CHAPTER IV.

WE ALL MEET TO PART.

A second time I recovered. I was still in the same place, and the same hand was supporting me. Some brandy was forced down my throat, and it revived me.

“Now listen,” he said. “I have good news for you. Why, the man is going off again! Here, Roger, take another nip. So. Now you are much nearer being a dead man than your father, only you will not let me tell you quietly. Hush, now! Not a word, or I am dumb. You lie still and listen, and let me talk. Everything is well here. That is about as much information as you can bear at present. There is nothing the matter with anybody, except with yourself. Miss Herbert, in consequence of a lucky little telegram received this afternoon commissioned me to await your arrival here, and tell you just that much. Everything else was to be explained at the Grange, where your father and some friends are waiting to receive with open arms the returned prodigal. This much I may add: Your father has been ill, very ill. But he has recovered. Now, another nip and I think we may be moving. That was Sir Roger at whose feet you fell outside. The noble old veteran never moved a foot, or your brains might have been dashed out. He is a truer friend than I, Roger, for he knew you at once, pricked up his ears, bent down his head towards you, and gave a low whinny that told me the whole story in a second. I’ll be bound you have had nothing to eat all day. That is bad. Why, you are the sick man after all. Do you feel equal to moving now? Well, come: easy--in--hold this skin up to your chin--so! And now we are off. Mr. Roger Herbert, I wish you a very merry Christmas!”

I sat silent with that delicious sense of relief after a great danger averted while the shadow of that danger has not quite passed away. Kenneth did all the talking. The snowfall had ceased and the moon was up. How well I remembered every house we passed, as the cheery lights flashed out of the windows, and the sounds of merry voices, whose owners I could almost name, broke on my ear. Leighstone seemed fairy-land, which I had reached after long wanderings through stony deserts and over barren seas. There is the old Priory, rising dark and solemn out of the white snow, with the white gravestones standing mute at the head of white graves all around it. The moonlight falls full on the family tomb. I shuddered as I looked upon it, not yet quite assured that it is not open for another occupant. I can see the frozen figure of Sir Roger stiff and stark with his winter grave-clothes upon him as we roll by the Priory gates. And there, at last, are the gleaming windows of the Grange, and the faint feeling again steals over my heart.

The heavy snowfall deadens the sound of the wheels, and we are within the house before our arrival is known. Miss Herbert is called out quietly by a servant, a stranger to me. Dear hearts! What these women are! She does not cry out, she does not speak a word; watching and suffering had made her so wise. She clings to me, and weeps silently on my breast a long while, smothering even the sobs that threaten to break her heart. When at last we look around for Kenneth he is nowhere to be seen, but there is a strange hush over all the house, and the voices that I heard on my entrance are silent.

“Papa is alone in the study--waiting,” whispered Nellie. “I received your telegram. O Roger! that little scrap of paper was like a message from heaven. He is growing anxious, but expects you. Hush! follow me.”

She stole along on tiptoe, and I after her. The door of the study was ajar. She opened it softly, and, standing in the shadow, I peeped in. He was seated in an easy-chair and had dozed off. His face wore that gentle, languid air of one who has been very ill and is slowly recovering; of one who has looked death in the face and to whom life is still new and uncertain. Ten years seemed to have been added to his life. Whether owing to his illness or to some other cause, I could not tell, but it seemed to me that a certain look of firmness and resolve, that was at times too prominent, had quite disappeared. Instead of his own brown locks he wore a wig. He had suffered very much. The door creaked as Nellie entered, disturbing but not awakening him. He sighed, his lips moved, and I thought he muttered my name.

“Papa!” said Nellie, touching his arm lightly. How matronly the Fairy looked! “Papa!”

“Ah! Yes, my dear. Is that you, my child? Is--is nobody with you?” What a wistful look in the eyes at that last question!

“Do you feel any better, papa? It is time to take your medicine.” How slow the demure minx is about it.

“Is it? I don’t think I will take any now. I want nothing just now, my darling.”

“What--no medicine! Nothing at all, papa?”

“Nothing at all. Is not that train arrived yet?” he asked, looking around anxiously at the clock.

“I--I think so, papa. And it brought such a lot of visitors.”

“Any--any--for us, Nellie?” He coughed, and his voice trembled into a feeble old treble as he asked this question.

“Only one, papa. May he come in?”

He knew all in an instant. He rose and tottered towards the door, where he would have fallen had I not caught him in my arms. Only one word escaped him.

“Roger!”

After some time Kenneth stole in, and seeing how matters stood insisted on bearing me off to dinner. He took me into the parlor, which was blazing with lights and decorated with holly and red berries in good old Christmas fashion. The first object to meet my eyes was a great “Welcome Home” which flashed in letters of fragrant blossoms cunningly woven in strange device about my portrait. Mrs. Goodal came forward and kissed me while the tears fell from her eyes. “You don’t deserve it, you wicked boy, but I can’t help it,” she said. Mr. Goodal had seized both my hands in his. A beautiful girl stood a little apart watching all with wondering eyes, and in them too there were tears, such is the force of example with women. I had never seen her before, but I needed no ghost to tell me that she was Kenneth’s sister.

“This is Elfie, Roger,” said Fairy. “She wants to welcome you too. Elfie is my sister. I stole her. Oh! a sister is so much nicer than a great rough brother who runs away!”

“And this,” said Mrs. Goodal, leading forward a tall, spare gentleman, with that closely shaven face and quiet lip and eye that, with or without the conventional garb, stamp the Catholic priest all the world over--“this is our dear friend and father, the friend and father of all of us, Father Fenton.”

There was a general pause at this introduction. I suppose that my countenance must have shown some perplexity, for a general laugh followed the pause. Mrs. Goodal came to the rescue.

“You expected to meet Mr. Knowles, I suppose, sir, or the Abbot Jones. Kenneth has told me about the Abbot Jones. But you must know that the present Archdeacon Knowles is far too high and mighty a dignitary for Leighstone, and the abbot is laid up with the gout. Your father has not been to the Priory for a very long time--for so long a time that he thinks he would no longer be known there. The Herbert pew is very vacant; and Nellie has had no one to take her. Still mystified? You see what comes of silly boys running away from home and never writing. They miss all the news.”

She led me to the other end of the parlor, and I stood before a lofty ivory crucifix. The light of tapers flashed upon the thin pale face; blood gleamed from the nailed hands and feet, from the pierced side, from the bowed and thorn-crowned head. It was the figure of “the Man of Sorrows,” and the artist had thrown into the silent agony of the face an expression of infinite pity. My own heart bowed in silence.

“We are all Papists, Roger. What are you?” whispered Mrs. Goodal at my elbow.

“Nothing,” I murmured. “Nothing.”

“Nothing yet,” she whispered again. “But do you think that we have all been praying to _Him_ all this time for _nothing_?”

“And my father?”

“The most inveterate Papist of us all!”

There was a tone of triumph in her voice that was almost amusing.

“How did it all come about?”

“She did it,” broke in Kenneth, pointing to his mother. “Did I not tell you that she was the sweetest woman to have her own way? If I were a heretic, I would sooner face the Grand Inquisitor himself than this most amiable of women. Set a thief to catch a thief, Roger. But come; heretics don’t abstain as do wicked creatures like these ladies. I forget, they do, though; and my heretic, fair ladies, has had nothing to eat all day; so I insist upon not another word until the fatted calf is disposed of by our returned prodigal.”

That was a merry Christmas eve. We all nestled together, and bit by bit the whole story came out. On the receipt of my first letter, after a fruitless inquiry for me, Kenneth and his mother posted down to Leighstone. Their arrival was most opportune; for my father, on hearing of my departure, suffered a relapse that laid him quite prostrate. Poor Nellie was in despair, brave heart though she was. By unremitting care he was partially restored, and then followed the long dreary months and the weary waiting, day after day, for some scrap of news from me. In such cases, the worst is generally dreaded save when the worst actually takes place, and my father drooped gradually. He was prevailed upon to pay a visit to the Goodals, and there it was that his heart, pierced with affliction, and bowed down with sorrow, opened to the holier and higher consolation that religion only affords. Father Fenton, who was invalided from a severe course of missionary labors, was staying with them, and the intercourse thus begun developed into what we have seen. On his return to Leighstone, the silent house opened up the bitter poignancy of his grief. Every familiar object on which his eye rested only served to remind him of one who had passed away; whom he accused himself of having driven away by an order that he could only now regard with abhorrence. A cold, something slight, seized him, and soon appeared alarming symptoms. In view of the recent changes, Nellie knew not to whom of our relatives to apply in this emergency, and could only write to Mrs. Goodal, who flew to her assistance. The arrival of my letter brought down Kenneth, “like a madman,” his mother said. The letter arrived just at the crisis of the fever in which my father lay; the good news was imparted to him in one of his lucid intervals, and the crisis took a favorable turn. The Christmas holy-days brought Elfie from her convent; and finally all came together, awaiting my expected return. How that letter had been kissed, petted, wept over, laughed over, spelt out inch by inch! I wonder that a fragment of it remained; but even had it been worn to dust by reverent fingers, it would not have mattered: the women knew every word of it by heart. It formed the staple topic of conversation whenever they met. There never yet was such a letter written, and the idea that the writer of it should only receive ten dollars--how much money was ten dollars?--a week was proof positive that the American people did not appreciate true genius when it found its way among them. Mr. Culpepper, indeed! Who cared what he would think? The idea of a person of the name of Culpepper having to do with men of genius! They wondered how I could consent to write for such a person at all. And Mrs. Jinks! Good gracious! that dreadful Mrs. Jinks and her “littery gents”; Mrs. Jinks and the beefsteak; Mrs. Jinks and the pork chops; Mrs. Jinks and her “mock turtle” soup; Mrs. Jinks and “her Jane,” etc. etc. Poor old Roger! Poor, dear boy! How miserable it made them all, and yet how absurdly ridiculous it all was. It made them laugh and cry in the same breath.

What a hero I had become! What was all my fancied triumph to this? What is all the success one can win in this world to the genuine love and the foolish adoration of the two or three hearts that made up our little world before we knew that great wide open beyond the boundary of our own quiet garden? And all this fuss and affection was poured out over me, who had run away from it, and thought of it so little while I was away. It was, speaking reverently, like the precious ointment in the alabaster vase, broken and poured out over me, in the fond waste of love. Why, indeed, was this waste for me? This ointment was precious, and might have been sold for many pence and given to the poor--the poor of this great world, who were hungering and thirsting after just such love as this, that we who have it accept so placidly, and let it run and diffuse itself over us, and take no care, for is not the source from which it comes inexhaustible, as the widow’s cruse of oil? But so it is, and so it will continue to be while human nature remains truly human nature. The good shepherd, leaving the ninety-nine sheep, will go after the one which was lost, and finding him, bear him on his own travel-weary and travel-worn shoulders in triumph home. The father will kill the fatted calf for the prodigal who has lived riotously and wasted his inheritance, but the faint cry of whose repentant anguish is heard from afar off. The mother’s heart will go out after the scapegrace son who is tramping the world alone, turned out of doors for misbehavior; and all the joy she feels in the good ones near her is as nothing compared with the thought that _he_ at last has come back, sad and sorrowful and forlorn, to the home he left long ago, in the brightness of the morning, with so gay a step and so light a heart. It is unjust, frightfully unjust, that it should be so. Did not the good son so feel it, and was his protest not right? Did not the laborers in the vineyard so find it when those who came at the eleventh hour, and had borne naught of the heat and the burden of the day, received the same reward as they? And who shall say that the laborers were not right and the lord of the vineyard unjust? What trades-union could ever take into consideration such reasoning as this, forbidden by the very book of arithmetic? Wait awhile, friends. Some day when we, who now feel so keenly the injustice of it all, are fathers and mothers, let us put the question then to ourselves: “Why this waste of precious ointment on one who values it not? I will seal up the alabaster jar, let the ointment harden into stone, and no sweetness shall flow out of it.” Do so--if you can, and the world will be a very barren place. It would dry and shrivel up under arid justice. Did not the Master tell us so? Did he not say that he came to call not the just but sinners to repentance? And is it not this very injustice that makes earth likest heaven, where we are told there shall be more joy over one sinner doing penance than over the ninety-nine just who need not penance?

And here am I preaching, instead of spending my Christmas merrily like a man. But the thought of all this affection wasted on so callous a wretch as I had proved myself to be, was too tempting to let pass. Suddenly the chimes rang out from the old steeples, and we were silent, listening with softened hearts and moistening eyes.

“There is another surprise for you yet,” said Mrs. Goodal, mysteriously. “Come, I want to show you your room.”

She took me upstairs, paused a moment at the door to whisper: “It has another Occupant now, Kenneth. Go in and visit him,” opened the door and pushed me gently in.

The room was lighted only by a little lamp, through which a low flame burned with a rosy glow. The flame flickered and shone on an altar with a small tabernacle, before which Father Fenton was kneeling in silent prayer. My old room had been converted into a chapel, and there they had knelt and prayed for me. Presently the chapel was lighted up, and my father was assisted to a chair that had been prepared for him. Mr. Goodal took up his position near a harmonium, in one corner, while I retired into the other. One or two of the household came in and took their places quietly. Father Fenton rose up, and, assisted by Kenneth, vested himself, and the midnight Mass began. Soon the harmonium was heard, and then in tones that trembled at first, but in a moment cleared and grew firm and strong and glorious, Elfie, laughing Elfie, who now seemed transformed into one of those angels who brought the glad tidings long, long ago, burst forth into the _Adeste Fideles_.

“Natum videte Regem angelorum.”

All present joined in the refrain, Nellie’s sweet voice mingling with the strong, manly tones of Kenneth. I saw his face light up as a soldier’s of old might at a battle cry. How happy are the earnest!

Before the Mass was ended, Father Fenton turned and spoke a few words:

“One of old said, ‘When two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’ I need not point out to you the solemn manner in which a few moments since he who made that promise fulfilled it, for he has spoken to your own hearts. But I would call your attention to the wonderful and special manner in which Christ has visited and blessed the two or three gathered together here this night in his name. We are here like the shepherds of old, come to adore the Christ born in a manger. One by one have we dropped in, taken in hand and led gently, as though by the Lord himself. This great grace has not been given us for nothing. It has been the answer to fervent, earnest, and unceasing prayer, which, though it may sometimes seem to knock at the gates of heaven a long while in vain, has been heard all the while, and at length, entering in, falls back on our hearts laden with gifts and with graces. The two or three have increased now by one, now by another, and under Providence are destined to increase until the Master calls them away unto himself. Happy is the one who comes himself to Christ, thrice happy he who helps to lead another! He it is who answers that bitter cry of anguish that rang out from the darkness and the suffering of Calvary--‘I thirst.’ He holds up the chalice to the lips of the dying Saviour filled with the virtues of a saved soul. It was for souls Christ thirsted, and he gives him to drink. But when a conversion is wrought, when a stray sheep is brought into the fold, the work is only begun. All the debt is not paid. It is well to be filled with gratitude for the wonderful favor of God in bringing us out of the land of Egypt and the house of bondage into the land flowing with milk and honey, where the good shepherd attends his sheep, where we draw water from the living fountain. We have left behind us the fleshpots of Egypt. But there is ingratitude to be remembered and wiped out. Many weary years have we wandered in desert places seeking rest and finding none. Yet the voice of the shepherd was calling to us all the while. Peace, peace, peace! Peace to men of good-will has been ringing out of the heavens over the mountains of this world these long centuries, yet how many ears are deaf to the angels’ song! The star in the East has arisen, has moved in the heavens, and stood over his cradle--the star of light and of knowledge--yet how many eyes have been blind to its lustre and its meaning. It is because it points to a lowly place. In Bethlehem of Judæa Christ is born, not in the city of the king; in a stable, not in the palace of Herod; in a manger he is laid, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, not in the purple of royalty. He is lowly; we would be great. He is meek; we would be proud. He is a little innocent child; we would be wise among the children of men. The birth-place of Christianity is humility. We must begin there, low down, for he himself has said it: ‘Suffer little children to come unto me’; ‘Unless ye become as one of these little ones, ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven.’

“My brethren, my dear children, little flock whom Christ has visited really and truly in his body and blood, soul and divinity, this is our lesson--to be humble as he is. In this was his church founded on this memorable night, at this solemn hour, while day and night are in conflict. The day dawned on the new birth and the night was left for ever behind. There is no longer excuse for being children of the darkness, for the light of the world has dawned at length. It dawned in lowliness, poverty, suffering--these are its surroundings. Christ’s first worshippers on this earth were the one who bore him and her spouse, Joseph the carpenter. His second, the poor shepherds, whose watchful ears heard first the song of peace. The kings from afar off followed who were looking and praying for light from heaven, and it came. The angels guided the ignorant shepherds to where he lay; but of those to whom more was given, more was expected. The gifts of intellect, learning, and the spirit of inquiry are gifts of God, not of man, or of Satan. They are to be used for God, not sharpened against him. Happy are those to whom he has given them, who, like the Kings of the East, though far away from the lowly place where he lies, hearken to the voice of God calling to them over the wildernesses that intervene, and make answer to the divine call. Search in the right spirit--search in the spirit of humility, and honesty, and truth. To them will the star of Truth appear to guide them aright over many dangers and difficulties, and disasters mayhap, to the stable where Christ is sleeping, to lay at his feet the gifts and offerings he gave them--the gold of faith, the frankincense of hope, the myrrh of charity.”

I suppose it is intended that sermons should apply to all who hear them. That being the case, how could Father Fenton’s words apply to me? There was not a single direct allusion to me throughout. What he said might apply equally to all, and yet surely of all there I was the most guilty. I alone did not adore; and why? After all, was humility the birthplace of Christianity? But was not I humble as the rest of them? “You! who are so fond of mounting those stilts,” whispered Roger Herbert senior--“you, who spend your days and nights dreaming of the _divinus afflatus_--you, who would give half your life, were it yours to give, to convert those little stilts into a genuine monument, and for what purpose? That men might point and look up at the dizzy height and say, Behold Roger Herbert, the mighty, his feet on earth, his head among the gods of heaven!” And was it true that Truth had been speaking all this time, all these centuries, to so little purpose? Why was it? how could it be if the voice was divine? “The devil, the world, and the flesh, Roger; forget not the devil, the world, and the flesh. Were there only truth, we should all be of one mind; but unfortunately, truth is confronted with falsehood.” What is truth--what is truth? Ay, the old agony of the world. One alone of all that world dared to tell us that he was the Truth, he was the Way, he was the Life. “Let us find him, Roger. Father Fenton says he is in the midst of those gathered together in his name.”

Christmas passed, and a New Year dawned on us--a happy new year to all except myself. I was the only unhappy being at the Grange. Elfie went back to her convent school. My father’s health was on the high road to restoration, and the growing attachment between Kenneth and Nellie was evident even to my purblind vision. Strange to say, I did not like to talk to Kenneth as openly as at first about my doubts and difficulties, and Father Fenton’s company, when alone, I avoided, although he was the most amiable of men, gifted with wit softened by piety, and a learning that not even his modesty could conceal. He must have observed how studiously I shunned him, for, after seeking ineffectually once or twice to draw me into serious conversation, he refrained, and only spoke on ordinary topics. I began to grow restless again.

The season had advanced into an early spring; the green was already abroad and the birds beginning to come, when one afternoon, that seemed to have strayed out of summer, so soft and balmy was the air, Nellie and I sat together out on the lawn as in the old days. My father was taking a nap within; the Goodals had driven to Gnaresbridge to meet a friend whom they expected to pass by the up-town train to London. Nellie was working at something, and I was musing in silence. Suddenly she said:

“Roger, do you remember the promises you made me the night before you ran away?”

“Yes, Fairy.”

“Well, sir?”

“Well, madam?”

“Is that all?”

“Is what all?”

“Do you only remember your promise?”

“Is not that a great deal?”

“No; unless you have kept it.”

“Ah--h--h!”

“What do you mean by ah--h?”

“What did I promise?”

“That from that day forward you would not only try not to do harm, but to do some good for others as well as for yourself.”

“That is a very big promise.”

“No bigger now than it was then.”

“But it means more now than it did then.”

“Not a bit, not a bit, not a bit!”

“Things look to me so differently now. One grows so much older in a year sometimes.”

“Then you have not kept your promise? O Roger!”

“Good, though you can spell it in four letters, is a very large word, Nellie, and means so much; and others mean so many. Not to do much harm is one thing; but to do good, not once in a while, but to be constant in it--that is another thing, Nellie, and that was what I promised. That promise I cannot say I have kept.”

Nellie bent her head lower over her work, and I believe I saw some tears fall, but she said nothing. I went on:

“Now Kenneth does good.”

There was no mistake about the tears this time, although the head bent a little lower still. “Kenneth does a great deal of good. He goes about among the poor as regularly as a physician, and whatever his medicine may be it seems to do them more good than any they can get at the druggist’s. He has sent I don’t know how many youngsters off to school, where he pays for them. In fact, he seems to me to be always scheming and thinking about others and never dreaming of himself, whereas I am always scheming and thinking about myself and never seem to see anybody else in the world. Why, what are you doing with that stuff in your hands, Nellie? You are sewing it anyhow.”

“O Roger! You--you--” she could say no more, but hid her face, that was rosy and pure as the dawn, on my breast.

“A very pretty picture,” said a deep voice behind us, and Nellie started away from me, while all the blood rushed back to her heart. She was so white that Kenneth--for it was he who had stolen up unobserved at the moment--was frightened, and said:

“Pardon me, Miss Herbert, if I have startled you. I have only this instant come, and quite forgot that the grass silenced the sound of my footsteps. Take this chair--shall I bring a glass of water?”

“No, thank you; I am better now. It was only a moment. We did not hear you.”

“May I join you, then? Or was it a _tête-à-tête_?”

“No; sit down, Kenneth. The fact is, we were just discussing the character of an awful scamp.”

“Who arrived just too late to hear any evil of himself--is that it?”

“No, he was here all the time,” said Nellie, laughing, and herself again.

“But what brings you from Gnaresbridge so soon, Kenneth, and all alone? Where have you left Mr. and Mrs. Goodal?”

“Mrs. Goodal had some shopping to do at Gnaresbridge, and Mr. Goodal, as in duty bound, waited patiently the results of that interesting operation. His patience makes me blush for mine. The shopping is such a very extensive operation that I preferred a walk back, and even now you see I have arrived before them.”

“How very ungallant, Mr. Goodal! I am surprised at you. I thought Roger was the only gentleman who didn’t like shopping.”

“On the contrary, I am quite fond of it. I used to do all my own shopping in New York. I got Mrs. Jinks to buy me some things once, but as she, woman-like, measured everybody by Mr. Jinks, the articles, though an excellent fit for him, were an abomination on me.”

“And what did you do with them?”

“What could I do with them? Gave them to Mrs. Jinks, of course, and for the future did my own shopping. Indeed, I am getting quite lazy here. There is nothing for a fellow to do--is there, Kenneth?”

“I was thinking of that as I came along.”

“Thinking of what?”

“The great puzzle--What to do. I put it in every imaginable form. The question was this: ‘Kenneth Goodal, what are you going to do with yourself?’ and the whole eight miles passed before I could arrive at anything like a satisfactory conclusion. I finally resolved to leave the question to arbitration, and get others to decide for me. I have already applied to one.”

He paused, and his gaze was fixed on the ground. His face was flushed, and his broad brow knitted as though trying to find the right clue to a puzzling query. I glanced at Nellie, and observed that her face had whitened again, while her eyes were also bent upon the ground, and her breath came and went painfully.

“Yes,” he went on without raising his head--Nellie was seated between us--“I determined to leave my case to arbitration. Your father was one of the arbiters; you were to be another, Roger; and a certain young lady was to be a third. I had intended to attack the members of this high court of arbitration singly; but as I find two of them here together, I see no reason why I should not receive my verdict at once.. ..”

A further report of this most important and interesting case it is not for me to give, inasmuch as I was not present. I saw at once that the decision rested now with the third arbiter, and that my opinion was practically valueless in the matter. How the case proceeded I cannot tell. Thinking that there was little for me to do, and how deeply engaged were the other two parties, I took advantage of the noiseless grass to slink away without attracting the attention of either, heartily ashamed of myself for being so persistent an intruder where it was clear I was not particularly wanted. It was a lovely evening, and I took a long quiet ramble all by myself. How much longer the court was in session I do not know, I only know that it was broken up before I entered, just in time for dinner. I noticed that in my father’s eyes there was a softer look than usual; that Mrs. Goodal took Nellie’s place at table, opposite to my father; that Mr. Goodal and myself were neighbors, while opposite to us sat the adjourned court of arbitration, looking--looking as young persons look only once in their lives. There was a rather awkward silence on my entrance, which I found so unpleasant that I rattled away all through dinner. I must have been excellent company for once in my life; for though at this moment I do not recollect a single sentence that I uttered, there was so much laughter throughout the dinner, laughter that grew and grew until we found ourselves all talking at length, all joining in, all joking, all so merry that we were astounded to find how the evening had passed. My father looked quite young again.

As I was retiring to my own room for the night, Nellie caught me, put both her arms around my neck, and looked up into my eyes a long time without saying a word, until at last she seemed to find in them something she was looking for, and when, kissing her, I asked if I should blow the candle out again, as I did on a former memorable confession, she flew away, her face lost amid blushes, laughter, and tears. I was congratulating myself on seeing an end to a long day, when a guilty tap came to my door, and Kenneth stole in with the air of a burglar who purposed making for the first valuable he could lay hands on, and vanishing with it through the window. He closed the door as cautiously as though a policeman, whom he feared to disturb, was napping without, and sat down without saying a word. I looked at the ceiling; he sat and stared at me. In his turn, he began examining my eyes. I could bear it no longer, but burst out laughing, and held out my hand, which he almost crushed in his.

“You are as true a knight as ever was old Sir Roger,” said Kenneth, wringing my hand till I cried out with pain. “I went on talking for I don’t know how long, and saying I forget now what, but, on looking up, I found there was only one listener. Well, we did without you.”

“So now you know what to do with yourself. Happy man! What a pity Elfie is only fourteen! She might tell me what to do with Roger Herbert.”

I saw the two who, after my father, I loved the best in all the world made one. I waited until they returned from the bridal trip, by which time my father was fully restored to health. We spent that season in London, and when it was over returned to Leighstone. The brown hand of autumn was touching the woods, when one morning I began packing my trunk again, and that same evening ate my last dinner at the Grange. It was not a pleasant dinner. The ladies were in tears at times, and the gentlemen were inclined to be taciturn. I did my best to rally the party as on a former occasion, but the effort was not very successful.

“Oh! you are all Sybarites here,” was my closing rejoinder to all queries, tears, and complaints; “and I should never do anything among you. Not so fortunate as Kenneth, who has found some one to tell him what to do with himself, I am driven back on my own resources, and must work out that interesting problem for myself. I was advancing in that direction when called away. I go back to resume my labors in the old way. You cannot realize the delicious feeling that comes over one at times who is struggling all alone, and groping in the darkness towards a great light that he sees afar off and hopes to reach. I leave my father with a better son than I, and my sister with something that even sisters prefer to brothers. I am only restless here. There is work to be done beyond there. I may be making a mistake: if so, I shall come back and let you know.”

AN OLD IRISH TOUR.

It was the long vacation in Dublin, 186-. Summer reigned supreme over the Irish capital. The long, bright afternoons, still and drowsy, seemed never to have an end. The soft azure overhead, so different from our deep blue skies, was whole days without a cloud--rare phenomenon in Irish weather. It was hot. The leaves drooped and the insects hummed, till I, a solitary American student, holding my chambers in college for a couple of weeks after all others had left--waiting for some friends to make up a party for the seaside--began to think of the fierce blaze of the Broadway pavement in July. The four o’clock promenade on Grafton and Westmoreland streets seemed almost abandoned by the tall, fresh-colored Dublin belles; and even the military band on Wednesday afternoons in Merrion square drew few listeners. It was dull as well as hot.

Taking down volume after volume at a venture from the shelves of the house library, I happened on Arthur Young’s _Tour in Ireland in 1776-9_. I opened it at the account of his visit to the Dargle. I had not yet visited the glen, and was interested by his description. “What!” said I, laying the book open on my knee, “shall I stay here broiling for another week? I will run down to Bray and Wicklow for a day or two, and have a look at the lions.” From my windows every morning I used to look out at the distant hills, till they seemed to me like old acquaintances. The next day I started. The trip is still a pleasant one in my memory; but it is not of my own short Wicklow tour I am going to write, although in these fast days it also might now be called ancient.

This was my first acquaintance with Arthur Young’s celebrated _Tour_. Not long ago I met with his work again. It was a copy of the second edition, “printed by H. Goldney for T. Cadell in the Strand, MDCCLXXX.” I recognized my old friend at a glance. The quaint engraving of the “Waterfall at Powerscourt, I. Taylor, _sculp._,” renewed old associations, and led to a second and more attentive reading.

Although Young’s works are still the standard authority on the agricultural condition of England and Ireland, one hundred years ago, recognized in those countries, he is not so well known on this side of the water, and a few facts concerning his life and writings may be given. He was born in 1741. He was the son of the Rev. Arthur Young, rector of Bradford, and sometime chaplain to Speaker Onslow. His father was noted for some fierce blasts against “Popery,” but our author, in many passages of a just and humane spirit, shows that he did not imbibe the iconoclast zeal of Arthur Young the elder. His works are voluminous, comprised in twenty volumes. They relate almost exclusively to the state of agriculture in the two kingdoms and in France. His _Travels_ in the East, West, and North of England, in Wales, in Ireland, and in France, and his _Political Economy_, are the chief titles. But Arthur Young was more than a practical farmer, honorable as that vocation is. He was a man of liberal education and cultivated taste, and his works often rise above the dull level of the fields and are pervaded with a true Virgilian flavor. They have been warmly praised by such widely different authorities as McCulloch, De Tocqueville, and the _Times_ Commissioner in 1869; and Miss Edgeworth, herself now grown a little antiquated, says of his _Tour in Ireland_: “It was the first faithful portrait of its inhabitants.” Arthur Young died in 1820. An extended but not complete list of his works will be found in Allibone.

Young had a high but well-grounded idea of the place that agriculture holds in the economy of the state.

“The details,” he says, “of common management are dry and unentertaining; nor is it easy to render them interesting by ornaments of style. The tillage with which the peasant prepares the ground; the manner with which he fertilizes it; the quantities of the seed of the several species of grain which he commits to it; and the products that repay his industry, necessarily in the recital run into chains of repetition which tire the ear, and fatigue the imagination. Great, however, is the structure raised on this foundation; it may be dry, but it is important, for these are the circumstances upon which depend the wealth, prosperity, and power of nations. The minutiæ of the farmer’s management, low and seemingly inconsiderable as he is, are so many links of a chain which connect him with the state. Kings ought not to forget that the splendor of majesty is derived from the sweat of industrious and too often oppressed peasants. The rapacious conqueror who destroys and the great statesman who protects humanity, are equally indebted for their power to the care with which the farmer cultivates his fields. The monarch of these realms must know, when he is sitting on his throne at Westminster, surrounded by nothing but state and magnificence, that the poorest, the most oppressed, the most unhappy peasant, in the remotest corner of Ireland, contributes his share to the support of the gaiety that enlivens and the splendor that adorns the scene.”

Our author, it will be seen, lived close enough to the great Dr. Johnson to catch something of the swelling and sonorous rotundity of style which he impressed upon the Georgian era. And, in truth, there is a weighty and nervous energy about the prose writing of that age which contrasts, not to our advantage, with the extenuated and sharply accented style of our day.

The careful investigation of his special study led Young into minute inquiries and much experimental journalizing, into which it would not be possible or even desirable for us to follow him. We shall therefore content ourselves with a notice of his more general observations in the character of tourist.

Arthur Young started from Holyhead for Dunleary--as Kingstown was then called, before the “First Gentleman in Europe” set his august foot upon its quay--on the 19th of June, 1776. What a tremendous turn of the wheel has the world taken since then! These colonies had just plunged slowly but resolutely into that great struggle for independence, the centennial commemoration of which we shall celebrate next year. Progress in Ireland, though not so radical, has been such as would have been derided as a day-dream by the generation then living. In the arts and sciences the advance has been as amazing as in politics. As we read of Young’s tedious passage of twenty-two hours on board the small sailing packet of those days, we take in at a glance the difference of times which has substituted for those “Dutch clippers” the magnificent steamships which now make the passage between those ports with undeviating regularity in four hours.

Young’s tour was made under the auspices of the English Board of Agriculture. It was his intention to make a complete survey of the state of the art in the island. He complains, however, of the want of encouragement his project met with in England; the Earl of Shelburne, “Edmund Burke, Esq.,” and a few others being the only persons of eminence who took the trouble to interest themselves in the undertaking. “Indeed,” says our author, commenting on this indifference, “there are too many possessors of great estates in Ireland who wish to know nothing more of it than the collection of their rents”--a remark which has not lost its force in our own day.

The reception he met with in Dublin, however, when the purpose of his visit became known, seems to have compensated him for the coldness he had experienced on the other side of the Channel. The most distinguished persons of the Irish capital--a title then to some extent real--warmly encouraged him in his project, treated him with true Irish hospitality in their own houses, and provided him with letters of introduction to facilitate his inquiries. Thus equipped, Young felt sure of bringing his undertaking to a successful issue; nor did he disappoint his subscribers. But before going further, let us first note his impressions of the capital.

