This was the first indication of the new life which was to dawn upon

the world under the influence of Christianity. Gradually all the

tribes of barbarians yielded to its influence--the Burgundians in

Gaul, the Vandals in Africa, the Suevi in Spain, the Ostrogoths, the

Franks, and then the Saxons in England; but the early conversions of

these barbarians were to the Arian form of Christianity then in the

ascendant. Its principal tenet was the denial of the equality of the

Son to the Father; and the heresy spread until the error, after being

vigorously combated, was suppressed, and the new nations won back to

the orthodox faith. Thus was this compensation for the overturn of

civilization effected; the world was not abandoned to utter

destruction, it was indeed given up to the hands of rude barbarians,

but they in turn were subjected to a new influence which accompanied

them to the various kingdoms founded upon the ruins of' the extinct

empire, and formed the basis in each of those kingdoms of a new and

higher civilization. With the fall of Rome the gods of the pagans were

overturned, their temples destroyed; and in the midst of the

devastation, the ruin, and, the despair into which the world was

sinking, the Church of Christ arose as the guiding spirit, the pioneer

of the new life. Another incident in connection with the establishment

of Christianity, which saved the lore of ancient times from

destruction, was the adoption of the Latin language by the church; for

although that language had made a settlement in many of the countries

subject to the Roman arms, yet a tendency soon sprung up, from the

mixture with barbarian invaders, to the degeneracy of the Latin tongue

and the rise of new and separate idioms. But it was preserved in

comparative purity in the church, which naturally led to the

preservation of its most noble monuments; and it ultimately became,

when the modern languages were in their infancy, the tongue especially

devoted to the transmission of learning. History, poetry, science, and

what little there was of literature, found a medium of communication

and a means of preservation in the Latin language. Had it not been

adopted by the church then for some centuries, whilst the new tongues

were gradually developing and settling into a form, the world would

have been dark indeed, not a book, not a page, not a {806} syllable

would have reached us of the thought, the life, or the events of that

period.

From the fourth to the seventh century there would have been an

impenetrable gap in the annals of humanity--the voice of history would

have been hushed into a dead silence, and the light of the past which

beacons the future would have been extinguished in the darkness of a

universal chaos. In England, however, the case was somewhat different.

From the earliest period of the Saxon domination there was a struggle

for a literature in the vulgar tongue. The Saxons had brought with

them a vast store of traditional poetry out of which one specimen has

been preserved, consisting of an epic poem in forty-three cantos, and

about 6,000 lines--the oldest epic of modern times. It is called, "The

Gleeman's Song," and was composed by Beowulf in their native wilds and

brought over with them in the fifth century. It is a strange poem,

impregnated with the vigorous air of the North; strength and

simplicity being its chief characteristics. The principal personage is

Hrothgar the king, and the poem is full of incidental descriptions of

manners and customs which afterward became native to England, and

linger about among us even now: there are great halls, ale-carousals,

fighting with giants, the elements of a rude chivalry, and an

invincible prowess which dares both dragons and ghosts. But the first

native writer in Anglo-Saxon after the conversion to Christianity is

Caedmon, who lived in the latter part of the seventh century (680);

The story of his miraculous inspiration is recorded by Bede.

[Footnote 214]

[Footnote 214: Eccl. llist., lib. iv., c. 24.]

He was born in Northumbiria and was a monk of Whitby. He paraphrased

large portions or the Scripture, and has aptly been called the

Anglo-Saxon Milton; indeed it is more than probable that the Puritan

poet borrowed the ideas of his sublime soliloquy of Satan in

Pandemonium from this Saxon monk; After Satan's overthrow, Caedmon

says--[Footnote 215]

[Footnote 215: Thorpe's edition of Caedmon.]

"Then spake he worde:

This narrow place is most unlike

that other that we formerly knew

high in Heaven's kingdom,

which my master bestowed on me,

Though we it for the All·powerful

may not possess.

We must cede our realm."

So Milton--

"O how unlike the place from whence they fell!"

and in the words of Satan--

"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,

That we must change for heaven, this mournful gloom

For that celestial light? Be it so, since he

Who now is Sovran can dispose and bid

What shall be right."

Caedmon's notion of Pandemonium is the prototype of Milton:

"But around me lie

iron bonds;

presseth this cord of chain,

I am powerless!

me have so hard

the clasps of hell

so firmly grasped.

Here is a vast fire

above and underneath;

never did I see a loathlier landskip;

the flame abateth not

hot over hell.

Me hath the clasping of these rings,

this hard polished band,

impeded in my course,

debarred me from my way.

My feet are bound,

my hands are manacled

. . . . .

About me the

huge gratings

of hard iron,

forged with heat,

with which me God

hath fastened by the neck."

Nearly all these ideas are incorporated in Milton's sublime picture--

". . . . down

To bottomless perdition, there to dwell

In adamantine chains and penal fire."

. . . . . _Line 48_.

"Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild?"

. . . . . _Line 180_.

"A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,

As one great furnace, flamed."

_Line 61_

". . . . torture without end

Still urges, and a fiery deluge fed

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed."

_Line 67_.

But after the death of Caedmon (680), there must have been a great

deal of poetry written which is now lost, for we read that Bede, on

his {807} death-bed, repeated several passages from national poets,

one of which is preserved in that interesting description of the last

moments of the great historian, written by S. Cuthbert, who was with

him to the end. [Footnote 216] But the chivalrous poetry of tradition

gave way to that of religion, which is the characteristic of Saxon

song after the sixth century.

[Footnote 216: Asseri Annaies (Gale's Collec.) ann.; 731.]

We are also told that Aldhelm,

bishop of Sherbourne, who died in the year 709, was one of the best

poets of his day. But still at this period, although there was a

struggle after a national literature, the great works were all written

in Latin; and Bede, much as he admired the Saxon poets of his country,

intrusted his Ecclesiastical History to the only idiom sacred to

learning. Gildas and Nennius, who preceded Bede, also wrote in Latin.

But the Saxons were the first out of all the barbarians to acquire a

vernacular literature. Of that literature we are scarcely competent to

judge; but from what has come down to us, from allusions in history,

from the state of education among them, we may safely conclude that

although little has survived, it was not a poor literature. We must

remember the continual scenes of devastation which took place during

the period of their domination; when monasteries were rifled, books

burnt, and manuscripts wantonly destroyed. From the time of Alfred,

only one Anglo-Saxon writer of any consequence has come down to us,

Olfric; but from what we know of Saxon progress we may be assured

there were many others. It is evident from the state of education

among them. Before the middle of the seventh century schools had

sprung up, and toward the latter end an impetus was given to learning

by the labors of Theodore and Adrian, of whom Bede asserts that they

gathered together a crowd of disciples, and taught them not only the

books of Holy Writ, but the arts of ecclesiastical poetry, astronomy,

and arithmetic, and adds in proof that some of their scholars were

alive in his day who were as well versed in the Greek and Latin

tongues as their own. [Footnote 217]

[Footnote 217: Eccl. Hist. lib., iv., c. 2.]

Even the ladies among the Saxons were well educated, for it was to

them that Aldhelm addressed his work De Laude Virginitatis, and

Boniface corresponded with ladies in Latin. In the ninth century also

we find that schools were flourishing in various parts of the kingdom,

especially the one at York, under Archbishop Egbert, who taught Greek,

Latin, and Hebrew to the scholars, amongst whom was Alcuin the friend

of Charlemagne. From the letters of Alcuin, but more especially from

his History of the Church of York, we may learn that for the same

there was a renowned library there, and as it is the earliest list of

books--the first catalogue of an English library extant--we may as

well subjoin it. Alcuin says that in his library were the works of

Jerome, Hilarius, Ambrose, Augustine, Athanasius, Gregory, Pope Leo,

Basil, Chrysostom, and others. Bede and Aldhelm, the native authors,

of course were there. In history and philosophy there were Orosius,

Boethius, Pompeius, Pliny, Aristotle, and Cicero. In poetry, Sedulius

Juveneus, Prosper, Arator, Paulinus, Fortunatus, Lactantius; and of

the classics, Virgil, Statius, and Lucan. Of grammarians there was a

great number, such as Probus, Phocas, Donatus, Priscian, Servius,

Eutyehius, and Commianus. Boniface was a great book collector, and

used to send them home to England. So that we may fairly conclude that

if the Danish depredations and the internal dissensions of the country

had not been so fatal to the treasures hoarded up in monastic

libraries we should have had much more of Saxon literature. The

influence of Dunstan, too, gave an impulse to learning both in the

country {808} generally and in the church. He himself was a scholar, a

musician, an artist, an illuminator, and a man of science; [Footnote

218] but the most prominent figure is Bede, who, as we observed, wrote

in Latin; he was well versed in Greek and Hebrew.

[Footnote 218: "Artem scribendi necne citharizaudi pariterque

pingendi peritiam diligenter excoluit."--Cotton MSS.---Cleop., B

xiii., fol., 69. ]

He wrote many works--thirty-seven according to his own list, including

compilations; but the most important was his Ecclesiastical History,

which traces the course of the national church from the earliest times

down to 731, within four years of his own death. In his introduction

he honestly gives us a list of his materials, from which we can gather

that in all parts of the country the bishops and abbots had

instinctively turned their attention to historical writing; for he

says he was indebted to Albinus, abbot of St. Augustine's, Canterbury,

for the particulars of the Augustinian mission and the history of the

Kentish Church generally, and to Northelm, a priest of London, who had

discovered at Rome the epistles of Pope Gregory upon the subject; from

Daniel, bishop of the West Saxons, he received much assistance as to

the history of that province and the adjoining. Abbot Esius, of East

Anglia, and Cunebert, of Lindsey, are also mentioned as contributing

valuable materials. So that this history of Bede is compiled from the

most authentic sources, and forms one of the most valuable collections

of ecclesiastical annals extant in any nation. It is a fact worthy of

note in the history of letters, that these early prelates of the Saxon

Church, and in fact the monks in the various monasteries scattered

over the country from the earliest period, and even down to their

decadence, silently and patiently recorded the events of their times

and of their church, and that their labors, such as have been rescued

from the ravages of the past, form the only true "materia historica"

of modern writers. But we pass on from the time of Bede to that of

Alfred, under whose influence the Saxon language almost displaced the

use of the Latin. The extraordinary vicissitudes of his life have been

elsewhere recorded, but in literature he was an historian, a

theologian, a commentator, and a transcriber. His principal works were

translations of Gregory's Pastoral Care, the Universal History of

Orosius, Boethius's Consolations of Philosophy, Bede's Ecclesiastical

History, and several parts of the Bible; but he not only translated,

but interpolated whole pages of his own. In the Pastoral Care he has

inserted original prayers; in the History of Orosius there is a sketch

of the state of Germany by him, and the translation of Boethius is

tesselated with profound and pointed thoughts, which fairly entitle

him to the name of philosopher. The greatest achievement of King

Alfred was perhaps the reviving and restarting the Saxon Chronicle. It

is probable that from the earliest times of the Saxon rule a national

record of events had been kept somewhere, either from the instinct of

preservation or by concert. The evidence of Bede proves that it was

done in the church as regards ecclesiastical matters, and we know that

in the time of Alfred there was a short record of bare events, with

now and then a genealogy treasured up and handed down from age to age.

