was dispensed with, and those who died Christians were not reburied, even in a separate portion of the common tomb. The ceremony consisted in nothing more than a touching manifestation of the affection of the living for their deceased friends, and the missionaries were too prudent to interfere. In order to show how earnest our missionaries were for the conversion of these tribes, it is worth recording that they established a Huron seminary at Quebec, and during this year Fathers Daniel and Devost departed from Huronia for Quebec, with several young Hurons destined for students in this institution. It was also during this year that Fathers Garnier, Chastelain, and Jogues arrived from France, and entered this promising vineyard.

Shortly after these arrivals, a contagious fever broke out in the Huron country, and several of the missionaries were seized with the malady. It would be impossible, within the space allotted to this memoir, to detail all their sufferings and privations. The hardy Brébeuf and the others that were not taken down, became the faithful and constant nurses of their sick companions, and, when these were restored, the entire missionary band dedicated themselves to the nursing and spiritual succor of the afflicted people. Here, again, the fathers met with the usual obstacles and annoyances from the native sorcerers. The medicine-men, in whom the Indians had implicit confidence, especially in sickness, resorted to their usual tricks, and the villages resounded with horrid superstitious orgies. Many refused to let the fathers baptize their dying infants. Others, however, having seen the utter failure of their sorcerers to effect a single cure, and having observed how the Christian baptism was frequently followed by a restoration of the body also to health, had recourse to the missionaries. But in such cases their visits of mercy were obstructed by the insults, the threats, and ill-usage of the excited rabble. But, as Bancroft remarks, "the Jesuit never receded a foot." He pressed forward with love and courage, frequently forcing his way to the couch of the dying, and encountering threatened death to save a single soul. In order to propitiate the mercy of Heaven for this afflicted people, Father Brébeuf assembled a council of the chiefs of several villages, and succeeded so far as to induce them, in behalf of themselves and their people, to promise solemnly, in the presence of God, that they would renounce their superstitions, embrace the faith of Jesus Christ, conform their marriages to the Christian standard, and build chapels for the service of the one true God. With the solemnity of this scene, however, passed away also their good resolutions. The Indian, ever inconsistent, except in his attachment to his idols and his hunting-grounds, was soon again seen raving at the frenzied words and incantations of the sorcerer Tonnerananont, who professed himself to be a devil incarnate. The plague continued to rage; not even the frosts of winter arrested its destructive powers. Night and day Father Brébeuf and his companions were travelling and laboring for those miserable and inconstant savages. They went about over the country administering remedies for the maladies of the body as well as those of the soul. Besides relieving many by bleeding and other simple remedies, their heroic labors were rewarded with other fruits far sweeter to them, the baptism of two hundred and fifty expiring infants and adults. The bold and fearless advances and the devoted services of the Jesuit fathers during this season of disease and death may well have called forth from Sparks the remark that "humanity can claim no higher honor than that such examples have existed." In the spring the pestilence abated, and the usual and regular duties and labors of the mission were resumed. His superior knowledge of the language devolved upon Father Brébeuf the greater burthen of instructing and catechising the natives. In May, he called a council of the chiefs of Ossossané, and reminded them of their promise to build a cabin for the fathers. The appeal was responded to, and, on the fifth of June, Father Pijart offered up the Mass of the Holy Trinity at Ossossané, in "our own House of the Immaculate Conception." On Trinity Sunday, another happiness was enjoyed by Father Brébeuf, in the baptism of the first adult at Ihonatiria. This was Tsiwendaentaha, a chief who had manifested great perseverance in his wish to become a Christian; he had repeatedly requested and entreated to be baptized, and had renounced all connection with the medicine-men for three years, and, what was remarkable among the natives, had only once during that time manifested any disposition towards a relapse. After prolonged probation and careful instruction, Father Brébeuf baptized him on Trinity Sunday, conferring upon him the Christian name of Peter. The ceremony was surrounded with as much magnificence as the infant church in that wilderness could bring, and in the presence of immense crowds of Hurons. The corner-stone of the new church was laid on the same occasion.

These consolations of the mission were soon succeeded by direful calamities. Sickness still lingered in the country. Having failed by their superstitious rites to ameliorate the condition of the people, the medicine-men now accused the fathers of being the cause of the pestilence, and even of having a design of destroying the country. A general outburst of indignation now assailed the holy men. Everything connected with them or their religion now became objects of suspicion--the pictures in the chapel, their mission flag flying from the top of a tree, the Mass in the morning, the evening litany, the walk of the missionaries by day, and especially the clock, were successively condemned as demons, and signals of pestilence and death. It was even rumored that the fathers concealed in their cabin a dead body, which they brought from France, and which was now supposed to be the origin of the infection. Goaded by their fears, and incited by their sorcerers, the Indians rushed into the missionary residence to seize the mysterious corpse. As superior, the principal weight of these persecutions fell upon Father Brébeuf, who endeavored in vain to dispel such vain fears. The fathers were insulted and threatened with death in their own house. A general council of chiefs and warriors was held, in which they were universally accused of causing all the evils of the country. The courageous Brébeuf stood in their midst to refute their calumnies and expose their follies. Nothing could appease them. They offered to spare Father Brébeuf's life if he would deliver up the fatal cloth in which he had wrapt the pestilence. He indignantly refused to countenance their superstitions by compliance, but told them to search his cabin and burn every cloth if they thought proper. He told them, however, that since they had pressed him so far, he would give them his opinion as to the origin of their misfortunes, which he then went on to trace to natural causes and their own foolish method of treating the sick, and spoke to them of the power of God and his justice in rewarding the good and punishing the wicked. Father Brébeuf concluded his remarks amidst shouts and insults, but without losing his characteristic courage and calmness. Despite his unanswerable appeal, the assembly thirsted for the blood of at least one of the missionaries as an experiment, and at any moment one of those devoted men might have fallen dead under the hatchet of some enraged savage. Repeated councils were held, and the death of the strangers was resolved upon. The residence was burned, the stake prepared, and Father Brébeuf led forth. Having prepared himself for death, he now, in imitation of the Huron custom, gave the usual feast, in order to show that he did not shrink from giving his life in testimony of the faith he had preached to them. Just before the moment of his execution arrived, Father Brébeuf was summoned to a council, where, amid insult and interruption, he delivered another speech in advocacy of the faith, instead of explaining the plague, and, by one of those sudden changes of temper not unusual in Indian assemblies, he was acquitted and set free. As he passed from the wigwam of the council, he saw one of his greatest persecutors fall dead at his feet, under a stroke from the murderous tomahawk: supposing that, in the dim light of a far-spent day, the murderer had mistaken his victim, the future martyr asked: "Was not that blow meant for me?" "No," replied the warrior; "pass on: he was a sorcerer, thou art not." His companions were anxiously awaiting the result; and when he walked into their midst, they received him as the dead restored to life. They all united in returning thanks to God for the safety of the superior of the mission, and especially for the announcement which that apostolic man made to them, that they might yet hope to remain in that country, and labor for the salvation of their persecutors.

The firm and uncompromising character of Father Brébeuf is strikingly illustrated in contrast with the fickleness of the Indians, the difference between faith and superstition, by another circumstance which occurred during the prevalence of the pestilence. The Hurons, after repeated recourse to their medicine-men, whose vile practices they now saw to be barren of results, resolved to have recourse to the fathers, whom they invited to attend a council. "What must we do that your God may take pity on us?" they asked of the Christian priests. Father Brébeuf immediately answered: "Believe in him; keep his commandments; abjure your faith in dreams; take but one wife, and be true to her; give up your superstitious feasts; renounce your assemblies of debauchery; eat no human flesh; never give feasts to demons; and make a vow that, if God will deliver you from this pest, you will build a chapel to offer him thanksgiving and praise."

In the midst of their sufferings and the persecutions they sustained, these heroic missionaries ceased not a single moment their labors of mercy and salvation. Themselves outcast and friendless, they visited and nursed the sick; repulsed, they pressed forward to the bedside of the dying; reviled for their religion, they still announced its saving truths; threatened with death, they bestowed the bread of life eternal upon others, even while the deadly tomahawk glistened over their heads. Such was the life the early Catholic missionaries led upon our borders; such, too, were the labors and sacrifices which preluded others, equally sublime and heroic, within the territory of our own republic.

Among the converts of Father Brébeuf at Ossossané was Joseph Chiwattenwha, a nephew on the maternal side to the head chief of the Hurons. From the time that he listened to Father Brébeuf's sermon at the "feast of the dead," he had been an earnest and regular catechumen. He rejected the prevailing superstitions of his race, and was remarkable for the purity of his morals, his freedom from the common Indian vice of gambling, and for his rare conjugal fidelity. Notwithstanding his virtues, and his repeated requests to be baptized, Father Brébeuf delayed the sacrament, to make sure of his thorough conversion, and, finally, only conferred it upon him in a moment of danger. The chief recovered from his illness, and, calling all his friends together at a grand banquet, he addressed them zealously in favor of the faith he had embraced. His faith and zeal were rewarded by the manifest protection of Heaven over himself and his family during the prevalence of the fever.

TO BE CONTINUED.

FOOTNOTE:

[130] Authorities: _The Jesuit Relations; History of the Catholic Missions_, by John G. Shea; _The Pioneers of France in the New World_, and _The Jesuits in North America_, by Francis Parkman; Bancroft's _History of the United States_, etc., etc.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.

OUR LADY OF LOURDES.

BY HENRI LASSERRE.

BOOK EIGHTH.

I.

The appointment by the Bishop of a commission of examination, and the analysis of M. Filhol, deprived Baron Massy, M. Rouland, and M. Jacomet of all pretext for continuing violent measures, or for maintaining about the grotto strict prohibitions, barriers, and guards.

In justification of the restrictions previously made, it had been said: "Considering that it is very desirable, _in the interest of religion_, to put an end to the _deplorable_ scenes now presented at the grotto of Massabielle." Now the Bishop, by declaring the matter to be of sufficient importance for his intervention, and by taking in hand the examination of those things which affected the interests of religion, had deprived the civil power of this motive which it had made so prominent.

In justification of the prohibition to go and drink at the spring which had gushed out under the hand of Bernadette, it had been urged "that the care of the local public health devolves upon the mayor," and that this water "is suspected on good grounds to contain mineral ingredients, making it prudent, before permitting its use, to wait for a scientific analysis to determine the applications which may be made of it in medicine." Now, M. Filhol, by his decision that the water had no mineral properties, and that it could be drunk without inconvenience, had annihilated in the name of science and of medicine this plea of "the public health."

If, then, these considerations had been real reasons for the civil power, and not merely specious pretexts; if it had really been acting in the "interests of religion and the public health," instead of being under the sway of evil passions and intolerance; or if, in a word, it had been sincere instead of being hypocritical, it would now have had nothing to do but to remove its prohibitions and barriers; it would have only had to leave the people perfectly free to drink of this fountain, the perfect harmlessness of which had been attested by science, and to recognize their right to kneel at the foot of these mysterious rocks, where for the future the church was to be on the watch.

II.

But this was not the case. There was a great obstacle to this course, so clearly indicated by logic and conscience; namely, pride. Pride was the ruling spirit from one end of the scale to the other, from Jacomet up to Rouland, including Baron Massy and the philosophical coterie. It seemed hard to them to retreat and lay down their arms. Pride never surrenders. It prefers rather to take an illogical position than to bow to the authority of reason. Furious, beside itself, and absurd, it revolts against evidence. Like Satan, it says, "_Non serviam_." It resists, it refuses to bend, it stiffens its neck, till suddenly it is broken by some contemptuous and superior power.

III.

There remained for the official and officious foes of superstition one last weapon to use, one final struggle to make. Though the battle seemed to be certainly lost in the Pyrenees, perhaps the lost position might be regained in Paris, and the favor of public opinion secured throughout France and Europe, before the cosmopolitan assemblage of tourists and bathers, returning home, should pass their severe judgments on the other side. This was tried. A formidable attack was made by the irreligious press of Paris, the provinces, and other countries, upon the events at Lourdes and the Bishop's ordinance.

While the generals of the infidel army engaged in a decisive combat upon this vast scale, the duty of the Prefect of Hautes-Pyrenees, like that of Kellerman at Valmy, was to hold at all costs his line of operation, not to recede a single foot from it, and not to capitulate on any terms. The intrepidity of Baron Massy was well known, and it was understood that neither arguments nor the most surprising miracles would prevail over his invincible firmness. He would stand by his sinking ship to the last. The absurd had in him an excellent champion.

The _Journal des Débats_, _Siècle_, _Presse_, _Indépendance Belge_, and various foreign journals, also came manfully to the rescue. The smallest newspapers of the smallest countries considered it an honor to serve in this campaign against the supernatural. We find, in fact, among the combatants, a microscopic sheet called the _Courant_, published at Amsterdam.

Some, like the _Presse_, by the pen of M. Guéroult, or the _Siècle_, by those of MM. Bénard and Jourdan, attacked the very idea of miracles, declaring that they had had their day, that the discussion of them was no longer admissible, and to examine into a question which had already been decided by the light of philosophy was beneath the dignity of free examen. "Miracles," said M. Guéroult, "belong to a state of civilization which is almost gone by. Though God does not change, the conception which men form of him changes from age to age, according to the prevailing standard of morality and intelligence. Ignorant nations who do not understand the harmony of the laws by which the universe is governed imagine that they see continual exceptions to these laws. They think that God appears and speaks to them, or sends them a message by his angels, almost daily. But as society becomes more intelligent and better informed, and as the sciences based on observation come in to counteract the vagaries of the imagination, all this mythology disappears. Man does not on that account become less religious, but more so, though in a different manner. He does not any longer see gods and goddesses, angels and demons, face to face; but he seeks to discover the divine will as manifested in the laws of the world. Miracles, which at certain periods have been necessary to faith and served to convey the most important truths, have become in our day the bugbear of all serious conviction." M. Guéroult declared that, if he should be told that the most remarkable miracle was occurring close by his house on the Place de la Concorde, he would not take a step out of his way to see it. "If such occurrences," added he, "can occupy a place for a time among the superstitious trumpery of the ignorant masses, they only excite a smile of contempt among enlightened men, among those whose opinion is sure to be ultimately adopted by all the world."[131]

Other papers valiantly set to work to distort the facts. Though also attacking miracles in principle, the _Siècle_, in spite of the enormous yield of twenty thousand and odd litres a day, still remained, in its capacity of an enlightened and advanced journal, at the old thesis of hallucination and infiltration. "It seems difficult to us," said M. Bénard, very gravely, "to see a miracle in the hallucination of a little girl of fourteen, or in the oozing out of some water in a cave."

As for the miraculous cures, they were easily disposed of as follows: "Hydropathic physicians also claim to effect the most extraordinary cures by means of pure water, but they have not as yet proclaimed upon the house-tops that these cures are miracles."[132]

But the most curious example of the good faith of the free-thinkers, or of their sagacity in examining this matter, is to be found in the Dutch newspaper which we have mentioned above, and whose weighty narrative was reproduced by the French journals. Let us see how this friend of enlightenment enlightened the world by his account of the matter:

"A new manifestation, designed to excite and promote the fervor of the faithful in the worship of the Blessed Virgin, was imminent. The deliberations of the bishops on this point had resulted in the preparation of the famous miracle of Lourdes. It is well known that the Bishop of Tarbes appointed a commission of inquiry. The so-called conclusions of the report of the commission, which is composed of ecclesiastics and persons in the pay of the clergy, were prepared long before their first session. _The pretended shepherdess Bernadette is not an innocent peasant, but a highly cultivated city girl of a very wily character, who has passed several months in a convent, where she was taught the part she was to play. There, before a small audience, rehearsals were made long before the public performance._ As will be observed, nothing was wanting for the completeness of this comedy, not even the usual rehearsals. If at any time there is a scarcity of actors at Paris, the places can be admirably filled from the ranks of the superior clergy. However, the liberal press has made the matter thoroughly ridiculous, and it is not improbable that the clergy, in their own interest, will see the necessity of being prudent."[133] The information of the journals seems hardly to have been so accurate as that which secured the simple faith of His Excellency M. Rouland. The public, it is evident, were treated with no more respect than the minister. This is too often the way in which the opinion of those whom M. Guéroult called in his article "enlightened men," alluding, no doubt, to the torrent of light thrown upon them by the press, is formed.

Another point of attack besides the actual events and the possibility of miracles was the ordinance of the Bishop of Tarbes. Philosophy, in virtue of the infallibility of its dogmas, protested against examination, scientific study, and experiment. "When some crazy person sends a paper on perpetual motion or the squaring of the circle to the Academy of Science, the Academy passes to the order of the day without wasting time in criticising such lucubrations. And there is no more need of examination in the case of a supposed miracle. Philosophy, in the name of reason, passes to the order of the day. To examine the claims of the supernatural facts would be to admit their possibility and to deny its own principles. In such matters, proofs and testimony count for nothing. We do not discuss the impossible, but dismiss it with a shrug." Such was the central idea of the thousand varied forms assumed by the fiery and excited polemics of the irreligious press. Vainly did it persist in denial and perversion; it was afraid to examine. False theories prefer to remain in the fluctuation and fog of pure speculation. By some natural instinct of self-preservation, they fear broad daylight, and do not dare to descend with a steady foot upon the firm ground of the experimental method. They perceive that only defeat awaits them there.

In this desperate struggle against the evidence of facts and the rights of reason, the liberal mask of the _Journal des Débats_ unfortunately fell off, and showed the depth of furious intolerance concealed under its philosophical exterior. The _Journal des Débats_, by the pen of M. Prévost-Paradol, was terrified in advance at the great weight which the report of the commission and the decision of the Bishop were sure to have, and accordingly appealed to the secular arm, beseeching Cæsar to put a stop to the whole thing. "It is evident," said he, "that a striking manifestation of divine power in favor of a religion makes strongly for its individual truth, for its superiority over others, and its incontestable right to govern souls. It is then an event of a nature to produce numerous conversions, both of dissenters and of infidels; in other words, it is an instrument of proselytism." He showed also the political importance of the result of the examination. "If this decision is favorable to the miracle, it will have a tendency to dissolve in that part of France the equilibrium now existing between the religious and civil powers. The ministers of a religion in favor of which such prodigies are authentically asserted are quite different sort of people from those which the Concordat provides for. They have a very different sort of authority over the people, and in case of any collision they exert a very different kind of influence from that of the council of state and the prefect."

"We have sufficiently shown," said the writer in the _Débats_, "the importance which the decision of the episcopal commission at Tarbes must have in various points of view. Now, there is a truth here which should be remembered, and of which M. de Morny has just very properly reminded the council-general at Puy-de-Dôme; that is, that nothing of importance can legally be done in France without previous authority from the administration. If, as M. de Morny very justly remarks, one cannot move a rock or dig a well without the consent of the administration, still less can one without its consent authorize a miracle or establish a pilgrimage. Any one who is concerned with religious matters, and especially with the opening of churches or schools of dissenting bodies, knows that the administration has not merely one enactment, but twenty or thirty, which makes it all-powerful in such cases. The meeting of the commission of the diocese of Tarbes can be prevented or its session can be dissolved in a hundred different ways by the Concordat, by the penal code, by the law of 1824, by the decree of February, 1852, by the central authority, by the municipal authority, by all conceivable authorities. The decision of this commission can also be annulled by the legal opposition of the administrative authority to the erection of a chapel or to the distribution of the miraculous water. The same authority can prohibit and break up all meetings of the people, and prosecute the originators of such meetings, etc." Having arrived at this point, having notified Cæsar and cried "caveant consules," the able writer resumed, for form's sake, his garb of liberalism. "What is our object," said he hypocritically, "in establishing this preventive right of the administration? Is it to urge them to use it? God forbid." And thus he crept, by a sort of secret passage, into the ranks of the friends of liberty.

The provincial journals echoed the sentiments of those of Paris. The battle became universal. The sergeants, corporals, and privates of the literary army pressed forward on the steps of the marshals of free thought. The _Ere Impériale_ of Tarbes charged its blunderbuss with arguments from Paris, and fired them off at the supernatural every other day. The little _Lavedan_, also, had picked up a few grains of powder, rather dampened, it must be owned, by the water of the grotto, and did its best, aided, according to report, by Jacomet, to make its weekly penny-pistol effective.

The _Univers_, the _Union_, and the greater part of the Catholic papers bravely met their universal attack. Powerful talents lent themselves to the service of the yet more powerful truth. The Christian press re-established the facts and demolished the miserable quibbles of philosophic fanaticism.

"Meeting with some unexplained facts to which the faith or the credulity of the multitude attributes a supernatural character, the civil authority," said M. Louis Veuillot, "has decided without information, but also without success, in the negative. The spiritual authority comes in in its turn; it is its right and its duty to do so. But before making its judgment, it obtains information. It institutes a commission, an inquiry to examine the alleged facts, to study them, and determine their nature. If they have actually occurred, and are really supernatural, the commission will say so. If they have not occurred, or if they can be explained on natural principles, the commission will also acknowledge that such is the case. What more can our adversaries desire? Do they wish the Bishop to abstain from this examination, with a double danger before him, either of failing to recognize a signal favor which Almighty God would grant to his people, or of allowing a superstition to take root among them?

"The Bishop must necessarily have observed the strangeness of this conviction which had become so firm in the popular mind, upon the word of a poor and ignorant little girl; he must have asked also how these cures could be accounted for, obtained as they had been by means of a few drops of pure water, swallowed or externally applied.... And if there have been in fact no cures, it must be ascertained why the contrary has been believed. But, supposing that the water has no mineral ingredient, as is said by the chemists, and that, nevertheless, the cures are certain, as many sick people and several physicians attest, we do not see any difficulty in recognizing in the case something supernatural and miraculous, with all due respect to the explanations of the _Siècle_."

The vigorous champion contended with all his enemies at once. A touch of his pen sufficed to demolish the ridiculous idea of denying the possibility of miracles, and of refusing even an examination to these startling facts which a multitude had seen with their own eyes and attested on their knees. "If any one should tell M. Guéroult that a great miracle had been worked in the name of Christ upon the Place de la Concorde, he would not go, it seems, to see it. This is prudent in him certainly, for he is determined to remain incredulous; and in presence of such a spectacle he would not be so certain of finding a natural explanation which would dispense him from going to confession. But he would be still more prudent if he would witness the miracle and believe, yielding to the testimony which God in his mercy would thus give him. The people, however, will not care for his absence, and will not be at all disconcerted to hear that the thing is not at all extraordinary, and that they are the victims of delusion. Things would take the same course at Paris as at Lourdes; a miracle would be proclaimed, and, if there really had been one, it would have its effect; that is, many men who had not as yet '_sought to discover the divine will_,' or who have not yet been successful in their search, would know and fulfil it; they would love God with their whole heart, soul, and mind, and their neighbors as themselves. Such is the object which God intends in working miracles; and it is so much the worse for those who refuse to profit by them.

"Those who reject the supernatural, said an ancient writer, destroy philosophy. They destroy it indeed, and especially since the advent of Christianity, because, wishing to take God out of the world, they have no longer any explanation for the world or for humanity. As to this God whom they exclude, some deny his existence, that they may get entirely rid of him; others make of him an inert and indifferent being, having nothing to require and requiring nothing from men, whom he abandons to chance, having created them in a freak of his disdainful power. Some, denying him in their very affirmation, as if they wished to satiate their ingratitude by doing him a double injury, pretend to find him in all things, which theory dispenses them from recognizing and adoring him anywhere in particular. Meanwhile, around them and even in themselves, humanity confesses its God. They reply by sophisms which are far from contenting them, by sarcasms the weakness of which they can hardly conceal from themselves, and at last their science and reason, driven back to the absurd, deprive them of their eyes and ears. They destroy all philosophy.... God, taking compassion on the faith of the weak which these false teachers would pervert, shows himself by one of those unusual displays of his power, which is nevertheless _one of the laws of the world_. They deny it. Look! we do not wish to see!... David said of the sinner, 'He has promised himself in his heart to sin; he refuses to understand, that he may not be forced to do well.'

"Ah! no doubt," elsewhere exclaimed the indignant logician, "there is an unfortunate multitude on whom all these commonplaces can be palmed off without difficulty; but there are also at Lourdes and elsewhere some readers whose common-sense is aroused, and who ask what will become of history, evident facts, and reason in such a system, with such a determination to deny everything without examination?

"As to preventing the episcopal commission from acting, we doubt if there are any laws conferring such a power upon the government; if there are, it will probably wisely abstain from using its power. On one hand, nothing could be more favorable to superstition than to do so; the popular credulity would then go astray without restraint, for there is no law which can oblige the Bishop to pronounce upon a fact about which he has not been able, and has even been forbidden, to inform himself.... There is only one course for the enemies of superstition, that is, to appoint a commission themselves, to make a counter-examination, and publish its result, in case, of course, that the one appointed by the Bishop concludes in favor of the miracle. For if it concludes that the reports are false, or that there is some illusion, this will not be needed."

The Catholic press, with a reserve truly admirable in the midst of the excitement of the dispute, refused to decide as to the actual merits of the case. It did not wish to anticipate the verdict of the episcopal commission; but confined itself to refuting calumnies, absurd stories, and sophisms, to defending the historical thesis of the occurrence of supernatural events, and to claiming in the name of reason the right of examination and freedom to ascertain the truth. "The event at Lourdes," said the _Univers_, "is not as yet verified, nor is its nature determined. It may have been a miracle, it may have been an illusion. The decision of the Bishop will settle the question.

"For our own part, we believe that we have answered all that has been seriously or even speciously said about the events at Lourdes. We shall leave the matter here. It was not right that the press should be allowed to heap around these facts all the lies it could think of; but it would not be becoming to give an answer to the abundance of its scoffing words. Wise men will appreciate the wisdom and good faith of the church, and as usual, after all the turmoil, truth will secure for itself in the world its little nucleus of adherents, 'pusillus grex,' which nevertheless is sufficient to maintain its ascendency in the world."[134]

It is obvious that, in the great polemical question regarding miracles which was being discussed on the occasion of the events at Lourdes, the two sides were acting on diametrically opposite plans.

