A Youth Trained in the Way He Should Walk.
To-morrow--
'Tis a period nowhere to be found
In all the hoary registers of time,
Unless, perchance, in the fool's calendar.
Wisdom disdains the word, nor holds society
With those who own it.
'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father;
Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless
As the fantastic visions of the evening.
--Coulton.
Like one of those rare and beautiful flowers found on the mountain-side
in fellowship with plants of inferior beauty, the heir of the
Cassier family is a strange exception of heroic virtue in the midst
of a school of seduction. The saints were never exotics in their own
circle. Their early histories are filled with sad records confirming
the prophecy of our blessed Lord: "The world will hate you because
it loves not me."
The student of hagiology recalls with a sight the touching fate of
a Dympna who was the martyred victim of a father's impiety; of a
Stanislaus pursued by brothers who thirsted for his blood; of a Damian
who nearly starved under his stepfather's cruelty; of martyrs led to
the criminal stone for decapitation by inhuman parents.
Louis Marie, the eldest of Cassier's children, was of a naturally good
disposition. Through the solicitations of his mother and the guidance
of an unseen Providence that watched over his youth, he was early
sent to the care of the Jesuits. Under the direction of the holy and
sainted members of this order he soon gave hope of a religious and
virtuous manhood. Away from the scoffs of an unbelieving father and
the weakening seductions of pleasure, he opened his generous soul to
those salutary impressions of virtue which draw the soul to God and
enable it to despise the frivolities of life.
The vacation, to other youths a time of pleasure, to Louis was tedious.
Though passionately attached to his mother, yet the impious and often
blasphemous remarks of his father chilled his heart; the levity with
which his sisters ridiculed his piety was very disagreeable; hence,
under the guidance of a supernatural call to grace, he longed to be
back with the kind fathers, where the quiet joys of study and solitude
far outweighed the short-lived excitement called pleasure by his
worldly sisters. This religious tendency found at last its consummation
in an act of heroic self-denial which leads us to scenes of touching
interest on the threshold of this extraordinary historical drama.
At the time our narrative commences Louis was seriously meditating
his flight from home and the world to bury himself in some cloister
of religion. His studies of philosophy and history had convinced
him of the immortality of the soul and the vanity of all human
greatness. In his frequent meditations he became more and more
attracted towards the only lasting, imperishable Good which the soul
will one day find in its possession. "Made for God!" he would say to
himself, "my soul is borne with an impetuous impulse towards him; like
the dove sent from the ark, it floats over the vast waters, and seeks
in vain a resting place for its wearied wing; it must return again to
the ark."
The history of the great ones of the world produced a deep impression
on Louis' mind. Emblazoned on the annals of the past he read the
names of great men who played their part for a brief hour on the stage
of life. They grasped for a moment the gilded bubble of wealth, of
glory, and power; but scarcely had they raised the cup of joy to their
lips when it was dashed from them by some stroke of misfortune or
death. The pageant of pride, the tinsel of glory, were not more
lasting than the fantastic castles that are built in the luminous
clouds that hang around the sunset.
At college Louis was called on with his companions to write a thesis
on the downfall of Marius. Nothing more congenial to his convictions
or more encouraging to the deep resolution growing in his heart could
be selected. The picture he drew from the sad history of the
conqueror of the Cimbri was long remembered among his school companions.
Marius was seven times Consul of Rome; in the hapless day of his
ascendancy he threatened to stain three-fourths of the empire with
human blood. Blasted in his golden dream of ambition, driven into
exile by victorious enemies, he was cast by a storm on the shores of
Africa, homeless and friendless; in cold and hunger he sought shelter
amidst the ruins of Carthage. Carthage, whose fallen towers lay in
crumbling masses around him, was once the rival city of imperial Rome
herself, and, under the able leadership of Hannibal, threatened to
wrest from the queen of the Seven Hills the rule of the world. Now
its streets are covered with grass; the wild scream of the bird of
solitude and the moanings of the night-owl mingle with the sobs of
a fallen demigod who once made the earth shake under his tyranny.
Louis read of the facts and sayings that doled out the sad tale of
disappointment felt by those who seemed to possess all that the
wildest ambition could dream of.
"Yesterday the world was not large enough for him," said a sage on the
death of Alexander the Great; "to-day he is content with six feet
of earth."
"What a miserable tomb is erected to the man that once had temples
erected to his honor!" sighed a philosopher on viewing a mean monument
on the sea-shore erected to the great Pompey, who could raise armies
by stamping his feet.
"This is all the great Saladin brings to the grave," was announced by
a courier who carried the great ruler's winding-sheet before him to
the grave.
"Would I had been a poor lay brother," cried out the dying Philip II.
of Spain, "washing the plates in some obscure monastery, rather than
have borne the crown of Spain!"
That which took most effect on the mind of Louis was the eloquence of
Ignatius when he met the young Xavier in the streets of Paris. "And
then?" asked by another saint of an ambitious youth, did not lose
its force with the holy youth who found himself, by some freak of
blind fortune heir to one of the millionaires of the French Capital.
Louis, like St. Ignatius, would often stray to a shady corner of the
garden, and there, with eyes fixed on the blue vault of heaven, he
would sigh: "Oh! quam sordet tellus dum coelum aspicio"--"How vile
is earth whilst I look on heaven!"
One evening Louis had wandered into the garden to give full vent to
a flood of thought that urged him on to give immediate answer to the
calls of grace. God was pleased to pour additional light on his soul;
and grace urged the immediate execution of his generous resolutions.
That very morning the angry temper of his father and the bitter
sarcasms against the faith Louis loved had embittered everything around
his home. In tears, but with the fearless ABANDON of the true call,
he resolved to quit his father's home that very night, and to break
his purpose to his mother. She was the only one he really loved,
and in wounding her tender heart was the hardest part of the sacrifice.
In filial deference he prepared his mind to break the matter to his
kind-hearted mother as gently as he could. He would submit the
resolution to our Blessed Lord in the most Holy Sacrament.
Whilst going out to the venerable church of Notre Dame, a beautiful
caleche is at the door, and two young girls, dressed in extravagant
richness, are hurrying off to the fashionable rendezvous of the city;
mildly refusing the invitation to accompany them, he hastens to
accomplish the vows he has just taken before the altar.
Leaving Louis to his devotions, we pause to catch a glimpse of the
lovely girls who see happiness in another but less successful manner.
The reader must know those interesting children bursting like fragrant
flowers into the bloom of their maidenhood; they are the sisters of
Louis, Alvira and Aloysia. Read those traits of innocence, of
character, of future promise; treasure the beautiful picture for future
reference; they are the heroines of our story.