[41] "In the number of farms, from one to five acres, the decrease

has been 24,147; from five to fifteen acres, 27,379; from fifteen to

thirty acres, 4274; while of farms above thirty acres, the increase

has been 3670. Seventy thousand occupiers with their families,

numbering about three hundred thousand, were rooted out of the land.

In Leinster, the decrease in the number of holdings not exceeding

one acre, as compared with the decrease of 1847, was 3749; above one

and not exceeding five, was 4026; of five and not exceeding fifteen,

was 2546; of fifteen to thirty, 391; making a total of 10,617. In

Munster, the decrease in the holdings under thirty acres is stated

at 18,814; the increase over thirty acres, 1399. In Ulster, the

decrease was 1502; the increase, 1134. In Connaught, where the labor

of extermination was least, the clearance has been most extensive.

There in particular the roots of holders of the soil were never

planted deep beneath the surface, and consequently were exposed to

every exterminator's hand. There were in 1847, 35,634 holders of from

one to five acres. In the following year there were less by 9703;

there were 76,707 holders of from five to fifteen acres, less in one

year by 12,891; those of from fifteen to thirty acres were reduced

by 2121; a total depopulation of 26,499 holders of land, exclusive

of their families, was effected in Connaught in one year."--Captain

Larcom's report for 1848, as quoted in Mitchel's _Last Conquest of

Ireland_, (_Perhaps_.) Dublin, 1861.

[42] The productiveness of the land when properly tilled is _four_

times greater than when under pasture.

THE ASSOCIATION FOR BEFRIENDING CHILDREN.

A new association has entered the field of charitable labor in this

city bearing the modest title at the head of this article. It has

been organized and is recommended to the public by ladies whose names

are a guarantee of its success. The sphere of its charitable work is

among poor children of degraded parents. It is not known, except to

the few practical workers among the poor, that there exists in New

York a pauper class nearly if not quite as destitute and degraded

as that which is found in the great capitals of Europe. There are

persons here who are born in this lowest social stratum, and will

never rise from it without help. Their lives begin, are passed, and

end in what seems to be hopeless degradation. The portions of the

city where this class of its population will be found are those

bordering on the rivers, on either side, extending as far north as

Fifty-ninth street. Children born in this class inherit the vices and

diseases of their parents, as well as their poverty. They exhibit

a precocity in debauchery which no one can appreciate who has not

been brought into contact with them. They inhale with their first

respiration a fetid atmosphere. They have an instinct for vice and

crime. Many of them escape the penalties of the criminal code simply

because they are so young that the law overlooks them. They come

into the world with the child's instinct to look to its parent as

the source of authority, and a model for imitation. This authority

is, for the most part, exerted to compel the commission of offences,

and the model is a finished example for the grossest sins. With such

influences from without, coöperating with natural and inherited

tendencies to vice, it is easy to see with what fearful rapidity the

child will be driven along in evil courses. If education begins, as

is claimed, with the first outcry of the infant, what a training is

inaugurated here!

There is another class of our population, not strictly a pauper

class, but which is raised but little above it. The persons who

compose it earn a scanty living by fitful labor, and are exposed to

all the temptations which beset extreme poverty. They easily fall

into vicious habits, squander their earnings, and their children

are left without care, to subsist as best they may. These children,

equally with those of the class still lower, are in need of every

thing which a judicious charity can supply. The section of the city

where more of these little outcasts, and their wretched parents,

may be found than in any other of equal dimensions, is that bounded

by Bank street on the south, Sixteenth or Seventeenth street on

the north, the Ninth avenue and the river. Out of this section St.

Bernard's parish has been carved, and it was here that, a few months

ago, the small beginning was made from which the new organization has

sprung. On the seventh day of September last, a few ladies met at

St. Bernard's church, to open an industrial school for girls. Notice

that the school would be commenced on that day had been given in the

church on the Sunday preceding. No children came at the hour named,

and the ladies, with one of the priests of the parish, went out into

the lanes and alleys to compel them to come in. About twenty-five

girls were gathered in the large upper room in the church edifice

during the forenoon. They presented a pitiful spectacle of extreme

poverty and degradation. They were clad in filthy rags, and, young

as they were, the faces of many of them bore traces of a course of

vice and crime in which sad progress had already been made. It was

clear from this first day's experiment that there was an instant and

urgent duty to be performed, in reaching and reclaiming children of

this class. The ladies, therefore, resolved to hold the school on

Tuesday and Friday mornings in each week, from ten to twelve o'clock.

The large room in the church was placed at their disposal. On the

second school-day, fifty girls attended, and the number soon reached

one hundred. The character and magnitude of the work which these

ladies had, almost unconsciously, undertaken began to dawn on them.

The school had filled up with hardly any effort on their part. The

children were in need of every thing. They must be clothed and fed.

They must be gently led away from evil practices and taught the very

alphabet of new and better lives. A few dollars were collected at

once and materials for clothing purchased. Garments were cut out, and

the children soon taught to assist in making them, and the articles

were distributed as they were needed. This has been continued until

every child who has attended the school has received a complete

outfit, including a new pair of shoes. But the girls came hungry

as well, and must be fed. At the close of the school on each day,

a substantial meal was served; and on Thanksgiving and Christmas

days, generous dinners were given to two hundred children, for which

turkeys in abundance were provided. The first step in any efficient

charitable work among the destitute is, of course, to provide for

physical wants. We must begin with the body. "First the natural,"

and "afterward that which is spiritual," is the divine order. The

soul is to be reached through the body, or rather, so closely united

are the two, that they are both acted upon by the care bestowed

upon either. The normal cravings of the body, when unsatisfied,

become diseased and the fruitful source of vicious indulgences. The

hunger which demands but cannot get proper food, will demand and get

sustenance hurtful to body and soul. The little child who leaves a

miserable shelter in the morning, cold and hungry, will spend the

first penny bestowed in charity by a careless giver at a rum-hole

made familiar by errands for liquor at the command of a drunken

parent, where even a penny will buy what, for the moment, answers for

both food and clothing. Little girls of twelve, and even younger,

have come to this school in the morning whose only breakfast has

been the liquor which they could buy for a cent, and who had already

contracted intemperate habits.

With children of this class, then, the first step toward moral

improvement is the self-respect which they put on with their first

warm, clean dress, and the satisfaction which follows a meal of

wholesome food. This first step, however, leads to the next, direct

religious instruction; the "line upon line and precept upon precept"

by which the child's soul is to be instructed and purified.

It is hardly necessary to say that these children are virtually

heathen in the midst of a Christian civilization. They have received

little or no religious instruction. They are the offspring of parents

who, for the most part, are Catholics in name, but who have long

since lost grace and abandoned the sacraments of the church. And yet

they readily take religious impressions, and are not without those

first Christian ideas which expand rapidly with patient teaching.

It has been the practice at the school to spend a little time each

morning in instructing the girls in the catechism; in repeating

appropriate verses of Scripture, in committing simple hymns to memory

and singing them in unison. The ladies who opened, and have conducted

this school for the past six months, have not been discouraged

because they have not already achieved magnificent results. They

knew when they began that the salvation of these children, for this

world and the next, was to be "worked out;" that moral improvement

comes by "little and little;" that no sincere charitable effort is

ever lost; that nothing can be lost but opportunities; and that even

a cup of cold water given to one of these little ones will not fail,

either of its reward or of its effect for good. So far from being

discouraged, what has already been accomplished with limited means

and in a casual way has far exceeded their expectations. The work has

been growing under their hands from the start. The little company of

ragged girls, who came reluctantly the first morning, has expanded

into a school numbering one hundred and fifty, who are eager for the

instruction offered to them. They manifest the utmost affection for

their teachers. They show signs of improvement in every way. Many

of them give unmistakable evidence of having commenced a new and

useful career. One girl who was found wandering in the street on the

first day was asked by one of the ladies if she ever went to mass;

she said "No." "Why not?" said the lady. She replied with a bold

stare, "Oh! I am a _bad_ girl." On being told by the lady that she

did not believe she was so bad, the girl replied, her eyes filling

with tears, "Well, I _would_ go if I had any thing to wear but these

rags; but we've been awfully knocked about since father died, and

mother says we're all going to hell, soul and body." This Maggie is

now one of the best and brightest in the school, and an efficient

assistant of the teachers. Others are emulating her example. In fact,

so much has already been done, that the ladies who commenced are

irresistibly committed to a more efficient prosecution of the work.

They see in it possibilities for good which do not allow them to stop

short of the more thorough organization which they have attempted in

forming "The Association for Befriending Children." They feel that a

necessity is laid upon them to make secure the good already attained,

and that they would be recreant to their duty as Christians if they

did not go on to the more perfect results plainly within their

reach. The necessity of such an organized charity has been shown in

the rough outline which has been given above of the destitution of

these children. Notwithstanding all the charitable associations for

children, under the names of "Industrial Schools," "Protectories,"

"Orphan Asylums," etc., there are at least twenty thousand children

in the city outside of any such institution, whose necessities are

even greater than those within them. In its circular the association

says that it

"does not intend to relieve parents from their just

responsibility for their children, simply because they are

poor. The possession of children, and the duty of maintaining

them, are conducive among many parents, contending with extreme

poverty, to habits of industry and sobriety. But any one

who knows even a little of the very degraded portion of our

population, is aware that there are multitudes of children in

this city utterly abandoned by their parents, and exposed to

every form of vice, or rather who are actually being trained,

by precept and example, in habits of debauchery. Such children

the association desires to bring under the influence of daily

instruction, to minister to their daily necessities, to

educate them for useful employments."

Such, then, in brief, are the aims of this association.

The first step toward realizing them has already been taken. Aided

by the liberality of a few gentlemen, the association has rented the

building No. 316 West Fourteenth street, which is admirably adapted

to the purposes of a home for those who may be received as inmates,

for a longer or shorter term, combined with a day-school for others.

There is room for fifty of these inmates, and for at least three

hundred more day-scholars. The house is under the charge of a matron

and assistants in every way fitted to care for, control, and teach

the children, who find their highest reward in this opportunity to

rescue and elevate these little girls. The new and most important

feature of this charity is that it combines an asylum, a protectory,

an industrial school, and common school in one institution. It

encircles in its arms those who are so low that they are overlooked

by all other charities. It finds, after all, that "the ninety and

nine" have gone astray, and it seeks to bring them back to the

fold. It completely removes from evil influences those who are most

exposed, and shelters and fosters them till new habits are formed,

and seeds of good are implanted and germinate. It gives to all food

and clothing. It instructs all in the rudiments of knowledge. It

gives the girls such industrial instruction as will enable them

to enter on the various employments which society offers to their

sex. Such a home-school the association plants in the midst of

these utterly necessitous children. There should be one or more of

them established in every parish in the city; and if the Christian

liberality of Catholics be not found wanting, such a result will be

accomplished. At present the association must be sustained in the

immediate attempt which has been made. Responsibilities have been

assumed which must be met by generous donations. Surely the ladies

who are willing to give their best energies to this glorious work,

as well as their portion of the money needed, will not appeal to the

public in vain.

