and beneath them, standing, but standing on three several elevations,
contrived by means of planks, (the rearmost being the highest,) were
six ranks of soldiers from the camp; the two inner ranks consisting
exclusively of Ælius Sejanus's prætorians. Immediately behind the
centre of the amphitheatre, where Augustus with his court sat upon
a strongly-built, lofty, and somewhat projecting wooden platform,
canopied from the glare, a grove of tall and shady trees offered in
their branches an accommodation of which the fullest advantage had
been taken by a vast miscellaneous multitude, chiefly youths and
boys; but among them soldiers who had received a holiday, and had
found no room for themselves in the amphitheatre, were also numerous,
their costumes rendering them easily distinguishable. On each side of
the large canopied platform of the emperor and the Cæsars, with their
court, were several seats of honor lined with purple and scarlet
cloths, and connected with the _estrade_ in question by continuous
pavilion roofs, but having their own benches. Here many ladies and
some boys and girls sat. It is in one of these we are ourselves going
to take post, invisible but watchful, unheard but hearing.
On the seat immediately in front of ours, and of course a little
below it, is a group of three persons, attended by a slave. With
these persons, and even with their slave, we have already made more
or less acquaintance. One of them the doctors had forbidden to go
forth; but he had come. He is a mere child; his pretty face is
shockingly disfigured; both his eyes are closed and blacked; all
the flesh round them is a discolored and contused mass, his head is
bandaged, and every nerve in his countenance is twitching with the
furious eagerness and curiosity of one whose organs of sight, if
he could only see with them, would ravenously devour the spectacle
which all the rest of that mighty multitude were to enjoy, and from
which he alone was to be debarred. Amid the immense murmur of so many
human voices, we have to listen with attention, in order to catch
distinctly what the child says in his shrill treble tones.
"Now mark you, good Cneius Piso, and you, Herod Agrippa, I am as
blind as a stone; and I have brought you here in no other character
than as my eyes, my left and my right eye. If a single iota of what
passes escapes me, may all the gods destroy you both, worse than any
Roman or Jew was ever destroyed before! Has that beast of a horse (if
it was mine, I'd tether it by all four legs to the ground, and make
a squadron of cavalry back their horses against it, and kick it into
shreds and little bits)--has that beast of a horse come forth yet?"
"Not yet, orator," answered Piso. "I see that your father, the
illustrious Germanicus, has not taken his place in the emperor's
pavilion; he is riding about yonder in the arena, and so is Tiberius
Cæsar. I dare say they will prefer to remain on horseback; for they
can thus see quite as well, while the scene continues to be enacted
in this place, and if the Sejan horse should break away through the
opening in the amphitheatre opposite to us, they could follow and
still assist at the issue, whereas we could not.'
"But I _want_ to see; I _must_ see; I'll get on my pony too! Ah my
sight! I could not ride blind! O that accursed horse!"
"Then," said Piso, "do you wish the youth to conquer the horse, or
the horse his rider?"
The child yelled, and struck his forehead furiously with his fists.
"Oh! If I could only see! I ought not to have come! It is worse to
be here, knowing what is to happen, and having it all close under
my eyes, and not to see it, than if I was far away and without the
temptations around me. It is the hell of Tantalus; I cannot, _cannot_
bear it."
After a pause of impotent rage, he asked Piso was the crowd of
spectators very large?
"It is the largest I ever beheld," answered Piso; "it would be
impossible to count it, or to guess the number."
"I wish every one present was stone blind at this very moment," said
the dear child.
"Thanks, orator, on the part of all here present," answered Piso.
"Understand me--only for the moment," hastily returned Caligula; "I
would give them their sight again when I recovered my own." A pause.
"Or even when to-day's show was over, perhaps."
While yet he spoke, the hum and murmur, which had been incessant,
died rapidly away.
"What is it?" asked Caligula.
"The Sejan horse is being led into the arena; two men, as usual, hold
two cavassons on opposite sides. He is muzzled; two other grooms are
now slackening the muzzle, in order to get the bit well back between
his teeth by pulling up the reins which are under the muzzle, as the
horse opens his mouth.
"They have the bit properly placed now, and have quitted his head.
Oh! what a spring! It has jerked the further cavasson-holder clean
off his feet. O gods! he has lost the cavasson, and the other man
must be destroyed. No, bravo! the fellow has regained the loop of his
rein or thong, and hauls the beast handsomely back!"
"How can one man on either side," asked Caligula, "hold him? I have
seen two on each side."
"I understand," replied Piso; but before he could finish his
explanation or remark, or whatever it was designed to be, a sudden
and impressive silence fell upon that vast assembly, and Piso stopped
short.
"What has happened now?" whispered the child.
"The rider has come forth," answered Piso, "and is walking toward
the horse from the direction of the open space in front of us. By
Jupiter! a splendid youth; it is not to be denied."
"How is he dressed? Has he his whip and _stimuli_ (spurs)? He will
not need such helps, I surmise."
"He has no spurs, and he carries nothing in his hands. He wears that
foreign-looking head-gear, the broad-rimmed petasus, as a shade, no
doubt, against the level rays of the sunset; for I see he is giving
directions to the grooms, and they are contriving to bring the horse
round with his head toward the west. Ah! he thus faces the opening;
I dare say he will try to push the animal into the excitement of a
grand rush, and thus weary him at the outset. In that case, we shall
not see much of the business; he will be miles away over the country
in a few minutes."
"You will find that such an injustice will not be allowed," answered
the child. "We must not be cheated out of our rights."
"His tunic," continued Piso, "is belted tight, and I perceive that
he wears some kind of greaves, which reach higher than the knee,
that will protect him from the brute's teeth. Moreover, I notice a
contrivance in the horse's housings to rest the feet--you might call
them _stapedæ_; they seem to be made of plaited hide."
"I don't care for his greaves," returned the child; "the teeth may
not wound him, but they will pull him off or make him lose his
balance all the same. It is agreed, is it not, that, as soon as he is
mounted, the muzzle is to be slipped off the horse?"
"Certainly," said Piso.
"Then the rest is certain," said the other. "How is it contrived, do
you know?" added he.
"The muzzle consists of a mere roll of hide," replied Piso; "and
it is those long reins alone which keep it folded, being passed in
opposite directions round the animal's nose; while therefore both
the reins are pulled, or held tight, they bind the muzzle; but when
one of them only is pulled, it opens the muzzle. Each groom has the
same kind of double rein; and each, acting in concert, will set the
beast free as soon as they receive the signal."
"Who gives the signal?"
"The rider himself, when he is fairly seated; but Tiberius will tell
him when to mount."
"Go on with your description of his dress and his looks. Does he seem
afraid?"
"He still wears that queer sword; I should have fancied it cumbersome
to him. Afraid! I should say not. No sign of it.
"_Ver omnes!_"
At first, this dialogue was sustained in a whisper; but as the lull
of all noise was again gradually replaced by that hoarse hum, which
is blent out of a hundred thousand low-toned murmured words, Piso and
the child Caligula raised their own voices, and the last exclamation
of Piso was as loud as it was sudden.
"Has any thing further taken place?"
"Why, yes," said Cneius Piso; "and something which I do not
understand. That old freedman of the youth, together with Thellus
the gladiator, have approached him, and Thellus holds in each hand
a sort of truncheon about a yard or more long; the top of which for
more than a foot is black; the rest is sheathed or plated in bronze;
the black top of the truncheon is thick; the rest, which is sheathed
in the metal, is much thinner. The freedman who is by Thellus's side
holds a small horn lantern in one hand, and tenders with the other
a pair of large woollen _chirothecæ_ (gloves) to his young master,
who is even now putting them on. As he puts on his gloves, he looks
round the benches; he is looking our way now. What can he mean?
He has the audacity to wave his hand, and smile, and nod in this
direction!"
The slave whom we have mentioned as forming the fourth in this group
was no other than Claudius, whose part Paulus was now performing.
"By your leave, most honored lords," said Claudius, "I think I am the
person whom that valiant youth is saluting."
"True," said Piso; "he has taken your destined office to-day, has he
not?"
"Yes, my lord," returned Claudius; "and having caught sight of me, he
beckoned to me, doubtless, to bid me have good courage."
"Well!" ejaculated Piso, "that is a good joke. I think it is you who
ought to beckon to him to have good courage. He needs it more than
you."
A moment after this remark, Cneius Piso suddenly turned to the child
Caligula, and informed him that Tiberius was signing to him (Piso)
to go down into the arena, and mount one of the spare horses; and,
although unwillingly, he must go.
"And how shall I know what occurs?" cried the passionate, voluble
boy. "It is like plucking out one of my eyes. Herod Agrippa here
speaks Latin with such a dreadful, greasy accent, and so slowly; he
is but learning the language."
Piso rose and said, "I have no choice but to obey; you have the slave
Claudius with you; he not only speaks fluently, but I'll answer for
it he will watch all the stages of the struggle with at least as much
attention as any person in all this crowd will! His liberty, his
wedding, and fifty thousand sesterces are at stake."
Saying this, he descended the steps of the narrow gangway which was
(with scores of similar stairs) the means contrived for reaching and
quitting the higher seats in the temporary circus. A few moments
afterward, he was seen in the arena riding by the side of Tiberius to
and fro.
"Now, slave, remember your duty," cried the child Caligula; "let
nothing escape _your_ eyes or my ears. What next?"
"Those queer-looking staves, my lord, which the illustrious Cneius
Piso has mentioned as being in the hands of Thellus, have passed into
those of the young knight, who is to conquer the terrible brute."
"What? the two truncheons with black, thick ends, and the rest of
their length sheathed in metal? do you say that the knight Paulus has
taken them into his hands? What good can they do him?"
"Yes, my lord; he has now passed both of them into his left hand, and
holds them by the thin ends. Thellus has withdrawn a few paces; the
old freedman, Philip, remains still near the youth. Ha!"
"What!"
"Tiberius Cæsar has signalled the arena to be cleared. O gods! we
shall soon see the issue now. I care not for my freedom; I care for
the safety of that brave young knight."
"Does he, then, seem to shrink?" asked the child.
"I do not," replied Claudius, "observe any shrinking, my lord. It is
I who shrink. He has drawn slowly near the horse in front, and stands
about half a yard from his left shoulder. He is following Tiberius
Cæsar with his eyes."
"Go on!"
"The arena is now clear of all save on the one hand the two Cæsars
and their retinues, who have taken their stand very near to us, just
opposite to and beneath this platform, my lord; and on the other
hand, the group around that horrible animal. Ah! me miserable!
Tiberius Cæsar lifts his hand, and you hear the trumpet! That is the
signal."
"I hear it! I hear it!" cried the child, in a sort of ecstasy. "What
follows now? Has the knight Paulus mounted?"
"No, my lord; he has--"
"He shrinks, does he not?" interrupted the other with a taunting
giggle.
"The horse trembles in every limb," said the slave; "his nostrils
dilate and quiver, and show scarlet, as if on fire; and his eyes
shoot forth a blood-red gleam, and he has stooped his head, and--"
"But the man, the man?" screamed Caius; "what of him? Has he not
failed, I say--lost heart?"
The most profound stillness had succeeded to the hubbub of blended
sounds which a moment previously filled the air.
A trumpet blew a shrill prolonged minor note, and the child, laying
his hand upon Claudius's shoulder, and shaking him violently, cried
to him to proceed with his descriptions; addressing to him again the
query, "Has that young man mounted? And if so, in what style, with
what success?"
