In Which St. Catharine Applies What
She Has Written Of The Souls In
Purgatory To What She Has Felt
And Experienced In Her Own Soul.
My own soul has experienced the same state of purification as
that of the souls in purgatory--especially within two years--and
each day I see and feel this more clearly. My soul remains in the
body as in a purgatory, but only in such a degree of suffering as
the body can endure without dying. And this suffering will go on
increasing by degrees till the body is no longer able to support
it, and will really die.
My mind has become unused to all things, even spiritual, which
could refresh it, such as joy, pleasure, or consolation. It is no
longer able, by will, understanding, or memory, to relish
anything, whether of a temporal or spiritual nature, so that I
can say one thing pleases me more than another.
My soul has been so besieged, as it were, that by degrees it has
been deprived of all that could refresh me spiritually or
corporally. Even this privation makes me feel the power these
things have of nourishing and refreshing me; but the soul,
conscious of this power, loathes and abhors them to such a degree
that they have ceased for ever to tempt me.
For it is an instinct of the soul to strive to overcome every
obstacle to its perfection--an instinct so cruelly exacting that
it would, as it were, allow itself to be cast into hell to
achieve its object. It goes on then depriving itself of
everything in which the inner man can delight, and this with so
much subtlety that the slightest imperfection is noted and
detested.
The outer man, being no longer sustained by the consolations of
the soul, suffers to such a degree that, humanly speaking, it can
find nothing on earth to sustain it. There remains for it no
other consolation than God, who ordereth all these things in
infinite mercy and love, for the satisfaction of his justice.
This view inspires me with great peace and joy, which,
nevertheless, do net diminish the violence of my sufferings; but
no pain could be severe enough to induce me to deviate in the
least from the order of things established by God.
{278}
Nor would I leave this prison till the Lord hath accomplished his
designs upon me. My peace consists in satisfying the justice of
God, and I could find no torment greater than in deviating from
his ordinance, so perfectly just and good does it seem to me.
I see--I feel, as it were--all the things I have here related;
but I find no words to express my meaning suitably as to what I
have here written. I have felt its operation in my own soul,
which has given me the necessary knowledge for writing about it.
The prison in which I seem to be is the world; the chain that
binds me therein is the body. And the soul, illuminated by grace,
recognizes the importance of the obstacles which hinder it from
attaining its true end. This causes great grief to the soul, on
account of its extreme sensibility. Nevertheless, it receives,
through the pure grace of God, a certain impress of dignity,
which not only assimilates it to God, but renders it in a manner
one with him by a participation of his goodness. And, as it is
impossible for God to suffer, so the soul which lives in union
with him becomes impassible, and the more complete this union the
more it shares in the divine attributes.
But the delay of this union causes an intolerable suffering in
the soul. And this suffering and this delay make it different
from what it was at its creation. God, by his grace, makes known
to it its original condition. Without the power of returning to
it, and yet feeling itself adapted to that condition, it remains
in a state of suffering proportionate to its love for God. This
love increases with the soul's knowledge of God, and its
knowledge increases in the same ratio as the soul is purified
from sin. Thus this delay becomes more and more intolerable,
because the soul, entirely absorbed in God, has nothing more to
hinder it from truly knowing him.
The man who prefers to suffer death rather than offend God is not
the less fully alive to its pangs, but the divine grace inspires
him with a fervor which makes him think more of the honor of God
than the life of the body. It is the same with the soul that
knows the will of God. It regards that as of infinitely more
importance than all interior or exterior sufferings whatever,
however terrible they may be; for the Lord who worketh in it
surpasses all that can be felt or imagined. The result is that
the slightest hold of God upon the soul keeps it so united to his
supreme will that everything else is esteemed as nothing. The
soul thus loses all consideration of self. It becomes so
regardless of pain that it does not speak of it or even feel it.
It is conscious of its real condition for one moment only--as has
been said before--when passing from this life to the next.
I will only add, in conclusion: let us become thoroughly
impressed with the fact that God, at once good and powerful, has
created purgatory for the purification of man, wherein is
consumed and annihilated all that he is by nature.
----------
{279}
The Charities of New York.
If we recur again to a subject on which we have two or three
times already addressed the readers of _The Catholic World_,
it is because we are so deeply impressed with its importance, and
because we are persuaded that in any matter which so highly
concerns the Catholic cause all our friends must be heartily
interested. The generosity of Catholics toward their church is
almost proverbial. They give more to religion than any other
denomination; they give more liberally in proportion to their
means; and they give spontaneously. And nowhere is their
generosity more strikingly shown than in the great cities of
America, where they have built so many scores of costly churches,
and raised up convents and orphan asylums, and where they have
given almost every parish its free school, though the law has
compelled them likewise to pay taxes for the support of
common-schools to which they cannot in conscience entrust their
children. Here, in New York City, we have had a particularly
heavy task to perform. As this is the landing-place of most of
the Catholic immigrants, besides being the chief city and
business centre of the country, the growth of the Catholic
population has been especially rapid, and it has grown in
principal measure by the influx of the poorer classes, who, while
they stand in greatest need of the help of the Church, are able
to do least for its support. It is a notorious fact that, while a
large proportion of the more thrifty immigrants move out to the
West, and help to build up Catholicism in our new States and
territories, the destitute and shiftless almost invariably remain
in the large cities. Hence, the growth in the material resources
of the Church in New York does not keep pace with the growth in
its numbers. The well-to-do immigrants who have settled here, and
the American-born Catholics, children of the last generation of
settlers, or else converts from Protestantism, have a task of
peculiar difficulty, as they must provide not only for the
natural increase in their own numbers, but for the spiritual
wants of their poorer brethren, who have no means of providing
for themselves. And it is a task which seems to grow harder and
harder every year. The congregations increase much faster than
the churches. Children multiply faster than the schools. With all
the unremitting labors of our successive bishops and archbishops,
and all the untiring exertions of our zealous priests, there are
not yet churches enough in New York City.
We must remember this peculiar condition of our Church when we
undertake to compare Catholic with Protestant charities. The
noblest work of benevolence is that which assists our neighbor to
save his soul; and Catholics understand perfectly well that they
can make no better disposition of their alms than in contributing
to supply the poor with opportunities of hearing Mass, receiving
the sacraments, and learning the principles and precepts of their
faith. Hence, their liberality has been directed first toward the
building of churches and the education of priests, and next
toward the support of Catholic schools.
{280}
While there was so much to be done in these directions, they felt
comparatively little disposition to spare either money or
attention in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, or nursing
the sick. Of these corporal works of mercy they have, indeed,
done much in proportion to their means; but they have, very
rightly, thought more of feeding the hungry soul than the hungry
stomach, more of curing the sick heart than the wounded body.
While Catholics have thus been so much occupied in looking after
the things of God, that they have been unable to devote more than
an ordinary amount of care to the physical wants of God's
unfortunate children, the case with Protestants has been very
different. They are in no want of churches; they have more
already than they know how to fill. They need no free-schools,
for the State system of education satisfies all their
requirements. They have abundant wealth, and are willing to
devote a share of it to benevolent purposes. In the majority of
cases we believe that they give to such enterprises out of the
best religious motives; for we have no patience with the
narrowness of mind which suspects the disinterestedness of all
Protestant charity, and seems to imagine that no man who is so
unfortunate as to be a heretic can possibly do a good deed from a
good impulse. Many Protestant benevolent institutions are
maintained, no doubt, for the purpose of bribing poor destitute
Catholics to abandon their faith; but all are not. Protestants
are doing a great deal in the way of genuine beneficence; and it
is more becoming, as well as more politic, for us to frankly
recognize and imitate whatever praiseworthy actions they perform,
than to inquire too closely and suspiciously into their ulterior
motives.
A book which has recently been published in New York puts us in a
position to compare, with very little trouble, the work
accomplished by Protestants and Catholics in the way of organized
charity in this city. Its title is, _The Charities of New York,
Brooklyn, and Staten Island_, by Henry J. Cammann and Hugh N.
Camp. (Octavo, pp. 597. Hurd & Houghton.) The authors have had
much to do with various institutions of benevolence--principally,
we believe, with those connected with the Protestant Episcopal
denomination; and their purpose in preparing this volume was to
give a brief history and description of all the organized private
charities of New York and its suburbs, partly to show what has
been done for the relief of suffering humanity, and partly to
guide alms-givers in making an intelligent disposition of their
liberality. They seem to have performed their task with care and
impartiality, permitting each institution to speak for itself
through one of its officers or special friends, or in an official
report, and making no attempt to compare the number and
efficiency of the establishments of different faiths. A
conscientious desire to be just toward Catholic, Protestant, and
Jew is apparent throughout. The record is not a complete one; but
the deficiency, we have reason to believe, is the consequence, in
chief measure, of the neglect or unwillingness of the proper
persons to furnish the requisite information. We have supplied
these omissions as far as possible, but the story is not yet told
in full; though for purposes of comparison the table which we
give below is probably sufficient. We have added several
important societies and institutions which are not included in
the book, namely, the New York Prison Association, St. Stephen's
Home, St. Francis' German Hospital, the Society of St. Vincent de
Paul, and some others; and we have omitted all which are
supported entirely, or almost entirely, by appropriations from
the city or State, such as Bellevue Hospital, the New York Blind
Asylum, etc., as well as those which do not properly belong to
New York City.
{281}
The figures represent the number of persons who have obtained aid
of shelter from these various organizations during the past year.
The admirable Mission-House in St. James' parish has gone into
operation since last year, and therefore cannot be included in
the table.
CATHOLIC.
1. St. Vincent's Hospital, 832
2. St. Francis's German Hospital, 592
3. St. Stephen's Home for Destitute Little Girls, 100
4. St. Patrick's Male Orphan Asylum, 550
5. St. Patrick's Female Orphan Asylum, 390
6. St. Joseph's Orphan Asylum, 150
7. St. Vincent's Orphan Asylum, 85
8. House of the Good Shepherd, 500
9. Institution of Mercy, 2845
10. St. Vincent de Paul Society, [Footnote 121] ----
Total 6044
[Footnote 121: Lack of information obliges us to leave several
blanks in the above table, where figures should appear.]
PROTESTANT AND JEWISH.
1. St. Luke's Hospital 1027
2. Society for the Relief of the Ruptured and Crippled, 1684
3. Women's Hospital, 189
4. German Hospital and Dispensary, ----
5. Eye and Ear Infirmary, 8038
6. Mount Sinai Hospital, 1028
7. Infirmary for Women and Children, 137
8. Nursery and Child's Hospital 572
9. Leake and Watts Orphan House, 100
10. St. Luke's Home for Indigent Christian Females, 31
11. American Female Guardian Society and Home for the Friendless, 5033
12. P. E. House of Mercy, 112
13. Orphan Asylum, 186
14. Colored Orphan Asylum, 254
15. Orphan Home and Asylum of the Protestant Episcopal Church, 158
16. Society for the Relief of Half-Orphan and Destitute Children 230
17. Hebrew Benevolent and Orphan Asylum Society 150
18. Five Points House of Industry, 1000
19. The Sheltering Arms, 157
20. Children's Aid Society, 8192
21. Five Points Mission ----
22. Association for the Relief of
Respectable Aged Indigent Females, 79
23. Magdalen Society, 37
24. Ladies' Union Aid Society, 65
25. Colored Home 800
26. Union Home and School for Children of
Volunteer Soldiers and Sailors, 330
27. Asylum for Lying-in Women, 395
28. Women's Prison Association, 350
29. New-York Prison Association ----
30. Presbyterian Home for Aged Women, 22
31. Society for the Relief of Poor Widows with small Children, ----
32. Howard Mission and Home for Little Wanderers, 100
33. Working-Women's Protective Union, ----
34. Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor, ----
35. The Home, in West-Houston street, 112
36. Samaritan Home for the Aged, ----
37. Protestant Episcopal City Mission, ----
38. Working-Woman's Home, 120
39. Ladies' Christian Union, 150
40. House and School of Industry, 102
Total, 31,860
This is not a pleasing comparison. Out of fifty institutions here
enumerated, only ten belong to us. Out of 37,904 persons annually
relieved by the fifty charities, our share is only 6044. The case
is not so bad, however, as it appears on first inspection. Our
Sisters of Charity and Mercy perform an immense amount of
benevolent work outside of their own houses and asylums, nursing
the sick, consoling the afflicted, watching in public hospitals,
feeding the hungry, and visiting the prisoner; work which cannot
be measured by figures, because there is no record of it except
in heaven. Benevolent labor of the kind to which our sisterhoods
devote themselves is undertaken by various of the non-Catholic
organizations enumerated in the above table, and largely
increases their apparent predominance over our own
establishments, because they sum up in statistical form what is
done, and we do not. Then again, several of the charities set
down as Protestant are entirely unsectarian in their character,
and we dare say draw a fair proportion of their support from
Catholic sources. Not so bad as it seems, we say; yet surely bad
enough.
