During the following week, that looked so long to Lando, and was indeed
long enough to affect my whole life, what transpired?... Apparently
nothing very different from the evening I have just described; nothing
that did not seem the natural consequence of the intimacy so suddenly
formed between Donna Faustina and myself, the recent date of which I alone
seemed not to have forgotten. But little by little, I might say hour by
hour, I felt a secret, powerful, subtle influence growing up around me,
and the deepest instincts of my heart, for a moment repressed, were
violently roused, causing me to suffer all the pangs of doubt, anxiety,
and the most cruel suspicion. But as nothing new seemed to justify these
feelings, I forced myself to conceal them, for fear of rendering myself
odious in Lorenzo’s eyes and losing the charm of my generous confidence.
Moreover, did not my continuing to manifest this confidence oblige him to
merit it?... And could Faustina be treacherous while I was redoubling my
cordiality and affection, and confiding in her as a friend? Was I not in a
certain manner protecting myself by obliging both of them in honor not to
deceive me?
But honor, we know, in such cases—honor alone, without the holy restraints
imposed by conscience—is a feeble barrier and a mere mockery. Those who
imagine they have not overstepped this barrier sometimes make it recede
before them, and believe themselves still within its limits when they are
already far beyond the line it first marked out....
A barrier so easily changed soon trenches on the enemy’s ground, and the
honor that is purely human—insufficient guardian of vows the most
solemn—after violating the most sacred obligations, often becomes subject
to some imaginary duty, and, according to a barbarous code that keeps pace
with that of the Gospel amid all our civilization, persuades him whose
sole guide it is that he would be disloyal if he ceased to be a traitor!
This is a sad, commonplace occurrence in the world, which does not excite
anything more than a smile or a shrug of the shoulders on the part even of
those who would tremble with indignation if any one should think them
capable of betraying the confidence of a friend—what do I say?—even of a
stranger or an enemy!
I will not undertake to follow Lorenzo in this obscure phase of his life.
Neither will I try to penetrate into the soul of Faustina. I will only
speak of the influence her crossing my path had on my life; for the
account I have undertaken is one of bitter trials and formidable dangers,
and the extraordinary grace I derived therefrom!
During the last week of our stay in Paris my time was strangely divided
between Mme. de Kergy, who came every morning to take me on the proposed
rounds, and Donna Faustina, with whom I unfailingly found myself every
evening. I thus daily went from one world to another exactly opposite, and
seemed to undergo a periodical transformation, becoming, according to the
hour, as different as the two women with whom I thus became simultaneously
connected, but whom I never beheld together.
Every day I appreciated more fully the beneficial intimacy, that had
commenced at the same time as the other intimacy, to which I already
hesitated to give its true name, and I found more and more salutary the
happy influences of the morning, which always diverted my mind from the
annoying recollections of the evening before. Mme. de Kergy’s simple
dignity and sweetness of manner were allied with a noble mind and a large
heart. Though somewhat imposing, every one felt at ease with her, because
she entered into every one’s feelings, criticised nobody, and only gave
others the lesson of her example. I considered myself fortunate to see her
so often, and wished I could always remain under her guidance.
I accompanied her in her charitable rounds through Paris, and at the sight
of the misery I thus witnessed I felt I had never understood before to
what an extent both misery and charity can extend. And yet poverty and
humanity are to be found in all countries and in all climes. Certainly, we
also have the poor amongst us, and Southern Italy is called, _par
excellence_, the land of beggars and wretchedness. Nevertheless, when my
imagination transported me to the gates of the convent where Don Placido
daily distributed alms, without any great discernment perhaps, but
accompanied with pious words, received by those to whom they were
addressed as alms of almost equal value, I asked myself if this did not
somewhat counter‐balance the excessive poverty and the lack of a more
rigid and discriminating way of alleviating it. And when I witnessed the
profound misery at Paris, augmented by the climate, and often embittered
by hatred; when I saw this vast number greedy for the things of this
world, but without any hope of those in a better, I asked myself if any
possible compensation in the world could be given the poor who are
deprived of the precious faith that would console, sustain, and ennoble
them. Yes, _ennoble_ them; the word is not too strong to express the
living exemplification of the Gospel I had often observed in accompanying
Livia and Ottavia to the miserable habitations where they were welcomed so
cordially. “Ah! signora,” these so‐called wretched creatures would
sometimes say, looking at us with an air of compassion, “yes, we will pray
for you, and our Lord will hear us; for, after all, _we poor_ are his
favorites. He chose to take upon himself our likeness, and not that of the
rich.”
A thousand expressions of the same nature crossed my mind while
accompanying my noble, saintly friend to the places where she exercised,
and taught her young daughter to exercise, a double mission of charity.
One day in particular, seeing the charming Diana kneeling beside the bed
of a poor old woman whose infirmities were incurable, but who was without
religion, I recalled the words that fell from the lips of a poor woman at
Naples who had implored the cure of her malady through the intercession of
some saint, _and had obtained it_, “Ah! mia cara signora, doctors are for
the rich; as for us, we have the saints.”
“You must relate all this to Gilbert,” said Mme. de Kergy, listening to me
with a beaming face. “In spite of the absorbing interest he takes in
discoveries and inventions of all kinds, he is not incapable of
comprehending this solution—the highest and most simple of all—of the
great problem repeated under so many different forms. He would readily
acknowledge that, viewed in this light, the inequalities of social life
assume a wonderfully different aspect.”
This was not the first time I had heard her speak in this way of Gilbert
de Kergy since we had daily met. Among other things, she explained, on one
occasion, the object of various associations of which he was an active
member.
“He could explain all this much better than I,” she added; “but I have
urged him in vain to accompany us in our explorations through what I call
his domain. He absolutely refuses, and, though I am accustomed to his
uncivilized ways, they afflict me, because he often yields to them to the
injury of others as well as himself.”
One day, however, I found his card at my door when I returned home; but I
had seen him only once since the meeting at the Hôtel de Kergy.
Saturday arrived, the day but one before our departure, and I was to take
my last drive with Mme. de Kergy. I was suffering from a thousand
conflicting emotions, agitated and melancholy, and sorry to be separated
from her, and yet happy and impatient to leave Paris, where I now seemed
to behold nothing but two large blue eyes following me everywhere. On the
other hand, however, a strange, inexplicable regret weighed on my heart
when I thought of the world into which I had not yet penetrated, except in
imagination, but where I longed to be transplanted with Lorenzo, that our
lives might bring forth better fruit. While conversing with Mme. de Kergy
such a life seemed less chimerical. I felt my wishes might easily be
realized if ... I could not wholly define my thought, but it was there,
alive, actual, and poignant, and the recollection of its source added a
degree of tenderness to the affectionate farewell I bade Mme. de Kergy
when her carriage stopped to leave me at my door. My eyes were filled with
tears. I found it difficult to tear myself away. She, on her part, pressed
my hand, and, fastening her softest look on me, finally said:
“My dear Ginevra” (I had some time before begged her to call me so),
“would it be indiscreet to ask you to come and dine with us to‐morrow, and
spend your last evening with us?”
“O madame!” I exclaimed with a joy I did not try to conceal, “how happy I
should be to come!”
“Then I shall depend on seeing you—both of you; for of course my
invitation extends likewise to the Duca di Valenzano.”
I felt my face turn red simply at these words. Alas! why? Because I was at
once terrified at the thought of conveying an invitation to Lorenzo which,
ten days before, he would have eagerly accepted. Now I felt if he replied
in the affirmative, it would be a triumph for me; if in the negative, a
painful defeat.
All this rapidly crossed my mind, and made me silent for a moment. Finally
I replied:
“I do not know whether my husband has any engagement for to‐morrow or not;
but as for me, I hope nothing will prevent my coming. At all events, you
shall have my reply in a few hours.”
This reply was despatched at a late hour that same evening, and was to
this effect: “That important business would oblige my husband to be absent
the whole day, and I alone should be able to accept Mme. de Kergy’s
invitation.”
What it cost me to write this note Mme. de Kergy never imagined. And yet,
when I hastily wrote these lines, I had no positive reason for doubting
the truth of the excuse assigned for Lorenzo’s absence—no reason except
the promptings of my own heart, to which I was less able than ever, within
a few hours, to impose silence.
But to relate what took place from the time I left Mme. de Kergy till I
wrote her the above note:
That evening, as usual, I was to meet Donna Faustina, but not her alone.
Our friends were to assemble to bid us farewell, and it was at this
_soirée_ I saw her for the first time in all the _éclat_ of a brilliant
toilet. And, though I was far from foreseeing it, it was there I spoke to
her for the last time!... And I was still further from foreseeing in what
place and in what way I should afterwards find myself beside her for an
instant!...
We both attracted much attention that evening. Which of us was the more
beautiful I cannot tell. As to this, I was indifferent to the opinion of
all but one. What he thought I longed to know, and I now watched him in my
turn. As I have said, he had good reason to pride himself on his
penetration; but that was a faculty by no means lacking on my part, and
one, it may be remarked _en passant_, that Sicilians of both sexes are
said to be rarely devoid of. In this respect we were well matched. I knew
every line in his forehead, and understood every movement of his mouth and
the slightest change in his mobile, expressive face, and during the whole
evening, when for the first time I was able to observe them together
without attracting his attention, I used as much art in studying him as he
knew how to use in studying others. I followed them with my eyes around
the room; whereas, separated from me by the crowd, he forgot my presence,
and, by some phenomenon akin to that of second sight, every word they
uttered seemed to resound distinctly in my ears!... It was with reluctance
I gave her my hand when I left her. It was she, and not Lorenzo, who was
at that moment the object of the resentment that burned in my heart.
I had doubtless overcome some of my faults at that time, but far from all.
I was not so frivolous as is usually the case at my age. I loved
everything great and noble. But with all this, I was impetuous, wilful,
and jealous, and, though not occupied about my appearance, I was with
myself. The happiness I had an indisputable right to was menaced. All
means of defending my rights seemed allowable, but to use address,
prudence, and management would have amounted almost to insincerity in my
eyes.
Pretexts, and even excuses, are seldom wanting for yielding to the impulse
of the moment. Therefore I yielded to mine when I again found myself alone
with Lorenzo, breaking a long silence which he did not notice, or would
not ask the reason of, with a violent outburst I afterwards regretted, but
which, at the moment, it seemed impossible to repress.