Notwithstanding the despotic impatience with which the inquiries were
urged, the slave Claudius did not at first reply; and the infant
heard rapid, eager murmurs on all sides follow the trumpet blast,
then a general burst of exclamations, which were instantly hushed.
"Why do you not speak?" said Caius, in a species of whispered scream.
"Pardon a momentary abstraction," replied Claudius. "While the
trumpet was yet sounding, the young knight Paulus took off his
hat quickly, and bowed toward Tiberius Cæsar and the emperor; and
replacing his hat, he beckoned to the freedman Philip. This last has
approached him, and they are even now speaking together."
"Ha! ha!" interrupted the child; "then he has not mounted. He neither
dares nor can he."
"Philip," pursued Claudius, "has opened the lantern; his young master
is thrusting the staves toward the light; the ends have caught fire,
in a dull degree, with some smoke accompanying the flame. He turns
quickly away from the freedman, and holding the staves still in
his left hand, and a little away, he approaches the horse; now he
stands with his feet close together. Oh! he has sprung clean from
the ground; he is in his seat. He has seized the bridle in his right
hand, and carried it to his mouth; he takes it between his teeth. He
is now relieving his left hand of one of those torches; he holds one
in each hand, somewhat away from the body, nearly horizontal. The
cavasson-holders at a distance are removing the muzzle, and the rider
sends his feet firmly, yet I think not very far, through those rests
which the illustrious Cneius Piso mentioned, those _stapedæ_ of hide,
the like of which I never saw before. I wonder they are not always
used."
"What of the horse? Is he motionless?"
"Not less so than a statue," replied the slave; "excepting the eyes
and nostrils, which last exhibit a tremulous movement, and show
scarlet, like hollow leaves or thin shells on fire. The brute's
concave head, from the scarlet nostril to the lurid eye, looks wicked
and dire."
"How looks the rider?"
"Calm and heedful; the slight occasional breath of air from the east
carries away to the front the slow flame, blent with a little smoke
of those torches which he holds one in each hand."
"What can they be for?"
"I know not," replied Claudius.
"I suppose they are intended," said the child, "to compel the Sejan
horse to keep his head straight. Thus your volunteer-substitute need
not fear the beast's teeth. The issue seems then to be reduced to a
trial of sheer horsemanship."
"And in such a trial, most honored sir," replied the slave, "I begin
to have hopes. You should see the youth. The leading-reins are now
loose. The muzzle is snatched away, and the contest has begun. Surely
it seems one between a wild beast and a demigod."
"Is he thrown?"
"No; yes; so help me! he is off, but is off standing."
"Explain; proceed--I tell you, proceed!"
"The horse, after a series of violent plunges, suddenly reared till
he had nearly gained a perpendicular position upon his hind-legs,
the fore-feet pawing the air. The rider, who seemed to be as little
liable to fall as though he had been part of the animal, then quickly
passed his right foot out of the far _stapeda_, and dropping the
bridle from his teeth, slipped down on the hither side. Hark! did you
hear the crash with which the fore-paws have come down? The steed
seemed to be very near falling backward, but after a struggle of two
or three seconds, recovered himself; the centre of his weight had
not been carried rearward of the vertical line; and, O ye gods! just
as you heard that ponderous thud with which he descended upon his
fore-feet, the youth darted from the ground with a spring like his
first, and he is now on the brute's back as before. He stoops to the
horse's neck; he has caught the bridle in his teeth, and lifts that
brave, clear face again. Listen to the multitude! Oh! how the _euge_,
_euge_, thunders from a hundred thousand sympathetic voices!"
"Ah my sight!" cried the child Caligula.
"Ha! ha!" continued Claudius, transported out of himself. "I shall
get my liberty to-day! Nor will my benefactor be injured. Ha! ha!
The fell beast of a horse seems astonished. How he writhes his back,
curving it like some monstrous catamount. And lo! now he leaps from
the ground with all four feet at the same time! I never saw the like,
except in animals of the cervine tribe. Ha! ha! leap away! Yes, stoop
that ferocious-looking head, and shake it; and lash out with your
death-dealing hoofs. Your master is upon you, in his chair of power,
and you'll shake your head off before you dislodge him from it. It
is not with the poor literary slave Claudius that you have to deal!
Oh! what a paroxysm of plunges. I was frightened for you, then, brave
young knight; but there you sit yet, calm and clear-faced. If I was
frightened for you, you are not frightened for yourself."
"Oh! for a few minutes' sight!" said the child. "Has not the horse
tried to twist his head round, and so to bring his teeth into play?"
"Even now he tries," replied Claudius; "but he is met on either side
by the torch. The fiercest beast of the desert shrinks from fire.
Prudent and fortunate device! Lo! the horse seems at last to have
ascertained that he who has this day mounted him is worthy of his
services; do you hear the tread of his hoofs, as he traces the circle
of the arena, guided by those steady hands from which flames appear
to flow. Faster and faster rushes the steed, always restrained and
turned by the outer torch, which is brought near his head, while
the inner is held further to the rear. His sides are flecked with
foam. The pace grows too rapid for a short curve, and the steed is
now guided straight for the western opening in the arena opposite
to where we sit; while the light breeze from the east counteracts
the current of air made by the animal's own career, and keeps the
flare of those torches almost even. They are gone; and again hark!
Is not that shout like the roar of waters on a storm-beaten shore,
as a hundred thousand men proclaim the success of a generous and
brave youth, who could face the chance of being torn limb from limb
in order to give to a poor slave like me, condemned to a frightful
death, his life and his liberty, a home and a future?"
"But surely," said the imperial child, "it is not over so soon. It is
like a dream."
"I have tried to make you see what I saw," returned Claudius. "It
was a wonderful struggle--the youth looked beautiful; and in the
swift whirl, as you beheld the graceful and perfect rider, his hands
apparently streaming with flames, and his face so calm and clear,
you would have imagined that it was one of those beings whom the
poets have feigned and sung, as having gifts superior to the gifts of
ordinary mortals, who was delivering some terror-stricken land from a
demon, from a cruel monster, and compelling ferocity, craft, uproar,
and violence to bend to far higher forces, to man's cool courage and
man's keen wit."
Augustus, in his later years, showed a decreasing relish for the
bloodier sports of the arena; and, in deference to his taste, the
next spectacles were, first a mere wrestling-match, and then a combat
at the cestus, in which the effort was to display skill rather than
inflict injury.
This contest was just over, and the sun, as if in wide-flowing
garments of red and golden clouds, had sunk level with the broad
western opening of the amphitheatre, when the hum of voices was
hushed once more, and Claudius was commanded in a whisper to resume
his task of rendering the scene upon which the child's bodily eyes
were temporarily closed, visible to his mind.
"I cannot with certainty discern," said the slave, "what occurs;
there is such a vast heavenly shield of red light hanging opposite
to us in the western sky. Against it, approaching at a walking pace
toward the gap in the arena, along that avenue of chestnut trees in
the country, I see a horseman. All eyes are turned in that direction.
It is _he_; it is Paulus Lepidus Æmilius, returning on the Sejan
steed; the animal is enveloped in sweat, and dust, and foam; and
rather stoops the head which looked so fierce two hours ago; the
rider has thrown away those torches, and now holds the reins low down
on either side, a little in front of the beast's shoulder. His hat is
gone, and his brown locks, as you see them against the sun, are so
touched with the light that he seems to wear a head-gear of golden
flames. Hark! again, as before, the people and the army shout to him.
He is bowing to them on each side; and now, as he advances, what do I
see?"
The slave paused, and the child impatiently cried--
"How can I tell what you see, you dog? You are here for no other
purpose than to tell _me_ that."
"He has streaks of blood upon his forehead," resumed Claudius.
"Oh! oh!" cried the other; "the branches of the trees have no doubt
struck him. Is he pale? Does he look faint? Is he going to fall off?"
"No," said Claudius; "he has reined in the horse, which stands like a
horse of stone in the middle of the arena. Tiberius and Germanicus
have both ridden toward him, with their retinues of mounted officers
behind them. They have halted some six yards from him. They are
speaking to him. As they speak, he bows his head and smiles. A crowd
of people on foot have broken into the arena. The grooms have drawn
near, at a sign from Tiberius; they are cautiously approaching the
Sejan beast; but this last shows no restiveness. They have slipped
the muzzle round his nose, under the reins. The youth dismounts. I do
not see him now; he has become mixed with the crowd, I think; yes, it
must be so, for I miss him altogether."
Augustus now rose, and his rising was taken by the multitude as a
signal that the entertainments of the amphitheatre for that evening
had closed.
Half an hour more and the scene was left to its solitude; and where
the cries and shouts of that mighty assemblage had mounted to the
very heavens, there was no sound left except the humming of the
insects and the rustling of the trees.
That night, in the large veranda or bower, which hung its arch of
leaves and flowers over the landing of the Lady Aglais's apartments,
at the Inn of the Hundredth Milestone, were assembled an exceedingly
heterogeneous but mutually attached company, with every member
of which the reader has made acquaintance. Paulus's mother, his
young sister Agatha, Claudius, (no longer a slave, and now wearing
the _pileus_,) Crispina, with her daughter Benigna, the betrothed
of this slave Claudius, Thellus the gladiator, and Dionysius the
Athenian, were there, and they all heard Paulus relate a very strange
occurrence, with which he made them acquainted in the following terms:
"Mother," said he, "the most extraordinary incident connected with
this happy day remains to be told. I am sure that the great and
mysterious Being who is expected by Dionysius here soon to descend
upon earth, and to whom I offered my life, has protected me this day.
He has surely protected me, and has received with favor my endeavor
to rescue from brutal power an oppressed and innocent young couple.
The most extraordinary incident connected with my undertaking, I
say, is not yet known to you. Last night I could not sleep soundly.
At last, long before daybreak, I rose, dressed myself, and, kneeling
down, besought that Being who is to appear among us to remember that
I was trying to please him by this enterprise, and that I was acting
just as Dionysius and I had concluded it would be agreeable to this
beneficent being. An inexpressible feeling of calmness and confidence
arose in my heart as I rose from my knees. I then took my hat and
went out of doors. I first strolled yonder, up and down that laurel
walk in the garden, and afterward sauntered into the fields and
wandered pretty far, but I observed not whither. Presently I began to
feel that inclination to sleep which had deserted me in my bedroom;
and, knowing the sun would soon rise, I chose a shady spot under a
clump of trees, and, lying down, fell fast asleep immediately. _I
had no dream_, but was waked by feeling a hand upon my forehead.
Opening my eyes, I beheld a woman, very aged and venerable, but
with a most beautiful countenance, despite her years, bending over
me. Her countenance was solemn as the stars, and, I know not how,
impressed me like the face of the heavens at midnight, when the
air is clear and calm. Her hair was not gray, but white--white as
milk. She wore a long, black mantle, the hood of which, like that
of Agatha's _ricinium_, was brought over the head, but not further
than the middle of the head, so that I could see, when I rose to my
feet, (as I instantly did,) that her long flowing white locks were
parted evenly and fell below the shoulder on each side. She held in
her left hand a long staff, and her right was extended toward me as
if bespeaking attention. She said to me in Greek these words: 'BY
MEANS OF FIRE YOU CAN SUBDUE THE FEROCIOUS BEAST.' She then laid the
hand which was stretched forth upon my head for a second, drew the
hood further over her head, and departed with swift steps, leaving
me to gaze after her in amazement--an amazement which increased when
I perceived that her words could be applied to the Sejan horse. It
was those words, mother, and nothing else, which gave me the idea of
employing the torches, which my good Thellus here afterward prepared
for me out of some gladiatorial exercise-weapons which he possessed;
and I may for certain say that, without the torches, I must have been
destroyed by that horrible brute."
