within the cloister at Carpentras,[106] to hide his face in mourning
and prayer, to ponder the torments of his saintly mother, and fix
his weeping eyes in solitude on the image of his crucified Lord. The
emperor had tamely declined to fight the battles of Jehovah, and
his supineness added wormwood to Pole's bitter cup. Paul III. had
compassion on his distress, and need of his counsels. He recalled him
from his retreat near Avignon--from the ruins of the Temple of Diana
at Carpentras, to the life and energy of Christian Rome.
The hatred of Henry toward Cardinal Pole was increased by this last
attempt to band the most powerful princes of Europe against him.
"Judgment of treason" was pronounced on him in England; and efforts
were made to induce foreign governments to deliver him up. His steps
were tracked by spies; his goings in and out were watched; and he
believed the poniards of assassins to be often brandished near him.
His aged mother, the venerable Countess of Salisbury, was brought
to the block,[107] as we have already mentioned. No examination had
extracted evidence of her guilt; no ground for a criminal prosecution
could be discovered. She was attainted without previous trial or
confession; for Henry and his abject minion, Cromwell, were as
indifferent to the forms of law as to the substance of justice. Her
name, together with that of Pole's nephew, the son of Lord Montague,
and that of Gertrude the Marchioness of Exeter, was introduced into
a bill of attainder, though neither of them had confessed any crime
or had been placed upon trial with means of defence. The marchioness
was pardoned in six months; of the fate of the young man no record
remains; but the aged countess, who was the last in a direct line of
the Plantagenets, who was the nearest relation in blood that Henry
had, and of whom in former days the king had often said that she was
the holiest woman in Christendom, was dragged from the tower to the
scaffold after a confinement of two years, and commanded to lay her
head on the block.
"My head," she replied, "never committed treason. If you will have
it, you must take it as you can."
The executioner performed his office while the head was held down
by force. Reginald Pole ever after regarded himself as the son of a
martyr, and accounted that a higher honor than to be born of a royal
line.[108]
His long residence abroad after his mother's death was not marked
by events of sufficient importance to require very special record.
At Rome, the pope granted him a guard, that he might be protected
from plots against his life contrived by the revengeful Henry.
He corresponded largely with persons of distinction in various
countries, and his letters, which were published at Brescia (Brixia)
in five volumes quarto, in 1754-57, under the editorship of Cardinal
Quirinus, are highly circumstantial, and contain abundant matter of
historical interest and closely connected with the lives of Pope
Paul III., the Emperor Charles V., the King of Scots, Edward VI.,
Mary, and Elizabeth. In 1562, a work of his appeared, entitled,
_De Concilio Liber_; and in the same year, at Rome, edited by P.
Manutius, _Reformatio Angliæ, ex decretis Reginaldi Poli Cardinalis_.
Two volumes, quarto. The book on councils was written by Pole as
president of the Council of Trent in 1545; and Phillips, in his life
of him,[109] speaks of it as
"A treatise which, for perspicuity, good sense, and solid
reasoning, is equal to the importance of the occasion on which
it was written, and shows at once the reach and ease of the
author's genius, and the goodness of his heart. The preface by
Manutius is long, and one of the most elegant compositions in
the Latin language."
Cardinal Pole's life of exile, therefore, was neither idle nor
fruitless. The labors which his hand then wrought remain to this day,
and are highly prized by all who love to trace the stream of history
to its fountain head. The year after Cromwell's disgrace and death
(1541) Pole was appointed Governor of the Province of the Patrimony
of St. Peter--the only part of the States of the Church which is now
left to the Bishop of Rome. By this kindness on the part of Paul
III., the cardinal was relieved of a disagreeable dependence on
foreign princes for his daily expenses. His government was marked by
wisdom, gentleness, and moderation. He always discouraged severity,
though he held firmly the right of the church to punish offenders.
His leisure hours were devoted to literature, and in the writings of
ancient and modern poets and sages he often forgot, for a time, the
miseries of his country, and the dangers which, even in Italy, beset
his own person.[110]
Disorders among the clergy, a general corruption of morals, the
schism of Luther, and the excesses of Calvin conspired to make a
general council the obvious and only remedy that could be applied.
Cardinal Pole and two other legates were nominated by Pope Paul
III. to preside at the Council of Trent in the year 1542. But the
sittings were suspended amid the din of arms, and renewed three years
later in the same city. Cardinal Pole then presided again, having on
his journey been tracked from place to place by ruffians employed
by Henry VIII. to dispatch him at all hazards. Such atrocity,
however, did not exasperate Pole unduly, nor cause him to forfeit
his character for clemency and moderation. It was, on the contrary,
objected to him in Italy, as afterward in England, that he was too
lenient. It was even laid to his charge, and made an argument against
his being raised to the popedom, that during his administration as
governor two persons only had been put to death. He lived, alas! in
an age when laws were sanguinary, and human life was comparatively of
trifling account.
Cardinal Pole rendered valuable assistance in the early stages of
the Council of Trent; but in 1546, he was obliged to discontinue
his sittings and retire, first to Padua, and afterward to Rome, in
consequence of ill health. The decree of the council concerning
justification,[111] as it now stands, was revised and completed by
him. It is a monument of luminous and concise statement of scriptural
truth, and perfectly reconciles passages at first sight discrepant in
the epistles of St. Paul and St. James.
When Henry VIII. was gone to his account, and the young Edward
mounted the vacant throne, Cardinal Pole made two unsuccessful
efforts to incline the thoughts of that young prince favorably toward
the true and ancient religion. But Edward VI. in his tender years
was surrounded by persons who made it their business to misrepresent
every thing connected with the Catholic Church. The boy-king was thus
made the tool and victim of crafty and ambitious men, who reared the
structure of their own fortunes out of a pile of sacrilege.
When Paul III. died in November, 1549, Cardinal Pole was at the head
of his council, and governor of Viterbo. The larger part of the
cardinals were desirous of electing him to the vacant chair; but
the number of votes required being two thirds, the choice did not
ultimately fall on him. It was not the design of Providence that
he should either be pope of Rome or king of England; yet he was
very near being the successor of Paul III. on one occasion, and the
husband of Mary, Queen of England, on others. During the sitting of
the conclave he wrote an essay, which was afterward published, on
the duties of the papacy. But the period was not without its trials.
Envious detractors arose, and charged him not only with being too
lenient in the government of Viterbo, but also with favoring the
modern errors. It often happens that when good men avoid severity,
their clemency is blamed; when they are gentle and charitable toward
heretics, their orthodoxy is impugned.
There was near the lake Benacus, (now Garda,) in the neighborhood
of Verona, a spot named Maguzano, where stood, in Cardinal Pole's
time, a monastery of Benedictine monks. To this retreat the cardinal
turned when, in 1553, he obtained the pope's consent to resign his
government of the province of Viterbo. His duties as governor had
compelled him frequently to visit Rome, and that city, which should
have been the abode of peace and piety, was filled with tumult and
discord, in consequence of the dissensions between Julius and Henry
II. of France. Many of the cardinal's dearest friends were no more.
Contarini, Bembo, Sadolet, Cortesius, Badia, and Giberti, Bishop
of Verona, slept the sleep of death, while Flaminius and Victoria
Colonna, Marchioness of Pescara, had also gone down to the grave.
Cardinal Pole, therefore, was fain to retire beforehand from a
transitory world, and seek once more in the shade of the cloister the
peace that passes all understanding and the prospect of a heaven near
at hand.
But it was with him as with so many others who have betaken
themselves to a spiritual retreat, and bidden farewell to the busy
world at the very moment when Providence intended to call them into
greater publicity and more active service than ever. Edward VI. died
on the 6th of July, 1553, the same day of the same month on which
his father had stained his hands in the blood of Sir Thomas More.
The Princess Mary ascended the throne. She was a zealous Catholic,
and if she had only understood the temper of her subjects; if she
had not attempted to annihilate a too powerful minority; if she had
been content to encourage the ancient faith without persecuting the
adherents of the new religion; if she had married an Englishman,
or indeed any one but a Spaniard, to whom, on account of his
nationality, her people were unalterably averse, she might have
prolonged her life and made her reign happy; she might have been one
of the greatest sovereigns of her age; she might have established
Catholicity in England on a permanent footing; she might have
bequeathed to her sister Elizabeth a system of tolerant government,
and have taken it out of her power to persecute Catholics in her
turn, and to supplant and vitiate entirely the old religion of the
land.
No time was lost by the holy father, Julius III., in sending Cardinal
Pole to England as legate. Before setting out on his journey, he
entered into correspondence with the queen, in order to be certified
of her good dispositions, and received from her the warmest
assurances of welcome and support.[112] She was, in fact, in the
early part of her reign, too eager to announce her future policy,
and would have done more wisely if she had followed the counsel of
the Emperor Charles V., who warned her "not to declare herself too
openly while the issue of affairs was yet uncertain." The successive
rebellions of Northumberland in favor of Lady Jane Grey, and that
of Sir Thomas Wyatt, ought to have made her be prudent, and avoid
above all things pressing matters to extremity. She knew how deeply
the nobles and rich men of her realm were implicated in the crime of
sacrilege, and how tenaciously they clung to the spoils of abbeys
and church lands of which they had become possessed. Scarcely a
day passed without some indication of the insecurity of her tenure
of power--without some warning of the necessity of ruling with
impartiality and moderation.[113]
Cardinal Pole was on his way to England, when he dispatched from
the Tyrol two messengers, one to the King of France, and the other
to the emperor, informing them of his instructions to negotiate, if
possible, a peace between them in the name of the pope. Charles V.,
however, was by no means disposed to let Pole proceed quietly on
his journey. He was bent on marrying his son Philip to Mary, and he
feared that the cardinal might be either a rival of his son or an
adversary of the match. He refused, therefore, to see the legate,
stopped him in the heart of Germany, and caused him to return to
Dillingen, on the Danube. Here he received instructions from Rome
to wait until circumstances should clear his path; and here too he
learned that the articles of the queen's marriage had been agreed
to, and the rebellion of Sir Thomas Wyatt suppressed. But the chief
obstacle to Pole's presence in England being removed, the emperor
consented to receive him at Brussels,[114] and Mary consulted him by
letter as to the bishops whom she should appoint to fill the sees of
those whom she had removed. The new prelates were carefully selected;
and when the Catholic religion was again proscribed in the succeeding
reign, one of them only, Kitchin of Llandaff--the calamity of his
see--who had changed with every change of the court, abjured the
faith of Christ and adopted that of Queen Elizabeth.
Pole was still unable to obtain the emperor's permission to cross
over to England, because the marriage of Mary with Philip had not
yet been celebrated. The delay was truly afflictive to the cardinal
and the queen, and the negotiations carried on by Pole between the
emperor and the king of France produced little effect. At last the
emperor yielded to Mary's entreaties; Pole's legatine powers, though
already very ample, were enlarged; and he was permitted to accept
the invitation of the Lords Paget and Hastings, with a train of
gentlemen, sent to Brussels for the purpose of escorting him to his
native country. He was empowered to reconcile England to the holy see
on such conditions as he should think proper and feasible, particular
faculties being given to him to dispense with the restitution of
church property and ecclesiastical revenues. His agreeable manners
and amiable address pointed him out as the fittest man in the world
to execute so difficult a commission; and the English ambassador at
Brussels, writing of him to Mary, said,
"His conversation is much above that of ordinary men, and
adorned with such qualities that I wish the man who likes
him the least in the kingdom were to converse with him but
one half-hour; it must be a stony heart which he does not
soften."[115]
The bill required for the reversal of Cardinal Pole's attainder was
passed in November, 1554. It stated that the only reason for the
attainder had been the cardinal's refusal to consent to the unlawful
divorce of Queen Mary's father and mother, and its repeal restored
him to all the rights which he had forfeited through his probity. The
legate having taken leave of the emperor, set out the next day in
princely style, accompanied by one hundred and twenty horse. A royal
yacht and six men of war were in readiness to receive him at Calais.