{282}
Perhaps we ought not even to claim credit for what the
sisterhoods do; for theirs are in reality labors of individual
benevolence, and the Catholic community at large shares little or
nothing of the expense, the trouble, or the merit of them. The
Catholics of New York are supposed to number four hundred
thousand--nearly half the population of the city--and it is
notorious that they comprise a great deal more than half the
pauper population. Are we doing a fair proportion of the work of
taking care of our poor? Moreover, pauperism increases _ten
times as fast_ as the whole population. The growth of the
entire number of inhabitants in thirty-four years has been ninety
per cent; the increase in the number of those receiving
charitable relief has been during the same period no less than
nine hundred per cent. What provision are we making to meet the
terrible responsibility which this state of society entails?
We can hardly question that the time has come when the physical
wants of these unfortunate classes should awaken in us serious
consideration. We have done well to look so carefully after the
building of churches, and of course we must not relax our efforts
or check our generosity in the slightest degree on account of
these additional calls upon us. We must work also for our schools
as we have never worked before. Systems of education all around
us are daily improving, and Catholic schools must not be left
behind. Perhaps it may be found possible to make some arrangement
by which we can be relieved of the disadvantage under which we
now rest. Catholics and Protestants should have but one and the
same end in view in the education of the young; and we are not
without hope that the love of fair play which belongs to the
American people will enable us in time to compose the old
school-quarrel, which has been such an injury to the community.
How this may be done, it would lead us far from our present
subject to consider. We trust it will be done some day, but
meanwhile our church schools have a right to the most generous
support. Churches and schools must come first; but when we have
given them all they need, we are not to stop there. Protestants
are fully awake to the danger which threatens the public welfare
from this rapid increase of a destitute class, and are working
hard to effect a reform. If we do not take care of our own poor,
they will not only provide for their physical wants, but will
soon acquire charge of their souls. Such institutions as the Five
Points Mission, the Howard Mission, the Children's Aid Society,
the Association for Improving the Condition of the Poor, however
honestly they may be conducted, are powerful engines of
proselytism. Their managers may be actuated by the most
disinterested benevolence, they may use none but legitimate means
of influence; but is it any wonder that they draw many Catholics,
especially children, away from the faith, when we let them have
the field so completely to themselves? Against the Association
for Improving the Condition of the Poor, we can set off, indeed,
our noble Society of St. Vincent de Paul, though its resources
are far smaller than they should be; but to take the place of the
three other important charities mentioned above, we Catholics can
show little or nothing.
First, we ought to look after the children. The adult sick and
suffering are in less spiritual danger; for in most of the
hospitals, except those of a strictly denominational character,
they can enjoy the visits of priests and sisters. For the
destitute who are strong enough to work we can offer no better
resource than that which the Citizens' Association is now
striving to afford in the organization of a Labor Bureau, by
which the superfluous hands of the city may be distributed among
the farming regions, where labor is badly needed.
{283}
Sectarianism appears to have nothing to do with this enterprise,
and it offers relief in the best possible way, by enabling the
poor not to eat the bread of idleness, but to earn an honest
living. For the aged and friendless, who are past work and have
no provision for the sunset of life, we still have no asylums;
but their claims must be postponed until those of the children
are satisfied. We are told that our city contains no fewer than
40,000 vagrant and destitute children. What a fearful seed of
crime and misery this sad multitude constitutes, growing up in
every kind of ignorance and vice, and ripening for the prisons!
What are we doing for them? We have orphan asylums; but most of
these children are not orphans, and even if they were, the
asylums have not room for a tithe of them. We have the
Protectory, at Westchester; but that is only for young criminals,
who must be committed on a magistrate's warrant, and must,
moreover, be the children of Catholic parents. Now, thousands of
these young vagrants have never yet fallen within the grasp of
the law; thousands are the children of no faith whatever, and, if
brought before a justice, would have to be sent to the Protestant
instead of the Catholic asylum. And, even if all these children
could be brought under the control of our Protectory Association,
twenty such asylums as the excellent one at Westchester would not
hold them. No! there is much for us yet to do; there are
thousands of poor little children upon whom Catholic charity has
not yet laid a finger.
We spoke, in a former number of _The Catholic World_, of the
noble mission-school which the zeal and perseverance of one good
priest has founded in St. James's parish in this city. If almost
every church in New York were able to build an institution of a
similar kind, we might rest satisfied; but what is one
mission-school among 40,000 children? What can one over-worked
clergyman do toward performing a task which is the duty of the
entire Catholic community? It is a sad and humiliating thing to
confess; but Protestants seem to appreciate the claim which these
vagrant children have upon the public much better than we do. The
Protestants are not idle: they have their Refuges, their
Industrial Schools, their "Homes," their missionaries, right in
the heart of the vagabond population; they spare neither trouble
nor money to catch these souls; and we are ashamed to say they
capture a great many who are rightfully our charges. If we let
this continue, will not God have a terrible account to exact of
us some day?
We are gratified to know that what we have heretofore said on
this subject has not been without its effect. There are some good
brethren who seem to believe that it is the duty of all Catholic
writers to defend those of the faith from every aspersion, to
cover up all their defects, to excuse all their wrong-doings, to
hold them up as perfect models of the Christian life, and to
ignore or decry every good work undertaken by heretics. Such as
these were offended at the account we gave of the Howard Mission,
and similar Protestant institutions. But others have listened to
us in a more sensible frame of mind, have acknowledged the
justice of our remarks, and have offered to contribute their
purses whenever an effort is made to supply the want we have
indicated. Made it will be and must be, before long. Now, who
will make it?
{284}
We had written thus far, when we received an unexpected answer to
our question in the following letter from a charitable Catholic
lady:
To The Editor Of _The Catholic World_:
Rev. Father:
The thought of doing something for the neglected children of
New York prompts me to write to you. Since the moment that I
read the letter that you published in _The Catholic
World_, they have scarcely been out of my mind. I have
offered up all my prayers and communions for them, and I have
prayed especially for them every day. I had no thought that I
could do anything else, but sometimes I think that, if all
should content themselves with praying, there would be nothing
done. I am afraid I cannot do much, for I do not know how to
begin, and I have so little confidence and I know so few
people. But I felt as if I could not pray any more without
trying to do something also. Perhaps the work could be begun by
an appeal something like the following:
To Catholic Mothers.
"Of forty thousand vagrant children in New York we cannot
doubt that far more than one half have inherited the Catholic
faith."--_Catholic World_ for Aug. 1868.
More than twenty thousand Catholic children in New York,
homeless, uncared for, ignorant, and abandoned! Can we
Catholic mothers think of this and sit quietly in our homes
with our little ones around us? Can we shut from our ears
their cries of sorrow, from our eyes their little forms
trembling with cold and hunger, or from our hearts the
thought of their desolation? No, we cannot, and we would not;
for is it not most especially our right, our duty, and our
privilege to do for them? Our priests are overworked, they
cannot do everything; let us, then, beg their blessing and
begin this noble undertaking. We have not much to do, only to
prepare the way. The Sisters of Charity or Mercy are ready
and longing to care for these little desolate ones. We have
only to put the means in their hands. Already a Catholic lady
of New York has given one thousand dollars for this end, and
we have only to follow her as far as we are able. I think ten
others can be found in our city to imitate her example. If we
can, let us give largely, for it is but lending to the Lord;
if we have but little, let us give of that, not forgetting
that the widow's mite was more than all else cast into the
treasury. Shall we let the snows of another winter find these
little ones still unclothed and unsheltered; shall we let
their souls perish here in the midst of churches and altars,
while our priests and missionaries in distant lands are
shedding their blood for the heathen? Let us Christian
mothers begin our work earnestly, let us pray and labor for
these little ones; they are here in our midst, and before God
we are responsible for them.
Respectfully, ----
Our correspondent, we believe, has gone to work in the right way,
and, unless we greatly misjudge the Catholic ladies of New York,
her appeal will be heard. The best plan, we think, would be to
establish, in the heart of the poorer quarters of the city, a
mission-house under the charge of Sisters of Charity, or Sisters
of Mercy, who should make it their whole business to visit the
destitute in their homes, teach them how to lead decent lives,
see that their children were brought into Sunday and day-schools,
that the whole family went to mass and confession, and that the
children received proper care at home. It is much better to
persuade parents to train up their offspring properly than to
take the children out of their hands and rear them in
mission-houses and asylums. The family relation ought to be
rigidly respected; for God's plan of education is a good deal
better than anything we can invent in place of it. For homeless
and orphan children, the Sisters might see that admission was
procured into the Catholic establishments already provided for
those classes; for the sick and the starving they would ask
relief from the charitable throughout the city, and whatever we
placed in their hands we might be sure would be judiciously
distributed.
{285}
There are generous Catholic women enough in New York to the
foundation of such a house, and provide for the support of a
small community to take charge of it; and there are many who
would highly value the privilege of co-operating with the Sisters
in their holy work. Let them come forth, effect an organization
under the sanction of the ecclesiastical authority of the
diocese, begin at once to raise the money required, and a great
undertaking, the parent of many others, will be effected. When we
once get into the way of practical benevolence, we shall be
surprised to see how easily one foundation will follow another,
and how the habit of alms-deeds will become so fixed that it will
seem easier and more natural to give than to refrain from giving.
----------
New Publications.
Symbolism; or, Exposition of the Doctrinal Differences between
Catholics and Protestants, as evidenced by their Symbolical
Writings.
By John A. Moehler, D.D.
Translated from the German, with a Memoir of the Author,
preceded by an Historical Sketch of the state of Protestantism
and Catholicism in Germany for the last hundred years.
By J. B. Robertson.
New edition, revised and annotated by the Translator.
One vol. 8vo, pp. 504,
New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1868.
The Symbolism of Dr. Möhler is, perhaps, the most remarkable
polemical work which has appeared since the days of Bellarmine
and Bossuet. Its influence in Germany has been extraordinary, and
the translation by Mr. Robertson has exerted an influence of
similar importance in Great Britain and the United States, as
well as in every part of the world where English is spoken. The
late illustrious convert from the Protestant Episcopal hierarchy,
Dr. Ives, was greatly indebted to this book for the convictions
which brought him into the Church, and many others might
doubtless say the same of themselves. It may be well to say, for
the benefit of non-professional readers, that "Symbolism" in
German phraseology means the exposition of symbols of faith or
authorized formularies of doctrines, and that this work is a
thorough discussion of the dogmatic differences between the
Catholic Church and the principal Protestant denominations. The
present edition is a very convenient one, in one volume, neatly
executed and well printed. We cannot too earnestly recommend to
our intelligent readers, who desire thorough and solid
information on the great topics of Catholic doctrine, to study
carefully this great masterpiece of learning and thought.
----
The Pope And The Church Considered In Their Mutual Relations
With Reference To The Errors Of The High Church Party In
England.
By the Rev. Paul Bottalla, S.J.,
Professor of Theology in St. Beuno's College, North Wales.
Part I. The Supreme Authority of the Pope.
London: Burns, Gates & Co. 1868.
The Apostolical And Infallible Authority Of The Pope.
By F. X. Weninger, D.D., S.J.
New York: Sadlier. Cincinnati: John P. Walsh. 1868.