"You truly describe this incident as extraordinary, my son," said the
Lady Aglais, after a pause.
"Paulus," said Dionysius, "_you have seen the Sibyl_. You must
accompany me in a few days to Cumæ, where we will seek an interview
with her, upon the subject concerning which all the Sibyls sing and
prophesy--the general reparation of this disorder-tortured world."
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOOTNOTES:
[194] It was some fifty years before, at the siege of Modena, that
the first recorded instance, so far as I am aware, occurred of making
the pigeon a letter-carrier.
[195] I am aware of an apparent anachronism here of some four or five
years, according to Dio, Tacitus, Suetonius, and others; but Caligula
was, I think, a few years older than these authors represent; for
Josephus furnishes a somewhat different calendar from theirs.
TRANSLATED FROM LE CORRESPONDANT.
MATTER AND SPIRIT IN THE LIGHT OF MODERN SCIENCE[196]
There is nothing more advantageous, and at the same time more
dangerous; more beneficial to the cause of truth, and yet more apt to
induce error, than the modern idea of studying man in nature alone;
or rather, of scrutinizing its depths with the design of discovering
all that concerns him.
Doubtless there were times when philosophy did not pay sufficient
regard to the study of the physical sciences; when philosophers put
themselves too far outside the physical world. Metaphysics were too
full of abstractions, too much confined to the _me_ and consciousness.
Some systems wished to dig an abyss between the world of matter and
that of spirit, regarding the passage from the one to the other as
impossible. Even the discoveries of Des Cartes in the realms of
physical nature, as well as in the kingdom of his own consciousness,
notwithstanding their importance and grandeur, only served to widen
the abyss; for the Cartesian theory supposed the mind to be incapable
of communicating with the exterior world save by a chain frequently
broken--by a long and devious path. The _preëstablished harmony_ of
Leibnitz was the last term of the separation of these two worlds,
which had no longer any thing in common even in their agreement, and
only existed in juxtaposition without mutual action or reciprocal
influence.
This was an excess of which metaphysics was at the same time the
author and the victim; it deprived itself of a powerful element of
investigation; it veiled one of the faces of nature; and closed
the door to research and knowledge in one of the great domains of
the world. Metaphysicians, in striving to obtain the exclusive and
victorious reign of spirit, compromised its triumph.
Doubtless that which at the same time unites and separates the
intellectual from the material world will never be perfectly
understood. But it will always be necessary to throw light on both
sides of the problem by comparing them without confounding them;
to place both face to face without partiality or exclusion; the
working of thought and of matter, and between the two the mysterious
phenomenon of life which is their connecting link and term of
similitude.
It could not be expected that philosophy should first and alone
prepare the ground of this conciliation and comparison. The
peculiarly speculative studies of metaphysicians would not naturally
carry them to this point; and besides, the very elements necessary
for this comparison were wanting to them.
It is, therefore, to the natural sciences, as they are called,
that we must owe the most of our knowledge and comprehension
of the two worlds, which co-penetrate each other. Not that the
sciences have preconceived the thought of this result, and formed
a plan on the subject; for the science of the day, especially that
which really deserves the name, has confined itself generally to
impartial discoveries, and for premise and conclusion has taken
merely the facts themselves. Notwithstanding evil examples, which
would persuade a different course, it still perseveres, and on this
account it deserves praise in its isolated labors and exclusive
studies. It would not be difficult to cite the names of some of the
most distinguished _savants_, who, impartially and without being
preoccupied with conclusions, have enriched the domain of truth with
most important and curious discoveries. But the occupation of the
_savant_, which is not without merit and trouble, cannot satisfy
mankind.
By a natural instinct man feels the want of synthesis; he is not
content with mere phenomena. He wants to go further than analysis;
he longs to generalize and draw consequences. He wishes to profit by
past labor; he wants to know not only results but causes.
Here philosophy must again be called in to judge of and compare
facts, to deduce consequences from, and erect systems upon them. If
the spiritualist philosophers, quitting abstractions and leaving
the solitude of consciousness, have by an enlightened change, which
will be serviceable both to truth and to their own cause, begun to
dig deeply into the scientific mine which is so rich and productive;
on the other hand, the positivists and materialists, forced by the
natural inclination of the human mind to draw conclusions and build
theories, even after proclaiming the sovereign reign of matter, and
after trying to remain in it alone; after attributing to it every
property and every function; after making it the absolute foundation
of their doctrine and teaching, have here admitted that an inferior
supposes a superior order; there accepted final causes; elsewhere
invoked the ideal or spoken of truths which are eternal; and in their
desire to explain the phenomena of matter or the forms of life, they
have been compelled to leave the region of purely material facts
and to ascend to those metaphysical ideas which in theory they so
strenuously reject.[197]
But although the human mind, placed in presence of problems, goes
faster and further than science, yet it cannot do without its aid; it
rightly seeks its assistance, and finds in it one of its most solid
and safe foundations.
We have, therefore, deemed it interesting to indicate at what point
the labors of the physicists have arrived, even by exhibiting their
premature solutions. We think it useful to examine some of their
conclusions, which have been deduced rather precipitately perhaps,
but which, while treating only of bodies, concern more or less
directly the sovereign questions of the soul and of the intelligence.
We must say that, in consequence of so many deep researches and
fruitful experiments, the empire of the natural sciences has been
so vastly extended that nothing in the future seems impossible of
attainment, while most unexpected results, intoxicating, as it
were, and turning the heads of _savants_, have seemed to furnish a
justification of their defence of even the most rash and surprising
theories.
There has been a regeneration of ideas regarding the material world;
analysis has probed to its lowest depths and let in the light of
day. Men think they have discovered its mode of action and arrived at
its very elements.
Two leading theories have been produced, both of which pretend to be
based on the most minute verification of details and the most recent
facts. If they are not absolutely irreconcilable, they present at
least very different formulas.
The one affirms that there is nothing in matter except movement.
The other declares that there is nothing in matter but forces.
I.
The system which reduces every thing in matter to movements is as
simple as it is curious. It exhibits at the same time a character of
grandeur and of unity which is seductive. Matter in the universe, it
says,[198] remains the same in quantity; it is neither created nor
destroyed; its phenomena are merely transformations.
According to this system, the _abstract notion of force_ does not
exist. Force is a cause of motion; and the cause of motion is a
motion itself. Physical phenomena, as heat, light, electricity, and
magnetism, are certain kinds of motion, which beget each other.
Heat is transformed into electricity and electricity into light.
Transformations take place according to fixed rules, and are reduced
to rigorously determined unities.
In another order of facts, cohesion, chemical affinity, and gravity,
are equally the effects of communication of motion, since the
phenomena which derive from them exist only by attraction--that is
to say, by the movement of molecules and bodies toward each other.
The same rule holds good in the system of the universe; the heavenly
as well as the terrestrial bodies have not in themselves that which
attracts them to each other. Universal gravitation is only the
expression of a result; it merely means that every thing happens as
if bodies had the intrinsic property of attracting each other in
the direct ratio of their quantity and the inverse ratio of their
distance.
It is not this force or property; it is the ether which is the cause
of attraction. The ether is composed of atoms which collide with each
other and with neighboring bodies. It is everywhere diffused, forming
a universal medium, and exercising a continual pressure on all the
molecules in nature. The gravity of bodies is owing to the pressure
of this medium. Their movement is, as it were, a transformation of
the motions of ether. Thus, the ether, moving in every direction, and
obeying no fixed pressure, produces material attraction without being
subject to it; it gives to bodies their gravity, while it remains
itself imponderable.[199]
It had been already physically demonstrated that sound and light
were the result of undulations--that is, of motions; sonorous and
luminous movements which have been measured and verified in all their
modes. The nature of caloric movement has not yet been so completely
understood; but the mechanical effects of heat have been established
in the most precise manner. The identity of heat and of mechanical
labor has become a commonly received idea for several years past.
Heat, which was formerly regarded as a material substance, is now
considered as a mere mode of motion; it is by their repercussion
that the molecules of bodies cause us to experience the sensation of
heat; and the intensity of these repercussions determines the degrees
of temperature. This heat, manifesting itself by different effects,
produces now light or sounds, again mechanical labor.
The energy or the living force which molecules or bodies in motion
possess, in a degree exactly known, is partially lost if these
molecules produce a work, that is to say, if they displace a quantity
of matter; but in that case the living force which they lose is
stored up in the labor produced, and is reborn when the latter ceases
to exist.
Just as the calorific and luminous fluids are no longer regarded as
possessing a special substance and existence, so also the electric
fluid, positive as well as negative, and the magnetic fluid, which is
only one of its derivatives, are but opposite movements of matter.
The electrical movement of imponderable matter, or ether, is not even
a vibratory motion; it is a real current, a real transport which
takes place in the conducting body; and it is so far of the same
nature as the luminous motion that it has approximately the same
velocity--that is to say, it travels seventy-five thousand leagues a
second.
Now, all these motions of heat, all these motions of light and
electricity, which correlative phenomena offer, are all reducible to
the idea of mechanical labor. Produced by one labor, they reproduce
another. Thus disappear from chemistry, as from the natural sciences,
the forces called repulsive as well as those called attractive. The
molecules no longer act at a distance; actions take place by contact,
by the communication of movements. In the same way the pressure
exercised by the ethereal atoms on the molecules of the sidereal
bodies takes the place of the initial force or acquired velocity
which astronomy regarded as the cause of their movements.
According to this sovereign unity, the physical world is composed
of one single element. There are no simple bodies. Oxygen and
hydrogen, like gold or platina, are composed only of atoms. There is
no difference in material quality; properties vary according to the
diversity of movements. Becoming grouped and interwoven, the atoms
form the molecules, and the changes of these movements constitute for
us the different phenomena, the mode of which depends on the masses
and the velocities which are in play.
Consequently, ethereal atoms, elementary molecules, compound
or chemical molecules, particles of gaseous bodies, liquids,
solids--such is the hierarchy of phenomena.
The system is triumphantly epitomized in these words:
Atoms and motion form the universe.
Let us pause before this conclusion, the simplicity of which is not
without grandeur, although the theory is absolute and hasty. Let us
be allowed to interfere in the name of the notion of causality, in
the name of that metaphysics to which the system itself, although
taking its starting-point from facts alone, renders homage by
its generalizations and by its synthesis. If it confined itself
exclusively to its conclusion, that atom and movement form the
supreme axiom of the universe, we should have downright materialism.
The author avoids this absolute conclusion, which would cause us,
moreover, to go outside the limits of scientific research, and he
admits that even in motion there are original causes which remain
entirely unknown.
But this cannot suffice. Our mind sees this reserve and will not rest
satisfied with it.
If the system merely gives to ethereal atoms the intrinsic force and
primitive motion which it takes away from the molecules and bodies,
it only postpones the difficulty and avoids the true solution. It
merely admits an effect without assigning to it an origin or a reason
of being. It does not indicate the primary cause of motion; it does
not make known the prime mover, which neither facts nor reason can
place in the atoms or in the phenomena.