The wind itself was propitious to his voyage, and, having been rough
and contrary for several days, suddenly changed its direction, and
wafted the apostolic messenger safely to the British shore.
The legate, when he landed at Dover, was received and welcomed by his
nephew, Lord Montague. He was treated as one of the royal family, and
on his arrival at Gravesend, he was met by the Earl of Shrewsbury and
the Bishop of Durham. They presented him with the act by which his
attainder was reversed; and in his character as legate he proceeded
with them up the Thames in a royal barge, at the head of which
shone conspicuously his silver cross. Masses of spectators lined
the banks, and a large number of smaller barges followed him up the
river till he arrived at Whitehall, then the residence of the court.
The chancellor with many lords, the king, and the queen with the
ladies of her court, welcomed him with affectionate joy. The palace
of Lambeth, which Cranmer had exchanged for a prison, was richly
furnished for his use, and on the morrow, the 28th of November, the
lords and commons assembled expressly to hear from the legate's own
lips the object of his coming. The address which he delivered was
long and impressive; it dwelt on the dismal condition of nations
cut off from the unity of the church; and it set forth the abundant
blessings which would follow from the purpose of the holy see and
the queen being accomplished in the formal reconciliation of England
to the communion of the Bishop of Rome. On the next day, which was
the feast of St. Andrew, the parliament met again, together with the
king, the queen, and the legate. The nation, like a scattered and
harried flock, was received once more into the fold of the church
by general consent, amid deep emotion, praises, and tears of joy.
Yet many who were present had misgivings about the permanence and
solidity of the union thus affected. They remembered the recent
rebellion in favor of Lady Jane Grey, the rising of Sir Thomas
Wyatt, the countenance supposed to be given to the rebels by the
Princess Elizabeth, the extreme unpopularity of the Spanish alliance,
and the haughty, violent character of Gardiner, the chancellor,
and of Bonner, the Bishop of London.[116] Events unfortunately
justified these apprehensions, and made the short reign of Mary, for
reasons which we shall presently enumerate, a dismal failure and an
instalment of endless disaster.
The day after the reconciliation, the lord mayor and other civic
authorities waited on the legate, and requested him to honor the city
with a visit. Accordingly, on the first Sunday in Advent he went
by water from Lambeth, landed at St. Paul's wharf, and proceeded
in great pomp to the cathedral, where high mass was celebrated in
presence of their majesties and the court. The sermon was preached
by Gardiner, the Bishop of Winchester, who took occasion to confess
the share which he had in the national guilt, and to implore his
hearers, who had been influenced by him when he went astray, to
follow him now that he had recovered the right path. It was certainly
asking a good deal, since Gardiner himself had sat with Cranmer and
pronounced the sentence of divorce between the king and Catharine. He
had also maintained the royal supremacy, and sold his pen to Henry's
caprice.[117]
The bill which was framed to effect the restoration of the Catholic
religion in England was very comprehensive and carefully worded.
It distinguished minutely between the civil and ecclesiastical
jurisdictions, and guarded against what legists are accustomed to
consider the encroachments of the latter.[118] It secured to the
owners of church lands the undisturbed possession of their property
wherever it had been legally conveyanced; and without this concession
the legate's mission would have proved fruitless. It was followed by
a release of state prisoners, and by an embassy being sent to the
Roman see. Before it had reached its destination, Pope Julius III.
died,[119] after a pontificate of five years. He was succeeded by
Marcellus, who reigned only three weeks, and by his decease opened
the door for renewed exertions to raise Cardinal Pole to the papal
chair. It was the third time that Pole's friends had used all their
influence in his behalf. In the conclave which elected Julius III.,
Cardinal Farnese had nearly succeeded in procuring his election; in
the proceedings which issued in the choice of Marcellus, the same
cardinal had obtained letters from the king of France in Pole's
favor; and now again, when Caraffa was chosen and took the name of
Paul IV., it was not the fault of Philip, Mary, or Gardiner that the
tiara did not light on the head of Reginald Pole.
Having mediated a peace successfully between France and the emperor,
Pole was appointed, by Philip's special request, chief of the
privy council. He was to be absent from the queen as little as
possible, and nothing of importance was to be undertaken without
his concurrence. Pope Paul IV., however, did not look favorably on
Cardinal Pole, and had, even at this time, some thought of recalling
him to Rome. Meanwhile the legate with Gardiner made a slight attempt
to arouse the University of Oxford from its lethargy in respect to
human learning, and a short time afterward, before the end of the
year 1555, Gardiner being dead, the cardinal convoked a national
synod to consider the disorders of the period, and the best means of
stemming the torrent of depraved morals and strange forms of unbelief.
It is not our purpose to enter into the history of the severe
measures which were adopted for the extirpation of heresy in England,
and which we may, with the light which subsequent events have cast
upon them, with reason suspect to have been extreme and injudicious.
We are concerned only with the history of Cardinal Pole, and every
thing goes to prove that he always preferred lenient to severe
measures, so far as he considered it compatible with the welfare
of religion and the safety of the throne. As for Cranmer, Latimer,
Ridley, and other principal personages who were put to death, they
deserved their fate on account of the numerous treasons and crimes
which they had committed, or to which they had been accessory;
and Elizabeth herself might with perfect justice have been brought
to the block, from which she was saved only by the influence of
Gardiner, for conspiring against the crown of her sister. The whole
number of victims brought to the scaffold was only from two to four
hundred, and numbers of those who escaped into Ireland were sheltered
and concealed from legal pursuit by the Irish Catholics, who have
suffered death by thousands for the sake of religion, but have
scarcely ever inflicted it on others. The fanatics and demagogues,
who with the cowardly and blood-thirsty instincts of their species
are seeking to stir up the American people, "who will not rise, in
spite of their prayers and their prophecies," against the Irish
Catholics of the United States, will do well to remember this fact,
or rather, as such persons always forget what does not suit their
purpose, the intelligent and honest citizens of this republic will do
well to remember it, when these mischief-makers attribute to their
Catholic fellow-citizens any ulterior design or hope of ever seeking
to propagate their religion in this country by violent means.
As for Cardinal Pole himself, even Mr. Froude acknowledges that he
was "not cruel." Burnet testifies that he rescued the inhabitants
of his own district who were condemned to death from the hand of
Bonner.[120] His secretary, Beccatelli, informs us that "he used
his best endeavors that the sectaries might be treated with lenity,
and no capital punishment inflicted on them;"[121] and he himself
declares that he approved of putting heretics to death only in
extreme cases.[122] Rigorous and severe punishments upon all classes
of offenders, coercive measures and the stern exercise of authority
were, however, according to the spirit of that age in every country,
and it is not strange that the milder counsels of the gentle Pole
were over-ruled, and that he was unable to hinder the executions
desired by those who had the supreme power of the law in their
hands. The administration of Mary was severe and despotic. Yet it
is false to say that in her spirit and intentions she was cruel or
tyrannical. What appears to us like an unnecessary and even impolitic
rigor and vindictiveness against those who, by the laws of England,
were rebels against both the civil and ecclesiastical authorities of
the realm, was to a great extent due to the importunate counsels of
the lay-lords. Even Bonner and Gardiner would gladly have pursued a
milder policy, and the majority of the bishops and ecclesiastics,
notwithstanding the atrocious persecutions to which they had been
subjected under Henry and Edward, would have cordially sustained
their primate if he had been left free to exercise his authority
unimpeded by the interference of the civil power. Yet, though Mary's
policy was severe, it was mercy itself compared to that of Henry,
Elizabeth, and their Protestant successors. It is not only an
atrocious calumny; it is a grim and dismal jest for the panegyrists
of Elizabeth, and the exculpators of the hideous massacres of
Cromwell, to affix the epithet of "bloody" to Queen Mary.[123]
Moreover, it is not a mere question of a greater or lesser amount of
bloodshed which should govern our award of justice in respect to the
two cases. There is a difference of principle in the case, which an
impartial Jew, Mohammedan, infidel, or even Protestant can and ought
to admit, as some have admitted. Those persons who, in England or
elsewhere, have been put to death by the civil power for the crime
of heresy under the Catholic law, have been condemned for abjuring
that religion in which they had been brought up, and which had been
part of the law of the land, as well as the universal and traditional
belief of the nation, from the beginning of its formation, or at
least for centuries. Even if the principles of law by which they
were condemned are pronounced tyrannical and unjust, it is plain
that there is no parity between the case of a ruler acting on such
principles, in common with other rulers of the time and of past
ages, and according to maxims universally approved by jurists and
statesmen, and one who compels his subjects to renounce their ancient
laws and religion, and to abjure the faith in which they have been
educated, at his individual whim and caprice. But although we are
not disposed to abandon Queen Mary to her calumniators, we may give
to Cardinal Pole the high honor of having been wiser than she was,
or than her other counsellors were, and of having been in advance of
the general spirit of his age in regard to the wisest and best method
of treating religious errors, which had taken too deep a root to be
summarily plucked up by a violent effort; and with these few remarks
upon a topic which requires much greater space for a satisfactory
discussion, we proceed with the personal history of the cardinal.
After Cranmer's execution, Cardinal Pole, who had hitherto been
in deacons' orders, was ordained priest, consecrated bishop, and
invested with the pallium as Archbishop of Canterbury. His works
of piety were numerous; he founded religious houses, preached,
prayed, and watched for souls in all respects as one that must give
account. He was made chancellor of the University of Oxford, by the
resignation of Sir John Mason, and chancellor of that of Cambridge
also, on the death of Gardiner.
To a sensitive mind there is no greater anguish than that which
springs from the hostility of those whom it has faithfully served.
This suffering it was Cardinal Pole's lot to incur. His whole life
had been devoted to God, the church, and the holy see. For these he
had endured exile, persecution, and the loss of all things. For their
sakes he had seen his mother and his dearest relatives dragged to the
scaffold. In their cause he had studied, written, toiled, prayed, and
wept till his hairs were gray. As their defender and champion he had
been welcomed to England by his cousin and sovereign, raised to the
head of the English church, and made the chief instrument in bringing
back the ancient religion. But having done so, having given every
proof a prelate could give of his devoted attachment to his religion,
having twice been on the very steps of the papal throne, with what
agony must his spirit have been tortured when he found, as he did
find, that he was in disfavor with Paul IV.; that he was superseded
as legate; that he was recalled to Rome; and that, to crown the cup
of bitterness, he and his friend, Cardinal Morone, were to answer to
a charge of heterodoxy before the Inquisition.[124]
"Does Almighty God, therefore," he wrote to the pontiff,[125]
"require that a parent should slay his child? Once, indeed,
he gave this precept when he commanded Abraham to offer
in sacrifice his son Isaac, whom he tenderly loved, and
through whom all the promises made to the father were to be
accomplished. And what are now the preparations your holiness
is making but so many forerunners of the sacrifice of my better
life, that is, of my reputation? For in how wretched a sense
must that pastor be said to live who has lost with his flock
the credit of an upright belief?... Is this sword of anguish,
with which you are about to pierce my soul, the return I am to
receive for all my services?"
Happily for the cardinal, Mary and Philip took his part. They
remonstrated with the pope on the loss which they and their subjects
would sustain if Pole were recalled, and they prevailed with the
holy father so far that he consented to the cardinal's retaining the
see of Canterbury, while he appointed Peto, the Greenwich friar,
to supersede him as legate. Quite in the spirit of her father,
Mary caused the nuncio who brought this decision to England to be
arrested, and interdicted Peto from accepting the legatine office.