FRA BERNARDINO OCHINO.

The blessed Bernardine, the glory of Sienna and of the Franciscan

order, had a sad counterpart in him who forms the subject of this

sketch. Fra Bernardino Ochino, one of the conspicuous scandals of

the sixteenth century, was a son of Domenico Tommassino, of Sienna.

He received his surname from the Via del Oca, which contained the

residence of his obscure parents. Having taken the habit of the

Observantines, he left his convent to study medicine at Perugia.

He there formed a friendship with Giulio de' Medici, afterwards

Clement VII. Returning to his order, he received successive places

of dignity; but whether dissatisfied with these, or really seeking a

more perfect life, he again left it to embrace the austere rule of

the Capuchins, then for the first time established in Sienna. Few

details remain of this portion of the life of Ochino, and historians

differ in explaining the motives of this change. Whatever they might

have been, it is certain that his fame as a preacher was acquired

shortly after his entrance in the Capuchin order. His reputation

grew daily. The most exacting critics gave him unqualified praise.

Sadoletus ranked him with the greatest orators of antiquity. The

Bishop of Fossombrone addressed him the most flattering sonnets, and

Charles V. was heard to exclaim that the spirit and unction of Fra

Bernardino could melt the very stones. The over-fastidious Bembo had

said of the preachers of his day, "Why should I go to listen to their

sermons? One hears nothing but the subtle doctor disputing with the

angelic, and, finally, Aristotle called in to settle the question."

Nevertheless, Ochino stood even the test of Bembo's criticism. For

the latter wrote from Venice to the Marquis of Pescara, April 23d,

1536:

"I send inclosed to your illustrious lordship the letters

of our reverend Fra Bernardino, whom I have heard with

inexpressible pleasure during the too short period of this

Lent."

To the parish priest he wrote:

"Do not neglect to force Fra Bernardino to eat meat. For,

unless he suspend his Lenten abstinence, he cannot resist the

fatigue of preaching."

This last remark of Bembo reveals to us something of Ochino's way of

life at that time. He had, indeed, adopted those severe austerities

which, according to the unanimous doctrine of the saints, though

often the means of advancement in the supernatural life, yet, when

undertaken or persevered in from an ill-advised spirit, generally

lead to ruin, and become at once food and clothing for the most

diabolical pride. The famous preacher travelled always on foot,

bare-headed and unshod. He slept at night beneath the trees that

grew on the wayside, or, if under the roof of some noble host, on

the pavement of the guest's chamber. As he begged from door to door,

in the crowded cities, the throng knelt, awed by his wan features

and fiery eye, and the thin emaciated frame, which seemed barely

to support the coarse brown habit of his order. At the tables of

the nobility he did not vary the least detail of his penitential

abstinence, eating from only one dish, and never even tasting wine.

When he preached, says a contemporary, the churches could not contain

his hearers, and a great crowd followed him wherever he went. Nor was

his preaching without fruit. The infamous Aretino either underwent

or feigned a conversion, and wrote to the pope, at the instance of

Ochino, begging pardon for his libels against the papal court. In the

same letter, dated from Venice, April 21st, 1537, he says that Bembo

"has sent a thousand souls to paradise by transferring from Sienna

to this Catholic city Fra Bernardino, a religious as humble as he is

virtuous."

While at Venice, Ochino procured a convent and installed there a

community of Capuchins. In June, 1539, by invitation of the municipal

assembly, he preached at Sienna. This he did again in the following

year, with great success and fruit. It was on this occasion that he

introduced the devotion of the Quarant' Ore. It appears, however,

that instead of the blessed sacrament, the usual object of this

devotion, Fra Bernardino exposed for veneration the crucifix. In

a letter to the confraternity of St. Dominic, preparatory to the

introduction of this pious practice, he writes:

"You are asked in charity to join with many others in

accomplishing two very pious and holy works--the first of

which consists in inviting and encouraging one another, with

a holy love, to do penance with a true contrition, a sincere

confession, and entire satisfaction, joining spiritual and

corporal alms with fasts strictly kept and holy prayer, in

order to meditate on the transformation of the soul in Christ,

her well beloved; and, humbly prostrate at his sacred feet, to

expose to him our particular spiritual wants and those of all

our brethren, encouraging and aiding our soul, by good will,

to clothe herself with those divine virtues, faith, hope, and

charity."

The remainder of the letter sets forth in detail the arrangements for

carrying out the public ceremonies of the Quarant Ore, all breathing

the fragrance of Catholic piety. Yet it is more than probable that

the first plague-spots had already become visible in his character.

Boverio, the Capuchin annalist, still praises him, thus sketches this

portion of our history, and says that Fra Bernardino was

"endowed with sagacity, good manners, and practical skill in

management gained by a long and varied experience, gifted with

a penetration and generosity of soul fit for the greatest

enterprises, of an exterior so modest and retiring that every

one recognized in him a rare stamp of virtue and sanctity; an

admirable preacher, whose eloquence won souls, so that, by

unanimous approval, in the third chapter of the entire order,

he was elected general, in 1538. He governed the order with

such good sense, prudence, and zeal for the observance of the

rules, himself giving an example of every virtue, that his

brethren applauded the choice of such a man. He visited all the

convents, nearly always on foot. His exhortations to poverty,

to observance of the rule, and other virtues were made with

such admirable eloquence that the reputation which he had

acquired both at home and abroad could not but increase; he

enjoyed such great confidence with kings and princes that they

employed him in the most difficult undertakings; the pope held

him in the highest esteem; so much so, that it was necessary to

have recourse to the pope in order to obtain him for preacher;

the largest churches did not suffice to hold the throng of his

hearers, so that temporary porticoes had to be erected, many

even raising the tiles of the roof and climbing into the church

to hear him. While preaching at Perugia, in 1540, he settled

the most angry feuds. At Naples, having recommended from the

pulpit some pious work, the alms collected amounted to five

thousand sequins."

To this we may add that when three years, his term of office, had

expired, Fra Bernardino was reëlected. Yet, despite all this fair

appearance, things had not gone well in his heart. His passions,

restrained from sensual outbreaks and left more free in other things,

developed pride, and confidence in his own judgment, to the contempt

of others. The desire of gaining souls yielded slowly and almost

imperceptibly to the ambition of the orator. Moreover, he drew

from the works of Luther that fatal tendency to find in Holy Writ

a response to the dictates of private passion and prejudice. It is

said that, while preaching at Naples, in the church of San Giovanni

Maggiore, he had been incited by Valdes to insult Paul III., because

the holy father had not decorated him with the purple. Certain it

seems to be, that Valdes was intimately associated with the friar,

and helped to fill his heart with ambition and his head with the

doctrines of the Swiss and German heretics. The viceroy, Pedro de

Toledo, being informed that he was teaching the Lutheran novelties,

complained to the ecclesiastical authorities; but Ochino either

fairly stood the test of inquiry, or concealed his real opinions

under astute forms of speech. The latter is probably the case; for

the Dominican Caracciolo, in his MS. life of Paul IV., says,

"Since he"--Ochino--"concealed within himself the venom of his

doctrines under the appearance of an austere life, (a fair

cloak,) and because he pretended to thunder against vice, the

number of persons was small who could detect the cunning of the

fox. Nevertheless there were some who discovered it; and among

the first, as I have learned from my elders, could be cited our

venerable fathers Don Gaetano and Don Giovanni; but they saw it

more clearly in 1539, when Ochino, preaching in the pulpit of

the cathedral, uttered many propositions against purgatory,

indulgences, and the ecclesiastical laws about fasting, etc.;

and, what is worse, the impious monk was accustomed to present

as an interrogation that which St. Augustine has said in a

simply negative form, as in the following passage: _Qui fecit

te sine te, non salvabit te sine te?_--thus giving his audience

to understand that faith alone suffices, and that God saves us

without any good works on our part to coöperate with his; just

the contrary of that which St. Augustine really teaches."

Caracciolo further narrates that systematic means were secretly taken

to spread these doctrines of Ochino, and that clandestine meetings

of those infected contributed to this end. Yet Fra Bernardino still

kept his fair fame, and maintained perfectly his Catholic exterior;

for the ensuing year witnessed the public devotions at Sienna to

which we have before alluded. It was at Venice, in 1541, that he was

for a time suspended from preaching. This was not due to any plain

and palpable errors of doctrine. For, although accusations against

him had been made by several persons, he had in a private interview

relieved the nuncio's present suspicions, if not his forebodings of

the future. The temporary prohibition to preach was caused by the

distrust of the nuncio, which was greatly aggravated by an allusion

on the part of Ochino to the arrest of Giulio Terenziano. The latter

was a theologian of Milan, an avowed and contumacious preacher of

heresy, whom the nuncio had silenced in the previous year. From the

pulpit Ochino appealed to the Venetians against such an exercise of

authority. He placed himself on the same footing with Terenziano, and

cried, "What have we done, O Venetians? What plots have we arranged

against you? O Bride and Queen of the Sea! if you cast into prison,

if you send to the gallows, those who announce the truth to you, how

shall that truth prevail?" Nevertheless, in three days the nuncio

restored to him his faculties, owing to the pressure brought to bear

by the friends and admirers of the monk.

After the close of Lent in 1542, Ochino gathered at Verona many of

the Capuchins of the Venetian province, and taught them his errors

with all that subtlety of argument and eloquence of persuasion which

seems to have characterized both his private and public speaking.[43]

He had now passed the zenith of his career and was fairly started on

his downward course. The luxury which he had ordered Fra Angelo to

use in rebuilding the convent at Sienna, was so openly against the

letter and spirit of his rule that many devout persons looked for his

speedy punishment. St. Cajetan Tiene had prevented him from preaching

at Rome. Among the number of those greatly alarmed for his safety was

Angela Negri de Gallarate, a friend of the Marquis del Vasto, the

latter at this time an intimate friend and private correspondent of

Ochino. This excellent lady, after hearing Fra Bernardino at Verona,

where he commented on the epistles of St. Paul, predicted that he

would fall into heresy. It soon became only too manifest. His disgust

for prayer, his absence from the choir, his weariness in assisting

at the sacred mysteries shocked his brethren, so long edified by his

pious bearing and assiduity in these good works. Among others, Fra

Agustino, of Sienna, gently reproved him, saying, "When you go to

administer the sacrament without prayer, you remind me of a rider

setting forth without stirrups; take care that you do not fall." Fra

Bernardino, whose soul was withering for want of that celestial dew

which falls only in the calm evening stillness of prayer, all worn

and jaded as he was with earthly labors, and, alas! success, could

only answer, that he did not cease praying who kept on doing good.