Nor can the formation of worlds be explained by atoms and motion.
The author[200] gives up facts, reality, and the logic of his own
system when he supposes some of the chief primitive atoms forming the
centre of a group for several others, and thus constituting a sphere.
Then, after this operation in the universal mass, the molecular
groups appear gifted with gravity and enter into that evolution which
constitutes the admirable order of the universe.
We have no longer modern science arriving, by way of decomposition
and analysis, at results as curious as they are incontestable. It is,
in truth, but the renewal of an old system which goes as far back
as ancient philosophy--to Leucippus, to Democritus, to Epicurus;
a system without foundation or reality, which brings us to gross
materialism, and gives us no rational or experimental explanation of
phenomena.
For whence have these atoms come? Do you give them their reason of
being by simply calling them primitive? Do they exist from all
eternity, or have they created themselves? After being proclaimed
indivisible points, they are, contrary to this principle of unity,
made unequal and preponderating. Whence do they derive these
contradictory, and at the same time indispensable characters, which
enable them to perform their functions? Who has given them the first
motion necessary for their meeting? Or, if they have been eternally
in motion, does it not follow that the formations that are attributed
to them must be also eternal? What causes them to produce ponderable
molecules and to become heavy bodies while they are essentially
imponderable and devoid of attraction?
As for us, a friend of truth, and believing that it can never be
opposed to itself, having in its regard no fear or party prejudice,
we are disposed to accept willingly the results given by scientific
observation and experience, provided there be no disposition to draw
conclusions from them which are not legitimate. We are far from
disputing that matter is one in its grand simplicity, and that it
is reducible to elements of one species; that phenomena of a single
order, motion, produce all the effects of nature which we admire. The
spiritualist philosophy will readily find in these atoms their first
author, God, and in these movements God, the prime mover.
We also admit willingly that this theory holds good even in the
domain of organized matter, and that, in the regular order of
succession, it runs through all the kingdoms. We see nothing in this
admission which contradicts directly our belief.
In fact, the system extends even to the order of living nature, and
there it points out two things.
On the one hand, it indicates, as the basis and chief constituent
of living beings, the very materials of the inorganic world, the
solid bodies, liquids, gases, which we find in all organizations, and
especially in the human organization, the most complex of all; for
this organization comprises fourteen of those elements which we call
simple bodies, because we have not been able as yet to reduce them.
On the other hand, in animated nature itself there takes place a
series of motions which succeed each other according to a determined
order, with an especial character, yet not opposed to the laws of
molecular mechanism; so that in the human body in motion heat is
transformed into work and work into heat, according to the ordinary
relation of calorics, and the human mover gives in labor the same
proportion of heat produced as the other movers.[201]
Does this mean, continues the author of the system, that we have in
this process all the elements of life? What is the cause which forms
the first cell, the basis of living bodies? What deduces from it the
developments of being? What limits and regulates its evolution? "Here
we must suspend our judgment, or admit a special cause, the principle
of which is peculiar to vital phenomena."
This cause, although its nature is unknown and undetermined, is
manifested by movements, and may take, according to the same order
of ideas, the _rôle_ and name of vital force. This force is endowed
with a peculiar activity, which transforms without creating, just as
motion only transforms in virtue of anterior movements.
This doctrine, pushed to extremity, seems to infer that the phenomena
of thought and volition are only pure movements, the result of
physical or vital actions. But is not the human soul, the animating
principle, thereby put in danger?
The author thinks not. "In the midst of material transformations,"
says he, "causes active by nature may intervene, and we have
instanced some of them, in marking the nature and limits of such
intervention. This is sufficient to leave the ground free to all the
solutions of metaphysics."
We are more affirmative and precise. These causes, from the
starting-point of the atom and movement, necessarily exist and act.
In fact, if the atom and movement are the universe, outside the
universe there must be and there is something superior to the atom
and to motion--that which has given them birth; for we cannot suppose
that the atom exists by itself, nor that motion is produced by
itself. All that we see and conceive about atom and motion only gives
us phenomenal relations and contingent results. Beyond this is the
absolute. The observations and relations which experience offers us
may be fruitful enough to render an account of the facts, to extend
and enlighten our knowledge, to establish laws and attest actions.
But let us not grow tired in repeating that these actions are not
produced alone, and that these laws suppose an ordainer.
Especially when we endeavor to understand the nature of life, atoms
and movement may come again into play; but the cause increases and
is detached from the functions of beings; and the superiority of the
effects more imperiously establishes the necessity of an author.
II.
The second theory admits only forces in nature, and places in these
forces the principle of all that is produced. It also goes up to the
atom, and considers it as equally indivisible and imponderable. It
attributes to matter properties, so to speak, immanent which give it
its power and action. Atoms, separated from each other in the bodies
which they compose, and forming mere simple mathematical points,
possess, when they are reunited in mass, a force of attraction which
acts at a distance, and then reacts on them in order to produce all
the sensible phenomena.
Several _savants_ and certain spiritualist philosophers agree on
this theory. Both take facts as the starting point in establishing
their synthesis; the former build it on a foundation more
exclusively physical; the latter give to their generalization a more
philosophical basis.
M. Magy and M. Laugel, hardly overstepping the limits of the
experimental world, follow the action of forces into their different
modes and transformations.
M. Paul Janet, in his turn, delivers his theory on matter.[202]
"It is in fact," he writes, "force and not extent which
constitutes the essence of bodies; an atom in motion occupies
successively places which it fits exactly. What distinguishes
this atom from the space previously occupied by it? It is not
the extent, since in both cases the shape is the same; every
thing which relates to extent is absolutely identical in the
empty and in the full atom. It is, therefore, something else
which distinguishes them, and this something is solidity or
weight; but neither solidity nor weight is a modification of
extent; both are derived from force, and represent it."
M. Ch. Lévêque adds:[203]
"How do we make the extension which we need? Always by
resistance; when extension is not a pure abstraction, when
it is real and concrete, it is always equivalent to a sum of
resisting points or forces. There is no longer occasion to ask
how, with unextended elements, we may form extension. There is
but one question possible, and it is this: How to form a sum of
resistance with resisting points?"
This is what a learned Englishman, P. Bayma, establishes with
precision.[204] According to him, the elements, or atoms, are
indivisible points without material extent, and extension is not an
essential property of matter.
"The extension of bodies is an appearance caused by the
dissemination in space of the elements which compose them;
abstract space is extension; consequently the science of
extension, or geometry, is not a science of observation but of
abstraction."
According to this theory, the forces placed from the beginning in
elements govern every thing in the world. Nature is under their
control; matter obeys them, or is, rather, entirely a compound
of forces. One of the partisans of this system[205] lays down
these conclusions: 1st, the last element of matter is always an
active, simple, and indivisible force like the soul itself; 2d,
the properties of matter are only manifestations of this simple
active force. Then, pushing the consequences of this notion of force
further, he admits
"that there is only one substance, material and spiritual,
at the same time; spiritual in its elements, material in its
composition. The soul, conscious of its personal energy,
conceives physical beings as forces acting like itself."
A contemporary philosopher,[206] developing further the thesis of
conciliation and relation between the two orders of existence, adds:
"Matter has at bottom no other substantial element than spirit.
The essence of both is active force, consequently materialism
has no reason to exist; there is no longer in nature any thing
but spiritualism, or, to speak more correctly, dynamism. This
dynamism has nothing which attacks the dignity and preëminence
of the soul. The soul alone is capable of thinking or willing,
because it alone is a simple force, whereas the smallest body
is a compound of simple forces."
Such are the theories which, according to their supporters, are
sustained by the most recent discoveries of science.
As for us, we admit that from a scientific stand-point there have
been many new and curious observations collected; that the analysis
of matter has exposed to view the most astonishing phenomena;
that the material element has been almost apprehended, its depths
investigated; that it has been stripped of extension as an essential
property, its mode of action and constituting principle discovered;
that it has been reduced to a unity as sovereign as it is marvellous;
and we follow with the most lively interest these results of
disinterested and impartial science. We go further; according as the
plan gains in unity and grandeur, appearing at the same time more
imposing and probable, it brings us nearer to Him who has conceived
it, who has given it order and completion. The more of mystery we
discover in the universe, the more we bow with admiration, but
without astonishment, before the thought and will of the Sovereign
who is the origin and reason of the existence of these wonders and of
their laws.
But our reason cannot go beyond its limits, and the metaphysical
consequences which some have attempted to draw from these phenomena,
we have not up to the present been able to admit.
The theory which reduces all to force, which recognizes in bodies
an intrinsic mode of acting, whether it divide these forces in the
mass of matter, or cause them to mount up to the primitive element,
to the atom, indivisible point, or monad, seems to us in every case
to beg the question. What is in fact a force, and especially a force
attributed to any object? It is undoubtedly neither a being, since it
is joined to a first element, nor a substance, since it is considered
as an attribute. It is only a manner of indicating an action, the
cause of which is unknown. To say that matter acts because it bears
in it the power of acting, is simply to say that it acts because it
acts; to reply by asserting the fact itself which is in question.
Therefore we have only one of those words, new or old, which may
cause illusion for an instant, but which do not stand a serious
analysis.
Moreover, to attempt to compare and assimilate matter and spirit
by giving to both the name of force, and attributing to them the
properties attached to this name, is merely to use a word without a
definite meaning; for if they were both forces, they would be forces
of entirely different, if not opposite action. And if we say that
force, being half body and half spirit, is the link which unites them
to each other, we create, merely to suit our purpose, a third being
which is discovered nowhere, a mere phantasmagoria without reality,
which the imagination itself is incapable of representing to us.
Finally, in the parallel and assimilation between body and soul,
to reserve, with the power of thinking, preëminence to the mind
because it is a simple and unique force, while the smallest body is a
compound of these same simple forces, amounts to saying that a body
could think if it were only decomposed and reduced to its simple
elements, and to the unity of force. There is such a difference in
act, mode, and aim between what is called the force of resistance,
attributed to bodies, and designated, we know not why, by the name
of active force, and between the faculty of thinking, that no common
appellation, no matter how specious it may be, can ever confound or
identify them.
We would not be able to comprehend how the soul, considered as a
monad or simple element, should have by this fact the faculty of
thinking, and yet two or several monads united and forming a body
would not possess the same power. Why, in the latter case, should
there be absence of thought instead of a union of two or several
thoughts, concordant or contrary? How could we say that, because
there is an assemblage of forces, there is an impossibility of
thinking, and that the part is capable of doing what the whole
cannot do? It is useless to choose and isolate the most delicate
and ethereal element in a body; we can never imagine the soul to be
really one of its parts, no matter how pure that part may be.
The notion of force, for the soul as well as for the body, must be
put among those appellations which explain nothing, and only serve to
cloak our ignorance.
Science itself begins to renounce this name of force; and the first
theory which we have exposed, that which recognizes only motions in
matter combats the theory of forces with energy, and considers it as
vain and illusory. It is not here, consequently, that we shall find
the philosophical explanation of phenomena, nor the reconciliation
between the two orders of spirit and matter.