He never received any official notice of his appointment, nor Pole
of the papal decision. He was, however, too loyal a subject of the
pope to avail himself of this regal interference. He ceased to act
as legate, and sent his chancellor to Rome with entreaties and
protests. Again the pope required that Pole should appear in Rome to
clear himself from the charge of heresy; and Peto was summoned there
also to assist the pontiff with his advice. Proceedings against the
English cardinal were already commenced, and the distressing state
of things was set at rest only by the death of some of the principal
actors. Peto, the rival legate, died, and while the affair was still
in suspense the grave closed over the disappointed, despairing queen,
and the broken-hearted[126] cardinal. He was attacked by a quartan
ague, and, feeling conscious of his approaching end, he made a
will, in which he protested his attachment to the Church of Rome and
especially to Pope Paul IV., from whom he had experienced treatment
which seemed equally inexplicable and unkind. His last hours were
passed in acts of devotion, and it was probably with supreme
satisfaction that he laid his aching head on the pillow of death on
the morning of the 18th of November, 1558. His friend, cousin, and
sovereign had preceded him in the dark valley by only twenty-two
hours, and he felt, no doubt, that his most powerful if not his best
friend was no more. Elizabeth was already queen, and her Protestant
tendencies were well known. There was every reason to suspect that
she would reverse the religious system restored by her sister, and
take advantage of the general unpopularity which Mary by her severity
had incurred. There was one object only for which Cardinal Pole could
reasonably wish to prolong his life, and that was to clear himself
from the extraordinary charge which had been brought against him by
calumniators. But it was the will of Providence that his fair and
unspotted fame should be vindicated only after his death.
During forty days the palace at Lambeth was hung with black. An altar
was placed in the apartment of the deceased cardinal, and masses
were said constantly for the repose of his soul. His body was then
conveyed to Canterbury with great pomp, and his funeral was followed
by large numbers of citizens and clergy. The exalted rank of Cardinal
Pole, the important part he had played in the history of his time,
and the high offices he had filled made him an object of reverence to
the multitude, who knew not, and did not even suspect, the intrigues
of which he was the victim and the humiliating charge under which he
lay.
We shall not endeavor in this place to follow the example of his
indiscriminating panegyrists. Suffice it to say that he was a devoted
son of the church, and that he did all in his power to resist the
impious will of the tyrant with whom Providence had brought him face
to face. His zeal for the conversion of England was laudable, though
not crowned with the success which it deserved.
In his youth he had written a commentary on Cicero's works; but
this was never printed, and the manuscript was lost. He excelled
in exposition of the Scriptures, which were his constant study and
delight. "His character," Mr. Froude allows, "was irreproachable;
in all the virtues of the Catholic Church he walked without spot
or stain."[127] He was honored with the friendship of men of great
distinction, such as Sir Thomas More, Erasmus, Sadolet, Bishop of
Carpentras, Bembo, Friuli, Paul III., and Ignatius Loyola. His
forgiving disposition may be gathered from the fact that when three
English ruffians came to Capranica to murder him, were arrested on
suspicion, and confessed that they were emissaries of Henry VIII., he
would only allow them to be condemned to the galleys for a few days.
His clemency, as we have seen, in a relentless age, caused him to be
suspected; and we have the testimony of Bishop Burnet, the Protestant
historian of the Reformation,[128] to assure us that
"such qualities and such a temper as his, could he have brought
others into the same measures, would probably have gone far
toward bringing back this nation to the Church of Rome; as he
was a man of as great probity and virtue as any of the age he
lived in."
FOOTNOTES:
[94] He died 1524. Agnes Strickland's _Lives of the Queens of
England_, vol. v. 143.
[95] Cardinal Bembo, Secretary of Leo X. and Librarian of St. Mark's,
Venice; author of various pieces in Latin and Italian. Born 1470.
Died 1547.
[96] Cardinal Sadolet, Bishop of Carpentras, Secretary of Leo X.;
author of several works in Latin prose and verse. Born 1477. Died
1547.
[97] Lingard's _History of England_, A.D. 1531.
[98] Froude, _History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death
of Elizabeth_. Vol. vi. 88.
[99] Lingard, vol. iv. appendix, note 8, 3. _Poli Defensio_, fol. 77,
78.
[100] Pole to Prioli. Epist. vol. 1. p. 446.
[101] December 20, 1536. Froude, iii. 187.
[102] Lingard, v. 45.
[103] Froude vi. 333.
[104] Miss Strickland's Lives, v. 208.
[105] Epist. Reg. Pol. vol. iii. pp. 37-39.
[106] April, 1539.
[107] May 27, 1541. (33 Henry VIII.)
[108] Pole to the Cardinal of Burgos. Epist. iii. 36, 76.
[109] Vol. i. p. 402.
[110] _Life of Pole._ London, 1767, i. 354.
[111] Conc. Trident. Sessio VI.
[112] Flanagan, _History of the Church in England_, vol. ii. 122,
127-8.
[113] See Lingard, vol. v. 198.
[114] February 6th, 1554.
[115] Mason to Queen Mary, October 5th, 1554.
[116] Froude, vol. vi. 395 and 517.
[117] Phillips's _Life of Pole_, vol. ii. 172, note.
[118] Lingard, vol. v. 224.
[119] March 23d, 1555.
[120] _Hist. Ref._ vol. ii. p. 156.
[121] _Vita Poli_, fol. 33.
[122] Poli Epist. Phillips's Life, vol. ii. p. 222.
[123] The number of persons put to death in Queen Mary's reign was,
as stated above, not over 400. From the year 1641 to 1659, 826,000
persons perished, were exiled or sold as slaves in Ireland, through
the religious persecution of the English Protestant government.
(_O'Reilly's Memorials_, p. 345.)
[124] Lingard, v. 254. Phillips, ii. 256-7. Froude, vi. 477, 481.
[125] Greenwich. March 30th, 1558.
[126] "Without straining too far the license of imagination, we may
believe that the disease which was destroying him was chiefly a
broken heart." (Froude, vi. 526.)
[127] _History of England_, vol. vi. 531.
[128] Vol. ii.
THE YOUNG VERMONTERS.
CHAPTER I.
DUTY AND TEMPTATION.
"Hollo! George and Henry, where are you going in such a hurry?
Can't you stop to speak to a fellow?" cried Frank Blair to his two
school-mates, George Wingate and Henry Howe, whom he was trying to
overtake in their walk on a fine afternoon in June.
"Yes," said George. "We can stop to speak, but not to stay long, for
we are on our way to the church."
"What are you going to church for? You'd better come with me; for I
can tell you there's lots of fun going on that you'll be sorry to
lose!"
"What is it?" eagerly inquired Henry.
"Oh! I can't tell you unless you join us; all the fellows have agreed
not to tell any thing about it, only to those who promise beforehand
to go in and keep the whole secret."
"Ah! then," said George, "we could not agree to any such thing; for
it would be wrong for us to make a promise like that beforehand. So
we couldn't go with you, if we were not bound for the church."
"Why are you bound for church on a week-day?"
"Because," answered George, "to-morrow will be a festival, and we
are going to help prepare the church, and then prepare ourselves for
celebrating it."
"Well, I declare! I never did see any thing like you Catholic boys!
You're a real puzzle to me; as pious as deacons, and take to religion
as naturally as a duck does to water, and yet I know you love fun
just as well as any of us. What are you going to do to prepare for
this festival?"
"Oh! we shall help the sacristan, who is an infirm old man, to make
the church neat and tidy, in the first place. Then we shall assist
in getting evergreens ready for the decoration; and we expect our
mothers and sisters with flowers to be arranged in vases for the
altar, while we are twining and putting up wreaths. We hope to
make the church very beautiful for the great feast of the Blessed
Sacrament. After we get this all done, we shall prepare for holy
communion, which we hope to receive to-morrow."
"And how do you prepare for that?"
"First of all, we make our examination of conscience, and say our
prayers in preparation for confession."
"You go to confession! Why, I thought none but sinners confessed to
the priest."
"And don't you think we are sinners?" said George.
"Of course not! How can we boys be sinners? I never thought of such a
thing. I don't believe I'm a sinner at all! I only love a frolic once
in a while; and I hate religion, because it's such a gloomy kind of
business. So you think you won't join us, eh?"
"No; we have other matters to attend to."
"Well, then, good-by; but you'll be sorry you didn't go with us, I
can tell you!"
He left them, and the two boys walked on in silence for some time. At
length Henry said with a sigh,
"Don't you wish we could have gone with them, George? I'll warrant
you there's some grand fun up. I wonder what it is?"
"No matter what it is, Henry. We have only to do what is right, and
what we know we ought to do first, and then we shall find ways enough
to enjoy ourselves; and have more enjoyment, too, than we should if
we neglected duty for pleasure."
"I suppose you are right," said Henry sadly; "but I can't help
thinking there's more sport in going off with a lot of boys for a
frolic than there is in being good, and helping the women fix up
the church. It don't seem to me like boys' work, to be fussing with
wreaths and bouquets."
"Ah my fine fellow! you are really getting very smart. What do you
think of our fathers, and of Mr. A---- and Mr. S----, two of the
most active business men in the place--and yet they take as much
interest in having the church made beautiful for the divine offices
as the women do. Don't you remember how Mr. A----, when he couldn't
leave court during the trial of an important case, sent one of his
students, and his man with a ladder, to help put up the wreaths last
Christmas? Mighty smart for us boys to think it is too small business
for us, to be sure! Then, as to the fun, we'll wait and see how the
boys come out with their frolic. I have my own notion that there'll
be more mischief than sport, and that we may hereafter be glad we had
no part in it. Frank Blair is a pleasant, good-natured fellow; but
he is a reckless chap too. He had learned a great many city tricks
before they came here to live, and will do any thing for fun, without
thinking of the consequences. Any way, we know there's nothing like
duty first and play afterwards to make boys happy."
CHAPTER II.
RURAL PLEASURES.
The church was situated in the very shadow of a wood that skirts
the pretty village of M----, in northern Vermont. When the two boys
reached it, they found quite an assemblage of their school-fellows
awaiting the arrival of the sacristan, who soon appeared, and sent
some into the woods with axes and hatchets to cut the evergreens,
dispatched others with pails for water, and kept George and Henry to
help him in the church.
They had just finished arranging all in order and dusting the
sanctuary, when their mothers and sisters arrived with the flowers,
which they took to a little room adjoining the sacristy, where the
pails of water were left. Very soon some of the boys came in with the
evergreen trees; the beautiful trailing pines of several varieties,
and graceful feathery foliage of brilliant green, together with a
profusion of other wild-wood treasures, which they had collected. The
village girls also came bringing wild flowers and other contributions
for the decoration.
Young Catholics in country places need not be told how pleasantly
the time passed with this company in the varied occupations of tying
wreaths, arranging bouquets in the vases, putting up the festooned
garlands, winding the pillars, and executing other devices, with
which they are already so familiar as to need no information. But
it is certain that the young people of cities, losing all these
true and natural enjoyments, as well as the developments of taste
and ingenuity to which they lead, lose a valuable aid to devotion.
They who cannot participate in the adornment of the material temple
for the worship of God, by bringing the simple offerings of the
woodlands and the valleys for its embellishment, lose a very
important incentive to the due preparation of the spiritual temple
for his reception.