It was his thought and care to reform these records and restart the

Chronicle as a great national archive. For this purpose, he enjoined

Plegmund, Archbishop of Canterbury, to collect what could be found,

write it out fairly, and commence his labors as the chronicler of the

period. From that time the records are fuller and more in detail, and

down to the year 1154 it was kept up by different men in different

monasteries, who were eye-witnesses of the events they recorded, and

out of whose labors there are only six original MSS. extant of this

great national work. The first is called the Plegmund, or Benet MSS.,

because it was, as we have said, compiled by Plegmund at the

instigation of Alfred, and is preserved in Benet {809} (Corpus

Christi) College, Cambridge. From the year 891 it is written in

different hands and by different people down to the year 1070. The

second copy is in the Cottonian Collection at the British Museum

(Tiberius, A vi.), written apparently by one hand, which has been

attributed to Dunstan, and it terminates at the year 977, eleven years

before his death. The third copy is in the same collection (Cotton

Tiberius, B i.), and is thought to have been written in the monastery

of Abingdon; it reaches down to 1066. The fourth copy is also in the

Cottonian collection (Tiberius, B iv.), written by different men down

to the year 1079. The fifth manuscript is in the Bodleian library at

Oxford (Laud, E 80), from internal evidence, written in the year 1122,

compiled from older materials, and carried down in different hands to

the year 1154, showing the gradual degeneracy of the Saxon language

under Norman influence, from 1132 to the end. The sixth and last

manuscript is in the Cottonian library (Domitian, A viii.). It has

been accredited to a Canterbury monk; it is written in Latin and

Saxon, and terminates in 1058. Besides these six, one other MS. is

mentioned as of great value, being a transcription of a Cottonian MS.,

which perished in a fire at Dean's yard in 1731. It is in the Dublin

library (E, 5-15), and was written by Lombard in 1863-64. [Footnote

219]

[Footnote 219: For a more detailed account of these MSS. see Preface

to Bohn's edition of the Translation of Bede and Saxon Chronicle.]

Scarcely any country in Europe possesses such an historical treasure

as this, so authentic and so characteristic. It is a very interesting

study to note its many peculiarities; there are sad gaps in its

records, as though the sorrow of the land was too great to be

recorded, and the hand had failed; there are songs of triumph at the

defeat of the enemy, and pathetic lamentations over desolated homes;

there are noble panegyrics upon men of blessed memory, who had fought

up bravely for their church and country, and words of bitter scorn for

traitors, cowards, and profligates; it contains pious reflections,

ejaculations, and aspirations; it is a most vivid picture of the

manners, the thoughts, the joys, the sorrows of the most interesting

and important period in the history of our country, as though the life

itself, with its characters and incidents, were made to pass before

our eyes in a rapid panorama.

Such was the result of one of Alfred's many plans for the good of his

kingdom. His own diligence as a writer and translator told vitally

upon the language, then rapidly improving. Latin manuscripts had for

some time previously been interlined with Anglo-Saxon "glosses"--that

is, interpretations of Latin words and passages in Anglo-Saxon--and

this gradually led to the complete transcription of Latin MSS. into

Anglo-Saxon, and the writing of original matter in the vernacular

tongue. [Footnote 220]

[Footnote 220: A specimen of this interlinear translation may be

seen in the Cottonian collection--Vespasian, A i.--a Psalter

written in the year 1000, in Latin capitals, with an Anglo-Saxon

interpretation between the lines.]

Although only one writer of any consequence has been handed down to us

from the time of Alfred, yet we may fairly infer that many others

lived and wrote, whose works were destroyed in the ravages made by the

Danes from that time to the Norman conquest, and afterward when Norman

monks looked with contempt upon Saxon MSS., and used them for other

purposes, such as binding or transcription after erasure. The Latin

then once more became the language of literature in this country.

Still the Saxon lived, and would not be trampled out by the Normans,

though it degenerated sadly until, in the fourteenth century, an idiom

sprung up by a mingling of the two, which has been called Semi-Saxon.

Out of this came the early English, from which, after an additional

Saxon infusion from Puritan times, came the idiom we now use, whose

strong Saxon basis bids fair to make it live through all time, and, is

spreading it in every quarter of the world.

{810}

It will be interesting to note at this point that two men managed to

preserve a great deal of literary matter out of the gross Vandalism

which was rife, Archbishop Parker and Sir Robert Cotton. Parker's

collection is in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, and those of

Cotton in the British Museum, the present reference to which, under

the titles of Roman emperor's, arose from the circumstance that in his

own library they were arranged on shelves, over each of which was a

bust of one of the Roman emperors. In this way, and by the diligence

of these two men, many valuable MSS. were rescued which had passed

into the hands of private individuals and booksellers.

All hopes of a national vernacular literature were, however,

frustrated by the advent of the Normans. Centuries before, the French

had ceased to sing their mournful litany, "A furore Normannorum libera

nos Domine," and had found it advisable to give these troublesome

strangers a settlement. Here they had multiplied and thriven until the

middle of the eleventh century, when they were the most promising

people in Europe. There are traits in the Norman character not unlike

the Roman. The Gothic tribes generally adopted the language and, to a

certain extent, the customs of the countries they conquered; but the

Normans, like the Romans, always endeavored to graft their own

language and customs upon their vanquished. As soon, therefore, as

William had made his tenure sure in England, he began the work of

Saxon extermination by ordering that the elements of grammar should be

taught in the French language, that the Saxon caligraphy should be

abandoned, and all deeds, pleadings in courts, and laws should be in

French. Saxon then sunk into contempt, and those of the old race who

were more politic than patriotic set to work vigorously to acquire the

elements of the favorite tongue. Then also the custom of writing books

in Latin was revived, and continued, as regards all important works,

down to the sixteenth century; for although books were written in

English before that time, the language was in a very crude state; for

as in Germany and other countries, so in England, the event which

first fixed the language was the translation of the Bible into the

vernacular; the book, which everybody read, soon became an authority,

and was appealed to on points of language. Still the influence of the

Normans was beneficial, both upon the manners and the literature of

the country. The Saxons, with all their greatness, were not a very

refined people; they were given to carousals of which we can scarcely

form any conception, their diet was coarse, and their manners

unpolished; but the Normans, if not more simple in their habits, were

more refined. Norman extravagance found vent, not in drunken orgies

and riotous feasting, but in fine buildings, horses, trappings, and

dress. [Footnote 221] The importation of provincial poetry in the

shape of Trouvère poems, romances, and fabliaux, had a refining effect

upon the literature, and laid the foundation of English chivalry. But

the most beneficial effect was the introduction of two or three master

spirits into the country, whose friendship William had formerly

cultivated. Of the two most important we will give a rapid sketch.

[Footnote 221: There is a very good comparison of the manners of the

two races drawn by William of Malmesbury in his Gesta Regum; and,

being related to both, he is likely to have given a fair estimate.]

In the early morning of a day in the first quarter of the eleventh

century, a poor young scholar walked through the gates of Pavia, staff

in hand, into the open country, and made his weary way across the

Alps. He was heavy in heart and light in purse; he had lost his

parents, and had left his native city to seek the scanty livelihood of

a vagrant scholar, and yet bound up in that ragged form, as it were in

an undeveloped germ, were wealth, power, and influence; he was making

his way, {811} as far as he knew, to some of those French schools of

disputation which had sprung up, where a poor scholar whose wits had

been sharpened by scanty fare, might, by a happy sophism or a crushing

conclusion, earn a bed and refreshment for the night; but he was in

reality making his way to fame, distinction, and wealth, to a

conqueror's court, and to the episcopal throne of Canterbury. This

ragged scholar, who thus left his native city, was Lanfranc, a name

familiar to English ears and ever memorable in English history, For

some years he led this vagrant life, travelling from place to place,

disputing and studying, when he once more returned to Pavia and

established himself as a pleader. His eloquence soon brought fame and

competence; but urged by some hidden impulse, he threw up the

prospects open to him; once more left the city, and once more took his

way across the Alps and settled at Avranches in Normandy, where many

schools were established. He soon found disciples; but the secret

yearning of his heart developed itself--the monastery of Bea was not

far distant, and to it he bent his steps, hoping to find that peace

which the cloister alone could afford. But he was not allowed to

remain in obscurity, his scholars and others, attracted by his fame,

crowded around him, flocked to his lectures, and the school of Bea

became so renowned that the attention of the young Duke of Normandy,

who also had in him the germ of a glorious career, was attracted to

this rising dialectician, and through the medium of intellectual

intercourse a friendship was engendered which procured for the

conqueror of England a wise and trusty adviser, and paved the way to

fortune for, the poor student. The remainder of his career may be

summed up in a few words. William had just founded a new monastery at

Caen, and over it, he placed his friend as abbot. But during the

twenty years which had elapsed between the time of his settlement at

Bea and his elevation to the abbacy of Caen, the school he had founded

had become most renowned, and some of the great men of after times

boasted of having sat there at Lanfranc's feet. Among these were

Bishops Guimond, Ives, and another Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm.

On one occasion after the elevation of Lanfranc to the primacy of

England, he was obliged to visit Rome and have an audience of Pope

Alexander II., who paid him such marked respect that the courtiers

asked the reason, and the Pope replied, "It is not because he is

primate of England that I rose to meet him, but because I was his

pupil at Bea, and there sat at his feet to listen to his instruction."

While at Caen, however, he entered into the renowned controversy with

Berenger upon the doctrine of the real presence in the Eucharist,

Berenger admitting the fact but denying the change of substance. The

results of this controversy, however, were anticipated by neither

party. It led to a thorough change in the mode of investigation of

truth, more especially of divine truth. Berenger had adopted the

course of arguing the point upon the grounds of pure reason, a course

not unfamiliar to an expert dialectician like Lanfranc, but utterly

novel in theological disputation, where authority was omnipotent.

Lanfranc himself says of his opponent that he desired "relictis saeris

auctoritatibus ad dialecticam confugium facere." But like a true

athlete, he meets his adversary with his own weapons, and for the

first time in Europe men beheld a vital theological dogma being

discussed by champions who had agreed to throw aside all the weight of

authority and rely upon the strength of their own logic. This was the

first signal for the union of scholasticism with theology, which

prevailed in Europe for centuries, tingeing even the writings of the

early reformers. What Lanfranc had done in the pressure of

controversy, Anselm took up with all the ardor of a convert; and the

change which passed over the thought of Europe {812} amounted to a

sort of intellectual revolution. But to return to the fortunes of

Lanfranc;--soon after William had been consecrated he returned to

Normandy, taking with him Stigand, the Archbishop of Canterbury, whose

deposition he ultimately procured, when he immediately installed his

friend and adviser, Lanfranc, into the see of Canterbury. At first,

however, Lanfranc declined the post, upon the grounds that he did not

know the language; but his objection was overruled, and in the year

1070 he was consecrated and took up his residence in England.

To him at Bea succeeded as teacher, Anselm, who made great advances in

the scholastic mode of teaching. He was also prior of the monastery,

and during this period he wrote six treatises on the Fall of Satan, on

Truth, on Original Sin, on the Reason why God created Man, the Liberty

of the Will, and the Consistency of Freedom with the Divine

Prescience. These great questions were then uppermost in men's minds,

and they were treated by Anselm in the new and more attractive mode of

appeal to pure reason. Whilst in the midst of these studies he was

appointed abbot of his monastery, which he reluctantly accepted, and

in the year 1093, fifteen years afterward, four years after the death

of Lanfranc, he was appointed by William II. to the archbishopric of

Canterbury. His relations with the king were not happy; he opposed

that obstinate and rapacious monarch, and a series of

misunderstandings ensued, which led him to retire to Rome to consult

with the Pope. During his absence he wrote that book by which he is

most known, Cur Deus Homo, Why God was made Man. He also took a

prominent part in the Council of Bari, in 1098, where he procured the

decision against the Greek delegates, upon the question of the

Procession of the Holy Ghost. Upon the death of William he returned;

but the rest of his life was occupied in continual disputes on points

of privilege with the king, Henry, and he died in the year 1109.