The theory of motions rests on a more solid foundation; at least,
it employs a word having a precise signification and resting on a
real fact, motion. It is only by induction and reasoning that it
ascends to ether and the atom. It has never seen either of them,
although it affirms their existence. It makes a synthesis. It admits
in the universe something else besides atoms and movement, since the
thought which it expresses implies the idea of being, of substance
and cause. It has seen motions, vibrations, radiations, currents,
and it has concluded from them that there is something which moves,
vibrates, radiates; thus it has mounted up to a second cause, to
ether, to the atom. But this is not sufficient. If it has seen that
there is no motion without an object which moves, logic compels it
to acknowledge that there is no change without an agent, no movement
without a mover; and if the atom exists and moves, this atom also has
an origin, a reason of being, a principle from which it has received
the gift of existence and the power of motion.
If an admirable plan embraces the universe, if a sovereign unity
directs and governs all phenomena, there must be a cause for them.
The plan appears more manifestly, and the cause shows itself more
necessarily in the very simplicity of the work, in its grandeur in
this double quality raised to a higher power.
If the world be, as it is acknowledged to be, the work of thought; if
a general and supreme reason presides over the universe, this thought
lives in a spirit, this reason belongs to a soul.[207] Can there be
a thought without a thinking subject and being? A thought implies a
thinking being; reason means a living intelligence; or it must mean
nothing, and then there is no sense in words, no reality in things.
It is useless to object; the human mind will have it so; it is the
law of its conscience, it is the result of its profound conviction
that it does not derive all from itself, and that nothing can produce
nothing.
Now, can we say of the atom and motion combined, behold the universe?
Yes, the mechanical universe, perhaps. But the mechanical universe
is not self-sufficing; for we can always say, Who has made the atom?
who has created motion? And then we have the right to propose another
affirmation and to conclude: the notion of causality is the entire
world--the physical, intellectual, and moral world.
This has been true from the very beginning of thought and the
commencement of human reason. This has been true from the days of
ancient philosophy, proclaiming through its greatest logician that
whatever is in the effect ought to be found in the cause, that the
cause must really exist before the effect, and that the perfection
of all effects supposes the existence of a primary cause which
contains them--a living, spiritual, and perfect cause, which cannot
be produced by what is imperfect, inferior, material, or deprived of
life, but which is and must be necessarily its generating principle
and producing power.
III.
Thus the two systems of motions and of forces, brought before the
metaphysical world, for they call themselves syntheses, fall short
of the mark and do not reach the true principle. The one assigns
no cause for the elements and phenomena which it represents. The
other attributes to these same elements and phenomena, a word and
a name which cannot be a cause. The former does not give, and does
not pretend to give, a real explanation. The latter formulates an
explanation, but presents nothing satisfactory.
It appears, however, that all the tendencies of modern science
are toward the idea of unity in the universal system, toward a
simplification and spiritualization in the plan; and the belief of
some goes so far as to admit that this plan offers parallel lines
more or less similar in both the material and the spiritual world.
But here again the rock rises and the danger appears. In making
bodies so like spirits, we run the risk of making the spiritual
too much like the material, and, in both cases, by such confusion
we almost touch on pantheism, the theory of which, consisting in
the admission of but one substance, is equally dangerous whether
this one substance be material or spiritual. We will allow matter,
therefore, to raise itself toward unity, purify itself more and more,
and disentangle its essence from its innumerable and marvellous
combinations, provided that it be admitted that it possesses a real
existence, that it is really matter, that it can never become spirit
or thought, and that it is not its own force or cause or reason
of being. What would be gained for it from a spiritualist point
of view, to admit in matter an immediate power, to clothe it with
intrinsic qualities which nothing either in ideas or facts manifests
or demonstrates? No problem would be solved thereby, no mystery
cleared up; it would be necessary to establish why and how the same
substance, at the same time and alternately, feels and does not
feel, wills and is inert, thinks and is devoid of intelligence, is
immovable in the stone, awakes in the plant, and is organic in the
animal, and finally creates and vivifies the genius of man.
There must be logic in the assertion that the essence of matter is
found in an atom or in a force, that it is inactive or endowed with
movement, that there is in bodies unity or variety of substance,
that the different kingdoms are united by greater affinities or
separated by more marked distinctions; these properties, comparisons,
and differences must have their logic and their reason of being,
and do not derive the laws which govern them from a spontaneous or
fortuitous formation.
Nothing, consequently, in the secondary explanations which are given
to us, can satisfy our metaphysical wants. The mind of man will never
stop at the mere properties of things or their effects. Its instinct
of causality does not accept incomplete theories and theses which
do not sound the depths. Casting aside all idea of confusion and of
inexact comparison, the human mind wishes to rise higher; it wishes,
in its admiration for order and the harmony of phenomena, to ascend
to the very summit of being. Yes, it admits and recognizes the fact
that every thing which exists has a single and sovereign cause, and
this cause is itself the most spiritual of spiritual substances--God
the creator and ordainer of worlds. Author of all things, God causes
with the qualities which belong to him the different manifestations
of nature; he acts on matter, possesses it, causes it to subsist,
gives it the power of producing its phenomena, is its force, its
order, its law; and thus, if we may say so, he animates the world,
not indeed in the same manner as the human soul animates the body,
because we cannot compare essences and actions so unlike each other,
but with a certain superior and divine power of animation which
produces the being, motion, and life of all that exists in the
universe, moves or breathes, as the soul is the source and focus of
the life of the body.
To destroy this supreme cause is to degrade at the same time the
material and the intellectual world; it is to renounce the notion of
perfection and of the absolute; it is to condemn, together with one
of the mother-ideas, one of the axioms of the human mind, that logic
which can never see aught complete or satisfactory in mere effects
or phenomena; it is to attack one of the most beautiful faculties of
the intelligence, of that intelligence which the contingent cannot
content, which will not allow itself to be restrained by the mere
limits of time and space, which, from the present which it studies,
from facts which it investigates, and peculiarities which it admires,
ascends to the infinite, to the all-powerful, to the Eternal.
Thus we consider that the most recent discoveries of science, in
their rational and superior interpretation, lead us naturally to God,
and we have at the same time the belief and the hope that materialism
will be involuntarily stricken down, and will perish perhaps by the
very hands of those who study and search after matter alone.
No doubt the considerations which might be actually drawn from the
results obtained do not lead to definite theories nor do they offer
any thing but premature conclusions. The majority of the _savants_,
moreover, properly refuse to touch on the domain of the supernatural
and metaphysical; they confine themselves to facts; some so veil
their opinions and philosophical doctrines as even to cause us
to doubt whether they follow the standard of spiritualism or of
materialism. They do not arrogate to themselves either the right or
the power of drawing conclusions; and the synthesis which results
from their experiments can only be a premature conjecture, more or
less plausible.
But since their researches already give occasion to perceptions so
simple and so grand, since they open horizons in the distance where
light certainly exists, since there is from the stand-point of truth
a serene and unalterable confidence in the final and definite results
of modern discoveries, we may be permitted even now to describe
them for the elevation and the encouragement of the mind, for the
justification and the honor of human science, for the revindication
of the grandeur and of the glory of God.
FOOTNOTES:
[196] _La Physique Moderne. Essai sur l'Unité des Phénomènes
Naturels._ Par Emile Saigey. Paris: Germer-Baillière. 1867.
_Les Problèmes de la Nature--les Problèmes de la Vie._ Par Laugel.
Paris. 1867.
_De la Science et de la Nature. Essai de Philosophie première._ Par
Magy. 1867.
_Eléments de Mécanique Moléculaire._ Par le P. Bayma.
_Physique Moléculaire._ Par l'Abbé Moigno. 1868.
_Revue des Deux Mondes: la Nature et la Physiologie idéaliste._ Par
Ch. Lévêque. 15 Janvier, 1857.
_Le Spiritualisme Français au dix neuvième siècle._ Par P. Janet. 15
Mai, 1868.
[197] See for further details: _Recueil des Rapports sur les Progrès
des Lettres et des Sciences; la Philosophie en France au dix-neuvième
siècle_. Par Felix Ravaisson. _Revue des Cours Littéraires_, No. 24;
art. by M. E. Beaussire.
[198] This system has been formulated with great talent by M. Emile
Saigey, who advocated it, first in several very remarkable articles
in the _Revue des Deux Mondes_; and afterward in his book, _La
Physique Moderne. Essai sur l'Unité des Phénomènes Naturels_.
[199] The swiftness of molecules and the vibratory motion of ethereal
atoms are astonishing, and surpass all imagination. The former,
measuring two thousand metres, give eight millions of collisions in a
second; while the latter, within the same space, produce every second
several hundreds of millions more of undulations.
[200] M. Saigey.
[201] According to the very curious experiments of M. Hirn, the
unity of heat or caloric in man, as well as in inorganic matter,
corresponds to four hundred and twenty-five unities of mechanical
labor--that is to say, to four hundred and twenty-five kilogrammes
raised one metre high. Man gives in work twelve per cent of the heat
produced, which is almost equal to the labor of our most perfect
machines.
[202] _Revue des Deux Mondes_, 15 Mai, 1863.
[203] _Ibid._ 15 Janvier, 1867.
[204] _Elements de Mécanique Moléculaire._
[205] M. Magy, _De la Science_, etc.
[206] Ch. Lévêque, _Revue des Deux Mondes_, 15 Janvier, 1867.
[207] Ch. Lévêque, _Revue des Deux Mondes_, 15 Janvier, 1867.
NAZARETH.
After a residence of two months in the holy city of Jerusalem, the
writer of this sketch left the shrines of the Cross and the Tomb
to visit the sacred localities of Palestine. Going northward, and
passing by Jacob's well and Samaria, our party came to Jenin, on
the borders of the plain of Esdrælon, where we encamped for the
night; and on the next day, which was Thursday, April 5th, 1866,
went to Jezreel, to the great fountain which springs from the base
of the mountain of Gilboa, on which Saul and Jonathan were slain;
then passed through Nain, where our Lord raised the widow's son, and
Endor. Leaving Mount Thabor on our right, we came to the foot of the
steep hill on the other side of which is Nazareth. After a wearisome
ascent, in the middle of the afternoon, we saw the city of the
annunciation at our feet.
Nazareth is in a valley about one mile long, running east and west,
and only a quarter of a mile wide. Fifteen hills inclose this small
space. The whole of this valley, not occupied by the houses, is
filled with gardens, corn-fields, and small groves of olive and
fig-trees. The houses are irregularly placed, and are evidently more
comfortable than many others in the Holy Land. Being all constructed
of white stone, they have a substantial appearance. But the streets
cannot be praised. Irregular in their course, they are the filthiest
we had anywhere seen. This wretched condition of the streets is the
more noticeable because the people are superior to other dwellers
in the land, and apparently more intelligent, well-fed, and housed.
Several buildings were in the course of erection; and it seemed that
the village was prospering. The houses stand on the lower slope of
a hill about four hundred feet high, and on the adjacent ridges.
About four thousand people make up the population, all Christians
except seven hundred Mohammedans. Of the Christians, the schismatic
Greeks number about one thousand, and the Roman Catholics and Greek
Catholics have each about five hundred persons. There is an air of
independence and relative comfort about all the people here which
contrasts with the sad and desponding manners of the residents in
other eastern places. Wherever Turks rule, cheerfulness is unknown.
On entering Nazareth, we rode to the further end of the village, and
encamped in a pleasant spot quite near the fountain of the Virgin,
a place to which all travellers who remain in their tents resort, as
it is usual to encamp in the vicinity of water. Besides this, the
fountain is the best place to see the people of the village, it being
the common place of resort, especially for women. This spring is the
only one in the place; and for that reason it has many visitors.