He was now engrossed with secular things, giving counsel in the

affairs of princes; and so completely was his time occupied, that he

requested the holy father to be relieved from the daily recitation

of the divine office. At this same period he entered into friendly

relations with the heretics, and eagerly read all their works.

The pope still had hopes of holding him back, invited him to Rome,

and even dreamed of giving him the purple. This brought affairs to

a crisis. Before accepting or rejecting the invitation, Ochino took

council with his friends. Giberti, the holy Bishop of Verona, sent

him to consult Cardinal Contarini, at Bologna. The latter was too

ill to hold a long conversation, and Ochino left him immediately to

seek Peter Martyr Vermigli, at Florence. This visit to Peter Martyr,

who, already rotten to the core, was shortly to fall, convinced the

Capuchin that his doctrines could not stand the censorship of Rome,

and that, if he went there, he must be prepared to renounce them.

This conviction and the urgent advice of Peter Martyr decided him to

leave Italy immediately. On the 22d of August, 1542, he writes to the

Marquis of Pescara, detailing his anxieties and the causes of his

flight.

"I have learned," he writes, "that Farnese says I have been

summoned to Rome for having preached heresy and scandalous

things. The Theatine Puccio, and others whom I do not wish to

name, have spoken so as to cause people to think that, if I had

crucified Christ, they could not have made more noise about it."

Further on he shows consciousness of the sensation he is creating.

"These men," he says, "tremble before a poor monk."

Flight being determined upon, he took refuge, first, with Catharine

Cibo, Duchess of Camerino. Thence he fled to Ferrara.

Here he received letters of introduction to the principal heretics

of Geneva. On his way across the Apennines he had taken with him Fra

Mariano, a saintly lay-brother, of whose dove-like tenderness and

simplicity sweet anecdotes are told, recalling the early memories

of Assisi. Mariano, under the impression that they were going to

preach to the heretics, agreed to lay aside the religious habit; but,

on learning the fraud which Ochino had practised on him, sought to

recall his unfortunate superior. The haughty orator was proof to the

tears and entreaties of his humble brother, and the latter finally

turned back alone, carrying the seal of the order, which the apostate

had kept to the last.

Arrived at Geneva, Ochino was welcomed by the heretics as a great

accession.

Calvin wrote to Melancthon, "We have here Fra Bernardino, the famous

orator, whose departure has stirred Italy as it has never been

moved before." Prayers for him, indeed, were offered throughout

Italy. Among the Capuchins--who, it is said, came near being

suppressed--great pains were taken to eradicate the evil germs

sown by Ochino; and Fra Francesco, vicar of Milan, renouncing his

heresies, expiated them by a severe penance. Cardinal Caraffa, who,

a few years later became Paul IV., publicly lamented the apostasy of

Ochino in most eloquent terms, contrasting the austere Capuchin with

the unfrocked preacher, and calling on the erring son to return to

his mother. He promised in this case, moreover, kind treatment from

the pope, who had always shown great favor to Ochino.

In a letter from Geneva, in April, 1543, the apostate sought to

justify his career and to explain his later course of action.

This letter, addressed to Muzio, begins with that allusion to

youthful enthusiasm, which has since become the threadbare apology

of those who fling away the cowl. He describes his life among the

Observantines in the words of the apostle, "I made great progress

in the Jews' religion, above many of my equals in my own nation,

being more zealous for the traditions of my fathers." (Galat. i.

14.) But very soon he was enlightened by the Lord to the following

effect: "That it is Christ who has satisfied for the sins of his

elect, and has merited for them paradise, and that he alone is their

justification; that the vows pronounced in the religious orders are

not only invalid but impious; and that the Roman Church, although of

an exterior splendid to carnal eyes, is none the less an abomination

in the sight of God." This, he would have us believe, took place

before his entering the Capuchin order. This doctrine of the vanity

of good works, of the sinfulness of monastic vows, his excuse for

abandoning both, was rooted in his mind during those years of

rugged asceticism, while he still preached prayer and penance, as

we have seen at Sienna! A liar or a hypocrite? Perhaps neither. For

the remainder of the letter is full of that fanatical declamation

against Antichrist and the harlot of Babylon, and all that railing

cant in which weak brains and over-excited imaginations have, ever

since, found expression and relief. The magistrates of Sienna also

received a pointed letter, in which Ochino set forth his doctrine on

justification. The letter is in very much the same style as that to

Muzio.

Poor, despised Carlstadt, when he saw his hopeful pupil upset (as he

then supposed) the pope and cast the church to the winds, thought

that surely Luther would not assume to himself infallible authority

and supreme jurisdiction. In this he was mistaken, as he found to

his cost. For men who aid in rebellion against lawful authority

too often find themselves a prey to usurpers; and the Bible, torn

from the anointed hands of its only rightful interpreter, became

simply a slave; its sacred text an exordium for every fanatic and an

accomplice to every scoundrel. The position which Ochino took was the

same as that of all other heresiarchs, from him whom St. Polycarp

addressed as "the first born of Satan," down to the very latest. He

constantly applied to himself the language which only one apostle

dared to use. Although he did not profess to have seen the third

heaven, yet he did profess to be thoroughly competent to teach and

determine the Christian revelation. Under these circumstances, it is

not strange that he soon found himself in bad odor at Geneva, where

an authority, equally respectable, and likewise acknowledging the

right of private examination, nevertheless burned alive poor wretches

who were so unfortunate as not to agree with it. After founding the

Italian Church at Geneva, and there publishing several works, so

outrageous in their character as to draw condemnation even from some

Protestant historians, Ochino became embroiled with the Calvinists.

The natural result of these quarrels was his excommunication and

banishment by the latter. He fled with a woman to whom he had been

sacrilegiously married. At Basle, he published his sermons. Thence he

was called to preach at Augsburg, where he enjoyed great popularity

and a salary, until the invasion of Charles V. compelled him to

flee with Stancari of Mantua. Having met, at Strasburg, his old

friend, Peter Martyr, who, meanwhile, had openly apostatized, he

journeyed with him to England, and there preached to the Italian

refugees. On the death of Edward VI., he returned to Switzerland,

and was chosen pastor of the exiles of Locarno, who had obtained

from the Senate the use of a church and their native language. But

as at Geneva, so at Zurich, the right of private judgment involved

not merely the right to believe as one might list, but also the

right, if one were able, to force every body else to believe in

like manner. Ochino was accused of anti-trinitarianism and also of

sanctioning polygamy, and obliged to swear that he would live and

die in the faith of--what? who? The Catholic Church, whose demand on

the human intellect is at once a command to believe and a reason for

believing, backed by the pledged word of Jesus Christ? No! Ochino had

rejected her authority. He now swore to live and die in the teaching

of Zwinglius. This oath, however, seemed to lose its force in a few

days. For he shortly attacked what he had sworn to defend, and, in

his _Laberinto_, denied almost every article of the Christian faith.

Banished from Switzerland, he fled, in the dead of winter, with his

four children, into Poland, where he soon afterward earned universal

contempt, by publicly countenancing King Sigismund in a projected

bigamy. Bullinger, whom Ochino had called the "pope of Zurich," says

of him, "He is far advanced in the science of perdition, and an

ungrateful wretch toward the senate and the ministers, full of malice

and impiety." Beza also characterizes him as "_Bernardinum Ochinum,

monachum magni nominis apud Italos, et auctorem ordinis Capucinorum,

qui in fine se ostendit esse iniquum hypocritam_. Bernardino Ochino,

a monk of great name among the Italians, founder of the Capuchins,"

(this a mistake,) "who finally showed himself to be a wicked

hypocrite."

From these words of Beza, Boverio has sought to infer that the

apostate finally repented and was restored to the Catholic communion.

He has also introduced testimony to prove that Ochino was poniarded

at Geneva, after professing the Catholic faith and confessing to

a priest. But historians seem to favor the tradition recorded by

Graziani, who says, "_Ochinus Polonia excessit, ac omnibus extorris

ac profugus, cum in vili Moraviæ pago a vetere amico hospitio esset

acceptus ibi senio fessus cum uxore ac duabus filiabus, filioque una

peste interiit_. Ochino died in Poland a universal outcast, after

having accepted the hospitality of an old friend, in an obscure

village of Moravia. Here, worn out with age, he perished, together

with his wife, two daughters and son, in one pestilence."

To rehearse the various opinions of Ochino would be a difficult

and thankless task. Like most of the reformers, he taught the

total depravity of human nature and human reason, and, in order to

establish the motives of faith, appealed to private illumination,

assuming for the disciple what he denied to the teacher.

Besides this miserable travesty of the Christian distinction between

the natural and supernatural orders, there is in his doctrine

scarcely one point of resemblance to the Catholic faith. Having cast

away the ballast that had steadied his earlier years, the power which

had carried him on such a brilliant course proved his ruin. His

ignominious death did not excite enough pity to cause itself to be

remembered. He disappeared a lonely and abandoned wreck.

FOOTNOTE:

[43] Among those who yielded to his fatal and seductive influence

was Fra Bartolomeo Coni, guardian of the monastery of Verona, who

afterward became a heretic.

OLD BOOKS.

I.

Let the world run after new books; commend me to the enduring

fascination of old ones--not old only in authorship, but old in

imprint, in form and comeliness, or perhaps _un_comeliness!

What value is there in gilded edges and Turkey leather, which must

be handled so gingerly, compared with the sturdy calfskin, ribbed

and bevelled, which has outlived generations of human calves? and

what is tinted hot-press to the page grown yellow in the atmosphere

of centuries? The quaintly spelt word, the ornamented initial

which begins each chapter, and the more elaborate ornamentation of

dedication and title-page--all so poor now as works of art, yet in

their day masterpieces of handicraft--there is a spell in them! till

from that olden time

... "a thousand fantasies,

Begin to throng into my memory."

_Comus._

A heavy quarto lies here bearing impress on its exterior, _Workes of

Lvcivs Annævs Seneca. Both Morall and Naturall. Translated by Thomas

Lodge, D. of Physicke_; and within is a long Latin dedication to the

_Illvstrissimo D. Thomæ Egertono, Domino de Ellismere, etc., etc.

London, 1614_.

Not so very old either; but within that time what changes have

passed over the world! How often has ambition or popular discontent,

or perchance honest resistance, revolutionized nations, and swept

away the boundaries of kingdoms! How often some power, seemingly

inadequate to the effect, has changed the currents of human thought,

and exalted or degraded not only individuals, but aggregate masses

of humanity, as effectively as the earthquake convulses, and then

depresses or upheaves the visible surface on which they dwell!

What changes also in the especial surroundings of this individual

volume! What improvements in the petty affairs of domestic life,

the little arrangements of the household; in the union of science

and mechanical art to produce necessaries and superfluities;

in refinements of sentiment and manners; in a better relation

between rulers and the ruled; and, to sum up all, in a more just

appreciation by each individual of what he owes to himself and to his

fellow-creatures!

All through the wide extent of this past time history and legends

stretch back their ramifications, like paths through some vast

extended landscape. In some places clear and well defined, and easily

followed; again, leading through tangle and uncertainty, and at more

than one point brought to an abrupt termination, beyond which all

vestige of a way is lost. We tread here in thought a space of time

which has been passed over by millions and millions--that countless

throng of the nameless whose steps have left no foot-print--and where

to a few only has been accorded the privilege of marking, by deed

or word, the spot whereon they stood. It is the buried city of the

immaterial world--where is uncovered to us noble deeds, and lofty

aspirations, and holy purposes; and in darker spots are wrecks of

hopes, and hearts, and immortal souls, to which all the wealth gone

down in ocean counts as nothing.

To retrace again and again these paths, so often indistinct and so

often awakening an interest they fail to gratify; to remove with

patient toil here the doubt and there the untruth which encumber

them, and anon to clear away some obstacle and open to sight a

new vista, has been at all periods the occupation and the richest

intellectual enjoyment of some of the most gifted minds, who accepted

their ample reward in the simple success of their labors. Even the

more humble wanderer through the mazy labyrinth, whose limited scope

it is only to gaze and wonder, finds a charm in such investigations

widely different from any other mental pursuit. It is the charm of

a common humanity--the recognition and acknowledgment of a chain,

invisible and intangible, and in a measure undefinable, but too

strong ever to be broken, which unites each to the other the whole

human family. It is not religion--neither philosophy; for in many a

land, despite the barbarous precepts of a so-called religion, and

where philosophy was never heard of, it vibrates in the savage heart

to the necessities of the stranger. Its first link is riveted in our

common origin; and its mysterious existence widely and wisely asserts

itself in the interest with which, for human creatures, is ever

invested the affairs of human kind.

Furthermore, it is this great social bond which attracts us to the

personages of fiction, and always precisely in proportion as they

assimilate to real life; and since even the most successful creations

of fancy can hardly fail to fall short, in some point, of realities,

so truth itself, properly presented, will always possess attractions

beyond any fiction.

But it is not in battle-fields and conquests, nor yet in the

impassioned eloquence or astute wisdom of senates and council

chambers, that we hold closest communion with the buried of long

ago; it is in that homely every-day life which we are ourselves

living; in the little pleasures, regrets, and loves; in the

annoyances, successes, and failures; in the very mistakes and

imprudences which made up the _ego ipse_ so like our own that we

find companionship. How they return to life again in all these

things! and we enter into their most private chambers--the doors

are all open now--and read their most private thoughts. We know

them better than did their contemporaries; and they suffer a wrong

sometimes in this ruthless unveiling which our heart resents. Now,

it is proper that truth should ultimately, even on earth, prevail;

and that the traitorous soldier and unscrupulous courtier, after

having lived their lives out in ill-gotten wealth and undeserved

honor, should wear in history their true colors; that even a woman's

misdeeds, when they touch public interest, should be brought to meet

a public verdict; but then these little private endurances--the

life-long struggle with poverty here, the unavailing concessions to

unreasonable tyranny by home and hearth there, the martyrdom of life,

as it may be called, which they so carefully guarded from sight--how

it is all paraded now to the world, and passed from book to book!

And yet it takes all this to make up the entire truthful portrait.

Indeed, so very far does it go to modify our opinions of them, that

the judgments formed without it must be oftentimes very erroneous.

II.

Had our old book but a tongue, what tales it might tell of the life

after life which has passed before it!

Since the date of its printing, 1614, twelve sovereigns have worn

the English crown; for in that year James I. was upon the throne of

his mother's enemy. Eleven years before, when a messenger was sent

to him in Scotland with an announcement of the death of Elizabeth

and his own accession, the tidings found him so poor that he was

obliged to apply to the English secretary, Cecil, for money to pay

his expenses to London. His wants multiplied rapidly. From his

first stopping-place he sent a courier forward to demand the crown

jewels for his wife; and a little further on another messenger

was dispatched for coaches, horses, litters, and, "above all, a

chamberlain much needed."

This journey of James was a very unique affair. Honors were scattered

so lavishingly that knighthood was to be had for the asking; and a

little pasquinade appeared in print, advertising itself--_A Help to

Memorie in learning Names of English Nobility_.

"At Newark-upon-Trent (says Stow) was taken a cut-purse, a

pilfering thief all gentleman outside, with good stores of

gold about him, who confessed he had followed the court from

Berwick; and the king, hearing of this gallant, did direct a

warrant to have him hanged immediately."[44]

And so began at the very outset the spirit which said afterward,

"Do I make the lords? Do I make the bishops? Then God's grace--I

make what likes me of law and gospel!" So outspoke the king; who

is described by those who went to meet him as "ill-favored in

appearance, slovenly, dirty, and wearing always a wadded dagger-proof

doublet."

These eleven years of his reign had been fruitful in troubles of all

kinds. The death of his son Henry, and the alleged, but never proven

schemes of Lady Arabella Stuart to gain the throne, made a portion

of them; and all were aggravated by that spectre, conjured up by his

reckless extravagance, and which haunted him to the last moment of

his life--an empty purse. When his daughter Elizabeth was married to

the Palatine of Bohemia, the fireworks alone of London cost seven

thousand pounds; and when my Lord Hargrave accompanied the bride to

the Rhine and brought back a bill of thirty thousand pounds, the

king, having neither gold nor silver to pay with, gave him a grant

_to coin base farthings in brass_.

King James, in a book which he wrote on _Sports_, advocates all

active exercises, and one of his own greatest pleasures had always

been hunting. When so engaged, every thing else was forgotten,

and hence arose a grievance by no means trifling to his English

subjects--he and his courtiers, his companions in the chase, not

unfrequently quartered themselves in some district where game

abounded, until the provisions of the locality were absolutely

exhausted. There is a story told of him that, while hunting at

Royston, his favorite hound Jowler was missed one day, and the next

he reappeared with a paper fastened on his neck, upon which was

written--

"Good Mister Jowler, I pray you speak to the king, for he hears

you every day, (and he doth not so us,) that it will please his

majesty to go back to London, for all our provision is spent."

... "however, (says the courtier,) from Royston he means to go

to New-Market, and from thence to Thetford."[45]

How much further he might have been led to hunt, is unknown; for

there Lord Hay, who loved hounds, and horns also, promised no more to

importune his majesty, and his more sedate counsellors succeeded in

getting him back to business. In the mean time, in the more weighty

matters of politics and religion, where the ambitious nobles of

two countries intrigued and plotted for power over a monarch easily

imposed upon, discord and contention reigned, until in 1614 they seem

to have reached their height.

And so stood the world, old book! into which thou wert launched. Guy

Fawkes and his crew had been swept from the earth; but in the Tower

of London this year lay a more noble company, accused of the same

crime--treason. There was Earl Grey, and Lord Cobham, and Sir Walter

Raleigh, besides some others. These three had been tried, convicted,

sentenced to die, and taken to the scaffold; and at the last moment

reprieved and committed to the Tower. At the last moment it was, and

it came near being a minute too late; for James wrote his order in

such haste that he forgot to sign it, and the messenger was called

back; then when this one man on horseback reached the place of

execution, the great crowd gathered there prevented his being seen

or heard for a long time, and the axe was just ready for the fatal

stroke. On what a chance hung three lives! But what availed their

added years? Earl Grey is dying now in that Tower; and Lord Cobham,

never very strong in intellect, has grown weaker still in captivity;

and so, after a little time, he is suffered to wander out; and he

goes to a miserable hovel in the Minories, and climbs a ladder to a

loft, and lies down on straw--to die of very destitution.

Three years hence King James will want money even more than he does

now; and he will call Sir Walter Raleigh from his cell, and place

him at the head of a fleet; for Sir Walter--who has been to the

new world in years long gone by--insinuates that _there_ gold is

to be had for the digging. He fails to get it, though; and on his

return to England, he is seized, and, with only the shadow of a just

trial, executed; partly on the old sentence, but more to please the

Spaniards, whom he came in conflict with abroad.

Another life is this year pining itself away in that Tower--the Lady

Arabella Stuart; a woman descended from royalty, Henry VII., in the

same degree as King James himself, and therefore to be feared. Many

years ago charges of conspiracy against the government were brought

against her, and she was placed in confinement. She contrived to

escape, and with her husband, Lord Seymour, attempted to reach

France. By some mischance they were separated in their flight; he

reached the coast of Flanders in safety, but the little vessel in

which she had embarked was pursued, overtaken, and the unhappy

fugitive compelled to return. Love and hope bore her up bravely for a

time; but she is sinking at last, and it is recorded that September

27th, 1615, she died there.

High above all this misery merry notes were heard; for in 1614, was

a grand marriage and banqueting such as London had not seen--no, not

even at the bridal of the king's own daughter. The story is sadder

than any fiction, a "sad o'er true tale"--as follows:

Some years before this, the Lady Frances Howard, daughter of the Earl

of Suffolk, beautiful and accomplished, though still a mere child

of thirteen years, was married to the Earl of Essex, a few years

older. The ceremony was merely to secure the alliance; for the young

countess returned to her home and her embroidery, and the earl to

the university. Four years after, he went to claim the bride whose

image had doubtless oftentimes stolen between him and his books; "but

(says the chronicle) his joy was overcast: he found her cold and

contemptuous, and altogether averse to him."

A change had come over the lady. She had met her evil genius in the

unprincipled favorite of King James, the Lord Rochester, who on his

side was vain of his conquest. At this point Lady Frances is an

object of pity; for she was the victim of a usage of courts which

makes and mars the most solemn of all contracts without the least

regard to individual bias; a usage which is responsible for some of

the blackest crimes of history; but, O woman! from thy first steps

downward how rapid is the descent; wandering thoughts, folly--crime!