But we will now advance to the consideration of that great change

which came over the thought of Europe, and bears the name of

scholasticism. The controversy of Lanfranc with Berenger on the

doctrine of the real presence, may be accepted as the point where the

new method was applied to theology; from that time it became the

favorite mode. But although the scholastic philosophers professed to

rely upon bare reason, they appear to have instinctively felt that

great want of human nature, the want of an oracle, and they found

their oracle in the works of Aristotle, then in use in the university

and schools of Spain, sadly perverted by being filtered through an

Arabic translation. Men flew to Arabic grammars, and to Spain, to

Arabic versions of Aristotle, and the Stagyrite then became the oracle

of the Scholastics just as the fathers were of their opponents. But

still, as is and must be the case in all religious controversies, both

parties lay under the same necessity, and, after all, drew their

premises from the same quarter. The defender and the opposer were

alike subject to the influence of revelation; without that, the

opponent would have wanted the subject of opposition, and the defender

the object of his defence, so that the premises of both appear to be

involved in the same thing, and in fine the Scholastics fell back also

upon the fathers, as may be seen in the Sentences of Peter Lombard,

the handbook of scholasticism, which is nothing but a mass of extracts

from the fathers and popes, worked up together into a system of

theology. In its earliest form it cannot be denied that scholasticism

did good. It was a healthy revival of intellectual life, it stimulated

all classes of thinkers, and created a passion for inquiry; it brought

out such great minds as Abelard, Duns Scotus, and Thomas Aquinas. The

very subjects upon which men debated gave an elevation to thought, and

the result was an intellectual activity which has rarely been

equalled. It must be remembered also that the schoolmen did not

discard {813} the facts laid down by the fathers; they were not

infidels, but their investigations turned more upon the mode of

operation--they accepted the divine presence in the Eucharist, but

what they wanted to ascertain was the way in which it manifested

itself. They believed in the Incarnation, but they desired to know the

exact mode in which that sacrifice had worked out human redemption.

But we must return to the development of English literature. After the

Norman Conquest, we have already observed, the Latin tongue became

once more the medium of communication for the learned, and all great

works were written in that idiom, so that there were three tongues

used in England: the Latin by the clergy and scholars, the

Norman-French by the court and nobles, and the Saxon, which fell to

the common people. The literature of that period was rich in some

departments, poor in others. In philosophy, whatever we may think of

its merit, it was anything but scanty, and a perfect library of

scholastic writings has come down even to our times, a desert of

argumentation and reasoning, but containing veins of gold, could a

mortal ever be found endowed with the patience to dig deep enough, and

labor long enough to open them. The Book of Sentences, by Peter the

Lombard, bishop of Paris, to which we have already alluded, was one of

the wonders of the twelfth century. It was divided into four parts:

the first treated of the Trinity and divine attributes, the second of

the Creation, the origin of angels, of the fall of man, of grace, free

will, of original and actual sin; the third of the Incarnation, faith,

hope, charity, the gifts of the spirit, and the commandments of God;

and the fourth treated of the Sacraments, the Resurrection, the Last

Judgment, and the state of the righteous in heaven. Although a great

deal is borrowed from the fathers, yet there is in this work a marked

tendency toward the scholastic method; he wanders into abstruse

speculations and subtle investigations as to the generation of the

Word, the possibility of two persons being incarnate in one, sins of

the will and of the action. It did much to mould the thought of

succeeding writers, and it won for its author the title of Master of

Sentences; it was appealed to as an authority; what the "Master" said

was a sufficient answer to an opponent. Another great work was the

Summa of Thomas Aquinas, a book which excites admiration even now.

Duns Scotus and Occam, also contributed voluminously to the stores of

scholastic theology. The literature, however, was richer in history.

Whilst the theologians were debating about questions beyond the reach

of the human intellect, a band of quiet pious men devoted their time

to the recording the tale of human actions. Upward of forty men lived

from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries, who have written the

history of the country from the earliest periods down to the dawning

of the sixteenth century. Probably no country in the world is richer

in historical material than ourselves; and as an admirable instance of

monastic diligence, and evidence of intellectual activity in what has

been usually termed an age of dense ignorance, we subjoin a table of

the historical writers, upon whose labors the authentic history of the

country must rest. [Footnote 222]

[Footnote 222: We omit in our list the supposititious history of

Croyland, by Ingulphus, which has been disposed of by Richard

Palgrave, as of the thirteenth or fourteenth century, and of little

historical value.]

MONASTIC WRITERS OF ENGLISH HISTORY.

_Twelfth Century._

William of Poictiers, History of Conquest--Chaplain to William I.

Ordericus Vitalis, Ecclesiastical History to

1141--Monk of St. Evroult.

Anonymous, Gesta Stephani.

William of Jumièges, History of

Normandy--Monk of Jumièges.

Florence of Worcester, Chronicon ex

Chronicis to 1119--Monk of Worcestcr.

Matthew of Westminstcr, Flores

Historiarum--Doubtful.

{814}

William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum, Historia

Novella, Gesta Pontificum, Vita Anselmi,

De Antiquitate Glastoniae--Monk of Malmesbury.

Eadmer, Historia Novorum, and others--

Monk of Canterbury.

Turgot, Confessor of Margaret, Queen of

Malcolm Canmore; wrote her Life and

History of Durham (called Simeon of Durham),

History of St. Cuthbert, De Rebus

Anglorum, and other works--Monk of Durham.

Ailred, Account of Battle of Standards--Abbot

of Rivault, York.

Geoffrey of Monmouth, British History--Monk of Monmouth.

Alfred of Beverley, Gestis Regum--Canon of

St. John's, Beverley.

Giraldus Cambrensis, Itinerarium Cambriae,

Topographia Hiberniae, De Rebus a se Gestis,

etc--Politician.

Henry of Huntingdon, Eight Books History,

Julius Caesar to 1154--Archdeacon.

Roger of Hovenden, Chronicle, 732 to 1202,

in continuation of Bede.

William of Newburgh, Hist. from Conquest to

1197--Monk of Newburgh.

Benedictus Abbas, Chronicle, 1170 to 1192

--Abbot of Peterboro'.

Ralph de Diceto, Two Chron., one 589 to

1148, and the other to 1199, Hist. of

Controversy between Henry and à Becket,

Lives of Archbishops of Canterbury to

1200, in the Anglia Sacra--Archdeacon of London.

Gervase of Canterbury, Chronicle, from 1100

to end of century, three other pieces, Contests

between Monks and Archbishop Baldwin,

History of the Archbishops, from Augustine

to Walter, 1205--Monk of Canterbury.

_Thirteenth Century._

Richard of Devizes, Chron. of Reign of Richard I--Monk.

Jocelyn de Brakelond, Chron., 1173 to 1202

--Monk of St. Edmondsbury.

Roger of Wendover, Hist. to 1235--Monk of St. Albans.

Matthew Paris, Historia Major. Conq. to

1259--Monk of St. Albans.

_Fourteenth Century._

William Rishanger, Continuation of M. Paris

to 1322, Wars of the Barons--Monk of St. Albans.

John of Brompton, [Footnote 223]

Chron. to 1199, from Saxons--Monk of Jerevaux.

[Footnote 223: Authorship doubtful.]

Thomas Wickes, Chron., of Salisbury to 1304

--Canon of Osney.

Walter Hemingford, Hist. Conquest to 1273

--Monk of Gisbro'.

Robert of Avesbury, Hist. Reign of Edward

III to 1356--Register of Canterbury.

Nicholas Trivet, Hist. from 1135 to 1307--Dominican.

Adam Murimuth, Chron. 1303 to 1337--Monk.

Henry Knyghton, Hist. from Edgar to Richard II--Canon of Leicester.

Thomas Stubbs, Chron. of Archbishops of

York to 1373--Monk.

William Thorne, Chron. of Abbots of St.

Augustine, 1397--Monk.

Ranulph Higden, Polychronicon [Footnote 224] to 1357--Monk.

[Footnote 224: Caxton printed it, with a

continuation of his own, to 1460.]

_Fifteenth Century._

Thomas Walsingham, Hist. Brevis to Hy. of

Normandy--Monk of St. Albans.

Thomas Otterbourne, Hist. to 1420--Franciscan.

John Whethamstede, Chron. 1441 to 1461--

Abbot of St. Albans.

Thomas Elmham, Life of Henry V.--Prior of Linton.

William of Worcester, Chron. 1324 to 1491--Monk.

John Rouse, Hist. Kings of England to 1490--

Chaplain to Earl of Warwick.

_Monastic Registers._

Glastonbury, 63 to 1400

Melrose, 735 to 1270

Margan, 1066 to 1232

Waverly, 1066 to 1291

Ely, 156 to 1169

Abingdon, 870 to 1131

Bishops of Durham, 633 to 1214

Burton 1004 to 1263

Rochester, 1115 to 1124

Holyrood, 596 to 1163

Add to these many historical documents which have been preserved from

destruction, such as the Doomsday Book, the Liber Niger, rolls and

public registers, and we have a repertoire of historical materials

such as scarcely any other nation in Europe can boast of. From the

time when the Saxon Chronicle was commenced down to the age of

printing, the pens of the monks were unwearied in recording the

history of their country; and although they had their share of human

weakness, and were influenced in matters of opinion frequently by the

treatment shown to their order, still among such a mass of writers the

truth may surely be ascertained. The severity of criticism applied to

history in these {815} days is driving men rapidly to active research

among these _origines histoicae_. Formerly when a man wrote a history,

he framed his work upon other men's labors and his own fancy, as was

instanced in the case of Robertson, who coolly tells us that he had

made up his mind to write a history of something, but was undecided

whether it should be a history of Greece, of Leo X., William III. and

Anne, or Charles V. At last he decided upon the latter, and we may

infer from a letter of his to Dr. Birch in what degree of preparation

he was for the work. He says: "I never had access to any copious

libraries, and do not pretend to any extensive knowledge of authors,

but I have made a list of such as I thought most essential to the

subject, and have put them down as _I have found them mentioned in any

book I happened to read_." In another letter he admits: "My chief

object is to adorn as far as I am capable of adorning the history of a

period which deserves· to be better known." Hume was no better than

Robertson, for it appears that the latter had consulted the great

English historian about Mary, who sent him a version which Robertson

at once used. But shortly after Hume received some MSS. from Dr.

Birch, who went more deeply into these things, and in consequence he

wrote to his friend Robertson to the following effect: "What I wrote

to you with regard to Mary, etc., was from the printed histories and

papers, but I am now sorry to tell you that by Murdin's State Papers

the matter is put beyond all question. I got these papers during the

holidays by Dr. Birch's means, and as soon as I read them _I ran to

Millar_ and desired him very earnestly to stop the publication of your

history till I should write to you and give you an opportunity of

correcting a mistake so important, but he _absolutely refused

compliance_. He said that your book was finished; that the whole

narrative of Mary's trial must be wrote over again; that it was

uncertain whether the new narrative could be brought within the same

compass with the old; that this change would require the cancelling a

great many sheets; and that there were scattered passages through the

volumes _founded on your own theory_." [Footnote 225]

[Footnote 225: Disraeli's Literary Miscellanies.]