From early dawn until late in the afternoon, women of every age come
here with jars or pitchers on their heads or shoulders. The streams
of water are not copious, and there is often delay in obtaining the
supply, especially in seasons of drought. While waiting here to
fill their jars, the women gossip and chat, and thus each one hears
the news of the day. Women of every rank go to the fountain for
water--partly that they may not appear to be above their neighbors,
and partly, it may be surmised, to hear what is going on. Little
girls are trained to carry the water-jar on the head--for them, of
course, the jar is small--and every person has a small pad or cushion
on her head to support the jar and prevent injury. From this habit
of so bearing these jars, all the women of Nazareth are straight
and erect in their carriage, and have much grace and dignity of
motion. Not only are they finely formed, but their faces are the
most beautiful in Palestine; and there is a pleasing tradition that
the Blessed Virgin Mary left the gift of beauty to the women of
her city. Their dress is also graceful, consisting of large, short
trowsers, a close-fitting jacket, and a long white veil which does
not cover the face. For ornament they use a string of silver and
gold coins around the head and chin, many of which are very heavy
and valuable--uncomfortable decorations at the best, but showing the
dowry of the wearer.
I thought that the water of the fountain of Nazareth was the best I
had ever tasted; perhaps this was fancy, but certainly the water is
most pure and excellent, and is renowned for those qualities. To this
fountain, without doubt, the Blessed Virgin came hundreds of times,
being trained like other children to bear the water-jar from early
years. Here she talked with her neighbors, and lived in a manner
undistinguished from other poor girls. And whoever will go to-day
to that fountain in Nazareth, or to the one near the shrine of the
Visitation in the hills of Judea, will see young women looking just
as Mary did eighteen hundred years ago; for habits of life and dress
have scarcely changed in the east during that long time. The water
at Nazareth rises about eight or ten rods from the place where it
is poured into the jars, being conveyed to the latter place in an
aqueduct; and the schismatic Greek Christians have built a church
at the spot where it issues from the ground, on account of an old
tradition that the annunciation took place at the spring when the
Blessed Virgin went there for water. There is this great advantage
resulting from the error of the Greeks, that, on account of their
belief in it, they leave the spot where the annunciation really took
place in the quiet possession of the Catholics, the Franciscan monks
being the custodians of the shrine.
Now let us walk to the most holy place, which is at the other end
of the village, and some distance from our tents. The premises are
extensive, and consist of large buildings, surrounded by a high wall.
Passing through the gate, we come to a court, around which are the
school-rooms, the pharmacy, the quarters of the superior and other
monks; from this larger area we go to a smaller one immediately
in front of the church The church itself is about seventy feet
square, and the roof is supported by four very heavy piers or square
columns. These piers, and much of the walls, are covered with
tapestry hangings, with embroidery and paintings; and the whole
edifice, though not very large, has a fine, rich, and cheerful
appearance, as if arranged for a perpetual festival. As we enter
the church, immediately before us is a flight of fifteen very broad
steps, leading down to the shrine. At the foot of these stairs is a
vestibule, about twenty-five feet long by ten wide, and a low arch,
opening in the middle of this space, admits to the holy place. There
is a marble altar, and under the altar is a marble slab, four inches
above the floor; it has the Jerusalem cross in the centre, with
the Franciscan coat of arms on the right, and the sacred stigmata,
or five wounds of the crucified Saviour, on the left. This marble
marks the spot where the Blessed Virgin stood at the time of the
annunciation. On the back wall, under the altar, is the inscription,
"VERBUM CARO HIC FACTUM EST," (_Here the Word was made flesh_,)
the most wonderful and important inscription in the world. That at
Bethlehem, where it is written that "HERE, OF THE VIRGIN MARY, JESUS
CHRIST WAS BORN," could never have been engraved but for the event
commemorated in the words of the shrine at Nazareth. Above the altar
is a picture well painted and old, but spoiled by the flat gold
crowns which have been fastened to the canvas over the heads of the
Blessed Virgin and the angel. Below the table of the altar, and over
the marble slab, hang several silver lamps which burn continually.
Immediately behind this altar and picture are another altar and
picture, back to back with those of the shrine. The second altar has
the inscription, "HIC ERAT SUBDITUS ILLIS," (_Here He was subject to
them_.) Behind these, and reached by a narrow rock-hewn stairway, is
the kitchen of the Blessed Virgin, where the fireplace and chimney
are shown.
As we come into the church by the chief entrance, a most cheerful and
pleasant scene welcomes the pilgrim. The gay decorations, the many
paintings, the statues and silver lamps, with other objects, make a
contrast with the dreariness of the ride to Nazareth, which seems to
the Christian like a glimpse of heaven. He raises his eyes, and sees
the choir where the Franciscan monks chant their office. Here is an
altar with a large statue of the Blessed Virgin and the Infant Jesus,
surmounted by a canopy. There are two large organs in the choir,
one at the right, the other at the left. This choir is raised about
sixteen steps above the floor of the church, and is immediately over
the most holy place, of which it may be said to form the roof. As the
shrine is about fifteen steps below the level of the church floor,
the distance between the spot of the annunciation and the choir above
it is about thirty steps. It gives the idea of three churches--the
first being the main building, the second that of the holy place,
which is below, and the third that of the monks' choir, which is
immediately over the shrine. As we look down the broad stair which
leads to the shrine, we see that the walls are cased with marble and
adorned with paintings. Before us is the holy place, to which the
eye is at once drawn; but before we reach it, in the vestibule, on
the right and left hand, stand beautiful marble altars, each with a
painting over it. In the whole arrangement there is a dignity and
propriety which strike the pilgrim most favorably, and he recognizes
it as planned by men who had a vivid realization of the event which
is the glory of Nazareth. To the left of the altar of the shrine is
the upper two thirds of a large granite column suspended from the
roof, with a fragment of a marble column under it; though these are
both of dark stone, and of nearly the same color and size, it is easy
to note the difference in the material of which they are composed.
It was on Friday, April 6th, that I first said mass at the shrine of
the annunciation. The interest of this spot is very great, even when
compared with other places in Palestine; and I had looked forward,
with great hope and expectation, to the day when I would be permitted
to kneel and pray here. At last my wish was realized, and I offered
the holy sacrifice on the very spot where the incarnation of God took
place. By a concession of the holy see, the mass of the annunciation
may be said on this altar nearly every day in the year; so that the
pilgrim, coming at any season may have the consolation of being
present at the same mass as is said on the 25th of March. Of course,
every priest avails himself with eagerness of this privilege; and
no words can express the emotion of his soul as, when reading the
last gospel, in speaking the words ET VERBUM CARO FACTUM EST, he
kneels down on the very spot where that mystery took place, where the
incarnation of God began. For it was to Nazareth that God sent his
holy Archangel Gabriel:
"to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the
house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And the angel
being come in, said to her, Hail, full of grace, the Lord is
with thee: blessed art thou among women. And when she had
heard, she was troubled at his saying, and thought with herself
what manner of salutation this should be. And the angel said
to her, Fear not, Mary, for thou hast found grace with God.
Behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and shalt bring forth
a son: and thou shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great,
and shall be called the Son of the Most High: and the Lord
God shall give unto him the throne of David his father; and he
shall reign in the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom
there shall be no end. And Mary said to the angel, How shall
this be done, because I know not man? And the angel answering,
said to her: The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power
of the Most High shall overshadow thee; and therefore also the
Holy which shall be born of thee, shall be called the Son of
God.... And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it
done to me according to thy word. (St. Luke i.)
And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us." (St. John i.)
After having prayed a long time, prostrate at the shrine, I sat down
at the side of the broad flight of steps leading to the holy place,
and meditated for an hour. Before me was the spot where all these
things occurred, and where man's redemption was begun. It was easy
to go back one thousand eight hundred years, and picture the scene.
The lowly maiden in her humble home, engaged, it may have been, in
the ordinary occupations of the day, or perchance resting for a time
from them, and meditating on God, when suddenly the room was filled
with light, and the angel appeared and delivered his august message.
Then in the house which once stood here the child Jesus lived, and
grew in favor with God and man. He ran about the humble but sacred
home in his boyhood, and wandered among the hills that are so close
around Nazareth. Many a time did he go with Mary to the fountain when
she brought water for the use of the family. By her side he kept in
his early years, as children are wont to cling to their mothers. When
he had grown older, he helped Joseph in the work of carpentry, and
went with him as he journeyed to the various places where he found
work. No doubt the employment was humble, the tools rude and few; and
it is reasonable to suppose that such work as a humble carpenter
might find among poor villagers or fishermen at the Lake of Tiberias
was not of the most elegant and costly kind. Even to this day there
is great simplicity and rudeness in all the mechanic arts, which is
noticed by the traveller, and it must have been equally so in the
country places in the days of our Saviour.
Thus for thirty years did Jesus dwell in Nazareth, undistinguished
from others by any external appearance, and leading a hidden life of
contemplation and communing with his heavenly Father.
When his ministry had begun, after his baptism in the Jordan and his
temptation of forty days in the wilderness, he came to Nazareth, and
went into the synagogue, according to his custom, and read out of the
book which was handed to him the words of Isaias,
"The spirit of the Lord is upon me; wherefore he hath anointed
me to preach the Gospel to the poor. He hath sent me to heal
the contrite of heart, to preach deliverance to the captives,
and sight to the blind; to set at liberty them that are
bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day
of reward. And he began to say to them, This day is fulfilled
this Scripture in your ears."
When they had rejected his teaching, he went to Capernaum, on the
borders of the Sea of Galilee, fifteen miles east from Nazareth, and
the people there were astonished at his doctrine and the miracles
which he performed. Subsequently he visited Nazareth a second time,
and was taunted by the people of the place, who regarded him as only
one of their neighbors. They said, "Is not this the carpenter, the
son of Mary, the brother of James and Joseph, and of Jude and Simon?
are not also his sisters here with us? And they were scandalized in
regard of him." The greater portion of our Lord's life, during the
three following years, was passed in the neighborhood of the Lake of
Tiberias, or near Jerusalem.
Nazareth has one or two other places of interest, yet they are of
small note in comparison of the shrine of the annunciation. One of
these is the place where stood the workshop of Joseph; a chapel is
built here. Another is the rock called _Mensa Christi_, or Table of
Christ, which is venerated as the place where our Lord often ate his
food. It projects three feet above the ground, and is about twelve
feet long and eight feet wide. A new church is over it.
The hill back of Nazareth is always ascended by travellers for the
sake of the fine view which may be had there. The whole country
for miles around is visible--Mount Hermon, Mount Carmel, the
Mediterranean Sea, and the great plain of Esdrælon. Just around
Nazareth the hills are rather bare; but everywhere else they are
wooded, and sink down into green valleys. We see how the city lies
off all the great routes of travel in former days, and is shut up by
the hills, and thus _separated_ (as the name Nazareth implies) from
other places. Its isolated position, and the resulting obscurity, is
the reason why it was unknown to ancient writers, and there is no
mention made of it in the Old Testament. From the Gospel narrative we
learn that the contemptuous inquiry was made "Can any good thing come
out of Nazareth?" To this the Christian answers from the depth of his
soul, Yes! all good cometh thence. The Child of Nazareth has passed
from obscurity and a hidden life to a prominence which no description
can adequately portray. He who was conceived of the Virgin Mary in
this little village is our Lord and our God, and in him centre all
our hopes. He who condescended to be subject to Mary and Joseph in
Nazareth, is the King of kings and Lord of lords, and now and for
ever reigneth in the heaven which is his home.