Such was the story of Lady Frances. Pity changes to horror at her

subsequent career, and the unscrupulous vindictiveness which she

displayed toward all those who strove to arrest her course. Most

conspicuous among such was Sir Thomas Overbury, the bosom friend of

Lord Rochester himself. He had more than once aided their meetings,

and--so said gossip--had even penned the epistles which won her;

but he became alarmed at the length to which their ventures were

carried; and when the next step proposed was a divorce from the Earl

Essex, he gave Rochester much good advice and solemn warning that

he withdrew his aid in future. This was reported to the countess,

and his doom was sealed. She failed in several attempts to involve

him in individual disputes, whereby, as she hoped, a duel might

have closed his life; she failed in having him sent in a public

capacity abroad; she succeeded, however, in having him implicated in

disloyalty and committed to the Tower, when shortly after he suddenly

died. A divorce was now sought on some trifling pretext; and as no

remonstrance was offered by Earl Essex, it was soon obtained; and in

order that she might not lose rank, King James created Rochester Earl

of Somerset.

And now, with nothing to mar their felicities, London was ablaze

with bonfires over their marriage celebration.

"The glorious days were seconded by as glorious nights, when

masques and dances had a continual motion; the king affecting

such high-flying festivities and banqueting as might wrap

up his spirit and keep it from earthly things.... Upon the

Wednesday following was another grand masque, got up by the

gentlemen of Prince Charles's household; and this so far

surpassed the other, that the king caused it to be acted again.

Then, January 4th, the bride and bridegroom with a crowd of

nobles were invited to a treat in the city, where my lord mayor

and aldermen entertained them in scarlet gowns. After supper

was a wassail, a play, and a dance.... At three in the morning,

they returned to Whitehall. On Twelfth-day the gentlemen of

Grey's Inn invited the bride and bridegroom to masque." (Roger

Coke.)

A brilliant triumph, soon to meet with a dark reverse. Scarcely a

year had passed, when a new candidate for the king's favor appeared

in Villiers, afterward created Duke of Buckingham; and the weak

monarch, readily attracted by a new face, was very soon anxious to

rid himself of Somerset. Enemies of the still beautiful countess were

not slow to avail themselves of the royal mood; nor was it difficult

to find in her questionable career a pretext for suspicion. With

consent of the king, they were conjointly accused of having caused

the death of Sir Thomas Overbury by poison, and sent to the Tower. It

is recorded that Earl Somerset was hunting with the king at Royston,

and actually sitting beside him when the warrant was served; and when

he appealed to his royal master to forbid the indignity, King James

only answered,

"An' ye _must_ go, mon; for if Coke sent for _me_, I must go."

After the examination of some three hundred witnesses, Sir Edward

Coke reported that the countess had used unlawful arts to separate

herself from Earl Essex, and to win the love of Rochester, and that

they had together plotted the death of Sir Thomas Overbury. Some

of the inferior actors in the tragedy were condemned and executed;

among them Mrs. Turner, who had in former years been governess to

the countess, and who had once persuaded her to consult a wizard

or fortune-teller--from whence came the charge of "unlawful arts."

The unhappy principals were repeatedly questioned, and exhorted

to confess; but with no avail. The countess at times made some

admissions, but none which implicated the earl or seriously

convicted herself; and we are fain to believe they arose rather

from her unmitigated misery, and the harassing importunities of her

judges, than from conscious guilt. They were at length restored to

liberty--at least to the liberty of banishment from court; liberty to

return to their country-seat and remain there; and there, a writer of

that day tells us, "they lived in the same house many years without

exchanging a word with each other."

King James seems to have devoted no small portion of his time to

advancing the interests of Cupid--if love it could be called, where

love there was none. Sir Edward Coke had himself an only daughter,

whom the king assigned to Viscount Purbeck, brother of the Duke of

Buckingham. The wife of Coke, Lady Hatton, was a very Xantippe; and

the eloquence of the great jurist, which could sway multitudes, and

check or change the course of political events, was totally powerless

within the walls of his own castle. Lady Hatton wisely opposed this

match, to which her daughter was averse; but in this case the king

as well as Sir Edward had decided, and for once she was obliged to

yield; "the king doing the matter (says an old writer) as if the

safety of the nation depended on its completion." Lady Hatton had

one retaliation within her reach, and she took it; she gave orders

that at the wedding "neither Sir Edward Coke nor any of his servants

be admitted."[46]

How fared at last the hapless Lady Purbeck, the heiress of thousands

and thousands? She had the misery to see the husband _not_ of her

choice become in a short time hopelessly insane; while his brother,

under pretence of looking after his affairs, left her, at times,

almost penniless. Her letters to this unprincipled miscreant, written

oftentimes under bodily as well as mental suffering, are truly

touching. In one of them she says,

"Think not to send me again to my mother. I will beg my bread

in the streets, to all your dishonors, rather than more trouble

my friends." (Letter in the Caballa.)

Such were the tales of wretchedness within the precincts of a court.

III.

The career of King James and his son after the insolent and

unscrupulous Buckingham appeared to lead or drive them, as the case

might be, seems scarcely the actual history of sane men. When the

downfall of Somerset left him supreme master, he seems to have taken

possession of both king and palace. He soon sent for his kindred from

all parts of the country; and their arrival is thus described:

"... the old countess, his mother, providing a place for them

to learn to carry themselves in a court-like garb. He desired

to match them with wives and husbands, inasmuch as his very

female kindred were enough to stock a plantation. So that King

James, who in former times so hated women, had his lodgings

replenished with them; ... little children did run up and down

the king's lodgings like little rabbits; ... for the kindred

had all the houses about Whitehall, like bulwarks and flankers

to a citadel." (Weldon.) #/

The most amusing event--or rather the most amusing absurdity in the

annals of that period, or one might say of any other period--was the

expedition of Prince Charles to Spain, in 1623, to bring home a wife.

Lord Bristol was at the court of Philip IV., negotiating a marriage

between the infanta, his sister, and Prince Charles, and endeavoring

to secure for him her magnificent dower; when Buckingham, thinking

he was gaining too much credit by his labors, felt desirous of going

himself to the spot and taking a part in the matter.

How was this to be accomplished? His wits never failed him. He

approached Charles with a general lamentation over royal marriages,

where the parties meet first at the altar--too late to retreat--and

suggested to him the advantages and romance of presenting himself in

person to the infanta, and bringing her home a bride. Charles was

charmed with the quixotic notion, and they adjourned to the palace

to obtain the king's consent. He at first flatly refused; then

consented. The next day he fell into a passion of tears, and prayed

to be released from his promise; for he feared the dangers of the

journey, and the false reports and suspicions it might give rise to

among his subjects. Charles was persuasive, the duke indignant and

insolent, and once more the king told them to go. In the words of a

historian--

... "So he said he would send Sir Francis Cottington and

Endymion Porter with them; and he called Cottington in and told

him that baby Charles and Stenie (as he always called them) had

a mind to go to Spain and bring the infanta; and Cottington

being pressed to speak of it, said it was both unsafe and

unwise; whereupon the king wept again, and said, 'I told you

so! I told you so!' Then Buckingham abused them all."

After another storm of words, it was decided that they should go in

disguise, with only these two attendants. Their incognito was very

poorly carried out; for at Gravesend they were suspected by giving

gold coin, and at Canterbury they would have been arrested, had

not Buckingham taken off his false wig and privately made himself

known to the mayor. Finally they reached Dover, where they found

Cottington, who had gone on before, in readiness with a vessel, and

they set sail for the French coast.

In Paris, a Scottish nobleman who had somehow received intimation of

their being there, called late one night on the English ambassador,

and asked if he had seen the prince. "What prince?" "Prince Charles,"

was the reply; but it was too incredible for belief. Yet while in

Paris, although not considering it worth their while to visit the

British ambassador, they contrived to gain admission, without being

recognized, to a court dancing-party, where Charles saw for the first

time the fascinating Princess Henrietta.[47]

The consternation in England when their departure, so unbefitting

royalty, was discovered, can scarcely be imagined. The king ordered

prayers to be offered for their safe return; but no allusion made to

their destination. A gentleman of that day, named Meade, writing to a

friend, tells this story:

"The Bishop of London, you know, gave orders, as from the king,

that they pray for the safe return of the prince to us; and no

more. An honest, plain preacher here prayed 'that God would

return our noble prince to us, and no more!' thinking it all a

piece of the prayer."

Meanwhile these two knights-errant, or, as the king said, "sweet boys

and dear venturous knights, worthy to be put in a new romanzo,"[48]

continued their journey. At last, at the close of an evening in

March, two mules stopped at the house of my Lord Bristol in Madrid,

and the riders alighted. _Mr. Thomas Smith_ went in first with a

portmanteau under his arm--then _Mr. John Smith_ was called in; and

before the amazed diplomatist stood the heir to the British crown and

the Marquis of Buckingham. He stared as if he had seen two ghosts;

but he presently took Prince Charles to a bed-chamber, and dispatched

a courier to inform his father of his safe arrival.

The Spanish court took the matter in its most chivalrous light, as

the impulse of a lover; although rather puzzled how to arrange a

reception in a case which certainly had no precedent. The Spanish

people were enthusiastic. The infanta blushed charmingly at such

unheard-of homage, and began to study English. King James sent over a

troop of courtiers for a retinue, who proved a rough set--"jeering at

the cookery and the religion, and making themselves odious."[49] The

Spanish prime minister was soon disgusted with Buckingham, and would

have been still more so if he could have understood all his swearing

words--"which fortunately he cannot, (says a contemporary,) because

they are done in English."

The letters which passed between this precious couple and the king

at home are amusing. A want of money was his majesty's normal

condition; and the pitiless way in which they seemed to ignore it, by

making constant requisitions on his purse, is surprising and amusing

effrontery. Prince Charles writes,

"I confess you have sent me more jewels than I'd have use for

but here, seeing so many. Some that you have appointed me to

give the infanta, in Stenie's opinion and mine are not fit for

her. I pray your majesty send more for my own wearing." #/

Then Buckingham defines more precisely their necessities.

"Though your baby himself hath sent word what needs he hath,

yet will I give my poor and saucy opinion what will be fittest

to send. Sire, he hath neither chain, or hat-band; and pray you

consider how rich they are here, and since your chiefest jewel

is here, your son, I pray you let loose these after him. First,

your best hat-band of the Portugal diamond, and the rest of

the pendants to make up a necklace to give his mistress. Also

the best rope of pearls, with a rich chain or two for himself,

and some other jewels, not to deserve that name, that will

serve for presents and save your purse. They never had so great

occasion to get out of their boxes as now."