On the one hand, the Catholics appealed to an impartial examination; on the other, the pseudo-philosophers feared the light. The former said, "Let us have an examination;" the latter cried, "Let us hear no more of this matter." The former had for their watchword liberty of conscience; the latter implored Cæsar to put a violent stop to this religious movement, and to stifle it, not by the power of arguments, but by brute force.

Every impartial mind, placed by its views or circumstances outside of the _mêlée_, could not help seeing with the greatest clearness that justice, truth, and reason were on the Catholic side. All that was necessary for this was, not to be blinded by the fury of the contest or by an immovable prejudice.

Although in the person of a commissary, a prefect, and a minister the administration had unfortunately taken a very decided part in this important affair, there still was a man of authority who had not had anything to do with it, and who was in the conditions of perfect impartiality, whatever his religious, philosophical, and political views might be. Whether there had been a manifestation of the supernatural or not at Lourdes made no difference in his calculations. Neither his ambition, self-love, doctrines, nor antecedents were concerned in this question. What mind is there which in such circumstances cannot be fair, and give justice and truth their rights? People do not violate justice or outrage truth except when they think it advantageous to do so, under some strong prompting of avarice, ambition, or pride.

The man of whom we speak was called Napoleon III., and was, as it happened, Emperor of the French.

Impassible as usual, silent as the granite sphinxes which watch at the gates of Thebes, he followed the discussion, observing the turns of the battle, and waiting for the public conscience to dictate, as it were, his decision.

IV.

While God was thus leaving his work to the disputes of men, he did not cease to grant visible graces to the humble and believing souls which came to the miraculous spring to implore the aid of the sovereign power of the Virgin Mother.

A child of the town of St. Justin, in the department of Gers, named Jean-Marie Tambourné, had been for some months entirely disabled in his right leg. The pains in it had been so severe that the limb had been twisted; and the foot, turned entirely outward in these crises of suffering, had come to form a right angle with the other one. His general health had rapidly deteriorated under this state of continual suffering, which robbed the poor boy of his sleep as well as of his appetite. He was in fact sinking into the grave. His parents, who were tolerably well off, had tried for his cure all the treatments which had been suggested by the physicians of the neighborhood, but without success.

They had also had recourse to the waters of Blousson and to medicated baths. The result had been almost complete failure. Any very slight and temporary alleviations which were obtained always resulted in a disastrous relapse.

The parents had at last lost all confidence in the remedies of science. Tired of medical treatment, they turned their hopes toward the Mother of God, who, it was said, had appeared at the Massabielle rocks. On the 23d of September, 1858, the little boy was taken by his mother to Lourdes, in the public coach. It was a long distance, more than thirty miles. Having reached the town, the mother hastened to the grotto, carrying her unfortunate child in her arms. She bathed him in the miraculous water, praying with fervor to her who has been pleased to be called in the Litany "Health of the Sick." The child meanwhile had fallen into a sort of ecstatic state. His eyes were wide open, his lips apart. He seemed to be gazing at some strange object.

"What is the matter?" said his mother.

"I see the good God and the Blessed Virgin," answered he.

The poor woman, at these words, felt a great commotion at her heart, and the sweat stood out upon her face.

The child came to himself.

"Mother," said he, "my trouble is gone. My feet do not ache now. I can walk, I know I can; I am as strong as ever I was."

Jean-Marie was right; he was indeed cured. He went to the village of Lourdes on foot, ate and slept there. At the same time that his pain and weakness ceased, his appetite and sleep returned. The next day his mother bathed him once more at the grotto, and had a mass of thanksgiving celebrated in the church at Lourdes. Then they set out for home; not in the coach this time, but on foot.

When, after spending one night on the road, they reached St. Justin, the child saw his father, who was on the watch, expecting no doubt that some carriage would bring back the pilgrims. Jean-Marie recognized him far off, and ran to him.

The father almost fainted. But his darling was already in his arms. "Papa," cried he, "the Blessed Virgin has cured me."

The news of this event spread quickly enough in the town, where everybody knew the child. They flocked from all sides to see him.[135]

The sister of a notary of Tarbes, Jeanne-Marie Massot-Bordenave, had become, after a long and serious illness, almost entirely crippled in her feet and hands. She walked only with extreme difficulty. Her hands, habitually swollen, discolored, and aching, were almost entirely useless. Her fingers, bent back and stiff, could not be straightened, and were completely paralyzed. Having gone to see her brother at Tarbes, she was returning home to Arras, in the canton of Aucun. She was alone in the inside of the diligence. A flask of wine which her brother had given her having become uncorked and overturned, she could not set it up or cork it, so entirely powerless had her fingers become.

Lourdes was upon the road. She stopped there and went to the grotto. Hardly had she plunged her hands into the miraculous water, when she perceived that they were instantly coming back to life. Her fingers had straightened, and suddenly recovered their flexibility and strength. Successful perhaps beyond her expectations, she plunged her feet in the miraculous water, and they were healed like her hands. She fell upon her knees. What did she say to the Blessed Virgin? How did she thank her? Such prayers, such bursts of gratitude may be imagined, but not expressed in words.

She then put on her shoes, and with a confident step returned to the town.

A young girl was walking in the same direction, coming back from the woods with an enormous bundle of fagots on her head. It was warm, and the poor little peasant was bathed in perspiration. Exhausted, she sat down upon a stone at the side of the road, laying her too heavy burden at her feet. At this moment Jeanne-Marie Massot passed before her, returning quickly and joyfully from the fountain of grace. A good thought occurred to her. She went up to the child.

"My child," said she to her, "our Lord has just granted me a great favor. He has cured me; he has taken away my burden. And in my turn, I would like to aid and relieve you."

So saying, Marie Massot took up with her hands restored to life the heavy fagots which lay on the ground, put them on her head, and thus returned to Lourdes, whence, less than an hour before, she had gone out weak and paralyzed. The first-fruits of her recovered strength had been nobly used; they had been consecrated to charity. "Freely have you received, freely give," said our Redeemer to his disciples.[136]

A woman already advanced in age, Marie Capdevielle, of the village of Livron, in the neighborhood of Lourdes, had also been cured of a severe deafness which had troubled her for a long time. "I seem," said she, "to be in another world when I hear the church-bells, which I have not heard before for three years."

These cures, and many others, continue to attest irrefutably the direct intervention of God. He showed his power in restoring health to the sick, and it was evident that, if he had permitted persecution, it was because it was necessary to the conduct of his designs. It rested with him to put a stop to it, and for that purpose to bend and use as it should please him the wills of the great ones of the earth.

V.

Polemics on the subject of the grotto had become exhausted. In France and abroad, public opinion had passed judgment, not indeed on the reality of the supernatural events, but on the violent oppression to which all liberty of belief and right of examination were being subjected to in a corner of the empire. The miserable sophisms of anti-christian fanaticism and of pseudo-philosophic intolerance had not held their ground before the cogent logic of the Catholic journals. The _Débats_, the _Siècle_, the _Presse_, and the common herd of irreligious sheets kept silence, probably sorry that they had undertaken this unfortunate contest, and made so much noise about these extraordinary facts. They had only succeeded in propagating and spreading everywhere the renown of a host of miracles. From Italy, Germany, and even more distant lands, people were writing to Lourdes for some of the sacred water.

At the Bureau of Public Worship, M. Rouland persisted in putting himself in the way of the most holy of liberties, and in endeavoring to stop the march of events.

At the grotto, Jacomet and the guards continued to keep watch day and night, and to bring the faithful up before the courts. Judge Duprat kept on sentencing them.

Between such a minister to back him, and such agents to carry out his will, Baron Massy remained bravely in his desperately illogical situation, and consoled himself with the omnipotence of his arbitrary will. Continually more and more exasperated by seeing the vain pretexts of religion and public order with which he had at first wished to conceal his intolerance slipping through his fingers, he gave himself up gladly to the bitter satisfaction of practising pure tyranny. He remained deaf to the universal protest. To all reasoning, to undeniable evidence, he opposed his own will: "Such is my determination." It was sweet to him to be stronger single-handed than all the multitudes, stronger than the Bishop, stronger than common sense, than miracles, than the God who was manifested at the grotto.

It was at this juncture that two eminent personages, Mgr. de Salinis, Archbishop of Auch, and M. de Rességuier, formerly of the deputies, called on the Emperor, who was at the time at Biarritz. Napoleon III. was receiving at the same time from various quarters petitions demanding urgently, in virtue of the most sacred rights, the annulment of the arbitrary and violent measures of Baron Massy. "Sire," said one of these petitions, "we do not pretend to settle the question as to the apparitions of the Blessed Virgin, though almost all the people here, on account of the startling miracles which they claim to have personally witnessed, believe in the reality of these supernatural manifestations. But it is certain and indisputable that the fountain which appeared suddenly, and from which we are excluded, in spite of the scientific analysis which asserts its perfect harmlessness, has been hurtful to no one; on the other hand, it is undeniable that a great number of persons declare that they have there recovered their health. In the name of the rights of conscience, which should be independent of all human power, permit the faithful to go and pray there if they choose. In the name of humanity, allow the sick to go there for their cure, if they entertain such a hope. In the name of free thought, suffer the minds which need information for their study and examination to go there to unmask error or to discover truth."

The Emperor, as we have said above, was disinterested in the question, or rather it was for his interest not to waste his power in fruitlessly opposing the course of events. It was for his interest to listen to the cry of souls asking for the liberty of their faith, the cry of minds demanding freedom to study and see for themselves. It was for his interest to be just, and not to crush, by an arbitrary act and an evident denial of justice, those who believed the evidence of their senses, as well as those who, though not yet believing, still claimed the right to examine publicly the mysterious occurrences which were occupying the attention of France.

It has been seen what wild romances the honest Minister Rouland had gravely accepted as incontestable truths. The information which his benevolent excellency must have given the Emperor could hardly have given the latter much light upon the subject. The newspaper discussions, although they had triumphantly brought to light the right of one party and the unjust intolerance of the other, could not have given him a perfectly clear idea of the situation. At Biarritz only did it appear to him in its fulness and complete details.

Napoleon III. was not a very demonstrative sovereign; his thoughts were seldom plainly indicated by his words; rather by actions. As he learned the absurd and violent proceedings by which the minister, the prefect, and their agents had been bringing authority into disgrace, his dull eye brightened, it is said, with a flash of anger; he shrugged his shoulders nervously, and a cloud of deep displeasure passed over his brow. He rang the bell impatiently.

"Take this to the telegraph office," said he.

It was a brief dispatch to the Prefect of Tarbes, ordering him, in the name of the Emperor, to rescind instantly the decree closing the grotto at Lourdes, and to leave the people free.

VI.

We are familiar with the discoveries of science with regard to the wonderful electric spark, which the network of wires covering the globe carries from one end of the earth to the other in an instant. The telegraph, as the _savants_ tell us, is the same thing as the thunderbolt. On this occasion, Baron Massy was entirely of their opinion. The imperial despatch, falling suddenly upon them, stunned and bewildered him, as a sudden stroke of lightning would have done coming down upon his house. He could not believe in its reality. The more he thought of it, the more impossible it seemed for him to retrace his steps, to reverse his judgment, or to bear his retreat publicly. Nevertheless, he had to swallow this bitter draught, or hand in his resignation and put far away from his lips the sweet prefectoral cup. Fatal alternative! The heart of a public functionary is sometimes torn by fearful anguish.

When a sudden catastrophe comes upon us, we have at first some difficulty in accepting it as definitive, and we continue to struggle after all is lost. Baron Massy did not escape this illusion. He hoped vaguely that the Emperor would revoke his decision. In this hope, he undertook to keep the dispatch secret for some days, and not to obey. He wrote to the Emperor, and also secured the intervention of Minister Rouland, who was less publicly but as completely affected as himself by the unexpected order from Biarritz.

Napoleon III. was as insensible to the protests of the minister as to the representations and entreaties of the prefect. The judgment which he had made had been based upon evidence, and was irrevocable. All these steps had no other result than to show him that the prefect had dared to set aside his orders and to postpone their execution. A second despatch left Biarritz. It was couched in terms which permitted no comment or delay.

Baron Massy had to choose between his pride and his prefecture. He made the grievous choice, and was humble enough to remain in his office.

The head of the department resigned himself to obedience. Nevertheless, in spite of the imperative orders of his master, he still tried, not to resist, which was evidently impossible, but to hide his retreat and not surrender publicly.

In consequence of some official indiscretions, and perhaps also by the account of the gentlemen who had waited on the Emperor, the purport of the orders from Biarritz was already vaguely known by the public. It was the topic of general conversation. The prefect neither confirmed nor denied the prevailing rumors. He instructed Jacomet and his agents to draw up no more _procès-verbaux_, and to discontinue the watch. Such a course, coming in connection with the current reports as to the instructions of the Emperor, ought to have sufficed (at least such was his hope) to put things in their normal state, and make the prohibitory decree a dead letter. It was even probable that the people, restored to liberty, would hasten themselves to root up and throw into the Gave the posts bearing the caution against entering upon the common land and within the barriers which enclosed the grotto.

M. Massy was, however, mistaken in his calculations, plausible as they may have been. In spite of the absence of the police, in spite of the reports which were circulating without official contradiction, the people feared some snare. They continued to pray on the wrong side of the Gave. The trespasses were as before, generally speaking, few and far between. No one touched the posts or the barriers. The _status quo_, instead of disappearing of its own accord, as the prefect had hoped, obstinately remained.

Considering the character of Napoleon III., and the clearness of the orders from Biarritz, the situation was dangerous for the prefect, and Baron Massy was too intelligent not to perceive it. Every moment it was to be feared that the Emperor would hear of the way in which he was trying to beat around the bush. He may well have dreaded continually that some terrible message would arrive setting him aside for ever, and turning him out in the cold, out from the luminous realms of functionarism into the exterior darkness in which the miserable unofficial world is involved.

The end of September had come.

It happened that, during these perplexities, M. Fould had occasion to make another visit to Tarbes, and even to go to Lourdes. Did he increase the alarm of the prefect by speaking of the sovereign, or did the Baron receive some new telegram more crushing than the others? We do not know. But it is certain that, on the 3d of October, M. Massy, as if struck down by some unseen hand, became pliable as a broken reed, and that his arrogant stiffness was suddenly changed to a complete prostration.

The next day he issued, in the name of the Emperor, an order to the mayor of Lourdes to repeal the decree publicly, and to have Jacomet remove the posts and barriers.

VII.

M. Lacadé did not hesitate like M. Massy. This issue freed him at once from the heavy burden which the mingled desire of pleasing both the prefect and the people, both the heavenly and earthly powers, had imposed upon him. By an illusion very common with undecided people, he imagined that he had always been on the side which now prevailed, and in this spirit he drew up a proclamation to the following effect: "Citizens of Lourdes, the day which we have so earnestly desired has at last come; we have earned it by our wisdom, perseverance, faith, and courage." Such was the sense and style of his proclamation, the text of which is unfortunately not extant.[137]

The proclamation was read through the town, with an accompaniment of drums and trumpets. At the same time the following notice was posted on the walls:

The Mayor of Lourdes, Acting upon instructions addressed to him,

ORDERS AS FOLLOWS:

The order issued on the 8th of June, 1858, is revoked.

Done at Lourdes, at the Mayor's Office, Oct. 5, 1858.

The Mayor, A. LACADÉ.

At the same time, Jacomet and the sergents-de-ville repaired to the grotto to take away the barriers and posts.

A crowd had already collected there, and was increasing every moment. Some were praying on their knees, and, endeavoring not to be distracted by the hubbub around, were thanking God for having put a stop to the scandal and the persecutions. Others were standing up talking in a low voice, and awaiting with emotion what was about to take place. Many of the women were saying their beads. Some held bottles in their hands, which they wished to fill at the source of the fountain. Some were throwing flowers over the barriers into the interior of the grotto. But no one touched the barriers. It was necessary that those who had publicly placed them there in opposition to the power of God should come and remove them publicly in submission to the will of a man.

Jacomet arrived. Although, in spite of himself, he showed some embarrassment, and though from the paleness of his face his profound humiliation might have been suspected, still he had not, contrary to the general expectation, the dejected appearance of one who had been conquered. Escorted by his subordinates with their hatchets and pickaxes, he came forward with a bold face. With a seemingly strange affectation, he wore his full-dress costume. His large tricolor scarf was wrapped around him and rested upon his parade sword. A vague tumult, a dull murmur, with some distinct cries here and there, was heard from the crowd. The commissary took up his position upon a rock, and signed to the people that he wished to speak. Every one listened. His words are said to have been to this effect: "My friends, these barriers which the municipality, to my great regret, has ordered to put up, are about to be removed. Who has suffered more than I from this obstacle raised against your piety? I also am a Christian, my friends; I share your faith. But the official, like the soldier, has only one duty; it is the duty, often a very painful one, of obedience. The responsibility does not rest upon him. Well, my friends, when I saw your admirable patience, your respect for authority, your persevering faith, I informed the higher authorities. I pleaded your cause. I said, 'Why prevent them from praying at the grotto, from drinking at the fountain? They will do no harm.' And thus, my friends, the prohibition has been removed, and the prefect and I have resolved to take down these barriers for ever, which were so displeasing to you and much more so to me."

The crowd maintained a cold silence. Some of the young people chuckled and laughed. Jacomet was evidently troubled by his want of success. He gave orders to his men to take away the fence, which was done without delay. The boards were piled up near the grotto, and the police came at nightfall to take them away.

There was great rejoicing at Lourdes. All the afternoon crowds were going and coming on the road to the grotto. Before the Massabielle rocks immense numbers of the faithful were kneeling. Canticles and litanies were sung: "Virgo potens, ora pro nobis." The people drank of the fountain. Faith was free. God had triumphed.

FOOTNOTES:

[131] _Presse_, Aug. 31, 1858.

[132] _Siècle_, Aug. 30, 1858.

[133] _Amsterdaamsche Courant_, Sept. 9, 1858.

[134] The above extracts are from the _Univers_, on various dates in August and September, 1858.

[135] Twenty-eighth _procès-verbal_ of the episcopal commission.

The following is the report of one of the physicians appointed to examine this cure:

"The boy Tambourné, at five years of age, showed the symptoms of hip disease in the first stage; very sharp pains in the knee, duller at the hip, a turning out of the foot, lameness at first, afterwards inability to walk without great suffering. The digestive functions became impaired. He had a repugnance to food, and became very much reduced. The disease, going through its first period very rapidly, was threatening sooner or later to put an end to the child's life, when the idea was formed of taking him to the grotto of Lourdes, where his cure was effected instantly.

"The complaint of young Tambourné was of the same class as that of Busquet, but it was more severe, having affected one of the principal joints. Its indications were already most distressing to the eyes of the physician who is able to see what the future has in store.

"It is, no doubt, possible to cure hip-disease, by the means and processes employed by science. Natural sulphurous waters can remove it; but in no case is it possible for them to operate with the rapidity of lightning.

"Instantaneousness of action is so much beyond the healing power by means of which such waters operate, that it may be asserted that there is a fact in the supernatural order in all the cases of immediate cure in which a material lesion has been involved. It hardly needs to be stated that young Tambourné came to the grotto carried by his mother, and that a few moments afterwards he climbed a steep slope, walked and ran the rest of the day, without feeling the least pain, and with as much ease as before the coming on of the disease, etc."

[136] We give in this note the report of the physicians entrusted with the examination of this case by the episcopal commission. It is remarkable for its circumspection. It does not dare to pronounce in favor of a miracle; but such a reserve in so striking a case gives to the reports in which miraculous power is recognized an authority yet more incontestable and conclusive.

"Mlle. Massot-Bordenave, of Arras, aged fifty-three, was afflicted in the month of May, 1858, with a malady which deprived her feet and hands of part of their power and mobility. Her fingers were much bent.... Her bread had to be cut for her. She went on foot to the grotto, bathed her hands and feet, and went away cured.

"It cannot be denied that all the _prima facie_ indications in this case are in favor of the intervention of some supernatural cause; but examining it with attention, we shall see that this view is opposed by several well-founded objections. Thus, the beginning of the trouble was hardly four months before; its character was not alarming, being a weakness of convalescence, a diminution of energy in the extensor and flexor muscles of the fingers and toes. Let the nervous power flow into these muscles, under the influence of a strong moral stimulus, and they would resume their functions immediately. Now, may we not admit in this case that the imagination may have become exalted by the religious sentiment, and by the hope of becoming the recipient of a favor from heaven?"

[137] A great part of the papers relating to the grotto of Lourdes were kept by the Lacadé family instead of being left in the archives of the mayoralty. We endeavored in vain to get at these precious documents. The Lacadé family say that they have been burned.

TO BE CONTINUED.

MR. FROUDE AND CALVINISM.

The Robert-Houdin of modern English writers, and author of that popular serial novel grimly entitled _The History of England_, appears to be only at home in an element of paradox, and in the clever accomplishment of some literary _tour de force_. _Calvinism:_ An Address delivered at St. Andrews, March 17, 1871, by James Anthony Froude, M.A.,[138] is his latest performance.

Always liberal in his assumption of premises, no one need be surprised that the author should claim Calvinism to have been "accepted for two centuries in all Protestant countries as the final account of the relations between man and his Maker," and should represent that "the Catholics whom it overthrew" assail it, etc. It will be news to most Protestants, Lutherans and Anglicans in particular, that Calvinism was thus accepted, and the 'overthrown Catholics' will be not less surprised. Throughout the address, Mr. Froude industriously insists upon the false idea that Luther was a Calvinist. The statement refutes itself in its terms. No argument is needed to show that Luther's free-will doctrine and Calvin's predestination were simply irreconcilable. It was not skilful in Mr. Froude to smother in its very birth his labored vindication of Calvinistic doctrine by such a presentation as this (p. 4):

"It has come to be regarded by liberal thinkers as a system of belief incredible in itself, dishonoring to its object, and as intolerable as it has been itself intolerant. To represent man as sent into the world under a curse, as incurably wicked--wicked by the constitution of his flesh, and wicked by eternal decree--as doomed, unless exempted by special grace which he cannot merit or by any effort of his own obtain, to live in sin while he remains on earth, and to be eternally miserable when he leaves it--to represent him as born unable to keep the commandments, yet as justly liable to everlasting punishment for breaking them, is alike repugnant to reason and to conscience, and turns existence into a hideous nightmare. To tell men that they cannot help themselves is to fling them into recklessness and despair. To what purpose the effort to be virtuous, when it is an effort which is foredoomed to fail--when those that are saved are saved by no effort of their own, and confess themselves the worst of sinners, even when rescued from the penalties of sin; and those that are lost are lost by an everlasting sentence decreed against them before they were born? How are we to call the Ruler who laid us under this iron code by the name of Wise, or Just, or Merciful, when we ascribe principles of action to him which in a human father we should call preposterous and monstrous?"

As types of Calvinism and almost perfect human beings, as men of grandeur and nobility of character, upright life, commanding intellect, untainted selfishness, unalterably just, frank, true, cheerful, humorous, and as unlike sour fanatics as it is possible to imagine any one, Mr. Froude names William the Silent, Luther, John Knox, Andrew Melville, the Regent Murray, Coligny, Cromwell, Milton, and John Bunyan. The Calvinism of all the members of this remarkably assorted group is at least open to serious question. As to their supereminent goodness and almost angelic purity, it would be an easy but not a pleasant task to point out the refutation in their fatal shortcomings. It may be that Cromwell had "the tenderness of a woman" in his heart, but no testimony to support that assertion could possibly be procured in Ireland. It may be that Knox was not a sour fanatic, that William was all unselfishness, that Coligny was blameless, and that Milton's wife was mistaken in her estimate of her husband.

As to the Regent Murray, who was told to his face by John Knox that his religion was "for his own commoditie," and whom Aytoun[139] has incarcerated in the immortal amber of his verse as "the falsest villain ever Scotland bred"--

"False to his faith, a wedded priest: Still falser to the Crown; False to the blood, that in his veins Made bastardy renown; False to his sister, whom he swore To guard and shield from harm; The head of many a felon plot, But never once the arm! A verier knave ne'er stepped the earth Since this wide world began; And yet--he bandies texts with Knox, And walks a pious man!"--

we are perfectly satisfied that Robespierre is an accomplished Christian gentleman beside him, for Robespierre at least never stole his sister's jewels nor took bribes from his country's enemies.

Then we are treated by the author to a promenade down the path of ages, amid the wrecks of empires and of systems, and to rhetorically embroidered sketches, with mention more or less extended of Olympus, Valhalla, Egyptian idolatry, Buddhism, in which "Zoroaster, like Moses, saw behind the physical forces into the deeper laws of right and wrong," Greek theology, the Stoics, "the Galilean fishermen and the tentmaker of Tarsus," and--Islamism. Of all these, the last most decidedly brings out Mr. Froude's warmest enthusiasm, and we find ourselves querying if it is Mohammed's fatalism he so much admires, for the monotheism of the prophet could hardly be called Calvinistic, thus making the burning of Servetus a gratuitous waste of cord-wood. Here we feel bound in justice to say that, although the men of Galilee and of Tarsus do not appear to excite any very strong admiration in our author, he nevertheless makes the handsome concession that he is not "upholding Mohammed as if he had been a perfect man, or the Koran as a second Bible," and that "the detailed conception of man's duties was inferior, far inferior, to what St. Martin and St. Patrick, St. Columba and St. Augustine, were teaching or had taught in Western Europe."

The early Christian church being essentially Catholic, it does not draw very heavily on either Mr. Froude's enthusiasm or his admiration, and, in speaking of "the mystery called transubstantiation" in the twelfth century, he makes an attempt to sum up Catholicity in a vein partaking of the brutality with which, in his _History of England_, he has the cool insolence to speak of the Catholic religion--the religion of Copernicus, Sir Thomas More, Fénelon, and Dr. Newman--as "a Paphian idolatry."