Before the arrival of the priest, the work of decoration was
completed, and each pious heart was gladdened to see how beautiful
the altar looked, smiling through a profusion of flowers, whose
fragrance hovered around the tabernacle of the Lord like a breath
from paradise, and embowered in wreaths prepared from the "glory of
Libanus," together with tributes from "the fir-tree, the box-tree,
and the pine," which youthful hands had collected to "beautify the
place of his sanctuary, and to make the place of his feet glorious."
When all was finished, the cheerful crowd quietly sought their places
in the church, to prepare for the holy sacrament of reconciliation.
While these busy performances were in progress, George had looked in
vain among the young people assembled to discover two lads who were
near his own age, and in whom he felt a special interest--Michael
Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan. He feared they had been drawn away into
the expedition of their school-mates mentioned by Frank Blair.
On the following morning, the priest announced during the mass that
there would be no vespers that afternoon, as he was going to visit
another parish. After mass, Mr. Wingate and Mr. Howe told George and
Henry that they intended taking the two families out to Mr. Howe's
farm, a few miles distant, that afternoon, and that they might invite
some of their young friends to accompany them. They were delighted;
for there was nothing they enjoyed so much as their occasional visits
to the farm. So they sought among the crowd at the church door their
friends Mike and Dennis; but they were not to be found. They invited
Patrick Casey, and a few other boys, to come to their homes after
dinner and join the excursion.
Soon after dinner the large family carriages were brought up, and
such a bustle ensued, stowing away in the vehicles baskets filled
with buttered biscuits, cold ham and tongue, sandwiches, cakes, and
sundry other delicacies, with a package of table-cloths and napkins,
as betokened a grand supper in the woods, which was of all things the
most delightful to the boys.
The party were soon comfortably packed into the capacious carriages,
and set off in high glee. When they arrived at the farm-house,
Mrs. Howe made arrangements for a plentiful supply of milk, fresh
strawberries and cream, and other things, to be taken to a certain
place in the woods at a time appointed, and the merry company set out
in quest of the quiet nooks and shady dells of the forest.
There was no end to the pleasant incidents that here met our young
people at every turn. They had scarcely entered the shadowy domain,
when a partridge whirred up from their very feet into a tree over
their heads, and they soon discovered she had left a brood of her
young below. Such a scramble as took place in pursuit of the shy
little beauties!--the girls holding their aprons, that the captives
might be deposited in them as fast as caught. It was funny to see how
the wise little creatures would hide under every chip, bit of bark,
or dead leaf, and, when these were lifted, how still they would lie,
as if lifeless--so near the color of the ground that it was hard to
distinguish them--and allow themselves to be taken.
After sufficiently admiring their tiny prisoners, they set them at
liberty, and resumed their exploration of the forest. Very soon one
of them came across a night-hawk's nest on the ground, and called all
the party to admire it, with its treasure of curious brown eggs. Then
they discovered a blue-bird's nest built with rare skill in a hole in
the trunk of a tree. And now a splendid gray squirrel attracted their
attention; he ran up a tree and out to the end of a limb, where he
sat calmly defying all their efforts to frighten or knock him off.
A discussion upon squirrels and their habits ensued, and "Grandma"
Howe told them she once saw a large gray squirrel by a small sheet
of water, where a dashing mountain brook had subsided into a quiet
basin, which he wanted to cross. He stood on the margin for some
time, as if considering the matter--turning himself to ascertain the
direction of the wind, which happened to be favorable--then, seizing
a chip that lay near him, threw it into the water, and springing
aboard of his little craft, raised his tail to catch the wind, and
sailed across swiftly and safely. When he gained the other shore, he
jumped off, and did not even have the politeness to pull his boat
ashore after him.
All this time Mr. Squirrel sat eying his guests of "the green-wood"
very composedly, occasionally stamping his little foot with pretty
pettishness, and at length fell to nibbling a last year's beech-nut
which he had carried up to his perch for a lunch with so much
coolness that his young observers were quite charmed, and determined
to leave him to munch his nut in peace. They now sought a bright
little brook that danced gayly over shining pebbles near by, and the
murmur of whose waters, mingling with the rustle of leaves stirred by
the breath of June, whispered in sweet harmony the song of the woods.
They soon reached a fringe of graceful willows marking its course,
and dipping their pendent limbs to kiss the crystal flood.
Just then Mr. Howe overtook the party and called out, "Boys, who
would like to try some trout-fishing in the brook?"
Of course the boys were all eager for the sport; but where was the
necessary fishing-tackle?
"Ah!" said Mr. Howe, "you see I have provided for that," producing
a case filled with jointed rods, flies, lines, and all needful
appliances for trout-fishing.
Each boy was soon supplied, and started off in search of the deep
pools and sequestered waters favorable for their sport; while the
girls rambled on, delighting themselves with the beautiful June
flowers, peeping into each shaded recess for the modest feathered
orchis--queen of its tribe, and most fragrant flower of the
woods--and exploring the more open spaces near the brook, for the
several varieties of elegant and fantastic "ladies' slippers," which
abound in the woodlands of northern Vermont. Then the splendid
lichens and ferns attracted their admiring notice; and before
the hour for their repast arrived, they had accumulated a wealth
of sylvan treasures wherewith to embellish their homes, and keep
alive pleasant recollections of their brief sojourn in those woody
solitudes.
At length an envoy from the farm-house arrived laden with
refreshments--cards of pure white honey-comb filled with transparent
sweets, cream of the richest, field strawberries in profusion, and
milk fresh and abundant The girls soon spread the snow-white cloths
on the turf at the foot of an ancient oak by the brook-side, and,
under the direction of the elder ladies, emptied the baskets and
prepared an ambrosial banquet, while Mr. Wingate called in the
stragglers, and the young fishers of the party, to partake of it.
They were reluctant to leave sports which they were enjoying so much,
and saw the day drawing to a close with regret. Each boy brought
a fine string of trout for the Friday morning's breakfast, and
appetites sharpened by their green wood scramble to the luxurious and
plentiful repast.
At the close of their meal they prepared to return, and were soon
on their homeward course; the young people all declaring that they
had never passed an afternoon more delightful. George and Henry were
very sure, as they remarked to each other, that Frank Blair and his
companions could not have had so pleasant a time on their frolic of
the evening before.
CHAPTER III.
THE TEMPTER AND HIS VICTIMS.
On the eve of the festival, as Frank Blair was sauntering down the
street, after he had left George and Henry, he met Michael Hennessy
and Dennis Sullivan.
"Hurrah boys! you're the very chaps I wanted to find," said he. "I
say, don't you want to go in with a lot of us for a real tip-top
time?"
"What is it?" they both inquired eagerly, when Frank said something
in a low voice, to which they responded, "Yes, yes! we promise;" and
he went on in the same tone to explain the plan.
"But we can't," said Michael; "our pockets are as empty as a last
year's bird's nest, and this requires money."
"Oh! never mind that," was Frank's reply, "I'll plank the tin;" which
announcement was met by a merry shout and, "We'll go!" from them both.
"Well, then," said Frank, "meet us at the depot within the hour," and
passed on.
Now these boys had been on their way to the church; but after they
parted with Frank, they turned their course toward the depot. As they
were walking silently and leisurely along in that direction, Dennis
spoke:
"I say, Mike, it seems to me that this is not just the right thing we
are doing; our mothers think we are at the church, and I'm afraid no
good will come of our turning away in this fashion."
"O you fool!" said Mike, "they'll never know but we are at the
church, and fun's better than religion any day. I hate such humdrum
ways, going along every day alike, and never a scrape of any sort;
and so do all the boys."
"Not all of them; for there's George Wingate loves fun as well as any
of us, and a grand hand to help it on too; but he never leaves better
things for it," said Dennis sadly.
"George _is_ a regular brick and no mistake. He takes to fun and
religion, each in its own time, as if there were nothing else in the
world; but we can't all be like him, and there's no use in trying. I
warrant you now that, if he could only have the chance, there's Henry
Howe would a great sight rather pitch in for fun in a scrape like
this, than go George's roads."
"Perhaps he would," and Dennis paused a moment sighing; "but I'm
afraid it isn't right, especially for catholic boys. It's a poor
preparation for to-morrow."
"Nonsense! boys can't be saints. We'll leave that to our mothers,
they can say prayers enough for us and themselves too; so we may
enjoy ourselves while we can. But I wonder where Frank gets all his
money; his father is a stingy old curmudgeon, they say, and I don't
understand it."
"Don't you know that his father's maiden sister, who lives with him,
is rich, and she fills Frank's pockets. He told me so. He said that
when he could get his father's permission, as he did to go to these
shows this afternoon, his aunt furnished all the money he wanted."
In this way they chatted until they reached the depot, where a
multitude of wildly excited boys soon absorbed their attention, and
drowned the whispers of conscience for poor Dennis.
Meantime, as Frank was on his way home to replenish his purse for the
evening, he met Patrick Casey and Johnny Hart, and accosted them much
as he had Michael and Dennis. They objected that they were going to
the church and could not join his party.
"O fol-de-rol!" said he; "there'll be chances enough to go to church,
but you won't often have such a chance as this for a frolic. Mike
Hennessy and Dennis Sullivan are going--"
"Are they?" eagerly exclaimed Johnny. "Then I'll go too. Won't you,
Pat?"
"No, I won't!" said Pat resolutely. "If Mike and Dennis choose to do
wrong, is that any reason why we should? Come along Johnny, and don't
be a fool!"
Johnny hesitated as Patrick passed on, and Frank said the fools were
those who'd lose all the sport for the sake of being as dull as
beetles, and making old women of themselves; adding,
"There'll be time enough to be pious after you have done being jolly!"
This artful speech decided poor Johnny, who turned and went to the
depot.
But why did Frank Blair say nothing of those who refused to go, while
he baited his snare with the names of those who consented? It was
because boys understand fully the force of _example_, and can wield
it with great power to secure their ends. When we consent to act
contrary to the still small voice of conscience, we never know how
far the consequences of that act may extend. Evil examples attract
more imitators than good ones--but woe to him who furnishes them;
while firm adherence to the right may win some wavering soul to the
path of duty, which will shine as one of the brightest jewels in our
crown of rejoicing hereafter!
Johnny had hardly reached the depot before Frank arrived, and
presently a train of cars came thundering up, the boys hastening to
secure seats for the little village of H----, a short distance from
M----, where they soon arrived, and upon leaving the cars found a
great crowd gathered around an immense tent, awaiting the opening
of the exhibition. This was announced in astounding illustrated
hand-bills as the most remarkable one ever witnessed, embracing more
unheard-of enormities in the brute creation, and wonders of the human
race, than were ever before congregated in one assemblage.
When the tent was opened, the rush that ensued baffles description;
during the progress of which Mike's elbows came in closer contact
with the ribs of a boy near him than was at all comfortable, while
Dennis Sullivan's fist went very innocently into the face of a lad
who was pushing his way more sharply than was agreeable to his
neighbors, leaving, in its unconscious energy, a "black eye" in his
visage.
While the crowd was slowly entering the tent, the boys from M----
indulged themselves in dealing out a series of these little jokes,
more to their own satisfaction than to that of the recipients.
At length it was suspected they were not wholly accidental or
unintentional, when a general row ensued, and cries of "Hustle them
out!" "Give them fits!" "Pitch into the boys from M----!" were wildly
shouted from all sides. Our heroes stood their ground with a coolness
worthy of a better cause, giving as many hard blows as they received
and shouting, "Don't you H---- boys want to come to M---- to see the
elephant again? Don't you wish you could, now? We'll show you we know
how to return small compliments, we will!"
In truth, as it turned out, the M---- boys were in so much "better
training," as the pugilists say, that those of H---- were in a fair
way to get soundly pommelled, when some men interfered to stop the
fight and inquire the cause. Frank spoke for his party.