We quote these letters to show how history was written in bygone times

by men who until the days of Maitland and Froude have been regarded as

authorities. The blind led the blind, and the History of Scotland--

whole sheets of which ought to have been rewritten, and scattered

passages founded upon theory erased--was given to the world, because

the printer refused to disturb the press, and the author was

disinclined to demolish such a fair creation. But the day for

imaginative history is past, and a new light is dawning upon the

world, the necessity of which is apparent from these revelations. For

the future the historian must write from manuscripts or printed copies

of manuscripts, or his theories and his fancies will be soon

dissipated under a criticism which is becoming daily more powerful,

and acquiring new compass as fast as the labors of the Record Office

are being brought to light. The narrative of the most vital periods of

our country's history will have to be rewritten. We are being

gradually taught that the dark ages were not so dark as our

conceptions of them; that some of our favorite historical villains may

yet be saved; and that many of the gods we have worshipped had very

few claims to divinity. The very fact of there being such a repertoire

of historical materials created by the labors of those forty monks of

different monasteries; the existence of a voluminous and important

controversy involving the vital questions of religion, and argued with

scholarship, logical acuteness, wit, and vigor; the works of piety,

art, and architecture which have come down to us from that age--must

convince us that, however rude the physical mode {816} of life may

have been, the intellectual activity and mental calibre of the men of

those days, when we remember their immense disadvantages, were little

inferior to those of our day. We produce many things, but not many

great things; but the labors of mediaeval monasticism were not _multa

sed multum_, and they live now, and probably will live when much of

this multiform literature of our times will be obliterated by the

impartial, discriminating hand of time.

We cannot pass over this period of what we may call national Latin

literature--that is, when the literatures of all nations were written

in Latin--without noticing the history of one book which has ever

stood out prominently from the mass of mediaeval productions, not only

from its intrinsic excellence, but from the unfathomable mystery

connected with its authorship. We allude to the treatise De lmitatione

Christi, popularly attributed to Thomas à Kempis. His claim rests

chiefly upon the fact that the first printed copy was made from a

manuscript written by him and signed "Finitus et completus Anno

Domino, 1441, per manus patris Thomae Kempis in monte S. Agnetis prope

Swoll." But there is in this subscription no evidence of authorship;

it was the usual formula appended to copies. Kempis was an inveterate

copyist, and it will be a sufficient proof of the untenable nature of

this argument if we mention that a copy of the Bible made by him is

subscribed in a similar manner--"Finitus et completus Anno Domini,

1439, in Vigilia S. Jacobi Apostoli per manus Fratris Thomae à Kempis

ad laudem Dei in Monasterio S. Agnetis." There is no evidence,

therefore, of authorship in the subscription of the MS.

But doubts existed soon after the publication of the work about its

authorship, and another MS. was discovered at Arône bearing the

inscription, "Incipiunt capitula primi libri Abbatis Johannis _Gesen_

De Imitatione Christi et contemptu omnium vauitatum mundi," and at the

end was written "explicit liber quartus et ultimus Abbatis Johannis

_Gersen_ de Sacramento Altaris." The house in which this document was

found belonged to the company of Jesus, but as it had formerly been

held by Benedictines, some vigilant members of that active body at

once declared it must have been written by one of their order. They

managed to get possession of it, and immediately brought it out with

the addition in the title after the name of Gersen of "Abbatis Ordinis

Sti. Benedicti." Then commenced that celebrated controversy between

the two monastic orders, the Augustines, who advocated the claims of

Thomas à Kempis, and the Benedictines, who fought for Gersen. A volume

might be written easily upon the bare history of that controversy, as

some hundreds of volumes were during its progress. It began

immediately after the publication of this Benedictine claim in the

year 1616, and it raged in different countries in Europe for more than

two centuries, the last controversy coming to a conclusion in 1832,

which arose from the discovery of a MS. at Paris, copied in 1550, and

a document purporting that it was bequeathed to one of the De'

Avogadri family in the year 1347. This further confirmation of the

antiquity of the work gave rise to the last controversy which ended

like all the others in increasing the doubt as to Thomas à Kempis's

authorship and the uncertainty of the whole question.

We think it can be shown that the De lmitatione was known before the

birth of Thomas à Kempis, and about the time of the existence of

Gersen; but the evidence of the claim of the Gersenites is so slender

that the mere chronological coincidence is not sufficient to maintain

it. Passages have been collected from works written long before the

time of à Kempis word for word the same as in the De Imitatione. In

the conferences of Bonaventura to the people of Toulouse, written

about 1260, there are many such passages; {817} and in an office

written by Thomas Aquinas for the Pope Urban IV., about the same time,

there are many other passages. [Footnote 226] In fact, in the

Conferences a whole paragraph is quoted verbatim, concluding with the

phrase, "as may be seen in the pious book on the 'Imitation of

Christ.'" Criticism has labored diligently to discover in its text

evidences indicative of the nationality of the author, but they have

ended in contradictions which seem to insinuate that it might be the

joint production of pious minds in different countries, which would

leave to Thomas à Kempis the honor of having collected and arranged

them into one form. However, instead of wasting time over a fruitless

investigation, we prefer taking the book as it is with its wealth of

spirituality, with its calm beauty, its power of soothing the

perturbed spirit, its subtle analyses of the human heart [Footnote

227] and the springs of human action, its encouragement to a godly

life, its fervor, its eloquence, and its strange power; and we are

driven to the conclusion that it is the most marvellous book ever

produced--most marvellous from the universal influence it has exerted

over the minds of men of all creeds, ages, and countries, and from its

adaptability to the common yearnings of all humanity. Like the gospel,

of which it is the exponent, and therefore from which it derives the

quality, it stands out in its marked individuality, in the midst of

every phase of life through which it has passed, a distinct thing,

having nothing in common with the world or worldly pursuits, but

trying to wean men from them, or at least from allowing them to gain

an ascendency over their affections. In the present age this isolation

is more striking. We are far too philosophical, too scientific, too

logical, to attend to the ascetic ravings of this "monkish" book. The

business of life runs high with us, runs too noisily, to allow us to

listen to its small voice. We are so deeply engaged in the pursuits of

pleasure and the acquisition of wealth, that we have no time for the

"Imitation of Christ." We are involved in great undertakings--Atlantic

telegraphs, principles of physical science, railway committees,

parliamentary reforms, and drainage questions, absorb all our

attention. But philosophy, science, and logic fail to exempt humanity

from its ills. The hour comes when man falls sick, sick unto death;

then in that moment when philosophy deserts pain, and science affords

no consolation; when logic is dumb, and the soul with instinctive

apprehension is clamoring for help, then is the moment for such a book

as this. And it was in such a moment that La Harpe, cast into a

dungeon of the Luxembourg, with nothing but death before him,

accidentally meeting with this book, and opening its pages at the

words "Ecce adsum! Ecce ad te venio quia vocasti me. Lacrymae tuae et

desiderium animae tuae, humiliatio tua et contritio cordis

inclinaverunt me et adduxerunt ad te," [Footnote 228] he fell upon his

face heartbroken and in tears. We must conclude this portion of the

subject by repeating that the Latin language retained its position as

the language of literature until the time of the Reformation. But

during the fourteenth century there was a tendency to blend the two

vernacular tongues spoken in England--the French and the Saxon. In the

struggle for precedence the Saxon conquered, and out of it came the

present vigorous idiom spoken by the English; but nothing of any

consequence was written in this tongue until it became settled and

confirmed.

[Footnote 226: These passages may be seen collected in parallel

columns in a work by M. De Gregory on L'Histoire du Livre de

l'Imitation. Paris,1843.]

[Footnote 227: Vide the analysis of Temptation, lib. I., c. xiii.,

and the well-known chapter on the Royal Road of the cross, lib. II.,

c xii.]

[Footnote 228: "De Imi., lib. III., c. xxi., sec. 6. Behold me!

behold I come to thee because thou hast called me. Thy tears and the

desire of thy soul, thy humiliation and contrition of heart have

inclined and led me unto thee."]

We now advance to the consideration of one of the most beautiful

emanations of Christianity in the world---her hymns. We take up these

{818} hymns of the church, and we find that they bear testimony, not

only literary but historical, as to the state of the church at any

given time, and certainly one of the best and purest testimonies that

can be found. Few, if any, writers have sufficiently investigated this

branch of ecclesiastical history, the evidence of the hymnology of the

church. If we appeal to her controversial theology we shall find

invariably a mass of one-sided representation, mutual vituperation,

and invective; if we go to ecclesiastical history we shall find that

those histories are written by minds working under the bias of some

inclination toward sect or theory; but if we take up the hymns of the

church we shall have the pure, free, outspoken voice of the church--we

shall see, as it were, its internal organization, its emotions, its

aspirations, its thoughts, living, throbbing, palpitating--the very

heart of the church itself.

The song of Christianity has never ceased in the world; it has

continued in an unbroken strain. It began at its very outset in the

song of the mother of its founder, and it has been going on ever

since. As the voice of one age dies away, the strain is taken up by

the next. It has sunk at times into a low plaintive melody, and at

others mounted into a grand swelling psalm, heard above the noise of

the world, which ceases its strife to listen· to its music. Of this

melody we shall now endeavor to give a brief history. We begin at the

coming of our Lord; but the whole worship of the true God is marked by

the psalmody of rejoicing hearts. The children of Israel by the Red

Sea broke out into the first recorded song; a considerable portion of

the Scripture is in that form; Jesus with his disciples sung a hymn at

the Last Supper; the apostles continued the practice, and from

post-apostolic times there have come down to us three great hymns,

whose origin is lost in their remote antiquity--the Ter Sanctus, the

Gloria in Excelsis, and the Te Deum. These hymns were used in the very

earliest ages of the church. Of the latter there is a legend that it

was sung by Ambrose spontaneously at the baptism of Augustine.

The periods of hymnology may be divided into two great sections--the

earliest or Greek period, extending to the dawn of the fourth century,

when the second or Latin division commences; and this latter may be

subdivided into three parts--the Ambrosian, the Barbarian, and the

Mediaeval. The earliest Greek hymns are anonymous; there is one to

Christ on the Cross:--

"Thou who on the sixth day and hour

Didst nail to the cross the sin

Which Adam dared in Paradise,

Read also the handwriting at our transgressions,

O Christ our Lord! and save us."

There is one on repentance, commencing:--

"Receive thy servant, my Saviour,

Falling before thee with tears, my Saviour,

And save, Jesus, me repenting."

And a simple doxology:--

"God is my hope,

Christ is my refuge,

The Holy Spirit is my vesture.

Holy Trinity, glory to thee!"

The first name of a hymn-writer which has reached us is that of

Clement of Alexandria, who lived toward. the close of the second

century. One of his hymns is called, Hymn of the Saviour. But it is

recorded by St. Basil that a hymn was well known in the first and

second centuries, called, Hail, Gladdening Light! which was sung in

the churches at the lighting of the lamps:--

"Hail, Jesus Christ! hail, gladdening light

Of the immortal father's glory bright!

Blessed of all saints beneath the sky,

And of the heavenly company!

"Now, while the sun is setting,

Now, while the light grows dim,

To Father, Son, and Spirit,

We raise our evening hymn.

"Worthy thou, while time shall dure,

To be hymned by voices pure.

Son of God, of life the giver,

Thee the world shall praise forever!"

There were several Syriac hymns at this period. Ephraim Syrus, a {819}

monk, and deacon of Mesopotamia. wrote, The Children in Paradise, On

Palm Sunday, The Entry of Christ into Jerusalem, and another, called,

The Lament of a Father on the death of his Son, which used to be sung

at the funerals of children. Gregory of Nazianzen is the best known of

the Greek hymn-writers. There are two hymns to Christ extant by him,

and an evening hymn. In one of the hymns to Christ the following

passage occurs:--

"Unfruitful, sinful, bearing weeds and thorns,

Fruits of the curse--ah! whither shall I flee?

O Christ, most blessed! bid my fleeting days

Flow heavenward, Christ, sole fount of hope to me!

"The enemy is near--to thee I cling!

Strengthen, oh! strengthen me by might divine;

Let not the trembling bird be from thine altar driven--

Save me--it is thy will, O Christ!--save me, for I am thine."