The Reformation is, of course, introduced with flourish of trumpets. But the Reformation was essentially Lutheran, and not Calvinistic. Luther himself, who was, so Mr. Froude assures us, "one of the grandest men that ever lived on earth," than whom "none more loyal to the light that was in him--braver, truer, or wider-minded, in the noblest sense of the word"--this Luther, we say, was as sincere a believer as Saint Augustine in the real presence--in transubstantiation, as Mr. Froude has it--a doctrine which, on all occasions and as far as in him lies, our English writer seeks to drag in the mud. And yet this Luther, so believing, was, Mr. Froude seeks to persuade us, a Calvinist.

Calvinism, in practice, was a lovely thing, and Mr. Froude proves that it was by--John Knox, whom he thus cites: "Elsewhere," says Knox, speaking of Geneva, "the word of God is taught as purely; but never anywhere have I seen God obeyed as faithfully."

Mr. Froude is, moreover, surprised that Calvinism should have been called intolerant,[140] and sums up its vindication thus: "Intolerance of an enemy who is trying to kill you seems to me a pardonable state of mind."

In the face of this citation, it is almost unnecessary to state that the name of Servetus does not once occur in the forty-seven pages of the _Address_, nor is the slightest allusion made to him. And if the curious reader, unacquainted with the practical working of Calvinism in Geneva, where God was "obeyed so faithfully," should inquire how it was that this perfect Christian man, Calvin, wrote his laws in blood and enforced them with the aid of executioners and torturers; how it was that he persecuted some men and, under color of law, assassinated others, he may be referred to these witnesses: _First_. Jerome Bolsec, exiled for proposing "an opinion false and contrary to the evangelical religion." _Second._ Peter Arneaux, who, for saying that Calvin was "a wicked man announcing false doctrine," was condemned to walk the streets of Geneva in his shirt, a lighted torch in his hand, bare-headed and bare-footed. _Third._ Henri de la Marc, exiled for saying that Peter Arneaux was a worthy man, and that, if Calvin had a spite against any one, he gratified it. _Fourth._ Jacques Gruet, who was beheaded and his head afterward nailed to a post, for the crime of being the author of placards accusing the Calvinists of persecution, and for proofs of impiety found in his private writings when his house was searched. _Finally._ Servetus, who, for being "a sower of heresies," was, by Calvin's authority, imprisoned, left there for two months to suffer by hunger and nakedness, and then brought out and, at the age of forty-four years, burned alive.

We cannot be certain that Mr. Froude has ever heard of any of these Protestants martyred for their opinions. If he has heard of them, we presume he means to vindicate Calvin, and to cover their cases by the crushing statement at page 43: "It is no easy matter to tolerate lies clearly convicted of being lies under any circumstances; specially it is not easy to tolerate lies which strut about in the name of religion."

The passage is characteristic of Mr. Froude's capacity for ambiguity and indirection, but he neglects to indicate the tribunal of truth at which these lies are "clearly convicted." It is a serious matter for a gentleman of no particular religious principle to say that this or the other theological conviction is a lie which struts about in the name of religion; for, in the eye of the theologically convicted, the most offensively disgusting of all struts is the strut of "no religion to speak of." Moreover, the author had better have left unpublished the last member of the sentence we have quoted, because, in his case, it irresistibly suggests this other phrase: "It is not easy to tolerate novels which strut about in the name of history."

Thus we know, as matter of record, that Norman Leslie proposed to Henry VIII. the assassination of Cardinal Beaton for a sum of money, that the negotiation, at first delayed, was finally closed and carried out. Leslie got his money, and the cardinal was murdered, because, as Mr. Froude touchingly relates it, Henry's position "obliged him to look at facts as they were rather than through conventional forms."

Mr. Froude presents the hired bravo of Henry VIII. thus: "Norman Leslie did not kill Cardinal Beaton down in the castle yonder because he was a Catholic, but because he was a murderer."

Mr. Froude does not appear by his writings to have an unvarying standard of morality. Apparently incapable of judging actions as they are, he measures them by his personal like or dislike of the actors. Always the advocate, never the philosophical historian, he presents but one side of a case. Certain personages in history are with him always right, certain others are always wrong. Even the crimes of the former are meritorious, or, at worse, indifferent, while the indifferent sayings and doings of the latter are sins of deepest die. We may see this tendency exemplified in the address before us which seeks to make Calvinism lovely.

The author says, in plain terms, that it was not more criminal in a Calvinist to burn a witch than for any other person to invite a spirit-rapper to dinner.

Of course he expresses the opinion euphuistically and in mellifluous phrase, but, nevertheless, he does express it. And that our readers may fully understand that we do not even unintentionally misrepresent him, we give his words. At page 43, we read:

"In burning witches, the Calvinists followed their model too exactly; but it is to be remembered that they really believed those poor creatures to have made a compact with Satan. And, as regards morality, it may be doubted whether inviting spirit-rappers to dinner, and allowing them to pretend to consult our dead relations, is very much more innocent. The first method is but excess of indignation with evil; the second is complacent toying with it."

It is worth while to notice how deftly Mr. Froude handles his positive and comparative.

For Calvinists to burn people alive is _innocent_, and intercourse with spirit-rappers is _not very much more innocent_.

With such juggling as this of facts and phrases, the author of Calvinism has written his _History of England_, the delight of circulating library subscribers because it is "as interesting as a novel."

And so it is, for the best of reasons.

FOOTNOTES:

[138] New York: Charles Scribner & Co.

[139] Author of _Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers_.

[140] Mr. Froude's memory is not always good. In his _History of England_, vol. ix., p. 307, he tells us: "The guidance of the great movement was snatched from the control of reason to be made over to Calvinism; and Calvinism, could it have had the world under its feet, would have been as merciless as the Inquisition itself. The Huguenots and the Puritans, the Bible in one hand, the sword in the other, were ready to make war with steel and fire against all which Europe for ten centuries had held sacred. Fury encountered fury, fanaticism fanaticism; _and wherever Calvin's spirit penetrated, the Christian world was divided into two armies, who abhorred each other with a bitterness exceeding the utmost malignity of mere human nature_."

LOVE FOR ANIMALS.

"He prayeth well who loveth well Both man, and bird and beast; He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all."

In reading the lives of the saints, I have been particularly struck with their love for, and their power over, the animal world. They seemed to live nearer the heart of nature than other mortals, and perceived there diviner harmonies. Perhaps this sympathetic relation sprang from the belief that, as the whole natural, world participated in the fall of man, so it has its part in the fruit of our Saviour's Passion. At least, they believed that animals, in common with man, received life from God and exist through him. "All creatures," says Denis the Carthusian, "partake of the divine, eternal, and uncreated beauty." The saints respected in animals that divine wisdom which Albertus Magnus tells us, in his book on animals, is to be recognized in their instinct. Dr. Newman says: "Men of narrow reasoning may smile at the supposition that the woods and wild animals can fall into the scheme of theology and preach to the heart the all-pervading principles of religion; but they forget that God's works have a unity of design throughout, and that the author of nature and of revealed religion is one."

Dr. Faber saw throughout creation a threefold manifestation of God, typifying his being, the generation of the Son, and the procession of the Spirit.

Sanctity seems to restore man to his primeval relation to nature, and give him back the power he possessed in Eden over the animal world. The Holy Scriptures tell us of beasts and birds sent to minister to the wants of man, and how the very lions reverenced the prophet Daniel. Animals were submissive to man before his fall, and they went obediently into the ark at the command of Noah. Such things are renewed and repeated in the lives of the Christian saints. It is not more wonderful that a raven should bring St. Paul the Hermit half a loaf every day for sixty years, and a whole one when visited by St. Anthony, than that one should feed the prophet. St. Gregory of Nazianzen relates that St. Basil's grandmother, St. Macrina, having taken refuge with her husband in the forests of Pontus during a persecution, was miraculously fed by stags. St. Bega, when a hermitess in a cave on the Cumberland coast, lived in supernatural familiarity with the sea-birds and the wolves of Copeland forest, and they in part supplied her with food. St. Roch is usually represented with the dog that used to accompany him in his pilgrimages. When St. Roch had the plague, the dog went daily into the city and returned with a loaf of bread for his master.

Among the old legends that embody the popular idea of the veneration of the animal world for holiness, is that of the Flight into Egypt. It is said the lions and leopards crept out of their lairs to lick the baby hands of the infant Jesus. When Christians, in the times of persecution under the Roman emperors, were thrown to the wild beasts in the amphitheatre, there are many examples of these usually ferocious animals refusing to touch the holy victims, as in the well-known instances of Andronicus and Tarchus.

St. Blaise is depicted surrounded by a variety of animals, such as the lion and the lamb, the leopard and the hind, who seem to have laid aside their animosity. This saint was obliged, in the persecution of the reign of Diocletian, to take refuge in a cave of the mountains. It was the haunt of wild beasts, whose ferocity he so disarmed that they came every morning, as if to ask his blessing, says the old legend. One day, he met an old woman in distress for the loss of her only earthly possession, a pig, which had been carried off by a wolf. Such power had St. Blaise over the animal world, that when he ordered the wolf to bring back the pig he obeyed.

Some time after, the woman killed her pig and took a part of it to St. Blaise, who had been thrown into prison and left without any food, thereby preventing him from starving.

St. Jerome is represented, in Christian art, with the lion he healed, and which remained with him. The legend tells us the saint made the lion guard the ass that brought his fagots from the forest. One day, the lion went to sleep in the woods, and the ass was stolen. The lion returned home with drooping head, as if ashamed. St. Jerome made him bring the fagots in place of the ass, which he did till he discovered his old friend in a caravan of merchants, whom he so terrified that they confessed their sin to St. Jerome and restored the ass.

There is a very similar legend of the Abbot Gerasimus, who lived near the river Jordan.

We are told, in the lives of the fathers of the desert, of one of them who was carrying provisions across the desert to his brethren. Wearied with his burden and the long journey, he called to a wild ass he espied to come and aid him, for the love of Christ. The ass hastened to his assistance, and bore the father and his load to the cells of his brethren.

St. Aphraates dispersed the army of locusts that threatened the country around Antioch.

St. Martin commanded the serpents, and they obeyed him.

And we read how the wolf-hounds, hungry and fierce, that were kept for the chase, respected St. Walburga when she went, late at night, to visit the dying daughter of a neighboring baron.

It would almost seem as if these animals recognized, as an able writer says, the presence of Him who lulled the tempest with a word in the souls in whom he dwells.

Tradition records the fondness of one of the twelve apostles--the loved apostle John--for animals. Every one has heard of the tame partridge he took pleasure in feeding. He was seen tending his bird by a passing hunter, who expressed his surprise to see the apostle, so renowned for his age and sanctity, thus employing his time. St. John asked him if he always kept his bow bent. "That would soon render it useless," said the hunter. "So do I unbend my mind in this way for the same reason you unbend your bow--to prevent its becoming useless." Perhaps he derived his love for animals from his ancestress Rebecca, who showed the kindness of her nature in offering to water the camels of the stranger. Eliezer saw it, and began wooing her for his master's son.

There are numerous instances in which animals instinctively betook themselves to the saints for protection. A hind, pursued by dogs, took refuge with St. Giles in his cave near the mouth of the Rhone. The hunters, following on his track, found the wounded beast crouching beside the saint, who protected him. The hind remained with St. Giles, who fed on his milk. This saint is represented in paintings with the animal beside him. "Ane hind set up beside Sanct Geill," says Sir David Lindsay.

There is a similar legend about St. Procopius, a hermit, with whom a hunted hind took refuge.

As St. Anselm was riding to the Manor of Herse, a hare, pursued by hunters, sought shelter under the housings of his mule. St. Anselm wept, but the foresters laughed, and the hounds stood around at bay. The saint said: "This poor hare reminds me of the soul of a sinner beset by fiends eager to seize their prey." He ordered the hunters not to pursue the hare, which fled.

So a deer took refuge from hunters in the cell of St. Aventin, a hermit who lived on an island in the Seine. One night a bear attacked his hut with furious cries. The saint betook himself to prayer, and at dawn found the animal, subdued and gentle, lying at his door licking his paw. The saint saw it was pierced by a thorn, and drew it out, when the beast went quietly away into the forest. When a person, who lived for a time with St. Aventin, caught some fish, the saint threw them back into the river, saying: "Go, little creatures, return to your element and food and remain there at liberty: my element and food are Jesus Christ, to whom I wish to return, that in him I may live for ever."

St. Bartholomew, a hermit of Farne, was so gentle in his movements that the wild sea-birds were not afraid of him. He allowed no one to molest them. He tamed an eider-duck, which daily fed out of his hand. One day, as St. Bartholomew was sitting on the sea-shore, a cormorant pulled the edge of his garment with its bill. He followed the bird, and found its young had fallen into a fissure in the rocks. He rescued them from danger.

St. Helier, a hermit in the isle of Jersey, lived for years on a barren crag overlooking the sea. Attention was called to the place of his retreat by the flight of the birds who shared the rock with him, and he was beheaded by his pagan discoverers.

The marine animals would fawn on St. Cuthbert while he was praying by night on the island of Farne. The eider-ducks are called by the islanders to this day "St. Cuthbert's ducks."

So the nuns of Whitby "exulting told"

"How sea-fowls' pinions fail, As over Whitby's towers they sail, And sinking down, with flutterings faint, They do their homage to the saint."

St. Serf, an old Scottish monk, had a pet ram which he had raised and used to follow him about. The laird of Tillicoultry stole the animal and "ate him up in pieces small." Being accused of the theft, the laird declared on oath that he had neither stolen nor eaten the ram. Whereupon, so runs the old legend, the ram "bleated in his wayme"! The saint predicted that no heir born to the estate of Tillicoultry should succeed to his patrimony, which prediction has been verified down to our own time. During the last two centuries Tillicoultry has been in the possession of thirteen different families, and in no case has the heir born to it become the owner. Lord Colville, a distinguished soldier of the time of James VI., retired to his estate of Tillicoultry to spend the rest of his life in retirement. Walking on the terrace one day, he slipped while looking up at an old hawthorn tree, and fell down the bank and was instantly killed. The estate was afterwards sold to the Earl of Stirling, at whose death it was sold to Sir Alexander Rollo, and so it has passed from one family to another down to our time. In 1837, it was bought by Mr. Stirling, who was accidentally killed. His brother, not the born heir, succeeded him, but sold it in 1842 to Mr. Anstruther, who in turn sold it to his brother, the present proprietor.

St. Richard, Bishop of Winchester, through excessive tenderness for the animal world, hardly ever ate any meat. When he saw any lamb or chicken on his table, he used to say: "We are the cause of your death, ye innocent ones. What have ye done worthy of death?" He thought as Frederick Schlegel, who remarks: "The sorrows of beasts are certainly a theme for the meditations of men, and I could not agree to the justice of regarding it as a subject unworthy of reflection, or of permitting sympathy with them to be banished from the human breast." St. Richard's love extended to the whole natural world. In the time of his troubles he used to retire to the parsonage of a country curate, not far from Winchester, to find solace in communion with nature. His friend loved to look at him walking in the garden watching the unfolding of the flower-buds or amusing himself by budding and grafting, forgetful of the wrath of the king and the number of his enemies. A graft which the owner regarded with great pride having died, Richard regrafted it. It lived and bore fruit.

Many stories are told of the love of St. Waltheof, Abbot of Melrose, for animals, and, in particular, of his affection for the old gray horse which he constantly rode, and used playfully to call Brother Grizzle (_Frater Ferrandus_). He was even known to discipline himself for having killed an insect, saying he had taken away the life of one of God's creatures which he could not restore. His gray horse was well known in the valley of the Tweed. The humble abbot rode him, with his own luggage and that of his few attendants slung on before him, including the boots of his groom. He appeared before his kinsman, the King of Scotland, in this array. Waltheof's brother was ashamed of him, but the king was so edified that he knelt to ask the abbot's blessing, and granted him all his petitions, saying: "This man hath put all worldly things under his feet, but we are running after this fleeting world, losing soul and body in the pursuit."

Sophronius, writing in a more remote age, says: "Going to New Alexandria, we found Abbot John, who had spent eighty years in that monastery, so full of charity that he was pitiful also to brute animals. Early in the morning he used to give food to all the dogs that were in the monastery, and would even bring grain to the ants and the birds on the roof."

And, at a later day again, at Citeaux a great number of storks built their nests around the abbey, and, on going away for the winter, would hover over the monks working in the fields, as if to ask their blessing, which was given them.

We are told in the annals of Corby that the novices had an otter which they kept for a long time in the refectory. And the success of Friar Baddo in training a dog is spoken of.

There was a peculiar breed of black dogs in the Abbey of St. Hubert in the Ardennes, called the dogs of St. Hubert.

The birds of Croyland would feed from the hands of St. Guthlac, the hermit, and alight on his head and shoulders, and the fish would come up out of the water for the food he gave them.

So a white swan was for fifteen years in the habit of coming up from the marshes and flying around St. Hugh of Lincoln, and then alighting to eat from his hand, sometimes thrusting its bill into his bosom. This swan survived the saint many years, but, after his death, returned to its old wild habits, avoiding all human beings.

St. Columba used to feed the sea-beaten herons that alighted on the island of Iona.

The sparrows would descend and eat out of St. Remi's hand.

And the birds would hover around the hermits of Montserrat and eat from their hands.

Hugo of St. Victor shows his familiarity with the habits of animals by his allusions to them in his instructions.

Digby relates that in 1507 there was a lamb in the convent of Muri that used to go to the choir at the sound of the bell and remain during the chanting of the divine office. When the matin bell rang, it would run around the corridors and knock its head against the door of each cell till it had roused the inmate, and, on going to the choir, if it saw one vacant stall, it would return to the dormitory and bleat for the missing one.

St. Philip Neri could not bear to witness the slightest cruelty to animals, and would caution the coachman not to run over one. And even wild animals would respond to his tenderness by their familiarity with him, and dogs would leave their masters to follow him. Seeing one of his congregation tread on a lizard as he was passing through the court, St. Philip said to him: "Cruel fellow, what has that poor little animal done to you?" He was greatly agitated at seeing a butcher wound a dog with his knife. A boy having brought him a bird, St. Philip through pity ordered it to be let out at the window. Shortly after, he expressed regret for having given the bird its freedom, for fear it might die of hunger. Louis, one of his young penitents, had two little birds which he gave St. Philip. He accepted them on condition the giver would come every day to see after them, wishing to exert a good influence over the youth. One day Louis came and found the saint ill in bed, and one of the birds perched on his face. It then fluttered around his head, singing very sweetly. St. Philip asked Louis if he had accustomed the bird to do so. Louis replied in the negative. St. Philip tried in vain to drive the bird away, and finally had the cage brought, when it went in as if through obedience.

Father Pietro Consolini, of the Oratory, tells a curious story of a good brother who worked in the kitchen. In order to satisfy his devotion for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, he would put a cat upon the kitchen table, and order it to keep watch while he was absent. Then he would go off to church with a peculiar confidence in God. The cat, as if remembering the submission due to man in his primitive state of innocence, used to mount the table as desired, and remain there, as if on guard, till the good brother returned.

St. Anthony of Padua also was full of love for animals, as well as of nature in general, as he showed by constant allusions in his sermons. He was always dwelling with delight upon the whiteness and gentleness of the swans, the mutual charity of the storks, the purity and fragrance of the flowers of the fields, etc., etc. When preaching once to sinners who refused to listen to him, he suddenly turned away from them, and, appealing to the animal world, asked the fish of the water to hearken to him. The old legend tells how they lifted their heads in great numbers from the water to listen to his words.

St. Bernard would deliver the bird from the snare of the fowler, and the wild hare from the hounds.

St. Ignatius Loyola admired the beauty, wisdom, and power of the Creator in his creatures. He was often rapt in contemplation before an insect, a flower, or a blade of grass.

St. Francis de Sales so constantly manifests an extraordinary love of nature in his writings that they have been compared to the sacred veil of Isis, on which was embroidered all created things. Here is an extract taken at random from his writings, which lose their rare _bouquet_ in translating:

"It had been snowing, and there was in the court, at least, a foot of snow. Jean swept a small space in the centre, and scattered grain on the ground for the pigeons to eat. They came in a flock to take their food there with wonderful peace and quietness, and I amused myself with looking at them. You cannot imagine how much these little creatures edified me. They did not utter a sound, and those who had finished their meal immediately made room for others, and flew a short distance to see them eat. When the place was partly vacated, a quantity of birdlings that had been surveying them came up, and the pigeons that were still eating drew up in one corner to leave the more space for the little birds, who forthwith began to eat. The pigeons did not molest them.

"I admired their charity, for the pigeons were so afraid of annoying the little birds that they crowded together at one end of their table. I admired, too, the discretion of the little mendicants, who only asked alms when they saw the pigeons were nearly through their meal, and that there was enough left. Altogether, I could not help shedding tears to see the charitable simplicity of the doves, and the confidence of the little birds in their charity. I do not know that a sermon would have affected me so keenly. This little picture of kindness did me good the whole day."

And again, in writing to Madame de Chantal on the repose of the heart on the divine will, he says:

"I was thinking the other day of what I had read of the halcyon, a little bird that lays on the sea-shore. They make their nests perfectly round, and so compact that the water of the sea cannot penetrate them. Only on the top there is a little hole through which they can breathe. There they lodge their little ones, so if the sea rises suddenly, they can float upon the waves with no fear of being wet or submerged. The air which enters by the little hole serves as a counterpoise, and so balances these little cushions, these little _barquettes_, that they are never overturned."

There is in the Louvre a charming little picture by Giotto of St. Francis preaching to the birds. The saint's face, with an earnest, loving expression, is looking up at the birds, that, with outstretched necks and half-open beaks, appear to catch his words. The old legend which this painting illustrates with all the artist's vividness in presenting a story, is equally charming in its simplicity. It is as follows: As St. Francis was going toward Bivagno, he lifted up his eyes and saw a multitude of birds. He said to his companions: Wait for me here while I preach to my little sisters the birds. The birds all gathered around him, and he spoke to them somewhat as follows: "My little sisters the birds, you owe much to God your Creator, and ought to sing his praise at all times and in all places, because he has given you liberty, and the air to fly about in, and, though you neither spin nor sew, he has given you a covering for yourselves and your little ones. He sent two of your species into the ark with Noah that you might not be lost to the world. He feeds you, though you neither sow nor reap. He has given you fountains and rivers in which to quench your thirst, and trees in which to build your nests. Beware, my little sisters, of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to praise the Lord."

As he preached, the birds opened their beaks, and stretched out their necks, and flapped their wings, and bowed their heads toward the earth.

His sermon over, St. Francis made the sign of the cross, and the birds flew up into the air, singing sweetly their song of praise, and dispersed toward the four quarters of the world, as if to convey the words they had heard to all the world.

The sympathy of St. Francis of Assisi with nature, both animate and inanimate, is well known. He has been styled the Orpheus of the middle ages. Like the Psalmist, he called upon all nature to praise the Lord: "Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all ye deeps; fire, hail, snow, ice, stormy winds which fulfil his word, mountains and all hills, fruitful trees and all cedars, beasts and all cattle, serpents and all feathered fowls."

The very sight of a bird incited St. Francis to lift his soul to God on the wings of prayer. Crossing the lagunes of Venice on his way from Syria, he heard the birds singing, and said to his companions: "Let us go and say the divine office in the midst of our brethren the birds, who are praising God." But finding they diverted his attention from his office, he said: "My brethren the birds, cease your song till we have fulfilled our obligations to God." The birds ceased their song till the saint gave them permission to resume it.

Preaching in the open air, in the environs of Alviano, St. Francis could not make himself heard on account of the number of swallows. He stopped and addressed them: "My sisters the swallows, you have spoken long enough. It is only right that I should have my turn. Listen to the word of God while I am preaching."

Meeting a young man who had caught a number of doves, he looked on them with eyes of pity, and said: "O good young man! I entreat thee to give me those harmless birds, the scriptural emblems of pure, humble, and faithful souls, so they may not fall into cruel hands and be put to death." The young man gave them to St. Francis, who put them in his bosom, and said to them in the sweetest of accents: "O my little sisters the doves! so simple, so innocent, and so chaste, why did you allow yourselves to be caught?" He made nests for them in the convent, where they laid and hatched their young, and became as tame as hens among the friars.

St. Francis was often seen employed in removing worms from the road that they might not be trampled on by travellers, remembering that our Divine Redeemer compared himself to a worm, and also having compassion on a creature of God.

He revered the very stones he trod on, so that he sometimes trembled in walking over them, recalling him who is the chief corner-stone of the spiritual edifice.

He wished the brothers when they cut wood in the forest to leave some shoots in memory of Him who wished to die for us upon the wood of the cross.

A flower reminded him of the rod of Jesse which budded and blossomed, and whose perfume is diffused throughout the world.

He sometimes wished he were one of the rulers of the land, that at Christmas he might scatter grain by the wayside and in the fields, that the birds also might have occasion to rejoice on that festival of joy.

Before his death, St. Francis made a great feast at Christmas, to which he invited the animals. He prepared a manger in the woods, in which there was straw, an ox, and an ass. A long procession of friars, followed by a crowd of people bearing torches and chanting hymns, descended the mountain. Mass was offered, and St. Francis preached on the birth of Christ, after which, filled with a holy joy, he went through the fields bursting forth into a hymn, calling upon the vines, the trees, the flowers of the field, the stars of heaven, and the sun, and all his brethren and sisters throughout nature, to rejoice with him, and to unite with him in blessing their Creator.

A wolf ravaged the environs of Agobio to the great terror of the people. St. Francis went forth armed with the sign of the cross, and commanded his brother the wolf, in the name of Christ, to do no more harm. The wolf, that was making furiously at the saint with distended jaws, stopped short, and lay down meek as a lamb at his feet. Then St. Francis laid before the wolf the enormity of his offence in devouring men made in the image of God, and promised that if he would henceforth abstain from his ravages he should be fed daily by the inhabitants. The wolf signified his assent to the arrangement by placing his paw in that of St. Francis. Then the saint took the wolf to the market-place, and made known to the people the compact he had made. They ratified the agreement to feed the wolf daily till the end of his days, and for two years he went from door to door to get his food, harming no one, at the end of which time he died, greatly to the sorrow of all.

