We know not from whom Germaine received her first religious

instructions--what hand, friendly to misfortune, revealed to her

the great truths of salvation. Doubtless, it was the curé of the

parish; for holy church despises not the meanest of her children;

and her sagacious eye is quick to discover the chosen of God.

{754}

But, whoever it was, he did but little, and there was little to

be done. God himself perfected the religious training of his

handmaiden. She early learned what must for ever remain unknown

to those who do not recognize in him the fountain of all wisdom.

Living amid the wonders of creation, she contemplated them with

the intelligent eye of innocence. Blessed are the pure in heart,

for they shall see God--see him in the brilliant stars, the

burning sun, the unfathomable heavens, and the changing

clouds--see him in the flowers and plants that cover the surface

of the earth! Germaine learned from the open book of nature a

wondrous lore; and her attuned ear caught and comprehended that

mysterious, anthem of praise, which, floating through creation,

is unheard by more sinful man. Her pure soul united in the

eternal song: _Benedicite omnia opera Domini Domino: laudate et

superexaltate eum in saecula!_

Although Germaine was a poor infirm orphan, subjected to the

heavy yoke of a severe step-mother, and exposed by her occupation

to the inclemency of the weather, she bore all her trials with

cheerfulness, never brooding over her sorrows. One of the

characteristics of the saints which particularly distinguishes

them from ordinary Christians, is, _the use made of the common

occurrences of life_. They share in common with other men, and

often in a greater degree, the trials common to humanity; but

they are chastened, purified by them, and they look upon the

afflictions of this life as a means of assimilating them to Him

who was a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Even in the

manifest ill treatment and injustice of the malignant and wicked,

they disregard the channel, but accept the suffering, as a means

of perfection.

The extent to which this principle is carried, is peculiarly

Catholic; and, in reading the lives of our saints, we cannot but

be struck by it. They never struggled against their trials, and

therefore were cheerful under them; for the greater part of our

wretchedness proceeds from struggling against the current of

life. This is the key to the saying of Fénélon: _Non-resistance

is a remedy for every ill._

The paternal roof was not for Germaine, as for most--even the

most wretched--a refuge and a place of repose. And yet neither

her poverty, nor sorrows, nor infirmities, could have rendered

her insensible to that which surpasses all the other pleasures of

life--the happiness of being loved. By a divine foresight, God

has placed in the hearts of parents, by the side of that fount of

love for their offspring, a well of singular tenderness for the

unfortunate child, the black lamb of the flock. This peculiar

love Germaine had not. She had not even the legitimate share of

her father's heart. She was denied a place at the fireside; she

was hardly allowed shelter in the house. Her step-mother,

irritable and imperious, would send her away to some obscure

corner. She was not permitted to approach the other

children--those brothers and sisters whom she loved so tenderly,

and whom she was always ready to serve without manifesting any

envy on account of the preferences of which they were the object,

and she the victim. The inflexible harshness of her step-mother

obliged the infirm girl to seek a place of repose in the stable,

or upon a heap of vine branches in an out-house.

{755}

But Germaine knew too well the value of sufferings not to accept

with joy these humiliations and this injustice. And, as if her

cross were yet too light, she imposed upon herself additional

austerities. During the greater part of her life, she denied

herself all nourishment but bread and water.

So great a conformity to her poor, suffering, and persecuted

Saviour, kindled in the heart of Germaine an ardent love for his

adorable humanity. Notwithstanding her feebleness and other

obstacles, she assisted every day at the Holy Sacrifice of the

Mass. Even the obligations of her calling could not keep her from

church at that hour. Confiding in God, she left her flock in the

pasture, and hastened to the foot of the altar. It is a misguided

piety which induces us to neglect the duties of our state of life

in order to satisfy our devotion; but with Germaine this was the

result of prompt obedience to a special inspiration. She knew who

would guard her sheep; while she, poor lamb of Christ's flock!

went to refresh herself at the fountain of living water.

Even when her sheep were feeding close by the wood of Boucone,

which skirted the fields of Pibrac, and abounded with wolves, at

the sound of the church bell she would plant her crook or her

distaff in the ground, and hasten to the feet of the divine

Shepherd. At her return, she always found her sheep unharmed. Not

one was ever devoured by the wolves, nor did they ever stray into

the neighboring fields.

Long after St. Germaine's death, the peasants of the hamlet

remembered the unearthly brightness of her face as, week after

week, she approached the holy sacraments.

"A celestial brightness, a more ethereal beauty,

Shone on her face and encircled her form when, after confession,

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction upon her."

In the Holy Eucharist she found a compensation for every grief.

That divine Spouse to whom she was pledged placed himself as a

seal upon her heart, thereby strengthening it to endure the

trials of life, and enriching it with such abundant grace that,

while dwelling at large in the great temple of nature, her life

gleamed before him, brightly, and purely, and constantly, like

the undying lamp of the sanctuary!

Like all the saints, Germaine had a singular devotion to

Mary--that devotion so dear to the Catholic heart, and which is

considered by the fathers as a mark of predestination. The world

does not realize how much it has owed to Mary during these

eighteen hundred years; yet some, some of us know how dark and

almost unbearable it would be with its sorrows, and cares, and

privations, if over all were not diffused the beauty and

softness, the sweet charm of virginity and love, from the divine

face of Mary!

To Germaine, the Ave Maria was another salutation of the angel

preluding the overshadowing of the Holy Ghost; and she murmured

the sacred words with infinite tenderness, above all, at the hour

when they are on every lip. As soon as she heard the Angelus

bell, which has three times a day, for six centuries, intoned the

Ave Maria between heaven and earth, it was remarked that,

wherever she might be, she immediately fell upon her knees as if

insensible to the incommodiousness of the place.

The Rosary was her only book; and to her this devotion was no

vain repetition. "Love," says Lacordaire, "has but one word, and,

in saying that for ever, it is never repeated."

{756}

"Ever transformed to meet our needs.

Oft as Devotion counts her beads,

As if those beads had caught the light

In her celestial girdle bright,

But each with its own colors dight.

Thus, whensoe'er that prayer is heard,

Fresh thoughts are in each solemn word:

An orb of light comes from the skies

To kindle holy liturgies;

It gathers and gives back their rays.

Now turned to prayer, and now to praise."

The love of God insensibly leads to the love of one's neighbor.

Germaine, when she could, used to draw around her the little

children of the village, and endeavor to explain to them the

truths of religion, and sweetly persuade them to love Jesus and

Mary. This little school, held in the shade of a thicket of the

lone fields, was a spectacle worthy of the admiration of angels,

and is a proof of the unselfishness of real piety, even in the

most lowly.

Although the piety of Germaine produced a profound impression in

the village, yet the world is the same everywhere, and always

conceives a secret aversion to piety. It cannot avoid censuring

it in some way, however unobtrusive a piety it may be. Religion

imposes esteem upon the world, and the world avenges itself by

raillery. So the wits of Pibrac persecuted Germaine with mockery;

they laughed at her simplicity, and called her a bigot.

But if God permits, for the perfection of the saints, that their

virtue be turned into ridicule, he knows, when it pleaseth him,

how to render them glorious in the eyes of the world.

In order to reach the village church, Germaine was obliged to

pass the Courbet, a stream she generally crossed without

difficulty in ordinary weather; but after heavy rains, it was too

wide and deep to be passed on foot. One morning, as she was going

to church, according to her custom, some peasants who saw her

afar off stopped at a distance, and asked one another in a tone

of mockery how she would pass the stream, now so swollen by the

rain that the most vigorous man could hardly have stemmed the

torrent. Dreaming of no obstacle, and perhaps not seeing any,

Germaine approached as if none existed. ... O wonder of divine

power and goodness! As of old the waters of the Red Sea opened

for the passage of the children of Israel, so those of the

Courbet divided before the humble daughter of Lawrence Cousin,

and she passed through without wetting even the edge of her

garments. At the sight of this miracle, afterward often repeated,

the peasants looked at one another with fear; and from that time

the boldest began to respect the simple maiden whom they had

hitherto scoffed at.

After having thus glorified the faith of Germaine by dissipating

the material obstacles to the performance of her duty, God wished

also to glorify her charity to the poor.

If any one could believe himself exempted from the obligation of

charity and alms-giving, it was certainly our shepherdess. She

had no superfluities; she lacked even the necessaries of life.

What was there, then, to retrench, in her life of extreme

privation and severe penance? How economize the _reward_ of

her labor, which consisted only of a little bread and water? But

charity is ingenious; and, seeing only our suffering Lord in the

person of the poor, Germaine often deprived herself of a part of

the bread which was allowed for her nourishment, doubly glad to

give it to the hungry, and increase the treasure of her

privations. Such are the deeds of the saints which will one day

reproach us with terrible power! What will the rich man say when

he beholds, rising up to confront his hardness of heart, the alms

of Lazarus!

{757}

The pious liberality of Germaine made her an object of suspicion

to her step-mother, who, not divining her resources, accused her

of stealing bread from the house. One day she learned that

Germaine, who had just gone with the flock, carried in her apron

some pieces of bread. Furious, and armed with a cudgel, she

immediately ran after her. Some of the other inhabitants of

Pibrac happened to be on their way at this very moment to the

house of Lawrence Cousin. Seeing this woman almost beside herself

with passion, they divined her intentions, and hastened to

protect Germaine from the ill treatment with which she was

menaced. Overtaking the step-mother, they learned the cause of

her anger. Finding Germaine, she seized her apron, and instead of

bread, it was filled with bouquets of roses, although it was a

season when those flowers were not in bloom. Thus God confounded

the malice of her implacable enemy by renewing a miracle,

likewise wrought in favor of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary and other

saints.

From this time, Germaine was regarded as a saint. Lawrence

Cousin, conceiving more tender sentiments toward this pious child

whom he had so little known, forbade his wife's annoying her any

more, and wished to give her a place in his house with the other

children. But Germaine, accustomed to suffering and loving

privation, besought him to leave her in the obscure place which

her step-mother had assigned her.

It was now that Germaine attained and proved the perfection of

her humility. We must not consider it a trifling honor to have

been esteemed at Pibrac; nor a small reward to have had a place

at the fireside of Lawrence Cousin. Human nature is the same

everywhere. There is no theatre too small for ambition. We know

there are as many cabals for the first place in a village as for

the chief place in an empire.

Perhaps it may not be entirely useless to speak of the exterior

of the blessed Germaine. The manners and customs of the remote

provinces of France retain so much of primitive simplicity, they

change so little year after year, and the people in these

localities have such a marked appearance, that we may form a

reasonable idea of her person and habits.

She is represented in paintings and engravings as we see scores

of shepherdesses in the south of France at this day--seated on a

hillock in the fields, and surrounded by her flock. With a

spindle in her hand, and under her arm the distaff laden with

flax, she is spinning, after the primitive manner of that

country. She is rather below the medium size, and is slight in

form. She has the long head of the Toulousains, and their dark,

Spanish complexion and eyes. The face, half hidden by the

picturesque scarlet capuchon, is expressive of silence,

_interior_ silence; and forcibly speaks of the deep, deep

calm within. A pleasing sadness, or rather a subdued joy, veils

her face. There is an introspective look about the eyes which

shows that her spirit has passed the bounds of sense, and is

concentrated in one mysterious thought--some dream of a heavenly

world. Sitting alone, away from her kind, her thoughts were pure

and holy and bright, like the fragrant flowers of her own green

meadows. She must have seemed to the other peasants like some

phantom of unearthly love, as she sat there enveloped in a divine

ethereal atmosphere.

{758}

In the distance rise the towers of the church, and the antique

château of the Lords of Pibrac, and between murmurs the Courbet.

Over all, is the sunlight of her own bright clime.

Perhaps the miracle of the roses is the most popular

representation of Saint Germaine, as something not quite so

unearthly. There is no mystery about the look of the fierce

step-mother, as with one hand she raises the cudgel over the head

of the resigned-looking girl, and with the other grasps the apron

from which tumble out the bright and fragrant flowers. The face

of Germaine is somewhat sad, and her eyes are cast down in fear

to the earth. Tremulous and mute she stands before her

step-mother, for she is humble and sore afraid. There is a

reflective charm about her of which she is wholly unconscious,

for it emanates from that spiritual beauty visible only to the

intelligences and bright ardors around the throne.

Saint Germaine died soon after the miracle of the roses. Almighty

God, having sanctified her by humiliations and sufferings,

withdrew her from this world when men, becoming more just, began

to render her the honor her virtue merited. She terminated her

obscure and hidden life by a similar death, but according to

appearance this terrible moment, which confounds human arrogance,

gave her no terror or pain.