"Well, gentlemen, these youngsters came to M---- the last time we had
a menagerie and circus there, and behaved themselves so outrageously
that a company of us determined we would pay them the first chance we
had. And I think we have; grand fun it has been too!"
"Precious fun it _must_ have been!" said a plain, farmer-like man;
"and a beautiful pack you've made of one another out and out! Torn
clothes, broken shins, bleeding noses, black eyes, and more bumps
on your tarnal heads than the old frenologer feller that goes round
lectering with a skull ever thought of! A pretty lookin' set of
picters you are, an't you?"
"You bet!" said Frank; then turning to his companions, "but boys, I
say, didn't we pepper them, though? I don't believe they'll want to
come to M---- the next show-day. If they do, we'll be ready for them,
eh, boys?"
A wild hurrah was the reply, and they sought a neighboring brook
to wash off such traces of the conflict as water could efface. At
Frank's invitation they then gathered around a booth where pies,
cakes, gingerbread, lemonade, candies, and a variety of other
delicacies were dispensed, where they refreshed themselves heartily
after their exertions.
Before they had concluded their repast, the crowd had all disappeared
within the capacious tent, and the shadows of evening were gathering
fast. Not caring to go in directly, our young adventurers amused
themselves by performing numerous pranks in which mischief was more
conspicuous than sense or wit.
A young lawyer of the place, being quite devoted in his attentions
to the merchant's daughter, they took the sign from his office and
placed it on the front door of the merchant's residence. They removed
a sign from one of the shops, on which was marked, "Codfish, salt
and fresh; herrings, pickled and smoked; Boston cured hams--for sale
here. N.B. Deacon's skins taken in exchange,"[129] and fastened it
over the "meeting-house" door, writing under it with chalk, in large
letters, "Inquire within."
Seeing a donkey quietly munching his nettles in a corner of the
village green, they captured him, and with great exertion succeeded
in imprisoning him within a back shed attached to a cottage where
a maiden lady resided alone. When they tired of these and similar
foolish exploits, too numerous to mention, they entered the tent.
Unfortunately, their mischievous propensities entered with them.
Frank soon began to amuse himself by tweaking the whiskers of a
peevish old monkey, which forthwith sprang to the top of his head,
and, holding on by his hair, planted its teeth so firmly in his ear
that the young gentleman was fain to cry out for the keeper. At the
same moment, Dennis had placed a piece of tobacco on the extremity
of the elephant's trunk, and not dodging instantly, as he intended,
was seized by the enraged animal and tossed to the top of the tent,
coming down upon the bald head of an elderly gentleman, who, catching
him with one hand, shook him until his teeth chattered, at the same
time administering telling blows with the disengaged hand upon the
sorely bruised urchin within his grasp.
While this was going on in one part of the tent, another of the
enterprising company had ventured to cross the forbidden inclosure
before the lion's cage, and was glad to escape from the claws of the
animal with a coat badly torn, and scratches upon his face which he
carried for many a day.
After a series of similar mishaps, the party took the down-train for
home, each bearing unmistakable marks of the _fun_, and protesting
they never before had such a "tip-top time," though Frank's
misgivings found utterance in a low voice to Mike,
"My father's awfully severe, and I don't know what the old trump will
say to all this when he hears of it; but it can't be helped now!"
He was not the only one of the company who was haunted by secret
fears as to how the proofs of the affray, which each one carried on
his person, would be regarded by their home circles.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CONSEQUENCES.
Very quietly did the party of young pleasure-seekers retire to their
beds, after they arrived at their homes that evening, fatigued and
exhausted with the excitement of the past few hours. Nor were they in
any haste to make themselves visible on the following morning.
Mrs. Sullivan called Dennis early to bring some water and assist
her, that they might go to church in good season; but her calls were
unheeded. So she sought his room, exclaiming, "Why, what ails you,
Dinnie, my boy, that you cannot awaken for my calling?"
The mother's eye was quick to detect that something was wrong the
moment it rested on the countenance of her hopeful son, and she added,
"For goodness' sake, Dinnie, darling, what has happened you, any how?"
Dennis made an awkward and blundering apology which entirely failed
to satisfy his mother, who soon drew the whole story from him.
"It's all along of that dirty Frank Blair!" said she. "I wish to
goodness he was across the sea, with his rogue's tricks and monkey
pranks! It's no use trying to rear Catholic children to respect their
religion, and attend to their duties, among these Yankees! They'd
entice the very priest at the altar! A pretty shindy you've cut up
now! But get up, and let us see how you are entirely."
Poor Dennis attempted to obey; but his head ached so cruelly, he was
so lame and bruised and sore, that he became faint the moment he
tried to sit up; and one of his eyes was swollen to such a degree
that he could not open it.
"Bad luck to the mischief of these boys!" said his mother. "I see
he'll never be able to go with me to church this day; so he may as
well keep to his bed."
Glad enough was Dennis to creep back to his nest.
Mike Hennessy and Johnny Hart were not in so bad a plight, but they
were unable to go to church.
As the boys were lying through the long hours oppressed with the
languor that follows such wild excitement, and with aching bones,
their reflections upon the frolic and its consequences were by no
means consoling. Nor did the comparisons they drew between the lawful
sports of the play-ground and the reckless turbulence of "_tip-top
times_" fail to decide the question in favor of the more quiet
enjoyments.
Was it a pale phantom that sat by the bedside of each during those
hours--while the joyful bells of the great feast were sending forth
their jubilant peals--and searching his very soul with reproachful
eyes pointed an uplifted finger from the painful realities of the
_now_ to the calm vision of what _might have been_, had he followed
the voice of conscience and the requirements of duty, until he shrunk
affrighted from the picture? Ah! no, my boys; it was no phantom; it
was the only _reality_ in the sight of which these mortal frames of
ours subside to dust, and in comparison with the permanence of which
they become--with all their importunate sensibilities, their worldly
ambitions, their earthly cravings, and their fleeting pleasures--but
the "baseless fabrics of a dream!" It was the tender, vigilant,
and ever-present friend of the sinner; his best friend, his other
self--his conscience! destined to be the crowning joy of his home in
heaven, or to be exchanged at the portals of death for remorse, the
gnawing "worm that never dies," in the regions of "eternal despair"!
Woe to that boy who sins, and who fails to receive, in his first
solitary hours, a visit from the reproving monitor, or to profit by
its awakening and warning voice!
The next morning they were so much better that they could go to
school, and meeting George Wingate in the yard, he exclaimed, "Why,
boys, where were you yesterday, that you did not come to church?
Henry and I looked for you through the whole crowd, to invite you to
go with us to the farm. Pat Casey went, and we had the best kind of a
time; we were so sorry you were not with us!"
They replied that they were not well, and had to stay at home. George
noticed their embarrassment, and that the face of Dennis betrayed
bruises about the eye, while Mike's forehead and Johnny's nose
displayed traces of a similar nature, and he conjectured the cause of
their absence from church.
After school, as he and Henry were walking home, Henry remarked, "I
suspect, George, that wherever the boys went that afternoon, they had
a rousing fight, for ever so many of them show the marks of it. I
heard a man telling that there was a great row among the boys at the
show in H---- that night; and I shouldn't wonder if our fellows were
among them."
"We need not trouble ourselves about it," George replied; "but I
thought at the time it was very likely we might be thankful we were
called another way, and had nothing to do with their frolic. I've
noticed that when boys go off by themselves in pursuit of fun, they
seldom come out the better for it; and as for enjoyment, there is
just none at all. I wouldn't give one hour of such pleasure as we
found in the woods for the wildest frolic they can get up."
"Nor I either," said Henry; "I'm determined I won't have any part in
their scrapes hereafter. If no other trouble followed, the shame of
going to confession after a wild row is enough to destroy all the
pleasure."
"Yes," George rejoined; "and I don't see how our boys who mean to go
regularly to their confession can join heartily in these mad pranks.
As for those who have no such intention, why, the less we have to do
with them the better."
CHAPTER V.
AN OUTSIDE GLIMPSE.
As Frank Blair had expected, his father was very much offended at the
share he had taken in the performances at H----, and the assault upon
the boys, of which he was informed the next morning by a man from
H----, who told him all about the fright, and the tricks that had
been played at that place: also, that the maiden lady, Miss Merton,
whose bedroom happened to be in a part of the house adjoining the
shed where the donkey was imprisoned, had been frightened almost
to death by the braying of the animal in the night. Under the firm
impression that the lion had escaped and was attacking her house,
she rushed out in her night-dress, and, espying a light in a small
shop near by, broke in upon three little French shoemakers, who were
sitting up to finish some job-work that must be ready for morning.
Now, one of these had been whiling away the time by stories of a
ghost in a Canadian village, that had visited several families, and
could assume the guise of different persons, living and dead. He was
just reciting one of the most harrowing of these incidents when the
sudden apparition of the lady in a long white dress, with a face of
ghastly pallor, and eyes distended with affright, burst upon their
astounded vision! Not for a moment doubting its unearthly nature, one
of them jumped through an open window, another sprung up a ladder and
out upon the roof, while the third took refuge under a dry-goods box
in the cellar.
The unfortunate lady, thinking that the lion was in close pursuit,
and that a glimpse of it through the open door had caused the sudden
stampede of the shoemakers, dared not turn back; but betook herself
to screaming at the top of her voice, in which she was joined by the
affrighted sons of Crispin in so vigorous a chorus that the whole
village was soon aroused.
When the cause of all the disturbance was revealed, and the harmless
animal released from captivity, it was almost impossible to persuade
the lady that her life was not in danger; and there was such serious
question of sending to M---- and arresting the juvenile offenders,
that Mr. Blair was advised to go immediately to H---- and settle the
matter.
As for the shoemakers, we may be permitted to add--somewhat in
advance of our story--the fact that their terrified imaginations had
so far misled their reason that they could never again be persuaded
to work in the shop after night-fall, or be led to believe fully in
the identity of Miss Merton with their ghastly midnight visitant.
The man who communicated these details gave Mr. Blair the names of
all the boys of the party whom he knew, among them those of Michael,
Dennis, and Johnny.
"Those pestilent Irish boys!" Mr. Blair exclaimed indignantly. "They
are always drawing our Yankee boys into fights and mischief! Some
measures ought to be taken to make examples of them, and prevent
these outbreaks."
He intimated the same to Frank that day while lecturing him severely
for "following such ringleaders" into disgraceful riots. Frank had
too much honor to permit his father to remain in this error, and
protested stoutly that it was himself who persuaded them into it;
but it was evident enough that he failed to convince his father of
that fact. Mr. Blair was not an ill-natured man, and did not intend
to be unjust; but he unfortunately indulged the prejudices against
foreigners into which too many Americans fall without pausing
to examine whether they are just. They take a few bad specimens
upon which to found a sweeping sentence against the whole class,
not reflecting that the vices of the wicked serve to render them
conspicuous, while the modest virtues of the good only withdraw them
from public notice.
After he had given Frank a very stern admonition, Mr. Blair proceeded
to inform him that a certain fowling-piece which had long been the
object of his most ardent desire, and of which he had hoped to gain
possession before the Fourth of July, would not now be purchased for
him, on account of his misconduct; and that immediate steps would be
taken to secure a place for him in the naval school at A----, in the
fall.
These were severe blows to Frank. The disappointment of his cherished
hopes in connection with the much-coveted fowling-piece, and his
dread of the naval school, where he knew the discipline was so strict
as to prevent the possibility of mischief, combined to make him take
a very desponding view of life in general, and of what he regarded as
the bondage to "old fogyism," in particular. He resolved, however,
to behave in so exemplary a manner from that time as to induce his
father to relent, if possible; for he knew present remonstrance or
pleading would be in vain.