Frederick Ozanam says in this legend, which may provoke a smile: "The animal that preys upon the spoils and lives of men is the representative of the people of the middle ages, fierce and terrible when their passions were excited, but never despaired of by the church, who took their blood-stained hands in her divine ones, and gently led them on till she succeeded in inspiring them with a horror of rapine and violence."

St. Francis would salute in a friendly manner the cattle in the pastures. Once, seeing a lamb among the goats and cattle, he was filled with pity, and said to his brethren, "So was our sweet Saviour in the midst of the Pharisees and Sadducees." A merchant that happened along bought the lamb and gave it to St. Francis. It was confided to some nuns, who carefully tended it, and of its wool spun and wove a garment for the saint, who often kissed it tenderly and showed it to his friends. Going to Rome, St. Francis took the lamb with him and, when he left, gave it to a pious lady. The lamb followed her everywhere, even to church. If she did not rise early enough in the morning, he would strike his head against her bed till he roused her.

St. Francis would weep if he saw a lamb about to be killed, recalling Him who was led as a sheep to the slaughter, and would sell his very garments to save it from death.

He loved the ant less than any other insect, because it was so thoughtful for the morrow. Of the whole animal world, he cared the most for birds, who loved him too, and at his death joyfully sang his triumphant entry into heaven. The larks, in particular, assembled at an early hour on the roof of the cell where the dead saint lay, with songs of extraordinary sweetness that lasted for several hours.

An infinite number of such examples could yet be cited, but enough have been given to show how the animal world lays aside its ferocity in proportion as man returns to his primitive state of innocence. This is quite in accordance with our idea of the millennium: The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf, and the young lion, and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.

If, then, sanctity brings man back to his true relations to the Deity, and restores him to his primitive relations with nature, let us work our way back to Eden by our purity, fasts, vigils, and prayers.

CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM.

NO. XI.

RELATIONS BETWEEN THE SUBLIMATIVE MOMENT AND SUBSTANTIAL CREATION.

It will be the aim of this article to point out some consequences which result from the essence and properties of the supernatural term, considered respectively to the term of substantial creation. They go to establish the absolute supremacy of the supernatural term over substantial creation. We shall give them in as many propositions.

_1st. In the general plan of the cosmos, the supernatural term in itself and in its application, forming that part of the cosmos which may be called the supernatural order, takes precedence of substantial creation, or the natural order._

This proposition is easily proven. The greater the intensity of perfection in a being, the nobler is the being; or, in other words, the greater amount of being a thing contains or exhibits, the higher is the place which it occupies in the ordinate location and harmony of the cosmos. The principle is too evident to need any proof, and we assume it as granted. Now, we have shown that the supernatural term in itself and in its application is by far more perfect than substantial creation; because it is a higher and more perfect similitude of Christ and of the Trinity; because it is the complement and the perfection of nature, and enables it to be joined with the Theanthropos, and through him to be ushered into the society of the three divine persons, communicating with their life, and thus arriving at the palingenesiacal state. Consequently, the supernatural in the cosmic plan must take precedence of substantial creation, and in the intention and design of the creator must precede nature.

_2d. The supernatural is the end of substantial creation, and third end of the exterior action of the infinite._

In a series of means co-ordinate with each other, and depending one upon another in order to attain a primary object, that which in force of the excellence and perfection of its nature precedes others, is to be considered as end in respect to those means which follow next to it in dignity of nature; otherwise the means could have no relation whatever with each other, and the primary end could not be attained. In a series of means co-ordination implies dependence, and this dependence is established by the superiority of the one, and inferiority of the other. Hence the superior means in the series becomes _end_ respectively to inferior means in the same series. Now, we have demonstrated that the supernatural term precedes nature in excellence and intensity of perfection; it becomes, therefore, in the harmony of the cosmic plan, the end of the substantial moment; as the Theanthropic moment is end in reference to the supernatural, and as God's manifestation of his infinite excellence and perfections is the end of the Theanthropos, and thus the primary end of the cosmic plan is obtained.

"All things are yours," said St. Paul of those in whom the supernatural term is realized: "you are Christ's; Christ is God's."

_3d. The supernatural term is the exemplar and type of substantial creation._

For it is the end which determines and shapes the nature of the means. The creative intelligence of the infinite, by contemplating the end which it has in view, and the essential laws of being residing in his nature, which is _the Being_, shapes and fashions mentally the nature and properties of the means. Hence it is evident that, the supernatural term being the end of substantial creation, it stands towards it as the exemplar and type to its copy.

_4th. The supernatural term is the mediator between the Theanthropos and substantial creation._

This last proposition is a consequence of the preceding ones. For, if the supernatural term precedes substantial creation in excellence and perfection of being, if it is its end and its type, it is evident that, in the general order and harmony of the cosmos, its natural place is between the Theanthropos and substantial creation. Consequently, it is mediator between them. Of course, the intelligent reader will easily understand that this mediatorship is not one merely of place and location, but a mediatorship of action; since the terms here in question are all agents.

These four properties of the supernatural moment, which, we flatter ourselves, have been demonstrated and put beyond the possibility of doubt, will enable our readers to see the philosophy of various other truths held by Catholicity, and denied by rationalism, Pantheism, and Protestantism.

And, first, the possibility of miracles follows evidently from these principles.

A miracle is a sensible phenomenon superseding or contrary to the established laws of corporal creation. A body left to itself by the ordinary law of gravitation should fall to the ground. Suppose it should hover between heaven and earth without any support, it would present a phenomenon contrary to the natural law of bodies. It would be what is called miracle, from the word _miror_, to wonder or to be amazed, because our intellect is always astonished when it cannot see at once the cause of an effect.

The possibility of such phenomena contrary to the established laws of nature has been denied by Pantheists and rationalists, both for the same reason, though each draw that reason from a different source. The Pantheist, who admits that the cosmos is nothing but that primary indefinite something which is continually developing itself by a necessary interior movement, denies the possibility of miracles on the ground that the development of the infinite being necessary, and being performed according to the necessary laws of being, the development must necessarily be uniform, and the phenomena resulting from it always the same.

The rationalist, though not admitting the germinal primary activity of Pantheism, asserts the absolute immutability of the laws of creation, and consequently cannot concede the possibility of any contravention to the results of those laws, without supposing their total overthrow.

We hold that the possibility of miracles follows clearly from the properties of the supernatural moment; for, if the supernatural moment precedes nature in force of its intrinsic excellence and perfection of being, if it is the end and type of the natural order, it is perfectly evident that the whole natural order is dependent upon and subject to the supernatural order by the law of _hierarchy_; and consequently it is evident that the laws governing the sensible order are also dependent upon and subject to the supernatural order, and must have been determined and fashioned in such a manner as to serve every purpose of that same order.

Hence, if the supernatural term, in order to assert itself before created spirits, to prove its own autonomy, its necessity, requires a phenomenon contrary to the established law of sensible creation, those laws must necessarily give way before their hierarchical superior, otherwise the whole order of the cosmos would be overthrown. This consequence is absolutely inevitable; and any one who has followed us in the demonstration of the intrinsic superiority of the supernatural term over substantial creation, cannot fail to perceive it. But to make it better understood we shall enter for a moment into the very heart of the question.

Let us take, as an example, the law of gravitation. Why do bodies left to themselves fall to the ground? The natural philosopher, with a look of profound wisdom, will answer at once, because of the law of gravitation. Now, if our philosopher claims to give no other answer but that which is within the sphere of his researches, the answer is correct; because his science of observation can carry him no further. But if by the word gravitation he should pretend to give a satisfactory ultimate reason of the phenomenon of the fall of bodies, his answer would make a metaphysician laugh. The law of gravitation! Indeed! But what is that law? Does it exist in the body, or in God? or has it an existence independent of both? If it exists in the body, how can it be a general law, when each body is an individuum? If it exist in God, how is it broken or altered, or destroyed, when the phenomenon of a miracle affects only a particular body? If it has an existence independent of both, what is it? Is it a god, or a Platonic idea, and, if so, whence does it derive the force to assert itself over God's creation?

These few questions, and many more which we could bring forward, show that to account for the fall of bodies by the law of gravitation, is to give no particular or satisfactory reason for the phenomenon.

We have already given one theory, the theory of the most profound metaphysicians of the world, that no finite beings can act without the aid of God; that God must really and effectively excite them to action, aid them during the action until it is accomplished; because he is necessarily the first and the universal cause. Therefore, bodies as well as higher beings are absolutely dependent upon God for their action; and that which natural philosophers call the law of gravitation, or any other law, such as attraction, repulsion, and so forth, in itself is nothing more than the action of God upon bodies. Now, God in acting in and upon bodies has certainly a plan and an order marked out in his mind, according to which he acts in and directs them. This order he has derived from the infinite laws of being, which are his very essence, and consequently, in this sense, that order is stable and immutable. But it must be borne in mind that this order marked out in the mind of God, according to which he acts in and directs bodies, is _not the whole order of the cosmos_. It is only a part, a moment, and the most inferior of all. Consequently, it is an order subject to and dependent upon the order of the other and higher moment, and upon the universal order of the cosmos. Hence the same divine essence, the eternal model and type of everything, at the same time that it marks out the order for the acting in and directing of bodies, subjects it to the order of higher moments, and to the cosmological, universal order. In the application, therefore, of this eternal order marked out by his infinite essence, God acts in and directs bodies according to the stable and immutable order proper to this moment, until an exception is necessary. But when the order of higher moments and the universal order demand an exception, the order of the direction of bodies, being inferior, must necessarily yield to the superior, and the sensible order must, so to speak, be suspended for that occasion. We have said, so to speak, because even then the sensible order is not altered or broken, as rationalism imagines; it is the application of the general sensible order to a particular body which is suspended. It is not the objective order, but the subjective particular realization of it, which is superseded. Let us take as example the law so often mentioned. The general order established in the mind of God with regard to acting in bodies is to make them gravitate toward the centre of the earth. Suppose an exception of this law becomes necessary to assert the supernatural order. God, upon that particular occasion, does not apply the general law in a particular body, but acts in it contrary to that law. Is the law of gravitation broken or altered in consequence of that exception? If the law were an essential property of bodies, a natural consequence of their essence, it would be. But the law in its general and objective essence exists in God only; it does not exist in the body; and consequently it cannot be altered by a suspension of its application in a given case.

Were God to act otherwise than to admit such exceptions in the subjective application of the order of sensible creation, he would go against reason, and act contrary to his essence; for in that case he would prefer a particular and inferior order to the general and superior order of the whole cosmos. The true principles, then, in the present matter are the following:

1st. The laws according to which bodies act and are directed do not exist in bodies, but are an order marked out in the mind of God as derived from his infinite essence.

2d. This order is an element, and an inferior one, of the universal order of the whole cosmos, and consequently, by the law of hierarchy, is subject to that same universal order.

3d. This sensible order is always stable and permanent in itself and in its objective state, but in its application to particular bodies is subject to variation when this variation is demanded by a superior order, or by the universal order of the cosmos.

The reader will observe, after what we have said, how futile is the argument of rationalists that a miracle is impossible because the laws of bodies are immutable. Certainly, if the laws exist in the bodies. But the laws of bodies, as we have said, are nothing more than the order marked out in the mind of God, according to which he acts in and directs them, and, this order being universal and objective, is never changed or altered. Only its application in particular bodies on a particular occasion is not made, or made in a contrary sense, because such is the requirement of the universal order. If this be kept in view, every difficulty will vanish in reference to this matter; for this is exactly that which prevents rationalists, from understanding the possibility of miracles--their want of perception that it is _God_ who acts in every single body. They imagine a general principle, as if it were self-existing, which pervades all the bodies, which ought to be destroyed to permit the exception. Now, this is a mere phantom. It is God, we repeat it, who applies the order marked in his mind in every single body, which in his mind _only_ is universal and objectively immutable, but subjectively, in its application, it need not be constant, except so long as no exception is required. Our natural philosophers of the rationalistic school imagine the law of bodies to be a sort of demigod, stern and immutable, particularly loth of and averse to being disturbed, and consequently cannot see the possibility of a miracle.

The second truth which follows from the attributes of the supernatural moment, is that _prayer governs the universe_.

Prayer, taken in its strictest acceptation, is the universal mode of action of spirits elevated to the supernatural moment. To understand this rightly, it is necessary to observe that every moment of the action of God, considered in its term, is possessed of a particular mode of action resulting from and befitting its essence and attributes. Thus, substantial creation, or the whole aggregate of being included in this moment, acts as it were by _apprehension and volition_. In spiritual beings, this manner of acting is strictly and properly so; in inferior beings, like the brutes, it is less so, but bears a great resemblance to it, for the animal has apprehensive faculties, though wanting in the power of generalization and abstraction, and confined within the concrete and in the individual; and he has also instincts and tendencies leading toward the object apprehended. The vegetable kingdom acts according to the same manner, though more materially; for it apprehends the elements required for its growth from the earth and the atmosphere, and, assimilating them to itself by an interior force, is able to develop itself. Every one is aware that the general laws of matter are those of _attraction and repulsion_, which bear a resemblance, though a faint one, to the law of apprehension and volition.

Now, the particular mode of acting in persons elevated to the supernatural moment is by _prayer_, which is composed of various elements according to various relations under which it is considered.

It may be considered in itself, its essence and nature, and in the persons to whom it has reference. The persons are the infinite and the finite. In itself, prayer is divided into two moments--a deprecatory moment, and a life-giving moment.

A deprecatory moment--because the effect of the prayer, resting absolutely on the free will of the infinite, cannot be claimed by the finite as a right, but as an effect of an infinite, goodness yielding to a supplication; and in this sense it implies the following elements on the part of the finite:

1st. An acknowledgment, theoretical and practical, of the infinite as being the absolute and universal source of all good; and of the absolute dependence of the finite upon the infinite in all things; this acknowledgment arising in the finite from the consciousness and feeling of its finiteness both in the natural and the supernatural order.

2d. A gravitation, natural and supernatural, on the part of this finite toward the infinite, as the origin and the preserver of the being in both orders, as the mover of its natural and supernatural faculties, and as the final complement of both.

3d. A cry to the infinite for the satisfaction of this aspiration.

4th. A firm and unshaken reliance of being satisfied in this aspiration, founded both on the intrinsic goodness and on the personal promises of the infinite.

These four elements on the part of the finite are absolutely necessary to constitute a prayer in its deprecatory sense; and they are either implicitly or explicitly to be found in every prayer. The spirit who bows before the infinite must acknowledge theoretically and practically that God is the Master and Lord of all things, the infinite eternal source of all being and all perfection; he must acknowledge and be conscious freely and deliberately that his being comes from God, and that that same divine action which created and elevated it must maintain it in existence, aid it in the development of its faculties, and bring it to its final completion. He must freely and deliberately yearn after all this, and have firm reliance that the infinite will maintain his being, aid it in its growth, and bring it to its full bloom in the palingenesia.

On the part of the infinite, prayer in this same deprecatory sense implies an action of God existing and aiding the finite in producing the aforesaid four acts necessary to constitute a prayer.

If we regard prayer in its life-giving moment, it implies two elements: one on the part of the infinite, the other on the part of the finite. On the part of the infinite, it implies a real actual and personal communication, a giving of himself by a personal intercourse to the finite; and, on the part of the latter, a personal apprehension of the infinite, and an assimilation of and transformation into the infinite. We cannot refrain here from quoting a beautiful page of a French writer in explanation of this last element: "When man's will, lifted by an ardent desire, succeeds in putting itself in contact with the supreme will, the miracle of the divine intervention is accomplished. Prayer, which _renders God present to us_,[141] is a kind of communion by which man feeds on grace, and assimilates to himself that celestial aliment of the soul. In that ineffable communication, the divine will penetrates our will, its action is mingled with our action to produce but one and the same indivisible work, which belongs whole and entire to both; wonderful union of grandeur and of lowliness, of a power eternally fecund, and of a created activity which is exhausted by its very duration, of an incorruptible and regenerating element with the infirm and corruptible elements of our being; union, which believed in invariably, though conceived in different manner by the savage tribes as well as by the most civilized nations, has been under different forms, and in spite of the errors which have obscured it, the immortal belief of humanity."[142]

Now, we maintain that prayer, understood in all its comprehension, besides the effect which it produces in its own natural sphere, is also the hierarchical superior of the action of the whole substantial creation; and that, consequently, the latter must yield to the former, whenever they should happen to come in conflict with each other; and thus, under this respect, it may be said that prayer governs the world.

This may be proven by two sorts of argument; one as it were exterior, the other intrinsic to the subject.

The first is drawn from the properties of the supernatural moment. For, if this moment is superior to substantial creation, if it is the end and type of it, every one can see that the mode of acting of elevated spirits--spirits in whom the supernatural moment is realized and concreted--must necessarily precede and be superior to the mode of action of substantial creation, and that the latter must necessarily be subject to the former--unless we abolish and deny the universal law of hierarchy presiding and ruling over all the moments of the exterior action of God, and founded on the intrinsic and respective value of beings. _Actio sequitur esse_ is the old axiom of ontology. If the being of the supernatural moment is superior to the being of substantial creation, the mode of action of the first must also, in force of that axiom, be superior to the mode of action of the latter. When, therefore, a natural law, a law of substantial creation, comes in opposition with a true prayer, a prayer made with all the conditions which its nature requires, the natural law must yield and give way to prayer.

The second argument is drawn from the essence of prayer as a life-giving agent. What is prayer in this sense? It is an actual communication of the finite with the infinite, an actual participation of the infinite and his attributes; it is a possession which the finite takes of the infinite, the appropriation, the assimilation of the infinite. It is the finite transported and transformed into the infinite. For in it the mind of the finite takes hold of the mind of the infinite, and is, as it were, transformed into it; the will and energy of the finite grasps the will and the almighty power of the infinite, and is changed, as it were, into it; the person of the finite is united to the person of the infinite, and is assimilated to him. Now, it is evident that prayer understood in this sense is no longer an act of the finite alone, but an act of both the finite and the infinite; it is the result of the energy of both. Its efficacy and energy therefore must be as superior to the energy of all substantial creation as the infinite is superior to the finite. Consequently, it is evident that when a natural law pregnant with finite energy comes in conflict with a prayer impregnated, so to speak, with infinite energy, the former must yield to the superior force of the latter.

Prayer governs the world also in a sense more general than the one we have hitherto indicated for it. The sum of all the actions of substantial creation has been so disposed, and is so ruled and governed, as to be always subject to the sum of all the actions of the supernatural moment, and this for the same reasons developed above.

Here it can be seen with how much reason those philosophers who call themselves rationalists sneer and wax indignant at the fact, constant in time and place, of the importance which mankind has attached to prayer for physical reasons, as for rain, for fair weather, for a good harvest, and the like. They show evidently how far they are from understanding the sublime hierarchical harmony of the cosmos, which the simple ones of the earth, who have faith in God, instinctively feel and acknowledge. For if God did not create the cosmos at random without a plan or design, he assuredly must have followed and maintained the necessary relations of things. Now, if substantial creation and its mode of action is hierarchically--that is, in comprehension of being--inferior to the supernatural term and its mode of action, if the latter is the end and type of the former, and if they are not to be kept apart, but to be brought together into unity and harmony, and must thus harmoniously act, it is clear to the rudest understanding that the one mode of action must be subject to the other, and that consequently, when a prayer is in opposition with the realization of natural law, the natural law must yield, and the prayer must prevail.

Nor will it do to say that if such were the case the natural order would no longer enjoy any stability or permanence, because some prayer or other might come continually in opposition to it. For the whole series of actions of substantial creation is marked out eternally in the mind of the infinite. Likewise the whole series of actions of the supernatural moment is marked out in the same mind; they are brought together in beautiful harmony in the same divine intellect from all eternity. God has foreseen when and how a prayer would require the suspension of the natural law, and has willed and decreed it, so that no suspension of natural law, consequent upon a prayer, can take place which has not been foreseen and arranged harmoniously from all eternity; and if we could for a moment cast a glance into the mind of the infinite, we should see an infinite series of actions of substantial creation; an infinite series of actions of the supernatural moment; all intertwined in a most harmonious whole, and the different exceptions here and there only linking together the two orders, putting them in bolder relief, and enhancing the beauty and harmony of the whole cosmos. The theory which we have been vindicating explains also a phenomenon so frequent and so common in the history of the Catholic Church--the saint who works miracles, or the _Thaumaturgus_.

A saint is one in whom a certain fulness of the supernatural term resides, and hence a certain fulness of the particular mode of action belonging to that moment. A saint can pray well; therefore he can work miracles, and does oftentimes. Protestantism has not only denied most of the miracles not recorded in the Bible, but has gone so far as to deny the possibility of such miracles ever occurring after the establishment and propagation of Christianity, on the plea that they are no longer necessary. It was but a logical consequence of its doctrine of justification. If man is not really made holy in his justification, if he does not receive in his soul the term of the supernatural moment as really inherent in him, it is clear he cannot have or possess the mode of action of that moment, still less a certain fulness of it. Consequently, neither is he elevated above substantial creation, nor is his mode of action superior to the action of that same moment, and therefore he cannot exercise a power and an efficacy which he has not. In other words, a man justified according to the Protestant doctrine cannot be a saint intrinsically, and cannot consequently pray. And how could he work miracles? It was natural to deny such possibility.

But endow a man with the supernatural term in a certain fulness, and hence suppose him possessed of a fulness of its mode of action intrinsically superior in energy to the mode of action of substantial creation, and you may suppose he is likely to exercise it, and work miracles oftentimes.

As to the plea of necessity, it is absolutely futile. A miracle would be necessary even after the establishment of Christianity in all times and places, which, by the bye, has not been accomplished yet, if for no other reason, in order to assert and vindicate from time to time the existence and the supremacy of the supernatural over the natural.

The third truth emanating from the qualities of the supernatural moment is that those created persons in whom the term of that moment is realized are essentially mediators between the Theanthropos and substantial creation.

The principle follows evidently from the fourth quality essentially belonging to the supernatural term, that of being mediator between the other moments, the hypostatic and the substantial.

For if the term of that moment in intensity of being and perfection hold a place between the other two moments, it is evident that those in whom the moment is realized must hold the same middle place and be, consequently, mediators. Hence, it appears how the Catholic doctrine of the intercession, and, by logical consequence, of the invocation, of saints, is a cosmological law, as imperative as any other law of the cosmos. For what does the word mediator mean? Limiting the question to location or space, it signifies a thing placed or located between two others; in a hierarchical sense, confining the question to being and essence, it expresses a thing in essence and nature inferior to one and superior to another; in the same sense, confining the question to action and development, it exhibits a thing in its action and development inferior to the action and development of one and superior in the same to another. The person, therefore, in whom the supernatural term is realized is mediator in the sense of being in essence, nature, attributes, action, and development, superior to the same things of substantial creation, and inferior to those of the Theanthropos. Now, as the cosmos is not governed by the law of hierarchy alone, but also by the law of unity and communion, and as these laws imply a real and effective union and communication of being and action between the terms of the cosmos, it follows that the person in whom the supernatural term is concreted is in real and effective communication with the Theanthropos, as inferior, and in real and effective communication, as superior, with substantial creation; he is in communication with the former as subject and dependent, with the latter as superior, and with both as medium; that is, a recipient relatively to the Theanthropos, as transmitting what it receives from the Theanthropos relatively to substantial creation; both relations being exercised by the person elevated in every sense, either as receiving from the Theanthropos and transmitting to substantial creation, or as representative of substantial creation before the Theanthropos.

And as we are speaking of moral persons, that is, free, intelligent agents, in what can these relations consist but in this, that elevated persons, acting as mediums, may intercede and obtain favors for created persons from the Theanthropos, and these may invoke their intercession in their behalf?

The doctrine, therefore, of the intercession and the invocation of saints is a cosmological law, resulting from the law of hierarchy, unity, and communion, and governing the relation of purely created persons with those elevated to the supernatural moment.

It must be here remarked that the mediatorship of persons elevated is not confined only to persons in their mere natural state, but it extends also to persons elevated to the supernatural moment, because the supernatural term admits of variety of degree, some persons being endowed with a certain fulness of that moment, some with much less. Those in whom the fulness is realized are hierarchically mediators between the Theanthropos and other elevated spirits possessing a less amount of that term, and can consequently intercede for the latter.

It must be remarked, in the second place, that the law governs the cosmos not only in its germinal state, but also in its state of completion and perfection; and we cannot possibly discover or imagine by what logical process Protestantism, which admits this law in the germinal and incipient state of the cosmos, denies it to exist between persons elevated to the state of palingenesia and those who are yet in the germinal state. This denial, so far as we can see, could be supported only by the supposition that as soon as an elevated person reaches its final development, every tie of union, every bond of intercourse, is immediately broken asunder between him and other persons living yet in the germinal state of the cosmos. But how false and absurd this supposition would be is evident to every one who at all understands the exterior works of God. The cosmos being measured by time, is essentially successive; in other words, all the elements of the cosmos cannot possibly reach their final completion at one and the same time, the law of variety and hierarchy necessarily forbidding it. It is absolutely necessary, then, that some elements should reach their final perfection first and some afterwards, in proportion as they come to take place in the cosmos successively. If, therefore, by one element of the cosmos reaching its final development all intercourse were to be broken between it and all other elements which have not reached so high a condition, it would follow that the cosmos would never be one, never in harmony, until all had reached their final completion and the creation of more elements entirely ceased. It would be a continual disorder and confusion until the end of the world. Now this is absurd, since unity and harmony must always govern and adorn God's works. Nor can we see any intrinsic reason why it should be broken. The only plea alleged by Protestants in support of this suspension of all communion between the spirits in palingenesia and those living on earth, is that there can be no possible means of communication between them. They express this idea commonly by saying that the saints in heaven cannot hear our prayers. How philosophical this plea is we leave it to the intelligent reader to determine. Suppose we had no direct answer to give to this plea, the absolute necessity of the cosmos being one and harmonious would make a true philosopher infer that the infinite must have found a means whereby to keep up this communication, though it might be unknown to us what that means actually is.

But the direct answer is at hand. The Word of God is essentially the life of the cosmos. He is the type of all the essences, of all the natures, of all the personalities, of all the acts composing the cosmos. The cosmos, in all these respects, is reflected in the Word. "All that was made in him was life." (St. John.)

Now, all elevated spirits are united to and live in the Incarnate Word. The spirits or persons in the germinal state are united to his person by the supernatural essence and the supernatural faculties of intelligence and of will. This forms the essential union between them and the Theanthropos. The spirits in the final state are united to him in the same substantial sense, with the exception that their supernatural essence has reached its utmost completion, their supernatural intelligence is changed into intuition, and their supernatural will has immediate possession of God.

The consequence of these principles is that the spirits in the germinal state produce acts of invocation to the spirits in the final state, and these acts are reflected or reproduced in the Theanthropos as the type and the intelligible objective life of the cosmos.

The spirits in the final state see, by intuition, in the Theanthropos all those acts of invocation of the spirits in the germinal state, and thus come to know what the spirits on earth claim from them. As orator and audience, living in the same atmosphere, can hold intercourse with each other, because the words uttered by the orator are transmitted by the air to the ears of his audience, so the spirits on earth and the spirits in heaven hold intercourse with each other, because they live in the same medium.

The spirits on earth making acts of invocation to their brethren in heaven, these acts are reflected or reproduced in the Theanthropos, and from him reverberate and reach the eyes of the spirits in heaven living in him, and thus they come to the knowledge of the wants and prayers of their brethren on earth.

But why such interposition of persons when we could go directly to the Theanthropos? Does this not detract from the mediatorship of Christ?

Why, but because the cosmos must be one? Why, but because all the elements of the cosmos must communicate with each other? And how can this doctrine detract from the mediatorship of Christ when _he_ is made the source, the origin, the end of everything? If Catholic doctrine claimed this intercourse independently of the Theanthropos, it would certainly detract from his mediatorship. But do we not establish and centre this mediatorship of the saint entirely in the Theanthropos?

The last truth which follows from the essence of the supernatural term is what is called the worship of saints. This truth is not only a cosmological law, but an ontological principle, since, considered in its simplest and most ultimate acceptation, it implies nothing more than the duty incumbent on every moral agent to acknowledge, theoretically and practically, the intrinsic value of being. Suppose a certain being is possessed of a hundred degrees of perfection, so to speak, I cannot, without a flat contradiction to my intelligence, which apprehends it, deny or ignore it; I cannot, without a flat contradiction to my expansive faculty or will, which is attracted by it, fail to appreciate it practically. Now, the worship of saints, against which Protestantism has written and said so much, is founded entirely on that ontological principle. The saint is possessed of a certain fulness of the supernatural term. The supernatural intelligence of other elevated spirits apprehends this fulness, and the supernatural will of the same spirits cannot fail to value it. This theoretical and practical appreciation is esteem, and when expressed outwardly is honor and praise. By the ontological principle of recognizing the value of being, therefore, it is evident that the Catholic theory of the worship of saints is not only theologically lawful, but eminently philosophical. Protestantism, in denying this worship, follows the same principle without being aware of it.

It starts from its own doctrine of justification, which consists, as we have seen, not in the interior cleansing of the soul from sin and in its elevation to the supernatural moment, but in an external application to it of the merits of Christ. The example of the cloak is most appropriate. Suppose a man, all filthy and loathsome; cover him with a rich and splendid cloak, so as to hide the filth and loathsomeness, and you have an example of Protestant justification. It is all foreign, outward, unsubjective. Now, apply the ontological principle of the value of being to a saint of this calibre, and it is evident that you cannot esteem and value him because he is worth nothing subjectively, and hence the denial of the worship of saints is a logical consequence of the Protestant doctrine of justification, and an application, in a negative sense, of the ontological principle of the value of beings.

On the contrary, admit the Catholic doctrine of justification, whereby a man is not only cleansed from sin, but elevated to a supernatural moment, receiving as inherent in him a higher and nobler nature and higher and nobler faculties, and it is evident that you must acknowledge _this_, value, esteem, and honor it.

FOOTNOTES:

[141] Orig. _De Orat._

[142] Gerbet, _Le Dogme Générateur de la Piété Catholique_.

SAYINGS OF THE FATHERS OF THE DESERT.

So that there were in the mountain monasteries like tabernacles, full of divine choirs of men singing, reading, praying; and so great an ardor for fasting and watching had his (St. Antony's) words enkindled in the minds of all that they labored with an avidity of hope and with unceasing zeal in works of mutual charity, and in showing mercy to those who needed it, and they seemed to inhabit a sort of heavenly country, a city shut off from worldly conversation, full of piety and justice. Who, looking at such an army of monks--who, beholding that manly and concordant company, in which there was none to do harm, no whisper of detraction, but a multitude of abstinent men and an emulation of kind offices, would not immediately break forth into the words: How beautiful are thy tabernacles, O Jacob, and thy tents, O Israel! As woody valleys, as watered gardens near the rivers, as tabernacles which the Lord hath pitched, as cedars by the waterside (Num. xxiv. 5, 6)?

* * * * *

The disciple of an aged and famous monk was once assailed by temptation. And, when the old man saw him struggling, he said to him: Do you wish me to ask God to take away this trial from you? But he answered: I see and consider, father, that though I wrestle painfully, yet out of this labor I bear fruit. But ask this of God in thy prayers, that he may give me patience to endure. And his father said to him: Now I know, my son, that thou hast made great progress, and surpassest me.

* * * * *

Let no man, when he has despised the world, think that he has left anything great.--_From the Life of blessed Abbot Antony, by St. Athanasius._

THE ITALIAN GUARANTEES AND THE SOVEREIGN PONTIFF.

After having been proposed by the government of Italy, recast by the Chamber of Deputies, amended by the Senate, adopted by the Chamber as amended, and approved and signed by the King and his ministers, the project of the guarantees for the Sovereign Pontiff's independence has become a part of the law of the land. We are perfectly willing to believe that his majesty, regarding this scheme as promising the fullest amount of freedom it was possible to obtain from his parliament for the Head of the Church, signed it with a feeling of relief; for if we are to credit the rumors, more or less well founded, one hears in Florence and in Rome, broken tables and furniture overturned bore witness to the unwillingness of the supreme authority in the state to permit the violation of the Papal territory or to accept the plébiscite of the so-called people of Rome. Not so, however, was it with the legislators of the kingdom. To them the Papacy has been and is a huge incubus, that disturbs their rest, frightens them in their dreams, and which can be got rid of in truth only by their waking up to a sense of what their real duty is. Their aim has been, in dealing with it, to yield up as little as possible of their ill-gotten power over the successor of St. Peter, and to secure themselves as effectually as possible against the only power they ever feared--his spiritual weapons. This is the criterion by which we should study these guarantees; by the light of it we propose to examine them, and to discuss their pretended advantages.

When the Italian government, hurried on by the spirit of revolution, seized upon Rome during the complications of last autumn that insured impunity for the moment to the act, they found themselves face to face with the spiritual ruler of the whole Catholic world, and with the fixed convictions or invincible prejudices of two hundred millions of men, who regarded the position in which the Sovereign Pontiff had been placed as not only against all law, but also hurtful to their best interests. How were they to deal with so delicate a question? The situation of Europe might for a time delay the solution, but eventually there must be an account given and satisfaction rendered to the Catholic world. The cabinet hit on the only means it could hope to use with any appearance of success, and the promises of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sig. Visconti Venosta, served as a decent pretext to liberal governments not to interfere actively in the accommodation of things in Italy. These promises are contained in the despatches sent to different governments during last winter, and published in the diplomatic documents laid before the various legislative bodies of Europe during the past six months. To do the minister justice, he has stood out successfully against the extreme radical party in parliament that opposed most violently any idea of concessions such as he had designed for the independence of the Sovereign Pontiff, and his appeal to the loyalty of Italy brought down the applause of the house, and effectually destroyed the influence of his opponents. Still, even if we attribute to any other feeling than fear of foreign intervention the measures adopted, they are not for that reason intrinsically enhanced in value, nor are they anything more than the most the Italian government is capable or willing to do to protect the power of the Pope.

That power, be it well understood, is in the eyes of the rulers of Italy merely a spiritual power, for the temporal, they consider, was annihilated by the cannon that beat down the walls on the 20th of September, 1870, and by the plébiscite of the 2d of October following. How does this law of guarantees confirm the exercise of that power? We shall see by referring to several of the articles, not quoting the law at length, as it has already appeared in the public journals.

Article II. says in the last clause: "The discussion of religious questions is entirely free."

Article III. says that the Sovereign Pontiff may have his guards "without prejudice to the obligations and duties resulting from such guards, from the existing laws of the kingdom of Italy."

Article IV. contemplates the possibility of the government taking upon themselves the expenses of the museums and library of the Pontifical palaces.

Article V. says these museums, library, collections of art and of archæology, are "_inalienable_."

Article VIII. forbids sequestration of papers _merely_ spiritual in their character.

Article XIII. declares that the ecclesiastical seminaries of Rome, and of the six suburban sees presided over by cardinals, are to continue subject to the Holy See, without any interference on the part of the _scholastic_ authorities of the kingdom.

Article XVI. says: "The dispositions of the civil laws with regard to the creation and the manner of existence of ecclesiastical institutions, and the alienation of their property, remain in force."

Article XVII. The recognition of the juridical effects of the spiritual and disciplinary acts, as well as of any other act of the ecclesiastical authority, belongs to the civil jurisdiction. Such acts, however, are void of effect if contrary to the law of the state or to public order, or hurtful to the rights of private persons, and are subject to the penal laws if they constitute a crime.

Let us take a cursory glance at these cullings from the "guarantees," and see if they conflict at all with the spiritual power of the Pontiff. Before the twentieth of September, 1870, the whole of the city of Rome and the dependent provinces were presided over in spirituals by the Pope, and all of the inhabitants were Catholics, except a few Jews, treated with charity, though not allowed to make proselytes. By this decree the door is thrown open to every sect that chooses to come and try to proselytize the Roman people. They must see as clearly as we do that the last clause of Article II. deals the most powerful and insidious blow at the spiritual power of the Pope in spiritual matters, encouraging his people to spiritual defection, or at least lessening him in their esteem as a spiritual teacher. This is too evident to need further dwelling on, and we pass to the next indictment.

The Pope's guards are to protect him and execute his orders, but inasmuch as they are not on this account freed from the obligations of Italian citizens by the tenor of Article III., it is quite easy to understand how in the course of time elements of discord may arise; and therefore, in the use of his guards the Pope must conform to the civil code of the kingdom of Italy, or take the consequences referred to further on.

Articles IV. and V. regard the library and museums of the Vatican and of other palaces. The original draught of the project declared these collections the property of the state. The criticism it excited on this account brought about the modifications we have here, which substitute _inalienability_ for the asserted right of property, without adverting to the fact that such a modification implies dominion in the one making it, while there is contemplated a possible taking on themselves by the government of the expenses of these museums that certainly points to the same idea.

The VIIIth Article forbids the sequestration of papers and documents of the ecclesiastical authorities _merely_ spiritual in their nature. The inference is that any other documents not merely spiritual may be sequestrated; and, as doubts may arise, who is to decide? Certainly not the church or the Pope, for he is the accused; there is no umpire; and a strong police force is at the beck of the Italian government, and the question will be solved readily.

The XIIIth Article, regarding the ecclesiastical seminaries and colleges, exempts them from the control of the _scholastic_ authorities, but, with regard to their temporal concerns, we are told in the XVIth Article they must be subject to the civil jurisdiction. We leave it to our practical men of America to say whether or not the man who holds the purse-strings and manages the funds has any influence on the people he pays or are paid through him. In the case before us the Italian civil authorities are those who pay, having in many cases the full administration of the funds. We feel tempted to refer to the case of the Roman College, the funds of which have been withheld since the first of January, 1871.

The first draught of Article XVII. was too strong. It said openly: In case of conflict between the civil and ecclesiastical powers, the supreme civil tribunal of the kingdom was to decide. This was toned down to suit better rather tender susceptibilities. The result we have in the clause quoted above, which says the same thing in other words, and in stronger terms, if we look to the penal sanction referred to. Here is the whole pith of the matter. "As long as it is possible for us to get on without dispute," say the government, "all well; but the moment a question arises, _we_ must solve it." Moreover, as the legislative authorities have made the law, they can amend or alter it if they think proper, and there is and can be no guarantee that they will not.

Such are the disadvantages created by the vexed project, which from the amount of discussion it has caused, deserves the title of the _Pons Asinorum_ of the Italian parliament.

There are several points in this law which have some title to be looked on as advantages, relatively to the condition in which the Sovereign Pontiff has been placed since the overthrow of his temporal sovereignty. These are the inviolability of the person of the Sovereign Pontiff, the payment of the monthly sum of fifty thousand dollars, the protection of the Conclave as well as of the Pontiff in the discharge of duty, the immunity of ecclesiastics employed by him, the postal and telegraphic arrangements, and the abolition of the royal 'placet' and 'exequatur.' But it is to be remarked that, on the first place, with regard to some the dignity of the Head of the Church will not permit him to avail himself of them; then with reference to others, they are imperatively wrung from the Italian government by the public opinion of foreign nations; while, lastly, respecting others, the government will always have it in their power to exercise a surveillance that renders the concessions more or less nugatory, and in nowise satisfactory to the people of Catholic and non-Catholic nations.

But independent of all the above reasons, there are intrinsic motives that make any code of guarantees worth little more than the paper on which they are indited. All are agreed that the Head of the Church must be independent; the Italian government acknowledges it, and Catholics and non-Catholics proclaim it throughout the world. In what does this necessary independence consist? It consists essentially in being free of undue influence from any source whatsoever. Now, such freedom can be obtained only by restoring the Pope to the condition in which he was prior to the year 1860. For we can imagine the several other conditions in which the Pope might be placed.

He may continue as he is at the present moment.

He may be the privileged citizen of a Roman republic.

He may be the sovereign ruler of the city of Rome under the protection of the Italian government together with other governments throughout the world.

None of these conditions is a guarantee of his freedom.

In the first place, we suppose him to be in the condition in which he is at the present moment. The reasons we have given above, the practical experience had of the protection given to the Pope and those attached to him, the seizure of the encyclical, and other acts of which his eminence the Cardinal Secretary of State has complained publicly, the subjection a salary paid by the Italian government would bring with it, and the general suspicion to which his acts are liable, from the influence of the powerful government under which he lives--all make it impossible that this state of things should continue.

Nor is it possible that the Sovereign Pontiff should be the privileged and protected member of a Roman republic. To tell the truth, the present state of things is preferable to that. Republics, and particularly a Roman republic, are too liable to commotion, a mob is too easily excited to violence, a demagogue is too likely to gain great influence over this city, to make it at all advisable that the Pontiff should have republicans for his neighbors. A prince has duties to his people, to his dynasty, and to other nations that check him, and make him keep order in his realm; whereas the common people are restrained by no such consideration, and a clamorous hostile demonstration, with a stoppage of supplies, would very probably be the answer to any act of the Sovereign Pontiff that did not meet with their approbation. The vicissitudes of the days of Cola di Rienzi are there to show how incompatible with the mobile masses of a republic is the necessarily unbending firmness of a moral ruler. Not much happier than the foregoing is the idea proposed by the able deputy of the Italian parliament, Signor Toscanelli, who would have Rome a free city under the sovereign control of the Sovereign Pontiff and protected by the Italian government. It would, practically speaking, be impossible to eliminate all influence on the part of the government protecting and closely in material contact with the Roman Curia. Even supposing that the maintenance of the Pope and his dependents did not come from that government, it would not be advisable or satisfactory. In this case, the money for the support of the ecclesiastical authorities would have to come from foreign nations. Although this would save the Sovereign Pontiff from much of his subjection to the rulers of Italy, it would still leave him subject to influence of another kind very undesirable. The point is a delicate one, but we will treat it with all due consideration for those concerned. In legislating for mankind, you have no right to expect heroic actions, and this more particularly if those actions pertain to the supernatural order. This rule is to be applied to the Sovereign Pontiffs as to every one else. To their great honor, the Sovereign Pontiffs have stood nobly firm in the exercise of the duties of their exalted state; many a one has shed his blood for the faith, many a one has languished in chains for the good of his flock, many a one has braved the fury of crowned tyrants for the safety and well-being of the church of Christ. But above all praise as their conduct has often been, you have no right to put them in a position that requires the exercise of such heroic firmness. Now, what is the condition of a Pope dependent on the precarious contributions of foreign nations for his support? It is one in which an external influence is continually at work to check him in the free and impartial discharge of his duty; it is one in which he is continually forced to lay aside all human considerations of prudence and throw himself with fulness of faith on Divine Providence. The position is a sublime one, but for that very reason no man or body of men have any right to place him in it. If he sees fit to condemn some cherished opinion in a nation, the people cool in their devotion to him, and as the contributions of which we speak are voluntary, the disinclination to receive his decisions brings with it a disinclination to give spontaneously what had been so given before, and the direct consequence of every pontifical act unacceptable is very likely to be a diminution in the funds that come in for the support of the Pontiff; in fact, if we may be allowed the expression, these contributions may be looked on as a kind of spiritual thermometer, that by their rise or fall indicate the warmth or the coolness of feeling towards the Pope. In point of fact, it is well known that not a few prophesied, during the discussions of the question of the infallibility in the past year, that the passing of the decree would bring about a decided falling off in the Peter Pence. Notwithstanding this, the Sovereign Pontiff threw himself upon Providence, and his hope was not deceived. To the honor of Catholics throughout the world be it said, the contributions of the Peter Pence of to-day exceed those of all other epochs, and enable the Holy Father to administer to the most pressing wants of the flock over which he personally and directly presides. The hand of Providence is certainly here. Such manifestations of Providence, however, as we have said, no one has a right in legislating to look forward to, and therefore it is absolutely necessary that the Head of the Church should be the sovereign of a small state, large enough to save him from the necessity of tutelage, and yielding a yearly revenue sufficient to maintain him and those he must have around him with the decorum due to his condition. To this it may be objected, that his subjects will be deprived of many advantages enjoyed by free nations. We are very sceptical about these advantages; the progress of Rome under Pius IX. has been solid and satisfactory; and, on the other hand, the Roman subjects of the Pontiff will have many advantages to which other nations are often strangers: the advantage of light taxation, the advantage of laws repressing immorality, the advantage of peace with its delightful arts, the advantage of an enlightened protection of science and of the fine arts, and then the great material advantage of seeing their city the resort of the cultivated and wealthy classes of all nations, who flock to Rome to see the successor of St. Peter, and to enjoy the gorgeous and imposing ceremonial of the church. For far less advantages than these we deprived the citizens of a portion of our country of the great privilege of their political franchise; of all nations we should be the last to find fault with the infliction of a similar disqualification, of much more apparent harm than real, and which is compensated for an hundredfold. And this we say all the more earnestly because, in the case of Rome, it is not the welfare of a collection of states that is provided for, but the peace and good order of all nations of the earth.

THE ROSE.

Is there any portion of mankind that has not inhaled the sweet perfume of this lovely flower? From Borneo to the ruins of the Parthenon; from Kamschatka to Bengal; from the neighborhood of Hudson's Bay to the mountains of Mexico; from Cairo to the Cape of Good Hope, it graces the palace and the chamber, lavishes itself full-leaved on the processions of Corpus Christi, and serves as a pretty plaything to the child, who cracks the swollen petals on his innocent forehead.

Of it the Hebrews made their crowns, and in their solemnities the high-priest wreathed it around his head.

When the Queen of Sheba visited Solomon, it is said, she tried every means to assure herself not only of his superior wisdom, but also of the quickness of his perception. She placed before him one day two roses, one artificial, but so well made that she defied the king to distinguish the false one from the real. He sent for a bee, which naturally alighted on the true one, and thus, without approaching either, was able to give his decision.

Among the Hebrews, the bridegroom as well as the bride wore a crown of roses, of myrtle, or of olive.

Mythology assigns to the rose the most illustrious origin. At the moment when Pallas came out of the brain of Jupiter, the earth produced the rose, that delight might follow in the wake of wisdom. White at first, the poets have not quite agreed to what it owed its many-purpled hues. We are told by some that the exquisite Adonis was mortally wounded by a boar, and that his flowing blood fell on the roses, and colored them for ever. According to others, Venus ran to protect him, and the thorns and briers tore her lovely skin, and the purple drops fell on a wild rose, dyed it, and consecrated it for ever in her honor. Such a circumstance was scarcely necessary to make so perfect a flower sacred to the goddess of beauty. Some authors say that in the midst of an Olympian fête the goddess Hebe spilled the embalmed vermilion nectar, and that the white roses spread their petals to receive the perfume and the color.

Mythology also relates that Love presented to Harpocrates, the god of silence, the flower that no one had ever seen, and that consequently had never revealed anything. Hence came the custom of suspending a rose from the ceiling of the room where families assembled, in order that discretion, of which it was the symbol, might become the guarantee of the sacred security of all their conversations. _Sub rosa_ (under the rose) was a proverb that signified: We can speak freely, without suspicion.

Venus and Cupid were represented crowned with roses; so, also, Flora, the goddess of flowers, and Comus, who presided at festivities.

Aglaë, the youngest of the Graces, carried the rosebud in her hand, the attribute of youth and beauty.

The Graces, the Muses, and Bacchus also received their homage in crowns of roses; their altars were hung with garlands, and those good old servants the Penates were sometimes decorated in like manner. Of all the flowers, the rose was dedicated to the greatest number of divinities, although nearly all of them had some plant especially sacred.

The opening hour of day sowed roses in Aurora's path, who at sight of her father the sun wept tears of joy over her favorite flowers. So the poets of antiquity explain the drops of dew that tremble and scintillate on the roses in the morning light. The rose designates the dawn; and, bathed with dew, it is the emblem of filial piety.

Peace is represented holding a rod of thorns with roses and olive branches, and the muse Erato, when presiding over lyric poetry, was always crowned with myrtle and the rose.

The appearance of Christianity gave to the rose another origin, and we cite the legend. Once, a holy virgin of Bethlehem, falsely accused and calumniated, was condemned to perish by fire. She prayed to our Lord, beseeching him to come to her aid, because he knew she was not guilty of what they reproached her with. The fire went out immediately; the burning fagots were transformed into red-rose bushes covered with flowers, and those that were not lit into white ones. These roses were the first ever seen, and became from that time the flower of the martyrs.

The rose appeared at a very distant epoch as the emblem of the Virgin; it was particularly recognized as such by St. Dominic, when he instituted the devotion of the rosary, in direct allusion to the life of holy Mary.

Prayer appears always to have been symbolized by roses. There is a story told of a servant who, having to carry an immense amount of treasure belonging to his master through a wood, was there awaited by a band of robbers. On entering the forest, he remembered that he had that morning omitted his Ave Marias, so he knelt down to say them. As he prayed, the Virgin placed a beautiful garland on his head, to which at each Ave she added a rose. The brilliancy around him became intense, and the whole wood was illuminated. The good man knew nothing of his beautiful crown of roses, but the robbers saw the vision and let him pass unharmed.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

THE DIVINE LITURGY OF ST. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM. Translated by H. C. Romanoff. London, Oxford, and Cambridge: Rivingtons. 1871.

This is a neat little book, translated, by a Russian, from the original Greek. The catechism contained in the front is so very ancient and Catholic that it will be a difficult task indeed for those members of the Protestant Episcopal Church in England and America who dream of union with the Greek schism, ever to reconcile it with the catechism that begins, "What is your name? N. or M."

There is a note at the bottom of page 79, to the effect that, when the priest signs the elements and says the words, "And make this bread to be thy Holy Body, and what is in this cup to be thy Holy Blood," it is supposed that the consecration takes place, or, as the translator says, _transubstantiation_. This is an error invented by the modern Greeks and introduced by one Nicholas Cabasilas, contrary to the Council of Florence and to all Catholic tradition. For it is the universal teaching and belief that the consecration or transubstantiation takes place when the priest does what Christ did, and says the very same words that Christ said: "This is my body; this is my blood." That is the _form_ of the sacrament of the Eucharist. The ritualists object to the Roman vestments on the ground that they are not of the ancient shape. We would like them to look at page 18, and answer this question: Which is the more like the ancient vestment--the Roman or the Greek? Any candid man would answer that the former is. The Greek chasubles are cut away in front, the Roman at the sides. However, we hope that the day will soon come when these good people will learn that the essence of religion does not consist in the shape of a chasuble or the cut of a cope, but rather in a childlike obedience to that Infallible Authority which is able to regulate matters of discipline and worship as well as to define matters of faith and morals.

THE HOLY COMMUNION, ETC. By Hubert Lebon. Translated from the French by M. A. Garnett. Baltimore: John Murphy. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1871.

A delicious book for those who are favored with sensible devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, while, at the same time, it is so solid that those who are less favored will find much of it very profitable.

THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC SUNDAY-SCHOOL LIBRARY. Fourth Series. 6 vols. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1871.

The contents of this series are as follows: "Tales of Catholic Artists;" "Honor O'More's Three Homes;" "Sir Ælfric, and other Tales;" "Select Tales for the Young;" "Tales for the Many;" and "Frederic Wilmot."

These are very far removed from those tales, selected at haphazard, too often to be met with in libraries for the young which are juvenile but in name, the compilers of which are apparently ignorant of the fact that as much depends on judicious selection as careful rejection. In external appearance, paper, typography, binding, and illustration, we have also displayed, in miniature, the distinguishing characteristic of the works issued by the Publication Society, liberality of expenditure limited only by the suggestions of good taste. But, while thus equal in every respect to the preceding sets, and coming, too, most opportunely just in time for the annual distributions, there is to this series one great drawback which the reviewer may, but our boys and girls certainly cannot, overlook--it contains six volumes only; each of the preceding sets contained twelve.

THE STATE OF THE DEAD. By the Rev. Anson West. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1871.

The only "dead" on whose "state" this work throws any light are those who, like the author, are dead to the grace of humility. "Fathers, councils, creeds, and decrees," says he, "are of no account and of no authority in establishing the doctrines of divine truth"--(Preface, p. ix.) "We have ignored these," he adds, "and have _deferred to no one_" (_sic_). And so, forsooth, his own "ipse dixit," the complacent "we deny" with which he quashes an argument, _are_ "of account and authority in establishing the doctrines of divine truth." "Divine truth," indeed! What can he know of that, entombed as he is in his own self-sufficiency?

LIFE OF THE MOST REV. OLIVER PLUNKET. By the Rev. Patrick Moran, D.D. 8vo, pp. 396. New York: P. O'Shea. 1871.

This abridged edition of the life, sufferings, and execution of the celebrated Archbishop of Armagh, taken from the larger work of the same author published in Ireland some years ago, will be found, from its intrinsic merits and portable form, to be a favorite and popular book among the mass of American Catholics. Though relating, in a concise manner, the leading facts in the life of that persecuted primate, it is necessarily deficient in many of the features which made Monsignor Moran's original memoir so valuable an addition to the historical annals of the reign of the Second Charles of England. The voluminous correspondence of Dr. Plunket with the Internunzio at Brussels and the Secretary of the Propaganda; his reports on the condition of ecclesiastical affairs in Ireland from 1670 till within a short time of his death; and the decrees of the general and provincial synods convoked by him, all of which are very fully reproduced in the original book, are totally or partially omitted in the compendium before us. Still, we are glad to see an authentic account of the piety, learning, and heroism of the illustrious victim of Protestant intolerance placed within the reach of all who reverence his memory, and especially of those who feel proud in being able to call him their countryman.

THE TRUCE OF GOD. A Tale of the Eleventh Century. By George H. Miles. 1 vol., 16mo. Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1871.

The contest between Pope Gregory VII. and Henry IV. of Germany forms the groundwork of this delightful story, which abounds with interesting descriptions of feudal times, and gives us, with charming simplicity, the details of the daily religious life of the people of those "dark ages," so luminous with the light of faith.

The character of the intrepid, patient Hildebrand is drawn with a skilful hand, and reminds us that persecution has ever been the lot of the faithful Vicar of Christ.

The pleasing title of the book brings to our remembrance the fact that the church of God in those days sanctified to peace a portion of every week, beginning at sunset on Wednesday and continuing till Monday morning. All private warfare was forbidden during these days, under pain of excommunication.

This precept mingles with the thread of the story, which is both attractive and instructive, leaving upon the mind and heart a most agreeable impression.

The mechanical portion of the book is beautifully executed, and we are delighted to see that all the books got out this season by Mr. Murphy are in the same elegant style.

THE HISTORY OF GREECE. By Professor Dr. Ernst Curtius. Translated by A. W. Ward, M.A., Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, and Professor of History in Owens College, Manchester. Vol. I. New York: Scribner. 1871.

Every scholar knows how learned Germans write history. Dr. Curtius ranks with Mommsen as a historian, and his _History of Greece_, of which this volume is the first instalment, is to be classed with the _History of Rome_ by the latter author. We believe that it has the advantage over it of being complete, and, moreover, its subject is even more interesting to students and men of letters. It is brought out in a style of excellence similar to that of Mommsen's _History_, leaving nothing in that respect to be desired. We hope that the demand for works of this kind may be sufficient to induce some one of our great publishing-houses to favor the public with a translation of Leo's _Universal History_, which is the masterpiece of German historical works.

MARTYRS OMITTED BY FOXE: Being Records of Religious Persecutions in the 16th and 17th Centuries. Compiled by a Member of the English Church. With a Preface by the Rev. Frederick G. Lee, D.C.L., F.S.A., Vicar of All Saints', Lambeth. London: John Hodges. 1870.

This is a singular and a singularly interesting little volume. It is Anglican, as the title shows; yet, strange to say, it is made up of brief but well-written and affectionate memorials of More, Campion, Arundel, Plunket, and a number of other illustrious martyrs of the Catholic faith and the supremacy of the Roman Church in England and Ireland. It is a book which we can unhesitatingly recommend to Catholics as well as Protestants, and which we should rejoice to see extensively circulated. We cherish the most unbounded veneration for these heroic martyrs, and ardently long for the time when they may be solemnly canonized by the authority of that Holy See for whose rights they suffered torments and death. The author has our thanks for his pious tribute to the sacred and holy memory of these blessed victims of Protestant English cruelty. May it help to bring England to a penitent recognition of their merits, and bring a blessing from God to himself.

THE AMERICAN ANNUAL CYCLOPÆDIA AND REGISTER OF IMPORTANT EVENTS OF THE YEAR 1870. Vol. X. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1871.

This volume of _Appleton's Cyclopædia_ is certainly, at least considered as a register of current events, of unusual interest. No recent year has witnessed events in Europe of such importance as have occurred in 1870; and the accounts given of them are sufficiently full. Of course they have been carefully prepared, and are interesting from the nature of the case. So far as we have noticed, the proper scope of such a publication has been well observed, plain statements of facts being given without comment or apparent prejudice. The statement of the preface, however, that by the overthrow of the temporal sovereignty of the Pope, "liberalism and authority have been brought to a final issue before the world," is somewhat objectionable; as is also, and in a much higher degree, the introduction of a portrait of the wretched man who, unfortunately for himself as well as others, is the nominal head of the Italian kingdom, for a frontispiece. Portraits are also given of two really distinguished and remarkable men, Generals Von Moltke and Robert E. Lee.

The results of the United States census of 1870 are given, and full information as to the present condition and growth of each state. The scientific information is on the whole valuable and accurate. In the present intense activity of research in this field, it is of course impossible to admit into a work of this kind everything of interest and importance, and nothing besides, and a better selection could hardly have been made. The volume is very creditable to its able and enterprising publishers.

WONDERS OF EUROPEAN ART. By Louis Viardot. Illustrated. 1 vol. 16mo. New York: Charles Scribner & Co. 1871.

We have so often spoken in praise of the volumes of this series, known as "The Library of Wonders," that it is with regret we are compelled, as in the case of the present volume, to condemn any of them. But such books as these need careful editing, and in the volume before us this has evidently been neglected; for on page 88 we find "the idolatries of the Catholic Church," as well as similar expressions elsewhere, that unfit it for circulation amongst our Catholic youth. We would most respectfully suggest to the publishers a little more care in future volumes, if they desire to have these books placed in Catholic libraries, or given as school and college premiums, for both of which they are, otherwise, admirably adapted.

The Catholic Publication Society has in press, and will soon publish: _The Life of Mother Julia_, foundress of the Sisters of Notre Dame. _Familiar Instructions on Mortal Prayer._ By the Abbé Courbon. Translated from the French, and edited by Rev. W. T. Gordon, of the Oratory, London. _Light in Darkness: A Treatise on the Obscure Night of the Soul._ By Rev. A. F. Hewit. THE ILLUSTRATED CATHOLIC FAMILY ALMANAC FOR 1872. A _Life of Mother Margaret Mary Hallahan_, abridged. A new edition of _Mylius's History of England_, continued down to the present day and adapted for schools. _Gahan's Church History_, a new edition, continued down to the present time.

The Catholic Publication Society will also soon publish in one handsome volume _The Pictorial Bible and Church History Stories_, being a compendious narrative of sacred history, brought down to the present times of the church, by Rev. Henry Formby. It will be copiously illustrated from designs by the most eminent artists, and will be sold at a price so as to place it within the reach of every Catholic family in the United States.

We have just received from Messrs. Murphy & Co. an advance copy of _Patron Saints_, by Miss Starr.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY, New York: A History of the Christian Councils; from the Original Documents, to the close of the Council of Nicæa, A.D. 325. By Charles Joseph Hefele, D.D., Bishop of Rottenburg, etc. Translated from the German by W. R. Clark, M.A. Oxon. 1 vol. 8vo.--The Priest on the Mission: A Course of Lectures on Missionary and Parochial Duties. By Frederick Canon Oakley, M.A. 1 vol. 12mo.

From P. F. CUNNINGHAM, Philadelphia: The Acts of the Early Martyrs. By J. A. M. Fastré, S.J. First Series and Second Series. 2 vols. 12mo.

From J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Philadelphia: Hesperia. By Cora L. V. Tappan.--Thistledown. By Esmeralda Boyle.

From BENZIGER BROS., New York: Euchiridion Sacerdotum Curam Animarum Agentum. Compilatum a L. B. V. M. Moczygemba.

From P. O'SHEA, New York: The Catholic Youth's Hymn Book; containing hymns of the seasons and festivals of the year, and an extensive collection of sacred melodies; to which are added an easy Mass, Vespers, and Mottets for Benediction. Arranged, with a special view to the wants of Catholic schools, by the Christian Brothers.

From CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO., New York: Common Sense in the Household: A Manual of Practical Housewifery. By Marion Harland.

From P. J. KENEDY, New York: The Life of St. Mary of Egypt; to which is added The Life of St. Cecilia and The Life of St. Bridget.

From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: The Model Prayer: A Course of Lectures on the Lord's Prayer. By George C. Baldwin, D.D., author of "Representative Women," etc.

From ROBERTS BROS., Boston: Ad Clerum: Advice to a Young Preacher. By Jos. Parker, D.D., author of "Ecce Deus."

From J. MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: The Child's Prayer and Hymn Book, for the use of Catholic Sunday-schools.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XIII., No. 77.--AUGUST, 1871.[143]

INFALLIBILITY.

We propose to treat this topic in a manner somewhat different from the ordinary one, and which may seem indirect and circuitous. We hope to come to the point more securely in this way than by the more direct road, and to drive before us the whole body of outlying, straggling difficulties and objections. In particular, we intend to place in a clear, intelligible light the nature, purport, and ground of the recent definition of the Council of the Vatican, which has made the infallibility of the Roman Pontiff an article of faith. It is for this purpose that we have taken up the general topic of infallibility; and the reason for discussing this general topic rather than the exclusive question of Papal infallibility alone is, that the latter cannot be properly explained except in its relation to the former. The infallibility of the church is a more general and extensive idea than the infallibility of the Pope. In the order of time, it was prior to it in the minds of the great mass of the faithful as a certain truth of the divine revelation, and it was before it as an article of explicit Catholic faith. The precise point which many persons have not clearly understood has been, how it could have been less clearly known and less explicitly believed by a number of good Catholics before the Council of the Vatican than after it, especially considering its very great practical importance. They are puzzled to think that it was not an article of universal, explicit faith always, as much as the infallibility of the church. Or, in few and plain words, they do not understand how a council could define it as an article of faith which must be believed as a condition of Catholic communion, when it had not been always proposed as an article of faith, with the obligation of believing and professing it, to all the faithful everywhere. If it is a new dogma, how can it be a part of the old Catholic faith handed down from the apostles, and what authority has a council to create a new dogma? If it is an old dogma, how could the denial of its certain, infallible truth have been tolerated, and the judgment of a council make this denial now, for the first time, to become a heresy, to which the penalty of an anathema is affixed? The answer to these questions is plain enough to any one who has a moderate knowledge of the elements of theology. No council can create a dogma which is new, in the sense of being a new doctrine, or a new revelation. The new definitions of the Council of the Vatican are definitions of old truths, old doctrines, revealed by Jesus Christ and the apostles, and contained in Scripture and tradition. But some of the truths proposed by these definitions, although old doctrines, and contained in the original deposit of faith, are new dogmas in this sense, that they are more explicit statements of truths implicitly contained in dogmas previously defined or declared, and that they are now newly proposed under this more precise and extended form to the faithful, as revealed doctrines, with the obligation of receiving them as articles of faith. The dogma of the infallibility of the Roman Pontiff was contained implicitly in the dogma of the infallibility of the church, and in the dogma, long since explicitly defined, of the Papal supremacy; in Scripture and tradition also; and in the general teaching of the schools of theology, in a more distinct and express form. Wherefore, as we have said, it is useful and important to show how it is contained in and related to the general principles of the essential constitution and infallibility of the church, as well as to make an exposition of the specific proofs of its truth as a distinct doctrine from the Scripture, the fathers, and the general teaching which has prevailed in the church. In this way, a Catholic, to whom new truths, or truths less clearly and certainly known than others, have been proposed as a part of the Catholic faith by the Council of the Vatican, will see that his ideas are not changed but enlarged, and enlarged not by an addition of extrinsic matter, but by the growth and development within his own mind of the faith which he already possessed in its integrity.

Let us begin by defining and clearly comprehending the term _infallibility_. It is a negative term in its literal meaning. Fallible means liable to err. Infallible means not liable to err; and infallibility is the exemption from liability to error. When we say that the church is infallible, we say, in strictness of meaning, that the church is not liable to err. Her infallibility is some kind of immunity from error, which is one of her essential notes. This immunity from error evidently implies some sort of unerring possession of truth, and therefore denotes a positive quality or prerogative, as is frequently the case with terms of a negative form. What it denotes in Catholic theology we will explain more fully as we proceed. The positive idea, in which the general notion of infallibility has its foundation, is one of the first principles not only of Catholic theology, but of all theology and philosophy. The unerring and certain possession of some eternal and universal truths is, and must be, affirmed by all who profess that man has or can have the knowledge of God and of the relation of his own soul to him, whether by reason or revelation; that is, by all except sceptics. With sceptics we wish to have nothing to do, for they are not entitled to be treated as rational beings. Every rational man will admit that there is such a thing as wisdom, and that the wise man possesses it, and therefore knows something in the order of rational truth. St. Augustine has proved this in a most subtle and conclusive manner in his short treatise, _Against the Academicians_, the earliest of his published works, written while he was preparing for baptism. The wise man, he proves, cannot have the notion of probability or verisimilitude, unless he has the idea of truth. He knows, at least, that there is such a thing as truth, otherwise he could not affirm in a reasonable manner that anything is probably in conformity with truth, that is, appears to be true, or resembles truth, which is the meaning of verisimilitude. Moreover, every man is forced to admit the certain truth of a number of disjunctive propositions. "I am certain that the world is either one or not, and if not one, either a finite or an infinite number. Also, that this world has its order, from a merely physical law of nature, or some higher power; that it either is without beginning or end, or else has a beginning and no end, or had no beginning but will have an end, and numberless other things of the same kind."[144] In the same manner, we may say: Either the visible world is an illusion or real; either God exists or he does not exist; Christianity is either true or false; either Catholicity is genuine or counterfeit Christianity; either the existence of God, the truth of the Catholic religion, the infallibility of the Catholic Church, can be proved with certitude, or they cannot be proved. These disjunctive propositions can be multiplied indefinitely, and they are only different examples of that principle of logic called the principle of contradiction, which it is impossible for any one seriously and intelligently to deny or even to doubt. Reason, therefore, forces us to affirm that we know something with unerring certainty, that is, that the human intellect is at least to this limited extent exempt from liability to deception or error, and, so far, infallible. The only possible dispute in philosophy or theology relates to the subject and extent of infallibility. What truths are known or knowable with infallible certitude, and where is the infallibility seated which gives this certitude?

Every man who affirms that God obliges the human conscience to give a firm and undoubting assent to certain truths, and to obey certain moral rules, must admit that he also gives the means of knowing with unerring certainty these truths and moral rules. Even the probabilist cannot escape this. For he who would act safely on a probable conscience must have a reflex certainty that he does not sin in doing so. If we are bound to assent to truth, and to obey law, of which we have only probable evidence, and this obligation is certain, we must know with certainty that we are subjectively acting in a right manner in giving our assent and obedience. A philosopher who affirms that we have certain knowledge of this truth and this law is, of course, a more strict infallibilist than the other. Yet the principle is in common. When a man affirms that God has made a positive revelation, and that in his revelation he has disclosed truths and promulgated laws which he binds the conscience of every one to whom they are proposed to believe and obey, he extends the principle of infallibility much further. If I am to believe these truths, especially such as are above reason, with a firm, undoubting assent, and to be held bound to keep these laws, especially such as are hard to keep, the revelation must be made to my mind in such a manner as to give me certainty, without any fear of error. Whoever admits this must assent also to the following disjunctive proposition: Either the revelation of God is made known to the individual mind through the medium of the Catholic Church, or in some other way. We are not concerned at present to prove the proposition that the revelation is made known through the church as a medium. Our argument is immediately directed to those who admit and believe it already. Therefore, leaving aside all discussion with those who are not Christians or not Catholics, we merely affirm, as a consequence from what has been proved, that the principle of infallibility, so far as Christian faith is concerned, is seated in the church as the medium of divine revelation. With us Catholics it is unquestioned that the church is that visible society whose supreme head is the Pope. Our only object of investigation is the nature, extent, and more precise seat of that infallibility which the church possesses as the depository of divine revelation, and the medium of communicating it to individual minds.

The church is infallible. To make more plain the meaning of this proposition, let us go back once more to the etymology of the term infallible. The Latin word from which it is derived is _fallo_, signifying _deceive_. Infallible signifies incapable of being deceived or deceiving. The church, as infallible, cannot be deceived or deceive, respecting that body of truth which has been deposited in her by the apostles, and which they received from Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. The positive and fundamental truth from which this negative statement of the inerrancy of the church is derived, and which it protects, is, that the church, as a visible, organized society, is the immediate recipient of a certain divine revelation, and the medium of its transmission and communication. This divine revelation must be accepted and believed with a firm assent, excluding all doubt, by each individual. It is a revelation of dogmas and doctrines, some of which are mysteries above reason, and of laws which are strictly obligatory. Each individual must receive the faith and law from the church, of which he is a member by baptism, with unquestioning submission and obedience of the intellect and will. But this entire, unreserved faith and obedience could not be justly exacted, unless the church were divinely enabled to impart pure, unmixed truth, and to prescribe pure, unmixed holiness to her members, and divinely secured from imparting or prescribing error or sin. Authority and obligation are correlative in nature and extent. As is the obligation, so is the authority. If the obligation is universal and without reserve, the authority is sovereign and supreme. If the obligation requires an absolute, undoubting assent of the mind, and a divine faith, the authority must be infallible. Whoever is bound to unconditional assent must be secured in immunity from error in believing. Whoever is authorized to command assent must be secured in immunity from error in teaching. Supreme and sovereign authority in teaching, and absolute obedience in receiving what is taught, require and exact, as a necessary condition, inerrancy in that society which is constituted on the principle of this authority and its correlative obedience. The fundamental idea of the Catholic Church, therefore, contains in it that passive and active infallibility which belongs to the hierarchy and the faithful as composing one body under their head, the Roman Pontiff. Wherever divine and Catholic faith, or certain knowledge derived from faith, and the obligation of unreserved, complete assent and obedience, are found, there is the passive infallibility of the church. Wherever supreme teaching authority is found, commanding this obedience, declaring or defining this faith, or revealed doctrine, or certain truth derived from and depending on it, there is the church's active infallibility in exercise. The influence of those gifts of the Holy Ghost by which the church is rendered infallible pervades the whole body of the church, and manifests itself in the most multiform ways. The church is living and immortal. Her life is divine and supernatural, and its principle is faith. The faith is, therefore, the principle of an immortal life, and itself an immortal principle within the church. Like the principle of animal vitality, it is found in every part of the organization, but vitalizing each organ and member in a different way, according to its function. Brain, heart, lungs, and fingers are vitalized by the same principle, although each one fulfils a special office. So in the church, the supreme head, the hierarchy, the laity, are animated by the same divine principle of faith, and concur in the general functions of the great organic unit, but each in his own place and in a special office. The result of their combined and complex action is the perpetuation of the divine revelation in all times and places until the end of the world. We have to consider, therefore, a great many other constituent parts, organs, and members of the body of the church, as well as the head, in order to understand the relation which the head bears to them and they to it, and the manner in which its special function influences and is influenced by the other functions. We can do this only in a brief and imperfect manner in a short essay, but we will endeavor to touch upon some of the principal parts of this great and extensive subject in a manner sufficient for our purpose.

The revelation which proceeded from the Incarnate Word of God was diffused, in a great variety of ways, by the apostles, and committed to a great number of various channels for transmission through the coming ages. They gave it to the faithful by their preaching, they embodied it in the hierarchy, in the sacraments, in the creed, in the liturgy, in fasts and festivals, in rites, ceremonies, and worship. They taught it to their companions and successors in the episcopate in the most complete and thorough manner. They committed it to writing, in great part, in their inspired scriptures, and gave their sanction to other books written under divine inspiration by those who were not apostles. To use a figure, there are many great rivers by which the inspired and divine doctrines of the apostles flow through all parts of the world, and through all the succeeding periods of time. The great sources of these rivers are, nevertheless, but two: Scripture and tradition. The Holy Scripture is infallible, as well the Old Testament, which is proposed anew to Christians by the church, as the New Testament, in which the clearer and more complete revelation is contained. Apostolic tradition is infallible, and therefore Catholic tradition, which is an unerring transmission of it, is also infallible. The written and oral teaching of the apostles has come down to us by the numerous great rivers and the smaller numberless rivulets of Catholic tradition, irrigating the fields and gardens of the church, and opening the way to intellectual communion between different countries and centuries. These streams can be traced back to their sources by the student. The single doctrines of faith and theology can be traced one by one, and the whole body of doctrines, as a complete system, can be followed up, through the expositions, meditations, and commentaries of saints, doctors, and fathers of the church, to the Holy Scripture. In the same way, the student can go back to the original tradition. He is not restricted to one line of argument or evidence, for there are many converging lines, each one more or less certain and sufficient by itself, and all, taken together, irresistibly and overwhelmingly conclusive and convincing. One who is not able to make an investigation of this kind may, nevertheless, be competent to understand the general and equally conclusive argument from prescription. He may know enough of history to be aware that the principal doctrines of the faith were universally held in the tenth century, still further back in the fifth, and before that, indefinitely, without any record of a change, or any adequate cause for such general consent, except the teaching of the apostles.

Not only are the Scriptures and apostolic tradition infallible sources of doctrine which is unerringly transmitted, but the general sense and belief of the faithful is also infallible. The faithful have received from the beginning the teaching of the divine revelation by a supernatural sense, a divine gift of faith, so that the revelation has not remained merely extrinsically proposed to them, but also received and appropriated by them, in a living manner, through the inward operation of the Holy Spirit in their minds. This sense of the faithful is even one of the motives of the definitions made by popes and councils. It was consulted by Pius IX. when he was preparing to make his decree respecting the Immaculate Conception, and it was recognized at the Council of the Vatican as expressed in the numerous petitions for the definition of papal infallibility. The body of the faithful cannot lose the faith, or any part of it, or embrace any heresy as belonging to faith. Their unanimous consent in doctrine is an infallible evidence of the true faith in itself, and a note of the true religion. The body of the church is immortal in the life of faith, and indefeasible in its supernatural existence, and therefore infallible, as well as the head. It cannot separate from its head in doctrine. The universal recognition of the Pope by the church makes it infallibly certain that he is the true and legitimate Pope, and the universal acceptance of a council as œcumenical makes it infallibly certain that it is a true council, although it be certain also, on other infallible motives, that Pope and council are legitimate. The want of this universal recognition caused for many years the legitimacy of certain popes to be doubtful in a large part of Christendom, and of course made the authority of their decrees doubtful, and would have made the authority of any council convoked by them as a general council also doubtful. It was the unanimous agreement of the whole church in recognizing Martin V. as the true successor of St. Peter, which gave to all the faithful certainty that he was their lawful head. If a Catholic had no other evidence that the dogmatic decree of Pius IX. declaring the Immaculate Conception a doctrine of faith, and the decrees of the Vatican Council defining the infallibility of the Pope, are valid and binding, except the universal profession of the faithful that they believe these doctrines with a divine and Catholic faith, that alone would be sufficient to give him infallible certainty.

The infallibility of the church in this general sense, which is an attribute of the whole body or visible society, includes and exacts the infallibility of the teaching and ruling hierarchy in a special and particular sense, which is also capable of an independent proof of its own. The faithful are subject to the hierarchy and dependent on it for the sacraments, for regulation, and for instruction. All that life which is diffused throughout the body must exist in a more immediate and intense action in its highest organs. An infallible church cannot be subject to a fallible teaching authority. The apostles were infallible witnesses, teachers, and judges, in respect to the faith and everything connected with it, as the original founders of the church under the Lord Jesus Christ, by whom they were immediately commissioned. The church was made infallible by participation with them, as they were made infallible by participation with Christ, who was himself infallible as the Son of God. The authority of officially declaring the testimony of the church, of teaching authoritatively its doctrine, of judging in all controversies, and of punishing all delinquents, was left by the apostles to their successors the bishops; and the special authority of St. Peter, as the Vicar of Christ, was transmitted by him to his successors in the See of Rome. In their prophetical office, as the immediate organs of the revelation of the Holy Spirit, they left no successors, for when the faith and law of Christ were once fully revealed, the necessity of this office ceased. But their official infallibility was, of necessity, perpetuated in that episcopal order which inherited the hierarchical dignity and authority of the Apostolic College. The church is infallible in teaching and judging, as well as in keeping and professing the deposit of faith, and accepting what is taught by lawful authority. Every Catholic knows this to be a fundamental doctrine of the faith. But it is the _Ecclesia Docens_, the church or assembly of prelates, which is meant in this proposition. There is no infallibility in fathers, doctors, theologians, priests, or the faithful generally, which is separate from or independent of the authority of the episcopate. Even bishops who separate from the unity of their order by revolting against its supreme chief, lose all their authority. No matter how many bishops, priests, and laymen separate from this unity, their whole number is of no more account than if there were but one, since they are totally cut off from the church. Tertullian, Apollinaris, Cranmer, Luther, the whole mass of Oriental schismatics and other seceders, count for nothing. Those who revolt from the unity of the church lose the grace of faith, and have no longer any share in the church's infallibility. The consent of fathers, doctors, theologians, and of the faithful is infallible, because it represents Catholic tradition, which is itself a reflection or image of the authoritative teaching of the apostles and their successors. There is no contradiction or dissension possible in truth, but only in error. In how may ways soever the truth infallibly manifests itself, these various manifestations must always agree with each other. In order that the official teaching and judgments of the episcopate may always agree with Scripture, tradition, with each other, with the teaching of fathers, theologians, doctors, and the consent of the faithful, they must be infallible. All alike being infallible, they must agree. No individual, or number of individuals, therefore, can be qualified to cite either Scripture or tradition against the authority of the church, any more than to cite the authority of one apostle against that of another apostle. To do this, is merely to oppose private judgment, individual opinion, to public, official, and authoritative judgment, which is destructive of the very principle of authority and organization. The supreme teacher and judge must decide in all doubtful and disputed cases, without appeal, what is the doctrine and law, what is the sense of Scripture, the witness of tradition, the doctrine of the fathers, the common belief of the faithful.