The first named of these two works is one of the very best and
most learned treatises on the subject discussed which has
appeared in the English language, and will prove an invaluable
addition to every clergyman's or educated layman's library. It
is, moreover, of very moderate size, and written with remarkable
logical terseness and lucidness of style and order.
{286}
The second work also contains a valuable and extensive collection
of authorities and testimonies to the supreme teaching authority
of the Holy See, and a _résumé_ of the arguments usually
given by theologians in support of the author's thesis. The
moderate and gentle spirit in which the venerated author speaks
of the adherents of another school of Catholic theologians is
especially commendable and worthy of imitation, particularly as
we are now awaiting the assembling of an Ecumenical Council,
which will doubtless decide all questions heretofore in
controversy in regard to which the good of the Church requires
any clearer definitions than those which have been already made
and universally accepted. There are some few corrections called
for in the construction of the author's sentences, especially one
which occurs in the note to page 206. The mechanical execution of
the book cannot receive any high commendation.
----
The Illustrated Catholic Sunday-school Library.
Second Series. Twelve volumes, pp. 144 each.
New York: The Catholic Publication Society,
126 Nassau street. 1868.
The titles of the volumes in this series are as follows:
_Nettlethorpe, the Miser;
Tales of Naval and Military Life;
Harry O'Brien, and Other Tales;
The Hermit of Mount Atlas;
Leo, or The Choice of a Friend;
Antonio, or The Orphan of Florence;
Tales of the South of France;
Stories of Other Lands;
Emma's Cross, and Other Tales;
Uncle Edward's Stories;
Joe Baker;
The Two Painters._
These tales were evidently selected with good taste and sound
judgment. All are interesting, of a high moral tone, and well
adapted to carry out the praiseworthy object for which this
"library" was intended: furnishing Catholic youth of both sexes
with reading matter both useful and entertaining.
These volumes, in diversity of scene, variety of incident, etc.,
fully equal those which appeared in the "First Series;" while in
external elegance, and in beauty of illustration, they are
decidedly superior. We find one fault, however. Considering how
far girls outnumber boys in our Sunday-schools, we think it
hardly fair that but one volume should be devoted to the joys and
sorrows, the temptations and triumphs, of girlhood. In our
opinion, several volumes in each series should be, in an especial
manner, set apart for their particular pleasure and benefit. We
hope our suggestion will be, if possible, acted upon in the next
series.
----
Leaf And Flower Pictures, And How To Make Them.
New York: Anson D. F. Randolph. 1868.
This pleasantly written and instructive little work is dedicated
most affectionately to the authoress's "Two dear little
'Doppies,'" two little girls named respectively Nellie and Anna,
who one day 'dopted her for their aunt. Hence their name. Whoever
H. B. may be, (for this is all that is given us to know of this
good "aunt,") we are sure that many persons who are interested in
the delightful recreation of making leaf and flower pictures will
thank her for the composition of this book. That our readers may
understand its object, we quote from the preface: "I think even
quite small children, both boys and girls, as well as older
persons, will find it delightful to make themselves pictures, and
have a collection 'of their own' of all sorts of leaves, mosses,
grasses, flowers, and lichens. Will it not add greatly to the
pleasure of being out of doors, if, in every walk you take, from
May to October, you carry home some leaf, or flower, or spike of
grass, to add to the treasures of your _hortus siccus_, or
to lay aside until the long cold hours of winter come, when, in
varnishing and arranging them as pictures and decorations, you
can almost restore to yourself the delight of your summer
rambles, and make into a permanent and abiding pleasure a portion
of the beauty which then charmed and refreshed your soul?
Therefore, dear reader, be you child or woman, boy or man, if you
would open your eyes some frosty morning next January, and behold
a lovely wreath of flowers blooming upon the walls of your
chamber, with all the freshness of June--a wreath that Jack
Frost cannot wither, even if he has sent the mercury out of sight
below zero--read this little book; for you can have one by
following its directions."
{287}
Personal Sketches Of His Own Times.
By Sir Jonah Barrington, Judge of the High Court of the
Admiralty in Ireland, etc., etc.
One vol. 12mo.
The Life Of The Right Honorable John Philpot Curran,
Late Master Of The Rolls In Ireland.
By his son, William Henry Curran.
With additions and notes by R. Shelton Mackenzie, D.C.L.
One vol. 12mo.
Sketches Of The Irish Bar.
By the Right Hon. Richard Lalor Sheil, M.P.
With Memoir and Notes by R. Shelton Mackenzie, D.C.L.
Two volumes, pp. 388, 380.
New York: W. J. Widdleton. 1868.
Above we give the titles of three works which have been out of
print for some time, but new editions of which have just
appeared. Sheil's "Sketches," commenced in 1822 and continued
until 1829, embrace short, piquant biographies of the most
prominent members of the Irish Bar--O'Connell, Plunket, Burke,
O'Loghlin, Norbury, etc.; with incidental allusions to other
celebrities--Lady Morgan, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, Robert Emmet,
etc., etc. There are, in addition, the author's personal
recollections of the Catholic Association in 1823; of the visit
of the Catholic deputation to London in 1825, and its reception
in the House of Commons; and of the great Clare Election in 1828.
Barrington's Sketches are also racy and piquant, and give an
insight into Irish manners and customs fifty years ago. The "Life
of Curran" has been a standard work, and this new edition will
bring it anew before the rising generation.
----
The Works Of Rev. Arthur O'leary, O.S.F.
Edited by a clergyman of Massachusetts.
One vol. 8vo, pp. 596. Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1868.
The reputation of F. O'Leary is universal among all who take an
interest in Irish history and literature. His works, which abound
with learning, humor, and passages of remarkably fine writing of
the rich, ornate style of the old school, have been carefully
edited by the learned clergyman whose name is modestly withheld
on the title-page, and published in good style by Mr. Donahoe. We
thank them both for this valuable service to Catholic literature,
and have no suggestion to make, except that the small number of
typographical errors which have escaped the vigilance of the
proof-reader should be corrected in the second edition.
----
The Lily Of The Valley;
or, Margie and I, and other Poems.
By Amy Gray.
Baltimore: Kelly & Piet. 1868.
The gentle authoress of these poems, which have, at least, the
merit of conveying a genuine expression of her sentiments,
presents the volume to the public with this preface, which we
copy entire:
"The object of the publication of the poems, and in view of
which most of them were written, is to aid in the education of
destitute little girls of the South, orphaned by the late war.
The author cannot hope for more than a mite from so small a
volume--the production, too, of an unknown writer; but the
proceeds, whatever they may be, will be unreservedly
appropriated to the object above named. To an intelligent and
generous reading public the author confides this little work,
feeling sure that their generosity will secure for it a
patronage that its intrinsic merit cannot hope to obtain. It
was of old the duty and privilege of the chosen people of God
to offer the first-fruits of all their possessions to his
service; and it is with gratitude for many mercies received,
and with earnest prayers for the divine blessing, that the
author would dedicate the first-fruits of her pen to an object
which seems in accordance with the teachings of our blessed
Lord, who has said: 'Take heed that ye despise not one of these
little ones; for I say unto you, that in heaven their angels do
always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.'"
{288}
Excelsior;
or, Essays on Politeness, Education,
and the Means of Attaining Success in Life.
Part I. For young gentlemen. By T. E. Howard, A.M.
Part II. For young ladies. By a lady, (R. V. R.)
Baltimore: Kelly & Piet 1868.
A capital book, and one we would like to have placed in the hands
of every student, boy or girl, in the country. It is not easy to
write books of this character, at least books that young persons
will read; but Mr. Howard and his gentle co-author have produced
a volume as pleasantly written as it is solidly instructive. It
is said that it requires a high degree of moral courage to
purchase at the bookseller's a book "on politeness." We trust
that few among our young friends will be wanting in this courage
when the purchase of the present volume is concerned, and we will
guarantee that not one will fail to peruse it with very great
pleasure.
----
Mac Carthy More; or, The Fortunes of an Irish Chief
in the Reign of Queen Elizabeth.
By Mrs. J. Sadlier.
New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. Pp. 277. 1868.
This, the latest production of Mrs. Sadlier's prolific pen, is in
no wise inferior to its predecessors. The incidents which form
its groundwork are strictly historical, and can be found in
_The Life and Letters of Florence Mac Carthy Reagh, Tanist of
Carberry, Mac Carthy Mor_, compiled from unpublished documents
in her Majesty's State Paper Office, by Daniel Mac Carthy,
(Glas,) and published by Longman & Co., London. For those who
cannot afford to purchase the more expensive English work, Mrs.
Sadlier's condensation of the life and times of the great Irish
chieftain will prove a very agreeable substitute. Besides being
thus presented under the guise of a graceful little story, they
will doubtless be more acceptable to most readers than the dry
and prosaic details of mere historical narration.
----
Plain Talk About The Protestantism Of To-day.
From the French of Mgr. Segur.
Boston: P. Donahoe. 1868.
The best word we can say about this little book is to copy the
first few lines of the translator's note:
"You ask me, dear sir, 'What makes me so anxious to publish
this work in America?' Well, I wish to have it published for
the sake of Catholic children tending common schools--of
Catholic girls living out in families--of Catholic boys serving
their time--of all dear and poor friends so often wounded in
the affections dearest to their hearts, and whose religion is
so often attacked in rude words. I herewith hope to place in
their hands such arms as they can easily use, and which will
have a telling effect on the enemies of their faith."
----
Mignon. A Tale.
Translated from the French.
New York: P. O'Shea. Pp. 202. 1868.
A charming little story, neatly got up; but the pleasure to be
derived from its perusal would, however, be considerably
increased if the thread of the narrative were not so often and so
needlessly broken by whole pages devoted to sentimentalisms of
the shallowest type.
----------
{289}
The Catholic World.
Vol. VIII., No. 45 December, 1868.
----------
Hypnotics.
The craving for opiates indicates either pain or restlessness.
The wounded man longs for that which may dull the sensation of
physical suffering and procure the temporary oblivion of sleep.
One who is wearied by the morbid activity of his brain, and the
lassitude which is caused by it, desires some artificial remedy
to give him the repose which refuses to come naturally to his
sleepless eyelids. A person in health has no need, and,
consequently, no desire for opiates. His activity is healthful
and pleasurable; his weariness is natural, making rest pleasant,
and giving sound, recreative slumbers. In like manner, when one
begins to talk about a craving for an intellectual or spiritual
opiate, the presence of some malady making the soul restless is
manifest. Its activity is morbid and irregular, preventing that
repose which is the natural consequence of a perfectly sound and
normal condition of the mental and spiritual faculties.
These remarks were suggested by reading, in an article written
with much refinement of taste and delicacy of sentiment in one of
our principal literary papers, [Footnote 122] the following
passage on the hypnotic qualities of Catholicity:
[Footnote 122: _The Nation_, August 18th, 1868;
Review of Mrs. Craven's _Sister's Story_.]
"Mrs. Craven certainly offers very abundant and convincing
testimony on this point--a point which probably no one ever
dreams of controverting. Given natures like these, in which the
emotional element entirely predominates; to which the pursuit
of truth, as an ultimate object, is totally incomprehensible;
which crave happiness and repose with a passionate longing, and
the Church certainly offers a satisfactory and comprehensive
solution of all their difficulties. _We should all be
Catholics were it not that the Church sets too high a price
upon her opiates_. One generally pays for extreme wealth of
emotional power by a corresponding poverty of judgment, and
though, if we had our choice, we might all be willing to be
born blind, that we might never feel afraid in the dark, the
settlement of the matter is certainly not optional with us. It
is a congenital impossibility for some people to conceive of
their natural passions, of their judgment, will, and reason, as
mere counters with which they can purchase eternal rest, and a
tardy but complete gratification of the wants which are here
unsupplied. Such people do not, in rejecting Catholicism,
necessarily disavow the yearning for this rest, nor the belief
that it will be attained. _The craving is universal, the
Church's answer only partial--it allows the claims of the
emotions, but it disallows those of the intellect_. There is
no doubt that she does her legitimate work well and thoroughly,
that she gives hope to the despairing, comfort to the
sorrowing, and sometimes mends the morals of the vicious--we
quarrel with her only because in virtue of doing this she
claims the right to outrage or ignore wants yet profounder than
those which she supplies."