THE YOUNG VERMONTERS.
CHAPTER XI.
PASTIMES AND PARTINGS.
In accordance with the teacher's announcement, the day following
Michael's return was given up to rejoicings, and Mr. Blair invited
the school to pass it at his place.
It was one of those golden days not so frequent in our autumnal
season as to lose the charm of novelty, or the full sense of their
value in redeeming its general sternness; and it seemed to the boys
as if nature herself shared in the universal delight. The spacious
ground encircling Mr. Blair's residence afforded ample scope for
their pastimes, and their dinner was served under the trees in the
yard.
To those who had known Michael Hennessy only as the thoughtless,
frolicsome boy, it did not seem possible that a few short weeks could
have wrought the change now apparent in him. The fiery trial through
which he had passed accomplished the work of time upon his character,
and he emerged from it purified and matured.
His face still wore the sunny smile that had made it a joy to all,
but the light which lingered upon it was chastened and subdued. His
manners still charmed by the warm, ingenuous frankness that made him
the village pet, but their former reckless gayety was sobered by the
spirit of piety, which had established its abode within his youthful
heart from the moment when the blessed hand of adversity opened wide
its portals, and prepared it to become thenceforth a chosen home of
the celestial guest.
He was more than ever the favorite of the boys, and the leader in
all their sports; but his devotion to study was more faithful, his
attention to every religious duty more regular, and his conduct under
all circumstances more exemplary than ever before.
Soon after his return, farmer Brown celebrated the event by inviting
the school--without any exceptions this time--to spend another day at
the farm, as the season for gathering nuts had arrived. Such a gay
time as they had! whisking the deep beds of fallen leaves about in
search for hidden treasures, and watching the squirrels gleaning in
the path from which they had thrown off nature's covering for stray
nuts, whose hiding places had thus been revealed.
The day passed delightfully, but not, like their former holidays, in
unalloyed and careless pleasure. The thought would intrude upon its
happiest moments, that their little band was soon to be broken up,
and that this was to be the last occasion upon which they would all
meet in the hey-day of boyish glee, to join in boyish pastimes.
For the change was now stealing upon them apace which presses closely
on the footsteps of boyhood--and from which our "young Vermonters"
were not to be exempted--when one and another must pass from its
arena, to enter upon a new stage of action and form new associations.
When the dear old school-house, with all the memories that were to
link it with the shifting scenes of each single life--to which it had
been the starting-point in quest of knowledge--was to be exchanged
for college halls, the office, the counter, or the farm, with all
their excitements, laborious duties, and temptations, and their weary
anxieties.
The next week after their visit to the farm, Frank Blair took his
leave of home and friends to enter the naval school at B----. Not
long after, George Wingate, Henry Howe, and Johnny Hart entered the
College of the Holy Cross. The same week, Patrick Casey was appointed
clerk in a railroad office, and Dennis Sullivan left to take his
place as clerk in a wholesale establishment in Boston.
Who shall say what pangs all these changes, so easily related, and
so much a matter of course in this changeful world, cost the young
exiles now banished from the sheltering bosom of home, and standing
for the first time face to face with the stern realities of life?
The homesick looking back to the dear and peaceful past, the timid,
shrinking glances into the dim vista of the dreaded future--the one
bathed in all the effulgence of morning, the other bearing already
upon its sombre wings foreshadowings of the night!
And who shall describe the loneliness of each home from which
the brightest, warmest ray of sunshine had been stricken, when
the school-boy with his "shining morning face" vanished from its
precincts, to return no more for ever with the light of his young
life upon his brow?
None but mothers can know the depth of the shadow that remains
to them in the place of their mirthful boys. But take courage,
ye mothers! Rest not in supine regrets and gentle memories, but
betake yourselves with renewed energy and diligence to the use of
the all-conquering weapon of prayer, for now more than ever do your
darlings need its aid. Remember what the holy bishop said to the
afflicted St. Monica in the olden time, "It cannot be that the child
of so many tears should perish." Let your sons, in the midst of
their temptations and trials, be shielded and sustained by the firm
assurance that their mothers are constantly lifting up pure hands and
fervent hearts to heaven in their behalf. So, following the example
of that saintly mother, may you hope to gain that mother's reward.
For it is true now as it was then, and will be unto the end of time,
that, "They who sow in tears shall reap in joy!"
Michael remained at home, pursuing his studies diligently until the
winter was far advanced, when his father was taken alarmingly ill,
and he was obliged to relinquish them and devote himself to his care,
and that of the family. He had long known that some trouble was
weighing upon his father, and he was now made acquainted with it.
When Mr. Hennessy first came to M----, he rented a very pretty place
just out of the village, to which they became so much attached that
he finally purchased it, and had from time to time been able to make
improvements and add little embellishments within and around the
premises, besides meeting the payments as they fell due. Latterly,
with failing health and an increasing family, he had been unable to
do more than support his household comfortably, and two payments
remained to be met; they were now both due, and his creditor
threatened to foreclose the mortgage upon the place, if they were
not promptly paid.
Michael was deeply distressed when the state of their affairs was
made known to him. The thought of losing their all, and the home
they so dearly loved, the scene of so many tranquil joys, weighed
heavily upon his young heart. He sought in fervent prayer the refuge
of the Catholic, commending himself and all his dear ones anew to the
protection of the Blessed Virgin Mother, and leaving all his troubles
at her feet. Suddenly it flashed upon his remembrance that Mr. Blair
had told him if he should ever need assistance or advice not to fail
of applying to him, and that he should consider it a favor if he
would do so. To him, therefore, he resolved to go at once, though it
was not without much of the old apprehension of his sternness that
he sought the office of that gentleman, mingled with uprisings of a
pride that rebelled against asking favors from one who had formerly
despised his people. For duty's sake, however, he mastered all these
feelings, and was received with the utmost kindness. With a faltering
voice he laid the whole case open to Mr. Blair, and concluded by
saying, "Now, sir, you see the sum due on the place is not a large
one, and if you feel disposed to advance it, I will guarantee the
payment of interest and principal as soon as I can leave my father
and get into a situation to earn it."
"What do you intend to do?" said Mr. Blair.
"I must seek a place as book-keeper or clerk in some establishment;
and will do so without delay."
"Do you prefer such a position to any other?" inquired his friend.
"I have," said Michael, blushing with bashful earnestness, "always
indulged the hope that I might be able to study law; but this must
now be relinquished," he added after a slight pause.
"Well, my young friend," said Mr. Blair kindly, "I will now tell you
what I think had better be done. I will raise this money for you,
and you may take your own time to pay it. I have no fears on that
score. I will see that matters in relation to the home are put upon
a safe footing without delay. You will take care of your father and
the family until he is sufficiently recovered to spare you, and then
you will enter my office as a student. I have felt very lonely since
Frank went away, and will be pleased to have his best friend with me.
Besides, you are an excellent and rapid penman; I need such a one in
my business just now very much, and can afford to pay you liberally
for your assistance. My old hands are getting too stiff to write
much, and my business is increasing. If this proposal suits you,
consider the matter settled for the present."
It need not be told how thankfully Michael accepted the offer, nor
what fervent thanksgivings were poured from pious hearts in that home
when the arrangement was made known.
Mr. Hennessy recovered rapidly when the pressure of adverse
circumstances and the fears of impending calamity were removed; and
Michael soon entered Mr. Blair's office as a student. Here his close
attention to business, his application to study, and his fidelity to
every duty, gained for him the highest esteem and confidence of his
superior, who would often exclaim to himself, "Oh! why could not my
boy have been such a one as this? With every obstacle removed from
his path and every encouragement offered, why would he persist in
casting all his advantages aside, to pursue a reckless career of
folly?"
And indeed he heard little that was encouraging from Frank in his
new position. He was so homesick, discontented, and dissatisfied
with everything as to unfit him for the studies and duties of the
school, the discipline and restraints of which were insupportably
irksome to him. But his father was only convinced that they were
remedies the more necessary to a restless spirit which chafed so
fiercely under them. His passion for mischief and fun continually
drew the chains he hated more closely around him, and involved
him daily in new difficulties. One circumstance alone--humanly
speaking--prevented him from falling into utter ruin. He had formed
an enthusiastic friendship for his sister Fanny's dearest friend,
the eldest daughter of Mrs. Plimpton, Julia Plimpton--one of those
gentle, lovely girls, who wield a controlling influence over such
impetuous, restless characters. He was in correspondence with her,
and to her he communicated all his troubles and his peevish, fretful
repinings, in perfect confidence, receiving just the advice he needed
from time to time to keep him from breaking rudely away from all
restraint.
CHAPTER XII.
DEVELOPMENTS.
Two years elapsed without any material changes in the circle to which
this narrative relates.
During this period, Miss Carlton, one of Miss Blair's best friends,
near her own age, and a lady of intelligence and wealth, with strong
philanthropic impulses, had set herself with great enthusiasm to
gather a large number of poor French Catholic children, who would
not attend the public schools, into a sort of boarding-school at
her own cottage on the confines of the village. She solicited aid
from Miss Blair in dressing her young wards suitably, and entered
zealously into the task of educating them, as a necessary prelude to
their conversion to Protestantism, which must inevitably follow. Miss
Blair willingly assisted her with funds, and the use of her needle
in preparing clothing; but could not be persuaded to go any further.
Miss Carlton at length becoming vexed and irritated by the cool
scepticism with which her efforts were regarded, insisted on knowing
the reason.
"I am sure it is not want of benevolence," said she; "for I have
known you too long and too well to doubt the kindness of your heart.
Do tell me, then, why you will persist in looking upon my exertions
with so much apathy?"
"Precisely because," said Miss Blair, laughing, "I once tried the
experiment myself, under as much more promising auspices as the
superior numbers and greater necessities of that class of children in
a city could furnish. My failure was more grand than yours will be,
because my operations were on a grander scale."
"But why must I of necessity fail?"
"Ah! there lies the mystery. I cannot tell you why; nor do I deny
but you may benefit them so far as learning to read and write, and
even some little smattering of further knowledge may go; but make
Protestants of them? Never! When you think you have secured them by
catching the unfledged brood and attaching them to the Protestant
cage by food and favors, just one chirp from the mother-bird, and
_Presto!_ your flock is gone! If you will take the pains to follow,
you will find them nestled under the parent wing and peeping out at
you so contentedly and complacently! I know, for I have tried it;
and am forced to laugh now when I think how provoked I was, and how
puzzled to account for the mysterious, irrepressible, and apparently
irresistible power that majestic mother exercised. Since I came
to this part of Vermont, my conviction of the futility of all such
attempts has been confirmed. There have been great rejoicings among
the Methodists and Baptists, at one time and another, over accessions
to their numbers from the ancient ark; but let a priest appear in
those localities and utter the rallying call of their church--away
scamper the converts, and their Protestant _confrères_ have seen the
last of them!"