Dublin exceeded his anticipations. Its public buildings, which still recall its old glories to the Irish-American tourist, “are,” he says, “magnificent; very many of the streets regularly laid out, and exceedingly well built.” The Parliament House, within the walls of which Grattan and Flood were then exerting their growing powers, attracted his admiration, although some of its architectural features seemed to him open to criticism. Young found the subject of Union an unpopular one wherever broached, and, although an advocate of the scheme, does not appear to have imagined that in a little over twenty years the doors of the Parliament House would be closed upon the representatives of Ireland. The cold and business-like precincts of the Bank of Ireland, as the building is now called, make stronger by contrast the recollection of the fervid eloquence once heard within its walls. Young attended the debates frequently; but, whether it was from English phlegm, or perhaps it would be more just to him to say, from the recollection of the transcendent powers of Burke and Chatham, he does not appear to have been carried away by the _perfervidum ingenium_ of the Irish orators. After naming Mr. Daly, Mr. Flood (who had dropped out of the scene), Mr. Grattan, Serjeant Burgh, and others, he says: “I heard many eloquent speeches, but I cannot say they struck me like the exertion of the abilities of Irishmen in the English House of Commons.”

Young’s opinion of the musical talent of Dublin would be apt also to excite the ire of its present opera-goers. No city in the United Kingdom flatters itself more upon its correct musical taste and warm encouragement of talent. But this is what our unabashed tourist says: “An ill-judged and unsuccessful attempt was made to establish the Italian opera, which existed but with scarce any life for this one winter; of course, they could rise no higher than a comic one. ‘La Buona Figliuola,’ ‘La Frascatana,’ and ‘Il Geloso in Cimento’ were repeatedly performed, or rather murdered, except the part of Sestini. The house was generally empty and miserably cold.” This is no doubt an honest description of the fortunes of the opera in his day, but those who have witnessed the successive appearances of Grisi, of Piccolomini (in light _rôles_), of Titjens, and Patti will not accuse a modern Dublin audience of want of sympathy.

Dublin, always a gay city socially, was enlivened in Young’s day by the presence of a larger resident aristocracy than ever since. The greater power and state of the “Castle” before the Union, the splendid hospitality of the old Irish nobility, the beauty of its fair dames--the toast of more than one court, the gallant, open-handed manners of the native landed gentry, made it then one of the most brilliant capitals in Europe. Young supposes the common computation of its inhabitants, two hundred thousand, to be exaggerated; he thinks one hundred and forty or one hundred and fifty thousand would be nearer the mark. Although Dublin, to-day, nearly if not quite doubles the latter figures, and in countless ways shares in the general progress of the age, she misses the independent spirit her native parliament gave her, and which filled the smaller city of the last century with an exuberant life that is now absent in her streets and along her quays.

Young thus sums up his observations on the city: “From everything I saw, I was struck with all those appearances of wealth which the capital of a thriving community may be supposed to exhibit. Happy if I find through the country in diffused prosperity the right source of this splendor!” Whatever the gaiety of the capital, the impartial observer, as Young himself soon found, could not fail to note through the country, notwithstanding some gleams of better times, the fixed wretchedness of a whole people, bowed down under the yoke of those penal laws the unspeakable horror of which no later English legislation, however beneficent, can ever redeem. But the native buoyancy of the Irish character was well exemplified in the comparatively cheerful and quiescent spirit with which they bore their hard lot in the breathing space, if one may so term it, between 1750 and 1770. For some years previous to Young’s _Tour_, the general state of the country, contrasted with what it had been seventy years previously, was what might almost be called prosperous. The population was increasing, and was not suffering from want of food; and the penal laws in some instances were allowed to fall into abeyance. The country was comparatively free from agrarian disturbances. Whiteboys and “Hearts of Steel” had sprung up in some counties after Thurot’s landing in 1759, but were quickly suppressed; their indiscriminate attacks upon private property in some instances causing the Catholic country people to rise against them. The trade of Ireland was still oppressed by the English prohibitory laws, but some mitigation had been granted; and in 1778 the threatening attitude of the Irish Volunteers at last wrung a tardy measure of justice from the English government. The value of land in many counties had more than doubled in the previous thirty years. Much of this rise in value was undoubtedly due to natural causes--improved and extended cultivation, and the increase of population--but it is plain from Young’s testimony, without going to Catholic contemporary evidence, that the rents were raised artificially in numberless cases by the grinding agents of the absentee landlords. The Irish woollen trade had been annihilated by English monopoly. The manufacture of linen, which was at its height in 1770, had greatly declined in consequence of the American difficulties, but was beginning to revive a little. The effect of the war had also been to check the emigration, which was chiefly confined, however, to the North. Young gave particular attention to this subject, noting down the emigration in each parish he visited; and the result of his observations is summed up in these words: “The spirit of emigrating in Ireland appeared to be confined to two circumstances, the Presbyterian religion and the linen manufacture. I heard of very few emigrants except among the manufacturers of that persuasion.” This remark has of course been completely nullified in later years by the famine and continued misgovernment, which at last, breaking down the Irishman’s strong love of home, have sent him forth as a wanderer, but, in the designs of Providence, to carry with him his faith and build up a greater Catholic Church in America--happy also in the country and the laws which enable him by his own exertions to gain a position equal to any other citizen’s, and to throw off that poverty and servility which too often weighed down his spirit at home.

On the whole, then, it may be said that the time of Arthur Young’s visit was a favorable one, if any time might be accounted favorable in that long night of oppression which was still brooding over Ireland, and which had yet to reach its darkest hour before the first faint streaks of dawn gladdened the eyes of its weary watchers. The country was just touching on that short period of flickering prosperity, culminating in the assertion of its constitutional independence in 1782, but destined to set in fire and blood in the tragedy of ’98 and the ill-starred Union of 1800.

Leaving Dublin, Young first made a short tour through Meath and Westmeath, returning by way of Carlow, Wexford, and Wicklow to the capital before entering on his more extensive circuit of the island. In this first excursion he at once exhibits the plan of his journal, noting down with minuteness the character of the soil, the course of the crops, the nature of the tenancy, and the condition of the people. Potatoes were the great article of culture, alternating with barley, oats, and wheat. Much of the best land was given to grazing. The average rent of the county of Westmeath, exclusive of waste, was nine shillings--including it, seven shillings; but in this, as in the other counties near Dublin, the best land let from twenty shillings to as high as thirty-five shillings sterling an acre. The rise in the price of labor for ten years was from fivepence and sevenpence to eightpence and tenpence per day, but the laborers worked harder and better. Women got eightpence a day in harvest. Lands in general were leased to Protestants for thirty-one years or three lives, but Catholics were in almost all cases at the mercy of their landlords. The law allowing Catholics to hold leases for lives was not yet passed. June 28th, he notes:

“Took the road to Summerhill, the seat of the Right Hon. H. L. Rowley; the country cheerful and rich; and if the Irish cabins continue like what I have seen, I shall not hesitate to pronounce their inhabitants as well off as most English cottagers. They are built of mud walls, eighteen inches or two feet thick, and well thatched, which are far warmer than the thin clay walls in England. Here are few cottars without a cow, and some of them two, a bellyful invariably of potatoes, and generally turf for fuel from a bog. It is true they have not always chimneys to their cabins, the door serving for that and window too; if their eyes are not affected with the smoke it may be an advantage in warmth. Every cottage swarms with poultry, and most of them have pigs. Land lets at twenty shillings an acre, which is the average rent of the whole county of Meath to the occupier, but if the tenures of middlemen are included it is not above fourteen shillings. This intermediate tenant between landlord and occupier is very common here. The farmers are very much improved in their circumstances since about the year 1752.”

Although we may partially agree in Arthur Young’s opinion that some amelioration was visible in the material surroundings of the Irish peasant during the quarter of a century preceding his visit, no equal concession can be made regarding his political rights. These remained absolutely nil. The comparative tranquillity that prevailed was the lethargy not the security of freedom. In a slightly altered sense might have been uttered of the whole nation what Hussey Burgh said of a year or two later, referring more particularly to the Volunteers: “Talk not to me,” he exclaimed, “of peace; it is not peace, but smothered war!”

Contrasted with this description of the cabins of the peasantry, the following account of an Irish nobleman’s country mansion in the same county one hundred years ago will be found interesting. Headfort is still one of the principal residences in that part of the country:

“July 1st: Reached Lord Bective’s in the evening through a very fine country, particularly that part of it from which is a prospect of his extensive woods. No person could with more readiness give me every sort of information than his lordship. The improvements at Headfort must be astonishing to those who knew the place seventeen years ago, for then there were neither building, walling, nor plantations; at present almost everything is created necessary to form a considerable residence. The house and offices are new-built. It is a large plain stone edifice. The body of the house 145 feet long, and the wings each 180. The hall is 31½ by 24, and 17 high. The saloon of the same dimensions; on the left of which is a dining-room 48 by 24, and 24 high. From the thickness of the walls, I suppose it is the custom to build very substantially here. The grounds fall agreeably in front of the house to a winding narrow vale, which is filled with wood, where also is a river which Lord Bective intends to enlarge. And on the other side, the lawn spreads over a large extent, and is everywhere bounded by large plantations. To the right the town of Kells, picturesquely situated among groups of trees, with a fine waving country and distant mountains; to the left, a rich tract of cultivation. Besides these numerous plantations, considerable mansion, and an incredible quantity of walling, his lordship has walled in 26 acres for a garden and nursery, and built six or seven large pineries, each 90 feet long. He has built a farm-yard 280 feet square, surrounded with offices of various kinds.”

July 4th, there is an entry of interest, as showing the position of Catholic tenants at that day even under the best landlords. Young was then a guest of Lord Longford’s at Packenham Hall. We give the passage in his own words, as it is a favorable index to our author’s character:

“Lord Longford carried me to Mr. Marly, an improver in the neighborhood, who has done great things, and without the benefit of such leases as Protestants in Ireland commonly have. He rents 1,000 acres; at first, it was twentypence an acre; in the next term, five shillings, or two hundred and fifty pounds a year; and he now pays eight hundred and fifty pounds a year for it. Almost the whole farm is mountain land; the spontaneous growth, heath, etc.; he has improved 500 acres.… It was with regret I heard the rent of a man who had been so spirited an improver should be raised so exceedingly. He merited for his life the returns of his industry. But the cruel laws against the Roman Catholics of this country remain the marks of illiberal barbarism. Why should not the industrious man have a spur to his industry, whatever be his religion; and what industry is to be expected from them in a country where leases for lives are general among Protestants, if secluded from terms common to every one else? What mischiefs could flow from letting them have leases for life? None; but much good in animating their industry. It is impossible that the prosperity of a nation should have its natural progress where four-fifths of the people are cut off from those advantages which are heaped upon the domineering aristocracy of the small remainder.”

Young made many inquiries here concerning the state of the “lower” classes, and found that in some respects they were in good circumstances, in others indifferent. They had, generally speaking, plenty of potatoes, enough flax for all their linen, most of them a cow and some two, and spun wool enough for their clothes; all, a pig, and quantities of poultry. Fuel, and fish from the neighboring lakes, were also plenty.

“Reverse the medal,” says Young: “they are ill clothed, make a wretched appearance, and, what is worse, are much oppressed by many, who make them pay too dear for keeping a cow, horse, etc. They have a practice also of keeping accounts with the laborers, contriving by that means to let the poor wretches have very little cash for their year’s work. This is a great oppression; farmers and gentlemen keeping accounts with the poor is a cruel abuse. So many days’ work for a cabin--so many for a potato garden--so many for keeping a horse--and so many for a cow, are clear accounts which a poor man can understand; but farther it ought never to go; and when he has worked out this, the rest ought punctually to be paid him every Saturday night. They are much worse treated than the poor in England, are talked to in more opprobrious terms, and otherwise very much oppressed.”

Passing through the county Wexford, Young diverged a little from his route to visit the baronies of Forth and Bargy, the peculiar character of the people of which had always attracted the attention of tourists. They are supposed to have been completely peopled by Strongbow’s followers, and have retained a language peculiar to themselves. They had the reputation even then of being better farmers than in any other part of Ireland.

“July 12th: Sallied from my inn, which would have made a very passable castle of enchantment in the eyes of Don Quixote in search of adventures in these noted baronies, of which I had heard so much.” He did not find, however, as much difference in the husbandry as he expected, but the people appeared more comfortable. Potatoes were not the common food all the year through, as in other parts of Ireland. Barley bread and pork, herrings and oatmeal, were much used. The cabins were generally much better than any he had yet seen; larger, with two and three rooms in good order and repair, all with windows and chimneys, and little sties for their pigs and cattle. They were as well built, he says, as was common in England. The girls and women were handsomer, having better features and complexions than he saw elsewhere in Ireland. Young was a poor authority on this point, however; for he says, in the most ungallant manner, that “the women among the lower classes in general in Ireland are as ugly as the women of fashion are handsome.” A remark equally composed of truth and falsehood: a handsome Irish lass being as easily found in any townland as in any Dublin drawing-room. Young was a good man and a good farmer, but we fear in this case his cockney prejudices deceived him.

Understanding that there was a part of the barony of Shellmaleive inhabited by Quakers, rich men and good farmers, our tourist turned aside to visit them. A farmer he talked to said of them: “The Quakers be very cunning, and the d----l a bad acre of land will they hire.” This excited Young’s admiration for these sagacious Friends. He found them uncommonly industrious, and a very quiet race. They lived very comfortably and happily, and many of them were worth several hundred pounds.

Returning through Wicklow to Dublin, he passed through the Glen of the Downs and the Dargle, as we have already noticed. His description of the scenery of these noted spots is picturesquely written, but too long to quote. July 18th, he set out for the North. Leaving Drogheda, he made a visit to the Lord Chief Baron Foster at Cullen. This “great improver,” “a title,” he says, “more deserving estimation than that of a great general or great minister,” had reclaimed in twenty years a barren tract of land, containing over 5,000 acres, which, when Young visited it, was covered with corn. In conversation with him, the Chief Baron said that in his circuits through the North of Ireland he was on all occasions attentive to procuring information relative to the linen manufacture. It had been his general observation that where linen manufacture spread tillage was very bad. Thirty years before, the export of linen and yarn had been about £500,000 a year; it was then £1,200,000 to £1,500,000. In 1857, the export of linens, according to McCulloch, was £4,400,000. In 1868, there were 94 flax-spinning factories in Ireland, driving 905,525 spindles, employing about 50,000 (_vide_ I. N. Murphy’s valuable work, _Ireland--Industrial, Political, and Social_, London, 1870).

In conversation upon the “Popery” laws, Young expressed his surprise at their severity. The Chief Baron said they were severe in the letter, but were never executed. It was rarely or never, he said (he knew no instance), that a Protestant _discoverer_ got a lease by proving the lands let under two-thirds of their real value to a Catholic. But it is plain the Chief Baron took a more roseate view of the situation than it deserved; the explanation of the last-mentioned circumstance being, as we have seen in the case of Mr. Marly, already mentioned, that the landlord generally took good care to keep the rent well up to the two-thirds value. The penalties for carrying arms or reading Mass were severe, the Chief Baron admitted, but the first was never executed for merely poaching (rare clemency!), and as to the other, “Mass-houses were to be seen everywhere.” The Chief Baron did justice, Young says, to the merits of the Roman Catholics, by observing that they were in general a very sober, honest, and industrious people. Arthur Young winds up this conversation with Chief Baron Foster, however, with the following spirited remark, which shows that he had not listened in vain to the great orator of that age: “This account,” he says, “of the laws against them brought to mind an admirable expression of Mr. Burke’s in the English House of Commons: _connivance is the relaxation of slavery, not the definition of liberty_.”

The Chief Baron was of opinion that the kingdom had improved more in the last twenty years than in a century before. The great spirit began, he said, in 1749 and 1750. With regard to the emigrations, which then made so much noise in the North of Ireland, he believed they were principally idle people, who, far from being missed, benefited the country by their absence. They were generally dissenters, he said; very few Churchmen or Catholics.

Coming to Armagh, Young found the “Oak Boys” and “Steel Boys” active in that part of the country. He attributes their rise to the increase of rents and the oppression of the tithe-proctors. The manufacture of linen was at its height; the price greater, and the quantity also. A weaver earned from one shilling to one shilling and fourpence a day, a farming laborer eightpence. The women earned about threepence a day spinning, and drank tea for breakfast.

July 27th, in the evening, he reached Belfast. He gives an animated description of the town and its trade and manufactures. “The streets,” he says, “are broad and straight, and the inhabitants, amounting to about fifteen thousand, make it appear lively and busy.” The population of Belfast is now probably one hundred and twenty-five thousand. It was then already noted for its brisk foreign trade with the Baltic, Spain, France, and the West Indies. The trade with North America was greatly affected by the contumacious behavior of the “rebels.”

Thence our tourist wended his way through the North, through the mountains and moors of Donegal, and down the wild west coast of Sligo and Galway. Here he describes a wake, and the “howling” of the “keeners” “in a most horrid manner,” in a tone of alarm and amazement which would put to shame the stage “English officer” of some of our modern Irish melodramas.

Continuing his route through Clare and Limerick, he arrived at Cork September 21st. This is his description of the city one hundred years ago:

“Got to Corke in the evening, and waited on the Dean, who received me with the most flattering attention. Corke is one of the most populous places I have ever been in; it was market-day, and I could scarce drive through the streets, they were so amazingly thronged; the number is very great at all times. I should suppose it must resemble a Dutch town, for there are many canals in the streets, with quays before the houses. Average of ships that entered in nineteen years, eight hundred and seventy-two per annum. The number of people in Corke, upon an average of three calculations, as mustered by the clergy, by the hearth-money, and by the number of houses, sixty-seven thousand souls, if taken before the first of September; after that, twenty thousand increased.”

These last figures appear large. The population of Cork in 1866 was estimated at eighty thousand. Ships entered and cleared in 1859, 4,410.

From Cork, Young set out for Killarney. The lakes were already a great point of attraction for the tourist. Young was in raptures with the mingled beauty and sublimity of the scenery. His description of Glena, Mucross Abbey, Mangerton, and the other wild and beautiful features of lakes and mountain, might almost be taken for an account of their appearance within the last ten years. Of Innisfallen, he says:

“September 29th: Returning, took boat again towards Ross Isle, and as Mucruss retires from us nothing can be more beautiful than the spots of lawn in the terrace opening in the wood; above it, the green hills with clumps, and the whole finishing in the noble group of wood above the abbey, which here appears a deep shade, and so fine a finishing one, that not a tree should be touched.… Open Innisfallen, which at this distance is composed of various shades, within a broken outline, entirely different from the other islands. No pencil could mix a happier assemblage. Land near a miserable room where travellers dine.--Of the isle of Innisfallen it is paying no great compliment to say it is the most beautiful in the king’s dominions, and perhaps in Europe. It contains twenty acres of land, and has every variety that the range of beauty, unmixed with the sublime, can give. The general feature is that of wood; the surface undulates into swelling hills, and sinks into little vales; the slopes are in every direction, the declivities die gently away, forming those slight inequalities which are the greatest beauty of dressed grounds. The little vallies let in views of the surrounding lake between the hills, while the swells break the regular outline of the water, and give to the whole an agreeable confusion. Trees of large size and commanding figure form in some places natural arches; the ivy mixing with the branches, and hanging across in festoons of foliage, while on the one side the lake glitters among the trees, and on the other a thick gloom dwells in the recesses of the wood. These are the great features of Innisfallen. Every circumstance of the wood, the rocks, and lawn are characteristic, and have a beauty in the assemblage from mere disposition.”

With the exception of the “miserable room where travellers dine,” which happily has disappeared, this is a good picture of the scene when the writer visited this lovely spot. Young elsewhere complains of the “want of accommodations and extravagant expense of strangers” visiting Killarney. The “Victoria,” the “Lake,” and other good hotels now leave no room for reproach on the first score; though the “stranger” may still feelingly recognize the point of Young’s last remark.

Moore had not yet written:

“Sweet Innisfallen long shall dwell In memory’s dream, that sunny smile Which o’er thee on that evening fell, When first I saw thy fairy isle.”

From Killarney Young took the road through Limerick and Tipperary. Here he stopped at Sir William Osborne’s, near Clonmel. Always on the alert to note improvements, he here describes a scene of industry and labor which in an extended form still attracts the attention of the tourist:

“This gentleman” (Sir W. Osborne), he says, “has made a mountain improvement which demands particular attention, being upon a principle very different from common ones. Twelve years ago he met a hearty-looking fellow of forty, followed by a wife and six children in rags, who begged. Sir William questioned him upon the scandal of a man in full health and vigor supporting himself in such a manner. The man said he could get no work. ‘Come along with me, I will show you a spot of land upon which I will build a cabin for you, and if you like you shall fix there.’ The fellow followed Sir William, who was as good as his word; he built him a cabin, gave him five acres of a heathy mountain, lent him four pounds to stock with, and gave him, when he had prepared his ground, as much lime as he would come for. The fellow flourished; he went on gradually; repaid the four pounds, and presently became a happy little cottar: he has at present twelve acres under cultivation, and a stock in trade worth at least eighty pounds. The success which attended this man in two or three years brought others, who applied for land. And Sir William gave them as they applied. The mountain was under lease to a tenant, who valued it so little that, upon being reproached with not cultivating or doing something with it, he assured Sir William that it was utterly impracticable to do anything with it, and offered it to him without any deduction of rent. Upon this mountain he fixed them, giving them terms as they came determinable with the lease of the farm. In this manner Sir William has fixed twenty-two families, who are all upon the improving hand, the meanest growing richer, and find themselves so well off that no consideration will induce them to work for others, not even in harvest. Their industry has no bounds; nor is the day long enough for the revolution of their incessant labor.

“Too much cannot be said in praise of this undertaking. It shows that a reflecting, penetrating landlord can scarcely move without the power of creating opportunities to do himself and his country service. It shows that the villany of the greatest miscreants is all situation and circumstance; _employ_, don’t _hang_ them. Let it not be in the slavery of the cottar system, in which industry never meets its reward, but, by giving property, teach the value of it; by giving them the fruits of their labor, teach them to be laborious. All this Sir William Osborne has done, and done it with effect, and there probably is not an honester set of families in the county than those which he has formed from the refuse of the Whiteboys.”

Exception will be justly taken here to the use of the word “miscreants,” of which nothing appears to show that these poor people were deserving the name, and which is probably used generally; but let it be remembered that these sentiments were written one hundred years ago, and by an Englishman who, from his position, might well be supposed to share all the prejudices of his race, and the philanthropy and love of justice which belonged to Young’s character will conspicuously appear. What a revelation of the state of the country and the condition of its native people, when a stranger utters these appalling words (to our ears) to its landlords: “_Employ_, don’t _hang_ them.”

In September, 1869, the _Times_ Commissioner in Ireland thus wrote of the great-grandchildren of these men:

“I took care to visit a tract in this neighborhood which I expected to find especially interesting. Arthur Young tells us how, in his day, Sir William Osborne of Newtownanner encouraged a colony of cottiers to settle along the slopes that lead to the Commeraghs, and how they had reclaimed this barren wild with extraordinary energy and success. The great-grandchildren of these very men now spread in villages along the range for miles, and, though reduced in numbers since 1846, they still form a considerable population. The continual labor of these sons of the soil has carried cultivation high up the mountains, has fenced thousands of acres and made them fruitful, has rescued to the uses of man what had been the unprofitable domain of nature. These people do not pay a high rent. They are for the most part under good landlords; but I was sorry to find this remarkable and most honorable creation of industry was generally unprotected by a certain tenure. The tenants with hardly a single exception declared they would be happy to obtain leases, which, as they said truly, would ‘secure them their own, and stir them up to renewed efforts.’”

A few years before the visit of the _Times_ Commissioner, the writer of this article passed along the same road on his way to Clonmel and Fethard, and still vividly remembers the remarkable appearance of the long range of these little holdings climbing high up the steep side of the mountains; the clustering cabins; the narrow paths winding up to them; and, higher than all, the gray masses of mist sweeping along the rocks and purple heath.

From Clonmel Arthur Young proceeded to Waterford, and thence, on the 19th of October, the wind being fair, took passage in the sailing packet, the _Countess of Tyrone_, for Milford Haven, Wales--thus bringing to an end his first and most interesting tour in Ireland.

In a subsequent volume, he relates his experiences two years later. But this second volume, though valuable, is not of the same interesting character as the first. It consists chiefly of chapters under general headings, such as Manufactures, Commerce, Population, etc. It is speculative and theorizing, and has not the freshness of particular incidents and observations. Nevertheless, it will always be consulted by the student who desires to learn from an impartial English observer the condition of Ireland one hundred years ago.

The following are the laws of discovery, as they were called, given by Young in his chapter on “Religion,” vol. ii., as in force in his day. They are given in his own words:

“1. The whole body of Roman Catholics are absolutely disarmed.

“2. They are incapacitated from purchasing land.

“3. The entails of their estate are broken.

“4. If one child abjures that religion, he inherits the whole estate, though he is the youngest.

“5. If the son abjures the religion, the father has no power over his estate, but becomes a pensioner upon it in favor of such son.

“6. No Catholic can take a lease for more than 31 years.

“7. If the rent of any Catholic is less than two-thirds of the full improved value, whoever discovers takes the benefit of the lease.

“8. Priests who celebrate Mass must be transported; and if they return, to be hanged.

“9. A Catholic having a horse in his possession above the value of five pounds to forfeit the same to the discoverer.

“10. By a construction of Lord Hardwick’s they are incapacitated from lending money on mortgage.”

“The preceding catalogue,” says Young, with grave irony, “is very imperfect. But,” he continues, “it is an exhibition of oppression fully sufficient.”

With these words may fitly be concluded a notice of Ireland one hundred years ago. Twenty years after Arthur Young wrote them, the short period of comparative peace he chronicled ended, and the pitch-cap became the emblem of English government in Ireland.

BROTHER PHILIP.

CONCLUDED.

It was reserved for Brother Philip not only to give a fresh impetus to the Institute of the Christian Schools, but also to see it acquire an additional and important title to respect by a new form of self-devotion on the fields of battle. Never had the Brothers failed to prove their loyal love of their country, but the year 1870, so terrible to France, brought out their patriotism in all its active energy.

There is no need that we should relate how, in the July of that year, Napoleon III., who was unprepared for anything, provoked King William, who was prepared for everything, it being our object to give the history of self-devotion, not to recall mistakes.

The best Christians are always the truest patriots. The heart of Brother Philip thrilled at the very name of France, and he so well knew that France could equally reckon on his Brothers that he did not even consult them before he wrote his letter of the 15th of August to the Minister of War, in which he said that they would wish to profit by the time of vacation to serve their country in another manner than they had been wont; at the same time placing at his disposal, to be turned into ambulances, all the establishments belonging to the Institute, as well as all the communal schools directed by the Brothers, who would devote themselves to the care of the sick and wounded. “The soldiers love our Brothers,” wrote the Superior, “and our Brothers love the soldiers, a large number of whom have been their pupils, and who would feel pleasure in being attended to by their former masters.… The members of my Council, the Brother Visitors, and myself will make it our duty to superintend and to encourage our Brothers in this service.” All the houses of the Christian Schools, therefore, were speedily put in readiness to receive the wounded. Some of the Brothers were left in charge of the classes. Wherever they were wanted they were to be found. We find them for the first time engaged in their new work after the engagements of the 14th, 16th, and 18th of August, which took place around Metz, where trains filled with wounded were sent by Thionville to the Ardennes and the North. Supplies of provisions were organized at Beauregard-lez-Thionville by the Brother Director of that place, for these poor sufferers, who were in want of everything; all the families of the town with eager willingness contributing their share. Thus eight trains, carrying five hundred wounded, successively received the succor so much needed. At St. Denis, the Brothers responded to the municipal vote which had just been passed for their suppression by their active zeal in the service of the _bureau de subsistence_, or provision-office. In many towns the military writings were entrusted to them. At Dieppe, being installed in the citadel, they made more than 120,000 cartridges. On the 17th of August, Brother Philip received, with the most cordial kindness, two hundred firemen of Dinan and St. Brieuc, forming part of the companies of the Côtes-du-Nord, who had hastened to the defence of Paris--himself presiding at their installation in the mother-house, and bidding them feel quite at home there, as the Brothers were the “servants of the servants of their country.” There the good Bretons remained four days, each receiving a medal of Our Blessed Lady from the Superior-General when the time came for departure. The Brothers of the _pensionnat_ of S. Marie at Quimper, during the early part of August, received more than fifteen hundred military in their dormitories, the Brothers of Aix-les-Bains, Rodez, Moulins, and Châteaubriant also affording hospitable lodging to numerous volunteers. “At one time,” said the Brother Director of Avignon, “we were distributing soup, every morning and evening, to from five hundred to seven hundred engaged volunteers, and also to a thousand zouaves who had been housed by the Brothers of the Communal Schools; we were at the same time lodging at the _pensionnat_ three hundred and sixty of the _garde mobile_; thus, in all, we had charge of about two thousand men.”

The officers and soldiers of the eighth company of _mobiles_ at Aubusson were so grateful for the kindness shown them by the Brother Director that they wished to confer on him the rank of honorary quartermaster, and decorate him with gold stripes. The Brothers at Boulay, six leagues from Metz, were the first to observe the superior quality of the enemy’s army and the severity of its discipline. A doctor of the Prussian army said to them on one occasion, “We shall conquer because we pray to God. You in France have no religion; instead of praying, you sing the _Marseillaise_. You have good soldiers, but no leaders capable of commanding: Wissembourg, Forbach, and Gravelotte[136] have proved this. Your army is without discipline, while our eight hundred thousand march as if they were one man. And then our artillery … which has hardly yet opened fire!” These words were uttered on the 25th of August, by which time the fate of France could be only too plainly foreseen. The Brothers of Verdun showed a courage equal to that of the defenders of the place. From the 24th of August to the 10th of November, they were to be seen on the ramparts succoring the wounded, carrying away the dead, working with the firemen, in the midst of the bombs, to extinguish the conflagrations, besides attending on the wounded in the ambulance of the Bishop’s house. The Brothers at Pourru-Saint-Rémy, by their courageous remonstrances, saved the little town from destruction, and also the lives of two Frenchmen whom the Prussians were about to shoot.

The same works of mercy were being carried on at Sedan amid the horrors of that fearful time--when seventy thousand men were prisoners of war, and in want of everything; when every public building, and even the church, was filled with wounded. Some of the Brothers went from door to door begging linen, mattresses, and straw, while others washed and bound up the wounds, aided the surgeons, and acted as secretaries to the poor soldiers desirous of sending news of themselves to their families.

The Brother Director at Rheims gives the following account of his visit on the 22d of September to the battle-field around Sedan: “We began by Bazeilles,” he writes, “and truly it was a heartrending spectacle. This borough of two thousand five hundred inhabitants, which I had recently seen so rich and prosperous, is entirely destroyed. The only house left standing is riddled with shot, all the rest being mere heaps of charred stones, still smoking from the scarcely extinguished burning. The field of battle was still empurpled with blood, and trampled hard like a road, while in all directions were scattered torn garments, rifled wallets, and broken weapons.”[137]

The ambulance of Rethel received, in four months, eight hundred men, many Prussians being of the number. Several of the Brothers fell ill from their excessive exertions, and from typhus, caught in the exercise of their charitable employment, the latter proving fatal in the case of Brother Bénonien. One of the Directors dying at Châlons-sur-Marne, the Prussians, in token of their respect, allowed the bells, which had been silent since the invasion of the town, to be tolled for his funeral. At Dîjon the Brothers were repeatedly insulted by a handful of demagogues, who would fain have compelled them to take arms and go to the war while they themselves staid at home; but when, soon afterwards, these same Brothers who had been derided as “lazy cowards,” were seen bearing in their arms the wounded men--whom they had on more than one occasion gone out to seek with lanterns, amid rain and mud and darkness--gently laying them in clean white beds, and attending to all their wants with the tenderest solicitude, the mockers were silenced, and their derision forgotten in the admiration of the grateful people. It was here also that, after the battle of the 30th of October, many Garibaldians who were among the wounded beheld with astonishment the calm devotedness of these “black-robes,” whom they had always been accustomed to malign. Not content with begging their pardon merely, they were exceedingly desirous that Garibaldi should award military decorations to certain of the Brothers, who would have had as strong an objection to receive the honor from such hands as the godless Italian would have had to confer it; nor did the cares lavished by these religious on his companions in arms hinder his execrations of the priests and religious orders in his proclamation of January 29, 1871.

In Belgium as well as in France the good offices of the Brothers found ample exercise. After the defeat of Gen. de Failly, more than eleven hundred exhausted and famishing soldiers, with their uniforms torn to shreds after a march of ten leagues through the woods, arrived at a late hour of the night, on the 1st of September, at the house of the Brothers at Carlsbourg, not knowing what place it was. Great was the joy of the poor fugitives at the unexpected sight of that well-known habit and those friendly faces. All were welcomed in, and their lives saved by the timely hospitality so freely accorded to their needs. The sick and wounded had already been brought in carts from the scene of the engagement, and were receiving every care under the same roof. All through the month of September this house was a centre of assistance, information, and correspondence, as well as of unbounded hospitality. At Namur the Brothers converted their house into an ambulance, and, in their work of nursing the sick and wounded, had able auxiliaries in many Christian ladies of high rank.

While the red flag was floating over the Hôtel de Ville at Lyons, and those who talked the most loudly about “the people” troubled themselves the least on their account, the Brothers of this town prepared a hundred beds in their house, and successively had charge of seven hundred soldiers, the Brother Director during all that time having to maintain a persevering resistance to the revolutionists, who no less than twelve times attempted to disperse the community. The devotion of the Brothers was characterized by a peculiar courage in the ambulance at Beaune, reserved for sufferers from the small-pox, and which none but they dared approach. At Châlons-sur-Saône they had four ambulances, in the charge of which they were aided by some nursing Sisters. Many Germans were among their wounded at Orléans and at Dreux. It was at the latter place that one of the chief medical officers of the Prussians, a very hard-hearted man, who had made himself the terror of the ambulance as well as of the town, gave orders that every French soldier, as soon as he began to recover, should be sent a prisoner to Germany; the Brothers, however, did not rest until they had so far softened him as to save their convalescents from the threatened captivity.

But we should far exceed the limits of our notice were we to follow with anything like completeness the work of the Brothers in the departments of France. The places particularized suffice as an indication of what was done in numbers more, in several of which some of the Brothers fell victims to their charity. The testimony of the medical men, in praise not only of their unwearied devotion, but also of their skill in the care of the sick and wounded, was everywhere the same. It seems scarcely credible that in several localities--at Villefranche and Niort amongst others--where they were unostentatiously carrying on these self-denying labors, the municipal councils, as if to punish them for their generosity, withdrew the annual sum which had for years past (in one case, for sixty-four years) been allowed to their schools for the expenses of administration. It frequently happened that, in opening ambulances, they did not, for that reason, discontinue their classes, those who taught in the day watching by the sick at night; giving up for the good of others their time, their repose, their comfort--all they had to give. The Committees of Succor did much, but it seemed as if without them something would have been wanting to the ambulances. For additional particulars we must refer the reader to the interesting pages of M. Poujoulat, from which we have drawn so largely. And now, having in some measure sketched the work of the Brothers in the provinces during the war, we must not leave it unnoticed in the capital.

Towards the end of November, 1870, Brother Philip, after receiving the appeal from the ambulances of the Press, issued no order to the Brothers of the communities in Paris, but simply informed them of the request that had been made him, bidding them consider it before God, and adding, “You are free to give your assistance or to withhold it.” The Brothers prayed, went to Communion, and then said to their Superior, “We are ready.” Even the young novices in the Rue Oudinot wrote to him letters of touchingly earnest entreaty to be allowed to serve with their elders. We give the following in the words of M. Poujoulat:

“On the 29th of November, at six o’clock in the morning, in piercing cold, a hundred and fifty of the Brothers of the Christian Schools were assembled at the extremity of the Quai d’Orsay, near the Champ de Mars. An old man was with them in the same habit as themselves; this was Brother Philip, his eighty years not appearing to him any reason for staying at home. They were awaiting the order to march. Gen. Trochu, acting less in accordance with his own judgment than with the imperious despatches sent from Tours and with the wishes of the Parisians, proposed to pierce through the enemy’s lines and join the army of the Loire. The attack having been retarded by an overflow of the Marne, and the necessity of throwing additional bridges across the river, the Brothers waited eight hours for an order which never came. On the following morning, the 30th, they were again with Brother Philip at the same post, at the same hour, and shortly received the order to advance, while, with profound emotion, the venerable Superior, after seeing his ‘children,’ as he was wont to call them, depart, returned alone to the Rue Oudinot.

“Cannonading was heard towards the southeast. The two corps of the army, under Gens. Blanchard and Renault, had attacked Champigny and the table-land of Villiers. The Brothers, mounted in various vehicles, proceeded towards the barrier of Charenton, on their way receiving many encouraging acclamations from the people. Their work commenced on the right bank of the Marne, which they crossed on a bridge of boats, not far from Champigny and Villiers, amid the rattling of musketry and the roar of heavy guns. Divided into companies of ten, each with its surgeon, provided with litters, and wearing the armlet marked with the Red Cross, they proceed to seek the wounded, troubling themselves little about finding death. They are attended by ambulance carriages, in which they place the sufferers, who are taken to Paris by the _bateaux mouches_ (small packet-boats of the Seine). When litters are not to be had, the Brothers themselves carry those whom they pick up, sometimes for long distances, never seeming to think themselves near enough to danger, because they wish to be as near as possible to those who may be reached by the shell and shot. They walk on tranquilly and fearlessly, the murdering projectiles appearing to respect them. They have lifted up the brave Gen. Renault, mortally wounded by the splinter of a bomb.

“This general, before his death, a few days afterwards, said to the Brother Director of Montrouge: ‘I have grown gray on battle-fields; I have seen twenty-two campaigns; but I never saw so murderous an engagement as this.’ And it was in the midst of this tempest of fire that the Brothers fulfilled their charitable mission. No one could see without admiration their delicate and intelligent care of the wounded.”

On this latter subject, M. d’Arsac writes as follows:

“They” (the Brothers) “knelt down upon the damp earth--in the ice, in the snow, or in the mud--raising the heavy heads, questioning the livid lips, the extinguished gaze, and, after affording the last solace that was possible, recommencing their difficult and perilous journey across the ball-ploughed land, through the heaps of scattered fragments and of corpses, amid the movements to and fro upon the field of carnage. Very gently they lift this poor fellow, wounded in the chest, raising him on a supple hammock of plaited straw, keeping the head high, and placing a pillow under the shoulders, avoiding anything like a shock.… Thus they advance with slow and even pace never stopping for a moment to wipe their foreheads. A woollen covering envelops the wounded man from the shoulders downward. Often his stiffened hand still clutches his weapon with a spasmodic grasp, … the arm hangs helplessly, and from minute to minute a shiver runs over the torn frame. He faints, or in a low whisper names those he loves. The Brothers quicken their steps. The ‘Binder’ carriage is not yet there; so they lay their burden gently down upon a mattress, in some room transformed into an ambulance, where a number of young men, in turned-up sleeves and aprons of operation, are in attendance. They pour a cordial through the closed teeth of the sufferer, complete the amputation of the all but severed limb, and do that to save life which the enemy did to destroy it.”

The Brother Director of Montrouge gives the following account of the night which followed the battle of Champigny:

“Being stronger and more robust than the rest, I got into one of Potin’s wagons, and returned to beat the country around Champigny, Petit-Bry, and Tremblay. On reaching the plateau of Noisy, where lay many wounded, uttering cries of pain and despair, a soldier, who was cutting a piece of flesh from a horse killed that morning, told me that the Prussians would not allow them to be removed, and that if I went further I should be made prisoner. I went on, notwithstanding, in the hope of succoring these poor fellows, but presently a patrol fire barred the way against me, and compelled me to believe the statement of the marauding soldier. It was one o’clock in the morning; and I went away, grieved to the heart at the thought of those unhappy men lying there on the cold earth, into which their life-blood was soaking, in the piercing cold, and under the pitiless eye of an inhuman enemy. The man who drove my conveyance was afraid, and his wearied horses refused to go a step further; I left them therefore in the road, and, lantern in hand, walked along the lanes, through the woods, across the fields, but found everywhere nothing but corpses. I called, and listened, but everywhere the only answer was the silence of death. At last I went towards the glimmering lights of the watch-fires of our soldiers, and learnt that on the hill, into a house which had been left standing, several men had been carried at nightfall; and there in fact I found them, twenty-one in number, lying at the foot of a wall whither they had dragged themselves from a ditch where they had been left, and patiently waiting until some one should come to their assistance. Happily I was soon joined here by others, who helped me to place the wounded in different vehicles, and we set out for Paris, where we arrived at half-past four in the morning. After seeing them safely housed, I set out again for Champigny, longing to know the fate of the poor creatures whose cries had pierced my very soul, without my being able to succor them. I hastened to the plateau of Noisy, and there found eighty frozen corpses. Some had died in terrible contortions, grasping the earth and tearing up the grass around them; others, with open eyes and closed fists, appeared fierce and threatening even in death; while others again, whose stiffened hands were raised to heaven, announced, by the composure of their countenances, that they had expired in calmness and resignation, and perhaps pardoning their executioners the physical and moral tortures they endured.”

During any suspension of arms, the Brothers buried the dead, digging long trenches in the hard and snow-covered earth, in which the corpses, in their uniforms, were laid in rows. A single day did not suffice for these interments, everything being done with order and respect. When all was ended, the falling snow soon spread one vast winding-sheet over the buried ranks, while the Brothers, having finished their sad day’s toil by torchlight, knelt down and said the _De profundis_.

Every fresh combat saw these acts of intrepid charity renewed. Brother Philip, although, on account of his advanced age, not himself on the field, was the moving spirit of the work. Daily, before the Brothers started for their labors, he multiplied his affectionate and thoughtful attentions, going from one to another during the frugal breakfast which preceded their departure, with here a word of encouragement and there of regard. He arranged and put in readiness with his own hands the meagre pittance for the day, and examined the canteens and wallets to see that nothing was wanting. His paternal countenance wore an expression of happiness and affection, not untinged with melancholy, and seemed to say, “They go forth numerous and strong, but will they all return?”

On the morning of the 21st of December, 1870, long before daybreak, Brother Philip and a hundred and fifty of his “children” were at their usual place near the Champ de Mars; others of their number, under the direction of Brother Clementis, having been sent on the previous evening to sleep at St. Denis. The roar of the cannon on this morning was terrible. It was the battle of Bourget. The Brothers, after reaching the barrier of La Villette, hastened to the points where men must have fallen, and were soon carrying the wounded in their arms to the ambulance-carriages, and returning for more, regardless of the hail of shot whistling around them. Two courageous Dominicans had joined the company led on by Brother Clementis, which was preceded by a Brother carrying the red-cross flag of the Convention of Geneva, and not attended by any soldier, when they received a charge of musketry. One of the Brothers, “Frère Nethelme,” fell mortally wounded, and was laid on the litter he was carrying for others, and taken by two of his companions to St. Denis, whither Brother Philip immediately hastened on receiving tidings of what had befallen him. Brother Nethelme was one of the masters at S. Nicolas, Rue Vaugirard, and thirty-one years of age. He lived three days of great suffering and perfect resignation, and died on Christmas Eve. His funeral took place on S. Stephen’s Day, December 26, in the Church of S. Sulpice, which was thronged with a sympathizing multitude. This death of one of their number, instead of chilling the zeal of the Brothers, kindled a fresh glow of their courageous ardor.

Other trials of a similar nature were in store for the Superior-General. When, in the midst of the bombardment of January, 1871, great havoc was made in the house of S. Nicolas by the bursting of a shell, it was with an aching heart that he beheld so many of the pupils killed or wounded, and that, a fortnight after the funeral of Brother Nethelme, he followed the young victims to their graves. This cruel bombardment on the quarters of the Luxembourg and the Invalides excited the minds of the people to vengeance, and led to the sanguinary attempt of Buzenval. Brother Philip having had notice the evening before, a hundred of the Brothers assembled in the Tuileries, from whence they started for the scene of action, and approached the park of Buzenval through a hailstorm of balls, to find the ground already strewn with wounded. The soaking in of the snow having made the land a perfect marsh, greatly increased the difficulty of their labor, but they only exerted themselves the more, astonishing those who observed them. On the 19th the Committee of the Ambulances of the Press for the second time addressed to the Superior-General its thanks and congratulations.

After the battle near Joinville-le-Pont, the Brothers had to carry the wounded a league before reaching the carriages.

In this brief sketch we can give but a very inadequate idea of the work of the Brothers, not only in collecting and housing the wounded, but also in nursing them with unwearied assiduity day and night. The ambulance at Longchamps, a long wooden building, had been organized by Dr. Ricord, the first physician in Paris, and an excellent Christian, who had obtained numerous auxiliaries from Brother Philip. One of these, Brother Exupérien, showed an extraordinary solicitude for the four hundred wounded of whom he there shared the charge. The cold was intense; there was scarcely any fuel; and food of any kind was difficult to be had. This good Brother never wearied in his constant and often far-distant search for supplies for the many and pressing necessities of the sufferers; day after day walking long distances, and often having to exercise considerable ingenuity to get even the scanty provision which his perseverance succeeded in obtaining.

Brother Philip bestowed his especial interest on the ambulance established in the Mother-house, Rue Oudinot, and which was called the ambulance of S. Maurice. The novices had been removed into the nooks and corners of the establishment, so as to give plenty of air and space to the suffering soldiers. All the Brothers in this house, young and old, devoted themselves to their sick and wounded; Brother Philip setting the example. He would go from one bed to another, contrive pleasant little surprises, and do everything that could be done to cheer the spirits of the patients as well as to afford them physical relief. The Abbé Roche, the almoner of the mother-house, exercised with the greatest prudence and kindness the priestly office in this ambulance.

On the 1st of January, 1871, one of the soldiers decorated at Champigny for bravery read aloud to Brother Philip, in the “great room,” turned into an ambulance, a “compliment,” in which he offered him, as a New Year’s gift on behalf of all, the expression of their gratitude. On the 6th, in a letter to the Superior-General from Count Sérurier, vice-president of the _Société de Secours_, and delegate of the Minister of War and of the Marine, he says: “All France is penetrated with admiration, reverence, and gratitude for the examples of patriotism and self-devotion afforded by your institute in the midst of the trials sent by Providence upon our country.”

The first Brother who re-entered Paris on the day after the signing of the armistice at Versailles was the Director of the orphanage at Igny. It was like an apparition once more from the world without, after the long imprisonment under the fire of the enemy.

It must not be forgotten that, besides all that we have mentioned from the beginning of the war to the end of the first siege, teaching was not neglected by the Brothers for a single day; all else that they were doing was but a supplement to their ordinary occupations; and all went well at the same time, in the schools, the ambulances, and on the field of battle. It was as if they multiplied themselves for the good of their fellow-countrymen.

Acknowledgments in honor of their courageous devotion were sent from nearly every civilized country; but amongst all these we select one for mention as having a particular interest for Americans. We give it in the words of M. Poujoulat--first stating, however, that the _Académie Française_ had awarded an exceptional prize, declared “superior to all the other prizes by its origin and its object,” to the Institute of the Christian Brothers. M. Poujoulat writes as follows:[138]

“In 1870, we were abandoned by every government, but when our days of misfortune commenced, we were not forgotten by the nations. There arose, as it were, a compassionate charity over all the earth to assuage our sorrows. The amount of gifts was something enormous. One single city of the United States, Boston, with its environs, collected the sum of eight hundred thousand francs. The _Worcester_, a vessel laden with provisions, set sail for Havre, but on hearing of the conclusion of peace, the insurrection, and the second siege of Paris, the American captain repaired to England, where the ship’s cargo was sold, and the amount distributed among those localities in France which had suffered most. When this had been done, there still remained two thousand francs over, which the members of the Boston Committee offered to the _Académie Française_, to be added to the prize for virtue which was to be given that year. ‘This gift,’ said the letter with which it was accompanied, ‘is part of a subscription which represents all classes of the citizens of Boston, and is intended to express the sympathy and respect of the Americans for the courage, generosity, and disinterested devotion of the French during the siege of their capital.’

“The Academy, in possession of this gift, deliberated as to whom the prize should be decreed, it being difficult to point out the most meritorious among so many admirable deeds. After having remarked, not without pride, upon the equality of patriotism, the Academy resolved to give to this prize the least personal and the most collective character possible.

“‘We have decreed it,’ said the Duc de Noailles, speaking for the Academy, ‘to an entire body, as humble as it is useful, known and esteemed by every one, and which, in these unhappy times, has, by its devotedness, won for itself a veritable glory: I allude to the Institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools.’

“After the Director of the _Académie Française_, in an eloquent speech had justified the decision, he added that ‘this prize would be to the Institute as the Cross of Honor fastened to the flag of the regiment.’”

Already had the Government of the National Defence perseveringly insisted upon Brother Philip’s acceptance of the Cross of the Legion of Honor, the reward of the brave; but his humility led him to do all in his power to escape it, and he had already refused it four times in the course of thirty years. It was only when he was assured that it was not himself, but his Institute, that it was desired to decorate in the person of its Superior-General, that, sorely against his will, he ceased to resist. Dr. Ricord, in his quality of principal witness of the devotedness of the Brothers, was charged to attach the Cross of Honor to Brother Philip’s cassock, in the _grande salle_, or principal room, of the mother house. Never had the saintly Superior known a more embarrassing moment than this in all the course of his long life; and when he conducted Dr. Ricord to the door of the house, he managed so effectively to conceal his new decoration that no one would have suspected its existence. He never wore it after this occasion; and this Cross of Honor which he wished to hide from earth remains as a sort of mysterious remembrance. It has never been found again.

Always clear-sighted and well-informed, the Superior-General had been watching the approach of the insurrection of the 18th of March, and sent away the pupils of the Little and Great Novitiates, foreseeing that Paris was about to fall into the power of the worst enemies of religion and civilization. The satanic character of the Commune declared itself in the words of Raoul Rigault, one of its chiefs, who said: “So long as there remains a single individual who pronounces the name of God, everything has yet to be done, and there more shooting will always be necessary.” The Commune began its work by beating down the cross on the church of S. Géneviève, and putting the red flag in its place. We cannot wonder, therefore, at its hatred of the Christian Brothers--their Christianity being an unpardonable crime. They were not even allowed to remove the wounded, who were left to die untended in the street, rather than that they should be succored by religious.

Two decrees were passed, one putting the state in possession of all property, movable or otherwise, belonging to the religious communities, and the other incorporating into the marching companies all valid citizens between nineteen and forty years of age. The Commune was returning to its traditions of ’93, “interrupted,” it was stated, “by the 9th of Thermidor.” There were to be no more Christian schools; no more Christ; no more religion; no more works of piety, Catechism, First Communion, the Church--all these were proscribed, and none but atheists might keep a school.

But we will give some extracts from a circular issued to his community by the Superior on the 21st of June, 1872, in which he briefly notes down the events of these dreary days:

“The festival of Easter (April 9th) was spent in anxiety, sadness, and mourning, for Monseigneur the Archbishop and several priests have been arrested as hostages.

“April 10th: Some of our Brother Directors were officially informed that my name had been placed on the proscription list, and that I should be arrested forthwith. Yielding, therefore, to the solicitations of my Brother Directors, and to the injunctions of our dear Brother Assistants, I quitted Paris to visit our houses in the provinces.

“On the 11th of April, towards ten o’clock in the morning, a commissioner and delegate of the Commune, accompanied by forty of the National Guard, surrounded the house, announcing that they had orders to take me away, and to search the establishment. Brother Calixtus told them that I was absent, and accompanied them wherever they wished to go. They carried off the money that remained in the chest, as well as two ciboria, two chalices, and a pyx, after which they declared that, in default of finding the Superior, they were to lead off the person who had been left there in his place.

“The dear Brother Calixtus presented himself, and was ordered by the commissioner to follow him; whereupon there ensued a scene which it would be impossible to describe. All the Brothers insisted on following our dear Brother Assistant; and some even of the National Guards were moved to tears. A crowd of people collected in the street, expressing grief and indignation. The commissioner then gave a promise that Brother Calixtus should not be detained a prisoner, at the same time bidding him get into a cab, which took him to the prefecture of police. There he was set at liberty, and returned to the mother-house.

“From the 10th to the 13th our Brothers of Montrouge, Belleville, and S. Nicolas were expelled, and lay teachers put in their place. On the 17th the house at Ménilmontant was searched at the very time that the Brothers were engaged with the classes; they were arrested, and detained prisoners until the 22d, during which time they were threatened and insulted in various ways. On the 18th a staff of military _infirmiers_ was substituted for the Brothers in charge of the ambulance at Longchamps, and the Brother Assistants were officially informed that it was resolved upon to arrest the Brothers _en masse_, in order either to imprison them or to enrol them for military service. Thus they put soldiers with our sick, and intended to send us on the ramparts to defend the cause of our persecutors, who were also the enemies of order and religion. It was a critical moment, but Providence came to our aid in a particular manner. Many persons, several of whom were unknown to us, offered their assistance in contriving to send out of Paris those of our Brothers who were between nineteen and forty years of age, and, thanks to God’s goodness and to this friendly aid, a certain number, by one means or another, daily effected their escape.

“During the period between the 19th of April and the 7th of May, all our free schools were successively closed, and the emigration of the Brothers continued. This, however, could not be completely accomplished; new orders, more and mote suspicious and oppressive, having been issued by the Commune, an increasingly rigorous surveillance was kept up, and the Brother Director of S. Marguérite and two of his subordinates were arrested in their community. Towards the 7th of May, from thirty to forty of the Brothers who were attempting to escape were also arrested, either at the railway stations or at the city gates, or even outside the ramparts. A few of these were released, but twenty-six were taken to the Concièrgerie, and from thence to Mazas.

“Of all our establishments, one alone never ceased working, namely, that of S. Nicolas, Vaugirard, which, even when times were at their worst, numbered its thirty Brothers and three hundred pupils.

“The projectiles of the besieging army having reached Longchamps, it was found necessary to remove further, into the city the sick and wounded with which the ambulance was crowded. It was then that, on an order of the Committee of Public Health, our house was requisitioned by the Administration of the Press, who required there a hundred beds. It was arranged that the Brothers should undertake the attendance on the sick, but scarcely had they begun to organize the work before a new order arrived from the committee, forbidding any of the Brothers to remain in the house under pain of arrest and imprisonment. Our dear Brother Assistants therefore, with the others who until then had remained at the post of danger, as well as our sick and aged men, found themselves compelled to quit that home which could no longer, alas! be railed the mother, but the widowed, house, and, during five or six days, the abode of pain and death. The ambulance was established there under the direction of the Press, the administrators of which testified a kindly interest towards us, and we gladly acknowledge that to them we owe the preservation of our house, which, but for them, would in all probability have been given up to the flames.

“On Sunday, the 21st of May, there was no Mass in our deserted chapel, from whence the Blessed Sacrament had been removed the evening before. The persecution against us had reached its height, and also its term. That same day the besieging army forced the Gate of St. Cloud, and on the next, the 22d, took possession of our quarter, and put an end for us to the Reign of Terror.…

“All this week was nothing but one sanguinary conflict; our mother-house was crowded with wounded to the number of six hundred; a temporary building had also been erected within its precincts, to which were brought those who were slain in the neighborhood; as many as eighty dead would sometimes be carried in at a time. On Wednesday, the 24th, however, the military authorities decided that the ambulance should be transferred back again to Longchamps, and that the Brothers should immediately be restored to the possession of the mother-house as well as of their other establishments. From that day a new order of things commenced for us, and with it the reflux into Paris of our emigrated Brothers.

“But all were not able to return; some were prisoners at Mazas. Already, out of hatred to religion, the Commune had shot Monseigneur the Archbishop, the _cure_ of the Madeleine, and several other priests, secular and regular, … and they now proposed to shoot _all_ their prisoners, and renew in 1871 the massacre of 1792. But again time failed them.

“The liberating army, like an irresistible torrent, carried away the barricades, and the firing soon began around Mazas, whereupon the keepers of the prison seized the Communist director and locked him up, opening all the doors, and bringing down the captives--between four and five hundred in number--into the court, from whence they made their exit three by three. Our Brothers went out; but only to find themselves entangled in the lines of the Federals, and forced to work at the barricades, until night seemed to favor their escape. It was while he was thus employed that our dearest Brother Néomede-Justin, of Issy, was killed by the bursting of a shell.”

During three days and nights the Brothers were the objects of the most active surveillance, and had to watch their opportunity to recede from one barricade to another. In this way several managed to reach the mother-house on Friday, the 25th; others, on the two following days, but not all. To continue in the words of Brother Philip:

“On Whit-Sunday, towards one o’clock in the morning, all the insurgents were surrounded on the heights of Belleville, disarmed, chained five together, taken to La Roquette (the prison of the condemned), and brought before a council of war. Our two Brothers, who had been also chained to three insurgents, were present at the interrogation of those who had preceded them, and at the execution of sentence of death upon a large number. For the space of three hours they waited thus in the most anxious expectation. When it was their turn to appear, they said that they were Brothers of the Christian Schools, just out of prison, but that for three days they had found it impossible to escape from the vigilant oppression of the insurgents. On ascertaining the truth of their statement, the council gave them a pass, and facilitated their return to the mother-house.

“They came back to us worn out and broken down by fatigue, as well as by all the terrible emotions they had undergone, and blessing God for their wonderful preservation.”

On hearing of the restoration of order the emigrated Brothers hastened back to Paris, their venerable superior joining them at the mother-house on the evening of the 9th of June.

“It was,” writes Brother Philip, “the hour of Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament, … after which we sang the psalm, _Ecce quam bonum_, … and then I attempted to say a few words to our dearest Brothers, reunited once more, but I found it impossible, so great was my emotion.”

When, during his absence, Brother Philip had heard of the arrest of Brother Calixtus, he immediately set out from Epernay, to give himself up in the place of his friend; but learning, at St. Denis, that he had been set at liberty, he proceeded to the visitation of other houses of his institute in the provinces. We can understand with what joy these two holy friends would meet again.

After some great calamity has passed away, life, emerging from the regions of death, seems as it were to begin anew. Brother Philip, who regarded the misfortunes of France as a warning from God, invited all the members of his institute to carry on their work with increased energy and devotion. From the beginning of the year 1872, as if he had had some presentiment of his approaching end, he gave more attention than ever to the perfecting of his “children,” and completed various little works of piety which he thought might prove useful to them. An illness which he had at this time he regarded as a first warning. The Archbishop of Paris, Mgr. Guibert, who had not then long succeeded his martyred predecessor, came at this time to visit the venerable Superior.

Brother Philip presided at all the sittings of the general chapter which was assembled from the 12th of June, 1873, to the 2d of July. Towards the conclusion of the last sitting, in reply to some respectful words which had been addressed to him, he answered: “My dearest Brothers, soon, yes, soon you will again assemble together, but I shall be no longer among you. I shall have had to render to God an account of my administration.” It was with heavy hearts that the Brother Assistants heard these words, while their Superior proceeded to consecrate the Institute to the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Our Holy Father Pius IX. had for the heart of Brother Philip an unspeakable attraction. On the 22d of October, 1873, the latter set out on his fifth journey to Rome. His first visit to the Eternal City was in 1859, when he was welcomed by the Pope with paternal affection. He was there again in 1862, for the canonization of the Martyrs of Japan, when he had an opportunity of conversing with the bishops of many distant regions in which the Brothers of the Christian Schools were established. On this second occasion, the day after his arrival in Rome, he hastened to the Vatican and mingled with the crowd in the hall of audience; but the Pope having observed his name in the long list of the persons present, immediately sought with his eye the humble Superior, and, perceiving him far off in the last rank of the assembly, his Holiness, with that clear and sweet voice so well known to the faithful, said to him, _Philip, where shall we find bread enough for all this multitude?_ (S. John vi. 5), and bade him come near. Brother Philip, confused at so great a mark of attention, approached, and, kneeling before the Holy Father, presented the filial offering of which he was the bearer on the part of his Institute. He made his third journey to Rome in 1867, to be present at the eighteenth centenary anniversary of the Martyrdom of the Apostles SS. Peter and Paul. On seeing him, the Pope said, “Here is Brother Philip, whose name is known in all the world.”

“It will soon be so at Madagascar, Most Holy Father,” answered Brother Philip, smiling, “as we are just now establishing ourselves there.”

In 1869, about the time of the opening of the Vatican Council, the Superior-General was again at Rome. True as the needle to the magnet was his loyal heart to the Vicar of Christ; and yet once more must the veteran soldier look upon the face of his chief before laying down his arms and receiving his crown. He took his fifth and last journey to the city of Peter in 1872, accompanied by Brother Firminien. Of this last visit, which especially concerned the beatification of the founder of his Institute, as well as of the preceding ones, full particulars are given in the work of M. Poujoulat. The Pope received Brother Philip to private as well as to public audiences, asking many questions and conversing with interest upon the details of the various works in which the order was engaged. On the Festival of All Saints, more than a hundred of the Brothers being assembled with their Superior-General in the throne-room at the Vatican, the Pope entered, preceded by his court, and attended by five cardinals, numerous bishops, and other ecclesiastics, for the reading of the decree referring to the beatification of the venerable De la Salle. When a few lines had been read, His Holiness said to one of the prelates, “Do not allow Brother Philip to continue kneeling; the brave old man must be fatigued.”

The reading being ended, Brother Philip was invited to approach the Holy Father, to whom he made an address of thanks for the progress of his founder’s cause, concluding with the following words: “With regard to our devotion to the Holy Church, to this ever-celebrated chair of Peter, and to the illustrious and infallible Pontiff who occupies it so gloriously, it will be the same all the days of our life; and, moreover, we shall never cease, Most Holy Father, to offer to God our most fervent prayers that he will speedily put an end to the calamities which afflict so profoundly the paternal heart of Your Blessedness, … praying Your Blessedness to be pleased to bestow your holy benediction upon him who has at this moment the exceeding happiness of kneeling at your feet, and also upon all the other children of the venerable De la Salle.”

Copies of the decree were then distributed amongst those present, the original manuscript, which was presented to the Superior, being now in the archives of the _Régime_. The Pope addressed his answer directly to his “dearest son, Brother Philip,” as if to testify his esteem not only for the Institute but for the man. Immediately after the closing of the audience, the Pope despatched messengers to the Palazzo Poli with two immense baskets full of various kinds of pastry, etc., saying, “Brother Philip must assemble the Brothers to-day for a little family feast, and I wish to regale them”; and when afterwards the Superior expressed his thanks for this paternal mark of attention, the Holy Father answered: “Some good nuns thought of the Pope, and the Pope thought of Brother Philip.”

On his return from this last journey to Rome, the Superior reached Paris at seven o’clock in the morning, was present at Mass in the mother-house at eight, and half an hour later was seated at his bureau as usual in the _Salle du Régime_, as if he had never quitted his place. The longest life is short; but what can be done by a man who never wastes a moment of his time is something prodigious. One result of this unceasing activity on the part of Brother Philip was the fact that, having found 2,300 Brothers and 143,000 pupils when he was placed at the head of the Institute, he left 10,000 of the former engaged in the education of 400,000 youths and children. He was a man of study, prayer, and action; no one could be more humble than he, nor yet more qualified to govern. He listened patiently to arguments and suggestions, but, when his resolution was once taken, he adhered to it. He spoke little, having neither taste nor time for much talking, but what he said was always to the point, the right thing at the right time, and the truth on every question. His correspondence was a reflection of himself, his letters containing just so many syllables as were sufficient to express his meaning: with him, a letter was an action. He was at the same time the most devout of religious and the most assiduous of workers; severe to himself, and never accepting the little indulgences which others would fain have mingled with the hardness of his life. The Abbé Roche mentions that on one occasion Brother Philip, arriving in a little town of Cantal after forty hours of travelling, had one hour to rest. Being shown the way to the house of the Brothers, he found them assembled in the chapel, where he remained until the prayers were over. Then, after exchanging greetings with them, and taking a morsel of bread moistened with wine and water, he resumed his journey. There are few communities of his Institute in France which he did not visit, and in all these his presence left an abiding remembrance.

The art of ruling presupposes a knowledge of men. Under his simple and modest exterior, Brother Philip had a keen penetration; he very quickly formed his judgment of what a man was and what were his capabilities, and there could be no better proof that he chose his instruments wisely than the fact that all his establishments have succeeded; not that he always allowed human prudence to have much voice in his undertakings, as he frequently preferred to leave much to Providence. His look and manner were reserved, almost cold, but in his heart were depths of real tenderness and feeling. He allowed no recreation to his fully occupied existence except indeed his one refreshment and rest, which was in attending the services at the chapel; and his great enjoyment, the beauty of the ceremonies and the grand and ancient music of the church. He never failed to bestow the most particular attention on every detail of the procession on the Feast of Corpus Christi, and took an especial delight in being present at the First Communion of the pupils. For this great act of the Christian life he recommended a long and serious preparation, and wrote a manual with this intent, entitled _The Young Communicant_.

He excelled in the art of solving difficulties, not by having recourse to human wisdom, but by imploring light and guidance from above. To overcome obstacles, he prayed; he did the same to lead his enemies to a better mind; and against their decisions, again he armed himself with prayer.

The municipal council of Châlons had, in 1863, suppressed the Christian schools in that town. Brother Philip repaired thither on the 2d of May. The mayor gave notice that the council would assemble on the following day. The Superior was suffering from acute rheumatism, but would not accept anything but the regulation supper of the Brothers, who made him a bed in the parlor. The next morning, at four o’clock, when the community had risen, they found Brother Philip kneeling on the pavement of the chapel, and it was observed that his bed had not been touched. He had passed the night in prayer before the Tabernacle. At six o’clock he attended Mass with his foot bound up in linen. On the evening of the same day the municipal council, annulling its decision of the preceding year, permitted the re-establishment of the Christian Schools in Châlons. The Superior had not prayed in vain.

One of his principal cares was always the reinforcement of his Institute, and it was with exceeding happiness that, on the 7th of December, 1873, he presided at the reception of fifty-four postulants.

It was not without apprehension that the Brothers had seen their venerated Superior, at eighty-one years of age, undertake his last journey to Rome, but after his return his activity was unabated, and he did not in any way diminish his daily amount of work. On the 30th of December, having returned to the mother-house in the evening from a visit to Passy, he was indisposed, but rose the next morning at the hour of the community. After Mass he was seized with a shivering; he repaired, however, to the _Salle du Régime_, where deputations from the three establishments of S. Nicolas were waiting to offer him their respectful greetings for the New Year. On receiving their addresses he answered, in a weak and failing voice: “My dearest children, I thank you for your kindness in coming so early to wish me a happy New Year; perhaps I shall not see its close. I am touched by the sentiments you have so well expressed, but, for my own part, there is but one thing that I desire, and that is, that you should go on increasing in virtue.” After a few more words of paternal counsel, he bade them adieu.

The exchange of good wishes between himself and the community was not without sadness. On the 1st of January he made a great effort to go to the chapel, where he heard Mass and received Holy Communion. This was the last time that he appeared amid the assembled Brothers; his weakness was extreme, and his prayers were accompanied by evident suffering. From the chapel the Superior went to his bed, from which he was to arise no more. On the 6th of January, the Feast of the Epiphany, he received the last sacraments, while the Brother Assistants were prostrate around his bed, weeping and praying. One who appeared more broken down with sorrow than the rest was Brother Calixtus, the old and most intimately beloved friend of the dying Superior. The Apostolic Benediction solicited by Brother Floride at four o’clock arrived at six, but Brother Philip, having fallen into a profound slumber, was not aware of it until past midnight. The morning prayers were being said in a low voice in his cell, it not being known whether he was unconscious or not, but the Brother who presided having, through distraction, begun the _Angelus_ instead of the _Memorare_, the dying man gave a sign to show that he was making a mistake.

There is a little versicle and response particularly dear to the dying members of the Institute: “_May Jesus live within our hearts!_” to which the answer is, “_For ever._” It is, as it were, their watchword on the threshold of eternity. On the morning of the 7th of January, Brother Irlide, assistant, bending over the Superior, pronounced the words of Jesus on the Cross: “_Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit_,” adding, “_May Jesus live within our hearts_.” Brother Philip, like a faithful soldier, ever ready with the countersign, attempted to utter the answer “_For ever_,” but in the effort his soul passed away. The community being then assembled in the chapel for the recitation of the Rosary, at once commenced the _De profundis_. The Institute had lost its father and head.

The death of Brother Philip produced a profound impression. Together with the sense of a great loss, a feeling of admiration for the great qualities of the departed, and gratitude for the immense services he had rendered to his countrymen, burst forth from all ranks of society. The working-classes more especially felt keenly how true a friend they had lost, and the announcement, “Brother Philip is dead,” plunged every heart into mourning. From the moment of his death the cell of the Superior was constantly filled by the novices, who in successive companies recited the Office of the Dead. In the evening, the body was removed into the Chamber of Relics, which had been transformed into a _chapelle ardente_, or lighted chapel, and there in the course of two days more than ten thousand persons came to pay their respects and to pray by the dead. On the Friday evening the remains were enclosed in a coffin, which was covered with garlands and bouquets which had been brought, a tall palm being placed at the top; and on Saturday morning it was transferred to the chapel, where the sorrowing community had assembled, and where a Low Mass of requiem was said by the Reverend Almoner, the Abbé Roche.

But another kind of funeral was awaiting the humble religious. The Institute, in accordance with its rules, had ordered merely a funeral of the seventh class; but France, true to herself, was about to honor her benefactor with triumphant obsequies. The coffin, taken out of the mother-house at a quarter past seven, and placed upon a bier used for the poorest of the people, was borne to the church of S. Sulpice, through silent and respectful multitudes, and placed upon trestles, surrounded by lighted tapers, in the nave. A white cross on a black ground behind the high altar composed all the funeral decoration of the church. But a splendor of its own was attached to this poverty and simplicity, contrasted as it was with the vast assemblage present, among whom were two cardinals, several bishops, and many of the most important personages of the church and state. There were the representatives of all the parishes of Paris, and of all the religious orders, as well as of the public administration. Not the smallest space remained unoccupied in the vast church; and, when it was found necessary to close the doors, more than ten thousand persons remained in the Place St. Sulpice. Cardinal Guibert, Archbishop of Paris, gave the absolution, and M. Buffet, President of the National Assembly, threw the first holy water on the coffin.

“On both sides of the streets,” writes an eye-witness, “the crowd formed a compact mass; the men uncovered, and the women crossing themselves, as the body of the venerated Superior passed by. Long lines of children conducted by the Brothers marched continuously on each side. In the course of the progress to the cemetery of Père la Chaise, ten thousand pupils of the Christian Brothers, school by school taking its turn, joined without fatigue in the procession.”

Paris, this city so wonderful in its contrasts--in the brightness of its lights and the depths of its shadows--is more Christian than men are apt to suppose. Out of this Paris no less than _forty thousand persons_ attended the remains of Brother Philip to the grave, and many were the tears of heartfelt sorrow which mingled with the last prayers at the brink of that vault where he was laid, the place of burial reserved for the Superiors of his order. On the day of the funeral itself, the memory of Brother Philip received from Cardinal Guibert, in his circular letter addressed to the venerable _curé_ of S. Sulpice, a testimony which will remain as a page in the history of the church of Paris.

And it was not Paris only, but France, which paid its homage to the memory of Brother Philip. The whole French episcopate testified its regard for him by requiem Masses on his behalf, by solemn services, funeral orations, allocutions, or circular letters. Nor was this religious mourning limited to France: it was expressed in all the lands where the Christian Schools have been founded, so that throughout the world honor has been done to him who never sought it, but who, on the contrary, shrank from celebrity, feared the praise of man, and singly and simply did all for God.

As the crown and completion of all other witness to the merits of the departed Superior, the Brothers received in answer to the letter announcing their bereavement a Brief from our Holy Father Pius IX., most honorable to the departed, and for themselves full of sympathy and consolation.

Five months after the death of Brother Philip, the venerable Brother Calixtus, who had for sixty-four years been his dearest friend, and who was chosen as Superior-General in his place, followed him to the grave.

His present successor is Brother Jean-Olympe, an excellent and devoted religious, who, at the time we write, has just returned from Rome, where with four of the Brother Assistants he has been welcomed by the Holy Father with marks of particular regard. We conclude our sketch in the words of M. Poujoulat, the admirable writer already so often quoted: “The undying remembrance of Brother Philip will remain a motive power for his Institute, an effective weapon in time of conflict, an incitement to perseverance in well-doing, to the love of God, our neighbor, and our duty.”

SUBMISSION.

When the wide earth seems cold and dim around me, And even the sunshine is a mocking thing; When the deep sorrow of my soul hath bound me, As the gloom swept from a dark angel’s wing; When faces, dearer to my soul than being, Like shadows faint and frozen past me flee, I turn to thee--Almighty and all-seeing God of the universe!--I turn to thee!

When in my chamber, lone and lowly kneeling, I pour before thee thoughts that inly burn; I lay before thy shrine that wealth of feeling Whose ashes sleep in my heart’s funeral urn: I pray thee, in a mercy yet untasted, To raise my spirit from its dark despair; To give back prospects crushed, and genius wasted, That have no memory save in that wild prayer.

It may not be! O Father! high and holy, Not thus thy _chosen_ bow before thy shrine; But with submission, beautiful and lowly, Asking no boon save through thy will divine; Bearing with faith the Saviour’s cross of sorrow, Filling his bleeding wounds with tears of balm, Seeking his cankering crown of thorns to borrow-- To make them worthy of the pilgrim’s palm.

THE ROMAN RITUAL AND ITS CHANT

_COMPARED WITH THE WORKS OF MODERN MUSIC._

II.--CONTINUED.

RESPECTIVE AUTHORITY, ECCLESIASTICAL AND MORAL.

Natural religion attaches the idea of authority to God. God is King, “Dominus Exercituum,” the Lord of Hosts, the one supreme absolute source of all power and authority. Moreover, society implies authority, in order that it may exist. In social life there cannot be discordant purposes and independent wills. Now, God called all created society into being out of nothing, and through the principle of authority and subjugation of the will maintains his work in love, happiness, and mutual concord. And in the scheme of redemption he has sent his church, a working society upon earth, to heal by her sweet and divine yoke of a lawful authority the social anarchies and disorders of a fallen race. In the church, then, as sent by him who is the absolute source of authority and order, governed by him, and in continual correspondence with him through prayer, we expect to find all her important elements and modes of acting upon, and of dealing with, mankind under the direction of the principle of authority; and since God declares of himself that he is a God of order, and the “author, not of confusion, but of peace in the churches” (1 Cor. xiv. 33), we conclude that God will contemplate sacred song in the Christian Church as subject to the principle of authority, as an instrument placed by himself at the disposal of the church for carrying out her divine work, and as such to be used, under the guidance and direction of the authority which governs her.

To put, then, what is meant by the claim about to be made that the Ritual or Gregorian Chant possesses this authority, in its true light, it would be a misconception to suppose that the notion of a _positive authority_ is identical with that of _absolute monopoly_. The positive authority of the chant of the Ritual by no means implies that the use of modern music cannot, under certain conditions, enjoy a just toleration, as will be plain from an instance. The sick man who is slowly recovering from a severe disease may be fully aware of the positive authority which his physician has for many reasons attached to a particular rule of diet, and may yet have the permission occasionally to deviate from it. But now, if it be asked, what is this authority which is claimed for the Roman Ritual chant-books? it may be replied, if a spectator, at a review of British military, were to ask what authority the infantry regiments had for wearing red coats, he, I suppose, would be answered at once, that in a disciplined army the regimental uniform could not be otherwise than authorized. In the same manner, in an organized state of society so perfect as that of the Catholic Church, the mere existence of such song-books as the Gradual and Antiphonary, and their immemorial use in connection with the Missal and Breviary, necessarily implies their authority. It would be in place here, if space permitted, to cite the various archiepiscopal and episcopal synods that have made these or similar song-books the subjects of their legislation, providing, down to the minutest details, for the different questions which might be liable to arise out of their use. But it may here suffice to refer to the fact, not perhaps sufficiently known, that the whole of the Roman Liturgy, the entire Breviary, the whole of the Missal, except the few parts which the celebrant himself recites in an undertone of voice at the altar, has its proper notation in music, which every efficient choir-singer and celebrant priest is required to know, as the necessary accompaniment of his functions.

The authority, therefore, of the Ritual chant is to a considerable extent identified with that of the Ritual itself in the character of the authorized form of its solemn celebration. No other music has been at any time published by the church. No other is co-extensive with the Ritual; and the use, therefore, of any other, however permissible it may have become through force of circumstances, can only be regarded as a deviation from perfect Ritual rule.

That such was the view of the fathers of the Council of Trent is evident from the fact, that they seriously debated whether it might not be advisable to put an end to the scandalous musical excesses that had found their way into the church through the partial abandonment of the Ritual chant, by rendering it henceforth imperative. But though this measure was vehemently urged by more than one father as the best remedy for the evil complained of, still the father of the council at length declined to pass the decree. They seemed to have judged it to be on the whole wiser to leave the Ritual chant to its claims as the acknowledged and authorized song of the Liturgy, and to have thought that the remedy required was rather to be sought for in prayer to God to give his people a better and more sober mind than in a severe and peremptory legislation, which might end in provoking the further and worse evil of a more formal and open disobedience.

But to return to the subject of the positive ecclesiastical authority of the Ritual chant-books. The truth and the reason of this authority appear at once, on reflecting how impossible it is that a kingdom directed by the Spirit of God, under the government of a divinely founded hierarchy, should employ sacred song to the extent which the Catholic Church does, without a sanctioned and authenticated form of it. That this form should be absolutely imperative, to the rigid exclusion of every other, could occur to no one to maintain. But still, without an acknowledged body and form of song, of such indisputable authority as to claim the willing confidence of those whose calling is with sacred song, its efficacy is certainly lamed and its mission impeded. Men that have work to do in God’s vineyard require to know not merely the general truth that what they are engaged with is in the main good, but they also desire to know that the blessing of God is with the manner of their work, and the means they employ. Now, such confidence nothing but an authorized body of song can supply.

For what reason do we trust the church in her definitions of faith? Because we feel our own weakness; because we feel how impossible it is for the mind to repose on its own conclusions. We know, from a voice that speaks from within the heart, that our heavenly Father could not have given a revelation without the conditions necessary to fit it to meet our wants. And because we feel the need of a positive authority in matters of faith, we believe it to have been given, and that the Catholic Church is the depository of it, as alone possessing the satisfactory credentials. Now, although it may be true that an equal need for a positive authority in matters of song cannot be asserted, yet if ecclesiastical music do really possess those many healing virtues which at once betoken its divine origin and heavenly mission, it may be asked, is it a wise, is it a self-distrusting, is it a pious course for each individual to imagine himself free from such an authority? Is it not rather true that, in proportion as his sense of the heavenly mission of the ecclesiastical chant deepens, the more vivid will become his perception of the need of an express living authority to which the individual can commit himself, in perfect confidence that that song which a divinely directed hierarchy shall put forth and acknowledge as their own work, will be sure to carry along with it the blessing of God upon its use.

I do not see how a reasonable person can refuse to admit that such is the positive authority attaching to the liturgical song-books, and that it is to the devout and skilful use of these books by her own priests, cantors, and devout people, that the church mainly looks for the fulfilment of the divine idea with respect to sacred music. How otherwise will you account for their existence? to what purpose has the wisdom of saints who contributed and collected their contents been exerted? Why has the church not let the Gregorian system of music alone, as she has the modern? why has she formed a complete system and body of song in the one, and not in the other, if her work, when complete, has no positive authority? Or will the advocate of modern art say, that this her work is defective and superannuated; and that it is time it should be locked up, out of the way, in collections of antiquities, and cease to be an offence to ears polite? Yet, if such be the case, an abrogation is not to be presumed; it must be proved. But the fact is, that the Council of Trent caused the song-books to be reissued, and directed the ecclesiastical chant to be taught in the seminaries of the clergy.[139] And when those very canonized saints, of whose conditional approbation of the use of modern art so very much is made, came to the dignity of obtaining a record in the church’s song of her warriors departed, here was surely a fit occasion, if, indeed the church had abandoned her former song, and disembarrassed herself of its defective scale and wearisome monotony, to call for the charms of modern art, that at least it might be identified with its votaries. Yet with this very natural supposition contrast the fact that the Ritual chant and its singers continue year by year to hand on the memory of the virtues of S. Philip Neri and S. Charles Borromeo; while for these, its supposed patrons, modern art has not even a little memorial. To the Ritual song it leaves what would seem to be to itself the unwelcome task of keeping up the record of their sanctity and their example.

Nor do I see to what purpose a reference can be made to the anecdote of Pope Marcellus’ approbation of Palestrina’s composition, since named _Missa Papæ Marcelli_, with the view to establish an authority for the system of modern music; for the idea of deviation from the order of the Ritual chant once admitted to toleration, nothing can be more natural than that a pontiff, equally with any other person, might come to express his very high commendation of a particular composition. And if we allow that such a commendation is not without its weight, it would surely be a violent inference, singularly betraying the absence of better argument, if an instance of such approbation of a particular work were to be claimed as an _ex cathedra_ legislative authorization of a whole system of music to which it cannot be said to belong.[140] For it should not be forgotten that Palestrina’s music is essentially different from the existing system of modern art, inasmuch as his works are either mere harmonies upon the _Canto Fermo_, or else consist of themes borrowed from it, which frequently preserve that distinct tonality of the modes of the ecclesiastical chant which modern art has quite abandoned.

It has been objected, “that an assertion that the church does not authorize the use of modern harmony, because she has not herself furnished her children with any individual compositions, is about as reasonable a conclusion as the notion that she does not authorize and sanction sermons, because their composition is left to the judgment, good or bad, of private clergymen.” But the objection fails, as there is a total want of parity between the office of singer and preacher. The preacher passes through a long course of training to the state of priesthood, before he receives a license to preach; and every person in the church who has the license to preach, is to be presumed to be duly qualified both to make known the divine law and recommend it by his words and example. This is not the case with the singer, who is not necessarily even in the minor orders, and whose duty is merely to sing what is placed before him correctly and with feeling. If the education of the priests were left to the same hazard and caprice that would seem to be desired for the choice of music for the church, it is easy to imagine the result. But very far from this, the most thoughtful care is bestowed by the church on the training of her future ministers: obliged to fixed and unalterable dogmas of the faith, versed in one sacred volume, bound to one uniform office of daily prayer and pious reading, trained in an almost uniform system of studies and external discipline, the preacher comes forth the living organ of a divine system, fitted to be the spokesman of a kingdom that is endowed with the power of drawing its manifold materials to a concordant and coherent system, and moulding multiform and varied minds to a unity of type and consistency of action. “Such was the strict subordination of the Catholic Church,” says the historian Gibbon (_Hist._, ch. XX.), “that the same concerted sounds might issue at once from a hundred pulpits of Italy or Egypt, if they were tuned by the master hand of the Roman or Alexandrian primate.” Carry the same principle of system and order into the song of the church, and it will be found impossible to stop short of the Ritual chant-books.

2. With regard to the moral authority of the chant: moral authority, in the legislation of the church, is ever a necessary companion of any act of her legislative authority. We should not, however, overlook what seems to be a distinct element of moral authority, in the historical connection of the Ritual chant with the generations now past and gone to their rest. It was their song, the song of saints long ago departed. It is the song which S. Augustine sang, and which drew forth his tears: “Quantum flevi in hymnis et canticis, suave sonantis ecclesiæ tuæ vocibus commotus acriter; voces illæ influebant auribus meis, et eliquebatur veritas tua in cor meum, et ex ea æstuabat. Inde affectus pietatis, et currebant lacrymæ, et bene mihi erat cum illis”--“How often have these sacred hymns and songs moved me to tears, as I have been carried away with the sweetly musical voices of thy church. How these sounds used to steal upon my ear, and thy truth to pour itself into my heart, which felt as if it were set on fire! Then would come tender feelings of devotion, my tears would flow, and I felt that all was then well with me” (_Confess._ lib. vi. cap. 6). It was the song of S. Augustine, the apostle of Saxon England, of S. Stephen the Cistercian, and of all the holy warriors of our Isle of Saints. Nor is it only the song which the saints sang, but it is the song that sings of the saints--the only song which cares to pour the sweet odor of their memory over the year, or to spread around them its melodious incense, as they too surround the throne of their Lord and King.

Again: a moral authority attaches to the Roman Ritual chant in the very name _Gregorian_, by which it is so generally known. S. Gregory was the first to collect it from the floating tradition in which it existed in the church, and to digest it into that body of annual song for the celebration of the Ritual which has come down to us. This work came to be called after him, _Cantus Gregorianus_, and forms at this day the substance of the Roman chant-books, enriched and added to by the new offices and Masses that have since then been incorporated in the Ritual. Nothing is known with any positive historical certainty as to the authorship of the several pieces in the song-books; but as to the main fact, that the music of the Ritual is the work of the greatest saints of the church--of the Popes Leo, Damasus, Gelasius, and S. Gregory himself--of many holy monks in the retirement of their cloisters--history leaves no doubt. This fact, then, is beyond dispute: that the Roman Ritual chant, which the present inquiry concerns, is the creation of the saints of the Roman Church, for the decorum and solemnity of the public celebration of the Liturgy.

And now, to come to the comparison: if to the adequate realization of the divine idea of sacred song, as an instrument placed at the disposal of the church, to aid in carrying out her work of sanctification and instruction, the notion of a definite authority, both defining what it should be, and prescribing and regulating the manner of its use, necessarily belongs, the conclusion I think is that this authority is found attaching itself to the Ritual chant; and, from the nature of the case, it is incapable of attaching itself to the works of modern music. First, because it would seem to be an inseparable principle as regards their use, that every individual must be at liberty to ask for or to demand their employment according to his own pleasure; and secondly, because a positive authority can attach to that alone which exists in a definite and tangible shape, which is far from being the case with the works of modern music. They not only do not form a definite collection, but, such as they are, are subject to perpetual change--that which is on the surface to-day and admired, being to-morrow nauseated and condemned; and hence there is no resting point whatever in them for the idea of a positive authority.

And as regards the comparison on the score of moral authority, the attempt to draw it will, I fear, touch upon delicate ground; for, to confess the honest truth, it cannot be drawn without bringing to light the degeneracy of our popular ideas respecting sacred music. Who is there who seriously thinks of claiming for the works of modern music any connection with the saints, past or present? or who is there who either cares to ask for, or to attribute any character of sanctity to its authors? or would even be likely to think very much the more highly of the music if the fact of its saintly origin could be established? And what kind of persons, for the most part, have its authors been? Mozart died rejecting the last sacraments; Beethoven is supposed by his German biographer, Schindler, to have been a pantheist during the greater part of his life; Rink was a Protestant; Mendelssohn a Jew, who cared very little for his Jewish faith; and the different _maestri di capella_ who have been throughout Europe the chief composers of these works, were, for the most part, also the directors of the theatres and opera-houses of their royal patrons.

But enough has been said to make it evident upon how different a footing the chant of the Ritual and the works of modern art respectively stand, as regards moral and ecclesiastical authority.

RESPECTIVE CLAIM TO THE COMPLETENESS AND ORDER OF A SYSTEM.

The idea of a God Incarnate, manifesting himself in the nature of man on earth, necessarily contains the idea of a system and order displayed in his works. All apparent system, it is true, does not necessarily imply God as its author; but absence of system and its consequence, positive confusion and disorder, is undeniably a sign that the mind of the Almighty is not there. If, then, the Catholic Church be the kingdom of God Incarnate, and the abiding-place of his Spirit, it follows that her song is a _system_, if God is at all to acknowledge it in any respect of his own. But the idea of system leads at once to the Ritual song-books. Modern art has not as yet furnished even the necessary materials out of which to construct a system, not to speak of the hopelessness of forming one, when the materials should exist. Do but remove the Ritual chant from the church, and you remove a wonderful and perfect system, which an order-loving mind takes pleasure in contemplating--one that moves with the ecclesiastical year, that accompanies the Redeemer from the annunciation of his advent, the Ave Maria of his coming in the flesh, to his birth, his circumcision, his manifestation to the Gentiles, his presentation and discourse with the learned doctors in the Temple, his miraculous fast in the companionship of the wild beasts in the wilderness, his last entry into his own city, his betrayal, his institution of the Holy Eucharist, his agony in the garden, his death upon the cross, his resurrection from the dead, his ascension into heaven--a system of song which places around him, as jewels in a crown, his chosen and sainted servants, as the stars which God set in the firmament of heaven to give light upon the earth. _Cœli enarrant gloriam Dei, et opera manuum ejus annuntiat firmamentum_--“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork” (Ps. xviii.) Yet if we saw the heavens only in the way in which we are treated to the performances of modern music, the greater and the lesser light occasionally changing places, after the manner of the vicissitudes of Mozart and Haydn, the planets moving out of their orbits in indeterminate succession, at the caprice of some archangel, as the organist changes his motets and introits, the Psalmist would hardly have spoken of the “_firmament showing God’s handiwork_.” Where is there a trace of order and system in the use of the works of modern art? Where is the musician who regards “duplex,” “semiduplex,” or “simplex”? Mozart in one church, Haydn in another, Beethoven in a third, and a host of others whose name is Legion, taken like lots from a bag, as whim or fancy may at the moment direct, like the chaos described by the poet, where

“Callida cum frigidis pugnant, humentia siccis, Mollia cum duris, sine pondere habentia pondus.”

--_Ovid, Metam._

But to approach the comparison. If in the divine idea of the Christian song there is necessarily contained the notion of a working and efficient system, the simple truth is, that there is no such system, either in the works of modern music themselves, or in the manner of their use. On the one side is the important fact, that the modern art of music leaves the vastly larger portion of the Ritual without any music at all, embracing positively not more than its merest fraction; on the other, the equally great fact of a total absence of any thing like rule to determine their selection. As a working system, then, full and complete in all its points, the Ritual chant stands alone the only realization of that part of the divine idea which contemplates order and system in the use of Christian song.

RESPECTIVE MORAL FITNESS: I. AS A SACRIFICIAL SONG; II. AS A SONG FOR THE OFFICES OF THE CHURCH.

I. _As a Sacrificial Song._

It has been already remarked that ecclesiastical song is not everything or anything that is beautiful in music, nor merely a work of art. It is, strictly speaking, a sacrificial chant, the song of those engaged in offering sacrifice to God, _Tibi sacrificabo hostiam laudis_. Such a song is obviously not any kind of song, but one that possesses a moral type and character, rendering it a fit companion for the holy and bloodless victim offered on the Christian altar; becoming an offering, offered not to man, but to the ears of the Most High, and akin to the solemnity of its subject--redemption from sin and death through the blood and sufferings of a sinless victim, the crucified Son of God. The divine idea may then, I think, be said to contemplate sacred song as possessing a sacrificial character.

And the reason, if required, will appear, on considering to how great an extent music possesses the remarkable gift of absorbing and becoming possessed with an idea. When song has been successfully united to language, the ideas contained in the latter are found to take possession of the music, and to form the sound or tune into an image and reflection of themselves, in a manner almost analogous to the way in which the mind within moulds the outward features of the face, so as to make them an index and expression of itself. What I mean by this alleged power of music to absorb, and afterwards to express, ideas, even those the most opposite to each other, may be exemplified, if an instance be wanted, by contrasting any popular melody from the Roman Gradual, as the _Dies Iræ_, or the _Stabat Mater_, with one of our popular street tunes, “Cherry ripe,” or “Jim Crow”; and it will be seen at once, on humming over these tunes, with what perfect truth and to how great an extent music is able to ally itself to the most opposite ideas, and how, through the ear, it has the power, not merely to convey them to the mind, but to leave them there, firmly and vividly impressed. If, then, by virtue of this power, music may, on the one hand, become the channel of the most exquisite profaneness in divine worship, so it certainly may, on the other, contribute wonderfully to its majesty and power of attraction. And since the music of the field of battle, the military march, and the roll of the drum, has a character not shared by other kinds, as the song of the banquet, and of the dance, of the drunkard over his cups, of the peasant at his plough, of the sailor at sea, of the village maiden at her home, have each their own stamp and form: so also in the song of Christian worship, God will regard it as the song of men offering sacrifice to himself, as having a character inherent in its subject--the life, sufferings, and death of him who died to take away the sins of the world--in a word, as a sacrificial chant.

Now that a sacrificial chant has in all ages accompanied the offering of sacrifice, is a truth to which history, if examined, will be found to bear abundant testimony. In the sacrifice described by Virgil in the Æneid,

“pueri innuptæque puellæ Sacra canunt.”

When, at the command of Nehemias, on the return of the captive Jews from Babylon, sacrifice was solemnly offered after their custom in Jerusalem, the priests, it is said (2 Machab. i. 30), _sang psalms until the burnt-offering was wholly consumed_. Nor is it the whole truth to say that this sacrificial chant has passed over in its more perfect reality to the Christian Church, but even in the Song of Heaven among the redeemed, the sacrificial character still continues, a point well worthy of the notice of those who are so confident that the type of the modern music is alone that which is found in heaven. “And they [the twenty-four ancients] sang a new song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book and open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation.”

If, then, the ideas which suggest themselves and arise naturally on reflecting upon what, in the nature of things, would be the type and character of the Christian sacrificial chant; if these ideas find themselves absorbed, then expressed, embodied, and brought out into life and being in the music of the ecclesiastical chant; and if, on the other hand, they are not to be found in the variety of modern compositions such as are now in partial use;[141] if it be possible to conceive our Lord’s apostles, upon the supposition that they could return to the earth, standing up in any church of Christendom to sing the song of the Ritual in honor of the Holy Sacrifice, and in company with the celebrant priest;[142] and if there be something obviously unbecoming in the mere thought of their taking bass or tenor in such music as that of Mozart’s or Haydn’s masses, neither of which will be denied; then, I think, it is not extravagant to infer that the Plain Chant of the Ritual is far the most adequate fulfilment of that part of the divine idea which contemplates Christian music as a sacrificial song.

II. _Fitness for the Offices of the Church._

With regard to the fitness of the ecclesiastical chant for the offices of the church, it must be remarked, that the ideas of the modern musician touching the use of music in the church are very widely removed from those of the fathers of the church. In their idea, a church-singer would somewhat answer to what would be a ballad-singer in the world, inasmuch as he has a great deal to convey to his hearers in the way of narrative. Almighty God has been pleased to work many wonderful works, and the fathers of the church appointed singers for the churches, to celebrate these works in song, in order that the people who came to worship, or even the heathens who came as spectators, might hear and learn something of the works of the Lord Jehovah, into whose house they had come. What can be more reasonable than this? “_My song shall be of all thy marvellous works_,” says the Psalmist. But, according to the notions of a modern musician, if a Brahmin priest, or the Turkish ambassador, were to come to Mass, and to hear a choral performance, in which the concord of voices should be most ravishingly beautiful, but in which not a single one of the marvellous works of God could be understood from the concert, he is still to consider that he has heard the perfection of Christian music, and ought, according to them, to go away converted. Out of two so contradictory notions one must necessarily be chosen as the one which best answers to the divine idea. And if persons are prepared to say that the ideas of the fathers are become antiquated, and that they would have acted differently had they known better, they are certainly called upon to make this good.

But, in the meantime, it will be both reasonable and pious to acquiesce in the belief that the fathers acted in conformity with the divine idea, and under the direction of God’s Holy Spirit, in appointing a song for the church, in which the marvellous and merciful works of God might be set forth in a charming, becoming, and perfectly intelligible manner, for the instruction of the people. A serious person, when he goes into the house of God, is supposed to go there with the intention of learning something respecting God, and it is to be supposed that Almighty God desires to see every church in such a condition as that the people who frequent it may learn all that they need to know respecting God and his works. To this use the fathers employed chant, and considered that it was, by the will of God, to be employed to this end. If any candid and serious person will take the trouble to examine the language and sentiments of the Ritual apart from its musical notation, he will be struck with it as a complete manual of popular theology. He will see that it is full of the works of God, the knowledge of which is the food of the faithful soul, particularly among the poor and the unlearned. Next let him examine its notation in song, as contained in the Gradual and Antiphonary, and he will be struck with a solemnity, beauty, and force of melody fitted to convey to the people the words of inspiration, to which melody was annexed in order that they might be the better relished, and pass current the more easily. And lastly, let him consider them, in both these respects, as forming one united whole, and he cannot refuse to acknowledge the fitness of the chant which the fathers selected for the purpose they had in view. Musicians must be equitable enough to abstain from complaining of a work on the score of its unisonous recitative character, if they will not be at the pains to understand or to sympathize with the end for which it was formed and destined. Have the fathers ever troubled themselves to criticise what was innocent and allowable in the world’s music? Then why should musicians go out of the way to find imaginary faults with that of which they seem indisposed to consider either the use or the efficacy? The church chant was framed generations before they and their art were known; and it has helped to train up whole nations in the faith, and fulfilled its end to the unbounded satisfaction of the fathers, who adopted, enlarged, and consolidated it into the form in which it has come down to us, and may therefore claim a truce to such criticism.

But here, again, the comparison fails for want of a competitor, and we are again brought back to the fact that the works of modern art embrace too small a fraction of the whole Liturgy to be in a condition to challenge any comparison. And could the comparison be admitted, it would still remain to insist on the equally certain truth of experience that the idea of a lengthened and continual recitation of the works of God, intended to be popularly intelligible, is one unsuited to the employment on any great scale of even the simplest counterpoint vocal harmonies, and fundamentally averse to the prevailing use of the canon and fugue of modern musical science.

RESPECTIVE FITNESS TO PASS AMONG THE PEOPLE AS A CONGREGATIONAL SONG.

Upon this point of the comparison the result, I think, will be tolerably obvious, if it be admitted that the divine idea contemplates the chant of the church as designed to pass to some considerable extent among the people in the form of congregational singing. It will not, however, be out of place to show briefly on what grounds this assumption rests.

1. Almighty God has created in people a strong love for congregational psalmody, and has attached to it peculiar feelings possessed of an influence far more powerful for good than the somewhat isolated pleasure that the musician feels on hearing beautiful artificial music, inasmuch as congregational singing is a common voice of prayer and praise; and being, as Christians, members one of another, in congregational psalmody we gain a foretaste of heaven, where it will be far more perfect.

2. There are obvious benefits arising from it. It is an union of prayer and praise, and as such is more powerful with God. It kindles in the individual a livelier sense of Christian fellowship. It is a voice that expresses the union of the many members in the one body; many voices, one sound.

3. The argument from history. The worship of God has always been that of congregational psalmody; and where trained choirs of singers existed, their song was always such as to admit of the people at times taking part with them. This is an undeniable fact of history. “Then sang _Moses and the children of Israel_ this song unto the Lord” (Exodus xv.) “Then _sang Israel_ this song, Spring up, O well, sing ye unto it, etc.” (Numbers xxi. 17). The psalm CXXXV. was composed for the people to sing the chorus. The Book of Psalms is a kind of historical testimony, in many of its passages, to the fact of that congregational song to which it so often exhorts. Fleury, in his _History of the Manners of the Jews and Christians_ (page 143), acknowledges congregational song as a fact among both. He cites the testimony of S. Basil, that all the people in his time sang in the churches--men, women, and children--and he compares their voices to the waters of the sea. S. Gregory of Nazianzen compares them to thunder. But it is impossible to conceive such to have been the practice both of Jews and Christians, without inferring that it was so with the approbation of Almighty God.

4. The apostles and the fathers of the church have sanctioned it. “Teaching and admonishing yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with melody in your hearts unto the Lord” (Col. iii. 16).

“Wherefore, since these things are so, let us with the more confidence give ourselves to the work of song, considering that we have obtained a great grace of Almighty God, to whom it has been given, in company with so many and so great saints, the prophets, and the martyrs, to celebrate the marvellous works of the eternal God.”--_An old author in the first volume of Gerbert’s Scriptores Musici._

“Quocunque te vertis, arator stivam tenens Alleluia decantat, sudans messor Psalmis se evocat, et curva attollens vitem falce vinator aliquid Davidicum cantat. Hæc sunt in provincia nostra carmina, hæc ut vulgo dicitur amatoriæ cantationes, hic pastorum sibilus, hæc arma culturæ.”--“Wherever you turn, the laborer at his plough sings an alleluia; the reaper sweating under his work refreshes himself with a psalm: the vinedresser in his vineyard will sing a passage from the Psalmist. These are the songs of our part of the world. These are, as people say, our love-songs. This is the piping of our shepherds, and these are the arms of our laborers.”--_S. Jerome, Epist. 17 ad Marcellum._

“Alas!” observes Mgr. Parisis, upon this passage of S. Jerome, “where are now the families who seek to enliven the often dangerous leisure of long winter’s evenings with the songs of the Catholic Liturgy; where are the workshops in which an accent may be heard borrowed from the remembrance of our divine offices; where are the country parishes which are edified and rejoiced by the sweet and pious sounds which in the times of S. Jerome echoed through the fields and vineyards?”[143]

S. Augustine: “As for congregational psalmody, what better employment can there be for a congregation of people met together, what more beneficial to themselves, or more holy and well-pleasing to God, I am wholly unable to conceive?”--_Letter to Januarius, towards the end._

A passage of S. Chrysostom, exhorting the people to psalmody, will be found elsewhere. It is unnecessary to do more than to refer to the example of S. Basil and S. Ambrose, encouraging their people in the same manner; to which may be added a passage from the life of S. Germanus:

“Pontificis monitis, psallit plebs, clerus et infans.”

_Venantius, vita S. Germani._

Lastly, the _moral_ reason of the thing.

This is expressed by S. Basil in the words: “O wonderful wisdom of the teacher! who hath contrived that we _should both sing_, and therewith learn that which is good.”

Now, if it be considered that Providence could not possibly have meant that the people at large should be formed into singing classes, in order to be initiated into the mysteries of minim and crotchet, tenor and bass, and that the _one_ only practical means of bringing them to pick up by ear the more popular parts of the church chant is by encouraging, as the system of the Ritual chant does, that clear enunciation of language and melody which easily fixes itself upon the ear, and which the prevalence of unison singing gives;[144] it follows at once that the only hope of procuring general congregational singing in the worship of the Catholic Church lies in the increased use and zealous propagation of the unison execution of the Ritual chant. Experience is clear to the point that the use of the works of modern art, with their rapid movements, elaborate fugues, scientific combinations of sound, necessarily tends to stifle the voices of the people, and this is certainly not the will of our merciful God.

Now, if this be the case, I do not see how we are to avoid the conclusion, that any extensive use of these works of modern art tends to the clear frustration and the making void one great and important popular end, viz., congregational singing, which the divine idea contemplates in the song of the church, and which, in the song of the Ritual, is efficiently realized, as the history of the progress of the faith abundantly testifies. Might it not, then, be well that those who advocate the continued cultivation of these elaborate works of art should consider the full meaning of Mardocheus’ prayer, _Ne claudas ora te canentium_: “Shut not the mouth of them that sing thy praise, O Lord” (Esther xiii. 17).

RESPECTIVE MORAL INFLUENCE IN THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER.

The influence upon the mind of sounds that habitually surround the ear is a fact well known to all moralists. “Whosoever,” says Plato, in his treatise _De Republicâ_, quoted by Gerbert, “is in the habit of permitting himself to listen habitually to music, and to allow his mind to be engaged and soothed by it, pouring in the sweet sounds before alluded to through the ears, as through an orifice, soft, soothing, luscious, and plaintive, consuming his life in tunes that fascinate his soul; when he does this to an excess, he then begins to weaken, to unstring, and to enervate his understanding, until he loses his courage, and roots all vigor out of the mind.” Cicero observes, “Nihil tam facile in animos teneros atque molles influere quam varios canendi sonos, quorum vix dici potest quanta sit vis in utramque partem; namque et incitat languentes, et languefacit excitatos, et tum remittit animos, tum contrahit” (lib. ii. _De Legibus_). These remarks seem very much to have their exemplification at this day in the effeminate tone and temper of polished society in all the nations of Europe, who seem to be befooled with their love for pretty airs and opera music. Now, if the fathers, observing this power of music insensibly to mould and form the character, and acting, as it is more than pious to believe, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, that his divine intention might be fulfilled, designed the song of the church to form a character very different from that of the musical voluptuary--one who was to be no cowardly skulker from the good fight of faith, but the soldier of Jesus Christ, the disciple patiently taking up his cross and following his crucified Master--those who do not participate in these ideas ought not to wonder that they find so little in the church chant with which they can sympathize; but above all let them at least have the modesty not to blame the fathers of the church for adapting it, after their wisdom, to a purpose the need for which they do not comprehend. The historian Fleury has a pertinent remark: “Je laisse à ceux qui sont savants en musique à examiner si dans notre Plain Chant il reste encore quelque trace de cette antiquité [he is speaking of the force of character of the old chant]; car notre musique moderne semble en être fort eloignée” (Fleury, _Mœurs des Chrétiens_, page xliii.)--“I leave to those who are versed in music to determine whether there remain any traces of this ancient vigor in our Plain Chant; for our modern music seems very far from it.”

Is it a thing to be wondered at if the Christian Israel’s Song of the Cross should have in it something a little strange to the ear of Babylon? Or are we to content ourselves with the conclusion that nothing but what is dainty and nice, nothing but that which is as nearly like the world as possible, will go down with Christian people? On the contrary, is it not to be presumed that the multitudes, with whom, in the main, the Christian teacher’s duty lies, are of that sickly, degenerate tone of mind that nauseates the strong, peculiar, and supplicating energy of the ecclesiastical chant?

But on this point the comparison may be drawn in the words of Mgr. Parisis:

“External to the Ritual chant, that is to say, the Gregorian, or Plain Chant, little else is now known except the works of modern music, that is to say, a music essentially favoring what people have agreed to call _sensualism_. It is this, almost exclusively this, which, under the austere title of sacred music, is sought to be introduced into our sacred offices. Now, without desiring to enter deeply into the matter, we need but few words to point out how grievously it is misplaced.

“Worldly music agitates and seeks to agitate, because the world seeks its pleasure in stir and change. The church, on the contrary, seeks for melodies that pray and incline to prayer. The church cannot wish for any others, since her worship has no other object than prayer.

“In vain will it be said that this is the work of one of the greatest masters, that it is a scientific and a sublime composition; it may be all this for the world--it is nothing at all of this for the church. And especially when this worldly music, by its thrilling cadences or impassioned character, leads directly to light ideas, sensual satisfactions, and dangerous recollections, it is not only a contradiction in the house of God, but a formal scandal.” (_Instruction Pastorale_, p. 45)

TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT MONTH.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

It is now many years since, during a summer ramble, I found myself at A----k, now nothing more than a hamlet in population, but retaining traces of having once been a place of very considerable importance, and boasting of very remote antiquity. The remains of the wall are, indeed, locally attributed to the Romans, probably because they are lofty and very strong, and it is the habit of ignorant people to refer all great works to that wonderful people. In this instance, however, tradition is certainly wrong, as the walls bear unmistakable evidence of mediæval origin, being in parts much enriched with Gothic work.

The little town stands on a plateau enclosed between a bend of the Rhine and the steep bluff on which the ruins of an old castle stand perched, equally watching the little burgh below and the counterpart castle on the opposite side of the Rhine at its next bend.

The eagles that once lived in and sought their prey from that lofty nest have long since crumbled into dust and have even passed from the memory of man, leaving for sole representatives the choughs and the crows, and perhaps a jolly old owl to keep up revelry at night.

The horses that those old knights rode must have been of a sure-footed breed, for it is hard to conceive how any quadruped, save a goat, could have mounted the path I scrambled up among the vines; but it is with the village and the village church that we have to do.

Who built the Rhine churches?

They all, with a few exceptions, are strikingly alike; though varying in size, number of towers, and many other particulars, they have mostly a strict resemblance in general conception and detail. To cite an instance: The cathedral at Coblentz might stand as the type of twenty others; instead of being individual and standing out alone--an effort of genius like Cologne, Strasbourg, Notre Dame, Ely, or Winchester--they have all the same resemblance to one another that a little oak has to a big one.

The church at A----k was no exception. Cathedral it might almost be called from its great size; but there was no bishop there, and it was only a parish church! With its three great towers, vast nave, long aisles, and noble choir, it seemed as if it might well hold all the population for many miles around, and the extremely small congregation that were present at the celebration of the High Mass that morning appeared ridiculously out of proportion. It was a high festival--the Annunciation--it is therefore to be assumed that the bulk of the population were there, and the High Mass was at the somewhat early hour of half-past five!

After the Mass was over, and the last peal of the organ had died away, and the patter of the last footstep been lost in the distance, as it still wanted a considerable time to my breakfast hour, I strolled round the great empty church. There seemed to be nothing of value in it. If it had ever possessed any of the treasures of art, they had probably perished or been carried away during the long wars that devastated the country after the period of the Reformation, for I found nothing worthy of notice. I had just concluded to leave the church when my eye was arrested by what I took to be an accident which had happened to the crucifix on one of the side altars. At first I supposed that it had received a blow which had nearly broken off the right arm of the figure. On looking more closely I perceived that it was evidently of great age, and the arm I supposed to be broken stood out from the cross at a considerable angle, and hung about half way down the side, the nail by which it had once been attached still remaining in the hand.

Whilst I was still wondering as to the nature of the accident which had befallen the quaintly-carved crucifix a quiet and pleasant voice roused me from my revery.

“I see, sir, that you are examining our curious old crucifix!”

Turning round I recognized the old priest who had sung Mass, and encouraged by his amiable manner and address, I stated the matter I had been pondering over, and asked for an explanation.

“There has been no accident,” said he; “the distortion which you notice in the right arm has existed far beyond the memory of man.

“The figure is carved out of some very hard wood, and all out of a single block--there being no joining in any part of it.”

Still more astonished, I asked what could have been the motive of representing the Saviour in so strange an attitude; the more, as the hole for the nail still remaining in the hand was still to be seen plainly in the wood, whilst the hand was in the position in which it would have been had it just struck a blow.

“That is a curious story, and is, in fact, the only legend I know of connected with this church.

“The crucifix is held in great reverence, and people come from great distances to pray before it. As I see you are a stranger, perhaps you will partake of an old man’s breakfast, whilst you listen to him as he relates the traditional story, which being connected with this church, where he has grown old, he regards as almost peculiarly his own. Besides, the story is too long to be listened to either standing or fasting.”

Thanking the good priest for his kind offer, I followed him into the little presbytery almost adjoining the church, where we were soon seated on each side of a little table taking off the edge of our appetites with eggs, coffee, and rolls.

When we had somewhat appeased our craving, the good man commenced, saying:

“The tradition of which I have to speak dates back a long way, and has at least so much of authenticity about it as attaches to the undoubted antiquity of the crucifix itself, and to the fact that, for many generations at least, no other account has been current.

“My grandfather used to tell it to me when an infant on his knee, and said that he had heard it from his grandfather in the same way.

“In which of the many wars which have scourged this unfortunate land since the rebel monk Luther brought the curse of religious dissension upon it, the circumstances which I am about to relate occurred, I am unable to determine; for the traditions, which agree in all other points, differ on this.

“On the whole I incline to the one which places these events during the period of Gustavus Adolphus’ invasion, and attribute them to the particular band which was led by his lieutenant Oxenstiern, who certainly did sack the place. This would place it at more than two hundred years ago, and it certainly is not more recent.

“At that period there lived in A----k a widow and her daughter. They were very poor, belonging to the peasant class, and supported themselves in winter by spinning; and when the spring came round, they would go off to the steep mountain-sides, where they helped to dress the vines or gather the vintage, according to the season.

“They never went to distant vineyards, because the mother, having in her youth met with a severe accident, was unable, from its effects, to walk far. There was also another reason: for Gretchen, who was the prettiest girl for many miles around, was also the best, and never failed, winter or summer, to hear Mass and to spend some time in prayer before that very crucifix which has attracted your attention.

“There was, no doubt, some older tradition about its origin, for it had a great reputation for sanctity even then; this tradition, whatever it may have been, seems, however, to have been swallowed up by the overwhelming interest of the subsequent event, which I am about to relate.

“All accounts agree that when Gretchen first worshipped there the crucifix had nothing unusual about it to distinguish it from any other, except its artistic merit.

“The hand was then nailed to the cross. There, however, kneeling in front of it, wrapped in prayer, this young girl spent all the time she could spare from the humble duties of her life.

“She milked the cow, the one valuable possession of her mother, who had the right of common; she washed the clothes, cooked and did the work about her mother’s house, and acted as her crutch as she climbed the steep paths of the vineyard--for, in spite of her lameness, she was a skilful vinedresser--in short, she was all in all to her only parent.

“With all this labor and care Gretchen grew in grace and beauty; and though so devout, she was as bright and cheerful and winning in her ways as the most worldly of her young companions.

“Never, however, could she be tempted to go to any of the merry-makings or harvest-homes or vintage feasts that were held at a distance; her invariable answer was, ‘My mother cannot walk so far.’

“She had many suitors; and admirers came from a great distance.

“To all Gretchen was equally kind and considerate; but to none did she show any sort of preference, so that all the youths for many miles on both sides of the Rhine were pulling caps for her.

“Thus things went on till she was nineteen, when, to the great surprise of all, she was seen to take up with and give a decided preference to the attentions of a young stranger who had been in the place only a few weeks.

“The favored youth was a journeyman clockmaker from Nuremberg, who was going through his year of wandering, and was at the moment settled in the town, working for the only tradesman in his line of business in the place.

“A----k was then much more populous, as you may well suppose, being able to support such a trade.

“This youth, whose name was Gotliebe Hunning, was handsome and showy, wearing his hair in long locks down his back, and spending much of his earnings in dress. He sung, played the guitar, and was reputed wild, though no harm could be alleged against him.

“The old folks shook their heads, and deplored that so sweet and modest a girl as Gretchen should be seen so much with a roisterer like Gotliebe.

“Somehow it had been no sin to sing and be gay like God’s unreasoning creatures before the sour times of Calvin, Huss, and Luther; but though their errors had not penetrated here to any great extent, something of their acid had been imparted to the leaven of life.

“So things were, however, and all the time that Gretchen gave to pleasure--which was little enough, poor child, for they were very poor and her mother was very helpless--she spent with this handsome, clever youth; not that she abandoned her devotion, or was less frequently prostrated before the crucifix; for indeed, if possible, she was found there more than ever. Still, the gossips shook their heads and remarked upon it.

“One would say, ‘Ah! I never trusted that meek manner of hers. I always knew she would surprise us some day, and here it is! It is always so with the very good ones!’ ‘Ay, ay,’ her neighbor would say, ‘cat will after cream! And Eve has left her mark upon the best of them! The girl is a girl like other young things; but I did hope better things of Gretchen, so well brought up as she has been!’--thus they ran on.

“Soon, however, it began to be said that Gotliebe was sobering down; he frequented the tavern less, never danced except with Gretchen, sang less and worked more.

“He was admitted to be a master of his craft, and when it became known that he was engaged in all his leisure hours in making a great clock--the very one the chimes of which you were admiring--for the church, there was less head-shaking, and more talk about Gretchen’s luck in making so great a catch. Still he made no change in his showy dress, and indeed I think that genius, at least in art, often shows itself in that way, and tradition testifies that he was no mean proficient in the art he practised, of which indeed we still have proof every hour.

“Then it began to be observed that Gotliebe was frequently in the church with Gretchen, and had become a regular attendant at Mass. Still, things went on in the same way and no betrothal was spoken of, until, after the war had again broken out and seemed to be drifting this way, it suddenly became known that Gretchen had consented to be married to Gotliebe without loss of time, and that he was to take a house and her mother was to move into it.

“In this remote place, far from any of the great avenues of trade--for vessels usually passed it by, no great roads branching off here, and there being no steamboats invented--news came doubtfully and seldom, and war was at the very door at a moment when only distant rumors had reached A----k.

“However, to return to Gretchen and Gotliebe: You may be sure that what goes on now went on then, and that all the busybodies were agog as to what they were to live upon; how she was to be dressed, and who were to be the bridemaids; but as the world spins round in spite of the flies that buzz about it, so they went their way regardless of all that was said about them.

“In the meantime, the rumors grew more frequent and more particular concerning the cloud of war which was every day drifting nearer and nearer, until the dark mass seemed ready at any moment to burst upon the unfortunate village itself.

“Indeed, news came from neighboring towns and villages that they had been taken and burned by the heretic Swedes, and tales, no doubt often exaggerated, of the violent and dissolute conduct of Oxenstiern’s troopers, kept every one in terror.

“Affairs were in this threatening condition when the wedding-morning came; and, as the story was, though Gretchen had little to spend on dress, no art and no expense could have produced a lovelier bride than stood before the altar of the Crucifix that morning. She wore nothing but a simple dress of white, and a wreath of apple-blossoms, for the trees were just then in flower.

“The wedding-bells were ringing, and the humble bridal-party had just reached the house which Gotliebe had taken, when cannon were heard, and a band of fierce Swedish soldiers rushed into the village.

“The firing proceeded from an attack upon the castle, which still stands at about a mile from this place, and the invaders of the village were army followers and a few of the more dissolute of Oxenstiern’s soldiery, who, encountering the bridal-party, at once interrupted its progress, treating the bridemaids rudely; and one of them, who threw his arms around Gretchen, was immediately struck down by Gotliebe, who, as before said, was a spirited youth.

“One of the invaders, without a moment’s hesitation, struck him lifeless, and attempted to seize the bride, who, with a shriek, fled and took refuge in the church.

“Thither Gretchen was pursued by the band; and when after many hours the troops were withdrawn, and the priest, with a few of the boldest of his flock, ventured into the sacred edifice, they found the high altar desecrated, the sacred vessels gone, and other sacrileges committed, which filled them with horror; but on turning to the altar of the Crucifix, they found the bride prostrate before it, either in a trance or ecstasy, with the soldier who had pursued her lying with his skull broken, and his iron head-piece smashed in as though a sledge-hammer had struck it, and the arm of the crucifix distorted as you see it now.

“On being questioned, the young widow could only say: ‘God has protected me!’

“The poor mother only lingered a day or two afterwards, and was borne to the grave at the same time as the unfortunate Gotliebe.

“Gretchen never knew, or would not say, more than I have repeated of what had occurred at the altar of the Crucifix. It was unplundered!

“The people, however, all said that God, who had borne the insults and profanation directed against himself at the high altar, had interposed when the virtue of a pure virgin was threatened, and had himself, by the hand of his image, smitten the would-be violator dead, leaving the distorted arm as an admonition for ever.”

We were both silent after this recital, and for some moments toyed with the fragments of our breakfast.

At length, raising my head, I asked: “And you, father--do you believe this tale?”

A sweet, soft smile hovered about his lips, as he replied: “Nothing in which the goodness of God is instanced is hard for me to believe! He is less ready to show his anger, so that, though we live in the midst of his wonders, we have got so used to them that it is said that there are those who deny his existence.”

This was said as if to himself. Then, speaking more collectedly, he continued:

“You English would rather believe in ghosts and devils than in the good God. Whence do you suppose they derive their existence and their power?”

I assured him that I was of the same faith as himself, and only asked because I wished to have the opinion of a cultivated man on the subject of this particular legend, which had greatly interested me, and of which there remained so singular an evidence.

After a moment’s pause, he said:

“Think of the facts yourself, sir. This tradition, which is certainly very old, is either true in its main features or it was made to fit the crucifix. Assume this last to be the case, how did so singular an image come into existence? Made to hang the tradition upon? Scarcely in so small a community, where all must have known each other. Besides, it is a work of art, and I have been told that as such it is of rare merit. Such a work could hardly have been produced for an unworthy object, and would have been difficult to substitute for one of inferior workmanship. If I called it a legend, it is because it has an air of romance about it. But God is good, and does what he pleases!”

I had nothing more to say; so I asked what had become of Gretchen, and was told that she had been taken as a lay sister in the small convent at the head of the valley, whence she had continued, to the very day of her death, to come and pray at the foot of the crucifix, where in fact she was at last found dead, in her eighty-seventh year, and that during the whole time she had been regarded as a saint.

“The altar,” he resumed, “is universally regarded with great reverence, and is always spoken of as the Altar of Succor to a very considerable distance up and down the Rhine, and the unusual number of models in wax or wood which you see hanging before it indicate how special favors are reputed to have been granted there.”

“I noticed them,” I replied, “when first I entered Belgium, where I saw many. I was much struck with what I thought the singular idea of offering a leg in wax to obtain the cure of lameness, an eye for blindness, and so on.”

“I perceive, sir,” said the good priest, “that you have fallen into the error of mistaking cause for effect. These models and tokens are in no case hung before the altar until after the cure prayed for has been effected, when it is the pious custom of the people to commemorate the blessing they have received--much as one out of the ten lepers cured by our Lord did--by showing gratitude, that all may see what he has done for them.

“Some of these emblems,” continued he, “have curious histories attached to them, whose events have occurred under my own eye.

“I will give you one instance only, not to be tedious.

“Did you notice a small bottle amongst the objects we speak of?”

I acknowledged that I had not done so, having paid little attention to them.

“Well, there is one there at all events, which I myself attached to the bunch, under the following circumstances:

“Some years ago, two brothers, both young men, were leaving a wharf some miles up the river, at twilight. The steamer having landed its passengers, was on the point of starting, when the elder of the two remonstrated with his brother upon the condition in which he found him; in fact, the youth was addicted to drinking, and gave much trouble to his elder brother, who was a remarkably steady young man. I will not mention their names, as both are living; but for convenience will call the elder Fritz and the younger Carl.

“Carl was given to be quarrelsome in his cups, and on this occasion was more so than usual, and began to struggle with his brother, who wanted to get him on board, as the boat was in the act of starting; in doing so, however, he lost his balance, and they fell into the water together.

“Carl, with the luck which is proverbially attributed to drunkards, was almost immediately pulled out by those who had seen the accident. Fritz, however, appeared to have been carried away by the current, all search proving in vain.

“Carl, now completely sobered, was terribly afflicted, as he was deeply attached to his brother, and remembering the traditional sanctity of the Altar of Succor, he started off and walked all night, and, wet as he was, threw himself at the foot of the altar. There he remained for some hours; whilst prostrate there, another man came in and knelt beside him.

“It is always rather dark at that side altar, which, being situated in the north aisle, was darker still at that hour of the morning.

“I had observed the prostrate man soon after the church had been opened in the morning. When next I passed I saw him prostrate still, with another kneeling beside him.

“Thinking there might be something wrong, I went up, and stooping, laid my hand upon his shoulder; he was wet, and a shiver ran through him at my touch. To my surprise I saw that there was a pool of water round the kneeling man.

“At my touch the man raised himself, exclaiming, as he did so, ‘Yes, I did it; but I did not mean it! Take me if you will!’

“Before I could explain, the other rose to his feet, exclaiming, in a voice of great emotion, ‘Carl!’ In an instant the brothers were in each other’s arms, and explanations were made. It appears that Fritz went down at once, and, being unable to swim, was borne down for some distance under water. On coming to the surface his head came in contact with some substance which he instinctively grasped; it was wood, and was large enough to enable him to keep his head above water. He drifted down the current till, almost dead with cold, he found himself cast ashore at a bend of the river.

“He was glad to find a cottage door open, where he was welcomed to warm himself and to share the peasants’ humble meal. There also he learned that he was not far from A----k and the wonderful Altar of Succor, and at once resolved to come here, moved by gratitude for his escape, and anxiety for his brother, of whose fate he was of course ignorant.

“A year passed, and one morning Carl called upon me, and I then fully learned the particulars I have just related.

“At his request I attached the small bottle to the other tokens, in gratitude, as he said, for the victory there granted to him over the evil habit which must, otherwise, have rendered his life a curse.

“He also left a sum of money for the poor, and told me that his brother and himself were both married, and living as prosperous merchants at a considerable town lower down the Rhine.

“Go thou and do likewise!” added the good priest, laughing as we shook hands at parting.

WHY NOT?

I knelt before the altar-rail One holy festal morning, As to and fro the sexton moved, The holy place adorning.

Now vases, bright with ruby hues, He places on the altar, And now the flowers! O gorgeous sight! “Good sexton,” I did falter,

“But for one instant let me smell Those odors which, like vapor From censer, rising, lift--” “Smell! marm-- They’re only made o’ paper!”

And now the golden candlesticks, With candles like to rockets, Lighting afar, quoth he: “Tin, marm: The candles are in the sockets!”

Yet there I see a hundred more With blessed tapers burning. O happy bees! Lo! here he comes, From sacristy returning,

With basket filled with precious load Of many more for decking The candelabra round the “throne.” Said I, his pathway checking:

“Oh! lift for me the basket-lid; I’ll only humbly peer in And see the blessed wax!” “Sakes! marm Not wax, but only stearine!”

Oh! sparkle brightly, olive star, In lamp inscribed with Latin: “Sweet oil! whose unction--” “Guess not, marm: The gas is turned on that ’un!”

“Devotion dims my pious view, And speech within me throttles, To see those sacred relics--” “Them? Them’s ’pothecary bottles!”

“Now don’t you go a-pokin’ round Your nose to find ‘abuses’; We’ll let you know we has these things Because--because we chooses!”

ON THE WAY TO LOURDES.

CONCLUDED.

Leaving Lectoure, the railway keeps along the valley of the Gers, a branch of the Garonne several shades yellower than the Tiber. The sides of the road are covered with _genêt_, or broom, loaded with yellow blossoms--the emblem of the Plantagenets, to whom this part of France was once subject. It is not long before we come to Mount St. Cricq at the left, where, in the IVth century, the glorious S. Oren, the apostle of the country, demolished a temple of Apollo-Belen, and set up an altar to the only true and uncreated Light under the invocation of S. Quiricus (S. Cyr) and S. Julitta. The church is now gone. A windmill stands near its site, the only prominent object on the hill, which is as bald and parched as if Apollo had claimed it for his own again.

Auch now comes in sight, built on a height, and crowned with the towers of its noble cathedral. The sides of the hill are covered with houses, whose arched galleries are open to the sun and pure mountain air, and gay with vines and flowers. The terraces before them look like hanging gardens, which give a charming freshness to the picturesque old city. The Gers flows along at the foot of the hill as quietly as when Fortunatus sang of its sluggishness centuries ago. We cross it, and gain access to the city by one of the long, narrow, steep, sunless staircases of stone, called _pousterles_, which remind us of Naples and Perugia. The place, in fact, is quite Italian in its whole aspect. As we ascend one of these flights we see, away up at the top, a large iron cross with all the emblems of the Passion in the centre of the landing-place, and we feel as if we were ascending some _Calvaire_. There is a broad modern staircase, much more grand and elegant, but not so interesting, dignified by the imposing term of _escalier monumental_, which takes one up a more gradual and less weary way of two hundred and thirty-two steps--something rather formidable, however, for the fat and scant o’ breath!

These old cities, built on heights for greater security, were powerful holds in the Middle Ages, and all have their history. Their towers are all scarred over with fearful tragedies, relieved here and there by some flower of sweet romance or saintly legend.

Auch was in ancient times called Climberris, the stronghold of the _Ausci_, who dwelt here before the Roman conquest--descendants of the Iberians from the Caucasian regions, who left their country and settled in Spain and this side of the Pyrenees. The chief city of the most civilized people of the country, a Roman settlement under the Cæsars, the most important place in Novempopulania, the capital of the Counts of Fezensac and Armagnac in the Middle Ages, and a wealthy influential see, whose archbishops took part in all the great movements of the day, Auch was from early times a place of no small importance, however insignificant now.

When Cæsar’s lieutenant, Publius Crassus, took possession of the country, he established a Roman colony on the banks of the Algersius, and the Ausci, descending from their heights, it became so flourishing that it received the imperial name of Augusta Auscorum, and was one of the few cities of the land to which the Roman emperors accorded the Latin right--that is, the power of governing itself. In the year 211, Caracalla allowed it the privilege of having a forum, gymnasium, theatre, baths, etc., and it became the seat of a senate, the head of which was a Roman officer called _comes_. Roman domination was at first submitted to reluctantly, but it proved an advantage to the city. Literature and the arts were cultivated with success, the people enriched by new sources of industry, sumptuous villas were built in the environs, and roads opened to Toulouse and various parts of Novempopulania. The pre-eminence of the schools here is evident from the poet Ausonius, tutor of the Emperor Gratian, who spent part of his youth at Auch, pursuing his studies under Staphylius and Arborius, both of whom he eulogizes for their learning. Arborius, the brother of Ausonius’ mother, was the son of an astrologer, from a distant part of Gaul, who married a lady of rank in this country and settled here. He taught rhetoric, not only at Auch, but at Toulouse, where he became the confidential friend of Constantine’s brothers, then in a kind of exile. This led to his fortune. The emperor afterward called him to Constantinople, where he was loaded with riches and honors.

Ausonius’ friend, Eutropius, a celebrated Latin author who held offices under Julian the Apostate, had a seat in the vicinity of Auch.

The women, too, of this country were inspired with a taste for mental cultivation, as is shown by Sylvia, sister of the illustrious Rufinus of Elusa, one of the best-versed women of her day in Greek literature, and who rivalled the noble Roman matrons of the time of S. Jerome in her knowledge of sacred science. Sylvia died at Brescia, where her name is still honored, while her native land has nearly forgotten her memory.

The prosperity of Auch was put an end to in the Vth century by the invasion of the Goths and Vandals, and the city was only saved from destruction by the mediation of S. Oren, its bishop. In the VIIIth century the country was overrun by the Moors, who destroyed the whole city, with the exception of a faubourg still known, after more than a thousand years, as the Place de la Maure.

Two centuries after, the Counts of Armagnac built a castle on the summit of the hill where stood the ancient Climberris, and gathered their vassals around them. Here they held a brilliant court which attracted gallant knights and the gayest troubadours of the south. We read that one of the counts, whose stout heart yielded for a time to the softening influences of the poetic muse, went to Toulouse to breathe out his tender lays at the feet of a certain fair lady, Lombarda, but prudence getting the better of his gallantry, he abruptly brought them to an end, and hurried back to the defence of his castle, suddenly besieged by the enemy.

It was also in the Xth century Auch became a metropolitan see, which was so generously endowed by the barons of the country that it became one of the wealthiest and most powerful in the kingdom. Its archbishops were to the great lords of the province what the popes then were to the sovereigns of Europe. They were the lords spiritual, not only of Novempopulania, but the two Navarres. Kings of England wrote them to secure their influence, which was so great that there was a rivalry among the leading families desirous of securing the see for their children. When the Counts of Armagnac transferred their capital to Lectoure, the archbishops became sole lords of the city, and in them centred its history from that time. They bore the proudest names in the land, and maintained all the state to which their birth and the importance of their office entitled them. We read that when they came to take possession of their see, the Baron de Montaut, at the head of all the neighboring gentry, met them at the entrance to the city, and with bared head and knee took the archbishop’s mule by the bridle and led him to the castle. This was in accordance with the customs of feudal times, when vassals offered homage to their liege lords by bending the bared knee to the ground, an _extension_, we suppose, of the Oriental practice of baring the feet. We learn from Andres de Poça, in his work, _De la Antigua Lenga y Comarcas de las Españas_, that the lords of Biscay took their oaths of fealty in the sanctuary in this way--a custom derived, perhaps, from the ancient Cantabrians, who, as Strabo tells us, went to battle with one foot shod and the other bare, reminding one of the touching nursery rhyme of “My son John,” or the French ditty which is more to the point:

“Un pied chaussé et l’autre nu, Pauvre soldat, que feras-tu?”

There were two other bishops in the south of France who received a similar mark of homage at taking possession of their sees. At Lectoure, it was the Seigneur de Castelnau, and at Cahors the Baron de Ceissac, whose duty it was to offer it. At Auch, the Baron de Montaut afterwards served the archbishop at dinner and received the silver plate on the table as his perquisite. Dom Brugelles, in his Chronicles of the diocese, gives a ludicrous account of the disappointment of a Baron of Montaut at the arrival of a cardinal-archbishop of simple habits, whose service was of glass, though of fine workmanship, which so disappointed the baron that he forgot his loyalty and smashed all the dishes, to the great disgust of the cardinal, who left the city and never returned.

One of the Archbishops of Auch, Geraud de Labarthe, went with Richard the Lion-Hearted to the Holy Land, and had command of an armament. He knew also, it seems, how to wield his spiritual weapons, for on the way he stopped in Sicily for a theological encounter with the celebrated abbot Joachim, in which he proved himself worthy of his descent from the Lords of the Four Valleys. He died in the Holy Land in 1191, leaving a foundation for the repose of his mother’s soul, a touching incident in the life of this valorous churchman.

Another archbishop established the Truce of God in his province, issued indulgences to encourage his people to go to the aid of the Spanish in their crusade against the Moors, and finally placed himself at the head of those who responded to his appeal and went to the assistance of Don Alfonso of Aragon, where he distinguished himself by his bravery and religious zeal.

Other prelates have a simpler record which it is pleasant to come upon in such rude times. Of one we read he granted an indulgence of three days to all who should bow the head at hearing the Holy Name of Jesus. This was in 1383, when S. Bernardin of Sienna, the great propagator of this devotion, was still a child.

In the XIVth century we find Cardinal Philip d’Alençon, of the blood royal of France, among the archbishops of Auch. He died in Rome in the odor of sanctity, and was buried in the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere, where his beautiful Gothic tomb--a _chef-d’œuvre_ of the XIVth century--may be seen in the left transept. In the arch is a fresco of the martyrdom of his patron, S. Philip, who was crucified with his head downward, like S. Peter; and beneath lies the cardinal on his tomb, sculptured in marble, with hands folded in eternal prayer. Above are his cardinal’s hat and the _fleurs-de-lis_ of France, and below is the epitaph:

“Francorum genitus Regia de stirpe Philippus Alenconiadus Ostiæ titulatus ab urbe Ecclesiæ cardo, tanta virtute reluxit Ut sua supplicibus cumulentur marmora votis.”

This prelate was the nephew and godson of Philippe le Bel, the destroyer of the Knights-Templars and persecutor of Pope Boniface VIII., who merited the stigma Dante casts on him in his _Purgatorio_:

“Lo! the flower-de-luce Enters Alagna: in his vicar, Christ Himself a captive, and his mockery Acted again. Lo! to his holy lip The vinegar and gall once more applied, And he ’twixt living robbers doomed to bleed.”

“When, O Lord! shall I behold that vengeance accomplished which, being already determined in thy secret judgment, thy retributive justice even now contemplates with delight?” continues the spirit met by the Divine Poet in the place of expiation--words that might be echoed in these days, when

“The new Pilate, of whose cruelty Such violence cannot fill the measure up, With no decree to sanction, pushes on Into the temple his yet eager sails.”

We are here reminded it was at Auch all the Knights-Templars of Bigorre, with their commander, Bernard de Montagu, were executed. M. Martin, in his _History of France_, observes that all the traditions of this region are favorable to the Templars. There is not one that is not to their credit. The old saying, “Drink like a Templar,” has no echo in the mountains of Bigorre. Many of their churches are still standing, objects of interest to the archæologist, and of devotion to the pious. There are six or seven skulls shown at Gavarnie, said to be of the martyred Templars, and every year, on the anniversary of the destruction of the Order, a knight armed from top to toe, and wearing the great white mantle of the Order, appears in the churchyard and cries three times: “Who will defend the Holy Temple? Who will deliver the Sepulchre of the Lord?” Then the seven heads come to life and reply: “No one! no one! The Temple is destroyed!” How earnestly these unfortunate knights begged to be tried by the Inquisition is well known. They felt there was some chance for justice at a tribunal in which there was a religious element.

A Cardinal d’Armagnac was Archbishop of Auch when the tragedy of Rodèle took place, which rivals that of the Torre della Fame at Pisa in horror. Geraud, brother of Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac, having married his son to Margaret of Comminges, took up arms against her for forsaking her youthful husband and withdrawing to the castle of Muret. Count Bernard took advantage of this to make war on Geraud for holding the county of Pardiac, on which he himself had claims, and pursued his brother from one castle to another. Finally taking him captive, he carried him to the fortress of Rodèle, and threw him into a deep pit, where he died of hunger and cold in four or five days.

Geraud’s two sons, John and Guilhem, alarmed at his captivity, but unaware of his fate, were induced to come to Auch to implore the clemency of their ferocious uncle, and on Good Friday, 1403, the Count de l’Isle Jourdain, kneeling with the poor children at his feet, besought him to pardon them, in memory of the Divine Passion that day celebrated; but neither the day nor the helplessness of the children, so touchingly alluded to by their advocate, softened the inflexible count. He had them imprisoned in the castle of Lavardens, and shortly after, Guilhem, a lad of barely fifteen, was tied to a horse and taken to the fortress of Rodèle. There he was shown the horrible pit into which his father had been let down alive to incur so fearful a death. The poor boy looked into the fatal pit, fell senseless to the ground, and was never restored to life. His brother John, the unhappy husband of the faithless Margaret of Comminges, was carried to the castle of Brugens, where horrid tortures awaited him. He had only escaped from the hatred of his wife to fall into the hands of Bonne de Berri, Count Bernard’s wife, a woman of insatiable ambition and relentless purpose. This new Frédégonde put his eyes out by passing a red-hot brazier before them, and then, remembering the strength God gave the blind Samson to take vengeance on his enemies, she had him thrown into a deep moat, where he died of hunger.

Never was there a family that reflected more faithfully than the Armagnacs all the vices and defects as well as the virtues of the Middle Ages. Its history contains every element to fix the attention, with its tragedies, its examples of brutal power, its prodigies of valor and heroism, its struggles in the cause of liberty, and, finally, in its marvels of faith. Religious influence sooner or later asserted its triumph in the heart. Many of the counts laid aside their armor for the cowl and scapular, and atoned for their sins in the cloister. They were benefactors to the Church, they founded monasteries, they fought in the holy wars. We find them with Godfrey of Bouillon under the walls of Jerusalem, and fighting against the Moors with the Kings of Castile and Aragon. Among the most renowned members of the race, we must not forget Count John I., a native of Auch, whose valor placed him on a level with Du Guesclin, the greatest captain of the age. For a time they fought on the same side, but they met as opponents on the plain of Navarrete, where Count John fought for Don Pedro and greatly contributed to the victory. Du Guesclin was taken prisoner. For more than thirty years Count John was one of the strongest supporters of the King of France. After the battle of Crécy, he stopped the tide of English invasion, and when the Black Prince was covering Aquitaine with blood and ruins in 1355, he alone ventured to resist him and obstruct his victorious march.

After the defeat at Poitiers, he veiled the humiliation of the king with the splendor of his munificence. He sent the king all kinds of provisions, as well as silver utensils, for his table. He convoked the Etats-Généraux to organize forces to avert calamities that threatened the country. He fought beside the Duke of Anjou and Du Guesclin in the immortal campaigns of 1369 and 1370. This was the period in which the grandeur of the house of Armagnac culminated. John I. married Reine de Got, niece of Pope Clement V., whom Dante thrusts lower than Simon Magus. She was buried in the choir of the Cordeliers at Auch, now, alas! a granary. The count’s second wife was Beatrice de Clermont, great-granddaughter of S. Louis IX., king of France, and one of his daughters married the brother of Charles V., and the other the oldest son of Don Pedro of Aragon.

Such were the royal pretensions of this great house. Descended from the Merovingian race of kings through Sanche Mitarra, the terrible scourge of the Moors, who lies buried at S. Oren’s Priory, founded by the first Count of Armagnac, on the banks of the Gers, the Counts of Auch, as they were sometimes called, bore themselves right royally. They acknowledged no suzerain. They were the first to call themselves counts _by the grace of God_, a formula then used to express the divine right, but in the sense of S. Paul and of the Middle Ages, which was simply acknowledging that all power comes from God, and that the right of exercising it has for its true source not the force of arms, but in God alone. We must come down to the XVth century to find the jealous susceptibility that only interpreted, in the sense of absolute independence of all human power, such expressions as _Dei gratiâ_; _per Dei gratiam_; _Dei dono_, etc., which had been used with the sole intention of expressing a truth of the Christian faith, a profound sentiment of subordination to divine authority. This intention is nowhere so explicit as in the legend on the ancient money of Béarn, where its rulers used almost the words of the apostle: _Gratia autem Dei sumus id quod sumus_.

Charles VII. thought it worth while to forbid John IV. of Armagnac, in 1442, the use of such formulas. Seven years after, he obliged the Dukes of Burgundy to declare they bore no prejudice to the crown of France. Louis XI. vainly tried to prevent the Duke of Brittany from using them. Since that time it has been claimed as the exclusive right of sovereigns. Bishops, however, retain the formula _Dei gratia_ in their public acts of diocesan administration, with the addition: _et apostolicæ sedis_, which dates from the end of the XIIIth century only.

It was the independence and royal pretensions of such great vassals that determined the kings of France to destroy their power. Under the sons of Philip le Bel began the great struggle between the crown and the feudal aristocracy. In order to incorporate their provinces with the royal domains, they availed themselves of every pretext to crush them, and such pretexts were by no means wanting in the case of the Armagnacs, where they could claim the necessity of protecting the eternal laws on which are based all family and social rights and the principles of true religion. History is full of the cruelty of the last counts, and forgets all it could offer by way of contrast. It forgets to speak of Count John III., who put an end to the brigandage of the great bands in southern France, and went to find a premature death under the walls of Alessandria, in an expedition too chivalrous not to be glorious. It insists on the brutal ferocity and excessive ambition of Bernard VII., the great constable, and passes over all that could palliate his offences in so rude an age--his fine qualities, his zeal for the maintenance of legitimate authority, and his interest in the welfare of the Church. It lays bare the criminal passion of Count John V., and forgets his repentance and reparation, as well as the holy austerities of Isabella in the obscure cell of a Spanish monastery, where she effaced the scandal she had given the world.

Count John was the last real lord of Armagnac. He filled up the cup of wrath, and his humiliations and frightful death, the long, unjust captivity of his brother Charles, the scaffold on which perished Jacques de Nemours, and the abjection into which his children were plunged, are fearful examples of divine retribution.

The spoils of the counts of Armagnac were given as a dowry to Margaret of Valois when she married Henry II. of Navarre, who, as well as her first husband, the Duc d’Alençon, descended from the Armagnacs. Henry and Margaret made their solemn entry into Auch in 1527, and the latter, as Countess of Armagnac, took her seat as honorary canon in the cathedral. Her arms are still over the first stall at the left, beneath the lion rampant of the Armagnacs--a stall assigned those lords as lay canons, in the time of Bernard III., who was the first to pay homage to S. Mary of Auch.

Margaret’s grandson, Henry IV., united the title of Armagnac to the crown of France, and Louis XIV., on his way from St. Jean-de-Luz, where he was married to Maria Theresa, the Infanta of Spain, passed through Auch, and, attending divine service in the cathedral, took his seat in the choir as Count of Armagnac.

Napoleon III. accepted the title of honorary canon of this church.

The cathedral at Auch is remarkable for the stained glass windows of the time of the Renaissance, which Catherine de Medicis wished to carry off to Paris, and the one hundred and thirteen stalls of the choir, the wonderful carvings of which rival those of Amiens. Napoleon I., on his return from Spain, admired and coveted these beautiful stalls, and wished to remove the old rood-loft which concealed them from the public. He endowed the church with an annual sum, and expressed his regret so fair a _Sposa_ should be bereaved of its lord--the hierarchy not being fully restored in France at that time.

The canons of the cathedral were formerly required to be _nobilis sanguine vel litteris_--noble of birth or distinguished in letters. That they keep up to their standard in learning seems evident from the reputation of one of their number, the savant Abbé Canéto, one of the most distinguished archæologists of the country, whose works are indispensable to the visitor to Auch and the surrounding places.

It is quite impressive to see these venerable canons seated in their carved stalls, worthy of princes, singing the divine Office. Their capes, we noticed, are trimmed with ermine, probably a mark of their dignity. To wear furs of any kind was in the Middle Ages an indication of rank, or, at least, wealth. The English Parliament made a statute in 1334 forbidding all persons wearing furs that had not an income of one hundred pounds a year.

In this church is the altar of Notre Dame d’Auch, the oldest shrine of the Virgin in the province, first set up at ancient Elusa by S. Saturninus, the Apostle of Toulouse, and brought here by S. Taurin in the IVth century, when that place was destroyed by the barbarians.

The similarity of S. Saturninus’ devotion to that of the present day is remarkable--devotion to Mary and the Chair of Peter. Everywhere he erected churches in their honor, as at Elusa, now the town of Eauze. At Auch he dedicated a church to the Prince of the Apostles, where now stands the little church of S. Pierre, on the other side of the Gers, once burned down by the Huguenots.

The paintings of the Stations of the Cross in the cathedral were given by a poor servant girl, whose heart at the hour of death turned towards the sanctuary where she had so often experienced the benefit of meditating on the Sacred Passion that she was desirous of inciting others to so salutary a devotion.

In one of the chapels is a monument to the memory of M. d’Etigny, whose statue is on the public promenade--the last Intendant of the province, who employed a part of his immense fortune in building the fine roads that lead to the watering-places in the Pyrenees, which have added so much to the prosperity of the country. But he was one of those _cui bono_ men who always sacrifice the picturesque and the interesting on some plea of public utility. He destroyed the mediæval character of the city, with its narrow streets, curious overhanging houses--of which a few specimens are left--and ancient walls with low arched gateways, made when mules alone were used for bringing in merchandise. When any sacrifice is to be made, why must it always fall on what appeals to the eye and the imagination? Why must some people insist on effacing the venerable records of past ages to make room for their own utilitarian views? There are too many of such palimpsests. Is not the world large enough for all human tastes to find room to express themselves?

We had, however, no reason to grumble at M. d’Etigny’s fine roads among the mountains, which saved us, in many instances, from being transported like the ancient merchandise of Auch, and we nearly forgot his enormities when we found ourselves at Bagnères-de-Luchon under the shade of the fine trees he planted in the Cours d’Etigny, where tourists and invalids love to gather in the evening.

M. d’Etigny also took an interest in the religious prosperity of the country. On the corner-stone of a church at Vic Fezensac is the inscription: _Dominus d’Etigny me posuit_, 1760. This church was built by Père Pascal, a Franciscan, out of the ruins of the old castle of the Counts of Fezensac, which he obtained permission to use in spite of the town authorities, by applying to Mme. de Pompadour, then all-powerful at court. Do not suppose the good friar paid the least homage to wickedness in high places by so doing. On the contrary, he boldly began his petition: “Madame, redeem your sins by your alms.” Instead of taking offence, the duchess profited by the counsel. The _père_, returning from Auch with the royal permission, met some of his opponents, wholly unsuspicious of the truth, to whose pleasantries he replied: “Let me pass. I am exhausted, for I carry in my cowl the ruins of the castle of Vic.”

Auch in those days was only lighted by the lamps that hung before the niches of the Virgin, and the only night-watchman up to the last century was the crier, who went about the streets at midnight calling aloud on the people to be mindful of their soul’s salvation and pray for the dead. This practice was called the _miseremini_, because the crier sometimes made use of the words of Job sung in the Mass for the Dead: _Miseremini, miseremini mei, vos saltem amici mei, quia manus Domini tetigit me_--“Have pity on me, have pity on me, O ye my friends! for the hand of the Lord hath touched me.” It was also called the Reveillé, from the beginning of the verses he sometimes chanted:

“Réveille-toi, peuple Chrétien, Réveille-toi, c’est pour ton bien. Quitte ton lit, prend tes habits, Pense à la mort de Jésus Christ. A la mort, à la mort, il faut tous venir, Tout doit enfin finir.

Quand de ce monde tu partiras, Rien qu’un linceul n’emporteras Ton corps sera mangé des vers Et peut-être ton âme aux enfers. A la mort, à la mort, etc.

Tu passeras le long d’un bois, Là tu trouveras une croix, Sur cette croix il y a un écrit C’est le doux nom de Jésus Christ, A la mort, à la mort, etc.”

This crier acted the part of a policeman, keeping an eye on the evil-doer, and watching over the safety of the town. If he discovered a door ajar, he entered and aroused the inmates. A startling apparition he must have been to the offenders of the law. He wore a death’s head and cross-bones embroidered before and behind, and carried a small bell in his hand, which he rang from time to time as he passed through the narrow streets with his lugubrious cry. Of course he was a public functionary of importance. He figured in full costume in the great religious processions and took a part in all the public festivities.

On the sunny terraces of Auch grow the seedless pears which have been so renowned from time immemorial that they have their place in the annals of the city. We have fully tested the qualities of these unrivalled pears, and can sincerely echo all that has been said in their praise. Duchesne, the physician of Henry IV., an empiric of the school of Paracelsus, and a famous person in his day, does not forget in his _Diæteticon_ to mention them among the most famous productions of his country. He places them in the first rank, and those of Tours in the second. According to him, they originated in the town of Crustumerium in Italy, and their name, derived therefrom, was softened by the Italians into Cristiano, whence that of Bon Chrétien, as they are sometimes called, though not their right name. Others call them Pompéienne, because, as they say, introduced by Pompidian, an ancient bishop of Eauze. But everybody with a proper sense of the case will stoutly attribute them, in accordance with the popular tradition, to the great S. Oren, whose blessing gave them their rare qualities, especially the peculiarity of being seedless when the trees grow within the limit of the city, though this is by no means the case with those that grow in the environs.

Dom Brugelles, a Benedictine of last century, mentions this peculiarity in his Chronicles of the diocese, and says they were in such demand in his time as to be worth sometimes thirty-six francs a dozen.

Père Aubéry, in his Latin poem of _Augusta Auscorum_, is enthusiastic in their praise: “How I love the aspect of these fair gardens enclosed among sumptuous dwellings! What a wealth of flowers! And the trees bear a fruit still more worthy of your admiration. The Pompéienne pear, delicious as the ambrosia of the gods, was reserved for the soil of this city alone. The trees without its walls, even those that grow close to its trenches, do not produce the like. This most glorious of fruit is an inappreciable gift of heaven and earth, which is praised throughout the kingdom and sold at a great price in distant lands.[145]

“The pears of the fertile gardens of Touraine cannot be compared to those whose old name of Pompéienne is now lost in that of Bon Chrétien. The pears at Tours are as inferior to those of Auch as other honey in sweetness to that of Hybla. Nay, should the gods themselves by chance know of these trees, should they taste of these Auscitain pears so delicious to the palate, they would despise the dishes served at their celestial banquets--yes, scorn the flowing nectar and sweet ambrosia that feed their immortality.

“And as the admirable name of Bon Chrétien is only given the pears that grow in the gardens of the city, and belongs not to those produced elsewhere; as it is only within these walls they acquire so agreeable and appetizing a flavor, their name is a presage that the inhabitants shall never be infected by the contagion and venom of heresy--a scourge that has attacked almost all the towns of Armagnac--and that the Mother of Christ, patroness of Auch, by averting this poison, shall keep them faithful to the rites of their ancestors, and fill them with eternal love for the ancient religion.”

M. Lafforgue, in his _History of Auch_, says these pears are so prized that they are often presented to princes, governors, and other distinguished characters. When Elizabeth Farnese, Queen of Spain, passed through Auch on her way to join her husband Philip V., in Nov., 1714, the city consuls offered her, as they had done the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy in 1701, some of the _poires d’Auch_. Twenty dozen, which cost one hundred and forty-three livres, were presented her in straw boxes made by the Ursuline nuns.[146]

When Mr. Laplagne, a native of this part of the country, and Minister of Finance under Louis Philippe, boasted in M. Guizot’s presence, with true Gascon expansiveness, of the seedless pears that grow on the terraces of Auch, the latter, with the distrust of certain great minds, expressed some incredulity. M. Laplagne resolved to convince the President of the Council publicly, and procured at some expense an enormous pear, ripened on the very terrace which a century before had produced the fruit so vaunted by Dom Brugelles. Fifty guests were invited to witness the result. They assembled around the table, in the centre of which was displayed the wonderful pear from Auch. M. Guizot could hardly believe his eyes at such a prodigy, and declared himself convinced. The dessert was impatiently awaited. The Minister of Finance, certain of victory, insisted on M. Guizot’s opening the pear. It was set before him. He cut it in two with some difficulty--it contained four large seeds!

In spite of this exceptional case, the _poires d’Auch_ (their right name, by the way) that grow within the limits of the city are generally without seeds. The superabundant pulp seems to stifle them. They are still the pride of the place, and it was only a year or two ago a number were sent to his Holiness Pius IX.

Père Aubéry, whom I have quoted, was connected with the college at Auch, formerly under the direction of the Jesuits. S. Francis Regis was also for some time one of its professors. Among the eminent men educated here may be mentioned Cardinal d’Ossat, who, when _chargé d’affaires_ at Rome, succeeded in obtaining the absolution of Henry IV. from the Holy See. He was a poor country lad, whose condition, exciting the pity of the canons of Trie, they made him a choirboy, and sent him to school. He became successively a charity scholar of the Jesuits at Auch, the _protégé_ of Cardinal de Foix and his secretary of embassy at Rome, and, finally, _chargé d’affaires_ at the Papal court and Cardinal-bishop of Bayeux. He died at Rome in 1604, bequeathing the little he possessed to the poor and his two secretaries. This celebrated diplomatist was an honor to his country and the church that developed his talents.

The famous Nostradamus was another pupil of this college.

Bernard du Poey, a disciple of Buchanan, and a poet of some note, was professor here when the college was under the direction of laymen. We give one of his epigrams, written while connected with this institution:

“Lucis amore simul fœdam protrudimus omnem Barbariem: tenebris nec patet ista domus.”

“The love of light makes us cast away every vestige of barbarism: this house opens not to darkness.”

“Barbarism”--“light”--“darkness”--a jargon often heard in our day also, and it still finds its dupes. The would-be metaphysicians and theologians who use it should meditate on this sentence of Berkeley’s: “We first raise a dust, and then complain we cannot see!”

Once more on the way. It is not till we approach Rabastens we see an opening in the outer range of the Pyrenees, and behold Mt. Maladetta raising heavenward its glittering diadem of glaciers. Behind is Spain, religious Spain, “land of an eternal crusade” and wondrous saints. Rabastens is one of the most ancient towns in Bigorre, and celebrated in the religious wars: It was here Blaise de Monluc received the frightful wound in his face which obliged him to wear a mask the rest of his life, and gave him the leisure to write his Commentaries, which Henry IV. called the Soldier’s Bible. This old warrior, deprived of nearly all his limbs, coolly relates a thousand incidents of incredible bravery in the boasting manner of a true Gascon, that does not ill become a book written for the defenders of Gascony.

Twelve miles or so further on is Tarbes, the _chef-lieu_ of the Hautes Pyrénées--“gentille Reine.”

“Bigourdaine,” as Jasmin says, “splendidement assise au milieu de la plaine la plus fraiche, la plus fertile et la plus variée.” The water from the Adour, first brought here to fill the moat that surrounded the city, is now used to turn mills and fertilize the meadows, which are wonderfully fresh, affording a charming contrast to the mountains in the background.

The foundation of Tarbes is lost in the remoteness of time. Its occupation by the Romans is evident from the camp still pointed out in the vicinity. Bigorre, of which it was the principal city, was made a _comté_ in the VIIIth century, and its succession of counts was uninterrupted till Henry IV. ascended the throne of France. Its first count was Enéco (or Inigo) Arista, or The Bold, who became King of Navarre, and rivalled the Cid in prowess.

Bigorre was ceded to the English by the treaty of Brittany, but when war again broke out between England and France two great barons of the province, Menaud de Barbazan and the Sire d’Anchin, as Froissart relates, seized the city and castle of Tarbes, and all Bigorre rose to expel the English, who only continued to hold for a time the impregnable fortresses of Lourdes and Mauvezin. This Lord of Barbazan was a companion in arms of Du Guesclin and took sides with the Armagnacs, his kinsmen, in their famous contest with the house of Foix. His son, Arnauld Guilhem de Barbazan, was the valiant knight who wore so worthily the fair flower of a blameless life that he received the title, which he was the first to bear, of the _chevalier sans peur et sans reproche_, conferred on him by his contemporaries. Monstrelet says he was a noble knight, prompt in action, fertile in expedients, and renowned in arms. He was the leader in the famous encounter between seven French and seven English knights at Saintonge in 1402, when the latter challenged the French to a trial of arms out of love for _les dames de leurs pensées_. The French knights began the day by devoutly hearing Mass and receiving the Holy Body of the Lord. Jouvenel des Ursins depicts the fearful encounter, which took place in presence of a vast number of spectators, among whom was the Count of Armagnac. Lances were shivered and terrible blows given with sword and battle-axe, but it was Barbazan who decided the day, and the English were forced to acknowledge themselves defeated. The conquerors, clothed in white, were led in triumph to the King, who loaded them with presents. To the Chevalier de Barbazan he gave a purse of gold and a sword on one side of which was graven, _Barbazan sans reproche_, in letters of gold; and on the other, _Ut lapsu graviore ruant_. This sword is still preserved in the Château de Faudoas by the descendants of Barbazan’s sister. The chivalric deeds that won it were commemorated not only in the chronicles of the time, but in three ballads of Christine de Pisan.

Barbazan was as noble in heart as heroic in action. He took sides with Count Bernard VII. of Armagnac against the Duke of Burgundy, but, when the latter fell a victim to treachery, he indignantly condemned the crime, and said he would rather have died than had a hand in it. He fought side by side with Dunois, Lahire, and La Trémouille, at Orleans, Auxerre, and many another battle-field. His last exploit was to rout eight thousand English and Burgundian troops near Chalons, with only three thousand, a few months after the atrocious murder of Joan of Arc, under whose white banner he had fought.

So valuable were his services that the king conferred on him the magnificent title of “Restaurateur du royaume et de la couronne de France,” and added the _fleurs-de-lis_ to his arms. Soldiers received knighthood from his hands as if he were a king. When he died, he was buried at St. Denis among the kings of France with all the honors of royalty--a supreme honor, of which there are only two other instances in French history--Du Guesclin and Turenne.

The feudal castle of Barbazan is on a steep hill a few miles southeast of Tarbes. The Roman inscriptions found there show it to be of extreme antiquity. On the summit of the hill is the chapel of Notre Dame de Piétat, built by Anne de Bourbon, Lord of Barbazan, to receive a miraculous Madonna that had long been an object of veneration to the people around. He founded two weekly Masses here, one in honor of the holy name of God, and the other of the Virgin, and he bequeathed lands for the support of the chapel, which is still a pious resort for pilgrims.

The Cathedral of Tarbes is built on the ruins of the ancient fortress of Bigorre, which gave its name to the surrounding province. The bishops have an important place in the annals of the country. Under the Merovingian race of kings they held the rank of princes, and were the peers of the proudest barons in the land. We find several saints in the list--S. Justin, S. Faustus, and S. Landeol, whose venerable forms look down from the windows of the chancel in the cathedral. Gregory of Tours mentions S. Justin, and speaks of a lily on his tomb that bloomed every year on the day of his martyrdom.

Bernard II., a bishop of Tarbes in the year 1009, merits the admiration of posterity for his efforts to relieve his flock during a terrible famine of three years, in which people devoured one another to such an extent that a law was made condemning those who ate human flesh to be burned alive. The holy bishop, like S. Exuperius of Toulouse, sold all the vessels and ornaments of the church, and gave all he possessed, to alleviate the wants of his people.

His successor stayed a civil war that broke out, to add to the distress of the country, by assembling the chief lords of the land and conjuring them not to add fire and pillage to the horrors of famine, but rather seek to disarm the vengeance of heaven by their prayers. He established the Truce of God in his diocese, and had the happiness of seeing peace and abundance restored to the land. These old bishops seemed to have some correct notions of their obligations, though they did live in the darkest of the Middle Ages!

In the time of a bishop who belonged to the house of Foix appeared a comet which alarmed all Europe. The Pope profited by the universal terror to recommend a stricter practice of the Christian virtues, in order, as he said, if any danger were at hand, that the faithful might be saved. The Bishop of Tarbes instituted public processions on the occasion.

It was a Bishop of Tarbes, the Cardinal Gabriel de Gramont, who in the XVIth century played so important a part in the negotiations between Henry VIII. of England and the Pope to dissolve the marriage of the former with Catherine of Aragon. The king pretended to act from conscientious motives, and said the Bishop of Tarbes confirmed his scruples. We need something more than the mere word of a monarch who violated the most solemn promises and obligations to induce us to believe in the complicity of the bishop, though, deceived by the representations of the king, and alarmed at the consequences of a rupture with the Holy See, he may have endeavored to temporize, that the crisis might be delayed.

Tarbes was taken by the Huguenots under the ferocious Count de Montgomery in the XVIth century. He devastated the cathedral, and burned its fine organ, its altars, vestments, choral books, library, and chapter-house. The bells were melted down, the bishop’s house pillaged and burned, as well as the residences of the canons, the convents of the Cordeliers, Carmelites, etc. The bishop was forced to retreat to the mountains, where, charmed by the picturesque heights above the valley of Luz, he re-established the springs of S. Sauveur, and built a little chapel with the inscription: _Vos haurietis aquas de fontibus Salvatoris_; whence the name since given this watering-place was derived.

It is recorded of a bishop in the XVIIth century, as something extraordinary, that, contrary to custom, he allowed his flock, in a time of famine, to eat meat during Lent on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. He probably had the liberal proclivities of Bishop Hébert of Agen, already mentioned!

Finally, it was a Bishop of Tarbes who, in these days, restored four devout chapels of the Virgin, of ancient renown in the country, but profaned at the Revolution and left desolate, and gave them back to Mary with priests to minister at their altars: Notre Dame de Garaison, in a valley of the Hautes Pyrénées; Notre Dame de Piétat, overlooking the plain of Tarbes; Notre Dame de Poueylahun, on a picturesque peak that rises from the valley of Azun; and Notre Dame de Héas, the Madonna of shepherds, in a hollow of the wild mountains near the Spanish frontier--a powerful quadrilateral for the defence of this diocese of Mary. The memory of Bishop Lawrence will likewise be for ever associated with the church of Notre Dame de Lourdes, for it was he who, by his zeal, prudence, and spiritual insight contributed so greatly to its foundation. It became the cherished object of interest in his old age. He begged for it, labored for it, and watched over the progress of the work. His last act before attending the Council of the Vatican was a pilgrimage to the sacred Grotto, and while at Rome his heart was constantly turning to this new altar in Mary’s honor, and testifying great joy at the splendor of the solemnities. He died at Rome in January, 1870, and his remains were brought back to Tarbes for burial.

At Tarbes we changed cars for Lourdes. Here we received our first impressions of the great religious movement in the country, manifested by the immense pilgrimages, which rival those of the Middle Ages. We encountered a train of pilgrims with red crosses on their breasts and huge rosaries around their necks. There were gentlemen and ladies, and priests and sisters of different religious orders. Among them was a cardinal, whose hand people knelt to kiss as he issued from the cars. They all had radiant faces, as if they had been on some joyful mission instead of a penitential pilgrimage. But one of the fruits of penitence and faith is joy in the highest sense of the word. Spenser wisely makes the proud Sansfoy the father of Sansjoy.

Leaving them behind, we kept on in full view of the mountains along a fine plateau called Lanne Maurine, or the Land of the Moors. The Moorish invasion, though more than a thousand years ago, has left ineffaceable traces all through this country. The traveller is always coming across them. In one place is the Fountain of the Moors; in another the Castle of the Moors; and there are many families who still bear the names of Maure and Mouret. The Lanne Maurine is so called from a bloody combat which took place here to dispute the possession of the plain. It was a priest who roused the people to arms and led them against the infidel, whom they smote hip and thigh. A grateful people have erected an equestrian statue to his memory at the entrance of his village church.

We were now rapidly approaching Lourdes. Already the Pic du Gers rose out of the valley sacred to Mary, and the heart instinctively turns from everything else to hail the new star that has risen in these favored heavens to diffuse the pure radiance of the Immaculate Conception!

A LITTLE BIRD.

In his cage my blithe canary, swinging, Trills with merry voice a roundelay; From the early sunrise he is singing, Chirping, flying, flitting all the day.

They who call it cruel thus to hold him Never saw his joyous, twinkling eyes, Never heard the something that I told him Once, beneath delusive April skies:

When my hand drew back the sliding casement, Bidding him be happy and go free, Thinking all the while, in self-abasement, Never more a jailer stern to be.

So I left him, lingering, fearing, sighing, Loath to watch him soar and speed away, Loath to see him from my roof-tree flying, Sad to miss his songs and pretty play.

Evening fell, and in my chamber lying, Wondering where the bird had found a nest, What was that around me feebly flying, What was that low drooping on my breast?

Ruffled plumage, tiny pinions weary, Every flutter seemed a throb of pain; Ah! the prison-house was not so dreary, Tired Robin had come home again!

They who deem it cruel thus to hold him Should have seen the wanderer’s listless eyes Greet the loving care so quick to fold him Safe and warm from show’ry April skies.

Never morning now but sees him flitting In and out, as happy as can be; Never twilight but it finds him sitting Drowsy-eyed, a willing captive he.

Birdie, warbler, beautiful canary! Trill the fulness of thy roundelay; Of the rippling sweetness never chary, Sing, my pretty Robin, all the day!

EARLY ANNALS OF CATHOLICITY IN NEW JERSEY.

The first navigators who are known to have sailed along the seaboard, and perhaps to have landed on the soil of that part of America now called New Jersey, were Catholics, and in fact made their voyages before Protestantism was heard of. These hardy men were Sebastian Cabot, a Venetian in the service of King Henry VII. of England, who sailed from Bristol in the month of May, 1498, and, proceeding considerably to the north, afterwards turned south and followed the coast-line as far as the Chesapeake; and John Verazzano, a Florentine in the pay of the King of France, who, taking a southerly course to America in 1524, proceeded along the coast from Florida to the fiftieth degree of north latitude, and is supposed to have entered the harbor of New York. The earliest colony established here was about 1620, when Dutch Calvinists (emigrants from Holland) settled the town of Bergen; and in 1638, a party of Swedes, who were Lutherans, made several settlements on the shore of the Delaware. They were under the patronage of their celebrated Queen Christina, who later became a Catholic. In 1664, a grant of the country between the Connecticut and the Delaware rivers was made by King Charles II. of England--the Swedes having been subjugated by the Hollanders, and these in their turn by the English--to his brother the Duke of York, who afterwards was a sincere convert to the Catholic faith, and reigned as James II. That portion of this territory which is now New Jersey was sold by the royal patron to two proprietors, one of whom was Sir George Carteret; and it was in his honor that it received its present name, for his having defended during the Parliamentary war against the Revolutionists the island of _Jersey_, which is one of the so-called Channel Isles on the coast of France, and is full of ancient churches and other memorials of the Catholic faith, introduced there by S. Helier in the VIth century.

But apart from the name there was nothing that recalled the Catholic religion in New Jersey. The most intense anti-Catholic sentiment was prevalent, and the bitter fanaticism of the mother country was extended even to these parts with perhaps increased virulence. Thus, in 1679, the 26th of November was appointed a day of thanksgiving in the colony for deliverance from what was called “that horrid plot of the Papists to murder the King (Charles II.) and destroy all the Protestants!”--which was the infamous affair of Titus Oates, gotten up maliciously against the Catholics to have still another pretext for persecuting them. The whole province having been divided into two parts, called respectively East and West New Jersey, the latter was settled, to mention only the English-speaking population, mostly by members of the Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers, from England, but the former by Scotch Presbyterians and Congregationalists from New England; and of this part Robert Barclay was appointed first governor for life, but, having power to name a deputy, he remained in Scotland. This miserable man, after having become a Catholic in France, where he had an uncle a priest, who was at the expense of educating him, relapsed into heresy shortly after returning to his native country, where his religion was proscribed, and finally joined the Quakers, for whom he wrote the famous _Apology_. A circumstance in the life of this apostate shows well the constancy of the royal convert who lost three kingdoms for his faith, and must have reminded him of his own instability upon the same matter. Barclay was in London in 1688, probably on business connected with his government of East New Jersey, and solicited an interview with King James. The revolution was already breaking, and his treacherous son-in-law, afterwards William III., was on his way to dethrone him; when, standing by an open window of the palace, his Majesty observed to the governor that the wind was fair for the Prince of Orange to come over: whereupon Barclay replied that it was hard no expedient could be found to satisfy the people. The king declared he would do anything becoming a gentleman except “_parting with liberty of conscience_, which he never would while he lived.” The king was indeed a martyr to this principle, and how much it was despised by his Protestant betrayers may be seen, to give an example out of these parts, from the instruction given in 1703 to Lord Cornbury, governor of the Jerseys (as well as of New York), “to permit liberty of conscience to all persons _except Papists_”; and this barbarous intolerance continued as long as the colonies remained united to England. Every now and then glaring cases of anti-Catholic bigotry, calculated only to perpetuate civil dissensions sprung from religious differences, were found in the history of the colony; as, for instance, in 1757, when the principal edifice of the College of New Jersey at Princeton was named by Governor Belcher _Nassau Hall_--“to express,” he said, “the honor we retain in this remote part of the globe to the immortal memory of the glorious King William III., who was a branch of the illustrious house of Nassau, and who, under God, was the great deliverer of the British nation from those two _monstrous furies_, _Popery_ and slavery.” About this period there were a few Jesuit priests in Maryland and Pennsylvania; and the earliest account that we have of Catholics in New Jersey is in 1744, when we read that Father Theodore Schneider, a distinguished German Jesuit who had professed philosophy and theology in Europe, and been rector of a university, coming to the American Provinces, “visited New Jersey and held church at Iron Furnaces there.” This good missionary was a native of Bavaria. He founded the mission at Goshenhoppen, now in Berks county, Pennsylvania, about forty-five miles from Philadelphia, and ministered to German Catholics, their descendants, and others. Having some skill in medicine, he used to cure the body as well as the soul; and, travelling about on foot or on horseback under the name of Doctor Schneider (leaving to the _Smelfunguses_ to discover whether he were of medicine or divinity), he had access to places where he could not otherwise have gone without personal danger; but sometimes his real character was found out, and he was several times raced and shot at in New Jersey. He used to carry about with him on his missionary excursions into this province a manuscript copy of the _Roman Missal_, carefully written out in his own handwriting and bound by himself. His poverty or the difficulty of procuring printed Catholic liturgical books from Europe, or, we are inclined to think, the danger of discovery should such an one with its unmistakable marks of “Popery” about it (which he probably dispensed with in his manuscript), fall into the hands of heretics, must have led him to this labor of patience and zeal. Father Schneider, who may be reckoned the first missionary of New Jersey, died on the 11th of July, 1764. Another Jesuit used to visit the province occasionally after 1762, owing to the growing infirmities of Father Schneider, and there still exist records of baptisms performed by him here. This was the Rev. Robert Harding, a native of England, who arrived in America in 1732. He died at Philadelphia on the 1st of September, 1772. But the priest principally connected with the early missions in New Jersey is the Rev. Ferdinand Farmer. He was born in South Germany in 1720, and, having entered the Society of Jesus, was sent to Maryland in 1752. His real name was Steenmeyer, but on coming to this country he changed it into one more easily pronounced by English-speaking people. He was learned and zealous, and for many years performed priestly duties in New Jersey at several places in the northern part, and seems to have been the first to visit this colony regularly. In his baptismal register the following among other places are named, together with the dates of his ministrations: a station called Geiger’s, in 1759; Charlottenburg, in 1769; Morris County, Long Pond, and Mount Hope, in 1776; Sussex County, Ringwood, and Hunterdon County, in 1785. The chief congregation at this period was at a place called Macoupin (now in Passaic County), about fifteen miles from the present city of Paterson. It was settled in the middle of the last century by Germans, who were brought over to labor in the iron mines and works in this part of the province. Two families from Baden among the colonists were Catholics; and the first priest who visited them is said to have been a Mr. Langrey from Ireland. Mount Hope, not far from Macoupin, used to be visited by Father Farmer twice a year, and by other priests, as occasion might require, from Philadelphia. Except the Catholics in the northern parts, there were very few scattered about New Jersey before the American Revolution. The schoolmaster at Mount Holly in 1762 was an Irish Catholic named Thomas McCurtain, and one of his descendants is the distinguished scholar and antiquarian, John G. Shea. The Catholics in these colonies before American Independence were subject in spiritual matters to the Bishop (vicar-apostolic) of London, who used to appoint a vicar-general (the superior of the Jesuits in Maryland) to supply his place. After the suppression of the Society of Jesus in 1773, the vicar-general. Father John Lewis, was the late superior of the order in this country. The visits of the missionaries to New Jersey seem to have been interrupted during the Revolutionary War; but a number of very distinguished foreign Catholics serving in our army honored the land by their presence in such a cause. Among them we find Lafayette, Chevalier Massillon, De Kalb, Pulaski, Kosciusko, and Mauduit du Plessis, the engineer officer who fortified Fort Mercer, at Red Bank on the Delaware, with so much skill that the attacking Hessians were thoroughly repulsed. In the months of August and September, 1781, the French troops under De Rochambeau marched diagonally across the State from Sufferns (just over line) in New York, by way of Pompton, Whippany, Byram’s Tavern, Somerville, Princeton, and Trenton. An army chaplain, the Abbé Robin, published a little book in 1782, describing this French expedition from New Port to York-town; but, regrettably, he gives his readers not a word about any Catholics that he may have met or heard of in New Jersey.

After the evacuation of New York by the British in 1783, there was a prospect of collecting the few scattered Catholics on Manhattan Island into a congregation, and the venerable Father Farmer used to go twice a year to visit the faithful there, across the northern part of this State, stopping on his way to officiate at Macoupin. On the 22d of September, 1785, the Rev. John Carroll, who had been appointed by the Pope superior of the church in the United States and empowered to give Confirmation, set out on a tour to administer this sacrament at Philadelphia, New York, and (as he writes to a friend) “in the upper counties of the Jerseys and Pennsylvania, where our worthy German brethren had formed congregations.” In this year Rev. Mr. Carroll computed the number of Catholics under his charge at sixteen thousand in Maryland, seven thousand in Pennsylvania, and two thousand scattered about the other States. The number of priests was nineteen in Maryland and five in Pennsylvania. We learn how small was the grain of mustard-seed of the church in this part of the world less than a hundred years ago, when we see that there was no resident priest at that time between Canada and Pennsylvania; and it used to be said contemptuously (so Watson has it in his _Annals_): “John Leary goes once a year to Philadelphia to get absolution.” This worthy man therefore, who was certainly living in New York in 1774, had to leave that city and cross the whole of New Jersey before he could perform his Easter duties. The earlier editions of Catholic books printed in the United States were generally gotten up by subscription, and a perusal of the lists of subscribers is interesting, as giving some idea of the number, zeal, and original nationality (conjectured from the form of patronymic) of the Catholics at the time. Thus, to the first Catholic Bible published in the United States, at Philadelphia in 1790, only six out of the four hundred and twenty-seven subscribers were from New Jersey. These are Joseph Bloomfield, Attorney-General of the State; James Craft and R. S. Jones, Burlington; John Holmes, Cape May; Alexander Kenney, near (New) Brunswick; and Maurice Moynihan, Atsion; but in considering this, the most interesting to us of any lists of subscribers to early Catholic books, we must remember that the names are not all of Catholics; and of these six from New Jersey the last three only are considered orthodox by Archbishop Bayley in his appendix to the _History of the Catholic Church in New York_ (2d ed.)

The massacre of 1793 in the Island of Hayti drove a number of French Catholics to the United States, some of whom settled at Mount Holly, Elizabethtown, and other parts of the State, but we do not know that they did anything for the church. Catholic advance was to come from quite another immigration. In 1805, or earlier, the Rev. John Tisserant, one of the French clergy driven from home by the Revolution, was living at Elizabethtown. He was an excellent man, and may be considered the first resident priest in New Jersey, although he cannot be said to have been _stationed_ here by authority. He returned to Europe in June, 1806. The minister of the Presbyterian church at Whippany (Morris County) from 1791 to 1795 was Calvin White. “His ministry, though brief, was useful,” says the historian. He afterwards connected himself with the Episcopalians, and finally became a Catholic. A conversion of this kind at that period was sufficiently remarkable, we think, to be mentioned in notes on the Catholic Church in New Jersey.

In the year 1808, the dioceses of New York and Philadelphia were erected, with the northern part of New Jersey within the former and the southern within the latter diocese. This arrangement continued until 1853; and while it lasted religion made some progress here, but slowly. The Rev. Richard Bulger, a native of Kilkenny, Ireland, having come to the American Mission, was ordained priest by Bishop Connolly of New York, in 1820. He was assistant at the cathedral in New York, and thence regularly attended Paterson, where he devoted himself to the Catholics gathered in that manufacturing town, and scattered about the upper part of the State. The church at Paterson is mentioned in the Almanac of 1822; it being then the only one in New Jersey. The pastor was exposed to inconvenience, insults, and hardship. One evening, for instance, a bigoted ruffian threw a large jagged stone into his lighted room, the shutters or window-blinds having been left unclosed, and he had a narrow escape from a hole in his head. On another occasion he was rudely turned out on to the muddy road with his Breviary and bundle from a country cart, the driver of which had given him a lift until he discovered that he was a priest. The account, however, says that it was the farmer’s _wife_ who “declared that he should not remain in the wagon”; and the man afterwards applied to Father Bulger for instruction, and was received into the church, but we do not hear of the conversion of the scold--perhaps because (as an old poet says)

“Women’s feet run still astray, If once to ill they know the way”!

--_Habington._

About 1825, that part of New Jersey under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Philadelphia used to be visited occasionally by clergymen from beyond the Delaware, and stations were established at Pleasant Mills and Trenton, which continued to be served, but without resident pastors (we believe), until the diocese of Newark was erected. The city of Newark had a pastor about 1830 in the person of Rev. Gregory Pardow, who was in 1834 the only priest actually residing in New Jersey. After this period churches were erected not only in the principal city, Newark, but also in Jersey City, Perth Amboy, Belleville, Madison, New Brunswick, Elizabethtown, Macoupin, and other centres of population. The church at Macoupin was erected in 1841 by Father John Raffeiner, a native of the Tyrol, who came to this country in 1833, and used to visit the Germans scattered through New Jersey; and in 1842 a church in Newark for the German Catholics was erected by Father Balleis, a Benedictine monk. On the 30th of October, 1853, the Rt. Rev. J. R. Bayley, at the time a priest in New York, was consecrated first bishop of Newark, the diocese being coextensive with the State; and, on his taking possession of his see, found thirty-three churches and thirty clergymen. Since then the advance of the Catholic religion here has been rapid; and when Bishop Bayley was transferred to Baltimore, he left to his successor what is considered, we believe, one of the completest dioceses in the United States--a disciplined clergy, religious orders of both sexes, diocesan seminary, college for higher education, academy for young ladies, select and parochial schools, orphan asylums, hospitals, cemeteries, and other Christian institutions, in a flourishing condition. The progress of the church during these latter years has been before the eyes of all; and as we have intended to limit ourselves to the period anterior to the erection of New Jersey into a diocese, in making notes on Catholicity in the State, we now end them, if even a little abruptly.

NEW PUBLICATIONS.

MANUAL OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. Translated from the French of Rev. T. B. Boone, S.J., by Mrs. Annie Blount Storrs. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875. 18mo, pp. 509.

The publication of this manual supplies a real want which many devout persons have felt, and which they will now find fully satisfied. It is a companion for the altar, a treasure of pious reading, of meditation and prayers, for Mass, Communion, Visits to the Blessed Sacrament, Confraternities, and days of special devotion, such as Corpus Christi and the Forty Hours’ Adoration. It is translated from the French by an accomplished lady well fitted for the task, and has been carefully examined and corrected by several clergymen of New York who are distinguished for their learning and piety. The approbation of the Cardinal is the best proof of the excellence of the work, for, apart from the authoritative character of his sanction, no one is better able to appreciate a work of this kind, or to judge of its merits, than His Eminence; and we are assured that he has not simply contented himself with the examination requisite to make sure that this manual is orthodox in doctrine, and therefore fit for publication, but has warmly interested himself in its translation and preparation for the press, on account of his high estimate of its value. In Belgium, where devotion to the Blessed Sacrament especially flourishes, it is the favorite book of its kind. The treatise on frequent communion is especially thorough and important; and there is one, also, on the devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus--a devotion so intimately connected with that of the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar. We need not add, after this, that we recommend the manual in a special manner to religious communities, and to the faithful generally. We trust that their own personal experience of the benefit and consolation to be derived from its use will secure their cordial assent to the praise we have bestowed upon it, and that it will become as popular here as it is in Belgium.

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. By Louis Veuillot. Translated into English by the Rev. Anthony Farley. From the Seventh French Edition. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

At last we welcome in English a work published eleven years ago. Written in answer to Renan, “It is truly,” says the translator, “what our Holy Father Pius IX. calls it, ‘A vindication of the outraged Godhead of Christ.’” The letter of the Holy Father is prefixed to the table of contents.

We transcribe what the translator says in apology for reproducing the work at this late hour:

“Appearing as it does some time after the existence of the original work, it might seem that the object of the book had ceased to be, had been forgotten, or was of no moment to the public of our day and of our country. But when we remember the deep impression produced by Renan’s work--an impression stamped (it would seem indelibly) upon the religious literature and religious teaching of our times--we have to admit that a vindication of Christ, _the God-Man_, is as necessary to-day as it was when the new Voltaire appeared to shock religious sentiment in France and in the world. ‘Christus heri et hodie,’ is the war-cry of the foes, just as much as the trust and comfort of the faithful lovers of the God-Man.”

Next comes Louis Veuillot’s preface, which should be read with more attention than is generally accorded to prefaces. Indeed, we think few who begin to read it will hesitate to go through. The author reminds us that himself was once a sceptic; and throws a light upon the unbelieving mind--upon the cause and nature of unbelief--which only such a man with such an experience can throw.

His aim in writing Our Lord’s life is to show the overwhelming force of the simple Gospel story. He contends (and we are sure he is right) that, while the “deniers and falsifiers of the truth have been admirably refuted in every objection raised by them,” yet, “since their supreme art lies in feigning and producing _ignorance_, the essential point should be to reply especially to what they do _not_ say. This is what we unavoidably forget” (pp. 17, 18). Then, referring to Renan, he continues:

“The last of those wicked impugners of the divinity of Christ our Lord who has rendered himself celebrated has well understood, in a book of five or six hundred pages, how to speak of Jesus Christ without pointing him out. Perpetually avoiding all that belongs to God, with the same stroke he perverts all that belongs to _the man_. This artifice of weakness is the only strength of the book. It has drawn the apologist into the discussion of trifles in which the Man-God completely disappears. The refutations are excellent, but they leave us ignorant of what Jesus Christ has done, and for what purpose he came into the world. Thus it is not Christ who has the case gained, yet less the laborious reader of so much controversy; it is this miserable man, who has proposed to himself to betray God and his neighbor.”

And again:

“The clement wisdom of Jesus has not been left to the mercy of sophists, nor to the resources of reason, nor to lowliness or feebleness of faith. It has foreseen the weakness of the mind of man, and has prepared a succor always victorious. It is not necessary to ransack the libraries, to collect together so many dead languages, so much history, so much physics, so much philosophy, to know with certainty him who came to save the little ones and the ignorant. The bread of life is as easy to find as the material bread, on the same conditions. A simple, faithful Christian or member of the Church of God, a man of the world, provided he may have studied a few books and heard some instruction, can render an account of his faith far better than the ‘savants,’ the pretended unbelievers, are in a condition to give an account of their incredulity. The Gospel is sufficient for that.

“The Gospel contains motives conclusive of the faith in Jesus Christ, true God and true man--motives, reasons, which the Saviour himself has put forth. We can paralyze, by the contents of the Gospel, the sophistry of the infidel, without being shocked by its contact. What does it matter that the sophist should amass notes against the sincerity of the Evangelists, if we have clear proof that he of whom the Evangelists speak is God? On bended knees, before _the Real Presence_, one is not tempted to withdraw from its contemplation in order to consider or view more closely this vile apparition of blasphemy. We are by no means bound to extract from it open avowals of repentance.”

Then he gives the reason for this sufficiency of the Gospel:

“There are different degrees in the region of the mind; discussion belongs to the inferior degrees. In discussing, man is pitted against man; the reason of the one seems as good as that of the other. In expounding, we place God against man.

“This exposition of the truth must get the preference when God is absolutely and personally in the case. From the apex of those lofty heights the voice of man properly avoids discussing with nothingness, lest weak human reason might be inclined to believe that nothingness could reply; that the beauty of truth might appear alone in the presence of the absolute deformity of falsehood.”

And again:

“Among infidels ignorance of the Gospel is generally complete; among a great many Christians it is hardly less so. They know the Gospel by heart, and they do not understand it. They have not read it with care, with order, such as it has been delivered. They do not know how to explain it or meditate on it as they ought. Whosoever sees in the Gospel only the letter, does not understand even the letter; and whosoever seeks for morality only in its pages, does not find the morality they contain.”

Lastly, he dismisses Renan’s _Life_ in the following masterly words:

“As to a certain malicious book which unhappily signalizes the age in which we live, we have been obliged to refer to it two or three times. We could have wished not to touch on it. The first sentiments of Catholics on this deplorable book have become much modified since they have been enabled to perceive more exactly the malicious industry of the author. While we see him assume the task of ignoring, we are convinced he is yet far from having lost the faith. He dare not look upon the crucifix face to face--he would fear to see the blood trickling down. In his conscience he declares himself a traitor. This is the confession which we read in his book, turned resolutely away from the light of day. We blame this miserable man, and we detest and abhor his crime; but he is to be pitied, and every Christian will be happy to say to him what Ananias said to Saul: ‘My brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, _who appeared to you on the road whence you are coming_, has sent me to meet you, so that you may receive your sight.’”

A DISCOURSE COMMEMORATIVE OF HON. SAMUEL WILLISTON. By W. S. Tyler, Williston Professor of Greek in Amherst College. Springfield, Mass.: Clark W. Bryan & Co. 1874.

The venerable gentleman commemorated in this discourse died on the 18th of July, 1874, at an advanced age, after a life which is in many respects remarkable and worthy of lasting remembrance. His history is interesting, as presenting the most distinctive and admirable traits of the genuine old-fashioned New England type of character. It is remarkable on account of the great works which he performed during his lifetime. It is honorable and worthy of remembrance on account of the great example it presents to wealthy men, of a man who realized the proper position which men of large fortunes ought to take in the community, as public benefactors, as founders, as stewards of wealth for the common good. Mr. Williston was the son of a poor country clergyman whose salary was $300 a year. Disappointed in his early efforts to obtain a liberal education by an affection of the eyes which debarred him from the pleasure of reading all his lifetime, he set himself to the task of making a fortune that he might have the means of promoting education and in other ways benefiting his fellow-men, especially those of his own neighborhood and commonwealth. He was successful in this undertaking, and, besides the large fortune which he left at death to his heirs, he is said to have bestowed a million of dollars in public beneficent works during his lifetime, and to have bequeathed more than half that sum by testament for similar purposes. He was the second founder of Amherst College, the founder of the Williston Seminary at Easthampton, and of the beautiful town of that name, which Prof. Tyler says “he found a mere hamlet, and left one of the richest and most beautiful towns in Hampshire County, a great educational and manufacturing centre, with beautiful farmhouses (villas they might almost be called) and several model villages clustered about elegant churches, and a model seminary of learning.” Mr. Williston gained during life, and left after him, the reputation of a man of integrity, probity, and high moral principle. His religious belief, which was that of the old-fashioned Congregationalists of Massachusetts, was his guiding and dominating idea, and he followed it up in practice consistently and conscientiously. The portrait prefixed to Prof. Tyler’s discourse is one very pleasant to look upon, and shows the face of an honest, sensible, good man, surmounted by an expansive, intellectual forehead, and set firmly upon a manly bust. One excellent feature in Mr. Williston’s character was his adherence to the principle that good education and healthy civilization must rest on a religious and Christian basis. In this respect, he contrasts favorably with a large and increasing class of Protestants, who are taking sides openly with infidels in the accursed work of secularizing education, and crying up merely material or intellectual progress. His panegyrist, Prof. Tyler, writes admirably upon this theme. This discourse, apart from the interest given to it by the truly noble life which it describes, is in itself remarkably full of fine thoughts, showing the effect of the deep study of the classics to which the learned author has devoted his life. We are pleased to notice the calm and just manner in which he touches incidentally upon some topics connected with the Catholic Church. Speaking of the honor which is due to those men who are founders of institutions useful to mankind, in a truly philosophical strain, and with illustrations drawn from both pagan and Christian history, he proceeds to say: “There are no names more hallowed in the Catholic Church than the founders of those monasteries which, with all their sins, have the merit of keeping religion and learning alive through the darkness and confusion of the Middle Ages. The founders, too, of those religious orders whose influence has been felt to the remotest bounds of Christendom, what veneration is felt for them by all good Catholics, from age to age! The names of S. Benedict, S. Dominic, S. Francis, and Ignatius Loyola have been canonized and embalmed in the religious societies which they established.” The fact that these words were pronounced in the pulpit of the chapel of Amherst College gives them a peculiar significance. We do not consider them as denoting any Catholic tendencies in Prof. Tyler or his associates, but merely a diminution of power in the old Protestant and Puritan tradition, and the existence of a more philosophical and eclectic spirit. The rationalizing movement which is disintegrating Protestant societies carries away a great deal of prejudice and error on its tide. It threatens also to sweep away the remnants and fragments of truth. Amherst, seated on the remote hills of Hampshire, has been safer from the flood, hitherto, than Cambridge and New Haven. Nevertheless, it must be invaded by the rising waters in its turn. There is nothing but the Catholic Church which can stand, when knowledge and reason take the place of the ignorance and credulity necessary to a blind following of the Reformation. The remnant of orthodox Protestants must therefore follow the inexorable logic of Luther’s principle into its consequences of sheer rationalism, or make their way back to Catholic faith. Individuals may remain stationary, but the mass has to move, and even the works of men who are both great and good rest on a sandy foundation, which will be undermined in a short time unless they are built on the rock of Catholic stability. Mr. Williston, we have no doubt, did his best, not only to create temporal well-being and prosperity, but also that which is higher, more lasting, and directed toward the eternal good, which is the chief end of man. Numbers of generous and noble hearts, like himself, have endeavored and are now striving toward the same objects, from the same motives. They are the pillars of the commonwealth, the real peers of the realm, the chief bulwark of our political and social state amid the horde of base, corrupt intriguers and demagogues, mammon worshippers and spendthrifts, crowding our legislative halls and marts of business, and flaunting in vulgar show through our streets. It is impossible, however, that the work which they strive singly to accomplish, whether for education, philanthropy, political reform and progress, or the promotion of the Christian religion, should be successfully performed except through Catholic unity and organization in the communion of the one true Church. If all the enlightened and virtuous men and women in the United States who believe that Jesus Christ is the Saviour, and Christianity the salvation of mankind were united in faith and directed by one authority, there is nothing which they could not accomplish on this vast field which God has given us, and which at present is to a great extent mere wild land. In conclusion, we express our thanks to Mrs. Emily G. Williston and the other executors of the Hon. Mr. Williston for their courtesy in sending us a copy of this discourse, which is printed in a most beautiful and tasteful manner.

THE CHILD. By Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans. Translated, with the author’s permission, by Kate Anderson. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1875.

Mgr. Dupanloup is one of the most eloquent orators and writers of France. The theme of the present book, which might have been handled in an able and complete and yet dull manner by another, is treated in a spirited, glowing, fascinating style by the illustrious Bishop of Orleans. It is a charming, attractive, and most important theme, handled by one who was a most enthusiastic and successful teacher of boys and youths before he became a bishop. Every parent, and especially every mother, should read this book; so also should those who have the charge of children and young people in schools or elsewhere. It is more specifically and precisely suitable to the case and condition of boys, as is natural, considering that the author has been more immediately engaged in the care of colleges than of convents. Yet, in general, its principles and instructions are appropriate for girls also, children being very nearly alike in most respects, whether they are boys or girls. In respect to the moral training of boys, there are some instructions very plainly and yet delicately given in the fourteenth and fifteenth chapters, which are specially necessary for a very large class at the present day and in our very corrupt state of society. In the wealthy and fashionable circle of American society, the children are very generally spoiled. Who is not familiar with the fast boy of fourteen, whose outward and visible sign is a blue ribbon on his straw hat, and with his sister of twelve, in short clothes, sparkling with jewelry, but dim-eyed, pale-faced, and thin, from keeping late hours and other precocious dissipations? The end of these fast young people is usually tragical. If not so, they are at the best wilted and spoiled, like bouquets of flowers which have remained for a whole day among lighted candles.

We regret to say that many of our wealthy Catholics, especially those who have suddenly acquired riches, strive to emulate in the race of extravagance and luxury the most utterly worldly class of people, who live professedly for mere earthly enjoyment. Their children are therefore trained in a way which is morally the very opposite of the Christian and Catholic method. In a lesser degree, the same loose, indulgent, soft, and effeminate style of bringing up children prevails in families where the spirit of the parents is less worldly and more religious. Boys and girls do not remain children long enough, and are not treated as children ought to be treated. They are too precociously developed into young ladies and gentlemen. So far as our observation extends, the education at home and at school which our Catholic boys of the more affluent class are receiving is much more defective in respect to religion and morality than that of the girls. They are more spoiled at home, and are less amenable to wholesome discipline and intellectual training at school than their sisters. They are also exposed to much greater danger of becoming essentially irreligious and vicious, and going utterly to ruin, before or soon after they attain their majority, and therefore great errors in their early training are more deplorable. All parents, and especially mothers, who are not wholly careless and frivolous, must perceive clearly and feel deeply the vital importance of this subject of the early training of boys. Let them read carefully and frequently this choice book of Bishop Dupanloup, and they will understand better how to reverence that wonderful and beautiful being--a regenerate child; how to train the child for the duty and the solid happiness of its earthly life, how to educate it for heaven.

SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS. By N. L. Thiéblin. Boston: Lee & Shepard; New York: Lee, Shepard & Dillingham. 1875.

The corps of professional writers for the great newspapers of Europe and America is remarkable in many ways for talent, enterprise, courage, sagacity, and skill in that style of composition which is the most effective for the purposes of the secular press. Its _esprit de corps_ is not very high as regards truth, the eternal principles of right and devotion to just and noble causes. It is to a great extent mercenary, unscrupulous, time-serving, skeptical, and superficial. Incidentally it often serves the cause of right and truth with great efficacy, and no doubt wages a very successful war on many evils and abuses in favor of certain temporal interests, diffuses a vast amount of information, and contributes its full quantity of force to the wheels that make the world spin round with an ever-increasing velocity. Certain of its members have made themselves truly famous in this present age by their explorations and their chronicles of wars or other great contemporary events, that almost rival Livy and Cæsar. It is only necessary to mention the names of Russell and Stanley as illustrations of this statement.

Mr. Thiéblin has won a high place among these brilliant writers for the press, by his extraordinary courage and enterprise in following up, first the military movements of the Franco-Prussian war, and more recently those of the Carlist campaigns, and his very great talent in describing what he has seen and learned with so much perseverance and effort. He is a good specimen of the corps to which he belongs. Apparently a mere free-thinker in respect to all the higher order of truth, solicitous only to see and narrate what is transpiring on the earth, an intellectual knight-errant and free lance, without any kind of allegiance to any power higher than the _Pall Mall Gazette_ or the _New York Herald_, he is brave, good-humored, witty, and graphic; a keen observer, a charming narrator, with a great deal of justice and impartiality, and evidently telling the truth about those things which can be apprehended through the senses, and which his mind is capable of understanding. There are a few offensive remarks about Catholic matters, a few jeering allusions to things beyond his rather limited sphere of vision, and a moderate quantity of the usual newspaper political wisdom, upon which we place, of course, a very low estimate. The real substance of the book, however, which is the testimony of the writer respecting what he learned by personal observation respecting the army of Don Carlos and the state of things in Spain, is of the highest value and interest. We have not read a book with so much pleasure for a long time. The author takes us right into the Carlist camp and the romantic Vasco Navarrese country where Don Carlos is king, into the company of his generals and soldiers, into the houses of the parish priests, and among the loyal, religious peasantry. He has no sympathy with the religion of the Spaniards or the cause of Don Carlos, and his favorable testimony to the piety, morality, bravery, and good discipline of the faithful soldiers and subjects of the gallant prince are beyond cavil. The history of the eccentric and famous Curé of Santa Cruz is most curious. The authentic narrative of facts concerning the Carlist movement makes it evident to our mind that the prospects of ultimate and complete success in the effort of Don Carlos to gain possession of the kingdom are very encouraging. Mr. Thiéblin does not confine himself to an account of his experience in the Carlist camps. He gives a great deal of information gathered from the visits he made to the quarters of the Republicans, personal observation of the state of things in Madrid and other places, and conversations with prominent personages. He can appreciate what is admirable in Spain and the Spaniards much better than most non-Catholics; and being wholly free from Protestant sympathies, perceives clearly and ridicules freely the sham of Evangelical missions with their invariable concomitant of boastful and calumnious lying. As a very good sort of heathen, and an extremely clever man, with a fine taste for what is beautiful, and an eclectic habit of mind, he gives just and charming descriptions of many things in that Catholic country and people--in short, understanding the principles and causes which have produced that which he partially approves, but cannot estimate at its full worth, as he would do if he were a thorough and intelligent Catholic, in respect to the state of Catholic religion and piety in Spain, his account of the lapse from ancient faith is partly correct, but one-sided and imperfect, as that of a foreign and anti-Catholic observer must be. In respect to morality and general well-being and happiness, he is a competent witness, and his testimony shows how much better, happier, and more refined, in the true sense, the Spanish people, even in their present disorganized state are, than the mass of the population in England or the United States. In regard to Spanish politics, he sympathizes, of course, most perfectly with Castelar and the orderly, moderate Republicans, and next to these with the party of Don Alfonso. He makes an elaborate argument in favor of the claim of this young prince to be the inheritor of all the rights of Ferdinand VII. In our opinion, Don Carlos has the most valid title to this inheritance. But as we have no time to prove this, we must waive the question of legitimacy.

There is another right which has precedence of any right to inherit the throne: This is the right of the Church and nation to have restored and preserved the ancient heritage of the Spanish nation, those laws and institutions, and that government which are necessary to the religious and political well being of the whole people. The régime of the Christinos was destructive to both, and almost the whole nation acquiesced in the expulsion of Isabella. We do not think that the majority of even that portion of the Spaniards who are at present subject to Don Alfonso really consent to his rule, or that there is any guarantee that it will be better than that of the late queen. He has been taken up by the Liberals as a _pis aller_, and is only tolerated by the greater part of those who are loyal to the religion and constitution of the Spanish monarchy. Don Carlos, as his own published statements, particularly his recent letter to Louis Veuillot, prove, is the champion of religious and political regeneration. It is, therefore, desirable that his claim to the crown should be lawfully ratified, and receive whatever may be requisite to make it a perfect right in actual possession, by the act of the Spanish nation. We may say the same of the Comte de Chambord in respect to the throne of France. This is a sufficient reason why Catholics, even American Catholics, who are faithful to the Republic here, because it is an established and legitimate order, should be hostile to the Republican party in Spain and France, and to any kind of patched-up liberalistic monarchy in either country, and wish for the success of Don Carlos and Henri de Bourbon. There are some very good Catholics who think differently, even such staunch champions of the Catholic cause as our illustrious friend the Bishop of Salford, the editor of the _London Tablet_, and Dr. Ward. They seem to us to be mistaken and inconsistent, and we agree personally with the _Civiltà Cattolica_ and the _Univers_ that the cause of Charles VII. and Henry V. is the same with that of Pius IX. considered as a temporal sovereign, and closely connected with the triumph of his rights as Sovereign Pontiff. We have, moreover, the confident hope that the one will yet reign over regenerated Spain and the other over regenerated France, after the infamous Prussian tyranny shall have been trampled in the dust, and the usurper of the Quirinal shall have met the fate of all foregoing oppressors of the Holy See.

DIOS, PATRIA, Y REY is the true watchword of beautiful, Catholic, unhappy Spain.

A PILGRIMAGE TO THE LAND OF THE CID. Translated from the French of Frederic Ozanam. By P. S. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

This little volume, by the eminent writer and lecturer Prof. Ozanam, supplies much that was wanting in the one just noticed, in its appreciative sketches of Catholic objects and traditions. The book was the result of a tour made a year before the author’s death. It would be a good travelling companion in the country described, or elsewhere.

A FULL CATECHISM OF THE CATHOLIC RELIGION (preceded by a Short History of Religion), from the Creation of the World to the Present Time. With Questions for Examination. Translated from the German of the Rev. Joseph Deharbe, S.J., by the Rev. John Fander. First American Edition. _Permissu Superiorum._ New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

“This is the most celebrated catechism of the century, has been most extensively approved and brought into use, and will be of great service to those who are employed in teaching young people the Christian doctrine, as well as for the instruction of converts.”

We can add nothing to the above notice of the London edition of this catechism, which heretofore appeared in this magazine, except to say that the American edition has been revised and corrected, and adopted into the Young Catholic’s School Series.

THE VICTIMS OF THE MAMERTINE. By Rev. A. J. O’Reilly, D.D. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1875.

_The Martyrs of the Coliseum_ will have prepared the reader for another treat in this later work of the same author. Dr. O’Reilly is one of the most diligent workers of the rich mine of Christian traditions so successfully explored by Cardinal Wiseman, in the preparation of _Fabiola_. The author properly claims great authenticity for the records of this prison, the high position of its victims rendering the task of identification one of comparative ease. While the world is being filled with the exploits of “the heroes of paganism, who were at best but tyrants and murderers,” we should not ignore the deeds of those truer heroes--the persecuted champions of the early Christian Church.

THE SPIRIT OF FAITH; or, What I Must do to Believe. By Bishop Hedley, O.S.B. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1875.

This _brochure_ is made up of a series of lectures delivered in St. Peter’s, Cardiff, by its right reverend author. The reader will not have proceeded far to be convinced of the opportuneness of the subjects discussed, and the competence of the writer, who may also be recognized as a former contributor to these pages.

SERMONS FOR EVERY SUNDAY IN THE YEAR, AND FOR THE LEADING HOLIDAYS OF OBLIGATION. By Rev. William Gahan. With a Preface by the Right Rev. Dr. Walsh. Edited by Rev. J. O’Leary, D.D. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1875.

The reverend clergy will be content with the announcement of a new edition of these standard discourses. Their quality was long ago determined.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. XXI., No. 125.--AUGUST, 1875.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Rev. I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

THE PERSECUTION IN SWITZERLAND FROM THE REVUE GENERALE.

For seven months have we kept silence on the religious persecution in Switzerland. Not that during that interval the rage of the persecutors has become appeased; very far from it. But the spectacle they afford is so repulsive to the conscience that the pen falls from the hand in disgust whilst narrating their exploits. Nevertheless, we suppose it may be of service to give a complete although succinct history of the violence and hypocrisy of Swiss liberalism. And for that reason we renew our recital.

Up to the present time, the persecution has only raged in two dioceses, the smallest, Geneva, and the largest, Basel. But elsewhere the fire smoulders beneath the ashes, and everything goes to prove that, if the liberals should succeed in overthrowing the church in the cantons where they have inaugurated their barbarous and intolerant rule, they will continue their efforts even into the heart of the country. Already, indeed, here and there, outside of the two just-named dioceses, they reveal their intentions by isolated measures.

Thus at St. Gall, the cantonal council, the majority of which consists of Protestants and free-thinkers, has forbidden the Catholic clergy to teach the Syllabus and the dogma of Papal Infallibility; and, as the clergy have refused to obey such an order, the Council of Public Instruction has withdrawn from them the teaching the catechism during Lent, and has placed the duty in the hands of schoolmasters in absolute dependence on the state. This example betrays the intention of liberalism, in the name of liberty, no longer to tolerate any religion but such as is fashioned by its own hand. This intention is now betraying itself openly in the two dioceses of Geneva and Basel. It is useless to speak of the rights of Catholics consecrated by treaties, to invoke the respect due to their conscience; useless is it to adduce in their behalf the religious equality which they scrupulously maintain in the cantons, such as Lucerne and Freyburg, where they have the superiority; useless to insist on their patriotism, and on their loyal submission to laws which do not encroach on the domain of religion. No, there are no rights for Catholics, there is no justice for them; and when it is a question of attacking them, the end justifies the means.

This is no invention of ours. We will cite a few examples in support of our assertion.

M. Teuscher in the canton of Bern, and M. Carteret at Geneva, have founded churches to which they have assigned the name of Catholic, which they support with unusual zeal. Now, in the journal of these churches, the _Démocratie catholique_, which is published at Bern, of the date of January 2, is the following statement: “Ultramontanes are malefactors, and there is no liberty for malefactors.” It may be objected, that these words are merely the expression of an individual opinion. Let us listen then to M. Carteret, speaking, about the same time, before the Grand Council of Geneva: “Ultramontanism is dangerous; it is necessary to combat it, to make on it a war of extermination and without mercy; it is affectation to dream of being just and equitable with such an adversary.” A little later on, in the same assembly, a credit was voted for the maintenance of candidates for Catholic cures, whose rightful possessors had been arbitrarily ejected; and when M. Vogt expressed his astonishment that the canton should keep a tavern for liberal _abbés_, a deputy exclaimed, “We shall act as we please.”

It would seem impossible for cynicism to go beyond this. But no; the brutality of despotism was able to surpass even it. At the moment when, in the canton of Soleure, the people were summoned to vote the suppression of the secular foundations, of which we shall speak presently, one of their journals published the following: “If we should be conquered, and the _blacks_ should defeat the measure, _we shall handle the knife_.” It sounds like a sinister echo of 1793.

What can be the object of the persecutors? Is it the substitution of Protestantism for Catholicity? Scarcely. Protestants who really believe in their religion disapprove of these iniquities. The object is akin, rather, we may be sure, to the sentiment lately given utterance to by the Pastor Lang of Zurich: “We are slowly but surely approaching the end towards which the development of our spiritual life is urging us, to wit, _the suppression and disappearance of all churches_.” The same sentiment had been expressed during the debates on the federal revision by M. Welti. “He who would wish to be free must not belong to any church. No church gives liberty. The _state_ alone gives that.” In other words, the ideal to be aimed at is the reign of the state over soul as well as body. After this, can we wonder at the cry of alarm issuing from a quarter not at least to be suspected of Catholic bias? It is a Protestant journal--_l’Union jurassienne_--which exclaims, “The star of liberty pales, the shadows of spiritual despotism are gathering around us.” But the cry is lost in the desert. Despotism throws those who exercise it into a kind of intoxication; every one of the excesses to which it commits itself becomes the source of fresh ones. Its last word is proscription, when it is not the scaffold.… In the diocese of Basel the crimes of liberalism have been perpetrated principally at Soleure, in the Jura, and at Bern. We will review them successively.

At Soleure, the Benedictine monastery of Maria-Stein, the collegiate church of Schoenwerth, and that of S. Urs and S. Victor have been overthrown at one stroke.

The monastery of Maria-Stein was founded in 1085, and had cleared and cultivated the country. But the church can no more reckon upon the gratitude of its enemies than upon their justice. They determined to seize the property of the convent, to convert the building into a madhouse, and to mock justice with the bestowal of a trifling alms on the religious thus iniquitously dispossessed. At the first news of this project, the ex-Father Hyacinthe again gave expression to the indignation he had exhibited before on similar provocation, and sent to the abbot of the monastery a protest against “this attack on property and religion.”

The foundation of the collegiate church of Schoenwerth, situated near Olten, dates from the Xth century. It had only five canons, who served four parishes, and gave instruction in the schools. That of S. Urs and S. Victor from the VIIIth. It was erected into a cathedral in 1828; when the residence of the Bishop of Basel was transferred to Soleure. Its chapter has kept perpetual watch for nearly a thousand years at the tombs of the Theban martyrs. These venerable memories arrested not the arms of the spoilers. What was wanted was to punish the canons of Schoenwerth and of Soleure for their loyalty to their bishop, and at the same time to get possession of the endowments they administered.

Consequently, the suppression of the two collegiate churches, as well as of the monastery of Maria-Stein, was submitted to the popular vote. It was adopted by 8,356 votes against 5,896. But when it is remembered that the majority included about 3,000 Protestants, besides the manufacturing population of Olten, who are in complete subjection to the tyranny of their Freemason employers; that more than 3,000 timid Catholics abstained from voting, and that the women and children were not consulted, there can remain no doubt that once again a Catholic majority has been sacrificed to a coalition of Protestants and free-thinkers.

However it may be, this vote remarkably facilitated the object the liberals have had in view for some time, namely, of abolishing the chapter of Basel. This chapter consisted of canons from seven states of the diocese--Bern, Basel, Thurgau, Aargau, Soleure, Zug, Lucerne. The state of Soleure having suppressed its own, and the states of Aargau and Bern being urged to do the same to theirs, the conference of the diocesan states, on the 21st December, decreed the suppression of the chapter itself and the sale of its effects. The support of five of these states had been procured. No heed was taken of the opposition of Lucerne and Zug.

And it is asserted that it is in the name of religious liberty that Swiss liberalism has deprived the diocese of Basel of its bishop and its chapter! But what cares liberalism for the rights of Catholic consciences? However, in thus decapitating the diocese it was carrying out a purpose on which it was inexorably bent. It had long resolved to create a national church calling itself Catholic, and it hugged the illusion that the suppression of the Catholic bishoprics would contribute to the success of this design. It is in pursuance of the same object that it opened in Bern, in the month of October, a faculty of Old Catholic theology.

These facts display a complete change of tactics on the part of unbelief. In the last century, Voltaire and his satellites tried to batter down the church, without dreaming of putting anything in her place. They failed. Their successors of to-day adopt another plan. It is to create anti-Catholic churches, calling themselves Catholic, to which they do not belong, whose dogmas they abjure, and whose priests they despise. They trust thus to satisfy the people, whilst retaining for themselves the benefits of unbelief.

Next, in the month of October, the government of Bern opened, in the federal capital, a faculty of theology, which it called “faculty of Catholic theology,” and it invited chiefly foreigners to occupy its chairs. It nominated dean of the faculty a German, that unfortunate Dr. Friedrich of Munich, who was amongst the first to follow Döllinger in his perversity, and they appointed as his subordinates a few apostates picked up wherever they could find them. Eight students, almost all from the canton of Soleure, the real focus of Swiss liberalism, were enrolled. With such a contingent, the dream of a national church does not appear certain to be realized. But the government of Bern flatters itself that in time the number of students will increase, and that it will thus have at its disposal submissive agents ready to assist it in its detestable undertaking, the perversion of the Jura.

The Jura! It is impossible to cast a glance around that unfortunate country without being filled with gratitude to God for the religious heroism it perseveres in displaying in the presence of a powerful and treacherous enemy who is striving to crush it utterly.

It is notorious that the ninety-seven parishes of the Jura have been arbitrarily reconstructed by the government of Bern; and that, after having reduced them to the number of twenty-five, it finally increased them to forty-two. Nothing has been left undone to place at the head of every one of these an apostate priest. But in spite of all its efforts it has only been able to muster seventeen. Besides, what trouble do the recruits swept up from all the by-ways of Europe cause them! Some have already sent in their resignation.

Thus it was with Giaut, curate of Bonfol, who, in a public letter announced his abandonment of the mission he had assumed, “because he saw no immediate prospect of the realization, in the Jura, of his aspirations and ideas.” Of the same kind was the course pursued by d’Omer Camerle, who, on his withdrawal, declared that the new clergy, “utterly despised by the liberals and execrated by the ultramontanes, were attempting a work which was entirely useless if not contemptible.” Others have been obliged to escape, or had to evade justice.

We have before narrated the misfortunes of Rupplin. His rival Naudot, arrested for abduction of a minor, was condemned to six months’ imprisonment. In his defence, made by himself, he demanded, “Am I more guilty than Giaut, _curé_ of Bonfol, who calls himself Guiot; than Choisel, _curé_ of Courgenay, whose real name is Chastel; than Déramey, who calls himself Pipy?” We must, however, state to his credit that he abjured his errors and returned into the bosom of the church.

At Bienne, the intruder, St. Ange Lièvre, threw off the mask, and married a Protestant named Tsantré-Boll. The union was blessed by M. Saintes, a Protestant minister, after an address by M. Hurtault, from Geneva, who complimented his colleague “for having had the courage to throw off the yoke of bondage imposed upon him by the Roman papacy.” This was overshooting the mark. The intruders may commit all imaginable escapades without provoking attention. But they must not marry. It reveals prematurely the programme of the free-thinkers of Bern, who, in order to conciliate the population of the Jura, declare that they have no intention to meddle with the dogmas of the church. Accordingly, the “Provisionary Catholic Synodal Commission,” in a letter addressed to “MM. the curates of the Jura,” “severely rebuked the deplorable example given by M. St. Ange Lièvre, and promised to demand from the authorities a remedy, which could not be refused if another member of the clergy should venture to violate the venerable laws of the church.” Ludicrous imbecility! They will try to hinder for the future a renewal of these wanton freaks, but they respect what has been already perpetrated. And so M. Lièvre and his Protestant wife remain at the head of the parish of Bienne!

But do any of the intruded meet with success in their propaganda? No! At Alle, Salis rings the bell for Masses which he does not say. At Bienne, only twenty or thirty persons attend the service of St. Ange Lièvre. At Delémont, the chief place of the district, enjoying a radical priest, a radical president of the tribunal, radical functionaries, so empty is the church usurped by Portaz-Grassis that, on the 7th of January, the council of the parish gave vent to the following cry of distress in a circular addressed to “Liberal Catholics”: “The religious question in the Jura being intimately associated with the political one, it is important, now that our national church is constituted on solid and legal foundations, that all liberals should support this church and sustain the majority of the Bernese people in the steps that have been taken. [It must be remembered that the majority of the Bernese people is Protestant.]

“Yet is our worship little frequented, and our enemies proclaim everywhere that our church is deserted.

“In presence of this carelessness--we may say, even of this culpable indifference--we make a last appeal to the patriotic sentiments of the liberal Catholics of Delémont, beseeching them to assist more regularly at the Sunday Mass, and above all to induce their wives and children to be present at it. If Catholics [!] will not show more zeal in supporting the liberal curate and the council of the parish, the latter will resign _in globo_ the charge entrusted to it.”

Nothing, however, discourages the government of Bern, and in conformity with the law of worship, voted some months ago, it has obliged the new parishes of the Jura to proceed to the formation of parochial councils, and to the nomination, or rather confirmation, of the intruding curates. But here, also, what deception! Out of 12,000 electors, only the tenth part voted. In 28 communes, not a single elector presented himself at the ballot. In the others, the number was laughably small. At St. Imier, for instance, out of 1,933 electors, only eight answered the summons. At Moustier, out of 1,429, only 24. No less significant are the numbers of votes polled for the elected curates:

Fontenais: M. d’Abbadie (Frenchman) had 77 votes out of 1,651 electors.

Courtemaiche: M. Coffignal (Frenchman) had 15 votes out of 1,683 electors.

Undervelier: M. Salis (Italian) had 13 votes out of 1,046 electors.

Courroux: M. Maestrelli (Italian) had 60 votes out of 1,557 electors.

Roggenburg: M. Oser (German) had 40 votes out of 465 electors.

Bislach: M. Schoenberger (German) had 33 votes out of 669 electors.

Dittengen: M. Fuchs (Austrian) had 33 votes out of 667 electors.

Bienne: M. St. Ange Lièvre (Frenchman) had 50 votes out of 1,040 electors.

Imagine the Bernese government being eager to confirm nominations made under such circumstances!

As to the Catholics, they continue to assemble in barns and cart-sheds, and there to lift with faith their hands towards heaven, and to rest firm in their fidelity. This attitude only aggravates the rage of their persecutors. We have already spoken of the suppression of the Ursulines of Porrentruy. The last remaining religious congregation in that town could not long escape the same fate. It was that of the Sisters of Charity of Ste. Ursanne, who had for twenty years ministered in the hospital for the poor of the chief town of the Bernese Jura. They began with seizing their chapel and handing it over to schism. Then, without any pretext, they cast into prison the Superior and two of the Sisters, where they remained four days. At length, one fine morning, they were informed that they must leave the place within four hours; at the expiration of which period, if they had not left, “they would be forcibly expelled.” The execution soon followed the sentence; and these religious ladies, whose presence had only been known by good works, were, in their turn, compelled to tread the path of exile!

In spite of the implacable intolerance of their enemies, the Jurassians do not cease petitioning the federal authorities; and to the number of 9,000 they have demanded the restitution of their churches and of their ecclesiastical property, the re-establishment of the Catholic worship, and the recall of the 97 priests unjustly expelled. The restitution of the churches, and the re-establishment of the Catholic as a public worship, have been flatly refused, on the plea that there cannot exist in the canton any other public Catholic worship than that established by the law of January, 1874! But the federal council, notwithstanding its notorious hostility, shrunk from an open and avowed approbation of the ostracism of the faithful priests; and it requested of the Bernese government an explanation of the reasons which, in its opinion, justified the continuance of that rigorous measure; reserving to itself to give a subsequent decision on the appeal which had been made to it.

Opinions are divided as to the real intentions of the federal council, and at the moment when we write the definitive decision has not been announced. But whatever may be the fate of the appeal, the situation of the church in the Jura will remain no less lamentable.

Whilst the Jurassian population give, thus, an example of fidelity worthy of the first ages of the Christian era, the tempest has burst upon the Catholic parish of the town of Bern.

This parish possesses a church built by the late Mgr. Baud, predecessor of the present curate, M. Perroulaz, and paid for by the alms of the Catholics of the entire country. The schismatics cast longing eyes upon it; but their designs were for a while impeded by the fear of displeasing the ambassadors. This fear was unfounded. For since the overthrow of governments caused by the detestable policy of Napoleon III., there is no longer an Europe; and everywhere violence and injustice, having nothing to fear from the once protective influence of the great powers, commit themselves to every license. It is thus, then, they set about to compass their end.

First, an assembly of the parish was convoked to elect a parochial council. But as such an assembly owes its existence to the late law of worship, and as the faithful Catholics could not consequently take any part in it, the council was chosen by one hundred out of three hundred and sixty electors. Scarcely was it installed when it received a request from the professors of the Old Catholic faculty of Bern, that the church might be placed at their disposition, for their Masses, worship, and preachings. It eagerly acceded to this request, and desired M. Perroulaz to open the gates of the church to the schismatic priests of the university. He refused. They ordered him to give up the keys. He did nothing of the kind. They went to his house and took them from him; and on Sunday, 28th February, Dr. Friedrich and his accomplices took possession of the sanctuary. M. Perroulaz, to avoid scandal, assembled his parishioners for the celebration of their worship in the great hall of the Museum. Thither they flocked in crowds. Foremost amongst the worshippers were the ambassadors of France, Austria, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Brazil, etc. Thirty years ago, such a demonstration of the diplomatic body would not have remained without results. But in the year of grace 1875, “might makes right,” and the petty tyrants of Bern, supported by certain foreign cabinets, satiate with impunity their hatred of the church.

But even this did not content them. It was not sufficient for them to have deprived Catholics of their church. They wanted, further, to compel M. Perroulaz to say Mass in it together with the apostates. The Council of State designed, in this way, to place him in a position in which they might be able, in due form of law, to relieve him of his functions. On his refusal it decided to institute a process of revocation; and, pending the trial, it suspended him! Then he was driven out of the presbytery, and a Bavarian impostor was installed in his place. What! After having despoiled the faithful of the sanctuary built by their own hands and with their own money, they command them, besides, to make common cause with renegades, and make it a crime in their pastor to assemble them elsewhere to adore God according to their conscience. At Rome, under the pagan emperors, the Christians had the freedom of the Catacombs; at Bern, in 1875, even such freedom would be grudged by the ingrates whose cradle was enlightened by the rays of divine truth!

At Geneva affairs are as gloomy as in the canton of Bern. Last August, at the moment when we were relating the high-handed proceedings of the government, M. Loyson had just distinguished himself by breaking his connection with the lay chiefs of the schism. “I will not engage,” he said, “in useless discussions with men who confound liberalism with radicalism, Catholicism with the _Profession of Faith_ of the Savoyard vicar.” The poor apostate would, we suspect, have been but too glad to return to the venerable church which received his first oaths. But how dispose of Mme. Loyson and the little Emmanuel? He continued therefore schismatic, and he announced that he should remain at Geneva “until the election of a bishop, who, with his synod, was the only authority,” he added, “which he could recognize in the religious order.” In pursuance of this secession, he founded a free worship, which has a small number of sectaries as its following.

As to the official church, its misfortunes are beyond calculation. The town of Geneva itself was favored with three curates, each receiving from four to five thousand francs a year, and a few vicars. After the retirement of M. Loyson, the second of the three curates--M. Hurtault--left, in order to occupy one of the chairs of the Old Catholic faculty at Bern. It was, no doubt, to console the new church in these bereavements, that one of the vicars, M. Vergoin, in imitation of his accomplices, took to himself a wife in the person of a Freyburg damsel.

However, the law of the organization of religious worship enjoined on all the curates and vicars of the canton the oath of obedience to the laws. The Council of State shrunk for a long time from the application of this provision in the rural communes. At length, yielding to the impatience of the “Catholic Superior Council,” it decreed that the oath should be taken on the 4th September by the seventeen curates and the two vicars officiating in the country.

On the appointed day, a large crowd assembled around the entrance of the town-hall. Not a priest summoned presented himself. They, too, were proud to wear the device of Mgr. Lachat: _Potius mori quam fœdari!_--“Death rather than shame!”

Immediately afterwards, the Council of State pronounced the aforesaid cures vacant, and suppressed the pay of their occupiers from October 31. This measure was communicated to the “Catholic Superior Council,” with the view of its filling the vacancies.

Great was the embarrassment of the latter. As a commencement, it demanded of the Council of State the power of disposing of the country churches from the 31st October. The reply was that it had only to apply to the municipal authorities. It then devised the plan of publishing in the journals, amongst the advertisements, a notice to the effect that “the registry was open at the office of the superior council for the offices of curate and vicar in twenty-two parishes of the canton, which had become vacant in consequence of death, dismissal, and revocation.” When at length it had found a candidate, it resolved to present him to the parish of Grand-Saconnex, one of the nearest to Geneva, and which on that account appeared to it to be ripe for schism. But only thirty-three electors out of one hundred and sixty-six responded to the call. It was less than a third, and the election was abortive in consequence.

Such a check was suggestive. The measure decreed on the 4th September was not put in force, except that the salaries of the faithful curates remained suppressed. But they revenged themselves by annoying the Catholics in every possible way.

We will cite two instances.

An Old Catholic interment having taken place at Hermance, after several provocations, the population threw some stones on the coffin of the defunct. The blame was immediately laid on the curate, and he was expelled from the canton on the pretext that “he troubled the public peace,” said the decree, “by his preachings, and excited hatred of one another among the citizens.” No accusation could be more serious than this. For, indeed, had he been guilty of it, it was before the courts he should have been brought. But all that was wanted then was to punish the parishioners for having, a few days before, given an ill reception to two intruders who had attempted to pervert the village.

The second is a yet sadder incident. One fine day, an Old Catholic inhabitant of Geneva, named Maurice, who lived close to the Old Catholic church, took it into his head to have his infant child baptized by the intruding priest, Marchal, in the Catholic Church of Compesières, used for two communes, Bardonnex and Plan-les-Ouates. On the arrival of the cortége, the mayors of these communes, habited in their scarfs of office, and surrounded by their subordinates, opposed its entry into the church, and forced it to beat a retreat. At the news of this there was great consternation at Geneva.

The whim of M. Maurice was not only a violation of the liberty of religion; it was a wanton provocation, since he belonged to the commune of Geneva, and could have had his child baptized in the church of S. Germain, of which the schism had taken possession. No matter. The Council of State took advantage of the incident, and ordered the mayors of Compesières to keep the parish church open for baptism of the little Maurice. At the same time it ordered thither some squadrons of gendarmes and of carabineers, and, thanks to this display of the public force, a locksmith was able to force open the doors of the sacred edifice. They had it sealed with the borough-seal, and a huge placard was stuck on it, bearing the following inscription: “Property is inviolable.” Before the profanation, a delegate from the communal authorities of Bardonnex and of Plan-les-Ouates had communicated to the invaders a final protest.

Any commentary would be superfluous. We limit ourselves to quoting the following words of the _Journal de Genève_: “What has passed at Compesières has but too quickly justified the mournful forebodings inspired by the violent policy which is growing from bad to worse in official quarters. We persist in demanding that a stop be put to this sowing the wind at the risk of reaping the whirlwind.” But the object had been achieved. The Catholics had been outraged, and a pretext had been made for dismissing M. de Montfalcon, mayor of Plan-les-Ouates and president of “l’Union des Campagnes.”

It appears, however, that this was not enough. In the bosom of the “Catholic Superior Council,” M. Héridier exclaimed: “We must follow the course of the Bernese government.” Such bitter hatred can only be accounted for by the negative results of the country enterprise. The firmness of the Catholics, in fact, increases, instead of growing fainter, and they are unanimous in adopting the sentiments of a speaker of the “Union des Campagnes,” who exclaimed lately: “Whatever happens we will not be found wanting. If they despoil us of our churches, they can only take the walls; they cannot take our souls. We will follow our stripped and proscribed altars even into the poverty of a barn or the darkness of a cavern. If they hunt our priests from their presbyteries, we will offer them an asylum under our modest and friendly roofs. If they rob them of their salaries, we will share with them the wages of our labor and the bread of our tables.”

A special cause of irritation to the liberals and free-thinkers was the circumstance that scarcely had the Catholics been despoiled of the church of S. Germain before they bought, to replace it, the Temple Unique, formerly occupied by the Freemasons, and which they dedicated to the Sacred Heart. Accordingly, no sooner had the elections for the renewal of the Grand Council given a majority to M. Carteret, before that gentleman set to work to inflict a fresh blow upon the Catholics, by robbing them of the Church of Notre Dame. This magnificent church was built in 1857 by means of subscription collected throughout the Christian world by Mgr. Mermillod, and M. Dunoyer, the dismissed curate of Geneva. The subscriptions had been given, we need scarcely say, on the faith of the Catholic worship, and that alone, being celebrated in the church; and for seventeen years no other had been celebrated there.

For a long while M. Carteret and the free-thinking liberals had been casting longing looks on this prey. They had been impeded in their designs by energetic resistance, and, amongst others, by that of the ex-Father Hyacinthe. But at last they lost patience, and at their instigation, backed by the pressure of a populace whose worst passions they had inflamed, the Grand Council, at the beginning of January, adopted an order of the day requiring the prompt execution of the law of 2d November, 1850.

This law, which had bestowed upon Catholics the land on which the sacred edifice is built, enacted that the administration of the church should be entrusted to a commission of five members, chosen by the Catholics of the parish of Geneva. By demanding the putting in force of this clause, they hoped to form a commission of Old Catholics who would hand over the church to the radicals concealed under a schismatic mask.

We do not intend to discuss here the question of right; although it appears clear to us that they could not justly turn against Catholics a stipulation which had been made expressly in their favor. The mere equity of the case should have sufficed to prevent, under existing circumstances, the application of the clause. This was the view taken by two distinguished Protestants who had not abandoned all regard for justice--M. Naville and M. de la Rive. The latter, in a remarkable production, observed: “There is not, I think, an impartial mind, which, looking at the matter from the point of view of simple equity, will not decide in favor of that one of the two churches which has borne the whole of the large outlay by which the value of the original grant has been increased more than tenfold. The spot on which now stands one of the most splendid monuments of our city would be still a waste space but for the sums collected and furnished precisely by those persons whose possession of it is now disputed. Notre Dame is exclusively the work of the priests and faithful of the Catholic Church. That is a notorious, undisputed fact.”

There could be no reply to language so true and striking. Moreover, one of those who had collected the subscriptions, in a published letter, stated that “the principal part of the sums employed in the erection of the building had been subscribed by Roman Catholics throughout the world, and that he could assert and prove that those who are separated from the Catholic Church had nothing whatsoever to do with its construction.”

But these protests were useless. Had, however, the sectaries the pretence that they were in a majority in Geneva, and that they had need of Notre Dame? By no means. And the _Chronique radical_ remarked it, demanding: “What will you do with the church of Notre Dame? Can you fill it?” Indeed, no! They will never be able to fill it. But the object was to wrest it from the faithful--from those who flocked to it in crowds, whose registry records, in 1874, 260 Baptisms, 170 Burials, 60 Marriages, 174 First Communions, and 30,000 Communions of adults; and for whom five Masses were celebrated every Sunday. Here, once more the end justifies the means.

The Council of State, moved thus to put in force the law of 1850, convoked the electoral body, deciding, as a preliminary, that the citizens of Geneva alone should take part in the election. To understand the importance of this qualification it will suffice to observe that there are in the canton of Geneva 25,000 Catholic foreigners,[147] and that, by depriving them of the right of voting, the Catholic strength would be seriously weakened.

In spite of this subterfuge, there was every prospect of victory for the faithful, when, on the very eve of the elections, the 6th February, during the afternoon, the number of electors which, in the morning, stood at 1,500 only, was raised to 1,924. Whence these recruits at the last moment had been procured may be easily conjectured. The _Courrier de Genève_ asserted that it saw come to the poll “a band of unknown individuals who appeared to be formed in brigades.”

Thanks to this reinforcement, the free-thinking list obtained a majority of 187 votes.

The commission thus elected immediately entered upon its duties, and instead of taking their church away from the Catholics, it hurriedly decided that “the inhabitants of the right bank of the Rhone and of the Lake, who belong to the religion recognized by the state, should be at liberty to perform in the temple the ceremonies of Baptism, Marriage, and Burial,” and that it reserved for itself to take what steps it might deem advisable to take against ecclesiastics who should give occasion to just complaints, specially in aught that concerns the public peace, obedience to the laws, and the respect due to magistrates.

These resolutions were on the point of being executed when Mgr. Mermillod, M. Dunoyer, as representatives of the subscribers, and M. Lany, rector of Notre Dame, claimed, before the courts, the ownership of the edifice.

Do judges still exist at Geneva? It remains to be seen.

But this was not all. On the 6th April, at five o’clock in the morning, the recently-elected commission had the doors of the church broken open by a locksmith, protected by a squad of gendarmes and police-agents; after which seals were placed on the doors, and further worship interdicted!

The situation becomes thus more and more critical. M. Carteret envies M. Bismarck his laurels, and, supported by all that is evil in Geneva, we must expect to see him rush headlong to the utmost extremities. Far distant, indeed, is the time when one could talk of Swiss liberty. The violence of every description which has gone on increasing in the old Helvetic land demonstrates that despotism can run riot as savagely under a republican form of government as under any other; and that they who cry out the most lustily against the tyranny of kings are themselves tyrants of the worst kind when they have power in their hands.

It is clear that in the course they are pursuing the Swiss radicals will not suffer themselves to be distanced by any one. They have formed a vast association, called the _Volksverein_, at one of whose meetings, held at Olten last autumn, a programme was voted containing the following clause: “The moment has arrived for the application of the principles which are the foundation of the new federal party. In order to crush for ever the influence of Ultramontanism it is not enough to emancipate from the church the individual as such, it is necessary that churches themselves should be governed democratically and nationally and that every hierarchical institution be suppressed, as dangerous to the state and to liberty; and that, by virtue of Art. 50 of the new constitution, the existing bishoprics be suppressed by the federal assembly.” The hypocrites! They dare to take the name of liberty upon their lips! True, the “National Convention,” and the Paris “Commune,” they too scribbled the word everywhere!

The demonstrations, the principal of which we have indicated, must end in the definitive constitution of the projected national church, before which all will be expected to bow the knee, as the pagans demanded of the primitive church to adore their false gods. Active negotiations for this object are being carried on between five states of the ancient diocese of Basel, the cantons of Zurich, Schaffhausen, Ticino, Geneva, etc. It has been decided to have a bishop. All will be required to submit to this bishop. But he will have a superior in the form of a synod composed of sectaries of all creeds or of no creed, and these will enjoy, in his regard, the right of deposition. It is asserted that M. Reinkens will consecrate the new bishop. The consecration of an apostate does not share in the promise of indefectibility.

Anyhow, the Old Catholics will not succeed in erecting a serious edifice. To found a church there are needed faith, zeal, devotedness, religious conviction. Radicals and free-thinkers have none of these.

Without belief of any kind, their one aim is the overthrow of all religion. Let them, then, seize our churches--let them decree the formation of an ecclesiastical hierarchy! The profaned churches will be deserted, their priests will be despised, and again they will be taught the lesson that the Living God does not preside over schismatics and heretics!

COFFIN FLOWERS.

And doth Saint Peter ope the gates Of heaven to such a toll? Or do you think this show of flowers Will deck my naked soul?

Perhaps you wish the folks to know How much you can afford; And prove upon my coffin-lid You don’t “let out,” nor board.

Oh! cast an humble flower or two Upon my funeral bier; And drop upon my lifeless form One true, love-speaking tear.

But take away these shop-made things, They mock my sighs and groans; And soon, like me, will rot, and show Their framework, like my bones.

God only asks if my poor soul A wedding garment wears. A bridal wreath? Yes, make _it_ up Of flowers. God’s flowers are prayers!

ARE YOU MY WIFE?

BY THE AUTHOR OF “PARIS BEFORE THE WAR,” “NUMBER THIRTEEN,” “PIUS VI.,” ETC.