{290}
We have selected this passage as the theme of some brief
discussion, without any reference to the particular topic of the
article in which it is contained, or intention of raising any
special controversy with the writer of it, whose personality is
entirely unknown to us. It has struck our attention simply as a
remarkably tangible and felicitous expression of a sentiment or
opinion shared in common by a large class of minds, and well
worthy of our most serious consideration. They think that those
who have embraced the Catholic religion have been driven, by the
unrest and weariness of the soul, to take a spiritual opiate--a
metaphorical expression, but one whose meaning is so obvious that
it needs no explanation. They acknowledge the existence of the
same unrest in their own souls, but refuse to accept the remedy
offered by the Catholic Church, because they imagine that it can
only produce its effect of relieving the pain of the soul by
superinducing an artificial sleep of the intellect. The mind must
slumber, intelligence must cease its activity, in order that the
heart may be made peaceful and happy in the practice of the
Catholic religion. They are unwilling to purchase rest at such a
price, and, it may be, would be unable to do it if they were
willing. Therefore, they prefer to endure the pain of doubt, the
restlessness of scepticism, the weariness of a yearning after an
unknown good, in the vague expectation of finding it at some
distant period, if not in this world, yet in some future sphere
of existence. The objection of these persons to Catholicity is,
that it does not acknowledge or adequately satisfy the just
demands of the intellect. Those who embrace it, they say, cannot
justify their conversion on rational grounds, or allege
sufficient and conclusive evidence of the truth of its doctrines.
They have either never sought for a religion which satisfies
reason, or have abandoned their search in despair, and laid their
intellect to sleep upon the soft pillow of an unreasoning
submission to an authority that supersedes all exercise of
thought, and quiets all action of intelligence. The correctness
of this assumption is the precise topic of discussion we now
propose. It is evidently altogether useless to frame an argument
on the supposition that we have to deal with any form of
Protestant orthodoxy, so-called. Persons who profess to believe
in a definite system of doctrine as revealed truth cannot admit
any such unsatisfied yearnings after truth as those are whose
existence is denoted by the writer of the paragraphs we have
cited. It is, therefore, useless to take as data any of the
principles or doctrines of the common Protestant theology. It is
with a sceptical state of mind we have to deal, which rejects
every received version of Christianity as incomplete and
unsatisfactory, however it may admit, in a general way, that
Christianity itself is something divine. We think we may take it
for granted that the very state of mind indicated by the language
on which we are commenting has been produced by a revolt of the
reason against Protestant theology. Probably those whose
sentiments are represented by this language have been more or
less strictly educated in the tenets of some one of the
Protestant churches.
{291}
They have found these tenets to be absurd--incredible; based on
no solid evidence; mere individual theories, contradicted by the
facts of history and the dictates of mature reason. They have,
consequently, abjured all allegiance to any sect or school of
Protestant Christianity, and have fallen back upon their own
reason as the exponent of the Christian religion, and of all
other religions, as the only criterion of truth in all orders of
thought, and the only guide which has been given to man amid the
perplexities which beset his intellect on every side. The
Catholic system of doctrines is supposed to be essentially the
same with orthodox Protestantism, _plus_ a few more dogmas,
a system of elaborate ceremonial, and a peculiar hierarchical
organization, which openly claims and enforces submission to its
own doctrinal decisions and moral precepts as infallible and
supreme. The same absurdities which exist in the Protestant
system of theology are supposed to be contained also in the
Catholic system. It does not occur to these persons that these
absurdities maybe traced to exaggerated or distorted theories
respecting the ancient dogmas of Christianity, which are rejected
by the Catholic theology, and to the incompleteness of the
Protestant systems, which are built up from fragments of the
sublime edifice they have destroyed, without plan, order, or
architectural harmony. This is, however, the fact; and when we
speak of the unreasonableness of the orthodox Protestant form of
Christianity as the occasion and temptation to scepticism, we
must be understood to speak in accordance with this fact. We do
not mean to say that the evidences of the divine revelation and
truth of Christianity, and a vast body of true and reasonable
doctrines, are not retained in the Protestant teaching, or that
it makes scepticism justifiable. We merely intend to say that it
does not satisfy reason or command assent as a system in all its
essential parts, and therefore leaves the mind in a bewilderment
by its partial truths and partial errors, which is the occasion
of a kind of intellectual despair, resulting frequently in
scepticism. The truly rational part would be to hold on to the
conviction of the great facts of Christianity and its substantial
truth, and to search for some more reasonable and satisfactory
exposition of the true meaning of Christianity than that given by
these self-constituted, unauthorized, and mutually conflicting
expositors of divine revelation. Such a search would inevitably
land the honest and persevering seeker in the Catholic Church, as
it has done so many and will so many more in time to come. There
is a divine philosophy in the Catholic religion which satisfies
all the legitimate demands of reason--that same philosophy which
attracted Dionysius of Athens, Sergius Paulus, Cornelius, Pudens,
Justin, Tatian, Athenagoras, Clement, Pantaenus, St. Augustine,
and a host of other noble intellects, to Christianity in the days
of old, and in which they found that perennial source of truth
from which Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, Lao-Tseu and
Confucius, had only drawn some rills.
It is not within the scope of our thesis to show positively the
truth of the above affirmation. We merely intend to show that it
is made; that the church does not "disallow the claims of the
intellect," or "claim the right to outrage or ignore wants yet
profounder than those which she supplies;" that "the pursuit of
truth as an ultimate object" is not "totally incomprehensible" to
those who yield the allegiance of their minds to the light of
faith; that they do not "conceive of their judgment, will, and
reason, as mere counters with which to purchase eternal rest."
{292}
Whether the Catholic solution of the problems of reason is
objectively the true one is not the direct aim of our reasoning.
The point is, whether Catholic theology and philosophy propose
any solution at all; whether any class of minds who seek
earnestly after such a solution find one which they hold and
maintain to be completely satisfactory to reason in the Catholic
Church. The writer whose language we have quoted denies it, and
Dr. Bellows has recently denied it, asserting boldly that those
who have embraced the Catholic faith have done so by a reaction
from an extreme rationalism into superstition. What is
gratuitously asserted may be gratuitously denied, and we deny it
accordingly. Some few persons, perceiving that they were
following principles which lead logically to Pantheism and
Atheism, and that there is no real logical alternative of the
denial of God except Catholicity, have been led to examine and
embrace the Catholic faith. Neither Dr. Bellows nor any other
person professing to be rational is entitled to call this act a
superstitious one, unless it can be shown that the motives of it
are reducible to an irrational credulity, or a voluntary
submission to some claim of supernatural authority which is
destitute of probability, on grounds which are incapable of
convincing a prudent man. The remark of Dr. Bellows is,
therefore, simply an intolerable impertinence. The statement
which he makes is, moreover, false in point of fact, since a
large proportion of modern converts to the Catholic Church have
travelled the road of orthodox Protestantism, and not that of
rationalism.
It is no less incorrect to state that it is only persons in whom
the sentimental element predominates who find satisfaction for
the wants of their souls in the Catholic religion. In the first
place, it is absurd to suppose that the legitimate cravings or
aspirations of any one part of human nature can be satisfied
completely by that which is not real, and therefore not true.
Truth, goodness, and beauty are identical in respect to their
being or reality. The religion which is adapted to one class of
minds is adapted to all. It is, moreover, incorrect to reduce all
men to two classes--those who are led by the logical faculty, and
those who are led by sensibility. The intelligence has its
intuitions in an order of thought far superior to the mere
understanding. The will has also a sublime range in an order far
superior to the sphere of sensible emotions. Those who never
occupy their minds in any metaphysical or theological
speculations whatever may, therefore, in their spiritual nature,
apprehend divine truth far more immediately and perfectly, and
may possess the truest and highest wisdom in a much more eminent
sense, than the most acute philosopher. The interior or spiritual
life, moreover, of those persons who are rather seeking to
perfect their souls in virtue than their intellects in knowledge,
is by no means a life of indulgence in pleasurable emotions, the
enjoyments of sensible devotion, or anything else which gives
sensitive nature the pabulum or the opiates after which it
hankers. This whole order of ideas belongs to sentimental
Protestantism, and is totally alien from Catholic ascetics, as is
well known to the youngest novice in any religious community.
{293}
Of course we cannot expect literary gentlemen to understand these
matters, and cannot wonder at the mistakes they make when they
write about them. We can justly require of them nothing more than
a supreme love of truth for its own sake, and a willingness to
see it when it is presented to them. Any one who loves the truth
on this point sufficiently to read Rodriguez on _Christian
Perfection_, F. Baker's _Sancta Sophia_, or F. Faber's
_Growth in Holiness_, can satisfy himself of the very low
estimate in which sensible devotion is held by our spiritual
writers. If he should wish for a more extensive course of
reading, we would recommend Tauler's Sermons and the works of St.
John of the Cross. He will there see that the pleasures of
sensibility, imagination, taste, the affections, the romance and
poetry of religion, are not condemned or rudely trampled on, but
simply relegated to the lowest place, made use of as the
waiting-maids of the divine wisdom and strong virtue which
constitute solid perfection. The Catholic religion satisfies not
merely the emotional nature of man, but his spiritual nature. It
could not do this unless it were capable of placing the soul in
its true relation to its proper object, to its final end, to its
real destiny, and furnishing it with all the means of advancing
continually toward the union with God in which beatitude
consists. It could not be capable of doing this unless it came
from God; and, coming from God, it must teach the truth which is
necessary and adequate to the perfection of the reason, as well
as the perfection of the will. We will take up the question,
however, in a more historical and inductive manner, in order to
show, as a matter of fact, that those minds in which the logical
faculty and the taste for the cultivation of pure reason is more
strongly developed and active, find an equal scope and
satisfaction in Catholicity with the other class above mentioned.
One needs but a moderate acquaintance with the method and spirit
which have always prevailed in the great Catholic schools to know
how powerfully they stimulate the activity of the intellect,
awaken the thirst for rational investigation, encourage the
effort to penetrate as far as possible into the domain of ideal
truth, and to trace the relations of all things in the world of
thought to their first and final cause. The basis and foundation
of the whole structure of the higher education, especially in the
department of theology, is laid in a thorough training in logic
and philosophy. The same logical and philosophical method
pervades the entire system of theological instruction. Every
dogma of faith, every opinion of the schools, every principle of
philosophy, is subjected to a rigid and critical analysis,
including an examination of all the difficulties and objections
which have ever been raised by the adversaries of the Church,
during all past ages and in the present. In the theses which the
students of theology and philosophy are obliged to defend,
covering the whole field of these higher sciences, sceptical,
atheistical, pantheistic, infidel, and heretical arguments,
stated with the utmost logical subtlety of which the objector is
possessed, are presented without any restriction or reserve, not
only by other pupils but by the professors and other learned
theologians. In the universities, colleges, and religious houses,
where bodies of men are collected possessing the means and
requisites for a life of study and learned labor, there is every
facility and inducement afforded for the most thorough
prosecution of every branch of human knowledge which can possibly
have any bearing on the advancement of the queen and mistress of
all sciences, theology.