He became so very quiet and regular in his deportment that he soon
won "golden opinions" on all hands, much to the delight of his aunt,
with whom he was a special pet, and who hoped her brother might yet
allow him to remain at home.
It was an unusually warm summer, and a Mrs. Plimpton, a friend of the
Blairs from the city where they had formerly resided, came to pass
the warm season with them, bringing her family--a son about the age
of Frank, and two daughters younger.
Soon after she came, Mrs. Wingate and Mrs. Howe called to see her,
and brought George and Henry to call upon the young strangers and
Frank.
When they left, Mrs. Plimpton remarked, "What very agreeable people!
And those young lads--so sociable, modest, and gentlemanly! I do not
wonder that Frank's manners are so genial and quiet, since he has
such associates."
"Frank does not associate much with them; and though Mrs. Wingate
and Mrs. Howe are very agreeable, as you say, yet we have but little
intercourse with them," Mrs. Blair replied, dryly and frigidly.
"And why not, let me beg to know?" inquired Mrs. Plimpton with
evident surprise. "In so small a place I should think you would
want to cultivate sociability with all people of intelligence and
refinement!"
"We would be glad to, and they would be a valuable acquisition to any
society, if they were not Romanists. But when enlightened Americans,
who should and do know better, see fit to plunge themselves into that
abyss of superstition and exploded absurdities, they ought to be
avoided by all sensible people."
"And is that all?" said Mrs. Plimpton, laughing. "Why, my dear
friend, I had hoped better things of you! I supposed by your solemn
manner that there was some serious moral delinquency on their part.
Really, I must be permitted to dissent entirely from your theory and
practice in this matter. I am sure you cannot be aware of all that
is going on in our cities. Many of my dearest friends are Catholics;
some Americans and some foreigners; and the dear Sisters--now, don't
look so shocked! I entreat of you--are my special favorites, and best
counsellors. I have quite taken them into my entire confidence on
some most important affairs. 'Romanists,' indeed! Why, if we were to
proscribe all the Catholics, we should lose a charming portion of
our society. We 'liberal Christians' do not feel disposed to carry
religious prejudices into the social circle, or to avoid pleasant
people on account of their preferences or peculiarities in this
respect. I shall only seek the acquaintance of these ladies the more
earnestly for this reason. Do you know how their change of faith was
brought about?"
"I never troubled myself to ask," Mrs. Blair said languidly.
"I can tell you!" said Miss Blair. "I heard the whole story from
one of their particular friends, who has followed their example. It
seems Mr. Wingate, who is a gentleman of wealth and leisure, had
amused himself by devoting much time and attention to studying the
principles of architecture--especially the ecclesiastical branch, for
which he had a great taste. When it was proposed to build a Catholic
church in the place, he begged permission to furnish a plan, which
was accorded. This was so entirely satisfactory--combining exquisite
artistic proportions with the close attention to economy in all the
details, which is indispensable where the resources are limited--that
he was urged to superintend the progress of the building, which he
consented to do. Soon after operations were commenced, one Patrick
Hennessy, an excellent mechanic, came to the place, having recently
emigrated from Ireland, and was employed to aid in the work. Mr.
Wingate had frequent conversations--controversies, if you will--with
him on religious subjects, and was surprised to find, not only that
Hennessy was perfectly acquainted with all the points at issue
between Catholics and Protestants, but that his own preconceived
opinions in relation to these questions were many of them false. He
borrowed and read Hennessy's books, and the result you know. His
wife, a highly cultivated and thoughtful woman, went with him heart
and hand. Their children were then quite young.
"Mrs. Howe was a very different person from her sister, Mrs. Wingate.
She was a fashionable lady, and, though not as wealthy as her sister,
aspired to lead the _ton_ in our little village. She assumed many
airs, established intimacies and exchanged visits with stylish city
ladies, which were more gratifying to her vanity than creditable to
her good sense. When Mrs. Wingate became a Catholic, she entirely
discontinued all intercourse with her, and uttered many sharp remarks
upon the subject. She had never been as much beloved as her sister,
and her course had provoked many envious and ill-natured comments,
to which was now added the remark that she had not so much religion
herself that she need be disturbed by the religious preferences
of others. To tell the story in few words, she was finally taken
suddenly very ill. The first person she called for was her discarded
sister, who came and watched over her early and late with devoted
tenderness--never leaving her bedside. When the physician pronounced
her case all but utterly hopeless, she begged that the priest might
be sent for; this had been the object of her sister's most fervent
and constant prayers, but she had not dared even to mention it. Mr.
Howe, after great hesitation, at length yielded to the wish of his
idolized and dying wife. The priest came, baptized and received her
into the Catholic Church. She lingered a long time, as it were,
between life and death; but a strong natural constitution prevailed,
and she recovered. After her recovery, the change in her character
was so marked and entire as to be apparent to all, and she came
to be regarded as even more lovely than her sister. Mr. Howe soon
followed her example, and their circle has since been increased by
the addition of converts from time to time. I entirely agree with you
as to the folly of abstaining from intercourse with them, and have
become quite familiar with that coterie--a delightful one it is, too!"
"And is that all?" Mrs. Blair pointedly asked.
"All for the present," Miss Blair replied, smiling.
"How long will it be before you follow such interesting examples? It
strikes me, I have seen a lady reading books lately that I should
not once have thought could claim a moment's attention from her; but
wonders will never cease, I believe!"
"I am not so tied to any set of opinions as to refuse to read the
other side."
"Well," said Mrs. Plimpton, "I have never thought it worth while to
trouble myself much about these matters; but I always read whatever I
choose on any subject, and I think every one has a right to do so."
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOOTNOTE:
[129] The skins of young calves are so named by New-England dairy-men.
A MAY CAROL.
"He looked on her humility."
Ah! humbler thrice that breast was made
When Jesus watched his mother's eye,
When God each God-born wish obeyed!
In her with seraph seraph strove,
And each the other's purpose crossed:
And now 'twas reverence, now 'twas love
The peaceful strife that won or lost.
Now to that Infant she extends
Those hands that mutely say, "Mine own!"
Now shrinks abashed, or swerves and bends,
As bends a willow backward blown.
And ofttimes, like a rose leaf caught
By eddying airs from fairyland,
The kiss a sleeping brow that sought
Descends upon the unsceptred hand!
O tenderest awe! whose sweet excess
Had ended in a fond despair,
Had not the all-pitying helplessness
Constrained the boldness of her care!
O holiest strife! the angelic hosts
That watched it hid their dazzled eyes,
And lingered from the heavenly coasts
To bless that heavenlier paradise.
AUBREY DE VERE.
CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM.
NUMBER NINE.
UNION BETWEEN THE INFINITE AND THE FINITE--CONTINUED.
In the preceding article we unfolded the nature of the hypostatic
moment, the solution which the Catholic Church gives to the problem
of the highest sublimation of the cosmos. In the present article we
shall point out the consequences which flow from that moment, in
order to put in bolder relief the nature of the exaltation which has
thereby accrued to the cosmos.
For the sake of perspicuity, we shall bring those consequences under
the following heads:
1. Consequences of the hypostatic moment, viewed in reference to the
external action, as the effective typical and final cause of the
cosmos.
2. Consequences of the hypostatic moment, considered respectively to
the nature, properties, and action of the cosmos, as abridged in the
human nature of the Theanthropos.
3. Those which relate to the other moments and persons of the cosmos.
4. Those which affect the Theanthropos himself, in relation to the
other moments and persons of the cosmos.
With respect to the consequences of the first class, it is evident
that the efficient typical and final cause of the external works
is absolutely and simply infinite. No real distinction can be made
between God's essence and his action, between his interior and
exterior action. Any distinction between these things would imply
potentiality and imperfection, and would throw us back into pantheism.
God's essence therefore, his interior and external action, are,
ontologically speaking, one and the same. Now, God is absolutely
infinite; the effective typical and final cause of the cosmos is
thereby absolutely infinite. In other words, the cause which calls
the cosmos to being is endowed with infinite energy; the cause
which serves as its exemplar and pattern, and which the cosmos must
delineate and express, is the infinite perfections of God; the cause
which inclines God to effect it is the infinite and transcendental
excellence of his being, as capable of being communicated. Now,
a cause infinite in every respect would naturally claim a term
corresponding to the intensity of the action. It is upon this
principle that pantheism has been framed. An infinite cause claims
a term also infinite. Now, an effect infinite in its nature is a
contradiction in terms; therefore the work is and can be nothing more
but a phenomenon of the infinite.
If pantheists had paid attention to the Catholic theory, that the
action of God, because infinite, is distinct in two moments, the one
immanent and interior, the other transient and exterior; that the
same action in the first moment is absolute and necessary, and gives
rise to the eternal originations which constitute infinite life;
that the same action in the second moment is absolutely free, and
consequently master of the intensity of its energy, free to apply
as much of that energy as it chooses; they would have seen that the
above principle applies to the first but not to the second moment,
and that therefore their theory rests on a false assumption.
However, though pantheism rests on a false assumption, it cannot be
denied that there is a certain fitness between an infinite cause and
an effect, as much as possible corresponding to the infinite energy
of the cause; and that consequently the external action of God,
because infinite, is for that very reason inclined to effect the
best possible cosmos, a cosmos almost infinite in its perfection;
an infinite energy has a tendency to effect an infinite term; an
infinite typical perfection, to realize an infinite expression; an
infinite yearning of communication, to impart itself in a manner the
most exhaustive possible.
This fitness of proportion between cause and effect is so evident
as to baffle all doubt; yet the necessary distinction implied by
the very nature of cause and effect, a distinction of infinite
superiority on the part of the one and infinite dependence and
inferiority on the part of the other, in the present case is that
which gives rise to the problem which may be formulated as follows:
given the infinite superiority of the cause of the cosmos, and
admitting the essential inferiority of the effect, how to exalt the
effect to a perfection almost absolute, and draw it as near the
perfection of the cause as possible, without destroying the absolute
and necessary finiteness of the effect.
The hypostatic moment is the sublime and transcendental answer which
God has given to the problem. For in that mystery the cosmos, as
abridged and recapitulated in human nature, without ceasing to be
what it is, without losing its essence and nature, is exalted to
the highest possible perfection, by a union of subsistence with the
Infinite himself. Nay, the infinite subsistence and personality of
the Word is the subsistence and personality of the human nature
assumed; so that the human nature, though real and finite, is at the
same time the nature of the person of the Word, and consequently
partaking of all the dignity, perfection, and excellence of the
Word. In other terms, the cosmos, as abridged in the human nature
of Christ, is _deified_, not indeed by a change of its ontological
being, but by the highest, strictest, and closest communication and
union with the Godhead. For, next to the identity of nature, we can
conceive of no closer union or communication than that which exists
between two distinct natures completed and actualized by the same
identical subsistence. Now, this identity of subsistence communicates
to the inferior nature all the worth and dignity of the superior; and
consequently the human nature of Christ, and hence the cosmos which
it abridges, are, as it were, deified in such a manner as to exchange
the denomination of attributes, and we can call man God, and God
man.[130]
Thus the tendency of the infinite cause of the external works is
fully satisfied. The infinite energy of the efficient cause has for
its term an object perfectly corresponding to the intensity of its
energy; since it terminates in an object absolutely infinite--the
_Word_ completing the two natures, the divine and the human; an
individual who is very God as well as very man.