One morning, Lawrence Cousin, not seeing her come out as usual,

went to call her where she slept--under the stairs. She made no

reply. He entered and found her upon her bed of vine-branches.

She had fallen asleep while at prayer. God had called her to

enjoy the reward of eternal life. She had ceased to suffer.

It was about the commencement of the summer of the year 1601 that

Saint Germaine entered into the joy of her Lord. She was

twenty-two years of age.

That same night two pious men were overtaken near Pibrac by the

darkness of night, and obliged to await the return of day in a

neighboring forest. All at once, in the middle of the night, the

woods were flooded with a light more brilliant than the dawn, and

a company of virgins, clothed in white garments and surrounded by

a dazzling light, floated by on the darkness toward the house of

Lawrence Cousin. Soon after they returned, but there was another

in their midst--more radiant still--who had on her head a chaplet

of fresh flowers. ...

People came in crowds to her funeral, wishing to honor her whom

they had too long despised, whom too late they had known. This

was the first testimony of public veneration. Her body was buried

in the church in front of the pulpit. Forty-three years after, it

was found entire and preserved from corruption. It had been

embalmed with her virginal purity. In her hands were a taper and

a garland of pinks and heads of grain. The flowers had scarcely

faded. The grain was fresh as at the time of harvest.

The holy body was removed and finally placed in the sacristy,

where people of all ranks, incited by the wonders wrought at her

tomb, came to offer their homage.

In 1843, more than four hundred legally attested miracles had

been wrought at her shrine, and so excited the faith of the

people in her power before God, that the Archbishop of Toulouse,

and nearly all the other prelates of France, petitioned the Holy

See for her beatification. It had been desired before the French

Revolution, but it was not attempted till the time of Gregory

XVI.

{759}

When the commissioners went to examine the condition of the

remains of the venerable Germaine, a most extraordinary scene

took place. The inhabitants of Pibrac, thinking that the

beatification of their shepherdess might terminate in the loss of

their holy treasure, came in a body to the door of the church.

They received the commissioners with threats and even with

stones, so it was only with difficulty an entrance could be

effected into the church. The furious multitude followed, and the

examination was made in the midst of a frightful tumult. "No!

no!" was heard on all sides. "No beatification. St. Germaine

cures us when we are sick; that is enough. She belongs to us. We

wish to keep her."

The brief for the beatification of Germaine Cousin was issued by

the order of his holiness Pius IX., on the 1st of July, 1853.

The Triduo which was held at Pibrac, in 1854, in honor of this

event, manifested the joy and the faith of the people. Altars,

lighted up by the bright sun of France, were erected in the

fields once trod by the feet of Germaine, so that hundreds of

Masses could be offered at once. The whole country around poured

in. Toulouse seemed vacated. There were eighty thousand persons

assembled around that shrine. On the first day there were

fourteen thousand communicants. In the procession were eighteen

hundred young ladies robed in white. They all held white lilies

in one hand, and wax tapers in the other, and as they entered the

church and passed the altar, they deposited their tapers on one

side and their lilies on the other. Conspicuous in the procession

were those who had been healed by the intervention of the holy

shepherdess. Lights were in their hands, and they made an

offering of gratitude at the altar.

The house in which the blessed Germaine had lived was endangered

during those days of religious triumph. It was in a tolerable

state of preservation, but every one seemed anxious to secure a

portion of the walls that once sheltered her, and especially of

the spot sanctified by the angel of death.

A resident in the south of France at the time of the

beatification of Saint Germaine, as she was even then, with one

accord, called in that country, I was forcibly impressed with the

enthusiastic veneration and confidence with which she was

regarded by all classes. Every week I heard of some new miracle

at her tomb; so they soon ceased to excite wonder, and seemed to

belong to the established order of events. There was scarcely an

individual in my circle of acquaintance who had not been, at

least once, to prostrate himself at her shrine, and there was a

lively faith in her protection, which proved to me how strongly

the spirit of the middle ages still animates the hearts of the

faithful.

So popular a devotion was a novelty to me--a "_native

American_"--but I could not long remain insensible to its

influence. One misty October day found me likewise an humble

pilgrim at the shrine of the holy shepherdess of Pibrac.

The very air of that antique chapel inspires devotion. A

supernatural influence seemed to impregnate everything around me.

I saw, too, that I was not the only one who felt this subtle

influence penetrating to the very heart; for the faces of all the

pilgrims, priests, religious, and laymen of every rank who are

constantly arriving and departing, were indicative of a holy awe.

Though I got there at a late hour, and it was raining, Masses

were still being celebrated, and the church was full. It was no

festival. It was so every day. Masses were said at every altar

from early dawn till the latest canonical hour.

{760}

Prostrate groups from different parishes were always there,

clustered in the nave, or gathered about the shrine; and here and

there were lone pilgrims who, like me, had been brought from the

ends of the earth. And around and over all were constellations of

brightly burning tapers, emblematic of the prayer of faith, left

there by the pilgrim as loth he slowly left the hallowed

sanctuary.

The tomb of Saint Germaine is in a side chapel, protected by a

grate. Her relics are covered with gold and silver and precious

stones, _ex votes_, which gleam in the light of the votive

candles around. Involuntarily there comes to the heart in this

fitting place, and to the lips, the strain, _Exaltavit

humiles!_

"Lord, behold, he whom thou lovest is sick!" is the cry of every

weary, sin-laden heart; above all here, where thou dost love to

display thy goodness and thy power. The sacred heart of thy

humanity, ever touched with feeling for our infirmities, is not

hardened. It is still as tender and as compassionate as when thou

didst weep over the grave at Bethany, and thy hand is as

powerful. I believe that thou, who art honored in thy saints,

dost heal here both soul and body of those who approach thee with

faith and with love, especially with _love_. "Many sins are

forgiven her, because she hath loved much," was uttered centuries

ago, but has been repeated times without number since, over

penitent, loving souls. O power of love over the divine heart! It

is only the cold, the feeble in faith, who have no power to draw

from this inexhaustible well of compassion.

If every Catholic heart were, as it should be, a _chapelle

ardente_, all aflame with the love of God, how soon would the

spiritual infirmities of entire humanity be healed, and the

wounds of Christ's bleeding body be bound up!

Reader! let the aspiration of divine love, indulgenced by our

sovereign pontiff on the 7th of May, 1854, in honor of the

beatification of Germaine Cousin, be often on our lips and in our

hearts: "Jesu, Deus MEUS, AMO TE SUPER OMNIA!" Jesus, my God, I

love thee above all things!

----------

{761}

From The Latin Of Prudentius.

An Elegy.

Aurelics Prudentius Clemens, the glory of the early Christian

poets, was born in Spain in the year 348. He studied eloquence in

his youth under a celebrated master. He was twice made governor

of provinces and cities, raised to the highest rank, and placed

at the court by the Emperor Theodosius I., next in dignity to his

own person.

But in the vigor of his age, he quitted worldly honors and

employments, made a pilgrimage to Rome, and thence returning to

Spain, led a secluded life, consecrating his leisure to the

composition of sacred poems. He is esteemed the most learned of

the Christian poets, and, for the sweetness and elegance of his

verses, has been compared to Horace.

Venient citò saecula, quum jam

Socius calor ossa revisat,

Animataque sanguine vivo

Habitacula pristina gestet.

Quae pigra cadavera pridem

Tumulis putrefacta jacebant,

Volucres rapientur in auras,

Animas comitata priores.

Quid turba superstes inepta

Plangens ululamina miscet?

Cur tam bene condita jura,

Luctu dolor arguit amens?

Jam moesta quiesce querela,

Lacrymas suspendite matres,

Nullus sua pignora plangat:

Mors haec reparatio vitae est.

Sic semina sicca virescunt

Jam mortua, jamque sepulta,

Quae reddita cespite ab imo

Veteres meditantur aristas.

Nunc suscipe, terra, fovendum,

Gremioque hunc concipe molli;

Hominis tibi membra sequestro,

Generosa et fragmina credo.

{762}

Animae fuit haec domus olim

Factoris ab ore create;

Fervens habitavit in istis

Sapientia, principe Christo.

Tu depositum tege corpus;

Non immemor ille requiret

Sua munera fictor et auctor,

Propriique aenigmata vultûs.

Veniant modò tempora justa,

Quum spem Deus impleat omnem;

Reddas patefacta necesse est,

Qualem tibi trado figuram.

Non si cariosa vetustas

Dissolverit ossa favillis,

Fueritque cinisculus arens,

Minimi mensura pugilli;

Nee si vaga flamina, et aurae

Vacuum per inane volantes

Tulerint cum pulvere nervos,

Hominem periisse licebit.

Translation.

The hour is speeding on amain

When back into its olden form,

Once more with ruddy life-blood warm,

The spirit shall return again.

The freed soul soars aloft through space:

So, dust with dust, aloft through air,

This heavy clay swift gales shall bear

From its sepulchral resting-place..

Why doth the crowd surviving fill

The air with a lamenting vain?

Why with such idle griefs arraign

The justice of the Eternal will?

{763}

Oh! end these pangs with murmurs rife,

O mothers! cease your tears, your woe;

Weep not for your dead children so,

Death the renewal is of life.

The dead, dry seed lies hid from view,

To burst forth to new glorious bloom;

The former beauty to resume,

The ancient harvest to renew.

O earth! in thy soft bosom keep,

And quicken with new warmth this clay,

This sacred frame to rest we lay.

It smiles in thy embrace to sleep.

'Twas once the immortal spirit's cell.

That breath breathed from the lips divine;

Here was the living wisdom's shrine,

Here deigned the Christ supreme to dwell.

Guard it beneath thy faithful sod,

For He, one day, will re-demand

From thee this labor of his hand.

This breathing likeness of its God.

Oh! for the appointed hour to rend

The grave! the hope God gives is sure:

Safe, beauteous, through these gates obscure

What now descendeth shall ascend.

Yes, though this frame divinely planned

Be wasted by decay and rust,

And naught left save a little dust.

The filling of the smallest hand:

Though these strong sinews ashes be

On wandering breezes wafted wide,

Inviolate ever shall abide

The mortal's immortality.

C. E. B.

---------

{764}

Translated From Der Katholik.

The Ancient Irish Church.

The history of the ancient Irish church, for many reasons, claims

our respectful attention. In the time of the migration of the

European races, this church had a great mission to accomplish

among the Germanic tribes. When the Goths had overrun Spain, the

Franks and Burgundians conquered Gaul, the Anglo-Saxons invaded

Britain, the Vandals spoiled Africa, and the Lombards gained

strongholds in Italy; when the Alemanni and Sueves had penetrated

into the valleys and claimed the mountains of ancient Helvetia;

who was it in those stormy times that elevated the moral

condition of those peoples, drew them out of the darkness of

German paganism, or converted them from Arianism; regenerated

them internally, civilized and incorporated them into the kingdom

of God, after they had devastated the provinces of the Western

empire, leaving ruins, deserts, confusion, and desolation behind

them in their plundering march? It was the missionaries of the

ancient Irish church that rescued Europe from the barbarism of

that period. Evidently sent by God, those Irish missionaries

founded new Christian colonies in different lands, hewed down the

forests, civilized the deserts, founded churches, schools, and

monasteries. As the Roman empire without the barbarians was

nothing but an abyss of slavery and rottenness, so would the

barbarians have been a wild chaos without the monks. The monks

and barbarians combined produced a new world which we call

Christendom.

Germany also owes much to the missionaries of the ancient Irish

church. In the olden time Ireland was called the "island of

saints and sages;" as her people in our days receive from us the

honorable title of "martyr-nation of the west," for their

inflexible fidelity to their faith during three centuries of

shameless and brutal persecution. "No one but God in heaven knows

the number of the saints whose dust is mingled with Irish soil,"

wrote one of the oldest Irish writers, the biographer of St.

Ailbe of Emly. We count, not by hundreds, but by thousands, the

holy Irish bishops, abbots, priests, monks, and virgins. Even in

the days of St. Patrick, and still more after his successful

apostolate, Ireland was not only a great training-school for

foreign missionaries, but a second Thebais, in which the

exercises of the spiritual life were thoroughly practised, and

where students could devote themselves in solitude to the study

of philosophy and holy writ under the ablest professors. Pious

men went from Britain, from the European continent, from France,

and even from Rome, to the classic and holy "island of saints,"

to learn the doctrines of Christian perfection, literature, and

theology, in the renowned monasteries of the land of Columba and

Colombanus.