{294}
Moreover, in modern times there has sprung up among the educated
laity, among the statesmen, professional men, scholars, and
gentlemen of leisure and intellectual tastes, a school of
students and authors in the same high department of thought,
independent, so far as their private and temporal interests are
concerned, of any ecclesiastical authority, and free to follow
the dictates of their reason and conscience wherever these may
lead them. It is the easiest thing in the world to make a
catalogue of names, illustrious among the advocates and defenders
of the Church, in whom the intellectual powers have been, through
the force of native genius and acquired culture, brought to the
highest grade of development. Bellarmine, Suarez, Canus, Cajetan,
Sfondrati, Petavius, Molina, Gerdil, Thomassin, Mabillon,
Muratori, Bossuet, Malebranche, Des Cartes, Galluppi, Rosmini,
Gioberti, Mastrofini, Mai, Mezzofanti, Görres, Möhler, Theiner,
Lacordaire, Ozanam, Donoso Cortes, Balmes, Wiseman, England,
Montalembert, De Broglie, Cantù; are these the names of men of
weak judgment and strong emotions, who were mastered by an
unreasoning, pietistic sentiment? Or, are they the names of
hypocrites and impostors, who prostituted their genius to the
support of a cause which they knew to be based on falsehood,
illusion, and deceit? Listen to the words written from his couch
of pain by Montalembert, near the close of the last volume of his
_Monks of the West_:
"The more I advance in my laborious and thankless task--that is
to say, the nearer I approach to my grave--the more do I feel
mastered and overpowered by an ardent and respectful love of
truth, the more do I feel myself incapable of betraying truth,
even for the benefit of what I most love here below. The mere
idea of adding a shadow to those which already shroud it fills
me with horror. To veil the truth, to hide it, to forsake it
under the pretence of serving the cause of religion, which is
nothing but supreme truth, would be, in my opinion, to
aggravate a lie by a kind of sacrilege. Forgive me, all timid
and scrupulous souls! But I hold that in history everything
should be sacrificed to truth--that it must be always spoken,
on every subject, and in its full integrity." [Footnote 123]
[Footnote 123: _Monks of the West_, vol. v. p. 305.]
Hear also the language used by the eminent historian Cesare
Cantù:
"After having replaced Christianity face to face with history,
with reason, with conscience; after having interpreted it with
all liberty of mind, we feel ourselves confirmed in our respect
for the Catholic tradition. We have drawn from our studies new
motives for the conviction that the actual organization of the
church is excellent, both for moderating in a suitable degree
the sovereignty of the smaller number, while at the same time
infusing a spirit of subordination into the masses, and also
for procuring the largest possible dose of happiness for men;
we mean by this that happiness which arises from the voluntary
submission of their minds to a mild and persuasive moral power,
and not to a mere coercive restraint." [Footnote 124]
[Footnote 124: _La Réforme en Itilie_, pref. p. xi.]
This is not the language of superstition or of unintelligent
enthusiasm, but of calm, well-reasoned conviction, the language
of men supremely devoted to the pursuit of truth for its own
sake; and it is but a fair specimen of the language of all the
great advocates of the Catholic religion. It would be utterly
impossible for any system, destitute of solid foundations and
unsupported by reasonable proofs, to endure the perpetual and
thorough researches and investigations carried on by a vast body
of learned men in the Catholic schools for ages, with the full
approbation and encouragement of the highest authorities in the
church. The theory that such a set of men could be made the dupes
of an arbitrary authority administered with the intention of
swaying the minds of men by a systematic violation of all the
rights of reason, or made the partisans and upholders of what
they knew to be an imposture, is too incredible for anything less
than a boundless credulity to embrace.
{295}
Let us turn our attention now to that class of minds nurtured in
anti-Catholic opinions, over whom the Catholic Church has
regained in part or completely an influence, bringing them to the
recognition of her divine authority. What is the force which has
made itself felt at the great distance to which the Protestant
mind has been violently thrown by the revolution of the sixteenth
century, and which has drawn back toward the Catholic centre a
body of persons who cannot be either ignored or despised without
the most stolid prejudice or the sheerest affectation? Is it a
mere force which is capable of acting only on the emotions, the
imagination, the sensible portion of the nature of individuals in
whom reason does not exercise her just and rightful supremacy?
Are there none who have been led by the philosophy of history, by
metaphysics, by theological reasoning, by the investigation of
Scripture, by the search for a supreme and universal science, by
the deductions of logic, and the inductions of experience and
observation, to a calm and rational conviction that the highest
wisdom and the most perfect law are embodied in the Catholic
Church? The statement of Lord Macaulay is familiar to all, that
the doctrines of the Catholic Church have heretofore commanded
the assent of the wisest and best of mankind, and may therefore
command the assent of men similar to them in the future. A fair
examination of the question will convince any one of the fact,
which cannot be gainsaid by any one professing to love the truth
supremely for its own sake, that numbers of men fully qualified
to judge of evidence and to comprehend the most abstruse
reasoning have given the homage of their minds to Catholic
doctrine precisely because of the invincible logic both of facts
and arguments by which its truth was demonstrated to their
reason.
Leibnitz is one instance in point. Although he never joined the
communion of the Catholic Church, yet the whole weight of his
authority as a philosopher and a theologian is on the side of the
Catholic principles and doctrines, which are the most obnoxious
to our modern rationalists. The same is true of Baron Stark, the
author of the _Banquet of Theodulus_. The celebrated Leo,
one of the greatest historians of Germany, began his career as a
Pantheist, and by his profound historical studies was brought to
a full conviction of the divine authority of revelation, and of
the necessity of a return to the communion of the Holy See on the
part of all the dissentient and separated communions. His
_Universal History_ is an irrefutable argument for the truth
of Christianity and the authority of the Roman Church. Although,
therefore, none of these three distinguished men can be counted
among the converts to the Catholic Church, yet their names can be
cited in support of the position we have taken, since we are
persuaded that our candid opponents will admit that strict
logical consistency would require any one admitting their
premises to draw the practical conclusion that it is obligatory
on his conscience to become a member of the Catholic Church.
{296}
Hurter, Phillipps, and Stolberg are instances of German scholars
whom profound and learned studies brought to a full Catholic
conviction. Mayne de Biran is an example of a philosopher, who
reasoned himself out of infidelity into a firm conviction of the
truth of the Catholic religion by a metaphysical process. Passing
by those well-known persons in England and America whose
education was ecclesiastical, we may cite an Englishman, Sir
George Bowyer, and an American, Judge Burnett, first governor of
California, as instances of men who applied the principles of law
and jurisprudence to the evidence of the claims of the Catholic
Church, and were led to submit to them by a process of legal
argument, which the latter gentleman has developed at length in
his able work, entitled _The Path which led a Protestant Lawyer
to the Catholic Church_. The late Dr. Bellinger, of
Charleston, S. C., a physician who stood at the head of the
medical profession in his State, devoted thirteen years to a
careful study of the Catholic doctrines, before he publicly
embraced them.
Among those who have devoted their pens to the Catholic cause in
our own country, whether they have been educated to the Catholic
faith or have been converted to it from Protestantism, without
doubt the man who surpasses all others in intellectual power is
Dr. Brownson. No one would think of reckoning him among devotees
or _dilettanti_. If Dr. Bellows were to express his opinion
upon the motives which induced him to submit his masculine
intelligence to the teaching of the church, he would probably
acknowledge that he had him chiefly in view when he made the
statement referred to in a former part of this article. That is,
he would say that Dr. Brownson's conversion to Catholicity was an
act of intellectual despair, a suicide committed by his reason
because of its failure to attain by its own efforts that
transcendental science after which it was aspiring. The reply to
this is the same which AEschylus made before the judge at whose
tribunal he was accused of having lost the use of his reason
through old age. He recited a play which he had recently
composed, as evidence that his intellect still remained in its
pristine vigor. And so Dr. Brownson may with equal justice point
to the unanswered and unanswerable works which his pen has
produced since his conversion, and challenge those who pretend
that he has yielded his mind to an irrational superstition to
refute the arguments of his _Essays_ and _The Convert_.
The mere effort to read understandingly the latter book is the
severest tax which any ordinary brain can submit to. The
philosophical articles published in the _Review_, which Dr.
Brownson conducted with such remarkable ability for a long
period, surpass by far any specimens of metaphysical writing
contained in the English language. The frivolity of the age, and
various causes connected with temporary and personal
controversies, have prevented the full recognition of the value
and merit of these philosophical essays, which it is probable
they will receive in the future time. The doctor has written a
vast amount on a great number of topics both ecclesiastical and
secular, since he devoted his labors to the Catholic cause, and
no doubt there are many inconsistent and varying opinions to be
found in his works, especially in regard to matters outside the
domain of pure philosophy and theology. Nevertheless, in our
judgment, which we believe posterity will ratify, the pure gold
stands in a very large proportion to the ore, and will only
become brightened and purified by the severest tests of the
crucible which reduces every reputation to its just dimensions.
{297}
We believe that Dr. Brownson's writings contain the most complete
refutation of the sceptical, pantheistic, sensist, and
pseudo-inductive or positivist errors of the day, as well as of
the chief heterodox systems of doctrine. In that noblest and most
essential portion of philosophy which includes ontology and
theodicy, he has laid down the metaphysical basis of natural
theology with a Platonic depth and an Aristotelian precision of
reasoning. Beside the massive structure of arguments respecting
the positive evidences of the authority and infallibility of the
church which he has erected, a work in which he has many able
compeers, who though not more logical are more erudite than
himself, he has thrown out some masterpieces in that more
difficult and more rarely executed branch of labor, the
exposition of the hidden, abstruse harmonies between rational
truths and the mysteries of faith. Prescinding all question
respecting the fact of his having presented the Catholic doctrine
in such a light as to demonstrate its reasonableness, which is
not the point at issue, he has at least attempted it. He has
shown that a man can be a thorough-going, orthodox Catholic, and
at the same time a philosopher in the highest and best sense of
the word.
These instances are only examples and illustrations of a general
rule. The two maxims of St. Augustine, _intellectum valde
ama_, and _fides quaerens intellectum_ have always been
and are now maxims of the Catholic schools. The church has no
fear of light, no dread of the progress of science; in point of
fact, the greatest obstacles which advocates of the Catholic
cause have to contend with are ignorance, disregard of the laws
of logic, and the lack of belief in the reality and certainty of
the affirmations or judgments of pure reason. It is only slowly
and with great difficulty that we can get the public either of
writers or readers to pay attention to the facts of history, and
cast away the fables with which they have been duped themselves
and duping others for so long. It is equally difficult to force
the controversy respecting philosophical and theological
principles to the true logical issues, to get attention to our
arguments, or to extract from our opponents any clear and
distinct answers to them, or definite and precise statements of
their own positions. Bishop England scarcely did anything else in
his masterly controversies than to point out the rules of logic
violated by his opponents, and the misstatements of historical
facts and Catholic doctrines made by them. The truth is, that our
conflict is far less with any positive system of heterodoxy or
rationalism than with a vague but universal scepticism. It is not
so much that men disbelieve in the specific doctrines of
revelation, as that they disbelieve in the existence of any
truth. The power of reason, the capacity of the intellect to
grasp the intelligible, the certainty of rational principles and
logical deductions, the dignity of philosophy, are not
exaggerated, they are depreciated. Those who revolt from the
legitimate and supreme authority of God, divine revelation, and
the infallible teaching of the church over the mind of man, are
not the legitimate offspring of the ancient philosophers, or the
true continuators of philosophy. The ancient philosophers of
Greece and China recognized the need of a divine revelation, a
supernatural light, a teacher sent from God. The whole civilized
world of heathenism was gasping in agony for the advent of the
divine Redeemer when he appeared on the earth.
{298}
Our modern self-styled rationalists have turned their backs on
that light toward which Lao-Tseu, Confucius, Socrates, and Plato
had their faces turned; and they have cut themselves loose from
the traditional wisdom, not only of Christianity and Judaism, but
of all the sages of heathendom and of the whole human race.