From this final and decisive authority, and the correlative obligation of obedience, we derive another and most cogent proof, that wherever sovereignty in the order of ideas or doctrinal supremacy resides in the church, it must be there that the active infallibility of the church is principally seated. A supreme and final judgment or decree must be an infallible judgment. It is irretractible, irreformable, irreversible. The church is committed to it, and bound by it for ever, and that by the law of God. It must be, therefore, the absolute truth, and whatever tribunal is qualified to pronounce it to be so, and to exact unlimited assent and obedience from all the faithful, must be infallible.

We must be careful, however, not to limit the authority to teach, and to require outward obedience or even inward assent, or the obligation of submission to authority, to the sphere of infallible declarations and judgments. In the natural order itself, we are frequently bound in conscience to assent to things which are only probable, and to act on the supposition that they are true. Probability is the only and the sufficient guide of life in most things. Self-evident and demonstrable truths, and indubitable facts, are comparatively few in number. Without a basis of certitude, there would be no such thing as real versimilitude or probability. But with that basis we can construct a great edifice of beliefs, opinions, and practical rules, which have more or less of the firmness and stability of their foundation. The probability of these beliefs is to a great extent extrinsic--that is, derived from authority which in reason and conscience we are bound to respect. It is reasonable, and it is a duty, to receive the instruction of parents, teachers, masters, with docility; to respect the authority of learned and wise men, of tribunals, and of the common sense of society. In the supernatural order it is the same. The authority of the Holy Scripture is not restricted to that portion of its teaching which the mind perceives with an absolute certitude. There is a moral obligation on every student of the Scripture to give its probable sense and meaning that inward assent which corresponds to the degree of probability which his mind and conscience apprehend, and which may approach indefinitely near to certainty. It is the same with tradition, and with other sources of Catholic doctrine, such as the teaching of standard authors in dogmatic and moral theology, the official instructions of confessors, preachers, and pastors of the church, including those of councils and of the Sovereign Pontiff. Under this head are to be classed the decrees of the Roman Congregations, excepting those cases in which the Pope gives them a higher sanction than the one ordinarily given. There is, therefore, a wide sphere in which an authority is exercised within the order of ideas which is legitimate, and to which deference and obedience are due, but which is not guaranteed to have a complete and perpetual immunity from all error. We cannot say, therefore, that there cannot be any exercise of teaching authority in the church which is fallible, but only that the church cannot be left without any authority except that which is fallible. To a certain extent, Scripture and tradition may be ambiguous, doubtful, capable of being interpreted differently; but we cannot be left altogether in doubt or uncertainty about their meaning. Catholic schools may have their differences about dogmatic or moral theology, but they cannot be altogether divided and dissentient. The common belief of the faithful may shade off insensibly, so that it is difficult or impossible to draw a precise line between what is in itself pertaining to faith and that which is only opinion, but it cannot be in all things indistinct and vague. The confessor, the pastor, the bishop, the theologian, the father of the church, may teach something which is erroneous, but this liability to error cannot be universal. The tribunals of the church, even, may be obliged to decide upon partial and incomplete evidence and knowledge of the cause, and afterwards to annul their decisions, as in the case of the heliocentric theory. But these tribunals cannot be always and altogether without a higher and more certain rule to guide them. There must be a supreme and sovereign authority in the church which is infallible, and which can guide, direct, restrain, and correct all inferior and fallible exercise of authority. This sovereign authority is only exercised in the declaration and definition of doctrine in an irreversible and irreformable manner, and with an obligation annexed of that assent which excludes even a hypothetical doubt, or a right of ever withdrawing or modifying assent. It is this authority which we say must be infallible. And, moreover, it is impossible to conceive of the real existence of an authority of this kind which is not infallible. The belief of the infallibility of the church was therefore contained, from the first, demonstrably, in the belief of the supreme authority of the church. Moreover, it has always been distinctly believed and taught, as well as acted on, in all ages, and has been explicitly declared by the Council of the Vatican, and, so far as the Pope is concerned, defined in express terms.

This infallible and perpetual magistracy of the church is exercised in its ordinary way by the official teaching of the Catholic episcopate, whose supreme head is the Pope, and of the priests commissioned by them to teach. It began before the New Testament was written, and continued for nearly three hundred years before any œcumenical council was held. It is a great mistake to fancy that either the Scripture, or the decrees of councils, created the faith. It existed before them, and was apprehended with a vividness and distinctness perhaps surpassing anything which has been witnessed in later periods.

The solemn and special exercise of this magistracy is through the judgments and definitions of the Holy See, either with or without the concurrence of œcumenical councils. These solemn acts have had for their first object to express in definite terms what was always taught and believed as of the Catholic faith, and to condemn all opposite errors. Their second object has been to declare and define revealed truths contained in Scripture and tradition, but not proposed by the church as of Catholic faith before their solemn definition. Their third object has been to define truths not revealed, but so connected with or related to revealed truths, that they are necessary to the protection of the faith and law of the church. Many of the judgments belonging to the last two classes, also, are negative in their form, that is, condemnations of heretical, erroneous, or otherwise censurable tenets and opinions. The necessity for making these definitions has been so constant and frequent during the history of the church, that the principal doctrines of the faith, and a vast body of doctrine pertaining to or connected with it, are distinctly and explicitly taught in the collection of the acts of the Holy See and the œcumenical councils. It would be, however, a most grievous error to suppose that everything contained in Scripture and tradition, much less the whole body of truth which is capable of infallible definition, has been exhausted, or could be expressed in a certain definite number of propositions, to which no addition could ever be made. The fountain is inexhaustible. And, no matter how long time may last, the church can still proceed to make new and more explicit elucidations and definitions of that complete and Catholic body of truth which she has held and taught either explicitly or implicitly from the beginning. The notion that the church is a merely mechanical medium, for transmitting a definite and precise number of propositions of faith, is wholly false. It is the notion of a certain number of Anglicans, but wholly foreign to the true and Catholic idea. It is not only heterodox, but rationally untenable and ridiculous. Equally so is the common Protestant notion of a division among revealed truths into two classes, the fundamental and non-fundamental, in the sense in which those terms are used by Protestant theologians. Undoubtedly, there are mysteries and doctrines which are fundamental in the sense that they are at the basis of Christianity, and more necessary to be universally known and explicitly believed than any others. And, consequently, there are other truths which belong to the superstructure, to the minor and less principal parts of the system, or to its finish and ornamentation. But, in the sense to which we have reference, they are all equal. That is, there is the same obligation of believing any one revealed truth as any other, because the authority of God is equally sovereign and majestic in each single instance. We are bound to believe, implicitly, everything contained in the written and unwritten word of God. Whatever the church proposes as a revealed truth we are bound to believe explicitly as a part of the Catholic faith, as soon as we know it. Whatever else we know certainly to be contained in the word of God, we are bound to believe by divine faith. In regard to all that portion of revealed truth which is not thus clearly made known to us, we are bound to submit our minds unreservedly to the decisions and judgments which the church may hereafter make, and in the meantime to adhere to that which seems to be the truth. A Catholic must not only believe what the church now proposes to his belief, but be ready to believe whatever she may hereafter propose. And he must, therefore, be ready to give up any or all of his probable opinions so soon as they are condemned and proscribed by a competent authority. Moreover, he must believe what the church teaches, not simply or chiefly because he has convinced himself by his own investigations that her doctrines are really contained in the word of God, but because the infallible authority of the church proposes them as revealed doctrines. The latest decisions of the church have, therefore, the same authority as the earliest. The Council of the Vatican is equally sacred with the Council of Trent, and the Council of Trent with the First Council of Nicæa.

It is not necessary to prove to any tolerably instructed Catholic that this is the only doctrine which has been recognized as orthodox, or taught with the sanction of the hierarchy, within the Catholic communion. It is found in all our catechisms and books of instruction, and preached by all pastors. It is an amazing fact that some ostensible converts to the church in England, who have lately renounced their sworn allegiance to her authority, have declared that they never understood this doctrine. This only shows the depth of the ignorance of Catholic doctrine which prevails among many of the most intelligent and educated Protestants, especially those of the Anglican sect. Priests educated in the faith from their childhood, cannot easily apprehend such ignorance in persons who apparently hold Catholic doctrines and are attracted by Catholic ceremonies. They may, therefore, in some cases presuppose in their catechumens an understanding of the fundamental Catholic principle which they have not, and pass them in with a superficial instruction which leaves them as much Protestants as they were before. It is to be hoped that greater precaution will be used hereafter in this important matter. It is also true that a number of nominal Catholics, and, sad to say, some priests, a few of whom had stood in high repute, have recently manifested to the world how utterly they had in their secret hearts thrown off the allegiance due to the authority of the church. But these examples prove nothing. It is as clear as the sun that the doctrine we have laid down is the doctrine of the Catholic Church. It is the doctrine of Bossuet as well as that of Bellarmine, of Waterworth as well as of Wiseman. No other doctrine has ever been tolerated in the church, and if any have held or taught any other, at any time, who have not been personally condemned and excommunicated, they were still only pretended but not real members of the Catholic communion. A most signal manifestation of the universal faith of the church in this doctrine was made in the year 1854. The doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, which St. Thomas and many other Dominican writers had opposed without censure, and which the Holy See had strictly forbidden all theologians to call a dogma of Catholic faith before the definition, was then proclaimed as a dogma of faith by Pius IX. with the applause of the whole body of bishops, clergy, and faithful. Another one has been made within the last year by a number of bishops, priests, and other Catholics, who have given up their opinions respecting the infallibility of the Pope, and have received that doctrine as a doctrine of faith, simply upon the authority of the Council of the Vatican.

This remark brings us to a part, and a very important part, of our subject, which we promised at the beginning of this article to treat of at its close, and thus give a complete view of the doctrine of infallibility.

The definition of the Council of the Vatican, by virtue of the foregoing principles, furnishes every one of the faithful with an infallible motive for believing the infallibility of the Pope as a dogma of faith, and imposes the obligation of faith on his conscience. The teaching of the universal episcopate, in accordance with that definition, furnishes another equally infallible motive. And so does the universal belief of the faithful, who receive and submit to that infallible definition of the council. There is, moreover, such an abundance of proof from the Scripture, and the most conspicuous monuments of tradition, of the doctrine in question, that any person of ordinary education is capable of understanding enough of the evidence in the case to make a reasonable judgment, and might have done so, even before the case was decided. The fact that a small number of theologians held a different opinion was really of no weight at any time, considering the vastly preponderating weight of the judgment of all the saints, the great majority of theologians, and almost the entire body of the bishops. Whatever seeming probability the opinion of this small minority might have had in the minds of some having been totally destroyed by the judgment of the council, the reasons from Scripture and tradition gain now their full force and are seen in their true light. But the purpose we have had in view, and which we stated at the outset, is not the exhibition of these specific proofs, but the exposition of the relation of the new definition to the supremacy itself and the general doctrine of infallibility; as well as an answer to the question, how the infallibility of the Pope could have remained so long without an express definition.

In the first place, as to the supremacy. The Pope is, by divine right, supreme ruler, supreme teacher, and supreme judge over the universal church, and over all its priests and members, individually and collectively. As supreme ruler, he must be infallible; not indeed in all his particular acts, but in his principles and rules of government. Otherwise, he might subvert the constitution of the church, destroy morality, oppress and depose the orthodox prelates, promote heretics to the highest places, and do in the Catholic Church what the schismatical Eastern patriarchs have done, and what Cranmer did in England. By the very supposition, there would be no authority in the church to control him, and all the prelates and faithful would be bound to obey him. For, if there is any authority in the church superior to the Papal authority, the supremacy is in that authority, and not in the Pope. As supreme teacher, he can instruct all Christian bishops, as well as laity, in regard to the doctrine which they must believe, and bind their consciences to submit to his teaching. It follows from our entire foregoing argument that infallibility is necessary to the possession and exercise of such a power. As supreme judge in questions of faith and morals, his decision must be final and irreversible; for there is no judge above him except our Lord Jesus Christ himself. But the final judgments which the whole Catholic Church is bound to accept must be infallible. Sovereignty, or the possession of the plenitude of power, when it extends over the realm of mind and conscience, exacts infallibility. And this has been most lucidly and conclusively proved, during the recent controversies, by Archbishop Dechamps, Dom Guéranger, and various other able writers.

The infallibility of the Pope is implicitly contained in and logically concluded from the infallibility of the church in general, and of the teaching hierarchy in particular, in substantially the same way as it is in the supremacy. The church is essentially constituted by its fundamental principle, which is that of organic unity under one visible head, the successor of St. Peter. The vital force of this organic unity is faith, and, as the body is infallible in faith, and also governed by the head, the head must be infallible in a higher and more immediate sense; otherwise, the body of the church would be liable either to become corrupt in faith by remaining united to a corrupted head, or to cease to be a body by separating from its head. If we take the church as represented by another similitude, it is founded, as a building, on the Rock of Peter; that is, the Roman Church and the succession of Roman pontiffs. The foundation must be stable and immovable in faith, if the structure resting upon it has this immovable stability. So, also, the episcopal hierarchy, whether dispersed or congregated in a general council, must remain in communion of faith and doctrine with the Roman Church and Pontiff. The Pope must sanction their decrees, otherwise they are null and void. Those bishops who separate from the faith of the Roman Pontiff, no matter how numerous they may be, fall out of the communion of the church and forfeit their authority to teach. Evidently, therefore, if the teaching hierarchy is infallible, the rule and authority which directs and governs it must be infallible. If a pilot is placed on the flag-ship of a fleet which has to pass through a dangerous strait, and orders are given to every ship to follow in his wake, it is evident that the success of the passage depends on the unerring skill of the pilot. A fallible head to an infallible hierarchy, a fallible guide to an infallible church, a fallible supreme teacher, a fallible Vicar of Christ! What a contradiction in terms! Who can believe that our Lord Jesus Christ ever constituted his church upon such inconsistent principles? The supremacy of the Pope and the infallibility of the church plainly cannot coexist with each other in fact, or be united into a coherent whole in logic, without the infallibility of the Pope as the term of union. Yet these two doctrines have always been the constitutive principles of the Catholic Church.

It is, however, still requisite to answer the question, how any doctrine different from that defined by the Council of the Vatican could have existed and been tolerated so long among Catholics, and how the church could have postponed her definition to this late period. When we say it is requisite, we mean, merely, requisite in order to complete the explanation we promised to make. We have no right to ask reasons of the church, any more than of Almighty God, as a preliminary to our submission. We are to take with unquestioning docility whatever instruction the church gives us. Yet, we are permitted to make investigation of the truths of our religion, in order to understand them better, to confirm our belief, and to be ready to answer objections. Therefore, we reply to the question stated above, first, in general terms, that the infallibility of the Roman Pontiff has always been held, taught, and acted on by the supreme authority itself, and practically acknowledged by all good Catholics; and that its explicit definition was delayed until the necessity and expediency of such a definition was made clearly manifest, and the fitting occasion furnished by the providence of God.

The argument will be made more clear if we substitute the term _irreformable_ in the place of _infallible_. All irreformable decrees are confessedly infallible, and the question of law and fact is therefore precisely this: whether the Roman Pontiffs have ever suffered their dogmatic decrees to be judicially revised by the bishops, or to remain suspended as to their complete obligatory force, until the express or tacit assent of the bishops had been manifested; and whether the church has ever recognized any such right in the bishops. So far as the Popes are concerned, it is enough to refer to the unquestionable fact that they have expressly prohibited appeals from the judgment of the Holy See to an œcumenical council, from the time of Celestine I. in the fifth century. Martin V. and Pius II. in the fifteenth century, Julius II. and Paul V. in the sixteenth century, renewed this prohibition. Clement XI., in the eighteenth century, condemned the Jansenists, who had appealed from the Bull _Unigenitus_ to a general council, and pronounced sentence of excommunication upon all who promoted the appeal, unless they abandoned it and subscribed to the _Unigenitus_. This sentence was a general one, including all appeals from the Holy See to an œcumenical council. It was accepted by the whole church, a small party of Jansenists only remaining contumacious, and has been incorporated into the canon law. Moreover, the Holy See has always required the bishops to receive and promulgate without any judicial examination, and without delay, all its dogmatic judgments; and they have submitted to this demand obediently, even those who, like Bossuet, have held Gallican opinions. The most illustrious and irrefragable proof of the doctrine of the universal episcopate on this point which could be given, was really given at the Council of the Vatican. The monition at the end of the constitution on faith, which plainly declares the obligation of entire submission to the doctrinal decrees of the Holy See, was approved by the unanimous vote of all the fathers, including those belonging to what was called the minority. The Popes have always claimed and exercised the office of supreme judges in matters of faith, the episcopate and the whole church consenting and submitting, and all dissidents being compelled to keep silence or incur excommunication.

The definition of the Council of the Vatican has not, therefore, conferred any new rights on the Sovereign Pontiff or enlarged their exercise. It has only made an explicit statement that the rights always possessed and exercised by him are declared in the divine revelation to belong to him _jure divino_, with the guarantee of infallibility in their exercise, and proposed this statement to all the faithful with the obligation of receiving it as a part of the Catholic faith.

It is not very difficult to give satisfactory reasons why this was not done before. The church does not make definitions without a positive reason. Ordinarily, she waits until the truth is denied or disputed. Before the Council of Constance, or rather the period which immediately preceded that council, the plenary authority of the Pope had not been called in question except by open schismatics and heretics. We have the authority of Gerson, the principal author of Gallicanism, for the assertion that any one who had advanced his doctrine of the subjection of the Pope to the council before that time, would have been universally condemned as a heretic. The Council of Constance was a very irregular, abnormal, and imperfect council, until the election of Martin V. near its close. It was rather a congress or states-general of Christendom than a council. The residence of the popes at Avignon and the subsequent division of Catholic Christendom into three obediences, had put the pontifical authority in abeyance and diminished the moral force of the Holy See. The right and duty of putting an end to this state of things, and bringing the whole church under the jurisdiction of one certain and lawful head, had devolved by default upon the bishops, aided by the influence and authority of the princes, and the counsel of the principal theologians and priests of the time. Harrassed and distracted by the difficulties and dangers which beset the church, a number of leading men whose spirit and intention were good, and who were devoted to the preservation of Catholic unity, had fallen into the grievous mistake of seeking a remedy for existing and threatening disorders in a limitation of the sovereign authority of the Vicar of Christ. Martin V. obviously did the only thing prudent or even possible for the moment, in leaving the irregular and uncanonical decrees which they had passed to die of their own intrinsic weakness. His successor, Eugenius IV., had too many open and contumacious rebels and schismatics to deal with, to permit him to alienate those who had fallen into minor errors, unawares, by a formal condemnation. At the Council of Florence, the reconciliation of the Greeks and other Orientals to the Holy See was the object of paramount importance. At the Fifth Council of Lateran and at the Council of Trent, the fathers were absorbed by questions of far greater immediate necessity than that of Gallicanism. Yet the Council of Lateran came very near defining the Papal infallibility, and the result of the Council of Trent was to strengthen the pontifical authority immensely, as may be seen by reading the history of its final confirmation and promulgation, and examining the bull of confirmation itself, which effectually sweeps away every vestige of the irregular legislation of Constance. Between the Council of Trent and the Council of the Vatican, no other œcumenical council intervened. The Gallican controversy, as all know, chiefly raged during the reign of Louis XIV. The Pope refrained from any formal condemnation of the Gallican tenets, although urged even by that monarch himself to terminate the controversy by a final judgment; and, although these opinions were held and advocated by a certain number of Catholic prelates and theologians from that time until the Council of the Vatican, they were never branded by any note of censure by the Holy See. It may seem surprising that such a patient and cautious method of dealing with errors which have at length been condemned as heretical should have been pursued; but any one who knows the whole history of the matter must admire the supernatural wisdom of this course of conduct. One motive, doubtless, for it, was respect for Bossuet. But another and more powerful reason was that the Holy See desired to gain a victory by the means of discussion and argument, before reverting to the exercise of authority.

And again, it is obvious at first sight that a far greater moral weight has been given to the final definition, by the fact that the Sovereign Pontiffs have left the solemn and decisive deliberation and judgment of a matter which relates to their own highest and most sublime prerogative, to the bishops of the church assembled in a general council. It may appear strange to some that the church could tolerate an error even for a time. But there is a great difference between those errors which subvert the foundation and rule of faith, and those which only shake them a little. The errors of the Jansenists, Febronians, and other rebels against the authority of the Holy See, were of the first class, and were never tolerated. But the Gallicans of the school of Bossuet recognized and practised the duty of obedience to the Holy See. Their error lay rather in an illogical, indistinct, and imperfect conception of the supreme authority of the Roman Pontiff, than in a denial of any of its attributes. They admitted the right of the Pope to issue dogmatic judgments, and the obligation of bishops and the faithful to receive them with interior assent and obedience. They acknowledged that these judgments became judgments of the Catholic Church, and were made irreformable as soon as the assent of a majority of the bishops was even tacitly given. As this assent has always been given, not tacitly alone, but by the most formal and express adhesion, there has never been any practical divergence in doctrine between orthodox Gallicans and the more consistent Ultramontanes. St. Augustine himself had said that it is sometimes the wisest course to tolerate for a time the errors of those who hold the faith firmly, and err only by an imperfect knowledge and a confused conception of the truth. The church has not hesitated or faltered in regard to her own principles, or failed to act on them with full and distinct consciousness. But it is not always necessary for her to propose them fully and completely as articles of divine and Catholic faith to her children. It is for the church, guided, illuminated, governed, and assisted by the Holy Spirit, to judge of the time and manner in which she will unfold and display in all their brilliant majesty the treasures of her doctrine. She has waited until the nineteenth century to encircle the brow of the Queen of Heaven with the coronet of her definition of the Immaculate Conception, and to place in the tiara of the Vicar of Christ a new jewel by defining his infallibility. From both these splendid acts, in which her divine authority, her irresistible power, her infallible wisdom, and her miraculous unity are manifested with the most radiant lustre, incalculable blessings will flow in abundance upon her faithful children. Christ is honored in his Mother and in his Vicar. The serpent's head is crushed anew. Faith triumphs in her new conquests. The kingdom of God is strengthened and consolidated, and the kingdom of Satan is shaken to its foundations. Like the cathedral of Cologne, the superb edifice of theology approaches to its completion, the new marble rises side by side with that which is dimmed by the dust of ages, and new pinnacles are placed upon ancient foundations. This temple is one whose builder and maker is not man but God, whose designs are formed in eternity, but realized gradually and successively in time. From the foundation to the top-stone, the massive solidity, the symmetry and unity of plan, the harmony of proportions, the perfection of beauty, which become more clearly evident with every century, disclose the idea in the infinite mind of the Supreme Architect. The Catholic Church has been designed and constructed by the same being who designed and constructed the universe. As the solar system is unerring and unfailing in its movements, prescribed to it by the immutable law of its Creator, so is the church unerring and unfailing by the law of its divine Founder. And as the sun can never cease to be the unfailing source of light and heat, and the immovable centre of revolution, while the solar system endures, so the See of Peter must remain the centre and the source of truth, doctrine, law, unity, and perpetual movement to the Catholic Church, so long as time endures. It is this unerring stability of the Catholic Church in the law prescribed by its founder, Jesus Christ, which is properly termed infallibility; and, since this stability is communicated to all the distant and dependent churches under her obedience by the Roman Church, it is in the Roman Church that infallibility has its immovable seat and centre.

It is plain from the foregoing argument how false and flimsy is the pretence of Dr. Döllinger, M. Loyson, and the other rebels against the Council of the Vatican, that they have been excommunicated for adhering to the old Catholic faith which they have always held. All heretics have said the same thing, except those who have openly averred that they reject the authority of the Catholic Church. This is what the Arians said, and Arius knew how to play the injured, persecuted saint and prophet of God, even better than M. Loyson. The creed of Nice is a new creed, said the Arians and Semi-Arians. So said the rebels against the Councils of Constantinople, Ephesus, and Chalcedon. The little Jansenist sect in Holland calls itself the Old Catholic Church, and its members take the name of Old Catholics. The allegation is palpably and ridiculously false. The Gallican opinions were never a part of the Catholic doctrine. The highest claim that could ever be made for them by their advocates was, that they were probable opinions not condemned by the supreme authority. The best theologians have condemned them as erroneous and proximate to heresy. The Holy See has never shown them the slightest favor, but, on the contrary, has used all means, except that of express condemnation, to drive them out of seminaries, to destroy their credit, and to inculcate the true and sound doctrine. They were tolerated errors. While they were tolerated, it was possible for good Catholics, and even learned men, to hold them in good faith; since good and learned men, and even prelates, are fallible interpreters of both Scripture and tradition, and may err in reasoning and judgment. But their temporary toleration gave them no rights, not even those which belong to received opinions of Catholic schools of theology. There were good reasons for a purely passive toleration for a time. But none for the indefinite continuance of such toleration. The silence of an œcumenical council, viewing all the events which had occurred during the past two centuries, would have given the advocates of Gallicanism a plausible pretext to claim for it a positive toleration, a recognition of its real and solid probability. Moreover, it was reviving under a new and more dangerous form; numbers of good and loyal Catholics were beginning to go astray after a so-called Catholic liberalism, and a clique of secret traitors was plotting a revolt against the Holy See, disguised under the ambiguities and reservations of Gallicanism. Error, though it may lie dormant and not show its dangerous character for a time, sooner or later works out the conclusions contained in its premises. Gallicanism was an illogical doctrine, containing implicitly the denial of the papal supremacy. It was necessary, therefore, to condemn it, and to define the truth. Those who gave up their opinions in obedience to the decree of the Vatican acted like Catholics, and like reasonable and consistent men. As Catholics, they were bound to obey a divine authority. As reasonable men, they were bound to abandon an opinion which they had embraced on merely probable grounds, as soon as the certain truth was made known to them.