Gregory's life was spent in a continual conflict with Arianism. At the

age of fifty he went to Constantinople, and as all the churches were

in the hands of the Arians, he preached in the house of a relative. He

was soon subject to persecution, was pelted in the streets, arrested,

tried, and with much difficulty acquitted. Ultimately he succeeded;

the Arian heresy passed away; the house where he had so faithfully

preached became the Church of "Anastasia;" the truth had risen there.

But time, though it brought success, had left him a sad, lonely old

man. He was made Patriarch of Constantinople by the Emperor

Theodosius; but he had lost all his dearest relatives, and he threw up

his dignity and retired from the world. In that retirement he wrote a

beautiful hymn, which sums up his life. We quote the first and last

verses:--

"Where are the winged words? Lost in the air.

Where the fresh flower of youth and glory? Gone!

The strength of well-knit limbs? Brought low by care.

Wealth? Plundered. None possess but God alone.

Where those dear parents who my life first gave,

And where that holy twain, brother and sister? In the grave.

"This as thou wilt, the Day will all unite,

Wherever scattered, when thy word is said;

Rivers of fire; abysses without light,

Thy great tribunal, these alone are dread.

And thou, O Christ my King, art fatherland to me--

Strength, wealth, eternal rest, yea all, I find in thee." [Footnote 229]

[Footnote 229: These extracts from translations of Greek hymns are

quoted from The Christian Life in Song, where the full versions may be

seen.]

St. Andrew of Crete, St. John of Damascus, St. Cosmas, Bishop of

Maiuma, and Chrysostom, were amongst the Greek hymn-writers. Their

productions are characterized by the greatest simplicity and fervor,

reliance upon Christ and love to God being the most prominent topics.

We now come to the period of Latin hymns, and we begin with the first

or Ambrosian division. The principal writers are Ambrose, Hilary, and

St. Prudentius. Augustine, in his Confessions, quotes one of Ambrose's

hymns, as having repeated it when lying awake in bed, "Atque ut eram

in lecto meo solus, recordatus sum veridicos versus Ambrosii tui: Tu

es enim. [Footnote 230 ]

[Footnote 230: August. Confess., lib. ix., c. 12.]

"Deus creator omnium

Polique rector, vestiens

Diem decoro lumine

Noctem sopora gratia.

"Artus solutos ut quies

Reddat laboris usul,

Mentesque fessas adievet

Lactusque solvat anxios."

Ambrose was born about the year 340; his father was a prefect of Gaul,

and belonged to a noble family. Before the age of thirty he himself

was consul of Liguria, and dwelt in Milan. Up to this time he had no

notion of becoming an ecclesiastic. But Anxentius, the Arian bishop,

having died, a dispute arose between the citizens of Milan and the

emperor, as to who should appoint the successor, each trying to evade

the responsibility. It was left to the people; the city was in a state

of great excitement, and a tumultuous assemblage filled the cathedral,

in the midst of whom appeared Ambrose in his civil capacity, to

command peace, and it is said that in the lull which ensued, a voice

was heard crying, "Ambrose is bishop," which the whole mass of people,

seized by a sudden impulse, repeated. {820} Soon afterward he was

ordained and consecrated. The majority of the people were opposed to

Arianism, and he was soon involved in a dispute with the Empress

Justina, who required him to give up the Portian Basilica to the

Arians. He refused, and accompanied by a multitude of people, took

possession of the church, and fastened the doors. The imperial troops

besieged them for several days, during which time the people kept

singing the hymns of Ambrose. Monica, the mother of Augustine, is said

to have been amongst the crowd in the church. One of Ambrose's hymns

was used for centuries as a morning hymn, called Hymn at the

Cock-crowing; another Advent hymn, Veni Creator gentium; one for

Easter, Hic est dies verus Dei. St. Hilary, Bishop of Arles in the

sixth century, is the next of the Ambrosian period; the best known of

his hymns is that to the morning, Lucis largitor splendide. But the

most prominent name of the period after Ambrose is Prudentius, who was

born about 348, practised in the courts as a pleader, and in his

fifty-seventh year forsook the world, and spent the rest of his days

in religious exercises. One of his great hymns is for Epiphany, O sola

magnarum urbium, another on the Innocents, Salvete flores martyrum;

but the hymn most known is a very beautiful, perhaps his most

beautiful composition, a funeral hymn, beginning Jam maesta quiesce

querela. After the reformation, this hymn was adopted by the German

Protestants as their favorite funeral hymn, their version beginning

"Hört auf mil Trauern und Klagen."

The resurrection of the body is thus expressed--

"Non si cariosa vetustas

Dissolverit ossa favillis

Fueritque cinisculus arens

Minimi mensura pugilli:

"Nec si vaga flamina et aurae

Vacuum per inane volantes

Tulerint cum pulvere nervos

Hominem periisse licebit"

"For though, through the slow lapse of ages,

These mouldering bones should grow old,

Reduced to a handful of ashes.

A child in its hands may enfold.

"Though flames should consume it and breezes

Invisibly float it away,

Yet the body of man cannot perish,

Indestructible through its decay."

The next period of hymnology is what we have termed the barbarian,

because it began at the time when the northern invaders were settling

down in the various parts of Europe, which had fallen to their arms.

Though not so fertile in hymns, yet some beautiful things were

produced in this period. We shall only mention three

hymn-writers--Gregory the Great, Venantius Fortunatus, and Bede. The

principal hymn of Gregory's is the Veni Creator Spiritus; but the most

distinguished hymn-writer of this era is Fortunatus; he was an

Italian, born about 530; a gay poet, the delight of society, until

Queen Radegunda persuaded him to be ordained, and to settle at

Poictiers, where she, having left her husband, was presiding over a

monastic establishment. There is a beautiful hymn of his, which

commences--

"Pange lingua gloriosi

Praelium certaminis."

We quote two verses (v. i. and viii.) of the late Dr. Neale's

translation:

I.

"Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle,

With completed victory rife.

And above the cross's trophy,

Tell the triumph of the strife;

How the world's Redeemer conquered,

By surrendering of his life.

VIII.

"Faithful cross, above all other,

One and only noble tree,

None in foliage, none in blossom,

None in fruit, compares with thee;

Sweetest wood and sweetest iron,

Sweetest weight sustaining free."

A portion of one of his poems, on the resurrection of our Lord, was

sung in the Church for ten centuries as an Easter hymn. It commences,

Salve festa dies toto venerabilis aevo. [Footnote 231] In another of

his poems, De Cruce Christi, there occurs a beautiful image of the

Cross as the tree around which the True Vine is clinging:

"Appensa est vitis inter tua brachia, de qua

Dulcia sanguineo vina rubore fluunt." [Footnote 232]

[Footnote 231: Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p. 152.]

[Footnote 232: For the whole see Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p.130.]

{821}

But his most celebrated hymn is the one written on the occasion of the

sending the true cross by the emperor to Radegunda, at the

consecration of a church at Poictiers. It is called Vexilla Regis

prodeunt:

I.

"The royal banners forward go,

The cross shines forth with mystic glow,

Where he in flesh, our flesh who made,

Our sentence bore, our ransom paid.

VI.

"With fragrance dropping from each bough,

Sweeter than sweetest nectar thou:

Decked with the fruit of peace and praise,

And glorious with triumphant lays.

VIl.

"Hall, altar! hail, O Victim! Thee

Decks now thy passion's victory,

Where life for sinners death endured,

And life by death for man procured." [Footnote 233]

[Footnote 233: Dr. Neale's Mediaeval Hymns.]

Bede the Venerable wrote hymns also; the two best known are the Hymnum

canamus gloriae, and Hymnum canentes martyrum.

We now advance to the last and richest of all the periods of

hymnology, the mediaeval. The list is headed with the royal name of

Robert II. of France, who wrote, hymns, one of which is a Veni Sancte

Spiritus. Peter Damian, the cardinal bishop of Ostia, who died in

1072, wrote many hymns, but the two greatest are De Die Mortis and Ad

perennis vitae fontem. [Footnote 234] Adam of St. Victor was another

prolific hymn-writer; thirty-six of his productions are extant, and

well known. [Footnote 235]

[Footnote 234: Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, pp. 278, 315. ]

[Footnote 235: Ibid., pp. 53. 111, 160, 202, 212, 227.]

Peter the Venerable and Thomas à Kempis have also left hymns behind

them. But it was reserved for Archbishop Trench to dig out of the

mouldering relics of the past a hymn written by a monk of Clugny, one

Bernard de Morlaix, the translation of which, by Dr. Neale, has

supplied the church of every denomination with favorite hymns; The

most general name by which it is known is Jerusalem the Golden. The

original is a poem of about three thousand lines, called De Contemptu

Mundi, a melancholy satire upon the corruptions of the times. The

first appearance of it in print, is in a collection of poems, De

Corrupto Ecclesiae Statu, by Flacius Illyricus. We cannot speak too

highly of this poem of Bernard, nor of the merits of Dr. Neale's

translation. The original is written in one of the most difficult of

all metres, technically called "leonini cristati trilices daetylici,"

a dactylic hexameter, divided into three parts, with a tailed rhyme

and rhymes between the two first clauses. Dr. Neale gives a specimen

of this verse in English:

"Time will be _ending soon_, heaven will be _rending

soon_, fast we and pray we;

Come the most merciful; comes the most terrible,

watch we while may we."

The imagery in the original poem is gorgeous; but Dr. Neale has

exceeded the original [Footnote 236] in many parts of his

translation'. We add a few gems. The opening lines are--

"Hora novissima, tempora pessima sunt vigilemus!

Ecce minaciter imminet arbiter ille supremus.

Imminet, imminet, ut mala terminet, aequa coronet

Recta remuneret, anxia liberet aethera donet."

"The world is very evil,

The times are waxing late,

Be sober and keep vigil,

The Judge is at the gate;

The Judge that comes in mercy,

The Judge that comes with might,

To terminate the evil,

To diadem the right."

[Footnote 236: The best edition of this poem is the little shilling

volume by Dr. Neale, called the Rhythm of Bernard de Morlaix,

published by Hayes, Lyall-place, Eaton-square. It contains between

two and three hundred of the original lines, with Dr. Neale's

complete translation.]

Dr. Neale has proved himself a true poet in this translation; the

rendering is most happy, and the whole version forms one of the finest

sacred poems in the language. The lines--

"Patria luminis, inscia turbinis, inscia litis.

Cive replebitur amplificabitur lsraelitis

Patria splendida, terraque florida, libera spinis

Danda fidelibus est ibi civibus, hic peregrinis,"

are thus happily rendered--

"And the sunlit land that reeks not

Of tempest nor of fight

Shall fold within its bosom

Each happy Israelite;

The home of fadeless splendor,

Of flowers that fear no thorn,

Where they shall dwell as children,

Who here as exiles mourn."

{822}

Then the episode--

"Sunt radiantia jaspide moenia clara pyropo."

"With jaspers glow thy bulwarks,

Thy streets with emeralds blaze,

The sardius and the topaz

Unite in thee their rays;

Thine ageless walls are bonded

With amethyst unpriced;

The saints build up its fabric,

And the corner·stone is Christ.

* * * * *

Thou hast no shore, fair ocean!

Thou hast no time, bright day!

Dear fountain of refreshment.

To pilgrims far away.

* * * * *

They stand, those halls of Sion,

Conjubilant with song,

And bright with many an angel

And all the martyr throng;

The Prince is ever in them,

Their daylight is serene;

The pastures of the blessed

Are decked in glorious sheen.

There is the throne of David,

And there, from care released,

The song of them that triumph,

The shout of them that feast;

And they who, with their leader,

Have conquered in the fight,

For ever and for ever

Are clad in robes of white."