The typical cause is even better satisfied, so to speak. It tends to
express itself exteriorly, as perfectly as it exists interiorly. By
the hypostatic moment, the same identical type of the cosmos, its
intelligible and objective life enters to form part of the cosmos,
the interior _logos_ or _schema_ is wedded to its exterior expression
in the bond of one subsistence, and is at the same time type and
expression, objective and subjective life. Unlike other artists, who
must necessarily regret the impossibility of their impressing on the
external work, be it marble or canvas, the interior conceptions of
the mind, as fully and as perfectly as they conceive them interiorly,
the divine artist of the cosmos found a means whereby to unite,
to bring together type and expression, the intelligible and the
subjective, the original and the copy, in one identical person; so
that in the person of the Theanthropos, as you admire the art so
exquisitely divine in the copy, you are dazzled by the effulgence
of the type which dwells and shines forth in it; as you wonder at
the exactness of the created expression, you can see the original
conception also, blended together in one common subsistence. The end
also of the external work is fully attained. For in the hypostatic
moment the infinite and transcendental excellence of God is
communicated in a manner beyond which you could not go; God in this
moment yielding himself so far as to make his own subsistence common
to human nature, and thus making it share in his infinite dignity,
attributes, and the very name of God.
We shall allude to one consequence only of the second class; those
having reference to the sublimation of the cosmos; and that is the
life of the cosmos.
Life is action and movement. Those beings which act not exist but do
not live. If, therefore, the action of the cosmos has been elevated
to the highest possible perfection by the hypostatic moment, it
follows that its life also has been exalted.
Now, though action originates in the nature, which is the first
principle of action in a being, yet its ontological worth and dignity
it receives from the subsistence or person, because the nature would
be an abstraction, a possibility, without the subsistence.
In the case, therefore, of an individual in whom the nature is
inferior, and the subsistence, which actualizes and completes the
nature, is superior, in the scale of being, the actions primarily
originating from nature as their first root have all the ontological
worth of the subsistence, and not of the nature.
Consequently, all the human actions of Christ, primarily originating
in his human nature, partake of the ontological dignity and value
of his person, and not of his human nature; just because his human
nature is completed by and subsists in the personality of the Word.
Now, this personality is infinite; infinite, therefore, is the
ontological worth of the human actions of Christ.
And if we consider, as we have already remarked, that human nature is
a recapitulation of all the elements of the cosmos, since it shares
spirit, intelligence, and will with the angelic nature, sensible
apprehension with animal nature, life with the vegetable nature, and
locomotion with inorganic nature, it follows that all the actions of
the cosmos are recapitulated in human nature, and that consequently
they are exalted to an infinite worth and dignity in the human nature
of Christ, which is completed by his infinite personality.
The consequences of the third class will better explain and develop
this exaltation of the life of the cosmos. The object of the
external action consists in manifesting the infinite excellence and
perfections of God. This creation does in two different ways: 1st,
ontologically, the very nature of the cosmos being an expression, a
likeness of the infinite. This function is discharged indistinctly
both by intelligent and unintelligent beings.
2d. But this function, by which unintelligent creatures unconsciously
manifest in their nature and properties the excellence of God, in
intelligent creatures is necessarily a moral act, and gives rise to
the virtue of religion; because intelligent creatures cannot possibly
fail to perceive the relation which binds them to their creator, and
to feel the duty of acknowledging it.
Hence, religion is an absolute duty for intelligent beings; so
necessary and absolute that the opposite assertion would be a
contradiction in terms.
To say a creature, is to affirm a being created by God with the
express purpose of manifesting his perfections; to say intelligent,
is to affirm a creature able to perceive this relation, and able to
fulfil the purpose which it perceives was intended by the creator. To
absolve, therefore, intelligent creatures from the duty of religion,
is to affirm and deny in the same breath that they _are_ intelligent
creatures.
Hence, they must necessarily perceive and will the relation in which
they stand to their creator, and consequently be religious by force
of their very nature and existence.
The whole cosmos must pay to God, its creator, the homage of
religion; unintelligent creatures by unconsciously portraying his
perfections; intelligent creatures, by acknowledging the same with
their intelligence and will.
Now, this first function of the cosmos, this primary act of its
life, is elevated to the highest possible perfection through the
hypostatic moment. For through this moment the external religion of
the cosmos is elevated to the dignity and grandeur of the internal
religion.
Philosophers and theologians do not treat of the existence of the
eternal and objective religion, as often as they do of that religion
which expresses the relations between the creator and his creatures,
and might be styled external and temporal religion. But every thing
temporal is the counterpart of something eternal; every subjective
existence has an intelligible objective existence in eternity, a type
without which its subjective existence were inconceivable.
Religion, then, must have its type in God; in his infinite essence
must be found those eternal laws which render temporal religion
possible.
What is there in the essence of the infinite which constitutes
religion, and establishes its laws?
The eternal religion is the life of God, its laws the laws of the
genesis of his life.
God is a living, personal being. He is unborn, unbegotten,
intelligent activity; first termination of the Godhead. By one
eternal, immanent glance of his intelligence he searches, so to
speak, and scrutinizes the innermost depths of his essence, and thus
comprehends himself, that is, conceives and utters himself interiorly.
This infinite, most perfect utterance and intelligible expression
of himself is a second termination of the Godhead; the Word, who
portrays and manifests the Godhead intelligibly; as the first person
is the actuation of the Godhead under the termination of intelligent,
primary, independent activity and principle.
This duality of terminations is brought into harmony by a third
person, the result of the action of both. For between the intelligent
principle, uttering himself intelligibly, and the utterance, the
term of that intellectual conception, there passes necessarily an
infinite attraction, a blissful sympathy, an unutterable complacency.
The Father beholds as in a bright, clear stream of infinite light
the unspeakable beauty and loveliness of his infinite perfections,
and utters them to himself, and delights in that utterance. The
Son beholds himself as the most perfect, the consubstantial
representation of the sublime excellence of the Father, and takes
complacency in him as the principle of his personality.
This common complacency, sympathy, attraction, love, bliss, is the
third termination of the Godhead, the Holy Spirit, the breath of the
love of both, the personal subsisting attraction of the Father and of
the Son, the person who closes the cycle of God's infinite life.
This is the eternal, immanent, objective religion. For what is
religion in its highest metaphysical acceptation? It is the
intelligible and loving acknowledgment of the infinite nature and
attributes of God. Now, the Word is the infinite, substantial, and
intelligible acknowledgment of the Father; the Holy Ghost is the
infinite, substantial, loving acknowledgment of both. Therefore, the
eternal mystery of the life of the infinite, the Trinity, is also the
eternal objective religion by which God acknowledges, appreciates and
honors himself.
It might be objected to the soundness of this doctrine, that one of
the relations, which is the principal and fundamental in religion,
the relation of dependence, is wanting in the life of the infinite,
and that consequently that life cannot be taken as the eternal type
of religion.
In the metaphysical idea of religion, dependence is necessary as
the fundamental relation upon which all others rest. Because
religion is essentially an acknowledgment of one person from another.
Therefore, the person who acknowledges himself as indebted to
another for something must, by that very fact, be dependent upon
him. The intelligible acknowledgment means that one intelligent
being perceives with his mind that he stands indebted to another for
something, and consequently depends upon him for that thing. The
practical or loving acknowledgment conveys the idea that the person
who has perceived his standing indebted to another for something,
acts in such a manner as to express by his action his sense of the
dependence. Religion is therefore an intelligible and practical
dependence of one person upon another.
But this relation of dependence does not necessarily imply the idea
of inferiority in the hierarchy of being upon the part of the person
who is dependent, and a like superiority on the part of the person
who is acknowledged. A dependence of origin or procession, without
including any inferiority on the part of him who is dependent,
is fully and absolutely sufficient in the metaphysical idea of
transcendental religion.
The reason of this lies in the very nature of transcendental
religion or acknowledgment. By this we seek the highest possible,
the most perfect idea of acknowledgment, which necessarily implies
an equality between the person who acknowledges and the person who
is acknowledged. Otherwise, without the equality the acknowledgment
would fall short of the perfection of the object acknowledged.
Now, an inferiority of nature and attributes in the person who
acknowledges would destroy the equality and imply an inferiority of
acknowledgment, and consequently would not represent the idea of the
highest, most perfect acknowledgment and religion.
The Son, therefore, depending upon the Father as to his origin,
though absolutely equal to him in nature and attributes, and being
the intelligible, infinite expression of the perfections of the
Father, is, by force of his very personality, the subsisting, living,
speaking acknowledgment of the Father.
The Holy Ghost, depending upon the Father and the Son as to origin,
though perfectly equal to them as to nature, and being the loving
expression of the infinite goodness of both, is, by force of his very
personality, the living, practical recognition of the Father and of
the Son.
The eternal life of God, therefore, is the eternal typical religion.
It is the only true religion in the transcendental meaning of the
term. Because the more perfect is the recognition, the more adequate
it is to the object, and the more it approaches to metaphysical
truth, which lies in the equation of the type with its expression. It
is the only religion worthy of God. For religion, as we have said, is
the intelligible and practical recognition of God. Now, every one can
see that such recognition, to be worthy of God, must be absolutely
perfect. The intelligible recognition must imply such an idea of
God as to be absolute utterance of his nature and perfections; the
loving recognition must love God in the most perfect and absolute
sense of the word. Now, God being infinite, an infinite, intelligible
recognition, an infinite, practical, loving acknowledgment only can
be worthy of him. He alone can know and love himself as he deserves.
Now, to draw nearer to our subject, we inquire, Is temporal religion
worthy of God? And we observe, before answering the question, that
by temporal religion we do not mean that recognition of God which
results from the ontological essence of all the beings of the cosmos,
but that voluntary and reflex acknowledgment which created spirits,
whether men or angels, are bound to pay to their maker. We ask,
therefore, is the acknowledgment which created spirits pay to God
worthy of him, worthy of his infinite and transcendental nature and
perfections? Evidently not. Because the intelligence of the cherubim,
however high and lofty, and soaring as far above the intelligence of
inferior created spirits as the eagle's flight over all the feathered
tribes; the love of the seraphim, however intense, however deep,
however tender, however ardent, are merely and simply finite. On
the other hand, what is the intelligence and love of men compared
with those of the heavenly spirits, who are so near the supreme
intelligence and love, when compared to us, and yet so far from it,
when compared with God?
The religion, therefore, of all created spirits is not proportionate
to its object; it falls infinitely short of the merits of God. Hence
the cosmos, of which created spirits form the best part, with the
exclusion of the Incarnate Word, cannot properly discharge the first
and paramount duty of the creature, the homage of acknowledgment and
adoration to its creator.
But let the Word, the eternal mediator between God and the cosmos,
let the intelligible and objective life, the type of the cosmos,
enter into it, and the worth of the nature and the acts of the cosmos
shall be exalted, elevated, changed, transformed; and it can then
pay to God a tribute of recognition fully, perfectly, and absolutely
worthy of him.
For the Theanthropos--the God-Man, who is possessed of infinite
intelligence, and can comprehend God as far as God is intelligible,
who is possessed of infinite will, and can love God as far as God
is amiable, can recognize him, acknowledge him, theoretically and
practically, as perfectly as he deserves, with absolute equation. And
the human nature of the Theanthropos, though in itself finite in its
essence and in its acts, can likewise render to God a homage fully
and perfectly worthy of him. First, because the acts of the Word of
God, honoring the infinite majesty theoretically and practically
in an infinite manner, are acts also belonging to human nature,
are its own acts, so to speak; because they are acts of its own
personality, and human nature can say to God, I honor thee with the
acts of my own person, and they are infinite. Secondly, because even
the acts springing immediately from human nature, and consequently
in themselves finite, in force of the union of these same acts with
the divine personality in whom they subsist, acquire an infinite
worth and dignity because of the person in whom they subsist; and
human nature can say to God, I honor you with my own acts of worship
and acknowledgment. In both cases, therefore, whether we look at
the acts of the Theanthropos springing from his divine nature, or
at those proceeding from his human nature, they are of infinite
value, by force of the unity of his divine person; and consequently
the Theanthropos can recognize God in an infinite manner, a manner
absolutely worthy of God.