“I have tried to please you, Lorenzo, and must still believe in your
sincerity, which it would kill me to doubt; but I can no longer have any
faith in the false, perfidious friendship of that woman.... My heart, my
whole soul, revolts against her.... God forgive me, Lorenzo, I really
believe I hate her, and feel as if I could never see her again!...”
Such were a few of the hasty, incoherent words that escaped from my lips.
Lorenzo, with folded arms, compressed brow, and a cold, ironical look of
surprise, listened without interrupting me.
As I gazed at him, I felt my impetuosity die away and give place to
intolerable anguish. My heart swelled, and I should have burst out into
sobs had not a certain pride hindered me from responding to the icy
coldness of his smile with tears. He did not excuse himself, and by no
means tried to defend her whom I thus attacked. He made neither
protestations nor reproaches.
“As you please, _cara mia_,” said he with a calmness that seemed a
thousand times more cruel than anger. “I will not attempt to oppose the
furious fit of jealousy I see you are in. Indulge in it at your
leisure.... Nothing is easier than to find some excuse for not spending
to‐morrow evening with Donna Faustina—and the day after, _ma belle
Ginevra_,” continued he with a sarcastic look that was more marked than
his words. “You seem to forget we are both going away, and very probably
you will never see her again.... This is a reassuring circumstance, and
ought to have sufficed, it seems to me, to prevent you from making so
absurd a scene as this.”
His manner and words completely disconcerted me. I now felt painfully
mortified at my outburst, and an earnest desire to repair it. And yet the
sensation caused by his injustice still raged in my heart. But I repressed
this by degrees, and when Lorenzo was on the point of leaving the room, I
said in a low tone:
“Forgive me; I was too hasty. But I have suffered more than you may have
supposed.”
He made no reply, and his coldness restored my self‐control.
“It is not necessary to seek any pretext to avoid meeting Donna Faustina,”
continued I with a _sang‐froid_ nearly equal to his own. “Mme. de Kergy
has invited me, and you also, to dine there to‐morrow, and pass the
evening.”
“Very well, go; nothing could be more fortunate. As for me, I shall not go
with you. I have business I am obliged to finish before my departure. To‐
morrow I shall be absent all the morning, and shall not return in season
to accompany you.”
I knew through Lando what business he referred to. I knew he was to settle
the next day the important accounts I had learned about the preceding
Sunday. I recollected likewise that he was afterwards to dine with
Lando....
It was not, then, an imaginary excuse I had to transmit to Mme. de Kergy,
and yet, when I wrote the note before mentioned, it was with a trembling
hand and a heart heavier than it had ever been in my life!
To Be Continued.
September—Sabbath Rest.
Most holy of the numbers, sacred Seven!
Which reverently the ancient sages held,
And by thy hidden charm the music swelled
Of rare old prophecies and songs of heaven,
We wonder, yet the secret have not riven
(So closely are the mysteries sentinelled),
If only by the calendar(10) compelled,
Thy sign of grace unto this month was given.
Rather, we think, a fair connection lies
Between the blessedness of Sabbath peace,
When all of labor finds divine surcease,
The while rich incense rises to the skies,
And that sweet rest from summer’s burdened days,
Which makes the ripe year now yield sevenfold praise!
The Present State Of Anglicanism.
A bill for the regulation of public worship, prepared by Dr. Tait,
Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury, and which after certain modifications
has passed through Parliament, is causing the state church to undergo
another of those feverish crises which for about thirty years past have
marked with a new feature its internal as well as its external
disorganization.
Before that period it had been the chief boast of that church, in every
section of her members, whether “High” or “Evangelical,” to have
repudiated the “blasphemous fables and dangerous deceits” of the ancient
faith from which she had apostatized, the ancient unity from which she had
severed herself, and the ancient doctrines which she denounced.
Since that period, however, a change has come over a portion of the
Establishment, by the formation in its bosom of a new party, differing
from all its predecessors, and possessing, moreover, its own scale of
belief, graduated _ad libitum_.
The thoughtful and earnest writers of the _Tracts for the Times_, becoming
painfully conscious of the want of consistency of belief, and also of the
need of a spiritual head or centre of authority in their own communion,
sought anxiously into the details of its origin and history, and also into
the past and present of the ancient church, from whose venerable features
they removed the veil of obloquy and misrepresentation which had been
thrown over them. Their search proved that to be a merely human
institution which they had regarded as divine, and the unveiling of that
long‐hidden countenance revealed to them the divine lineaments of the one
true Mother who for three weary centuries had been to England a “Mother
out of sight.”(11)
Most of those men transferred their allegiance whither alone it was due;
having dug to the foundations of their edifice to find them giving way at
every corner, they took refuge in the city against which so often the
“hail descended, and the wind blew, but it fell not; for it was built upon
a rock.” But they did not fail to leave an abiding impression upon the
communion they abandoned. Many who forbore to follow their example were
yet unable to deny the truth of the principles which had found their
ultimate resolution in this exodus, although they persuaded themselves and
others that it was their duty to remain in order to solidify and adorn
that structure which they designate the “church of their baptism,” slow to
believe that it is a house “built on the sand.”
Thus, during the last thirty years or so, it has been the aim of a small
but increasing number of Anglicans to claim consideration for their
communion on higher grounds than its founders would by any means have
approved, and, becoming suddenly shy of its state parentage, to declare it
to be a “Branch” and a “Sister” of that church which the creators of their
own moved heaven and earth, or rather the gates of hell, to destroy.
In order to support their claim, they find it necessary to distort the
meaning of their formularies in the vain endeavor to coax or to force them
into some resemblance to the teaching of the Council of Trent, those which
are hopelessly irreconcilable being left out of the account as little
differences which it is inconvenient to remember. In numerous cases they
are practically set aside, or contradicted, notwithstanding the fact that
at their “ordination” the ministers of the Church of England solemnly bind
themselves to teach in accordance with these very formularies.
Moreover, finding their own mutilated communion service insufficient, and
yet claiming and professing to “say Mass,” which they were never intended
to say, and which in their present position they are utterly incapable of
celebrating, the ritualistic ministers are in the habit of supplementing
the deficiencies of their own liturgy by private interpolations from the
Roman Missal, which, in case they are questioned on the subject, they
designate as “prayers from ancient sources,” a statement less honest than
true. One thing after another do they imitate or claim as their own, now a
doctrine, now a practice, which for three hundred years their communion
has emphatically disowned: vestments, lights, prayers for the dead,
confession, transubstantiation, in some “extreme” quarters intercession of
the saints; here a gesture and there a decoration, which only has its
fitness and meaning in the ancient church and her venerable ritual, but
which with them can claim no title but that of doctrinal, disciplinary,
and decorative disobedience—however great may be the pains they take to
force the false to simulate the true, and however pertinaciously they may
dare, as they do, to appropriate to themselves and to their chaotic schism
the very name of the Catholic Church, out of whose fold they are content
to remain in hereditary apostasy.
Among the four principal sections of “High,” “Low,” “Broad,” and “No”
church, into which the Anglican communion is divided, the “Low” or (so‐
called) “Evangelical” school is the sternest opponent of the new “Extreme”
or “Ritualistic” party, which it very mistakenly honors with the name of
_Romanizers_. We say mistakenly, because, however they may imitate
according to their various shades of opinion the outward ceremonial of the
church, or adopt, at choice, more or less of her doctrines, yet all this
in their case is but a double development of Protestantism (to say nothing
of the effect it produces of making them rest satisfied with the shadow
instead of seeking the substance);(12) for none are so bitter as they
against the church they are so desirous to resemble, and also none are so
practically disobedient to their own ecclesiastical superiors, in spite of
reiterated professions to the contrary. It is this persistent disobedience
which has brought about the present crisis.
In the Evangelical party there exists a society calling itself the “Church
Association,” of which one principal object is to watch over the
principles of the reformation,(13) and to keep a jealous eye upon the
movements of tractarianism in all its varied developments.
Chiefly in consequence of the representations of this society, and also of
the determination of the High‐Church clergy not to obey the decision that
has been given against various of their practices in the “Purchas
judgment,” until they should have obtained a redecision from another court
to which they had appealed, Dr. Tait, Archbishop of Canterbury, laid
before the Houses of Parliament a bill entitled the “Public Worship
Regulation Bill,” of which the object is to secure the suppression of all
the illegal practices in which Ritualists habitually indulge, and also to
secure obedience to their legally and ecclesiastically constituted
authorities. Rightly or wrongly, all the innovations or changes that have
been gradually rousing “the Protestant feeling of the country,” and which
are in fact, if not in intention, imitations of Catholic ritual, were to
be put down. The bill requires that in each diocese a local court should
be established, before which any church‐warden, or three parishioners,
“having cause of complaint against the incumbent, as failing to observe
the directions contained in the Book of Common Prayer, relating to the
performance of the services, rites, and ceremonies of the said book, or as
having made or permitted unlawful addition to, alteration of, or omission
from such services,” etc., etc., shall be empowered to lay their complaint
against the said incumbent, who is to be allowed the space of fourteen
days in which to give his answer. Should no answer be given, it will be
considered that the charges laid against him are true, and proceedings
will be taken accordingly. Should an unsatisfactory answer be given, “the
bishop may, if he think fit, within six months after he has received a
representation in the manner aforesaid, proceed to consider the same in
public, with the assistance of the chancellor of the diocese or his
substitute, ... and the bishop shall, after due consideration, pronounce
judgment in regard to such representation.”
To this an amendment was suggested by Lord Shaftesbury, which was adopted,
namely, that instead of a local bishop, a secular judge, to be selected by
the two Archbishops of Canterbury and York, should be appointed, under the
title of “Judge of Public Worship,” and whose office it should be to
assist the bishop of any diocese where his services might be required for
the hearing of cases, after which not the bishop, but the judge, should,
in conclusion, pronounce sentence according to law.
Upon this, the _Spectator_, a leading periodical of the Broad Church
party, observes: “So far as the bill is intended to ascertain and enforce
the existing law of the church in relation to public worship, the change
(namely, from a bishop to a secular judge) makes the whole difference
between a tribunal which Englishmen will respect and trust and one which
they would hardly have taken the trouble even to consult, so deep would
have been, in general, their distrust of the oracle consulted.... Lord
Shaftesbury having provided a genuine judge, the complainant who prefers a
bishop will not often get his antagonist to agree with him, and such
complainants will be few.”
Of this general mistrust of the Anglican bishops we have more to say, but
for the present we keep to the consideration of the bill.
Lord Shaftesbury’s suggestion was followed by one from Dr. Magee, Bishop
of Peterborough, which, although not adopted, is too remarkable a specimen
of Episcopal counsel to be unnoticed. (_The Church Times_ respectfully
designates it as “one of the prettiest bits of log‐rolling ever seen”!)
Bishop Magee proposed, and his proposal was “powerfully seconded by the
Lord Chancellor,” that there should be “neutral regions of ritual laid
down by the bill, within which a variety of usages as practised in many
churches at the present time should _all_ be admissible, even though the
actual directions of the rubric against some of them be explicit.”
Whereupon the _Spectator_ goes on to suggest that a varied selection of
“concessions” should be made, suitable to the divergent or opposite tastes
of Extreme, High, Low, Broad, and No Churchmen; such as, for instance, the
optional reading or omission of the words as to the regeneration of the
child by the act of baptism, as a concession acceptable to the
Evangelicals. For its own part it would like an optional reading or
omission of the Athanasian Creed, and so on, and, “to make the compromise
a thoroughly sound one,” the laity of each parish, it considers, ought to
be consulted as to the usage to be adopted. It is hard to imagine anything
better calculated to make “confusion worse confounded” than plans like
these, at a time, too, when all the Anglican parties alike confess that
“in no day has there been so wide a variety of tendency, opinion, and
belief in the Church of England as now.”
One of the great features in the checkered progress of this bill has been
the speech of the late premier, the negative and destructive character of
which it is difficult adequately to estimate, and which, upon its
delivery, to quote the words of the _Westminster Gazette_, “produced an
ecclesiastical conflagration.” Even Mr. Gladstone’s late colleagues hold
aloof from his propositions, and the outcry that was raised soon
indisposed his humbler followers to agree with him; yet he laid bare many
real difficulties and told many plain truths which might make the friends
of the archbishop’s bill reasonably hesitate. But as it is, this speech
has only fired the zealous determination of the great majority of the
House, both liberal and conservative, to strike a blow at the external
manifestations of ritualism, come what may, and has set the “Protestant
feeling of the country” on horseback.
The bill is doubtless peculiarly vulnerable, and Mr. Gladstone did not
spare its weak points, amply demonstrating its dangerous scope and
character, and the extreme probability of its leading to convulsions far
more serious to the welfare of the Established Church than what he termed
any panic about Ritualism. It enforces the observation of the rubrics with
a rigidity dependent only upon episcopal discretion in the use of a
certain dispensing power. The bishops may protect whom they please,
provided they are ready with written reasons for vetoing the proceedings
against the accused, which is certainly an adroit expedient for catching
obnoxious ritualists and letting offenders of another class escape. All
might work well if only bishops will be discreet.(14) Mr. Gladstone
showed, however, that he entertained profound doubts of the discretion of
twenty‐seven or twenty‐eight bishops. But, whether his fears are well
grounded or not, many minds would agree with him in recoiling from such
slippery legislation, although, on the other hand, he launches himself
into a course of which it would be difficult to foresee the results. In
his six remarkable resolutions he not only reduces the bill so that it
should only effect its real objects, but he explicitly asserts the
impolicy of uniformity in the matter of enforcing the rubrics. It is
really little less than the repeal of the Act of Uniformity, and the six
resolutions involve the abolition of that religious settlement which has
prevailed in England for more than two centuries. Finding them rejected by
an overwhelming majority, Mr. Gladstone withdrew them; “but they may yet
furnish a fruitful contribution to the discussion of the position of the
Church of England.”
But if, as we have seen, the Broad‐Church section openly proclaims its
deep mistrust of its ecclesiastical rulers, and one object of the
Evangelical “Church Association” is declared to be “to teach them the
law,” it is reserved for the organs of the extreme ritualistic party to
treat their bishops, week after week, to an amount of supercilious
insolence, which is occasionally varied by invective and abuse,
unsurpassed in the annals of even Puritan polemics. In the _Church Times_
for May 22 we find a lengthy monition, headed in double‐sized capitals,
“What the Bishops ought to do,” and which, in a tone of mock compassion,
thus commences: “It has been a hard time lately for our Right Reverend
Fathers‐in‐God.... According to their wont, their lordships have seemed,
with one noble exception, to give their support to Dr. Tait’s plan for
stamping out ritualism.” “The gods have evidently a spite against the
primate, or he would scarcely have committed such blunders, etc.” “The
poor archbishop has, however, excuse enough for his peevishness.” “We have
been compelled repeatedly, in the interests of truth, etc., to point out
what their lordships ought not to do; unfortunately the occasions which
necessarily call forth such remarks occur too frequently; it is therefore
only right that we should also give the bishops the benefit of our own
experience, and explain to them how they might hope to gain that respect
which they certainly do not now possess.” And further on the same modest
writer requests his ecclesiastical superiors to remember that they are
immensely inferior to many of their clergy in natural gifts, mental
culture, and parochial experience, adding: “Take, for instance, the
question of confession. It is evident from their lordships’ utterances
respecting it that they are in the darkest ignorance both as to its
principles and practice, ... and this though there are plenty of clergymen
who, by long experience in the confessional, are well qualified to
instruct their lordships about it.”
Now, this is too unreasonable! As if an Anglican bishop ought fairly to be
expected to trouble himself about an obsolete custom that had practically
disappeared from the Anglican Prayer‐Book, of which there is no mention in
the Catechism, and none in the communion service but one ambiguous phrase
which may mean anything!(15)
But to return to the _Church Times_, which with its compeers of the
“extreme” school seems to do its best to expose the Babel of confusion in
which it dwells, and which its own voice does its little utmost to
increase. From this we learn that “it is now decided by archiepiscopal
authority, and illustrated by archiepiscopal example, that truth is not
one, but two.”
Why only _now_, we should like to know, when no true successor of the
archapostate Cranmer could consistently teach otherwise—Cranmer, of whom
his biographer, Alexander Knox, writes as follows:
“To form a church by any sharply defined lines was scarcely Cranmer’s
object.... He looked more to extension than to exactness of periphery.”
And this man, “whose life was the incarnation of theological and moral
contradictions, and whose creed was only consistent in its gross
Erastianism, left these as his double legacy to the national
Establishment, of which he was the principal contriver.”(16) The same
writer (Knox) demonstrates the success of Cranmer’s idea in another place,
where he describes the constitution of the Anglican communion in the
following remarkable words: “In England, as I have already been
endeavoring to show, all is peculiar. In the Establishment, the theology
common to Luther and Melanchthon was adopted in the Articles, but the
unmixed piety of the primitive church was retained in the daily liturgy
and occasional offices. Thus our church, by a most singular arrangement of
Providence, has, as it were, a Catholic soul united to a Lutheran body of
best and mildest temperament.... May we not discover traces of the All‐
wise Hand in these principles of liberality, which are implanted in the
very bosom of our Establishment by the adoption of articles that are
deemed by different men to countenance their different opinions?” And
Bishop Burnet, in the Introduction to his _Commentary on the Articles_,
declares that “when an article is conceived in such general terms that it
can admit of different senses, yet even when the senses are plainly
contrary one to another, both (_i.e._ persons of opposite opinions) may
subscribe to the Articles with a good conscience, and without any
equivocation.” Well indeed did Dr. Newman describe these articles as the
“stammering lips of ambiguous formularies.” After these confessions of
Anglicans themselves, what reason have they to be surprised if their
present archiepiscopal authority decides that truth is not one, but two?
The same ritualistic organ we have been quoting speaks of a certain
proposal as one which could only be made “by a madman or a bishop.” In the
_Church Times_ for June 12, under the title of “The Worship Bill in the
Lords,” we find the following courteous, charitable, and refined
observations: “The scheme devised by Archbishops Tait and Thompson for
harrying the ritualists, and nearly pulling down the Church of England in
order to do so, like that lord chief‐justice in China who burnt down his
town‐house to roast a sucking‐pig, is not going quite as its authors
hoped,” etc. Again: “But Dr. Tait has been contented to remain to the
present hour in entire ignorance of the laws, usages, and temper of the
Church of England, and therefore it is impossible for the most charitable
critic to give him credit for religious motives. The best that can be said
of him is that he has a creed of some kind, which is Erastianism, and
therefore prefers the English Establishment to the Scottish, as the
wealthier and more dignified of the two. [The bishops] have collectively
betrayed their trust, and convinced churchmen that the episcopal seats in
the House of Lords are a weakness and not a strength to the church.” “This
misconduct of the bishops will do much to destroy the unreal glamour which
their official position has enabled them to throw over the eyes of the
moderate High‐Church clergy, who now learn that no considerations of
faith, honor, and duty have the least weight with their lordships when any
personal questions intervene, and therefore their wings will be clipped
pretty closely when,” etc. “But there is, we are thankful to say, a deep‐
rooted distrust of the bishops,” and “even archiepiscopal mops and brooms
cannot drive back the waters of ritualism!” With specimens such as these
before us, we do not wonder that Dr. Pusey, who is a gentleman as well as
a Christian, thought it advisable at the opening of his speech before the
recent ritualistic meeting at S. James’ Hall, against the archbishop’s
bill, to express his hope that the words of S. Paul would not be
forgotten, “Thou shalt not speak evil of the ruler of my people.”
Before quitting this part of the subject there is one thing we wish to
say. Let these men be content to settle their own quarrel with each other
and with their bishops as best they may, but let them, if they will not
hear S. Paul, remember a command that was given amid the thunders of
Sinai: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor”; and let
them, if they can, refrain from “evil speaking, lying, and slandering” not
only against the Catholic Church in general, but also against the noble
church in France in particular, whose close union and devoted filial
obedience to her Head, the Vicar of Jesus Christ, they appear to regard
with a peculiar and malignant envy. Would that it were a holy emulation
instead!
These men dare to say that the church in France has been “brought to
ruin”: that it is “Rome and its agents who have procured that ruin,” and
by means which they “will expose on a future occasion.” They aver that
there is not a canonical authority, but “an absolute despotism,” “a
hateful absolutism” exercised by “the bishops over the inferior clergy”
(in which statement we cannot but perceive a reflection of the perpetual
episcopal nightmare which troubles the ritualistic dreams at home); the
said inferior clergy being described as “veritable pariahs, who from one
day to another, at the caprice of a bishop, can be reduced to become
crossing‐sweepers or cab‐drivers”—a “reduction” which we are allowed to
suppose must be very common from the additional declaration that “it is a
principle with the bishops to crush the wills of their clergy,” while they
themselves, “being merely the prefects of the Pope, have in their turn to
submit to a tyranny no less painful,” the Pope making himself “lord and
master more and more”; in fact, “the only person who is free in the Roman
Church, ever since the Council of Trent, is the Pope.”(17)
Elsewhere in this same exponent of reckless ritualism we find the
following singular justification of the tone so habitually adopted by that
party towards their spiritual superiors: “We hear a good deal about the
reverence of the elder tractarians for bishops and dignitaries, but we
fail to see the merit of their conduct when we reflect that it cost us a
disastrous exodus Romewards.” An apparently unconscious testimony to the
inevitable tendency and final result of respect for lawful authority.
But we will no longer detain the reader over specimens of High‐Anglican
journalism, further than to remark the admiring sympathy expressed by this
party for the self‐styled “Old Catholic” movement, and especially for the
apostate Reinkens—a sympathy to be expected from men who, instead of
escaping from schism, seek to justify it, and, feeling themselves
strengthened by the rebellion of others, applaud each fresh example of
revolt.
Thus a long and laudatory notice on the new German schismatics commences
as follows: “The text of the Old Catholic Declaration at Bonn, on reform
in general, ... is published, and is, on the whole, extremely
satisfactory. At present the movement bears a remarkable resemblance to
the ideal English Reformation; and we pray that it may keep a great deal
nearer to its theory than we have been able to do.”
As a pendant to the above we will mention two “resolutions” moved at a
meeting of the “Society for the Reunion of Christendom,” recently held in
S. George’s Hall, the first of which was as follows: “That the only
adequate solution for the internal distractions of the English Church, as
of Christendom generally, is to be found in the restoration of corporate
unity in the great Christianity commonwealth.”
The second stood thus: “That the marriage of H.R.H. the Duke of Edinburgh
to the daughter of the Czar affords hope of such mutual understanding
between the English and Russian churches as may facilitate future
intercommunion.”
Alas, poor Church of England! Within the breast of many of her more
earnest members is lovingly cherished the delusive dream of the “corporate
reunion” of what they are pleased to call the “three branches of the
church.” Wearied of their long isolation, they stretch out their hands—to
whom? On the one side, to a schism about double the age of their own, but
too free from many of their errors and too devoted to the Ever Blessed
Mother of God to give easy welcome to so dubious an ally as the creation
of Cranmer and his king; and, on the other side, to a schism of a few
months old, to which they equally look forward to join hand in hand, and
thus, by adding schism to schism, fondly expect Catholic unity as the
result!
But what, then, is their attitude with regard to the ancient church?
Opposition, strengthened by jealous fear. There is in the Church of
England an hereditary antipathy to the Catholic Church, which is evinced
in its Articles, more fully developed in its _Homilies_, and sustained in
the writings not only of the first reformers, but of all the succession of
Anglican divines, with scarcely an exception, no matter how much they may
have differed among themselves in their several schools of religious
opinion. Nor is the spirit dead within it now. For instance, was there
ever a more gigantic commotion than that which was raised all over
England, in every corner of the land, and among clergy and laity alike,
than that which followed upon the simple act of Pope Pius IX., when,
within the memory of the present generation, he exchanged the government
of the Catholic Church in England by vicars‐apostolic for that of a
regular and established hierarchy?
“The same animus exists even among the less Protestant and more eminent of
its champions in the present day, among whom we need only mention the
names of Dr. Wordsworth, Mr. Palmer, and the Dean of Canterbury among
moderate High Churchmen.” It manifests itself also quite as plainly in the
Tractarian, Ritualistic, and “Extreme” schools of High‐Church development;
for instance, F. Harper quotes a letter published and signed by an “Old
Tractarian,” in which the Catholic bishops are described as “the present
managers of the Roman schism in England,” and a clergyman of the same
school, well known at Oxford, on one occasion observed to the writer of
the present notice: “We are the Catholics; you are simply Romanists; that
is to say, Roman schismatics.”
Dr. Pusey, in his recent speech before the meeting at St. James’ Hall
against the archbishop’s bill, expresses as emphatically as ever his
assured conviction of the Catholicity of his own communion, in spite of
the many difficulties to be overcome before that view can be accepted by
ordinary minds. After speaking of the “undivided church of Christ,” he
goes on to say: “We are perfectly convinced ... that we are standing
within her own recorded limits, and are exponents of her own recorded
principles,” adding, “The Church of England is Catholic” (great cheering),
“and no power on earth can make the Church of England to‐day a Protestant
society.... Her limits we claim to be those of the Catholic Church.” And,
wonderful as it may seem, the venerable doctor is convinced of the truth
of these affirmations, his nature being too noble and sincere wilfully to
exaggerate. His speech, which is in condemnation of the archbishop’s bill
as being aimed against those charged with making unlawful additions to
their church’s ritual, while those who make unlawful omissions from it are
likely to be left unmolested, concludes with these words: “If dark days
_do_ come, ... I mean to stand just where I am, within the Church of
England” (loud and prolonged cheering).... “I mean to resist the voices
from without and from within that will call on me to go to Rome; but still
to endeavor, by active toil, by patient well‐doing, and by fervent
charity, to defend and maintain the catholic nature of the Church of
England.”(18)
There is one Voice which may yet _will_ to be heard “_within_,” and which
may at the same time confer grace, that he who has taught so many souls
the way to their true and only home may himself also find his own true
Mother and his Home at last.
Meanwhile, what is the condition of this “Catholic” Church of England!
Never was there a “house” more notoriously “divided against itself;” and
every effort of the Tractarian party to force sound doctrine upon her or
elicit it from her has resulted in a more deliberate annihilation of truth
on her part, by the formal declaration that on fundamental doctrines her
ministers, according to their respective tastes, are free to teach two
opposite beliefs. It was thus when the “Gorham judgment” ruled that
baptismal regeneration was “an open question” in the church of England.
Her ministers are equally allowed to teach that it is a true doctrine or
that it is a false one. Truth is made not only “two,” but antagonistic to
itself. A subsequent judgment did the same thing with regard to the
doctrine of the Real Presence in the Eucharist, which is taught in a
variety of ways by the clergy of the Tractarian schools, sometimes as
consubstantiation, and by some as transubstantiation itself, although this
doctrine is explicitly repudiated by the Anglican formularies. By the
decision pronounced in the case of Mr. Bennett of Froome Selwood, the Real
Presence in the Eucharist was, equally with the doctrine of its opposite,
which might be truly designated as the “real absence,” authorized to be
believed and taught.
It thus not unfrequently happens that the adoration of the consecrated
elements practised and inculcated in one parish by the Rev. Mr. A. is in
the very next parish denounced as idolatry by his neighbor the Rev. Mr.
B.;(19) and in cases where the one gentleman happens to be appointed to
succeed the other in either parish, what must be the confusion of ideas
produced in the minds of the hapless parishioners with regard to the only
two sacraments which their catechism teaches them are “generally necessary
to salvation”?
Every judgment given by the authorized tribunals of the Establishment on
matters of doctrine recognizes by implication that the real strength of
the Church of England lies in the indifference of the English people to
dogmatic truth. We quote the words of Mr. Wilberforce: That which
dishonors the Church of England in the judgment of all other Christians,
whether Catholic or Protestant, is its great merit in the eyes of its own
members. They want to profess their various religions, from Calvinism to
semi‐popery, without impediment, and the Church of England is the only
community in the world in which they can do it. Even professed unbelievers
desire to maintain that institution for the same reason. A church which
teaches nothing is in their judgment the next best thing to no church at
all; thus the _Pall Mall Gazette_ often writes against Christianity, but
never against the Church of England. What unbelievers fear is a church
which claims to be divine and which teaches only one religion. “We have a
regard,” says the rationalistic _Saturday Review_, “selfish it may be, but
very sincere, for the Church of England as an eminently useful
institution. If the Liberation Society chuckles over the revelation of a
‘divided church,’ the only way to check‐mate it is to make all varieties
of doctrine equally lawful, though they are mutually contradictory.”
Again: when such a man as Lord Selborne says that the opposition to the
archbishop’s bill is based on the idea that “every clergyman is to be his
own pope,” and Lord Hatherley that “every one was determined to have his
own way,” and the Bishop of Peterborough that “those clergymen who were so
loud in crying out against the tyranny of the bishops arrogated to
themselves a right to do exactly what they pleased”; “every clergyman
wishing that there should be _excipienda_ in favor of the practices in
which he himself indulged, but objected to include those of his neighbor
in the list,” and that “every one was equally anxious to be himself
exempted from prosecution, and equally jealous of the power of prosecuting
his neighbor”—the real character of the so‐called “Catholic revival” in
the Protestant Church of England was acknowledged by the most eminent
partisans of that institution. Ritualism, they perceive, is simply
Protestantism and the right of private judgment in their extremest form.
How vain it is to exorcise such a spirit in a sect founded on the right of
revolt, and so utterly indifferent to positive truth that, as the Bishop
of Peterborough frankly confessed, the word compromise is written all over
the pages of the Anglican Prayer‐Book, was undesignedly admitted by Lord
Salisbury. “There were,” he said, “three parties in the church, which
might be described as the Sacramental, the Emotional, and the
Philosophical, and the great problem to be solved was how to reconcile
their views.” The problem, he knows, is insoluble. The very men who
profess to revive Catholic dogma can only suggest a “considerate
disagreement,” which in plain words is an arrangement to betray God’s
revealed truth by an impious compromise with error.
Before closing this rapid and imperfect notice of the present state of the
Anglican Communion, a reflection suggests itself upon which we must say a
few words. It may reasonably be asked, What is the authority which the
ritualistic party professes to obey? They refuse the right of the state,
to which their community owes its being, to rule them in matters
ecclesiastical; they refuse obedience _practically_, whether professedly
or not, to their bishops, for whom they appear to have neither affection,
confidence, nor respect; and they not only refuse submission to her whom
they themselves acknowledge to be the “Mother and Mistress of all
churches,” but they openly express their sympathy and admiration for those
who rebel against her authority, invariably taking the part of the
revolted against the Catholic Church. “Is there, then, any authority upon
earth to which they allow themselves responsible, and if so, where is it
to be found?”