But we must pause, for to give all the beauties of this poem would be

to transcribe the whole. Another St. Bernard, the well-known abbot of

Clairvaux, was a contemporary with him of Clugny. He was one of the

most influential men of his age, a man far in advance of it; the

adviser of popes and the confidant of kings. Many hymns are attributed

to him, one of the most beautiful being that known as Jesu Dulcis

Memoria. In Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry there is a selection of

fifteen verses, but the original consists of forty-eight verses.

[Footnote 237] It is a fine specimen of the ardent loving poetry so

characteristic of the period. A very beautiful version, or rather

imitation of this poem, is extant in the Harleian MSS., written in the

reign of Edward I., and as it is a very good specimen of the English

of the period, and represents the spirit of the original, we venture

to quote a verse or two. [Footnote 238]

[Footnote 237: Sti. Bernardi Clarae Vallensis Opp: Benedictine

edition, vol. ii., p. 895.]

[Footnote 238: Printed also in the Percy Society's Publications,

vol. iv., p. 68.]

I.

"Jesu, suete is the love of thee,

Nothing so suete may be;

Al that may with eyen se

Haveth no suetnesse ageynes the.

XIV.

"Jhesu, when ich thenke on the,

And loke upon the rode tre;

Thi suete body to-toren se,

Hit maketh heorte to smerte me.

XVIII.

"Jhesu, my saule drah the to,

Min heorte opene ant wyde undo;

This hure of love to drynke so,

That fleysshliche lust be al for-do.

XLV.

"Jesut thin help at myn endyng,

Ant ine that dredful out-wendyng

Send mi soule god weryying,

That y ne drede non eovel thing."

We can only notice one other grand hymn, selected also from a long

poem of Bernard, addressed to the different portions of the body of

Christ on the cross. This is from the Ad Faciem, and commences--

[Footnote 239]

[Footnote 239: For the Latin, see Trench's Sacred Latin Poetry, p.

139.]

"Salve caput cruentatum

Totum spinis coronatum."

As it is one of the finest mediaeval hymns, and has been translated

into nearly all European languages, we give the translation:--

"Hail! thou head so bruised and wounded,

With the crown of thorns surrounded;

Smitten with the mocking reed,

Wounds which may not cease to bleed,

Trickling faint and slow.

Hail! from whose most blessed brow

None can wipe the blood drops now.

All the flower of life has fled;

Mortal paleness there instead.

Thou, before whose presence dread,

Angels trembling bow.

"All thy vigor and thy life

Fading in this bitter strife;

Death his stamp on thee has set,

Hollow and emaciate,

Faint and drooping there.

Thou, this agony and scorn,

Hast for me a sinner borne;

Me, unworthy--all for me,

With those signs of love on thee.

Glorious face appear!

"Yet in this thine agony,

Faithful shepherd, think of me;

From whose lips of love divine

Sweetest draughts of life are mine,

Purest honey flows,

All unworthy of thy thought,

Guilty, yet reject me not;

Unto me thy head incline.

Let that dying head of thine

In mine arms repose.

"Let me true communion know

With thee in thy sacred woe,

Counting all beside but dross,

Dying with thee on the cross;

'Neath it will I die.

Thanks to thee with every breath.

Jesus, for thy bitter death;

Grant thy guilty one this prayer--

When my dying hour is near, t

Gracious God, be nigh.

{823}

"When my dying hour must be,

Be not absent then from me;

In that dreadful hour I pray

Jesus come without delay,

See and set me free.

When thou biddest me depart,

Whom I cleave to with my heart,

Lover of my soul be near,

With thy saving cross appear;

Show thyself to me," [Footnote 240]

[Footnote 240: Quoted in Christian Life in Song.]

There is an excellent version of this in German in the Passion Hymn of

Paul Gerhard, beginning--

"O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,

Voll Schmerz und voller Hohn!"

But the grandest of all the mediaeval hymns is that attributed to

Thomas of Celano, known as the Dies Irae. Its authorship is uncertain;

it burst upon the world after a long silence in the church, like some

strain wafted over the earth on the winds of heaven. It has always

been the favorite hymn for solemnities in every country. In Germany

upward of sixty translations have been made of it. Goethe has

effectively introduced it into the "Faust" in the cathedral scene,

where Marguerite is tempted by the evil spirit, who, when the choir

chanted the words--

"Dies irae, dies illa,

Solvet saeclum in favilla,"

whispers sardonically into her ear--

"Grimm fasst dich!

Die Posaune tönt!

Die Gräber beben!

Und dein Herz,

Aus Aschenruh

Zu Flammenquallen

Wieder aufgeschaffen

Bebt auf;"

and so on through the whole scene, corrupting the meaning of the hymn

in the mind of the broken-hearted girl. It was muttered by the dying

lips of Walter Scott, and has employed the genius of such men as

Schlegel, Fichte, and Herder. We give one passage--

"Recordare, Jesu pie,

Quod sum causa tuae viae,

Ne me perdas illa die.

"Querens me sedisti lassus,

Redemisti crucem passus,

Tantus labor non sit cassus."

"Think of me, good Lord, I pray,

Who troddest for me the bitter way,

Nor forsake me in that day.

"Weary sat'st thou seeking me,

Diedst redeeming in the tree,

Not in vain such toil can be."

The mediaeval period was one rich in art and active in intellectual

work. The great difference between that age and this is, that in

mediaeval times intellectual life was concentrated, and now it is

spread abroad; we get more books and readers, but less great books and

thinkers. Perhaps there has never been a time of such vigorous

intellectual effort in England, unless we except the Elizabethan age,

than that of the scholastic controversies of the twelfth, thirteenth,

and fourteenth centuries. It was in this age, too, that the

essentially mediaeval art of illumination flourished in all the

lettered monasteries of Europe, the age when all the great cathedrals

were built; and when that enchanting song whose notes we have just

been listening to was improvised and sung. The God who presides over

the economy of nature presides also over that of life. His hand is in

both, upholding, protecting, guiding. We take up a phase of human

history like this mediaeval phase, and to us it appears contradictory,

objectless, useless; but we must remember that it is but one part of

the great economy, that as every phase of nature has its separate use,

so every period in the history of humanity contributes its share to

the general result. There are no arid dark wastes in history any more

than in nature. Progressing geographical science is gradually

revealing to our minds the fact that Central Africa is not the deadly

useless desert of our imagination, but is probably belted and

intersected with rivers, whose fertilizing power has only to be

applied. So a progressive historical science is rapidly clearing away

the darkness of these dark ages, revealing to us treasures which have

long lain hidden. We speak of the past as antiquity, and we are apt to

associate the idea of age with it, just as we look {824} toward the

present as youthful and new. But we must remember that antiquity

really belongs to the present as the result of time, and that the past

was the youth. So when we go back into these past ages of the church

we must regard them as her youth, and instead of quarrelling with the

follies and wantonness inseparable from immaturity, endeavour to do

our best to help on the great consummation of her mission in the

world, knowing well that although the hey-day of her youth is past,

she has not yet attained her full maturity; and in times of despair,

when schism is rife, when the sons of her bosom desert her, when men

harden themselves against her love and forsake her, ever bear in mind

the promise of her great head and founder, "Upon this rock I build my

church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it."

--------

Translated from the French.

ROBERT; OR, THE INFLUENCE OF A GOOD MOTHER.

CHAPTER IV.

"O Paris! gulf of evils, on each of thy stones we could drop a tear,

red with blood, if the sorrows, which thy walls enclose, could appear

before us."--J.J. ROUSSEAU.

The city of innumerable wonders, of shining domes, and colossal

towers, with its enchanting gardens, palaces, and gigantic monuments,

which one sees in the distance--the first glimpse he gets of Paris

through the blue haze--now appeared to the astonished gaze of the

little mountaineer, and was like a dream of the Arabian Nights. "O

Paris! Paris!" shouted he joyously, clapping his hands, and looking

eagerly through the misty veil that still enveloped the city. And, as

he approached nearer, his emotions redoubled; for it was there that

his mother predicted he would one day be happy. Oh! sweet security,

blissful trust of childhood, why must it pass away with advancing

years? Why is it that devouring inquietude and mental restlessness

then comes to our souls, and tortures them without ceasing? It is a

sad condition of our probation here, that we must see all the bright

delusions of early life disappear one by one; and submit unmurmuringly

to the different phases of life and the different ideas and feelings

to which time leads us all. And so it may perhaps be for little

Robert, who now trusts so confidently in the future, and in his

mother's prediction being fulfilled. Have confidence, like him, dear

readers--like him hope, without trying to draw aside the veil which

hides your destiny--but follow him, step by step, in all the changing

events of his life, and perhaps we shall see him fill an enviable

position, as the fruit of his good conduct and perseverance. And since

he is now radiant with hope, let us not efface, by our indiscreet

words, this vision which sustains and comforts all.

As the travellers neared Paris, the old man's forehead wrinkled, his

brows contracted each moment, and flashes of rage burst from his eyes.

The sight of the hordes of the enemy's soldiers who had established

their bivouacs before the capital, put him in a transport of fury.

The detested uniforms of the English, Austrians, Russians, and

Prussians which he saw before him, made him think he was the victim of

some dreadful hallucination, but the insolent air of the conquerors

awakened him to the frightful reality that the emperor could no longer

expel them. In his terrible rage he beat his breast with his fists,

swore, and uttered words that sounded like distant thunder, gnashing

his teeth at the same time most {825} convulsively. Then he walked on

with a resolute and hasty step, so that Robert was obliged to run,

rather than walk, at his side to keep up with him. He was very

taciturn, but the boy at once comprehended the reason of his stubborn

silence, and he respected the holy indignation of the old warrior,

wounded, in his national pride and his deepest feelings, when he saw

all his dreams of glory vanish with the shadow of the great man who

had made the fame and splendor of all France. To the ex-soldier of the

guard there was nothing left but cruel discontent. In Paris there was

militia of all ranks and grades and countries; but there were no brave

leaders, the old soldiers thought, and most of them were young men who

had yet to see the field of battle. The white stripes had replaced the

three colors, which disappeared with the glorious exile, Napoleon. The

despair of poor Cyprien was as great as his love for his emperor, and

nothing could soften his rage, so violent was the hatred he felt for

the new order of things.

Robert was much excited by the strange and picturesque spectacles

which presented themselves to his view on every side--by the gay

costumes of' the people, and the movements of this ocean of of human

beings, but he did not address many questions to his sad companion,

for he loved him already, and saw the deep sorrow that filled his

soul, and it made him timid and reserved.

It was now time to think of getting lodgings, and Cyprien wanted to go

into the most modest quarter of the city, where he was born, and for

which naturally he had the strongest affection. But in the twenty-five

years that he had been a wanderer, vast changes had taken place, and

most of his family had gone to rest. He found himself alone, separated

for ever from his old comrades of glory; but of this he thought

little, so completely was his heart filled with the adored image of

his emperor. The most extraordinary thing was that amidst his grave

thoughts he had found a place for the little orphan, whom chance had

thrown in his way, and for whom he evinced the strongest attachment,

which grew day by day, for Cyprien did nothing by halves; and when he

could for a moment forget his emperor, it was to bestow almost

paternal care upon his young _protégé_. One day, when they had been

having a long talk, and he had said things which charmed the sensible

and loving boy, he asked him to take him to the Church of St. Germain

l'Auxerrois, for it was there that he was to find the curé to whom his

letter was addressed. "Willingly," replied Cyprien, "I will take you

there; but I cannot go in, it has been so long since I have made a

visit of that kind, that I don't care to go, but I will wait for you."