Even to this day Ireland is specially favored by God. There are

no snakes in it or other venomous reptiles. The very dangerous

portion of the animal kingdom is entirely excluded from its

sacred ground; and all attempts to naturalize poisonous creatures

there have been unsuccessful. The old Irish rhyme reads:

{765}

"St. Patrick was a holy man,

He was a saint so clever,

He gave the snakes and toads his ban,

And drove them out for ever."

Throughout Ireland there are great fields of wheat and grain of

every description, and many lakes. The climate is mild, and snow

so rare that cattle can graze in the fields all the year round.

Rain showers are frequent, and give such fertility and verdure to

the soil as no other land in Europe possesses, so that the island

is known as "Green Erin," or the "Emerald isle." The plants,

flowers, and trees of Ireland, in their shape, color, and

material, remind one somewhat of Normandy in France, or of

Asturia in northern Spain.

The _History of the Ancient Irish Church_ has been just

presented to the public by an author who is in a better condition

than most of his contemporaries to write such a work, which

charms us more and more the more frequently we read it. We speak

of the recent work of the Bishop of St. Gall, Dr. Charles John

Greith, in which we recognize one of the greatest efforts of

German historical literature. We cannot, therefore, refrain from

imparting to our readers an epitome of the contents of this

remarkable and highly interesting production. The right reverend

author considers his work of four hundred and sixty-two pages as

an "Introduction to the history of the Bishopric of St. Gall." He

published the book on the commemoration and centenary of the

consecration of the cathedral of St. Gall, August 17th and 18th,

1867, and dedicated his literary effort to the chapter and the

clergy of his diocese. From early youth the distinguished author

has been familiar with the legends and history of St. Gall, and

studied them with love and veneration. Love for that great Irish

missionary saint, whose worthy successor Dr. Greith is, inspired

the work whose continuation we desire most earnestly. "St. Gall

has left behind him a world-wide reputation as the apostle of the

Swiss Alps. Centuries have not diminished his fame, which the

gratitude of Christians sanctions."

Veneration for St. Gall has been spread far beyond the boundaries

of Switzerland; from the foot of the Alps to Upper Burgundy and

Alsace, even to the limits of the Vosges; then into Brisgau and

the Black Forest, to the Suabian Alps, and thence into Nibelgau,

and Algau. In all these regions, the monks of St. Gall imparted

the blessings of religion and education. Full of admiration for

the Christian zeal of St. Gall and his disciples, our author

recalls the words spoken by Ermenreich of Reichenau, to Abbot

Grimald of St. Gall, over a thousand years ago: "How could we

ever forget the island of Ireland, from which the rays of

Christian light and the sun of Christian faith have shone upon

us!" Taking this expression for his motto, the right reverend

writer gives us his magnificent _History of the Ancient Irish

Church and its Connection with Rome, Gaul, and Germany_.

Divided into six books, the work describes in the two first the

migrations of the barbarians and the fall of the Roman empire;

then the heresies which swarmed in the church of the period; then

the school of the island of Lerins, where St. Patrick, the

apostle of Ireland, was instructed. The four last books are

consecrated to St. Patrick and his apostleship in Ireland; to St.

Columba, the apostle of Scotland; to St. Colombanus and his deeds

in France, Flanders, and the north of Italy; and to St. Gall, the

apostle of Germany. The sixth and last book treats of

Christianity and its customs in the Irish church.

{766}

The illustrious author made use of manuscripts as well as printed

works in the compilations of his history. Many manuscripts were

at his disposal in St. Gall itself. The original sources of

ancient Irish history consist of different materials; genealogies

which trace the origin of kings or saints and their relatives;

annals which give the year of the death of saints, or of other

distinguished characters; church calendars which give the day of

the month on which the death of a saint occurred; and finally,

the lives of the saints themselves. These biographies are

copiously used. We cannot restrain our desire to quote what the

author thinks of those sources of history. "Erudition is not

sufficient for us to judge the biographies of the ancient saints;

we must have sympathy with them in their zealous labor; and a

spiritual relationship in their faith. Every age must be judged

according to the ideas, and customs which prevail in it; and

every saint according to the circumstances in which he lives."

The poetic as well as the historical element, the legendary as

well as the authentic, must be combined in forming a correct

estimate of a saint's character.

Even in the early part of the middle ages, every cathedral

church, large monastery, or distinguished hermitage, possessed

its hagiographers, who wrote the lives of the saints of the

place, either from authentic written documents, traditions, or

from knowledge acquired as eye-witnesses. Since John Moschus

published his collection of legends, extraordinary diligence in

the criticism and sifting of the ancient biographies of the

saints has been manifested in the church. The collection and

critical works of the Bollandists, of Lurius, Mabillon, d'Achery,

and others, keep their reputation undiminished to the present

day. These writers display such a thoroughness in their

researches, that the modern rationalists have been unable to find

a flaw of any consequence in their criticism. The truthful

historian must describe those apostles of religion and

civilization among the Germans, such as they were, children of

their century, representatives of its ideas, views, and manners.

Following this method, he will not cast doubt on the purity of

their motives, or try to lessen their merit in drawing entire

nations of barbarians out of the darkness of paganism and

immorality into the light of Christianity and virtue. The blind

party spirit of our times recognizes no justice, and modern

paganism is only satisfied when it can throw everything that is

noble and holy out of history. The modern pagans tear with scorn

the Holy Scriptures into shreds before our eyes, and subject to a

lawless criticism the ablest records of ecclesiastical history,

while they try to overturn every monument that might shelter the

weary pilgrims of earth on their road to heaven.

II.

The most trustworthy documents regarding the first traces of

Christianity in Ireland, inform us that up to the time of Pope

Celestine I., (a.d. 422-432,) that country had not been

converted. Up to the year of our Lord 432, no Christian

missionary had trodden the soil of the island, or caused the

light of faith to shine over the hills and through the valleys of

green Erin. Palladius and Patrick were the first apostles, (A.D.

430.) It is true, several High-Church English writers have

endeavored to prove the establishment of an Irish church prior to

St. Patrick; but this theory is unsupported by any authentic

documents.

{767}

Besides, the attempt of those writers was prompted by the

partisan desire of proving an original separation in belief

between Ireland and Rome. Nevertheless, it is not improbable that

many non-commissioned Christians may have gone from Britain and

Gaul into Ireland before the year 430, and formed small

communities, or lived scattered among the heathens. "On the wings

of every day commerce, the flower-seeds of Christian faith must

have been borne to Erin from Britain and Gaul; as from the

earliest times direct business relations were kept up between

Nantes, other harbors of Armoric Gaul, and Ireland. To the

north-west of Gaul also came the Irish rovers, under the guidance

of some distinguished chieftain, in quest of plunder, and

frequently carried off Christians into captivity. In this way St.

Patrick, when a youth of sixteen years of age, was taken from the

coast of Armorica by the pirates of King Niall, and with many

thousand others detained in bondage, as he informs us himself in

his writings," (p. 86.)

Besides the fact that there was no Irish church prior to St.

Patrick, though there may have been individual Christians in the

country, we must prove that the Christianity imported into

Ireland was Roman, and that her apostles received their mission

from the pope. Pope Celestine, in the year 431, sent Palladius,

deacon or arch-deacon of the Roman church, as the first

missionary. This apostolic man, who had long been casting his

eyes toward Britain and the other western islands of Europe, had

a double and very important task to execute in Ireland, namely,

to strengthen the dispersed Catholics in the faith, and to

evangelize the heathens. He landed in Hay-Garrchon, penetrated

into the interior of the country, baptized many, built three

churches in the province of Leinster; but, taken altogether, his

mission was unsuccessful, and he met with much opposition. "But

when Palladius understood that he could not do much good in

Ireland, he wanted to return to Rome, and died on the voyage, in

the territory of the Picts. Others say that he received the crown

of martyrdom in Ireland."

What Palladius begun--but which God's providence willed to remain

incomplete--Patrick accomplished in sixty years of apostolic

labor. Him God chose as the instrument, and fitted him for this

holy work. That he received his commission from Rome from the

hands of Pope Celestine, A.D. 432, cannot be doubted; for the

fact is confirmed by a crowd of witnesses, both Roman and Irish.

We must, therefore, consider and reverence Patrick as the apostle

of the Irish people.

All the early Irish annalists unanimously agree that his mission

began in the year 432, and that he died in 493--an apostleship of

sixty years! How great and glorious for him and for his people!

Patrick was born A.D. 387, in Boulogne-sur-Mer, in modern

Picardy, and was of noble Roman origin. In his sixteenth year, in

a marauding expedition of an Irish clan called Niall, he was

carried prisoner to Armoric Gaul; thence to Ireland, and there

sold to a pagan officer named Milcho, whose swine he herded for

six years. After this, he escaped, and returned to his native

land. Having fully determined to consecrate himself to the

service of God, he went to Marmontiers, the monastery of St.

Martin of Tours, to study there the principles of Christian

science and perfection.

{768}

A few years after, he visited the happy island of Lerins, near

Marseilles, at that time one of the most famous schools in

Christendom, and met there, as fellow-students, the holy monks

Honoratus, Hilary, Eucherius, Lupus, and others. An interior

voice there told him that he should return to Ireland to preach

the Gospel in that country; and he therefore travelled from

Lerins to Rome, in order to represent to the holy see the

darkness of heathenism which brooded over Ireland. But, as the

apostolic see was not then in a condition to provide for the

Irish mission, Patrick went back to Gaul, and remained with St.

Germain of Auxerre, under whose guidance he made further progress

in holiness and learning. Such was his life up to the year 429.

In this year he accompanied Bishop Germanus and Lupus to Britain,

who were sent by the pope to root out Pelagianism in that

country. Thus was Patrick prepared for his apostleship.

It was then he heard of the mission of Palladius, and its

failure. (A.D. 431.) The holy Bishop Germanus cast his eyes on

Patrick, who knew the Irish language, people, and country from

personal observations. Did he not seem peculiarly fitted--sent,

in fact, from heaven, to undertake the conversion of the Irish

nation?

Patrick, therefore, with the priest Legetius as his companion,

went to Rome, and received from Pope Celestine his blessing and

the necessary authority to undertake the task of converting

Ireland. It is hard to tell now whether he was consecrated bishop

by Celestine before his departure, or by Bishop Amatorex, of

Eboria, a city in north-western Gaul. He reached Ireland in the

first year of Celestine III. A life of continual triumphs began

for him. He was repulsed from the coast of Dublin: no matter; he

sailed for Ulster, and landed at Strangford. He converts the

chieftain Dicho and his whole house, and celebrates his first

Mass in Ireland in a neighboring barn. At the royal city of Tara,

he meets King Leoghaire, with all his clan; defends and explains

Christianity in their presence, and gains a victory over the

Druids. Dublach, a Druid and poet, is converted, and sings, for

the future, only hymns in the honor of the true God. The

daughters of the king, Ethana and Fethlimia, also bow to the yoke

of the Gospel, and consecrate their virginity to God, and many

other holy women follow their example. Thus, a happy beginning

was made in the island.

Soon the converts number thousands. Everything succeeds; the

conversion of the Irish people was effected without persecution

or martyrs. Patrick frequented the national assemblies, and used

the occasion to preach to the multitudes. He destroyed idolatry

and idolatrous practices throughout the whole land, and built

churches to the living God on places that had hitherto been

dedicated to the worship of idols. Wherever he went, he baptized

crowds of men, provided the new Christian communities with

churches, made the most virtuous of his disciples priests and

bishops, and appointed them to govern the faithful, and extend

the reign of the Gospel.

Thus did he labor year after year, going about preaching,

baptizing, and blessing, in Leinster, Ulster, Munster, and

Connaught; and everywhere his astonishing activity and self

sacrifice effected wonderful results. Everywhere the people were

ready and docile for the reception of Christianity. Divine

Providence wonderfully protected him from all danger.

{769}

But when the whole island was converted to Christ, congregations

formed, and churches erected in all parts of the country, St.

Patrick thought of building a metropolitan cathedral for the

primate of Ireland. He chose for this purpose the heights of

Admarcha, or Armagh, near which stood the old royal fortress of

Emania. After the building of his cathedral and the conversion of

the Irish, St. Patrick passed the remaining years of his life

partly at Armagh, partly at his favorite spot at Sabhul, where he

began his missionary career. He assembled a few synods, wrote his

_Confession_, as it is called, on the approach of death, and

was attacked by his last illness at Sabhul. When he felt his end

approaching, he collected his remaining strength, and endeavored

to go to Armagh, which he had chosen as the place of his burial;

but, warned by a voice from heaven, he returned to Sabhul, and

died there eight days after, on the 17th of March, 493.