The cosmos, then, recapitulated in the human nature of Christ, is
enabled to worship God as he deserves; the temporal religion of
the cosmos is wedded to the eternal; and the Godhead is worshipped
in his cosmos with the same perfect homage of recognition as he
receives from eternity in the bosom of his interior life. The Word,
as infinite recognition of the Father, is the eternal mediator of
religion between the Father and the Holy Ghost. The Word incarnate
is the mediator of religion between God and his cosmos.
All angels and men, and to a certain degree all creatures, all
persons, all individualities, from the highest pinnacle of creation
down to the farthest extremities thereof, united in a particular
manner, which shall be hereafter explained, with the Theanthropos,
and partakers of his mind, of his will, of his affections, of his
heart, of his life, can raise to God a canticle of acknowledgment
fully worthy of him, perfectly equal to that which rose up silently
in the bosom of the infinite, when, in the day of his eternity, he
uttered his infinite word, and breathed his spirit and recognized
himself very God.
Who will not admit a dogma which elevates the cosmos to such a height
of dignity? And what can pantheism offer in its stead? It can destroy
both temporal and eternal religion, by identifying both terms, the
cosmos and the infinite, and thus rendering a true acknowledgment
of God impossible. But it can never impart that true exaltation,
that high dignity to the cosmos, which the Catholic doctrine of
the hypostatic moment affords. God acknowledges himself infinitely
from all eternity, by uttering a perfect intellectual expression of
himself, and by both aspiring a loving recognition of themselves. We
creatures are enabled to acknowledge him as he acknowledges himself;
the only recognition worthy of him. The Word, by becoming incarnate,
enters into the choir of creation, and takes its leadership; brings
into it the harmonies of the bosom of God, and on a sudden the music
and the songs of the cosmos rise up to the height of its leader, and
mingle with the harmonies of eternal life.
Before we pass to other consequences of the incarnation, we shall
point out a corollary, among all others, which follows from the
doctrine above stated, and which, though of the highest importance,
is lost sight of both by apologists and rationalists.
This corollary is, that the Christian religion, as Christ founded
it, is _cosmological law_, and can no more be lost sight of by the
philosopher than by a Christian himself.
For according to the actual plan of the cosmos, the plan which God
selected, God was not satisfied with that finite, imperfect, natural
acknowledgment which created spirits might render to him. But, as
he was pleased not to leave the cosmos in its natural conditions,
but raised it to the highest possible dignity by a union with the
divine personality of the Word, so he was not satisfied that the
acknowledgment which is due to him as the creator should be that
natural, imperfect, finite acknowledgment which created spirits
could, with their natural force, render to him, but willed that their
acknowledgment should, by a union with the Theanthropos, be exalted
to the dignity of the infinite acknowledgment which he renders to
himself from all eternity.
This is a law of the actual cosmos which God selected, and it is as
much a law, an integral part of its constituents, as any natural law
which we may discover. God selected such a cosmos that we might pay
to him a recognition true and worthy of him.
Now, Christianity, as Christ founded it, is the religion of all
created persons in time and space, who, united to the Theanthropos
by a particular mode of union, worship God with and through the
Theanthropos; that is, worship God as he deserves. Consequently
Christianity is a law of the cosmos, an integral constituent of that
cosmos which God selected, and hence true, elevating, and imperative.
True, because it is a religion the acts of which are fully adequate
to the object, since in it God is worshipped as perfectly as he
deserves.
True, because, religion implying a knowledge of God, in Christianity
knowledge is imparted to the minds of its followers fully adequate to
the object known, in its origin, in its mode of communication, and
its end. In its origin, being derived from the Theanthropos; in its
mode, being imparted by a peculiar operation of the Theanthropos; and
in its end, as tending to gradual development, until it has reached
the fulness of knowledge, which may be imparted to a pure creature in
palingenesia.
True, because, religion implying operation and action, action is
imparted in the same manner as knowledge.
Elevating, because it is evident that that aim of Christianity is
to raise human persons from their natural state, from their natural
operation, to a superior state and operation through the Theanthropos.
Imperative, because, God having made Christianity a law of the
cosmos, which he selected, it is not free to a moral agent to accept
or reject it, but all must accept it as a law of the cosmos which no
one may contravene.
Hence rationalists, and infidels, and indifferentists, in rejecting
Christianity or in being indifferent to it, reject a law of the
cosmos, a law which is as essential to the entirety of the cosmos,
which God chose, as the law of gravitation or locomotion; and in
reasoning upon the cosmos, after rejecting Christianity, rationalists
and indifferentists should say, "I do not reason on the actual cosmos
that God has selected; I reason on a cosmos of my own creation; I
limit it, I contract it, I debase it, as it pleases my fancy; and
yet, after that, I insist on retaining the name of philosopher."
We pass to the other consequence. The tendency of the exterior act
is to form the cosmos, and especially created intelligences, into a
universal society. We could prove this by the consideration of the
efficient, typical, and final cause of the external act; but prefer
to show it only from the typical cause, or objective life of creation.
The objective life of the cosmos is the life of the infinite
intelligibly expressed in the Word. Now, God's life is essentially
one, absolute, most perfect, universal society. One is the nature
of the infinite terminated and concreted by three distinct
subsistences--the Beginning, the Word, the Spirit. One and identical
is their intelligence and will; because intelligence and will, being
an attribute of nature, as the three divine personalities partake
of the same nature, they are at the same time endowed with the same
identical intelligence and will.
One and identical is likewise their life and bliss; because the life
and bliss of the infinite consists in knowing and loving himself,
in which operation the three divine personalities share, in force
of the identical absolute intelligence and will with which they are
equally endowed. They are finally one by their common and reciprocal
indwelling in each other; because the beginning is Father, inasmuch
as his eternal Son dwells in his bosom. The Son is such, inasmuch as
he is related to the Father, and dwells in him. The Spirit is such,
inasmuch as he is related to both, and dwells in both.
The Trinity, therefore, is the type of one universal perfect society,
because the three divine persons are associated by the unity and
identity of nature, of attributes, of life, of happiness, and by a
common indwelling in each other.
Now, the Trinity, as intelligibly mirrored in the Word, is the
objective life of the cosmos, or its typical cause. On the other
hand, we have shown that the plan which God has chosen in his works
_ad extra_ is that which draws the subjective cosmos as near in
perfection to its intelligible and objective life as possible.
The cosmos, therefore, in force of its typical cause, is called to
represent the one most perfect universal society of the three divine
persons as perfectly as possible.
This were impossible except by the admission of the existence of the
Theanthropos into creation. For, once admitting the existence of the
Theanthropos, we see that the eternal society of the three divine
persons, as mirrored intelligibly in the Word, the very typical cause
of the cosmos, has come in contact with the cosmos itself, by the
closest, most intimate society--the same identical subsistence: the
eternal and interior society is externated, and the cosmos and the
infinite society of God form one single society in the identity of
the person of the Word. Man and God are one single society in Christ.
Unite now all created spirits and persons to this externation of the
typical cause, by a principle of which we shall speak in the next
article; unite their nature to his nature, their intelligence to
his intelligence, their will to his will, their life to his life,
their bliss to his bliss; and we shall have one universal society,
partaking of the nature, the intelligence, the will, the life, the
bliss, of the Theanthropos; and thus not only united with each other,
and meeting each other in one common medium and centre, but also
presenting a divine society whose bond of union is the intelligence,
will, life, bliss, of the Theanthropos communicated to them all;
and through him and by him ushered into the eternal society of the
Trinity.
This is the idea expressed in the sublime prayer of our Lord, when he
said, Father, keep them in thy name whom thou hast given me, that
they may be one as WE also are. And not for them only do I pray, but
for them also who through their word shall believe in me; that they
all may be one, as thou, Father, in me, and I in thee; that they also
may be one in us, I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made
perfect in one: that the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in
them, and I in them.[131]
This consequence of the hypostatic moment affords the cosmological
reason of the truth, the divinity, the imperative necessity of the
Catholic Church.
For the Catholic Church is nothing else but the society of all
the persons of the cosmos elevated in Christ and through Christ
to the eternal typical society of the Trinity, by a community of
supernatural intelligence, will, life, bliss, imparted to them by
the Theanthropos, to whom they are united, travelling centuries and
generations to add new members to this universal society of all
ages, until the number of members being complete, it shall cease its
temporal action, and rest in eternity. This is the only true view of
the Catholic Church. Men imagine it to be an after-thought, a thing
begun nineteen centuries ago. The Catholic Church is a cosmological
law; and hence _necessary_, _universal_, _imperative_. God in
acting outside himself might have chosen to effect only substantial
creation; but having once determined to effect the hypostatic
moment, to cause the Theanthropos to form the exalting principle,
the centre, the mediator of the cosmos, he could not but carry
out to their fullest expression those relations which result from
that moment. Now, the Catholic Church is the necessary consequence
of the hypostatic moment. The Word, the type of the universe, is
united to its expression in the unity of his divine personality,
and is thus placed at the very centre of the universe, as that in
which all things are consolidated. It follows, therefore, that all
created persons must hover round about their centre, must be put in
communication with him, united to him as their centre and mediator by
a communion of intelligence, of will, of life, of bliss, and thus be
associated with each other, and united with the eternal archetypical
society--the Trinity.
This gives as a result a society of all created persons united by the
bond of the same theanthropic intelligence, will, life, and bliss.
Now, such is the Catholic Church. Therefore it is a cosmological
law in the present plan of the exterior action of God; and as a
cosmological law is _universal_, extending to all times and places,
_divine_ in its origin and action, and _imperative_, so the Catholic
Church is essentially _universal_ in time and space; _divine_ in
its origin and action; _imperative_, enforcing its acceptance and
adhesion on every intellect which can contemplate the plan of the
exterior works of God.
Hence Protestantism is not only a theological error, but a
philosophical blunder.
God effects the hypostatic moment, and makes the Theanthropos the
centre of the cosmos, and of the best part of the cosmos--men.
He could not be their centre unless they were united to him by
intelligence, will, and life. And they could not be united to him
unless they were united to each other by a common theanthropic
intelligence, will, and life, etc.[132] And the question being of
incarnate spirits, this union of intelligence, will, and life could
not be possible, except it were visible and external.
Hence, it is a necessary consequence of the hypostatic moment
that men should be united in one universal, visible, and external
society. Protestantism, admitting the hypostatic moment, denies the
consequence which so evidently flows from it, and denies by its
fundamental principle a society of intelligence, and of will, and of
life, and also the visibility, the externation of such society, and
takes refuge in an individual union between himself and Christ, and
says, by the same principle, "I have a right to form an intelligence
of my own, in no way connected with the intelligence of other created
persons. I have a right to follow laws which I shall individually
find out and proclaim. I have a right to have a life exclusively my
own, and no interchange shall pass between me and others."
Hence the absolute falsehood of Protestantism, which ignores the
existence and qualities of this supreme cosmological law.
The cosmological law is _one_. Protestantism is _multiform_. The
cosmological law is _universal_. Protestantism is _individual_. The
cosmological law is _communicative_ and _expansive_. Protestantism is
_egotistical_.
What is more remarkable still is the astounding pretension of
Protestantism to having enlightened and elevated mankind. Enlightened
mankind by ignoring the plan of the universe in its beauty, in its
harmony, in its whole! Elevated mankind by proclaiming individualism
and egotism in the face of the one great life-giving law of a common
universal society!