King James found consolation in believing that they would soon return

with the infanta and her dower; so he strove his best to supply them,

and touched on smaller matters. He besought baby Charles and Stenie

not to forget their dancing, though they

"should whistle or sing, one for the other, for the lack of

better music; ... but you must be as sparing as you can in your

spending, for your officers are put to the height of their

speed.... I pray you, my baby, take care of being hurt if you

run at tilt." (Letters in Ellis Collec.)

Difficult as it was for the king to satisfy their pecuniary demands,

and desirous though he was to act on Prince Charles's frequent

suggestion, to "consult no counsel, but leave all to Stenie and me,"

he received from them some proposals which rather exceeded his powers

of acceptance; one of which was nothing less than that, to please

Spain, he should acknowledge the pope's spiritual supremacy![50]

Probably at this point some little vision of the people of England

flitted over him; for he replied that he had made a great many

concessions already, and added--

"Now, I cannot change my religion as a man changes his shirt at

tennis."

The end of their expedition, and of the negotiations with Spain,

are well known. After meeting the most honorable hospitality, they

raised objections which they never intended to have removed, and made

promises which they never meant to fulfil; and returned home without

the infanta, and without her dower, to reject with insult the Spanish

alliance and lay the blame on Spain.

King James died like any common mortal, in the most literal

acceptation of the phrase. The same slight cold passing into mortal

sickness, the household called up in alarm at day-dawn, the same

hugging on to the dear old life. The countess, mother of Buckingham,

"ran with a draught and a posset;" he took the draught and applied

the posset, but it was too late--and the prince, as Charles I.,

succeeded him.

Charles had married the sister of the French king, the Princess

Henrietta, whose dancing had captivated his youthful fancy on his way

to Spain; but some little discord and confusion had crept into the

music and dancing of their English home. He had promised religious

freedom for herself and her household. Her retinue was very numerous,

and, with different religious creeds and widely different social

habits, it is not surprising that year by year a sort of estrangement

seemed to grow up between them. His majesty ascribed this to foreign

influence; and he resolved to rule his own household, and in that

very expressive phrase--_make a clean sweep_.

"One fine afternoon the king went unannounced to the queen's

side of the house, and finding some Frenchmen dancing and

curvetting in her presence, took her hand and led her to his

own lodgings; ... then my Lord Conway called forth the French

bishop and others, and told them the king's pleasure was that

all her majesty's servants of that nation, men and women, old

and young, with three or four exceptions, should depart the

kingdom. The bishop stood on, that he could not go unless the

king his master commanded; but he was told the king his master

had nothing to do in England.... The women howled and wept as

if they were going to execution; but it did no good, they were

thrust out and the doors locked."[51]

Buckingham was charged with their transportation and shipping at

Dover; and his master wrote--

"Stick not long in disputing with them, Stenie; but drive them

away like wild beasts--and the devil go with them."

But an ambassador was dispatched to the French court with

explanations.

The civil wars which desolated the kingdom under Charles I., and

stained the soil of England with English blood, are familiar to all.

Buckingham fell by the knife of an assassin. Whether sadly unwise or

fearfully criminal, the king expiated his mistakes with his life. He

was seized and imprisoned; and after a trial condemned and executed.

His queen, Henrietta, with her children, all except one, were in

France for safety. His little daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, was

in England, and at his request was conducted to him the last evening

of his life. Then, says Whitlock,

"it was sad to see him--he took the princess in his arms and

kissed her, and gave her two diamonds; and there was great

weeping."

There is preserved, in several collections of old poetry, a long and

pathetic elegy, written by King Charles at Carisbrook Castle, where

he was imprisoned; it is entitled, _An Imploration to the King of

Kings_, and he sadly says therein--

"The fiercest furies that do daily tread

Upon my grief, my gray, discrowned head,

Are those that owe my bounty for their bread.

But sacred Saviour! with thy words I woo

Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to

Such as thou knowest do not know what they do."

The _Commonwealth of England_, whose first grand state seal dated

1648, came virtually to its end at the death of its founder in 1658;

and a few years later Charles II. was called from exile to the throne

of his fathers.

He is called the _merrie_ monarch; but very far from _merrie_ was

the nation under his rule--dissensions and discontent pervaded it

in every direction. The truth is, that the prominence given in

brief histories to this epithet, the madcap frolics of his court,

the witty and unprincipled nobles, and the uncommon array of female

beauty which made up the surroundings of his own indolence and love

of pleasure, lead to a sort of general idea that all England was

one grand carousal. A nearer view changes the scene. The religious

contests between conformists and non-conformists, which began in

1662 and lasted some twenty-six years--the fruitful harvest planted

in preceding years of anarchy and fanaticism--present pictures of

persecution and suffering such as enter only into religious warfare;

and which, perhaps, it is most charity to refer to the importance

which the opposing parties attach to their subject. During these

twenty-six years it is computed that the penalties which were

inflicted amounted to between twelve and fourteen millions sterling,

and the sufferers for conscience' sake numbered 60,000. Homeless, and

hungry, and penniless, they wandered about or were immured in jails;

and contemporary writers (Defoe, Penn) assert that from 5000 to 8000

perished "like sheep, in those noisome pest-houses." Surely that was

not the day of _merrie_ old England, beyond the precincts of the

court.

Charles was succeeded by his brother, James II., who was soon

deposed, and William, Prince of Orange, who had married his daughter

Mary, was invited to the throne. Next to these came another daughter

of James, Queen Anne; and with her expired the line of the Stuarts.

The dark fortunes of Mary Stuart rested in some form on all her

descendants.

IV.

In what quiet library, in what lordly mansion, was this old book

safely stored away through all these changing scenes of pageantry

and splendor, of riot and bloodshed? Who was he that first received

it, new and comely, from the hands of _William Stanly, printer_,

(who is saved to fame in a little corner of the title-page,) and

what name is this, written on the margin in ink, embrowned now and

almost obliterated, which evidently was once intended to establish

ownership? The dedication to my Lord of Ellismere bespeaks for it a

place with the noble and learned; who among them found time then to

seek

"how to liue wel and how to die wel, from our Seneca--whose

diuine sentences, wholesom counsailes, serious exclamations

against vices, in being but a heathen, may make us ashamed

being Christians." (Translator's preface.)

What statesman, by lamplight perhaps, when the toils of the day were

over, turned these very pages, and drew a rule for his steps from

the maxims of the Roman? Hadst thou but a tongue, old book, what

tales thou mightest tell! Where wert thou when that pestilence, the

plague, swept from London 100,000 of its inhabitants? or where when

its career was checked by that other horror, the great conflagration?

when the bells from a hundred steeples tolled their own requiem, and

the number of houses in London was diminished by 13,000.

One hundred years had passed over it when George I. ascended the

English throne; then came Georges II., III., and IV., King William

and Queen Victoria. Under the two first, no small portion of the

troubles, both at home and with foreign nations, were traceable to

the plots and intrigues of the last solitary scion of the house of

Stuart; and with George III. a new war boomed over the Atlantic. At

last it was finished; and at the somewhat mature age of two hundred

and fifty-six years, but still in good condition, our time-honored

volume has crossed the ocean to find a new home under the stripes and

stars. One more exponent, in its silent eloquence, of that

"Vitæ summa brevis"

which the Roman poet warns us is not to be counted on.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] Letters in Sir Henry Ellis's Collec.

[45] Letter of Lascelles to Earl Shrewsbury.

[46] Stratford.

[47] Wotton Reliq. (Sir Henry Wotton, once secretary to Raleigh.)

[48] Ellis Collec.

[49] Howell.

[50] Hardwicke State Papers.

[51] Letter of John Porry in Ellis Col.

THE VATICAN COUNCIL.

NUMBER FOUR.

Another month of the Vatican Council has passed by without any public

session. There has not been a general congregation since February

22d, when the twenty-ninth was held. This absence of grand public

ceremonials has driven some of the newspaper correspondents to turn

elsewhere in search of sensational items. We are no longer inundated,

and at times amused, by column after column of newspaper accounts

narrating speeches and events in the council that had scarcely any

existence, except in the fertile imaginations of the writers. The

outward calm in Rome has produced its effect in no small extent in

the newspaper world.

This calm, however, is by no means the calm of inaction. Quite the

contrary. At no time were the fathers so assiduously engaged in the

deep study of the matters before them, or more earnestly occupied

with their conciliar labors.

We stated in our last number that they were then engaged in the

discussion of the subjects of discipline, on which several

_schemata_, or draughts, had been drawn up by preparatory committees

of theologians, in anticipation of the council. The discussion was

continued, on February 19th, with six speakers, on the 21st with

seven speakers, and was closed on the 22d with seven other speakers,

when the fourth _schema_, or draught, on discipline, was referred,

as the preceding ones had been, to the appropriate committee or

_deputation_ on matters of discipline.

Thus, within two months, since the congregation of December 28th,

when the discussion began, one _schema_ on faith and four on

discipline had come up before the bishops; and there had been in all

one hundred and forty-five speeches delivered on them. The experience

of those two months had made several points very clear:

First, the _schemata_, or draughts, as prepared by the theologians,

did not prove as acceptable to the bishops as perhaps their authors

had expected. On the contrary, the bishops subjected them to a very

searching examination and discussion, criticising and weighing every

point and every expression; and seemed disposed, in measure, to

recast some of them entirely.

Secondly, the mode in which this examination had so far been

conducted might, it was thought, be improved, both in its

thoroughness and in the length of time it occupied. So far, all the

prelates who wished had spoken one after another. The sittings of the

congregations usually lasted from nine A.M. to one P.M., and became a

great trial of the physical endurance of many of these aged men. The

prelates could not refrain from asking each other, What progress are

we making? How long will this series of speeches last?

Again, many of the speakers, unwilling to occupy the attention of the

congregation too long, strove to condense what they wished to say,

and sometimes omitted much that might have thrown additional light on

the subject, or would be material for the support of their views. Yet

how could this be avoided without extending the discussion beyond the

limits of endurance.

Still more, many prelates, whose mature and experienced judgments

would have been most valuable, would not speak; some, because they

were unwilling to increase the already large number of speakers;

others, because their organs of speech were too feeble to assure

their being heard throughout a hall which held over a thousand

persons in by no means crowded seats.