III.

Let us now glance at the disciples and followers of this great

man. They followed up his work with such zeal and indefatigable

activity that, at the end of the sixth century, Christianity was

spread over all Ireland. We distinguish, in the Irish church,

"Fathers of the First Order," and "Fathers of the Second Order."

The holy men from Rome, Italy, Gaul, and especially from Wales or

Cambria, who followed St. Patrick as their leader, and aided him

in his labors, are the "Fathers of the First Order." Patrick

brought with him from Rome, in the year 432, nine assistants; in

the year 439, Secundinus, Auxilius, and Iserninus, were sent to

him from Rome. The two former of these, together with Benignus,

were present as bishops at the first synod of Armagh, in the year

456. Bishop Trianius, a Roman, another disciple of St. Patrick,

imitated so exactly the life of the great apostle, that his food

was nothing but the milk of one cow, which he took care of

himself. The first mitred abbot of Sabhul was Dunnius; and the

first bishop of Antrim was Leoman, Patrick's nephew. The oldest

Irish bishops appointed by Patrick, were Patrick of Armagh, Fiech

of Sletty, Mochua of Aendrun, Carbreus of Cubratham, and

Maccarthen, of Aurghialla. Seven nephews of St. Patrick, who

followed him from Cambria, are invoked in the Irish litanies as

bishops. They are the sons of Tigriada, Brochad, Brochan,

Mogenoch, Luman; and the sons of Darercha, Mel, Rioch, and Muna.

When the heathen Anglo-Saxons conquered Britain in the year 450,

and sought to destroy the old British church, many learned and

pious men fled to Ireland, and joined Patrick. Thirty of them

were made bishops, and devoted themselves to the special task of

converting the neighboring islands. The most renowned of these

Welsh missionaries are Carantoc, Mochta of Lugmagh, and Modonnoc,

who introduced the rearing of bees into Ireland, where they had

never been seen before. Three companions of St. Patrick--Essa,

Bitmus, and Tesach--were expert bell-founders, and makers of

church-vessels. The fact that Patrick was sent from Rome, that

his first assistants were Romans, and that his co-laborers from

Gaul and Britain were sons of the Roman church, completely

destroys the Anglican hypothesis of an Irish church independent

of Rome.

{770}

Even Albeus, who, on account of his services, was called the

second Patrick, Declau, and Ihac, the apostles of the Mumons;

Enna, or Enda, the founder of the great monastery of Aran;

Condland, Bishop of Kildare, all disciples of St. Patrick, were

educated and consecrated bishops in Rome. There also were Lugach,

Colman, Meldan, Lugaidh, Cassan, and Ciaran, consecrated and

afterward numbered among the earliest bishops and fathers of the

Irish church.

From the time of St. Patrick, continual communication was kept up

between Rome and Ireland by countless pilgrims, as many documents

attest, (Greith, p. 142-156.) Patrick left his love and reverence

for the Apostolic See of Peter as a precious legacy to his

immediate disciples; and they, in turn, to their successors up to

the present day. The frequent pilgrimages of Irish bishops,

abbots, and monks, are facts so well proven, that the Anglican

theory of a separate Irish church is shown to be a pure

invention, no longer contended for as truth by any respectable

historian.

Let us now pass to the fathers of the second order in the Irish

church, and their illustrious foundations. The founders of those

numerous Irish monasteries, which counted their inmates by

hundreds and thousands, those men who were mostly brought up by

the immediate successors of St. Patrick, belong to the "Second

Order of Irish Fathers." Twelve of them, instructed by the

renowned Abbot Finnian, at Clonard, are called the twelve

apostles of Ireland. At their head stands Columba, the apostle of

the Picts, shining among them like the sun among the stars. Their

names are, Columba, of Iona, Corngall, of Bangor, Cormac, of

Deormagh, Cainech, of Achedbo, Ciaran, of Clonmacnoise, Mobhi, of

Clareinech, Brendan, of Clonfert, Brendan, of Birr, Fintan,

Columba, of Tirgelass, Molua Fillan and Molasch, of Damhs-Inis.

These holy men erected all over Ireland and in the adjacent isles

churches and convents, which became centres of art, learning, and

sanctity. The monastery of Clonard, founded in Meath by Abbot

Finnian, contained during his lifetime three thousand monks. At

Clonmacnoise, a monastery founded by St. Ciaran, in the middle of

Ireland, agriculture was made a special study; and Monastereven

on the Barrow, Monasterboyce in the valley of the Boyne,

Dearmach, etc., were renowned institutions. These first and

oldest Irish monasteries were not large, regularly-built houses,

but composed of numbers of separate cells or huts, made of

wicker-work, stalks, and rushes. The church or oratory stood in

the midst of the huts, and was made of the same material. It was

at a later period that the Roman architecture was introduced into

Ireland; and then stone edifices took the place of the primitive

structures. Special mention is always made in the Irish annals of

the erection of a stone church, for the people preferred wooden

buildings, and their preference shows itself up to the twelfth

century. The stone churches were looked upon as the fruit of

foreign architecture, as St. Bernard informs us in his life of

St. Malachy. The Roman church gradually introduced into Ireland

the fine arts and a higher order of architecture, as she had done

at an earlier date in Gaul and Britain. Choral singing became

usual. The church hymns took the place of the Druidical

rhapsodies; and the muses of Inisfail forgot to sing of heroes,

and learned to tune their harps to sing the praise of Christ and

his saints.

The Irish missionaries reclaimed barren lands and made them

fertile, ameliorated the condition of agriculture, spread

commerce, and discovered new islands in the sea. Many of the

Irish saints, at the period of which we are writing, were great

navigators.

{771}

Dr. Greith paints in glowing colors the life of St. Columba and

his labors in Ireland, the Hebrides, and Scotland, as well as the

discipline and rules of the Abbey of Hy, which was founded by

him. We cannot enter into details, but refer the reader to Dr.

Greith's book. Columba was born on the 7th of December, 521. In

the first half of his life, Ireland was the scene of his zeal;

the second half was spent among the Scots and Picts. In Ireland

he founded Durrow, Derry, and Kells. He went with twelve

disciples to Caledonia in the year 563. Christianity among the

Scots had degenerated; and the Picts were still pagans. The king

of the Picts, Brudrius, gave him the island of Iona or Hy, where

his works began which God crowned with wonderful success. He soon

became the beacon light for all the faithful priests and laity of

Ireland and Caledonia. He visited Ireland to counsel his noble

relatives, settle their disputes, or oversee the churches and

monasteries which he had established, and travelled among the

Picts preaching the Gospel, founding monasteries, and erecting

churches which should consider Iona as their mother. He built

thirty-two churches, to most of which monasteries were attached,

in Scotland; and eighteen among the Picts, in the space of

thirty-three years, (563-597.) Even during his lifetime he was so

celebrated that, from all sides, princes, nobles, bishops,

priests, monks, and the faithful of all classes ran to him for

counsel in their difficulties, consolation in their distress, and

help in their necessities. Columba fought against the

superstition of the Picts, the cunning of their magicians, and

the wickedness of lawless men. Princes' sons, whose fathers had

lost their lives and crowns in battle, went to Iona to lay their

grievances before Columba, and to each one according to his need,

the saint gave consolation and hope. The common people brought

their children to him, to ask him to decide their vocation. It

was not an unusual spectacle to see kings and nobles lay aside

the insignia of their greatness at Iona, and break their swords

before its altars. Columba's prayers were very powerful. His

blessing controlled the elements and the forces of nature. He

seemed to rule nature as a lord. He had also the gift of

prophecy. He died June 9th, A.D. 597. His departure from life was

made known to many holy men in different parts of Ireland and

Scotland at the same time, who declared that "Columba, the pillar

of so many churches, had gone to-night to the bosom of his

Redeemer." The isle of Iona was illuminated by a heavenly light,

emanating from the countless angels who came down to take up the

happy soul of the saint to the bosom of his God.

The Irish monasteries increased wonderfully during the sixth

century. Finnian's monastery at Clonard, as already mentioned,

contained 3000 monks; and that of Bangor and Birr had the same

number; St. Molaissi had 1500 monks around him; Colombanus and

Fechin had each 300; Carthach, 867; Gobban, 1000; Maidoc,

Manchan, Natalis, and Ruadhan, each 150; Revin and Molua were

each the head of several thousand. There was no common rule for

all those convents, like that which St. Benedict wrote for the

religious of his order, (A.D. 529.) Each monastery had its own

laws. Columba had made no special rule for Hy or for his other

monasteries. St. Colombanus was the first who collected and

methodized the customs and traditions of Irish monastic life.

{772}

A thorough investigation of the most ancient custom of the Celtic

church, proves that it was in communion with the church of Rome.

The trivial differences between the two churches regarded neither

dogma, nor morality, nor the essentials of the Liturgy, of the

Mass, or the Blessed Sacrament. The supremacy of the pope was

recognized by all the Irish; and the celibacy of the clergy

observed as in the other Western churches. In the ceremonies of

the Mass, it is true, there were certain usages and forms

observed not Roman, as was the case also in the churches of Spain

and Gaul. The rites of baptism in the Irish church were simpler

than those of the Roman. The difference mainly consisted in the

style of the tonsure and in the time of celebrating the Easter

festival. The Irish and Britons did not keep the reckoning of the

Abbot Dionysius the Little, as he is styled, regarding Easter,

and tenaciously clung to the old Roman calculation. Every

departure from it seemed to them contrary to the traditions of

their fathers. It was only in the year 716, and after hard and

bitter fighting, that perfect union between Rome and Ireland was

effected in this particular.

The history of the Irish, as well as of the British church, is of

the greatest importance for Germans who want to know the origin

of Christianity in their own land. But we shall develop this

point in a second article.

----------------

European Prison Discipline.

I. -- Newgate.

We take pleasure in offering to American readers the following

record of a visit to Newgate, as exhibiting the enlightened

humanity shown in the treatment of public criminals in London.

The guide whom we have selected as the interpreter of Newgate's

mysteries is an imaginary personage. He expresses the

impressions, thoughts, and comments of several persons, not the

convictions of a single individual.

This way, sir, please. Yes, the passages _do_ seem gloomy,

coming in out of the sunny street, crowded with free men hurrying

to and fro on business. Here we are in the kitchen; you see the

good allowance of meat and potatoes the prisoners have for dinner

four times a week; the other three days they have a good strong

soup instead of meat; morning and night a mess of oatmeal, and

with each meal half a pound of bread. Yes, they are well fed;

better here, many of them, than they would be outside. Just look

over your shoulder, sir. Through that low iron door behind you

the condemned prisoners pass out into the square to be hanged.

Why through the kitchen? Can't say, sir. It has always been so

and that's all, I suppose. Do they take it quietly for the most

part? Why--sometimes they give us a little trouble, but--yes,

generally they bear it pretty well, poor fellows!

{773}

More narrow passages, with grated rooms like aviaries on each

side. These are the apartments where the prisoners receive their

friends, separated from them by two gratings several feet apart.

It will remind you of the picture in _Old Curiosity Shop_,

where Mrs. Nubbles and Barbara's mother go to see Kit in prison.

A prisoner can receive a visit once in three months, write one

letter, and receive one; but they are seldom here so long.

Newgate is only a house of detention before trial, except for

those condemned to death--a mere jail. Here we are in one of the

great oblong halls with tiers of cells opening on to galleries.

Up this iron staircase in the middle of the hall and across this

little bridge, and we stand outside a cell door. In the American

prisons you have seen, you say that the cells open on a corridor,

with a grated door, and sometimes a grated window. Not so, here.

The door is solid, with merely a small hole for purposes of

_surveillance_, and a trap below it through which food,

etc., may be passed. If the prisoner wants anything, he rings a

bell, the action of which is curious. Fix your eye on the

bell-spring outside. I pull the bell inside and a tin flap flies

back, showing the number of the cell. Thus the officer knows what

bell has rung, and the prisoner, having no power over the flap

when it has once sprung back, cannot avoid discovery if he has

rung merely in order to give trouble. The cell is sufficiently

large, you see, and is lighted from the court-yard through that

arched window near the ceiling. A nice little room enough, with

the bedding stowed away on one of those shelves in the corner. On

the shelf below is the prisoner's bowl with the spoon lying on

it. Everything must be in its place. If the spoon were on the

shelf, it would be out of place; it must lie on the reversed

bowl. Resting against the wall is his plate, and on the lowest

shelf are his books. Oh! yes, you may examine them--the same in

all the cells, Bible, Prayer-Book, hymns, and psalms. [Footnote

222] The other volume comes from our library, and is changed

every day, if necessary> At this little turn-up shelf the

prisoner takes his meals, or reads by the small shade-lamp above

it. In the corner is a nice copper basin with plenty of water.

There are two apertures, one to admit warm air, the other for

ventilation; every comfort provided for him, you see. Yes, we

keep the prisoners entirely apart from each other, never two

together, unless some one comes here for drunkenness, and has

delirium tremens, and then we put two others with him for

safety's sake. Now we'll go up to the next corridor; in the one

below are the doctors' cells, where fresh prisoners are kept

until they have passed through a sanitary examination.

[Footnote 222: Prisoners who do not belong to the Established

Church can be visited by a priest or by a dissenting

minister.]

Step into this cell, occupied, as you see, by a mere boy. There's

his pile of oakum on the floor. Go on with your dinner, my man;

no need to stop for us. As we go up higher, more light comes in

from the courtyard; the upper cells are reserved for prisoners

who are likely to be here some time. The next cell occupied too,

you see, though we've not many prisoners here now, the trials

being just over. Yes, sir, this man is trying to educate himself

a little; has a dictionary on the shelf beside the

library-book--a volume of travels this time. Now that we are in

the corridor again, let me tell you that this same shock-headed

young man is condemned to ten years of penal servitude and twenty

lashes, for highway robbery with violence. The lashes are to be

received before he leaves Newgate, but more on that subject

presently.

{774}

Here we are in the old part of Newgate. In your reading, no doubt

you've come across the name of Mrs. Elizabeth Fry. It was in this

same long, dark room that she used to assemble the prisoners, and

read and pray with them. No, I have no means of judging of the

durability of her conversions. It is easy to talk of converting

criminals; but perhaps her chief merit lay in setting the example

in England of a friendly and trusting intercourse with these poor

wretches. Yes, it is strange to see the whipping-block in this

room, but indeed, sir, corporal punishment has become an absolute

necessity. It is never used to force prison discipline, but is

administered in execution of a sentence, imposed by a magistrate

for wanton violence. It is a curious fact that these brutes, who

go about garroting inoffensive travellers, breaking jaws and

skulls with their brass knuckles or dusters, as they call them,

are the veriest cowards on earth when physical pain comes to

themselves. In this very room they will cry like children, and

beg to be forgiven, I don't feel half the pity for them that I do

for the poor creatures going to be hanged. [Footnote 223] This

iron door survived the fire in the Gordon riots, you see. Come

through here, if you please, sir. This is another of the large

rooms in old Newgate, where prisoners were kept before the

solitary system came into vogue. The change is a most fortunate

one for all concerned, I'm confident.

[Footnote 223: We are not fully convinced of the wisdom of

introducing the whipping-block once more into the honorable

company of penal inflictions in England. One of the most

satisfactory cases of reformation we have known among persons

guilty of grave crimes, was that of a "garroter." It is our

strong impression that corporal punishment would have

degraded him beyond all human hope of redemption. At least,

great care should be taken to keep the use of this instrument

of torture within the bounds of absolute necessity.

Imprisonment may soften the heart; perhaps many persons have

died well on the scaffold, who would have died impenitent

under other circumstances; but however great may have been

the number of spirits crushed by flogging in prisons, we

venture to doubt whether there is a single instance on record

of its having produced or aided reformation.]

I've no question that many a crime was hatched here among the men

herded together in these cells. You can see for yourself what

kind of talk there would be among them. Perhaps some footman was

sent here for stealing his master's purse. What a chance for an

old hand to get a little useful information in a friendly way:

"Your master was an easy, comfortable kind of a man, was he?

Well, them well-to-do city-men mostly is easy-tempered. Not

partickerlerly well-to-do, an't he? Old family he belongs to, eh?

What lots o' plate some o' them poor noblemen do have! Wonder

myself that they don't sell it and get the good out on it, 'stead

of hiding it away at the banker's? Don't keep it at the bankers!

Pity the poor cuss as cleans it, then! Go to Brighton or Bath, of

course, when the season's over; I thought as much; it takes poor

folks to travel," etc., etc. And then, the first step after

getting out of Newgate would be to make love to the maid-servant

when the family was out of town. Very devoted he'd be, until some

evening he'd think it "such a pity there were no oranges in the

house, or something else to cool your mouth with; there was such

a nice, respectable place round the corner; wouldn't she just

step round there and choose something for herself?" And then,

while the the poor girl was gone, the accomplices, well

instructed as to the whereabouts of the plate, would ransack the

safe at their leisure. You may depend upon it, sir, it was a good

thing for society when the present discipline was adopted.

{775}

The little court-yard we are crossing now is one of those where

the prisoners take their exercise. Oh! yes, sir; they all have

regular times for exercise, and in these yards within the

building there is no possibility of their making their escape. I

am going to show one of our cells for solitary confinement. Let

me turn up the gas in this small room. You see this door which I

open, and again an inner door, which I open too. Step in, sir.

Now, turn so that your eye may catch the gaslight outside. Here

is a bedstead; you can feel it, if you don't see it. In this

cell, pitch-dark and cut off from the rest of the prison so

completely that no shouts or screams would be heard, unruly

prisoners are confined for any period between one hour and three

days, with only bread and water for food. There is ventilation

and warmth here, as in the other cells. The doctor comes each

morning to see that mind and body are sound. Only by sentence of

a magistrate can the confinement be prolonged beyond three days.

Yes, sir, it is an awful place; and then, too, the men look upon

it as sheer lost time. We have soldiers in here sometimes, and

they say that they can make up for three days on bread and water

in the guard-house, by spending their whole pay in eating and

drinking when they come out; but here it's just loss of rations,

and nothing else. You'll hardly ever catch an old thief in here.

"Oh! don't stop my grub, whatever you do," he'll say, and so he

takes care to behave well enough to keep out of "solitary." The

prisoners who mind it least are little ragamuffins, accustomed to

creep into any dark hole, to curl themselves up and go to sleep.

They are never afraid of anything. Decent boys, in prison on

suspicion of forgery or whatever, are dreadfully scared. But

you'll be glad to get out into the daylight again, I am thinking,

sir.

I'll show you our chapel now. In that screened gallery the women

sit, where they can see everything without being seen. There is

divine service here every morning, as well as on Sundays. No,

sir; I've no authority to show you the female side of the prison,

which is quite distinct from ours, and has female warders, and a

committee of lady visitors. The system of female keepers works

perfectly well; but it would have been impracticable before we

adopted separate cells, because the talk among the prisoners was

such as no decent woman should hear. A wicked woman is a thousand

times worse than a bad man, and less intelligent, too. You see,

sir, a woman falls because she is either pretty, or silly, or

unprotected. Now, bad men and boys are often the most intelligent

of their class, and are selected as tools for that very reason,

by older rogues than themselves. It is one of the terrible

features of the case, that the country loses valuable servants in

these quick-witted outlaws.

Here we come out upon the sloping passage, leading to the

criminal courts--Birdcage-walk, the old thieves call it.

Over-head we get the light through the open iron-work, you see.

Under the flags are buried all those who have been hanged, and

the initial letter of the name is scratched on the wall above the

grave. That iron door at the end leads to the court-rooms. Yes,

indeed, sir, some of the prisoners one learns to like best are

those awaiting execution here, educated men sometimes. Oh! yes; I

know the names that all these letters stand for. Muller lies

there. No, he was not much of a man, any way. Here's Courvoisier,

who murdered Lord Russell; he was my lord's valet.

{776}

Those five letters stand for five pirates. This one was a

coachman, who murdered a female in the city, and burned the

remains in his stable. Here's a man who killed his wife. Why,

yes, sir; there are a good many in here for wife-murder;

aggravating, I suppose, at times. That was an Italian, who killed

another female in the city. This man hung his own child in the

cellar. Oh! no, he was not insane; jealous of his wife, or

something of the sort, I believe. There are a good many more

here, but their cases were not so well known. Another court-yard

to be crossed, sir, and here we are in one of the condemned

cells. A good deal larger it is than the common cells, you see,

with a bedstead, a good-sized table, and a long bench. From the

time of his condemnation, the poor fellow is never left alone,

night or day; two officers take turn and turn about in staying

with him. Oh! certainly, sir, they talk with him; not about his

case, of course, but of any book they have been reading, or of

things outside the prison, and so on. The idea is not to let his

mind dwell much on what is before him, and so spare him all the

suffering we can.

You are right, sir; it would be absolutely impossible to dispense

with capital punishment in this country. Murder is common enough

now, but I am confident it would be much more frequent if the

fear of death were withdrawn. Your professional thief

_never_ commits murder. All rogues have an especial line of

business. A house-breaker is never guilty of highway robbery; a

highway-man never picks pockets; and they none of them commit

murder. Now, sir, there is a deal of talk about the horrors of a

public execution, and the bad effect such a sight must have on

the people. Well, sir, I am of a different opinion. The people

who come to a hanging are the very scum of London. Some gentlemen

there are, too, I know, by the looks of the windows opposite; but

the crowd is chiefly made up of the mere scum and dregs of

London. I think, sir, it is a lesson to them, and a lesson they

need badly. Sometimes we say to the little ragamuffins who get in

here, "Did you ever go to a hanging?" "Yes, sir." "And what did

you think of it?" "Why, I wasn't in a very good place, sir; I

couldn't see much." "Well, don't you know that if you go on as

you're going now, you may come to commit murder one of these

days, and be hanged yourself?" "Oh! no, sir! I mustn't commit

murder." He has learned that much, if he's not learned anything

else. [Footnote 224]

[Footnote 224: We present this argument simply as a statement

of one side of an oft-mooted question, but we are far from

being convinced of its validity.]

I believe that if capital punishment were abolished, a thief,

instead of leaving his pal (as the vulgar term is for accomplice)

in a mask, to watch the man and wife while he searches for plate,

would kill them both. He would know that he could only be

transported for life, and if he killed the officers placed in

charge over him, the law could only repeat the same sentence.

Yes, sir; you are right; capital punishment is sometimes too

severe a penalty, in proportion to the crime it punishes. It

falls, now and then, on a man who has not led a bad life in

general, but who is possessed by one passion--jealousy, or

revenge, or whatever. There should be a clearer distinction of

circumstances in pronouncing sentence. A man who sets out to do a

thing, with a distinct determination to take life if he can in no

other way accomplish his purpose, commits murder.

{777}

A man devoured by passion, and acting under its influence, should

be judged less severely. And yet, sir, since the penalty of death

is less designed as a punishment of criminals than as a defence

of the public, even this distinction is very hard to make. We can

only hope that our children will judge the matter more wisely

than we do.

This room, sir, inclosed in glass, is the apartment where a

prisoner meets his solicitor. The door is closed upon client and

counsel, and the officer in attendance cannot hear their talk, or

learn what points are to be used in the defence.

Here we are in the room where the prisoner is prepared for

execution. I'll get the key, and unlock the closet where our

irons are kept. This is the old style, sir, very cumbrous, as you

see. Here are the identical irons Jack Sheppard wore. They would

be so much too large for me, that I could slip my foot out at

once; but in those days they wore pads around the ankle, so that

the ring fitted close. When you read of Jack's breaking loose

from his irons, it sounds very grand; but all he did was to

unwind the pad from his ankle, and draw his foot out. These are

the irons we use in travelling with convicts; here are common

handcuffs, as you see; and here is the sort of harness worn by

prisoners about to be executed. It pinions the arms firmly, and,

at the last moment, fastens the legs together. Why, no, sir; I

can't say that educated men bear it any better than ignorant

ones. I've seen educated men most awfully frightened. I think it

was death they feared, sir, not shame. When they are ready, they

pass through this passage, and out through the iron door I showed

you in the kitchen, on to the square. Step into this cabinet a

moment, sir. On those shelves are casts taken after death from

those who have been executed. There is Muller, there is

Courvoisier, there is Marchand. The young fellow with negro

features was only nineteen. He murdered his fellow-servant. Yes,

the one next him looks like a negro too; you are probably right,

sir. The one with the well-formed, dimpled chin little thought

how his pleasure-loving youth would end. Surprisingly life-like

they all are. Yes, these are the men who lie under the flags in

the Birdcage-walk. This way, sir, for your hat and cane. Good

day, sir. Astonishingly fine weather for the season.

II. Saint Lazare.

The ancient convent of Saint Lazare, in Paris, once the home of

St. Vincent de Paul, is now a prison for women taken from the

lowest depths of Parisian life. Their name is legion; their

sufferings from sickness and neglect before arrest are

unutterable. France has no law for such as they beyond the will

of the prefect of police. What alleviation, you ask, has been

found for this corrosive social evil? A more effective one than

disbelievers in French virtue would anticipate. All females who

come under the notice of the police for sanitary reasons or

criminal matters, are sent to Saint Lazare, where, instead of

jailers, there are fifty-five Sisters of Charity. [Footnote 225]

[Footnote 225: Or, more strictly speaking, fifty-five Sisters

of Marie Joseph, the sisterhood devoted to prison discipline

in France.]

How many of the miserable creatures are converted by intercourse

with these noble and refined women, God only knows. The day of

judgment will reveal the difference between real and apparent

success. But a woman who has been first the plaything and then

the scorn of society, must think more tenderly of God in Saint

Lazare, than in any ordinary prison or workhouse.

{778}

Two objections which may be made to the system of treatment

adopted at Saint Lazare, I will try to answer before enumerating

the very details which would probably suggest them.

In the first place, it may be urged that the prisoners are made

so comfortable that imprisonment becomes a reward rather than a

punishment, a bribe rather than a threat. Secondly, it may be

with truth asserted that the wicked poor receive better care in

such an establishment, than society gives to the virtuous poor

who have never seen the inside of a jail.

To the first objection I answer, that imprisonment is never easy

for such women to bear, because the passions which bring them so

low, love of excitement and vanity, find no food in a

well-ordered prison; that the opposite system has been tested

ever since the world was, and still the world overflows with

impenitent sinners; that at least half the prisoners of Saint

Lazare are wicked for want of precisely what they find

there--judicious training; a decent dwelling-place, good example;

and, last and best reason of all, that this system is the one

most in accordance with the teaching and example of Christ.

And my answer to the second objection is this. Let us seek out

the honest poor, provide them with decent lodging-houses at low

prices, with practical education, useful and entertaining

reading, innocent amusement, and, above all, with religious and

moral instruction; but do not let us relax our efforts to reform

sinners merely because we have shamefully neglected our duties

toward saints. We may say truly that the respectable poor are

hard to find, because their very virtues conceal them from the

public eye. We have no such excuse where sinners are concerned;

for they are festering in every jail, penitentiary, and almshouse

in every city throughout the world. Justice, not charity, demands

that society should provide decent asylums where its victims may

hide their wretchedness.

But let us examine the discipline of Saint Lazare in detail, that

the reader may judge for himself whether these objections have

been satisfactorily disposed of.

The inmates are divided into three classes: 1st. Women who have

been tried for crimes and condemned; 2d. _Filles publiques_,

consigned to St. Lazare by the police for sanitary or other

reasons; 3d. Young girls and children sent thither by their

parents (_correction paternelle_) for safe keeping, or

brought there by the police as vagrants.

The uniform is neat and inconspicuous, dark blue for one class of

offenders, and maroon for the other; I think the children wear no

uniform. The clothes-rooms are arranged very methodically,

under-clothing and dresses being laid on shelves in orderly piles

which would satisfy the most fastidious Yankee housekeeper. The

common prison garments are comfortable and well made; but there

is a higher grade of clothing for those who can afford to pay for

it, who are there on "pistole," as the technical term is, taken

from an old French coin. The same is to be said of food and

lodging; comfortable accommodations being provided for all, while

small luxuries can be purchased at a small expense. Tariffs are

posted all over the prison, that the inmates may know the fixed

prices of various articles, and not be subjected to dishonesty on

the part of sub-officials.

{779}

The present writer, who endured the terrible ordeal imposed on

all conscientious visitors, of tasting everything the various

kitchens produced, can answer for the excellent quality of soup,

coffee, bread, etc., etc. Having been allowed to content himself

with visual proof in passing through the well-ordered pharmacies,

he can only vouch for their neatness and apparent convenience.

The work-rooms are generally furnished with tiers of benches

graduated nearly to the ceiling, so that one sister can

superintend a roomful of work-women. The gentleman who

accompanied me in my first visit showed me with some pride the

comfortable straw seats. "The empress came here one day," he

said, and asked the prisoners if they were in need of anything.

They told her the wooden benches were uncomfortable, and her

majesty ordered these seats to be made, where they can sit and

sew all day without great fatigue. Yes, our empress is a good and

charitable soul."

Many institutions send work to be done at Saint Lazare, and each

prisoner receives a certain proportion of the proceeds of her

labor, that she may have the wherewithal to begin an honest life

when her term is out. Each day's earnings she writes down in her

own little account-book, a dingy record of hopes, as it must be

to some of them. The court-yards, where there is an hour's

recreation twice a day, are large and cheerful. In the centre are

large tanks where the women are allowed to wash small articles of

clothing; an inestimable privilege, as any one knows who has seen

prisoners trying to extemporize a laundry in their cells with a

tin wash-basin. These courts are the favored haunts of sparrows

who twitter as cheerfully within the old prison walls as under

the eaves of good men's dwellings. A magpie was hopping about in

the cloister with the air of an _habitué_, looking amazingly

as if he were there on sentence.

There are a number of infirmaries, all tended by Sisters of

Charity, and well supplied from a kitchen devoted to hospital

diet. The patients are of the lowest class, their maladies the

saddest that flesh is heir to. That such a hospital should have

any attraction to the visitor is impossible; but remembering the

hosts of such forlorn creatures who throng our jails and

almshouses in America, I longed to transport wards and warders to

the other side of the Atlantic and inaugurate a change in prison

discipline for women. [Footnote 226]

[Footnote 226: In the February number of _The Catholic

World_ appeared an article entitled _Paris Impious, and

Religious Paris_, giving some interesting details

concerning Saint Lazare.]

I had the good fortune to be accompanied by a gentleman

associated for many years with prison reforms, and charged with

high authority in the matter of prison discipline in Paris. He

makes it his rule to visit the prisoners at all times and

seasons, that he may detect any breach of discipline or lack of

fidelity on the part of the superintendents. He is a man who

under the wretched disguise of vice recognizes humanity, no

matter how defiled; who looks rather to remove the causes of sin

than to procure its punishment, and sees in every culprit a good

man spoiled. Let no one suppose that I mean to advocate a feeble

administration of justice. No; in a prison, over-indulgence means

chaos; present weakness means future severity. At Saint Lazare

steady, unswerving vigilance is observed, and silence enforced

among the prisoners. Discipline being maintained evenly, not

spasmodically, the prisoners can be allowed privileges very

important to them.

{780}

Visitors are admitted twice a week to converse with the women

through two gratings, as at Newgate, a sister standing in the

narrow passage between. Recreation in the yards is taken in

common, instead of separately. It is surprising to find how a

prisoner clings to the privilege of seeing his fellow-creatures,

even when there is no chance of communication. The peculiar pangs

inflicted by the solitary system, when endured for a long time,

can only be appreciated by those who have had confidential

intercourse with prisoners.

The prisoners' chapel is very cheerful, and has a pretty

sanctuary with stained-glass windows, and an altar beautifully

cared for. One of the points most worthy of approval in Saint

Lazare, is the attractive form under which religion is everywhere

presented. In each dormitory, infirmary, and work room, is an

oratory; or, at least, some image or picture suited to impress

the souls of the prisoners.

One part of the establishment is full of tender associations to

every Christian soul--the sisters' private chapel, whose

sanctuary was once the cell of Saint Vincent de Paul. The stone

floor in the recessed window where he used to pray is worn hollow

with the pressure of his knees. Saint Lazare was frequented in

those days by many pilgrims, and in his cell the saint sought

refuge from distraction and dissipation of spirit. It is from

kneeling-cushions such as his, that the prayers go up to heaven

which work true reforms, which achieve immortal victories whose

laurels are fresh centuries after the conqueror's soul glories in

the presence of God. I have never stood in any cathedral with a

soul more filled with veneration than in this little chapel of

Saint Lazare, where Saint Vincent de Paul prayed; and where his

children pray still, devoted to the work most repugnant to human

nature, that of tending beings who remind us what we should all

be but for the grace of God.

One infirmary is a lying-in hospital. The mothers can keep their

young children at Saint Lazare, or send them away as they choose.

In this infirmary shone forth the kindly spirit of my guide.

"This always touches me," he said; "for I am a _père de

famille_" and he went from baby to baby with gentle looks and

womanly sweetness, a man stalwart of frame as a grenadier. And it

touched me, too, though I am not _père de famille_, to see

the lines of little cribs, and the poor, forlorn mothers tending

their tiny waifs and strays.

There is one serious defect in the construction of Saint Lazare,

making it in that respect unsuitable for a prison. There is but

one large dormitory for the adult prisoners who are in good

health. The others sleep, two, three, or even four in a large

cell, and with no arrangements for _surveillance_ beyond a

small aperture in the door, covered with glass. I remarked upon

the imprudence of this arrangement, and was told that the danger

was fully appreciated and deeply regretted. The French government

is too generous in its treatment of public institutions to leave

this evil long unremedied, I am confident.

Another defect in the regulations surprised me. There is no daily

Mass in the public chapel of Saint Lazare, the prisoners hearing

Mass on Sunday only. I had no opportunity of asking the reason of

this omission, and will therefore refrain from making farther

comment upon it. The third department in Saint Lazare is the most

interesting, being the portion devoted to young girls and

homeless children.

{781}

The sentence is for six months only, but can be renewed if found

expedient. My guide called to him child after child, and talked

with them as he might talk with his own children at home. One

little thing cried bitterly. Her mother had turned her into the

streets to shift for herself, and the police, finding her

wandering about the city, had brought her to Saint Lazare. He

held her little hand in his and patted it softly as he said all

the comforting things he could think of; there was not much to be

said, one must confess. I asked where she would be sent when the

six months were out. "To some industrial establishment under the

charge of Sisters of Charity," was the answer; "The empress sees

to all such things."

The young people are kept entirely separate from the prisoners,

in the new part of Saint Lazare. They have several hours'

schooling, and have their working hours, in which they earn money

for themselves and for the establishment, as the women do. Each

child has an exquisitely neat cell to herself for the night,

opening with a grating on to a corridor, so that the watching

sister can exercise a strict _surveillance_.

Whenever I see the right thing done in the right way for public

offenders, I think of the man who first turned my attention to

the subject of prison discipline--Governor Andrew, as he will be

to us all in Massachusetts, no matter who holds the state reins.

Surely the sun has not often shone on any spirit more steadfast

or more tender than his; surely, the days of chivalry produced no

knightly courage more unblenching than his; surely, whatever

blessings come to Massachusetts in her future career, her

children will never forget how valiantly that brave man fought

for judicious legislation, for a humane execution of the laws,

and for the equal rights of Catholics and Protestants--will never

forget John Albion Andrew!

--------------

Translated From Le Correspondant.

A Heroine Of Conjugal Love.

Marquise De La Fayette.

When, at the end of the year 1864, the children of Madame de

Montagu, having overcome the natural scruples of filial modesty,

consented to open to the public the treasure of noble examples

and Christian virtues enclosed in the remembrances of their

mother, _Le Correspondant_ was the first among the public

organs to announce the lively interest felt in the recital. The

success more than justified our predictions. There is no one who

would not be edified by the perusal of the life of Madame de

Montagu, and the book has already taken its place in our

libraries.

{782}

Since that publication, the Duchess of Ayen, around whom are

grouped five daughters widely differing from each other, and each

with a strongly marked individuality, has become in some sort the

type of the Christian mother in modern society.

Indeed, maternal love was in truth the terrestrial passion of her

heart, and would entirely have occupied it, had not the care of

this dear flock borne with it higher duties, and rendered greater

her accountability. The marvellous gift had been given her to

form souls; to develop the budding good within them, and, while

respecting the originality peculiar to each, to arm them with

incomparable strength.

We need not return to what, four years ago, we have already

published of the Christian discipline, the simple and retired

life to which the Duchess of Ayen had accustomed her daughters,

realizing in them her type of true womanhood, making the heart

superior to destiny, neither dazzled by fortune or success, nor

cast down by the ills of life. When the life of Madame de Montagu

was first published, only in episode we recognized those of the

noble daughters of the Duchess d'Ayen, reserved by Providence for

the rudest trials, or destined for a bloody immolation. We speak

of the Viscountess de Noailles, who with her mother and

grandmother, the old Marchioness of Noailles, perished on the

scaffold, and Madame de La Fayette, the voluntary prisoner of

Olmutz, in truth one of the most touching heroines of conjugal

love. In the life of their sister they are but secondary figures;

but as it is permitted even among the saints of paradise to have

a preference, we must confess that, in this beautiful group of

heroic figures, our predilection has always been for the two

eldest. It will be readily understood, then, with what respect

and emotion we have opened the book, in which we would not only

find the abridged recital of the actions of Madame de La Fayette,

but could see her act, hear her speak herself of her dearly loved

mother, listen to the passionate accents of her voice, and,

indeed, almost feel the very beatings of her heart.

This volume, printed by Téchener with great typographical care,

contains the life of the Duchess of Ayen, written by Madame de La

Fayette, in the fortress of Olmutz, on the margin of a Buffon,

with a little India-ink and a tooth-pick, and subject to the

hateful inspection of the Austrian jailers. We could not find a

more touching relic. Nowadays we mount distinguished autographs

in gold; should this ever pass into public sale, would it not

justify unheard-of extravagances? And we have now this life of

Madame de La Fayette compiled by a daughter worthy of her, Madame

de Lasteyrie, herself the representative of the virtue and

charity of a race of which, according to an expression applied to

an eminent royal family, all the daughters were chaste and the

sons valiant. And to these two recitals we add another document,

that we had the good fortune to publish in April, 1847, in which

the good Abbé Carrichon, an ecclesiastic full of zeal, but timid

in character, and who only by the grace of the holy ministry

could rise to intrepidity, relates, in the most perfect good

faith, the anguish he endured, when to his lot it fell to give to

the three condemned ones the peace and consolation of last

pardon. Those who may be astonished to find in a whole generation

of the same family so many and such extraordinary virtues, may

rest assured of its truth. Imagination has added nothing to the

edifying recital of these beautiful lives. The original documents

that we give to-day in their sublime nakedness, bear an accent of

austere heroism and holy enthusiasm that strengthens the heart

and penetrates it with the love of good; they vouch for our first

publication.

{783}

In the rapid analysis we will try to make from these documents,

we will present the most striking traits of the character and

life of Madame de La Fayette. Adrienne de Noailles, second

daughter of the Duchess of Ayen, was of ardent temperament, of

deep sensibility, with a lively imagination and a mind well

informed. She ever refused to adopt any idea imposed upon her,

that could not be subject to a free discussion. She seized

difficulties and penetrated to their depths. While still a child,

she was troubled by doubts of her religion, even when, at the age

of twelve, she was prepared for her first communion. She does not

give us the nature of these doubts, but it is clearly seen they

never interfered with the practice of piety; on the contrary, her

thirst for truth increased her fervor. Her pious mother was not

alarmed at this state of her soul; she divined the source, and

waited with confidence for grace to dissipate the clouds. Only,

she believed it best to defer the first communion of her daughter

until, calm and reassured, she could enjoy her supreme happiness

in all its plenitude. And she did not presume too much on the

integrity of her daughter; never was more solid piety or firmer

faith implanted in a heart of deeper conviction.

If we were to study anew the perfect model of a mother which the

Duchess of Ayen presents in the portrait drawn of her by Madame

de La Fayette, a portrait depicted, too, with a sincerity that

does not fear to let us penetrate the shadows, and so prove its

reality, we should dwell upon the profoundly Christian spirit

that directed her in the choice of her sons-in-law. We there see

her rising above all worldly considerations, seeking above all

things in them the moral qualities which may assure the happiness

of her daughters; for she did not look upon marriage, as is too

often done, as a simple affair of interest, of fortune, or of

vanity, but it was, in her eyes, the sacred tie in which love

should bear the greater part. God, who united man and woman, and

who said, "Man shall leave father and mother, and cleave to his

wife, and they two shall be one flesh," has he not made love the

duty of Christian marriage? Under the old _régime_ and among

the nobility, marriages were contracted early, and Mesdemoiselles

de Noailles were scarcely twelve or thirteen years old when the

first proposition for their hands were made for them to their

mother. One of these candidates, the Marquis de La Fayette, was

himself only fourteen years old. "His extreme youth, his isolated

position, having lost all his near relations, an immense fortune

suddenly acquired, which the Duchesse d'Ayen looked upon only as

a temptation," all these considerations, which in a purely

worldly view would have seduced many a mother, decided her at

first to refuse him, notwithstanding the good opinion she

entertained of his character. The Duke d'Ayen strongly insisted

on an alliance which combined every advantage of rank and wealth,

but the duchess for several months none the less persisted in her

refusal; and it was only after a more attentive examination of

the character of M. de Lafayette had reassured her of the future

of her daughter, that, demanding a delay of two years, she

finally gave her consent. The idea of the moment when she must

resign her daughters into the keeping of another, filled her with

apprehension; evidently, she desired for them a felicity that she

had not enjoyed herself, that of entire conformity of tastes,

thoughts, and character in the companions of their lives; and

when the marriages were resolved upon, it is delightful to read

in the recital of Madame de La Fayette the detail of touching

cares with which this tender mother charged herself, to prepare

these eldest daughters for their new stations--one to espouse

the Viscount de Noailles, a cousin whom she had loved since her

infancy, and the other to be united to M. de La Fayette.

{784}

"'My heart attracted me to M. de La Fayette,' says with much

simplicity the manuscript of the prisoner of Olmutz, 'and with

a sentiment so profound, that our union has always been one of

firmness and tenderness through all the vicissitudes of this

life--through all the good and evil that have been our lot for

twenty-four years.

"With what pleasure I discovered that, for more than a year, my

mother had looked upon and loved him as her son! She detailed

to me all the good she had known of him--what she thought of

him herself, and I soon saw he possessed for her the filial

charm that made the happiness of my life. She occupied herself

in aiding my poor head, especially about this time so empty and

so weak, to keep from going astray during such an important

event. She taught me to ask, and she asked for me, the

blessings of heaven on the state I was about to embrace.

"'I was then only fourteen and a half years old, and, having

new duties to perform, my mother believed it her duty to

reapply herself to the care of forming my sister and myself for

our future destinies. The confidence with which we always

conversed with her, gave her abundant opportunity. It was not

the kind of confidence to which, I believe, mothers oftener

pretend than obtain from their children--that inspired by a

companion of one's own age--but the perfect and intimate trust

which needs the direction and approval of a parent, and causes

a pang of fear in any step, visit, or conversation, of which

she may not approve. A confidence, in fine, which always

returns to its support--to its guide, in whose light it would

repose as well as in its tenderness; a guide who, if even one

could not always approve its decisions, and might encounter its

reproaches, would still be considered necessary, and to whom

the idea of dissimulation would be insupportable.

"'Such was my feeling toward my mother, who often permitted me

to argue with her.'"

The ceremony of the marriage accomplished, the husband of sixteen

years set out for his regiment, and the young bride testified by

her grief at this separation all the affection she experienced

for him. He returned: the religious education of Madame de La

Fayette was completed, she made her first communion with an

entire faith and in the most humble dispositions, and soon after,

on the 15th of December, 1775, she became a mother for the first

time.

The faculty of loving knew no bounds in this youthful heart.

Identified in all the tastes, aspirations, sentiments, and

interests of him who had given her the right to say, in all

sincerity, "I love you religiously, worldly, passionately," she

adopted the political faith of her husband, and, without any

personal afterthought, without weakness or hesitation, from her

most tender age, valiantly accepted all the sacrifices and all

the perils of the public life of a man whose political

preoccupations governed him exclusively. He held the best part of

her heart; but, immovable in her religious faith, Madame de La

Fayette never sacrificed a principle nor a practice of piety to

her conjugal idolatry. It is remarkable, also, that this ardor of

passion for her husband never weakened the vivacity of her

tenderness for her mother, her children, and her oldest sister,

who, from the cradle, had been her dearest friend.

{785}

Inasmuch as she was sufficient for every duty, so her soul was

sufficient in all its affections. The war which broke out about

this time between England and her American colonies, opened to

the Marquis de La Fayette the brilliant arena that would give

immortality to his name; but for his young companion began an

existence full, at the same time, of anguish and delirious joy,

of grief and devotion. The family of Noailles had strongly

adopted philosophical ideas, and willingly followed the liberal

views of the eighteenth century. The generous enthusiasm,

however, which led M. de La Fayette to devote himself to the

service of the American people vindicating their independence,

was at first severely disapproved of and considered madness by

the Duke d'Ayen and the Marshal de Noailles. The marquis was

nineteen; he had been married three years, was already a father,

and soon expected a second child. Madame de La Fayette and the

Duchess d'Ayen alone understood the motives that determined the

departure of M. de La Fayette; the former studied in every way to

conceal the torture of her heart, preferring to be considered

insensible, or too much of a child, to giving the appearance, by

showing her grief, of wrong to the object of her worship.

Meanwhile, the great struggle, of which the new world was the

theatre, and in which aristocratic England found herself at war

with the principal democracy of modern society, held all Europe

in suspense. The greatest interest was felt in France for the

success of the Americans. While the French government, though

understanding how matters stood, hesitated, nevertheless, to take

an open part in the quarrel, public opinion declared itself still

more favorably for the United States; the various incidents of

the war were greedily sought after, each success of the

insurgents excited enthusiasm, and soon all hearts beat in unison

with that of Madame de La Fayette, for the success of the young

hero who had so actively contributed to such glorious results.

We must transport ourselves to this time, recall its events,

watch the fever of public opinion, to understand what must have

been, after two years' absence, the first return of M. de La

Fayette, and the intoxication of joy his wife experienced. He was

not long in setting out again for the new world, and did not

return from there finally until 1782, after the brilliant

campaign of which his valor assured the success, and which

terminated by the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. His return was

unexpected, a surprise for the court as well as the city: the

_memoirs_ and _memories_ of the Count de Segur

furnished curious testimony to support what we have said. We

read:

"All who lived in that day will still remember the enthusiasm

occasioned by the return of M. de La Fayette, an enthusiasm of

which the queen herself partook. They were celebrating, at the

Hotel de Ville, a brilliant _fête_ on the occasion of the

birth of an heir to the throne. The news came of the arrival of

the conqueror of Cornwallis. Madame de La Fayette, who assisted

at the _fête_, received a special mark of favor; the queen

placed her in her own carriage, and drove to the Hotel de

Noailles, where the marquis, her husband, had just alighted."

[Footnote 227]

[Footnote 227: Tome i. p. 180.]

The excess of sentiment of Madame de La Fayette for her husband

at this time, was such that she suffered intensely in his

presence. She endeavored to conceal her passion for him, and

trembled lest she might seem importunate, and weary him. Some

years after, she confessed to M. de La Fayette this passionate

attraction for him which she had so resisted; "but," she added

gently, "you need not be dissatisfied with what is left."

{786}

We, who have only known M. de La Fayette soured and old, and do

not feel well disposed toward him, because, under the

restoration, he shadowed his glory as liberator of two worlds by

intrigues with secret societies; we find it difficult to imagine

him so charming, "carrying away every heart." But it was even so;

and, at the same time that popular favor rendered him so powerful

among the multitude, the most beautiful, the proudest, the most

brilliant ladies of the court, were madly in love with him.

But we are not writing a biography of M. de La Fayette, and it

will be understood that, in an article on the saintly companion

of his life, we would not wish any controversy on so illustrious

a person, and for whom, with some reservation, we profess great

and sincere respect. We will not speak, then, of the events of

the revolution, in which he played so prominent a part, only

inasmuch as our heroine was mingled with and took part in them.

The abolition of the slave-trade was one of the philanthropic

preoccupations of M. de La Fayette. He bought a plantation at

Cayenne, _la belle Gabrielle_, in order to give an example

of a gradual enfranchisement of the slaves, and referred to the

active charity of his wife the details of his enterprise. With

this view, she kept up a correspondence with the priests of the

seminary _du Saint-Esprit_, who had a house at Cayenne. If

circumstances did not permit the realization of her hopes, at

least she had the consolation of knowing that, thanks to the

religious instruction given to the blacks on this plantation,

they were guilty of less horrors than at any other point in the

colonies.

We must recognize here, too, and to its eternal honor, that

America has always been the portion of the globe where liberty of

conscience, loudly proclaimed, has never ceased to be practised.

It was not so in old Europe and in France before 1789, so the

contrast presented by this free state of things, and the numerous

vexations to which the different religions were exposed with us,

could not but forcibly strike M. de La Fayette on his return.

After a journey to Nimes, where he studied more closely the

situation of the Protestants, he was able to present, with full

knowledge of the case, a proposition to the Assembly of the

Notables in 1787, demanding their restoration to the civil rights

of which they had been despoiled.

I love to remember that an eminent Catholic clergyman, Mgr.

Luzerne, Bishop of Langres, and later, Cardinal, warmly supported

the proposition for this act of justice. Madame de La Fayette

shared these sentiments, and received with lively interest the

Protestant ministers whom the result of the affair attracted

around her husband. A zealous child of the Catholic Church, she

detested the persecutions that could only alienate her children,

and which appeared to her so opposed to the spirit of

Christianity.

After 1783, M. de La Fayette, whose family had increased

considerably, and whose political importance had reached its

height, left the hotel de Noailles, to establish himself in his

own house, _rue de Bourbon_, now the _rue de Lille_.

And there the ever-increasing wave of the revolutionary movement,

that was never able to overcome the virtue and brightness of a

king, the most estimable as a man of any who ever wore a crown,

found our heroine. The high position of M. de La Fayette, deputy

of the nobility, member of the Constitutional Assembly, and

commander-in-chief of the Parisian National Guard, imposed

obligations on him in which his wife never repudiated her part.

She was seen to accept the successive demands of each of the

districts of Paris, to the number of sixty; to preside at the

blessing of flags and other patriotic demonstrations. The general

kept open house, and did its honors in a manner to charm his

numerous guests.

{787}

"'But, says her daughter, Madame de Lasteyrie, initiated into

her most secret thoughts, 'what she suffered in the depths of

her own heart, only those who heard her speak, can tell. She

saw my father at the head of a revolution of which it was

impossible to foretell the end. Every evil, every disorder, was

judged by her with a complete lack of illusion in her own

cause; yet she was so sustained by the principles of her

husband, and so convinced of the good he could do, and the evil

he might avert, that she bore with incredible strength the

continual dangers to which she was exposed. Never, said she to

us, did I see him go out during this time, without thinking

that I heard his last adieu. No one was more terrified than she

by the dangers of those she loved; but in these times, she rose

above herself, and in her devotion to my father, hoped he could

prevent the increasing crime.'"

We may infer from these words the perpetual anguish of Madame de

La Fayette during the three first years of the revolution. In the

Duchesse d'Ayen she found a support full of sweetness and

tenderness; who, though sharing none of the opinions of her

son-in-law, believed firmly in the rectitude of his intentions.

Her angelic sister, the Viscountess de Noailles, felt exactly as

she did, loved equally a husband, young, handsome, brave, and

charming, associated in the most advanced ideas of M. de La

Fayette, and, like him, a member of the Assembly. The eldest

daughter, too, of Madame de La Fayette, began at this time to be

of much comfort to her; she had her make her first communion in

1790. It was, in the midst of the great political events of that

epoch, the first concern of her maternal heart.

The civil constitution of the clergy was to be one of the most

sensible tribulations of Madame de La Fayette. She considered she

should, more particularly on account of her personal situation,

declare her attachment for the Catholic Church; consequently she

was present at the refusal of the oath which the curé of Saint

Sulpice made from the pulpit, of whom she was a parishioner; she

was constantly meeting there with persons most known by their

opposition to the new principles, and with those then called the

_aristocratie_. She took part assiduously in the offices, at

first in the churches and afterward in the oratories where the

persecuted clergy took refuge.

She continually received the nuns who fled to her for protection;

or priests not under oath, whom she encouraged in the exercise of

their functions, and the preservation of their religious liberty.

She well knew that such conduct was hurtful to the popularity of

her husband, of great importance to her to preserve, but no

consideration could stop her in what she considered a duty.

M. de La Fayette never interfered with the conduct of his wife;

he held as nobly to his principles of liberty of conscience in

this respect as in all others. Aloud he disapproved of the oath

extorted from the Catholic priests, opposed it wherever he could,

and was at least successful in preventing the articles relative

to this civil constitution of the clergy from being

constitutional; on the contrary, they were even rejected from the

class of ordinary laws that any new legislature might revise. For

General La Fayette deluded himself that the constitution of 1791

was destined to last. But whatever his sentiments, that which

made him respect the religious convictions of his wife, and

oppose all his power to the persecution of the clergy, does great

honor to his character.

{788}

As the priests under oath were habitually received by the

commander of the National Guard at Paris, Madame de La Fayette

never dissimulated before them her attachment to the ancient

bishops; but she mingled in her expressions so much adroitness

with her sincerity that she never wounded them. Only once she

deviated from the rule of tolerance that she imposed on herself

on her husband's account, and that was when the newly elected

constitutional Bishop of Paris, came to dine officially with the

general. She would not recognize by her presence the quality of

his diocese, and dined out, although she knew by doing so it

could not fail to be made a subject of remark.

Meanwhile, the ever-increasing revolutionary delirium multiplied

disorders, paralyzed the efforts of the constitutional party, and

rendered the part of M. de La Fayette more and more difficult. He

was suspected on both sides, by the court and by the Jacobins,

and was rapidly wearing out the remains of an expiring popularity

in an already useless struggle.

The king, to escape the odious tyranny of which he was the

victim, attempted to fly from Paris; we know the rest. Arrested

at Varennes, brought back to the Tuileries, he and his family

were placed in the closest confinement. The unhappy prince at

last resigned himself to accept the constitution, the Constituent

Assembly terminated its sittings, and was replaced by the

Legislative Assembly, and General La Fayette, sincere in the

illusion that the revolution was finished and the future secured,

gave in his resignation as commander of the National Guard, and

set out for Auvergne with his wife and children. Now in the

destiny of Madame de La Fayette there came a short truce of

happiness; the journey from Paris to Chavaniac was a series of

ovations that popular enthusiasm spread, for the last time,

before her idol. The Duchess d' Ayen and the Viscountess de

Noailles came a little while to share this apparent and

transitory calm; but the Duke d'Ayen had emigrated to

Switzerland, and Madame de Montagu had taken refuge in England.

The formation of three grand army corps had been decreed, in

imminent danger of a foreign war; the command of the centre was

confided to General La Fayette, who repaired to his camp in 1791.

The year 1792 saw the hideous journey of the 20th of June, soon

after followed by the scenes more lamentable still, of the 10th

of August.

At the news of the wicked attempt of the 20th of June, the

General de La Fayette did not fear to address to the assembly,

from Maubeuge, where were then his head-quarters, a letter in

which he declaimed with indignation and vehemence against the

Jacobins; and finally, quitting his camp, he hastened to Paris

and appeared at the bar of the Assembly; there to brand

energetically the violences committed at the Tuileries, and

demand the punishment of the guilty. Was not this act of courage

alone sufficient honor for a lifetime? But finally, seeing he had

nothing to hope from the Assembly, he attempted to organize a

resistance at Sedan in order to save Louis XVI. The triumphant

Jacobins replied, on the 10th of August, by a decree of

proscription to the refusal which M. de La Fayette made to

recognize the fall of the king; a price was put upon his head,

and, constrained in his turn to seek a refuge in a foreign land,

the patriot of 1789 fell on the frontier into an Austrian post,

was arrested with his aides-de-camp, conducted first to Namur,

then to Wesel, and considered by the allied powers as an _enemy

of universal peace_, whose liberty was incompatible with the

surety of European governments.

{789}

The arbitrary detention of MM. de La Fayette, Latour Maubourg,

and Bureaux de Pusy, remains one of the disgraces of the

government of the Emperor Francis II., and he cannot be blamed

enough for it; but in the condition of parties and in view of the

renown of M. de La Fayette, had it not for him some great

advantages? In our eyes, the five years of _carcere duro_

inflicted upon the hero of American liberty, completed his glory.

Such were the sentiments of Madame de Staël when she wrote to

congratulate him on his release: "Your misfortune has preserved

your glory, and if your health can be restored, you will come out

perfect from the tomb where your name has acquired a new lustre."

But dating from this epoch, what was not the ineffable anguish of

Madame de La Fayette? Informed of the arrest of her husband, she

had but one thought--to release him or share his captivity. But

she had two other duties to fulfil; to get her son out of France,

and, if possible, to confide him to the friendship of General

Washington, and to protect the interests of the creditors of

General La Fayette by giving them the sequestrated estates for

security, and in both she experienced great difficulty. Arrested

at Chavaniac, where she was resting with her son, aged thirteen,

her two daughters, and the aged aunt who had brought up M. de La

Fayette, she obtained from Roland, then minister of the interior,

permission not to be taken to Paris, but to remain at Chavaniac

on parole. Encouraged by this testimony of humanity, and hoping

to be delivered from an engagement that weighed so heavily on

her, she smothered her natural pride and again addressed herself

to Roland:

"'I can only attribute to a sentiment of kindness,' she wrote

him, 'the change you have brought about in my situation. You

spare me the dangers of too perilous a journey, and consent to

give me my retreat for my prison. But any prison, be it what it

may, is insupportable to me, since I have learned this morning

from the gazette of M. Brissot, that my husband has been

transferred from town to town by the enemies of France, and is

being conducted to Spandau. Whatever repugnance I may feel to

owe a service to those who have shown themselves the enemies

and accusers of him whom I revere and love as he only is worthy

of being loved, yet it is in all the sincerity of my heart that

I vow eternal gratitude to him who, while relieving the

administration from responsibility and giving me my freedom,

will afford me the opportunity to rejoin my husband, if France

is sufficiently free to allow me to travel without risk.

"On my knees, if necessary, I ask you this favor. Judge of my

present state of mind. Noailles La Fayette."

A faithful friend bore this letter to Roland. He appeared deeply

moved, and replied immediately:

"I have placed your touching appeal, my dear madam, before the

committee. I must observe, however, that it would not appear to

me prudent for a person of your name to travel in France, on

account of the unfortunate impressions just now attached to it.

But circumstances may change. Be assured if they do, I shall be

the first to seize upon them for your advantage."

For three months the poor woman was without any news of the

general, though she redoubled every effort to obtain it; she

wrote to the Princess of Orange, to the Duke of Brunswick, to

Klopstock, but all in vain. Toward the middle of June, there came

to her, through the interposition of the United States minister,

two letters from M. de La Fayette; they were dated from the

dungeon of Magdebourg, and the inquietude they gave her

concerning the health of her husband made her more than ever

anxious to join him.

{790}

Governeur Morris, then American minister, proved her constant and

faithful friend, and from him she accepted the loan of money of

which she had need, to pay some debts and for the daily expenses

of her family. At this time many of the wives of emigrants

believed it necessary for their personal security, and

preservation of their fortunes, to be divorced; Madame de La

Fayette would never consent to save her life by such an act, and

whenever she found it necessary to present a petition or make a

demand, she took a pride in commencing all she wrote, "The wife

of La Layette." In the midst of all these terrible agitations,

the fervor of our heroine never decreased. She submitted with

sweet resignation to the divine will, and associated in her

exercises of piety the women of the village, who, like herself,

were deprived of the holy sacrifice of the Mass, which was no

longer celebrated. These innocent meetings were the subject of

many denunciations; of _aristocracy_ they could not accuse

her, but now it was _fanaticism_. At the end of the year

1795, after the complete defeat of the Girondins, the

persecutions against the priests and the _ci-devant_ nobles

were redoubled, and some of the effects of the general were

exposed to sale. This courageous wife repaired to Brionde, where

the auction took place. "Citizens," said she, to the district, "I

feel myself obliged to protest before the sale about to take

place, against the enormous injustice of applying the laws of

emigration to him who now is the prisoner of the enemies of

France. I demand of you certificate of my protestation."

The 12th of November, Madame de La Fayette was informed she would

be arrested the next day; and truly she was carried off in the

evening by a detachment of the National Guard, and incarcerated

at Brionde. Her children remained at Chavaniac, but at the end of

a few months the jailer was won over, and M. Frestel, preceptor

of the young Georges, conducted them, one after the other, to

their mother. ... It was in this prison of Brionde that the news

reached her that Mesdames de Noailles and Madame d'Ayen, both

arrested, had just been transferred to the Luxembourg; then in

May, 1794, came the order to bring the Citoyenne La Fayette to

Paris. She entered there the 19th Prairial, eve of the

_fête_ of the Supreme Being, three days before the one when,

according to Madame de Lasteyrie, "they built up terror upon

terror." Placed at _la petite Force_, at the end of fifteen

days she was transported to Plessis, where she found her cousin,

the Duchess of Duras. The massacres of the revolutionary tribunal

at this time were no less than sixty a day; everything seemed to

announce to the prisoner that she was being led to certain death.

One of the buildings of Plessis served as a depot to the

_Conciergerie_, and each morning saw twenty prisoners depart

for the guillotine. "The idea that one may soon be of the

number," wrote Madame de La Fayette, "gives firmness for such a

spectacle." She made a will at Plessis, of which several passages

are given; nothing could be more noble and beautiful. It begins

in this way:

"Lord, thou hast been my strength and my hope in the extreme

evils that are poured down upon me; thou art my God."

{791}