Transcriber's Note:
^ indicates superscript of the letter that follows.
_Underscores_ indicate italicized text.
This volume included the entire text of the Dogmatic Decree on
Catholic Faith with its English translation. The Decree was not
in the original contents list, but appeared—out of normal
pagination—after the New Publications section at the end
of the June 1870 issue.
Remaining notes are at the end of the text.
* * * * *
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
A
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
OF
GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.
VOL. XI.
APRIL, 1870, TO SEPTEMBER, 1870.
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,
9 Warren Street.
1870.
S. W. GREEN,
PRINTER,
16 and 18 Jacob St., N. Y.
CONTENTS.
Adam of Andreini, The, 602.
Brigand's God-child, The, 52.
Bridemaid's Story, A, 232.
Books, Old, 260.
Brittany; its People and its Poems, 390.
Boys, Reformatories for, 696.
Blanchard, Claude, Journal and Campaign of, 787.
Council of the Vatican, The First Œcumenical, 115, 270, 412, 546,
701, 838.
Church and State, 145.
Children, The Association for Befriending, 250.
Catholicity and Pantheism, 377.
Catholicity of the Nineteenth Century, The, 433.
Copernicus, Nicolaus, 806.
Church beyond the Rocky Mountains, The, 812.
Church of Christ, Dogmatic Decree on, 848.
Dion and the Sibyls, 15, 160, 306, 446, 623, 733.
Development of Religious Belief, Gould's, 70.
Dogmatic Decree on the Church of Christ, 848.
Emerson's Prose Works, 202.
England, Froude's History of, 289, 577.
Education, Religion in, 782.
Emigrant, The, 800.
Fénelon, 613.
Gould's Origin and Development of Religious Belief, 70.
Gordian Knots, Untying, 77.
Griffin, Gerald, 398, 667.
Greenwood, In the, 589.
Griffin, Gerald, The works of, 398, 667.
Genius, Hereditary, 721.
Girls, The Willian, 775.
Havana, Holy Week in, 58, 212.
Iron Mask, The, 87.
Ireland's Mission, 193.
Irish Farmers and Mr. Gladstone, 242.
Irish Churches, The Ancient, 472.
Invitation Heeded, The, 542.
Literary Notes, Foreign, 130, 424, 714.
Lothair, 537.
Lourdes, Our Lady of, 752.
Mary, Queen of Scots, 32, 221.
Mechanics, Molecular, 54.
"Moral Results of the Romish System," The _New Englander_ on the,
106.
Maundeville, Sir John, 175.
Mary Stuart, 32, 221.
Matter and Spirit in the Light of Modern Science, 642.
_New Englander_, The, On the Moral Results of the Romish System,
106.
New England, Home Scenes in, 183.
Nazareth, 653.
Ochino, Fra Bernardino, 253.
Pope and the Council, by Janus, 327, 520, 680.
Pole, Cardinal, 346.
Protestantism, Phases of English, 482.
Paradise Lost of St. Avitus, The, 771.
Plutarch, 826.
Religious Liberty, 1.
Rome, Ten Years in, 518.
School Question, The, 91.
Science, Matter and Spirit in the Light of Modern, 642.
St. Francis, Miracle of, 834.
Unbelief, The Superstition of, 691.
Untying Gordian Knots, 77.
Vatican Council, The, 115, 270, 546, 701, 838.
Vermonters, The Young, 364, 509, 658.
Wooden Shoe, The Little, 343.
Wig, The Sagacious, 495.
POETRY.
A May Carol, 174, 376.
Exultent, Sion Filiæ, 241.
Hymn of St. Paul's Christian Doctrine Society, 536.
Lines, 397.
Legend of the Infant Jesus, A, 480.
Mary, 201.
Our Lady's Nativity, 825.
Prayer, The Unfinished, 411.
Plange, Filia Sion, 76.
Rainbow, To the, 115.
Reading Homer, 666.
Stabat Mater, 49.
Sonnet, 193.
Thorns, 220.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Alger's End of the World, 136.
Assent, Grammar of, 144, 283, 426.
Arithmetics, Felter's, 575.
Architecture, Wonders of, 700.
Brownson's Conversations on Liberalism and the Church, 135.
Borromeo, St. Charles, Life of, 430.
Botany, Youman's First Book of, 431.
Beech Bluff, 720.
Catholic Church, Rhodes's Visible Unity of, 140.
Charlestown Convent, The, 429.
Cæsar's Commentaries, 572.
Criminal Abortion, 574.
Catholic Church, History of, 860.
Clymer's Notes on the Nervous System, 859.
Dickens, Dialogues from, 288.
Day Sanctified, The, 572.
Dall's Alaska, 719.
Eclipse of 1869, Sands's Reports on, 142.
Economy, Bowen's American Political, 571.
Earth, Paradise of, 720.
Ferryman of the Tiber, The, 144.
Flemmings, The, Mrs. Dorsey's, 431.
Fasciculus Rerum, 576.
Geology and Revelation, Molloy's, 142.
Grammar of Assent, Newman's, 144, 283, 426.
Geographical Series, Guyot's, 286.
Glass-Making, 288.
Goodwin's Out of the Past, 860.
Health and Good Living, Hall's, 143.
Holy Influence, 432.
Home Communion, Reflections and Prayers for, 572.
Hawthorne's Note-Books, Passages from, 718.
Hidden Saints, 718.
Italian Art, Wonders of, 432.
Liberalism and the Church, Brownson, 135.
Lindsay's Evidence for the Papacy, 141.
Lacordaire's Conferences, 574.
Lifting the Veil, 718.
Marcy's Life Duties, 139.
Molloy's Geology and Revelation, 142.
Medicine, Niemeyer's Book of, 143.
Modern Europe, Shea's History of, 143.
Missale Romanum, 432.
Marriage, Evans's Treatise of the Christian Doctrine of, 573.
Marion, 719.
Meagher, Thomas F., Life of, 719.
Miles's Loretto, 720.
Nature, The Sublime in, 288.
Natural History of Animals, Tenney's, 283.
Noble Lady, A, 574.
Noethen's History of the Catholic Church, 860.
Papacy, Lindsay's Evidence for the, 141.
Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Veith's Life Pictures of, 143.
Paradise, Morris's Earthly, 144.
Pilgrimages in the Pyrenees and Landes, 575.
Rhodes's Visible Unity of the Catholic Church, 140.
Ramière's De l'Unité dans l'Enseignement de la Philosophie, etc.,
284.
Sacrifice, the Double, 144.
Statutes of the Second Synod of Albany, 287.
Stanislas Kostka, Life of, 575.
Stations of the Cross, Album of, 576.
Sacred Heart, Devotion to, 720.
The Sun, 288.
Visible Unity of the Church, 140.
Visitation, History of the Order of, 719.
Vénard, Théophane, Life of, 858.
Waldenses, Melia on the, 428.
Wise Men, and who they were, Upham's, 431.
THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XI., No. 61.--APRIL, 1870.
RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.[1]
LAST ARTICLE.
In our third article on the Abbé Martin's exhaustive work on
the future of Protestantism and Catholicity, we disposed of the
pretension of Protestants that the Reformation created and has
sustained civil and political liberty in modern society. We proceed
in the present and concluding article to dispose, as far as we
can, of the pretension that it has founded and sustained religious
liberty, or the freedom of conscience.
No fact is more certain than that the Reformation has the credit
with non-Catholics, if not even with some half-instructed Catholics
themselves, of having originated religious liberty and vindicated
the freedom of the mind. Here as elsewhere the formula of the age,
or what claims to be enlightened in it, is, Protestantism and
freedom, or Catholicity and slavery; and it is to its _prestige_ of
having founded and sustained religious liberty that Protestantism
owes its chief ability in our times to carry on its war against the
church. Protestantism, like all false religions or systems, having
no foundation in truth and no vital energy of its own, lives and
prospers only by availing itself of the so-called spirit of the
age, or by appealing to the dominant public opinion of the time and
the place. In the sixteenth century, the age tended to the revival
of imperialism or cæsarism, and Protestantism favored monarchical
absolutism, and drew from it its life, its force, and its sustenance.
The spirit or dominant tendency of our age, dating from the middle of
the last century, has been and is the revival of the pagan republic,
or, as we call it, democratic cæsarism, which asserts for the people
as the state the supremacy which under imperialism is asserted for
the emperor. Protestantism lives and sustains itself now only by
appealing to and representing this tendency, as we may see in the
contemporary objections to the church, that she is "behind the age,"
"does not conform to the age," "is hostile to the spirit of the
age," "opposed to the spirit of the nineteenth century."
Every age, nation, or community understands by liberty, freedom to
follow unrestrained its own dominant tendency; we might say, its own
dominant passion. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, liberty
meant the freedom of temporal sovereigns to govern according to their
own good pleasure, unrestrained by the church, on the one hand, and
estates, diets, or parliaments, on the other. Liberty means now the
freedom of the people, unrestrained either by the rights of God or
the rights of princes, to govern as they or the demagogues, their
masters, judge proper. Hence, liberty, as the world understands it,
varies in its meaning from age to age, and from nation to nation,
and, indeed, from individual to individual. Whatever favors or is in
accordance with the dominant tendency or passion of an age, nation,
community, or individual, favors or is in accordance with liberty;
and whatever opposes or impedes it is opposed to liberty--is civil,
political, or spiritual despotism. Protestantism never resists, but
always follows, and encourages and echoes the dominant tendency of
the age or nation. The church, having a life and force derived from
a source independent of the age or nation, seeks not support in that
dominant passion or tendency, does not yield or conform to it, but
labors unceasingly and with all her energy to conform it to herself.
Hence, in the estimation of the world, Protestantism is always on the
side of liberty, and the church on the side of despotism and slavery.
The attempt to deny this, and to prove that the church favors
liberty in this sense, is perfectly idle; and to seek to modify her
position and action, so as to force her to accept and conform to the
dominant or popular tendency or passion of the age or nation, is to
mistake her essential character and office, and to forget that her
precise mission is to govern all men and nations, kings and peoples,
sovereigns and subjects, and to conform them to the invariable and
inflexible law of God, which she is appointed by God himself to
declare and apply, and therefore to resist with all her might every
passion or tendency of every age, nation, community, or individual,
whenever and wherever it deviates from that law of which she is the
guardian and judge. The church is instituted, as every Catholic who
understands his religion believes, to guard and defend the rights of
God on earth against any and every enemy, at all times and in all
places. She therefore does not and cannot accept, or in any degree
favor, liberty in the Protestant sense of liberty, and if liberty in
that sense be the true sense, the Protestant pretension cannot be
successfully denied.
But we have already seen that liberty in the Protestant sense is
no liberty at all, or a liberty that in the civil and political
order is identified with cæsarism--the absolutism of the prince in
a monarchy, the absolutism of the people or of the ruling majority
for the time in a democracy. This last might be inferred from the
ostracism practised in democratic Athens, and is asserted and
defended, or rather taken for granted, by almost the entire secular
press in democratic America. The most conservative politicians
among us recognize the justice of no restrictions on the will of
the people but such as are imposed by written constitutions, and
which a majority or three fourths of the voters may alter at will
and as they will. It is the boast of our popular orators and writers
that there are with us no restrictions on the absolute will of the
people but such as the people voluntarily impose on themselves,
which, as self-imposed, are simply no restrictions at all. It is
evident, then, if liberty means any thing, if there is any difference
between liberty and despotism, freedom and slavery, the Protestant
understanding of liberty is not the true one.
Nor is the Protestant understanding of _religious_ liberty a whit
more true. We have found that the basis or principle of all civil
and political liberty is religious liberty, or the freedom and
independence of religion--that is to say, the spiritual order;
but from the point of view of Protestantism there is no religion,
no spiritual order, to be free and independent. According to
Protestantism, religion is a function, not a substantive existence
or an objective reality. It is, as we have seen, on Protestant
principles, a function of the state, of the community, or of the
individual, and whatever liberty there may be in the case, must
be predicated of one or another of these, not of religion, or the
spiritual order. With Protestants the freedom and independence of
religion or the spiritual order would be an absurdity, for it is
precisely that which they began by protesting against. It is of the
very essence of Protestantism to deny and make unrelenting war on the
freedom and independence of religion, and the only liberty in the
case it can assert is the freedom of the state, the community, or the
individual from religion as law, and the right of one or another of
them to adopt or reject any religion or none at all as they choose,
which is irreligious or infidel, not religious liberty.
Protestantism, under its most favorable aspect, is not, even in the
estimation of Protestants themselves, religion, or a religion; but
the view of religion which the reformers took, or which men take
or may take of religion. At best it is not the objective truth or
reality, but a human doctrine or theory of it, which has no existence
out of the mind that forms or entertains it. Hence, Protestants
assert, as their cardinal doctrine, justification by faith alone; and
which faith is not the truth, but the mind's view of it. Hence, too,
they deny that the sacraments are efficacious _ex opere operato_,
and maintain that, if efficacious at all, they are so _ex opere
suscipientis_. They reject the Real Presence as a "fond imagination,"
and make every thing in religion depend on the subjective faith,
conviction, or persuasion of the recipient. The church they recognize
or assert is no living organism, no kingdom of God on earth, founded
to teach and govern all men and nations in all things pertaining to
eternal life or the spiritual end of man, but a simple association of
individuals, with no life or authority except what it derives from
the individuals associated, and which is not hers, but theirs.
Some Protestants go so far as to doubt or deny that there is any
truth or reality independent of the mind, and hold that man is
himself his own teacher and his own law-giver; but all concede,
nay, maintain, that what is known or is present to the mind is
never the reality, the truth, or the divine law itself, but the
mind's own representation of it. Hence their Protestantism is not
something fixed and invariable, the same in all times and places, but
varies as the mind of Protestants itself varies, or as their views,
convictions, or feelings change, and they change ever with the spirit
of the age or country. One of their gravest objections to the church
was, in the sixteenth century, that she had altered the faith; and
in the nineteenth century is, that she does not alter it, that she
remains inflexibly the same, and absolutely refuses to change her
faith to suit the times. They hold their own faith and doctrine
alterable at will, and are continually changing it. Evidently, then,
they do not hold it to be the truth; for truth never changes: nor to
be the law of God, which they are bound to obey; for if the law of
God is alterable at all, it can be so only by God himself, never by
man, any body of men, or any creature of God. There is no Protestant
ignorant or conceited enough to maintain the contrary.
This fact that Protestantism is a theory, a doctrine, or a view of
religion, not the objective reality itself, not the recognition and
assertion of the rights of God, but a human view or theory of them,
proves sufficiently that it is incompatible with the assertion of
_religious_ liberty. All it can do is to assert the right or liberty
of the state to adopt and ordain any view of religion it may take;
of the community to form and enforce its own views, convictions, or
opinions; or of the individual to make a religion to suit himself, or
to go without any religion at all, as he pleases. In none of these
cases is there any religious liberty; and in them all religion is
subjected to a purely human authority--the authority of the state,
of the community, or of the individual, one as human as another.
Protestantism is really in its very nature and essence an earnest and
solemn protest against religious liberty, and for it to assert the
freedom and independence of religion, or the spiritual order--that
is, of religion as law to which all men are bound to conform--would
be to commit suicide. Even the supremacy of the spiritual order,
which our old Puritans asserted, was only the assertion of the
authority of their interpretation of the written word against the
divine authority to interpret it claimed by the church, and against
the human authority of the civil magistrate claimed by Anglicanism,
from which they separated, while it subjected it to the congregation,
the brotherhood, or to the ministers and elders, no more spiritual
than the civil magistrate himself.
In the beginning Protestantism made religion in nearly all Protestant
nations a function of the state, as it is still in Great Britain,
Prussia, the several Protestant German states, in Norway, Denmark,
Sweden, Holland, and the Protestant cantons of Switzerland. The
progress of events, and the changes of opinion, have produced a
revolt among Protestant nations against this order, and Protestants
now make, or are struggling to make, it a function of the community
or the sect, and the more advanced party of them demand that it
be made a function of the individual. This advanced party do not
demand the freedom of religion, but the freedom of the individual
from all religious restraints, from all obligations of obedience to
any religious law, and indeed of any law at all, except the law he
imposes on himself. Dr. Bellows, of this city, a champion of this
party, proves that it is not the freedom of religion, nor the freedom
of the individual to be of any religion he chooses; for he denies
that he is free to be a Catholic, though he is free to be any thing
else. He tells Catholics they are only tolerated; and threatens them
with extermination by the sword, if they dare claim equal rights with
Protestants, and insist on having their proportion of the public
schools under their own control, or on not being taxed to support
schools to which they cannot with a good conscience send their
children.
Evidently, then, the pretension that the Reformation has founded
or favored religious liberty is as worthless as we have seen is
the pretension that it has founded or favored civil and political
liberty. It has, on the contrary, uniformly opposed it, and asserted
only the liberty of its contradiction. To assert the liberty of the
state, the people, or the individual to control religion, or to
assert the liberty of infidelity or no-religion, surely is not to
assert the liberty of religion. Protestantism yields always to the
spirit of the age, and asserts the right of that spirit to modify,
alter, or subject religion to itself. There can be no religious
liberty where religion must follow the spirit of the times, and
change as it changes. Religion, if any thing, is the supreme law
of conscience, and conscience is a mere name if obliged to obey
as its supreme law the dominant passion or tendency of the age or
nation. The freedom of conscience is not in the emancipation of
conscience from all law, for that were its destruction; but in its
being subjected to no law but the law of God, promulgated by divine
authority, and declared to the understanding by God himself, or a
court appointed, enlightened, and assisted by the Holy Spirit. Under
Protestantism there is and can be no freedom of conscience; for under
it conscience is either destroyed by being subjected to no law, or
enslaved by being subjected to another law than the law of God.
This conclusion, which we obtain by a simple analysis of
Protestantism, is confirmed by all the facts in the case. Every
student of the history of Protestantism knows that the reformers
never made the pretension now put forth in their name. No man was
ever farther from proposing the emancipation of the mind from what is
called spiritual thraldom than Martin Luther, and no man ever showed
less respect for human reason. His aim was to emancipate the church
from the authority of the pope; and in this laudable work he engaged
the princes of the empire, who were ready to assist him, because
in doing so they could also emancipate themselves, make themselves
pontiffs as well as princes, and enrich themselves with the spoils
of the church. But Luther substituted for the authority of the pope
and councils that of the written word, as amended and interpreted
by himself. He never recognized the so-called right of private
judgement, and never asserted the right of every man to interpret
the written word for himself. The Bible as interpreted by himself,
Martin Luther, was to be taken in all cases as the supreme and only
authority, and he would tolerate no dissent from his interpretation.
He assumed for himself more than papal authority; for he confessedly
assumed authority to alter the written word, which assuredly no pope
ever did. He never admitted any right of dissent from his dicta, and
wherever he could, he suppressed it by the strong arm of power.
John Calvin was not more tolerant, as the burning of Michael Servetus
over a slow fire made of green wood, and his pamphlet justifying
the burning of heretics, amply prove. Henry VIII. of England put
to death Catholics and Lollards, beheaded Cardinal Fisher and Sir
Thomas More, because they refused to take the oath of the royal
supremacy, except with the qualification, "as far as the law of
Christ permits." In Sweden, the peasants were entrapped into the
support of the Reformation by the infamous Gustavus Vasa, under
pretence of recovering and reëstablishing the national independence;
and after the prince had regained by their aid his throne and been
crowned king, were massacred by thousands because they wished still
to adhere to the Catholic Church, and resisted its abolition. In
Geneva, Protestantism gained a footing in much the same way.
Protestants came from Berne and other places to assist the citizens
in a political rebellion against their prince, who was also their
bishop, and afterward drove out the Catholics who could not be forced
to accept the Reformation.
We need not pursue the history of the establishment of Protestantism,
which is written in blood. Suffice it to say, that in no country was
the Reformation introduced but by the aid of the civil power, and in
no state in which it gained the mastery did it fail to be established
as the religion of the state, and to obtain the suppression by force
or civil pains and penalties of the old religion, and of all forms
even of Protestant dissent. The state religion was bound hand and
foot, and could move only by permission of the temporal sovereign,
and no other religion was tolerated. We all know the penal laws
against Catholics in England, Ireland, and Scotland, reënacted with
additional severity under William and Mary, almost in the eighteenth
century. James II., it is equally well known, lost the crown of his
three kingdoms by an edict of toleration, which, as it tolerated
Catholics, was denounced as an act of outrageous tyranny. The penal
laws against Catholics were adopted by the Episcopalian colony of
Virginia, and the Puritan colony of Massachusetts made it an offence
punishable with banishment from the colony for a citizen to harbor a
Catholic priest for a single night, or to give him a single meal of
victuals. It was only in 1788 that the Presbyterian Assembly of the
United States expunged from their confession of faith the article
which declares it the duty of the civil magistrate to extirpate
heretics and idolaters--an article still retained by their brethren
in Scotland, and by the United Presbyterians in this country.
Indeed, toleration is quite a recent discovery. Old John Cotton, the
first minister of Boston, took care to warn his hearers or readers
that he did not defend "that _devil's_ doctrine, toleration."
Toleration to a limited extent first began to be practised among
Protestants on the acquisition of provinces whose religion was
different from that of the state making the acquisition. The example
was followed of the pagan Romans, who tolerated the national religion
of every conquered, tributary, or allied nation, though they
tolerated no religion which was not national, and for three hundred
years martyred Christians because their religion was not national,
but Catholic. It is only since Voltaire and the Encyclopædists
preached toleration as the most effective weapon in their arsenal,
as they supposed, against Christianity, or the beginnings of the
French Revolution of 1789, that Protestants have taken up the strain,
professed toleration, and claimed to be, and, in the face and eyes of
all history, always to have been, the champions of religious liberty
and the freedom of conscience. It was not till 1829 that the very
imperfect Catholic Relief Bill passed in the British parliament,
and the complete disestablishment of Congregationalism as the state
religion in Massachusetts did not take place till 1835, though
dissenters had for some time previous been tolerated.
Yet in no Protestant state has complete liberty been extended to
Catholics. The French Revolution, with its high-flown phrases of
liberty, equality, brotherhood, and religious freedom, suppressed
the Catholic religion, and imprisoned, deported, or massacred the
bishops and priests who would not abandon it for the civil church
it ordained. We ourselves, though very young at the time, remember
the exultation of our Protestant neighbors when the first Napoleon
dragged the venerable and saintly Pius VII. from his throne and held
him a prisoner, first at Savona, and afterward at Fontainebleau.
"Babylon is fallen," they cried; "the man-child has slain the beast
with seven heads and ten horns." The revolutions, ostensibly social
and political, which have been going on in the Catholic nations of
Europe, and are still in process, and which everywhere are hostile to
the church, have the warm sympathy of Protestants of every nation,
and in Italy and Spain have been aided and abetted by Protestant
associations and contributions, as part and parcel of the Protestant
programme for the abolition of the papacy and the destruction of our
holy religion.
Protestants now tolerate Protestant dissenters, and allow Jews and
infidels equal rights with themselves; but they find great difficulty
in regarding any outrage on the freedom of the church as an outrage
on religious liberty. She is Catholic, not national, over all
nations, and subject to none; therefore no nation should tolerate
her. Even in this country Protestants very reluctantly suffer her
presence, and the liberal Dr. Bellows, a Protestant of Protestants,
warns, as we have seen, Catholics not to attempt to act as if they
stood on an equality with Protestants. It is only a few years since
the whole country was agitated by the Know-Nothing movement, got up
in secret lodges, for the purpose, if not of outlawing or banishing
Catholics, at least of depriving them of civil and political
citizenship. The movement professed to be a movement in part
against naturalizing persons of foreign birth, but really for the
exclusion of such persons only in so far as they were Catholics. The
controversy now raging on the school question proves that Protestants
are very far from feeling that Catholics have equal rights with
themselves, or that the Catholic conscience is entitled to any
respect or consideration from the state. Public opinion proscribes
us, and no Catholic could be chosen to represent a purely Protestant
constituency in any legislative body, if known to be such and to be
devoted to his religion. Our only protection, under God, is the fact
that we have votes which the leaders of all parties want; yet there
is a movement now going on for female suffrage, which, if successful,
will, it is hoped, swamp our votes by bringing to the polls swarms
of fanatical women, the creatures of fanatical preachers, together
with other swarms of infidel, lewd, or shameless women, who detest
Catholic marriage and wish to be relieved of its restraints, as
well as of their duties as mothers. This may turn the scale against
us; for Catholic women have too much delicacy, and too much of that
retiring modesty that becomes the sex, to be seen at the polls.
But the imperfect toleration practised by Protestants is by no
means due to their Protestantism, but to their growing indifference
to religion, and to the conviction of Protestant and non-Catholic
governments, that their supremacy over the spiritual order is so
well established, their victory so complete, that all danger of its
renewing the struggle to bring them again under its law is past.
Let come what may, the spiritual order can never regain its former
supremacy, or Cæsar tremble again at the bar of Peter. Cæsar fancies
that he has shorn the church so completely of her Catholicity, except
as an empty name, and so fully subjected her to his own or the
national authority, that he has no longer any need to be intolerant.
Why not, indeed, amnesty the poor Catholics, who can no longer be
dangerous to the national sovereign, or interfere with the policy of
the state?
For ourselves, we do not pretend that the church is or ever has been
tolerant. She is undeniably intolerant in her own order, as the law,
as truth is intolerant, though she does not necessarily require
the state to be intolerant. She certainly is opposed to what the
nineteenth century calls religious liberty, which, we have seen, is
simply the liberty of infidelity or irreligion. She does not teach
views or opinions, but presents the independent truth, the reality
itself; proclaims, declares, and applies the law of God, always and
everywhere one and the same. She cannot, then, while faithful to
her trust, allow the truth to be denied without censuring those who
knowingly deny it, or the law to be disobeyed without condemning
those who disobey it. But always and everywhere does the church
assert, and, as far as she can, maintain the full and perfect liberty
of religion, the entire freedom and independence of the spiritual
order, to be itself and to act according to its own laws--that is,
religious liberty in her sense, and, if the words mean any thing,
religious liberty in its only true and legitimate sense.
The nineteenth century may not be able to understand it, or, if
understanding it, to accept it; yet it is true that the spiritual
is the superior, and the law of the temporal. The supremacy belongs
in all things of right to God, represented on earth by the church
or the spiritual order. The temporal has no rights, no legitimacy
save as subordinated to the spiritual--that is, to the end for which
man is created and exists. The end for which all creatures are made
and exist is not temporal, but spiritual and eternal; for it is
God himself who is the final cause as well as the first cause of
creation. The end, or God as final cause, prescribes the law which
all men must obey, or fail of attaining their end, which is their
supreme good. This law all men and nations, kings and peoples,
sovereigns and subjects, are alike bound to obey; it is for all men,
for states and empires, no less than for individuals, the supreme
law, the law and the only law that binds the conscience.
Now, religion is this law, and includes all that it commands to
be done, all that it forbids to be done, and all the means and
conditions of its fulfilment. The church, as all Catholics hold, is
the embodiment of this law, and is therefore in her very nature and
constitution teleological. She speaks always and everywhere with
the authority of God, as the final cause of creation, and therefore
her words are law, her commands are the commands of God. Christ,
who is God as well as man, is her personality, and therefore she
lives, teaches, and governs in him, and he in her. This being so,
it is clear that religious liberty must consist in the unrestrained
freedom and independence of the church to teach and govern all men
and nations, princes and people, rulers and ruled, in all things
enjoined by the teleological law of man's existence, and therefore in
the recognition and maintenance for the church of that very supreme
authority which the popes have always claimed, and against which
the Reformation protested, and which secular princes are generally
disposed to resist when it crosses their pride, their policy, their
ambition, or their love of power. Manifestly, then, religious liberty
and Protestantism are mutually antagonistic, each warring against the
other.
The church asserts and vindicates the rights of God in the
government of men, and hence is she called the kingdom of God on
earth. The rights of God are the foundation of all human rights; for
man cannot create or originate rights, since he is a creature, not
his own, and belongs, all he is and all he has, to his Creator. God's
rights being perfect and absolute, extend to all his creatures; and
he has therefore the right that no one of his creatures oppress or
wrong another, and that justice be done alike by all men to all men.
We can wrong no man, deprive no man of life, liberty, or the pursuit
of happiness, without violating the rights of God and offending our
Maker. "Inasmuch as ye did it to the least of my brethren, ye did it
unto me." Hence, the church in asserting and vindicating the rights
of God, asserts and protects in the fullest manner possible the
so-called inalienable rights of man, opposes with divine authority
all tyranny, all despotism, all arbitrary power, all wrong, all
oppression, every species of slavery, and asserts the fullest
liberty, political, civil, social, and individual, that is possible
without confounding liberty with license. The liberty she sustains is
true liberty; for it is that of which our Lord speaks when he says,
"If the Son makes you free, ye shall be free indeed." The church
keeps, guards, declares, and applies the divine law, of which human
laws must be transcripts in order to have the force or vigor of laws.
Man has in his own right no power to legislate for man, and the state
can rightfully govern only by virtue of authority from God. Hence,
St. Paul says, _Non est potestas nisi a Deo_. "There is no power
except from God."
The church in asserting the supremacy of the law of God or of the
spiritual order, asserts not only religious liberty, but all true
liberty, civil, political, social, and individual; and we have
seen that liberty, the basis and condition of civilization, was
steadily advancing in all these respects during the middle ages till
interrupted by the revival of paganism in the fifteenth century and
the outbreak of Protestantism in the sixteenth. The Reformation
did not emancipate society from spiritual thraldom, but raised it
up in revolt against legitimate authority, and deprived it of all
protection, on the one hand, against arbitrary power, and, on the
other, against anarchy and unbounded lawlessness, as the experience
of more than three centuries has proved. There is not a government
in Europe that is not daily conspired against, and it requires five
millions of armed soldiers even in time of peace to maintain internal
order, and give some little security to property and life. To pretend
that the authority of the church, as the organ of the spiritual
order, is despotic, is to use words without understanding their
meaning. Her authority is only that of the law of God, and she uses
it only to maintain the rights of God, the basis and condition of the
rights of individuals and of society. Man's rights, whether social
or individual, civil or political, are the rights of God in and over
man, and they can be maintained only by maintaining the rights of
God, or, what is the same thing, the authority of the church of God
in the government of human affairs. Atheism is the denial of liberty,
as also is pantheism, which denies God as creator.
There is no liberty where there is no authority competent to assert
and maintain it, or where there is no authority derived from God,
who only hath dominion. The men who seek to get rid of authority as
the condition of asserting liberty are bereft of reason, and more
in need of physic and good regimen than of argument. Liberty is not
in being exempt from obedience, but in being held to obey only the
rightful or legitimate authority. God's right to govern his creatures
is full and perfect, and any authority he delegates or authorizes to
be exercised in his name, is legitimate, and in no sense abridges
or interferes with liberty--unless by liberty you mean license--but
is the sole condition of its maintenance. God's dominion over man
is absolute, but is not despotic or tyrannical, since it is only
his absolute right. The authority of the church, however extended
it may be, and she is the judge of its extent and its limitations,
as the court is the judge of its own jurisdiction, is not despotic,
tyrannical, or oppressive, because it is the authority of God
exercised through her.
The pretension of Protestants that Protestantism favors liberty, and
the church despotism, is based on the supposition that authority
negatives liberty and liberty negatives authority, that whatever is
given to the one is taken from the other; a supposition refuted some
time since, in the magazine for October last, in an article entitled
_An Imaginary Contradiction_, and need detain us no longer at
present. Just or legitimate authority, founded on the rights of God,
and instituted to assert and maintain them in human affairs, confirms
and protects liberty instead of impairing it.
Yet there is no doubt that the church condemns liberty in the sense
of the Reformation, and especially in that of the nineteenth century.
Protestantism denies infallibility to the church and assumes it for
the age, for the state, for public opinion--that is, for the world.
The most shocking blasphemy in its eyes is to assert that the age
is fallible and cannot be relied on as a safe or sure guide. We
differ from the Protestant; we attribute infallibility to the church,
and deny it to the age, even though the age be this enlightened
nineteenth century. We do not believe it is always wise or prudent
to suffer one's self to be carried away by the dominant tendency or
passion of this or any other age. It is characteristic of every age
to fix upon one special object or class of objects, and to pursue
them with an exclusiveness and a concentrated passion and energy that
render them practically evil, even though good when taken in their
place and wisely pursued. Even maternal affection becomes evil and
destructive, if not guided or restrained by wisdom and prudence.
Philanthropy is a noble sentiment; yet men and women in our own age,
carried away, dazzled, and blinded by it, only produce evils they
would avoid, defeat the very good they would effect. The spirit of
our age is that of the production, accumulation, and possession of
material goods. Material goods in their proper measure and place
are needed; but when their production and accumulation become with
an individual or an age an engrossing passion that excludes the
spiritual and the eternal, they are evil, and lead only to ruin, both
spiritual and material, as daily experience proves.
The church, then, instituted to teach the truth and to secure
obedience to the law of God, directed always by her divine ideal,
is forced to resist always and everywhere the age, that is, the
world, instead of following its spirit, and to labor for its
correction, not for its encouragement. Hence always is there more
or less opposition between the church and what is called the spirit
of the age, and their mutual concordance is never to be looked for
so long as the world stands. Hence the church in this world is the
church militant, and her normal life one of never-ending struggle
with the world--spirit of the age, _der Welt-Geist_--the flesh, and
the devil. It is only by this struggle that she makes conquests
for heaven, and prevents civil governments from degenerating into
intolerable tyrannies, and society from lapsing into pagan darkness
and superstition.
We have, we think, sufficiently disposed of the Protestant
pretension, and if any of our readers think we have not fully done
it, we refer them to the work before us. There is no doubt that the
boldness, not to say impudence, with which the Protestant pretension
is urged, and the support it receives from the rationalistic
journalism and literature which form contemporary public opinion
in Catholic nations, coupled with the general ignorance of history
and the shortness of men's memories, accounts for the chief success
of Protestant missions in unmaking Catholics, which, though very
limited, is yet much greater than it is pleasant to think. Yet
gradually the truth will find its way to the public; even Protestants
themselves will by and by tell it, piece by piece, as they are now
doing. They have already refuted many of the falsehoods and calumnies
they began by inventing and publishing against the church, and in due
time they will refute the rest.
The abbé shows very clearly that the toleration now accepted and to
some extent practised, and the liberty now allowed to the various
sects, will most likely have a disastrous effect on the future of
Protestantism. It must sooner or later, he thinks, lead to the
demolition of the Protestant national establishments. National
churches cannot coexist with unlimited freedom of dissent. The
English Church must soon follow the fate of the Anglican Church in
Ireland. Its disestablishment is only a question of time. So it
will be before long in all Protestant nations that have a national
church. The doctrine of toleration and freedom for all sects and
opinions not only tends to produce indifference to dogmatic theology,
but is itself a result of that indifference; and indifference
to dogmatic truth is a more formidable enemy to deal with than
out-and-out disbelief or positive infidelity. A soul breathing
forth threatenings, and filled with rage against Christians, can be
converted, and became Paul the apostle and doctor of the Gentiles;
but the conversion of a Gallio, who cares for none of these things,
is a rare event.
With the several sects, doctrinal differences are daily becoming
matters of less and less importance. Who hears now of controversies
between Calvinists and Arminians? Even the New School and the Old
School Presbyterians, though separated by grave dogmatic differences,
unite and form one and the same ecclesiastical body; Presbyterians
and Methodists work together in harmony; Orthodox Congregationalists
show signs of fraternizing with Unitarians, and Unitarians fraternize
with Radicals who reject the very name of Christian, and can hardly
be said to believe even in God. One need not any longer believe any
thing, except that Catholicity is a gross superstition, and the
church a spiritual despotism, the grand enemy of the human race,
in order to be a good and acceptable Protestant. A certain inward
sentiment, emotion, or affection, which even a pantheist or an
atheist may experience, suffices. The dread presence of the church,
hatred of Catholicity, the zeal inspired by party attachment, and
the hope of finally arriving at some solid footing, may keep up
appearances for some time to come; the eloquence, the polished
manners, the personal influence, and the demagogic arts and address
of the preacher may continue for a while to fill a few fashionable
meeting-houses; but when success depends on the personal character
and address of the minister, as is rapidly becoming the fact in all
Protestant sects, we may take it for granted that Protestantism has
seen its best days, is going the way of all the earth, and soon the
place that has known it shall know it no more for ever.
Protestantism, with all deference to our author, who pronounces it
imperishable, we venture to say, has well-nigh run its course. It
began by divorcing the church from the papacy and subjecting religion
to the national authority, subordinating the spiritual to the
temporal, the priest to the magistrate, the representative of heaven
to the representative of earth. It constituted the national sovereign
the supreme head and governor, the pontifex maximus, after the manner
of the Gentiles, of the national religion, or the national church,
and punished dissent as treason against the prince. It was at first,
and for over two centuries, bitterly intolerant, especially against
Catholics, whom it persecuted with a refined cruelty which recalled,
if it did not surpass, that practised by paganism on Christians in
the martyr ages.
Tired of persecution, or finding it impotent to prevent dissent,
Protestantism tried after a while its hand at civil toleration.
The state tolerated, to a greater or less extent, at first only
Protestant dissenters from the established church; but at last,
though with many restrictions, and with the sword ever suspended over
their heads, even Catholics themselves. From civil toleration, from
ceasing to cut the throats and confiscate the goods of Catholics, and
of Protestant recusants, it is passing now to theological tolerance,
or what it calls complete religious liberty, though as yet only its
advanced-guard have reached it.
The state, unless in the American republic, does not, indeed,
disclaim its supremacy over the church; but it leaves religion to
take care of itself, as a thing beneath the notice of the civil
magistrate, so long as it abstains from interfering with state
policy, or meddling with politics. To-day Protestantism divorces,
or is seeking to divorce, the church from the state, as it began
by divorcing both her and the state from the papacy; it divorces
religion from the church and from morality, Christianity from
Christ, faith from dogma, piety from reason, and it resolves into an
affection of man's emotional or sentimental nature. We find persons
calling themselves Christians who do not believe in Christ, or regard
him as a myth, and godly, who do not even believe in God. We have
men, and women too, who demand the disruption of the marriage tie in
the name of morality, and free love in the name of purity. Words lose
their meaning. The churl is called liberal, things bitter are called
sweet, and things profane are called holy. Not many years since,
there was published in England, and republished here, an earnest
and ingenious poem, designed to rehabilitate Satan, and chanting
his merits as man's noblest, best, and truest friend. In the mean
time, every thing regarded as religion loses its hold on the new
generations; moral corruption of all sorts in public, domestic, and
private life is making fearful progress throughout the Anglo-Saxon
world, the mainstay of Protestantism; and society seems tottering on
the verge of dissolution. Such is the career Protestantism has run,
is running, or, by the merciless logic to which it is subjected,
will be forced to run. What hope, then, can Protestants have for its
future?
As to the future of Catholicity, we are under no apprehensions.
We know that never can the church be in this world the church
triumphant, and that she and the world will always be in a state of
mutual hostility; but the hostility can never harm her, though it
may cause the spiritual ruin of the individuals and nations that
war against her. The Protestant world have for over three hundred
years been trying to get on without her, and have succeeded but
indifferently. Sensible and earnest-minded men among Protestants
themselves boldly pronounce that the experiment has failed, which
most Protestants inwardly feel, and sadly deplore; but like the poor
man in Balzac's novel, who has spent his own patrimony, his wife's
dower, the portion of his daughter, with all he could borrow, beg,
or steal, and reduced his wife, his children, and himself to utter
destitution, in the _recherche d'absolu_, they are buoyed up by the
feeling that they are just a-going to succeed. But even this feeling
cannot last always. Hope too long "deferred maketh the heart sick."
It may be long yet, and many souls for whom Christ has died be
lost, before the nations that have apostatized learn wisdom enough
to abandon the delusive hope, and turn again to Him whom they have
rejected, or look again, weeping, on the face of Him whom they have
crucified. But the church will stand, whether they return or not; for
she is founded on a rock that cannot be shaken, on the eternal truth
of God, that cannot fail.
The Protestant experiment has demonstrated beyond question that
the very things in the Catholic Church which are most offensive to
this age, and for which it wages unrelenting war against her, are
precisely those things it most needs for its own protection and
safety. It needs, first of all, the Catholic Church--nay, the papacy
itself--to declare and apply the law of God to states and empires,
to sovereigns and subjects, kings and peoples, that politics may no
longer be divorced from religion, but be rendered subsidiary to the
spiritual, the eternal end of man, for which both individuals and
society exist and civil governments are instituted. It needs the
church to declare and enforce the law, by such means as she judges
proper, that should govern the relation of the sexes; to hallow
and protect marriage, the basis of the family, as the family is of
society, that great sacrament or mysterious union, typical of the
union of Christ with the church, which is indissoluble; to take
charge of education, and to train up, or cause to be trained up, the
young in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, or in the way they
should go, that when old they shall not depart from it; to teach
maidens modesty and reserve, and wives and mothers due submission
to their husbands and proper care of their children; to assert and
protect the rights of women; to train them to be contented to be
women, and not to aspire to be men, or to usurp the functions of men,
and to bid them stay at home, and not be gadding abroad, running over
the country and spouting nonsense, free love, infidelity, impiety,
and blasphemy, at suffrage conventions and other gatherings, at which
it is a shame for a woman to open her mouth, or even to be present;
and, most of all, to exercise a vigilant censorship over ideas,
whether vented in books, journals, or lectures, and to keep from the
public those which tend to mislead the mind or corrupt the heart, as
a prudent father strives to keep them from his children.
The age needs for this the _Catholic_ Church. A national church
cannot do it; far less can the sects do it. These all depend on the
public opinion of the age, the nation, or the sect, and have no
power to withstand that opinion. This is perhaps better understood
here than elsewhere. The sects, being creatures of opinion, have
no power to control it, and their tendency is invariably to seize
upon every opinion, excitement, or movement that is, or is likely
to be, popular, and help it on as the means of swelling, when it
is at flood-tide, their own respective numbers. A national church
has undoubtedly more stability, and is not so easily wrested from
its moorings. But it has only the stability of the government that
ordains it, and the most absolute government must sooner or later
yield to the force of opinion. Opinion has disestablished and
disendowed the state church in Ireland, and will, as is most likely,
do it ere long in both England and Scotland. The Protestant sects
have no alternative; they must either yield to the dominant opinion,
tendency, or passion of the times and move on with it, or be swept
away by it.
It is only a church truly catholic, that depends on no nation, that
extends to all, and is over all, that derives not its being or its
strength from the opinion of courts or of peoples, but rests on
God for her being, her law, and her support, that can maintain her
integrity, or have the courage to stand before an age or a nation,
denounce its errors, and condemn its dominant passion or tendency, or
that would be heeded, if she did. It was only the visible head of the
Catholic Church, the vicar of Christ, that could perform the heroic
act of publishing in this century the Syllabus; and if, as we are
confident they have, the prelates assembled in the Council of the
Vatican have some share of the courage of their chief, their decrees
will not only draw the attention of the world anew to the church, but
go far to prove to apostate nations and truculent governments that
she takes counsel of God, not of the weakness and timidity of men.
A few more such acts as the publication of the Syllabus and the
convocation of the council now sitting at Rome, joined to the
manifest failure of Protestantism, will serve to open the eyes of the
people, disabuse non-Catholics of the delusions under which they are
led away to their own destruction. The very freedom, though false in
principle, which is suffered in Protestant nations, while it removes
all restraints from infidelity, immorality, and blasphemy, aids the
victory of the church over her enemies. It ruins them by suffering
them to run into all manner of excesses; but she can use it without
danger and with advantage where there are minds to be convinced or
hearts to be won; for she can abide the freest examination, the most
rigid investigation and scrutiny, while the indwelling Holy Ghost
cannot fail to protect her from all error on either side. The present
delusions of the loud-boasting nineteenth century must give way
before her as she once more stands forth in her true light, and her
present enemies be vanquished.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] _De l'Avenir du Protestantisme et du Catholicisme._ Par M. l'Abbé
F. Martin. Paris: Tobra et Haton. 1869. 8vo, pp. 608.
DION AND THE SIBYLS.
A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL.
BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF "HARDING,
THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC.
DEDICATION.
I dedicate the following work to Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton, not
only in appreciation of one of the most searching, comprehensive,
independent, and indefatigable thinkers, and one of the truest and
highest men of genius, of whom it has ever been the lot of his own
country and of the English-speaking races to be proud, and the fate
of contemporary nations to feel honorably jealous; not only in
admiration of a mind which nature made great, and which study has to
the last degree cultivated, whose influence and authority have been
steadily rising since he first began to labor in literary fields more
varied than almost any into which ONE person had previously dared to
carry the efforts of the intellect; but still more as an humble token
of the grateful love which I feel in return for the faithful and
consistent friendship and the innumerable services with which a great
genius and a great man has honored me during twenty years.
MILES GERALD KEON.
PARIS, Jan. 18, 1870.
INTRODUCTION.
The historical romance of Mr. Keon, now republished with the author's
most cordial permission and his latest corrections, was first printed
in London, in 1866, by Mr. Bentley, publisher in ordinary to the
Queen. The edition was brought out in a very handsome style, and
sold at the high price of a guinea. Notwithstanding the heavy price
at which the work was furnished to our transpontine kinsfolk, (or at
least to the "upper ten thousand" of them,) it is at this moment out
of print, and an effort made about two years ago to procure copies
for sale in this country was unsuccessful. The copy kindly sent
us by the author was accidentally mislaid for several months, and
this circumstance, together with the desire to give our readers the
opportunity of perusing the work as soon as their attention should be
directed to it by a notice such as its high merit demands, caused
us to delay the proper public acknowledgment to the author until the
present moment. Its success in England, in spite of the nationality
and religion of the writer, is no slight proof of its intrinsic
excellence, especially when we consider that he ventured into a field
which the subject-matter of the book would turn into the very home
and headquarters of English prejudice.
To every effect adequate cause; and, in this instance, to those who
take up the story of _Dion_, one cause of its success will, before
they have gone half way through its events and adventures, speak for
itself. Yet, however light to read, the work has, we feel convinced,
been in the last degree laborious both to plan and to execute.
"Easy writing," said Thomas Moore, "very often makes fearfully hard
reading." We believe the converse has often proved equally true.
We are glad to learn that Mr. Keon has recently received a far more
gratifying recognition of his distinguished merit than any other to
which a Catholic author can aspire. At a private audience granted
him by Pius IX., His Holiness complimented him on his services to
literature and religion, and gave him a beautiful rosary of pearl as
a token of his august favor.
One word more, and we shall let the story itself begin to be heard.
The epoch of _Dion_ was the turning-point of all human history--the
hinge of the fateful gates, the moment of the mightiest and most
stupendous transition our world has ever known, the transition
of transitions; the moment on this earth of a superplanetary,
supercosmic drama. There were two suns in the heavens; one rising,
never to set; the other going down to rise no more. At no epoch had
human genius blazed so luminous, or human pride poised itself on
wings so wide, in a sphere so sublime; but this genius was for the
first time confronted in its own sphere by divine inspiration and a
supernatural authority. The setting of a classic though pagan day
saw the dawning day of Christianity. There were two suns in one sky
at the same moment. The doubtful cross-lights of two civilizations
over-arched the world with a vault of shifting, contending, contrary,
and awful splendors--those of one order in the utmost intensity
of their radiance, those of the other in their first, glimmering
beginnings; a seeming confusion; an internecine war; a hazy mingling
of embattled glories as full of meaning as it was of mystery.
ED. CATH. WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
It was a fair evening in autumn, toward the end of the year eleven
of our Lord. Augustus Cæsar was a white-haired, olive-complexioned,
and somewhat frail-featured, though stately man of more than
seventy-three. At the beginning of the century in which this was
written, the face of the first Napoleon recalled to the minds of
antiquaries and students of numismatic remains the lineaments,
engraved upon the extant coins of Augustus. Indeed, at this moment
there is in the Vatican a beautiful marble bust in excellent
preservation, representing one of these two emperors as he was while
yet young; and this bust almost invariably produces a curious effect
upon the stranger who contemplates it for the first time. "That is
certainly a beautiful artistic work," he says, "but the likeness is
hardly perfect."
"Likeness of whom?" replies some Italian friend. "Of the emperor,"
says the stranger. "_Sicuro!_ But which emperor?" asks the Italian,
smiling. "Of course, the first," says the visitor; "_not this_ one."
"But that represents Augustus Cæsar, not Napoleon Bonaparte," is
the answer. Whereupon the stranger, who, a moment before had very
justly pronounced the resemblance to Bonaparte to be hardly perfect,
exclaims, not less justly, What an amazing likeness to Napoleon!
That sort of admiring surprise is intelligible. Had the bust been
designed as an image of the great modern conqueror, there had been
something to censure. But the work which, at one and the same time,
delineates the second Cæsar, and yet now after 1800 years recalls to
mind the first Napoleon, has become a curious monument indeed.
The second Roman emperor, however, had not a forehead so broad
and commanding nor so marble smooth as Napoleon's, and the whole
countenance, at the time when our narrative begins, offered a more
decisively aquiline curve, with more numerous and much thinner lines
about the mouth. Still, even at the age which he had then reached--in
the year eleven of our Lord--he showed traces of that amazing beauty
which had enchanted the whole classic world in the days of his youth.
Three years more, and his reign and life were to go down in a great,
broad, calm, treacherous sunset together.
After the senate had rewarded the histrionic and purely make-believe
moderation of its master--and in truth its destroyer--by giving to
one who had named himself _Princeps_ the greater name of Augustus,
the former title, like a left-off robe, too good to be thrown away,
was carefully picked up, brushed into all its gloss, and appropriated
by a second performer. We allude, of course, to Drusus Tiberius
Claudius Nero, the future emperor, best known by his second name
of Tiberius. The first and third names had belonged to his brother
also. Tiberius was then "Prince and Cæsar," as the new slang of
flattery termed him; he was stepson of Augustus and already adopted
heir, solemnly _designatus_. He was verging upon the close of his
fifty-third year of cautious profligacy, clandestine vindictiveness,
and strictly-regulated vices. History has not accused him of
murdering Agrippa Vespasianus; but had Agrippa survived, he would
have held all Tiberius's present offices. Ælius Sejanus, commander of
the prætorian guards, was occupied in watching the monthly, watching
even the daily, decay of strength in the living emperor, and was
pandering to the passions of his probable successor. Up to this time
Sejanus had been, and still was, thus employed. More dangerous hopes
had not arisen in his bosom; he had not yet indulged in the vision
of becoming master of the known world--a dream which, some twenty
years afterward, consigned him to cruel and sudden destruction.
No conspirator, perhaps, ever exercised more craft and patience
in preparing, or betrayed more stupidity at last in executing, an
attempt at treason on so great a scale. It was forty-six years since
Sallust had expired amid the luxuries which cruelty and rapine
accumulated, after profligacy had first brought him acquainted with
want.
Ovid had just been sent into exile at Temesvar in Turkey--then
called Tomos in Scythia. Cornelius Nepos was ending his days in the
personal privacy and literary notoriety in which he had lived. Virgil
had been dead a whole generation; so had Tibullus; Catullus, half a
century; Propertius, some twenty years; Horace and Mæcenas, about
as long. The grateful master of the _curiosa felicitas verborum_
had followed in three weeks to--not the grave, indeed, but--the
urn, the patron whom he had immortalized in the first of his odes,
the first of his epodes, the first of his satires, and the first of
his epistles; and the mighty sovereign upon whose youthful court
those three characters--a wise, mild, clement, yet firm minister, a
glorious epic poet, and an unsurpassed lyrist--have reflected so much
and such enduring lustre, had faithfully and unceasingly lamented
their irreparable loss. Lucius Varius was the fashionable poet,
the laureate of the day; and Mæcenas being removed, Tiberius sought
to govern indirectly, as minister, all those matters which he did
not control directly and immediately, as one of the two Cæsars whom
Augustus had appointed. Velleius Paterculus, the cavalry colonel,
or military tribune, (chiliarch,) a prosperous and accomplished
patrician, was beginning to shine at once in letters and at the
court. The grandson of Livia, grandson also of Augustus by his
marriage with her, but really grand-nephew of that emperor--we mean
the son of Antonia, the celebrated _Germanicus_, second and more
worthy bearer of that surname--a youth full of fire and genius, and
tingling with noble blood--was preparing to atone for the disgraces
and to repair the disasters which Quintilius Varus, one year before,
amidst the uncleared forests of Germany, had brought upon the
imperial arms and the Roman name. Germanicus, indeed, was about to
fulfil the more important part of a celebrated classic injunction;
he was going to do things worthy to be written, "while the supple
courtier of all Cæsars, Paterculus, was endeavoring to _write
something worthy to be read_." Strabo had not long before commenced
his system of geography, which, for about thirty years yet to come,
was to engage his attention and dictate his travels. Livy, of the
"pictured page," who doubtless may be called, next to Tacitus, the
most eloquent without being set down as quite the most credulous
of classic historians--I venture to say so, _pace Niebuhr_--was
over sixty-eight years of age, but scarcely looked sixty. He was
even then thoroughly and universally appreciated. No man living had
received more genuine marks of honor--not even the emperor. His
hundred and forty-two books of Roman history had filled the known
world with his praises, a glory which length of days allowed him
fully to enjoy. Modern readers appreciate and admire the thirty-five
books which alone are left, and linger over the beauties, _quasi
stellis_, with which they shine. Yet who knows but these may be
among the poorest productions of Livy's genius? A very simple sum in
arithmetic would satisfy an actuary that we must have lost the most
valuable emanations of the Paduan's great mind. Given a salvage of
five-and-thirty out of a hundred and forty-two, and yet the whole of
this wreck so marvellous in beauty! surely that which is gone for
ever must have included much that is equal, probably something far
superior to what time has spared.
There is a curious fact recorded by Pliny the younger, which speaks
for itself. A Spaniard of Cadiz had, only some five months before
the date of our story, journeyed from the ends of the earth to Rome
merely to obtain a sight of Livy. There were imperial shows in the
forum and hippodrome and circus at the time; there were races on
foot, and on horseback, and in chariots; fights there were of all
kinds--men against wild animals, men against each other; with the
sword, with the deadly cestus; wrestling matches, and the dreadful
battles of gladiators, five hundred a side; in short, all the glitter
and the glories and the horrors of the old classic arena in its
culminating days. There was also a strange new Greek fence, since
inherited by Naples, and preserved all through the middle ages down
to this hour, with the straight, pliant, three-edged rapier, to
witness which even ladies thronged with interest and partisanship.
But the Spaniard from Gades (Cervantes might surely have had such an
ancestor) asked only to be shown Titus Livius. Which in yonder group
is Livy? The wayfarer cared for nothing else that Roman civilization
or Roman vanity could show him. The great writer was pointed out, and
then the traveller, having satisfied the motive which had brought
him to Rome, went back to Ostia, where his lugger, if I may so call
it, lay, (I picture it a kind of "wing-and-wing" rigged vessel;)
and, refusing to profane his eyes with any meaner spectacle, set
sail again for Spain, where his youth had been illumined with the
visions presented to a sympathetic imagination by the most charming
of classical historians. The Spaniards from an immemorial age are
deemed to have been heroes and appreciators of heroes; and no doubt
this literary pilgrim, once more at home, recurred many a time, long
pondering, to the glorious deeds of the _Fabia Gens_.
How many other similar examples Livy may have recorded for him we
moderns cannot say. Before his gaze arose the finished column from
the fragments whereof we have gathered up some scattered bricks and
marbles. Niebuhr had to deal with a ruin, and he who ought to have
guessed at and reconstructed the plan of it, has contented himself
with trying to demolish its form.
Long previously to the date of our tale, Augustus, trembling
under the despotism of his wife Livia, had begun to repeat those
lamentations (with which scholars are familiar) for the times
when Mæcenas had guided his active day, and Virgil and Horace had
beguiled his lettered evenings. Virgil, as is well known, had been
tormented with asthma, and ought possibly to have lived much longer
but for some unrecorded imprudence. Horace, as is likewise well
known, had been tormented with sore eyelids--and with wine; he was
"blear-eyed," (_lippus_.) Augustus, therefore, used to say wittily,
as he placed them on each hand of him at the _symposium_, which had
been recently borrowed in Italy from the Greeks, but had not yet
degenerated into the debauchery and extravagance into which they
afterward sank more and more deeply during successive reigns, "I sit
between sighs and tears." _In suspiriis sedeo et in lachrymis._ But
he had long lost these so-called sighs and tears at either hand of
him. The sighs and tears were now his own.
CHAPTER II.
Our chronicle commences in Campania, with the Tyrrhenian Sea (now the
southerly waters of the Gulf of Genoa) on a traveller's left hand if
he looks north. It was a fair evening in autumn, as we have remarked,
during that age and state of the world the broad outlines of which we
have briefly given. Along the Appian, or, as it long afterward came
to be also called, the Trajan Way, the queen of roads, a conveyance
drawn by two horses, a carriage of the common hackney description,
not unlike one species of the _vettura_ used by the modern Italians,
was rolling swiftly northward between the stage of Minturnæ and
the next stage, which was a lonely post-house a few miles south of
the interesting town of Formiæ--not _Forum Appii_, or the _Three
Taverns_, a place more than fifty miles away in the direction of
Rome, and upon the same road.
Inside the carriage were a lady in middle life, whose face, once
lovely, was still sweet and charming, and a very pale, beautiful
female child, each dressed in a black _ricinium_,[2] or mourning
robe, drawn over the top of the head. The girl was about twelve
years old, or a little more, and seemed to be suffering much and
grievously. She faced the horses, and on her side sat the lady
fanning her and watching her with a look which always spoke love,
and now and again anguish. Opposite to them, with his back to the
horses, wearing a sort of dark _lacerna_, or thin, light great-coat,
of costly material, but of a fashion which was deemed in Italy at
that day either foreign or vulgar, as the case might be, sat a youth
of about eighteen. The child was leaning back with her eyes closed.
The youth, as he watched her, sighed now and then. At last he put
both hands to his face, and, leaning his head forward, suffered tears
to flow silently through his fingers. The _lacerna_ which he wore was
fastened at the breast by two _fibulæ_, or clasps of silver, and girt
round his waist with a broad, brown, sheeny leather belt, stamped
and traced after some Asiatic mode. In a loop of this belt, at his
left side, was secured within its black scabbard an unfamiliar,
outlandish-looking, long, straight, three-edged sword, which he had
pulled round so as to rest the point before his feet, bringing the
blade between his knees, and the hilt, which was gay with emeralds,
in front of his chest.
The Romans still very generally went bare-headed,[3] even out of
doors, except that those who continued to wear the toga drew it over
their heads as the weather needed, and those who wore the _penula_
used the hood of it in the same way. But upon the hilt of the sword
we have described the youth had flung a sort of _petasus_, or
deep-rimmed hat, with a flat top, and one black feather at the side,
not stuck perpendicularly into the band, but so trained half round
it as to produce a reckless, rakish effect, of which the owner was
unconscious.
"Agatha," said the lady, in a low, tender voice, the delicate Greek
ring of which was full of persuasion, "look up, beloved child!
Your brother and I, at least, are left. Think no more of the past.
The gods have taken your father, after men had taken his and your
inheritance. But our part in life is not yet over. Did not your
parents too, in times past--did not we too, I say, lose ours? Did you
not know you were probably to live longer than your poor father? Are
you not to survive me also? Perhaps soon."
With a cry of dismay the young girl threw her arms round the lady's
neck and sobbed. The other, while she shed tears, exclaimed:
"I thank that unknown power, of whom Dionysius the Athenian, my
young countryman, so sublimely speaks, that the child weeps at last!
Weep, Agatha, weep; but mourn not mute in the cowardice of despair!
Mourn not for your father in a way unbecoming of his child and mine.
Mourn not as though indeed you were not ours. My husband is gone
for ever, but he went in honor. The courageless grief, that canker
without voice or tears, which would slay his child, will not bring
back to me the partner of my days, nor to you your father. We must
not dishearten but cheer your brother Paulus for the battle which is
before him."
"I wish to do so, my mother," said Agatha.
"When I recover my rights," broke in the youth at this point, "my
father will come and sit among the _lares_, round the ever-burning
fire in the _atrium_ of our hereditary house, Agatha; and therefore
courage! You are ill; but Charicles, the great physician of Tiberius
Cæsar, is our countryman, and he will attend you. He can cure almost
any thing, they say. And if you feel fatigued, no wonder, so help me!
_Minime mirum mehercle!_ Have we not travelled without intermission,
by land and by sea, all the way from Thrace? But now, one more change
of horses brings us to Formiæ, and then we shall be at our journey's
end. Meantime, dear child, look up; see yonder woods, and the
garden-like shore."
And having first tried in vain to brighten the horn window at the
side of the vehicle, _specular corneum_, (glass was used only in the
private carriages of the rich,) he stood up, and calling over the
hide roof of the carriage, which was open in front--the horses being
driven from behind--he ordered the _rhedarius_, or coachman, to open
the panels. The man, evidently a former slave of the family, now
their freedman, quickly obeyed, and descending from his bench, pushed
back into grooves contrived to receive them the coarsely-figured and
gaudily colored sides of the travelling _carruca_.
"Is _parvula_ better?" he then cried, with the privileged
freedom of an old and attached domestic, or of one who, in the
far more endearing parlance of classic times, was a faithful
_familiaris_--that is, a member of the family. "Is the little one
better? The dust is laid now, little one; the evening comes; the
light slants; the sun smiles not higher than yourself, instead of
burning overhead. See, the beautiful country! See, the sweet land!
Let the breeze bring a bloom to your cheeks, as it brings the
perfumes to your mouth. Ah! the _parvula_ smiles. Fate is not always
angry!"
"Dear old Philip!" said the child; and then, turning to her mother,
she added,
"Just now, mother, you waked me from a frightful dream. I thought
that the man who has our father's estates was dead; but he came from
the dead, and was trying to kill Paulus, my brother there; and for
that purpose was striving to wrest the sword from Paulus's hand;
and that the man, or _lar_, laughed in a hideous manner, and cried
out, 'It is with his own sword we will slay him! Nothing but his own
sword!'"
The old freedman turned pale, and muttered something to himself, as
he stood by the side of the vehicle; and while he kept the horses
steady, with the long reins in his left hand, glanced awfully toward
Paulus.
"Brother," continued the child, "I forget that man's name. What _is_
the name?"
"Never mind the name now," said Paulus; "a dead person cannot kill a
living one; and that man is not in Italy who will kill me with my own
sword, if I be not asleep. Look at the beautiful land! See, as Philip
tells you, the beautiful land where you are going to be so happy."
The river Liris, now the Garigliano, flowed all gold in the western
sun; some dozen of meadows behind them, between rows of linden-trees,
oleanders, and pomegranates, with laurel, bay, and long bamboo-like
reeds of the _arundo donax_, varying the rich beauty of its banks:
"_Daphrones, platanones, et aëriæ cyparissi._" A thin and irregular
forest of great contemplative trees; flowerless and sad beech,
cornel, alder, ash, hornbeam, and yew towered over savannahs of
scented herbs, and glades of many-tinted grasses. Some clumps of
chestnut-trees, hereafter to spread into forests, but then rare,
and cultivated as we cultivate oranges and citrons, stood proudly
apart. A vegetation, which has partly vanished, gave its own physical
aspect to an Italy the social conditions of which have vanished
altogether; and were even then passing, and about to pass, through
their last appearances. But much also that we in our days have seen,
both there and elsewhere, was there then. The flower or blossom of
the pomegranate lifted its scarlet light amidst vines and olives;
miles of oleander trees waved their masses of flame under the tender
green filigree of almond groves, and seemed to laugh in scorn at the
mourning groups of yew, and the bowed head of the dark, widow-like,
and inconsolable cypress. All over the leaves of the woods autumn
had strewn its innumerable hues. In the west, the sky was hung with
those glories which no painter ever reproduced and no poet ever sang;
it was one of the sunsets which make all persons of sensibility who
contemplate them dumb, by making all that can be said of them worse
than useless. A magnificent and enormous villa, or _castellum_, or
country mansion--palace it seemed--showed parts of its walls, glass
windows, and Ionic columns, through the woods on the banks of the
Liris; and upon the roof of this palace a great company of gilt,
tinted, and white statues, much larger than life, in various groups
and attitudes, as they conversed, lifted their arms, knelt, prayed,
stooped, stood up, threatened, and acted, were glittering above the
tree-tops in the many-colored lights of the setting sun.
"Ah! let us stop; let us rest a few moments," cried the child,
smiling through her tears at the smiles of nature and the enchanting
beauty of the scene; "only a few moments under the great trees,
mother."
It was a group of chestnuts, a few yards from the side of the road;
and beneath them came to join the highway through the meadows, and
vineyards, and forest-land, a broad beaten track from the direction
of the splendid villa that stood on the Liris.
Paulus instantly sprang from the _carruca_, and, having first helped
his mother to alight, took his sister in his arms and placed her
sitting under the green shade. A Thracian woman, a slave, descended
meantime from the box, and the driver drew his vehicle to the side of
the highway.
While they thus reposed, with no sound about them, as they thought,
save the rustle of the leaves, the distant ripple of the waters, and
the vehement shrill call of the cicala, hidden in the grass somewhere
near, their destinies were coming. The freedman suddenly held up his
hand, and drew their attention by that peculiar sound through the
teeth, (_st_,) which in all nations signifies _listen!_
And, indeed, a distant, dull, vague noise was now heard southward,
and seemed to increase and approach along the Appian road. Every
eye in our little group of travellers was turned in the direction
mentioned, and they could see a white cloud of dust coming swiftly
northward. Soon they distinguished the tramp of many horses at the
trot. Then, over the top of a hill which had intercepted the view,
came the gleam of arms, filling the whole width of the way, and
advancing like a torrent of light. The ground trembled; and, headed
by a troop or two of Numidian riders, and then a couple of troops
or _turmæ_ of Batavian cavalry, a thousand horse, at least, of the
Prætorian Guards, arrayed, as usual, magnificently, swept along in
a column two hundred deep, with a rattle and ring of metal rising
treble upon the ear over the continuous bass of the beating hoofs, as
the foam floats above the roll of the waves.
The young girl was at once startled from the sense of sickness and
grief, and gazed with big eyes at the pageant. Six hundred yards
further on a trumpet-note, clear and long, gave some sudden signal,
and the whole body instantly halted. From a detached group in the
rear an officer now rode toward the front; a loud word or two of
command was heard, a slight movement followed, and then, as if the
column were some monstrous yellow-scaled serpent with an elastic
neck and a black head, the swarthy troops which had led the advance
wheeled slowly backward, two instead of five abreast, while the main
column simultaneously stretched itself forward on a narrower face,
and with a deeper file, occupying thus less than half the width of
the road, which they had before nearly filled, and extending much
further onward. Meantime the squadrons which had led it continued
to defile to the rear; and when their last rank had passed the last
of those fronting in the opposite direction, they suddenly faced to
their own right, and, standing like statues, lined the way on the
side opposite to that where our travellers were reposing, but some
forty or fifty yards higher up the road, or more north.
In front of the line of horsemen, who, after wheeling back, had been
thus faced to their own right, or the proper left of the line of
march, was now collected a small group of mounted officers. One of
them wore a steel corselet, a casque of the same metal, with a few
short black feathers in its crest, and the _chlamys_, or a better
sort of _sagum_, the scarlet mantle of a military tribune, over
a black tunic, upon which two broad red stripes or ribbons were
diagonally sewn. This costume denoted him one of the _Laticlavii_, or
broad-ribboned tribunes; in other words--although, to judge by the
massive gold ring which glittered on the forefinger of his bridle
hand, he might have been originally and personally only a knight--he
had received either from the emperor, or from one of the two Cæsars
then governing with and under Augustus, the senatorial rank.
The chlamys was fastened across the top of his chest with a silver
clasp, and the tunic a little lower down with another, both being
open below as far as the waist, and disclosing a tight-fitting
chain-mail corselet, or shirt of steel rings. The chlamys was
otherwise thrown loose over his shoulders, but the tunic was belted
round the corselet at his waist by a buff girdle, wherein hung the
intricately-figured brass scabbard of a straight, flat, not very
long cut-and-thrust sword, which he now held drawn in his right
hand. In his belt were stuck a pair of _manicæ_ or _chirothecæ_, as
gloves were called, which seemed to be made of the same material as
the girdle; buffalo-skin greaves on his legs and half-boots (the
_calcei_, not the _soleæ_ or sandals) completed his dress. He was a
handsome man, about five-and-thirty years old, brown hair, an open
but thoughtful face, and an observant eye. He it was who had ridden
to the front, and given those orders the execution of which we have
noticed. He had now returned, and kept his horse a neck or so behind
that of an officer far more splendidly attired, who seemed to pay no
attention whatever to the little operation that had occurred, but,
shading his eyes with one hand from the rays of the setting sun,
gazed over the fields toward the villa or mansion on the Liris.
He was clad in the _paludamentum_, the long scarlet cloak of
a _legatus_ or general, the borders being deeply fringed with
twice-dyed Tyrian purple, (_Tyria bis tincta_, or _dibapha_, as it is
called by Pliny;) the long folds of which flowed over his charger's
haunches. This magnificent mantle was buckled round the wearer's neck
with a jewel. His corselet, unlike that of the colonel or tribune
already mentioned, was of plate-steel, (instead of rings,) and shone
like a looking-glass, except where it was inlaid with broad lines of
gold. He wore a chain of twisted gold round his neck, and his belt
as well as the hilt of his sword, which remained undrawn by his side
in a silver scabbard, glittered with sardonyx and jasper stones. He
had no tunic. His gloves happening, like those of his subordinate,
to be thrust into the belt round his waist, left visible a pair of
hands so white and delicate as to be almost effeminate. His helmet
was thin steel, and the crest was surmounted by a profuse plume of
scarlet cock's feathers. But perhaps the most curious particular of
his costume was a pair of shoes or half-boots of red leather, the
points of the toes turned upward. These boots were encrusted with
gems, which formed the patrician crescent, or letter C, on the top of
each foot, and then wandered into a fanciful tracery of sparkles up
the leg. The _stapedæ_, or stirrups, in which his feet rested, were
either of gold or gilt.
The countenance of the evidently important personage whose dress
has been stated was remarkable. He had regular features, a handsome
straight nose, eyes half closed with what seemed at first a languid
look, but yet a look which, if observed more closely, was almost
startling from the extreme attention it evinced, and from the
contrast between such an expression and the indolent indifference
or superciliousness upon the surface, if I may so say, of the
physiognomy. There was something sinister and cruel about the
mouth. He wore no whiskers or beard, but a black, carefully-trimmed
moustache.
After a steady gaze across the fields in the direction we have
already more than once mentioned, he half turned his head toward
the tribune, and at the same time, pointing to our travellers, said
something. The tribune, in his turn, addressed the first centurion,
(_dux legionis_,) an officer whose sword, like that of the legatus,
was undrawn, but who carried in his right hand a thin wand made
of vine-wood. In an instant this officer turned his horse's head
and trotted smartly toward our travellers, upon reaching whom he
addressed Paulus thus:
"Tell me, I pray you, have you been long here?"
"Not a quarter of an hour," answered Paulus, wondering why such a
question was asked.
"And have any persons passed into the road by this pathway?" the
centurion then inquired.
"Not since we came," said Paulus.
The officer thanked him and trotted back.
Meanwhile, Paulus and his mother and the freedman Philip had not
been so absorbed in watching the occurrence and scene just described
as to remove their eyes for more than a moment at a time from their
dearly-loved charge, the interesting little mourner who had begged
to be allowed to rest under the chestnut-trees. It was not so with
Agatha herself. The child was at once astonished, bewildered, and
enraptured. Had the spectacle and review before her been commanded
by some monarch, or rather some magician, on purpose to snatch
her from the possibility of dwelling longer amidst the gloom, the
regrets, and the terrors under which she had appeared to be sinking,
neither the wonder of the spectacle, nor the amenity of the evening
when it occurred, nor the loveliness of the landscape which formed
its theatre, could have been more opportunely combined. She had not
only never beheld any thing so magnificent, but her curiosity was
violently aroused.
Paulus exchanged with his mother and the old freedman a glance of
intelligence and of intense satisfaction, as they both noted the
parted lips and dilated eyes with which the child, half an hour
ago so alarmingly ill, contemplated the drama at which she was
accidentally assisting.
"_That's a rare doctor_," whispered Philip, pointing to the general
of the Prætorian Guards.
"No doctor," replied Paulus in the same low tones, "could have
prescribed for our darling better."
"Paulus," said Agatha, "what are these mighty beings? Are these the
genii, and the demons of the mistress-land, the gods of Italy?"
"They are a handful of Italy's troops, dear," he said.
She looked from her brother to the lady, and then to the freedman,
and this last, with a healing instinct which would have done honor
to Hippocrates, began to stimulate her interest by the agency of
suspense and mystery.
"Master Paulus, and Lady Aglais, and my little one too," he said, in
a most impressive and solemn voice, "these be the genii and these be
the demons indeed; but I tell you that you have not yet seen all the
secret. _Something is going to happen._ Attend to me well! You behold
a most singular thing! Are you aware of what you behold? Yonder,
Master Paulus, is the allotted portion of horse for more than three
legions: the _justus equitatus_, I say, for a Roman army of twenty
thousand men. Yes, I attest all the gods," continued Philip in a low
voice, but with great earnestness, and glancing from the brother to
the sister as if his prospects in life were contingent upon his being
believed in this. "I was at the battle of Philippi, and I aver that
yonder is more than the right allotment of horse for three legions.
Observe the squadrons, the _turmæ_; they do not consist of the same
arm; and instead of being distributed in bodies of three or four
hundred each to a legion, they are all together before you without
their legions. Why is that, Master Paulus?"
"I know not," said Paulus.
"Ah!" resumed the freedman, "you know not, but you _will_ know
presently. Mark that, little Mistress Agatha, and bear in mind that
Philip the freedman has said to your brother that he will know all
presently."
The child gazed wonderingly at the troops as she heard these
mysterious words. "Who are those?" asked she, pointing to the
squadrons of those still in column. "Who are those in leather
jerkins, covered with the iron scales, and riding the large, heavy
horses?"
"Batavians from the mouths of the Rhine and the Scheldt," answered
the freedman, with a mysterious shake of the head.
"And those," pursued she, with increasing interest; "who are those
whose faces shine like dusky copper, and whose eyes glitter like the
eyes of the wild animals in the arena, when the proconsul of Greece
gives the shows? I mean those who ride the small, long-tailed horses
without any _ephippia_ (saddle-cloths,) and even without bridles--the
soldiers in flowing dress, with rolls of linen round their heads?"
"They are the Numidians," replied Philip. "Ah! Rome dreaded those
horsemen once, when Hannibal the Carthaginian and his motley hordes
had their will in these fair plains."
As he spoke, a strange movement occurred. The general or _legatus_
dismounted, and, giving the bridle of his horse to a soldier, began
to walk slowly up and down the side of the road. No sooner had his
foot touched the ground than the whole of the Numidian squadron
seemed to rise like a covey out of a stubble field; with little clang
of arms, but with one short, sharp cry, or whoop, it burst from
the high road into the meadow land. There the evolutions which they
performed seemed at first to be all confusion, only for the fact
that, although the horsemen had the air of riding capriciously in
every direction, crossing, intermingling, separating, galloping upon
opposite curves, and tracing every figure which the whim and fancy
of each might dictate, yet no two of them ever came into collision.
Indeed, fantastic and wild as that rhapsody of manœuvres into
which they had broken appeared to be, some principle which was
thoroughly understood by every one of them governed their mazy
gallop. It was as accurate and exact as some stately dance of slaves
at the imperial court. It was, in short, itself a wild dance of
the Numidian cavalry, in which their reinless horses, guided only
by the flashing blades and the voices of their riders, manifested
the most vehement spirit and a sort of sympathetic frenzy. These
steeds, which never knew the bridle, and went thus mouth-free even
into battle--these horses, which their masters turned loose at night
into the fields, and which came back bounding and neighing at the
first call, were now madly plunging, wheeling, racing, and charging,
like gigantic dogs at sport. Presently they began to play a strange
species of leap-frog. A Numidian boy, who carried a trumpet and rode
a pony, or at least a horse smaller and lower than the rest of the
barbs, ("Berber horses,") suddenly halted upon the outside of the
mad cavalry whirlpool which had been formed, and flung himself flat
at full length upon the back of the diminutive animal. Instantly the
whirl, as it circled toward him, straightened itself into a column,
and every horseman rode full upon the stationary pony, and cleared
both steed and rider at a bound, a torrent of cavalry rushing over
the obstruction with wild shouts.
"That is Numidian sport, Master Paulus," said the freedman; "but
there is not a rider among them to be compared to yourself."
"Certainly I can ride," said the youth; "but I pretend not to be
superior to these Centaurs."
"Be these, then, the Centaurs I have heard of?" asked Agatha; "be
these the wild powers?"
The hubbub had prevented her, and all with her, from noticing
something. Before an answer could be given, the Numidians had
returned to the highway as suddenly as they had quitted it, and the
noise of their dance was succeeded by a pause of attention. The
general was again on horseback, and our travellers perceived that
two litters, one of carved ivory and gold, the other of sculptured
bronze, borne on the shoulders of slaves, were beside them.
Two gentlemen on foot had arrived with the litters along the broad
pathway already noticed, and a group of attendants at a little
distance were following.
This new party were now halting with our travellers beneath the
far-spreading shade of the same trees. In the ivory litter reclined
a girl of about seventeen, dressed in a long _palla_ of blue silk,
a material then only just introduced from India, through Arabia
and Egypt, and so expensive as to be beyond the reach of any but
the richest class. Her hair, which was of a bright gold color,
was dressed in the fashionable form of a helmet, (_galerus_,) and
was inclosed behind in a gauze net. She wore large _inaures_, or
ear-rings, of some jewel, a gold chain, in every ring of which was
set a gem, and scarlet shoes embroidered with pearls. The lady in
the bronze litter was attired in the _stola_ of a matron, with a
_cyclas_, or circular robe, thrown back from the neck, and a tunic
of dark purple which descended to her feet. Her brown hair was
restrained by bands, _vittæ_, which had an honorable significance
among the Roman ladies, ("_Nil mihi cum vitta_," says the profligate
author of the _Ars Amandi_.) She seemed somewhat past thirty years of
age; she had a very sweet, calm, and matronly air; her countenance
was as beautiful in features and general effect as it was modest in
its tone and character.
Her companion,[4] in the litter of ivory and gold, was not more
than half her age, was even more beautiful, with an immense wreath
of golden hair, and with large blue eyes, darkening to the likeness
of black as she gazed earnestly upon any object. But she had a
less gentle physiognomical expression. Frequently her look was
penetrating, brief, impatient, sarcastic, disdainful. She had a
bewitching smile, however, and her numerous admirers made Italy echo
with their ravings.
Lucius Varius, said the fashionable world, was at that very time
engaged upon a kind of sapphic ode, of which she was to be the
subject.
Scarcely had these litters or palanquins arrived and halted, when
the general officer dismounted once more, and walked quickly toward
the spot with his helmet in his hand. At a few yards' distance he
stopped, and first bowed low to the elder of the two gentlemen who
had accompanied the litters on foot, and then, almost entirely
disregarding the other gentleman, made an obeisance not quite so long
or so deep to the ladies. The man whom so splendid a personage as the
legatus, wearing his flaming paludamentum, and at the head of his
troops, thus treated with so obsequious a veneration, did not return
the salute except by a slight nod and a momentary, absent-minded
smile. His gaze had been riveted upon our travellers, and chiefly
upon the youth and his young, suffering sister, upon both of whom,
after it had quickly taken in Philip the freedman, the Thracian
woman, and the Athenian lady, it rested long--longest and last upon
Agatha.
"Sejanus," said he finally, "who are these?"
"I never saw them until just now, my commander and Cæsar; they were
here when we halted, and while we waited for our master, the favorite
of the gods, these travellers seemed to be resting where you behold
them."
"As those gods favor me," said the other, "this is a fine youth.
Can we not _edit_[5] him? And yonder girl--have you ever seen, my
Sejanus, such eyes? But she is deadly pale. Are you always thus pale,
pretty one, or are you merely ill? If but ill, as I guess, Charicles,
my Greek physician, shall cure you."
Before this man had even spoken, the moment, indeed, when first his
eyes fell upon her, Agatha had sidled close to her mother; and while
he was expressing himself in that way to Sejanus, she returned his
gaze with panic-stricken, dilated eyes, as the South American bird
returns that of the reptile; but when he directly questioned her,
she, reaching out her hand to Paulus, clutched his arm with a woman's
grasp, and said in an affrighted voice,
"My brother, let us go."
Paulus, in a manner naturally easy, and marked by the elegance and
grace which the athletic training of Athens had given to one so
well endowed physically, first, merely saying to the stranger, "I
crave your pardon," (_veniam posco_,) lifted Agatha with one arm,
and placed her in the travelling carriage. Then, while the freedman
and the Thracian slave mounted to their bench, he returned to where
his mother stood, signed to her to follow Agatha, and, seeing her
move calmly but quickly toward the vehicle, he took the broad-rimmed
_petasus_ from his head, and bowing slowly and lowly to the stranger,
said,
"Powerful sir, for I observe you are a man of great authority, my
sister is too ill to converse. You rightly guessed this; permit us to
take her to her destination."
The man whom he had thus balked, and to whom he now thus spoke,
merits a word of description. He appeared to be more than fifty years
old. The mask of his face and the frame of his head were large, but
not fat. His complexion was vivid brick-red all over the cheeks, with
a deeper flush in one spot on each side, just below the outer corners
of the eyes. The eyes were bloodshot, large, rather prominent, and
were closely set together. The nose was large, long, bony, somewhat
aquiline. The forehead was not high, not low; it was much developed
above the eyes, and it was broad. A deep and perpetual dint just over
the nose reached half-way up the forehead. His hair was grizzled and
close cut. His lips were full and fleshy, and the mouth was wide; the
jaws were large and massive. His face was shaven of all hair. The
chin was very handsome and large, and the whole head was set upon a
thick, strong throat, not stunted, however, of its proper length.
In person this man was far from ungainly, nor yet was he handsome.
In carriage and bearing, without much majesty, he had nevertheless
something steadfast, weighty, unshrinking, and commanding. His
outer garment, not a toga, was all one color and material; it was a
long, thick wadded silk mantle, of that purple dye which is nearly
black--the hue, indeed, of clotted gore under a strong light. He wore
gloves, and instead of the usual short sword of the Romans, had a
long steel stylus[6] for writing on wax thrust into a black leathern
belt. This instrument seemed to show that he lived much in Rome,
where it was not the custom, when otherwise in civilian dress, to go
armed.
As the reader will have guessed, this man was to be the next emperor
of the Roman world.
"Permit you to take her to her destination?" he repeated slowly. "My
Greek physician, I tell you, shall cure her. I will give directions
about your destination." A slight pause; then, "Are you a Roman
citizen?"
"I am a Roman knight as well as citizen," answered Paulus proudly;
"and my family is not only equestrian, but patrician."
"What is your name?"
"Paulus Æmilius Lepidus."
The man in the black or gore-colored purple glanced at Sejanus, who,
still unconcerned, stood with his splendid helmet in the left hand,
while he smoothed his moustache with the right; otherwise perfectly
still, his handsome face, cruel mouth, and intelligent eyes all alive
with the keenest attention.
"And the destination to which you allude is--?" pursued the man in
black purple.
"Formiæ," said Paulus.
"What relation or kinship exists between you and Marcus Æmilius
Lepidus, formerly the triumvir, who still enjoys the life which he
owes to the clemency of Augustus?"
Paulus hesitated. When he had given his name, the younger of the
two ladies had raised herself suddenly in the litter of ivory and
gold, and fastened upon him a searching gaze, which she had not
since removed. The other lady had also at that instant looked at
him fixedly. We have already stated that, when Sejanus approached
the group, he had not deigned in any very cordial manner to salute
or notice the second of the two gentlemen who had accompanied the
litters on foot. This gentleman was very sallow, had hollow eyes, and
a habit of gnawing his under lip between his teeth. He had unbuckled
his sword, and had given it, calling out, "_Lygdus, carry this_," to
a man with an exceedingly sinister and repulsive countenance. The man
in question had now taken a step or two forward, and was standing on
the left of Paulus, fronting the Cæsar, his shoulders stooping, his
neck bent forward, his eyes without any motion of the head rolling
incessantly from person to person, and face to face, but at once
falling before and avoiding any glance which happened to meet his. He
looked askant and furtively at every object with an eager, unhappy,
and malign expression. Paulus did not need to turn his head to feel
that this man was now intently peering at him. Behind the two courtly
palanquins, and beyond the shade of the trees, was a third litter
still more costly, being covered in parts with plate gold. Here sat
a woman with a face as white as alabaster, and large prominent black
eyes, watching the scene, and apparently trying to catch every word
that was said.
Paulus, as we have observed, hesitated. The training of youth in
the days of classic antiquity soon obliterated the inferiority of
unreasoning, nervous shyness. But the strange catechism which Paulus
was now undergoing, with all this gaze upon him from so many eyes,
began to be a nuisance, and to tell upon a spirit singularly high.
"Have you heard my question?" inquired Tiberius.
"I have heard it," replied Paulus; "and have heard and answered
several others, without knowing who he is that asks them. However,
the former triumvir, now living at Circæi, about forty thousand paces
from here, is my father's brother." (Circæi, as the reader knows, is
now called Monte Circello, a promontory just opposite Gaeta.)
When Paulus had given his last answer, the ladies glanced at each
other, and the younger looked long and hard at Tiberius. Getting some
momentary signal from him, she threw herself back in her palanquin
and smiled meaningly at the stooping, sinister-faced man, who had
stationed himself in the manner already mentioned near Paulus's left
hand.
"Your father," rejoined Tiberius, after a pause, "was a very
distinguished soldier, and, as I always heard when a boy, he
contributed eminently to the victory of Philippi. But I knew not that
he had children; and, moreover, was he not slain, pray, at Philippi,
toward the end of the battle, which he certainly helped to gain?"
"I hope," said Paulus, somewhat softened by the praise of his father,
"I hope that Augustus supposed him to have died of his wounds, and
that it was only under this delusion he gave our estates--which were
situated somewhere in this very province of Campania, with a noble
mansion like the castellum upon the river yonder--to that brave and
able soldier Agrippa Vespasianus."
At this name a deep red flush over-spread the brow of Tiberius, and
Paulus innocently proceeded.
"Certainly, the noble Agrippa, who was to have been Cæsar, had he
lived, never would have accepted so unfair a bounty had he known that
my father really survived his wounds, but that--despairing of the
generosity, or rather despairing of the equity of Augustus--he was
living a melancholy, exheridated exile, near that very battle-field
of Philippi, in Thrace, where he had fought so well and had been left
for dead."
"You dare to term the act of Augustus," slowly said the man in the
gore-colored purple cloak, "_so unfair a bounty_, and Augustus
himself _ungenerous, or rather unjust_?"
At this terrible rejoinder from such a man, the down-looking person
whom we have mentioned passed his right hand stealthily to the hilt
of the sword which he was carrying for his master, and half drew it.
Paulus, who for some time had had this person standing at his left,
could observe the action without turning his head. He was perfectly
aware, moreover, that, should the other draw his weapon upon him,
the very act of drawing it would itself become a blow, on account
of their respective places, whereas to escape it required more
distance between them, and to parry it in a regular way would demand
quite a different position, besides the needful moment or two for
disengaging his own rather long blade. Yet the youth stood completely
still; he never even turned his head. However, he just shifted the
wide-rimmed hat from his left to his right hand (the hand for the
sword) and thereby seemed to be only more encumbered, unprepared, and
defenceless than before. His left hand, with the back inward, fell
also meantime in an easy and natural way upon the emerald haft of the
outlandish-looking three-edged rapier, which, as he played with it,
became loose in the scabbard, and _came and went_ some fraction of an
inch.
"I never termed him so," said Paulus. "I said not this of Augustus. I
am at this moment on my way to Augustus himself, who is, I am told,
to be at Formiæ with his court for a week or two. I must, therefore,
again ask your leave, mighty office-bearer, to continue my journey. I
know not so much as who you are."
"I am Tiberius Cæsar," said the other, bending upon him those
closely-set, prominent, bloodshot eyes with no very assuring
expression. "I am Tiberius Cæsar, and you will be pleased to wait one
moment before you continue the journey in question. The accusation
against your father was this: that, after Philippi, he labored for
the interests first of Sextus, the son of Pompey, and afterward of
Mark Antony, in their respective impious and parricidal struggles;
and the answer to this charge (a charge to which witnesses neither
were nor are wanting) has always been, that it was simply impossible,
seeing that Paulus Lepidus, your father, perished at Philippi before
the alleged treasons had occurred. Wherefore, as your father had
done good service, especially in the great battle where he was thus
supposed to have fallen, not only was his innocence declared certain,
but, for his memory's sake, Marcus Lepidus, the triumvir, your uncle,
was forgiven. Yet now we learn from you, the son of the accused,
that the only defence ever made for him is positively false; that
your father, were he still living, would probably merit to be put to
death; and that your uncle, at the same time, is stripped of the one
protecting circumstance which has preserved his head. I must order
your arrest, and that of all your party, in order that these things
may be at least fully investigated."
As this was said, the lady in the litter of ivory and gold
contemplated Paulus with that bewitching smile which she was
accustomed to bestow upon dying gladiators in the hippodrome; while
the other lady gazed at him with a compassionate, forecasting and
muse-like look.
"I mean no disrespect whatever to so great a man as you, sir; but I
will," said Paulus, "appeal from Tiberius Cæsar to Cæsar Augustus; to
whom, I again remind you, I am on my way."
No sooner had he uttered the words, "I appeal from Tiberius," than,
before he could finish the sentence, the malign-faced man on his left
with great suddenness drew the sword hew as carrying for Cneius Piso,
and, availing himself of the first natural sweep of the weapon as it
left the scabbard, sought to bring the edge of it backward across
the face of Paulus, exclaiming, while he did so, "_Speak you thus to
Cæsar?_"
Had this man, who was the future assassin of Drusus, and slave to
Cneius Piso, who was the future assassin of Germanicus, succeeded in
delivering that well-meant stroke, the sentence which our hero was
addressing to Tiberius could never have been said out; but said out,
as we see, it was, and said, too, with due propriety of emphasis,
although with a singular accompanying delivery. In fact, though not
deigning to look round toward this man, Paulus had been vividly
aware of his movements, and, swift as was the attack, the defence
was truly electrical. Paulus's rapier, the hilt of which, as we have
remarked, had been for some time in his left hand, leapt from its
sheath, and being first held almost perpendicularly for one moment,
the point down and the hilt a little higher than his forehead, met
the murderous blow at right angles; after which the delicate long
blade flashed upward, with graceful ease but irresistible violence,
bearing the assassin's weapon backward upon a small semi-circle, and
remaining inside of it, or, in other words, nearer to Lygdus's body
than Piso's own sword, which he carried, was. It looked like a mere
continuation of this dazzling parry, but was, in truth, a vigorous
deviation from it, which none but a very pliant and powerful wrist
could have executed; when the emerald pommel fell like a hammer upon
the forehead of Lygdus the slave, whom that disdainful blow stretched
at his length upon the ground, motionless, and to all appearance
dead. As Piso was standing close, the steel guard of the hilt, in
passing, tore open his brow and cheek.
The whole occurrence occupied only five or seven seconds, and
meanwhile the youth finished his sentence with the words already
recorded, "From Tiberius Cæsar to Cæsar Augustus, to whom, I again
remind you, I am on my way."
An exclamation of astonishment, and perhaps some other feeling,
escaped from Tiberius. Sejanus smiled; the woman with the pale face
and black eyes, who sat in the unadorned plate-of-gold palanquin,
screamed; and the other ladies laughed loudly. Among the prætorian
guards, who from the road were watching with attention the group
where they saw their general and the Cæsar, a long, low murmur of
approbation ran. At this, Tiberius turned and looked steadily and
musingly toward them. Paulus, instantly sheathing his weapon, said,
"I ask Cæsar's pardon, but there was no time to obtain his permission
for what I have just done. My head must have been in two pieces had I
waited but one moment."
"Just half a moment for each piece," said Tiberius; "but your left
hand seems well able to keep your head. Are you left-handed?"
"No, great Cæsar," said Paulus; "I am what my Greek teacher of fence
used to call two-handed, _dimachærus_; he tried to make all his
pupils so, but my right remains far better than my left."
"Then I should like to see your right thoroughly exercised," said
Tiberius.
Paulus heard a sweet voice here say, "As a favor to me, do not
order the arrest of this brave youth;" and, turning, he beheld the
beautiful creature in the litter of ivory and gold plead for him with
Tiberius. The large blue eyes, darkening as she supplicated, smote
the youth, and he could hardly take away his gaze.
"Young man, go forward with your mother and sister to Formiæ, under
the charge of Velleius Paterculus, the military tribune whom you see
yonder upon the road. Remain in Formiæ till I give you leave to quit
it. Report your place of residence to the tribune. Go!"
The last word was pronounced harshly. Tiberius made a signal with his
hand to Paterculus. Then passing his arm through that of Sejanus,
and speaking to him in a low tone, he led the general aside into
the fields to a little distance; while--with the exception of two
mounted troopers, (each leading a horse,) who remained behind, but
considerably out of hearing--the prætorian guards, the three litters,
and the travelling _biga_ began to move toward Formiæ, leaving the
road to silence, and the evening landscape to peace.
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Cicero, Legg. ii. 23.
[3] Plutarch in Pompey. Seneca, Epis. 64.
[4] Mother of Caligula, and grandmother of Nero, by her daughter
Agrippina Julia.
[5] To produce a gladiator in the arena was to _edit_ him.
[6] Pliny, Epis. iii. 21.
MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.[7]
There is, after all, but slight exaggeration in the old saying, that
a lie travels leagues while truth is putting on boots to pursue and
overtake it. And even when overtaken, caught, and choked, how hard
it dies! In our daily experience, how often does truthful exposure
utterly extinguish false and evil report? Certainly not always, and
probably but very seldom. In the intercourse of society, one may
partially crush out a calumny by going straight to those who should
know the truth and compelling them to listen to it.
But the lie historical cannot be so met. People in this busy world
have no time to spend in reading long documents in vindication of men
or women long since dead. But they have read the calumny? Certainly.
The calumny is not so long as the refutation, and is more readable.
It is attractive; it is piquant. Mary Stuart as an adulteress and a
murderess is an interesting character. People never tire of hearing
of her. But Mary Stuart, the upright queen, the noble and true
woman, the faithful spouse and affectionate mother, has but slight
attractions for the mass of readers. To hear her so proven must be
dull reading. Nevertheless, with time comes truth; for although
"The mills of the gods grind slowly,
They grind exceedingly fine;"
which we take to be only a modern, heathenish way of saying, as we
chant every Sunday at vespers,
"_Et justitia ejus manet in seculum seculi._"
Look at the Galileo story. Galileo died more than two hundred years
ago. Yet it is only within a lifetime that the truth concerning him
began to dawn upon the English mind.
Mary Queen of Scots surrendered her soul to God and her head
to Elizabeth nearly three centuries ago, and the combat over
her reputation to-day rages as hot as ever. In the case of the
Florentine astronomer, there has been no strongly decided hereditary
transmission of the falsehood. In that of the Queen of Scotland every
inch of ground is obstinately fought, because her innocence means
the shame of England, the disgrace of Knox, the condemnation of the
ornaments of the Anglican and Puritan churches, and the infamy of
Elizabeth.
These enemies of Mary yet live in transmitted prejudices and powerful
hereditary interests. The very existence of all the boasting, pride,
false reputation, hypocritical piety, and national vanity represented
by the familiar catchwords of "Our Noble Harry," "Glorious Queen
Bess," "The Virgin Queen," "Our Sainted Reformers," has its
inspiration and life-breath in the maintenance of every calumny
against Mary Stuart and the Catholic Church of that day; and we must
do these supporters the credit of admitting that they are instant in
season and out of season, and never weary in their work.
But their case was long since made up. They have said their last
word, and shot all the arrows of their quiver. With each succeeding
year Elizabeth's reputation fails, and is rapidly passing into
disgrace. With the same rapidity Mary's fame grows brighter.
The books and pamphlets written in attack or defence of Mary would
of themselves form a library. For the attack, the key-note is to
be found in Cecil's avowed principle concerning the treatment of
the dethroned queen, that _their purpose could not be obtained
without disgracing her_. Hence, the silver-casket letters, and the
so-called confessions of Paris. Hence, the issue, during every year
of her long imprisonment of eighteen years, of some vile pamphlet,
under Cecil's instructions, calculated to blast her character. Two
men in particular powerfully contributed to defame the Queen of
Scots--John Knox and George Buchanan. Knox by his sermons, in which,
says Russel, (_History of the Reformation_, vol. i. p. 292,) "lying
strives with rage;" Buchanan, by his writings, which have been
made by Mary's enemies one of the sources of history. Buchanan was
an apostate monk, saved from the gallows by Mary, and loaded with
her favors. An eye-witness of her dignity, her goodness, and her
purity, he afterward described her as the vilest of women. He sold
his pen to Elizabeth, and has been properly described as "unrivalled
in baseness, peerless in falsehood, supreme in ingratitude."
His _Detection_ was published (1570) in Latin, and copies were
immediately sent by Cecil to Elizabeth's ambassador in Paris with
instructions to circulate them; "_for they will come to good effect
to disgrace her, which must be done before other purposes can be
obtained_."
This shameful work has been the inspiration of most of the portraits
drawn of Mary. De Thou in France, Spotiswoode, Jebb, and many others
in England, have all followed him. Holinshed too was deceived by
Buchanan; but it is doubtful if he dared write otherwise than he did,
between the terrors of Cecil's spies and Elizabeth's mace.
An English translation of Buchanan was first published in 1690, being
called forth by the revolution of 1688. Jebb's two folio volumes
appeared in 1725.
Two additional lives of Mary, by Heywood (1725) and Freebairn, were
little more than translations from the French. In 1726, Edward
Simmons published Mary's forged letters as genuine. Anderson's
voluminous collection of papers (four large volumes) appeared in
1727 and 1728. Meantime, from the accession of a new dynasty and the
rebellion of 1715, there arose in Edinburgh a sort of society having
for its principal object the work of supporting Buchanan's credit and
vilifying the Scottish queen. Later came the well-known and widely
published histories of Scotland and of England by Robertson and Hume,
which, read wherever the English language was known, may be said to
have popularized the culpability of Mary. Until within comparatively
few years, Hume's work was the only history of England generally read
in the United States. Then came Malcolm Laing, who imagined he had
closed the controversy against Mary in his bitter _Dissertation_.
Mignet, in France, went further than Laing, while Froude, in his
history of England, distancing all previous writers, portrays Mary
in the blackest colors as one of the most criminal and devilish of
women. For his material there is no statement so absurd, no invention
so gross, no lie so palpable, no calumny so vile, provided only that
it be to the prejudice of Mary Stuart, that does not find favor in
his eyes. In his blind hatred of the Catholic queen, forgetting all
historic dignity and even personal decency, he showers upon her such
epithets as "panther," "ferocious animal," "wild-cat," "brute;" her
persecutors being white-robed saints, such as "the pious Cecil,"
and "the noble and stainless Murray," and the virgin Queen Elizabeth
appearing "as a beneficent fairy coming out of the clouds to rescue
an erring sister."
But Mary's cause has not wanted defenders. Among the best known
are, John Leslie, Bishop of Ross; Camden and Carte, the English
historians; Herrera, the Spanish bishop; Robert Keith; Goodall,
(1754,) who made the first searching analysis of the silver-casket
letters, showing that the French text of the pretended Bothwell
love-letters, until then supposed to be original, was a poor
translation from the Latin or Scotch. William Tytler (1759) and
John Whitaker (1788) proved that the letters were forged by those
who produced them. Stuart, in his history of Scotland, (1762,) and
Mademoiselle Keraglio, in her _Life of Elizabeth_, (1786,) both
protested against the conclusions of Hume and Robertson. In 1818,
George Chalmers took up Laing's book, and proved conclusively, with
a mass of newly-discovered testimony, that the accusers of Mary were
themselves the murderers of Darnley. Then followed the learned Dr.
Lingard, Guthrie, and H. Glassford Bell. But all these works were
either too heavy and cumbrous for popular reading, or too narrow
in their scope; most of them being better prepared for reference
than for reading, and of but slight effective service in the field
occupied by Hume and Robertson. Miss Strickland's work is well known
to all our readers, and has done much good. In 1866, Mr. McNeel
Caird published _Mary Stuart, her Guilt or Innocence_, in which he
effectively defends Mary and seriously damages Mr. Froude's veracity.
A most valuable historical contribution is the late work (1869) of
M. Jules Gauthier. The first volume is out and the second will be
issued in a few months. M. Gauthier says that after reading the
work of M. Mignet, he had no doubt that Queen Mary had assassinated
her husband in order to avenge the death of Riccio. "I was,
therefore, surprised," he continues, "on arriving at Edinburgh, in
1861, to hear Mary warmly defended, and reference made to documents
recently discovered that were strongly in her favor. I then formed
the resolution to study for myself this historical problem and to
discover the truth. I had no idea of writing a book, and no motive
but that of satisfying my own curiosity. I have devoted several
years solely to this object in Scotland, England, and Spain." M.
Gauthier then gives a formidable list of authorities and manuscripts
not usually quoted, acknowledges the aid of the librarians of the
legal library at Edinburgh, the learned Mr. Robertson of the Register
House, Robert Chambers, and the archivist of Simancas, Don Emanuel
Gonzalez, and announces the result to be a complete change of
opinion. He goes on to say that, before examining all the documents
of the trial, he had no doubt of the guilt of Mary Stuart; but after
having scrutinized and compared them, he remained and still remains
convinced that it was solely to assure the fruit of their shameful
victory that the barons, who had dethroned their queen with England's
help, sought to throw upon her the crimes of which they themselves
were the authors or the accomplices, and in which their auxiliaries
were Elizabeth and her ministers.
But what is of far greater importance, M. Gauthier announces the
discovery among the Simancas MSS. of documents that prove beyond
all question that the silver-casket letters were forgeries. This
important revelation he promises for the second volume. Preceding
M. Gauthier in time, M. Wiesener, another French writer, had, in an
admirable _critique_, demolished the foundations on which rest most
of the calumnies against Mary Stuart.
And now we have Mr. Hosack's work. There is a beautiful poetic
justice in the fact that the most effective defences of Mary
Stuart, in the English language, come from Protestant pens, and
that in Scotland among the sons of the Puritans are found her most
enthusiastic advocates. Mr. Hosack is an Edinburgh lawyer, and a
Protestant.
His book, written in a tone of legal calmness and dignity, stands
in refreshing contrast with Mr. Froude's savage bitterness and
repulsive violence, and seriously damages any credit that may be
claimed for the latter as a historian. Entirely at home in the
customs, localities, laws, and history of Scotland, he throws
unexpected light on a hundred interesting points heretofore left in
obscurity by foreign, and even English historians. Mr. Hosack also
produces many valuable documents never before published. Among these
are the specific charges preferred against Mary at the conference
at Westminster in 1568. The "Articles" produced by Mary's accusers
before they exhibited their proofs to the commissioners of Queen
Elizabeth, although constantly referred to by historians, are nowhere
to be found among all the voluminous collections heretofore published
on the subject. Mr. Hosack discovered this valuable paper in the
collection known as the Hopetoun Manuscripts, which are now in the
custody of the lord clerk register. Another most interesting document
presented by Mr. Hosack is one long supposed to be lost, namely,
the journal of the proceedings at Westminster on the day upon which
the silver casket containing the alleged letters of Queen Mary to
Bothwell was produced. Then comes the inventory of the jewels of the
Queen of Scots, attached to her last will and testament, made in
1566, when Mary was supposed to be dying. This paper has been but
recently discovered in the Register House, Edinburgh. It is of high
importance, as throwing light on a disputed point concerning Darnley.
Finally, with the aid of Professor Schiern, of Copenhagen, Mr. Hosack
has succeeded in ascertaining the date of the capture of Nicholas
Hubert, commonly called "French Paris." This point is also weighty in
connection with the question of the authenticity of the deposition
ascribed to him. The English critics of Mr. Hosack's book--many of
them partisans of Froude, and armed in the triple steel of their
national prejudice--are unanimous in praise of his research, and the
able presentation of his argument. Mr. Hosack distinctly charges Mr.
Froude with "inventing fictions," and, moreover, sustains the charge.
The aim of Mr. Hosack's work is not so much to write the life of Mary
Stuart as to demonstrate that her accusers were guilty of the very
crime (the murder of Darnley) of which they charge her, and that she
was innocent, not only of that, but of any intrigue with Bothwell.
Passing over in silence the period of Mary's residence in France, our
author rapidly glances at the salient points in the administration of
Mary of Lorraine, the mother of Mary Stuart, an admirable character,
whose energy, integrity, resolution, and fortitude would have adorned
the character of the greatest sovereign that ever reigned. Mr. Hosack
thus speaks of her death:
"The words of the dying princess, at once so magnanimous and
gentle, were listened to with deep emotion by the Protestant
chiefs, who, though in arms against her authority, all
acknowledged and admired her private virtues. Amidst the tears
of her enemies, thus died the best and wisest woman of the age."
Knox alone, adds Mr. Hosack, sought by means of the most loathsome
slanders to vilify the character of this excellent princess; and it
was no doubt at his instigation that the rites of Christian burial
were denied to her remains in Scotland. Mr. Hosack then takes up the
history of Mary from the period of her arrival in Scotland, and ends
with the commencement of her imprisonment in England.
Mary came to reign over a country virtually in the power of a band of
violent and rapacious lords, long in rebellion against their king.
Of the five royal Jameses, three had perished, victims of their
aristocratic anarchy. The personal piety of these rebellious lords
was infinitesimal; but they had an enormous appreciation of Henry
VIII.'s plunder of the monasteries and division of the church lands
among the nobles, and desired to see Scotland submitted to the same
regimen--they, of course, becoming ardent reformers. The young queen
soon won the hearts of the people of Edinburgh by her sweetness and
grace. One of her first experiences was the remarkable interview with
Knox, in which he bore himself as properly became "the ruffian of
the Reformation," while Mary, a girl of nineteen, utterly overcame
him in self-possession, logic, and command of citation from the Old
Testament. The man was brimful of vanity. The wound rankled, and from
that moment he was Mary Stuart's personal enemy.
Long before Mary's arrival, Knox and his friends had obtained full
sway. The reformers had destroyed the monastic establishments in the
central counties, and, under the influence of Knox, had an "act"
passed for the total destruction of what they called "monuments
of superstition;" the monuments of superstition in question being
all that Scotland possessed of what was most valuable in art and
venerable in architecture.
"The registers of the church, and the libraries," says Spotiswoode,
"were cast into the fire. In a word, all was ruined; and what had
escaped in the time of the first tumult, did now undergo the common
calamity." In his sermons, Knox openly denounced Mary, not only as
an incorrigible idolatress, but as an enemy whose death would be
a public boon. In equally savage style he fulminated against the
amusements of the court, and dwelt especially on the deadly sin of
dancing. And yet Knox--we must in candor admit it--was not totally
indifferent to some social amenities, for he was then paying his
addresses to a young girl of sixteen, whom he afterward married.
Mary had freely accorded to her Protestant subjects the privilege
of worshipping God according to their own creed; but it did not
enter into the views of Knox and his co-religionists that the same
privilege should be accorded to Mary in the land of which she was
sovereign, and with great difficulty could she obtain the right
to a private chapel at Holyrood--even this being interfered with,
and the officiating priest afterward insulted, beaten, and driven
away. And these Christian gentlemen did not stop here. They had the
insolence and inhumanity to present to the queen what they called a
"supplication," in which they declared that the practice of idolatry
could not be tolerated in the sovereign any more than in the subject,
and that the "papistical and blasphemous mass" should be wholly
abolished. To this, Mary's reply was that, answering for herself,
she was noways persuaded that there was any impiety in the mass,
and trusted her subjects would not press her to act against her
conscience; for, not to dissemble, but to deal plainly with them, she
neither might nor would forsake the religion wherein she had been
educated and brought up, believing the same to be the true religion,
and grounded on the word of God. She further advised her "loving
subjects" that she, "neither in times past nor yet in time coming,
did intend to force the conscience of any person; but to permit every
one to serve God in such a manner as they are persuaded to be the
best." On this, Mr. Hosack remarks, "Nothing could exceed the savage
rudeness of the language of the assembly. Nothing could exceed the
dignity and moderation of the queen's reply."
The enemies of Mary Stuart always seek to find excuse for the
rebellious outrages of the lords and the kirk in the design
attributed to Mary Stuart of introducing Catholicity to the
exclusion of Protestantism. Mr. Hosack handles this portion of
his subject with great ease and success, showing conclusively the
admirable spirit of toleration that animated Mary throughout. Then
follow the marriage of Mary with Darnley; the rebellion of Murray,
Argyll, and others to deprive the queen of her crown; the energy,
ability, and admirable judgment of Mary in dealing with them, and
the consummate hypocrisy and falsehood of Elizabeth in feigning
good-will to Mary while furnishing the rebels money and assistance.
The French ambassador in London had discovered that six thousand
crowns had been sent from the English treasury to the Scotch rebels.
The fact was positive. He mentioned it to Elizabeth in person; but
she solemnly assured him, with an oath, (_elle nia avec serment_,)
that he was misinformed. There were strong reasons why Elizabeth
would not have it believed that she had lent the rebel lords any
countenance, and she therefore got up a remarkable scene for the
purpose. The French and Spanish ambassadors had charged her in plain
terms with stirring up dissensions in Scotland, and she desired to
reply to the imputation in the most public and emphatic manner.
Murray and Hamilton were summoned to appear, and in presence of the
ambassadors and her own ministers she asked them whether she had ever
encouraged them in their rebellion. Murray began to reply in Scotch,
when Elizabeth stopped him, bidding him speak in French, which she
better understood. The scene was arranged beforehand. Murray fell
on his knees and declared "that her majesty had never moved them to
any opposition or resistance against the queen's marriage." "Now,"
exclaimed Elizabeth in her most triumphant tone, "you have told the
truth; for neither did I, nor any one in my name, stir you up against
your queen; for your abominable treason may serve for example to
my own subjects to rebel against me. Therefore get you out of my
presence; ye are but unworthy traitors." This astounding exhibition
of meanness, and falsehood, and folly, which it is certain, says Mr.
Hosack, imposed upon no one who witnessed it, is without a parallel
in history.
Mary's energy and prudence in suppressing this dangerous rebellion
sufficiently refute a prevalent notion that she was indebted to the
counsels of Murray for the previous success of her administration.
Even Robertson admits that at no period of her career were her
abilities and address more conspicuous. And more remarkable than her
ability in gaining success was the moderation with which she used it.
Not one of the rebels suffered death, and her speedy pardon of the
Duke of Chatelherault, a conspirator against her crown, of which he
was the presumptive heir, was an instance of generosity unexampled in
the history of princes.
The accusation against Mary of having signed the Catholic League,
put forward by so many historians--Froude, of course, among them--is
clearly shown by Mr. Hosack to be utterly untrue. She never joined
it. By this refusal she maintained her solemn promises to her
Protestant subjects--the chief of whom remained her staunchest friend
in the days of her misfortune. She averted religious discord from
her dominions, and posterity will applaud the wisdom as well as the
magnitude of the sacrifice which she made at this momentous crisis.
Then comes the murder of Riccio, which is generally attributed to
the jealousy of Darnley and the personal hatred of the nobles. These
motives, if they ever existed at all, were but secondary with the
conspirators who contrived Riccio's death.
Their main objects were the restoration of the rebel lords, the
deposition of the queen, and the elevation of Darnley to the vacant
throne, on which he would have been their puppet.
Mr. Hosack traces, step by step, the progress of the conspiracy, and
the bargaining and traffic among the conspirators for their several
rewards. There was a bond of the conspirators among themselves, a
bond with Darnley, and one with the rebel leaders who waited events
at Newcastle. Elizabeth's ministers in Scotland were taken into their
confidence and counsels, as was also John Knox, while Elizabeth was
advised of and approved it. Many years ago, a Catholic convent was
burned in Boston--with what circumstances of atrocity we do not
now desire to recall. On the Sunday preceding the outrage, exciting
sermons were delivered on the horrors of popery from more than one
Protestant pulpit. So, also, on the Sunday preceding the murder of
Riccio, the denunciations of idolatry from the pulpits of Edinburgh
were more than usually violent, and the texts were chosen from
those portions of Scripture which describe the vengeance incurred
by the persecutors of God's people. The 12th of March was the day
fixed for the parliament before which the rebel lords were cited to
appear, under pain of the forfeiture of their titles and estates.
This forfeiture the conspirators were resolved to prevent, and chose
the 9th of March to kill Riccio. They could have assassinated him
at any time on the street, in the grounds, in his own room; but the
lords selected the hour just after supper when Riccio would be in
attendance upon the queen, in order to kill him in her presence,
doubtless with hope of the result of her death and that of her unborn
babe from the agitation and affright that must ensue from such a
scene. _The contingency of Mary's death was provided for in the
bond._ We need not here repeat the horrible details of the scene in
which, while a ruffian (Ker of Faudonside) pressed a cocked pistol
to her breast until she felt the cold iron through her dress, the
hapless victim of brutal prejudice and bigotry, whose only crime was
fidelity to his queen, was dragged from her presence and instantly
butchered. Nor need we describe the fiendish exultation and savage
conduct of the assassins toward a sick, defenceless woman.
"Machiavelli," remarks Mr. Hosack, "never conceived--he has
certainly not described--a plot more devilish in its designs
than that which was devised ostensibly for the death of Riccio,
but in reality for the destruction both of Mary Stuart and her
husband."
For two days the noble assassins appeared to have been entirely
successful. Riccio was killed, the parliament was dissolved, the
banished lords recalled, and the queen a prisoner. But her amazing
spirit and resolution scattered all their plans to the winds. The
poor fool Darnley began to see the treachery of the men who had made
him their tool, and Mary fully opened his eyes to his danger. At
midnight on the Tuesday after the murder, the queen and Darnley crept
down through a secret passage to the cemetery of the royal chapel
of Holyrood and made their way "through the charnel house, among
the bones and skulls of the ancient kings," to where horses and a
small escort stood waiting for them. Twenty miles away Mary galloped
to Dunbar, where, within three days, eight thousand border spears
assembled to defend her.
The assassins, Morton, Ruthven, and their associates, fled to
England, where, under Elizabeth's wing, they were of course safe.
Maitland went to the Highlands, and Knox, grieving deeply over the
discomfiture of his friends, took his departure for the west.
The complicity of Murray,
"The head of many a felon plot,
But never once the arm,"
was not known, and he was pardoned his rebellion, and again received
by Mary into her confidence. This is the Murray constantly referred
to by Mr. Froude in his History of England as "the noble Murray,"
"the stainless Murray"--a man who, for systematic, thorough-going
villainy and treachery has not his superior in history.
Darnley, with an audacity and recklessness of consequences which
seem hardly compatible with sanity, made a solemn declaration to the
effect that he was wholly innocent of the late murderous plot.
The indignation of his associates in the crime knew no bounds. He
alone, they said, had caused the failure of the enterprise; he had
deserted them, and now sought to purchase his safety in their ruin.
From that moment his fate was sealed.
Buchanan's famous lie concerning Mary's visit to the Castle of Alloa,
which, to his shame, Mr. Froude substantially repeats, is disposed of
effectually in a few words by Mr. Hosack.
The ride from Jedburg, too, as recounted by Buchanan in his own
peculiar style, repeated by Robertson and by Froude, as far as he
dares, in the teeth of the testimony on the subject, also receives
its _quietus_ at Mr. Hosack's hands.
Then follow the dangerous illness of Mary, the aggravating and fatal
misconduct of Darnley, the poor queen's mental suffering and anxiety,
the preliminary plotting by Murray, Maitland, Argyll, and Huntly to
put Darnley out of the way, the signing of the bond among them for
the murder of the "young fool and tyrant," and the insidious attempt
by these scoundrels to entrap the poor heart-broken Mary into some
such expression of impatience or violence against Darnley as would
enable them to set up the charge of guilty knowledge against her. The
conspirators themselves have put on record the noble and Christian
reply of Mary Stuart, "I will that ye do nothing through which any
spot may be laid on my honor or conscience; and therefore, I pray
you, rather let the matter be in the state that it is, abiding till
God of his goodness put remedy thereto."
Following upon the baptism of the infant prince, who afterward
became James VI. of Scotland, came the unfortunately too successful
endeavors of Murray, Maitland, Bothwell, and Queen Elizabeth to
obtain the pardon of the Riccio murderers.
Poor Mary's political success would have been assured if she had
possessed but a small share of Elizabeth's hardness of heart and
vindictiveness. Always generous, always noble, always forgiving,
she allowed herself to be persuaded to grant a pardon to these
villains--seventy-six in number--excepting only George Douglas, who
stabbed Riccio in presence of the queen, and Ker of Faudonside, who
held his pistol at her breast during the perpetration of the murder.
This ruffian remained safely in England until Mary's downfall, when
he returned to Scotland and married the widow of John Knox.
It was about this period that Buchanan was extolling to the skies, in
such Latin verses as those beginning
"Virtute ingenio, regina, et munere formæ
Felicibus felicior majoribus,"
the virtues of a sovereign whom he afterward told us every one knew
at the time to be a monster of lust and cruelty! His libel was
written when Mary was a fugitive in England, to serve the purposes
of his employers, who had driven her from her native kingdom. The
most assiduous of her flatterers as long as she was on the throne,
he pursued her with the malice of a demon when she became a helpless
prisoner. His slanders were addressed not to his own countrymen, for
whom they would have been too gross, but to Englishmen, for the great
majority of whom Scotland was a _terra incognita_. His monstrous
fictions were copied by Knox and De Thou, and later by Robertson,
Laing, and Mignet, who, while using his material, carefully abstained
from quoting him as authority. Mr. Froude, the author of that popular
serial novel which he strangely entitles _The History of England_,
with delicious _naïveté_ declares his belief in the truth of
Buchanan's _Detection_, and makes its transparent mendacity a leading
feature of his work.
According to Buchanan, the Queen of Scots was, at the period above
referred to, leading a life of the most notorious profligacy. Mr.
Hosack, in his calm, lawyer-like manner, shows conclusively that
at that very time she never stood higher in the estimation both
of her own subjects and of her partisans in England. Considering
the difficulties of her position, he adds, Mary had conducted the
government of Scotland with remarkable prudence and success; and her
moderation in matters of religion induced even the most powerful of
the Protestant nobility to regard her claims with favor.
And still the plotting went on. Motives enough, for them, had
Murray, Morton, Maitland, and the rest to seek the destruction of
Darnley--revenge and greed of gain. These men had imposed upon the
generous nature of the queen in the disposal of the crown lands, and
they well knew that Darnley had made no secret of his disapproval of
the improvident bounty of his wife. These grants of the crown lands,
under the law of Scotland, could be revoked at any time before the
queen attained the age of twenty-five. That period was now at hand,
and the danger of their losing their spoils under the influence of
Darnley was imminent.
He had just been taken down with the small-pox at Glasgow, and the
conspirators, well knowing Mary's forgiving temper, feared, as well
they might, that his illness would lead to a reconciliation between
them.
Although Bothwell had shared less in the bounty of the queen than
the others, his motive was no less powerful for seeking the death of
Darnley. He aspired to Darnley's place as the queen's husband, and
his ambition was no secret to Murray and the others. Full willingly
they lent themselves to aid him, knowing that, if successful, his
plans would be fatal both to the queen and to himself.
Queen Mary went from Edinburgh to Glasgow, to visit Darnley on his
sick-bed. On this visit hinges a mass of accusations against Mary
by her enemies. We regret that the passages of Mr. Hosack's book in
which he dissects and analyzes all the evidence covering the period
from the journey to Glasgow down to the explosion at Kirk-a-field are
too long to be copied here. They are masterly, and more thoroughly
dispose of the slanders than any statement we have seen. He moreover
demonstrates that the queen's journey to Glasgow, heretofore
relied on as a proof of her duplicity because she went uninvited,
was undertaken at Darnley's own urgent request. It is during this
visit to Glasgow that Mary is charged with having written the two
casket letters, which, if genuine, certainly would prove her to be
accessory to the murder of her husband. With thorough knowledge of
Scotch localities, language, customs, and peculiarities, and with a
perfect mastery of all the details of testimony, _pro_ and _con_,
in existence on the subject--a mastery which Mr. Froude is far
from possessing--Mr. Hosack makes the examination of this question
of the genuineness of the Glasgow letters with an application of
the laws of evidence that enables him--if we may be permitted the
homely phrase--to turn them inside out. Contrasted with the sweet,
trusting, child-like confidence with which the letters are received
by Mr. Froude, Mr. Hosack's treatment of them is shockingly cool. In
commenting upon Hume's opinion that the style of the second Glasgow
letter was inelegant but "natural," Mr. Hosack remarks that human
depravity surely has its limits, and the most hardened wretches
do not boast, and least of all in writing, of their treachery and
cruelty. Even in the realm of fiction we find no such revolting
picture.
Of the third letter, the historian Robertson long since remarked
that, "if Mary's adversaries forged her letters, they were certainly
employed very idly when they produced this." And this remark may
correctly be applied to the fourth letter. The difference between
the two first and the two last is the most striking. The Glasgow
letters breathe only lust and murder; but these are written, to all
appearance, by a wife to her husband, in very modest and becoming
language. She gently reproaches him with his forgetfulness, and
with the coldness of his writings, sends him a gift in testimony of
her unchangeable affection, and finally describes herself as his
obedient, lawful wife. This is not the language of a murderess, and
these simple and tender thoughts were not traced by the same hand
that composed the Glasgow letters. They are the genuine letters of
Mary, not to Bothwell, but to her husband Darnley, and they are here
by result of an ingenious device to mix up a few genuine letters
of Mary with those intended to prove her guilty of the murder. The
only letters of importance as testimony against the queen are the
two first, and they were conclusively proven by Goodall, more than a
century ago, to have been written originally in Scotch.
Concerning Paris, whose testimony is strongly relied on by Mary's
enemies, Mr. Hosack has made a very important discovery. According
to a letter of Murray to Queen Elizabeth, Paris arrived in Leith (a
prisoner) about the middle of June, 1569. But Professor Schiern, of
Copenhagen, in compliance with a request made by Mr. Hosack to search
the Danish archives for any papers relating to Scotland, found the
receipt of Clark, Murray's agent, acknowledging the delivery to him
of the prisoner Paris on the 30th of October, 1568. So that Paris
was delivered up nearly a year before his so-called deposition was
produced. The authenticity of his deposition, monstrous though it be,
has been stoutly maintained by several of Mary's enemies. Even Hume
remarks upon it,
"It is in vain at present to seek improbabilities in Nicolas
Hubert's dying confession, and to magnify the smallest
difficulty into a contradiction. It was certainly a regular
judicial paper, given in regularly and judicially, and ought
to have been canvassed at the time, if the persons whom it
concerned had been assured of their own innocence."
Mr. Hume is an attractive writer, but as a historian it is long since
people ceased to rely upon him for facts. The passage here quoted is
a characteristic exemplification of his extraordinary carelessness.
According to Mr. Hosack, the short sentence cited contains three
distinct and palpable mistakes. In the first place, the paper
containing the depositions of Paris was authenticated by no judicial
authority. Secondly, it was not given in regularly and judicially;
for it was secretly sent to London in October, 1569, many months
after the termination of the Westminster conferences. Lastly, it was
impossible that it could have been canvassed at the time by those
whom it concerned; for it was not only kept a profound secret from
the queen and her friends during her life, but it was not made public
for nearly a century and a half after her death. The depositions of
Paris were first given to the world in the collections of Anderson in
1725.
It did not at all suit Murray's purpose to produce Paris in open
court. So, after being tortured, he was executed, and in place of
a witness who might have told what he saw and heard, was produced
a so-called deposition professedly written by a servant of Murray,
and attested by two of his creatures, Buchanan and Wood, both
pensioners of Cecil, and both enemies of the Queen of Scotland.
Buchanan, of course, had full cognizance of the Paris deposition,
for he subscribed it as a witness; and yet we have the singular fact
that, although he appended to his _Detectio_ the depositions of Hay,
Hepburn, and Dalgleish, that of Paris is omitted. Again, in his
_History of Scotland_, published subsequently, although he refers to
Paris in several passages, he is still silent as to his deposition.
The solution of this seeming singularity is simple. He rejected
it for its manifest extravagance and absurdity, which, he wisely
concluded, could not impose on the worst enemies of the queen.
Fable and fiction answering Mr. Froude's purpose just as well
as authentic history, he of course accepts the "Paris" paper as
perfectly true. A successful writer of the romance of history, Mr.
Froude deserves great credit for his industry in gathering every
variety of material for his novel without any absurd sentimental
squeamishness as to its origin.
And now, little by little, the truth begins to come out. For full
two years after the murder of Darnley, no one was publicly charged
with the crime but Bothwell and the queen. And this because it was
the interest of the ruling faction in Scotland, (themselves the
murderers,) to confine the accusation to these two persons. But as in
time events develop, we find the leaders of this faction, quarrelling
among themselves, begin to accuse each other of the crime, until the
principal nobility of Scotland are implicated in it. Mr. Hosack's
conclusion, from a searching analysis of all the evidence on record,
is, that the mysterious assassination of Darnley was not a domestic
but a political crime; and it was one which for many a day secured
political power to that faction which from the first had opposed
his marriage, and had never ceased from the time of his arrival in
Scotland to lay plots for his destruction.
As might be expected, Mary's enemies accuse her of a criminal degree
of inactivity after the death of her husband. But what could she do?
Who were the murderers? No one could tell. The whole affair was then
involved in impenetrable mystery. Her chief officers of justice,
Huntly the chancellor, and Argyll the lord-justice, were both in the
plot; Bothwell, the sheriff of the county, on whom should devolve
the pursuit and arrest of the criminal, had taken an active share in
the perpetration of the murder, and Maitland, the secretary, who had
first proposed to get rid of Darnley, was probably the most guilty
of all. In a memorial afterward addressed by Mary to the different
European courts, she thus describes the situation: "Her majesty could
not but marvel at the little diligence they used, and that they
looked at one another as men who wist not what they say or do."
And now calumny ran riot. Slanderous tongues and pens were busy.
Since Mary had dismissed the insolent Randolph from her court,
Elizabeth had maintained no ambassador there, so that the usual
official _espionage_ could not be carried on. Instead thereof, Sir
William Drury, stationed on the Scotch border, transmitted day by
day a current of scandalous stories. Mary was a woman, and her
enemies might effect by slander what they could not accomplish by
force. Then, too, a bigoted religious prejudice made the work easy.
No matter, says our author, what was the nature of the accusation
against a Catholic queen; so long as it was boldly made and
frequently repeated, it was sure to gain a certain amount of credit
in the end. Here follows, in Mr. Hosack's pages, an able presentation
of contemporary testimony going to show the falsehood of the
accusations that the queen was at this time on a footing of intimate
understanding with Bothwell. Under the circumstances his trial was,
of course, a farce.
The most powerful men in Scotland were his associates in guilt.
One of his noble accomplices in the murder rode by his side to
the Talbooth. Another accomplice, the Earl of Argyll, hereditary
lord-justice, presided at the trial; and the Earl of Caithness, a
near connection of Bothwell by marriage, was foreman of the jury.
The parliament which met soon after did little, besides passing the
Act of Toleration, but enact statutes confirming Maitland, Huntly,
Morton, and Murray in their titles and estates. As we have seen, this
was precisely the main object sought by these men in the murder of
Darnley, an object passed over in silence by most historians, and
not understood by others. Their common interest in his death was the
strongest bond of union among the noble assassins. If Darnley had
lived, he would have prevented the confirmation of these grants; for
he had made significant threats on that subject, especially as to the
gifts to Murray. Murray and the others wanted the lands and titles.
They obtained them. Bothwell had his own designs, and these were
insolent in their ambition. He wanted the queen's hand in marriage
as a step to the throne. It was but just that his companions should
help him as he had aided them. On the evening of the day on which
parliament rose, (April 19th,) Both well gave an entertainment at
a tavern in Edinburgh to a large party of the nobility. After wine
had circulated freely, he laid before his guests a bond for their
signatures. This document recited that it was prejudicial to the
realm that the queen should remain a widow; and it recommended
him, (Bothwell,) a married man, as the fittest husband she could
obtain among her subjects. With a solitary exception--the Earl of
Eglinton--all the lords present signed this infamous bond, and
thereby bound themselves to "further advance and set forward the
said marriage," and to risk their lives and goods against all who
should seek to hinder or oppose it. It is claimed by Mr. Froude that
his special saint, "the noble and stainless Murray," did not sign
this bond; but it is now made plain that he did. Meantime calumny
had free scope, and no invention was too gross for belief by many,
if it but carried with it some injury to Mary's reputation. Thus,
she is accused of journeying to Stirling for the express purpose
of poisoning her infant son. Poor Marie Antoinette in after years,
as we know, was accused of something worse than taking the life
of her child. The answer of these two Catholic queens, great in
their sufferings, and grand in their resignation, was, in each
case, an eloquent burst of nature and queenly dignity. "The natural
love," said Mary Stuart, "which the mother bears to her only bairn
is sufficient to confound them, and needs no other answer." She
afterward added, that all the world knew that the very men who now
charged her with this atrocious crime had wronged her son even before
his birth; for they would have slain him in her womb, although they
now pretended in his name to exercise their usurped authority.
On the 23d of April, while travelling from Linlithgow to Edinburgh,
with a few attendants, the queen was stopped by Bothwell, at the head
of one thousand horse. Bothwell rode up, caught her bridle-rein,
and assured her that "she was in the greatest possible danger," and
forthwith escorted her to one of her own castles, Dunbar. Here she
was kept a prisoner. Melville, who accompanied her, was sent away,
having heard Bothwell boast that he would marry the queen, even
"whether she would herself or not." No woman was allowed near her but
Bothwell's sister.
Although our readers are familiar with the horrible story, the best
account of it is, after all, Mary's own simple and modest narrative
of the abominable outrage. It is found in Keith, vol. ii. p. 599,
and in Hosack, p. 313. After referring to the great services and
unshaken loyalty of Bothwell, she says that, previous to her visit to
Stirling, he had made certain advances, "to which her answer was in
no degree correspondent to his desire;" but that, having previously
obtained the consent of the nobility to the marriage, he did not
hesitate to carry her off to the castle of Dunbar; that when she
reproached him for his audacity, he implored her to attribute his
conduct to the ardor of his affection, and to condescend to accept
him as her husband, in accordance with the wishes of his brother
nobles; that he then, to her amazement, laid before her the bond
of the nobility, declaring that it was essential to the peace and
welfare of the kingdom that she should choose another husband, and
that, of all her subjects, Bothwell was best deserving of that honor;
that she still, notwithstanding, refused to listen to his proposals,
believing that, as on her former visit to Dunbar, an army of loyal
subjects would speedily appear for her deliverance; but that, as day
after day passed without a sword being drawn in her defence, she was
forced to conclude that the bond was genuine, and that her chief
nobility were all in league with Bothwell; and finally, that, finding
her a helpless captive, he assumed a bolder tone, and "so ceased he
never till, by persuasion and importunate suit, _accompanied not the
less by force_, he has finally driven us to end the work begun."
Forced to marry Bothwell Mary was, to all who saw her, an utterly
wretched woman, and longed only for death. The testimony on this
point is very ample, and her behavior at this crisis of her history,
concludes Mr. Hosack, can only be explained by her rooted aversion
to a marriage which was forced upon her by the daring ambition of
Bothwell and the matchless perfidy of his brother nobles.
But already a fresh plot was on foot. Melville wrote to Cecil
concerning it, on the 7th of May; and on the following day, Kirkaldy
of Grange sent to the Earl of Bedford a letter intended for
Elizabeth's eye. Kirkaldy, the Laird of Grange, an ardent Protestant,
who, at the age of nineteen, was one of the men who murdered Cardinal
Beaton, enjoyed among his fellow-nobles the reputation of being
a man of honor, and the best and bravest soldier in Scotland. He
advised Bedford of the signing of a "bond" by "the most part of the
nobility," one head of which was, "to seek the liberty of the queen,
who is ravished and detained by the Earl of Bothwell;" another, "to
pursue them that murdered the king." The letter concludes by asking
Elizabeth's aid and support for "suppressing of the cruel murtherer
Bothwell." But Elizabeth had lost not only much money, but all credit
for veracity, by her last interference in Scottish affairs, and
refused to have any thing to do with this plot.
For three weeks after her marriage the queen remained at Holyrood;
the prisoner, to all appearance, rather than the wife of Bothwell.
She was continually surrounded with guards; and the description of
her situation given by Melville, who was at court at the time, agrees
entirely with that of the French ambassador. Not a day passed, he
says, in which she did not shed tears; and he adds that many, even of
Bothwell's followers, "believed that her majesty would fain have been
quit of him." The insurgent leaders--Morton, Maitland, and Hume--were
busy, and soon in the field with their forces. Bothwell raised a
small levy to oppose them, and the two armies met at Carberry Hill on
the 15th of June, 1567, exactly one month after the marriage. There
was no fighting. Dangerous as it was, Mary preferred to trust herself
to the rebel lords than to remain with Bothwell. She received their
pledge--that, in case she would separate herself from Bothwell, they
were ready "to serve her upon their knees, as her most humble and
obedient subjects and servants"--through Kirkaldy of Grange, the only
man among them whose word she would take. They kept their pledge as
they usually observed such obligations. What followed is too horrible
to dwell upon. It is wonderful that any human being could have
lived through the physical exhaustion, the insults, and the brutal
treatment this poor woman was subjected to during the next two days.
The people of Edinburgh grew indignant; and Kirkaldy of Grange swore
the lords should not violate their promises. But they quieted him
by showing a forged letter of the queen to Bothwell. It was not the
first time some among them had forged Mary's signature. With every
circumstance of force and brutality, Mary was then imprisoned in
Lochleven, whose guardian was the mother of the bastard Murray.
And now, while the friends of Mary, numerous as they were, remained
irresolute and inactive, the dominant faction made the most strenuous
efforts to strengthen itself. In the towns, where its strength
chiefly lay, and especially in Edinburgh, says Mr. Hosack, the
Protestant preachers rendered the most valuable aid. By indulging
in furious invectives against the queen, and charging her directly
with the murder, they prepared their hearers for the prospect of her
speedy deposition, and the _establishment of a regency in the name of
the infant prince_. It is clear that Murray was not forgotten by his
friends the preachers.
Strange as it may appear, there can be but little doubt that
Elizabeth was sincerely indignant on hearing of the outrageous
treatment of Mary by the lords. In her whole history, she never
appeared to so much advantage as a woman and a queen. She would
not stand tamely by, she said, and see her cousin murdered; and if
remonstrances proved ineffectual, she would send an army to chastise
and reduce them to obedience. Such conduct, and her messages to
Mary while a prisoner at Lochleven, no doubt inspired the Scottish
queen with the fatal confidence which induced her, a few months
afterward, to seek refuge in England. Unfortunately for Elizabeth,
and perhaps more unfortunately for Mary, the Queen of England's
reputation for duplicity was now so well established that no one but
her own ministers believed she was now sincere. Maitland, for the
Scotch nobles, plainly told Elizabeth's ambassador that, after what
had occurred in times past, "they could place no reliance on his
mistress;" and the King of France said to Sir Henry Norris, "I do not
greatly trust her." Meantime, the ministers daily denounced Mary as a
murderess in their sermons, and demanded that she should be brought
to justice like an ordinary criminal. Elizabeth's ambassador tried
to induce the confederate lords to restrain the savage license of
the preachers; but we cannot doubt, says Mr. Hosack, that they were
secretly encouraged by their noble patrons to prepare the minds of
the people for the deposition, if not for the murder, of the queen.
Throgmorton's opinion was that, but for his presence in Scotland, she
would have been sacrificed to the ambition and the bigotry of her
subjects.
Still a prisoner at Lochleven, Mary had to suffer the brutality of
the ruffian Lindsay, and the infamous hypocrisy of Mr. Froude's
"stainless Murray," who, with money in both pockets from France and
England, now came, with characteristic deceit, to defraud his sister
of her crown. Mr. Hosack thus estimates his performance:
"First, to terrify his sister with the prospect of immediate
death, then to soothe her with false promises of safety, and
finally, with well-feigned reluctance, to accept the dignity
he was longing to grasp, displayed a mixture of brutality and
cunning of which he alone was capable."
Murray was proclaimed regent on the 22d of August. Soon afterward
began the machinations for accusing Mary of Darnley's murder; and
Murray's first care was to put out of the way every witness whose
testimony could be of any importance. Hay, Hepburn, and Powrie and
Dalgleish, on whom the queen's letters were said to have been found,
were all tried, convicted, and executed on the same day. It was
remarked that the proceedings were conducted with extraordinary and
indecent haste. Hay and Hepburn, from the scaffold, denounced the
nobles who had "made a bond for the king's murder." Public confidence
was shaken in the regent, and the discontent of the people was
expressed in plain speech and satirical ballads. Murray began to feel
the need of Elizabeth's assistance. Mary, in her trusting confidence,
had voluntarily placed all her valuable jewels in Murray's hands, for
safe keeping. From among them he selected a set of rare pearls, the
most valuable in Europe, which he sent by an agent to Elizabeth, who
agreed to purchase what she well knew he had no right to sell. Under
such circumstances, as is the custom among thieves and receivers, she
expected a bargain, and got it. It was a very pretty transaction.
In May, 1568, Mary escaped from Lochleven castle, and in a few days
found herself at the head of an army of six thousand men. Of the ten
earls and lords who flew to her support, nine were Protestants; and
our Puritan historian finds it remarkable that, in spite of all the
efforts of Murray and his faction, and in spite of all the violence
of the preachers, she--the Catholic Queen of Scotland, the daughter
of the hated house of Guise, the reputed mortal enemy of their
religion--should now, after being maligned as the most abandoned of
her sex, find her best friends among her own Protestant subjects,
appears at first sight inexplicable. A phenomenon so strange, he
adds, admits of only one explanation. If, throughout her reign, she
had not loyally kept her promises of security and toleration to her
Protestant subjects, they assuredly would not, in her hour of need,
have risked their lives and fortunes in her defence.
Against her better judgment, Mary was induced to fight the battle
of Langside, and lost the field. And now the queen made the great
mistake of her life. Instead of trusting to the loyalty of the Scotch
borderers, she determined to throw herself on the hospitality of the
Queen of England. In vain did her trusty counsellors and strongest
supporters seek to dissuade her. The warm professions of friendship
and attachment made to her by Elizabeth, when she was a prisoner
at Lochleven, had completely captivated her; and, insisting on her
project, she crossed the Solway, in an open boat, to the English
shore. She was received by Mr. Lowther, deputy warden, with all the
respect due to her rank and misfortunes. Although she did not yet
know it, Mary was from this moment a prisoner. Here Mr. Hosack, in
a few eloquent passages, sets forth the reasons why the forcible
detention of Mary, independently of all considerations of morality
and justice, was a political blunder of the first magnitude. As
the inmate of an English prison, she proved a far more formidable
enemy to Elizabeth than when she wore the crowns both of France
and Scotland. Never did a political crime entail a heavier measure
of retribution than the captivity and murder of the Queen of Scots
entailed on England.
Mary was first taken to the castle of Carlisle. Here Queen Elizabeth
was represented by Lord Scrope, the warden of the marches, and Sir
Francis Knollys, the queen's vice-chamberlain. These noblemen appear
to have been more impressed with the mental and moral qualities of
the Scottish queen than with her external graces. They describe her,
after their first interview, as possessing "an eloquent tongue and a
discreet head, with stout courage and a liberal heart;" and, in a
subsequent letter, Knollys says, "Surely, she is a rare woman; for
as no flattery can abuse her, so no plain speech seems to offend
her, if she thinks the speaker an honest man." All this was written
to Elizabeth, to whom, of course, it was gall and wormwood. A more
remarkable passage of their letter is that in which, speaking in
simple candor as English gentlemen and men of honor, they ask their
royal mistress whether
"it were not honorable for you, in the sight of your own
subjects and of all foreign princes, to put her grace to the
choice, whether she will depart freely back into her country
without your highness's impeachment, or whether she will remain
at your highness's devotion within your realm here, with her
necessary servants only to attend her?"
To a sovereign whose policy was synonymous with fraud, the
unconscious sarcasm of this honorable advice must have been biting.
Elizabeth pledged her word to Mary that she should be restored to her
throne. She at the same time pledged her word to Murray that Mary
should never be permitted to return to Scotland. Then began the long
nineteen years' martyrdom of Mary. The conference at York and the
commission at Westminster were mockeries of justice. It was pretended
there were two parties present before them--Murray and his associates
on one side, Mary on the other. Mary was kept a prisoner in a distant
castle, while Murray, received with honor at court, held private
and secret consultations with members of both these quasi-judicial
bodies, showed them the testimony he intended to produce, and
obtained their judgment as to the sufficiency of his proofs before
he publicly produced them; these proofs being the forged letters of
the silver casket. These letters were never seen by Mary Stuart, and
even copies of them were repeatedly and persistently refused her.
Mr. Froude makes a lame attempt to show that _some one_ secretly
furnished her copies; but even if his attempt were successful, it
does not affect the fact that the copies were officially refused her.
By the time the scales had fallen from Mary's eyes, Elizabeth's art
and duplicity had woven a web from which she could not be extricated.
Her remaining years of life were one long, heart-sickening struggle
against treachery, spies, insult to her person, her reputation,
and her faith; confinement, cold, sickness, neuralgic agony, want;
deprivation of all luxuries, of medical attendance, and of the
consolations of religion. At every fresh spasm of alarm on the
part of Elizabeth, Mary's prison was changed; frequently in dead
of winter, and generally without any provision for the commonest
conveniences of life. More than once, taken into a naked, cold
castle, Mary's jailers had to rely on the charity of the neighbors
for even a bed for their royal prisoner. At Tutbury, her rooms were
so dark and comfortless, and the surroundings so filthy--there is
no other word for it--that the English physician refused to charge
himself with her health. But enough. We all know the sad story, and
we trustingly believe the poor martyred queen has her recompense in
heaven.
Mr. Hosack's treatment of the question of the authenticity of the
silver-casket letters is exhaustive. More than a century ago, Goodall
fully exposed the forgery, and he has never been satisfactorily
answered. Mr. Froude, of course, accepts them without discussion.
The conferences at York and the proceedings at Westminster are
presented as only a lawyer can present them. Mary's cause gains by
the most rigid scrutiny. Mr. Froude does not know enough to analyze
and intelligibly present serious matters like these. He prefers a
series of sensational _tableaux_ and highly-colored dissolving views,
producing for authorities garbled citations and his own fictions. Mr.
Hosack's testimony, independently of its great intrinsic merit, is
valuable because of his nationality and of his religion, and we hope
to see his work republished in the United States. His closing page
concludes thus:
"In the darkest hours of her existence--even when she hailed
the prospect of a scaffold as a blessed relief from her
protracted sufferings--she never once expressed a doubt as
to the verdict that would be finally pronounced between her
and her enemies. 'The theatre of the world,' she calmly
reminded her judges at Fotheringay, 'is wider than the realm
of England.' She appealed from the tyranny of her persecutors
to the whole human race; and she has not appealed in vain. The
history of no woman that ever lived approaches in interest
to that of Mary Stuart; and so long as beauty and intellect,
a kindly spirit in prosperity, and matchless heroism in
misfortune attract the sympathies of men, this illustrious
victim of sectarian violence and barbarous statecraft will ever
occupy the most prominent place in the annals of her sex."
FOOTNOTE:
[7] _Mary Queen of Scots and her Accusers._ Embracing a Narrative of
Events from the Death of James V., in 1542, until the Death of the
Regent Murray, in 1570. By John Hosack, Barrister-at law. William
Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh and London. 1869.
_Histoire de Marie Stuart._ Par Jules Gauthier. Vol. i. Paris. 1869.
STABAT MATER.
Stabat Mater dolorosa,
Juxta crucem lacrymosa,
Dum pendebat Filius:
Cujus animam gementem,
Contristatam et dolentem,
Pertransivit gladius.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION[8]
Broken-hearted, lo, and tearful,
Bowed before that Cross so fearful,
Stands the Mother by the Son!
Through her bosom sympathizing
In his mortal agonizing
Deep and keen the steel has gone.
GREEK TRANSLATION.[9]
Ἵστη Μήτηρ ἀλγέουσα
παρὰ σταυρῷ δακρύουσα,
ἐκρημνᾶτο ὡς Τέκνον·
ἧς τὴν ψυχὴν στενάχουσαν,
πολύστονον, πενθέουσαν
διέπειρε φάσγανον.
O quam tristis et afflicta
Fuit illa benedicta
Mater Unigeniti!
Quæ mœrebat et dolebat,
Pia Mater, dum videbat
Nati pœnas inclyti.
How afflicted, how distressed,
Stands she now, that Virgin blessed,
By that tree of woe and scorn;
Mark her tremble, droop, and languish,
Gazing on that awful anguish
Of her Child, her Only-Born!
Φεῦ τοῦ ἄχθους τῆς τε λύπης
εὐλογημένης ἐκείνης
Μήτρος τοῦ Μονογένους·
ἣ ἤλγει καὶ ἠνιᾶτο,
θεοσεβὴς, ὡς ὡρᾶτο
Υἱοῦ τ' ἄλγη εὐκλεοῦς.
Quis est homo qui non fleret,
Matrem Christi si videret
In tanto supplicio?
Quis non posset contristari,
Christi Matrem contemplari
Dolentem cum Filio?
Who may see, nor share her weeping,
Christ the Saviour's mother keeping
Grief's wild watch, so sad and lone?
Who behold her bosom sharing
Every pang his soul is bearing,
Nor receive them in his own?
Τίς ἀνθρώπων οὐκ ἂν κλαίοι,
εἰ τὴν Χριστοῦ Μήτερ' ἴδοι
τοιαῦτ' ἀνεχομένην;
τίς δύναιτ' ἂν οὐκ ἄχθεσθαι
τῷ τὴν Χριστοῦ Μήτερ' ἴδεσθαι
σὺν Υἱῷ λυπουμένην;
Pro peccatis suæ gentis,
Vidit Jesum in tormentis,
Et flagellis subditum.
Vidit suum dulcem Natum
Moriendo desolatum,
Dum emisit spiritum.
Ransom for a world's offending,
Lo, her Son and God is bending
That dear head to wounds and blows;
'Mid the body's laceration,
And the spirit's desolation,
As his life-blood darkly flows.
Πρὸ τῶν κακῶν οἵο γένους
'φαν' αὐτῇ ὑβρισθεὶς Ἰησοῦς
καὶ μάστιξιν ἔκδοτος·
εἶδεν ἕον γλυκὺν παῖδα
ἐκθνήσκοντα, μονωθέντα,
ὡς ἐξέπνει ἄθλιος.
Eia Mater, fons amoris,
Me sentire vim doloris
Fac ut tecum lugeam;
Fac ut ardeat cor meum
In amando Christum Deum,
Ut sibi complaceam.
Fount of love, in that dread hour,
Teach me all thy sorrow's power,
Bid me share its grievous load;
O'er my heart thy spirit pouring,
Bid it burn in meet adoring
Of its martyred Christ and God!
Ὦ συ Μήτερ, πήγη ἔρωτος,
τῆς λύπης με πάθειν ἄχθος
δός, σοι ἵνα συμπαθῶ·
δὸς φλέγεσθαι κῆρ τὸ ἐμόν
τῷ φιλεῖν τὸν Χριστὸν Θεόν,
ὅπως οἱ εὐδοκέω.
Sancta Mater! istud agas,
Crucifixi fige plagas
Cordi meo valide.
Tui Nati vulnerati,
Tam dignati pro me pati,
Pœnas mecum divide.
Be my prayer, O Mother! granted,
And within my heart implanted
Every gash whose crimson tide,
From that spotless victim streaming,
Deigns to flow for my redeeming,
Mother of the crucified!
Ἅγνη Μήτερ, τόδε δράσον·
Σταυρωθέντος πλήγας πήξον
μοι ἐν κῆρι κρατερῶς·
σοίο τοῦ τρωθέντος Τέκνου,
ὃς πρὸ ἐμοῦ πάσχειν ἤξιου,
μέρος ποινῶν μοι διδούς.
Fac me tecum pie flere,
Crucifixo condolere,
Donec ego vixero.
Juxta crucem tecum stare,
Et me tibi sociare
In planctu desidero.
Every sigh of thy affliction,
Every pang of crucifixion--
Teach me all their agony!
At his cross for ever bending,
In thy grief for ever blending,
Mother, let me live and die!
Δός σοί μ' εὐσεβῶς συλλυπεῖν,
Σταυρωθέντι δὸς συναλγεῖν,
ἕως μοι βιώσεται·
πρὸς σταυρῷ σοι συνίστασθαι,
σοί τε μοίρας μετέχεσθαι
τοῦ πενθεῖν ὀρέγομαι.
Virgo virginum præclara,
Mihi jam non sis amara,
Fac me tecum plangere.
Fac ut portem Christi mortem,
Passionis fac consortem,
Et plagas recolere.
Virgin of all virgins highest,
Humble prayer who ne'er deniest,
Teach me how to share thy woe!
All Christ's Passion's depth revealing,
Quicken every quivering feeling
All its bitterness to know!
Παρθένε, τῶν κόρων λαμπρά,
ἤδη μή μοι ἴσθι πικρά,
δός μέ σοι συναλγέειν·
δὸς βαστάζειν Χριστοῦ πότμον,
τοῦ πάθους ποίει με μέτοχον,
τάς τε πλήγας ἐννοεῖν.
Fac me plagis vulnerari,
Cruce hac inebriari,
Et cruore Filii.
Flammis ne urar succensus,
Per te, Virgo, sim defensus,
In die judicii.
Bid me drink that heavenly madness,
Mingled bliss of grief and gladness,
Of the Cross of thy dear Son!
With his love my soul inflaming,
Plead for it, O Virgin! claiming
Mercy at his judgment throne!
Δὸς ταῖς πλήγαις με τρωθῆναι,
τῷδε σταυρῷ μεθυσθῆναι
καὶ τοῦ Υἱοῦ αἵματι.
πυρὶ ἀφθέντα μὴ καυθῆναι,
ἀλλὰ διὰ σοῦ σωθῆναι
κρίσεως ἐφ' ἥματι.
Christe, cum sit hinc exire,
Da per matrem me venire
Ad palmam victoriæ.[10]
Quando corpus morietur,
Fac ut animæ donetur
Paradisi gloria.
Shelter at that Cross, oh! yield me!
By the death of Christ, oh! shield me!
Comfort with thy grace and aid!
And, O Mother! bid my spirit
Joys of Paradise inherit,
When its clay to rest is laid!
Ὁπόθ' ὥρα μ' ἀπέρχεσθαι,
διὰ Μήτρος δὸς φέρεσθαι,
Χριστὲ, νικητήρια·
τεθνέωτος χρωτὸς ἐμοῦ,
εὔχομαί μοι ψυχῇ δίδου
οὐρανοῦ τὰ χάρματα.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] This translation, which first appeared in the _Democratic
Magazine_ thirty years ago, is now republished at the request of the
author, G. J. G.
[9] By the late Otto George Mayer, student of the Congregation of St.
Paul.
[10] Instead of these three lines we sometimes find the following:
Fac me cruce custodiri,
Morte Christi præmuniri,
Confoveri gratia.
The former version of the Latin is followed in the Greek, the latter
in the English translation.
THE BRIGAND'S GOD-CHILD.
A LEGEND OF SPAIN.
Once upon a time, as the legends say, there lived in good old Spain a
poor workman, to whom destiny had given twelve children, and nothing
for them to live upon. Now his wife was expecting a thirteenth, and
perhaps with it would appear a fourteenth also, to run about loved
but unclothed and unfed, as the others had before them. The bread was
almost gone, work not to be had, and the poor man, to hide his sighs
and his misery from the patient partner of his misfortunes, wandered
far from home and into the woods, calling upon paradise to assist
him, until he came to the ill-reputed cavern and stronghold of the
bandits.
He almost fell over their captain, and came very near receiving a
sabre-thrust for his pains; but his extreme misery made him no object
for a robbery, so he was simply catechised as to his condition.
He told his story, moved even the brigand heart to pity, and was
invited to supper; a bag of gold and a fine horse were given him,
and he was sent home with the assurance that, be the new-comer
boy or girl, the robber-chief would stand as god-father. The poor
man, in ecstasy at such good fortune, flew rather than rode to his
well-filled dwelling, and arrived there just in time to welcome
number thirteen.
A boy! He gave his wife the money and a caress, and, although the
night was far advanced, mounted his charger and galloped back to the
cave. The brigand was astonished at his speedy return; but true to
his word, appeared with him in the neighboring church in disguise
of a rich old gossip, made every requisite promise for the new-born
babe, and disappeared, leaving a bag of golden crowns and another
purse of gold.
The angels, however, claimed the baby, and the brigand's
god-child flew to paradise on golden wings, and in the splendid
swaddling-clothes that his charity had provided for it.
St. Peter, porter at the gates celestial, stirred himself to welcome
the little fellow to heaven; but no! he would not enter unless
accompanied by his god-father.
"And who may he be?" asked St. Peter.
"Who?" responded the god-child; "The chief of the brigands."
"My poor little innocent," said the saint, "you know not what you
ask! Come in yourself; but heaven was not made for such as he."
The child sat down by the door resolved not to enter, and planning in
his little head all sorts of schemes to accomplish his purpose, when
the Blessed Mary passed that way.
"Why do you not enter, my angel?" she said.
"I would be ungrateful," he answered, "to partake of heavenly joys if
my good god-father did not share them with me."
St. Peter interposed, and appealed to the Holy Mother, saying,
"If he had only been a wax-carrier! but this man, Satan's own
emissary--impossible! An incarnate demon; a robber, healthy and
robust, who has taken every opportunity to do mischief! Holy Mother!
could such a thing be thought of?"
But the god-child insisted, bent his pretty blonde head, joined his
little hands, fell on his knees, prayed and wept. The Virgin had
compassion on him and bringing a golden chalice from the heavenly
inclosure, said,
"Take this; go and seek your god-father; tell him that he may come
with you to heaven; but he must first fill this cup with repentant
tears."
Just then, by the clear moonlight, reposing on a rock, and fully
armed, lay the brigand. In his dream his dagger trembled in his
hands. As he awoke, he saw near his couch a beautiful winged infant.
With no fear of the savage man, it approached and presented the
golden chalice. He rubbed his eyes, and thought he still dreamed; but
the infant angel reassured him, saying,
"No; it is not a fancy. I have come to invite thee to go with me.
Leave this earth. I am thy god-child, and I will conduct thy steps."
Then the little fellow related his marvellous story: his arrival at
heaven's gate, St. Peter's refusal, and how the Blessed Mother, ever
merciful, had come to his assistance and granted his request. The
bandit listened, and breathed with difficulty, while, bewildered he
gazed on the angelic figure, and held out his hand for the golden
chalice.
Suddenly his heart seemed to burst, two fountains of tears gushed
from his eyes. The cup was filled, and the radiant infant mounted
with him to the skies.
Into heaven the little one entered, carrying the well-filled cup to
St. Peter--who was astonished to see who followed him--and proceeded
to offer it at the feet of the beautiful Queen.
She smiled on the sinner who through her compassion had been saved,
while he threw himself in reverence at her feet. God himself had
acquitted the debt of the child. Besides, we know that to the
repentant there is always grace--and the infant had declared it would
not enter alone.
MOLECULAR MECHANICS.
Among the theories proposed to explain the constitution of material
substance, and to account for the facts relative to it disclosed by
modern science, one developed in a recent work with the above title,
by Rev. Joseph Bayma, of Stonyhurst, is specially worthy of notice
for its ingenuity and the field which it opens to the mathematician.
Whether it be true or not, it is at any rate such that its truth can
be tested; and though this may be somewhat difficult, on account of
the complexity of the necessary formulas and calculations, still the
difficulty can probably be overcome in course of time, should the
undertaking seem promising enough.
It is briefly as follows. Matter is not continuous, even in very
small parts of its volume, but is composed of a definite number of
ultimate elements, each of which occupies a mere point, and may
be considered simply as a centre of force. This force is actually
exerted by each of them following the law of gravitation as to its
change of intensity with the distance; but is attractive for some
elements and repulsive for others, which is obviously necessary to
preserve equilibrium. These elements are arranged in regularly formed
groups, in which the balance of the attractive and repulsive forces
is such that each group, as well as the whole mass, is preserved
from collapse or indefinite expansion; these are what are known
chemically as molecules; and in the simple substances they probably
have the shape of one of the five regular polyhedrons.
The simplest possible construction of a molecule would be one of
the polyhedrons, with an element at each vertex, and one at the
centre, whose action must be of an opposite character to that of
those at the vertices; for these last must all exert the same kind
of action, attractive or repulsive, for any kind of equilibrium to
be maintained, and the centre must act in the opposite direction to
prevent collapse or expansion of the mass. Furthermore, the absolute
attractive power, or that which the molecule would have if all
collected at one point, must exceed the repulsive, slightly at any
rate, since the force exerted at distances compared with which its
dimensions are insignificant is known to have this former character.
This system admits of two varieties, according as the centre is
attractive or repulsive. In either case, for the maintenance of
equilibrium the force of the centre must always be less than half
that of the vertices combined, as the author shows, (giving the
values for each polyhedron;) and it would seem that the first
supposition would therefore be untenable, since the attractive force
in each molecule, as just stated, necessarily exceeds the repulsive.
Equilibrium certainly cannot be maintained in this case; but this
will not involve the permanent collapse of the molecule, but merely
a continual vibration of its elements back and forward through the
centre.
The second hypothesis, on the other hand, requires either a centre so
weak as to produce very little repulsion outside of the molecule, or
else a continual tendency to expand under a central power too great
for equilibrium. Both will tend to bring the molecular envelopes near
to each other, and produce adhesion or mixing among them; also, it
may perhaps be added, that the envelopes themselves will, on account
of the mutual attraction of their elements, be unstable.
Of these two constructions, then, the first would seem most probable;
but both are open to objection on account of there being no internal
resistance in the individual molecules to a change of diameter
proportional to a change produced by external action in that of a
mass of them; and if such a change should take place, the mass would
be in just the same statical conditions as before, only differing in
the relative dimensions of its parts, and the resistance to pressure
which is exhibited more or less by all matter would not be accounted
for. But it does not seem quite certain that pressure or traction of
the mass would operate upon the separate molecules in the same sense.
We are not, however, restricted to such a simple structure; for there
may be several envelopes instead of only one, and of these some may
be attractive and others repulsive; the centre also may be repulsive.
There would have to be an absolute predominance of attractivity, of
course, as in the previous more simple supposition. It seems probable
that in this supposition the envelopes would be all tetrahedric, or
that either the cube and octahedron, or the other two, which are
similarly counterparts of each other, would alternate. Many of these
forms are examined mathematically by the author, as to their internal
action.
The exact discussion of their external action, however, would
be exceedingly intricate, and would not be worth undertaking
without a more definite idea than we yet have of the actual shapes
presented by the molecules of the various known substances. The
forms of crystallization may throw some light upon this, and they
seem to indicate, as the author acknowledges, that the elements
are not always grouped in regular polyhedrons; if they are not,
they must have unequal powers, and this may be sometimes the
case. But irregular crystalline forms are not impossible, or even
improbable, with regular molecules. He also suggests and applies a
method for obtaining the forms of the simple chemical substances
by considering what combinations with others each polyhedron is
capable of, and comparing these results with the actual combinations
into which these various substances are known to enter, and deduces
the shapes, with some plausibility, of the molecules of oxygen,
nitrogen, carbon, hydrogen, phosphorus, chlorine, sulphur, arsenic,
and iodine. Whether we shall ever be able to obtain more positive
proof of these interesting conclusions remains to be seen; but if
any molecules have really the number of envelopes that would be
indicated by their chemical equivalents, the perfect determination of
their exact mechanical conditions of combination, and even of their
separate construction, will probably, as F. Bayma remarks, be a
problem always above the power of the human mind. If mathematicians
are at all inclined to plume themselves on having unravelled the
complications of the solar system, they can find sufficient matter
for humiliation in not being able to understand the status of a
material particle less than the hundred millionth of an inch in
diameter; for to this extent subdivision has actually been carried.
One of the most remarkable points in this theory is that part of
it which relates to the ethereal medium which seems to pervade all
space, if the undulatory theory of light is true, as is now perhaps
universally believed. Instead of assuming it to be extremely rare,
as is usually done without hesitation, the author regards it as
excessively dense; "immensely denser than atmospheric air," to
use his own words. Of course this seems absurd at first sight, as
such a medium apparently would exert an immense resistance to the
movements of the heavenly bodies, and in fact to all movements on
their surfaces or elsewhere. This would certainly be the case if it
were similar to ordinary matter; and to avoid this difficulty, it
is assumed to be entirely attractive. The reason for supposing a
great density for this substance is its immense elasticity and power
of transmitting vibrations; which seems incompatible with great
distances between its particles, unless these particles are extremely
energetic in their action, which comes to the same thing; and this
argument has considerable force.
But it does not seem evident that an attractive medium would not
also interfere with the passage of bodies through it, though not
in the same way as a repulsive one; and the oscillation through
its centre necessary for its preservation complicates the theory
somewhat. Also, any marked accumulation of a powerfully acting
medium round the various celestial bodies would cause, if varied
in any way by their changes of relative position, perturbations in
their movements. The very fact, however, that its own action was so
energetic might make the disturbance in its arrangement produced by
other masses small, especially if it penetrates those masses, as is
probably generally maintained. The subject is, of course, one of
great difficulty, and objections readily suggest themselves to any
hypothesis regarding it; still, it would appear that on some accounts
it might be better, instead of assuming the medium to be wholly or
predominantly attractive or repulsive, to suppose it to have the two
forces equally balanced in its constitution; and if it be, like other
matter, grouped in molecules, the balance would naturally exist in
each molecule, making it inert at any but very small distances, and
exerting at these very small distances a force the character of which
would vary according to the direction.
We have said that the discussion of the exterior action of the
molecules--that is, of their action on each other, or on exterior
points in general--would be exceedingly complicated. The only way
in which it seems practicable is that in which the mutual actions
of the planets have been investigated, namely, a development of the
force in the form of a series; but this cannot be done advantageously
unless the distances between the molecules are considerably greater
than the molecular diameters. If, however, we make the development of
the ratio of the attraction (or repulsion) exerted by the vertices
of a regular polyhedron in the direction of its centre, to what it
would exert if concentrated at that centre, in a series of the powers
of the ratio of the molecular radius to the distance of the point
acted on from the centre, it will be found that the coefficients
of the first and second powers vanish in all cases; and that in
all, except that of the tetrahedron, those of all the odd powers
also disappear, as well as that of the fourth in the dodecahedron
and icosahedron. If, then, the absolute attractive or repulsive
power of any envelope is very nearly compensated by that of an
opposite character prevailing in the rest of the molecule, (as seems
probable,) the whole series can be reduced, at any distance which is
very great compared with the molecular diameter, to two terms--one
a constant with a very small value, and the other containing the
third, fourth, or sixth power of the small quantity which the ratio
of the diameter to the distance has now become. This should have a
negative multiplier, in order that the force should become zero; and
this it will have for a considerable distance around the vertices
of all the polyhedrons, the negative value always covering as much
as two fifths of the spherical surface about the centre of the
molecule, and compensating even in this case for its less extent by
a greater intensity, as the mean of this coefficient over the whole
surface is always exactly zero. Within this distance of no action,
for some space about the centre of the prevailing polyhedric face,
attraction would prevail till the higher powers became sensible,
and even (as it would seem) quite up to the centre in the case of
a single envelope, the repulsive action of which, when combined
with the slight force of the centre, would apparently be limited
to quasi-ellipsoidal spaces extending out from each vertex, and
having a longer axis equal to this outer distance of no action.
But this limitation of the repulsive action will be still greater
if the excess of the absolute attractive power in the molecule is
more considerable, as long as the distribution of the force in the
different envelopes remains unaltered; and though the molecules can
approach within tolerably short distances of each other in certain
directions, this is not objectionable, since such an approach may
even be required for chemical union and cohesion. Introsusception
would hardly be probable, unless they were very different in size.
The compound molecule once formed, whether its components were of
the same or of different substance, might exercise a repulsive
force at a considerable distance in all or nearly all directions;
nevertheless, it might still admit of further increase or of
disruption by an agitation among the molecules, due to heat, light,
or electricity. Of course, even on this theory, for the maintenance
of physical equilibrium the mean distance of the molecules would
have to be considerably less than that of no action, in order that
a repulsion should be produced to balance the attraction of those
beyond this distance. Still, if the excess of attractive force in
each molecule, and consequently the size of each, be made small
enough, their dimensions may still be small compared even with this
mean distance; so that in no case, except that of chemical union,
would it be necessary to take account of the higher powers. Any
motion communicated from one molecule to another would then probably
be by means of an actual relative movement of the centres of gravity,
instead of by internal vibrations.
It may be worth noticing that a regular polyhedron--the elements of
which exert a force not varying at all with the distance, and in
which the absolute energy of the centre is precisely equal to that of
the vertices combined--gives a resulting force following the law of
gravitation, at any distance compared with which its own dimensions
can be neglected; and within this distance the force will change
its sign under the same conditions of direction as specified in the
previous case. But, as the intensity of this force will change with
the size of the molecule, it does not appear that a system of this
kind would be admissible, since, besides the periodical change due
to its own internal vibration, it would probably be changed in size,
or even in shape, which would be worse, by compression or expansion
of the mass; which would be the more likely, as the molecules could
approach much nearer than in the former supposition. The law followed
by gravitation also seems to be almost or quite necessary for forces
radiating from a point.
The author's theory seems, on the whole, extremely plausible.
That each element of matter exerts a force following the law of
gravitation, is almost demonstrable _à priori_; that the elements
are mere points, will also generally be admitted; that some of
the actions should be repulsive, is obviously necessary; that each
molecule is composed of a definite number of atoms, is suggested
by chemical laws; and the polyhedric forms seem certainly the most
reasonable, though crystalline forms would indicate that others
may be occasionally found. The possibility of the construction of
irregular molecules out of elements of unequal powers seems, by the
way, to be worth examining.
Further developments of the theory may have recently been made; of
course, the author does not claim in this work to have laid down more
than its first principles. At present, it seems, to say the least,
to furnish the best basis for the mathematical investigation of the
internal constitution of matter that has been suggested, and such
investigations would be almost certain to lead to valuable results,
whether confirmatory or otherwise.
THE HOLY-WEEK OF 1869 IN HAVANA.
PALM-SUNDAY. THE TENEBRÆ. MAUNDY-THURSDAY.
So much had been told me of the antiquated observances of the
Holy-Week in Havana, of the religious processions presenting to us
of the nineteenth century an image of the _naïf_ faith of the middle
ages, of the rare spectacle of a whole city in mourning for the death
of the Saviour, that even had my duty not called me to the church,
my curiosity would have carried me thither. As it was, I resolved
this Lent that, although I resided at an inconvenient distance from
town, and ladies who have no carriage of their own find it sometimes
unpleasant to go on foot in a country where walking is unfashionable,
and considered even unfeminine, yet I would disregard disagreeables
of every kind, and attend all the impressive ceremonies of this great
week in the cathedral.
PALM-SUNDAY.
On Palm-Sunday, then, at six o'clock in the morning, I got into
the nice, clean, well-managed cars that pass our door every few
minutes all day long. The blessing of the palm branches was not to
commence until a quarter after eight; but I like to "take time by
the forelock," and I also feared that, as the "superior political
governor of Havana" had invited "the grandees of Spain, the titled
of Castile, the knights grand crosses, the gentlemen, (_gentiles
hombres_,) and civil and military functionaries to contribute their
assistance to render the religious acts more solemn," there _might_
be somewhat of a crowd, and so I determined to arrive betimes and
secure for myself a seat where I could both see and hear well.
The early morning in Cuba is always delightful, and this 21st
of March was very bright and lovely, the sky intensely blue and
without a cloud, and a cool breeze gently waving the tall tops of
the cocoa-nut trees, and rustling the light, feathery sprays of the
graceful bamboos. The white colonnaded houses of the _Cerro_ looked
very pleasant among their palms and laurels. _La Carolina_ was in
full bloom in some of the gardens, its spreading, leafless branches
covered with great plumy tufts of rose-colored filaments; honeysuckle
vines and the yellow jasmine climbed about the railings, and the
large, brilliant flowers of the _mar pacifico_ completed the floral
landscape with that bright "bit" of scarlet so agreeable to the
artistic eye.
As we approached the city, however, the pretty houses became fewer,
and the mean suburban shops and _fondas_ appeared more grimy than
ever in the bright sunlight; their dirty awnings hanging in rags
over the badly-paved, broken sidewalk. The houses, all of one or
two stories, their exteriors washed with blue, yellow, lilac, or
apple-green, wore a general look of never being repaired, and their
gay coloring was faded, spotted, stained, and smeared by the
exceeding dampness of the climate. I had glimpses, too, as we passed,
into narrow streets so frightfully gullied and filthy that they made
me shudder. The population of this part of extra-mural Havana was not
more prepossessing in appearance than its haunt.
In about half an hour we reached the _Campo de Marte_, (Field of
Mars,) a fine square which would be handsomer if it were bordered
with shade-trees. Now it is an arid plain, with a few straggling
blades of grass in patches here and there. On one of the sides of
this place stands the magnificent mansion of the Aldamas, one of
the richest families in the island; on another side, the principal
railway station. A great number of volunteers, fine, stout,
strong-looking men generally, dressed in a blue and white striped
drill uniform, and armed with short swords and bayoneted muskets,
were mustering in the middle of the _Campo_, and a great rabble of
little blackies surrounded them, gaping with admiration. At the
eastern extremity of the square we cut across the commencement of
what used to be called the _Parque de Ysabel Segunda_; but her statue
has been pulled down from its pedestal, and the promenade has now no
name. Here again, around the pretty fountain that represents Havana
under the form of an Indian maiden supporting a shield that bears
the arms of the city, and surrounded by tropical fruits and graceful
plants, were plenty of flowers; the blue, crimson, and purple
morning-glories, that had just opened their radiant petals to the
sun, were the most vividly-colored I have ever seen.
Passing the Tacon Theatre, we soon reached the breach in the city
walls by which the cars enter. These old fortifications, built by the
Spaniards to keep out the Indians and the English, are being slowly
demolished. A very fine white stone church is in progress of erection
close by.
The streets within the walls are well paved and clean; the houses
mostly large and very strongly built. They usually form a hollow
square, the centre being an open yard, containing a few shrubs. The
windows of all the rooms reach from the floor to the ceiling; they
are without glass and protected by iron bars; thick inside shutters,
into which two or three glazed panes are inserted to admit the
light, close out any very bad weather, wind or rain. The sidewalks
are usually not more than a foot and a half wide; they look like
ledges running along the sides of the houses, and are exceedingly
uncomfortable for pedestrians, as I found when I descended from the
car at its stopping-place in front of the church _San Juan de Dios_,
and proceeded on foot to the cathedral.
_San Cristóbal de la Habana_, the metropolitan cathedral, is a large
and handsome edifice; it dates from 1724, and although it has at
the present moment a very time-worn appearance, it was repaired
and beautified only a few years since. Two towers and three doors
give an imposing air to the front; the arched nave within is lofty
and spacious, and separated from the aisles by massive pillars of
masonry. The whole of the interior is painted in fresco, but is much
deteriorated by the excessive humidity of the climate. The high
altar, constructed of beautiful jasper, under a dome of porphyry,
supported by columns of the same material, was built in Rome. On the
gospel side of the chancel is the tomb of Christopher Columbus, whose
ashes, inclosed in a leaden box, rest within the very wall of the
sacred edifice.
Few persons had yet assembled in the church, and I quickly obtained
a seat on one of the benches that are placed along each side of the
nave. I was much pleased to find myself exactly opposite to the
crimson velvet-covered arm-chair and reading-desk reserved for the
captain-general, and to the less imposing but handsome seats intended
for the governor, grandees, and municipality. I was also just behind
a row of arm-chairs allotted to the civil and military functionaries.
In the chancel, concealing from view the honored tomb, was raised a
purple velvet dais; beneath it stood the purple velvet-covered throne
and reading-desk of the bishop. A great black flag with a blood-red
cross in its centre leaned against the side of the altar, on which
was seen the emblem of our faith swathed in violet crape. An immense
white curtain, very artistically draped, was suspended across the
southern transept.
As the time passed, colored servants made their appearance every now
and then, bringing their mistresses' small low chairs and little
carpets; for the Havana churches, like the Catholic churches of
the European continent, have no pews. These servants wore the most
brilliant liveries, such as orange-tinted indispensables, bright
green waistcoat, and red swallow-tail coat, forcibly reminding one
of the parrots of the Cuban woods. A complete canary-colored suit,
surmounted by a round, woolly, black head, produced a very droll
effect. The little chairs were placed and the little carpets spread
wherever it was possible, so that the marble floor of the space
between the official seats was soon nearly covered. The greater
number of ladies, however, had no chairs, but knelt, sometimes three
on the same carpet, during the whole of the ceremony; that is, from
eight till twelve, only changing their posture occasionally to
sitting on the ground, with their feet doubled up on one side.
A little before eight o'clock, the ladies began to arrive. Each one,
after she had knelt down and arranged the folds of her voluminous
train to her satisfaction, dotted herself over rapidly with a great
number of little crosses, and ended by kissing her thumb. This
ungraceful performance is only a hasty, careless way of making the
three signs taught by the church, which ought to be done thus: The
thumb of the right hand is placed across the middle of the index,
to represent the cross. The first sign is then made with it on the
forehead, _Por la señal de la Santa Cruz_--"By the sign of the holy
cross;" the second on the mouth, _De nuestros enemigos_--"From
our enemies;" the third on the heart, _Libra nos, Señor, dios
nuestro_--"Deliver us, Lord, our God." The sign as it is made usually
with us, and a kiss on the cross represented by the thumb and index,
terminate this Spanish process of blessing one's self.
The toilettes of some of the fair Spanish and Cuban ladies present
on this occasion were of rich black silk, with a black lace mantilla
over the head, half shading the face and shoulders. There was an
elegant simplicity in this costume that seemed to me to make it fit
to be adopted in all countries as a dress for public worship. But
the great majority were attired in showy, expensive materials, quite
devoid of taste, especially in the choice and harmony of colors.
Black grenadine and lace dresses, with light belts, were numerous;
satin stripes of the deepest orange color were worn by tall, slender,
sallow damsels; _vert d'eau_, that delicate water-green which demands
so imperiously the contrast of lilies and roses, was donned by a
stout dame, _couleur de café au lait_; and one lady displayed an
ample, sweeping robe of that bright hue the French call _Bismark
content_, which imparted an unearthly lustre to her natural green
tinge that made my flesh creep. Lace mantillas over the head were
universal. Most were black; but some young girls wore white ones,
fastened to their hair with a bunch of rose-buds. There were a great
many blue silk bodices, of the style affected by Swiss maidens; and
I remarked that the fat ladies were very partial to low dresses and
short sleeves, with handsome necklaces and bracelets. No one wore
gloves, and every one carried a fan.
There was a great majority of expressive, intelligent faces among
these belles, and there were plenty of large black eyes, some very
beautiful; and there were pretty lips, which disclosed with every
smile two even rows of pearly teeth; but there was also a total
absence of that fresh, healthy look which, when united to youth,
constitutes beauty, whatever be the shape of the features, and
without which no woman can be truly lovely. As I contemplated, from
my somewhat high bench, the colorless cheeks of the maidens, and the
sallow, withered skins of the matrons kneeling on the marble floor
before me, I remembered the temperate zone with heart-sick longing.
"It seems," thought I, "very delightful, when one reads of it, to
inhabit a clime where the trees are ever green, and the flowers in
perpetual bloom; where snow and ice are unknown; but look at these
pallid girls and their faded mothers--poor, enervated victims of
continual heat! And oh! the many physical miseries arising from want
of active exercise, and the sluggish torpor that seems to invade
the soul as well as the body." And then the days long gone by came
back to me; the days when "life went a-Maying with nature, hope,
and poesy;" the days when I was young. "How I pity you," I murmured,
"pale Cuban girls, who have never run free in the daisied meadows
to gather spring violets and primroses; who have never rambled with
laughing youths and maidens in the leafy woods of summer, or sported
among the dried fallen leaves in the cool, bright days of autumn, or
made one in a merry evening party around the sparkling, crackling,
glowing winter fire!"
A startling yelp, accompanied by the whistling sound of a
well-applied whip, recalled my wandering thoughts. The _perrero_, in
the exercise of his duties, was ejecting a recalcitrant dog, which
had contrived to reach the chancel unobserved. This functionary, the
_perrero_--_anglicé_, dog-man--is peculiar to the cathedral. In all
the other churches of Havana, the faithful are constantly grieved
by the unseemly spectacle of dogs roaming at will within the sacred
precincts, even on the very steps of the altar. The _perrero_ is
distinguished by a dark blue serge robe, descending to his feet, and
very much resembling a gentleman's dressing-gown in form. Around his
neck he wears, as a finish, a wide white frill. He carries, concealed
in the folds of this unpretending and rather unbecoming costume,
a serviceable cowhide, which he uses with a will upon all canine
intruders; and if he can, he concludes his admonishment with a kick,
it being generally believed that a dog which has received this final
humiliation eschews the cathedral for the rest of his days.
In the mean time, a considerable number of persons had assembled in
the church, and the preparations for the blessing of the palms were
completed. The highly ornamented branches had been brought in, piled
up on great trays; the bishop's pastoral crook had been placed
leaning against his throne, and the wax tapers were lighted. The
clergy, hastening in procession to the great central door, which was
presently thrown wide open, letting in a flood of light and warm air,
announced the arrival of the prelate. It was rather difficult to make
a passage for him up to the altar; for some good nuns had come with a
shoal of little girls, who had been arranged so as to fill up every
interstice left by the occupants of the chairs and carpets; but it
was done at last, and he advanced slowly and with great dignity up
the nave, blessing all as he passed.
The prelate had scarcely taken his seat under the dais, when the
doors, opening wide again, gave entrance to the grandees, the
municipality, and a number of military and civil functionaries. They
were ushered to the places assigned to them by four mace-bearers,
habited in the Spanish mace-bearing costume of three hundred years
ago, and much resembling in general appearance the tremendous Queen
Elizabeth's beef-eaters, who seemed to my childish eyes the most
wonderful sight in the Tower of London. They wore loose red velvet
tunics, trimmed with gold lace and fringe; the castles of Castile
were embroidered on the breast, and the lions of Leon adorned the
sleeves; an immense double ruff around the throat; big, high, black
boots and buckskin small-clothes, and a wide-brimmed hat turned up on
one side, with a red and yellow feather, completed the costume.
The military and civil officers were in full uniform, wearing their
orders and decorations; the noblemen and gentlemen in evening dress,
and displaying on their breasts numerous ribbons and brilliant stars.
They were nearly all venerable-looking, gray-haired men, with that
pensive, dignified gravity of demeanor peculiar to the Spaniard.
The religious ceremony now began. The palm-branches blessed were all
curiously plaited and lopped, until they were but little more than
a yard high, only two or three small leaves being left at the top.
They were ornamented with bows of bright-colored ribbons, bunches
of artificial flowers, and gold and silver tinsel butterflies. That
intended for the prelate was covered with elegant gold devices and
arabesques. Each of the grandees in turn ascended the steps of the
altar, and, kneeling, received one from the bishop, whose hand
he kissed, and then retired. When all had been distributed, the
procession was formed; but I must confess that it disappointed me
exceedingly. I had expected to see a grove of green, waving palms
moving along amidst the hosannas of the multitude; but, as it was,
all devotional and picturesque effect was totally wanting. I have
since been told that in the poorer churches, which cannot afford to
buy the plaited, lopped, and gilded sticks that the bad taste of
the people prefer, the simple branch, so exquisitely graceful, is
perforce adopted, and the procession, consequently, a very pretty
sight.
In the cathedral, the whole ceremony was cold and unimposing. There
was no summons from the outside, with response from within. There
was no triumphal burst from the organ when the Victor over sin and
death made his entry; no anthem to remind us how the chosen will be
welcomed to heaven. The procession descended by the southern wing,
and went out into the church porch, where the psalms appointed were
sung; the great central door was then opened, and it returned up the
nave to the altar.
The mass followed, and the bishop delivered a short sermon. His
voice was very agreeable, and his manner impressive.
As soon as the service concluded, every one hastened away. There were
no loiterers--not even to see the prelate leave the cathedral, which
he did on foot, his violet silk train borne by one of the priests. It
is, however, but just to remark--if excuse be needed for the haste
with which the church was cleared--that it was twelve o'clock, and no
one had breakfasted.
I was pleased to meet a friend at the door, who insisted on my going
home with her, and I gratefully accepted the invitation; for I felt
tired and faint. We accordingly got into her _quitrin_, and in a few
minutes reached the welcome door.
The _quitrin_, the _private_ conveyance of Cuba, and an improvement
on the well-known _volante_, is a carriage somewhat resembling the
victoria, but with two immense wheels; it is swung, too, so easily
that a person not accustomed to the vehicle finds it difficult to
enter. The shafts are exceedingly long, and the horse in them trots,
while a second horse, upon which the _calesero_ rides, canters. This
second horse is attached to the carriage by long traces at the left
side, and a little ahead of the shaft-horse. The effect produced by
the different paces of the animals is very curious.
The _calesero_, or driver, is always a colored man; he is usually
dressed in a blue jacket, (though green, yellow, and red are not
unfrequent,) white drill waistcoat and trowsers, and high black
leathern leggings, hollowed out under the knee and standing up
stiff above it, resembling, in fact, the great boots worn by French
postilions, minus the feet. These leggings are fastened down the
sides with straps and silver buckles, and ornamented with large
silver plates. No stockings, but low-cut shoes, leaving visible
the naked instep, heavy silver spurs and a stove-pipe hat, and the
_calesero_ is considered an elegant turn-out.
The breakfast was waiting; a Creole one, composed of soup made of the
water in which beef-bones, and especially beef knee-caps, had been
boiled, flavored with onions fried in lard; of _vaca frita_--fried
cow--little pieces of beef of all shapes, fried also in lard; of
_ropa vieja_--old clothes--slices of cold meat warmed up with sauce;
of _aporeado_--beef torn into shreds of an inch and a half long and
stewed with a little tomato, green peppers, garlic, and onions, (this
dish looks very like boiled twine;) of _picadillo_--meat minced as
fine as possible and scrambled in eggs, chopped onions and peppers;
of rice cooked with little pieces of fat pork and colored with
saffron; of very nice pork-chops, the best meat in Cuba, and very
different and far superior to Northern pork; of boiled _yucca_, and
ripe plantains, very delicious to the taste, resembling in flavor a
well-made apple charlotte. The bread was very good, and more baked
than it usually is in the United States. Claret and water was the
general beverage, and the meal finished with a cup of hot coffee
enriched with creamy milk, boiled _without_ the salt and aniseed that
Creoles almost invariably put into it. We were waited on at table by
two admirably-trained Chinese, a people much and justly esteemed in
Havana as house-servants and cooks.
It was nearly three o'clock when I at last reached home; but not
until the next day did I hear of the four unfortunate men shot that
afternoon in the streets, during the embarkation of the two hundred
and fifty political prisoners for Fernando Po.
THE TENEBRÆ.
The following Wednesday morning, I reached the cathedral just as
the gospel was commenced. At the conclusion of the mass the service
of the _Tenebræ_ was very impressively chanted. As I listened, my
heart realized all the grief and desolation of that sad time. I could
hear David bewailing his outraged Lord and Son; Jeremias lamenting
over the ruins of Jerusalem, over the crucified Victim; dear mother
church calling her children to repentance in supplicating, tender
strains; and the three devoted Marys sighing and weeping as they
climbed the steep of Calvary among the crowd that followed our
blessed Saviour to the cross. At the termination of this mournful
music, just as the confused murmur that recalled the noise of the
tumultuous masses who, led on by Judas, came armed with sticks to
seize Jesus, died away, a number of priests, completely enveloped in
ample black silk robes with long pointed trains, their faces entirely
concealed beneath high-peaked black silk hoods, advanced to the front
of the altar and knelt in a row on the step before it. After a short,
whispered prayer, one of them arose, and taking the black banner with
the blood-red cross, which I have already mentioned, waved it for
several minutes in silence over his companions, while they prostrated
themselves on their faces before the altar. It is impossible to
imagine a scene more lugubrious; the black-robed figures lying
motionless, the mysterious hooded form that seemed to tower above
them, the sinister flag, the deep silence--all contributed to inspire
a sentiment of undefinable fear. Every one present knelt, and in
unbroken silence the black banner was waved over us. When we raised
our heads, the sombre assembly had disappeared and the chancel was
empty.
This, I was told, is a ceremony that has been handed down from the
time of the primitive Christians of Rome; but no one was able to
explain the meaning of it to my satisfaction.
MAUNDY-THURSDAY.
Maundy-Thursday found me bright and early in the cathedral, and well
placed; for I was again just opposite the seats reserved for the
captain-general and the governor, and just behind those intended for
the military and civil officers.
With the exception of the bishop's dais, throne, reading-desk, and
cushion, which were now of white damask and gold, every thing was the
same as on Palm-Sunday. But the great white curtain had been removed
from before the southern transept, and there was now to be seen a
magnificent golden sepulchre, under a white and gilded dome supported
by columns. The statue of a kneeling angel adorned each side of this
monument, to which the officiating priest ascended by six carpeted
steps. Innumerable wax tapers in silver candlesticks were arranged on
each side, their soft light reflected by the silver and gold drapery
that lined the vault.
As on Palm-Sunday, the floor of the nave was soon covered with
carpets and little chairs, all occupied an hour before the mass began
by women and children, white and colored, of every social grade,
from the delicate marchioness to the coarse black cook. Not even the
most elegant lady present seemed in the slightest degree annoyed by
being elbowed, and her satin dress rumpled, by some pushing, saucy
_morena_, (colored woman,) who planted her chair or stool just where
she could contrive to squeeze it in, with the most perfect assurance
that no one would question her right to do so. I remarked, too, that
in the crowd of men who stood in the aisles, the whites and blacks,
the rich and the poor, were on the same terms and acting in precisely
the same manner toward one another; and I felt convinced that nowhere
on earth was such social equality to be met with as I witnessed in
the cathedral church of Havana.
I was admiring this absence of all invidious distinctions in the
house of God, and rejoicing in the thought that here, at least, the
master had to confess himself weak and humble as the slave, the rich
powerless as the poor, when two men forced room for themselves on my
bench and by my side. One had the look of a low grog-shop keeper, the
other of a whining street-beggar; both were shockingly, disgustingly
filthy; both snorted and spat in the most frightful manner, and in
the discomfort they caused me, I arrived at the conclusion that all
men are equal--yes, _except_ the clean and the dirty; and I fretted
and fumed against the church officials who thus abandoned the
faithful washed to the inroads of the faithless unwashed. _Faithless
unwashed!_--it is written wittingly; for I cannot credit that piety
will exist with filthiness of its own free will. No, sin and dirt
are too often bosom friends; but cleanliness goes hand in hand with
godliness.
I had, however, to bear and forbear with my unpleasant neighbors,
whose propinquity induced a train of thoughts somewhat at variance
with the solemnity I had come to witness. I remembered, among other
discrepant subjects, the nickname given to the Spaniards by the
Cubans, _Patones_--"Big-Feet"--which appellation has frequently been
used in skirmishes between the insurgents and the Spanish troops as a
battle-cry. _Viva Cuba, y mueren los Patones!_ "Long live Cuba, and
death to the Big-Feet!" the rebels would shout, and the soldiers,
very naturally enraged at a personal defect being alluded to in
such terms, would fight like insulted heroes. So I improved this
opportunity, having a long row of Spaniards before me, to examine
their lower extremities and judge for myself what truth there was
in the discourteous designation. After a careful and impartial
investigation, I believe that I can say with justice that, though
they do not possess the exquisitely-formed, fairy-like little feet
with which every Cuban, male and female, trips into this world, they
yet cannot be accused of having large or clumsy ones. Most of the
Spanish feet I saw were certainly much smaller than those of the
English or Germans, resembling, perhaps, those of the French.
The toilettes of the ladies were even more ball-like than on
Palm-Sunday; nearly every one wore low-necked dresses and short
sleeves, and many white kid gloves. Rose-colored, pale blue, yellow,
and white silk robes trimmed with lace and a multitude of bows,
and sometimes disfigured by preposterous _paniers_, were general.
The hair was artistically dressed and adorned with flowers, golden
fillets, and bright ribbons, and the white or black lace mantilla
thrown over the head was as small and transparent as possible.
At a quarter past eight, the bishop arrived with a numerous suite
of clergy: as on Sunday, it was with difficulty he made his way
through the sitting, kneeling, becrinolined, and betrained crowd that
encumbered the centre of the church.
Very shortly after, a flourish of trumpets outside announced the
coming of the captain-general. The great door was again thrown open,
and he entered, preceded by the mace-bearers, and attended by Señor
Don Dionisio Lopez Roberts, superior political governor of Havana,
and a brilliant _cortége_ of noblemen, gentlemen, and military and
civil chiefs. When all were seated, the scene as viewed from my
bench was very striking. The resplendent sepulchre; the illuminated
altar, at which the mitred prelate and his assistant priests were
officiating, all robed in white and gold; the long row of handsome
uniforms on each side of the nave; the gay _parterre_ of fair ladies,
and the crowd of spectators of every shade of color from white to
black that filled the spaces between the massive pillars and served
as a background, all contributed to form a whole most picturesque and
unique.
The beautiful service of Maundy-Thursday now commenced; during
the celebration of it, the ceremony of blessing the holy oils was
performed; and when the _Gloria in excelsis_ was chanted, the bell
was rung for the last time until Holy Saturday. At the elevation, I
heard the silver staff of the _pertiguero_ resound several times upon
the pavement. The _pertiguero_ is, like the _perrero_, a functionary
peculiar to the cathedral; his duty is to enforce _kneeling_ at the
elevation on all strangers visiting that church at the moment. He
carries a long silver staff, called a _pertiga_, which he strikes
with a clang upon the marble floor when he perceives any one
inattentive to the strict rule of the church--prostration in presence
of the host.
After the mass, the blessed sacrament was carried in solemn
procession to the sepulchre, the captain-general and the governor
bearing the banner of the _Agnus Dei_, and all the grandees and
municipality joining in it. The staves and cross-rods of the banner
and of the magnificent dais held over the holy sacrament were all of
silver, and appeared to be very heavy. The host was deposited in the
sepulchre, which was then locked, and the golden key fastened to a
chain suspended by the bishop around the neck of the captain-general,
to be brought back to the church by him on Good-Friday. The
beautiful hymn, _Pange lingua_, was sung very sweetly the whole
time; the Latin, which seems so hard and harsh in our English
pronunciation, sounding very grand and harmonious in these Spanish
mouths.
The church cleared very rapidly after the mass; and when the last
carriage had conveyed its last occupant home, no vehicle of any kind
was permitted to pass through the streets of Havana. The soldiers now
carried their arms reversed, and all Spanish flags were at half-mast.
The city was in mourning.
I was taken possession of by some kind friends as I left the
cathedral, and accompanied them to their house close by, where we
found a welcome breakfast awaiting us. It consisted of fish and
vegetables. We commenced with turtle-soup; but not of the kind so
loved by Cockney aldermen, redolent of spiced force-meat balls and
luscious green fat; this was an orthodox meagre soup, incapable of
doing harm. Then came a nice fried fish called _rabi rubio_--red
tail, and fried lobster, all hot, which, however, I did not like
as well as boiled lobster cold with a _mayonnaise_ sauce. To these
succeeded shrimp fritters, roast turtle, and a very delicate fish,
the _pargo_, the best in these seas, and sometimes caught as large
as a large salmon, which it is not unlike in form. Our vegetables
were white rice, eaten with black Mexican beans stewed; yam, yucca,
and slices of green plantain fried of a fine gold color, and very
delicious. Good bread, excellent claret, and native coffee with an
aroma resembling that of the best Mocha, completed this agreeable
repast, which had been enlivened by the pleasant conversation of an
intelligent, generous-hearted Spaniard, and the smiles and jests of
his pretty Cuban wife and children.
Breakfast over, my friend Pepilla and I, with the two eldest girls,
Dolores and Luisita, sallied forth into the silent streets to visit
some of the churches, previous to attending the ceremony of the
_Lavatorio_--washing of feet--which was to be performed in the
cathedral at three o'clock.
The quaint old church of _San Juan de Dios_ was the first we
entered. Its floor of hard-beaten earth was encumbered with kneeling
worshippers, mostly colored, in earnest prayer before a figure as
large as life, representing our blessed Saviour dressed in a dark
purple velvet robe, embroidered with gold; his hands tied together
with a rope; his head crowned with a gilded crown of thorns. Long
black ringlets of shiny hair shaded his emaciated cheeks and fell far
down on his shoulders behind.
The high altar, which is a curious work of bad taste, decorated with
little carved wooden angels wearing black Hessian boots, was screened
by hangings of gold and silver tinsel; and a gilded sepulchre,
surrounded by a great number of wax tapers, to be lighted in the
evening, was placed in front of it.
As we came out of the poor little church, a dirty negro boy, followed
by a dozen others, ran by us in the street, making a great noise with
a _matraca_, to the delight of his suite. This _matraca_ is a piece
of wood about eighteen inches long and ten wide; on each side of it
are affixed one or two thick iron wires of the usual size and shape
of those old-fashioned metal handles to drawers and trunks, which
always used to slip out of their sockets when one gave a strong pull.
When the instrument is shaken, these rattle against the wood, and in
the hands of an adept, and all colored boys are such, made a terrible
clatter. From the _Gloria_ on Maundy-Thursday until the _Gloria_ on
Holy Saturday, _matracas_ are employed instead of bells and clocks,
and boys from the churches run through the streets with them, to
announce each hour of the day.
The sepulchre at _San Felipe_, a church whose interior is remarkable
for its air of bright cleanliness, was very tastefully arranged with
flowers and tapers, and promised to look very brilliant when lighted
up. There also was an image of our Saviour similar to that we had
just seen.
At _Santo Domingo_, a large, handsome edifice, we found a magnificent
sepulchre, in severer taste than the two we had visited. In one of
the aisles, also, there was a group large as life, and painfully
life-like. It represented our blessed Lord on the cross, the blood
streaming from his nose and down his pale, thin cheeks from the
wounds inflicted by the cruel thorns of his crown; a ghastly gash in
his side; his hands tom by the dreadful nails; his wrists bruised and
cut by the cords with which he had been bound; his knees so horribly
scarified by being dragged over the rough ground that the bones of
the joints were visible; his feet mangled, his whole body cut and
scratched and discolored by stones and blows. At the foot of the
cross stood the holy Virgin, tearless, but with so heart-broken an
expression that to look at her was to weep. St. Mary Magdalen, her
face pale, her eyes swollen and red, was kneeling near her. I could
not bear the sight of this agony, and turned away, saying to myself,
"Yes, it must have been like this!"
In each of these three churches a nun was sitting at a small table
with a tray before her, to collect the charitable, voluntary
offerings of visitors. This was the first time I had seen the
slightest approach to money-asking in the Cuban churches. During
the rest of the year there never are collections of any kind made
in them. Nevertheless, the ladies of Havana are very ready to
contribute, and do contribute liberally toward all religious and
charitable purposes; but privately, not publicly. Indeed, both
Spaniards and Cubans are remarkably compassionate and generous to the
begging poor, whom they gently style _Pordioseros_--"For-God-sakers;"
and whom they never send harshly away when unpleasantly importuned
or unable to give, as we Anglo-Saxons so often do; but refuse with
a soft _Perdone, por Dios, hermano_--"Pardon me, for God's sake,
brother;" or, _Perdone, por Dios, hermanita_--"Pardon me, for God's
sake, little sister."
It was now time to return to the cathedral to secure places to see
the _Lavatorio_. We found but few persons there yet, and consequently
had a choice of seats. Some colored men were busy placing an image
of our Saviour, similar to that we had seen in the church of _San
Juan de Dios_, on one of the altars in the southern aisle, and it was
touching to see the veneration and love with which one or other of
them would raise from time to time a ringlet of the shiny black hair
and kiss it.
Just before three o'clock two long benches were set on the epistle
side of the altar, and presently a large number of youths, attired in
dark red robes, entered the chancel--students from the _Seminario de
San Carlos_, the theological college attached to the cathedral.