These points had gradually made themselves manifest, and, as we

intimated in our last article, the question had been raised, how

these difficulties could be met. Some suggested a division of

the prelates into a number of sections, in each and all of which

the discussions might go on at the same time. But, after much

consideration, another method was resolved on, and was announced in

the congregation of the 22d of February as the one to be followed in

the examination and discussion of the next _schema_, or draught, to

be taken up by the council.

The main points of these additional regulations are the following:

When a _schema_ comes before the council for examination, instead

of the _vivâ voce_ discussion, which according to the first system

would take place in the congregations, before sending it to the

proper committee, if necessary, the cardinals presiding shall fix

and announce a suitable time, within which any and every one of

the fathers, who desires to do so, may commit his views on it to

writing, and shall send in the same to the secretary of the council.

Any amendments, additions, and corrections which he may wish to make

must be fully and clearly written out. The secretary must, at the

end of the appointed time, transmit to the appropriate committee,

or _deputation_ of bishops, all the remarks on the _schema_. The

_schema_ will be examined and remodelled, if necessary, by the

committee, under the light of these written statements, precisely

as would be done if the members had before them the full report

of speeches made in the former style before the congregation. The

reformed _schema_ is again presented to the congregation, and with

it a summary exposition of the substance of the remarks and of the

amendments proposed. "When the _schema_, together with the aforesaid

summary, has been distributed to the fathers of the council, the

said presidents shall appoint a day for its discussion in general

congregation." In parliamentary usage, this corresponds to having the

discussion, not on the first, but on the second reading of a bill.

This discussion must proceed in the strict order of topics, first

generally; that is, on the _schema_ wholly or in part, as it may have

been brought before the congregation; then on the several portions of

it, one by one. The speakers who wish to take part in the discussion

must, in giving in their names as before, state also whether they

intend to speak on the _schema_ as a whole, or on some special parts

of it, and which ones. The form of amendment, should a speaker

propose one, must be handed in, in writing, at the conclusion of his

speech. Of course, the speakers must keep to the point in debate.

If any one wanders from it, he will be called to order. The members

of the reporting committee or deputation will, moreover, be free to

speak in reply, during the debate, as they judge it advisable.

The last four of these by-laws are the following:

XI. "If the discussion be unreasonably protracted, after the

subject has been sufficiently debated, the cardinals presiding,

on the written request of at least ten bishops, shall be

at liberty to put the question to the fathers whether the

discussion shall continue. The fathers shall vote by rising or

retaining their seats; and if a majority of the fathers present

so decide, they shall close the discussion.

XII. "When the discussion on one part of a _schema_ is closed,

and before proceeding to another, the presiding cardinals

shall take the votes of the general congregation, first on the

amendments proposed during the discussion itself, and then on

the whole context of the part under consideration.

XIII. "The votes, both as to the amendments and as to the

context of such part, will be given by the fathers in the

following mode: First, the cardinals presiding shall require

those who assent to the amendment or text to rise; then, by a

second call, shall require those who dissent to rise in their

turn; and after the votes have been counted, the decision of

the majority of the fathers will be recorded.

XIV. "When all the several parts of a _schema_ have been

voted on in this mode, the cardinals presiding shall take

the judgment of the fathers on the entire _schema_ under

examination as a whole. These votes shall be given _vivâ

voce_, by the words, PLACET or NON PLACET. But those who think

it necessary to add any condition shall give their votes in

writing."

It is already evident that the first provision of these by-laws or

regulations is attaining its purpose. At the congregation of February

22d, when they went into force, a certain portion of a new _schema_,

or draught, on matters of faith, was announced as the next matter

regularly coming up for examination, and the space of ten days was

assigned within which the fathers might write out their criticisms,

and propose any emendations or amendments to it, and send such

written opinions to the secretary. There was no limit to hamper the

bishops in the fullest expression of their sentiments. They might

write briefly, or at as great length as they deemed proper. Moreover,

in writing, they would naturally be more exact and careful than

perhaps they could be in speeches often made extempore. There would

also be less liability of being misunderstood. Moreover, many more

could and probably would write than would have spoken. It is said

over one hundred and fifty did so write on this first occasion; so

that, in reality, as much was done in those ten days as under the old

system would have occupied two months. The second portion, touching

the debate before the congregation, will of course be effective and

satisfactory. And it is confidently hoped that the third portion, as

to the mode of closing the debate and taking the vote, will, when the

time comes for testing it, be found equally satisfactory.

In our previous numbers we have avoided falling into the very error

of the correspondents which we have repeatedly blamed; we have not

pretended to have succeeded in getting a glimpse behind the curtain

which veils the council, and so to have qualified ourselves to speak

without reserve of the matters treated by the fathers in their

private debates. Even had circumstances brought some knowledge of

this to us, it would be under obligations which would effectually

prevent our touching on it in these articles. But we can be under no

such obligation in regard to questions which, if we are correctly

informed, have not come, at least up to the present time, before

the congregations of the council. There is one such question which

excites universal attention, perhaps we should rather say universal

talk, outside the council--the infallibility of the pope. It has

become in Europe the question of the day. Books have been written

on it, pamphlets discussing it are issued every week, and England,

France, Germany, and Spain have been deluged with newspaper articles

upholding it or attacking it--articles written with every possible

shade of learning and of ignorance, and in every degree of temper,

from the best to the worst. The articles are what might be expected

when the writers are of every class, from erudite theologians down

to penny-a-liners, and when, if some are good and sincere Catholics,

many are by no means such. Protestants have written on it, some in

favor of the doctrine (!), most of them against it. The bitterest and

most unfair articles, however, have been and are those written by the

political opponents of the church; though how this precise question

can come into politics, any more than the existence of religion, the

divinity of the Saviour, the infallibility of the church, or any

other point of doctrine, we cannot see. But in Europe, if religion

does not go into politics, politics, or at least politicians and

political writers, have no scruples in going into religious matters.

In fact, the most advanced party of "_progress, and enlightenment,

and liberty_" proclaim that there should be no religion at all,

that it narrows the intellect by hampering freedom of thought, and

enslaves man by forbidding him to do much that he desires; and

as they think mankind should, on the contrary, be free from all

its trammels; and as they hold it to be their special mission to

effect this liberation, they systematically omit no occasion of

attacking religion. For them, one point is as good as another; the

infallibility of the pope will do as well as the discovery that

a crazy nun, subject to furious mania, was confined in a room so

small that the sides of it only measured twenty feet one way and

twenty-three the other, and so low that one had to stand on a step to

reach the window. Any thing will serve this class of writers. And,

unfortunately for religious news, much of what appears in the press

of Europe, and must gradually be infused, in part at least, into the

press in the United States, is from such pens, and is imbued or is

tinged with their spirit.

We would not do justice to Rome and the council if we omitted to

mention a very interesting event with which the council is connected,

if only as the occasion. We mean the Roman Exposition of Arts, as

applied to religious purposes. It was opened by the pope three weeks

ago.

The traveller arriving in Rome by the railway cannot fail to be

struck with wonder at the view which opens before him the instant

he steps out of the door of the central station. Just across the

square, huge dark masses of rough masonry rise before him. Some are

only twenty or thirty feet high, and their tops are covered with

the herbage or bushes that grow on the soil, wafted thither by the

winds of centuries. Others are still higher, and are connected by

walls equally old, some broken, some nearly entire. Here and there

immense arches of masonry, a hundred feet high in the air, still span

the space from pier to pier, and bear a fringe of green herbage.

Every thing tells you of the immensity of the building, or group

of buildings which men erected here in ages long gone by. But even

still, as you see, portions of these walls and arches are used. Not

every pier is a mere isolated ruin; not under every arch can you

look and see through it a broad expanse of blue Italian sky. Modern

walls are joined to these piers; the ancient walls too are turned to

account; irregular roofs, some high, some low, come against them.

Here, through the high openings in the original wall, men are busy

taking in or delivering bundles of hay from the store-house they

have constructed. There, through doorways and windows of more modern

shape, you see that another portion is made to serve as barracks

for soldiers. Other buildings stretch away northward and westward,

schools, orphanages, and a reformatory, as you see by their various

inscriptions. But though of more recent date, they have not lost all

connection with the ruins; for the ground all along shows traces

of the original constructions in the fragments of broken columns

and in patches of the ancient masonry, which between and beyond

them continues ever and anon to rise in outlying masses. But in the

centre, where the strong masonry rises higher than elsewhere and is

best preserved, there spreads a wide roof surmounted by crosses at

the gables. To the eastward, the ruins seem to die away in a long and

not very high line of buildings, evidently cared for and inhabited.

The walls are covered with plaster, and the windows are glazed, and

protected by shutters. Over the ridge of the roof you may see the

lofty summits of some cedars that are growing in a court-yard or

garden within.

These are the mighty remnants of the Baths of Diocletian, commenced

by that emperor in the year 302. Built at the period when Rome was

at the zenith of her wealth and luxury, it far exceeded all other

buildings of its class in the seven-hilled city, both in vastness

and in grandeur. It was undertaken in a time of the most cruel

persecution of the church, and the Christians who were condemned

to imprisonment and hard labor, because they would not deny their

Lord, were brought here day after day from many a prison, and

fettered like convicts, and were made to labor in erecting this pile

devoted to pride, and luxury, and debauchery. Many an account of the

martyr Christians of that age tells of old and young men and women,

condemned for their faith, and sent to die here a lingering death of

martyrdom. Many a soul passed from this spot straight to heaven. For

who hath greater love than he who giveth his life for his friend?

Many a prayer of Christian faith, of holy resignation, of ardent hope

of a better life, was here uttered day after day, and hour after

hour, all the years the work lasted. The antiquarian still finds

here and there the bricks which believing hands marked with a cross,

the outward expression of the prayer of their hearts, offering their

labors and sufferings, endured for his sake, to Him who for their

sakes labored and suffered on the cross. It is estimated that more

than forty thousand Christians toiled at the work. It was in these

ruins, if we mistake not, that was found one of the marble tablets

inscribed with an encomium of Diocletian, for having purged the world

of that vile and hateful superstition called Christianity.

In this vast pile of buildings, thirteen hundred feet from east to

west, and twelve hundred from north to south, there were halls,

court-yards surrounded by ample porticoes, pools for swimmers,

thousands of baths, libraries, galleries of painting and sculpture,

portions set aside for philosophic discussion, other portions for

gymnastic exercises and games, and every thing that Roman luxury or

Roman debauchery called for, and Roman wealth could provide.

The first dismantling and partial destruction of the buildings seems

to have occurred when Alaric sacked Rome. Yet even a century later

portions of them were still used for the original purpose as baths.