Consequently, they are smitten with intellectual death, they
cannot advance or construct; they can only go backward, destroy,
doubt, deny, groan with despairing agony, and _die_. The
modern literature of unbelief is either a sneer or a lament; as
to philosophy, it has fallen into contempt, and is generally
scouted. Those who profess to handle grave themes in earnest are
usually inconsequent, vague, full of hypotheses and random
statements; by their own confession mere wanderers in search of
truth who have lost their way; rhetoricians, guessers, men who
teach not as having authority, even the authority of reason, but
_as the Scribes_. The few men who possess rare native
philosophical genius, like Mill and Spencer, having no principles
or data to begin with, imitate the great master of modern
philosophical scepticism, Immanuel Kant, and pervert reason and
logic into an instrument for destroying all true intellectual
science. Mr. Mill denies that we know that it is a necessary and
universal truth that two and two make four. It may be therefore
that in some future state of existence he will have the same
evidence that one is equal to two which he now has that one is
only equal to one, and that he is therefore some one else as well
as himself, and perhaps responsible for all the crimes committed
by Caligula. Nevertheless, he assures us that the ideas of
justice and right in God must be the same that they are in his
own mind, and that if any punishment is inflicted on him
hereafter, which does not accord with his present sense of
justice, he will never admit the right of inflicting it. Yet,
upon his own principles, he cannot be sure that his own ideas of
right and justice will not be totally altered in the next world,
and that his reason will not compel him to admit that what now
seems to him unjust will then appear to be precisely the
contrary. No matter, therefore, how absurd may be the doctrines
which are professed as dogmas by any religious sect, no follower
of Mr. Mill can have any right to reject them on purely rational
grounds. Mr. Spencer laboriously argues to convince us that we
are compelled by the principles of logic to admit the truth of a
number of directly contradictory propositions, and that
consequently all pure metaphysics are worthless, and all that is
worth knowing is unknowable. When such laughable follies are
seriously put forth and lauded to the skies as the sum of human
wisdom in its most advanced stage of progress, and when the
fanciful hypotheses of Darwin are vaunted as science by men who
profess to follow the inductive philosophy, it is the turn of the
advocates of revelation and the mysteries of the Catholic faith
to cry out upon the outrage that is put upon reason, and to
deride the credulity of those who can be duped by such crude
absurdities. Human reason and the mind of man are indeed
extremely weak and fallible if the estimate of them made by these
sceptical writers is to be taken as correct. Weak and fallible as
they are, and incapable of affirming anything in the order of
pure reason and objective reality, according to this humiliating
theory, yet nevertheless they can be forced to admit as much
reality in the revealed truths of the Catholic faith as in
anything else.
{299}
The capacity of the mind to take note of particular facts and
phenomena, and by induction to reduce these particulars to
general laws, and also the necessity of following practical
reason as an actual guide, will be admitted even by the most
extreme unbelievers. The facts and phenomena produced by the
action of the Catholic Church on the human race, and by Jesus
Christ himself in his life, death, and resurrection, as observed
and attested by competent witnesses, just as much warrant us in
making the induction that he is a superhuman intelligence, as all
the observations of astronomy warrant us in accepting the
heliocentric theory of Copernicus. Practical reason tells us that
the religion of Jesus Christ as explained by the Catholic Church
is good for mankind, and the safest rule we can follow. If,
therefore, we find probable evidence of the fact that Jesus
Christ has taught certain doctrines through the church regarding
that sphere of the unknowable into which reason cannot penetrate,
it would seem to be the dictate of good sense and of a right
conscience that we should submit to that teaching. The power of
objecting to any doctrine that does not satisfy reason or
apparently contradicts it has been surrendered. Reason cannot
judge of the unknowable. We have all the certainty that the case
admits of that Jesus Christ possesses a reason of higher order to
which that which is unknowable to us is clearly intelligible, and
that he has declared to us the truth of these doctrines. We have,
moreover, evidence of his benevolence and veracity, and therefore
all the motives which we are capable of appreciating combine to
induce us to give the same assent to his teaching that we do to
any generally received truths. Even on this low level,
Christianity and Catholicity can stand their ground far better
than any other subject of analytical investigation. It is true
that logically and philosophically we attain only to the apparent
and the abstract truth of Christianity. But if the individual
asserts for himself, or the Catholic Church asserts for herself,
a supernatural light, an illumination of the intellect giving
certainty, how can the allegation be refuted? How can any
advocate of the ignoramus theory show that, if we are naturally
in such a deep darkness of the unknowable, it is not probable
that God would send a ray of supernatural light to enlighten us?
The natural outcry of one in such a state would be, "O my God! if
there be a God, send the light of truth, if there is any truth,
to enlighten my soul, if I have a soul!"
We will leave, however, this soft and marshy ground to those who
like the prospect of fighting the enemies of Christianity in such
a region of swamps and sloughs. We retort the charge of ignoring
or outraging reason upon our adversaries in a far different way.
We accuse them not only of rejecting revelation but of denying
reason, and in their assault upon the supernatural order of
subverting the natural order upon which it is based. We affirm
that the Catholic Church not only protects revelation and grace,
but reason and nature, by the aegis of her authority against a
universal doubt or denial. She affirms the existence of the
spiritual, thinking, reasoning principle in man as a truth known
with infallible certainty by the very light of reason itself, and
therefore affirms the intrinsic infallibility of reason within
its proper sphere. It is to reason that it appertains to judge of
the evidences of revelation. And although reason does not furnish
a positive criterion wherewith to judge the intrinsic credibility
of mysteries transcending the grasp of reason, yet it is
acknowledged by all theologians that it is competent to apply a
negative criterion and to reject whatever is proposed as a
revealed truth which is evidently or demonstrably contrary to the
principles of reason or to certain facts.
{300}
Where now does the collision exist between reason and faith,
science and revelation? Is the existence of God the point where
reason is outraged? The advocates of the Catholic religion always
profess to demonstrate that truth from reason, and it can hardly
be pretended that their atheistical or pantheistical opponents
have ever thoroughly refuted their arguments or demonstrated a
contrary doctrine. The credibility of the divine revelation is
also proved by evidence and argument, and it is certainly rather
bold to say that this entire fabric of learning and thought is so
palpably weak as to be an outrage on reason. The institution,
authority, and infallibility of the Catholic Church are
established in the same manner. And, although the mysteries of
faith are not demonstrated by their nexus with necessary
metaphysical truths, all the arguments brought from reason
against them are repelled by similar arguments, and their harmony
with rational truths is shown in so far as reason partially
apprehends their relations. Wherein consists the palpable, open
denial of the rights of reason? Is it denied that God can make a
revelation of truths which surpass the grasp of reason, or that
he has done it, or that the church has authority to proclaim it?
At whatever point we are met by the accusation of professedly and
openly denying the rights of reason and imposing on it a tyranny,
or stupefying it by a soporific drug, that accusation must be
specific and must be sustained by proofs. Vague assertions will
not do. Where are the self-evident or demonstrated truths, where
are the undeniable, indubitable facts, which are contradicted by
any dogma of the Catholic faith, or any definition which the
supreme authority in the church requires us to believe as an
infallible expression of the truth? Where is the flaw in the
whole structure of the Catholic argument? The advocates of the
Catholic cause cannot desire anything more heartily than that the
whole subject should be brought to the test of the most stringent
logic, and that all the claims of the Catholic Church should be
confronted with the whole array of truths that can be
demonstrated by philosophy, and of facts that can be established
by history or science.
----------
{301}
From The French Of Erckmann And Chatrian.
The Invasion; Or, Yegof The Fool.
Chapter IX.
The farm-house presented a bustling scene when Jean-Claude,
Doctor Lorquin, and the others arrived. The kitchen-fire had been
blazing since day-break, and old Duchêne was drawing from the
oven innumerable loaves of bread, the fresh, crisp odor of which
filled the whole house. Annette piled them in heaps beside the
hearth, Louise waited upon the guests, and Catherine saw to
everything.
Hullin, from his seat, gazed at his old cousin.
"What a woman she is!" he muttered. "She forgets nothing.
Comrades," he exclaimed, "to Catherine Lefevre's health!"
"To Catherine's health!" cried the others; and the glasses
clinked in the midst of discussions on battles, attacks,
defences, and retreats. Every one was full of cheerful
confidence; every one declared that all would go well.
But heaven had still a joy reserved for that day--especially for
Louise and Mother Lefevre. Toward noon, when the bright sunshine
sparkled on the snow and melted the frost upon the window-panes,
old _Yohan_, the toothless and almost blind watchdog, began
to bay so joyously that all present stopped talking, and
listened.
"What can it mean?" thought Catherine. "Since my boy's departure
Yohan has not barked like that."
Swift steps were heard crossing the yard; Louise sprang to the
door; a soldier appeared on the threshold--but a soldier so
worn, thin, weary, and ragged--his old grey great-coat so torn,
his canvas gaiters so tattered, that a murmur of pity ran from
mouth to mouth.
He seemed unable to go a step further, and slowly placed the butt
of his musket upon the ground; his face was the color of bronze,
but his unkempt moustaches trembled, his cheeks grew pale beneath
their brown skin, and his hollow eyes filled with tears when he
gazed on the party within.
Without, the old dog barked, whined, and tugged at his chain;
within, you could hear the fire crackle in the deep silence. But
in a moment Catherine had rushed forward, and was hanging upon
the soldier's neck.
"Gaspard! Gaspard! my boy!" she cried, while the tears burst from
her eyes.
"Yes, mother!" he replied, in a voice choked by a sob.
Then Louise sobbed too, and then the whole kitchen was filled
with voices. Gaspard's name was on every tongue, and every hand
was stretched forth to clasp his.
But the mother would not yet give up her son; the woman, a moment
before so strong, so brave, so resolute, still hung weeping upon
his neck, his brown hair mingling with her grey locks, as he
murmured:
"Mother! mother! how often have I thought of this meeting! But
where is Louise?" he said. "I thought I saw her."
And then Louise ran forward, blushing, while she exclaimed:
{302}
"I knew it was Gaspard! I knew him by his step!" And old Duchene,
twirling his cotton cap in his hand, muttered:
"Great heaven Is that my poor child in such a plight?"
He had taken care of Gaspard from infancy, and, since his
departure, had always imagined him fresh and stout, in a fine
blue uniform with red facings. He struggled to collect his ideas
so rudely scattered.
But his friends surrounded the young soldier; his musket, his
shako, his knapsack, and his belts were merrily captured, and at
last old Hullin cried, with moist eyes:
"Poor Gaspard! How glad I am to see you safe and sound! Ha! ha!"
he continued, trying hard to laugh, "I would rather, though, see
you as you are than with the fat, round cheeks you took away with
you. You are a man now; you remind me of the old days of the
Sambre and of Egypt. Ha! ha! ha! our noses were sharp enough
then, my boy; and our teeth were long and sharp too."
"Yes, yes; I know what that means, Father Jean-Claude; but let us
sit down and talk. What is going on? What brings you all to the
farm?"
"Have you not heard? All the country is in arms, from La Houpe to
Saint-Sauveur, and I am commander-in-chief."
"Hurrah! Then the Kaiserlik beggars sha'n't find a road here so
easily. But pass me the knife. That ham is not yet finished. Sit
by me, Louise, and help me to the bread. A few days like this
would soon make my bones grow smaller. They wouldn't know me in
the company."
All wondered at the speed with which the provisions disappeared.
The soldier's eyes often turned to his mother and Louise, and he
smiled sadly as he gazed upon them; but all this was without
losing time in his attack. The poor fellow was well-nigh
famished, and old Duchene muttered, as he looked at him:
"Great heaven! No wonder that so many die of want!"
"But tell us, Gaspard," said Hullin, "without interrupting your
breakfast, how comes it that you are here? We thought you on the
banks of the Rhine, near Strasbourg."
"Aha! I understand you," replied Gaspard, with a knowing wink of
the eye; "you mean that there are a good many deserters running
about, don't you?"
"Such an idea in regard to you never struck me, and yet--"
"You would not be sorry to know that I am all right. Well, Father
Jean-Claude, you are right; for whoever runs from roll-call when
the Kaiserliks are in France, deserves to be shot. But look
here."
Hullin took a paper which the young man held out to him and read:
"Twenty-four hours' leave is given
to the grenadier Gaspard Lefevre.
January 3d, 1814.
Gemeau,
Chief of Battalion."
"Very good," said the old man; "put it in your knapsack; you
might lose it. You see, my friends," he continued gayly, "I know
all about this thing called love. It is very good and very bad,
but particularly bad for young soldiers who happen to be near
their village after a campaign. They sometimes forget themselves
and return to camp with three or four gendarmes showing them the
way. I have seen it once or twice. But, now, as everything is in
order, let us drink a glass to Gaspard's health. What say you,
Catherine? The men from the Sarre may be here any moment, so we
have no time to lose."
{303}
"You are right, Jean-Claude," replied the old woman sadly.
"Annette, go to the cellar and bring three bottles here! But your
leave, Gaspard," she asked; "how long does it last?"