Robert presented himself alone at the door of the curé's house, and

was received by him with grace and a touching cordiality. He was a man

of fine address, with eyes that seemed to penetrate the depths of

one's soul, but his scrutiny was accomplished by a smile so

beneficent, that it drew you irresistibly toward the minister of' God.

The virtues he had practised appeared in his person, his language was

full of purity and goodness, and he appeared ever ready to pardon and

bless. Such, in general terms, was the man to whom Robert was

recommended. When he had read his friend's letter, he made the child

sit down and tell him all about his journey and the manner in which he

acquitted himself charmed the good curé, and his lively and

intelligent face set him to reflecting. The purity of his eyes showed

a generous and noble soul, and the good man knew that he was one of

those natures that always remain pure, in the midst of corruption.

These exiled angels have often sorrowful lives, before they reach the

glorious end. Deprived of pecuniary means, they see the paths to fame

closed for them, while it is open for the rich, and made wide and easy

of access.

{826}

The good curé, after making these observations mentally, recalled the

illustrious men who have illumined the earth from time to time with

the rays of their genius, and the traces of whose lives are still

visible; but the road to fame has, alas! been sown for centuries with

bitter tears, unknown sufferings, and cries of the despair of

unrecognized genius. He recalled faces radiant with sublime thoughts,

crowned with thorns, the only recompense of their work, and he said

with agony, "O God! if this child should ever be one of the victims,

if he should ever weep over lost hopes, would it not be better to

leave him as he is, simple and natural, ignorant of the delights of a

studious life; ignorant of knowledge, than to be initiated into the

cruel deceptions of hope long deferred, and which may be finally lost?

How often, like a beautiful dream, youth, glory, and mind fade away in

the awful struggle. But no," said he, fixing his eyes on the

expressive face of Robert, "his future will not be so sad. Too much

intelligence burns in his eyes, too much fire is lighted there, to be

extinguished by the wearying labors of mind, or by hunger and

frightful misery. If this diamond in the rough shows so much

brilliancy, what will it not be when it is polished? Then will all its

marvellous lustre appear, and I will have the holy joy of aiding to

perfect this work." These were his reflections, and so had it always

been with him; from the moment he was ordained to his saintly

ministry, he was always looking for the means of doing good to others;

and was a beautiful religious type of charity and goodness. It was so

great a happiness to him to make others happy, that he looked upon his

days as badly spent if he had not dried a tear, or given another joy;

and his doing good was so sweet a duty, that he passed his days and

nights in consoling the unfortunate. But for children especially was

he most tenderly solicitous, He said with one who was all love and

charity when among men, "Let little children come unto me." Like his

divine Master, he drew them to him and pressed them to his heart, his

hands rested on their young heads, and he called down upon them

celestial benedictions. But he did not stop here. He gave them not

only his prayers, but aid and protection. When his purse was

exhausted, and his personal resources no longer sufficed, he had

recourse to that of others. He was eloquent and persuasive when he

pleaded the cause of children, and happy in receiving the offerings

which were always deposited in his charitable hands. Thus he was the

father of a large family, the benefactor of many children, who,

becoming men, repaid his care by unlimited gratitude and

irreproachable conduct, and by the constant practice of the virtues of

which he had given them so noble an example. Robert found in him a

tender and devoted protector, who was interested for him, and in whose

future friendship he might trust. The day when this action was

registered in heaven, the good man felt a happiness he had never known

before in adopting before God the orphan that his friend, the curé of

the village of Bains, had recommended to him in such warm terms. The

vow which he made himself to protect him, was not like those men

usually make, and forget as soon as made.

During the interview between the child and the curé, the old soldier

was walking up and down outside, absorbed in reflections of quite an

opposite nature. Sometimes hope colored his thoughts; oftener they

were sombre and cold, like the clouds of the region to which memory

transported him, to the fatal soil of Russia, where victory had

abandoned the French flag. An hour was passed by him in recalling

these days of sorrow, but at last he grew tired of waiting, and jerked

at the bell string, which hung so modestly at the curé's door, most

violently. In an instant a servant appeared with harsh words on the

end of her tongue, but the severe face and long moustache of Cyprien

induced her to withhold from speaking them. Scarcely was the door

opened, when a voice, almost of thunder, {827} inquired for Robert.

Hearing it, the curé opened the parlor door, and advancing toward the

soldier, with an affable air, invited him in, saying, "I will be very

glad to talk with you. You were, I suppose, uneasy about your little

friend, whom I have detained a long time, I know, but it is not time

lost; we have become acquainted and are now old friends, and you have

a share of the affection I have avowed for this interesting child. You

have a noble heart, and the Lord will bless you, my friend, you may be

sure of that, for in the midst of your own sufferings you have had

compassion on those of others, and above all you have protected an

orphan!" The soldier was stunned by this benevolent speech; he, raised

his hand mechanically to his forehead, following the curé and

muttering the words "Pardon--excuse--do not pay any attention to me."

Robert had not dared to move, but when Cyprien came near him, he threw

himself into his arms. "There--that will do," said he to him--"pay

attention, the curé speaks." "Why did you not come in with Robert? You

have denied me the pleasure I should have had in talking with I a

brave soldier. Our _protégé_ has spoken of you in most affectionate

terms, but he did not tell me you were waiting for him, or I should

not have suffered you to remain outside the door." "Thank you, M.

Curé, but I cannot talk to you, I have so few words, and have not been

accustomed to much, and all I know is how to use 'Arms.'" "Each of us

has his profession, my friend," replied the curé, "and you have made

yours glorious. Nevertheless you must allow me to think you know a

great deal besides." "If that is your idea, kind father, I will not

oppose it, but, with respect to you, I must tell you I have not seen a

book since I knew, the 'Little Corporal,' and we are old

acquaintances. Twenty-five years;" said he, "impossible to forget

that"--wiping away a tear.

"Yes, my friend, you have reason to regret your emperor, and even to

weep for him, for he was a great man, and loved you all as children."

"But, oh! how was he repaid?" and then he wept again.

"The love you bear your emperor honors you. Respect and devotion to

misfortune fills noble souls, and I understand very well how your

attachment is augmented in proportion to the sufferings which weigh

down your chief; and it is not for me, a minister of peace and

charity, to make a crime of your regrets and affection, or to denounce

them. But let us leave this sad subject, until you know me better and

have more confidence in me. For today we will talk about Robert and my

plans for him. I am thankful to you for taking a father's place to

him; without you he would have been lost in this great city, or might

perhaps have met persons who would have placed him in contact with

vice and wickedness. I rejoice that a kind Providence permitted this

child to awaken an interest in you, and that he found you so

affectionate a guide. You must continue your friendship, and I hope to

gain his, by the care I will take of him."

"Oh! my dear father," said Robert, kissing respectfully the hand of

his new protector, "you are too good to me, but I will try to repay

your kindness by a full and entire submission to your least wishes."

"Well spoken, little one!" exclaimed the soldier, "this is the first

duty of a conscript."

"I will try to find the mean s of aiding him to fill a high position

some day," said the curé. "I have acquaintances and friends who will

give me of their wealth, for," said he, in a tone of regret, "I am far

from being rich. But no matter, God will help us; I have this sweet

certainty, so you may take courage, my little friend, and whatever

taste you may have for study, I promise you I will do all that I can

to advance you. You are in such good hands that I shall have no cause

for uneasiness as to how you pass your time; and I will leave you for

a while, {828} and perhaps I may bring back some good news for you."

After calling at several houses without success, he chanced to see a

wealthy widow who had but one child, a son. This boy was of a most

vicious nature, and although young in years, he had every defect of

character, without a single good quality. He made his poor mother

despair, and she often reproached herself bitterly for her weakness

toward him, but she knew no means that would reform his bad habits,

which assumed the form of fatal and violent passion. When the curé

spoke of Robert, she said: "O God! since he is possessed of so many

amiable and virtuous qualities, entrust him to me. He will be treated

as my own child, will share the studies of Gustave, and have the same

masters; and perhaps God may pity a mother's sorrows, and that this

child may have so good an influence over him, that Gustave may feel a

desire to be good also. I pray you do not refuse me," said the mother

in a supplicating tone; "I cling to this last hope, as a ship-wrecked

man would cling to the plank he hopes will save him from perishing."

After long consideration of the chances of happiness and success in

the future if Robert accepted it--of the great dissimilarity of the

two persons who would thus be thrown together, and the disagreements

and sufferings for Robert; and still worse, if the pure, rich nature

of the orphan should be corrupted in the society of the wicked child,

whom he knew only too well--he was still undecided. But an

irresistible, though secret, argument spoke in favor of the mother of

Gustave; so that at last her pressing solicitations were acceded to.

He reserved for himself the right to watch closely over the precious

trust that Providence had confided to him, and after this it was

agreed that Robert should be presented to Madame de Vernanges (this

was the name of Gustave's mother) as soon as he could be informed of

it, and if he was willing to accept it.

CHAPTER V.

"The heart of a wicked man sighs for evil, and no

one can find pardon before him . . . . ."

Robert was willing to accede to any wish of the good man who had so

generously charged himself with his destiny. We have said before, that

he was gifted with noble qualities; he had a lively perception, his

intellectual faculties were strong, and he seemed to have power to do

all that was required of him. He had no knowledge of what was not

good, and possessed one of those happy organizations which can only be

a gift from God. He felt it his duty to obey all that his protector

wished; and when he told him that his interest required that he should

go to the house of' Madame de Vernanges, and share in the liberal

education this lady gave her son, Robert replied: "If' it is your

wish, I am ready to go."

'The curé was surprised and touched at this eagerness to fulfil his

wishes, this entire self-abnegation in one who could not but prize the

sweet liberty of acting for himself, which he had so long enjoyed on

his native mountain; and a still further proof of his remarkable

disposition was, that he knew, young as he was, the art of sacrificing

his tastes to duty, and the necessity of making himself agreeable to

those who interested themselves for him. The kind priest did not wish

to spend Robert's money for things which could be dispensed with, but

his clothes were unsuitable to his new position, so he had him a

complete wardrobe prepared, and a woman could not have been more

careful about the minutest details.

'When all was in readiness he conducted him to the house of Madame de

Vernanges. As soon as she saw him, she felt as if he was a

regenerating angel to be placed near her son. She embraced him

affectionately, and asked him if he "would love her like a mother?"

"Oh!" said he, at once becoming serious at such a question, "I cannot

promise you that, dear {829} madame, for it would be impossible for me

to feel for any other woman the same degree of affection that I feel

for my mother;" but, he added, smiling sweetly, "I think I can assure

you that I will love you much."

Some author says that a child only loves his mother for the services

she renders him. Can this be true? No--it is blasphemy against filial

love; and were it so, alas for the happiness of mothers! Far sweeter

is the idea that one loves the other for the other's sake alone; one

is the consequence of the other, it is a love eternal like the soul,

like its divine author, like God himself: There may be some selfish

children who measure their love for their parents by the services they

render them, but they are monsters--sad and rare exceptions--and

deserve all our pity. The proof of what we affirm is found in the love

that Robert always preserved in his heart for the dear and sacred

remembrance of his mother. It is the strongest, most lively and

unalterable of feelings, and has no rival in the other loves God has

given to man in his short life. Who can hear the name of mother spoken

without feeling a delicious sensation, and having a tear-drop moisten

the eye?