As Mrs. Blair had intimated during the colloquy with Mrs. Plimpton,
her sister-in-law had become interested in the converts of M----
and in reading their books. She began listlessly, from a mere
willingness to hear what could be said on that side, and to see fair
play, perhaps unconsciously hoping to find some solution for that
"mysterious power" which so puzzled her. But the investigation thus
indolently opened soon awakened new ideas as to the importance of
issues which involved eternity. From that moment nothing could exceed
the fervent energy with which she followed up the subject, determined
to know and follow the truth, if it was to be found on earth. Her
labors resulted as all such labors honestly entered upon, diligently
pursued, and governed by the spirit of justice, must inevitably
result. She found herself safely sheltered under the wings of the
gentle mother whose loving attractions had formerly astonished her
ignorance. Her brother made no comments, but poor Mrs. Blair was
utterly disgusted.
Meanwhile her favorite niece--because Frank's favorite and petted
sister--Fanny was drawn by casually looking into the books which her
aunt was studying so closely to take a lively interest in the same
subject. But the reading of "prosy books of controversy," as she
called them, was an effort quite beyond her patience, so she would
seek the office occasionally and question Michael. He declined, as
far as he could in conscience, to assist her in the matter, thinking
that to do so would be in some sort a breach of the confidence
reposed in him by her father.
At length one day, when he had been even more provokingly indifferent
than usual, and pursued his writing diligently despite her
questioning, she exclaimed,
"I never did see such a vexatious fellow as you are! I can't imagine
what Frank could have seen in you to like so well. One might just
as well talk to a stick; there's nothing interesting or sociable
about you! I suppose you think you're going to keep me from being a
Catholic by your hateful ways; but you won't, I can tell you. I can
_read_, if you won't talk, only I _do_ hate the trouble." And she
departed, leaving him amused beyond measure at her vehemence.
She was engaged in a correspondence with Julia Plimpton, of the
frequent and confidential nature in which girls of that age are wont
to indulge, and of course opened her heart to her friend upon the
subject which now most interested her. Their letters were soon filled
with the discussion of religious questions, in which after a time
Mrs. Plimpton joined, expressing her surprise that so much could be
said in favor of a creed which she had always regarded as the height
of absurdity, and the last stronghold of bigotry, superstition, and
ignorance, in this progressive age.
At the stage of our narrative upon which this chapter opens,
Mr. Hennessy was one day looking over the columns of the Boston
_Pilot_--to which Mr. Sullivan was a subscriber--when his eye fell
upon the following paragraph:
"If Patrick Hennessy or any of his family, who landed in Boston
from the ship Hibernia in the summer of 18--, will call at
the _Pilot_ office, they will hear something greatly to their
advantage."
After consulting with Mrs. Hennessy, Michael, and Mr. Blair, he
decided to start for Boston without delay.
The editor of the _Pilot_, when found, asked him many questions as
to his place of residence in Ireland, the name of his wife, of the
priest who married them, of his other family connections, and where
he had lived since he came to America; all which being satisfactorily
answered, the following letter was put into his hands to read:
"SAN FRANCISCO, Sept. 8, 18--.
"TO THE EDITOR OF THE BOSTON PILOT:
"DEAR SIR: When I was on board the Golden City, bound for this
place early in the summer of 18--, the sailor on the 'look-out'
discovered an object floating at some distance astern, and
notified the captain, who ordered the boat manned to overhaul
it. The object proved to be a man lashed to a table and
apparently dead. They brought him to the vessel, where, after
a time, he began to show signs of life, and in a few hours was
able to give an account of himself. The Polar Queen, on which
he was a passenger, was struck by an iceberg in the night. At
the first shock he secured himself firmly to the table and
sprang overboard; after which he remembered nothing, and could
give no idea how long it was since the event, but supposed the
vessel went down with all on board, as she was badly shivered
and rapidly filling the last he knew of her.
"His name was Michael Hennessy, and he was a tradesman like
myself, and from the same county at home. He had a brother
Patrick, who was to sail for America the same year. The two
brothers married two sisters, by name Mary and Bridget Denver,
the year before. Michael married Bridget. They had no children
when Michael left home. There was great call for work at our
trades in San Francisco, and Michael came on here with me. As
soon as we reached this place, he wrote home to the parish
priest, Father O'Reilly, to have Patrick come to California,
sending money which I loaned him. He received answer that his
brother, with their two wives and Patrick's new-born infant,
left soon after he did on the Hibernia, bound for Boston. He
then applied to you, as you may remember, to get information
of them, if you could. In due course you informed him that
the Hibernia arrived safely at Boston; that you found the
people with whom they stopped, who stated that Michael's wife
and child died during a severe storm on the voyage out; that
Patrick stopped in Boston until he heard of the loss of the
Polar Queen with all on board, when he started for the western
country, and they had heard nothing from him since.
"Michael then sent notices to papers in all the western cities,
but could get no tidings from his brother. We continued to
work at our trades, and the master builder who employed us,
owning a deal of land near the city, paid us in city lots, on
which we built houses, to rent according as we could, when
work was scant. Rents were very high, for there was a great
rush to the city, and buildings scarce, and the city lots
went up in a way that would astonish the world. So Mike and I
found ourselves rich of a sudden; but he always uneasy about
his brother. At last, when he could stand the heavy heart no
longer, he determined to go in search of him. In case any thing
might happen him on his travels, he executed papers leaving
all he had with me in trust for his brother or family, should
they ever be found. Just when he was ready to start, he took
sick of a fever and died the fourth day, which was the 27th of
last month. I will do all in my power, as I promised him, to
find his brother if he is still living; and my request is that
you will help me. I have notices out through all the western
country. He left a large amount in gold on deposit, and a
still larger property in buildings and lots in the city. The
rents are accumulating on my hands, but I will make no further
investments until I know what will happen.
Yours respectfully,
"JAMES TRACY."
After making arrangements to communicate with Tracy through the
editor, who was to receive and forward drafts for him, Mr. Hennessy
set out for home.
The surprise of all upon hearing the news may be imagined.
After a long consultation with his wife, Mr. Hennessy sought Mr.
Blair, to whom he communicated the fact that the Michael of our
narrative was the son of his brother Michael; that their own baby
died in a fit on the night of Bridget's death, and they adopted the
little motherless one in its place, without saying any thing to their
companions, but intending to inform his brother of the fact when
they should meet. Subsequent events determined them to keep it still
concealed; but now that Michael was the rightful heir to all this
wealth, it must be revealed.
Mr. Blair urged that, as his brother left the property to him, it was
just as well to make no revelation on the subject; but Mr. Hennessy
insisted that his brother made that arrangement in ignorance of the
existence of his own child, and it would not be right for him to take
advantage of it, and, in fine, that he would have nothing to do with
the property. It was far more painful for him to give up his claim
upon Michael as his son, and he did not feel equal to doing it in
person. He therefore begged Mr. Blair to communicate these facts to
Michael for him.
That gentleman lost no time in fulfilling the commission, and Michael
was of course overwhelmed with amazement. He hastened to assure his
father that he would not consent to any release of claims on the
score of family ties, and they both went into a council with Mr.
Blair upon "the situation." Finally they determined that Michael
should transfer all the money to his father, and, retaining the real
estate in his own hands, go into the practice of law in San Francisco
himself. He at first proposed to have the family go with him to that
place; but they had lived so long in Vermont, and become so much
attached to M----, that they preferred not to leave.
Before Michael set out for California, he had a long conversation
with Mr. Blair, at the conclusion of which it was arranged that,
after he had established himself in his new home, and opened an
office there, he should come back, and if a certain young lady (who
was about to become a Catholic in "spite of him") could be persuaded
to accompany his return--as he had good reason to hope she would--his
next journey to that far off land would not be a solitary one.
CHAPTER XIII.
CONCLUSION.
During the progress of these events, the health of George Wingate had
been gradually failing, but so imperceptibly as to create no serious
alarm; and he could not be prevailed upon to abandon his studies, or
the hope that he would live to consecrate his young life to his God
in holy orders, until it was near its close. Henry Howe and Johnny
Hart devoted themselves tenderly to him, and watched his decline with
the grief which under such circumstances always attends friendships
created and cemented by religion. He began at length to fail so
rapidly that his family were sent for, and he never returned to the
home of his childhood, but sleeps in peace under the shadow of the
"Holy Cross" which he so dearly loved.
His mantle seemed to have fallen upon his devoted friend, Johnny
Hart, who in due course of time entered upon the vineyard from which
his beloved companion had been withdrawn while the dews of the
morning still lingered upon his head, and the labors of the day were
hardly begun.
Soon after the death of George, his oldest sister, Mary, joined the
Sisters of Charity.
In the same year, Henry Howe took his father's place in the
mercantile business, which was rapidly increasing in importance with
the growth of the village, and Dennis Sullivan went into partnership
with him.
After Michael reached San Francisco, he arranged his affairs, and
opened an office in one of the best locations in the city, without
delay. He found a home in James Tracy's house, and one of the best
friends in that worthy man, who took a pride and interest in the son
of his lamented friend scarcely less than that of a father.
Frank Blair became importunate in his solicitations for the hand of
Julia Plimpton. Her mother steadfastly declining to consent until
he should have established a character for sobriety and stability,
he became exasperated, and abruptly left the navy. His disconsolate
family could get no trace as to the course of his flight.
One day, as Michael Hennessy was passing down the street to his
office, he observed a young man walking rapidly in advance of him,
and, accidentally catching a side glimpse of his face, what was his
astonishment to recognize Frank Blair.
"Why Frank, my lad, where in the world did you come from?" he cried
out.
"Rather answer that question on your own account!" replied the
astonished Frank. "How in the world do you happen to be in San
Francisco?"
"If I could have seen you as I passed through New York, you would
have known all; but I could not find you, and had no time to spare
for a long search," said Michael. "It is a long story; so come with
me to the office, and you shall hear it."
When the friends were seated, Frank told Michael that he had left the
navy without a discharge, and shipped as seaman on board a vessel
bound for Panama; and that he supposed his friends were wild with
anxiety about him.
Michael communicated the details relating to his own affairs, with
which our readers are already acquainted. He then wrote to Mr.
Blair the story of Frank's arrival in safety, and that if he had no
objections Frank would study law with him in San Francisco. Upon
receiving the letter, Mr. Blair obtained an honorable discharge for
his son from the navy, and consented to his remaining with Michael.
In the course of time he went into partnership with his friend--now
his brother-in-law--who has become one of the most celebrated
criminal lawyers in that city.
Two years after the marriage of Michael, Frank was permitted to claim
the hand of Julia Plimpton. At the same time, Henry Howe was married
to Mrs. Plimpton's youngest daughter, Mary, and her mother came to
live with them.
Mrs. Plimpton's son Charles is a lawyer in Massachusetts, and it is
said he is coming for Lucy Wingate soon.
The people of M----, having noticed the frequent visits of Dennis
Sullivan and Patrick Casey at Mr. Hennessy's, and that two beautiful
cottages are building on lots purchased by that gentleman each side
of his own, have settled the question that two more weddings are soon
to take place in M----, but have not yet "named the day."
READING HOMER.
How my dreamy childhood pondered
On that old heroic tongue!
Then, the dream-land where I wandered
Was the Olympus Homer sung;
The cloud-cleaving peaks that trembled
When the mighty gods assembled.
Dazzled saw I blue-eyed Pallas
Throned by Zeus on golden seat,
Sipped from Hebe's nectar chalice,
Plucked Cythera's roses sweet--
Breathless watched, as from those portals
Battleward clashed down the immortals.
Naiads from Scamander's fountain
Lifted to my lips the cup;
Oreads skimming Hæmus' mountain
To the tryst-place caught me up;
Gleamed athwart the forest's grace
The white light of Dian's face.