"I received it last night at eight o'clock at Vasselonne. The
regiment is retreating on Lorraine, and I must rejoin it this
evening at Phalsbourg."
"Then you have yet seven hours before you; you will only need six
to reach there, although there is much snow on Foxthal."
The good woman sat by her son; her heart beat painfully; she
could not conceal her trouble. Louise leaned on Gaspard's
worn-out epaulette and sobbed. Hullin bent his brows, but said
nothing until the bottles arrived and the glasses were filled.
"Come, come, Louise!" he cried, "Courage! These wars cannot last
for ever; they must end one way or the other; and then Gaspard
will return, and we shall have a merry wedding of it."
He filled up the glasses, and Catherine dried her eyes,
muttering, however, as she did so:
"And to think that those robbers are the cause of all this! But
let them come! They will rue it."
The old wine, however, cheered all, and Gaspard told the story of
Bautzen, Lutzen, Leipsic, and Hanau, where conscripts fought like
veterans, winning victory after victory until treason ruined all.
Every one listened in silence. Jean-Claude's eyes flashed as he
heard how rivers were forded and crossed amid storms of shells
and bullets; how batteries were carried by the bayonet alone; and
how hussars and cossacks were hurled back from the steady
squares. The doctor inquired particularly about the positions of
the field-hospitals; Materne and his sons bent forward with ears
erect, and lips pressed tight together, fearing to lose a word;
Catherine looked with pride upon a son who had borne a part in
scenes over which ages will grieve or rejoice; and the ardor of
all present mounted to the highest pitch as more than one
muttered that the end was not yet.
At length the hour for Gaspard's departure arrived. He arose, but
when Louise clung to his neck and with sobs implored him to stay,
the color left his cheeks.
"I am a soldier," he said; "my name is Gaspard Lefevre; I love
thee a thousand times better than my life; but I must not
disgrace that name."
He unclasped her arms, and Hullin tore them apart.
"Well said!" cried the old sabot-maker; "and spoken as a man
should speak."
Catherine buckled the knapsack on her son's back; she did so
calmly, but her brows were knitted, and she tried hard to press
her quivering lips tightly together, while two great tears rolled
down her wrinkled cheeks.
"Go--go--my child," she sobbed, "and take your mother's blessing
with you, and if it should be the will of God that--that--"
But the poor woman's stout heart could sustain her no longer; she
burst into an agony of weeping. Gaspard seized his musket, and,
covering his eyes with his hand, rushed from the house.
All this while the men from the Sarre with picks and their axes
were making their way up along the Valtin path. The sounds of
their voices could already be heard, as they laughed and jested
as if on the way to a festival, and not to privation, danger, and
death.
{304}
Chapter x.
But while Hullin and his mountaineers were thus preparing for
battle, where was the tin-crowned King of Diamonds--Yegof the
Fool? Wandering barefoot over the snow-covered paths, his breast
open to the cutting winds, cold, hungry, and companionless, save
for his grim friend the raven.
Night was approaching, the cold growing keener and keener; even
the fox seemed to shiver as he pursued his unseen prey, and the
famished birds of prey had hidden themselves in the rocky nooks
of the mountains. But the fool, his raven upon his shoulder, kept
on--on--talking to himself, gesticulating wildly, from
Holderloch to Sonneberg, from Sonneberg to Blutfeld.
And that very night, Robin, the old herdsman of Bois-de-Chênes,
saw a strange and fearful sight.
A few days before, having been surprised by the snows at the
bottom of the gorge of Blutfeld, he left his wagon behind him and
drove home the cattle, but finding upon his arrival that he had
forgotten his sheep-skin cloak, he started at about four o'clock
that evening to seek it.
Blutfeld is a narrow gorge between Schneeberg and Grosmann,
bordered by pointed rocks. A thread of water winds its way
through the valley, in summer and winter, and on its sides, among
the grey rocks, spots of good pasturage are found: but the place
is rarely visited; something weird and ghostly seems to hang over
it, and the cold, white light of a winter's moon serves to
intensify its sinister aspect. Tradition says that here was
fought a great battle between the Triboci and the Germans, who,
under a chief named Luitprandt, attempted to penetrate into Gaul.
It tells how the Triboci from the peaks around flung huge stones
upon their foes, crushing them by thousands, and that from the
frightful carnage the defile derived its name--Blutfeld the field
of blood. Rusted spearheads, broken helmets, and cross-handled
swords two ells in length are yet found there.
At night, when the moonlight falls upon the snow-covered rocks,
when the wind whistles through the bare bushes, the cries of the
surprised Germans seem borne upon the air, mingled with the
wailing of their women and the neighing of steeds, and the
rattling of chariots through the defile. The Triboci ceased not
from the slaughter for two entire days, and on the third they
retired to their homes, every man bending beneath the weight of
his booty.
Such was the legend of the gorge which Robin reached just as the
moon was rising.
The good man had a hundred times descended to its depths, but
never had it seemed so bright or so ghastly. His wagon, at the
bottom, seemed one of those masses of rock under which the
invaders were crushed. It stood at the entrance of the valley,
behind a thick clump of bushes, and the little stream dashed
along by it, flashing like a thousand swords. The old herdsman
soon found his cloak and an old hatchet too, which he had
regarded as lost; but, when he turned to depart, his blood ran
cold.
A tall figure was advancing straight toward him. Behind it
followed five grey wolves, two full-grown and three young. He
recognized Yegof, and at first thought the wolves were dogs. They
followed the fool step by step, but he seemed not to see them;
his raven flew about, now in the clear moonlight, now in the dark
shadows of the rocks; the wolves, with glittering eyes, sniffed
the air as if scenting their prey. The fool lifted his sceptre.
{305}
Robin darted like a flash into his wagon unobserved. Yegof
advanced down the valley as if walking some great castle-hall,
and the raven with glittering black plumage flew to the branch of
a dead tree near by, and there perched, and seemed to listen.
It was a strange scene, Robin thought. If the fool slipped, if he
fell, there was an end of him; the wolves would instantly devour
him.
But in the middle of the gorge, Yegof turned and sat down upon a
stone, and the five wolves sat around him in the snow.
Then the fool, raising his sceptre, addressed them, calling each
one by name, and they replied with mournful howlings.
"Ha, child, Bléed, Merweg, and you, my old Siramar," he cried,
"here we are once more together! You have grown fat; you have had
good cheer in Germany, have you not?"
Stretching his arm, after a moment's pause, over the moonlit
valley, he continued:
"Remember ye not the great battle?"
One of the wolves howled plaintively as if in reply; then
another, and at last all five together.
This lasted full ten minutes, the raven the while sitting
motionless on its withered branch. Robin would have fled, but
dared not.
Still the wolves howled, and the echoes of Blutfeld replied to
their chorus, until at last the largest ceased, and the rest
followed his example. Yegof spoke again:
"Ay; 'tis a sorrowful story. There runs the stream that
overflowed with our blood; but others fell too, and for three
days and three nights their women tore their hair. But how the
accursed dogs triumphed in their victory!"
The fool seized his crown and dashed it upon the ground; then,
sighing, stooped and placed it again upon his head. The wolves
sat as if listening attentively, and the largest again howled
mournfully.
"Thou art hungry, Siramar," said Yegof, as if replying to him;
"but rejoice; flesh will soon be yours in plenty; the battle will
again be fought. Our war-cry was long hushed, but the hour is
near, and it will again shake these mountains, and you shall
again be warriors; you shall again own these valleys. The air is
full of the shrieks of women, of the flashing of swords, the
creaking of wagons. They rushed down upon us and we were
surrounded; your bones sleep here on every side, but your
children are coming; rejoice!' sing, sing!"
And he himself began to howl like a wolf, and his hearers took up
the savage strain.
These cries, growing every moment more horrible, the
reverberating echoes, the motionless rocks, white and ghastly, or
buried in blackness and gloom, the bare branches bending beneath
their load of snow--all filled the old herdsman with speechless
horror.
But the scene soon ended. Yegof spoke no more, but moved slowly
with his strange train toward Hazlach, and the raven, uttering a
hoarse cry, spread its sable wings and followed through the dark
blue air.
All disappeared like a dream, but for a long time Robin could
hear the howling growing fainter and further away. It had,
however, ceased for nearly half an hour, and the silence of a
winter night taken its place, before the good man dared leave his
wagon, and make at his best speed for the farm-house.
{306}
Arriving at Bois-de-Chênes he found every one excited and busy.
They were about killing an ox for the Donon men, and Hullin,
Doctor Lorquin, and Louise had departed with those from the
Sarre. Catherine was having her great four-horse wagon loaded
with bread, meat, and brandy, and all were busy in the
preparations.
Robin would not tell any one of his adventure. It seemed, even to
himself, so incredible that he dared not speak of it. The whole
affair puzzled him sorely, and it was not until he was lying in
his crib in the stable that he concluded that Yegof had some time
or other captured and tamed a litter of wolves, to whom he
uttered his folly as men sometimes speak to their dogs; but the
rencounter left a superstitious dread in his mind, and even years
after, the honest old man could not speak of it without a
shudder.
Chapter XI.
All Hullin's orders had been carried out. The defiles of Zorn and
of the Sarre were securely guarded, and that of Blanru, the
extreme point of their position, had been placed in a state of
defence by Jean-Claude himself and the three hundred men who
formed his principal force.
Thither, on the eastern slope of Donon, near Grandfontaine, must
we wend our way.
Above the main road, which winds up the mountain for two thirds
of its height, might be seen a farm-house, surrounded by a few
acres of cultivated land--a large flat-roofed building, belonging
to Pelsly, the Anabaptist. The stables and barn were behind,
toward the summit of the mountain.
Here was the camp of our partisans. Beneath them lay
Grandfontaine and Framont, locked in a narrow ravine; further on,
at a turn of the valley, was Shirmeck, with its piles of feudal
ruins; still further La Bruche stretched onward into the grey
mists of Alsace. To their left rose the sterile peak of Donon,
covered with huge rocks and a few stunted firs. Before them lay
the road, made impassable by the wearing away of the earth caused
by the melting snow, and by huge trees, with all their branches
on, thrown across it.
It was a scene of stern grandeur. Not a living thing appeared on
all the long road; the country seemed a desert, and only a few
scattered fires, sending their long wreaths of smoke toward the
sky, showed the position of the bivouac.
For three days had the mountaineers been awaiting the enemy, and
the delay had told not a little upon their ardor. When,
therefore, at about eight in the morning, the sentinels descried
a man coming toward them, waving his hat, expectation at once
stood on tiptoe, and messengers were at once despatched for
Hullin, who since one o'clock had been sleeping in the
farm-house, on a wide mattress, side by side with Doctor Lorquin
and his dog Pluto.
The cause of the commotion was Nickel Bentz, the old forester of
La Houpe, and Hullin at once saluted him with--
"Well, Nickel, what tidings?"
"Nothing, master Jean-Claude, save that toward Phalsbourg there
is a noise as of a storm. Labarbe says it is artillery; for all
night long we saw flashes like lightning in the wood of
Hildehouse, and this morning the plain is covered with grey
clouds."
"The city is attacked!" exclaimed Hullin; "but from the
Lutzelstein side. They are trying to cut it off. The allies are
there; Alsace is overrun."
{307}
Then turning to Materne, who stood behind him, he added,
"We can remain no longer in uncertainty. Make a reconnoissance
with your two sons."
The old hunter's face lighted up.
"Good!" he cried. "We will have a chance to stretch our legs and
bring down an Austrian or Cossack or two before we return."
"Steady, my friend," said Jean-Claude sternly; "you must not
think of bringing down Cossacks, but only of observing what is
going on. Frantz and Kasper will be armed, but you will leave
your rifle, and powder-horn, and hunting-knife here."
"Leave my arms here, Jean-Claude! And why?"
"Because you must go into the villages; and if you are caught
there armed, you would be shot at once."
"Shot?"
"Yes, shot. We are not regular troops; they will not make
prisoners of us; we can expect no quarter. You will follow the
Shirmeck road, and your sons will follow you in the copse, half a
rifle-shot off. If any marauders should attack you, they will
come to your aid; but if a detachment meet you, they will let you
be taken."