The beautiful anthem that is chanted during the ceremony of the
washing of feet, _Mandatum novum do vobis_, "A new command I give
unto you," contains the distinctive precept of our pure and holy
religion, "Love one another;" and I could not help thinking, when
the Bishop of Havana girded himself with a linen napkin and knelt
humbly to do his lowly task, that he looked as if it were to him a
real labor of love, so charitable an expression was there in his
eyes, such venerable grace in his manner. He was assisted by several
priests, one of whom carried a large silver basin, another a silver
ewer full of water. The water was poured over one foot only; the
prelate knelt as he wiped it, and then kissing it, rose and passed to
the foot of the next boy, and so on. When all were washed and wiped,
the bishop, looking heated and tired, resumed the white and gold
chasuble he had laid aside, and, crowned with his mitre, took his
seat in front of the high altar, surrounded by his clergy.
The sermon then commenced; the subject was, as always on this day,
the institution of the holy eucharist. The preacher was a rather
young man, of agreeable aspect, earnest in gesture and manner. His
voice was loud and clear, and the magnificent Spanish language
resounded in harmonious and eloquent periods through the vaulted
nave. I remembered, as I listened admiringly, the old Spanish
boast that theirs is the tongue in which the Almighty can be least
unworthily addressed, and it did not seem to me so vain and unmeaning
as I once deemed it.
With the conclusion of the sermon, all the joy and love that had
marked the first part of the services of Holy Thursday disappeared,
and grief and mourning now began again. Vespers and the _Tenebræ_
were chanted, and then the faithful withdrew.
In the evening all the inhabitants of Havana poured into the streets:
the captain-general, attended by his staff; the bishop, followed
by his clergy; the governor and the municipality; the various
corporations; large family parties, and bands of young men and boys;
all went from one illuminated church to another, seven being the
prescribed number, to kneel before the splendid sepulchres, and pray
with more or less devotion. And having accomplished this duty, all
adjourned to the _Plaza de Armas_, a handsome square, on one side of
which is the palace of the captain-general, for the _retreta_; that
is, to promenade while they listened to the military band, which
played some sacred music very finely, and to eat ices, the pious
taking care that theirs were _water-ices_.
The brilliant moon of the tropics lighted up the scene, making all
visible as in the day, but with softer tones; beneath her beams the
beautiful eyes of the ladies seemed of a more velvety black, and
their white teeth glistened whiter between their smiling lips. A
gentle breeze, laden with the sweet odors peculiar to night in Cuba,
sighed in the leafy boughs of the _Laurel de India_, and all seemed
to me peace and good-will among men, until I overheard one Creole
lady say to another, "Your husband was a Spaniard, I believe?"
"I have been the wife of two Spaniards," replied the _Cubana_; "but I
am happy to say that I have buried them both!"
So I returned to my home deeply meditating on the loveliness of
nature and the perversity of mankind.
GOULD'S ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF RELIGIOUS BELIEF.[11]
In this book the author considers what are the natural religious
wants of man's soul; he shows how these cravings have given birth
to various religious systems; he considers to what extent these
systems are capable of satisfying man's moral nature, including in
this survey every ancient and modern belief except Christianity;
and proves that they have all failed in a greater or less degree.
In a second volume he intends "to show how that Christianity by its
fundamental postulate--the Incarnation--assumes to meet all these
instincts; how it actually does so meet them; and how failure is due
to counteracting political or social causes." (P. 6.)
In other words, we have here a treatise on religion from the _à
priori_, rationalistic or philosophic stand-point. The work is done
as well as we could expect from a non-Catholic author. But like
most other books of the same stamp, written by those outside of the
church, it contains many errors and false statements of facts. As it
has attracted no little attention, and may be considered as a type
of a large class, we will give some quotations from it, to show how
cautiously these books are to be read, and how little confidence can
be placed in their assertions.
In his preface, the author says that, besides the historical
revelation, "We have a revelation in our own nature.... On this
revelation the church of the future must establish its claims to
acceptance." (P. 6.) If Christ was God, as we firmly believe, or even
an inspired teacher sent by God, the first and only thing necessary
is to know _what he taught_. We must examine extrinsic evidence
which bears on the inspiration, authenticity, and genuineness of the
historical documents in which his teaching is contained. Intrinsic
evidence derived from the examination of that teaching, and the
consideration of its complete harmony with man's spiritual nature,
must be assigned a second, not a first place.
In the following passages, which are certainly not a little
ridiculous, we have naturalism and materialism:
"Mysticism is produced by the combustion of the gray vascular
matter in the sensorium--the thalami optici and the corpora
striata." (P. 355.)
"Prayer is a liberation of force. When the emotions are
excited, rapid combustion of nervous tissue ensues, and the
desire that inevitably follows to do something is the signal
that an amount of power has been generated, and equilibrium is
disturbed." (P. 387.)
"Pantheism," we are told, p. 292, "is the philosophy of reason--of
reason, it may be, in its impotence," (most assuredly!) "but of such
reason as man is gifted with here."
On page 319, speaking of Kant, he says, "All the arguments advanced
by metaphysicians to prove the existence of God crumbled into
dust beneath his touch." The truth is precisely the opposite.
Kant has "crumbled into dust," and "all the arguments adduced by
metaphysicians to prove the existence of God" remain as unshaken as
before he was born.
We are told, on page 79, that the chief reason why all men have
believed in the immortality of the soul, is because they could not
form even a conception of its annihilation. On the contrary, any one
who has ever slept soundly can conceive its annihilation without any
difficulty, though he might experience a good deal in endeavoring
to picture to himself an existence without end. The doctrine of the
immortality of the soul, however, even in philosophy, does not rest
on any such weak arguments.
That most wonderful fact of history, in which the finger of God
evidently appears, namely, the preservation of the Jewish people and
their belief for the past eighteen hundred years, in the face of
causes which, according to every natural law, ought long ago to have
destroyed both creed and nation, is accounted for (p. 205) simply by
their possession of "the Talmud, which is a minute rule of life,"
etc. _Credat Judæus Apella._
"A man of thought will not steal, because he knows he is violating
a law of sciology." (P. 278.) Were all the men in the world
"sciologists," and "men of thought," we would not be in the least
inclined to trust our property to the slender protection afforded by
a law of "sciology."
Every native of the "Gem of the Ocean" will be delighted to learn
that "The suffering Celt has his Brian Boroimhe, ... who will come
again ... to inaugurate a Fenian millennium," (p. 407;) and students
of history will be surprised to know that
"Marie Antoinette was informed of the execution of Robespierre
by a woman in the street below the prison putting stones in her
apron, and then, with her hand falling on them, scattering them
on the ground." (P. 187.)
Marie Antoinette was not alive when Robespierre was executed. The
above incident occurred in the life of Josephine Beauharnais.
On pages 133-134, we are told substantially that for the first three
or four centuries after Christ, God governed the Christian world
directly! Then, for a time, through the priests alone! Afterward,
for several centuries, through kings alone! Now the whole Christian
world is ruled solely by "the open Bible!" This is a good example of
how most non-Catholic writers, when speaking of religion, are always
ready to sacrifice historical truth for the sake of a generalization
or a rhetorical flourish.
"Its primitive organization (that is, of the church) was purely
democratic. It recognized the right of the governed to choose their
governor." (P. 201.) We never knew before that the people of Ephesus
elected Timothy to be their ruler, or the people of Crete, Titus. We
thought St. Paul appointed both of them, and that he told Timothy,
"The things which thou hast heard from me before many witnesses, the
same commend to faithful men who shall be fit to teach others also,"
(Epis. to Timothy ii. 2;) and that he wrote to Titus, "... ordain
priests in every city, as I also appointed thee." (Epis. to Titus i.
5.)
"When Hildebrand gathered up the reins of government in
his powerful hand to transmit them to his successors, the
ecclesiastical elective primacy became an absolute supremacy."
(P. 201.)
In the _Arabian Nights_, if any difficulty occurs to interfere with
the plot of a story, genii or fairies are straightway introduced,
perform very coolly some astounding act, and _presto!_ all goes
smoothly again. So, when Protestant authors, in writing history,
come across any fact that stands in the way of their preconceived
anti-Catholic theories, and logic cannot remove it, they introduce
"priestcraft," "Hildebrand," "the cunning Jesuits," etc.; these
prodigies shoulder the difficulty, walk off with it, and then "it is
all perfectly clear." "Priestcraft," for instance, invented the whole
sacramental system and foisted it on the church, _no one knows when,
where, or how_. "Hildebrand" created the papal power. It did not
exist before his time. "The cunning Jesuits"--ah! it would require
more than a _Thousand and One Arabian Nights_ to recount all the
wondrous achievements of these mythological characters. Their latest
act has been the convocation of the present œcumenical council,
which they rule with an iron hand. In fact, the editor of this
magazine, who is a member of the council, has written to us privately
that now their power and tyranny have become so great that when the
council is in full session you have to ask a special permission of
"the cunning Jesuits" _if you desire to sneeze or even wink_! (Isn't
it awful, reader? But this, you know, is strictly _entre nous_. You
mustn't mention it to any body on any consideration, unless, of
course--as is not at all impossible--you should hereafter learn the
same thing from the Atlantic Cable!)
The saints of the Catholic Church in modern times, we read, (p. 362,)
"are ecstatics, crazy nuns, and sentimental boys." Such, therefore,
were Sts. Alphonsus Liguori, Ignatius, Francis Xavier, Vincent de
Paul, Charles Borromeo, Francis of Sales, Theresa, Jane de Chantal,
and the two Catherines! Well, we live to learn!
Mr. Gould, in order, it would appear, to give an air of
originality--or, more correctly, aboriginality--to his book,
chooses to employ the term _idol_ as signifying any representation
of the Deity, (whether it receive divine worship or not,) even the
intellectual conception or purely philosophic idea! "Idolatry,
then, is the outward expression of the belief in a personal God."
(P. 176.) According to this new nomenclature, we must style all
Christians _idolaters_!
"A fetish is a concentration of spirit or deity upon one point."
(P. 177.) So with sticks, stones, and snakes, he ranks the Sacred
Host--the _Catholic fetish_!
"The attribution to the Deity of wisdom and goodness is every whit as
much anthropomorphosis as the attribution of limbs and passions." (P.
175.) So all worshippers of the Deity (for the impersonal "God" of
pantheism is simply no God at all) are _anthropomorphists_ as well as
"idolaters"!
The last remark we have quoted from the author is not true. The
soul _alone_ is not the man; neither is the body alone; but _soul
and body_ together. Whoever, therefore, attributes to God only
the spiritual attributes of man, cannot be properly termed an
anthropomorphist. In any case, however, we most decidedly object to
any one's applying to sacred things terms rendered opprobrious by
long and correct usage. The effect of such an act is to confuse the
reader, and its tendency is to bring what is holy into contempt.
Perhaps this was the author's intention.
As might easily be supposed from the foregoing examples, the writer
of this book is one of the nineteenth century _illuminati_, and in
favor of "unrestrained freedom of thought," etc., (the chief enemies
of which are historical facts, sound logic, and common-sense.) We
will now listen for a moment while, in good orthodox Protestant
fashion, he is "shouting the battle-cry of freedom."
"Sacerdotal despotism succeeded in the middle ages in
concentrating all power over consciences and intelligences in
the hands of an order whose centre was in Rome." (P. 138.)
"The Reformation was a revolt against that oppressive despotism
of the Roman theocracy which crushed the human intellect and
paralyzed freedom of action." (P. 139.)
"Under an infallible guide, regulating every moral and
theological item of his (man's) spiritual being, his mental
faculties are given him that they may be atrophied, like the
eyes of the oyster, which, being useless in the sludge of its
bed, are reabsorbed." (P. 140.)
"Theocratic legislation hampers every man's action from the
cradle to the grave.... The Israelites are a case in point.
They were tied down ... lest they should desert monotheism for
idolatry." (P. 204.)
"In a theocracy there is neither individuality, personality,
nor originality.... It has restrained independence, shackled
commerce, conventionalized art, mummified science, cramped
literature, and stifled thought," etc. (Pp. 207, 208.)
What a pity that we poor "Romanists" are so "benighted," etc., etc.,
that we don't in the least appreciate these modern Solons, who seem
to think that every one should be "progressive;" that is, spend his
life in dragging himself out of one humbug only to fall into another;
or, as the wise critic of _The Nation_ put it a short time ago, in
speaking of a story in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, a young man ought to be
_like a ship_, and devote his existence to _sailing about_--on the
boundless ocean, we suppose, of infidel nonsense![12]
Finally, we read, (pp. 138, 139.)
"'Strange destiny, that of theology, to be condemned to be for
ever attaching itself to those systems which are crumbling
away,' writes M. Maury; 'to be essentially hostile to all
science that is novel, and to all progress!'"
We shall only remark that, were religion to spend her time in pinning
her faith to all the "novel," "scientific," "progressive" systems
that spring up every day and straightway begin to crumble, even
while these learned "sciologists" are tossing high their caps in air
and shouting out in impressive chorus, "Where now is theology?"--it
would, we think, be even stranger still.
We have devoted this much space to showing up some of the falsehoods
in this book because it is not all false nor all stupid; it is a
philosophic and, to some extent, a learned work; it is written in
a brilliant and attractive style. This class of works dazzle; but
when written by non-Catholics, they are not to be trusted. _The only
deep, and, at the same time, sound scholarship in the world is in
the Catholic Church._ Those who protest against her protest against
the truth; even the most learned among them, on many most essential
matters, are surprisingly ignorant; but what they want in knowledge
they make up generally in flash rhetoric and humbug novelty, and that
suits this enlightened age just as well.
Too many persons, however, when they see much that is true in a book,
are inclined to believe it all true; and so with a considerable
amount of food they will swallow a great deal of poison. This is a
mistake. No author is ever wholly wrong. The falsest say many things
that are true.
To show how error and truth may be found side by side in the same
work, we will give some quotations from our author in which his ideas
are sufficiently, or even strikingly, correct.
He thus speaks of asceticism:
"From whatever motive an ascetic life is undertaken, the result
is accumulation of force. The ascetic cuts himself off, as much
as possible, from all means of liberating force. His voluntary
celibacy and abstinence from active work place at his disposal
all that force which would be discharged by a man in the world
in muscular action and in domestic affection.... Withdrawal
from society intensifies his individuality, and, unless the
ideas formed in his brain be such as can excite his emotion,
he becomes completely self-centred. But if the object of his
contemplation be one which is calculated to draw out his
affections, the result is a coördinate accumulation of mental
and affectional power." (P. 348.)
"Luther, a man of coarse and vigorous animalism, was no ascetic." (P.
350.)
The doctrine of Zwinglius, he tells us, was simply pantheism, and
that of Calvin he considers undeserving the name of Christianity.
"Alongside of Mohammedanism must be placed a parallel
development in Europe, which, though nominally Christian, is
intrinsically deistic. Consciously it was not so, but logically
it was; and in its evolution it proved a striking counterpart
to Islamism.
"Zwinglius had taught that God was infinite essence, absolute
being, (τὸ Esse.) The being of creatures, he said, was not
opposed to the being of God, but was in and by him. Not man
only, but all creation, was of divine race. Nature was the
force of God in action, and every thing is one. Sin he held to
be the necessary consequence of the development of man, and to
be, not a disturbance of moral order, but the necessary process
in the development of man, who has no free-will.
"Calvin's idea of God was quite as absolute as that formed
by Zwinglius, but it was not so pantheistic, though he did
not shrink from calling nature God. The Deity was to him the
great autocrat, whose absolute will allotted to man his place
in time and in eternity. Beyond the pale of the church, he
taught, there was no remission to be hoped for, nor any chance
of salvation; for the church was the number of the predestined,
and God could not alter his decision without abrogating his
divinity." (P. 266.)
"He swept away the sacramental system; if he held to
Christianity, it was in name, not in theory, for his doctrine
excluded it as a necessary article. He deprived the atonement
of its efficacy and significance, and he left the Incarnation
unaccounted for, save by the absolute decree of the divine and
arbitrary will which he worshipped as God." (P. 267.)
He thus speaks of the Reformation and of its cardinal principle:
"But what was the result of the Reformation? The establishment
of a royal along side of a biblical theocracy. The crown became
the supreme head to order what religion is to consist of, how
worship is to be conducted, and what articles of faith are to
be believed." (P. 139.)
"The Scriptures were then assumed to be the ultimate authority
on doctrine and ethics; they were supposed to contain 'all
things necessary to salvation, so that whatsoever is not read
therein, nor may be proved thereby, is not to be required of
any man, that it be believed as an article of the faith, or be
thought requisite or necessary to salvation.'
"This mode of arresting modification is not, however, final,
and cannot in the nature of things be final; for, firstly, the
significance of the terms in which the revelation is couched
must be subject to the most conflicting interpretations; and
secondly, the authority of the revelation will be constantly
exposed to be questioned, and the genuineness of the documents
to be disputed." (P. 134.)
Buddhism he calls the _Protestantism_ of the East.
"Its cold philosophy and thin abstractions, however they might
exercise the faculties of anchorites, have proved insufficient
of themselves to arrest man in his career of passion and
pursuit; and the bold experiment of influencing the heart and
regulating the conduct of mankind by the external decencies
and the mutual dependencies of morality, unsustained by higher
hopes, has proved in this instance an unredeemed and hopeless
failure." (P. 353.)
"In confiding all to the mere strength of the human intellect,
and the enthusiastic self-reliance and determination of the
human heart, it makes no provision for defence against those
powerful temptations before which ordinary resolution must give
way." (P. 354.)
"The mass of the population are profoundly ignorant of, and
utterly indifferent to, the tenets of their creed.... 'The
same results appear in the phases of Buddhism beyond India,'
says M. Maupied; 'in the north of Asia and in China it has
arrived at a sort of speculative atheism, which has not only
arrested proselytism, but which is self-destructive, and which
in the end will completely ruin it.' It is not a religion but a
philosophy. (P. 355.)
"This close resemblance seems to have been felt on first
contact of Calvinism and Buddhism; for we find in 1684 the
Dutch government _importing at its own expense Buddhist
missionaries_ from Arracan to Ceylon to oppose the progress of
Catholicism." (P. 353.)
He is not in line with those, so numerous in this age and country,
who hold to the Chinese notion that intellectual and material
progress is every thing.
"On the whole, it will be found that the amount of happiness in
a race not highly civilized is far more general, and its sum
total far higher, than that of an over-civilized race. The rude
and simple Swiss peasantry are thoroughly happy, while in a
large city like London, the upper stratum of society is engaged
in nervous quest of pleasure which ever eludes them, while
the lower is plunged in misery. Besides, what is really meant
by the progress of the species? The only tangible superiority
of a generation over that which has preceded it, appears to
consist in its having within its reach a larger accumulation
of scientific or literary materials for thought, or a greater
mastery over the forces of inanimate nature; advantages
not without their drawbacks, and at any rate of a somewhat
superficial kind. Genius is not progressive from age to age;
nor yet the practice, however it may be with the science, of
moral excellence. And, as this progress of the species is only
supposed, after all, to be an improvement of its condition
during men's first lifetime, the belief--call it, if you will,
but a dream--of a prolonged existence after death _reduces the
whole progress to insignificance_. _There is more_, even as
regards quantity of sensation, _in the spiritual well-being of
one single soul_, with an existence thus continuous, _than in
the increased physical or intellectual prosperity_, during one
lifetime, _of the entire human race_." (P. 59-60.)
Nor does he appear to believe in the Protestant method of converting
people, and causing them to "experience religion." We read on page
358 that, while Wesley was preaching at Bristol,
"'one, and another, and another,' we are told, 'sank to the
earth. They dropped on every side as thunderstruck.' Men and
women by 'scores were sometimes strewed on the ground at
once, insensible as dead men.' During a Methodist revival in
Cornwall, four thousand people, it is computed, fell into
convulsions. 'They remained during this condition so abstracted
from every earthly thought, that they staid two, and sometimes
three days and nights together in the chapels, agitated all
the time by spasmodic movements, and taking neither repose
nor refreshment. The symptoms followed each other usually
as follows: A sense of faintness and oppression, shrieks as
if in the agony of death or the pains of labor, convulsions
of the muscles of the eyelids--the eyes being fixed and
staring--and of the muscles of the neck, trunk, and arms;
sobbing respiration, tremors, and general agitation, and all
sorts of strange gestures. When exhaustion came on, patients
usually fainted, and remained stiff and motionless until their
recovery.'" (P. 358.)
Finally, in speaking of the "diverse forms of ceremonial expression,"
he says,
"Jacob leans on his staff to pray, Moses falls flat on his
face, the Catholic bows his knee, and _the Protestant settles
himself into a seat_." (P. 114.)
We don't know whether to prefer Protestant taste, or Feejee, or
Hindoo.
"Thus, out of love to a mother, _the Feejee eats her_, and the
European erects a mausoleum. The sentiment is the same, but the
mode of exhibition is different." (P. 115.)
"The Hindoo represents Brahm, the Great Absolute, absorbed
in self-contemplation, as a man wrapped in a mantle, _with
his foot in his mouth_, to symbolize his eternity and _his
self-satisfaction_." (P. 188.)
We remarked before that the author of this book displays considerable
learning. Here is a specimen which gives some pleasant information
about the old Saxon laws:
"Three shillings were deemed sufficient compensation for a
broken rib, while a fine of twenty shillings was inflicted
for a dislocation of the shoulder. If a man cut off the foot
or struck out the eye of another, he was compelled to make
satisfaction with fifty shillings. Each tooth had its fixed
price: for a front tooth, six shillings were demanded; for a
canine tooth, four; and for a molar, only one shilling; the
pain incurred by a loss of a double tooth, however, led King
Alfred to alter this portion of the law, as unjust, and he
raised the price of a molar to fifteen shillings." (P. 364.)
He thinks that the idea of compensation, which is here certainly
clearly set forth, gave rise to the religious idea of sacrifice.
We will close with a favorable specimen of his style. He thus
describes Greece:
"Under a blue sky, in which the clouds lie tranquil like
lodged avalanches, in the midst of a twinkling sea, strewed
with fairy groups of islands, is a little mulberry-leaf of
land attached to a continental bough, a little land ribbed
with mountain-chains of rough-hewn marble, veined with purple
gorges, pierced with winding gulfs; a land of vineyards and
olive-groves, where roses bloom all the year, and where the
pomegranate holds its glowing cheek to a sun that is never
shorn of its rays." (P. 148.)
We have given these quotations at length, partly because they are
a little remarkable as coming from such a source, but chiefly to
show that a book may be excellent in some respects, and nevertheless
contain very many most false things. Our end will have been attained
if we have shown that whatever comes from non-Catholic pens, _even
the best, is not to be trusted_, whenever, directly or indirectly,
matters pertaining to philosophy, theology, or ecclesiastical history
are treated of. These books at best are half-blind guides; and such
are never desirable, and generally dangerous.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] _The Origin and Development of Religious Belief._ By S.
Baring-Gould, M.A., author of _Curious Myths of the Middle Ages_,
_The Silver Store_, etc. Part I. Heathenism and Mosaism. New York: D.
Appleton & Co., 90, 92, and 94 Grand street. 1870.
[12] "And some indeed he gave to be apostles, and some prophets and
others evangelists, and others pastors and teachers."
"_That we may not now be_ CHILDREN, _tossed to and fro, and carried
about with every wind of doctrine_, in the wickedness of men, in
craftiness by which they lie in wait to deceive." (St. Paul to the
Ephesians, iv. 11, 14.)
PLANGE FILIA SION.
Lone in the dreary wilderness,
Meek, by the Spirit led,
For forty days and forty nights,
Our Saviour hungerèd.
O night winds! did ye fold your wings
Ere, on that brow so pure,
Ye roughly smote the uncovered head
That all things did endure?
O rude winds! did ye on those eves
Only the flowers fill;
Or, with the drops of night, his locks
And sacred body chill?
He, the most lovely, most divine,
So lost in love for us!
Our evil-starred, sin-stricken race,
By him redeemèd thus!
We hear the audacious tempter's words--
Amazed, we hold our breath;
We follow him, the Holy One,
Sorrowful unto death!
Thus, may we to the wilderness
Close follow thee, dear Lord,
These forty days and forty nights,
Obedient to thy word:
Renounce the world, and Satan's wiles,
In blest retreat of prayer,
Self-abnegation, vigilance,
And find our Saviour there.
For vain the sackcloth, ashes, fast,
In vain retreat in prayer,
Unless the sackcloth gird the heart,
True penitence be there;
Sorrow for sins that helped to point
The spear, the thorn, the nail.
O Lord! have mercy upon us,
While we those sins bewail.
And in the lonely wilderness,
From world and sin withdrawn,
Our hearts shall cloistered be in thine
Till glows glad Easter's dawn!
SOPHIA MAY ECKLEY.
UNTYING GORDIAN KNOTS.
X.
LADY SACKVIL'S JOURNAL.
"I have been playing the part of a peri at the gates of paradise.
I have been watching Mary Vane with her child. My life looks to me
unbearable. I am a blunder on the part of nature. I have the passions
of a man and the follies of a woman. This is the last entry I shall
make in this book. Once for all I will put my agony into words, and
then throw this wretched record of three months into the canal, to
rot with the other impurities thrown daily into the sluggish flood.
When first I allowed myself to exercise my power over Vane, it was
from mere coquetry and love of excitement. I wished to reassert my
sway and punish his former cruelty. Later I dreamed of a Platonic
love, _à la_ Récamier and Chateaubriand. True, one pities Mesdames
de Chateaubriand, viewing them as a class; but they must suffer for
their bad management. I did not recognize, I do not recognize the
claims of so-called duty; I lack motive. Virtue as virtue does not
attract me; neither does sin as sin attract me. I want to have my own
way. Gratified self-will has afforded me the only permanent enjoyment
of my life; but it has this disadvantage. While you rule your will
and indulge it for fancy's sake, the pleasure is unquestionable.
When your will begins to rule you, there is no slavery so galling. I
had not thought of this; I know it now.
Once for all, I put my torture into words. _I love him._ Ten years
ago I buried my heart--in sand or sawdust, or something else,
where grass and flowers cannot grow. It has risen now in an awful
resurrection, and taken possession of me. He might have been all
mine. I wish to hate his wife, and am forced to honor her profoundly.
I _cannot_ leave this place. My will refuses to let me go. Oh! if
I stay here and do not say one word, where is the harm? And if he
should utter the word I dare not say--"
* * * * *
Amelia paused shuddering. "O subtle--O inexorable horror!" she said.
Then, enveloping the book in paper, she carried it out onto the
balcony, and dropped it into the canal, and heard the splash, and
marked with satisfaction its disappearance beneath the dull green
water.
"There--that's gone!" she said, and reëntered the room. Her face,
which reflected every change of mood, grew very white.
"It is _not_ gone!" she cried; and pressing her hands to her breast
exclaimed, "It is here; it is my double--my bosom serpent! O God! how
it gnaws!"
She went to a press, and pulling open drawers and slides, sought
something eagerly. Then, as if forgetting the object of her search,
paused in deep thought, and finally rang the bell violently.
Josephine came promptly, but unsurprised, being used to vehemence on
the part of her mistress.
"You may pack my trunks. I shall leave Venice to-morrow."
The maid proceeded to take out dress after dress and fold them. When
one trunk was packed, Lady Sackvil who had been standing on the
balcony in the blazing sun, looking down into the water, glanced over
her shoulder.
"You may pack the other boxes another day," she remarked calmly; "I
shall not go to-morrow. Your dinner-bell is ringing; you can go."
She locked the door behind Josephine, and then returned to her
researches in the press. At last she produced a small vial of
laudanum, and, sitting down before the toilette-table, poured a
little into a glass and paused. "I wish I knew how much to take," she
said ponderingly; "it would be so tiresome to take too little or too
much." Then she fell to considering herself in the mirror--looked
anxiously at the faint commencement of a wrinkle between her
eyebrows; and pushing back her hair, revealed a gray hair or two
hidden beneath the dark locks so full of sunny gleams. "I will do
it," she said, and then took a few drops; then paused again. "I
can't--I won't!" she said violently. "I'm afraid; I'm afraid of
hell--I'm afraid of that horrid, clammy thing they call death! I'm
afraid of making poor, good little Flora miserable! Oh! I'm afraid of
myself, dead or alive," she moaned, rocking herself to and fro, in a
passion of regret and pain.
At last the paroxysm passed. She poured back the laudanum, washed
the glass, replaced every thing accurately, and threw herself on the
couch. There, overcome by the drug, to which her healthy frame was
wholly unaccustomed, she fell into a heavy sleep.
The plea of weariness afforded an excuse for going early to bed. When
she awoke the second time, the Campanile clock was striking two. A
rain was falling, pattering on the canal, dripping and trickling from
the eaves and from the pointed traceries above the windows. She
got up, put on a white wrapper, and went out onto the balcony. The
rain felt cool on her burning head. It drenched her to the skin, and
dripped from her hair. Yet still she stood there, crying bitter tears
that brought no relief, shaken with sobs that she with difficulty
prevented from becoming cries. She wrung her hands with grief, and
passion, and pain. Night added nothing to the darkness in her soul;
dawn brought neither light nor hope of change; and when at last she
went in from the cold, gray morning light, to change her wet clothes
and creep into bed, it was to a second dose of laudanum that she owed
the temporary bliss of oblivion.
XI.
"If you're looking for Mr. Nicholas, Miss Vane, he's gone down to the
first floor," said Deborah, the morning after Lady Sackvil's visit.
Mary went to Mr. Holston's writing-room; no one was there; passed
on through drawing-rooms, dining-room, and ante-chambers, without
meeting a soul, and at last found herself standing outside Lady
Sackvil's music-room. Knocking and receiving no answer, she opened
the door, which moved noiselessly on its hinges, and lifted the heavy
crimson curtain. Her husband was standing with his back to the door,
leaning against the mantel-piece. Lady Sackvil stood before him, her
face buried in her hands. He spoke, but in a voice so hoarse and
dissonant that Mary fancied for an instant there was a third person
with them.
"Be satisfied with your success, Amelia," he said. "You have lighted
the fire of hell in my heart. You have turned my affections away from
my wife, who is too pure for things like you and me to love. It may
add to your satisfaction to know that there is one person on earth I
despise more than Lady Sackvil, and that person is myself."
He turned, and saw his wife standing in the doorway.
"How much have you heard?" he asked calmly, without showing either
surprise or annoyance.
"Enough to make me say, 'God help us both,'" she replied.
"Amen," he said, and left the room. Mary was about to follow him,
when a look of entreaty from Lady Sackvil checked her. In another
instant Amelia was crouching on the ground, her face buried in
the folds of Mary's gown. There was dead silence in the room. The
ticking of the Louis Quatorze clock on the mantel and the flap of
a window-curtain were the only sounds to be heard. Charity pleaded
for the wretched woman kneeling at her feet. Nature cried, "Follow
him; tear from him some consolation; make him wake you from this
nightmare, and say he loves you!" Charity conquered. Mary bent over
Lady Sackvil to raise her from the ground; but at the first touch,
Amelia lifted her head, exclaiming, "I will never rise; I will die
here unless you say you forgive me!"
"How can you ask pardon," replied Mary "for an injury you have only
just completed?"
Amelia crouched still nearer to the ground.
"So help me heaven!" she said in a voice of agony, "I never meant
to speak. He came to-day--oh! you who possess him, can't you see
how it happened; how I forgot every thing--resolutions, dignity,
decency--and spoke?"
"Why do you say I possess him?" asked Mary bitterly. "You heard him
say that you had turned away his heart from me."
"I have not turned it toward myself. He repulsed me like a dog. Oh!
if there were a hole underground where I could hide, I would crawl
into it." And she flung herself on her face with a despairing groan.
Mary knelt down beside her. "We are both in the presence of God," she
said; "and I forgive you now even as I hope to be forgiven."
Amelia rose with difficulty, made an effort to reach the bedroom
door, tottered, and would have fallen but for Mary's assistance, who
unlocked the door and helped her to a sofa. Then, looking round the
room for some restorative, her eye rested on a little vial standing
in a crimson wine-glass. She took it up and saw that it was labelled
"laudanum."
"Have you taken any of this?" she asked, carrying it to the sofa.
"Only yesterday--never before," Lady Sackvil answered feebly. "It
would make me sleep now and do me good. You might give me a few
drops; or rather, no, leave it with me," she said, holding out her
trembling hand. "I can take it, if necessary, myself."
"Wait a moment," said Mary, and going to the window, she threw the
bottle over the railing. Then sitting down beside Amelia, she took
the feverish hand in both her own. "Promise me, swear to me, that you
will not take that or any other narcotic or stimulant."
"You have prevented me from doing you the only kindness in my
power," said Amelia, sitting up and pushing the hair back from her
crimson temples. "You have forgiven me; you have treated me like the
Christian you profess to be. I meant to repay you by taking myself
out of this loathsome world."
"Repay me by living and repenting," answered Mary earnestly. "Promise
me not to make an eternity of this passing anguish. There is work
for you to do; there is heaven for you to win. Promise me to live,
and to live for God."
Lady Sackvil looked at her silently for several minutes. Then she
said, "I acknowledge one thing--I acknowledge that you are good, in
spite of circumstances." She lay down and turned her face to the
wall. "I will live," she said wearily, "if you will help me to live;
otherwise I shall die."
"I will help you," Mary said. "Now I must go. Shall I ring for your
maid?"
"No. If Flora can come, I will have her; otherwise, I would rather be
alone. I feel wretched and heavy, and shall fall asleep presently."
Mary found Mrs. Holston in her sitting-room. "Lady Sackvil is ill,
and wants you," she said breathlessly; for, now that her duty was
done, every minute seemed an age until she could see Nicholas. "Don't
stop me, please; I _must_ go." As she put her hand on the hall door,
Mr. Holston opened it from outside. She brushed by him without a
word; but he saw her blanched face, and followed her with his eyes as
she ran up-stairs. "The blow has fallen," he said to himself, as he
hung his hat in the hall. "Poor, poor child!"
She went to the study door and turned the handle. It was locked. She
paused a moment, thinking her husband would admit her; then walked
on through the gallery to her own room, shut the door, and sat down
in her little sewing-chair. She was stunned; mercifully stunned. It
all seemed a dream, from which there would soon be an awakening. Of
course, it could not be true that her husband had shut her out from
his confidence. She felt too dull to understand all this. "God knows
what it means," she said half-aloud; "I don't." How far from her
eyes seemed the tears, crowded back, as it were, to make the weight
on her heart more unbearable. "Some women faint or cry out when they
are hurt," she thought idly; "I wonder why I don't? I feel so dumb,
so gray, so smothered."
A knock came at the nursery door. Dragging one foot after the other,
she went and opened it. Deborah started at sight of her face, but
made no comment. "It is time to take baby," she said cheerfully. "The
cap'n's asking for you. He can't think what's become of you." Mary
darted past her and ran out into the gallery.
XII.
Nicholas was sitting at the study table, looking over papers. He rose
and drew forward a chair for her, and then sat down again.
"The best thing that could happen, under the circumstances," he said,
"has come to pass. I am appointed to join the French army in the
Crimea, for purposes of study. Here is the appointment. These are
letters from General Scott and from the Secretary of War. Just glance
at them, if you please."
She read them, almost without comprehending their meaning. "When do
you go?"
"To-morrow morning. It is the best thing to do, under the
circumstances."
"Yes, the best under the circumstances," she repeated after him. He
looked at her anxiously, but said nothing.
"What are you to take with you?" she asked, rising from her chair. "I
must go and look over your clothes."
"All the military traps I have here, of course; not much besides, for
I would rather buy what I want. Don't trouble yourself, my--" He
paused. "I will see to every thing."
"No, I want to do it myself," she said.
"I must go and speak to Holston about your money matters while I am
gone. He will do every thing a brother could do."
"Every thing," she said. He looked at her again uneasily, and seemed
about to speak; then left the room. "I've killed her," he thought;
"but words are mere insults now."
He was gone, and without one word of explanation. It was, then, no
nightmare, to be dispelled by a change of posture. There was no
awakening for her. It was all true!
XIII.
Mary was alone with the baby. Georgina's tiny hand was clasped
around her mother's finger; rosy cheek and dewy lip invited many a
loving maternal caress. At least here was love, without anxiety or
heart-ache. "My love for this child, to whom I have given life, is
faint in comparison to God's love for his creatures," she thought.
"My soul shall rest on him, as Georgie rests in my arms. He knows the
way out of this blackness. I will follow him trustfully."
The day was hard to bear; wife's work without wife's consolation.
Sewing, sorting, packing, filled the hours too closely to leave much
time for active grief. They were services that could easily have been
performed by a servant; but Mary, amid the perplexity which clouded
her life, kept one purpose clearly before her--to fulfil her duties
thoroughly toward her husband, and even toward the unhappy woman who
had poisoned her happiness, and thus prevent further entanglement.
The dinner hour, whose claims prevail over every other external
circumstance in life, was lived through, thanks to the presence of
Italian servants, who do not expect friends to look happy on the eve
of separation, and are ready to melt into tears of sympathy at a
moment's warning. Vane passed the evening in his study, transacting
business with Mr. Holston and a lawyer; Mary in his dressing-room,
attending to "last things."
At intervals through the weary night she heard him moving about in
the library. About five o'clock, the peculiar click of the hall door
told her that he had gone out. Then came two hours of sleep, and
memory's dreadful reckoning when she awoke.
Breakfast was served at nine o'clock. After going through the dismal
form which represents eating on such occasions, Nicholas went to the
window to watch for the gondola. "Will you come here, Mary?" he said.
She went to him, and measured despairingly, as he talked to her, the
gulf which separated them spiritually while they stood side by side.
After giving various directions as to material arrangements during
his absence, he said, "I went to confession this morning, and to your
Padre Giulio." She looked up eagerly into his sad face, stern with
the rigidity of repressed emotion. "After confession, I saw him in
his own room, and told him all the circumstances of the last three
months, out of the confessional, in order that you may feel free to
seek from him the advice and consolation I have shown myself unfit to
give you."
"I don't want to speak of these things to any one," Mary answered.
"I have no right to urge you," he said; "but you will oblige me
very much by speaking to him once, at least, upon the subject. I
cannot tell you the weight it added to my self-reproach to find him
ignorant of the wrongs you have suffered, knowing as I do the entire
confidence you repose in him personally. You have been very loyal to
me, Mary; I shall never forget it."
"Of course, I told him nothing concerning any one but myself."
"I have another favor to ask, which I should not ask if you were like
other women."
"What is it?"
He took a note from his desk, and gave it to her unfolded. "After
reading that, I beg you to give it to Lady Sackvil."
She flushed, and a slight trembling passed over her. Then she folded
the note and put it into her pocket. "I will give it to her without
reading it. I trust you."
Nicholas looked at her with an expression of reverence in his face.
"I will earn the right to tell you how deeply I honor you," he said.
"Any thing I could say now would appear like a new phase of moral
weakness; but I will earn the right to speak."
As Mary met his eyes, fixed upon her with a look of reverential
tenderness, her heart cried out for him. She longed to throw herself
upon his breast; to urge him to put off this dreadful parting,
and treat the wretched delusion he had yielded to as a dream. But
something unanswerable within her soul warned her to let him leave
her, that his resolutions might grow strong in solitude; that he
might learn by aching experience the worth of the love and sympathy
he had slighted. Therefore, she only said, "All will be well; I know
it, I feel it." And he answered, "I accept your words as a prophecy,
and thank God for them. One favor still I must ask. Mary, you will
write to me?"
"Constantly."
"God bless you. Holston will find out when the mails go. It will be
the one happiness of my life to look forward to your letters, which
must give me every detail about yourself and about our child. Mary,
it will be my one earthly hope to look forward to the time which
shall end my exile."
The gondola was at the door, and George Holston had already taken
his place in it. Vane clasped his wife's hands in his, kissed them
passionately, and rushed from the room.
XIV.
"I never knew her to faint before," Deborah's voice was saying, as
Mary emerged from an abyss of peaceful oblivion, to find herself
deluged with _eau de Cologne_, and lying on the bed in her own room.
"Poor little soul!" answered Mrs. Holston's gentle voice. "It was a
terrible shock, his going so suddenly. But, hush now, she is coming
to herself."
No, not to herself; to a consciousness of nameless agony; to a sense
of restlessness, without physical strength for action; to a crushing
weight of misery which she must ask no living soul to share.
After some minutes, which seemed like hours of struggling to recover
breath, and voice, and senses, she succeeded in thanking her kind
nurses, and asking them to leave her alone for a little while.
An hour's solitude had restored her to complete consciousness, when
a servant knocked on the door and asked whether she had any further
occasion for the gondola, which had returned from carrying Captain
Vane to the steamer. Her husband's request that she would see Padre
Giulio occurred to her. Life must be taken up somewhere; why not in
the performance of that duty, which would become harder with every
day it should be deferred?
If she called upon Deborah for assistance, she would be prevented
from leaving the house; so her preparations must be made alone.
Giving orders for the gondola to wait, she put on hat and shawl with
trembling hands, and walked down the long flights of marble stairs,
holding on to the balustrade for support. It was useless to attempt
her mission in that condition; perhaps an hour's row that soft, gray,
overshadowed morning might restore her nerves to equilibrium. "Put
up the awning and row on the lagoon for an hour," she said to the
gondoliers. "Then take me to the Piazza San Marco without my giving
you any further directions."
Through the open windows of the ducal palace she could see tourists
wandering about, _Murray_ in hand. Soldiers were lolling under
the arcades; sight-seers were hurrying through to and fro, taking
advantage of the cool day to get through a double amount of work. A
sacristan was cleaning down the steps of Santa Maria della Salute,
flinging away the broom, and sitting down to rest after the labor of
sweeping each step.
Then came a long period of quiet, broken only by the steady dip of
oars, and an occasional remark in gondolier slang made by the two
boatmen. Pearly sky and pearly sea, a soft breeze and monotonous
motion exercised a soothing influence over poor Mary, who never
resisted comfort, no matter in how homely a form it might come. On
the steps behind the Armenian convent sat a monk, looking over the
lagoon. He was a commonplace old man enough in appearance, some
insignificant lay brother resting from his labors in the garden.
He saw the boat approach, and noticed probably the expression of
suffering on Mary's face; for as she passed, a look of kindness,
that was in itself a benediction, came into his wrinkled, brown face,
and sank into her poor wounded heart, never to be forgotten. From
that day she remembered the old Armenian in her prayers as one who
had helped her in the sorest trial of her life.
XV.
In the afternoon came Mrs. Holston, for once in her life in a hurry.
"I am ashamed to disturb you," she said to Mary. "I am ashamed to say
why I have come. Amelia is behaving in the most extraordinary manner.
She refuses to get up, and refuses to see the doctor. She says no one
can do her any good except you. I told her she was very selfish, and
she said she didn't care; so now I can only ask you, for charity's
sake, to come down and speak to her."
"Certainly," said Mary, by a stupendous effort speaking in a natural
tone; "I will come in a few minutes. I have a little note for your
sister from my husband that she may be glad to get. Did he find time
to come and bid you good by?"
"Yes, indeed, but he looked dreadfully worried and unhappy, of
course. I think it extremely ill-natured of the War Department to
make him leave home so suddenly. That must have been what made you
look so frightfully ill yesterday morning. I was very much alarmed
about you."
"I will follow you directly," said Mary, escaping to her own room for
a moment of preparation before facing the enemy of her peace.
But that her peace was hopelessly shaken, she no longer feared. The
interview with Padre Giulio had been full of consolation; for to this
impartial listener Vane had said many things that the fear of seeming
insincere had prevented him from expressing to his wife. It was
plain that delicacy toward herself and compassion for Lady Sackvil
had made him leave Venice. She now felt that it would show a lack of
faith to doubt that the future would bring happiness to them both;
that their reunion would be one such as death itself confirms instead
of severing.
She found Lady Sackvil looking enchantingly lovely. Her hair, dark
brown, with golden red lights in it, was plaited in two great braids;
her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were closed, showing their long
lashes and large, full lids to advantage. By the quivering of her
lips, Mary knew that she felt who was with her; but it was some
minutes before she opened her eyes.
"It was kind in you to come," she said at last, looking up into
Mary's face. "I am very grateful. Flora says I'm horribly selfish to
send for you, and no doubt I am; but it is better than going crazy, I
suppose."
Mary laid her hand on the throbbing forehead, and felt the quick
pulses. "Do you feel really ill?" she asked; "or is this merely a
state of nervous excitement?"
"I'm not ill. I was never seriously ill in my life. I am only going
distracted. I had an idea you might do something for me."
"The first thing to be done is to quiet your nerves and reduce the
fever. Then we will think of other remedies. I will get Flora's
little medicine-chest, and see what its resources are."
The morning passed quietly in tending Lady Sackvil, varied by
occasional visits to the nursery. It was hard to bear, "but no harder
than any thing else would be now," thought Mary. "If I can save this
poor soul, it will be worth suffering great as this."
By two o'clock, Amelia was physically more tranquil. Her health
had always been excellent, and her temperament, though utterly
undisciplined, by no means inclined to morbid excitability.
"I have a note for you," said Mary; "will you read it?"
"From whom?"
"From my husband."
Lady Sackvil shuddered, and turned away.
"Don't give it to me," she said. "Read it, and tell me what it says."
Mary read it through to herself; then, mastering her voice, read
aloud the following words:
"I was unjust to you yesterday. I treated you with cruelty. For what
has happened, I am more responsible than you, because I have been
under better influences. We shall never meet again. God bless you,
and grant us both genuine repentance!"
Amelia made no comment or reply. A quarter of an hour later, she
said, "You go to confession very often, I suppose?"
"Once a week."
"Who is your confessor?"
"Padre Giulio, at St. Mark's."
"Is he old?"
"Yes."
"Wise?"
"Yes."
"Kind?"
"Very kind."
"I should like to see him. I don't suppose that I intend going to
confession, but I want to talk with such a man. Has he had much to do
with making you what you are?"
"He has given me good advice, and I have tried to follow it, if that
is what you mean."
Lady Sackvil looked at Mary fixedly for some time.
"I made up my mind, a short time ago," she said, "that the thing
most likely to convince me of the direct influence of God would be
to see a Christian whose character would bear scrutiny under the
severest test. I have seen such a Christian in you. Most women would
have spurned me away in disdain; you have treated me like a sister. I
thank you for it, and I should like to believe what you believe."
Mary smiled at the reasoning, but thanked God for the conclusion.
"You would find Padre Giulio very sympathizing," she said; "I think
it would soothe you to see him. Shall I send for him to come here?"
"On no account. I will go to him if you will come with me. Do come
with me; I will bless you all my life," she added pleadingly.
"Of course I will go, but not to-day. If you were to take cold now,
it might be the death of you. To-morrow morning we will go to St.
Mark's, and I will send him word, that we may be sure of finding him
at home."
Lady Sackvil looked disappointed. "I would rather go to-day. I want
to have it over."
"There's no occasion to wish to have it over," said Mary soothingly.
"An experienced confessor is too well used to dealing with mental
suffering to wonder at it, no matter in what shape it comes."
Lady Sackvil lay with her eyes shut a long time. At last she said,
"I've not been much of a Bible reader, but I remember well that it
required only the sight of one miracle to convert sinners in those
days. I suppose sinners are very much the same in the nineteenth
century that they were in the first."
"No doubt," said Mary, and waited to hear more.
"Your conduct toward me is, in my opinion, a greater miracle than the
raising of the dead. Nothing but supernatural strength could have
sustained you."
"If I have done any thing remarkable, it has certainly been God's
doing, not mine."
Lady Sackvil lay still some time longer. Then she said abruptly,
"I am clever, I know, but I am not intellectual; and intellectual
satisfaction is not what I demand in order to become a Christian. If
you were to lay before me all the tomes of all the theologians, they
would not convey to my mind one single definite idea."
"You were educated a Catholic, weren't you?"
"Yes, after a fashion. I was carefully prepared for confirmation in
a convent school, where I spent six months, while my aunt was in
Europe."
"Then you feel more inclined toward Catholicity than to any other
form of religion?"
"Certainly. If I am going to be good, I mean to be decidedly so. The
church demands more than any sect, and I respect her for that reason.
Like St. Christopher, I wish to serve the strongest master. Then,
too, the teaching at the convent made a deeper impression on me than
I supposed; and now that I need support, it all comes back to me.
Last, and not least, I wish to believe as you do. You are the best
Christian I have ever seen."
"Your experience in Christians must have been limited, I think," said
Mary, smiling.
"Perhaps so; but I am quite satisfied to have you for my standard.
Why, are you going? Oh! please don't leave me. I can't bear to be
alone."
"I must go now. I will come to-morrow at eleven o'clock, and if you
feel equal to the effort, we will go to San Marco."
"I shall feel equal to it physically," said Lady Sackvil. "It's very
provoking. I meant to have a brain-fever and die, and I feel better
every minute. I wish you had not come to take care of me."
"This is the beginning of your heroic virtue, I suppose," said Mary;
"these are the first fruits of conversion. Good-by, neophyte! Disturb
yourself about nothing; remember only that God loves us with a love
too deep to be fathomed."
And then she went home, and sat down by the ashes that Lady Sackvil
had left on her domestic hearth.
XVI.
In the morning, she found Lady Sackvil taking breakfast in her own
room, looking pale and worn from the effects of reaction from fever
and excitement. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Horribly cross. I think all other sensations are merged in
ill-temper."
"A certain sign of convalescence. I am glad to see it."
Amelia laid down her egg-spoon, and sank back in her chair. "I wish,"
she remarked, "that it had pleased Heaven to make some variety in the
shape of hen's eggs. I am so tired of seeing them always oval."
"You don't want any of these things, do you?" asked Mary, surveying
the rather solid repast on the table.
"No--I can't bear the sight of it," said Amelia wearily.
"Rest on the couch until I come back." And Mary arranged the cushions
with a skilful hand, and left the room noiselessly.
Presently she returned, bearing on a pretty little tray a glass
filled with some frothy preparation, and two transparent wafers.
Amelia revived at the sight. "I have dreamed of such things," she
said. "This is the very apotheosis of breakfast!"
XVII.
Mary left Lady Sackvil with Padre Giulio, and went into the church to
pray for the happy result of the interview. She had passed some time
at the Lady chapel, with its brazen gates and oriental lamps, and
before the jewel-incrusted high altar, and was kneeling in the chapel
of the Blessed Sacrament, when she heard the door of the confessional
behind her open. She looked round. Padre Giulio had entered the
confessional; Lady Sackvil was kneeling at the grating.
She was sitting within the railing of the chapel when Amelia joined
her. Mary looked at the beautiful creature; there was a peaceful
smile on her lips, a holy light in her eyes; the pride, the caprice,
the egotism were not there; she looked like a penitent child.
As they passed through one of the sombre side aisles, Amelia paused
before the crucifix hanging on the wall. "I have confessed my sins
and received absolution," she said; "are you willing to kiss me?"
And so the sign of peace was exchanged before the image of the great
reconciler; and they passed out from the shadows of those grand old
arches into the sunshine of the Piazza.
THE IRON MASK.
Through an oversight, the article on the Iron Mask in our March
number, which had been lying on hand several months, was sent to the
printer without its necessary complement, which we now publish.
In January, 1869, it was announced in the _Moniteur Universel_ that
M. Marius Topin, a young author who had already distinguished himself
by a work of remarkable historical research, had succeeded, by dint
of laborious examination and the intelligent study of a mass of
old official documents, in unearthing the secret of that sphinx of
history--the Man with the Iron Mask.
M. Topin did not at once make known the result of what he claimed
to be his entirely triumphant solution of the enigma, and publish
his work in book form. He doubtless reflected that, as the world
had waited in patient expectation more than a hundred and fifty
years for the revelation of the mystery, it might readily summon up
sufficient resignation to wait a few months longer. He accordingly
announced that the successive chapters of his work would appear
from time to time in _Le Correspondant_, a highly respectable Paris
semi-monthly. The first number of his series was published on the
25th of February, 1869, and the last, making seven in all, on the
11th of November. We have received, as they appeared, all the numbers
of the _Correspondant_, and are therefore enabled to present from the
author's own articles the following statement of the result of what
he has written.
M. Topin could not deny himself that universal enjoyment of the
story-teller--to hold his auditors in suspense and on tiptoe of
expectation by proposing a varied succession of solutions of the
mystery in hand, and dismissing them in turn with a--"Well, that's
not it." He takes up, one after the other, the various _prétendants_
to the honor of the Iron Mask's living martyrdom, discusses all the
claims in their favor, presents the objections, demonstrates that
their position is untenable, orders them off the stage, and passes on
to the next; thus successively eliminating them until he reaches his
objective point.
M. Topin's first article is preceded by a sort of device, or motto,
in the shape of a short extract from an order of Louis XIV.: _Il
faudra que personne ne sache ce que cet homme sera devenu_, (no one
must know what has become of this man.) It was noticed that the date
of the order is not given. The article opens with a statement of
the arrival of M. Saint Mars at the Bastille (Paris) at three P.M.,
on the 18th of September, 1698. St. Mars was the newly-appointed
governor of that prison, and came accompanied by a prisoner whose
face was concealed by a mask of black velvet. This prisoner died,
and was buried on the 20th of November, 1703, under the name of
Marchialy. The extraordinary precautions taken after the death of
Marchialy are narrated in our previous number. The dates above given
are important in determining the claims of other candidates, inasmuch
as the facts and dates connected with the arrival, death, and
burial of a masked prisoner at the Bastille are established beyond
controversy by official documents, and must be considered in any case
presented.
Our author then dilates upon the difficulties of the question, the
fact that it has been unsuccessfully treated by fifty-two authors,
and finally abandoned as hopeless by historians like Michelet, with
the conclusion that the problem of the Man with the Iron Mask will
never be solved. Betraying no anxiety whatever to make haste, M.
Topin then discusses the merits of several of the most prominent
theories and the manner in which they have been presented. The
claim that longest held its ground, and enlisted in its advocacy the
greatest number of writers, was that made for a supposed and, as has
been shown, entirely imaginary twin-brother of Louis XIV., the son of
Anne of Austria, wife of Louis XIII. It is easy to understand why,
in France, such a version as this should be the favorite one. It
possessed every possible element of popularity, intrigue, mystery,
illegitimacy, crime, a rightful heir defrauded of his throne, and the
association of illustrious names. All these lent their fascinations;
and from Voltaire to Alexander Dumas, from the _Dictionnaire
Philosophique_ to the _Vicomte de Bragelonne_, all the resources of
writers of their tendency and calibre were called into play to give
it currency.
M. Topin devotes nearly the whole of his first article to the
demonstration of the fact that the prisoner of the Iron Mask was not
and could not have been a son of Anne of Austria. The discussion is
thorough, and the demonstration complete. Outside of the question of
the Mask one good result is thus obtained. The innocence of Anne of
Austria is fully established.
Time brings roses--and justice. Marie Antoinette was first vindicated
from the foul aspersions of the "progeny of Voltaire." Now, Anne
of Austria is acquitted; and going further back in time--the most
distant case being, of course, the most difficult--next comes the
turn of Mary Stuart, and her day, we believe, is not far distant.
The claim made for the Count of Vermandois, a son of Louis XIV.
and Louise de la Vallière, is next taken up. As all the details of
the last illness, death, and burial of the Count of Vermandois are
matters of profuse official record, M. Topin has very little trouble
in disposing of this case. Then we have the Duke of Monmouth, a
natural son of Charles II. of England. Defeated at the battle of
Sedgemoor, where the forces under his command were arrayed in armed
rebellion against James II., and afterward taken prisoner, he was
beheaded in the Tower of London July 15th, 1685. The dispatches of
various foreign ministers in London at the time fully establish the
fact of his death.
To Monmouth succeeds Francis of Vendôme, Duke of Beaufort. As grand
admiral of France, Beaufort commanded the naval expedition sent out
to aid the Venetians in their defence of Candia against the Turks in
1669. As in the cases of the two sons of Louis XIV., and Monmouth,
the surrounding circumstances give M. Topin the fullest opportunity
of indulging in court anecdotes, intrigues, and festivities, mingled
with biographical sketches of distinguished personages, so in the
case of Beaufort, his history warrants our author in going into all
the details of the siege and military and naval operations against
the army of the sultan. Beaufort is believed to have been killed in
an attack upon the enemy's works, and was last seen in the thickest
of a hand-to-hand struggle in the intrenchments. As his body was
never recovered, this fact gave the mystery-mongers an advantageous
margin. But Beaufort was born in 1616, and the Iron Mask was buried
in 1703. Supposing him to be the "Mask," this would make him
eighty-seven years old at his death, which, of itself, puts him out
of the question.
In his third number, M. Topin introduces the so-called Armenian
Patriarch, _Avedick_. Why he did so is best known to himself; for
the case of Avedick has never been presented as one that would give
him any right to rank among the claimants for the distinction of the
Iron Mask. Taules, and the German historian Hammer, are referred
to as authorities for Avedick's claim; but on being examined, they
are found totally insufficient as warrants for such a theory. The
essential pivot of the question of identity of the Iron Mask is
the death and burial of its wearer in 1703. Now, Avedick was still
in Turkey in 1706, and that settles his claim beyond question.
Avedick was seized by order of the Marquis of Ferriol in the Grecian
Archipelago, May, 1706, carried forcibly to France, retained in
confinement in various places until September, 1710, when he was
liberated. He died in Paris in July, 1711. This was most certainly a
case of shameful violation of the law of nations, of power, and of
humanity. A case of abominable personal cruelty it also certainly
was--but it was not a case of "Iron Mask." Two such outrages as
those on the persons of Marchialy and Avedick are quite enough of
themselves; to say nothing of certain diplomatic arrangements with
the Grand Turk which endangered Christianity and the public peace in
Europe--to settle one's opinion as to the genuineness of the glories
of the reign of Louis XIV., a Grand Monarque who was not great.
But to return, M. Topin's chapter on the Avedick case, appearing in
_Le Correspondant_ of the 10th June, 1869, was followed by an article
from the pen of Rev. Father Turquand, S.J., in the September (10th)
number of the same periodical, severely attacking the statements of
Avedick's case by M. Topin, and vindicating his (Turquand's) society
from certain imputations cast upon it in connection with the seizure
of Avedick.
In his fourth number, (Oct. 10th,) M. Topin takes up the claim made
for Fouquet, whose case differs from all the others in the fact
that he was a prisoner of state by sentence of a judicial tribunal.
Fouquet's claims were warmly pressed by a very able literary
advocate, Paul Lacroix, (Bibliophile Jacob,) in a work published
in 1830. But here again the difficulty of dates is insurmountable.
Fouquet died in 1680, and there is no proof of the appearance of the
Man with the Iron Mask until after that period.
We pass on to another. In the year 1677, the Duke of Mantua was
Charles IV. of the illustrious house of Gonzaga. He was young,
careless, dissipated, and extravagant. Spending most of his time
in Venice, he seldom visited his duchy, except for the purpose of
raising money. He gradually fell into the hands of usurious lenders,
and continued to obtain the sums he wanted by anticipating, through
them, the receipt of the taxes and imposts of his duchy by several
years. The Marquisate of Montferrat was among his dependencies. Its
little capital, Casal, a fortified place on the Po, fifteen leagues
east of Turin, was a point of great strategic importance, and
essential to the safety of Piedmont. The court of Turin would not, of
course, consent to its possession by France. But to France it was of
the highest value, as with Pignerol and Casal it would be master of
the situation. This place Louis XIV. wanted to buy, and Charles IV.
was perfectly willing to sell it. Ercolo (Hercules) Antonio Mattioli,
a young nobleman of the court of Mantua, at this time thirty-seven
years of age, was high in favor with the reigning duke. Through
Giuliani, an Italian journalist, D'Estrades, Louis XIV.'s ambassador
at Venice, sounded Mattioli, and finally, through him, succeeded in
opening a negotiation with the duke for the sale of Casal to France.
All three met at Venice in March, 1678, discussed terms, and agreed
upon one hundred thousand crowns as the price of the cession.
Mattioli then went to Paris to sign the treaty in the name of his
master the duke. The treaty was completed in December, 1678, and
after its signature, Mattioli was received by Louis XIV. in secret
audience, presented by the king with a rich diamond ring and four
hundred double _Louis d'or_, with the promise of a far greater amount
of money, the appointment of his son among the royal pages, and a
valuable endowment for his mother. The intrigue and negotiation had
been admirably managed and crowned with perfect success. Of all who
had any interest opposed to the French possession of Casal, not
one had the slightest suspicion, and it would have been difficult
to imagine the existence of the smallest element of failure in the
enterprise.
But the best-laid schemes of men, mice, and monarchs here below oft
come to naught. Two months after Mattioli's visit to Paris, the
courts of Turin, of Madrid, and of Vienna, the Spanish governor of
the Milanese provinces, and the state inquisitors of the Venetian
republic--that is to say, all and every one most interested against
the execution of the treaty--not only knew of its existence, but
were fully advised of every detail concerning it, the names of the
negotiators, the date of the instruments, the price of cession, when
it was to be made, etc. In short, they knew every thing concerning
it. Well they might. Mattioli himself had told them! His motive is
a subject of dispute. One theory is, interested motive; another,
patriotism. Certain it is he had more to gain--as a mere question of
interest--by keeping than by betraying the secret. On this point,
though, we do not undertake to judge him. In February, 1679, the
Duchess of Savoy advised Louis XIV. that she was in possession of
Mattioli's information. The disappointment, the mortification, and
the anger of the French king can easily be imagined. He was placed in
a position not only dangerous; but what was almost worse, ludicrous.
Mattioli had the king's signature to the treaty in his possession,
and it was all-important to recover it. The king in Paris, and his
minister D'Estrades, both conceived the same idea for remedy in the
matter. On the 28th of April, 1679, Louis sent the order to have
Mattioli arrested, and on arrival of the order, Mattioli had already
(May 2d) been carried off a prisoner. D'Estrades had managed to decoy
him across the frontier, at a point where he had a detachment of
dragoons waiting, and in a few hours the Italian was a prisoner at
Pignerol, the commencement of a captivity that was to endure four
and twenty long years. M. Topin then continues the discussion of
Mattioli's case, and closes the article, leaving the reader under the
impression that he decides against the claim of Mattioli.
Indeed he goes further; for he more than intimates that there is very
little probability of ever penetrating the mystery surrounding the
Man with the Iron Mask.
The case made for Mattioli has always been the strongest, even before
the publication of the work of Mr. J. Delort, which was mostly
appropriated by Ellis in his _True History of the State Prisoner_.
Mr. Loiseleur has also discussed the Mattioli claim with great
force; so successfully, indeed, that a very large number of critical
scholars were satisfied with his adverse demonstration.
M. Topin discusses at great length the facts and the reasoning of
Mr. Loiseleur, and, as we have just stated, concludes his sixth
article by a decision against Mattioli. But in his concluding chapter
(_Correspondant_, Nov. 10th) he comes to a right-about face, takes up
some of Mr. Loiseleur's proofs, adds some new dispatches, and decides
that--Mattioli is the French prisoner of state known as the Man with
the Iron Mask.
We fear that after all the solution of M. Topin is no solution, and
that the only result of his labor is to narrow the discussion down to
the claims of Mattioli and another prisoner of unknown name.
THE SCHOOL QUESTION.[13]
The number of _The Christian World_, the organ of the American
and Foreign Christian Union, for February last is entirely taken
up with the school question, and professes to give "a carefully
digested summary of the views and reasonings of all parties to the
controversy." The views and reasonings of the Catholic party are
not misstated, but are very inadequately presented; those of the
other parties are given more fully, and, we presume, as correctly
and as authoritatively as possible. The number does not dispose
of the subject; but furnishes us a fitting occasion to make some
observations which will at least set forth correctly our views of the
school question as Catholics and American citizens.
It is to the credit of the American people that they have, at least
the Calvinistic portion of them, from the earliest colonial times,
taken a deep interest in the education of the young, and made
considerable sacrifices to secure it. The American Congregationalists
and Presbyterians, who were the only original settlers of the eastern
and middle colonies, have from the first taken the lead in education,
and founded, sustained, and conducted most of our institutions of
learning. The Episcopalians, following the Anglican Church, have
never taken much interest in the education of the people, having been
chiefly solicitous about the higher class of schools and seminaries.
The Baptists and Methodists have, until recently, been quite
indifferent to education. They have now some respectable schools;
but the writer of this was accustomed in his youth to hear both
Baptists and Methodists preach against college-bred parsons, and a
_larned_ ministry. In those States which had as colonies proprietary
governments, and in which the Episcopalians, Baptists, and Methodists
have predominated, universal education has been, and still is, more
or less neglected. Even the Presbyterians, while they have insisted
on a learned ministry and the education of the easy classes, have not
insisted so earnestly on the education of the children of all classes
as have the Congregationalists; and, indeed, it is hardly too much to
say that our present system of common schools at the public expense
owes its origin to Congregationalists and the influence they have
exerted. The system, whatever may be thought of it, has undeniably
had a religious, not a secular origin.
The system originated in New England; strictly speaking, in
Massachusetts. As originally established in Massachusetts, it was
simply a system of parochial schools. The parish and the town
were coincident, and the schools of the several school-districts
into which the parish was divided were supported by a tax on the
population and property of the town, levied according to the grand
list or state assessment roll. The parish, at its annual town
meeting, voted the amount of money it would raise for schools during
the ensuing year, which was collected by the town collector, and
expended under the direction of a school committee chosen at the same
meeting. Substantially the same system was adopted and followed in
New Hampshire and Connecticut. In Vermont, the towns were divided
or divisible, under a general law, into school-districts, and each
school-district decided for itself the amount of money it would raise
for its school, and the mode of raising it. It might raise it by tax
levied on the property of the district, or, as it was said, on "the
grand list," or _per capita_ on the scholars attending and according
to the length of their attendance. In this latter method, which was
generally followed, only those who used the schools were taxed to
support them. This latter method was, in its essential features,
adopted in all, or nearly all, the other States that had a common
school system established by law. In Rhode Island and most of the
Southern States, the inhabitants were left to their own discretion,
to have schools or not as they saw proper, and those who wanted them
founded and supported them at their own expense. In none of the
States, however, was there developed at first a system of free public
schools supported either by a school fund or by a general tax on
property levied by the State, though Massachusetts contained such a
system in germ.
Gradually, from the proceeds of public lands, from lots of land
reserved in each township, especially in the new States, for common
schools, and from various other sources, several of the States
accumulated a school fund, the income of which, in some instances,
sufficed, or nearly sufficed, for the support of free public schools
for all the children in the State. This gave a new impulse to the
movement for free schools and universal education, or schools founded
and supported for all the children of the State at the public expense
in whole or in part, either from the income of the school fund or by
a public tax. This is not yet carried out universally, but is that
to which public sentiment in all the States is tending; and now that
slavery is abolished, and the necessity of educating the freedmen is
deeply felt, there can be little doubt that it will soon become the
policy of every State in the Union.
The schools were originally founded by a religious people for a
religious end, not by seculars for a purely secular end. The people
at so early a day had not advanced so far as they have now, and
did not dream of divorcing secular education from religion. The
schools were intended to give both religious and secular education
in their natural union, and there was no thought of the feasibility
of separating what God had joined together. The Bible was read as a
class-book, the catechism was taught as a regular school exercise,
and the pastor of the parish visited the schools and instructed them
in religion as often as he saw proper. Indeed, he was, it might be
said, _ex officio_ the superintendent of the parish schools; and
whether he was chosen as committee-man or not, his voice was all
potent in the management of the school, in the selection of studies,
and in the appointment and dismissal of teachers. The superiority in
a religious and moral point of view to the schools as now developed
may be seen by contrasting the present moral and religious state of
New England with what it was then.
The religion, as we Catholics hold, was defective, and even false;
but the principle on which the schools were founded was sound, and
worked well in the beginning, did no injustice to any one, and
violated no conscience; for Congregationalism was the established
religion, and the people were all Congregationalists. Even where
there was no established religion and different denominations
obtained, conscience was respected; for the character of the
school, as well as the religion taught in it, was determined by the
inhabitants of the school district, and nobody was obliged to send
his children to it, and those only who did send were taxed for its
support.
But in none of the States is there now an established religion, and
in all there are a great variety of denominations, all invested with
equal rights before the state. It is obvious, then, the Massachusetts
system cannot in any of them be adopted or continued, and the
other system of taxing only those who use the schools cannot be
maintained, if the schools are to be supported from the income of
public funds, or by a public tax levied alike on the whole population
of the district, town, municipality, or State. Here commences the
difficulty--and a grave one it is, too--which has as yet received no
practical solution, and which the legislatures of the several States
are now called upon to solve.
Hitherto the attempt has been made to meet the difficulty
by excluding from the public schools what the state calls
sectarianism--that is, whatever is distinctive of any particular
denomination or peculiar to it--and allowing to be introduced
only what is common to all, or, as it is called, "our common
Christianity." This would, perhaps, meet the difficulty, if the
several denominations were only different varieties of Protestantism.
The several Protestant denominations differ from one another only in
details or particulars, which can easily be supplied at home in the
family, or in the Sunday-school. But this solution is impracticable
where the division is not one between Protestant sects only, but
between Catholics and Protestants. The difference between Catholics
and Protestants is not a difference in details or particulars only,
but a difference in principle. Catholicity must be taught as a whole,
in its unity and its integrity, or it is not taught at all. It must
everywhere be all or nothing. It is not a simple theory of truth or
a collection of doctrines; it is an organism, a living body, living
and operating from its own central life, and is necessarily one and
indivisible, and cannot have any thing in common with any other body.
To exclude from the schools all that is distinctive or peculiar in
Catholicity, is simply to exclude Catholicity itself, and to make the
schools either purely Protestant or purely secular, and therefore
hostile to our religion, and such as we cannot in conscience support.
Yet this is the system adopted, and while the law enables
non-Catholics to use the public schools with the approbation of their
consciences, it excludes the children of Catholics, unless their
parents are willing to violate their Catholic conscience, to neglect
their duty as fathers and mothers, and expose their children to the
danger of losing their faith, and with it the chance of salvation.
We are not free to expose our children to so great a danger, and are
bound in conscience to do all in our power to guard them against
it, and to bring them up in the faith of the church, to be good and
exemplary Catholics.
Evidently, then, the rule of allowing only our supposed "common
Christianity" to be taught in schools does not solve the difficulty,
or secure to the Catholic his freedom of conscience.
The exclusion of the Bible would not help the matter. This would
only make the schools purely secular, which were worse than making
them purely Protestant; for, as it regards the state, society,
morality, all the interests of this world, Protestantism we hold to
be far better than no religion--unless you include under its name
free-lovism, free-religion, woman's-rightsism, and the various other
similar _isms_ struggling to get themselves recognized and adopted,
and to which the more respectable Protestants, we presume, are hardly
less opposed than we are. If some Catholics in particular localities
have supposed that the exclusion of the Protestant Bible from the
public schools would remove the objection to them as schools for
Catholic children, they have, in our opinion, fallen into a very
great mistake. The question lies deeper than reading or not reading
the Bible in the schools, in one version or another. Of course, our
church disapproves the Protestant version of the Bible, as a faulty
translation of a mutilated text; but its exclusion from the public
schools would by no means remove our objections to them. We object
to them not merely because they teach more or less of the Protestant
religion, but also on the ground that we cannot freely and fully
teach our religion and train up our children in them to be true and
unwavering Catholics; and we deny the right of the State, the city,
the town, or the school district, to tax us for schools in which we
are not free to do so.
We value education, and even universal education--which overlooks
no class or child, however rich or however poor, however honored or
however despised--as highly as any of our countrymen do or can; but
we value no education that is divorced from religion and religious
culture. Religion is the supreme law, the one thing to be lived for;
and all in life, individual or social, civil or political, should be
subordinated to it, and esteemed only as means to the eternal end
for which man was created and exists. Religious education is the
chief thing, and we wish our children to be accustomed, from the
first dawning of reason, so to regard it, and to regard whatever
they learn or do as having a bearing on their religious character or
their duty to God. Mr. Bulwer--now Lord Lytton--as well as many other
literary men of eminence, have written much on the danger of a purely
intellectual culture, or of the education of the intellect divorced
from that of the heart, or sentiments and affections. We hold that
education, either of the intellect or of the heart, or of both
combined, divorced from faith and religious discipline, is dangerous
alike to the individual and to society. All education should be
religious, and intended to train the child for a religious end; not
for this life only, but for eternal life; for this life is nothing if
severed from that which is to come.
Even for this world, for civilization itself, the religious education
which the church gives is far better than any so-called secular
education without it. The church has not always been able to secure
universal secular education for all her children; but there can be
no question that the illiterate classes of Catholic nations are far
more civilized and better trained than are the corresponding classes
of Protestant nations. There is no comparison in personal dignity,
manliness, self-respect, courtesy of manner, refined feeling, and
delicate sentiment, between an unlettered Italian, French, Spanish,
or Irish peasant, and an unlettered Protestant German, English, or
American. The one is a cultivated, a civilized man; the other is a
boor, a clown, coarse and brutal, who perpetually mistakes impudence
for independence, and proves his self-respect by his indifference
or insults to others. The difference is due to the difference of
religion and religious culture; not, as is sometimes pretended,
to difference of race. The church civilizes the whole nation that
accepts her; only the upper classes in Protestant nations are
civilized.
Of course, we do not and can not expect, in a state where Protestants
have equal rights with Catholics before the state, to carry our
religion into public schools designed equally for all. We have no
right to do it. But Protestants have no more right to carry their
religion into them than we have to carry ours; and carry theirs they
do, when ours is excluded. Their rights are equal to ours, and ours
are equal to theirs; and neither does nor can, in the eyes of the
state, override the other. As the question is a matter of conscience,
and therefore of the rights of God, there can be no compromise, no
splitting of differences, or yielding of the one party to the other.
Here comes up the precise difficulty. The state is bound equally to
recognize and respect the conscience of Protestants and of Catholics,
and has no right to restrain the conscience of either. There must,
then, be a dead-lock, unless some method can be discovered or devised
by which the public schools can be saved without lesion either to the
Protestant or the Catholic.
Three solutions have been suggested: 1. The first is to exclude
the Bible and all religious teaching, or recognition, in any way,
shape, or manner, of religion, from the public schools. This is the
infidel or secular solution, and, so far as Catholics are concerned,
is no solution at all. It is simple mockery. What we demand is, not
that religion be excluded from the schools, but schools in which we
can teach freely and fully our own religion to our own children. It
is precisely these purely secular schools, in which all education
is divorced from religion--from the faith, precepts, services,
and discipline of the church, as well as education combined with
a false religion--that we oppose. Nor will this solution satisfy
the more respectable Protestant denominations, as is evident from
the tenacity with which they insist on reading the Bible in the
schools. They do not believe any more than we do in the utility, or
even practicability, of divorcing what is called secular learning
from religion. All education, they hold, as well as we, that is not
religious, is necessarily anti-religious. This is a case in which
there is and can be no neutrality. We find this conclusively shown
by some remarks in _The Christian World_ before us, credited to
Professor Tayler Lewis, the most learned and able thinker we are
acquainted with among our Protestant contemporaries. The professor's
remarks are so true, so sensible, and so much to our purpose, that,
though not so brief as we could wish, our readers will hardly fail to
thank us for transcribing them:
"Let us test this specious plea of neutrality. What does it
imply? If carried strictly out to the exclusion of every
thing religious, or having a religious tendency, it must
consistently demand a like exclusion of every thing that in
the least manifests the opposite tendency, under whatever
specious disguises it may be veiled. It does not alter the
case in the least that opinions, regarded as irreligious,
or as undermining or in any way weakening the grounds of
belief, take to themselves the specious names of literature,
or politics, or political economy, or phrenology, or the
philosophy of history. No such sham pass-words should give
to Buckle and Combe admittance where Butler and Chalmers are
shut out. Every thing that makes it less easy for the child
to believe his catechism, 'taught at home,' as they say, is a
break of the supposed concordat. The mere objection is to be
heeded. It is enough that things seem so to serious men, as
capable of correct reasoning as any on the other side; or that
it is the opinion, the prejudice, if any choose so to call
it, of a devout ignorance. The thoughtful religious man might
be willing to forego his objection if there were or could be
real impartiality. He might trust a true moral and religious
training as fully able to counteract any thing of an opposite
tendency. But to let in the enemy, and then take away the
weapon of defence--this is a neutrality hard to be understood.
"Now, there can be no doubt of the fact that there is admitted
into our schools, our colleges, our educational libraries,
into the reading-rooms connected with them, much that is
thus _deemed_ irreligious in its tendency--at least, by the
holders of our stricter creeds. There is much that is silently
alienating the minds of their children from the doctrines
held sacred by their fathers. We might go further: there is
much that tends to undermine all religious belief, even of
the freest cast. What young man can have his mind filled
with the atheistical speculations of Mill and Spencer, or be
exposed to the uncounteracted theories of Darwin and Huxley,
and yet retain unimpaired his belief in a providence as taught
by Christ--a providence that 'numbers the very hairs of our
heads'--or listen as before to the prayer that ascends from the
family altar? These writers profess a kind of theism, it is
said; but wherein, as far as any moral power is concerned, does
it differ from a belief in quadratic equations, or the dogmas
of heat and magnetism?
"The matter, as we have stated it, would be too plain for
argument were it not for those magical words, _secular_ and
_sectarian_, that some are so fond of using. 'The state knows
no religion,' they say; it is wholly 'a private concern'
between the _individual_ and his Maker. 'The state knows no
God.' They wonder the zealous bigot cannot see how clear this
makes every thing. If he would only assent to propositions so
easy, so self-evident, we should have peace. But set these
confident logicians to define what they mean by terms so
fluently employed, or ask them to show us how the state can
keep clear of all action, direct or indirect, for or against an
interest so vital as religion, so all-pervading, so intimately
affecting every other, and how soon they begin to stammer! What
is secular? The one who attempts to define it would perhaps
begin with a negative. It is that which has no connection
with religion; no aspects, no relations, no tendencies, no
suggestions, beyond this world, or, the narrowest view of it,
this _age_ or _seculum_. Now, let him apply it to particular
branches of education. There is the learning of the alphabet,
spelling, reading. But what shall the child read? It would be
very difficult to find a mere reading-book--unless its contents
were an empty gabble, like the nonsense Latin verses of some
schools--that would not somewhere, and in some way, betray
moral or immoral, religious or irreligious ideas, according to
the judgment of some minds. But let us waive this, and go on.
Arithmetic is secular. Geography is secular; though we have
seen things under the head of physical geography that some
classes of religionists might object to as betraying a spirit
hostile to the idea of the earth's creation in any form. But go
on. Including the pure mathematics, as being pure mathematics
and nothing else, we have about got to the end of our
definition. No thinking man would pretend that the departments
of life and motion, chemistry, dynamics, physiology, could be
studied apart from a higher class of ideas. But secularity
would interfere here in a very strange way. When these roads of
knowledge thus tend upward toward the eternal light, it would
shut down the gate and eject the book. Natural philosophy, as
taught by Newton and Kepler, gets beyond secularity. When,
on the other hand, after the manner of Humboldt, Lamarck,
and Darwin, its progress is in the direction of the eternal
darkness, the study of it becomes entirely _unsectarian_; it
violates no rights of conscience!
"In other departments, it is still more difficult to set the
secular bound. History, the philosophy of history, political
philosophy, psychology, ethics, however strong the effort
to dereligionize them, do all, when left to their proper
expansion, spurn any such bounds. Art, too, when wholly
secularized; poetry stripped of its religious ideality; how
long would they resist such a narrowing, suffocating process? A
lower dogma was never maintained than this of a wholly secular
education, or one more utterly _impracticable_. The subject
must inevitably die under the operation, and religion must come
back again into our schools and colleges, to save them from
inanity and extinction.
"There may be stated here some reasons why this plea of
neutrality, though so false, is yet so specious and misleading.
It arises from the fact that the statement of moral, religious,
and theological ideas demands clear and positive language. The
hostile forms, on the other hand, are disguised under vague and
endlessly varying negations. They are Protean, too, in their
appellations. They take to themselves the names of literature,
art, philosophy, reform. This procedure shows itself in
reading-books intended for our primary schools; in text-books
prepared for the higher institutions; in essays and periodicals
that strew the tables of reading-rooms attached to our colleges
and academies; and, above all, in the public lecturing, male
and female, which may be said to have become a part of our
educational system. For example, should the writer of this
attempt to explain before such an audience 'the doctrines
of grace,' as they are called, or that unearthly system of
ideas which can be traced through the whole line of the
church--patristic, Roman, and Protestant--in their production
of a strong unearthly character, then would be immediately
heard the cry of bigotry, or the senseless yell of church and
state. And now for the _opposing_ 'dogmas,' as they really are,
notwithstanding all their disguises. They make their entrance
under endlessly varied forms. Pantheism has free admittance;
but that is not dogmatic--it calls itself philosophy. In some
lecture on progress, or history, the most essential of these
old 'doctrines of grace' may be sneeringly ignored or covertly
assailed; but that is literature. Darwinism is expounded, with
its virtual denial of any thing like creation; or Huxleyism,
which brings man out of the monkey, and the monkey out of the
fungus; that is science. Or it may be the whining nonsense
which glorifies the nineteenth century at the expense of the
far honester eighteenth, and talks so undogmatically of the
deep 'yearning' for something better--that is, the 'coming
faith.' And so goes on this exhibition of impartiality, with
its exclusion of every thing dogmatic and theological."
Neither Catholics nor Protestants who believe at all in religion will
consent to be taxed to support infidel, pantheistic, or atheistic
education; and all so-called purely secular education is really
nothing else. The temporal separated from the eternal, the universe
from its Creator, is nothing, and can be no object of science.
The first suggested solution must then be abandoned, and not be
entertained for a moment by the state, unless it is bent on suicide;
for the basis of the state itself is religion, and is excluded in
excluding all religious ideas and principles.
2. The second solution suggested is to adopt in education the
voluntary system, as we do in religion, and leave each denomination
to maintain schools for its own children at its own expense. We could
accept this solution, as Catholics, without any serious objection;
but we foresee some trouble in disposing of the educational
funds held by several of the States in trust for common schools,
academies, and colleges, and in determining to whom shall belong
the school-houses, and academy and college buildings and fixtures,
erected, in whole or in part, at the public expense. Besides, this
would break up the whole public school system, and defeat the chief
end it contemplates--that of providing a good common education
for all the children of the land, especially the children of the
poorer classes. Catholics, Presbyterians, Congregationalists, and
Episcopalians would establish and support schools, each respectively
for their own children; but some other denominations might not,
and the infidels, and that large class called _nothingarian_, most
certainly would not. Only they who believe in some religion see
enough of dignity in man, or worth in the human soul, to make the
sacrifice of a penny for education. The Darwins, the Huxleys, the
Lyells, and other unbelieving scientists of the day, were never
educated in schools, academies, colleges, or universities founded by
infidels. They graduated from schools founded by the faith and piety
of those who believed in God, in creation, in Christ, in the life
and immortality brought to light in the Gospel; and if they have
devoted themselves to severe studies, it has not been from love of
science, but in the ignoble hope of being able to dispense, in the
explanation of nature, with God the Creator, and to prove that man is
only a monkey developed, a condensed gas, or, as Dr. Cabanis defined
him, simply "a digestive tube open at both ends."
Moreover, though we deny the competency of the state to act as
educator, we hold that its duty toward both religion and education
is something more than negative. We hold that it has positive duties
to perform in regard to each. It cannot decide what religion its
citizens shall accept and obey; but it is bound to protect its
citizens in the free and full enjoyment of the religion they adopt
for themselves. We cannot, for the sake of carrying a point which we
hold to be true and certain to be of great importance, ally ourselves
with infidels, or lay down as a universal principle what our church
has never approved, and what we may in the change of the tide be
ourselves obliged to disavow. The state, with all its powers and
functions, exists for religion, and is in all its action subordinated
to the eternal end of man. As the church teaches, and as the New
England Puritans held, this world is never the end; it is only a
means to an end infinitely above itself. We will never dishonor truth
so much as to concede for a moment that the state is independent
of religion; that it may treat religion, as a coördinate power
with itself, with indifference, or look down upon it with haughty
contempt, as beneath its notice, or to be pushed aside if it comes in
its way. It is as much bound to consult the spiritual end of man,
and to obey the law of God, which overrides all other laws, as is the
individual.
We, of course, deny the competency of the state to educate, to say
what shall or shall not be taught in the public schools, as we deny
its competency to say what shall or shall not be the religious belief
and discipline of its citizens. We, of course, utterly repudiate the
popular doctrine that so-called secular education is the function
of the state. Yet, while we might accept this second solution as an
expedient, we do not approve it, and cannot defend it as sound in
principle. It would break up and utterly destroy the free public
school system, what is good as well as what is evil in it; and
we wish to save the system by simply removing what it contains
repugnant to the Catholic conscience--not to destroy it or lessen
its influence. We are decidedly in favor of free public schools
for all the children of the land, and we hold that the property of
the state should bear the burden of educating the children of the
state--the two great and essential principles of the system, and
which endear it to the hearts of the American people. Universal
suffrage is a mischievous absurdity without universal education; and
universal education is not practicable unless provided for at the
public expense. While, then, we insist that the action of the state
shall be subordinated to the law of conscience, we yet hold that it
has an important part to perform, and that it is its duty, in view
of the common weal, and of its own security as well as that of its
citizens, to provide the means of a good common school education for
all its children, whatever their condition, rich or poor, Catholics
or Protestants. It has taken the American people over two hundred
years to arrive at this conclusion, and never by our advice shall
they abandon it.
3. The first and second solutions must then be dismissed as
unsatisfactory. The first, because it excludes religion, and makes
the public schools nurseries of infidelity and irreligion. The
second, because it breaks up and destroys the whole system of free
public schools, and renders the universal education demanded by our
institutions impracticable, or unlikely to be given, and in so far
endangers the safety, the life, and prosperity of the republic.
We repeat it, what we want is not the destruction of the system,
but simply its modification so far as necessary to protect the
conscience of both Catholics and Protestants in its rightful freedom.
The modification necessary to do this is much slighter than is
supposed, and, instead of destroying or weakening the system, would
really perfect it and render it alike acceptable to Protestants
and to Catholics, and combine both in the efforts necessary to
sustain it. It is simply to adopt the third solution that has been
suggested, namely, that of dividing the schools between Catholics and
Protestants, and assigning to each the number proportioned to the
number of children each has to educate. This would leave Catholics
free to teach their religion and apply their discipline in the
Catholic schools, and Protestants free to teach their religion and
apply their discipline in the Protestant schools. The system, as
a system of free schools at the public expense, with its fixtures
and present machinery, would remain unimpaired; and a religious
education, so necessary to society as well as to the soul, could be
given freely and fully to all, without the slightest lesion to any
one's conscience, or interference with the full and entire religious
freedom which is guaranteed by our constitution to every citizen.
The Catholic will be restored to his rights, and the Protestant will
retain his.
This division was not called for in New England in the beginning;
for then the people were all of one and the same religion; nor when
only those who used the schools were taxed for their support. It was
not needed even when there were only Protestants in the country. In
demanding it now, we cast no censure on the original founders of our
public schools. But now, when the system is so enlarged as to include
free schools for all the children of the state at the public expense,
and Catholics have become and are likely to remain a notable part of
the population of the country, it becomes not only practicable, but
absolutely necessary, if religious liberty or freedom of conscience
for all citizens is to be maintained; and it were an act of injustice
to Catholics, whose conscience chiefly demands the division, and
a gross abuse of power, to withhold it. It may be an annoyance to
Protestants that Catholics are here; but they are here, and here
they will remain; and it is never the part of wisdom to resist
the inevitable. Our population is divided between Catholics and
Protestants, and the only sensible course is for each division to
recognize and respect the equal rights of the other before the State.
One objection of a practical character has been brought against the
division by the New York _Tribune_. That journal says that, if the
division could be made in cities and large towns, it would still
be impracticable in the sparsely settled districts of the country,
where the population is too small to admit, without too great an
expense, of two separate schools, one Catholic and one Protestant.
The objection is one that is likely to diminish in force with time.
In such districts let each school receive its _pro rata_ amount
of the public money: if too little, let Catholic charity make up
the deficiency for the Catholic, and Protestant charity for the
Protestant school. Besides, in these sparsely settled districts there
are few Catholics, and their children are far less exposed than in
cities, large towns, and villages.
The more common objection urged is, that if separate schools are
conceded to Catholics, they must not only be conceded to the
Israelites, but also to each Protestant denomination. To the
Israelites, we grant, if they demand them. To each Protestant
denomination, not at all, unless each denomination can put in
an honest plea of conscience for such division. All Protestant
denominations, without a single exception, unless it be the
Episcopalians, unite in opposing the division we ask for, and in
defending the system as it is, which proves that they have no
conscientious objections to the public schools as they are now
constituted and conducted. The division to meet the demands of
the Catholic conscience would necessitate no change at all in
the schools not set apart for Catholic children; and the several
denominations that are not conscientiously opposed to them now
could not be conscientiously opposed to them after the division. We
cannot suppose that any denomination of Protestants would consent to
support a system of education that offends its own conscience for the
sake of doing violence to the conscience of Catholics. Do not all
American Protestants profess to be the sturdy champions of freedom
of conscience, and maintain that where conscience begins there the
secular authority ends? If the present schools do violence to no
Protestant conscience, as we presume from their defence of them they
do not, no Protestant denomination can demand a division in its
favor on the plea of conscience; and to no other plea is the state or
the public under any obligation to listen. If, however, there be any
denomination that can in good faith demand separate schools on the
plea of conscience, we say at once let it have them, for such a plea,
when honest, overrides every other consideration.
But we are asked what shall be done with the large body of citizens
who are neither Catholic nor Protestant? Such citizens, we reply,
have no religion; and they who have no religion have no conscience
that people who have religion are bound to respect. If they refuse
to send their children either to the Hebrew schools or the Catholic
schools, or, in fine, to the Protestant schools, let them found
schools of their own, at their own expense. The constitutions of
the several States guarantee to each and every citizen the right to
worship God according to the dictates of his own conscience; but this
is not guaranteeing to any one the freedom of not worshipping God,
to deny his existence, to reject his revelation, or to worship a
false God. The liberty guaranteed is the liberty of religion, not the
liberty of infidelity. The infidel has, under our constitution and
laws, the right of protection in his civil and political equality;
but none to protection in his infidelity, since that is not a
religion, but the denial of all religion. He cannot plead conscience
in its behalf, for conscience presupposes religion; and where there
is no religious faith, there is, of course, no conscience. It would
be eminently absurd to ask the state to protect infidelity, or the
denial of all religion; for religion, as we have said, is the only
basis of the state, and for the state to protect infidelity would be
to cut its own throat.
These are, we believe, all the plausible objections that can be urged
against the division of the public schools we demand; for we do not
count as such the pretence of some over-zealous Protestants that it
is necessary to detach the children of Catholics from the Catholic
Church in order that they may grow up thorough Americans; and as
the public schools are very effectual in so detaching them, and
weakening their respect for the religion of their parents, and their
reverence for their clergy, they ought on all patriotic grounds to be
maintained in full vigor as they are. We have heard this objection
from over-zealous Evangelicals, and still oftener from so-called
Liberal Christians and infidels; we have long been told that the
church is anti-American, and can never thrive in the United States;
for she can never withstand the free and enlightened spirit of the
country, and the decatholicizing influence of our common schools;
and we can hardly doubt that some thought of the kind is at the
bottom of much of the opposition the proposed division of the public
schools has encountered. But we cannot treat it as serious; for it is
evidently incompatible with the freedom of conscience which the state
is bound by its constitution to recognize and protect, for Catholics
as well as for Protestants. The state has no right to make itself a
proselyting institution for or against Protestantism, for or against
Catholicity. It is its business to protect us in the free and full
enjoyment of our religion, not to engage in the work of unmaking our
children of their Catholicity. The case is one of conscience, and
conscience is accountable to no civil tribunal. All secular authority
and all secular considerations whatever must yield to conscience.
In questions of conscience the law of God governs, not a plurality
of votes. The state abuses its authority if it sustains the common
schools as they are with a view of detaching our children from their
Catholic faith and love. If Catholics cannot retain their Catholic
faith and practice and still be true, loyal, and exemplary American
citizens, it must be only because Americanism is incompatible with
the rights of conscience, and that would be its condemnation, not the
condemnation of Catholicity. No nationality can override conscience;
for conscience is catholic, not national, and is accountable to
God alone, who is above and over all nations, all principalities
and powers, King of kings and Lord of lords. But the assumption in
the objection is not true. It mistakes the opinion of the American
people individually for the constitution of the American state. The
American state is as much Catholic as it is Protestant, and really
harmonizes far better with Catholicity than with Protestantism. We
hold that, instead of decatholicizing Catholic children, it is far
more necessary, if we are to be governed by reasons of this sort, to
unmake the children of Protestants of their Protestantism. We really
believe that, in order to train them up to be, in the fullest sense,
true, loyal, and exemplary American citizens, such as can alone
arrest the present downward tendency of the republic, and realize the
hopes of its heroic and noble-hearted founders, they must become good
Catholics.
But this is a question of which the state can take no cognizance.
We have under its constitution no right to call upon it to aid us,
directly or indirectly, in unmaking Protestant children of their
Protestantism. Of course, before God, or in the spiritual order, we
recognize no equality between Catholicity and Protestantism. Before
God, no man has any right to be of any religion but the Catholic,
the only true religion, the only religion by which men can be raised
to union with God in the beatific vision. But before the American
state, we recognize in Protestants equal rights with our own. They
have the same right to be protected by the state in the freedom of
their conscience that we have to be protected by it in the freedom
of ours. We should attack the very freedom of conscience the state
guarantees to all her citizens, were we to call upon it to found
or to continue a system of public schools, at the public expense,
intended or fitted to detach Protestant children from the religion of
their parents, and turn them over to be brought up in the Catholic
religion. We should prove ourselves decidedly un-American in so
doing. Yet, we regret to say, this is precisely what the non-catholic
majority, inconsiderately we trust, are doing; and, if the popular
ministers of the several sects, like Dr. R. W. Clark, Dr. Sheldon,
Dr. Bellows, Henry Ward Beecher, and the sectarian and secular press
have their way, they will continue to do to the end of the chapter
to us Catholics. They probably are not aware that they belie the
Americanism they profess, and abuse the power their superiority
of numbers gives them to tyrannize over the consciences of their
fellow-citizens. This strikes us as very un-American, as well as very
unjust.
We place our demand for separate schools on the ground of conscience,
and therefore of right--the right of God as well as of man. Our
conscience forbids us to support schools at the public expense
from which our religion is excluded, and in which our children are
taught either what we hold to be a false or mutilated religion, or
no religion at all. Such schools are perilous to the souls of our
children; and we dare avow, even in this age of secularism and
infidelity, that we place the salvation of the souls of our children
above every other consideration. This plea of conscience, which we
urge from the depth of our souls, and under a fearful sense of our
accountability to our Maker, ought to suffice, especially in an
appeal to a state bound by its own constitution to protect the rights
of conscience for each and all of its citizens, whether Protestant or
Catholic.
One thing must be evident from past experience, that our children
can be brought up to be good and orderly citizens only as Catholics,
and in schools under the supervision and control of their church,
in which her faith is freely and fully taught, and her services,
discipline, and influences are brought to bear in forming their
characters, restraining them from evil, and training them to virtue.
We do not say that, even if trained in Catholic schools, all will
turn out to be good practical Catholics and virtuous members of
society; for the church does not take away free-will, nor eradicate
all the evil propensities of the flesh; but it is certain that they
cannot be made such in schools in which the religion of their parents
is reviled as a besotted superstition, and the very text-books
of history and geography are made to protest against it; or in
which they are accustomed to hear their priests spoken of without
reverence, Protestant nations lauded as the only free and enlightened
nations of the earth, Catholic nations sneered at as ignorant and
enslaved, and the church denounced as a spiritual despotism, full
of craft, and crusted all over with corruption both of faith and
morals. Such schools may weaken their reverence for their parents,
even detach them from their church, obscure, if not destroy their
faith, render them indifferent to religion, indocile to their
parents, disobedient to the laws; but they cannot inspire them with
the love of virtue, restrain their vicious or criminal propensities,
or prevent them from associating with the dangerous classes of our
large towns and cities, and furnishing subjects for the correctional
police, our jails, penitentiaries, state prisons, and the gallows.
We are pointed to the vicious and criminal population of our cities,
of which we furnish more than our due proportion, as a conclusive
argument against the moral tendency of our religion, and a savage
howl of indignation, that rings throughout the land, is set up
against the legislature or the municipality that ventures to grant
us the slightest aid in our struggles to protect our children from
the dangers that beset them, though bearing no proportion to the aid
granted to non-Catholics. Yet it is precisely to meet cases like
ours that a public provision for education is needed and supposed to
be made. Protestants make the great mistake of trying to cure the
evil to which we refer by detaching our children from the church,
and bringing them up bad Protestants, or without any religion. The
thousand and one associations and institutions formed by Protestant
zeal and benevolence for the reformation or the bringing up of
poor Catholic children, and some of which go so far as to kidnap
little papist orphans or half orphans, lock them up in their orphan
asylums, where no priest can enter, change their names so that their
relatives cannot trace them, send them to a distance, and place them
in Protestant families, where it is hoped they will forget their
Catholic origin, all proceed from the same mistake, and all fail
to arrest, or even to lessen, the growing evil. They necessarily
provoke the opposition and resistance of the Catholic pastors, and
of all earnest Catholics, who regard the loss of their faith as the
greatest calamity that can befall Catholic children. So long as faith
remains, however great the vice or the crime, there is something
to build on, and room to hope for repentance, though late, for
reformation and final salvation. Faith once gone, all is gone.
It is necessary to understand that the children of Catholics must be
trained up in the Catholic faith, in the Catholic Church, to be good
exemplary Catholics, or they will grow up bad citizens, the pests
of society. Nothing can be done for them but through the approval
and coöperation of the Catholic clergy and the Catholic community.
The contrary rule, till quite recently, has been adopted, and
public and private benevolence has sought to benefit our children
by disregarding, or seeking to uproot, their Catholic faith, and
rejecting the coöperation of the Catholic clergy. The results are
apparent to all not absolutely blinded by their misdirected zeal.
The public has not sufficiently considered that by the law excluding
our religion from the public schools, the schools as established by
law are Protestant schools, at least so far as they are not pagan
or godless. We do not suppose the state ever intended to establish
Protestantism as the exclusive religion of the schools; but such is
the necessary result of excluding, no matter under what pretext,
the teaching of our religion in them. Exclude Catholicity, and what
is left? Nothing of Christianity but Protestantism, which is simply
Christianity _minus_ the Catholic Church, her faith, precepts, and
sacraments. At present the state makes ample provision for the
children of Protestants, infidels, or pagans; but excludes the
children of Catholics, unless we consent to let them be educated
in Protestant schools, and brought up Protestants, so far as the
schools can bring them up.
Now, we protest in the name of equal rights against this manifest
injustice. There is no class of the community more in need of free
public schools than Catholics, and none are more entitled to their
benefit; for they constitute a large portion of the poorer and
more destitute classes of the community. We can conceive nothing
more unjust than for the state to provide schools for Protestants,
and even infidels, and refuse to do it for Catholics. To say that
Catholics have as free access to the public schools as Protestants,
is bitter mockery. Protestants can send their children to them
without exposing them to lose their Protestantism; but Catholics
cannot send their children to them without exposing them to the loss
of their Catholicity. The law protects their religion in the public
schools by the simple fact of excluding ours. How then say these
schools are as free to us as they are to them? Is conscience of no
account?
We take it for granted that the intention of the state is that
the public schools should be accessible alike to Catholics and
Protestants, and on the same risks and conditions. We presume it
has had no more intention of favoring Protestants at the expense
of Catholics, than Catholics at the expense of Protestants. But it
can no longer fail to see that its intention is not, and cannot be
realized by providing schools which Protestants can use without risk
to their Protestantism, and none which Catholics can use without
risk to their Catholicity. As the case now stands, the law sustains
Protestantism in the schools and excludes Catholicity. This is
unjust to Catholics, and deprives us, in so far as Catholics, of all
benefit to be derived from the public schools supported at the public
expense. Were the law to admit Catholicity, it would necessarily
exclude Protestantism, which would be equally unjust to Protestants.
Since, then, Catholicity and Protestantism mutually exclude each
other, and as the state is bound to treat both with equal respect,
it is not possible for it to carry out its intention and do justice
to both parties, but by dividing the schools, and setting apart for
Catholics their proportion of them, in which the education shall be
determined and controlled by their church, though remaining public
schools supported at the public expense, under the provisions of a
general law as now.
This would be doing for its Catholic citizens only what it now does
for its Protestant citizens only; in fact, only what is done in
France, Austria, and Prussia. The division would enable us to bring
all our children into schools under the influence and management
of our pastors, and to do whatever the church and a thoroughly
religious education can do to train them up to be good Catholics,
and therefore orderly and peaceful members of society, and loyal and
virtuous American citizens. It would also remove some restraint from
the Protestant schools, and allow them more freedom in insisting on
whatever is doctrinal and positive in their religion than they now
exercise. The two classes of schools, though operating separately,
would aid each other in stemming the tide of infidelity and
immorality, now setting in with such fearful rapidity, and apparently
resistless force, threatening the very existence of our republic. The
division would operate in favor of religion, both in a Catholic sense
and in a Protestant sense, and therefore tend to purify and preserve
American society. It would restore the schools to their original
intention, and make them, what they should be, religious schools.
The enemy which the state, which Catholics, and which Protestants
have alike to resist and vanquish by education is the irreligion,
pantheism, atheism, and immorality, disguised as secularism, or
under the specious names of science, humanity, free-religion, and
free-love, which not only strike at all Christian faith and Christian
morals, but at the family, the state, and civilized society itself.
The state has no right to regard this enemy with indifference, and
on this point we accept the able arguments used by the serious
Protestant preachers and writers cited in the number of _The
Christian World_ before us against the exclusion of the Bible and
all recognition of religion from the public schools. The American
state is not infidel or godless, and is bound always to recognize and
actively aid religion as far as in its power. Having no spiritual
or theological competency, it has no right to undertake to say what
shall or shall not be the religion of its citizens; it must accept,
protect, and aid the religion its citizens see proper to adopt, and
without partiality for the religion of the majority any more than the
religion of the minority; for in regard to religion the rights and
powers of minorities and majorities are equal. The state is under
the Christian law, and it is bound to protect and enforce Christian
morals and its laws, whether assailed by Mormonism, spiritism,
free-lovism, pantheism, or atheism.
The modern world has strayed far from this doctrine, which in the
early history of this country nobody questioned. The departure may
be falsely called progress, and boasted of as a result of "the march
of intellect;" but it must be arrested, and men must be recalled to
the truths they have left behind, if republican government is to be
maintained, and Christian society preserved. Protestants who see and
deplore the departure from the old landmarks will find themselves
unable to arrest the downward tendency without our aid, and little
aid shall we be able to render them unless the church be free to use
the public schools--that is, her portion of them--to bring up her
children in her own faith, and train them to be good Catholics. There
is a recrudescence of paganism, a growth of subtle and disguised
infidelity, which it will require all that both they and we can do to
arrest. Fight, therefore, Protestants, no longer us, but the public
enemy.[14]
FOOTNOTES:
[13] _The Christian World._ The Bible in the Schools. February, 1870.
New York: Bible House.
[14] We desire to call attention to another point which could not be
discussed in the foregoing article, and to which we can at present
only allude in the briefest manner. Large sums of money have been
granted by legislatures to universities and colleges which are
controlled by the clergy of different Protestant denominations, in
which they teach their religious opinions without restraint, and
which they make, as far as they can, training-schools for their
theological seminaries. Now, if the outcry against any grant of
public funds to schools in which the Catholic religion is taught is
taken up and sustained by Protestants, it follows that they must
advocate the total secularization of all institutions, without
exception, which enjoy any state subsidies, and, if they wish to
keep control of religious instruction in any of the above-mentioned
colleges, must refund to the state every thing which they now possess
by grant from the state, and give up all claim to receive any
further endowments. Catholics would never disendow or despoil these
Protestant institutions, even if they had full power to do it; but if
the party of infidelity ever gains, by the help of Protestants, full
sway over our legislation, the latter may prepare themselves for a
wholesale spoliation.
THE NEW ENGLANDER ON THE "MORAL RESULTS OF THE ROMISH SYSTEM."[15]
The reply of the _New Englander_ to our articles of September and
October last is bristling with the most palpable and absurd mistakes.
We call them "mistakes" through the utmost stretch of Christian
charity, for there is really no excuse to be made for them. We
cannot excuse them by allowing either their author or the editors
of the _New Englander_ the benefit of the plea of ignorance; for
they were bound to inform themselves on a grave matter which they
profess to treat of; nor that of haste and carelessness. They have
had at least three months for a reply, and were at liberty to take
three months more, if necessary; and to plead carelessness in such
a matter is equivalent to a confession of culpable negligence and
want of moral principle. They were bound by the principles of the
Christian religion not to exaggerate or convey in any way a worse
impression of their fellow-Christians than the exact truth would
warrant, according to the words of St. Paul, "Charity is kind,
thinketh no evil, ... is not puffed up;" which we might paraphrase
in this way: Is not pharisaically inclined to exalt one's self at
the expense of one's neighbor, or at the sacrifice of the truth. The
_New Englander_ has made use of every artifice; and, trusting to
the unsuspecting ignorance or uncritical spirit of the community,
of a shameful perversion of the truth to effect this unworthy and
unchristian object. We speak severely because it is time the public,
both Catholic and Protestant, should frown upon such practices, and
endeavor to approach Christian unity by the practice of the most
ordinary Christian virtues. We shall now proceed to make good our
allegations against the _New Englander_.
1st. The _New Englander_ makes a comparison of the provinces of
Catholic and Protestant countries, prefaced by the following
introduction:
"The author of _Evenings with the Romanists_, writing in 1854,
gave the names and official returns of ten principal cities
of Protestant Prussia and of ten principal cities of Roman
Catholic Austria.... THE CATHOLIC WORLD admits the statements,
... and claims, with that air of injured innocence, which is so
favorite a weapon in Romish polemics, that, if the returns of
the provinces were brought into the account, they would more
than redress the balance of the cities. We proceed to put his
proposition to experiment."
Would our readers credit it, that he has done nothing of the kind? He
has not compared the Protestant and Catholic provinces of Protestant
Prussia and Roman Catholic Austria, between which, and which alone,
the parallel comparison of cities was made; but substituted another
comparison, entirely his own, introducing provinces belonging to
other countries to weigh down the Catholic scale, and excluding half
the Catholic provinces of Austria for the same purpose. This we will
show to a demonstration. Here is the table of the _New Englander_:
_Illegitimacy in German Provinces._
PROTESTANT. PR. CT. ROMAN CATHOLIC. PR. CT.
Brandenburg 12 Austria (Upper and Lower) 29.3
Hanover 9.6 Bohemia 16.3
Pomerania 10 Baden 16.2
Prussia 6.7 Bavaria 22.5
Saxony 15.9 Carinthia 11.7
Würtemberg 16.4 Carniola 45
Moravia 15.1
Posen 6.8
Rhineland 3.4
Salzburg 29.6
Styria 30.6
Trieste, Gorz, etc. 9.9
Tyrol and Vorarlberg 6
---- ----
Average 11.7 Average 18.6
We repeat, the question as put by the _New Englander_ itself is not
about _German_ provinces, but of the Protestant and Roman Catholic
provinces of Prussia and Austria. Moreover, the table as it stands is
grossly untrue. The rate of illegitimacy of the province of Prussia
is 9 instead of 6.7, which materially alters the general average.
The averages of the table are falsely given as,
Protestant 11.7 Catholic 18.6
The true averages found by balancing the populations and the rates,
according to the rules of arithmetic, are:
Protestant 12 Catholic 16.9
Besides these grave blunders, the _New Englander_, professing to give
a statement of the _German_ provinces by taking _Germany_, "province
by province," has omitted many German provinces, which omission very
materially affects the result. We take the liberty of putting them in
to show how "economical" of truth the _New Englander_ has been.
_Provinces omitted for which returns were given._
PROTESTANT. PR. CT. CATHOLIC. PR. CT.
Saxon Prussia 10 Austrian Silesia 13.8
Brunswick 18.9
Mecklenburg-Schwerin 20.7
Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach 15.6
Saxe Altenburg 16.9
Hesse 17.2
Bremen 7.2
We shall now proceed to do what the _New Englander_ professed to do,
but merely shifting the question, has not done, namely, compare the
Catholic and Protestant provinces of Protestant Prussia and Roman
Catholic Austria, province by province, as they existed previous to
the last war, to correspond to the comparison of the cities of these
countries which were contained within these limits. Milan, as well as
Lemburg and Zara, are put down among the Austrian cities. We shall
give the corresponding provinces:
_Illegitimacy in Prussian and Austrian Provinces._
POPULATION
PROTESTANT. IN MILLIONS. PR. CT.
Brandenburg 2.62 12
Pomerania 1.44 10
Prussia 3.01 9
Saxony (province) 2.04 10
---- ----
9.11 10.2
POPULATION
CATHOLIC. IN MILLIONS. PR. CT.
Austria (Upper and Lower) 2.47 29.3
Bohemia 5.11 16.3
Carinthia .34 45
Carniola .47 11.7
Moravia 1.99 15.1
Posen 1.52 6.8
Rhineland 3.35 3.4
Austrian Silesia .49 13.8
Salzburg .15 29.6
Styria 1.09 30.6
Trieste, etc. .56 9.9
Tyrol .88 6
Hungary 10.68 6
Galicia 5.10 8
Dalmatia .44 5
Croatia .95 5.5
Lombardy and Venice 5.55 5.1
----- ----
41.14 10.3
We have thus shown, by a mathematical demonstration, that the words
which the _New Englander_ found convenient to put in our mouths,
though we really said nothing of the kind, that "if the returns of
the provinces were brought into the account, they would more than
redress the balance of the cities," are sufficiently made good. We
are glad he "proceeded to put our proposition to experiment," and
we caution him when he makes any more experiments of this kind to
reflect that, whatever may be the judgment of an uncritical public
prepared to take his statements without examination, his artifices,
misstatements, and false conclusions are sure to be detected by any
well-informed reader who will take the trouble of examining them.
The result of the comparison of the Protestant and Roman Catholic
provinces of Austria and Prussia sums up in this fashion:
_False Average of the New Englander._
Protestant 11.7 Catholic 18.6
_True Average._
Protestant 10.2 Catholic 10.3
We have thus finished this part of our task, strictly confining
ourselves to the provinces in question; but as it seems more complete
to add the other German provinces on both sides, of which returns are
given, we do so with the following result:
_Provinces already given._
POPULATION
PR. CT. IN MILLIONS.
Protestant 10.2 9.11
Würtemberg 16.4 1.75
Smaller German States[16] 14.8 6.40
---- -----
12.5 17.26
POPULATION
PR. CT. IN MILLIONS.
Catholic 10.3 41.14
Bavaria 22.5 4.81
Baden 16.2 1.43
---- -----
11.7 47.38
We dismiss the _New Englander_ from the examination of provinces with
the conviction that he ought now to become a wiser if not a better
man.
2dly. The _New Englander_ gives us another division of his work,
entitled thus, "3. _Comparison of mixed populations_," the object of
which seems to be two-fold: 1st, To show the wonderful effect of a
little Protestant salt in a mass of Catholic corruption; and 2dly, to
push up the rate of Catholic Austria to a high figure by excluding
the best half of it, and thus to come out with flying colors in the
grand tabular statement of all the European countries. He commences
with the following round but very novel statement: "The empire of
Austria includes a population of 31,655,746; of these, 21,082,801 or
two thirds, are non-Romanists, belonging to the Protestant church or
Greek Church."
The population of the empire of Austria is really divided as follows:
Catholics 26,728,020
All others 7,703,976
by which specimen we may form a good judgment of the general
accuracy of the _New Englander_.
He goes on, "In nine of the Austrian provinces the population is
almost exclusively Roman Catholic. In seven, the Roman Catholics
are, on an average, in a minority of 46 per cent." He proves these
assertions by a table of
_Mixed Provinces._
ROMANISTS. ILLEGITIMATE.
Hungary 52 per cent. 6 per cent.
Galicia 44 " 8 "
Bukowina 9 " 9 "
Dalmatia 81 " 5 "
Militärgrenze 42 " 1.4 "
Croatia, etc. 82 " 5.5 "
Transylvania 11 " 7 "
-- ---
Average 46 " 6 "
accompanied by the following remark: "This falling of the rate of
illegitimacy from twenty-one to six, when the proportion of Romanists
to the population falls off from ninety-seven to forty-six, indicates
the salutary effect of Protestant Christianity, not only on its own
followers, but also on the working of Romanism itself." But suppose
the population does not fall off from ninety-seven to forty-six per
cent, and that in most of these provinces, and where the rate of
illegitimacy is the lowest, there are no Protestants at all, and
a small proportion in the rest; what is shown, then, unless it be
the ignorance and bad faith of the _New Englander_, which professes
to be the "recognized exponent of those views _of religious life_
which have given character to New England, and its essays to be
among the best fruits of thought and opinion which the education
given at Yale is adapted to foster"? Alas! Messrs. Editors, you have
unceremoniously dropped nearly 4,000,000 of Roman Catholics from
your computation. Are you not aware that the United Greeks are Roman
Catholics? If you are not, we beg leave to enlighten you, and correct
the table you have so ostentatiously paraded before the public:
_Jews & Schismatic_
_Catholics._ _Protestants._ _Greeks._
POP. IN PR. POP. IN PR. POP. IN PR.
THOUS'DS. CT. THOUS'DS. CT. THOUS'DS. CT.
Hungary 5965 61 2349 24 1449 15
Galicia 4150 90 31 1 449 9
Bukowina 43 10 none 0 381 90
Dalmatia 338 81 none 0 77 19
Militärgrenze 454 43 20 2 587 55
Croatia, etc. 721 85 none 0 130 15
Transylvania 775 40 510 27 637 33
------ -- ---- -- ---- --
Total 12,446 65 2910 15 3760 20
The "salutary effect of Protestant Christianity in" Galicia,
Bukowina, Dalmatia, Militärgrenze, Croatia, etc., is wonderful, and
indeed little short of miraculous, considering how exceedingly small
the quantity of it is. If the presence of one per cent of Protestants
can so ameliorate the condition of things in Galicia, what a land
of heavenly purity Connecticut must be! But we arouse ourselves
to finish our task, or we shall become entirely absorbed in these
sublime reflections.
The _New Englander's_ "experiment" with mixed populations is an
entire failure. We will give a much more reliable table, to show the
influence of the Catholic and Protestant religion among people of the
same race, and living together in the same communities, and under
the same laws. The census of illegitimacy has been taken in Prussia
according to the religious faith of the people.
_Illegitimacy in Prussia._
AMONG AMONG
PROTESTANTS. CATHOLICS.
Pop. in Pop. in
thous'ds. pr. ct. thous'ds. pr. ct.
Brandenburg 2509 12.05 66 8.40
Silesia 1704 12.03 1756 10.07
Saxony 1903 10.35 130 6.05
Pomerania 1401 10.35 15 9.31
Prussia 2137 9.67 815 7.45
Posen 502 7.06 950 6.82
Westphalia 740 4.18 907 3.35
Rhineland 826 3.35 2494 3.67
------ ----- ---- ----
Total 11,722 10.01 7123 6.4
We take our leave of the "comparison of mixed populations." If the
_New Englander_ is satisfied with our treatment of the subject, we
are sure we are with his; for it enables us to put this matter once
more before an enlightened public, leaving them to form their own
opinions about it.
We now come to the _New Englander's_ final division of the subject:
"4. Comparison of nations."
Here is the grand extinguisher of all Catholic pretensions. The whole
question is to be put in a nut-shell in the following table, and that
according to the very criterion proposed by THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
_New-Englander's Table of Illegitimacy in European Countries._
PROTESTANT. PR. CT. CATHOLIC. PR. CT.
Denmark 11 Baden 16.2
England, Scotland, and Bavaria 22.5
Wales 6.7 Belgium 7.2
Holland 4 France 7.5
Prussia, including German Austria 18.1
Saxony & Hanover 8.3 ? Italy (defective) 5.1
Sweden, with Norway. 9.6 ? Spain (defective) 5.5
Switzerland 5.5
Würtemberg 16.4
---- ----
Average 8.8 Average 11.7
Or rejecting Italy
and Spain 14.5
What strikes us first of all is the richness of these averages. Dear
_New Englander_, you will be the death of us with your averages. Not
that we shall literally be killed off by them; but when we think of
the "best fruits" of the scholarship of Yale College producing such
averages, by adding up a lot of rates of all sorts of countries, big
and little, and dividing the sum by the number of countries, the idea
is absurd enough to kill any one with laughter. Exuberance of fancy
has evidently exercised an unfavorable influence on the mathematical
ability of the author of this article, and neutralized the effect of
the excellent mathematical course given at Yale College.
We find in the table Italy and Spain marked with a note of
interrogation, as much as to say, "What business have you here with
such low averages? You ought to look a great deal worse than that,
being such black and benighted Romanist countries as you are." And
after them the word "defective" in brackets. No doubt the best of
reasons will be given for this. Let us see. "The returns for Italy
and Spain are utterly defective and untrustworthy. Assuming the
ordinary birth-rate, the returns show that in Italy _more than one
fourth_ of the births fail to be registered." Why does not the _New
Englander_ give the figures, that we may judge for ourselves? What he
has not done we will do for him:
_Births in Italy._
1863 881,342
1864 859,663
1865 878,952
-------
Average 873,319
The population of Italy is 24,231,860, and the birth-rate of Europe,
according to the _New Englander_, is 1 to 28. Dividing the number of
the population by 28, we get 865,608. The number of actual births
_exceeds_ the number expected, instead of being _defective by "more
than a fourth."_ As the reason alleged proves to be utterly false, we
shall strike off the marks of interrogation from Italy, and leave out
the "defective" in the brackets.
In like manner, the returns for Spain are treated. "As for Spain,
its census returns, if quoted at all among statistics, are quoted at
even a larger discount than its financial securities. The sum of the
Spanish censuses for the last forty years has been up and down after
the following zigzag fashion:
"1828 13,698,029
1837 12,222,872
1842 12,054,000
1846 12,164,000
1850 10,942,000
1861 16,000,000
1864 15,752,807"
Not having found our friend of the _New Englander_ very precise
heretofore in his figures, we did not exactly take them on trust this
time, but looked in our "Handbuch," and found the following
_Table of Censuses in Spain._
1822 11,661,865
1832 11,158,264
1846 12,162,872
1857 15,464,340
1860 15,673,536
which does not exhibit any great "zigzag" propensity.
The following table of births does not show any mark of being either
untrustworthy or defective, but is uncommonly complete and steady:
LEGITIMATE. ILLEGITIMATE.
1858 516,118 30,040
1859 525,243 31,080
1860 541,231 32,222
1861 577,484 34,125
1862 573,646 33,416
1863 565,144 32,997
1864 586,993 34,458
1865 581,686 33,227
So much for the romancing of the _New Englander_, which we might
appropriately designate as building "castles in Spain."
We beg our readers' pardon for these long lists of figures, but they
are really necessary for the correct understanding of the matter.
As to Austria, we shall take the liberty to bring down her figure
from 18.1 to 11.1; not that it would make so very much difference in
the general average of the nations, except in the clap-trap mode of
calculation adopted by the _New Englander_, but because justice, as
we have amply shown, demands it.
We shall now present a true table of the European countries, slightly
modifying some of the rates, to correspond to later and better
information, and inserting all the omitted countries of which returns
are given:
_Table of Illegitimacy in European Countries._
POPULATION
PROTESTANT. PR. CT. IN MILLIONS.
Denmark[17] 11 2.73
England and Wales 6.5 20.07
Scotland 10.1 3.06
Holland 4 3.53
Prussia 8.6 18.94
Sweden and Norway 9.6 5.81
Switzerland 5.5 2.51
Würtemberg 16.4 1.75
Other German States[18] 14.8 6.40
---- -----
Average 8.7 64.80
POPULATION
CATHOLIC. PR. CT. IN MILLIONS.
Baden 16.2 1.43
Bavaria 22.5 4.81
Belgium 7.2 4.98
France 7.2 38.07
Austria 11.1 34.98
Italy 5.1 24.23
Spain 5.5 15.67
---- ------
Average 8.4 124.17
The _New Englander_ has been quite hard on us for classing Holland
and Switzerland, in which there are very large Catholic minorities,
as mixed countries, and remanded them with an air of injured
innocence forthwith into the Protestant column, where it will be
observed they present an uncommonly good appearance, being the lowest
on the list. We have shown by documentary evidence that in Prussia in
1864, when there was a Catholic minority of thirty-eight per cent,
the rate of illegitimacy was brought down by it from 10 to 8.46, or,
in other words, if all the Catholics could be removed at once out of
the land, the rate of Prussia would stand 10, whereas it appears now
8.6. For this reason we thought fit to make some distinction, lest
there should be any strutting around in borrowed plumes, and to form
a table of mixed countries. We shall, therefore, carefully avoiding
any further wounding of the delicate susceptibilities of the _New
Englander_, append a table, making allowances for the minorities on
both sides, coming just as near to the exact truth as it is possible:
_Table of Illegitimacy, including Majorities and Minorities._
PROT. POP. CATH. POP.
PR. CT. IN MILL'S. IN MILL'S.
Holland 4.0 2.01 1.23
Italy 5.1 .33 23.90
Spain 5.5 .12 15.55
Switzerland 5.5 1.48 1.02
Catholics in Prussia 6.5 -- 7.20
England and Wales 6.5 19.00 1.20
France 7.2 .77 34.93
Belgium 7.2 .02 4.97
Sweden and Norway 9.6 5.81 --
Protestants in Prussia 10.0 11.74 --
Scotland 10.1 3.00 .16
Denmark 11 2.73 --
Austria 11.1 3.45 26.73
German States 14.8 5.88 .52
Würtemberg 16.4 1.20 .53
---- ----- ------
Mean Protestants 8.3 57.54 117.94
Mean Catholics 7.4
To sum up, we have for our final result:
_New Englander's Averages._
Protestant 8.8
Catholic 11.7; or, omitting Italy and Spain 14.5
_True Averages._
Protestant 8.3
Catholic 7.4
Here we are glad to end the general investigation, and to show
that, if we are not very much better than our neighbors, we are not
any worse, and are not to be hounded down with the cry of vice and
immorality by a set of Pharisees who are constantly lauding their own
superiority, and thanking God they are so much better than we poor
Catholics.
We must notice, before we conclude, some minor points of the _New
Englander's_ reply to THE CATHOLIC WORLD. He insists that it is
highly improbable that any of the foundlings received into the
hospital at Rome come from the provinces, and says we have not
adduced a particle of proof to the contrary. Well, as far as the
readers of the _New Englander_ are concerned, what is the use of
adducing any proof?--for that very Christian journal takes no notice
of any refutations of its statements, nor concedes any point,
however strongly proved, but is solely occupied in showing, by
fair means or foul, our "total depravity," as if the very life and
breath of the Protestant religion depended on maintaining a deep
and bitter hatred and contempt of Catholics. To our own readers,
we do not think it worth while to adduce any particular proof of a
self-evident proposition. If there be a foundling hospital, receiving
infants left at its door, it requires no proof that it will serve the
adjacent country as well as the city. We have documentary evidence
to prove this point; but the _New Englander_ contains so many errors
which require our attention, that we have not space for so trivial
a matter. We would like, however, to ask our friend of the _New
Englander_ whether he believes any of the _three thousand_ infants
received in the foundling hospital of Amsterdam come from the country.
2d. The _New Englander_ says, "But where do the infants come from that
are received in the multitudes of _country_ nunneries that abound
throughout the rural districts, and commonly have each its _crèche_,
or cradle, in which the child of shame may be dropped in secret with
a ring of the bell, and left?"
It is time enough to answer this question when any proof of its truth
is brought forward; but we can assure our friend that if any infants
are so received, they all find their way to the hospital in short
order.
3d. We find the following unique and highly gentlemanly insinuation
in the _New Englander_:
"'The _Civilta Cattolica_ says, "This proportion of 28.3 of
legitimate births for every one thousand of the population
speaks very well for a capital city." And so it does; it shows,
what we have always understood them to be, that the Romans are
as virtuous and moral as any people of the world.' Thus THE
CATHOLIC WORLD; to which it might safely add, that it shows
that the separation of an enormous mass of the most vigorous
part of the people under vows of celibacy and continence does
not necessarily check the multiplication of the population."
Weakness in arithmetic and a prurient imagination have, no doubt,
given rise to the above elegant extract; but we rebut it by informing
our friend of the _New Englander_ that there is a difference between
28.3 to the thousand and 1 to 28.3. Had he noticed this difference,
he would not have digged this pit for himself. The figures prove
nothing more than his own ignorance, putting the most charitable
construction on it.
We must give a specimen of the _New Englander's_ idea of fairness in
controversy:
"In his _Evenings with the Romanists_, Mr. Seymour,
anticipating the _tu quoque_ retort of the Roman Catholics,
said, 'If any man will name the worst of the Protestant
countries, I care not which, I will name a Roman Catholic
country still worse.' In this way, he proceeded to compare, in
1854, Saxony with Carinthia and sundry other regions on either
side, whereupon THE CATHOLIC WORLD has a violent outbreak of
mingled indignation and erudition at the extreme trickiness of
comparing Styria, Upper and Lower Austria, Carinthia, Salzburg,
Trieste, which are not countries at all, but simply the German
provinces of the Austrian Empire, and Bavaria, with countries
so different and wide apart as Norway, Sweden, Saxony, Hanover,
and Würtemburg; the regions in question seem to have been
selected for their approximate equality in population."
Well, as probably most people have not heard of the _countries_ of
Carinthia, Styria, etc., we confess we were "erudite" enough to know
and to point out that they were slices of Austria carved for the
occasion, and we were a little indignant at the carving operation.
"Show me a bad _Protestant country_ where you please, and I will
show you a _Roman Catholic country still worse_." Hence, we have,
according to Mr. Seymour:
PROTESTANT ROMAN CATHOLIC
COUNTRIES. COUNTRIES.
Norway, Austria,
Sweden, Austria,
Saxony, Austria,
Denmark, Austria,
Hanover, Austria,
We suppose this is all fair enough; but we cannot see it, our moral
vision being so infirm.
"But these regions seem to have been selected for their approximate
equality in population." So it seems, and our friend, Mr. S., has
_made it seem_ so in this fashion: "We compare Protestant Norway with
1,194,610, and Roman Catholic Styria (Austria) with 1,006,971. Again,
we compare Protestant Sweden with 2,983,144, and Roman Catholic
Upper and Lower (Austria) with 2,244,363." All very good; but now
let us go on: "We compare Protestant Saxony _with its population_,
and Roman Catholic Carinthia _with its population_. And we compare
Hanover _with its Protestant population_, and Salzburg _with its
Roman Catholic population_." "'Of course these countries are selected
_for their approximate equality in population_.'" In order that our
readers may see how much _equality_ there is in the populations of
these countries, we give the following
_Table of Populations._
PROTESTANT. CATHOLIC.
Saxony 2,343,994 Carinthia 342,469
Hanover 1,923,492 Salzburg 147,191
Saxony is only seven times greater than Carinthia. Hanover only
twelve times greater than Salzburg. Very excellent is Mr. Seymour in
"anticipating the _tu quoque_ of the Roman Catholics."
We now desire to call the attention of our readers to one very
remarkable phenomenon of the statistics. In Protestant England the
cities have a lower rate of illegitimacy than the country, while in
France the case is reversed, the countries are low and the cities
high. The following table will show this:
_Rates of Illegitimacy in City and Country Districts of England._
CITY. PR. CT. COUNTRY. PR. CT.
London 4.2 Nottingham 8.9
Liverpool 4.9 York, N. R. 8.9
Birmingham 4.7 Salop 9.8
Manchester 6.7 Westmoreland 9.7
Sheffield 5.8 Norfolk 10.7
Leeds 6.4 Cumberland 11.4
The rate for all England is 6.5.
_In France._
Rate in all France 7.2
Rate in cities 11.4
Rate in the country 4.4
From this we draw the conclusion that for Protestants city life is
decidedly the best, and it will be the duty of ministers to crowd
as many of their flocks as possible out of the polluted air of the
country into the moral atmosphere of the cities, and in England
to endeavor to concentrate them particularly in the very virtuous
communities of London and Liverpool. But we are sorry the gospel
trumpet gives such a feeble sound in the country districts, and we
hope some of the city clergy will get _a call_ to go into these
benighted districts, (abjuring the brown-stone fronts and high
salaries,) and bring them back at least to the level of the city
population, where there are _so many and varied temptations, and
such surprising purity_. Our Catholic people seem to flourish better
in the country, and we sincerely hope that those who come over from
Europe will get farms out West, instead of settling down in New-York
or other cities. We did have an idea that the influence of religion
was best exerted in the country, where the pastor knows each one
of his flock, and would rather have compared the country people in
Protestant lands with the country people in Catholic lands, to test
the influence of religion upon them; but as the _New Englander_ seems
to think the comparison is best made in the cities, we leave every
reflective person to form his own judgment. If the _New Englander_
is right, we fear our Lord was wrong in asking us to pray, "Lead us
not into temptation;" but Protestants should rather pray, "Lead us
into temptation," because it is precisely in temptation they are most
virtuous.
We did not intend to say a single word on the subject of murders,
etc., because we have not any complete statistics on the subject, and
because we do not like the labor of hunting them up, just at present;
but as this thing is paraded before us like a red rag before a bull,
we will just make one dash at it, and, giving it a blow sufficient to
dispatch it, leave the rest of the matter until we find it convenient
to take it up. Mr. Seymour gave the following items in his book:
Ireland 19 homicides to the million.
France 31 " " "
England 4 " " "
and we find the following table in the _New Englander_:
_To the Million of Population._
ENGLAND. FRANCE.
Convictions of murder and attempts 1½ 12
Convictions of infanticide in various degrees 5 10
We give the latest returns on the subject from the "Handbuch" for
France and from _Thom's Official Directory for England and Ireland_,
1869.
CONVICTIONS AND
SENTENCES TO DEATH. EXECUTIONS.
1864. France 9 5
1867. England and Wales 27 10
1867. Ireland 3 0
It will not require much ingenuity to see where the truth lies. "_Ex
uno disce omnes._"
We advise the _New Englander_ to subject in future the articles of
its unfortunate correspondent, of whom it is evidently ashamed, to
the revision of a professor of mathematics.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] _New Englander_, January, 1870. Article entitled, "Moral Results
of the Romish System."
_Handbuch der vergleichenden Statistik._ Leipzig. 1868.
_Historisch-politische Blätter._ Neuntes Heft, Munich. 1867. Article
entitled, "Allgemeine und confessionelle Statistik in Preussen."
[16] Including kingdom of Saxony, Brunswick, Hanover,
Mecklenburg-Schwerin, Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Saxe-Altenburg, Hesse,
and Bremen.
[17] Including Schleswig-Holstein.
[18] Saxony, Brunswick, Hanover, Mecklenburg-Schwerin,
Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Saxe-Altenburg, Hesse, and the city of Bremen.
TO THE RAINBOW.
All-glorious shape that fleet'st, wind-swept,
Athwart the empurpled, pine-girt steep,
That sinless, from thy birth hast wept,
All-gladdening, till thy death must weep;
That in eterne ablution still
Thine innocence in shame dost shroud,
And, washed where stain was none, dost fill
With light thy penitential cloud;
Illume with peace our glooming glen;
O'er-arch with hope yon distant sea,
To angels whispering, and to men,
Of her whose lowlier sanctity
In God's all-cleansing freshness shrined,
Disclaimed all pureness of her own,
And aye her lucent brow inclined,
God's handmaid meek, before his throne.
AUBREY DE VERE.
THE FIRST ŒCUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN.
NO. THREE.
The second month of the Vatican Council has seen no interruption
of its labors, nor of the intense interest which these labors seem
to excite on every side. In truth, the intensity of this interest,
especially among those who are not friendly to the council, would be
inexplicable, did we not feel that there is in reality a struggle
involved therein between the cause of religion and the cause of
irreligion. The meetings of the prelates are private and quiet. The
subjects under discussion are, at best, only vaguely known outside.
The names of the speakers may be learned. You may ascertain, if
you persist in the effort, that one bishop has a fine voice, and
was well heard; that another has an exceedingly polished delivery;
that a third is remarkable for the fluency, and a fourth for the
classic elegance with which he spoke in Latin. But all your efforts
will fail to elicit a report of the substance of the speech of
any prelate. These speeches are for the council itself--for the
assembled fathers to whom they are delivered--and are not for the
public at large, nor for Buncombe. They are under the guard of the
honor of the bishops and the oath of the officials, and are to be
kept secret until the acts of the council are lawfully published.
And yet "own correspondents," "occasional correspondents," "special
correspondents," and "reliable correspondents" from Rome have failed
not, day after day, to fill the columns of newspapers--Italian,
French, English, German, Belgian, and Spanish, and doubtless others
also, if we saw them--with their guesses and suspicions, their
tiny grains of truth and bushels of fiction. Ponderous columns of
editorial comments are often superadded, as it were, to increase the
amount of mystery and the mass of errors. Even the brief telegraphic
notices seem to be often controlled or made to work in this sense.
The telegrams from Rome itself ought to be, and we presume are,
correct. The author of a flagrant misstatement sent from this city
could be identified and held responsible. But it is said that,
outside of the limits of the Pontifical States, there is a news-agent
who culls from letters sent him for that purpose most of those
wonderful statements about the council which the telegraph wires are
made to flash over Europe, and even across the Atlantic to America.
The result of all this on the mind of one in Rome is ofttimes
amusing. During our civil war, we once found ourselves in a railway
car with an officer who had lost an arm. "Colonel," asked some one,
"in what battle were you wounded?" The colonel laid down the papers
he had been reading, sighed heavily, as if wearied, at least in
mind, and answered, "At the time, I thought it was at the battle
of Chancellorsville; but since I have been reading these newspaper
accounts of that battle, I have come to the conclusion that I was not
there at all." The newspaper reporters of the council labor under
far greater difficulties than did the army correspondents, and are
proportionately inaccurate.
Meanwhile, the council moves on in its direct course, like a
majestic steamer on the ocean, undisturbed by these winds blowing
alternately from every point of the compass, and unheeding the
wavelets they strive to raise. Within the council, every thing is
proceeding smoothly and harmoniously, some think more slowly than was
anticipated. But the fathers of the council feel they have a great
work to do conscientiously, and they are engaged earnestly and in the
fear of God in its performance.
As yet, a third public session of the council has not been held,
nor has any public announcement been made of the day when it may be
looked for. But the time is busily employed. We stated in our last
number that a _schema_ or draft on some doctrinal points had been
given to the prelates early in December, and had been learnedly
discussed, no less than thirty-five speakers having canvassed its
merits. At the conclusion of the discussion, the _schema_ was
referred to the Deputation, or Committee on Faith. All the discourses
had been taken down and written out by stenographers, with an
accuracy which astonished and elicited the commendation of such
bishops as examined the report of their own speeches. These reports
were likewise handed over to the committee, that no remark might be
overlooked or forgotten. All will be taken into consideration and
duly weighed, together with further remarks before the committee,
by the theologians who drew up the _schema_ in the Preparatory
Committee. The committee is charged to present the matured result to
the assembled congregation at the proper time, when it will again be
considered, perhaps discussed, and finally voted on.
On January 14th, the fathers again assembled in a general
congregation in the council-hall, altered and restricted as we have
already described it. Mass was celebrated at nine A.M., as is always
done, by one of the senior prelates. At its conclusion, the five
presiding cardinals took their place. Cardinal De Angelis, the chief
one, took his seat for the first time, and recited the usual opening
prayer.
At the previous congregations, five of the _deputations_ of the
council had been filled by election. The sixth--that on oriental
rites and on missions--still remained to be filled. Twenty-four
members were to be elected by ballot.
The election was held in the usual form. The bishops had brought with
them their ballots already written out. Several attendants passed,
two and two, along the seats of the prelates, one of them bearing a
small wicker-work basket. Each prelate deposited therein his ballot.
In a few moments all had quietly voted. The baskets were borne to the
secretary's table in the middle, in front of the presiding cardinals.
The ballots were placed in boxes prepared to receive them. The boxes
were closed and sealed, to be opened afterward before the regular
committee for this purpose, when the votes would be counted, and the
result ascertained.
The following prelates were elected:
Most Rev. Peter Bostani, Archbishop of Tyre and Sidon,
Maronite, Asia.
Most Rev. Vincent Spaccapietra, Archbishop of Smyrna, Asia.
Most Rev. Charles Lavigerie, Archbishop of Algiers, Africa.
Rt. Rev. Cyril Behnam-Benni, Bishop of Moussoul, (Syrian,)
Mesopotamia.
Rt. Rev. Basil Abdo, (Greek Melchite,) Bishop of Mariamne, Asia.
Rt. Rev. Joseph Papp-Szilagyi, (Roumenian,) Bishop of Gross
Wardein.
Most Rev. Aloysius Ciurcia, Archbishop of Irenopolis, Egypt.
Rt. Rev. Aloysius Gabriel de la Place, Bishop of Adrianople,
Bulgaria.
Rt. Rev. Stephen Louis Charbonneaux, Bishop of Mysore, India.
Rt. Rev. Thomas Grant, Bishop of Southwark, England.
Rt. Rev. Hilary Alcazar, Bishop, Vicar Apostolic of Tonking.
Rt. Rev. Daniel McGettigan, Bishop of Raphoe, Ireland.
Rt. Rev. Joseph Pluym, Bishop of Nicopolis, Bulgaria.
Most Rev. Melchior Nazarian, (Armenian,) Archbishop of Mardin,
Asia.
Rt. Rev. Stephen Melchisedeckian, (Armenian,) Bishop of
Erzeroum, Asia.
Rt. Rev. Augustin George Bar-Scinu, (Chaldean,) Bishop of
Salmas, Asia.
Rt. Rev. John Lynch, Bishop of Toronto, Canada.
Rt. Rev. John Marangò Bishop of Tenos, Greece.
Rt. Rev. Francis John Laouenan, Bishop, V.A. of Pondicherry,
India.
Rt. Rev. Anthony Charles Cousseau, Bishop of Angoulême, France.
Rt. Rev. Louis De Goesbriand, Bishop of Burlington, United
States.
Most Rev. Joseph Valerga, Patriarch of Jerusalem.
Rt. Rev. James Quin, Bishop of Brisbane, Australia.
Rt. Rev. Charles Poirier, Bishop of Roseau, West Indies.
His Eminence Cardinal Alexander Barnabò, Prefect of the
Propaganda, was appropriately named chairman of this committee.
No one in Rome, or elsewhere, could be found better qualified for
this position than this eminent and well-known cardinal, who has for
so many years, and so ably, presided over the congregation specially
charged with superintending the world-wide missions of the Catholic
Church. Born in the year 1798, he was in his early boyhood when
Napoleon annexed Italy to his empire. When the conqueror, in order
to bind the country to him, ordered that a number of the sons of the
noble and most respectable families of Italy should be sent to the
Ecole Polytechnique at Paris, to be educated, as it were, under his
own eye, the bright-eyed Alessandro Barnabò was selected with others.
He continued in that school until the fall of Napoleon restored
Pius VII. to Rome. The lad could soon return home likewise, and
devote himself, according to the aspirations of earlier years, to
the service of God in the sanctuary. He pursued his ecclesiastical
studies with distinction under De Rossi, Finotti, Graziosi, Palma,
and the giant professors of those years in Rome; became priest; and
naturally, with his learning, his energy, his amiability, was soon
selected to give assistance in the congregations for the transaction
of ecclesiastical business of the church in Rome. In due time he
became secretary to the Congregation of the Propaganda, and made
himself familiar with the affairs and men of the church throughout
the world. Subsequently raised to the cardinalate, amid the applause
of Rome, he succeeded Cardinal Fransoni in the prefectship of the
same Congregation of the Propaganda where he had been secretary, and
over which he, for many years, presided with an executive ability not
equalled since the days of Cardinal Capellarò, afterward Gregory XV.
This election having been finished, the bishops then entered on
the examination of matters of ecclesiastical discipline, several
_schemata_, or draughts, on which had been presented to them for
private study some time before. It is the ordinary usage of councils
to examine matters of faith and matters of discipline as nearly _pari
passu_ as can conveniently be done. It seems this usage will be
observed in the Vatican Council. There is a fundamental difference
between matters of faith and matters of discipline.
The faith of the church is ever one--that originally delivered
to her by the apostles. A council cannot alter it. The errors or
heresies prevailing at any time, the uncertainty in some minds, or
other needs of a period, may render it proper or necessary to give
a fuller, clearer, and more definite expression of that faith on
points controverted or misunderstood. The question always is, What
has really been the faith held in the past, from the beginning, by
the church on these points? The answer is sought in the words of Holy
Writ, in the past declarations of the church, whether in the decrees
of her councils or in the authoritative teachings of her sovereign
pontiffs, and in her traditions, as shown in the liturgies and forms
of prayer, in the testimony of her ancient doctors and fathers, and
in the concurrent teachings of the general body of her pastors and
her theologians. The whole field of evidence is searched, and the
answer stands forth in noon-day light; and the council declares
what really and truly has been and is the belief and teaching of
the Catholic Church on the question before it. And that declaration
is accepted by the Catholic world, not simply on the word of men,
however great their knowledge or accurate and scrutinizing their
research--nor simply on account of their holiness of life, their
sincerity of heart, or the impartiality of their decision. These are,
indeed, high motives, such as the world must always respect, and
perhaps enough ordinarily to satisfy human minds. But, after all,
they are but human motives. The Catholic is taught to base his belief
on a higher motive--the divine assurance of our Saviour himself that
he would always be with his church until the end of time, that he
would send the spirit of truth to teach her all truth and to abide
with her for ever, and that the gates of hell should never prevail
against her. Our ears catch the words of the Saviour, "Whosoever
heareth you, heareth me;--whosoever despiseth you, despiseth me;"
and we know that the church is thus made the pillar and ground of
truth, and that he that will not hear the church is like the heathen
and the publican. Hence on his divine word, which must stand though
the heavens and the earth pass away, we accept the declarations and
teachings of the church, through her councils, as the continuation of
the teaching of Christ himself.
Such was the examination made in the Council of Nice, A.D. 325; such
was the spirit of faith in which its words were received when it
declared the original and true belief of the church on the doctrines
of the trinity and incarnation, and condemned the novelties of Arius
and his followers. Such was the examination made in the councils of
Ephesus, Constantinople first and second, and of Chalcedon; such the
filial faith in which their decrees were received as they declared
more and more fully and explicitly the true Catholic doctrine of the
incarnation, and condemned successively the errors of the Nestorians,
the Monophysites, and the Monothelites. Such was the course pursued
in the various œcumenical councils which followed, down to and
including the Council of Trent. Such was the spirit in which their
declarations of the faith have ever been received. To us, the
Catholic Church of Christ is a living church, possessing, by the gift
of her divine Founder, authority to teach in his name all that he
taught, and ever guarded by his divine power from so falling under
the assaults of hell as to teach error to man in his name, instead of
the divine truth which he established and commissioned her to teach.
Her authority is ever the same--the same in the first and second
centuries as in the fourth and fifth, in the tenth and twelfth, in
the sixteenth, and in this nineteenth century; and it will continue
the same until time shall be no more.
It is thus that the Vatican Council takes up matters of faith, not
to add to the faith, but to declare it and to establish it, where
it has been impugned or doubted or misunderstood. The question is,
What are the points on which the errors and the needs of this age
render it proper and necessary to give a renewed, perhaps a fuller,
clearer, and more emphatic declaration of the doctrine of the church;
and in what form of words shall such declarations be expressed?
To all these questions the bishops are bringing their calmest and
maturest judgment. There will be, as there must and should be, a free
and frank interchange of views and arguments, in all sincerity and
charity, even as in the council of the apostles at Jerusalem there
was a great discussion before the definitive result was declared with
authority: _It hath seemed good to the Holy Ghost and to us._ When,
after such a discussion, the council shall give forth its decisions
and decrees, they will be accepted by the children of the church.
They will not be new doctrines. The Catholic heart and conscience
will recognize them as portions of that faith which has heretofore
ever been held. So true will this be, that we feel certain that one
of the points which many of the enemies of the church will bring
against this council, after its conclusion, will be, that it has done
comparatively nothing, that all that it taught was known and believed
among Catholics before it was convened. But the same thing was said
at the time of former councils, even of those which proved to be the
most important and influential in the history of Christianity.
But if faith is one and unchangeable, ecclesiastical discipline, at
least in most of its details, is not. The church has received power
to bind and to loose, and necessarily has authority to establish
a discipline, not simply for the purpose of securing order within
her fold, but to reach the further and higher purpose for which
she herself has been established and exists. Men must not merely
believe the truth speculatively and with a dead faith. They must,
by practical obedience to the law of God, by avoidance of sin
through the assistance of divine grace, by practice of virtue and
by holiness of life, be guided to keep the word which they have
heard, and so come to be saved. This practical guidance is her
discipline. The general principles on which her action is based are
the maxims and precepts of our divine Lord himself, the character
of the holy sacraments which he established in his church to be
the channels of grace, the institutions which came to her from the
apostles, and which she will ever preserve, and those principles of
right and morality which God has planted in the heart of man, and
of which her divine commission makes her the highest and the most
authoritative exponent. These principles are sacred and unchangeable.
But in applying them to men there must be a large body of laws and
regulations in detail. These are of her own institution, and form
her ecclesiastical discipline. She can revoke some, amend or alter
others, and add still others, as she judges such action to be best
adapted, under the ever-varying circumstances of the world, to secure
the great end for which she must ever labor--the salvation of souls.
As in all previous councils, so in this Vatican Council, these
matters of discipline have naturally and unavoidably come up for
consideration.
We said that, in the General Congregation, held on the 14th of
January, immediately after the election of which we have spoken, the
discussion of them commenced. It was continued in other congregations
held on January 15th, 19th, 21st, 22d, 24th, 25th, 27th, 28th, 31st;
February 3d, 4th, 7th, 8th, 10th, 14th, and 15th. It is not yet
closed. So far, ninety-five prelates have addressed the council on
the various points of discipline that came under examination.
If the discussion on matters of faith, of which we spoke in our last
number, was worthy of admiration for the vast learning it displayed,
and the intellectual powers of the speakers, this one on discipline
was even more interesting for its practical bearing and the personal
experience, so to speak, which it recorded. The questions came up
whether this or that law of discipline, established eight hundred
or five hundred or three hundred years ago, however wise and
efficacious at the period of its institution, could now be looked on
as sufficiently accomplishing its original purpose; or whether, on
the contrary, some new law, proposed for the consideration of the
prelates, might not now be wisely substituted for it. Bishops from
every part of the world brought the light of their own experience to
illustrate the subject. They bore, as it were, personal testimony
to the good effects and to the inconveniences of those rules and
laws in their respective dioceses. It was indeed most touching;
and it is said that the assembly was moved to tears as an eloquent
bishop, burning with zeal for the house of the Lord, told, with
accents of apostolic grief, of the woes of religion, and of disorders
that almost broke his heart--disorders against which he struggled,
seemingly in vain, because they arose from, or were supported by, the
intermeddling and abuses, and tyranny of the civil government, which
claims to be "free and progressive," but is ever grasping at things
ecclesiastical, ever striving to wield ecclesiastical power, and at
times pretending to uphold and defend such intrusion by pretext of
the laws and privileges of other times, when rulers and people alike
professed to fear God and to respect his church.
Every portion of the world was heard from. The East, through
Chaldeans, Maronites, and Armenians. The West, through Italian,
French, German, Hungarian, Spanish, Mexican, Peruvian, Brazilian,
English, Irish, and American bishops. The past was interrogated as to
the reasons and motives on which the olden laws were based, and the
special purposes they were intended to effect; and the present, as to
their actual observance and effects in this century. Even the future
was examined, so far as men may look into it, to conjecture what
course the world was taking; and what, on the other hand, would be
the most proper course for the church to pursue in her legislation,
in order to secure the fullest observance of the laws of God, and the
truest promotion of his glory.
We might well be assured that, even humanly speaking, such abundance
of knowledge and experience, such careful examination of all the
past and present bearings of the subjects, such a keen, calm
scrutiny of the future, would secure to the church from such men an
ecclesiastical legislation of the highest practical wisdom, as well
in what is retained as in what is changed or added as new. But, as
Catholics, we should never lose sight of that higher wisdom with
which the Holy Ghost, according to the words of Christ, and in answer
to the prayers of the Catholic world, will not fail to guide the
fathers of the council.[19]
It will thus be seen that during this month the council has steadily
pursued the even tenor of its way, without any public session. In
fact, no day has as yet been assigned even as the proximate date of
the third public session. No one outside the council seems able to
say precisely what progress has been made in discussing and disposing
of matters. Still less can we say when the council will close. There
seems to be a feeling that the discussions will continue until
June, when the almost tropical heat of a Roman summer must set in.
This will, of course, necessitate an adjournment until the close
of October, when the bishops would probably reassemble to continue
their work. Time only can show whether there is any truth in this
prognostication. Some of the bishops, of a more practical turn of
mind, or more desirous of returning soon to their dioceses, are
striving to find a mode of conciliating the most perfect freedom
of discussion with a more rapid progress in the matters before the
council. The most sacred right in a council is freedom to state
one's views on matters in controversy, and to uphold them by all
the arguments in one's power. This right has so far been most fully
enjoyed and freely used. No plan that would take it away would be
entertained.
Every day in Rome now convinces a sojourner more and more strongly of
the unity, the catholicity, and the sanctity of the church of Christ.
Faith that heretofore was almost extinct beneath the ashes of worldly
thoughts, here glows again and bursts into a bright flame. Elsewhere
we believed these truths; here we seem to behold with our eyes, and
to touch with our hands their reality. No one can be privileged
to mingle with the bishops here without being impressed with their
perfect unity in all things declared and taught by the church, and
with the undisguised readiness or rather firm intention of all, to
accept and to hold and to teach all that, under the light of the Holy
Ghost, shall be declared of faith in this Vatican Council. If, during
the discussion and examination, they may take different views, this
does not disturb the cordial affection among them. They can array
their strongest arguments without ever descending to personalities.
They are chary of indulging even in witticism calculated to relieve
the solemnity of the debate by a smile. In all the discussion there
is not only the highest gentlemanly courtesy, but also that true
charity and union of hearts which must accompany that unity of faith
which they solemnly professed to hold, and which must, if possible,
be confirmed and strengthened in this Vatican Council.
To be fully impressed with this perfect unity, one must be privileged
to mingle somewhat with the bishops. But even the cursory glance of a
stranger sees the evidence of the catholicity of the church presented
by the gathering of so many bishops from so many portions of the
world around the central chair of unity. We have already spoken of
this in our former articles. We will now give a summary, almost
official, which has just been made out, classifying the prelates who
have attended, according to their nationalities and dioceses:
EUROPE.
Austria and Tyrol, 10
Bohemia and Moravia, 5
Illyria and Dalmatia, 13
Hungary and Gallicia, 20
Belgium, 6
France, 84
Germany, North Confederation, 10
Germany, South Confederation, 9
England, 14
Ireland, 20
Scotland, 2
Greece, 5
Holland, 4
Lombardy, 3
Venice, 8
Naples, Kingdom of, 65
Sicily and Malta, 13
Sardinia, Kingdom of, 25
Tuscany and Modena, 19
States of the Church, including cardinals,
and also all the bishops from sees in
those portions seized by Victor Emmanuel, 143
Portugal, 2
Switzerland, 8
Spain, 41
Turkey in Europe, 12
Russia, an administrator of a diocese who
has escaped, 1
ASIA.
China and Japan, 15
Hindostan and Cochin China, etc., 18
Persia, 1
Turkey in Asia, 49
AFRICA.
Algeria, 3
Canary Islands and the Azores, 3
Egypt and Tunis, 3
Senegambia, 1
Southern Africa, 4
OCEANICA.
Australia and the Islands of the Pacific
Ocean, 14
AMERICA.
Dominion of Canada, and other British
Provinces of North America, 16
United States, 49
Mexico, 10
Guatemala, 4
West Indies, 5
New Granada, 4
Ecuador, 4
Guyana, 1
Venezuela, 2
Peru, 3
Brazil, 6
Bolivia, 2
Argentine Republic, 5
Chili, 3
That is, Europe, 541
America, 114
Asia, 83
Africa, 14
Oceanica, 14
---
766
Divided according to rites, they stand as follows:
Latin Rite, 706
Greek Rite, 3
Greek Bulgarian, 1
Greek Melchite, 10
Greek Roumenian, 2
Greek Ruthenian, 1
Armenian, 21
Chaldean, 10
Syrian, 7
Maronite, 4
Coptic, 1
---
766
Truly, it is such a gathering as no human power could assemble. Only
the Catholic Church could effect it. No wonder that strangers from
every clime, especially devout Catholics, have flocked to Rome these
months as they never flocked before.
The splendor of the ceremonies of our holy church, as celebrated
in Rome, especially in St. Peter's, is unequalled in the whole
world. A gray-haired ambassador was present some years ago in St.
Peter's at the celebration of high mass by the sovereign pontiff
on Easter-Sunday. He had been present at two imperial and several
royal coronations, where every effort was made to give a national
magnificence to the ceremony; had witnessed several royal marriages,
and grand court celebrations of every character. But he declared
that every thing he had ever seen sank into insignificance before
the grandeur and the sublime magnificence of that high mass. Never
were the religious celebrations of Rome so magnificent as they have
been and are during this council, when the sanctuary is filled with
more than half a thousand prelates, Latin and oriental, in their
rich and varied vestments. Strangers and Romans alike crowd the
grand basilica. Yet the stranger often fails to see, what the Roman
feels, as it were, by instinct, that all this effort at splendor
and magnificence is purely and wholly a tribute of man to honor the
religion which God in his love and mercy has given, and that no
part of it is for man's own honor. If the stranger would realize
this truth, which is the soul of the ceremonial of the church, he
has but to follow these prelates from the sanctuary to their homes,
and witness the simplicity and self-denial of their private lives.
Perhaps he will be shocked at the unexpected discovery of what he
would term discomfort and poverty.
In such personal simplicity and self-denial the sovereign pontiff
himself gives the example in the Vatican. The palace is large--very
large; but the libraries, the archives, the various museums, and
the galleries and halls of paintings, of statuary, and of art,
occupy no small portion of it. Other portions of it are devoted to
the vast workshops of the unrivalled Roman mosaics, others still to
the mint. The offices of the secretary of state, and the bureaus of
other departments are there. The Sixtine, and Pauline, and other
chapels are found in it; and the various officers and attendants of
the court have many of them their special apartments. The pontiff
has his suite of rooms, as well those of state as those that are
private. You enter a large, well-proportioned hall, rich with gilding
and arabesque and fresco paintings. A company of soldiers might
manœuvre on its marble floor. It is large enough to receive the
fullest suite of a sovereign who would visit the pope. Just now,
eight or ten soldiers in a rich military uniform are lounging here,
as it were, for form's sake. In the next room--a smaller and less
ornamented one, yet in something of the same style, and with a few
benches for furniture--a servant will take your hat and cloak. In
a third room, you find some ecclesiastical attendants. You pass
through a fourth room of considerable size. It is now empty. At times
a consistory or meeting of the cardinals for business is held here;
at other times, an ascetic Capuchin father, with his tonsured head,
his long beard, his coarse brown woollen cassock fastened around the
waist by a cord, and with sandalled feet, preaches to the cardinals
and bishops and officials of the court, and to the pope himself. With
the freedom and bravery of a man who, to follow Christ, has given up
the world, and hopes for nothing from man, and fears nothing save to
fail in his duty, he reminds those whom men honor of their duties and
obligations, and in plain, ofttimes unvarnished language, will not
shrink from speaking the sternest, strongest home truths of religion.
You pass through the silent hall in reverence. A fourth hall, with a
better carpeting, (for it is winter,) and tolerably warmed, is the
ante-chamber proper, where those are waiting who are to be admitted
to an audience of the pope. In another smaller room, opening from
this one, those are waiting whose turn it will be to enter next; or
perhaps a group is assembled, if the pope will come out hither to
receive them, as he sometimes does, when the audience is simply one
not of business, but simply for the honor of being presented to him
and of receiving his blessing. All these which we have enumerated
are the state or ceremonial apartments. From the last one, you pass
to the private office or sitting-room of the sovereign pontiff. It
is a plain room, about fifteen feet by twenty, not lofty, lighted by
a single window, and without a fire-place. Two or three devotional
paintings hang against the walls; a stand supports a small and
exquisitely chiselled statue of the Blessed Virgin. At one side of
the room, on a slight platform, is the pope's arm-chair, in which he
is seated, clothed in his white woollen _soutane_. Before him is his
large writing-table, with well-filled drawers and pigeon-holes. On it
you see pens, ink, sand, and paper, his breviary, perhaps, and one
or two volumes, and an ivory crucifix. A small case in the corner of
the room contains some other books, some objects of _vertu_, medals,
and such articles as he designs to give as mementoes. There is a thin
carpet on the floor, and a couple of plain wooden chairs are near the
table. Here Pius IX. ordinarily spends many hours each day, as hard
worked as any bank clerk. He is exceedingly regular in his habits.
He rises before five in summer, at half-past five in winter. In half
an hour he passes to his private chapel and gives an hour and a half
to his devotions, and to the celebration of two masses; the first
by himself, the second by one of his chaplains. A cup of chocolate
and a small roll of bread suffices for his breakfast. He at once
passes to his office, and works for one hour alone and undisturbed.
Then commence the business audiences of the heads or secretaries
of the various departments, civil and ecclesiastical; a long and
tedious work, in which he gives a conscientious attention to every
detail. By half-past eleven A.M., he commences to receive bishops
and ecclesiastics or strangers from abroad. This usually ends by one
P.M., when he retires for his midday devotions, and for his dinner,
and repose. This may be followed by more work, alone in his office.
At half-past three in winter, at half-past four in summer, if the
weather allows it, he gives an hour and a half to a drive and a walk.
Returning home, he takes a slight repast, and again the audiences
for business or for strangers commence, and last until after eight.
At nine punctually he retires, to commence again the same routine
the next day. Such are his regular days. At other times he must be
in church, or must visit one institution or establishment or another
in the city, spend an hour or two in ceremony or business, and hurry
home. Near this sitting-room is a smaller room where he takes his
meals alone; for the pope neither gives nor accepts entertainments.
His table does not cost more than thirty cents a day. Not far off is
his sleeping chamber, small as the other, with a narrow bed and hard
couch. Truly, his is no life of ease and pampered indulgence. There
is a stern meaning in his title, _Servant of the Servants of God_.
The same simplicity and austereness marks the private life of the
cardinals. There is now, indeed, an outward show, for they rank as
princes of the blood royal. There are the richly-ornamented carriages
drawn by brilliantly-harnessed horses, and attended by servants in
livery. There are the decorated state ante-chambers and halls. All
these things are for the public, and are prescribed by rule. If a
cardinal has not himself the means to support them, he would be
entitled to a state salary for the purpose of keeping them up. But
back of all these may be found a plain, almost unfurnished room, in
which he studies and writes, and a bed-chamber--we have seen some not
ten feet by twelve, carpetless and fireless. Oftentimes, too, the
cardinal lives in the religious house of some community, and then
much of the state can be dispensed with. But for the red calotte
which he wears on his head, you often could not distinguish him from
the other clergymen in the establishment.
The same spirit seems to characterize the bishops who are now
gathered together in Rome. All their splendor is in the church
and for religion. In their private life they certainly do not
belong to that class of strangers from whose lavish expenditures
in fashionable life the Romans will reap a rich harvest. They live
together in groups, mostly in religious houses or colleges, or in
apartments, which several club together to take at moderate rates.
Thus the Chaldean patriarch, a venerable, white-bearded prelate, near
eighty years of age, with the other bishops of his rite, and their
attendant priests, all live together in one monastery, not far from
St. Peter's. Whatever the weather, they go on foot in their oriental
dress to the council, and when the meeting is over, return on foot.
Their stately, oriental walk, their calm, thoughtful countenances,
the colored turbans on their heads, the mixture of purple and black
and green and red, in their flowing robes, set off by the gold of
their massive episcopal chains, and their rich crosses sparkling with
diamonds, never fail to attract attention. But one should see them
in their home, which they have made as Eastern as they could. The
orientals are exceedingly temperate in their meals, and as regards
wine, are almost "teetotalers." But they do love to smoke. As the
visitor is ushered into a room, where the only piece of furniture
is a broad cushioned seat running round along the walls, on which
are seated a dozen or more of long-bearded men, their feet gathered
up under them in oriental fashion, and each one smoking a pipe a
yard long, and filling the atmosphere with the clouds of Latakia, he
almost thinks himself in Mossoul. The pipes are gravely withdrawn on
his entrance, that the right hand may go to the forehead, and the
heads may bow. The welcome, _schalom_, "peace," is gravely spoken,
with perhaps a smile. He takes a seat on the divan and is asked
to take a pipe, if so minded. From time to time, the silence is
interrupted by some remark in a full, sedate voice, and intensely
guttural words of Chaldee or Arabic, whether on the last debate of
the council or on some new phase of the Eastern question, it is
probable the visitor will never learn. But he has caught a glimpse of
quiet Chaldean life. Fourteen or fifteen of the Armenian prelates,
with their patriarch, live in a not very dissimilar manner. But the
Armenians are much more akin to Europeans in their education and
character of thought. They are good linguists. All of them speak
Italian fluently, many of them French, and some a little English.
Their society is agreeable and instructive, and is much sought.
In like manner eighteen of the American bishops are domiciled in the
American College. Some others are with the Lazarists at their mother
house, others again are at St. Bridget's or St. Bartholomew's, or
with the Dominicans. Those that have taken apartments have contrived
with a very few exceptions to live together in groups. The English,
the Irish, in fact, nearly all the bishops, have followed the same
plan. Some laughingly say that their college days have come back to
them, with their regularity and their accommodations. But these are
not quite as agreeable at fifty or sixty as they were at the age
of twenty. Yet all feel, and none more thoroughly than the bishops
themselves, that this life of comparative retirement, of quiet and
study, and of continued and closest intercourse with each other, must
tend to prepare them, and to qualify them for the great work on which
they are engaged.
Another special feature of Rome in this season, dependent on the
council, is the frequency of sermons in various languages, and of
various religious services in the churches. Rome as the centre of
Catholicity is never without a certain number of clergymen from every
nation of Europe. Each winter, too, sees thousands of visitors,
Catholics, Protestants, and unbelievers, crowding her streets, drawn
hither by motives of religion, of science, of curiosity, or of
fashion. It was natural that visitors should be enabled to listen to
the truths of our holy religion preached in their own languages. This
year it could be done much more fully, and the opportunity has not
been allowed to pass by unregarded. For example, "The Pious Society
for Missions," an excellent community of priests, established in
this city over thirty years ago by the saintly Abbate Pallotta, has
the custom of celebrating the festival and octave of Epiphany each
year by appropriate religious exercises, and introducing sermons
in several languages. This year they selected the larger and noble
church of San Andrea della Valle, and continued their exercises for
eleven days. The following was the programme which they followed:
At 5.30 A.M., mass; at 6 A.M., Italian sermon and benediction; at
9 A.M., high mass of the Latin rite; at 10 A.M., high mass in an
oriental rite, (Armenian, Greek, Copt, Chaldean, Roumenian, Melchite,
Bulgarian, Maronite, Armenian again, Syrian, Ambrosian;) at 11 A.M.,
a sermon in some foreign language--that is, Polish once, German
twice, Spanish twice, English six times, (Archbishop Spalding,
Father Hecker, and Bishop McGill, Bishop Moriarty of Kerry, Bishop
Ullathorne, and Archbishop Manning were the English preachers.) At
1.30 P.M. each day, a French sermon by a bishop; at 3.30 P.M., an
Italian sermon and benediction; at 6 P.M., another sermon in Italian
with benediction. The sermons were all, of course, of a high order
of merit. The church was crowded morning, forenoon, afternoon, and
evening.
French sermons have been continued ever since, mostly by the eloquent
Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, and English sermons on Sundays and
Wednesdays by F. Burke, an eloquent Dominican of St. Clement's, and
by Monsignor Capel. During Lent there will be an additional series of
English sermons, to be delivered by the American bishops.
On the 20th of January, the American episcopate and the American
College received from the Holy Father a very signal and agreeable
mark of his good will. It was meant, one might almost think, as a
return visit on his part, in the only way which court etiquette
allows. He chose the church of the college as the place where he
would pronounce a decree in the cause of the venerable servant of
God, John Juvenal Ancina, Bishop of Saluzzo, in Northern Italy.
In that church he would, of course, be surrounded by the American
prelates, priests, and students, and from the church would pass to
the college.
John Juvenal Ancina was born in Fossano, in Piedmont, in 1545.
Having finished his course of collegiate studies, he graduated in
medicine, and for years practised that profession with great ability,
and greater charity toward the poor, to whom he devoted himself. In
course of time he lost every near relation except one brother. Both
determined with common accord to enter the sanctuary, and came to
Rome for that purpose, and there joined the Oratorians under St.
Philip Neri. John spent years in the priesthood, honored for his
learning, and still more for his piety and sweetness, and zeal in
the ministry, which he exercised in Rome, in Naples, and in Turin.
Much against his will, and only after repeated injunctions from the
pope, he was forced to accept the charge of the diocese of Saluzzo.
He had been the intimate and dear friend of St. Francis de Sales
for years of his priesthood, and their friendship continued until
the close of his short and fruitful episcopacy. He died in 1604,
and St. Francis preached his funeral eulogy. He is the one with
whom the saint had the oft-cited exchange of puns complimentary,
"Tu vere _Sal es_." "Immo, tu _Sal_ et _Lux_." The reputation of
the virtues of such a man could not die with him. Not long after
his death, the episcopal authority of Saluzzo allowed and directed
that full testimony should be taken under oath, from those who lived
with him and knew him well, as to the truth of his holy life. This
was fully and searchingly done throughout the diocess of Saluzzo.
Similar investigations were instituted, under similar authority,
in Rome, in Naples, and in Turin, where at different times he had
lived, and wherever such testimony could be found. The original
depositions--and they are a large mass, and are still extant--were
sent to Rome. The pontiff directed that they should be laid before
the proper tribunal--the Congregation of Rites. They were found to
fulfil the requirements of the canons, and to present such a _primâ
facie_ case as would authorize that congregation to proceed. This
meant that, after a certain lapse of time, during which affection and
human feelings might die out, and any hidden truth might work its way
to the light, the congregation should go over the ground a second
time, taking through other persons a second and independent mass of
testimony. This was done, and its results were compared with those of
the first mass of testimony. There was no contradiction; but on the
contrary, full and ample confirmation. Still, the opinion and belief
of the witnesses was not yet deemed of itself sufficient. Taking
the facts of his life, his words and writings, and acts and habits,
as they were thus proved, they were all studied out and carefully
weighed in the scales of the sanctuary. There was no hurry--there
never is at Rome, as this council fully shows--and the decision
of the congregation was not given until the year 1767. Then came
many political vicissitudes; first of northern Italy, as it passed
from the domination of one power to that of another, and later, the
convulsions of all Europe consequent on the French revolution. The
whole matter slumbered until 1855, when it was again taken up. The
examination of the life and acts was gone over again as before. Step
by step matters advanced until last November, at a general meeting
of the Congregation of Rites, held in the presence of his holiness,
it was decided _That the servant of God, John Juvenal Ancina, had in
his lifetime practised the theological virtues of faith, hope, and
charity, toward God and his neighbor, and the cardinal virtues of
prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, and their accessory
virtues, in an heroic degree_. It was to announce this decision,
in a formal decree, that the pontiff came on the 29th January, the
festival of St. Francis de Sales, to the church of the American
College. He arrived at ten A.M., and was received at the portal
of the college by the rector of the college, and all the American
bishops now at Rome, and by a dozen others, Irish, English, Scotch,
and Italian. He proceeded at once to the church, which, though
small, is one of the handsomest in Rome for its beautiful marbles
and fine statuary. The pontiff knelt, while one of his chaplains
celebrated mass. The bishops, all the American priests in the city,
the students of the college, and many Catholics from the United
States, and some other strangers, filled the little church. After the
mass, the pontiff ascended to the throne prepared for him. Cardinal
Patrizi, prefect of the Congregation of Rites Cardinal Capalti, who
had special charge of this case, and Cardinal Barnabò, protector
of the college, stood next to him. The formal decree was read,
proclaiming the decision in virtue of which we shall henceforth say,
"_the_ VENERABLE _John Juvenal Ancina_."[20] The superior general of
the Oratorians, to which community, as we have said, he belonged,
returned thanks in an eloquent and brief discourse in Latin. The
pope then, taking his theme from the life of the VENERABLE bishop,
addressed to the prelates present a short and feeling discourse, in
Italian, on the character and virtues which should adorn a bishop.
Though he did not mention the council, it was evident that the
thought of it filled his heart. He spoke of the servant of God whom
he had just declared venerable as imitating the apostles. They, from
being fishermen, were called to be fishers of men; and he too, from
being a physician of the body, was called to be a physician of souls.
This holy man he showed to be a model of bishops, and enlarged on the
text of St. Gregory the Great, that a bishop should be "in thought,
pure; in deeds, eminent; in silence, discreet; in word, useful; in
the contemplation of heavenly things, elevated." "Who will ascend
to the mountain of the Lord? Let him be of pure hands and clean
heart." Let him be single-minded, doing every thing for the glory
of God, without any admixture of human motives. Let him be first in
all good works, so as to be a pattern to his flock. He did not speak
of that silence which means cowardice, or indifference to whatever
evil goes on in the world. There is a time to speak, as well as a
time to be silent. The bishop must be useful in words, speaking out
boldly whenever it is for the advantage of the Christian people. He
must be a man of prayer. What is the origin of the evils which we
see in the world? The prophet answers, "Because there is no one who
thinketh in his heart." The pontiff dwelt for a few moments on all
these points, and in conclusion quoted St. Gregory again, who said,
"I have given you a beautiful picture of a bishop, though the painter
be bad." "What the saint says out of humility, I must say," he added,
"of myself in truth. But pray for me that God may give me strength
to bear the heavy weight he has laid upon me. Let us pray for each
other. Do you pray for me; and I call on the Almighty to bless you,
and your dioceses, and your people."
The words of the pontiff were simple, because full of devotion and
truth; and the delivery was exquisitely perfect, in the earnest,
heart-felt, subdued tones of his voice, and the chaste dignity of his
gesture. All felt that the pontiff spoke from his paternal heart.
The Bishop of Saluzzo, the successor in this century of the VENERABLE
_Ancina_, returned thanks; and all proceeded from the church to the
grand hall of the college. The cloister of the court-yard and the
broad stairways and corridors were adorned with drapery, tapestry,
and evergreens. A splendid life-size portrait of his holiness, just
painted by the American artist, Healy, for the exhibition about
to be opened, had been sent to the college for the occasion, and
was placed in a prominent position. In the hall, the pontiff again
spoke a few kind and paternal words, and Archbishop Spalding, in
the name of the American church, clergy and laity, made an address
to the pope in Latin. The discourse was excellent in language and
happy in thought. His grace referred to the fact that Pius VI. had
given us our first bishop, (Dr. Carroll, of Baltimore;) Pius VII. had
multiplied dioceses, and given us our first archiepiscopal see; and
he, Pius IX., had established six other archiepiscopal sees. So that
in a country where sixty years ago there was but one bishop, there
are now sixty, three fourths of whom are here in Rome to attend the
general council. Toward the end of his discourse, the good archbishop
brought in a few touches of true American wit. This is what Italians
would scarcely venture on, on such an occasion, and it was to them
unexpected. Even the pope looked for a moment puzzled, as if he could
not conjecture what was coming; but as he caught the point, a smile
spread over his countenance, and the smile developed into a hearty
laugh. As for the Italian prelates, at first they wondered--as who
would not, at an American joke in the language of Cicero?--but at
last not all their stately dignity could resist its force, and they
laugh yet, as they repeat it.
The bishops, the superiors, and students of the college, the priests
who were present, and the laity, approached to offer their homage to
the pontiff and receive his blessing. This over, he departed, but not
until he had declared that he was delighted, more than delighted,
with his visit.
ROME, February 17, 1870.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] We have studiously avoided entering on the specific subjects
of the debate among the fathers. So far as they have come to our
knowledge, we are of course not allowed to speak of them, at
least at present. But we trust we shall not be held as violating
any confidence when we repeat a statement made to us on the best
authority. Many of the fathers of the Vatican Council seem well
acquainted with our Second Plenary Council of Baltimore. More
than once it was referred to with special commendation as having
thoroughly seized the character of this modern age in which we live.
And the desire was expressed that its special regulations on one
or two points for the church in the United States could be made
universal laws for the whole church.
[20] When it shall have been established with the evidence required
by the Congregation of Rites that it has pleased God to work two
miracles, of the first class, after the death of this venerable
servant, through his intercession, a decree may be issued stating
that fact, and allowing his beatification. When two other miracles of
the same class shall have been proved with the same certainty to have
occurred, after his beatification, the blessed servant of God may be
canonized and enrolled among the saints of the church.
FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.
For the sake of making a point against the Catholic Church,
Protestants and indifferents are frequently so poverty-stricken
in authorities as to quote Voltaire. When told that they cite the
authority of a man who was unprincipled, cynical, and impious, they
answer that such an estimate is simply the result of a bigoted and
narrow-minded prejudice, and that the great French philosopher was
liberal, honorable, and conscientious.
An incident has lately occurred in France to call forth the
deliberate opinion of a body of men eminently fitted from superior
education, elevated position, and freedom from any possible suspicion
of Catholic bias, to form an estimate which to our friends above
referred to must be looked upon as authoritative and decisive,
although open to the objection of being too mild and qualified.
Some fifteen years ago, a proposition was started in a Paris daily
newspaper for the popular collection, in small sums, of a sufficient
amount to erect a statue to Voltaire in the French capital. When the
success of the subscription seemed sufficiently assured, petition
was made to the government to grant a site on some public square on
which to place the statue. After long delay, and some appearance of
unwillingness, the petition was finally granted; but the announcement
of this fact was immediately followed by the presentation of a large
number of protests against the erection of the statue, which came
in from all parts of the empire. One of these protests, signed by a
thousand inhabitants of the departments of Le Gard and the Drôme, and
the city of Nîsmes, and addressed to the senate, was referred to a
committee of senators for consideration and report. The committee has
made a report, which is understood to be written by M. Silvestre de
Sacy, well known as former chief editor of the _Journal des Débats_,
and a distinguished member of the French Academy. From it we learn
something of the petition, but not as much as we would like to
know. After a recital of the facts we have stated, the report goes
on to say: Undoubtedly, the government had authority to refuse the
permission asked, and still has the power to withdraw it. The right
of private persons to award statues to whomsoever they please, and
to meet and raise money to pay for them, is certainly lawful. But
the public streets and squares are not their property. The number
of these persons does not increase their right. They act, in such
a matter, solely for themselves, and not for the whole country, of
which they have no right to pretend to be the representatives. Among
the serious considerations which might have made the government
hesitate, is the very name Voltaire, which has two significations:
the one glorious for the human intellect and for French literature;
the other for which Voltaire himself would now blush, dragging down
as it does the great historian and great poet to the miserable
calling of an impious and cynical pamphleteer. But it appears that
the subscribers have obtained the permission asked for. The site
has been selected, and the statue will be erected in one of the
squares of the new _Rue de Rennes_. The petition before us protests
against this permission, and prays the intervention of the senate
with the government to obtain the withdrawal of a permission which
it characterizes in the strongest terms. These petitioners see but
one Voltaire--an impious, immoral Voltaire, hostile to all religion;
a Voltaire who conspired with all the enemies of France for the
humiliation and ruin of his country; a Voltaire who, Prussian at
Rosbach with King Frederick, Russian with Catherine II., against
unfortunate Poland, the violator of our purest glory in his poem
_Jeanne d'Arc_, the enemy of liberty, equality, and fraternity, as
may be shown from a hundred passages in his correspondence and
writings, an abject courtier and a servile adulator of kings. "I
ask," says the first petitioner, speaking for all the others--"I ask
that the image of this man shall not appear upon our public squares,
to cast insult in the face of the country. I ask that this disgrace
be spared France." The senatorial report then goes on to say that
there are two Voltaires--the Voltaire described in the petition, and
the Voltaire who wrote _La Henriade_, who, by various masterpieces
in poetry and the drama, placed himself near Horace, Corneille, and
Boileau; Voltaire the historian, to whom we are indebted for _Le
Siècle de Louis XIV._, the essay _Sur l'Esprit et sur les Mœurs
des Nations_, and that perfect model of rapid and lively narration,
_L'Histoire de Charles XII._; the Voltaire, in fine, whose name could
not be covered with oblivion without obscuring some of the glories of
French literature. No, continues the report, whatever may be asserted
to the contrary, all of Voltaire is not in some shafts of satire
which fell from the ill-humor of the partisan and the angry writer,
in pamphlets against religion, as poor in good taste and good sense
as in true science, in a poem in which it is most sad to see wit
and talent pressed into the disreputable service of ornamenting the
wretched obscenity of the argument; all of Voltaire is not in single
passages selected from a correspondence of sixty years. If in these
were the whole of Voltaire, his memory would long since have been
accursed or dead, his works long since have been without readers or
publishers, and the idea of raising a statue in his honor would have
occurred to no one. Although the avowal is a painful one, it must be
confessed that Voltaire has himself and the deplorable errors of his
genius alone to blame for the bitterness of the recriminations which
injure his brilliant fame. He has too often been unjust to others not
to expect that others should be unjust to him. It is his own fault
if his name recalls to pious thinkers, to timid hearts, to the faith
of ardent souls, only the writer who would not respect in others the
noble hopes he himself had lost. Voltaire desired to be the leader
of incredulity. He was; and now he pays the penalty for it. Something
equivocal remains, and will ever remain associated with his fame.
Respectable people can consent to award him eulogies and statues
only with distinctions and reserves. The declared enemy of disorder
and demagogism, he is sometimes invoked as a seditious tribune, as
a burner of churches; and one of the most elegant minds has left in
his writings, along with a great many marvellous works, food for
passions which, in his better days, his good taste and his good sense
would energetically condemn. The report concludes against asking the
revocation of the permission granted by the government, on the ground
that it will be understood by all that the honor of a statue is
conceded not to the Voltaire with reason petitioned against, but to
the author whose works are subjects of legitimate national pride.
* * * * *
In the year 400, a Buddhist priest, Fah-Hian, commenced the long
journey from China to India and back, and left a narrative of his
travels. A century later, a similar journey was made by another
Buddhist priest, Sung-Yun, who also left an account of his foreign
experiences. Singularly enough, these works have survived all
these centuries, and have long been objects of great interest to
the oriental scholars of Europe. Remusat and Klaproth published a
translation of Fah-Hian at Paris in 1836. This work, in quarto,
was soon followed by an English translation by Laidley. Many
serious errors, especially in geography, were pointed out in these
translations by St. Julien, and Professor Neumann also gave a
translation of the two Buddhist works, in the _Zeitschrift für
historische Theologie_, vol. iii., 1833. Meantime, additional light
had been thrown upon the subject by such publications as Edkin's
Notice of Buddhism in China, and General Cunningham's work; and a
full and amended version of the Buddhist priests' travels, together
with an interesting treatise on Buddhism, is now published in London
by Trübner & Co. Its title is, _Travels of Fah-Hian and Sung-Yun,
Buddhist Pilgrims, from China to India_, (400-518 A.D.,) translated
from the Chinese by Samuel Beal.
* * * * *
The completion of Alfred von Reumont's History of the City of Rome,
(_Geschichte der Stadt Rom_,) which has now reached its third volume,
is looked for by European scholars with great interest. It is
universally praised as a work of remarkable research, learning, and
unusual impartiality.
* * * * *
_Testamenta XII Patriarcharum, ad fidem Cantabrigiensis edita;
accedunt lectiones cod. Oxoniensis. The Testaments of the XII.
Patriarchs; an Attempt to estimate their Historic and Dogmatic
Worth._ By R. Sinker, M.A., Chaplain of Trinity College. Cambridge:
Deighton, Bell. London: Bell & Daldy. 1869.
An elegant edition of this apocryphal work, carefully revised and
annotated from manuscripts preserved at Cambridge and Oxford, with
a learned and judicious treatise. Ecclesiastical antiquity has left
us but little positive information concerning these testaments. We
are certain that the testaments of the twelve patriarchs were known
to Tertullian and to Origen, but we do not know who wrote them. Was
the author a Jew, a Christian from among the Gentiles, or a Christian
of Jewish race? Was he an Ebionite or a Nazarene? Is the work all
from one hand, or is it interpolated? On all these points there is a
difference of opinion. Equally in doubt are the points, When was the
book written? for what class of readers was it specially intended?
and what was the author's object in writing it? Mr. Sinker discusses
the subject with great firmness, and concludes, but without any
dogmatism, that the author was a Jewish Christian of the sect of the
Nazarenes, and that the work was composed at a period between the
taking of Jerusalem by Titus and the revolt of the Jew Barcochba
in 135. One of the most important portions of Mr. Sinker's work
is on the _Christology_ of the Testaments, (pages 88-116.) He is
satisfied that the author expresses his belief in the mystery of the
incarnation, and he sets forth the doctrine of the Testaments on
the Messiah, king and pontiff, descendant of Juda and Levi, priest
and victim, Lamb of God, Saviour of the world, etc. etc. The work
really merits a longer notice, and should be in the hands of all
who can profit by its perusal. Many important questions concerning
the primitive history of Christianity, obscured by the fallacious
conjectures of anti-Christian critics, may have much light thrown
upon them.
* * * * *
Some of the English periodicals are not especially brilliant
or profound in their appreciation of and comments upon foreign
literature. Take the London _Athenæum_, for instance, the same
periodical which last year approved with such an air of wisdom the
author who undertook to revive the old exploded fable of a female
pope. It informs its readers, (number of 6th November last,) "The
Man with the Iron Mask continues to occupy the learned in search of
problematical questions. M. Marius Topin has come to the conclusion
that Lauzun was the man. We believe this theory has already been
advocated." Now, from the most superficial reading of M. Topin's
work, (provided the reader knows a little more French than the
_Athenæum_,) it is perfectly clear that, although M. Topin speaks
of Lauzun as a prisoner at Pignerol, he expressly says that it is
impossible to think seriously of him as a candidate for the iron
mask, for the simple reason that Lauzun was set at liberty some years
before the death of the masked prisoner.
* * * * *
_A Scripture Concordance_, prepared and written by a lawyer, is
something of a novelty in Catholic ecclesiastical literature. And
the concordance is not an ordinary one of words and names. It is
exclusively of texts of Scripture and words relating to our ideas
and sentiments, our virtues and our vices, our duties to God and our
neighbor, our obligations to ourselves, thus strikingly demonstrating
the grandeur of its precepts, the beauty of its teachings, and
the sublimity of its moral. Texts purely doctrinal are rigorously
excluded, and but one name is retained--the divine name of the
Saviour. The book is entitled, _SS. Scripturæ Concordantiæ Novæ, seu
Doctrina moralis et dogmatica e sacris Testamentorum Codicibus ordine
alphabetico desumpta, in qua textus de qualibet materia facilius
promptiusque quam in aliis concordantiis inveniri possunt, auctore
Carolo Mazeran, Advocato_. Paris and Brussels. 1869. 8vo.
* * * * *
Two distinguished Catholic artists have lately died at Rome, Overbeck
the painter, and Tenerani the sculptor. Overbeck's graceful and
inspired religious compositions are too well-known to need comment
here. Tenerani was a pupil of Canova and of Thorwaldsen. His "Descent
from the Cross," in the church of St. John Lateran, and his "Angel of
the Last Judgment," sculptured on a tomb in the church of St. Mary of
Rome, have been often admired by many American travellers.
* * * * *
_S. Clement of Rome, the two Epistles to the Corinthians._ A revised
Text, with Introduction and Notes, by J. B. Lightfoot, D.D., Hulsean
Professor of Divinity and Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge.
London: Macmillan. 1869. 8vo. Professor Lightfoot appears to have
suspended the publication of his commentaries on the epistles of St.
Paul, and to have taken up the apostolic fathers. The first epistle
of St. Clement, addressed to the Corinthians, is of well-settled
authenticity from the testimony of Hermas, Dionysius, Bishop of
Corinth, Hegesippus, (cited by Eusebius, iv. 22,) and numerous
others. Although not classed among the canonical books, this epistle
has always been highly prized as what may be called a liturgical
document. St. Jerome bears testimony that it was read publicly in
the churches, (_in nonnullis locis publice legitur_.) So also does
Eusebius. Dr. Lightfoot's task is well performed. In his preface
he develops the statements above mentioned, enumerates the various
writings ascribed to St. Clement of Rome, and in speaking of the
_recognitiones_, relates the history of the false decretals. In
this work, as in many others on very ancient manuscripts, the art
of topography has been of the greatest service. The codex from
which these two epistles of St. Clement are taken, is the celebrated
one presented by Cyril Lucar to Charles I., and now preserved in
the British Museum. The authorities of the museum had it carefully
photographed, so that the author could make use of it at his own
pleasure, and at his own house, as, of course, no such manuscript
would be allowed to leave the museum even for an hour. A second
volume of this work of Professor Lightfoot is promised, which will
contain the epistles of St. Ignatius and St. Polycarp.
* * * * *
_A Comparative Grammar of Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin_, by William
Hugh Ferrar, Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Dublin. Vol. I.
London: Longman. 1869. 8vo. Studies in philology and comparative
grammar appear to be on the increase in Great Britain, and are now
pursued with great industry. Mr. Ferrar freely uses the labors of
Bopp, Schleicher, Corssen, Curtius, and Max Müller, but by no means
slavishly. He criticises their various systems with great freedom and
intelligence, and produces a really meritorious work.
* * * * *
We remark the publication in Paris of a French translation of the
first volume of the _History of the United Provinces_, by our
countryman, John Lothrop Motley, the work to be completed in eight
volumes.
* * * * *
We see announced, and as soon to appear, the first part of a work
entitled, _Alexandre VI. et les Borgia_. The author is the reverend
Father Ollivier, of the order of _Fréres Prêcheurs_.
* * * * *
_L'Histoire de la Restauration_, vol. vii., is the last work of
M. Alfred Nettement, a distinguished, conscientious, and talented
journalist and historian, who lately died in France, regretted and
honored by men of all parties. He was sixty-four years of age, and
had been an industrious author for forty years. Count Montalembert
called him the type of the journalist and historian, _sans peur et
sans reproche_.
* * * * *
The result of the chronological researches of M. Zumpt concerning
the year of the birth of our Saviour (_Das Geburtsjahr Christi.
Geschichtlich-chronologische Untersuchungen_) is rather severely
commented upon by the German critics, notwithstanding his high
historical reputation. They claim that he has not solved the problems
presented by himself.
* * * * *
Volume iii. of the series of _Lives of the Archbishops of
Canterbury_, by Dr. Hook, dean of the cathedral of Chichester,
contains a biography of Cardinal Pole. It is said to contain much new
material on the subject, from the MSS. collections of Simancas and
the Record Office.
* * * * *
The readers of Sir Walter Scott are aware that he made frequent use
of an old poetical history of Robert Bruce. Traces of it are frequent
in his _Lord of the Isles_, and he gives an analysis of it in his
_Tales of a Grandfather_. The poem was written in the fifteenth
century by John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen, and is lately
published in Scotland, _The Bruce; or, The Metrical History of Robert
I., King of Scots_. By Master John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen.
Published from a MS. dated 1489; with notes and a memoir of the life
of the author. 8vo. Glasgow, 1869.
* * * * *
A very remarkable work is one lately published at Milan, _Della
Schiavitù e del servaggio e specialmente dei servi agricoltori_.
Milano. Two vols. in 8vo. It is by the learned Count Cibrario, and
treats of slavery from the period of the Romans down to that of the
rebellion in the United States. His researches among old collections
of MSS. at Venice and Genoa develop the fact that slaves were held in
those cities down to a much later period than is generally supposed.
* * * * *
Giovanni Michiel was ambassador of Venice at the court of England
from 1554 to 1557, that is to say, during the reign of Mary. His
dispatches were written in cipher, and during all these years it has
been impossible to copy or use them for want of a key to the cipher.
M. Pasini, an employee in the Venetian archives, has long been
engaged on a complete history of the different ciphers used by the
Venetian ambassadors, and has succeeded in deciphering the letters of
Michiel, which he has lately had published, _I dispacci di Giovanni
Michiel, Ambasciator Veneto in Inghilterra_. Venezia, 1869.
* * * * *
Here is a work of remarkable erudition, and unusual interest for
the classical scholar: _Notices sur Rome. Les Noms Romains et les
Dignités mentionnées dans les Légendes des Monnaiés Impériales
Romaines_. Par L'Abbé I. Marchant. Paris, 1869. Imperial 8vo. It is a
learned dissertation upon the origin and signification of the titles,
dignities, and offices mentioned in inscriptions on imperial Roman
coins, the names, surnames, filiation, adoption, and dignities of
emperor, Cæsar, Augustus, censor, pontiff, grand pontiff, princeps
juventutis, proconsul, etc., etc.; the surnames taken from vanquished
nations, _Britannicus_, _Germanicus_, _Dacicus_, _Pannonicus_,
_Parthicus_, _Sarmaticus_; titles seldom merited, and grossly
exaggerated, bestowed upon emperors by the servile flattery of senate
or people, such as _Pater Patriæ_, _Dominus Noster_, _Senior_,
_Pius_, _Felix_, _Felicissimus_, _Beatissimus_, _Nobilissimus_,
_Optimus_, _Maximus_, _Deus_, _Divus_, _Æternus_, _Invictus_,
_Triumphator Gentium_, _Barbararum_, etc. For empresses, _Augusta_,
_Diva_, _Felix_, _Nobilissima_, _Fœmina_, _Mater Castrarum_,
_Mater Augustorum_, etc., etc. Then follow the subordinate titles
of _Questor_, _Triumvir_, _Prefect_, etc., etc. The work is by no
means one of dry nomenclature, and the author, by his fulness of
illustration and attractive style, has produced an admirable work.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
CONVERSATIONS ON LIBERALISM AND THE CHURCH. By O. A. Brownson,
LL.D. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co.
This is the first production of the pen of Dr. Brownson which has
appeared under his own name for several years. During this time he
has been a constant contributor to this magazine, and has furnished
a considerable number of valuable articles to other periodicals,
particularly the _Tablet_, of which he has for some time past had
the principal editorial charge. Those who are familiar with the
leonine style of the great publicist cannot have failed to recognize
it even in his anonymous productions, or to admit, whether with
good or with ill grace, that he still remains _facile princeps_
in that high domain which he has chosen for himself. We welcome
the venerable author most heartily on his reappearance upon the
field of intellectual combat with his visor up, and his own avowed
recognizance upon his shield. He appears as the champion of the
encyclical of Pius IX. against that conglomeration of absurd and
destructive errors which its advocates have decorated with the name
of liberalism, and as the defender of the true, genuine principles
of liberty--that liberty which Catholic training and Christian
civilization prepare the greatest possible number of men to enjoy,
to the greatest possible extent, with the least possible danger to
themselves and society.
The volume is small in size, but weighty and precious in matter,
like a lump of gold. There is enough precious metal in it to keep an
ordinary review-writer a-going for three years. The wretched, flimsy
sophistries and falsehoods with which we are bored to death every day
by the writers for the daily papers, screaming like macaws the few
changes of their scanty vocabulary, Railroads, railroads! progress,
progress! mediæval fossil! nineteenth century! are all summed up by
Dr. Brownson in a few sentences much better than one of themselves
can do it. These expressions of the maxims of our _soi-disant_
liberal editors are put into the mouth of an imaginary representative
of the class, who is supposed to be conversing with a Catholic
priest at an unfashionable watering-place. The author, by the mouth
of the priest, answers him fully, and makes an exposition of his
own views and opinions. The editor has nothing to say in rejoinder,
except to repeat over his tiresome, oft-refuted platitudes, ignoring
all his antagonist has alleged and proved against him. Perhaps it
will be said that the doctor has purposely put a weak defence into
the editor's mouth. Not at all. It is no sport to such an expert
swordsman to run a tilt against any but an expert and doughty
antagonist. Give him his choice, and he would prefer to contend with
one who would make the best possible fight for liberalism. In this
case, as the doctor has been obliged to play both sides of the game,
one hand against the other, he has carefully avoided the common
fault of collusion between the right and left hand. He has made his
imaginary editor say all that the real editors can say, and in better
fashion than they can say it. Any person who has taken the trouble
to read the comments of the writers for the press on the massive
arguments of Dr. Brownson's articles, or their other lucubrations
on the subjects treated in this book, will perceive that its author
has not diluted them at all, but has rather infused some of his own
strong tea into their tepid dish-water.
The errors of the liberalists have been to a certain extent already
discussed in our pages, and will be probably discussed more fully and
to greater advantage after the decrees of the Council of the Vatican
are published.
We therefore confine ourselves at present to a particular notice
of one point only in Dr. Brownson's argument, to which we desire
to call special attention. We allude to his exposition of his
views in regard to the relation of the Catholic religion to the
principles of the American constitution. Dr. Brownson is a thorough
Catholic and a thorough American. As a Catholic, he condemns all
the errors condemned by the syllabus of Pius IX. As an American,
he accepts all the principles of the constitution of the United
States. As a philosopher, he reconciles and harmonizes the two
documents of the ecclesiastical and political sovereignties to
which he owes allegiance. If he were wavering or dubious in obeying
the instructions of the encyclical, his exposition of the relation
between Catholic and American principles would have no weight
whatever; for it would be merely an exposition of his own private
version of Catholicity and not of the authorized version. If he were
not thoroughly American, his exposition of the Catholic's ideal
conception of the relations of the church and civil society might
be very perfect, but it would rather confirm than shake the common
persuasion that there is a contrariety between the principles of our
political order and those of the Catholic Church. If he were not a
philosopher, he might present both his religious and his political
doctrines, separately, in such a way as to satisfy the claims both
of orthodoxy and of patriotism; but he would not be able to show how
these two hemispheres can be joined together in a complete whole.
It is one of his greatest merits that he is perpetually aiming at
the construction of these synthetic harmonies of what we may call,
for the sake of the figure, the different gospels of truth, and is
perpetually approximating nearer and nearer to that success which
perhaps cannot be fully achieved by any human intellect. We think he
has substantially succeeded in the task undertaken in the present
volume, and we commend it to the perusal of all Americans, whether
Catholics or non-Catholics, in the hope that it may strengthen both
in the determination to do no injustice to each other, and to remain
always faithful to the allegiance we owe to the American republic. We
recommend it also to Dr. Brownson's numerous admirers and friends in
Europe as a valuable aid to the understanding of what are commonly
called American principles.
So far as the exterior is concerned, this is one of the very finest
books which the Sadliers have yet published.
* * * * *
THE END OF THE WORLD, AND THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. Two Discourses
preached to the Music Hall Society, by their minister, the
Rev. William Rounseville Alger. Published by request. Boston:
Roberts Brothers.
Considering what are the contents of these "discourses," for which,
naturally, the preacher failed to find any text, their title seems
like a dismal jest. There is nothing, however, too absurd for the
Music Hall of Boston, not even the amalgamation of puritanism and
pantheism. We have two palmary objections to the argument of these
discourses, which is, of course, intended to disprove the Christian
doctrine respecting the last judgment and the end of the world. The
first is, the boundless credulity which underlies the whole series
of assumptions on which it is founded; the second is, its total
want of scientific method and accuracy. Mr. Alger has an extensive
knowledge of certain departments of literature, a vivid imagination,
a certain nobleness of sentiment, and a considerable power of graphic
delineation and combination of his intellectual conceptions; but no
logic or philosophy, very little discriminative or analytic skill,
and nothing of the judicial faculty. Wherever his imagination leads,
his intellect follows, and willingly lends itself to clothe all the
visions which are met with on the aerial journey with the garb of
real and rational discoveries. Therefore, we say that his argument
in these discourses rests on credulity, a basis of vapor, like that
which supports a castle in the clouds. We proceed to give some
instances. Mr. Alger has fashioned to himself a conception of what
our Lord Jesus Christ ought to have been, and ought to have said and
done. Throughout these discourses, and his other works, he explains
every thing recorded of the sayings and doings of our divine Lord in
the New Testament according to this _à priori_ conception of his own,
without regard to common sense or sound criticism. This is credulity,
and nothing more. As well might we say, Mr. Alger is a man of sense
and honesty, and therefore he can never have meant any of the absurd
things he seems to say against the Catholic doctrine. Another
extraordinary instance of credulity is the theory of accounting for
the similarity to the principal Catholic dogmas which is seen in the
religious beliefs of heathen nations. It is a fanciful conjecture,
and, as a philosophical theory, untenable, that the same myths had
an independent origin and development among distinct races. There
must have been a common cause and origin of religious traditions, as
well as of languages. Another instance of credulity is found in the
following passage: "It is confidently believed that within twenty
years the views adopted in the present writing will be established
beyond all cavil from any fair-minded critic." Here is a heavy strain
indeed on our faith, worse than that which Moses makes upon poor
Colenso! Worse than all is the following, which we will not credit
to the author's credulity any further than he himself warrants us
in doing by his own language, which we will quote entire, that the
reader may judge for himself of the extent to which it shows in the
author a _penchant_ for the marvellous, provided that the marvellous
is in no way connected with revelation. "A brilliant French writer
has suggested that even if the natural course of evolution does
of itself necessitate the final destruction of the world, yet our
race, judging from the magnificent achievements of science and art
already reached, may, within ten thousand centuries, which will be
long before the foreseen end approaches, obtain such a knowledge
and control of the forces of nature as to make collective humanity
master of this planet, able to shape and guide its destinies, ward
off every fatal crisis, and perfect and immortalize the system as now
sustained. It is an audacious fancy. But, like many other incredible
conceptions which have forerun their own still more incredible
fulfilment, the very thought electrifies us with hope and courage."
(P. 18.)
This is indeed brilliant! It surpasses the famous moon-hoax of Mr.
Locke, and the balloon-voyages of that wild genius Edgar A. Poe, from
whom we have some recent and interesting intelligence, contained in
a volume which we recommend to the congregation of Music Hall; the
volume being entitled _Strange Visitors, by a Clairvoyant_. In those
days, probably, our Congress will have a committee on comets, and
make appropriations for a railroad to the Dog-star.
The second objection to Mr. Alger's argument runs partly into the
first. It is, we have said, totally wanting in scientific method and
accuracy. This is true of the entire process by which the thesis
of the discourses is sustained. This thesis is, that the present
constitution of the world and the human race will endure for ever,
or at least for an indefinitely long period. If there were no light
to be had on this point except the light of nature, the opinion
maintained by the author would be at best only a conjecture. It could
not be made even solidly probable, unless some rational theory were
first established concerning the ultimate destiny of the human race,
and the end for which the present miserably imperfect constitution of
the world had been decreed by the Creator, and the perpetuity of the
existing order on the earth were shown to have a reason in this final
cause of man's creation. The author has not done this, and we do not
believe that it is possible to do it, even prescinding all question
of revelation. Even on scientific grounds--that is, reasoning
from all the analogies known to us, and from purely rational and
philosophical data--it is far more probable and reasonable to suppose
that the present state of the world is merely preparatory to a far
higher and more perfect state, and will be swept away to make place
for it. But when we consider the universality and antiquity of this
latter belief, and the solid mountain of historical, miraculous, and
moral evidence on which rests the demonstration that this belief
proceeds from a divine revelation, it is the most unscientific
method that can be conceived to ignore it, or leap over it by the
aid of fanciful hypotheses, as Mr. Alger does. The manner in which
the Catholic doctrine is distorted and misrepresented, in extremely
bad rhetoric, is also unscientific. Nearly all the pith of this
so-called argument consists in a violent invective against the
notion of a partial, unjust, vindictive Divinity, who rewards and
punishes like an ambitious tyrant, without regard to necessary and
eternal principles of truth, right, and moral laws. So far as this
invective is directed against Calvinism, considered in its logical
entity, and apart from the correctives of common sense and sound
moral sentiment which practically modify it, we give the author the
right of the case. But it is palpably false, as the author has had
ample opportunity of knowing, as respects the Catholic doctrine. He
is unscientific, moreover, in confusing the substance of the doctrine
that the generation of the human race will cease, all mankind be
raised from the dead in their bodies immortal, the ways of God to
man be openly vindicated before the universe, and each one assigned
to an immutable state according to his deserts or fitness, this
visible earth also undergoing a corresponding change of condition;
with the scenic act of proclaiming judgment and inaugurating the
new, everlasting order, which is commonly believed in, according to
the literal sense of the New Testament. If Mr. Alger can show good
reasons for substituting a figurative, metaphorical interpretation of
the passages depicting this last grand scene in the drama of human
history for the literal sense, he is welcome to do it; but he has not
touched the substance of the Catholic dogma which he gratuitously
denies. Mr. Alger tells us, (p. 46,) "Loyalty to truth is the first
duty of every man." It is also one in which he himself signally
fails, by a persistent misrepresentation of Catholic doctrines, by
disregarding the evidence which has been clearly set before him
of their truth, subjecting his intellect to his imagination, and
preaching as "truth" opinions which he cannot possibly prove, in the
teeth of arguments which he cannot possibly refute. One who wilfully
sins against "the first duty of man," by rejecting the faith and law
of his Sovereign Creator when sufficiently proposed to him, must
surely be condemned by divine justice; and it is only such who, the
Catholic Church teaches, will be condemned for infidelity or heresy
at the tribunal of Christ. "The judgment of God," says the author,
"is the return of the laws of being on all deeds, actual or ideal."
(P. 66.) God, therefore, will judge all men by acting toward them
throughout eternity in accordance with that revealed law which is
the transcript of his own immutable nature, and which assures us
that beatitude is gained or lost by the acts which every responsible
creature performs during the time of probation, and that every merit
or demerit has its appropriate retribution in another life. Perhaps
the most foolish thing in these discourses is the gleeful assurance
to the congregation of Music Hall that the world will not come to
an end because it has gone on so long already, although many people
expected the end before this. A great pope has already cautioned us
against this error, in an encyclical of the first century, beginning
_Simon Petrus, Servus et Apostolus Jesu Christi_. "In the last days
there shall come scoffers with deceit, walking according to their
own lusts, saying, Where is his promise, or his coming? For since
the fathers slept, all things continue so from the beginning of the
creation," (2 Pet. iii.)
The good people of the Boston Music Hall who requested the
publication of these discourses, no doubt because they were so much
delighted to think that the world may stand for ever, have been a
little premature in their exultation. The publication of Mr. Alger's
manifesto against St. Peter only gives another proof that the first
of the popes was also a prophet. Who is more likely to be infallible,
Mr. Alger or St. Peter?
* * * * *
LIFE DUTIES. By E. E. Marcy, A.M., M.D. New York: D. & J.
Sadlier & Co. 1870.
This book contains many good things, and is written in a very
pleasing, literary style. The portions of it which treat of moral
and religious duties are likely to be useful to a certain class of
persons who seldom or never read a book containing so much sound
doctrine and wholesome advice. The author, no doubt, wrote with a
good intention, and endeavored to teach what he sincerely thinks to
be Catholic doctrine, and, of course, the publishers have issued
the book in good faith, without any suspicion that it contains any
thing erroneous. The author has, however, made a great mistake in
supposing that he is sufficiently learned in theology to be able
to distinguish, in all cases, sound Catholic doctrine, from his
own imperfect, and frequently incorrect, opinions, or that he is
authorized to teach the faithful in doctrinal and spiritual matters,
without first submitting his book to revision by a competent
authority. He has, in consequence, made some very grave mistakes in
doctrine, or at least in his manner of expressing himself on matters
of doctrine, and also said a number of things which are very rash
and unsuitable in a Catholic writer. On page 13 he says, "It is
doubtful whether any human being has ever passed through a life of
ordinary duration without an occasional violation of them"--that
is, of the commandments of God. If this refers to grievous sins,
it is contrary to the universal sentiment of Catholics, that very
many persons have passed through even a long life without committing
any grievous sin; if it refers to venial sin, it is false, at
least as respects the blessed Virgin Mary, who was wholly sinless.
The phraseology employed respecting the sacraments of penance and
extreme unction is altogether deficient, diverse from that which
is sanctioned by ecclesiastical usage, and suggestive of errors.
The sacrament of penance is called, "repentance, acknowledgment,
reformation," without express mention of sacramental absolution, and
extreme unction is designated as "prayer for the sick," whereas
the holy oil is the matter of the sacrament which was prescribed by
the command of Jesus Christ. The fathers, doctors, and scholastic
theologians, and the methods of scholastic theology, are criticised
with an air of superior wisdom unbefitting any Catholic writer,
but especially a tyro in theological science. After saying that
the disbelief of the real presence is partly due to the neglect of
religious teachers "to make such clear and just explanations as
the Holy Scriptures authorize them to make," (p. 250,) the author
undertakes to correct the method of St. Thomas, Suarez, Bellarmine,
and the other theologians who have hitherto been considered as our
masters and teachers, to supply for their defects, and to explain the
mystery of transubstantiation in such a clear manner as to remove
all difficulty out of the way of believing it. The good doctor
has unfortunately, however, proposed a theory which subverts the
Catholic doctrine of the incarnation, and that of the resurrection
of the body. So far as we can understand his meaning, he holds
that the spiritual or glorified body is the same thing with the
spirit or soul. In other words, the spirit or soul is an ethereal
substance which is called spirit, inasmuch as it is intelligent;
and body, inasmuch as it is visible and subsisting under a certain
configuration. This is the doctrine of the spiritists, and not that
of the Catholic Church. The Catholic doctrine is, that soul and body
are distinct, diverse substances; that the souls of the departed are
existing now in a separate state, and that they will receive again
their bodies at the resurrection. The author of course explains the
resurrection and present state of our Lord in harmony with this
notion; but in contradiction to the Catholic doctrine that our Lord
raised up, glorified, and elevated to heaven that same flesh and
blood which he took of the Virgin in the incarnation. He moreover
confuses the human with the divine nature of Christ, by affirming,
with the Lutherans, the ubiquity of the sacred humanity of Christ,
whom he calls the "spirit Christ," and affirms to be everywhere by
virtue of his divine omnipresence. This again is erroneous doctrine.
The way is prepared by these statements for an explanation of the
presence of Christ in the eucharist, and transubstantiation. It is
not difficult to believe that God annihilates the bread and wine,
but still causes a miraculous appearance to make the same impression
on our senses which the bread and wine made before the consecration.
Christ, being everywhere present, imparts the special effects of his
grace at the time of consecration and communion. The only trouble
in the matter is, that the theory is not true or orthodox. The body
and blood of Christ are made present under the sacred species by the
force of the consecrating words, _not_ his soul or divinity. The
soul and divinity of our blessed Lord are present by concomitance;
but transubstantiation is the change of the substance of the bread
into the body, and of the wine into the blood of Christ, and here is
the chief mystery of the dogma which the author, in endeavoring to
explain, has explained away. It is possible that the author's sense
is more orthodox than his language, and no doubt his intention is
more orthodox than either. His language, however, bears on the face
of it the appearance of a sense which is, in itself, contrary in some
points to definitions of faith, and in others to the common doctrine
of theologians.
It is very necessary that all Catholics should understand that they
are not at liberty to interpret either the scripture, tradition, or
the definitions of councils in contradiction to the Catholic sense
and acceptation made known by the living voice of the pastors and
teachers who are authorized by the church. Those who desire to feed
on the pure milk of sound doctrine will find their best security
against error in selecting for their theological or spiritual reading
those books which they are well assured have the sanction and
approbation of their pastors.
* * * * *
THE VISIBLE UNITY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH MAINTAINED AGAINST
OPPOSITE THEORIES. With an explanation of certain passages
in Ecclesiastical History erroneously appealed to in their
support. By M. J. Rhodes, Esq., M.A. Dedicated by permission
to the Right Rev. William Delany, D.D., Lord Bishop of
Cork. London: Longmans, Green & Co. New York: The Catholic
Publication Society.
The superb exterior of this book, published in the best English
style, leads the reader to expect something unusually excellent in
the contents. Nor will he be disappointed. This work is no mere
repetition of other books. It is learned, original, carefully
prepared, well written, and has undergone an examination by competent
theologians, not only in England, but also at Rome. The genuine
doctrine of Catholic unity, as opposed to the pseudo-catholicity of
Anglicans, is exposed in it, with a refutation of the objections of
Bishop Forbes, Dr. Pusey, and others. The questions of the Easter
controversy, the dispute between St. Cyprian and Pope St. Stephen,
the dispute between Paulinus and St. Meletius of Antioch, the Celtic
controversies, etc., are fully discussed. The only criticism we have
to make is concerning the manner of treating the question of the
divided obediences at the epoch between the pontificate of Urban VI.
and that of Martin V. The author thinks that the adherents of Peter
de Luna, called Benedict XIII., were really in schism, although
most of them were innocent of any sin. We think otherwise, and our
opinion has been derived from the most approved Catholic authors.
Without doubt, the authors of the division were formal schismatics.
Yet they were able to make out such a plausible case against Urban
and in favor of Benedict, that for the time being Urban's right was
doubtful in a large portion of Christendom. Those who refused to
recognize him were not therefore guilty of rebellion against the
Roman pontiff as such, any more than those would be who should refuse
to obey a papal rescript of doubtful authenticity. After the election
of Alexander V. there was much greater reason to doubt which of the
three rival claimants, Gregory XII., Benedict XIII., or Alexander V.,
was the true pope. It is now perfectly certain that Gregory XII. was
canonically elected, and we suppose it is by far the more probable
opinion that he remained in possession of his right as legitimate
pope until his voluntary resignation at the Council of Constance.
Nevertheless, his claim, at the time, was a doubtful one, and the
majority of the cardinals and bishops adhered, after the Council of
Pisa, to Alexander V. and his successor John XXIII. Peter de Luna was
a schismatic in the fullest extent of the word. But what shall we
say of Alexander and John? Their names still appear on the lists of
popes, and some maintain that they were true popes. They undoubtedly
believed that a council could depose doubtful popes, and that
therefore the Council of Pisa could deprive both Gregory and Benedict
of whatever claim either of them might have to the papal throne.
They believed themselves lawfully elected, and were not, therefore,
schismatics, even though they were not lawful popes. If the author
maintains that two of the three obediences which eventually concurred
at Constance in the election of Martin V. were in a state of schism
until that time, we cannot agree with him, and we think we have
the best authorities on our side. For, if these obediences were in
schism, they were no part of the true church, the jurisdiction of
their bishops and priests was forfeited, and the Catholic Church
was limited to the obedience of the legitimate pontiff. This theory
would involve the author in considerable difficulties, and we wonder
that it was allowed to escape the notice of his Roman examiners. The
case is very plain, to our thinking. Neither of these three parties
rebelled against the Roman see, or refused to obey the laws of any
pontiff whose legitimacy was unquestionable. It was a dispute about
the succession, not a revolt against the principle of authority.
There was, therefore, no schism in the case; all were equally members
of the Catholic Church, and jurisdiction remained in the bishops
of all the contending parties. Those who wilfully promoted this
dissension were grievously culpable, but the rest were free from sin,
as long as they acted in good faith. The author devotes only a short
space to this question, and with this exception his work is most
admirable, and worthy of a most extensive circulation.
* * * * *
THE EVIDENCE FOR THE PAPACY. By the Hon. Colin Lindsay. London:
Longmans & Co. For sale by the Catholic Publication Society,
New York.
Mr. Lindsay was president of the Anglican Union when, after long
study, he submitted to the authority of the holy Roman Church. His
conversion made a great sensation, and called out the usual amount of
foolish, ill-natured twaddle. In this volume he has given a masterly,
lawyer-like, and extensive summary, richly furnished with evidences
and authorities, of the scriptural and historical argument for the
supremacy of St. Peter and his successors. We welcome and recommend
this admirable work most cordially. The author is a convert of the
old stamp of Newman, Wilberforce, Oakeley, Faber, and Manning; that
is, a convert to genuine and thorough-going Catholicity; and not one
of those who has been spoiled by the fatal influence of Munich. The
spurious coin which dealers in counterfeit Catholicism are seeking
just now to palm off on the unwary is distinguished from the genuine
by its faint delineation of the pope's effigy on its surface. A
primacy in the universal church similar to that of a metropolitan
in a province is all they will admit the pope to possess _jure
divino_. The true Catholicity brings out the divine supremacy of
the successor of St. Peter into bold relief. This is just now the
great question, the criterion of orthodox belief, the touchstone of
faith, the one great fact and doctrine to be insisted on against
every form of anti-Catholic error, from that of the Greeks to that
of the atheists. The pope is the visible representative of Christ on
the earth, of God's law, of revealed religion, of the supernatural,
and of moral and political order. The one question of his supremacy
in the true and full sense of the word being settled, every thing
else follows as a necessary consequence, and is established. It is
very important, therefore, that books should be multiplied on this
topic, and that the utmost pains should be taken by the clergy to
indoctrinate the people and instruct fully converts concerning that
loyal allegiance and unreserved obedience which all Catholics owe to
the vicar of Christ. This book will be found to be one of the best.
We have received also from London a very clever critique on "Janus,"
by F. Keogh, of the Oratory, and are glad to see that the learned Dr.
Hergenröther, of Würzburg, is preparing an elaborate refutation of
that mischievous production. The second part of F. Bottalla's work on
the papacy is also announced as soon to appear.
* * * * *
GEOLOGY AND REVELATION; OR, THE ANCIENT HISTORY OF THE EARTH,
CONSIDERED IN THE LIGHT OF GEOLOGICAL FACTS AND REVEALED
RELIGION. By the Rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D., Professor of
Theology in the Royal College of St. Patrick, Maynooth. London:
Longmans, Green, Reader & Dyer. 1870. For sale by the Catholic
Publication Society, New York.
The author discusses in this volume two interpretations of the Mosaic
account of creation: 1st, that a long interval may have elapsed
between the creation and the work of the six days; 2d, that the six
days themselves may be long periods of time; and shows that they
are both admissible, and that the last corresponds pretty well with
the present state of geological science. In a subsequent work, he
proposes to discuss the question of the antiquity of man.
Though he does not claim to have written a manual of geology, the
first and larger part of the work is in fact an excellent compendium
of the science, and is written in a remarkably interesting and
readable style. A few such books would do much to remove the
dislike and distrust of geology which still prevails to some extent
among religious people, and perhaps also to convince scientific
unbelievers.
* * * * *
REPORTS ON OBSERVATIONS OF THE TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE SUN,
Aug. 7, 1869. Conducted under the direction of Commodore B.
F. Sands, U.S.N., Superintendent of the United States Naval
Observatory, Washington, D.C. Washington: Government Printing
Office. 1869.
This volume contains the reports of the parties sent from the
Naval Observatory to Des Moines, Iowa, Plover Bay, Siberia, and
Bristol, Tennessee; as well as those of Mr. W. S. Gilman, Jr., and
General Albert J. Myer, at St. Paul Junction, Iowa, and Abingdon,
Va., respectively, who also communicated their observations to the
superintendent. The latter saw the eclipse from the top of White Top
Mountain, 5530 feet high; the effect was, of course, magnificent.
The papers of Professor Harkness on the spectrum, and of Dr. Curtis
on the photographs which they obtained at Des Moines, are specially
interesting. One hundred and twenty-two photographs were taken in
all, two during the totality, fac-similes of which last are appended,
together with other representations of the total phase, and copies of
the spectra observed, etc. Professor Harkness observed what appears
to be a very decided iron line in the spectrum of the corona, which
was otherwise continuous, and he considers it quite probable that
this mysterious halo is to a great extent or even perhaps principally
composed of the vapor of this metal. He saw magnesium and hydrogen in
the prominences, and the unknown substance which has been elsewhere
observed.
Professor Hall, who went to Siberia, was unfortunate, the
weather being cloudy during the eclipse, though clear before and
afterward; but he made what observations were practicable under the
circumstances.
* * * * *
A TEXT-BOOK OF PRACTICAL MEDICINE. By Dr. Felix Von Niemeyer,
Professor of Pathology and Therapeutics; Director of the
Medical Clinic of the University of Tübingen. Translated from
the seventh German edition, by special permission of the
author, by George H. Humphreys, M.D., and Charles E. Hackley,
M.D. In two volumes octavo, 1500 pp. New York: D. Appleton & Co.
These books place at once before the American practitioner the most
advanced scientific knowledge on the general practice of medicine
possessed by the German school, of which Professor Niemeyer is
considered, and justly, one of the most erudite and brilliant
ornaments.
Each subject treated shows the profound and masterly manner in which
its details have been garnered by him from the only reliable source
of such knowledge, the hospital clinic.
The rapidity with which it has passed through seven German editions,
the last two of triple size, and the fact that it has been translated
into most of the principal languages of the old continent, afford
ample proof of its appreciation in Europe.
The medical student is here presented with a solid, comprehensive,
and scientific foundation upon which to rear his future
superstructure of learning, while the over-worked practitioner will
find a never-failing source of gratification in the work for casual
reference and study.
Nothing can so much advance truly Catholic science and literature
as the free interchange of national ideas and opinions, expressed
through the master minds of the various professions and pursuits.
* * * * *
LIFE PICTURES OF THE PASSION OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST.
Translated from the German of Rev. Dr. John Emmanuel Veith,
formerly Preacher of St. Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna. By Rev.
Theodore Noethen, Pastor of the Church of the Holy Cross,
Albany, N. Y. Boston: P. Donahoe.
The various personages connected with the sufferings and death
of our Saviour--Judas Iscariot, Caiaphas, Malchus, Simon Peter,
etc.--receive each a chapter in this book, in which their characters
are portrayed with appropriate reflections and illustrations drawn
from history, religious and secular.
The author is one of the most distinguished preachers in Europe.
The translator is a clergyman well and favorably known for the many
excellent translations of German religious books which he has given
to the American public.
_Life Pictures_ will be found very suitable reading for this season
of the year.
* * * * *
HEALTH BY GOOD LIVING. By W. W. Hall, M.D. New York: Hurd &
Houghton. 1870. Pp. 277.
This work is intended to show that good health can be maintained,
and many diseases prevented, by proper care in eating. The doctor
does not use the phrase "good living" in its ordinary meaning; he
defines it to be a good appetite followed by good digestion. His
rules for obtaining this two-fold blessing are generally sensible;
but a few of his statements are somewhat exaggerated. We have no
doubt that the health of the community would be improved by following
the common-sense directions of Dr. Hall; but unfortunately, as the
doctor himself remarks, not one person in a thousand of his readers
will have sufficient control over his appetite to carry out these
suggestions, which require so much self-denial. We are glad to see
the doctor recommends a strict observance of Lent.
* * * * *
A GENERAL HISTORY OF MODERN EUROPE, FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE
SIXTEENTH CENTURY TO THE COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN. Third edition,
revised and corrected. By John G. Shea. New York: T. W. Strong,
(late Edward Dunigan & Brother.)
The merit of this history as a text-book has been long and widely
recognized. The correction, revision, and addenda do not call for any
special notice.
* * * * *
THE FERRYMAN OF THE TIBER. An Historical Tale. Translated from
the Italian of Madame A. K. De La Grange. New York: P. O'Shea,
27 Barclay street. 1870.
This is a beautiful story of the early days of the church, when the
effeminacy and luxury of the pagans made the noble virtues of the
Christians shine with the greater splendor; when St. Jerome lived in
Rome, and the Roman matrons and virgins, following his instructions,
gave to the world such beautiful examples of virtue, and to the
church so many saints. It is a book that should be read now; for
though we do not live in a pagan age, we surely are not living in an
age of faith; and the example of a Jerome, a Melania, and a Valeria
are as necessary as when the light of Christianity had but just begun
to shine upon the world.
* * * * *
THE GRAMMAR OF ASSENT. By John Henry Newman, D.D.
This is a treatise on the _science_, not the _art_ of logic, with
application to religious belief and faith in the divine revelation.
We have only had time to glance at its contents, and must, therefore,
postpone any critical judgment upon them. What we have seen in
looking over the leaves of the advanced sheets sent us by the
kindness of the author is enough, however, to show that in this book
Dr. Newman has put thought and language under a condenser which has
compressed a folio of sense into a duodecimo of size.
The Catholic Publication Society will issue the work in a few weeks.
* * * * *
THE EARTHLY PARADISE. A Poem by William Morris. Part III.
Boston: Roberts Brothers. Printed at the Cambridge University
Press.
An extremely beautiful book, which it is a luxury to handle and
look at. Every body knows, long before now, that Mr. Morris is a
true poet, and there is no need of our saying what will be no news
to any one who loves poetry. We will only say, therefore, that we
like Mr. Morris, because he is antique, classical, and pure, and
it is refreshing to get away from the dusty, hot highway of recent
literature into his pages.
* * * * *
THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE; OR, THE PONTIFICAL ZOUAVES. A Tale of
Castelfidardo. Translated from the Flemish of the Rev. S.
Daems. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co. Pp. 242.
A well-deserved tribute to those gallant youths who cheerfully
offered up their all, home, friends, life itself, for Peter's chair,
and in defence of holy church. As a story it has no particular merit.
* * * * *
BOOKS RECEIVED.
From SCRIBNER, WELFORD & CO., New York: Sermons bearing on the
Subjects of the Day. By John Henry Newman, B.D. New edition.
Rivingtons: London, Oxford, and Cambridge. 1869.
From ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston: A Day by the Fire; and other
papers hitherto uncollected. By Leigh Hunt. 1870.
From CARLETON, New York: Strange Visitors.
From P. FOX, Publisher, 14 South Fifth street, St. Louis:
Letters on Public Schools, with special reference to the system
as conducted in St. Louis. By the Hon. Charles R. Smythe. 1870.
From the University, Ann Arbor: Report on a Department of
Hygiene and Physical Culture in the University of Michigan, by
a Committee of the University Senate. 1870.
From MURPHY & CO., Baltimore: General Catechism of the
Christian Doctrine; for the Use of the Catholics of the Diocese
of Savannah and Vicariate Apostolic of Florida. 1869.--Peabody
Memorial. January, 1870.
From JAMES MILLER, 647 Broadway, New York: History of American
Socialisms. By John Humphrey Noyes.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XI., No. 62.--MAY, 1870.
CHURCH AND STATE.[21]
Il Signor Cantù is one of the ablest men and most distinguished
contemporary authors of Italy. He is a layman, and has usually been
reckoned among the better class of so-called liberal Catholics, and
certainly is a warm friend of liberty, civil and religious, a sincere
and earnest Italian patriot, thoroughly devoted to the holy see, and
a firm and fearless defender of the rights, freedom, independence,
and authority of the spiritual order in its relation to the temporal.
We know not where to look for a truer, fuller, more loyal, or more
judicious treatment in so brief a compass of the great and absorbing
question in regard to the relation of church and state, than in his
article from the _Rivista Universale_, the title of which we give at
the foot of the page. He is an erudite rather than a philosopher,
a historian rather than a theologian; yet his article is equally
remarkable for its learning, its history, its philosophy, its
theology, and its canon law, and, with slight reservation, as to
his interpretation of the bull _Unam Sanctam_ of Boniface VIII. and
some views hinted rather than expressed as to the origin and nature
of the _magisterium_ exercised by the popes over sovereigns in the
middle ages, we believe it as true and as exact as it is learned and
profound, full and conclusive, and we recommend its careful study to
all who would master the question it treats.
For ourselves, we have treated the question of church and state so
often, so fully, and so recently, in its principle and in its several
aspects, especially in relation to our own government, that we know
not that we have any thing to add to what we have already said, and
we might dispense ourselves from its further discussion by simply
referring to the articles, _Independence of the Church_, October,
1866; _Church and State_, April, 1867; _Rome and the World_, October
of the same year; and to our more recent articles on _The Future of
Protestantism and Catholicity_, especially the third and fourth,
January, February, March, and April, of the present year; and also to
the article on _The School Question_, in the very last number before
the present. We can do, and we shall attempt, in the present article,
to do, little more than bring together and present as a whole what is
scattered through these several articles, and offer respectfully and
even timidly such suggestions as we think will not be presumptuous
in regard to the means, in the present emergency, of realizing more
perfectly at home and abroad the ideal of Christian society.
We assume in the outset that there really exist in human society
two distinct orders, the spiritual and the temporal, each with its
own distinctive functions, laws, and sphere of action. In Christian
society, the representative of the spiritual order is the church,
and the representative of the temporal is the state. In the rudest
stages of society the elements of the two orders exist, but are
not clearly apprehended as distinct orders, nor as having each its
distinct and proper representative. It is only in Christian society,
or society enlightened by the Gospel, that the two orders are duly
distinguished, and each in its own representative is placed in its
normal relation with the other.
The type, indeed the reason, of this distinction of two orders in
society is in the double nature of man, or the fact that man exists
only as soul and body, and needs to be cared for in each. The church,
representing the spiritual, has charge of the souls of men, and looks
after their minds, ideas, intelligence, motives, consciences, and
consequently has the supervision of education, morals, literature,
science, and art. The state, representing the temporal, has charge
of men's bodies, and looks after the material wants and interests of
individuals and society. We take this illustration from the fathers
and mediæval doctors. It is perfect. The analogy of church and state
in the moral order, with the soul and body in the physical order,
commends itself to the common sense of every one, and carries in
itself the evidence of its justness, especially when it is seen to
correspond strictly in the moral order, to the distinction of soul
and body in the physical order. We shall take, then, the relation of
soul and body as the type throughout of the ideal relation of church
and state.
Man lives not as body alone, nor as soul alone, but as the union of
the two, in reciprocal commerce. Soul and body are distinct, but not
separate. Each has its own distinctive properties and functions,
and neither can replace the other; but their separation is death,
the death of the body only, not of the soul indeed, for that is
immortal. The body is material, and, separated from the soul, is dust
and ashes, mere slime of the earth, from which it was formed. It is
the same in the moral order with society, which is not state alone,
nor church alone, but the union of the two in reciprocal commerce.
The two are distinct, each has its distinctive nature, laws, and
functions, and neither can perform the functions of the other, or
take the other's place. But though distinct, they cannot in the
normal state of society be separated. The separation of the state
from the church is in the moral order what the separation of the
body from the soul is in the physical order. It is death, the death
of the state, not indeed of the church; for she, like the soul, nay,
like God himself, is immortal. The separation of the state from the
church destroys its moral life, and leaves society to become a mass
of moral rottenness and corruption. Hence, the holy father includes
the proposition to separate church and state, in his syllabus of
condemned propositions.
The soul is defined by the church as the _forma corporis_, the
informing or vital principle of the body. The church in the moral
order is _forma civitatis_, the informing, the vital principle of the
state or civil society, which has no moral life of its own, since
all moral life, by its very term, proceeds from the spiritual order.
There is in the physical order no existence, but from God through the
medium of his creative act; so is there no moral life in society,
but from the spiritual order which is founded by God as supreme
law-giver, and represented by the church, the guardian and judge
alike of the natural law and the revealed law.
The soul is the nobler and superior part of man, and it belongs to
it, not to make away with the body, or to assume its functions,
but to exercise the _magisterium_ over it, to direct and govern it
according to the law of God; not to the body to assume the mastery
over the soul, and to bring the law of the mind into captivity to
law in the members. So is the church, as representing the spiritual
order, and charged with the care of souls, the nobler and superior
part of society, and to her belongs the _magisterium_ of entire human
society; and it is for her in the moral order to direct and control
civil society, by judicially declaring, and applying to its action,
the law of God, of which she is, as we have just said, the guardian
and judge, and to which it is bound by the Supreme Law-Giver to
subordinate its entire official conduct.
We note here that this view condemns alike the absorption of the
state in the church, and the absorption of the church in the state,
and requires each to remain distinct from the other, each with its
own organization, organs, faculties, and sphere of action. It favors,
therefore, neither what is called theocracy, or _clerocracy_, rather,
to which Calvinistic Protestantism is strongly inclined, nor the
supremacy of the state, to which the age tends, and which was assumed
in all the states of Gentile antiquity, whence came the persecution
of Christians by the pagan emperors. We note farther, that the
church does not make the law; she only promulgates, declares, and
applies it, and is herself as much bound by it as is the state
itself. The law itself is prescribed for the government of all men
and nations, by God himself as supreme law-giver, or the end or
final cause of creation, and binds equally states and individuals,
churchmen and statesmen, sovereigns and subjects.
Such, as we have learned it, is the Catholic doctrine of the relation
of church and state, and such is the relation that in the divine
order really exists between the two orders, and which the church
has always and everywhere labored with all her zeal and energy to
introduce and maintain in society. It is her ideal of catholic or
truly Christian society, but which has never yet been perfectly
realized, though an approach to its realization, the author thinks,
was made under the Christian Roman emperors. The chronic condition
of the two orders in society, instead of union and coöperation, or
reciprocal commerce, has been that of mutual distrust or undisguised
hostility. During the first three centuries, the relation between
them was that of open antagonism, and the blood of Christians made
the greater part of the world then known hallowed ground, and the
Christians, as Lactantius remarks, conquered the world, not by
slaughtering, but by being slaughtered. The pagan sovereign of Rome
claimed, and was held to unite both powers in himself, and was at
once _imperator_, _pontifix maximus_, and _divus_, or god. The
state, even after the conversion of the empire and of the barbarians
that overturned it and seated themselves on its ruins, never fully
disclaimed the spiritual faculties conceded it by Græco-Roman or
Italo-Greek civilization.
All through the middle ages, Kenelm Digby's ages of faith, when it
is pretended the church had every thing her own way, and the haughty
power of her supreme pontiffs and their tyranny over such meek and
lamb-like temporal princes as Henry IV., Frederick Barbarossa, and
Frederick II. of Germany, Philip Augustus of France, Henry II. and
John Lackland of England, have been the theme of many a school-boy
declamation against her, and adduced by grave statesmen as an excuse
for depriving Catholics of their liberty, confiscating their goods,
and cutting their throats--all through those ages, we say, she
enjoyed not a moment's peace, hardly a truce, and was obliged to
sustain an unceasing struggle with the civil authority against its
encroachments on the spiritual order, and for her own independence
and freedom of action as the church of God. In this struggle, the
struggle of mind against matter, of moral power against physical
force, the church was far from being, at least to human eyes, always
victorious, and she experienced more than one disastrous defeat.
In the sixteenth century, Cæsar carried away from her the north of
Europe, as he had long since carried away the whole east, and forced
her, in the nations that professed to recognize her as representing
the spiritual order, to make him such large concessions as left her
little more than the shadow of independence; and the people and
their rulers are now almost everywhere conspiring to take away even
that shadow, and to render her completely subject to the state, or
representative of the temporal order.
There is no opinion more firmly fixed in the minds of the people
of to-day, at least according to the journals, than that the union
of church and state is execrable and ought not to be suffered to
exist. The words cannot be pronounced without sending a thrill of
horror through society, and calling forth the most vigorous and
indignant protest from every self-appointed defender of modern
civilization, progress, liberty, equality, and fraternity. What is
called the "Liberal party," sometimes "the movement party," but what
we call "the revolution," has everywhere for its _primum mobile_,
its impulse and its motive, the dissolution of what remains of the
union of church and state, the total separation of the state from
the church and its assertion as the supreme and only legitimate
authority in society, to which all orders and classes of men, and
all matters, whether temporal or spiritual, must be subjected. The
great words of the party, as pronounced by its apostles and chiefs,
are "people-king," "people-priest," "people-God." There is no denying
the fact. Science, or what passes for science, denies the double
nature of man, the distinction between soul and body, and makes the
soul the product of material organization, or a mere function of the
body; and the more popular philosophy suppresses the spiritual order
in society, and therefore rejects its pretended representative; and
the progress of intelligence suppresses God, and leaves for society
only political atheism pure and simple, as is evident from the savage
war-whoop set up throughout the civilized world against the syllabus
of condemned propositions published by our holy father, December,
1864. This syllabus touched the deep wound of modern society, probed
it to the quick, and hence the writhings and contortions, the groans
and screechings it occasioned. May God grant that it touched to heal,
exposed the wound only to apply the remedy.
But the remedy--what is it, where shall we seek it, and how shall
it be applied? The question is delicate as well as grave, let it
be answered as it may. The principles of the church are inflexible
and unalterable, and must be preserved inviolate; and even the
susceptibilities of both statesmen and churchmen, in regard to
changes in old customs and usages, even when not unchangeable in
their nature, are to be gently treated. The church is not less
bound by the law of God than is the state; for she does not, as we
have said, make the law, she only administers it. Undoubtedly, she
has in a secondary sense legislative authority or power to enact
canons or rules and regulations for preserving, carrying out, and
applying the law, as the court adopts its own rules and regulations,
or as does the executive authority, even in a government like ours,
for executing the law enacted by the legislative power. These may
no doubt be changed from time to time by the church as she judges
necessary, proper, or expedient in order the better to meet the
changing circumstances in relation to which she is obliged to act.
But even in these respects, changes must be made in strict conformity
to law; and although they may be so made and leave the law intact,
and affect only the modes or forms of its administration, they are
not without a certain danger. The faithful may mistake them for
changes or innovations in the law itself, and enemies may represent
them as such, and sophistically adduce them against the church as
disproving her immutability and infallibility.
There have been, and no doubt are still, abuses in the church
growing out of its human side, which need changes in discipline to
reform them; but these abuses have always been exaggerated by the
best and holiest men in the church, and the necessity of a change
in discipline or ecclesiastical law, as distinguished from the law
of God, is seldom, if ever, created by them. When evils exist that
menace both faith and society, it is not the church that is in fault,
but the world that refuses to conform to the law as she declares
and applies it. It was not abuses in the church that were the chief
cause of the revolt, the heresy, and schism of the reformers in the
sixteenth century; for they were far less then than they had been
one, two, three, or even four centuries previous. The worst abuses
and greatest scandals which had previously obtained had already been
corrected, and Leo X. had assembled the Fifth Council of the Lateran
for the purpose of restoring discipline and rendering it still more
effective. The evil originated in the temporal order as represented
by the state, and grew out of secular changes and abuses. It was so
then, it is so now, always was and always will be so. Why, then,
demand changes or reform in the church, which cannot reach them? The
church causes none of the evils at any time complained of, and offers
no obstacle to their removal, or the redress of social grievances.
It is for the temporal to yield to the spiritual, not for the
spiritual to yield to the temporal. Very true; and yet the church may
condescend to the world in its weakness for the sake of elevating
it to harmony with her own ideal. God, when he would take away sin,
and save the souls he had created and which he loved, did not stand
aloof, or, so to speak, on his dignity, and bid the sinner cease
sinning and obey him, without stretching forth his hand to help him;
but made himself man, humbled himself, took the form of a servant,
and came to the world lying in wickedness and festering in iniquity,
took it by the hand, and sweetly and gently led the sinner away from
sin to virtue and holiness.
For four hundred years, the church has sought to maintain peace and
concord between herself and the state by concordats, as the wisest
and best expedient she found practicable. But concordats, however
useful or necessary, do not realize the ideal of Christian society.
They do not effect the true union of church and state, and cannot
be needed where that union exists. They imply not the union, but
the separation of church and state, and are neither necessary nor
admissible, except where the state claims to be separate from and
independent of the church. They are a compromise in which the church
concedes the exercise of certain rights to the state in consideration
of its pledge to secure her in the free and peaceable exercise of the
rest, and to render her the material force in the execution of her
spiritual canons, which she may need but does not herself possess.
They are defensible only as necessary expedients, to save the church
and the state from falling into the relation of direct and open
antagonism.
Yet even as expedients concordats have been at best only partially
successful, and now seem on the point of failing altogether. While
the church faithfully observes their stipulations so far as they bind
her, the state seldom observes them in the respect that they bind it,
and violates them as often as they interfere with its own ambitious
projects or policy. The church has concordats with the greater part
of the European states, and yet while in certain respects they
trammel her freedom, they afford her little or no protection. The
state everywhere claims the right to violate or abrogate them at
will, without consulting her, the other party to the contract. It
has done so in Spain, in Italy, and in Austria; and if France at
present observes the concordat of 1801, she does it only in the sense
of the "organic articles," never inserted in it, but added by the
First Consul on his authority alone, and always protested against by
the supreme pontiff and vicar of Christ; and there is no foreseeing
what the present or a new ministry may do. Even if the governments
were disposed to observe them, their people would not suffer them
to do so, as we see in Spain and Austria. Times have changed, and
the governments no longer govern the people, but the people, or the
demagogues who lead them, now govern the governments. The European
governments sustain their power, even their existence, only by the
physical force of five millions of armed soldiers.
There is evidently, then, little reliance to be placed on the
governments; for they are liable, any day, to be changed or
overthrown. The strongest of them hope to sustain themselves and
keep the revolution in check only by concessions, as we see in the
extension of suffrage in England, and the adoption of parliamentary
government, under a constitutional monarch, in Austria, France, North
Germany, and elsewhere. But as yet the concessions of the governments
have nowhere strengthened them or weakened the revolution. One
concession becomes the precedent for another, and one demand
satisfied only leads to another and a greater demand, while it
diminishes the power of the government to resist. What is more, the
closer the union of the church with the government the more helpless
it becomes, and the greater the hostility it incurs. The _primum
mobile_ of the movement party, as we now find it, is not the love of
honest liberty, or a liberty compatible with stable government, or
the establishment of a democratic or republican constitution; and it
is not hostile to the church only because she exerts her power to
sustain the governments it would reform or revolutionize, but rather,
because it regards them as upholding the church, which they detest
and would annihilate. The _primum mobile_ is hatred of the church.
This is the reason why, even when the governments are well disposed,
as sometimes they are, the people will not suffer them to observe
faithfully their engagements to the church.
Here was the mistake of the brilliant but unhappy De la Mennais.
He called upon the church to cut herself loose from her entangling
alliance with the state, and throw herself back on the people; which
would have been not bad counsel, if the people were hostile to her
only because they supposed her allied with despotic governments, or
if they were less hostile to her than the governments themselves. But
such is not the fact at present. The people are to-day controlled
by Catholics who care little for any world but the present, by
Protestants, rationalists, Jews, infidels, and humanitarians; and to
act on the Lamennaisian counsel would seem very much like abandoning
weak, timid, and too exacting friends, to throw one's self into the
arms of powerful and implacable enemies. When, in the beginning of
his reign, the holy father adopted some popular measures, he was
universally applauded, but he did not win those who applauded him
to the church; and his measures were applauded by the outside world
only because believed to be such as would tend to undermine his
own authority, and pave the way for the downfall of Catholicity.
The movement party applauded, because they thought they could use
him as an instrument for the destruction of the church. In the
French Revolution of February, 1848, originating in deep-seated and
inveterate hostility to the church, the ready acceptance of the
republic, the next day after its proclamation, by the French bishops
and clergy, did not for a moment conciliate the hostility in which
the revolution had its origin. They were applauded indeed, but only
in the hope of making use of them to democratize, or secularize, and
therefore to destroy the church as the authoritative representative
of the spiritual order. The bishops and priests, all but a very
small minority, showed that they understood and appreciated the
applause they received, by abandoning the revolution at the earliest
practicable moment, and lending their support to the movement for
the Establishment of imperialism; for they felt that they could more
safely rely on the emperor than on the republic.
These facts and the reminiscences of the old French Revolution, have
created in the great majority of intelligent and earnest Catholics,
wisely or unwisely, we say not, a profound distrust of the movement
party, which professes to be the party of liberty, and which carries
in its train, if not the numerical majority, at least the active,
energetic, and leading minds of their respective nations, those
that form public opinion and give its direction, and make them
honestly believe that Catholic interests, which are not separable
from the interests of society, will be best protected and promoted
by the church's standing by the governments and aiding them in their
repressive measures. Perhaps they are right. The church, of course,
cannot abandon society; but in times like ours, it is not easy to say
on which side lie the interests of society. Is it certain that they
lie on either side, either with the governments as they are, or with
the party opposed to them? At present the church neither directs the
governments nor controls the popular or so-called liberal movement;
and we confess it is difficult to say from which she and society have
most to dread. Governments without her direction want morality,
and can govern only by force; and popular movements not inspired or
controlled by her are blind and lawless, and tend only to anarchy,
and the destruction of liberty as well as of order, of morality as
well as of religion as a directing and governing power. We distrust
both.
For ourselves personally, we are partial to our own American system,
which, unless we are blinded by our national prejudices, comes nearer
to the realization of the true union as well as distinction of church
and state than has heretofore or elsewhere been effected; and we
own we should like to see it, if practicable there, introduced--by
lawful means only--into the nations of Europe. The American system
may not be practicable in Europe; but, if so, we think it would be an
improvement. Foreigners do not generally, nor even do all Americans
themselves fully understand the relation of church and state, as it
really subsists in the fundamental constitution of American society.
Abroad and at home there is a strong disposition to interpret it by
the theory of European liberalism, and both they who defend and they
who oppose the union of church and state, regard it as based on their
total separation. But the reverse of this, as we understand it, is
the fact. American society is based on the principle of their union;
and union, while it implies distinction, denies separation. Modern
infidelity or secularism is, no doubt, at work here as elsewhere to
effect their separation; but as yet the two orders are distinct, each
with its distinct organization, sphere of action, representative, and
functions, but not separate. Here the rights of neither are held to
be grants from the other. The rights of the church are not franchises
or concessions from the state, but are recognized by the state as
held under a higher law than its own, and therefore rights prior to
and above itself, which it is bound by the law constituting it to
respect, obey, and, whenever necessary, to use its physical force to
protect and vindicate.
The original settlers of the Anglo-American colonies were not
infidels, but, for the most part, sincerely religious and Christian
in their way, and in organizing society aimed not simply to escape
the oppression of conscience, of which they had been the victims in
the mother country, but to found a truly Christian commonwealth; and
such commonwealth they actually founded, as perfect as was possible
with their imperfect and often erroneous views of Christianity. The
colonies of New England inclined, no doubt, to a theocracy, and
tended to absorb the state in the church; in the Southern colonies,
the tendency was, as in England, to establish the supremacy of the
civil order, and to make the church a function of the state. These
two opposite tendencies meeting in the formation of American society,
to a great extent, counterbalanced each other, and resulted in the
assertion of the supremacy of the Christian idea, or the union and
distinction under the law of God, of the two orders. In principle, at
least, each order exists in American society in its normal relation
to the other; and also in its integrity, with its own distinctive
nature, laws, and functions, and therefore the temporal in its proper
subordination to the spiritual.
This subordination is, indeed, not always observed in practice,
nor always even theoretically admitted. Many Americans, at first
thought, when it is broadly stated, will indignantly deny it. We
shall find even Catholics who do not accept it, and gravely tell us
that their religion has nothing to do with their politics; that is,
their politics are independent of their religion; that is, again,
politics are independent of God, and there is no God in the political
order; as if a man could be an atheist in the state, and a devout
Catholic in the church. But too many Catholics, at home and abroad,
act as if this were indeed possible, and very reasonable, nay, their
duty; and hence the political world is given over to the violence and
corruption in which Satan finds a rich harvest. But let the state
pass some act that openly and undisguisedly attacks the rights,
the freedom, or independence of the church, in a practical way, it
will be hard to find a single Catholic, in this country at least,
who would not denounce it as an outrage on his conscience, which
shows that the assertion of the separation of politics from religion
so thoughtlessly made, really means only the distinction, not the
separation of the two orders, or that politics are independent, so
long as they do not run counter to the freedom and independence of
religion, or fail to respect and protect the rights of the church.
Inexactness of expression, and bad logic do not necessarily indicate
unsound faith.
Most non-Catholics will deny that the American state is founded on
the recognition of the independence and superiority of the spiritual
order, and therefore, of the church, and the confession of its own
subordination to the spiritual, not only in the order of logic, as
Il Signor Cantù maintains, but also in the order of authority; yet a
little reflection ought to satisfy every one that such is the fact,
and if it does not, it will be owing to a misconception of what is
spiritual. The basis of the American state or constitution, the real,
unwritten, providential constitution, we mean, is what are called
the natural and inalienable rights of man; and we know no American
citizen who does not hold that these rights are prior to civil
society, above it, and held independently of it; or that does not
maintain that the great end for which civil society is instituted
is to protect, defend, and vindicate, if need be, with its whole
physical force, these sacred and inviolable rights for each and every
citizen, however high, however low. This is our American boast,
our American conception of political justice, glory. These rights,
among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, are the
higher, the supreme law for civil society, which the state, however
constituted, is bound to recognize and obey. They deny the absolutism
of the state, define its sphere, restrict its power, and prescribe
its duty.
But whence come these rights? and how can they bind the state, and
prescribe its duty? We hold these rights by virtue, of our manhood,
it is said; they are inherent in it, and constitute it. But my
rights bind you, and yours bind me, and yet you and I are equal; our
manhoods are equal. How, then, can the manhood of either bind or
morally oblige the other? Of things equal one cannot be superior to
another. They are in our nature as men, it is said again, or, simply,
we hold them from nature. They are said to be natural rights and
inalienable, and what is natural must be in or from nature. Nature
is taken in two senses; as the physical order or the physical laws
constitutive of the physical universe, and as the moral law under
which all creatures endowed with reason and free-will are placed by
the Creator, and which is cognizable by natural reason or the reason
common to all men. In the first sense, these rights are not inherent
in our nature as men, nor from nature, or in nature; for they are not
physical. Physical rights are a contradiction in terms. They can be
inherent in our nature only in the second sense, and in our moral
nature only, and consequently are held under the law which founds
and sustains moral nature, or the moral order as distinct from the
physical order.
But the moral law, the so-called law of nature, _droit naturel_,
which founds and sustains the moral order, the order of right, of
justice, is not a law founded or prescribed by nature, but the law
for the moral government of nature, under which all moral natures
are placed by the Author of nature as supreme law-giver. The law of
nature is God's law; and whatever rights it founds or are held from
it are his rights, and ours only because they are his. My rights, in
relation to you, are your duties, what God prescribes as the law of
your conduct to me; and your rights are, in relation to me, my duties
to you, what God prescribes as the rule of my conduct to you. But
what God prescribes he has the right to prescribe, and therefore can
command me to respect no rights in you, and you to respect no rights
in me, that are not his; and being his, civil society is bound by
them, and cannot alienate them or deny them without violating his
law, and robbing him of his rights. Hence, he who does an injury to
another wrongs not him only, but wrongs his Maker, his Sovereign, and
his Judge.
Take any of the rights enumerated as inalienable in the preamble to
the Declaration of Independence. Among these is the right to life.
This right all men and civil society itself are bound to treat as
sacred and inviolable. But all men are created equal, and under the
law of nature have equal rights. But how can equals bind one another?
By mutual compact. But whence the obligation of the compact? Why am
I obliged to keep my word? Certainly not by the word itself; but
because I should deprive him of his right to whom I have pledged
it. But I have given my word to assist in committing a murder. Am I
bound to keep it? Not at all. Why not? Because I have pledged myself
to commit a crime, to do a wrong or unjust act. Evidently, then,
compacts or pledged words do not create justice, they presuppose it;
and it is only in virtue of the law of justice that compacts are
obligatory, and no compacts not conformable to that law can bind.
Why, then, am I bound to respect your life? It is not you who can
bind me; for you and I are equals, and neither in his own name can
bind the other. To take your life would be an unjust act; that is,
I should rob justice of its right to your life. The right to life
is then the right of justice. But justice is not an abstraction; it
is not a mental conception, but a reality, and therefore God; and
hence the right for you or me to live is the right of him who hath
made us and whose we are, with all that we are, all that we have,
and all that we can do. Hence, the right to life is inalienable even
by myself, and suicide is not only a crime against society, but a
sin against God; for God owns it as his right, and therefore he has
the right to command all men to hold it in every man sacred and
inviolable, and never to be taken by other men or even civil society,
but at his order. So of all the other rights of man.
If the rights of man are the rights of God in and over man as his
creature, as they undeniably are, they lie in the spiritual order,
are spiritual, not temporal. The American state, then, in recognizing
the independence, superiority, and inviolability of the rights of
man, does recognize, in principle, the independence, superiority,
and inviolability of the spiritual order, and its own subordination
to it, and obligation to consult it and conform to it. It then
recognizes the church divinely appointed and commissioned by God with
plenary authority to represent it, and apply the law of God to the
government of the people as the state no less than to the people as
individuals. This follows as a necessary consequence. If God has made
a supernatural revelation, we are bound by the natural law to believe
it; and if he has instituted a church to represent the spiritual, or
concreted the spiritual in a visible organism, with plenary authority
to teach his word to all men and nations, and to declare and apply
his law in the government of human affairs, we are bound to accept
and obey her the moment the fact is brought sufficiently to our
knowledge. This shows that the true church, if such church there be,
is sacred and inviolable, and that what she declares to be the law
of God is his law, which binds every conscience; and all sovereigns
and subjects, states and citizens are alike bound to obey her. He who
refuses to obey her refuses to obey God; he who spurns her spurns
God; he who despises her despises God; and he who despoils her of
any of her rights or possessions despoils God. Kings and the great
of the earth, statesmen and courtiers, demagogues and politicians
are apt to forget this, and because God does not instantly punish
their sacrilege with a visible and material punishment, conclude that
they may outrage her to their heart's content with impunity. But the
punishment is sure to follow in due course, and so far as it concerns
states, dynasties, and society, in the shape of moral weakness,
imbecility, corruption, and death.
That the American state is true to the order it acknowledges, and
never usurps any spiritual functions, we do not pretend. The American
state copies in but too many instances the bad legislation of
Europe. It from the outset showed the original vice of the American
people; for while they very justly subjected the state to the law
of God, they could subject it to that law only as they understood
it, and their understanding of it was in many respects faulty, which
was no wonder, since they had no infallible, no authoritative, in
fact, no representative at all of the spiritual order, and knew the
law of God only so far as taught it by natural reason, and spelled
out by their imperfect light from an imperfect and mutilated text
of the written word. They had a good major proposition, namely, the
spiritual order duly represented is supreme, and should govern all
men collectively and individually, as states and as citizens; but
their minor was bad. But we with our reading of the Bible do duly
represent that order. Therefore, etc. Now, we willingly admit that
a people reverencing and reading the Bible as the word of God, will
in most respects have a far truer and more adequate knowledge of
the law of God than those who have neither church nor Bible, and
only their reason and the mutilated, perverted, and even travestied
traditions of the primitive revelation retained and transmitted by
Gentilism, and therefore that Protestantism as understood by the
American colonists is much better for society than the liberalism
asserted by the movement party either here or in Europe; but its
knowledge will still be defective, and leave many painful gaps on
many important points; and the state, having no better knowledge,
will almost inevitably misconceive what on various matters the law of
God actually prescribes or forbids.
The American state, misled by public opinion, usurps the functions
of the church in some very grave matters. It assumes the control
of marriage and education, therefore of all family relations, of
the family itself, and of ideas, intelligence, opinions, which we
have seen are functions of the church, and both are included in the
two sacraments of marriage and orders. It also fails to recognize
the freedom and independence of the spiritual order in refusing to
recognize the church as a corporation, a moral person, as capable of
possessing property as any natural or private person, and therefore
denies to the spiritual order the inalienable right of property. The
American state denies to the church all possessory rights unless
incorporated by itself. This is all wrong; but if no better, it is no
worse than what is assumed by the state in every European nation; and
the most that can be said is, that in these matters the state forgets
the Christian commonwealth for the pagan, as is done everywhere else.
But except in these instances, the American state is, we believe,
true to the Christian principle on which it is based, as true,
that is, as it can be in a mixed community of Catholics, Jews, and
Protestants. The state has no spiritual competency, and cannot
decide either for itself or for its citizens which is or is not
the church that authoritatively represents the spiritual order.
The responsibility of that decision it does and must leave to its
citizens, who must decide for themselves, and answer to God for the
rectitude of their decision. Their decision is law for the state,
and it must respect and obey it in the case alike of majorities and
minorities; for it recognizes the equal rights of all its citizens,
and cannot discriminate between them. The church that represents for
the state the spiritual order is the church adopted by its citizens;
and as they adopt different churches, it can recognize and enforce,
through the civil courts, the canons and decrees of each only on its
own members, and on them only so far as they do not infringe on the
equal rights of the others. This is not all the state would do or
ought to do in a perfect Christian society, but it is all that it
can do where these different churches exist, and exist for it with
equal rights. It can only recognize them, and protect and vindicate
the rights of each only in relation to those citizens who acknowledge
its authority. This recognizes and protects the Catholic Church in
her entire freedom and independence and in teaching her faith, and in
governing and disciplining Catholics according to her own canons and
decrees, which, unless we are greatly misinformed, is more than the
state does for her, in any old Catholic nation in the world.
This is not tolerance or indifference; it only means that the state
does not arrogate to itself the right to decide which is the true
church, and holds itself bound to respect and protect equally the
church or churches acknowledged as such by its citizens. The doctrine
that a man is free before God to be of any religion, or of no
religion as he pleases, or the liberty of conscience, as understood
by the so-called liberals throughout the world, and which was
condemned by Gregory XVI. of immortal memory, in his encyclical of
August 15th, 1832, receives no countenance from the American state,
and is repugnant to its fundamental constitution. Heretical and
schismatic sects have, indeed, no rights; for they have no authority
from God to represent the spiritual order, and their existence is,
no doubt, repugnant to the real interests of society as well as
destructive to souls; but in a community where they exist along with
the true church, the state must respect and protect in them the
rights of the spiritual order, not indeed because they claim to be
the church, but because they are held to be such by its citizens,
and all its citizens have equal rights in the civil order, and the
equal right to have their conscience, if they have a conscience,
respected and protected. The church of God exacts nothing more of it
in this respect than to be protected in her freedom to combat and
vanquish the adherents of false churches or false religions with her
own spiritual weapons. More she might exact of the state in perfect
Christian society; but this is all that she can exact in an imperfect
and divided Christian society, as is the case in nearly all modern
nations.
This is the American system. Is it practicable in the old Catholic
nations of Europe? Would it be a gain to religion, if suffered to
be introduced there? Would the government, if it were accepted by
the church, understand it as implying its obligation to respect and
protect all churches equally as representing the spiritual order, or
as asserting its freedom to govern and oppress all at will, the true
church as the false? There is danger of the latter, because European
society is not based on the Christian principle of the independence
and inviolability of the rights of man, that is, the rights of God,
but on the pagan principle of the state, that all rights, even the
rights of the church, and society emanate from the state, and are
revocable at its will. Hence the reason why the church has found
concordats with the secular powers so necessary. In the sense of
the secular authority, these concordats are acts of incorporation,
and surrendering them by the church would be the surrender of its
charter by a corporation. It would be to abandon all her goods to
the state, leave her without a legal _status_, and with no rights
which the state holds itself bound to recognize, protect, or enforce
through its courts, any more than she had under the persecuting
Roman emperors. This would be the farthest remove possible from the
American system. Before the American system could be introduced into
European states in the respect that it affords freedom and protection
to the church in the discharge of her spiritual functions, the whole
structure of European society would need to be reconstructed on
the Christian foundation, or the basis of the inherent rights and
supremacy of the spiritual order, instead of its present pagan or
_Græco-Roman_ basis of the supremacy of the city or state.
Undoubtedly, the liberals, or movement party, are, and have been, for
nearly a century, struggling by all the means in their power, fair or
foul, to overthrow European society, and reconstruct it after what
they suppose to be the American model, but in reality on a basis,
if possible, more pagan and less Christian than its present basis.
They assert the absolute supremacy of the state in all things; only,
instead of saying with Louis XIV., "L'état, c'est moi," they say
"L'état, c'est le peuple," but they make the people, as the state, as
absolute as any king or kaiser-state ever pretended to be. The church
would, in their reconstructed society, not have secured to her the
rights that she holds under our system, by the fact that it is based
on the equal and antecedent rights of all citizens, really the rights
of God, which limit the power of state, of the people in a democratic
state, and prescribe both its province and its duty.
Even with us, the American system has its enemies, and perhaps only
a minority of the people understand it as we do, and some of the
courts are beginning to render decisions which, if in one part, they
sustain it, in another part flatly contradict it. The Supreme Court
of Ohio, in the recent case of the School Board of Cincinnati, has
decided very properly that the board could not exclude religion;
but, on the other hand, it maintains that a majority of the people
in any locality may introduce what religion they please, and teach
it to the children of the minority as well as to their own, which is
manifestly wrong; for it gives the majority of the people the power
to establish their own religion, and exclude that of the minority
when, in matters of religion, that is, in matters of conscience,
votes do not count. My conscience, though in a minority of one, is as
sacred and inviolable as it would be if all the rest of the community
were with me. As in the Polish Diet, a single veto suffices to arrest
the whole action of the state. The American democracy is not what it
was in 1776. It was then Christian after a Protestant fashion; it is
now infected with European liberalism, or popular absolutism; and if
we had to introduce the American system now, we should not be able to
do it.
There are serious difficulties on both sides. The church cannot
confide in the revolution, and the governments cannot or will not
protect her, save at the expense of her independence and freedom of
action. They, if we may believe any thing the journals say, threaten
her with their vengeance, if she dares to make and publish such or
such a dogmatic decision, or to define on certain points which they
think touch them, what her faith is and always has been. This is
a manifest invasion of her right to teach the word of God in its
integrity, and simply tells her, with the sword suspended over her
head, that she shall teach only what is agreeable to them, whether
in God's word or not. This insolence, this arrogant assumption,
applauded by the universal sectarian and secular press, if submitted
to, would make the church the mere tool of the secular authority, and
destroy all confidence in her teaching.
We know not how these difficulties on either side are to be overcome.
The church cannot continue to be shorn of her freedom by the secular
governments, and made to conform to their ambitious or timid
politics, without losing more and more her hold on the European
populations. Nor can she side with the revolution without perilling
the interests of society from which her own cannot be separated. We
see no way out of the dilemma but for her, trusting in the divine
protection, to assert simply and energetically her independence of
both parties alike, and confide in the faithful, as she did in the
martyr ages, and as she does now in every heathen land.
We do not assume the propriety or necessity of trying to introduce
the American system into the old world, nor do we urge the church to
break either with the governments or with the people; but we may,
we hope, be permitted to say that what seems to us to be needed is,
for the church to assert her independence of both so far as either
attempts to control her in the free discharge of her functions as
the church of God; and we think the faithful should be prepared
for the consequences of such assertion, whatever they may prove to
be. The church cannot fulfil her mission, which is not confined to
the Catholic nations of Europe, but embraces the whole world, if
she is thus denied her independence and crippled in her freedom of
action. If the assertion of her independence in face of the temporal
order deprives her of her legal status, and places her out of the
protection of the civil law, it perhaps will, in the end, prove to be
no serious calamity, or at least a less evil than her present cramped
and crippled condition. She has held that position heretofore, and,
aided by Him whose spouse she is, and who hath purchased her with his
precious blood, she in that very condition conquered and subdued the
world against the hostility of the most powerful empire that ever
existed. What she has done once, she is no less able to do again. The
worst that the state can do is to strip her of her temporalities, and
forbid her to preach in the name of Jesus. The worst the revolution
can do is the same, and in its fury to massacre bishops and priests,
monks and nuns, men and women, because they choose to obey God rather
than men.
Well, all this has been more than once. We have seen it in Ireland,
where the church was despoiled of her revenues, the people of their
churches, schools, colleges, and religious houses, and only not of
the use of the graveyard; where Catholic worship was prohibited
under pain of death, and armed soldiers hunted and shot down as a
wild beast the priest who ventured to say mass in a private house,
in a remote morass, or a cave in the mountain, and the faithful were
slaughtered as sheep by fiery zealots or the graceless myrmidons of
power; where not only the church was despoiled and left naked and
destitute, but her children were also despoiled of their estates and
reduced to poverty, while laws were devised with satanic ingenuity
and enforced with savage ferocity to degrade and debase them, and
to prevent them from escaping from their poverty or their enforced
secular ignorance. Yet we have seen the faith in spite of all live
and gain on its enemies, the church survive and even prosper; and
only the last year, when offered freely a government subsidy for her
clergy and her services, we have seen the noble Irish hierarchy,
without a dissenting voice, refuse it, and prefer to rely on the
voluntary offerings of the faithful to coming under any obligation to
the temporal power.
In this country the people were, in the outset, as hostile to the
church as they could be anywhere or in any age, and they are not
even yet converted, very generally, into warm and eager friends;
yet without any public provision, relying solely on the alms of the
faithful at home and abroad, principally at home, the missionaries
of the cross have been sustained, the widow's handful of meal and
cruse of oil have not failed; and yet we have founded and sustained
schools, colleges, universities, erected convents for men and for
women, and are erecting throughout the whole country churches, the
finest in it, and some of which may be regarded as architectural
ornaments; and nearly all this has been achieved within a single
lifetime.
Men who sit at their ease in Zion, and find their most engrossing
occupation in solving an antiquarian problem, or disserting on some
heathen relic just dug up, though the world is breaking up and
falling to pieces around them, may be frightened at the prospect of
being deprived of comforts they are used to; but let governments
and peoples do their worst, they cannot do worse than heathen Rome
did, worse than France did in the revolution of 1789, or England has
been doing in Ireland for three hundred years. Fear! What is there
to fear? If God be for us, who can be against us? The danger seems
great, no doubt, to many; but let Catholics have the courage of their
faith, and they will no longer fear him who can kill the body, and
after that hath no more power. The danger before men of Christian
courage will disappear as the morning mist before the rising sun. Can
a Catholic fear poverty, want, labor, suffering, torture, or death
in His cause who for our sakes became poor, and had not where to lay
his head; who took the form of a servant, and obeyed unto death, even
the death of the cross? Know we not that Catholic faith and Catholic
charity can weary out the most cruel and envenomed persecutors,
and in the end gain the victory over them? If the church finds it
necessary, then, in order to maintain her independence, to incur the
hostility of kings or peoples, and the loss of her goods, there need
be no fear; God will not forsake her, and the charity of the faithful
never faileth.