It is needless to say how they suffered still more, by alternate

violence and neglect, for many centuries afterward. Often it was

occupied by soldiers as a stronghold, and it suffered at their hands,

as by alterations here and there they strove to make the place more

defensible. Often it was assailed and taken, and then suffered still

more, as whatever could be was toppled over in anger. And when the

soldiers left it quiet, rain and winds and storms continued the work

of destruction. In the sixteenth century all this property was owned

by Saint Charles Borromeo. He gave it to the pope, Pius IV., who

determined to construct a church, if possible, in the midst of these

ruins, and so put them under the guardianship of that very religion

which gave so many martyrs toward their construction. The pontiff

committed the task to Michael Angelo, who executed it in a manner

which won an admiration next to that gained by his great work at St.

Peter's.

Amid the ruins there stood a vast hall, three hundred and twenty-five

feet long and sixty feet broad. Its massive walls were perfect, and

the vast arch of masonry that covered it, at the height of over one

hundred feet, though weakened by the exposure of centuries, still

stood unbroken. The Caldarium stood near by on one side, and the

old natatio, or swimming room, joined it on the other. Both still

preserved their vaulted roofs. Michael Angelo united them, and,

preserving the walls and the massive monolith columns of red Egyptian

granite, which were all standing, skilfully produced a noble church

in the form of a Greek cross, which is known as St. Mary of the

Angels. One loves to pass an hour in that vast, quiet, and attractive

church, under the olden arch, now protected from the weather by an

additional tiled roof, viewing the exquisite statues of saints,

and the masterpieces of painting, the originals, some of them, of

the mosaics over the altars of St. Peter's, or listening to the

Cistercian monks who serve the church as they slowly and reverently

chant the divine office at their stated hours of day and night.

On the eastern side, toward the Pretorian Camp, war had done its most

destructive work. Here Michael Angelo found the ruins so entirely

beaten down that most of the space had been devoted to gardens,

though encumbered indeed by sundry picturesque mounds of masonry.

Here, using the materials at hand so far as they would serve, he

erected a monastery for the Cistercians, a plain quadrangular

building, inclosing an open space about four hundred feet square.

To each side of this the building presents a portico, or arcade,

which thus forms a cloister, supported by twenty-five columns of

travertine. No work of that great architect and artist exceeds this

cloister in its simplicity, and the exquisite beauty of form and

proportion in all its parts. In the centre of the yard is a majestic,

ever-flowing fountain, throwing its stream of water aloft. This falls

into an ample marble reservoir beneath, whose waters ripple and

sparkle in the sunlight as the gold-fish are darting to and fro into

the shade of water-lilies or out to court the beams of the sun. By

this basin the architect planted with his own hand four young cedars,

which throve apace. Three of them are still standing, historic trees.

Two are strong and vigorous, though three centuries old; a third is

in the decrepitude of old age, shattered and broken by the winds, but

still bravely struggling to the last to raise its topmost branches

upward toward heaven. The fourth perished some years ago, and has

been replaced by another, younger one, which a good Cistercian, they

say, obtained by securing in time and carefully nursing a young shoot

of the old tree itself.

Around the cloister are the cells of the brethren. They seem to have

a curious fancy of fastening placards on their doors. You can see

half a dozen of them of different sizes. On some doors the sheet of

paper is apparently fresh and clean, and is still securely fastened

by four tacks, or by wafers under the corners. On other doors some of

the tacks have fallen out, or the wafers have lost their hold, and

the paper hangs dangling by a single corner. The winds have blown

it until it is torn. The rain has moistened and caused it to curl.

The upper portion hangs loosely over, half hiding the writing on it.

You approach and stretch out your hand to lift it up, that you may

read what a Cistercian had placarded on the door of his cell. It is

all a delusion! There is no paper! Some painter, quitting the world,

retreated to this community. In its quietude and silence, and in its

penitential life, he found again peace and tranquillity of soul, and

the gayety of his youth came back to him. He took a boyish pleasure

in playing this clever artistic practical joke on the strangers whom

curiosity, or other motives, from time to time, brought to look

at the interior of a Carthusian monastery. He died peacefully and

piously years ago, but the brethren have not ceased to enjoy the joke

he perpetrated.

What a practical lesson of the power with which God rules the

world! In this spot where a cruel and sanguinary emperor persecuted

and martyred Christians by the thousands, and boasted that he had

exterminated the Christian church, the ruins of his vast work owe

their preservation to the sacred power of a Christian church. Where

luxury, and the pride of the world, and every form of sensuality were

wont to seek their gratification, now meek and humble white-robed

Cistercians who have renounced the world and its pomps and sins, and

are vowed to poverty, chastity, and obedience, work and study in

silence, fast austerely, and make the hours of day and the hours of

night holy by prayer and chanting of psalms. The heathen empire of

Rome has passed away, but the church it tried to destroy lives in

perpetual youth. Rome has lost her heathen power of ruling with the

sword the bodies of men from the Pillars of Hercules. But through

that very Christianity Rome has received and wields a far higher

power than the sword could give. She guides the consciences and

minds of men, not only through the provinces of her olden temporal

empire, but beyond their limit, in lands where the eagle of a Roman

legion was never raised, and in countries of whose existence the

Roman emperors never dreamed. To the thoughtful mind the Cistercian

monastery and the noble church of St. Mary of the Angels but typify

the glory of Christian Rome, built amid the ruins of her olden

heathen power.

The proposal, made originally by whom we know not, of opening an

exposition of religious art at Rome during the sittings of the

council, was immediately taken up with enthusiasm. His Holiness

assigned the garden of this noble cloister as the best adapted site

to be found in Rome, except at a large expense. The Cistercians

withdrew temporarily to other buildings close by, and gave up their

own beautiful place to architects and workmen. The cloister, or broad

open arcade, which runs round the square garden was chosen to form

the outer gallery or halls, altogether about twelve hundred feet

long by twenty broad. Within this outer gallery, and just touching

each side in the middle, is a series of sixteen rooms, all of the

same size, and of the same irregular, or rather rhomboidal, shape,

forming, as it were, a broad polygon of sixteen sides. Within this

polygon is the central portion of the garden, still unoccupied, with

its gravelled walks, its green sward, its rose-trees and flowering

plants, its ever-gushing fountain, the ample basin receiving the

water, the glistening gold-fish, and the majestic cedars of Michael

Angelo. The arcade has, of course, its own covering. The sixteen

rooms of the polygon are roofed with glass, to let in the flood of

light, and a few feet below the glass is another roofing, or awning,

to soften its intensity and to mitigate the heat of the direct rays

of the sun. Large openings in the partition walls allow free passage

from room to room, all around the polygon; and where it touches the

arcade or outer halls, other doors allow you to pass to them, or by

opposite doors you may pass out to walk in the garden.

The exposition was opened on the 17th of February by the pope

himself, in the presence of the commission for the exposition, a

number of cardinals, some three hundred of the bishops, and a large

concourse of clergy and laity. He made an impromptu discourse,

touching chiefly on the true progress which art has made under the

inspiration of religion and the patronage of the church, and in

illustration referred to some of those unrivalled works of religious

painting and sculpture which are found in Rome.

Nothing could be more appropriate to the assembling of so many

bishops and priests and pious laymen in Rome, drawn by the council,

than this exposition. Go when you will, you will find many of all

these classes spending hours in studying a collection of religious

works of every kind, such as most of them have never seen. In size

and extent this exposition cannot, of course, compare with those vast

ones of London and Paris. They sought and received objects of every

kind. This admits nothing that is not devoted to, or in some way

connected with, religion. It would correspond, therefore, with one

section of the Paris Exposition of 1867. Considered in this light,

it does not, as a whole, fall below it; in several respects it is

superior.

We have not the space now to enter into a detail of the many and

multifarious objects offered for examination. Every art seems

represented. For what is there that cannot be made to give glory to

God? Still, we may glance at a few of the chief groups.

The exterior arcade is chiefly devoted to sculpture and paintings. Of

the former there are here and elsewhere in the exhibition over two

hundred and fifty pieces, in marble, in plaster, or metal, or wood. I

do not count the hundreds of sweet little things in terra cotta, nor

the many objects in ivory. Tadolini, Benzoni, Pettrich, and a hundred

other artists from Rome, and other parts of Italy, Germany, and

France, have sent the work of their chisels. As a whole, this group

of subjects stands far higher in point of good art than was looked

for. Some of the statues are of a high order. We may instance a

group of heroic size by Tadolini, representing the Archangel Michael

overcoming Lucifer, after the painting by Guido, and two life-size

Madonnas by Pettrich, all of which, we understand, will be forwarded

to the United States. There is in one of the French rooms a plaster

copy of the statue of the holy Vianney, curate of the village of

Ars, near Lyons, in France, who died a few years ago in the odor of

sanctity, and who, the Catholics of France are confident, will in due

time be canonized. He is robed in soutane, surplice, and stole, and

is kneeling in prayer, his face turned upward toward heaven. I do not

speak of the style and execution, which are good; but of the face,

which attracts every one. It is said to be a perfect likeness. Thin,

gaunt, with features sharp and exaggerated by the lack of flesh,

rather ugly than otherwise, there is an expression of simplicity,

of piety, of kindness, of earnestness, which makes it far more than

beautiful, a face that grows in sweetness as you look on it. And yet

study the individual features, forehead, eyebrows, nose, mouth, chin,

cheek-bones, the chief lines and wrinkles. They are precisely the

same as on the repulsive face of Voltaire! What different expressions

were given to the same features by the calm piety, the love of God

and our neighbor, the spiritual peace dwelling in the soul of the

saintly priest, and the pride, and envy, and passions, and the

bitter, hopeless or despairing unbelief of the apostle of evil.

As we examine these statues, so good in their execution and so

truly religious in their type, one cannot but feel a regret that in

the United States we are such strangers to the use of them in our

churches and chapels and oratories. Here and there are found, indeed,

casts in plaster of Paris, sometimes in _papier-maché_. But how few

real works of merit in materials and in style! If the clergy who

are at work building our churches, and some of the laymen who are

seconding them in this work, could only see those statues of our Lord

on the cross, or bearing the cross and sinking under its weight,

or healing the blind, or blessing little children; or those sweet

ones of the Mother and Divine Child, in various positions; or of the

Blessed Virgin, of St. Joseph, of Saint Cecilia, Saint Agnes, and

of so many other saints and groups representing religious subjects;

surely among them, in marble, in iron, bronzed, silvered, gilt, or

illuminated with polychrome, and such a variety in size and in cost,

they would understand the void in our churches, and would each do his

part to supply it.