Moreover, the malcontents were taught from their childhood, and some of them have themselves taught, as authors and professors, the infallibility of œcumenical councils as a doctrine of the Catholic faith. They have renounced, abjured, and trampled on that faith, by rebelling against the Council of the Vatican, and bidding defiance to the authority of their bishops and of the Pope. They are justly excommunicated. The anathema of the church has smitten them, and they are doomed to wither and die, and go into oblivion. As for the Catholic Church and her docile children, they have made a great act of faith which has had a most salutary effect already, in strengthening the habit of divine faith, and in illuminating the intellect with the knowledge of the truth. Its salutary effects in the future will be still greater. There was never a time when the continuous and immediate exercise of the supreme teaching authority of the Vicar of Christ was so necessary and so easy as the present critical, momentous period. Never a time when it was so necessary for all the faithful to place an absolute and boundless confidence in the chair of Peter. God has made known to all men, as a truth of his divine revelation, the infallibility of that chair, and of his august Vicar who sits in it. This truth is equally certain with the greatest mysteries of the faith, the Trinity and the Incarnation. This chair of Peter can neither be deceived nor deceive us, for its doctrine rests on the veracity of the Holy Spirit, the author of truth, and in believing and obeying it we believe and obey Almighty God.

FOOTNOTES:

[143] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by REV. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

[144] _Contra Academicos_, lib. iii. § 23.

THE TRUE HARP.

Soul of the Bard! stand up, like thy harp's majestical pillar! Like its golden arch, O heart! in reverence bow thee and bend! Mind of the Bard, like the strings be manifold, changeful, responsive: This is the harp God smites--the harp, man's master and friend!

AUBREY DE VERE.

A PILGRIMAGE TO CAYLA.[145]

CAYLA, August 1, 1867.

MY DEAR FRIEND: In pressing my hand for the last time, when I left Quebec two months ago, you said, "Do not fail to visit Cayla." I made you the promise, and to-day I accomplish it. It is from the chamber itself of Eugénie de Guérin that I write.

You who have such an avowed admiration for the sister of Maurice, with what rapture you will enjoy the minute details which I have to communicate! How many times have we asked, after having read the admirable _Journal_ of Eugénie, after having lived with her the life at Cayla, what had become of that domestic life which she described with such exquisite art, and which she caused us to love so much? Who are now the actual inmates of that antique château? If "Mimi," sweet "Mimi," is still living? etc. To all these questions I can to-day reply. On my return to Poitiers from a short visit to the little city of Airvault, the cradle of my ancestors, I turned my steps toward Toulouse, where I arrived this morning. The entire city was in a state of festivity, the streets were all decorated, and filled with pilgrims, flags waved in every direction, and the façades of the houses were hung with wreaths of flowers. They were celebrating the last day of the grand _fêtes_ in honor of St. Germaine Cousin.

The railroad which runs from Toulouse to Alby stops at Gaillac, and there branches off to the station of Tessounières. Leaving Alby to the right, I came down to Cahuzac about two o'clock. The terminus is about half a league from the village. I was obliged to make this little trip on foot, in company with the mail-carrier, who also took charge of my valise.

The landscape is hilly and abrupt, and has a savage aspect. The road winds through the valley, rises and descends between the wooded mountains, whence peep out here and there some white rocks which indicate a sterile soil.

At a turn in the road, I perceived on an acclivity Cahuzac, whose name vibrates so pleasantly on the ears of Eugénie. From there a carriage conducted me in a few moments to Andillac, a village more than modest, which appeared on my left, with its poor little church, where repose the tombs of Maurice and Eugénie, where she came so often to pray, to weep, to hope, to implore with many tears the salvation of her brother.

Here the road turns off and climbs a hillside. The guide pointed with his finger across the trees on the other side of the ravine to the Château of Cayla, which rises isolated on a graceful eminence. 'Tis a spacious mansion of severe aspect. Nothing distinguishes it from ordinary structures, except a little tower built on one of its angles, which gives it a slightly feudal tinge. Notwithstanding the unobtrusiveness of this manor when seen in its landscape-framing, the effect is laughing and picturesque, thanks to the prestige of poetry, that fairy enchantress who has touched every object in this domain with her golden ring. Here, though the fairy is an angel, it is Eugénie.

The carriage crossed the ravine, and followed the banks of the St. Usson, a little stream which turns the parish mill. It then began the steep ascent to Cayla, and finally stopped before the farm, in the midst of a crowd of chickens, who were cackling and disporting themselves, in the sun, on a litter of straw. A servant came up at that moment from the rabbit-warren on the north side, and politely invited me into the _salon_, a pretty enough room, opening on the terrace. Some furniture in modern style, white curtains, some wax fruit and flowers, a few paintings on the walls, a little picture of Cayla and its surroundings, on the table a handsome edition of the works of Eugénie and Maurice; this last the most beautiful ornament of this home.

The door opened, and a young lady with a distinguished air and dreamy expression entered. It was Caroline de Guérin, Eugénie's niece, that dear little "Caro" whom she used to rock on her knees, now married to M. Melchior Mâzuc, of a noble and wealthy family of Montpellier. She was soon followed by another person, much older but still sprightly, dressed very humbly, with an expression of extreme sweetness in her countenance, and a modesty yet more lovely, with marked features, lit up by her bright eyes, and a smile uniting extreme delicacy and benevolence.

I introduced myself as coming from America, from Canada, attracted to this remote corner of France by the fame of Eugénie.

"Has the reputation of our Eugénie reached that far?" exclaimed Marie de Guérin, for it was she.

From this moment the conversation did not languish, fed, as it was, by the thousand nothings around which the halo of poetry has been thrown by the author of the _Journal_.

Just as I rose to take my leave, M. Mâzuc entered, followed by Madame de Guérin, the widow of Erembert. They had summoned M. Mâzuc from the fields, where he had been superintending his vinedressers. He is a man in the strength of age, an old officer in the army of Algiers, with a manly face, energetic look, amiable and impulsive character.

"What!" exclaimed he. "You come all the way from America and as far as our mountains to visit us, and already talk of leaving? No, no; you must not think of such a thing. You have not seen anything yet; you must stay and visit the neighborhood, and we will give you Eugénie's room, and you will find it just as it was at the time of the _Journal_. Then, here is my brother Nérestan, who has just returned from Africa, where he filled the office of officer of colonization; he will entertain you about Algiers, and you can talk to him of Canada."

"Oh! very well," said M. Nérestan, shaking me cordially by the hand; "and I will begin at once by telling you that the best system of colonization that I know of, I found in a book printed in Canada which accidentally fell into my hands."

They all then urged me with so much politeness to stay that, conquered by their kind persuasions, I yielded to the pleasure of remaining.

While awaiting tea, Marie equipped herself without any ceremony in an old straw hat with a broad brim, and invited me to take a walk and visit the environs. We were already old acquaintances. We went out by the door that opens on the terrace, which rests on the crest of the ravine. Along the wall grew several pomegranate-trees, and some jasmine in bloom, from which Maurice gathered a bouquet the day before his death. He walked down here, leaning on the arm of Eugénie, to warm in the bright sun his limbs already struck with the chill of death, to bathe his panting breast in the pure warm morning air, and to contemplate for the last time the beautiful sky of Cayla.

Some stone steps lead to the bottom of the ravine, where the little stream runs along, shaded by willows, whose rippling has so often caused that amiable recluse to dream and sing in her little chamber. Here is the fountain of Téoulé, that is to say, of the Tile, so-called from the huge tile which serves as a reservoir for the water from the rock. We crossed the Pontet which leads to the laundry, where, like the beautiful Nausicaa of old, Eugénie came sometimes to wash her robes; and which inspired these pretty reflections:

"A day passed in drying one's linen leaves but little to say. It is, however, pretty enough to spread out a nice white wash on the grass, or to see it waving from the lines. You can be, if you wish, either the Nausicaa of Homer, or one of the princesses of the Bible who washed the tunics of their brothers. We have a laundry that you have not seen, at the Moulinasse, large enough and full of water, which embellishes this recess, and attracts the birds, who love the coolness to sing in. I write you with clean hands, having just returned from washing a dress in the stream. 'Tis delightful to wash, and see the fish pass, the little waves, bits of grass, and fallen flowers, to follow this, that, and I know not what in the thread of the stream! So many things are seen by the laundress who knows how to look in the course of the stream! 'Tis the bathing-place of the birds, the mirror of heaven, the image of life, a hidden path, a baptismal reservoir."

A few steps in the meadow, a superb chestnut-tree, three or four centuries old, spreads its vast shade; old sentinel of the château, which has seen born and die the generations of De Guérins. The ridge of Sept-Fonds winds through the trees as far as the top of the hill; on the neighboring declivity is the little coppice of Buis, with its pretty little pathway, full of shade and mystery, and where Eugénie had her little dog buried.

"_July 1st._--He is dead, my poor little dog. I am so sad, I have but little inclination to write.

"_July 2d._--I have just put Bijou in the warren of the coppice, among the flowers and birds. I am going to plant a rose-bush there, and call it the _dog-rose_. I have kept his two little front paws, which so often rested on my hands, on my feet, on my knees. He was so nice, so graceful when he lay down, and in his caresses! In the morning he used to come to the foot of my bed, to lick my feet as I was getting up; then went to give papa the same greeting. We were his two favorites. All this comes back to me now. Past objects go to the heart. Papa regrets him as much as I do; he said he would have given ten sheep for this poor little dog. Alas! everything must leave us, or we must leave everything.

"A letter just received has caused me another pang. The affections of the heart differ like their objects. What a difference the grief for Bijou, and that for a soul being lost, or at least in danger of it! O my God! how frightful that is in the eyes of faith!"

Passing before the farm, we cast a glance at the other side of the valley. Facing us, this mass of green is the Bois du Pigimbert, with the hamlet of Pausadon, where Vialarette lived, that poor woman whom Marie and her sister used to visit. More to the left, on the heights, is the village of Mérix, and below, toward the north, Leutin, where Eugénie went so frequently to hear Mass.

The road from the warren of the north skirts the base of the hill, which extends itself in the rear of the old castle. Here, as elsewhere, all is full of souvenirs.

"Every tree has its history, every stone a name."

Here Maurice played with his sisters among the branches of the Treilhon, that old vine-stalk which twines itself round the trunk of an oak-tree. "Mimi" smiled at the recollection of the slides they used to take down the side of the ravine. She pointed out a little underwood of maples; they were small trees about the thickness of one's arm, and which have nothing in common with the king of our forests.

A sudden storm coming up obliged us to seek shelter in the mansion. A few moments before, the sky was serene and blue; now all was obscured by clouds, the rain came down in torrents, and it began to thunder and lighten. This southern sky always reminds me of a great child, changing from smiles to tears with a wonderful facility.

At half-past seven, supper was announced, at which was served the excellent wine of Cayla. At the side of its father, was little Mâzuc de Guérin, a child of eighteen months. Oh! that Eugénie could have caressed this child of "Caro's."

The evening passed delightfully; anecdotes were told, reminiscences of Cayla, of America, of Algeria, and episodes related by M. Mâzuc of the wars in Africa, in the mountains of Kabylia. "Mimi" then brought us back to our present surroundings by relating some interesting details of the widow of Maurice. She returned from India after the death of her husband, and died at Bordeaux in 1861.

And the good M. Bories is still living, but struck with a cruel malady, and is but a mere wreck.

At bedtime I was conducted to my room. A spiral staircase ascends to the principal story, and leads into the great hall. This is the stately and solemn apartment of the manor. In it a vast fireplace, whose mantel is sustained by caryatides in stone; on either side are the figures of two cavaliers in their armor, rudely sketched. In former days these walls were covered with the armor of the seignors of this house; this inlaid floor, to-day so silent, resounded to the footsteps of armed knights, carrying on the points of their lances standards and pennons on which the ladies of the castle had embroidered the proud device of the sires of De Guérin. _Omni exceptione majores._ It was in this saloon, now so deserted, that they armed themselves to fight against the Moors and the ferocious Albigenses, or where they donned their richest armor, their brilliant helmets of finest steel, and their gilded breast-plates, to cross their lances in the tournament. At the time of Eugénie, all this antique splendor had long since passed away. Here as elsewhere, the Revolution had reaped its harvest of destruction, and the rich Seignors de Guérin "were now," said she, "only poor squires, striving to keep the wolf from the door."

On the right side of the hall is a door opening into the chamber of "Mimi;" on the left, one opening into that of Maurice. At the extreme end, away back, retired like a cell, hidden like the nest of a bird, is the little room of Eugénie. It is in this room, and on her table, that I am now writing to you, surrounded by the same silence, and lit by the same modest light of her lamp. Before me is her little chapel in miniature, her crucifix, her _étagère_ of books. Nothing besides this, neither ornaments nor luxury; nothing except the most commonplace. But these valueless nothings have become relics; this little room a chapel, this table an altar. 'Twas from this white and peaceful cage that the dove of Cayla flew away to the land of dreams, gathered the celestial flowers of poetry, conversed with the angels, and sang with her heart. It is here that she prayed, read, wrote her _Journal_, and those admirable letters to Louise de Bayne, Madame de Maistre, and Maurice; 'tis here that she wrote her heart's history, that she lived, that she died; from here that she went to rejoin Maurice.

I turned over the leaves of the _Journal_, and gave myself up to its fascinations, where the least object, an insect that flies, a bird that sings, a ray of light penetrating the blinds, inspired her with those charming thoughts, those poetical pages, like a harmony of Lamartine, fine and profound as a passage of La Rochefoucauld. Her thoughts take at times the most unexpected flights, sublime transports, like an elevation of Bossuet's.

Never perhaps has there been a more delicate organization, a more susceptible imagination. Her soul was like an Æolian harp which vibrates to the slightest breath.

Mlle. de Guérin wrote with a golden pen. I would compare her to Madame Sévigné, if Madame Sévigné was less frivolous. The latter amuses and dazzles, the former captivates and touches; the one is as bright as a lark, the other dreamy as a dove. The first has more genius, the second more soul. There is more sentimentality in Madame de Sévigné, in Eugénie de Guérin more sentiment. The writings of one skim over the surface of the soul, those of the other penetrate it. We can admire Madame de Sévigné, we love Eugénie de Guérin.

Before me, hanging to the framework of her library, is a picture of St. Thérèse de Gérard, a present to her from the Baroness de Rivières. I re-read the passage suggested by this little engraving, those aspirations toward contemplative life, which reveal such tender piety, such deep and true devotion. This pure heart turned naturally toward heaven, like the mariner's needle, which always points to the north. "She was of those souls," said Mgr. Mermillod, "who in the midst of our material cares hear the _Sursum Corda_ of the Holy Church, and who delight in these noble and holy aspirations." "We can make a church everywhere," says she in some of her writings.

I open the window, and, like her, I contemplate the beautiful night--the country half-buried in shadows, the myriads of stars, which, like golden nails, sustain the blue tapestry of heaven. All is silence, meditation, mystery; a single murmur, that of the stream.

It sings for me, as it formerly did for Eugénie. In looking back into the past, I ask myself if I have ever spent a sweeter hour or experienced more vivid emotions.

Adieu, it is midnight. Expect soon a sequel to this letter.

To M. L'ABBÉ L., Quebec.

PARIS, August 9, 1867.

... At five o'clock in the morning, I heard a knock at my door. I was already up. The previous evening I had made an arrangement with Mlle. de Guérin to go to Andillac, where I wished to say Mass, and visit the graves of Maurice and Eugénie.

The cheerful aspect of nature seemed to echo the brightness of my thoughts. The heights of Mérix were bathed in the rosy hues of morning; in the sky appeared the first golden threads of the sun; in the plain the slight fragrance of the dew, perfumed breezes, and the warbling of the birds.

We saluted in passing the little cross where the brother and sister took such a tender adieu of each other, where Eugénie preserved so long the impression that the horse's foot made in the plastic soil. One Christmas Eve, going to midnight Mass, she gathered, in her simple piety, some branches covered with hoar-frost from the bushes which grow along this road, which she wished to place before the Blessed Sacrament--a scene which she described with so much freshness and charming grace:

"We all went to midnight Mass, papa in advance--the night was superb. Never had there been a more beautiful midnight, so much so that papa put his head out from his mantle several times to look at the firmament. The ground was covered with hoar-frost, but we did not feel the cold, and then the air was warmed in front of us by the torches which our servants carried to light the way. It was charming, I assure you, and I only wish you could have been with us, going to church along these roads bordered with little bushes, as white as if they were all in bloom. The hoar-frost makes beautiful flowers. We saw a branch so lovely that we wished to make a bouquet for the Blessed Sacrament, but it melted in our hand. All flowers are short-lived. I regretted my bouquet: it was sad to see it melt, and dissolve drop by drop."

Going along, Mlle. de Guérin told me of the last sickness and death of her sister. Two years before, her health became seriously affected; it was in vain that the physician sent her to the waters of Cauterets, to seek the strength which would never more return.

She felt her end approaching; but she did not tremble; in her complete resignation, there was no place for fear. As she watched the span of life gradually diminish, she seemed to fold within herself, like the sensitive plant; wrapped around her the mantle of holy recollection, in which great souls envelope themselves at the approach of that supreme contemplation which she foresaw. She talked but little, prayed much, and smiled rarely. Her little room had become the cell of a religious; she lived there cloistered, only leaving it to go to church. Prayer was her recreation, the Holy Eucharist her food.

"I wish to die after having received the holy communion," said she a short time before her death. They noticed that she looked often toward Andillac, where she was going so soon to dwell. The swallow is compelled to fly away on the eve of winter; the winter of death was approaching.

She took cold going to Mass on the Epiphany, and returned home with a fever, which increased rapidly. Inflammation of the lungs supervened, which hurried her to the portal of death in a few days. After having received the holy Viaticum, "I can die now," sighed she with a celestial smile. "Adieu, my dear Marie!" And as she felt the tears tremble in her eyes, at seeing her so overcome with grief, she embraced her, and said, while turning her head away to conceal her emotion, "Ah! do not let us be sad!" as if she was afraid of weakening the generosity of her sacrifice.

Such was the appointed end of Mlle. Eugénie de Guérin. She died like a saint, "as the angels would die, if they were not immortals," said one of her friends.

We arrived at Andillac.

"_Mosou Ritou_"--M. le Curé--"is he in the rectory?" asked Mlle. de Guérin in patois of the old servant, as she entered with the familiarity of an habituée.

M. l'Abbé Massol welcomed us cordially, and conversed with me about a project which he had had in view for some time of rebuilding the church of Andillac with the offerings of the admirers of Eugénie de Guérin. The encouraging sympathy which he had received led him to hope that he would very soon be able to accomplish his purpose, which will be the honor of the tomb of this pious young girl, and her aureola by choice: this was indeed the only glory that she desired.[146]

The actual church of Andillac is really nothing more than a ruin. Its tottering belfry, roof falling in from age, cracked and crumbling walls, present the picture of desolation. It is necessary to descend several steps in order to enter this other Bethlehem, whose sombre, decayed, and humid aspect sends a chill to the heart. Nothing less than the most ardent faith, or Eugénie's happy imagination, could enable a person to breathe in what seems more like a charnel-house than a church, or cause a ray of brightness and poetry to enter there.

I whispered to Mlle. Guérin that I was going to say Mass for the illustrious dead of her family; and I had the happiness of giving the holy communion to the sister of Eugénie. A quarter of an hour passed in thanksgiving on the prie-dieu where she used to kneel left an impression never to be forgotten; angel, she conversed here with the angels, with the Spouse of virgins; she unfolded here to the wind of eternity those wings of light which detached her every day more and more from the earth, and which have finally transported her to the bosom of our Lord.

On leaving the church, Mlle. de Guérin silently opened the gate of the cemetery. I was face to face with the beloved graves. The morning sunlight flooded this garden of the dead, as if to remind me of that other invisible light which illumines the other shore of life that never fades. A shaft of white marble, the only monument in the cemetery, marks the grave of Maurice. We read distinctly the mournful date, _July 19, 1839_. At the side to the right is a simple wooden cross, one of its arms supporting a crown of immortelles, with this inscription enclosed in a medallion: _Eugénie de Guérin_, May 31, 1848. In the rear were two iron crosses, one of them marking the grave of M. Joseph de Guérin, Eugénie's father, and the other that of Erembert. They died a year apart, 1850 and 1851.

I remained a long time on my knees beside the grave of Eugénie, in the same place where, overwhelmed by a nameless grief, she wept torrents of tears, where she probed that terrible mystery of death, fathomless as her sorrow; and whence she rose at last, crushed for ever, but resigned, with this sublime cry of a Christian, "Let us throw our hearts into eternity!" She sleeps now by the side of that dear Maurice for whom she often wept, until the day when they will rise together never more to be separated.

Before leaving, Mlle. de Guérin gathered a bouquet of roses and immortelles from her sister's grave, placed it in my hands, and went out, without uttering a word.

Adieu, sweet and _blessed Eugénie_! The glory which you did not seek has sought you, but the aureola which shines over your mausoleum need not alarm your modesty or your humility. It is pure as your soul, sweet as your nature, religious as your thoughts, benevolent as your life. Already it has illumined more than one soul, and strengthened more than one heart. It will do more: it will rebuild this temple, whence will arise in your honor the hymn of gratitude. _Pertransiit benefaciendo!_

On my return to Cayla, I thanked my kind hosts for their gracious hospitality, commended myself to the prayers of Marie, _the holy_, and resumed the route to Toulouse.

I have brought you several souvenirs from Cayla, some drawings, one of Eugénie's autographs, a few flowers, and a bunch of immortelles, which will be relics for you.

To M. L'ABBÉ L., Quebec.

DATES.

"M. Joseph de Guérin died in 1851, age 70 years.

"Madame Joseph de Guérin, née Gertrude de Fontenilles, died in 1819.

"Erembert, born January, 1803, died December 16, 1850.

"Eugénie, born January 25, 1805, died May 21, 1848.

"Marie, born August 30, 1806.

"Maurice, born August 10, 1818, died July 19, 1839."

LATER.

December 20, 1869.

Since my return to Canada, several pleasant little parcels have been sent me from Cayla, among them three different views of the château, a map of the parish of Andillac, a photograph of the church, and of the cemetery in which are the graves of Maurice and Eugénie, the likenesses of Maurice, Marie, and Caroline de Guérin.

The only picture which exists of Eugénie is a simple pen-and-ink sketch, scarcely outlined, which was sent me by the editor of Eugénie's works, M. Trébutien.

Among these precious souvenirs from Cayla, I must also mention an unpublished letter from Henry V., Count de Chambord, and another from Cardinal de Villecourt, without counting those addressed to me by Marie de Guérin, several of which would not do discredit to the collection of Eugénie's. I will only cite from one of them a short passage in which she alludes to our young Canadian Zouaves:

"I am so edified to see the devotion of the Canadians to our Holy Father the Pope. Your young men leave for Rome, as did the crusaders of old, for Palestine, at this word, _God wills it_. Let us hope that this plenitude of generosity will not be without a happy result. Already they have given an example at Mentana; if necessary they will repeat it...."--_Letter dated January 30, 1868._

LETTER FROM HENRY V., COUNT DE CHAMBORD.

FROHSDORF, June 19, 1864.

I recollect, mademoiselle, having read several years ago, with much interest, some remarkable extracts from the works of M. Maurice de Guérin, a young writer cut down in the flower of his age and talents. I could not, then, fail to welcome with a peculiar satisfaction the book of Mlle. Eugénie de Guérin, faithful mirror in which is so constantly reflected the twofold affection that filled her life--the love of God and her tenderness for her brother, sweet lesson and touching example of that ardent, lively, and resigned faith which, in the midst of the sorrows of this world, only finds consolation in looking toward heaven, where those whom we love here below, separated from us in an instant by death, are united again never more to be parted. I must not defer any longer saying to you how much I appreciate this gift, and, above all, the pious motive which prompted it--as well as the expressions of devotion and attachment with which it was accompanied, in your name, as well as in that of your sister-in-law. To M. Trébutien and his daughter I beg you will also express my gratitude.

Accept for yourself, with many thanks, the assurance of my very sincere sentiments.

HENRI.

TO MLLE. MARIE DE GUÉRIN.

FOOTNOTES:

[145] These letters, from the pen of the well-known Canadian writer, M. l'Abbé Casgrain, have been translated for THE CATHOLIC WORLD, with the permission of the author.--TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.

[146] On my return to Canada, a small collection was taken up among the admirers of Eugénie, which amounted to five hundred francs, and which has been sent to Mlle. de Guérin.

His Holiness Pius IX., whom we count among the admirers of the virgin of Cayla, and designated by him in a letter as the _blessed Eugénie_, has deigned to accord his apostolic benediction, and a plenary indulgence, to all the benefactors of Andillac. Their names are inscribed in the archives of the parish, and the holy sacrifice of the Mass is offered for them four times a year.

SONNET.

ITALIAN "UNIFICATION" IN 1861.

The land which Improvisatore's throng With one light bound would "freedom" improvise, Freedom by England dragged from raging seas Through centuries of wrestling right and wrong. The gamesters crowned, their loaded dice downflung, Divide their gains;[147] while--shamelessly at ease-- Gold-spangled fortune, tinselled to the knees, Runs on the tight rope of the state new-strung! O liberty, stern goddess, sad and grave, To whom are dear the hearts that watch and wait, The hand laborious, strenuous as the glaive, The strong, staid head, the soul supreme o'er fate, With what slow scorn thou turn'st, incensed of mien, From mimic freedom's operatic scene!

AUBREY DE VERE.

FOOTNOTE:

[147] Napoleon got Nice and Savoy; Victor Emanuel, the Papal States. Every wise and religious man must desire that Italy should be free. The greatest enemy to true and _permanent_ freedom is that false freedom which divorces itself from justice that it may wed itself to fortune.

THE HOUSE OF YORKE.