FOOTNOTE:
[21] _Chiesa e Stato_: Rapsodie di C. Cantù, dalla _Rivista
Universale_. Corretto e riveduto dall' Autore. 1867. 8vo, pp. 94.
DION AND THE SIBYLS.
A CLASSIC, CHRISTIAN NOVEL.
BY MILES GERALD KEON, COLONIAL SECRETARY, BERMUDA, AUTHOR OF "HARDING
THE MONEY-SPINNER," ETC.
CHAPTER III.
Tiberius, when all had disappeared along the road, suddenly stopped
in his walk.
His companion, toward whom he had turned, did the same, and looked at
him with an air of expectation.
"I leave all details to you," said the Cæsar; "but what has to be
done is this--that youth who calls himself Paulus Lepidus Æmilius
must be produced as a gladiator either in the Circus Maximus or the
Statilian Amphitheatre,[22] as the number of victims may dictate. Men
of noble birth have been seen ere now upon the sand. We will then
make him show against the best swordsmen in the world--against Gauls,
Britons, and Cappadocians--what that Greek fence is worth of which
he seems a master. The girl, his sister, must be carried off, either
beforehand or afterward, as your skill may dictate, and softly and
safely lodged at Rome in that two-storied brick house of Cneius Piso
and his precious wife, Plancina, which is not known to be mine; (I
believe and hope, and am given to understand, that it is not known to
be theirs neither.)"
Tiberius paused, and Sejanus, with an intent look, slightly inclined
his head. He was a keen man, a subtle man, but not a very profound
man. He observed,
"I have heard something of this Greek widow and of her son and
daughter. They have (it seems to me as if I had heard this) friends
near the person of Augustus, or, at least, in the court. I can easily
cause the girl to be so carried off that no rumor about the place of
her residence will ever more sound among men. But the very mystery of
it will sound, and that loudly; and her mother and brother will never
cease to pierce the ears of Augustus with their cries. But, before I
say a word more, I wish to know two things--first, whether this youth
Paulus is to be included in one of those great shows of gladiators
which are rendering you, my Cæsar, so beloved by the Roman people?"
"Am I beloved, think you?" asked Tiberius.
"The master-passion of the people is for the shows, and, above all,
the fights of the amphitheatre," answered Sejanus. "Whoever has, for
a hundred years and more, obtained the mastery of the world, has thus
won the Romans; each succeeding dictator of the globe, from Caius
Marius, and Sylla, and Pompey, and the invincible Caius Julius, and
Mark Antony, to our present happy Emperor Augustus, has surpassed his
predecessors in the magnificence of these entertainments given to
people, populace, common legionaries, and prætorians; and in exact
proportion also, it is remarkable, has each surpassed his forerunners
in permanent power, until that power has at last become nearly
absolute, nearly unlimited."
"You say true," replied Tiberius; "and I excel all former examples in
the extent, splendor, and novelty of my shows. Augustus has abandoned
that department; but even when he was courting the Romans, he never
_edited_ like me. People would now smile at the old-fashioned
meanness of the spectacles which he formerly made acceptable to them.
He is breaking very fast in health too, I fear, my Sejanus."
"He is, I fear, drawing toward his end," replied the commander of the
prætorians.
"As to your question concerning this youth," resumed Tiberius,
"my object is partly to add a novel and curious feature to the
fight--this strange sword-play. Yet, why should he not afterward be
included in some great slaughter-match, three or four hundred a
side, care being taken that he should be finished? We might first pit
him fairly against six or a dozen single antagonists in succession.
If he conquer them all, it will be unprecedentedly amusing; the
people will be in ecstasies, and then the victor can be made to
disappear in the general conflict. I shall thus have the undisturbed
management of his sister's education."
Grave as a statue, Sejanus replied,
"He is a proud youth, an equestrian, a patrician, son of an eminent
warrior, nephew of one who once shared in the government of the
whole globe. Well, not being a slave, if he found himself in the
arena by virtue of having been violently seized and trepanned, I
firmly believe that, either before or after fighting, he would make a
speech, appealing to the justice of the emperor and the sympathy of
the people, not to say any thing about the soldiers.[23] The plan you
propose, my Cæsar, seems like furnishing him with an immense audience
and a gigantic tribunal, before which to tell that pathetic story
about his father and the battle of Philippi, and those family estates
which are now in the possession of the two beautiful ladies whose
litters have just preceded us on the road to Formiæ."
Tiberius smiled, as with his head bent down he looked at the speaker,
and thus he continued stooping, looking, and smiling for a moment or
two, after which he said,
"The Tuscans are subtle, and you are the subtlest of Tuscans; what is
best?"
Sejanus said, "Let the girl first be carried away; let the mother and
brother break their hearts for her; then let the Lanista Thellus,
who is not known to be one of your men, but is supposed to hire
out his gladiators on his own account, invite the youth to join
his _familia_,[24] or company, and when Paulus refuses, as he will
refuse, let Thellus say that he knows money would not bribe Paulus,
but that he has seen Paulus's sister; that he can guide him to her,
if Paulus consents to fight in the next great forthcoming shows. And,
in short, in order to make all this more specious, let Thellus have
formed the acquaintance of the half-Greek family, mother, sister,
brother, before the girl is abducted, in order that Paulus may think
he speaks the truth when afterward saying that he has seen the sister
and knows her, and can guide Paulus to where she is detained. If this
plan be adopted, Paulus will fight in the arena of _his own accord_,
and will make no speeches, no disturbance, but will disappear for
ever in a decorous and legitimate manner."
"You are a man of immense merit, my Sejanus," replied the personage
in gore-colored purple, "and I will some day reward you more than
I can do while merely the Cæsar of an Augustus, whom may the gods
protect. The mother perhaps we can let alone, or she could be put
on board a corsair as an offering to some god, to procure me good
fortune in other things. We shall see. Meanwhile, execute all
the rest with as little delay as the order and priority of the
several matters, one before the other, will allow, and report to me
punctually at every step."
Beckoning to one of the troopers, who approached with the spare
horse, Tiberius now mounted. The soldier immediately withdrew again,
and Tiberius said to the prætorian commander, "Be upon your guard
with Paterculus; he is doubtless devoted to me, but is a squeamish
man; clever, indeed, too. Still there are clever fools, my Sejanus."
Then waving his hand, he rode slowly away, but came to a halt at a
distance of twenty paces, and turned his horse's head round. Sejanus
strode quickly toward his master.
"You know, of course, that the Germans, encouraged by the slaughter
of Varus and his legions, are swarming over the Julian Alps into the
north-east of Italy from Illyricum.[25] How many legions are there
available to meet them?"
"We have within reach, at this moment, twelve," said Sejanus,
"besides my prætorians."
"Half the present forces of the whole empire," replied the other.
"Germanicus is to drive back the barbarians. He will become more
popular than ever with the troops generally. But the prætorians do
not care for him, I suppose?"
"Even the prætorians revere him," answered Sejanus.
"Why, how so? They have so little to do with him."
"They know a soldier--" began Sejanus.
"And am not I a soldier?" interrupted his master.
"They love you too, my Cæsar, and dearly."
"Peace! Tell me exactly; what think the prætorians of Germanicus?"
"They foolishly think that, since the day when Caius Julius was
murdered, no such soldier--"
"Enough! Foolishly, say you? Remember my instructions. _Vale!_" And
Tiberius galloped north, his face ablaze with a brick-red flush
deeper than ordinary.
CHAPTER IV.
Sejanus, when left alone, motioned to the two troopers. He who had
brought Tiberius his horse rode furiously after the Cæsar; the
other attended the general, who slowly mounted his own steed, and,
pursuing the same direction, began to trot leisurely toward Formiæ.
The sun had gone down; the short twilight had passed away; clouds
had gathered, and the moon, not having yet risen, the night was very
black. In a few minutes Sejanus slackened his horse's pace from a
trot to a walk, and the orderly, as his military attendant would in
modern times be called, nearly rode against him in the dark. The man
made some natural excuse, and fell back again about thirty paces.
Sejanus hardly noticed him.
"At present," he muttered, when again alone, "Tiberius, though a
Cæsar, needs me; Germanicus is Cæsar too, and may become emperor.
If Germanicus wished it, right or wrong--if _per fas et nefas_--he
would win. He has much of the genius of Caius Julius and his defect
of overtrustfulness; but none of his many vices. I doubt if he
will ever be emperor; he is too Athenian, and also too honorable,
too disinterested. Somehow I feel, too, as if he were going to be
assassinated; he believes readily in men. Tiberius has smaller
abilities, worse qualities, and better chances. He will rule the
world, and Ælius Sejanus will rule him."
As Sejanus said these things to himself in an indistinct murmur, of
which none could have heard the precise words, a voice at his elbow
astonished him. Said the voice,
"How far is it, illustrious general, to Formiæ?"
The prætorian chief turned with a start, and saw that the speaker was
a mounted traveller, attended by two servants, also on horseback;
but there was so little light that he could not distinguish the
stranger's features, nor more of his dress and appointments than that
they were not, as it seemed, Italian.
"About five thousand paces," he answered. "However, there is no inn
at Formiæ. Some eight hundred paces from here is a good wayside
tavern, (_mansio_.) But you call me general, for I wear the dress.
You do not, however, know me."
"Not know the distinguished chief of the prætorians? Not know the
happy and unhappy, the fortunate and unfortunate Sejanus?"
"Happy and unhappy," reëchoed the latter, "fortunate and unfortunate!
What means this jargon? You could use that language of every mortal.
What you say you unsay."
While thus replying, he endeavored to discern the dim features of his
new companion.
"Think you so?" said the man. "Then, pray, would it be the same
if I were to say, for example, unhappy and happy, unfortunate and
fortunate?"
"Yes."
"Alas! no."
"What!" said Sejanus. "The happiness is present, the good fortune is
present, but the misfortune and unhappiness are to come. Is this your
meaning?"
"As I always say what I mean," rejoined the other, "so I never
explain what I say."
"Then at least," observed Sejanus, with great haughtiness of tone and
manner, "you will be good enough to say who you are. As the _Prætor
Peregrinus_,[26] especially charged to look after foreigners, I
demand your name. Remember, friend, that six lictors, as well as
twenty thousand soldiers, obey Sejanus."
"I am the god Hermes," replied the other, riding suddenly ahead,
followed by both his attendants.
The movement was so unexpected that the figure of the stranger had
become almost indistinguishable in the obscurity, before Sejanus
urged his fleet Numidian steed forward at a bound in pursuit.
"Take care," said a voice in his front, "that your horse do not throw
you, impious man!"
At the same time, the prætorian leader heard something roll upon the
paved road, and immediately a vivid flash blazed under his horse's
eyes, and a sharp report followed. Nearly thrown, indeed, he was,
as the voice had warned him. When he had recovered his balance and
quieted the startled beast he was riding, he halted to listen; but
the only sound he could now hear was that of the mounted trooper
trotting after him along the Appian Way. He waited for this man to
come up, and inquired what he had observed in the three strangers who
had previously passed him on the road.
"No stranger," said the man, "had passed him; he had seen no one."
Then Sejanus remembered what he had not at the moment adverted to,
that neither when first accosted by the stranger, nor afterward while
this person with his two attendants rode by his side, nor finally
when they all galloped forward and were lost in the darkness, had any
clatter of hoofs been audible.
He resumed his journey in silent thought, and soon arrived, without
further adventure, at the large and famous post-house, standing in
those days four or five miles south of Formiæ.
CHAPTER V.
The post house, or _mansio_,[27] to which allusion has been made,
situated about four or five miles south of Formiæ, on the Appian
road, was a large, rambling, two-storied _brick_ house, capable of
accommodating a vast number of travellers. It was not, therefore,
merely one of the many relay-houses where the imperial couriers, as
well as all who could produce a special warrant for the purpose,
from a consul, or a prætor, or even a quæstor, were allowed to
obtain a change of horses; still less was it one of the low
canal-town taverns, whose keepers Horace abused; but it was a regular
country inn, where man and beast found shelter for the apparently
infinitesimal charge of one _as_, (or not quite a penny,) and good
cheer at proportionably moderate cost. It was well supplied from its
own farm-yards, olive-groves, orchards, vineyards, pastures, and
tilled fields, with vegetables, beef, mutton, poultry, geese, ducks,
attagens, and other meats; eggs, wine, butter, cheese, milk, honey,
bread, and fruit; a delicious plate of fish occasionally, an equally
delicious array of quail, produced upon table in a state aromatic and
frothy with their own fat juices.
This excellent and celebrated house of entertainment for belated or
way-worn travellers, as well as for all who desired a change from the
monotony of their usual life, was kept by a remarkably worthy old
couple, formerly slaves, a freedman and freedwoman of the illustrious
Æmilian family. The reader will have noticed that the youth whom it
is necessary, we suppose, to acknowledge in the capacity of our hero,
has been called Paulus Æmilius Lepidus; that his father had borne
the same style; and likewise that his father's brother, the former
sovereign magistrate or triumvir in the second and great triumvirate,
was named Marcus Æmilius Lepidus. In all these names, that of Æmilius
occurs; and Æmilius was the noblest of the patronymics which once
this great family boasted. Now, theirs had been the house in which
Crispus and Crispina, the good innkeeper and his wife, at present
free and prosperous, had been boy and girl slaves. The wife, indeed,
had been nurse to a son of Marcus Lepidus, the triumvir.
That son, some years before the date of our narrative, had been
engaged in a conspiracy against Augustus; and the conspiracy having
been discovered by Mæcenas, the youth had been put to death. Marcus
Æmilius Lepidus, the father, was exculpated from all knowledge of
this attempt on the part of his son, but had ever since lived in
profound retirement at a lonely sea-shore castle some twenty or
thirty miles from Crispus's inn, near Monte Circello; a silent,
brooding, timid man, no longer very wealthy, entirely without weight
in the society which he had abandoned, and without any visible
influence in the political world, from which he had fled in some
terror and immense disgust.
As Sejanus rode slowly up to the inn-door, a centurion came out of
the porch with the air of one who had been waiting for him. Saluting
the general, this officer said that he had been left behind by
Velleius Paterculus to say that the sister of the youth whom Tiberius
had placed under the charge of Paterculus had fainted on the road;
that being unable to proceed, she and her mother had taken a lodging
in the inn; that the youth had at once begged Paterculus to allow
him to remain instead of proceeding to Formiæ, in order that he
might attend to his poor sister, for whose life he was alarmed,
giving his promise that he would faithfully report himself, and not
attempt to escape; that Paterculus considered himself justified,
under the circumstances, in acceding to so natural a request;
consequently, that the young man was now in the inn, along with his
mother and sister; and that he, the centurion, had been ordered to
await Sejanus's arrival, and inform him of what had occurred, so that
he might either confirm his subordinate's decision, or repair the
mistake, if it was one, and cause the youth to go forward at once to
Formiæ according to the letter of Tiberius's original command.
"It is well," said Sejanus, after a moment's reflection. "This is not
the sort of lad who will break his word. Carthaginians, and rubbish
like them, knew long ago how to believe a Roman knight and patrician,
and this lad seems to be of the Regulus breed. Does the Cæsar
himself, however, know of this?"
"I had no orders to tell him," answered the centurion; "and if I had
had, it would have been difficult; he passed at full gallop a quarter
of an hour ago, his head down, not so much as looking aside."
Sejanus then put the following question with a sneer,
"Has a god, or a stranger, with two attendants on horseback, passed
this way?"
"No god, unless he be a god, and he had no attendants," said the
astonished centurion.
"You have not seen three figures on horseback, nor a flash of bluish
light?"
"I certainly thought I saw three figures on horseback, but I could
not be sure. It was on the farther side of the way, general, which is
broad," continued the man apologetically, "and there was no sound
of hoofs; my impression, too, was gone in a moment. As to a flash of
bluish light, there are several flashes of red and white light inside
the inn kitchen, and they make the road outside all the darker; but
there has been no flash in the road."
"Good! now follow me."
And Sejanus rode on in the direction of Formiæ, the centurion and the
soldier behind him.
CHAPTER VI.
The inn, it is well ascertained, never became a common institution
in classic antiquity. It was utterly unknown in any thing like its
modern shape among the Greeks; one cause being that the literary
Greeks gave less care to their roads and communications than the
administrating, fighting, conquering, and colonizing Romans always
did. Even among the Romans the army trusted to its city-like
encampments from stage to stage. Centuries passed away, during which
the private traveller found few indeed, and far between, any better
public resting-houses along the magnificent and stupendous highways,
whose remains we still behold indestructible, from England to Asia
Minor, than the half-day relay-posts, or _mutationes_. At these the
wayfarer, by producing[28] his _diploma_ from the proper authorities,
obtained a change of horses.
Travelling, in short, was a thousand-fold less practised than it
is among us; and those who did travel, or who deemed it likely
they ever should, trusted to that hospitality which necessity had
made universal, and the poetry of daily life had raised by repute
into one of the greatest virtues. Years before any member of your
family, supposing you to belong to the age through which the events
of this narrative are carrying and to carry us, years before any
of your circle quitted your roof, you knew to what house, to what
smoky hearth in each foreign land, to what threshold in Spain, Gaul,
Syria, Egypt, Greece, the wanderer would eventually resort. A certain
family in each of these and other lands was your _hospes_, and you
were theirs; and very often you carried round your neck, attached
to a gold or silver chain, a bit of elder or oak (_robur_) notched
and marked by the natural breakage, the corresponding half of which
hung day and night round the neck of some friend living thousands
of miles away, beyond rivers, mountains, wild forests, and raging
seas. These tokens were the cheap lodging-money of friendship. Very
often they were interchanged and put on in boyhood, and not presented
till advanced age. He who had thrown the sacred symbol round the
curly head of his playmate on the banks of the Tiber, saw an old
man with scanty white hair approach him, half a century afterward,
at Alexandria, or Numantia, or Athens, and offer him a little bit
of wood, the fracture? of which were found to fit into those of
a similar piece worn upon his own bosom. Or the son brought the
father's token; or a son received what a father had given. And the
stranger was forthwith joyfully made welcome, and took rank among
dear friends. Forthwith the bath and the supper introduced him to
his remote home amid foreign faces. To be once unfaithful to these
pledges, was to become irreparably infamous. The caitiff who thus
sundered the lies of traditionary and necessity-caused and world-wide
kindness, became an object of scorn and reprobation to all. It
was enough to mention of him,[29] _tesseram confregit hospitalem_,
("_that man has broken his token-word of hospitality_;") with that
all was said. Traces of this touching custom appear to survive in
some of the ceremonials of rustic love, amid many a population
ignorant that the ancient Romans ever reigned over Europe.
But if inns, in year eleven, were not what they have been in mediæval
and modern Europe, nevertheless a few existed even then, (_cauponæ_;)
and a more notable establishment of this kind never flourished in any
part of the Roman empire than that to which our story has now brought
us. It was the exception to manners then prevalent, and the presage
of manners to come long afterward. It used to be commonly called the
_Post-House of the Hundredth Milestone_, or, more briefly, _Crispus's
Inn_.
The public room of this place of entertainment was not unlike the
coffee-room of a good modern inn, except that it was necessarily far
more full of incident and interest, because the ancients were beyond
comparison more addicted to living in public than any modern nation
has ever been.
An Englishman who makes a similar remark of the French, in comparison
with his own countrymen, has only to remember that the modern French
as much excel the ancient Romans in fondness for retirement and
privacy and domestic life as the English believe themselves to excel
the French in the same particular.
An inn did not trouble itself much with the _triclinium_, a chamber
seldom used by its frequenters. Even the manners of the _triclinium_
were out of vogue here.
In Crispus's public room, for instance, there was one and only one
table arranged with couches around it, upon which some three or four
customers, while eating and drinking, could recline according to the
fashion adopted in the private houses of the rich and noble. All the
other tables stood round the walls of the apartment, with benches
and settees on each side, offering seats for the guests. The inner
seats at these tables were generally preferred, for two reasons; the
occupants saw all that passed in the room, and besides, had the wall,
against which they could lean back.
When Velleius Paterculus, having left Tiberius and Sejanus in the
meadows near the Liris, took charge of the prætorian squadrons and of
Paulus, he directed a Batavian trooper to dismount and give his horse
to the prisoner. Paulus willingly sprung upon the big Flemish beast,
and rode by the side of the obliging officer who had given him that
conveyance. Thus they proceeded at an easy amble until they reached
the post-house, to the porch of which the noise of four thousand
hoofs, suddenly approaching along the paved road, had brought a group
of curious gazers. Among these was the landlord, Crispus himself.
A halt, as the reader must have inferred from a former incident, was
occasioned at the door by the intimation conveyed to Paterculus that
Paulus's sister had fainted, that she and her mother intended to seek
a lodging at the inn, and that the mother and brother of the invalid
would both feel grateful to the commanding officer if he could permit
Paulus, upon pledging his word not to make any attempt to escape, to
remain there with them.
"As to the ladies," said the urbane literary soldier, "I have neither
the wish nor any orders to interfere with their movements. But
you, young sir, what say you? Will you give me your word to regard
yourself as being in my custody till I expressly release you? Will
you promise not to _abire_, _evadere_, _excedere_, or _erumpere_, as
our friend Tully said?"
"Tully! Who is that?" asked our hero.
"What, you a half Greek and not know who Tully was! Is this the
manner in which Greek youths, or at least youths in Greece, are
educated! Is it thus they are taught in Greece, to which we go
ourselves for education! In that Greece which has forbidden
gladiatorial shows, and diminished the training of the body to have
more time for that of the intellect!"
Paulus blushed, seeing he must have betrayed some gross degree of
rusticity, and answered,
"I know I am ignorant: I have been so much occupied in athletic
sports. But I will give you the promise you ask, and keep it most
truly and faithfully."
"I will trust you, then. Go a little, my friend, into the athletic
sports of the mind, which are precisely those Greece most cultivates.
You are of a great family now fallen down. The muscles of the arm,
the strength of the body, a blow from a cestus, never yet raised
that kind of burden off the ground. You fence astonishingly well--I
noted your parry just now; but the fence of the mind is every thing,
believe me. By the way, I see the excellent Piso, whom you hammered
down after the parry, as one puts a full stop to a pretty sentence,
is being carried into this same post-house."
"By your leave, illustrious sir," interposed the innkeeper, rather
nervously, "it is scarcely the custom, is it, to drop guests at
Crispus's door, without first asking Crispus has he room for them?
The expected visit of the divine Augustus to the neighboring palace
of the most excellent and valiant knight Mamurra, in Formiæ, has
choked and strangled this poor house. There is no place where the
multitude of guests can lodge in the town, so they come hither, as
to a spot at a convenient distance. Troops of players, troops of
gladiators, troops of fortune-tellers, troops of geese, pigs, beeves,
attagens, alive and dead, night and day, for the last week, with
mighty personages from a distance, make the road noisy, I assure you,
even after my house is full. I believe they would wish me to put up
the very oxen intended for sacrifice."
"Have you no chambers whatever vacant?" asked Velleius.
"I did not say that, most excellent sir; vacant is one thing,
disengaged is another. I have received an express letter from
Brundusium, to say that a certain queen out of the East, with her son
and her train, are coming to pay their homage to the emperor: and
here we have already the servants of that Jew king, as they say, one
King Alexander, who wants his cause to be heard and his title settled
by Augustus himself, and I am obliged to listen to loud outcries that
he, too, must have apartments."
At this moment, the travelling carriage carrying poor Agatha and her
mother had been drawn nearly opposite to the porch, but a little in
rear of the tribune, so as not to intercept his conversation with the
innkeeper. Paterculus threw a quick glance at the beautiful pallid
face of the girl, and the anxious and frightened look of her mother.
"By what you tell me, worthy Crispus," he replied, "you are so far
from having your justly celebrated house full, that you are keeping
two sets of apartments still vacant, in expectation, first, of some
queen from the east, with her son and train, and secondly, of this
Jewish king, one Alexander. Worthy Libertinus,[30] the fair damsel
whom you see so pale, is very sick, and has just swooned away from
sheer fatigue. Will you turn such a daughter in such health, with her
noble mother, from your door? A queen can take care of herself, it
seems to me. But what will become of these excellent Roman ladies,
(your own countrywomen,) if you now bid them begone from your
threshold? You have assured me that they can obtain no shelter at
all in Formiæ. Look at the child! She seems likely to faint again.
Are you to let this daughter of a Roman knight die in the fields,
in order that you may have room for a barbarian queen? You have a
daughter of your own, I am told."
"Die!" groaned the innkeeper: "all this did not come into my mind,
most illustrious tribune and quæstor. Come, little lady, let me help
you down. This lady and her daughter, sir, shall have the queen's own
apartments--may all the gods destroy me otherwise! Here, Crispina."
Velleius Paterculus smiled, and having whispered some order to a
centurion, who remained behind in watch for Sejanus, the tribune
waved his hand, crying out _vale_ to whom it might concern, and rode
forward with the prætorians at a much smarter pace than they had come.
CHAPTER VII.
Meanwhile the innkeeper's wife, Crispina, had appeared, and had led
Aglais and her daughter through the group in the porch into the
house, and passing by a little _zothecula_,[31] behind the curtain
of which they heard the sound of flutes,[32] as the carvers carved,
and many voices, loud and low, denoting the apartment called _dieta_
or public room of the inn, they soon arrived at the _compluvium_, an
open space or small court, in the middle of which was a cistern, and
in the middle of the cistern a splashing fountain. The cistern was
railed by a circular wooden balustrade, against which some creeping
plants grew. This cistern was supplied from the sky; for the whole
space or court in which it lay was open and unroofed. Between the
circular wooden balustrade and the walls of the house was, on every
side, a large quadrangular walk, lightly gravelled, and flashing back
under the lantern which Crispina carried, an almost metallic glint
and sparkle. Of course this walk presented its quadrangular form on
the outer edge, next the house only; the inside, next the cistern,
was rounded away. This quadrangular walk was at one spot diminished
in width by a staircase in the open air, (but under an awning,) which
led up to the second story of the large brick building. Around the
whole _compluvium_, or court, the four inner faces of the inn, which
had four covered lights in sconces against the walls, were marked at
irregular intervals by windows, some of which were mere holes, with
trap-doors (in every case open at present;) others, lattice-work,
like what, many centuries later, obtained the name of arabesque-work,
having a curtain inside that could be drawn or undrawn. Others
again with perforated slides; others stretched with linen which oil
had rendered diaphanous; others fitted with thin scraped horn; one
only, a tolerably large window, with some kind of mineral panes more
translucent than transparent--a _lapis laminata specularis_.
At the back, or west of the inn, an irregular oblong wing extended,
which of course could not open upon this court, but had its own means
of light and ventilation north and south respectively.
Crispus had followed the group of women, and our friend Paulus had
followed Crispus. In the _compluvium_, the innkeeper took the lantern
from his wife, and begged Aglais and Agatha to follow him up the
awning-covered staircase. As he began to ascend, it happened that
Crispina, looking around, noticed Paulus, who had taken off his
broad-rimmed hat, under one of the sconces. No sooner had her eyes
rested on him than she started violently, and grasped the balustrade
as if she would have fallen but for that support.
"Who are you?" said the woman.
"The brother of that young lady who is ill, and the son of the other
lady."
"And you, too, must want lodgings?"
"Certainly."
The woman seized his arm with a vehement grip, and gazed at him.
"Are you ill?" said Paulus, "or--or--out of your mind? Why do you
clutch my arm and look at me in that fashion?"
"Too young," said she, rather to herself than to him; "besides, I saw
the last act with these eyes. Truly this is wonderful."
Then, like one waking from a dream, she added, "Well, if you want
lodgings, you shall have them. You shall have the apartments of this
king or pretender--the rooms prepared for the Jew Alexander. Come
with me at once." And she unfastened the lamp in the nearest sconce,
and led Paulus up the staircase.
Thus the wanderers, Aglais and her daughter, had the queen's room,
with their Thracian slave Melana to wait upon them, while the
prisoner Paulus had the king's, to which Crispina herself ordered old
Philip, the freedman, to carry his luggage.
A few moments later, the innkeeper, who had returned to the more
public parts of the house to attend to his usual duties, met Philip
laden with parcels in one of the passages, and asked him what he was
doing.
"Carrying young Master Paulus's things to his room."
"You can carry," said the innkeeper, "whatever the ladies require
to _their_ room; but your young master has no room at all, my man,
in this house. And why? For the same reason that will compel you to
sleep in one of the lofts over the stables. There is no space for him
in the inn. You must make him as comfortable as you can in the hay,
just like yourself."
"Humanity is something," muttered Crispus; "but to make a queen
one's enemy on that score, without adding a king, where no humane
consideration intervenes at all, is enough for a poor innkeeper in
a single night. These _tetrarchs_ and rich barbarians can do a poor
man an ugly turn. Who knows but he might complain of my house to
the emperor, or to one of the consuls, or the prætor, or even the
quæstor, and presto! every thing is seized, and I am banished to the
Tauric Chersonese, or to Tomos in Scythia, to drink mare's milk with
the poet Ovid."[33]
"Go on, freedman, with your luggage," here said a peremptory voice,
"and take it whither you have taken the rest."
"And in the name of all the gods, wife," cried Crispus, "whither may
that be?"
"Go on, freedman," she repeated; and then taking her husband aside,
she spoke to him in a low tone.
"Have you remarked this youth's face?" she asked; "and have you any
idea who he is?"
"I know not who any of them are," replied Crispus.
"Look at him then; for here he comes."
Crispus looked, and as he looked his eyes grew bigger; and again he
looked until Paulus noticed it, and smiled.
"Do you know me?" says he.
"No, illustrious sir."
"Alas! I am not illustrious, good landlord, (_institor_,) but hungry
I am. And I believe we all are, except my poor sister, who is not
very strong, and for whom, by and by, I should like to procure the
advice of a physician."
"The poor young thing," said Crispina, "is only tired with her
journey; it is nothing. She will be well to-morrow. Supper you shall
have presently in the ante-chamber of your mother's apartments; and
your freedman and the female slave shall be cared for after they have
waited upon you."
"All this is easy and shall be seen to forthwith," added Crispus;
"but the doctor for your dear sister, _per omnes deos_, where shall
we find him?"
"Understand," said Paulus, "my sister is not in immediate danger,
such as would justify calling in any empiric at once rather than
nobody. She has been ailing for some time, and it is of no use to
send for the first common stupid practitioner that may be in the way.
Is there not some famous doctor procurable in Italy?"
"The most famous in Italy is a Greek physician not five thousand
paces from here at this moment," said the landlord. "But he would
not come to every body; he is Tiberius Cæsar's own doctor."
"You mean Charicles," replied Paulus; "I almost think he would come;
my mother is a Greek lady, and he will surely be glad to oblige his
countrywoman."
"Then write you a note to him," said Crispina, "and I will send it
instantly."
Paulus thanked her, said he would, and withdrew.
When he proposed to his mother to dispatch this message to Charicles,
she hesitated much. Agatha was better, he found her in comparatively
good spirits. It would do to send for the doctor next day. An urgent
summons conveyed at night to the palace or residence of the Cæsar,
where Charicles would probably of necessity be, would cause Tiberius
to inquire into the matter, and would again draw his attention, and
draw it still more persistently to them. He had already intimated
that he would order his physician to attend Agatha. They did not
desire to establish very close relations with the man in black purple.
It is wonderful even how that very intimation from Tiberius had
diminished both mother's and daughter's anxiety to consult the
celebrated practitioner, to whose advice and assistance they had
previously looked forward. There were parties in the court and cabals
in the political world; and among them, as it happened, was the Greek
faction, at the head of which his ill-wishers alleged Germanicus to
be. Græculus, or Greek coxcomb, was one of the names flung at him
as a reproach by his enemies. What the Scotch, and subsequently the
Irish interest may have been at various times in modern England,
that the Greek interest was then in Roman society. Of all men, he
who most needed to be cautious and discreet in such a case was an
adventurer who, being himself a Greek, owed to his personal merit
and abilities the position of emolument and credit which he enjoyed;
who was tolerated for his individual qualities as a foreigner, but
who, if suspected of using professional opportunities as a political
partisan, would be of no service to others, and would merely lose his
own advantages.
"Let Tiberius send Charicles to us," continued Aglais; "and our
countryman and friend may be of service to us, even in the suit which
we have to urge at court. But were we now to show the Cæsar that we
confide in Charicles, we should only injure our countryman and not
benefit ourselves."
"How injure him?"
"Thus," replied the Greek lady. "If your claim for the restitution of
your father's estates be not granted for justice sake, I must make
interest in order that it may be granted for favor's sake. As a Greek
I shall be likely to induce no powerful person to take our claims
under his protection except Germanicus, the friend of Athenians.
Now, it is a fact which I have learned for certain that Tiberius
hates Germanicus, whom he regards as his rival; and that whoever
is patronized by Germanicus, him Tiberius would gladly destroy.
Behold us in a short while the clients and retainers of this same
Germanicus, and let Tiberius then remember that his own physician has
been, and continues to be, intimate and confidential with this brood
of the Germanicus faction. Would not Charicles be damaged, perhaps
endangered? But if we wait until the Cæsar himself sends us the
doctor, as he said he would, we may then gain by it, and our friend
not lose."
"Mother, you are indeed Greek," said Paulus, laughing; "and as
Agatha is in no actual danger, be it as you say. Do you know,
sister, there is nothing the matter with you but fatigue and fright?
I am sure of it. You will recover rapidly now, with rest, peace, and
safety."
"Mother," says Agatha, smiling, "we have forgotten, amid all this
consultation about my health, to tell brother the curious discovery I
have just made."
"True," said Aglais; "your sister has explored a very odd fact
indeed."
"Why, brother," says Agatha, "we found you in this large
sitting-room, when we entered, though we had left you below-stairs,
near the cistern."
"Found me?" said Paulus.
"Yes," added his mother; "found you concealed in this room by
Tiberius."
"Concealed by Tiberius?"
"I will not leave you in suspense any longer," said the young girl,
laughing. "Look here." And she led him to a table behind the bench
on which she had been sitting, and directed his attention to a bust,
or rather a head of Tiberius, modelled or moulded in some sort of
pottery.
"That," said she, "when I first sat down, stood upon yonder table
opposite to us. I recognized the face of the man who had spoken to
me under the chestnut-trees, just before you assisted me back to the
carriage. I abhor the wicked countenance; and not choosing to let it
stare at me like a dream where it was, I rose and went to remove it
to the stand where you now see it, behind my bench. Well, only think!
I took it, so, with my hands, one under each ear, and lifted it;
when, lo! it came away, and left your own dear face looking at us,
thus!"
As she spoke, she again lifted the _terra cotta_ face, and beneath
it a much smaller and more elegant piece of sculpture in white
marble was disclosed, presenting the lineaments and image of Paulus
himself. He started, and then his sister replaced the mask of
Tiberius with a laugh.
"Was I not speaking true when I said that Tiberius had concealed you
here?" said his mother.
"The Cæsar, very true, has me in his head, and well secured," said
Paulus.
At that moment the door opened, and Crispina entered to ask whether
the letter for the physician was ready. They told her they had
changed their minds, and would not, at least that night, send any
letter, Agatha felt and looked so much better.
"Then I will at once order your supper to be brought," said Crispina;
"and as you are evidently people of distinction, would you like music
while the meats are carved?"
"Certainly not," said the Greek lady.
"Not a carver neither, mother?" interposed Agatha; and, turning to
the hostess, she begged that they might be treated as quietly and let
alone as much as it was possible.
"That is indeed our desire," said the Greek lady.
"In that case," replied the hostess, "my own daughter, Benigna, shall
attend to you. Nobody shall trouble you. You are in the rear or west
wing of the house, far away from all the noise of our customers, who
are sometimes, I confess, sufficiently uproarious. But Crispus is not
afraid of them. When to-morrow's sun rises, you will be glad to find
what a beautiful country extends beneath your windows, even to the
waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. You will behold, first, a garden and
bee-hive; beyond these are orchards; beyond them fields of husbandry
and pleasant pasture lands, with not a human figure to be seen except
knots and dots of work-people, a few shepherds, and perhaps an angler
amusing himself on the banks of the Liris in the distance."
"Oh!" said Agatha, "I wish soon to go to sleep, that we may set out
quickly toward that beautiful country to-morrow morning."
"Will you not like a little bit of something very nice for supper
first, my precious little lady?" quoth the good hostess; "and that
will make you sleep all the better, and from the moment when you
close your pretty eyes in rest and comfort under poor Crispina's
roof, to the moment when you open them upon those lovely scenes,
you won't be able to count one, two, three--but just only one--and
presto! there's to-morrow morning for you!"
Agatha declared that this was very nice; and that supper would be
nice; and that every thing was comfortable; the rooms particularly so.
"Then a delicious little supper shall be got ready at once," said
Crispina. "I'll call my brisk Benigna to help me."
Before quitting the room, however, the landlady, whose glance had
rested chiefly upon Paulus during the conversation, threw up her
hands a little way. She then composed herself, and addressing Aglais,
asked,
"What names, lady, shall I put down in my book?"
"I will tell you when you return," replied Aglais; and the landlady
retired.
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Suetonius, Aug. 39. The forum, where gladiators had often bled,
was becoming less and less used for that purpose.
[23] It is well known that Trajan exhibited shows in which ten
thousand gladiators fought, but this monstrous development of cruelty
came long after our date.
[24] A school of gladiators. Suet Jul. 26; Aug. 42; Tacit. Hist. ii.
88.
[25] This German expedition took the same direction as that of the
Austrian armies which endeavored to dislodge Bonaparte from the siege
of Mantua, and came pouring down both sides of Lake Guarda.
[26] Cic. Fam. xiii. 59; Dion. iii. 22; Cæsar. Bell. Cir. iii. 20.
[27] The malignant innkeepers mentioned by Horace, "Sat. lib. 1,
Sat. 5," kept a low class of houses in comparison with this notable
hostelry.
[28] Pliny, Ep. x. 14, 121.
[29] Cic. Qu. Fr. ii. 14; Plautus, Pœn. v. 1, 22, 2, 92; Cist. 2,
1, 27.
[30] _Libertus_, freedman of such or such a family; _libertinus_,
freedman in general, or son of one.
[31] _Zothecula_, a small apartment, one side of which was formed by
a curtain. Pliny, Epis. ii. 17; v. 6. Suetonius, Claud. 10.
[32] _Flutes_, etc. Juvenal v. 121; xi. 137.
[33] Something in this language may seem out of keeping. I would
therefore remind the reader that the most learned, accomplished,
studious, and highly-cultivated minds among the Romans were very
frequently found in the class of slaves and freedmen.
A MAY CAROL.
How many a lonely hermit maid
Hath brightened like a dawn-touched isle
When--on her breast in vision laid--
That Babe hath lit her with his smile!
How many an agèd saint hath felt,
So graced, a second spring renew
Her wintry breast; with Anna knelt,
And trembled like the matin dew!
How oft the unbending monk, no thrall
In youth of mortal smiles or tears,
Hath felt that Infant's touch through all
The armor of his hundred years!
But Mary's was no transient bliss;
Nor hers a vision's phantom gleam;
The hourly need, the voice, the kiss--
That child was hers! 'Twas not a dream!
At morning hers, and when the sheen
Of moonrise crept the cliffs along;
In silence hers, and hers between
The pulses of the night-bird's song.
And as the Child, the love. Its growth
Was, hour by hour, a growth in grace;
That Child was God; and love for both
Advanced perforce with equal pace.
AUBREY DE VERE.
SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE.
"Of Paradise I cannot speak properly, for I was not there. It is
far beyond, and I repent not going there; but I was not worthy." So
wrote, more than five hundred years ago, an honest English knight who
had spent some ten years journeying through that "most worthy land,
most excellent and lady and sovereign of all other lands," which was
"blessed and hallowed with the most precious body and blood of our
Lord Jesus Christ;" visiting portions of Africa and Asia; and picking
up from all accessible sources legends and marvels, and scraps
of the geography and history of distant countries. For something
like two centuries the travels of Sir John Maundeville enjoyed a
tremendous popularity; and though time can hardly be said to have
improved the good gentleman's reputation for veracity and judgment,
it has perhaps heightened rather than diminished the interest of his
narrative. Alas! we can never know such travellers again. Men who go
to Palestine in a steamboat, and are whirled by locomotives into the
very presence of the Sphinx, bring us back no wonderful stories of
the mysterious East, with its dragons and enchanters, and its sacred
places miraculously barred against profane footsteps. Travel has no
mysteries now. What is the earthly paradise but a Turkish pashalic?
What is Prester John but a petty negro chieftain? And for dragons and
chimæras dire, has not any good museum of natural history specimens
of them all, nicely stuffed and labelled, or bottled in alcohol? In
the days of Sir John, however, wonders were plenty; and if he did not
see very many himself, he heard of men who had seen no end of them,
and he described them all the same. It was from hearsay, and not
from personal observation, that he learned of the Lady of the Land,
in the island of Cos, then called Lango. This wonderful lady was the
daughter of Ypocras or Hippocrates, in form and likeness of a great
dragon which is a hundred fathoms in length, "as they say," adds Sir
John, "for I have not seen her." She lies in an old castle in a cave,
appearing twice or thrice in a year, and condemned "by a goddess
named Diana" to remain in that horrible shape until a knight shall
come and kiss her on the mouth; then she shall resume her natural
form, and the knight shall marry her and be lord of the isles. Many
have tempted the adventure, but fled in affright when they have seen
her. And every knight who once looks upon her and flees, must die
anon.
At Ephesus the traveller beheld the tomb of St. John the Evangelist,
and heard the familiar story that the apostle had entered the
sepulchre alive, and was still living, in accordance with the saying
of our Lord, "So I will have him to remain till I come, what is that
to thee?" "And men may see there the earth of the tomb many times
openly stir and move, as though there were living things under."
To say nothing else of this story, it is not fully consistent with
Sir John's other statement, that the tomb contains nothing but
manna, "which is called angels' meat," for the body was translated
to paradise. Quite as great are the wonders of Joppa, "which is one
of the oldest towns in the world; for it was founded _before Noah's
flood_." Strangely confusing the legend of Perseus and Andromeda,
our traveller relates that in a rock near Joppa may still be seen
marks of the iron chains "wherewith Andromeda, a great giant, was
bound and put in prison before Noah's flood; a rib of whose side,
which is forty feet long, is still shown." Sir John spent a long
time in the service of the sultan of Egypt, where he seems to have
anticipated modern researches into the source of the Nile; for he
confidently assures us that it rises in the garden of Eden, and after
descending upon earth, flows through many extensive countries under
ground, coming out beneath a high hill called Alothe, between India
and Ethiopia, and encircling the whole of Ethiopia and Mauritania,
before it enters the land of Egypt. To the best of our belief, the
travels of Dr. Livingstone have not fully confirmed this interesting
geographical statement. The sultan dwells at a city called Babylon,
which is not, however, the great Babylon where the diversity of
languages was first made by the miracle of God. That Babylon is
forty days' journey across the desert, in the territory of the king
of Persia. The Tower of Babel was ten miles square, and included
many mansions and dwellings; "but it is full long since any man dare
approach to the tower, for it is all desert, and full of dragons
and great serpents, and infested by divers venomous beasts." Sir
John, therefore, is probably not responsible for the extraordinary
measurement of its walls. Whether his account of the phoenix is based
upon his personal observations, we are not told; but it is highly
interesting. There is only one phoenix in the world. It is a very
handsome and glorious bird, with a yellow neck, blue beak, purple
wings, and a red and yellow tail, and may often be seen flying about
the country. It lives five hundred years, and at the end of that
time comes to burn itself on the altar of the temple of Heliopolis,
where the priests prepare for the occasion a fire of spices and
sulphur. The next day they find in the ashes a worm. On the second
day the worm becomes a live and perfect bird; and the third day it
flies away. A plenty of fine things, indeed, Egypt could boast of
in those days, far before any thing she has now. There were gardens
bearing fruit seven times a year. There were the apples of paradise,
which, cut them how you would, or as often as you would, always
showed in the middle the figure of the holy cross. There was the
apple-tree of Adam, whose fruit invariably had a mouthful bitten out
of one side. There is a field containing seven wells, which the child
Jesus made with one of his feet while at play with his companions.
There are the granaries in which Joseph stored corn for the season of
famine, (probably the Pyramids.) And passing out of Egypt across the
desert of Arabia, Sir John tells of the wonderful monastery on Mount
Sinai, whither the ravens, crows, and choughs and other fowls of that
country, assembling in great flocks, come every year on pilgrimage to
the tomb of St. Catharine, each bringing a branch of bays or olive,
so that from these offerings the monks have enough to keep themselves
constantly supplied with oil. There are no such foul venomous beasts
as flies, toads, lizards, lice, or fleas in this monastery; for
once upon a time, when the vermin had become too thick there to be
endured, the good brethren made preparations to move away, whereupon
our Lady commanded them to remain and no pest of that sort should
ever again come near them. On Mount Mamre, near Hebron, Sir John saw
an oak-tree which had been standing since the creation of the world.
Oaks nowadays don't live to such a great age. This tree had borne
no leaves since the crucifixion, (when all the trees in the world
withered away,) but it had still so much virtue that a scrap of it
healed the falling-sickness, and prevented founder in horses.
Armed with a letter under the sultan's great seal, Sir John went
to Jerusalem, and was admitted to all the holy shrines from which
Christians and Jews were usually excluded. He saw, or believed he
saw, the spots sanctified by almost all the great events narrated in
the Gospel; and though his credulity, as may be inferred from what
we have already seen of his narrative, often got the better of his
judgment, his piety, at any rate, deserves our genuine respect. We
pass over his legends of this holy city, some of them poetical, some
merely grotesque, and some really sanctioned by the general voice
of the church, and go with him eastward to the valley of Jordan and
the Dead Sea. Of this mysterious body of water he mentions that it
casts out every day "a thing that is called asphalt in pieces as
large as a horse," and neither man, nor beast, nor any thing that
hath life may die in that sea, which hath been proved many times by
the experiment of criminals condemned to death who have been left
therein three or four days, and yet taken out alive. If any man cast
iron therein, it will float; but a feather will sink to the bottom;
"and these things," truly remarks Sir John, "are contrary to nature."
Not more so, perhaps, than an incident of which he speaks at the city
of Tiberias. In that city an unbeliever hurled a burning dart at our
Lord, "and the head smote into the earth, and waxed green, and it
grew to a great tree; and it grows still, and the bark thereof is
all like coals." Then, near Damascus there is a church, and behind
the altar, in the wall, "a table of black wood on which was formerly
painted an image of our Lady which turns into flesh; but now the
image appears but little." As a compensation, however, for its loss,
a certain wonderful oil, as Sir John assures us, drops continually
from the wood and heals many kinds of sickness, and if any one keep
it cleanly for a year, after that year it turns to flesh and blood.
In this same region of marvels he tells us of a river which runs only
on Saturday, and stands still all the rest of the week, and another
which freezes wonderfully fast every night, and is clear of ice in
the morning. These rivers are not known nowadays, or at any rate must
have changed their habits.
After finishing the description of the Holy Land and Babylon, and
reporting a conversation with the sultan, in which the vices of
the Christians, such as drinking at taverns, and fighting, and
perpetually changing the fashion of their clothes, were sharply
satirized, and giving a synopsis of the Mohammedan creed, which we
fear is not altogether authentic, our worthy traveller adds that now
is the time, if it please us, to tell of the borders, and isles,
and divers beasts, and of various peoples beyond these borders.
Accepting his invitation, we bear him company first to the land of
Lybia, which must have been a most uncomfortable region in those
days, for the sea there was higher than the land, and the sun was so
hot that the waters were always boiling. Why the country was not,
therefore, soused in a steaming, hissing flood, we do not know; 'Sir
John himself evidently thinks it strange. In Little Ermony which we
take to be Armenia, he found something almost equally strange. That
was the Castle of the Sparrow-hawk, where a sparrow-hawk perpetually
sat upon a fair perch and a fair lady of fairie guarded it. Whoever
will watch the bird seven days and seven nights without company and
without sleep, shall be granted by the fairy the first earthly wish
that he shall wish; but if sleep overcome him, he will never more
be seen of men. This, adds the careful traveller, hath been proved
oftentimes, and he mentions several persons who performed the long
task and got their wishes. Mount Ararat is another marvellous feature
in this wonderful region; for it is seven miles high, and Noah's
ark still rests upon it, and in clear weather may be seen afar off.
Some men say that they have been up and touched the ark, and even
put their fingers in the parts where the devil went out when Noah
said "Benedicite," (unfortunately we do not know the legend to which
this refers;) but our traveller warns us not to believe such things,
because they are not true! No man ever got up the mountain except one
good monk; and he was miraculously favored, and brought down with
him a plank which is still preserved in the monastery at the foot
of the mountain. It is inexpressibly gratifying to observe that Sir
John did not accept all the stories that were told him, but exercised
a little judicious discrimination; and we shall therefore pay more
respectful attention to the extraordinary things he tells us about
the diamonds of India. They are found most commonly, he says, upon
rocks of the sea, or else in connection with gold. They grow many
together, male and female, and are nourished by the dew of heaven,
so that they engender and bring forth small children that multiply
and grow all the year. "I have oftentimes tried the experiment," he
continues, "that if a man keep them with a little of the rock, and
wet them with May-dew often, they shall grow every year, and the
small will grow great.... And a man should carry the diamond on his
left side, for it is of greater virtue than on the right side; for
the strength of their growing is toward the north, that is the left
side of the world; and the left part of man is, when he turns his
face toward the east." Sir John was not by any means singular in his
views of the nature of diamonds in his day, however much he may be at
variance with modern authorities; and he is only repeating a popular
superstition of the middle ages when he ascribes many wonderful
virtues to this gem, which he says preserves the wearer from poison,
and wild beasts, and the assaults of enemies, and the machinations
of enchanters, gives courage to the heart and strength to the limbs,
heals lunatics, and casts out devils. But it loses its virtue by sin.
From stories of eels thirty feet long, and people of an evil color,
green and yellow, and the well of Perpetual Youth, from which Sir
John avers that he drank, and rats as great as dogs, which they take
with huge mastiffs, because the cats feel unable to manage them,
we pass to a passage of a very different kind, which, considering
the time when it was written, is certainly curious. One hundred
and seventy years before the time of Columbus we find Sir John
Maundeville arguing that "the land and sea are of round shape,
because the part of the firmament appears in one country which is
not seen in another country," and predicting that "if a man found
passages by ships, he might go by ship all round the world, above
and beneath." A rather elaborate essay is devoted to an estimate
of the size of the world, and to the story of an Englishman--name
unknown--who sailed around it once and never knew it; but coming to a
country where the people spoke his own language, was so much amazed
that he turned around and sailed all the way back again. After this,
Sir John gets back without unnecessary delay to the rosy realms of
eastern fable.
We next find him in Java and among the isles of the Indian Ocean,
where he tells us of rich kings, and splendid palaces where all the
steps are of gold and silver alternately, and the walls covered
with plates of precious metals, and halls and chambers paved with
the same; of trees which bear meal, and honey, and wine, and deadly
poison wherewith the Jews once tried to poison all Christendom; of
snails so big that many persons may lodge in their shells; of men who
feed upon serpents, so that they speak naught, but hiss as serpents
do; of men and women who have dogs' heads; and of a mountain in the
island of Silha where Adam and Eve went and cried for one hundred
years after they were driven out of paradise--cried so hard that
their tears formed a deep lake, which may be seen there to this day,
if any body doubts the story. He tells of giants having only one
eye, which is in the middle of the forehead; people of foul stature
and cursed nature who have no heads, but their eyes are in their
shoulders; people who have neither noses nor mouths; people who have
mouths so big that when they sleep in the sun they cover the whole
face with the upper lip; people who have ears hanging down to their
knees; people who have horses' feet; and feathered men who leap from
tree to tree. Passing to India and China, Sir John describes the fair
and fruitful land of Albany, where there are no poor people, and the
men are of very pale complexion and have only about fifty hairs in
their beards. He speaks of having personally visited these regions;
but we are sorry to say that his narrative is palpably borrowed in
many places from Pliny and Marco Polo. As the great town called
Jamchay he seems to have found the prototype of Delmonico, and he
gives an impressive account of the good custom that when a man will
make a feast for his friends he goes to the host of a certain kind of
inn, and says to him, "Array for me to-morrow a good dinner for so
many people;" and says also, "Thus much will I spend, and no more."
And Sir John adds, "Anon the host arrays for him, so fair, and so
well, and so honestly that there shall lack nothing." Of the great
Chan of Cathay, (Emperor of China,) and his wealth and magnificence,
Sir John writes at considerable length, but with an evident
expectation that men will not believe him. "My fellows and I," he
says, "with our yeomen, served this emperor, and were his soldiers
fifteen months against the King of Mancy, who was at war with him,
because we had great desire to see his nobleness and the estate of
his court, and all his government, to know if it were such as we
heard say." How many his fellows were, or what route they followed
in their eastern wanderings, we cannot tell. Sir John gives us no
particulars; we only learn that he must have combined in curious
perfection the characters of a pilgrim and a military adventurer; and
how much of the world he saw, how much he described from hearsay,
we can only determine from the internal evidence of his book. There
is no reasonable doubt that he did spend some time in the dominions
of the great chan; for his description of the country, the manners
of the people, the magnificence of the sovereign and the ceremonies
of the court, though exaggerated sometimes to the heights of the
grotesque, if not of the sublime, keeps near enough to the probable
truth. We cannot say that we are glad of it; for Sir John is vastly
more entertaining when he does not know what he is talking about.
He skips about with the most charming vivacity from Tartary to
Persia, to Asia Minor, and back again to India, and sometimes it is
certain that he tells us of wonders which he did not see with his
own eyes. In Georgia, for instance, there is a marvellous province
called Hanyson, where once upon a time a cursed Persian king named
Saures overtook a multitude of Christians fleeing from persecution.
The fugitives prayed to God for deliverance, and lo! a great cloud
arose, covering the king's host with darkness, out of which they
could not pass, and so the whole province remains dark to this hour,
and no light shall shine there and no man shall enter it till the
day of judgment. Voices may sometimes be heard coming out of the
darkness, and the neighing of horses and crowing of cocks, and a
great river issues from it bearing tokens of human life. Somewhat
similar to this story is the account of a region on the borders of
the Caspian Sea, where "the Jews of ten lineages who are called Gog
and Magog"--namely, the lost tribes--have been shut up for ages
behind impassable mountains. The legend is that King Alexander drove
them in there, and prevailed upon his gods to close the mountains
with immense stone gates. In the days of Antichrist a fox shall
burrow through where Alexander made the gates, and the imprisoned
Jews, who have never seen a fox, shall hunt him, and following the
burrow break down the gates and come out into the world. Then they
shall make great slaughter of the Christians; wherefore Jews all over
the world learn the Hebrew language, so that in that day the ten
tribes may recognize them by their speech. Somewhere in this part
of the world Sir John saw and tasted "a kind of fruit like gourds,
which, when they are ripe, men cut in two, and find within a little
beast, in flesh, bone, and blood, as though it were a little lamb
without wool." Both the fruit and the beast are good to eat. Sir
John confesses that this was a great marvel; but not to be outdone,
he told his entertainers that in England there were trees bearing
a fruit which becomes flying birds, right good for man's meat,
whereat, he says, his listeners had also great marvel, and some even
thought the thing impossible. Sir John, however, was not purposely
cramming the Persians; he only repeated the popular fable of the
barnacle-goose, which was anciently believed to be hatched from the
barnacles growing on ships' bottoms and logs of wood, just as an
ordinary goose is hatched from an egg.
The great mystery and marvel of the age in which Sir John Maundeville
wrote was the Christian empire of Prester John, supposed to extend
over central India, and to be in reality a vast island, separated
from other countries by great branching rivers which flowed out
of Paradise. Many a traveller went in search of this mythical and
magnificent potentate; many a doubtful story of his power and designs
was brought back to Europe; and even a pretended letter from his
majesty to the pope was widely published in Latin, French, and other
languages. Except the Chan of Cathay, there was no other monarch in
the world so great and so rich. The chan, therefore, always married
the daughter of Prester John, and Prester John always married
the daughter of the chan, which naturally made confusion in the
genealogical records of the reigning families. Of course, Sir John
Maundeville was too gallant a traveller to go home without a full
account of the empire of Prester John. He says he went to it, and
the catalogue of things he saw and the history of things he did are
wonderful enough to satisfy the most exacting reader. As it is quite
certain that no potentate ever existed who bore even a resemblence
to the Prester John of mediæval legend, it is more than usually
difficult to estimate the honesty of Sir John in these particular
portions of his narrative, wherein fable and superstition seem to
reach their climax. The glories of the Indian court are almost beyond
enumeration. The precious stones are so large that plates, dishes,
and cups are made of them. There is a river, rising in paradise,
whose waves are entirely of jewels, without a drop of water, and it
runs only three days of the week, flowing to the Gravelly Sea, where
it is lost from sight. The Gravelly Sea has billows of sand without
a drop of water. It ebbs and flows in great waves, like other seas,
and contains very good fish; but, adds Sir John, "men cannot pass
it in ships." The emperor lives in unspeakably gorgeous state, in a
palace of gems and gold, and upon the top of the highest tower of
the palace are two huge carbuncles which give great light by night
to all people. He is served by seven kings, seventy-two dukes, and
three hundred and sixty earls. Every day he entertains at dinner
twelve archbishops and twenty bishops; and all the archbishops,
bishops, and abbots in the country are kings. There is a gorgeous
artificial paradise in the dominions of Prester John, the legend of
which seems to have been used by Tasso long after Sir John's time
in his famous description of the enchanted gardens of Armida. In
this false Paradise "a rich man named Gatholonabes, who was full of
tricks and subtle deceits," had placed the fairest trees, and fruits,
and flowers, constructed the most beautiful halls and palaces,
all painted with gold and azure, with youths and fair damsels
attired like angels, birds which "sung full delectably and moved by
craft," and artificial rivers of milk, and wine, and honey. When he
had brought good and noble knights into this place, they were so
captivated by the charming sights and sounds, so deceived by the fair
speeches of Gatholonabes, and so inflamed with a certain drink which
he gave them to drink that they became his willing henchmen, and at
his bidding went out from the mountain where this garden stood and
slew whomsoever the impostor marked out for slaughter. To the knights
who lost their lives in his service, he promised a still fairer
Paradise and still more enticing pleasures. Our readers will not
fail to trace the resemblance between this fable and the history of
the Old Man of the Mountain, with whose extraordinary fanatical sect
of Assassins the crusaders had recently made Europe acquainted. Sir
John's story is probably founded upon exaggerated accounts of this
famous personage.
To his description of the perilous Vale of Devils we fear no such
respectable origin can be attributed. "This vale," he says, "is full
of devils, and has been always;" and horrible noises are heard in it
day and night, as though Satan and his crew were holding an infernal
feast. Many daring men have entered in quest of the gold and silver
which are known to abound therein; but few have come out again, for
the devils strangle the misbelieving. We regret to say that Sir John
assures us that he actually saw this vale and went through it with
several of his company. They heard mass first and confessed their
sins, and, trusting in God, fourteen men marched into the valley; but
when they came out at the other end they were only nine. Whether the
five were strangled by devils or turned back, Sir John did not know;
he never saw them again. The vale was full of horrible sights and
sounds. Corpses covered the ground, storms filled the air. The face
and shoulders of an appalling devil terrified them, belching forth
smoke and stench from beneath a huge rock, and several times the
travellers were cast down to the ground and buffeted by tempests. Our
author unfortunately was afraid to pick up any of the treasures which
strewed the way; he did not know what they might really be; for the
devils are very cunning in getting up imitation gems and metals; and
besides, he adds, "I would not be put out of my devotion; for I was
more devout then than ever I was before or after."
When one has passed through the Vale of Devils, other marvels are
encountered beyond. There are giants twenty-eight or thirty feet
in height, and Sir John heard of others whose stature was as much
as fifty feet; but he candidly avows that he "had no lust to go
into those parts," because when the giants see a ship sailing by
the island on which they live, they wade out to seize it, and bring
the men to land, two in each hand, eating them all alive and raw
as they walk. In another island toward the north are people quite
as dangerous, but not quite so shocking; these are women who have
precious stones in their eyes, and when they are angry they slay a
man with a look. Still more marvellous and incredible than any of
these tales is the account of that country, unnamed and undescribed,
where kings are chosen for their virtue and ability alone, and
justice is done in every cause to rich and poor alike, and no
evil-doer, be he the king, himself, ever escapes punishment. There is
an isle besides, called Bragman, or the Land of Faith, where all men
eschew vice, and care not for money; where there is neither wrath,
envy, lechery, nor deceit; where no man lies, or steals, or deceives
his neighbor; where never a murder has been done since the beginning
of time; where there is no poverty, no drunkenness, no pestilence,
tempest, or sickness, no war, and no oppression. All these fine
countries are under the sway of the magnificent Prester John.
Here, on the borders of that Land of Perpetual Darkness, which
stretches away to the Terrestrial Paradise, we take leave of our good
knight, now near the end of his travels. "Rheumatic gouts" began to
torture his wandering limbs and warn him to go home. He has, indeed,
a few more stories to tell; but they are dull in comparison with the
wonders we have already recounted. Much more, indeed, he might have
written; but he gives a truly ingenuous reason for checking his pen:
"And therefore, now that I have devised you of certain
countries which I have spoken of before, I beseech your worthy
and excellent nobleness that it suffice to you at this time;
for if I told you all that is beyond the sea, another man
perhaps, who would labor to go into those parts to seek those
countries, might be blamed by my words in rehearsing many
strange things; for he might not say any thing new, in which
the hearers might have either solace or pleasure."
HOME SCENES IN NEW ENGLAND.
CHAPTER I.
MY AUNT AND THE CATECHISM.
"There sister! I told you what would come of letting that dear child
hear little Mary Ann recite the Romanist catechism. Here we have our
little Kitty setting herself up as a judge in matters of religion,
and quoting the answers she has learned by hearing them repeated! Not
but that she is as good a child as her auntie or her mother could
desire; but her brain is too thoroughly American, too much given to
going to the bottom of any subject it is once interested in, to stop
half-way in a matter of this kind. I knew all the time how it would
end."
Here my maiden aunt paused, more in sorrow than in anger, and little
Kitty remarked playfully,
"If _truth_ lies at the bottom of a well, as you once told me,
auntie, how could we ever reach it without going to the bottom?"
While Kitty's mother replied to her sister in a half-apologizing
manner,
"Why, Laura, I consented to let her hear Mary Ann's catechism, simply
because Kitty told me that the poor mother was so much occupied
in striving to earn a living for her little fatherless ones that
she could not hear it herself; and then the priest was expected to
come here soon, to prepare the children for confirmation, which is
to be given shortly by the bishop. So there was no time to lose. I
certainly did not think there could be any danger in a mere act of
kindness."
"Danger!" exclaimed grandmamma, in defence of her little pet. "If
there's danger in a little knowledge of the Catholic catechism,
it must be because our house is built on a sandy foundation, and
hence we fear it will be destroyed by a little outside religious
information. For my part, I have no objection to full examination in
these matters; nor have I any fear for the result."
A long-drawn sigh and an ejaculation of grief from the corner of the
room called our attention to where grandmamma's sister--"Aunt Ruby,"
the widow of a Congregational minister--sat knitting, removed from
the light of the evening lamps because of the weakness of her eyes.
"O sister! sister! how can you talk so. The old adversary goeth about
everywhere like a roaring lion. He lies hid even in that dish of
meal. If he can only get our folks to questioning and examining, then
the mischief is done; and we shall have popish priests coming here,
carrying on their crossings and their blessings, offering to sell
pardons for our sins, and making us all bow the knee to Baal, and
pray to their graven images. I shudder to think of it!"
"They do not pray to graven images, Aunt Ruby; the catechism
expressly forbids it!" replied Kitty.
"There comes that old catechism again!" exclaimed Aunt Laura. "If
Mary Ann's catechism forbids it, then the book was trumped up to
deceive American children, and is entirely different from the
catechisms used in Ireland or France."
"As for that, auntie, Mary Ann's mother has one she brought from
Ireland many years ago, and it teaches just the same things.
But there is one thing in both that you will acknowledge as
binding--'Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor;'
and the catechism explains that it forbids 'all false testimonies,
rash judgments, and lies.' It seems to me that good people should be
careful not to accuse the Catholic Church--"
"Romanist, if you please!"
"Well, the Roman Catholic Church, of things they do not know to be
true; and I see no harm in inquiring what is true, and what false, in
all that is brought against it. Here is our neighbor across the road,
a pious Methodist, will not let her little girl, who was my best
friend, play with me any more, because I said I thought lies about
Catholics were just as bad as lies about Methodists. But I shall
always think so, if I lose the friendship of every body."
A sigh and a groan were heard from the dark corner, and a voice, "O
poor child! the poison is beginning to work, and there's no knowing
where it will end. If things are to go on in this way, it is just as
likely as any thing in the world that we shall have the Pope of Rome
and all his cardinals down among us before we know it, letting folks
out of purgatory, selling indulgences to commit sin, and doing so
many other awful things!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed Kitty's father, who had just come in. "Never mind,
Aunt Ruby, the pope will never take you, so you need not stand in
fear of him. You are too much in the dark, and I fear never could
bear the light sufficiently to become one of the children of holy
church."
Kitty's eldest brother, who had been educated in a Catholic college,
had come in with his father, and now whispered slyly to grandmamma,
"I don't know about that; I have great hopes for Aunt Ruby yet. When
she left the Episcopal Church, and was propounded for admission into
the Congregational, before she married the minister, you remember how
the old deacons groaned in spirit over her because they could not get
her to say she was 'willing to be damned.'[34] They insisted that the
'old carnal heart' was still too strong in her, and they protested
with one voice that it would never do for their minister to marry a
woman who was not 'willing to be damned.' Perhaps the dear old lady
remains yet of the same mind. If so, she may escape, after all."