Madame de Vernanges was so pleased with Robert's frankness, that she

felt for him from that moment the most tender sympathy. After a few

moments' conversation Gustave was sent for, but the reception he gave

his future companion of play and study, was not very encouraging to

the latter. At first, from the height of his grandeur he looked down

upon him with disdain, and received with a very bad grace the amiable

advances of Robert, who wished to conquer at once the friendship of

his young comrade. He was astonished and sad at the coldness showed

him, but little by little Gustave softened, and laid aside his

insolent air. The acquaintances of this period of life are easily

made. Robert gave himself up with perfect abandon to the new pleasure

of playing and talking with a child of his own age. He was not

distrustful, for he had no experience; and as his own thoughts were so

good and pure, he never suspected others. The mother and the curé,

though seemingly occupied in conversation, followed with observing and

restless eyes the movements of the children. The latter feared, and

not without reason, to see some awkward blunder made by a child raised

so far from the world, and in the simple habits of a happy mediocrity.

But to his inexpressible satisfaction he saw Robert as easy in his

manners as in his language, and he acted as if he had been bred in a

parlor. His rare intelligence displayed itself in his answers to

Gustave, and he could not have been more sparkling in his repartees.

His candor and good nature did not permit him to comprehend the

perfidious intentions of his saucy interrogator, and it was a cruel

mortification for the wicked Gustave, not to be able, in spite of his

_ruses_, to find any fault with Robert. He had counted on a triumph,

and received a complete humiliation; he thought to show his

superiority to the child who was given him as a model, and his

disappointment was that he felt before him his great defects.

During this time the good priest inwardly rejoiced at the success of

the little orphan, while the poor mother sighed in making a sad

comparison between the children of the same age, but so different in

character; and in spite of her wish to the contrary, she could not but

see the low and envious sentiments which ruled the conduct of Gustave,

and the goodness contained in each word Robert uttered. Her heart was

well-nigh broken, and in bitterness she exclaimed: "Wicked! always

wicked! he has not one good thought, one blameless moment. I am

cruelly punished for my guilty weakness toward him. O God! is it too

late to reclaim him? Is there no remedy for his wickedness? and must I

bear all the ills of such a child?"

{830}

Assured by the way in which Robert had taken the first and most

difficult steps in his new abode, the good priest prepared to leave.

It was in warm and pressing terms that he recommended his _protégé_;

and embracing him, gave him his paternal benediction. "I will see you

soon," he said to him, and this promise consoled him, for he felt sure

he would always be a generous defender, a tender and devoted. friend.

The child flattered himself for some time that he had gained the

confidence and friendship of Gustave, but he had soon to renounce that

belief, for, in spite of his profound dissimulation, the latter could

not always keep up appearances, and Robert suddenly discovered the

truth. This made Gustave hate him bitterly, and nothing could diminish

it; but Robert spoke of it to no one but the priest. Encouraged by his

silence, which Gustave mistook for the silence of fear, he was always

making war with him when they were alone. Before his mother, or any

other person, he did not dare to do so, but changes of manner were no

trouble to the young hypocrite, for he could put on a bold air, and

give himself the calm serenity of innocence. This premature

corruption, this innate science of' evil, he carefully hid, and was

deceitful above everything to those before whom he wished to appear

good. In the first days of their acquaintance he had conceived a

violent hatred to Robert, but he felt the necessity of dissimulating,

so as not to awaken the suspicions of his mother; so that he did not

openly declare war with his rival, for he knew that would be an

irreparable fault. He trusted to chance, which sometimes helps the

wicked, and waited for an occasion to present itself.

Robert all this while studied with care the lessons of his different

masters, which the goodness of his benefactress gave him the means of

sharing with Gustave. It was no trouble to him to learn, and his

progress was so rapid and so wonderful, that his masters were

enchanted, and were prodigal of their praises and marks of affection.

Gustave, the lazy, indolent boy, suffered all the torments of envy.

For the first time he felt pride, pushing toward emulation, enter his

heart, and that which neither the prayers nor the tears of his mother

could obtain, the odious sentiment of jealousy brought, and he worked

with ardor, Rage sustained him in his desperate resolution; his duties

were no longer neglected, and his hours for work were so laboriously

employed, that even his mother believed for a time in the complete

reformation of her son, under the happy influence of Robert. This joy

was of short duration, and the error soon dispelled, for, if his mind

profited on the one hand, his heart remained the same, and in it every

bad passion was kindled. Sad fruits of a neglected education, of an

infancy and childhood abandoned to itself, without care and without

culture.

Nearly a year had passed since Robert entered the house of Madame de

Vernanges, and the time had been most profitable to him in every way.

Study opened to his eyes the treasures that are concealed from the

vulgar, and he was already opening for himself a career sown with the

seeds of art and science, the flowers of which he longed to gather;

and in spite of all the cruelty and sarcasm of Gustave, he was very

happy, for he felt the love of his benefactress and the good curé, and

the remembrance of his cherished mother, and under these affections he

rejoiced, as one rejoices in the sunlight of heaven. From the night

she appeared to him in a dream, he was filled with the desire to be

good, and worked nobly for this end. Often his thoughts would fly to

his mountain home, and to the grave which contained her ashes. Neither

had he forgotten the venerable priest of the Baths of Mount Dore, and

had often written to him, and from time to time sent him small sums of

money to be employed in charities.

Among Robert's happiest hours now were those he passed with the curé

here; but even these he could not long enjoy alone, for the wicked

Gustave discovered that his sadness vanished {831} whenever he reached

the curé's door, and he took a cruel pleasure in always going with him

under various pretexts, and thus snatching these few moments of

happiness from his victim. But a smile, a kind word from his

benefactor, paid Robert doubly for this painful sacrifice, and Madame

de Vernanges noticed the hatred her son bore him. She was not to be

duped by the friendship he feigned for one he detested from his soul.

More than once the feeble mother had been a witness to the odious

wickedness of the one, and the admirable patience of the other. She

had seen, but had not corrected the guilty, for his strength

discouraged her; she was too heart-stricken to combat with the bad

genius that possessed him. It was easier for her to close her eyes to

it, though she had the justice to seek by delicate attentions and

tender caresses to repay Robert for some of his sufferings.

We have lost the old soldier for a time, but have not forgotten him.

At the time of their separation, both he and Robert shed bitter tears,

and the latter tried to make him promise that he would come sometimes

to see him in his new abode: "Not there," said the grenadier, "but I

will come sometimes and have a talk with you at the house of the curé,

for I love him, by the faith of Cyprien Hardy." And he kept his

promise, and many were the talks they had there together. On the 20th

of March of that year the exile of Elba made an appeal to all faithful

soldiers, and it was not made in vain. Cyprien responded at once to

the call of his emperor, and when he had buckled on his warlike

habits, he forgot for a while the orphan and the priest.

Madame de Vernanges counted her days only by her sorrows. She had no

repose--her health was failing so rapidly that the physicians said she

must pass the winter in a warmer climate and under a purer sky. This

was a sudden blow for Robert, for he had become much attached to his

benefactress, and she said he was to go to college with Gustave, who

saw with revolting indifference the sufferings of his mother at the

thought of a separation; but all her friends thought it was best,

hoping some change in his character might take place from the strict

and severe discipline of college life. This new arrangement was

submitted to the curé, who in all things pertaining to him, was guided

by the interest of his _protégé_, and it met with his approbation.

Madame de Vernanges' was to be absent six months or a year, and Robert

felt that he should indeed be isolated from her protective affection,

and left alone to the wicked designs of Gustave; who, when they were

thrown together at college, used all his time and his power to turn

the students against Robert, and get them to league with him against

him, for he was longing for an occasion to avenge the marks of

tenderness and preference which his mother had shown Robert. Never was

a child's patience put to a more severe test--neither the goodness nor

generosity of the orphan could soften the hatred Gustave felt for him.

But though Robert was of so even and calm a temperament, he could not

be injured nor oppressed without defending himself, and there was but

one consideration that curbed his indignation, and that was the

certainty he felt that Gustave was the author of the persecutions

which each wicked boy inflicted upon him. Had he not been convinced of

this, he would have used the same means to punish them which they

employed to torture him; but, according to his pure sentiments, this

would not have been right, and he would not have the least reproach

from his benefactress for any unkindness toward her son. He did not

oppose his oppressors in any way, but they saw that he felt the

outrages perfectly, and disdained, and not without reason, to let them

know it. In this combat of all against one, the voice of conscience

was not always heard, and in spite of his efforts to keep silent,

there came a time when it was insupportable. The epithets of "lazy

and coward" {832} resounding in his ears, filled him with indignation,

and those who spoke them did not dare repeat them a second time, for

he dealt with them in a way that convinced them he could not bear

everything. Two or three corrections soon put an end to this state of

things, and placed Robert high in the esteem of the older collegians.

In vain did Gustave try to reawaken the ardor of his partisans.

Frightened by the vigorous attack of Robert, they refused to unite in

any new vexations against one they respected and loved, and they all

vowed they would never take up a prejudice again. Thus Gustave saw, in

spite of all his odious efforts to the contrary, Robert loved by his

masters, respected and esteemed by his companions, who protected him

and despised his persecutor. Things had reached this point when, one

morning, an uncle of Gustave's came and took him hurriedly away,

leaving Robert at college. This strange conduct affected him very

much, and he wondered what it could mean. Could it be that his

benefactress had returned and withdrawn her affection, or was she more

ill? He was lost in sad conjectures for several days, which appeared

ages to him, as he waited in patience to hear. A visit from the curé,

with a sad countenance, revealed to Robert the misfortune which was to

oppress him. "Madame de Vernanges suffers no more," said he, with a

visible effort, drawing to his bosom the weeping child, whose sorrow

was certainly more profound and true than that of' Gustave. "Alas! my

child, you have lost your benefactress; before she died she asked to

see you, but this wish of a heart devoted to you was denied--God

willed it otherwise. But she did not need any further proof of your

love, your conduct has spoken it so often; and God will never abandon

you. Courage then, your recompense will come sooner or later. I will

assume from to-day my entire right of father, and my most tender

solicitude will be for you. Redouble your ardor at work, triple your

strength, and finally the end which I propose for your happiness will

come. Your studies, conscientiously finished, will be the magic keys

which will unlock the door to an honorable career. From this time

Gustave will not torment you, for he will not return to college."

Robert was too much moved to speak--too many sorrowful remembrances

pressed themselves into his heart, but he had not lost a single word

that was spoken to him. Six months after this he stood before the

abbot of Verneuil, to receive from his hands the crown he so justly

deserved. Oh! how his heart beat with joy when he heard his name

spoken in the sanctuary of science; it seemed then that the sweet

voice of his mother spoke to him. Each time he was named, his eyes

turned towards the curé, as if asking him: "Are you satisfied?" How

light and easy to wear are the laurels won by the victors in every

good work! Is it not a bright day in your lives, my dear children,

when you are proclaimed conquerors? What a sweet remembrance it leaves

in your hearts, that no after thoughts can ever crush out! Our young

laureate passed his vacation--that time of repose so dear to

students--with the curé. To Robert work was so much more a pleasure

than a fatigue, that he was obliged to allow him to study a great

deal; but he did not wish him to spend all his time at his books, but

to take some hours of respite each day. This excellent man, of such

simple habits and manners, and of such contentment, really suffered at

times that he could not from his limited means give Robert as many

pleasures as his heart dictated. He knew he needed air and liberty,

and wished he could send him into the country, where he would be free

from all restraints. "Poor child!" he would say to himself, "how he

must long for his native mountain." So, before he left, to return to

his studies, he thought he would give him an agreeable surprise. The

weather was lovely, and all nature seemed to rejoice. The curé and his

charge started in a _diligence_ for Versailles, the {833} wonderful

and magnificent palace once used as a royal residence. Robert had

never seen this place, once such a gay city, but whose gilded glory

has all departed. No more _fêtes_, no more balls, in Louis XIV.'s

beautiful city. The grand palace is still there, but where are the

kings and courtiers? Oh! where?