"Let me be taken!" cried the old man indignantly. "I would like
to see them do so."
"Obey orders, Materne. An unarmed man will be released; an armed
one shot. I need not tell you not to let those Germans know you
come as a spy."
"I understand, Jean-Claude, and although I never parted yet with
my rifle, you may take it, and my horn and knife. Who will lend
me a blouse and staff?"
Nickel Bentz pulled off his blue smock-frock and hat, and passed
them to the old man; and when he had donned them, no one would
imagine the old hunter to be other than a simple peasant of the
mountains.
His two sons, proud to be selected for such an expedition,
reprimed their pieces, fixed their long, straight, wild-boar
bayonets, and tried their hunting-knives in the sheaths; then,
assured that everything was in proper order, they turned to go,
their eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"Do not forget Jean-Claude's words," said Doctor Lorquin; "a
German more or less makes little difference among a hundred
thousand, but we should find it difficult to replace you."
"Fear nothing, doctor," replied old Materne. "My boys are
hunters, and know how to bide their time, and profit by any
chance that offers. And now, forward; we must be back before
night."
Chapter XII.
Materne and his sons pursued their way for a long distance in
silence. The weather was fine; the winter sun shone on the
dazzling snow without thawing it, so that the path was firm and
solid. Afar off, in the valley, the tall firs, pointed rocks, and
the roofs of the houses, with their hanging icicles and little
glittering windows and steep gables, were sharply outlined in the
clear air, and in the street of Grandfontaine they could see a
troop of young girls around the wash-house, and a few old men in
cotton caps smoking their pipes at their cottage doors; but of
all the busy life so plainly seen, not a sound reached their
ears.
The old hunter halted at the edge of the wood, saying:
"I will go down to the village, to Dubreuil's, the keeper of the
Pine-Cone."
He pointed with his staff to a long white building, with doors
and windows surrounded by a yellow border, and a pine branch
hanging from the wall by way of sign.
{308}
"Wait for me here," said the old man, "unless I come to the door
and raise my hat, when you may follow, and take a glass of wine
with me."
He descended the snow-covered mountain-side, gained the plain,
and crossed the village common, and his two boys, resting upon
their pieces, saw him enter the inn. A few moments after, he
reappeared on the threshold and raised his hat. Fifteen minutes
after, they had rejoined their father in the large hall of the
Pine-Cone--a long, low room, warmed by a huge stove on the sanded
floor.
Except for the presence of the innkeeper, Dubreuil, the fattest
and most apoplectic man in the Vosges, with little round eyes, a
flat nose, and a triple chin falling upon his breast--except, I
say, for the presence of this redoubtable personage, who was
sitting in a large arm-chair near the fire, Materne found himself
alone when he entered the inn. He ordered the glasses filled as
the old clock struck nine, and the wooden cock upon it flapped
his wings with a strange rusty noise.
"Good morning, Father Dubreuil!" said both the young men.
"Good morning, my boys, good morning!" replied the inn-keeper, in
an oily voice, smiling an oily smile. "Any news?"
"No, faith," answered Kasper. "Winter is upon us, the season for
boar-hunting."
Then both, placing their rifles in a corner of the window, at
hand in case of need, sat down at a table opposite their father,
and drank, saying. "To our health!" as they had been taught to be
always careful to do.
"So," said Materne, turning to the innkeeper, and apparently
resuming a conversation that had been interrupted, "you think,
Father Dubreuil, that we may hunt without fear in the wood of
Baronies?"
"Oh! as for that I can't say," replied mine host, shrugging his
shoulders; "I only know that at present the Allies have not got
beyond Mutzig. But they don't injure any one; but receive all
well-disposed people--who wish to fight the usurper."
"The usurper? Who is that?"
"Eh? Why, Napoleon Bonaparte, the usurper, to be sure. Look on
the wall there."
He pointed to a large placard hanging near the clock.
"Look there, and you will see that the Austrians are our true
friends."
Old Materne's brows knitted, but he repressed his feelings, and
said,
"But I cannot read, Monsieur Dubreuil, nor my boys. Explain the
matter to us."
Then the old publican, raising himself with much difficulty from
his armchair, and puffing like a porpoise with the unwonted
exertion, placed himself before the placard, with his arms folded
across his enormous breast, and in a majestic tone read a
proclamation of the allied sovereigns setting forth that they,
said sovereigns, were waging war against Napoleon and not against
France, and that, consequently, it behoved all good people to
remain at home and to mind their own business, under pain of
having their houses, goods, and chattels pillaged and burnt, and
themselves shot.
The three hunters listened to all this, and then looked at each
other.
When Dubreuil had finished reading, he again took his seat,
saying,
"Well, you see now, do you not?"
"Where did you get that?" asked Kasper.
"It is posted everywhere."
"We are glad to hear it," said Materne, pressing the arm of
Frantz, who had risen with flaming eyes. "Do you want some fire,
Frantz? Here is my steel."
{309}
Frantz sat down, and the old man proceeded good-humoredly,
"And so, our good friends, the Austrians, will take nothing from
us?"
"Well-disposed people have nothing to fear, but those who rise in
arms are stripped of everything; which is only right, for it is
not just that the good should suffer for the bad. Thus, for
instance, you would be very well received at the allied
headquarters; you know the country and could serve as guides, for
which you would be well paid."
There was a moment of silence; again the three hunters gazed at
each other; the father placed his hands upon the table, as if
beseeching his sons to remain calm, but he himself was pale with
rage.
The innkeeper, perceiving nothing of this, continued,
"You have more reason to fear in the woods of Baronies those
villains of Dagsberg, of the Sarre, and of Blanru, who have
revolted, and wish to commence '93 over again."
"Are you sure they have?" asked Materne, struggling hard to
contain himself.
"Am I sure? You have only to look out the window and you will see
them on the Donon road. They have captured the Anabaptist,
Pelsly, and bound him to the foot of his bed; they are pillaging,
stealing, destroying the roads; but let them beware! In a few
days they will have their hands full, and it is not with a
thousand, or ten thousand, men they will have to deal, but with
hundreds of thousands. They will all be hung."
Materne arose.
"It is time for us to be on our way," said he shortly. "By two
o'clock we must be in the woods. Farewell, Father Dubreuil."
All three rushed out, anger choking them.
"Reflect well upon what I told you," cried the innkeeper, from
his arm-chair.
Once without, Materne turned with quivering lips, and cried,
"If I had not restrained myself, I would have broken the bottle
over his head."
"And I," said Frantz, "would have thrust my bayonet through his
body."
Kasper still stood at the threshold, hesitating. His fingers
clutched the hilt of his hunting-knife, and his eyes were almost
savage in their glare; but the old man seized him by the arm and
dragged him away, saying:
"Away! We will meet the wretch again. To advise me to betray my
country! Hullin said well when he told us to be on our guard."
They passed down the street gazing fiercely around.
At the end of the village, opposite the ancient cross, and near
the church, they halted. Materne then, somewhat calmed, showed
his sons the path which winds around Phrâmond, through the
bushes, and said:
"You will take that foot-path. I will follow the road to
Schirmeck, going slowly, so that you may get there as soon as I."
They separated, and the old hunter walked thoughtfully on, his
head bowed, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, wondering all the
while how he managed to restrain himself from breaking the
inn-keeper's head. From time to time herds of cattle passed him,
and flocks of sheep and goats, all on their way to the mountain.
They came from Wisch, from Urmatt, and even from Mutzig, and the
poor animals seemed scarcely able to move.
"Where are you going so fast?" cried the old hunter to the
sad-looking herdsmen. "Have you not heard the proclamation of the
Russians and Austrians?"
{310}
But they seemed in no humor for jesting, and replied:
"It is easy for you to laugh at us. Proclamations indeed! We know
what they are worth. Those Russians and Austrians are pillaging
and stealing all they can lay hands on; laying forced
contributions, carrying off horses, cows, cattle, wagons."
"Hold there; it cannot be possible!" returned Materne. "They are
the saviours of France; her brave, good friends. I cannot believe
it. Such a beautiful proclamation!" "Go down into Alsace and
see!" The poor fellows went on, dragging themselves wearily
along, while the old hunter laughed bitterly.
As he approached Schirmeck, things grew worse. Wagons, cattle,
horses, even flocks of geese, thronged the road, mingled with
women and children, carrying whatever of their household effects
they could bear off, and often beating their breasts and tearing
their hair. The air was filled with wailing and lamentation,
while ever and anon a cry arose,
"We are lost! The Cossacks! the Cossacks!"
These words of fear passed like lightning through the mass; women
fainted, children stood up in the wagons to see further along the
road, and Materne blushed for the cowardice of people who might
have made a stout defence against the enemy.
Just outside Schirmeck, Frantz and Kasper rejoined their father,
and all three entered the tavern of the Golden Key, kept by the
widow Faltaux.
The poor woman and her two daughters were standing at the window
gazing at the flight, and wringing their hands; for indeed the
tumult was increasing every moment, and now cattle, men, and
wagons fairly blocked the street, and shouts, screams, and even
curses, arose on all sides.
Materne pushing open the door and seeing the three women standing
pale, groaning, more dead than alive, struck his staff angrily
upon the floor, and cried:
"Are you becoming mad, Mother Faltaux! You, who should set your
daughters a good example? It is shameful!"
The old woman turned round and replied in a heart-broken voice:
"Ah Materne! If you only knew--"
"Knew what? The enemy are coming, but they won't eat you."
"No, but they will devour all I have! Old Ursula, of Schlestadt,
arrived here last night, and says they are never satisfied. Ah!
those Russians and Austrians--"
"But where are they?" cried the old hunter. "I have not yet seen
one."
"They are in Alsace, near Urmatt, on their way hither."
"Well," observed Kasper, "before they arrive you may give us a
cup of wine; here is a crown for you; you can hide it more easily
than your casks."
One of the daughters went to the cellar to bring the refreshment,
and at the same time several strangers entered. One was a seller
of almanacs, from Strasbourg; the others were a wagoner from
Sarrebrück, and two or three people from Mutzig, Wisch, and
Shirmeck, who were flying with their cattle: all seemed
completely jaded.
They sat down at the same table, opposite the windows, so that
they might look out upon the road, and, the wine served, each
began to tell all he knew. One said that the Cossacks had fired a
village in Alsace, because candles were refused them for dessert
after dinner; another that the Calmucks ate soap for cheese, and
that many of them drank brandy by the pint, after putting
handfuls of pepper in it; that their filthiness was beyond
description; and that everything had to be hidden from them, for
that there was nothing they would not devour. The stories these
good people told, of what they had seen with their own eyes,
seemed almost incredible.
{311}
Toward noon, the old hunter and his sons rose to depart, when
suddenly a cry, louder than any they had yet heard, arose
without,
"The Cossacks! The Cossacks!"
The entire party rushed to the door, except the three hunters,
who contented themselves with opening a window and looking out.
Every one was now fleeing across the fields; men, flocks, and
wagons were scattering, like autumn leaves before the wind. In
less than five minutes the road was clear, except in the village
street, where the crowd was jammed and blocked by its mass.
Materne gazed for a while and then shut the window.
"I see nothing," he said.
"Nor I," replied Kasper.
"I see how it is," cried the old hunter; "fear adds to the
enemy's strength; and fear," he added, shrugging his shoulders
disdainfully, "is a miserable thing. We have only one poor life
to lose. Let us go."
They left the inn, the old man taking the road to the top of
Hirschberg, his sons following. They soon reached the edge of the
woods, and Materne sought the highest point, whence he might
obtain a view of the plain; for he utterly despised the wild
tales of the fugitives he had met.
When they reached the summit of the mountain--which forms a sort
of promontory extending into the plain--they could see distinctly
the enemy's position, three leagues away, between Urmatt and
Lutzelhouse, like long black lines upon the snow; further on, the
artillery and baggage appeared in dark masses. Other lines and
masses were winding among the villages, and, notwithstanding the
distance, the flashing of bayonets told that a column was on the
march to Wisch.
After long gazing at the picture before him, the old hunter said
thoughtfully: