It follows from this that the sciences are not absolutely independent of

the supervision of the church, and that she goes not out of her province

when she censures officially theories, hypotheses, and conjectures which

contradict the ideal truth committed to her charge. They by contradicting

her principles are proved to be unsound and unscientific. But so long as

the scientific confine themselves to facts and real principles, and do not

run or attempt to run athwart the truth, they are perfectly free. The

church interferes with them only when they impugn by their speculations the

universal principles of things. The people, again, are free to adopt the

form of government which they judge best, and civil governments are free to

pursue the policy they judge the wisest and most prudent, so long as they

contravene no principle or dictate of moral justice; and the individual is

free to choose the calling in life he prefers, and to pursue it without let

or hinderance from the church, so long as he violates no divine precept or

law of God.

There is no doubt some restraint here, for the church excludes neither

authority nor liberty. Liberty without authority is license, and as great

an evil as authority without liberty, which is tyranny or despotism. The

scientific, if truly scientific, study to know reality, the real and

unmixed truth, which is alike independent of her and of them, and they can

obtain it only by conforming to the immutable principles of things,

according to which God has created and governs the universe. The church

approves and encourages free thought and free inquiry, but she certainly

does not permit her children, under pretence of free thought, free inquiry,

or of science, to subvert the very principles on which all science, even

thought itself, depends, or to degrade human nature and abase the dignity

of reason by theories that deprive man of his humanity and rank him with

the beasts that perish.

{737}

Such liberty is repugnant to the very essence of science, and cannot be

entertained for a moment by any one who is anything more than a developed

chimpanzee or gorilla. It is license, not liberty, and introduces only

intellectual anarchy.

There is, too, a moral order in the universe, and the good of the

individual and society can be secured only by conformity to it. No man, no

nation, no society, no government has or can have the right to do wrong.

The rejection of the restraints of the great fundamental principles of

truth in science and the sciences, and of justice in the individual and in

society, is the greatest of evils, and it is therefore that the church has

it for her office to unite in an indissoluble synthesis both liberty and

authority. To make the fact that she unites authority with liberty, and

tempers each with the other, a ground of reproach against her is no proof

of wisdom. She allows man all the liberty God gives him, and to ask for

more is absurd.

In teaching the great principles of truth in all orders, and in judging of

their explication and application, the church is infallible, but she is not

infallible in the details of science. She is infallible in teaching

whatever our Lord has commanded her, has revealed to her, and is realizing

in her life, but not necessarily in matters not included in the faith. Her

infallibility does not imply the scientific infallibility of all Catholics.

It is no objection to her and no embarrassment to Catholics, that her

children in the details of science have more or less erred. Others may be

as well acquainted with these details as Catholics, and the scientific

superiority of Catholics is in their knowledge of the great scientific

principles, or what in science is ideal and catholic. Others may know the

facts of history as well, but none can so well know the ideas or principles

which govern the historical development of the race, and the science or

philosophy of history. The same may be said of all the other sciences.

To fully develop and exhaust the great question we have touched upon in

this article would require a volume, indeed many volumes. We have aimed

rather at giving the principles and method of their solution than at giving

the solution itself. We have left much for the reader to do for himself by

his own thought and study. It is as necessary that readers should think

freely and wisely as that authors should, for mind can speak only to mind.

But we trust that we have said enough to vindicate Rome from the charges

preferred against her, and to prove that they who take pleasure in reviling

her or her faithful children have little reason to boast of their

intelligence or to claim to be the more advanced portion of the race.

------

{738}

Impressions of Spain.

By Lady Herbert.

The journey to Madrid was uneventful. One more day was spent in Cordova;

once more they visited that glorious mosque; one more day and night was

spent in wearisome diligences and stifling wayside stations, and then they

found themselves again established in their old comfortable quarters at the

"Puerta del Sol."

It was a relief to think that the "lions" of the place had been more or

less visited, and that all they had to do was to return to the places of

previous interest, and thoroughly enjoy them. The cold during their former

visit had precluded their making any expeditions in the neighborhood, which

omission they now prepared to rectify. Spending the first few days in

seeing their old friends, and obtaining letters of introduction from them,

our travellers resolved that their first excursion should be to the

Escurial.

The Escurial and Toledo.

A railroad is now open from Madrid which passes by the palace; so at

half-past six, one morning, they took their places in the train, which soon

carried them away from the cultivated environs of the city to a country

which, for desolation, wildness, and grandeur, resembles the scenery at

Nicolosi in the ascent of Etna. In the midst of this rugged mass of rocks

and scrubby oak-trees, the large gloomy Escurial rises up, under the

shadow, as it were, of the snowy jagged peaks of the Sierra Guadarama,

which forms its background. There is a picture of it, by Rubens, in the

gallery at Longford Castle, near Salisbury, which gives the best possible

idea of the complete isolation of the great building itself, and of the

savage character of the whole of the surrounding country.

Leaving the train, our party went to present their letters to the

principal, Padre G----, who very kindly showed them everything most worth

seeing in the place. It is a gigantic pile of masonry, built by Philip II.

as a thanksgiving for the success of the battle of St. Quentin, and in the

shape of a grid-iron, being dedicated to St. Laurence, on the day of whose

martyrdom the vow was made. "Celui qui faisait un si grand voeu doit avoir

eu grande peur!" was the saying of the Duke of Braganza; and the gloomy,

cold, gray character of the whole place is but the reflex of the king's

temperament. He employed the famous architect Herrera, whose genius was,

however, much cramped by the king's insistence on the shape being

maintained. It was finished in 1584.

The Jeronimite monks have been scattered to the winds, and the convent has

been turned into a college; they have about 250 students. The church is

large and solemn, but bare and uninviting, dismal and sombre, like all the

rest. The choir is up-stairs, with fine carved stalls, among which is that

of Philip II., who always said office with the monks. The painted ceiling

is by Luca Giordano. The choir-books are more than 200 in number, in virgin

calf, and of gigantic size; some of them are beautifully illuminated. At

the back, in a small gallery, with a window looking on the great piazza

below, is the famous white marble Christ, the size of life, by Benvenuto

Cellini, given to Philip II. by the Grand Duke of Florence. On certain days

it is exposed to the people from the window; but wonderful as may be its

anatomy, the expression is both painful and commonplace. Beneath the church

is the famous crypt containing the bodies of all the kings and queens of

Spain since Charles V., arranged in niches round the octagonal chapel.

{739}

Each niche contains a black marble sarcophagus; the kings on the right, and

the queens on the left. Here mass is always said on All Souls' Day, and on

the anniversaries of their deaths. The present queen came once, and looked

at the empty urn waiting for her, but did not repeat the experiment. "I

have come once of my own freewill," she is supposed to have said, "but the

next time I shall be brought here without it." It is a dismal

resting-place; the damp, cold, slippery stairs by which you descend into it

from the church seem to chill one's very blood, and the profound darkness,

only lit up here and there by the flicker of the guide's torch, with the

reverberation caused by the closing of the heavy iron door, till the

thoughts with visions of death, uncheered by hope, and of a prison rather

than a grave. Ascending with a feeling of positive relief to the church

above, Padre G---- took them into the sacristy, which is a beautiful long,

low room, with arabesque ceilings, and at the further end of which is a

very fine picture by Coello, representing the apotheosis of the "Forma," or

miraculous wafer: the heads are all portraits, and admirably executed. At

the back is the little chapel or sanctuary where the "Forma" is kept and

exhibited twice a year. Charles II. erected the gorgeous altar with the

following inscription:

En magni operis miraculum intra miraculum mundi,

coeli miraculum consecratum.

The legend states that at the battle of Gorcum, in 1525, the Zuinglian

heretics scattered and trampled on the Sacred Host, _which bled_; and

being gathered up and carefully preserved by the faithful, was afterward

given by Rudolph II. to Philip II., which event is represented in a

bas-relief. In this sacristy are also some vestments of which the

embroidery is the most exquisite thing possible; the faces of the figures

are like beautiful miniatures, so that it is difficult to believe they are

done in needlework. [Footnote 248]

[Footnote 248: In the Dominican convent of Stone, in Staffordshire, the

same exquisite work is now being reproduced; which proves that the art

is not, as is generally supposed, extinct.]

But the great treasures of this church are its relics, of which the

quantity is enormous. They are arranged in gigantic cupboards or

"étagères," stretching from the floor to the ceiling, the doors of which

are carefully concealed by the pictures which hang over them, above both

the high altar and the two side altars at the east end. There are more than

7,000 relics, of which the most interesting are those of St. Laurence

himself, (his skull, his winding-sheet, the iron bars of his gridiron,

etc..) the head of St. Hermengilde, sent to the king from Seville, and the

arm and head of St. Agatha. The reliquaries are also very beautiful, some

of them of very fine cinquecento work. These are down-stairs. Up-stairs is

a kind of secret chapel, where there are some things which were still more

interesting to our travellers. Here are four MS. books of St. Theresa's,

all written by her own hand; her Life, written by command of her confessor.

Padre Bánez, with a voucher of its authenticity from him at the end; her

Path of Perfection; her Constitutions and Foundations; also her inkstand

and pen. Her handwriting is more like a man's than a woman's, and is

beautifully clear and firm. There is also a veil worked in a kind of

crochet by St. Elizabeth of Hungary, and sent by her to St. Margaret; a

beautiful illuminated Greek missal, once belonging to St. Chrysostom; a pot

from Cana in Galilee; a beautifully carved ivory diptych; the body of one

of the Holy Innocents, sent from Bethlehem; some exquisite ivory and coral

reliquaries, etc. From the church our party went up by a magnificent

staircase to the library, which though despoiled, like everything else

during the French invasion, still contains some invaluable books and MSS.

{740}

There is an illuminated Apocalypse of the fourteenth century, most

exquisitely painted on both sides; a very fine copy of the Koran; many

other beautiful missals; and in a room down-stairs, not generally shown to

travellers, are some thousands of manuscripts, among which are a wonderful

illuminated copy of the Miracles of the Virgin, in Portuguese and Gallego,

of the eleventh century, most quaint and funny in design and execution;

also a very curious illuminated book of chess problems and other games,

written by order of the king Alonso el Sabio. It is a library where one

might spend days and days with ever-increasing pleasure, if it were not for

the cold, which, to our travellers, fresh from the burning sun of Seville,

seemed almost unendurable. The cloisters, refectory, and kitchens are all

on the most magnificent scale. In the wing set aside for the private

apartments of the royal family, but which they now rarely occupy, the thing

most worth looking at is the tapestry, made in Madrid, at the Barbara

factory, (now closed,) from drawings by Teniers and Goya. They are quite

like beautiful paintings, both in expression and color, though some of the

subjects and scenes are of questionable propriety. There is a suite of

small rooms with beautiful inlaid doors and furniture; a few good pictures,

(among a good deal of rubbish,) especially one of Bosch, known as that of

The Dog and the Fly; and a very interesting gallery or corridor, covered

with frescoes, representing the taking of Granada on the one side and the

battle of St. Quentin on the other, the victory of Lepanto occupying the

spaces at the two ends. These frescoes are very valuable, both as portraits

and as representing the costumes and arms of the period. They were said to

be facsimile copies of original drawings, done on cloths on the actual

spots. That of St. Quentin was specially interesting to one of the party,

whose ancestor fought there, and in whose house in England (Wilton Abbey)

is still shown the armor of Ann Conétable de Montmorency, of the Duc de

Montpensier, of Admiral Coligni, and of other French prisoners taken by him

in that memorable battle. Beyond this gallery is the little business-room

or study of Philip II., with his chair, his gouty stool, his writing-table,

his well-worn letter book, and two old pictures, one of the Seven Deadly

Sins, the other an etching (of 1572) of the Virgin and Saints. Out of this

tiny den is a kind of recess, with a window looking on the high altar in

which he caused his couch to be laid when he was dying. The death-struggle

was prolonged for fifty-three days of almost continuous agony, during which

time he went on holding in his hand the crucifix which Charles V. had when

he expired, and which is still religiously preserved. The gardens in front

of this magnificent palace are very quaint and pretty, the beds being cut

in a succession of terraces overlooking the plains below, and bordered with

low box hedges cut in prim shapes, with straight gravel walks, beautiful

fountains, and marble seats. But it is not difficult to understand why the

poor queen prefers the sunny slopes of La Granja, or even the dulness of

the green avenues of Aranjuez, to this gloomy pile, where the snow hardly

ever melts in the cold shade of those inner courts, and where all the

associations are of death in its most repulsive form. Above the Escurial,

half-way up the mountain, is a rude seat of boulder stones, from whence it

is said Philip II. used to watch the progress of the huge building.

Returning to the railway station, our travellers walked down the hill and

through a pleasantly wooded avenue to a little "maisonnette" of the

Infanta, built for Charles IV. when heir-apparent, and containing some

beautiful ivories and Wedgwoods. The gardens are pretty and bright, but the

whole thing is too small to be anything but a child's toy. An accident on

the line, somewhere near Avila, detained our party for six mortal hours at

a wretched little wayside station, of which the authorities flatly refused

to put on a short special train, although there were a large number of

passengers, in addition to our travellers, waiting, like them, to return to

Madrid.

{741}

But the Spanish mind cannot take in the idea of any one being in a hurry.

"Ora!" "Mañana!" (By and by! To-morrow!) are the despairing words which

meet one at every turn in this country. In this instance, neither horses

nor carriages being procurable, by which the journey to Madrid (only twenty

miles) could have been accomplished with perfect facility by road, our

travellers had nothing left for it but to wait. Patience, and such sleep as

could be got on a hard bench, were their only resource until one in the

morning, when the night express fortunately came up, and, after some demur,

agreed to take them back to Madrid.

Too tired the following day to start early again for Toledo, as they had

intended, our party took advantage of the kindness of the English minister

to see the queen's private library, which is in one of the wings of the

large but uninteresting modern palace. The librarian good-naturedly showed

them some of the rarest of his treasures: among them is a beautiful missal,

bound in shagreen, with lovely enamel clasps and exquisite illuminations,

which had belonged to Queen Isabella of Castile; her arms, Arragon on one

side and Castile on the other, were worked into the illuminations on the

cover. There was a still older missal illuminated in 1315, in which is

found the first mention of _St. Louis_ in the Kalendar. Here also are

some of the first books printed in type, and a very fine MS. Greek copy of

Aristotle.

Afterward, they came to a distant room, where Dr.---- found what he had

long sought for in vain--a quantity of the MS. letters of Gondomar,

minister from Spain to our King James I., giving an amusing and gossiping

account of people and things in England at that time. In this library is

also a very curious and interesting MS. life of Cardinal Wolsey.

In the evening, one of our party paid a visit to the Papal Nuncio,

Monsignor B----, a very kind, clever, and agreeable man, living in a quaint

old house, with a snug library, in which hangs a pretty oil painting of

Tyana, a picturesque country near Barcelona, of which he is archbishop.

From him, and from the venerable Monsignor S----, bishop of Daulia, she

obtained certain letters of introduction to prelates and convents, which

were invaluable in her future tour, and procured for her a kind and

courteous welcome wherever she went.

The following morning, after a five o'clock mass in the beautiful little

chapel of the sisters of charity, our travellers started for Toledo by

rail, passing by the Aranjuez, the "Sans-Souci" of the Spanish queen, where

all the trees in Castile seem to be collected for her special benefit, and

where the sight of the green avenues and fountains is a real refreshment

after the barren and arid features of the rest of the country.

Toledo is a most curious and beautiful old town, built on seven hills, like

Rome. The approach to it is by a picturesque bridge over the Tagus, which

rushes through a rent in the granite mountains like a vigorous Scotch

salmon-river, and encircles the walls of the ancient city as with a girdle.

Passing under a fine old Moorish horse-shoe arched gateway, a modern zigzag

road leads up the steep incline to the "plaza," out of which diverge a

multitude of narrow tortuous streets, like what in Edinburgh are called

"wynds," as painful to walk upon as the streets of Jerusalem. However,

after a vain attempt to continue in the Noah's Ark of an omnibus which had

brought them up the steep hill from the station, and which grazed the walls

of the houses on each side from its width, our travellers were compelled to

brave the slippery stones and proceed on foot. The little inn is as

primitive as all else in this quaint old town, where everything seems to

have stood still for the last five centuries. Leaving their cloaks in the

only available place dignified by the name of "Sala," and swallowing with

difficulty some very nasty coffee, they started off at once for the

cathedral, which stands in the heart of the city, surrounded by convents

and colleges, and with the archiepiscopal palace on the right.

{742}

It is a marvel of Gothic beauty and perfection. Originally a mosque, it was

rebuilt by Ferdinand, and converted by him into a Christian church, being

finished in 1490. In no part of the world can anything be seen more unique,

more beautiful, or more effective than the white marble screen, with its

row of white angels with half-folded wings, guarding the sanctuary of the

high altar, and standing out sharp and clear against the magnificent dark

background formed by the arched naves and matchless painted glass, which,

in depth and brilliancy of color and beauty of design, exceeds even that of

Seville. "Shall you ever forget the blue eyes of those rose-windows at

Toledo?" exclaimed, months after, Dr.---- to one of the party, who was

dwelling with him on the wonderful beauties of this matchless temple.

[Footnote 249]

[Footnote 249: Incredible as it may seem, the guide-books state that

there are no less than 750 stained glass windows in this cathedral.]

The choir is exquisitely carved, both above and below; the stalls divided

by red marble columns. Of the seventy stalls, half are carved by Vigarny

and half by Berruguete: each figure of each saint is a study in itself. The

high altar is a perfect marvel of workmanship, the "reredos" or "retablo"

representing the whole life and passion of our Lord. At the back is the

wonderful marble "trasparente," which Ford calls an "abomination of the

seventeenth century," but which, when the sun shines through it, is a

marvel for effect of color and delicacy of workmanship. The Moorish altar

still remains at which Ferdinand and Isabella heard mass after their

conquest of the Saracens; and close to this altar is the spot pointed out

by tradition as the one where the virgin appeared to St. Ildefonso and

placed the chasuble on his shoulders. It is veiled off, with this

inscription on the pillar above:

Adorabimus in loco ubi steterunt pedes ejus.

The fine bas-relief representing the miracle was executed by Vigarny.

Fragments of Saracenic art peep out everywhere, especially in the Sala

Capitular, or chapter-room, of which the doorway is an exquisite specimen

of the finest Moorish work, and the ceiling likewise. In this chapter-room

are two admirable portraits of Cardinal Ximenes and Cardinal Mendoza, said

to have been taken from life. The monuments in the side chapels are very

fine, especially one of St. Ildefonso, whose body had been carried by the

the Moors to Zamora, and was there discovered by a shepherd, and brought

back again; of Cardinal Mendoza; of the Constable Alvaro de Luna; and of

several Spanish kings. Here also rests the body of St. Leocadia, martyred

in the persecution under Diocletian, and to whom three churches in Toledo

are dedicated. During the wars with the Moors, her body was removed to

Italy, and thence to Mons; but was brought back by Philip II. to her native

city, and is now in an urn in the sacristy. At the west end of the

cathedral is a very curious chapel, where the Muzarabic ritual is still

used. This appears to be to the Spaniards what the Ambrosian is to the

Milanese, and was established by Cardinal Ximenes. The sacristy is a real

treasure-house, containing an exquisite tabernacle of gold brought by

Christopher Columbus, incensories, chalices, crosses, and reliquaries, in

gold and enamel, and "cristal de roche," (some given by Louis of France,)

and the missal of St. Louis, of which the illuminations are as fine as any

in the Vatican. The robes, mantles, and ornaments of the Virgin are

encrusted with pearls and jewels. Cardinal Mendoza removed one side of the

marble screen of the high altar to make room for his own monument. In

contrast to this, is another archbishop's tomb, near the altar of the

miraculous Virgin. They wanted to give him a fine carved sepulchre, and

were discussing it in his presence a short time before his death.

{743}

He insisted on a simple slab, with the following words:

"Hic jacet pulvis, cinis, nullus."

Close to the bénitière at the south entrance, is a little marble slab

attached to the pillar, and on it a little soft leather cushion, which had

excited the curiosity of one of our party on entering. On returning for

vespers, she found laid on it a fine little baby, beautifully dressed, with

a medal round its neck, but quite dead! One of the canons explained to her

that when the parents were too poor to pay the expenses of their children's

funerals, they brought the little bodies in this way for interment by the

chapter. The cloisters to the north of the cathedral are very lofty and

fine, and decorated with frescoes; and the doors with their magnificent

bronze bas-reliefs, in the style of the Florence baptistery, and gloriously

carved portals, are on a par with all the rest. The "Puerta del Perdon,"

and the "Puerta de los Leones," especially, are unique in their gorgeous

details, and in the great beauty and life-like expression of the figures.

The chapter library is in good order, and contains some very fine editions

of Greek and Latin works: a Bible belonging to St. Isidore; the works of

St. Gregory; a fine illuminated Bible given by St. Louis; a missal of

Charles V.; a fine Talmud and Koran; and some very interesting MSS. In the

ante-room are some good pictures.

The palace of the archbishop is exactly opposite the west front of the

cathedral. No one has played a more important part in the history of his

country of late years than the present Archbishop of Toledo. High in the

favor and counsels of the queen, he at one time determined, for political

reasons, to leave Spain and settle himself in Italy, but was recalled by

the voice of both queen and people, and remains, beloved and honored by

all; and although upward of eighty years of age, and rather deaf, is still

a perfect lion of intellectual and physical strength. He received our

travellers most kindly, and in a fatherly manner invited them to breakfast,

and afterward to be present at a private confirmation in the little chapel

of his palace, at which ceremony they gladly assisted. He afterward sent

his secretary, a most clever and agreeable person, who spoke Italian with

fluency, to show the ladies the convent of Sta. Teresa, situated in the

lower part of the town. This convent was started, like all the rest of the

saint's foundations, amidst discouragements and difficulties of all kinds.

The house which had been promised her before her arrival was refused

through the intrigues of a relative of the donor; then the vicar-general

withdrew his license; and St. Theresa began to fear that she would have to

leave Toledo without accomplishing her object. Through the intervention of

a poor man, however, she at last heard of a tiny lodging where she and her

sisters could be received. It was a very humble place, and there was but

one room in it which could be turned into a chapel; but that was duly

prepared for mass, and dedicated to St. Joseph. Poor and meagre as the

sanctuary was, it struck a little child who was passing by, by its bright

and cared-for appearance, and she exclaimed: "Blessed be God! how beautiful

and clean it looks!" St. Theresa said directly to her sisters: "I account

myself well repaid for all the troubles which have attended this foundation

by that little angel's one 'Glory to God.'"

Afterward, all difficulties were smoothed; a larger house was built; and

the poor Carmelites, from being despised and rejected by all, and in want

of the commonest necessaries of life, were overwhelmed with supplies of all

kinds, so that one of them, in sorrow, exclaimed to St. Theresa: "What are

we to do, Mother? for now it seems that we are no longer poor!"

{744}

It was this very house which our travellers now visited, and a far cheerier

and brighter one it is than that of Seville. It contains twenty-four

sisters: among their treasures are the MS. copy of St. Theresa's Way of

Perfection, corrected by the saint herself, and with a short preface

written in her own hand; a quantity of her autograph letters; a long letter

from Sister Ann of St. Bartholomew; St. Theresa's seal, of which the ladies

were given an impression; the habit she had worn in the house, etc., etc.

But the most curious thing was the picture, painted by desire of the saint,

of the death of one of the community. We will tell the story in her own

words: "One of our sisters fell dangerously ill, and I went to pray for her

before the Blessed Sacrament, beseeching our Lord to give her a happy

death. I then came back to her cell to stay with her, and on my entrance

distinctly saw a figure like the representations of our Lord, at the bed's

head, with His arms outspread as if protecting her, and he said to me: 'Be

assured that in like manner I will protect all the nuns who shall die in

these monasteries, so that they shall not fear any temptation at the hour

of death.' A short time after, I spoke to her, when she said to me:

'Mother, what great things I am about to see!' and with these words she

expired, like an angel." St. Theresa had this subject represented in a

fresco, which is still on the wall of the cell. Here also she completed the

narrative of her life, now in the Escurial, by command of Padre Ibañez, and

here is her breviary, with the words (which we will give in English)

written by herself on the fly-leaf:

"Let nothing disturb thee;

Let nothing affright thee;

All passeth away;

God only shall stay.

Patience wins all.

Who hath God needeth nothing.

For God is his All."

Leaving this interesting convent, our travellers proceeded to San Juan de

los Reyes, so called because built by Ferdinand and Isabella, and dedicated

to St. John. It was a magnificent Gothic building; but the only thing in

the church spared by the French are two exquisite "palcos" or balconies

overlooking the high altar, in the finest Gothic carving, from whence

Ferdinand and Isabella used to hear mass: their ciphers are beautifully

wrought in stone underneath. Outside this church hang the chains which were

taken off the Christian prisoners when they were released from the Moors.

Adjoining is the convent, now deserted, and the palace of Cardinal Ximenes,

of which the staircase and one long low room alone remain. But the gem of

the whole are the cloisters. Never was anything half so beautiful or so

delicate as the Moorish tracery and exquisite patterns of grape-vine,

thistle, and acanthus, carved round each quaint-shaped arch and window and

door-way. Festoons of real passion flowers, in full bloom, hung over the

arches from the "patio" in the centre, in which a few fine cypresses and

pomegranates were also growing, the dark foliage standing out against the

bright blue sky overhead, and beautifully contrasting with the delicate

white marble tracery of this exquisite double cloister. It is a place where

an artist might revel for a month.

Their guide then took them to see the synagogues, now converted into

Christian churches, but originally mosques. Exquisite Saracenic carvings

remain on the walls and roofs, with fine old Moorish capitals to the

pillars, of their favorite pine apple pattern, and beautiful colored

"azulejos" (tiles) on the floors and seats. Several of the private houses

which they afterward visited at Toledo might literally have been taken up

at Damascus and set down in this quaint old Spanish town, so identical are

they in design, in decorations, and in general character. The nails on the

doors are specially quaint, mostly of the shape of big mushrooms, and the

knockers are also wonderful. Could the fashion, once in vogue among "fast"

men in England, of wrenching such articles from the doors, be introduced

into Spain, what art treasures one could get! but scarcely anything of the

sort is to be bought in Toledo.

{745}

After trying in vain to swallow some of the food prepared for them at the

"fonda," in which it was hard to say whether garlic or rancid oil most

predominated, our travellers toiled again in the burning sun up the steep

hill leading to the Alcazar, the ancient palace, now a ruin, but still

retaining its fine old staircase and court-yard with very ancient Roman

pillars. From hence there is a beautiful view of the town, of the Tagus

flowing round it, and of the picturesque one-arched bridge which spans the

river in the approach from Madrid, with the ruins of the older Roman bridge

and forts below. The Tagus here rushes down a rapid with a fine fall,

looking like a salmon-leap, where there ought to be first-rate pools and

beautiful fishing; and then flows swiftly and silently along through a

grand gorge of rocks to the left. By the river-side was the Turkish

water-wheel, or "sakeel," worked by mules. The whole thing was thoroughly

Eastern; and the red, barren, arid look of the rocks and of the whole

surrounding country reminded one more of Syria than of anything European.

Our travellers were leaning over the parapet of the little terrace-garden,

looking on this glorious view, when a group of women who were sitting in

the sun near the palace-gates called to their guide, and asked if the lady

of the party were an Englishwoman, "as she walked so fast." The guide

replied in the affirmative. One of them answered, "O! qué peccado! (what a

pity!) I liked her face, and _yet she is an infidel_." The guide

indignantly pointed to a little crucifix which hung on a rosary by the

lady's side, at which the speaker, springing from her seat, impulsively

kissed both the cross and the lady. This is only a specimen of the faith of

these people, who cannot understand anything Christian that is not

Catholic, and confound all Protestants with Jews or Moors.

Going down the hill, stopping only for a few moments at a curiosity shop

where, however, nothing really old could be obtained--they came to the

Church of La Cruz, built on the site of the martyrdom of St. Leocadia. It

is now turned into a military college; but the magnificent Gothic portal

and facade remain. The streets are as narrow and dirty in this part of the

town as in the filthiest eastern city; but at every turn there is a

beautiful doorway, as at Cairo, through which you peep into a cool "patio,"

with its usual fountain and orange-trees; while a double cloister runs

round the quadrangle, and generally a picturesque side staircase, with a

beautifully carved balustrade, leading up to the cloisters above, with

their delicate tracery and varied arches. The beauty of the towers and

"campanile" is also very striking. They are generally thoroughly Roman in

their character, being built of that narrow brick (or rather tile) so

common for the purpose in Italy, but with the horse-shoe arch: that of S.

Romano is the most perfect. There is also a lovely little mosque, with a

well in the court-yard near the entrance, which has now been converted into

a church under the title of "Sta. Cruz de la Luz," with a wonderful

intersection of horse-shoe arches, like a miniature of the cathedral at

Cordova. Toledo certainly does not lack churches or convents; but those who

served and prayed in them, where are they? The terrible want of instruction

for the people, caused by the closing of all the male religious houses,

which were the centre of all missionary work, is felt throughout Spain; but

nowhere more than in this grand old town, which is absolutely _dead_.

The children are neglected, the poor without a friend, the widow and orphan

are desolate, and all seek in vain for a helper or a guide.

On the opposite side of the Tagus, and not far from the railway station,

are the ruins of a curious old chateau, to which a legend is attached, so

characteristic of the tone of thought of the people that it is given

verbatim here. [Footnote 250]

[Footnote 250: This legend has been translated by Fernan Caballero, in

her Fleurs des Champs.]

{746}

"The owner had been a bad and tyrannical man, hard and unjust to his

people, selfish in his vices as in his pleasures; the only redeeming

point about him was his great love for his wife, a pious, gentle, loving

woman, who spent her days and nights in deploring the orgies of her

husband, and praying for God's mercy on his crimes. One winter's night,

in the midst of a terrible tempest, a knocking was heard at the castle

door, and presently a servant came in and told his mistress that two

monks, half dead with cold and hunger, and drenched by the pitiless

storm, had lost their way, and were begging for a night's lodging in the

castle. The poor lady did not know what to do, for her husband hated the

monks, and swore that none should ever cross his threshold. 'The count

will know nothing about it, my lady,' said the old servant, who guessed

the reason of her hesitation; 'I will conceal them somewhere in the

stable, and they will depart at break of day.' The lady gave a joyful

assent to the servant's proposal, and the monks were admitted. Scarcely,

however, had they entered, when the sound of a huntsman's horn, the

tramping of horses, and the barking of dogs, announced the return of the

master. The sport had been good; and when he had changed his soiled and

dripping clothes, and found himself, with his pretty wife seated opposite

him, by a blazing fire, and with a well-covered table, his good humor

made him almost tender toward her. 'What is the matter?' he exclaimed,

when he saw her sad and downcast face. 'Were you frightened at the storm?

yet you see I am come home safe and sound.' She did not answer. 'Tell me

what vexes you; I insist upon it,' he continued; 'and it shall not be my

fault I do not brighten that little face I love so well!' Thus encouraged

the lady replied: 'I am sad, because, while we are enjoying every luxury

and comfort here, others whom I know, even under this very roof, are

perishing with cold and hunger.' 'But who are they?' exclaimed the count,

with some impatience. 'Two poor monks,' answered the lady bravely, 'who

came here for shelter, and have been put in the stable without food or

firing.' The count frowned. 'Monks! Have I not told you fifty times I

would never have those idle pestilent fellows in my house?' He rang the

bell. 'For God's sake do not turn them out [on] such a night as this!'

exclaimed the countess. 'Don't be afraid, I will keep my word,' replied

her husband; and so saying, he desired the servant to bring them directly

into the dining-room. They appeared; and the venerable, saint-like

appearance of the elder of the two priests checked the raillery on the

lips of the count. He made them sit down at his table; but the religious,

faithful to his mission, would not eat till he had spoken some of God's

words to his host. After supper, to his wife's joy and surprise, the

count conducted the monks himself to the rooms he had prepared for them,

which were the best in the house; but they refused to sleep on anything

but straw. The count then himself went and fetched a truss of hay, and

laid it on the floor. Then suddenly breaking silence, he exclaimed:

'Father, I would return as a prodigal son to my Father's house; but I

feel as if it were impossible that he should forgive sins like mine.'

'Were your sins as numberless as the grains of sand on the sea-shore,'

replied the missionary,' faithful repentance, through the blood of

Christ, would wash them out. Therefore it is that the hardened sinner

will have no excuse in the last day.' Seized with sudden compunction, the

count fell on his knees, and made a full confession of his whole life,

his tears falling on the straw he had brought. A few hours later the

missionary, in a dream, saw himself, as it were, carried before the

tribunal of the Great Judge. In the scales of eternal justice a soul was

to be weighed: it was that of the count. Satan, triumphant, placed in the

scales the countless sins of his past life: the good angels veiled their

faces in sorrow, and pity, and shame. Then came up his guardian angel,

that spirit so patient and so watchful, so beautiful and so good, who

brings tears to our eyes and repentance to our hearts, alms to our hands

and prayers to our lips.

{747}

He brought but a few bits of straw, wet with tears, and placed them in

the opposite scale. Strange! _they weighed down all the rest_. The

soul was saved. The next morning, the monk, on waking, found the castle

in confusion and sorrow. He inquired the reason: its master had died in

the night."

Zaragoza And Segovia.

The following morning found our travellers again in Madrid, and one of them

accompanied the sisters of charity to a beautiful fète at San Juan de

Alarçon, a convent of nuns. The rest of the day was spent in the museum;

and at half-past eight in the evening they started again by train for

Zaragoza, which they reached at six in the morning. One of the great

annoyances of Spanish travelling is, that the only good and quick trains go

at night; and it is the same with the diligences. In very hot weather it

may be pleasant; but in winter and in rain it is a very wretched proceeding

to spend half your night in an uncomfortable carriage, and the other half

waiting, perhaps for hours, at some miserable wayside station. After

breakfasting in a hotel where nothing was either eatable or drinkable, our

party started for the two cathedrals. The one called the "Seu" is a fine

gloomy old Gothic building, with a magnificent "retablo," in very fine

carving, over the high altar, and what the people call a "media naranja"

(or half-orange) dome, which is rather like the clerestory lantern of

Burgos. In the sacristy was a beautiful ostensorium, with an emerald and

pearl cross, a magnificent silver tabernacle of cinquecento work, another

ostensorium encrusted with diamonds, a nacre "nef," and some fine heads of

saints, in silver, with enamel collars. But at the sister cathedral, where

is the famous _Virgen del Pilar_, the treasury is quite priceless. The

most exquisite reliquaries in pearls, precious stones, and enamel;

magnificent necklaces; earrings with gigantic pearls; coronets of diamonds;

lockets; pictures set in precious stones; everything which is most valuable

and beautiful, has been lavished on this shrine. In the outside sacristy is

also an exquisite chalice, in gold and enamel, of the fifteenth century;

and a very fine picture, said to be by Correggio, of the Ecce Homo. The

shrine of the Miraculous Virgin is thronged with worshippers, day and

night; but no woman is allowed to penetrate beyond the railing, so that she

is very imperfectly seen. It is a _black_ figure, which is always the

favorite way of representing the Blessed Virgin in Spain: the pillar is of

the purest alabaster. There is some fine "azulejo" work in the sacristy;

but the cathedral itself is ugly, and is being restored in a bad style. Our

party left it rather with relief, and wandered down to the fine old bridge

over the Ebro, which is here a broad and rapid stream, and amused

themselves by watching the boats shooting through the piers--an operation

of some danger, owing to the rapidity of the current. There is a beautiful

leaning tower of old Moorish and Roman brickwork, in a side street, but

which you are not allowed to ascend without a special order from the

prefect. The Lonja, or Exchange, is also well worth seeing, from its

beautiful deep overhanging roof. This is, in fact, the characteristic of

all the old houses in Zaragoza, which is a quaint old town formed of a

succession of narrow tortuous streets, with curious old roofs, "patios,"

columns, and staircases. After having some luncheon, which was more eatable

than the breakfast, our travellers took a drive outside the town, and had a

beautiful view of the lower spur of the Pyrenees on the one hand, and of

the towers, bridges, and minarets of the city on the other. Then they went

to the public gardens, laid out by Pignatelli, the maker of the canal,

which are the resort of all the people on fête-days: they were very gay,

and full of beautiful flowers.

{748}

From thence they drove to the castle, or "Aljaferia," where there is a very

curious moresque chapel still existing, though sadly in ruins. Above are

the rooms occupied by Ferdinand and Isabella, and the apartment where St.

Elizabeth of Portugal was born, with the font where she was baptized. The

hall of the ambassadors is very handsome, with a glorious moresque roof,

and a gallery round. The castle is now turned into a barrack; but the

officers, who, with true Spanish courtesy, had accompanied the priest who

was showing the rooms to our travellers, _had never seen them before

themselves_. How long they had been quartered there none of our party

had the courage to ask! But this is a specimen of the very little interest

which appears to be taken by the Spaniards in the antiquities or art

treasures of their country. Not one of them was ever to be seen in the

matchless gallery of Madrid. Coming home, they visited San Pablo, a curious

and beautiful subterranean church, into which you descend by a flight of

steps. A service was going on, and an eloquent sermon, so that it was

impossible to see the pictures well; but they appeared to be above the

average. This church has a glorious tower in old Roman brickwork. The

palace of the Infanta has been converted into a school. It is the most

perfect specimen of the Renaissance style of Gothic architecture, with

beautiful arches, columns, staircase, and fretted roof. Exhausted with

their sight-seeing, our travellers went back to their inn; agreeably

surprised, however, at the vestiges of ancient beauty still left in

Zaragoza, after the frightful sieges and sacking to which the city has

twice been subjected.

In the evening, the Canon de V----, who had been their kind cicerone at the

cathedral in the absence of the bishop, came to pay them a visit, and gave

them a very interesting account of the people, and a great deal of

information about the convents and religious houses in the place,

especially that of the Ursulines, who have a very large educational

establishment in the town. He has lately written a very interesting account

of the foundress of this order.

The return to Madrid was necessarily accomplished again by night; and jaded

and tired as they were the following day, our party had not the courage for

any fresh expedition. One only visit was paid, which will ever remain in

the memory of the lady who had the privilege. It was to Monsignor Claret,

the confessor of the queen and Archbishop of Cuba, a man as remarkable for

his great personal holiness and ascetic life as for the unjust accusations

of which he is continually the object. On one occasion, these unfavorable

reports having reached his ears, and being only anxious to retire into the

obscurity which his humility makes him love so well, he went to Rome to

implore for a release from his present post; but it was refused him.

Returning through France, he happened to travel with certain gentlemen,

residents in Madrid, but unknown to him, as he was to them, who began to

speak of all the evils, real or imaginary, which reigned in the Spanish

Court, the whole of which they unhesitatingly attributed to Monsignor

Claret, very much in the spirit of the old ballad against Sir Robert Peel:

"Who filled the butchers' shops with big blue flies?"

He listened without a word, never attempting either excuse or

justification, or betraying his identity. Struck with his saint-like manner

and appearance, and likewise very much charmed with his conversation during

their couple of days' journey together, the strangers begged, at parting,

to know his name, expressing an earnest hope of an increased acquaintance

at Madrid. He gave them his card with a smile! Let us hope they will be

less hasty and more charitable in their judgments for the future. Monsignor

Claret's room in Madrid is a fair type of himself. Simple even to severity

in its fittings, with no furniture but his books, and some photographs of

the queen and her children, it contains one only priceless object, and that

is a wooden crucifix, of the very finest Spanish workmanship, which

attracted at once the attention of his visitor.

{749}

"Yes, it is very beautiful," he replied, in answer to her words of

admiration; "and I like it because it expresses so wonderfully _victory

over suffering_. Crucifixes generally represent only the painful and

human, not the triumphant and Divine view of the Redemption. Here, He is

truly Victor over death and hell."

Contrary to the generally received idea, he never meddles in politics, and

occupies himself entirely in devotional and literary works. One of his

books, Camino recto y seguro para llegar al Cielo, would rank with Thomas à

Kempis's Imitation in suggestive and practical devotion. He keeps a

perpetual fast; and when compelled by his position to dine at the palace,

still keeps to his meagre fare of "garbanzos," or the like. He has a great

gift of preaching; and when he accompanies the queen in any of her royal

progresses, is generally met at each town when they arrive by earnest

petitions to preach, which he does instantly, without rest or apparent

preparation, sometimes delivering four or five sermons in one day. In

truth, he is always "prepared," by a hidden life of perpetual prayer and

realization of the Unseen.

After taking leave of him and the Nunzio, and of the many other kind

friends who had made their stay at Madrid so pleasant, our travellers

started at eight o'clock in the evening for Villa Alba, where they were to

take the diligence for Segovia. The night was clear and beautiful, and the

scenery through which they passed was finer than any they had seen in

Spain. At dawn they came almost suddenly on this most quaint and

picturesque of cities, standing on a rocky knoll more than 3,000 feet above

the sea, encircled by a rapid river, and with the most magnificent

aqueduct, built by Trajan to convoy the pure water of the river Frio from

the neighboring sierra to the town. This aqueduct commences with single

arches, which rise higher as the dip of the ground deepens, until they

become double. The centre ones are 102 feet high, and the whole is built of

massive blocks of granite, without cement or mortar. A succession of

picturesque towers and ancient walls remain to mark the boundaries of the

old Roman city.

The diligence unceremoniously turned our travellers out into the street at

the bottom of the town, and left them to find their way as best they could

to the little "fonda" in the square above. It was very clean and tidy, with

the box-beds opening out of the sitting-rooms, which are universal in the

old-fashioned inns of Spain, and always remind one of a Highland bothie.

The daughter of the house showed off her white linen with great pride, and

was rather affronted because two of the party preferred going to church to

trying her sheets, stoutly declaring that "no one was yet awake, and no

mass could yet be obtained." However, on leaving her, and gently pushing

open one of the low side-doors of the cathedral close by, the ladies found

that the five o'clock services had begun at most of the altars, with a very

fair sprinkling of peasants at each. The circular triple apse at the east

end of this cathedral, from the warm color of the stone, and the beauty of

its flying buttresses and Gothic pinnacles, is deservedly reckoned one of

the finest in Spain. The tower also is beautiful; and the view from the

cupola over the city, the fertile valleys beneath, and the snow-tipped

mountains beyond, is quite unrivalled. The interior has been a good deal

spoiled by modern innovations, but still contains some glorious painted

glass, a very fine "retablo" by Juni of the "Deposition from the Cross,"

and some curious monuments, especially one of the Infanta Don Pedro, son of

Henry II.. who was killed by being let fall from the window of the Alcazar

by his nurse. The Gothic cloisters are also worth seeing. After service, as

it was still very early, the two ladies wandered about this beautiful

quaint old town, in which every house is a study for a painter, and found

themselves at last at the Alameda, a public promenade on the ramparts,

shaded by fine acacias, and the approach to which, on the cathedral side,

is through a beautiful Moorish horse-shoe arched gateway.

{750}

From thence some stone steps led them up to a most curious old Norman

church, with an open cloister running round it, with beautiful circular

arches and dog-toothed mouldings; opposite is a kind of Hôtel de Ville,

with a fine gateway, cloistered "patio," and staircase carved "à jour." In

a narrow street, a little lower down, is the exquisite Gothic façade of the

Casa de Segovia, and turning to the left is another curious and beautiful

church, La Vera Cruz, built by the Templars, and with a little chapel in it

on the exact model of that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. The zigzag

and billet dog-tooth mouldings round the windows and doorways are very

fine. A little higher up is the Parral, a deserted convent, with a

beautiful church, richly carved portal and choir, fine monuments,

cloisters, and gardens: the latter had such a reputation that they give

rise to the saying, "Las huertas del Parral, paraiso terrenal." Fairly

tired out with sight-seeing before breakfast, the ladies climbed up again

to the Plaza de la Constitucion, which was like the square of an old German

town, having endlessly varied and colored houses with high roofs; and were

glad to find the rest of the party awake at last, and sitting round a table

with the invariably good chocolate and white bread of the country. The meal

over, one of the ladies started off with a little boy as her guide, to

present her letters of introduction to the bishop, who lived in a

picturesque old palace in the Plaza of San Esteban, the fine church

opposite, with its beautiful tower, Saxon arches, and open cloister, being

dedicated to that saint. He received his visitor with great good nature,

and instantly countersigned the Nunzio's order for her to visit the

Carmelite convent of Sta. Teresa, sending his vicar-general to accompany

her. This house is the original one purchased for the saint, in 1574, by

Dona Ana de Ximenes, who was the first lady to receive the habit in

Segovia. It is dedicated to St. Joseph, and the first mass was said in it

by St. John of the Cross. The nuns maintain the reformed rule in all its

austerity. They showed their visitor the saint's cell, now converted into

an oratory, and also the room of St. John of the Cross, whose convent is in

the valley below, just outside the walls of the town. There his body

rests--that body still uncorrupted, of one of whom it has been truly said

that he was a "cherub in wisdom and a seraph in love." On the door of his

cell is his favorite sentence:

Pati et contemni pro Te!

This convent is rich both in his letters and in those of St. Theresa. Here

it was that the saint received the news of the death of her favorite

brother, Laurence de Cepeda. She was quietly at work during recreation when

he appeared to her; the saint, without uttering a word, put down her work

and hastened to the choir to commend the departed spirit to our Lord. She

had no sooner knelt before the blessed sacrament than an expression of

intense peace and joy came over her face. Her sisters asked her the reason,

and she told them that our Lord had then revealed to her the assurance that

her brother was in heaven. His sudden death occurred at the very moment

when he had appeared to her in the recreation room. Over the door of her

oratory are the words, "Seek the cross," "Desire the cross;" and a little

farther on, "Let us teach more by works than by words." After spending two

or three hours with the sisters, the English lady was compelled reluctantly

to leave them and return to her party, who were waiting for her to go with

them to the Alcazar.

This palace, originally Moorish, was rebuilt by Henry IV. in the fifteenth

century. It was the favorite residence of Isabella of Castile, and from

thence, on the occasion of a revolution, she rode out alone, and "by her

sweetness of countenance more than by her majesty," as the old chronicle

says, "won over the people to return to their allegiance."

{751}

Our King Charles I. lodged here also, and is recorded to have supped on

certain "troutes of extraordinary greatness," doubtless from the beautiful

stream below. At the time of the French invasion the Alcazar was turned

into a military college, and these wretched students, in a freak of boyish

folly, set fire to a portion of one of the rooms two years ago. The fire

spread; and all that is now left of this matchless palace is a ruined

shell, the façade, the beautiful Moorish towers and battlements, one or two

sculptured arabesque ceilings, and the portcullised gateway, each and all

testifying to its former greatness and splendor. Its position, perched on a

steep plateau forming the western extremity of the town, is quite

magnificent, and the views from the windows are glorious. Our travellers

staid a long time sitting under the shade of the orange-trees in the

battlemented court below, enjoying the glorious panorama at their feet, and

watching the setting sun as it lit up the tips of the snowy sierra which

forms the background of this grand landscape; while the beautiful river

Eresma flowed swiftly round the old walls, its banks occupied at that

moment by groups of washerwomen in their bright picturesque dresses,

singing in parts the national songs of their country. In the valley below

were scattered homesteads and convents, and a group of cypresses marking

the spot where, according to the legend, Maria del Salto alighted. This

girl was a Jewess by birth, but secretly a Christian; and having thereby

excited the anger and suspicions of her family, was accused by them of

adultery, and condemned, according to the barbarous practice of those

times, to be thrown from the top of the Alcazar rock. By her faith she was

miraculously preserved from injury, and reached the ground in safety; a

church was built on the spot, of which the "retablo" tells the tale.

Segovia is famous for its flocks, and for the beauty of its wool: the water

of the Eresma is supposed to be admirable for washing and shearing.

Our travellers now began to think of pursuing their journey to Avila; but

that was not so easy. The diligence which had brought them flatly refused

to convey them back till the following night, except at a price so

exorbitant that it was impossible to give it. And here, as everywhere else

in Spain, you have no redress. There are no carriages whatever for hire,

except in the two or three large capitals, like Madrid and Seville; and

even should carriages be found, there are no horses or mules to draw

them--or, at any rate, none that they choose to let out for the purpose.

Such as they are, they are always reserved for the diligence; and if the

latter should happen to be full, the unhappy passengers may wait for days

at a wayside "posada" until their turn comes. Therefore, it is absolutely

necessary in Spain to write and make the contract for places beforehand:

and to be hard-hearted when the time comes, as it almost invariably happens

that you leave behind certain luckless travellers who have not adopted a

similar precaution; and the struggle for seats, and consequent overcrowding

of the carriages, are renewed at every station. Making a virtue of

necessity, our travellers at last made up their minds to another miserable

diligence night out of bed--the fatigue of which must be felt to be

thoroughly sympathized with--and spent the intervening hours of the evening

in dining, and then going to a religious play, which they had seen

advertised in the morning, and which was a very curious exhibition of

popular taste and religious feeling. The little theatre was really very

clean and tidy, and there was nothing approaching to irreverence in the

representations given. A similar scene in a very different place recurred

to the memory of one of the party, as having been witnessed by her in

Paris, some years ago, when on a certain occasion she accompanied a

somewhat stiff puritanical old lady to the opera.

{752}

A ballet was given as an entr'acte, in which the scenery was taken from the

book of Genesis, and Noah and his sons appeared just coming out of the Ark.

This was too much for the good lady: "If Noah either dances or sings," she

exclaimed, "I'll leave the house!" The poor Segovians, trained in a

different school, saw nothing incongruous in the representation of the

shepherds, and the wise men, and the cave of Bethlehem: and only one

comical incident occurred, when, on a child in the pit setting up a squeal,

there was a universal cry of _Where's Herod?_ At ten o'clock they left

their play, with its quiet and respectable little audience, and once more

found themselves tightly stowed in their diligence prison for the night.

The moon, however, was bright and beautiful, and enabled them to see the

royal hunting-box and woods, and the rest of the fine scenery through which

they passed, so that the journey was far less intolerable than usual, as is

often the case when a thing has been much dreaded beforehand. At four

o'clock in the morning they were turned out, shivering with cold, at a

wayside station, where they were to take the train to Avila; but were then

told, to their dismay, by a sleepy porter, that the six o'clock train had

been taken off, and that there would be none till ten the next morning, so

that all hopes of arriving at Avila in time for church (and this was

Sunday) were at an end. The station had no waiting-room, only a kind of

corridor with two hard benches. Establishing the children on these for the

moment with plaids and shawls, one of the party went off to some cottages

at a little distance off, and asked in one of them if there were no means

of getting a bedroom and some chocolate? A very civil woman got up and

volunteered both; so the tired ones of the party were able to lie down for

a few hours' rest in two wonderfully clean little rooms, while their

breakfast was preparing. The question now arose for the others: "Was there

no church anywhere near?" It was answered by the people of the place in the

negative. "The station was new; the cottages had been run up for the

accommodation of the porters and people engaged on the line; there was no

village within a league or two." Determined, however, not to be baffled,

one of the party inquired of another man, who was sleepily driving his

bullocks into a neighboring field, and he replied "that over the mountains

to the left there was a village and a curé; but that it was a long way off,

and that he only went on great "festas." It was now quite light; the lady

was strong and well; and so she determined to make the attempt to find the

church. Following the track pointed out to her by her informant, she came

to a wild and beautiful mountain path, intersected by bright rushing

streams, crossed by stepping stones, the ground perfectly carpeted with

wild narcissus and other spring flowers. Here and there she met a peasant

tending his flocks of goats, and always the courteous greeting of "Vaya

Usted con Dios!" or "Dios guarde á Usted!" as heartily given as returned.

At last, on rounding a corner of the mountain, she came on a beautiful

view, with the Escurial in the distance to the left; and to the right,

embosomed, as it were, in a little nest among the hills, a picturesque

village, with its church-tower and rushing stream and flowering

fruit-trees, toward which the path evidently led. This sight gave her fresh

courage; for the night journey and long walk, undertaken fasting, had

nearly spent her strength. Descending the hill rapidly, she reached the

village green just as the clock was striking six, and found a group of

peasants, both men and women, sitting on the steps of the picturesque stone

cross in the centre, opposite the church, waiting for the curé to come out

of his neat little house close by to say the first mass. The arrival of the

lady caused some astonishment; but, with the inborn courtesy of the people,

one after the other rose and came forward, not only to greet her, but to

offer her chocolate and bread.

{753}

She explained that she had come for communion, and would go into the

church. The old white-haired clerk ran into the house to hasten the curé,

and soon a kind and venerable old man made his appearance, and asked her if

she wished to see him first in the confessional. He could scarcely believe

she had been in Segovia only the night before! Finding that she was hurried

to return and catch the train, he instantly gave her both mass and

communion, and then sent his housekeeper to invite her to breakfast, as did

one after the other of the villagers. Escaping from their hospitality with

some difficulty, on the plea of the shortness of the time and the length of

the way back, the English lady accepted a little loaf, for which no sort of

payment would be heard of, and walked with a light heart back to the

station, feeling how close is the religious tie which binds Catholics

together as one family, and how beautiful is the hearty, simple hospitality

of the Spanish people when untainted by contact with modern innovations and

so-called progress. There was no occasion when this natural, high-bred

courtesy was not shown during the four months that our travellers spent in

this country; and those who, like the author of Over the Pyrenees into

Spain, find fault on every occasion with the manners of the people, must

either have been ignorant of their language and customs, or, having no

sympathy with their faith, have wounded their susceptibilities, and to a

certain degree justified the rudeness of which they pretend to have been

the victims.

------

Original.

Beams.

"Why seest thou the mote in thy brother's eye,

but the beam that is in thine own eye

thou considerest not?"

Disciple.

"How's this! And hath my brother ne'er a beam

That may be plucked from out his eye?

And are my brother's beams all motes,

And none have beams but I?"

Master.

"E'en so, For beams enough there be, I trow;

And who will claim them, if not thou?"

Disciple.

"'Tis well! I'll claim mine own.

(Methinks it has of late much larger grown.)"

Master.

"Suffices it, if thou wilt claim but one.

Then shall thy brother, in thy sight, have none.

For beams do so prevent pride's selfish view

That, if thy brother's beam did weigh a ton,

It would appear the smallest mote to you."

------

{754}

Early Rising. [Footnote 251]

[Footnote 251: This article is translated from the Conferences

Destinées aux Femmes du Monde, par Mgr. Landriot.]

"De Nocte Surrexit."

Sleep was given man to sustain life, to invigorate his strength, and to

serve him as the best and most useful of medicines; one single prescription

perfectly accomplished sometimes sufficing for the cure of serious disease,

or, at least, the amelioration of violent pain. Sleep is the salutary bath

that renovates life, the entire being growing younger under its influence;

it is a station in the desert of this world; and often, after dull and

wearying journeys, one comes to repose in this oasis prepared by divine

Providence, enabled the next day to pursue the route with renewed courage

and activity. The time of sleep is not only useful to the body, but the

soul: it calms all agitation, spreads a balm over piercing grief, and

hinders the precipitation of words and actions. Thus the ancients

designated night the good counsellor; those even whom passion or bodily

infirmity keep awake are subservient to her designs, and, in the calm

which, through shade, she diffuses everywhere, she recalls man to better

sentiments. If he is Christian, she quickens within him the fibres of

prayer; a single aspiration toward heaven sufficing sometimes to crush the

bad or dangerous germs of thought, and prepare for the morrow a pure and

uncloudy sky. In other times, there was so much calmness and placidity in

the sleep of the just, said St. Ambrose, that it was like an ecstasy in

which, while the body reposed, the soul, to speak thus, was separated from

its organs, and united itself to Christ: Somnus tranquillitatem menti

invehens, placiditatem animae ut tanquam soluto nexu corporis se ablevit,

et Christo adhaereat. [Footnote 252]

[Footnote 252: Ep. xvi. No. 4, p. 960.]

Again, sleep is an excellent preacher, because it recalls to us the image

of death: the ancients named it the brother of death, and both are sons of

night. The daily arrival of sleep should make us say: "The other brother

will come soon, and this time I will extend myself on my bed, never more to

rise. Each visit of the night should be an invitation to prepare me for the

last and solemn departure."

Sleep is, then, excellent in itself; but how greatly it may be abused; and,

if we do abuse it, it will produce effects exactly contrary to those I have

just enumerated; that is to say, it will weaken the body, stupefy the

ideas, and that, far from refreshing and repairing life, it will prepare

for it a kind of living sepulchre in which to bury it.

It is not sufficient to determine the quantity of sleep, which should be

wisely regulated, without according or refusing too much to nature. We must

also calculate the quality of sleep.

Now, according to general observation, the sleep from the real night to the

real morning, that is to say, which is taken in the interval of nine and

five or six o'clock, is the best, the most salutary, and the most favorable

to health. I do not say that it is absolutely necessary to sleep all the

time, I have indicated: this is merely the space designed to choose one's

hours of sleep. Let us willingly admit all the exceptions necessitated by

transitory relations; but, as a general thesis, it is better to retire

early and rise early in the morning. It is the best, the most favorable

time for the nocturnal bath we call sleep; the body better refreshes

itself, the repose is more conformable to the laws of nature; therefore is

it sweeter, at once lighter and more profound, and has not the heaviness

which indicates an abnormal condition.

{755}

Sleep, prolonged too much in the morning because it has been retarded at

night, has serious inconveniences. It communicates to the general system a

sickly languor which becomes the habitual condition of certain

temperaments. Life with them is a sort of perpetual convalescence, and

never do they enjoy the most precious gift of nature, a state of health,

truly and solidly established. See, on the contrary, these robust village

girls; at night at an early hour they demand of their beds the repose for

their tired members; in the morning they rise with the crow of the cock. In

winter, the fire is lighted at dawn of day on the domestic hearth; the

house-keeping is arranged, the order of the day disposed in advance, the

breakfast of the laborers is ready to be served, and the sun has not yet

appeared above the horizon. During the summer, these same children of the

village accompany the star of day in its matutinal march; their chests

dilate, and they strengthen themselves in breathing the fresh and perfumed

air shed with the rays of sun, and they seem to breathe life and health.

Later these same girls marry, and, if they are not imprudent, they may for

many years continue an existence made up of fruitful labor, and ornamented

sometimes with all the charms and freshness of a vigorous old age; for

their regimen is an excellent medicine which gives them a commission of

long life.

But whence, on the contrary, comes that weakness of temperament so

observable in women of the world? It may be deduced from various causes,

but one of the principal is the mode of life too generally adopted,

especially in large cities. A part of the night is spent in _soirées_,

to finish only with longer _matinées_; a portion of the day is given

to sleep, and from this results a general debility of constitution, fatigue

of the nervous system, a numbness of the organs, and in all an habitual and

continual prostration. There may be exceptional temperaments that resist

these effects; but it is incontestable, in the eyes of an impartial

observer, that the loss of health, especially among women, is due in great

part to the life of excess I here mention. "Prolonged night watches," said

a learned man, "necessarily bring on a fatigue which bears on the brain and

on the digestive and respiratory organs. And fatigue of this nature, far

from favoring sleep, renders it incomplete and painful. From thence, in

great measure, comes this valetudinary state which we meet with so

habitually among the women of our cities; balls and _soirées_ ruin

their health in advance, and it is often on youth even, but still oftener

in ripe and old age, that the foolish and miserable dissipations of the

world leave their sad and fatal impress." [Footnote 253]

[Footnote 253: Leçons de la Nature, nouvelle édition, par M. Desdouits,

1. 3. 188e considér, t. iii. p. 125.]

You would, then, condemn _soirées_? I pray you to remark that, if

there is something to condemn, it is not I who condemns them; these are

facts according to nature and the temperament of the human body. Is it not

true that the health of many women of the world is weakened? No one can

deny this. Is it not also true that one of the principal causes is the

world's manner of organizing social relations? It is a fact of which

science every day gives undeniable proof. I am far from condemning

_soirées_; and perhaps you have not forgotten that, in our reunions, I

applied myself some years ago to show you how religion was the friend of

honest pleasures and the demands of society; on condition that they should

be regulated by wisdom, and that the interests of both body and soul were

faithfully managed; for so greatly does Christianity respect our bodies

that we can sin in compromising one's health by serious imprudences. Merry

conversations in the evening have all sorts of advantages. They divert the

mind, refresh the body, bring hearts together, dissipate clouds, and bind

more closely the ties of family and friendships. In a certain degree,

pleasures are necessary to man.

{756}

I speak of innocent pleasures that virtue can admit, and those who

entertain some doubt in this respect can consult the writings of the

greatest theologians of the church, and especially St. Thomas. This great

doctor has on this point a clearness and precision, and at the same time a

reason and wisdom, at once full of reserve and condescension. The rule he

establishes is to use all pleasure with moderation, according to time,

place, and the circumstance of those with whom we live: _moderatè pro

loco, et tempore, et congruentiâ eorum quibus convivit, (temperatus.)_

[Footnote 254]

[Footnote 254: See in particular L'Ethique et La Somme.]

"There are many people," said Fenélon, "who like to groan over everything,

and weary themselves continually by encouraging a disgust for all rational

amusement. For me, I avow I could not accommodate myself to such rigidity.

I like something more simple; and I believe that God himself likes it much

better. When diversion is innocent in itself, and is entered into according

to the rules of the state wherein Providence has placed us, then I believe

all required of us is to take part in it, as in God's sight and with

moderation. Manners more rigid and more reserved, less complaisant and less

open, only serve to give a false idea of piety to worldly people, who are

already sufficiently prejudiced against it, and who believe God is only

served through a sombre and mortified life." [Footnote 255]

[Footnote 255: _Avis a une Personne de la Cour_. Manuel de Piété.

Ed. Dupanloup. ]

We would wish, then, that Christian societies would adopt for their maxim

these beautiful words of St. Chrysostom: "Christians have the sense for

delicate pleasures, but decency should preside over all." It is impossible

to make more reasonable concessions to human nature, but is not religion

authorized, therefore, to show herself severe to all who exceed the bounds

of wisdom, conformity, and virtue, and even for all who compromise the

interests of health or fortune? Would it not be possible, to return to our

subject, to combine in our reunions of family and society everything for

the general good and the vigorous health of actual generations? Allowing

for exceptional circumstances, where one may be obliged to be up later,

would it not be possible to make _soirées_ shorter, rendering them, at

the same time, more agreeable and more frequent, more salutary and less

compromising to health? This is the problem I propose to solve; and is it

not a singular thing that here religion interposes to say to you, Think of

the interests of your bodies; you sin the same by seriously neglecting

them? "Hoc esset peccatum" said St. Thomas. This excess in the length of

_soirées_ comes to us from paganism. In the time of Seneca they

existed, and these are the terms which this philosopher used toward them:

"There are people who reverse the uses of day and night. Thus, nothing

looks more sad and broken-down than the appearance of such persons, who

are, so to say, dedicated to the night; their color is that of sick people,

they are pale and languishing, carrying a dead flesh in a living body. And

this is not the only evil: their minds are surrounded by shadows

apparently, benumbed, and inhabiting the clouds. Is it possible not to

deplore an irregularity which banishes the light of day, and passes life in

darkness and shade?" [Footnote 256]

[Footnote 256: Epist. 122.]

Sometimes I am asked, if religion were to command half the sacrifice that

the world demands if it ordered a part of every night spent in fatiguing

both body and soul, what would not be said against it? What anathemas, what

bitter reproaches! But the world speaks, and no one says anything; we are

enchanted, or, at least, appear so. St. Francis de Sales has given us, on

this subject, some reflections wherein the delicate point of a pleasant

malice is touched with superior reason, and I should reproach myself did I

not present them to you: "We have seen gentlemen and ladies pass not only

one night, but several in succession at play--worldly people said nothing,

friends gave themselves no trouble concerning them; but let us give one

hour to meditation, or rise a little earlier than usual to prepare for

communion, these same friends would run for the doctor to cure us of

jaundice or hypochondria.

{757}

We may occupy thirty nights in dancing, no one complains; but for the

single watch of Christmas night every one coughs, and cries next day with

the stomach-ache."

The salutary regimen of retiring and rising early is very precious for the

soul, and the duties of life much better fulfilled. The soul is calmer at

night, calm as everything that is regular and not troubled and turned

topsy-turvy by the thousand preoccupations of a too worldly life. In the

evening, before going to sleep, we can fix our attention on ourselves,

analyze the day, its thoughts, desires, and actions, praise, blame, or

correct, and, as a skilful merchant, make an account of our losses and

gains. Do not imagine such a practice is confined to narrow minds; it is

the usage of reason and sound philosophy, as are all other practices of an

enlightened devotion. Pagans as well as Christians have given us a lesson

on this subject. Listen to Pythagoras: "Never allow sleep to close thine

eyes before having examined every action of the day. In what have I failed?

What have I done? What duty have I forgotten? Commence by the first of thy

actions, run over the others; in fine, reproach thyself with what thou hast

done ill, and rejoice in what thou hast done well." "What can be more

beautiful," said Seneca, "than this habit of inquiring into a whole day?

What sleep succeeds to such a review of one's actions! How calm, deep, and

free it is when the soul has received its share of praise or blame, and,

submitting to its own control, its own censure, it secretly tries its own

conduct! For me, I have taken this authority on myself, and every day I

cite myself to appear before the tribunal of my conscience. So soon as the

light has gone, I scan my day entirely, weigh anew my acts and my words,

dissemble nothing, and omit nothing." [Footnote 257] Adopt this habit,

everything in you will gain by it--reason and piety; a sweet serenity will

be diffused around your soul, and you will sleep in angelic peace _somnus

sanitatis in homine_. [Footnote 258] You have sometimes seen children

sleep. What calm! What sweetness of expression! What kindness of feature!

What living and silent rest! This will be the image of your sleep.

[Footnote 257: Da la Colere, 1. 3. c. 36.]

[Footnote 258: Ecclus. xxxi.]

But--and now we touch a delicate point--it is the result of life's

organization that you ought to get up in the morning. I hear already a deep

sigh of fear from your trembling couch. First, then, let us understand the

value of the words, Get up in the morning. I do not exhort you to imitate a

very delicate lady, who said, during her sojourn at Vichy, "I commence my

day at four o'clock in the morning, in order that my body may not take off

too much from my soul." [Footnote 259]

[Footnote 259: Lettres de Madame Swetchine. t. ii. p. 111.]

I do not propose you this model, for I am very sure, if I opened a

register, I should find very few members for the confraternity of Madame

Swetchine. Let us leave, then, the value of the expression slightly

undecided. Get up in the morning; let it only be the earliest hour

possible, and this, perhaps may be too late. Once, however, the hour of

your rising determined, hold to it, with a firmness proportioned to the

difficulty of the step, and let the unfortunate bed shut up again the

magnetic fluid whereby one is drawn to it, I do not say in spite of one's

self, but with a sweetness of violence which nails one to the post. I avow

we are here in face of one of the most terrible of enemies, and this enemy

the pillow. When we want to leave it in the morning, it assumes the

artificial language of the siren, and caresses us with tender precaution.

It seems to say: Why do you leave me? are you not better here? what a sweet

temperature! what inappreciable well-being! don't you see it is too soon?

do you not feel your limbs too tired, and as yet enjoying a very incomplete

repose?

{758}

Touch your forehead and you will see you begin to have headache; a few

quarters of an hour more will dissipate it; to-morrow you will rise

earlier! Then it's so cold out of bed: why brave the inclemency of the

seasons? The day is long enough; you will have time enough for everything;

in truth, do not be so severe with yourself. After such eloquent language

the dear pillow extends its two arms to entangle you, and soon the victory

is consummated; true, it was easy, none are so happy as the vanquished; and

behold you fallen again and buried for several hours more.

I speak very seriously in telling you that one of the most difficult

enemies to vanquish is this pillow of the morning; and there is but one way

to conquer it: it is a prompt and decisive blow, a military charge, a jump

out of bed: charge the enemy by a vigorous sally, and the victory is yours.

An old Capuchin said that, after long years of a religious life, what cost

him most was to rise at four o'clock in the morning. It is true there is a

sacrifice to make, a real sacrifice, incontestable; but here life is full

of sacrifices, and each one is followed by a sentiment of true happiness,

and each victory gives to man an astonishing power. When I see a person who

has the courage to get up in the morning, I have immediately a high opinion

of his firmness of character, and I say to myself: This person, when

occasion demands it, will know how to develop extraordinary energy; each

morning his nature is tempered again in the struggle against his pillow,

and this combat is often more difficult, especially on account of its

continuity, than that of the soldier on the field of battle. Besides, wait

as long as you will, even if you sleep until mid-day, you will have to make

a sacrifice on leaving your bed. Sometimes the more you think of it, the

sacrifice will be greater, and increased by the sad perspective of the

approaching effort; so with one minute of decision, prompt and generous,

all is over, and the enjoyment of the active day has commenced. Long

waiting in bed when one is awake makes serious detriment to the soul; the

whole being is softened, and plunged into a sort of reverie, more or less

sensual, which may lead to the brink of certain abysses. Take care, the

butterfly flutters on its golden wings, then goes to burn itself in the

light which shines for it so treacherously; image of those aerial

promenades where, by dint of approaching certain deceitful lights, one ends

by damaging the wings of the soul, or, at least, rubbing off the velvet nap

of a pure conscience. "It is dangerous," said St. Ambrose, "for the sun to

come and trouble with its indiscreet rays the dreams of a lazy mind in its

bed." [Footnote 260]

[Footnote 260: In Ps. 118, s. 19, No. 22, t. ii. p. 1476.]

The Italian poet, speaking of morning, says: "At the hour when one's mind

is greatest stranger to the flesh, and less near terrestrial thoughts, then

is it almost divine in its visions." [Footnote 261]

[Footnote 261: Dante, Purgat. c. 9, v. 16-19.]

Each day, after a good night, we can renew our souls with the wonders of a

beautiful spring morning; all is fresh in mind and body, all interior

faculties are warmed; life experiences a sort of need of expansion; all

thoughts, all desires seem to tremble with cheerfulness, as plants in a

celestial garden. If the sun of prayer arises on the horizon, all the germs

of good awake, develop, and mount up in proportion as the divine heat

becomes more intense. "The manna," said the prophet, "disappearing at the

dawn of day; was to show us, my God, that we must anticipate the rising of

the sun to receive thy most precious benedictions." [Footnote 262]

[Footnote 262: Sap. xvi. 28.]

There is something remarkable in our Lives of the Saints; morning prayer is

always specially mentioned: "My God," said the prophet "thou wilt favorably

hear my prayer in the morning." [Footnote 263]

[Footnote 263: Ps. v. 4.]

"I will present myself before thee in the morning, and will see thy glory."

[Footnote 264]

[Footnote 264: Ps. v. 5.]

"It is in the morning that my prayer will surprise thee." [Footnote 265]

[Footnote 265: Ps. xxxvii. 14.]

"In the morning thy mercy is shed on us abundantly." [Footnote 266]

[Footnote 266: Ps. lxxxix. 14.]

"Those who watch from the morning," said Wisdom, "will find me."

[Footnote 267]

[Footnote 267: Prov. viii. 17.]

{759}

Our Lord himself is called "splendid star, star of the morning:" "_Ego

Stella splendida et matutina_." [Footnote 268]

[Footnote 268: Apoc. xxii. 16.]

In these continual repetitions I can only see a perfectly fixed and

stationary thought: the natural relation established by divine Providence,

and which she loves to preserve in a supernatural world. The morning is the

hour when life recommences on earth; the hour when everything is reborn,

solitude favoring the first leap of life, which retakes its course where

the dew is deposited, and gives fresh nourishment to the plant. It is also

the most delightful hour for the collection of thought, for the effusion of

the dew of souls. The sky is charged with rain that night has condensed;

the manna is everywhere, but it soon disappears; and, whilst indolence

loses its power of body and mind in the swaddling-clothes of sleep, the

active soul has laid in its provision of celestial nourishment, has

disposed its interior heaven for the entire day, has dissipated in advance

the shadows of the day, and established time's serenity until the next

sleep. One of the most precious and the sweetest hours of life is the hour

of morning prayer. I do not merely speak of vocal prayer; I wish to say the

prayer of union with God, the silence and the repose of the soul in God; I

wish to say this opening of the mouth of the soul which aspires to divine

milk, drinking in silence, light, and love, and hiding itself in the bosom

of that mother _par excellence_ we call God, and that so few

Christians understand. _Os meum aperui et attraxi spiritum_. [Footnote

269] If you only realized the gift of God we call the love of morning:

_Si scires donum Dei!_ [Footnote 270]

[Footnote 269: Ps. cxviii. 181.]

[Footnote 270: Joan. iv. 10.]

.....

There is a freshness in it, a suavity and an energy, which come directly

from God. Have you never been on the mountains in summer, at three o'clock

in the morning, when the first rays of the sun appear? How limpidly they

seem to come! They have not passed through other breasts; the purest

essence of the planet of day is ours, and thus we seem to realize our union

with God while most men are asleep. On these divine mountains the soul has

the first-fruits of celestial favors; she is penetrated with light, love,

and strength; a gentle intoxication for the day, which, far from weakening

the soul, gives firmness to our thoughts and actions, and sheds a perfume

of joy on all our works. Were there no other reasons for rising in the

morning, I would say to you, Disengage yourself from your pillow, the Lord

comes to visit you with choice favors; but the least delay will be proof of

your indifference, and you will force him to go further to seek souls more

worthy his benefits. There is no one who would refuse to rise early if each

morning a messenger were to tell him, A prince is come among you and waits

for you. Place your God in the place of your prince, and you will do well.

If you wish to accomplish some great work in your life, get up in the

morning. The morning hours are not so deranged, the calm of a sweet

solitude surrounds you, and you more readily expedite your affairs. You can

occupy yourself with business or the regulation of your household, with

your reading, your intellectual work if you love study, and the result in

some years of these extra hours will be incalculable. By rising two hours

earlier each day, you will have gained at the end of forty years,

twenty-nine thousand hours, that is more than seven years, and solely

counting the twelve working hours of the day. To increase one's life seven

years in forty is enormous, and what can be done during this continuous

time is almost incredible. Clement of Alexandria said, "Wrest from sleep

all of our lives we can."

Sleep is truly a thief who ravishes our greatest treasures; a thief, too,

we cannot entirely chase away, but we can run him off the ground and hinder

his encroachments on our actual life. "We live but the half of our lives,"

said Pliny the elder; "the other half is consumed in a state similar to

death,.... and still we do not count the infancy which knows nothing, or

the old age of imbecility."

{760}

Then have the courage to take something each day from this brother of

death, who thus divides our life in two, and for himself would reserve the

better part; let us give to nature what is necessary, but make no

concession to indolence.

The most favorable time to commit this robbery is during the first hours of

the morning. "The quality of time is different at this hour," said Madame

Swetchine.

One hour of the morning is worth two at night, because the mind in its

freshness is naturally more collected, its strength is not yet dispersed,

and it is not exhausted by the fatigue of the day. The morning hours

resemble, in the agility of the mind and the rejuvenated forces of the

soul, the first hour of the courser just placed in the carriage. So the

same author we love to cite advised early rising, cost what it might, "in

order to reserve some hours of the morning for entire solitude." "It is not

only," said one of her friends, "to consecrate to God the first hours of

the day that she commenced it so early, but to have also considerable time

to give to study." She said to me on that day, that the pleasure it gave

her only increased with years. "I am come to this," she said, "when I

approach my table to resume my labors, my heart beats with joy." [Footnote

271]

[Footnote 271: Lettres, t. ii. p. 443.]

She avowed, besides, that, deprived of these her accustomed hours, all the

rest of the day seemed pillaged. If you would not be pillaged, rise in the

morning; then you can do as you please, no one will come to disturb you,

you will consecrate the closest and best of your strength to the most

serious and truest duties of your existence; and, when the hour of pillage

comes, that is, the hour when you must cut your life in little pieces, to

dispense it in a thousand nothings more or less necessary, you will, at

least, have secured its better and most precious part. If you rise late,

your life will be a perpetual pillage, and whoever pleases will tear it in

shreds from you.

Plato--if you will not consider pagan morality severe--Plato said

somewhere: "It is a shame for the mistress of a household to be awakened by

her servants; she should awaken them." [Footnote 272]

[Footnote 272: Les Lois, 1-7, p. 808.]

Such words may seem an exaggeration; but, if such were here the case, would

not everything go better in the interior of the family? Woman, as we have

said with the holy Scripture, is the sun of her household; but it should be

the sun which everywhere announces the awakening of nature. It mounts first

on the horizon, and soon everything rises in the universe, plants, animals,

and men. The sun is never awakened by his satellites; he himself gives the

signal. Let the strong woman do the same. _Sicut sol oriens in altissimis

Dei, sic mulieris bonae species in ornamentum domus ejus._[Footnote 273]

[Footnote 273: Eccl. xxvi. 21.]

------

{761}

The Wandering Jew. [Footnote 274]

[Footnote 274:

Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.

By S. Baring Gould, M.A., London,

Oxford, and Cambridge, Rivingtons. 1866.]

There are certain popular fables which, in one shape or another, seem to

have wandered all over the world, and to have planted themselves, and

grown, and developed progeny in the folk-lore of nearly every nation. Of

all these none has been more generally a favorite than the fiction of Time

sparing in his flight some solitary human being, before whose eyes the

centuries unroll their mighty panorama; cities and nations rise, flourish,

and decay; changes pass over the face of nature herself; seas dry up and

rocks crumble to dust; while for one man only age brings no decay and life

seems to have no termination. The early Christian legends are full of such

stories. There are rumors of mysterious witnesses, hidden for ages from the

world's eyes, not dead but sleeping, who are to come forth in the last days

of time, and bear testimony against Antichrist; and one of these was

conjectured to be the apostle St. John, of whom our Lord said to St. Peter,

"If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?" So there was a

belief that the beloved disciple still slept at Ephesus, awaiting the

summons, and the earth above his breast heaved as he breathed. Joseph of

Arimathea, according to another beautiful legend, was rewarded for the last

tender offices which he performed for the dead Christ by perpetual life in

the blessed city of Sarras, where he drew divine nourishment from the holy

grail, that precious chalice which the Saviour used at the Last Supper, and

which caught the blood that trickled from his side upon the cross. The

poetical legend of the seven sleepers of Ephesus, who fled from the

persecution of Decius to a cavern on Mount Celion, and slept there three

hundred and sixty years, until God raised them up to confound a growing

heresy against the immortality of the soul; and the still more beautiful

story of the monk of Hildesheim, who, doubting how with God a thousand

years could be as yesterday, listened to the melody of a bird in the

greenwood during three minutes, and found that in those minutes three

hundred years had flown away, are familiar to all our readers. But pagan

literature also abounds in stories of miraculously long slumbers. The

beautiful shepherd Endymion was condemned by Jupiter to perpetual sleep in

a cavern of Mount Latmus; or, according to another form of the story, to a

slumber of fifty years, at the end of which time he was to arise. The giant

Enceladus was imprisoned under Mount Etna, and as often as he turned his

weary body, the whole island of Sicily was shaken to its foundations. The

epic poet Epimenides, while tending his sheep, retired one hot day into a

cavern, and slept there fifty-seven years. This reminds one of the tale of

Rip Van Winkle. The Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, so an old German fable

relates, is waiting with six of his knights in the heart of a mountain in

Thuringia, for the time to release Germany from bondage and raise it to the

first place among nations. When his great red beard has wound itself thrice

around the stone table at which he sits, he will awake and rush forth to do

his appointed work. So, too, it was believed that Charlemagne survived in

some mountain recess, and would appear again at the fulfilment of the days

of Antichrist to avenge the blood of the saints.

{762}

The British King Arthur, the Portuguese Don Sebastian, Ogier the Dane, and

the three Tells of Switzerland were expected by the superstitious peasantry

to reappear at some distant day and become the deliverers of their country;

and there are even some remote parts of France where a popular belief

survives that Napoleon Bonaparte is still living, and will put himself some

day at the head of another victorious host. Who of us is not familiar with

that pretty fairy tale of the sleeping beauty?

"Year after year unto her feet,

She lying on her couch alone,

Across the purple coverlet

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown.

......

"She sleeps: her breathings are not heard

In palace chambers far apart.

The fragrant tresses are not stirred

That lie upon her charmed heart.

She sleeps: on either hand upswells

The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest;

She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells

A perfect form in perfect rest."

And who of us in his childhood has not read with a delight which repeated

perusals could not satiate of the coming of the fairy prince, who was

fated, after a hundred years, to wake that sleeping palace into life, and

bear away the happy princess far across the hills, "in that new world which

is the old"?

"And o'er the hills, and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,

Beyond the night, across the day,

Through all the world she followed him."

These many stories are only the protean forms of one favorite popular

conception; the idea of one individual standing still, while the world

sweeps by, and either blest or curst with a perpetual renewal of youth, or

else awaking out of a sleep of centuries to find creation wearing a new

face and new generations acting out the great drama of history. The

different modifications of the story seem to derive their peculiar

character from the peculiarities of the time and country in which they

originate. The pagan tendency to personify all the phenomena of nature is

exemplified in the myth of Enceladus, under which were represented the

throes of Mount Etna. The wild, warlike, and semi-pagan spirit of Germany,

which peoples dark mountain recesses with mysterious forms, and fastens a

legend to each frowning crag and almost inaccessible fastness, finds apt

expression in the legend of the sleeping Barbarossa and his mailed

companions. And how beautifully the piety of the monkish chroniclers has

embellished the same fiction in the fables of the seven sleepers and the

monk of Hildesheim! In the former of these two stories, however, it is

worthy of remark that an actual fact has been blended with the fiction. The

seven sleepers are real historical personages, and their names are enrolled

in the list of canonized saints. They were martyrs whom the Emperor Decius

caused to be walled up alive in a cave, where many generations afterward

their relics were found; and this discovery of the relics has been

amplified into an actual resuscitation of the living men. The narrative in

this spurious form is given by Jacobus de Voragine in his Golden Legend,

and was made the subject of a poem by Goethe. The German poet adds that

there was a dog with the seven Christians, and that immediately after their

awakening, as soon as they had been seen by the king and people of Ephesus,

they disappeared for ever from the sight of man:

"The most blessed angel Gabriel,

By the will of God Almighty,

Walling up the cave for ever,

Led them into paradise."

The most remarkable of all the varieties of this fiction is the legend of

the Wandering Jew. Like the story of St. John's sleep at Ephesus, it seems

to be based upon a false interpretation of Scripture. "There are some of

them standing here," said our Lord, "who shall not taste death till they

see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom," (St. Matt. xvi. 28.) And it was

the old belief that this prophecy was being literally fulfilled in the

person of a Jew who was wandering over the face of the earth, and would

continue to wander until the day of judgment.

{763}

The earliest mention of this mythical person occurs in Matthew Paris's

Chronicle of English History, wherein he records that, in 1228, a certain

Archbishop of Greater Armenia visited the abbey of St. Albans, on a

pilgrimage to the shrines of the saints in England; and in the course of

conversation he was asked "whether he had ever seen or heard any thing of

Joseph, a man of whom there was much talk in the world, who, when our Lord

suffered, was present and spoke to him, and who is still alive in evidence

of the Christian faith; in reply to which, a knight in his retinue, who was

his interpreter, replied, speaking in French, 'My lord well knows that man,

and a little before he took his way to the western countries the said

Joseph ate at the table of my lord the Archbishop of Armenia, and he has

often seen and conversed with him.'" The archbishop went on to relate that,

when Jesus had been delivered up to the Jews and they were dragging him out

to be crucified, "Cartaphilus, a porter of the hall, in Pilate's service,

as Jesus was going out of the door, impiously struck him on the back with

his hand, and said in mockery, 'Go quicker, Jesus, go quicker, why do you

loiter?' And Jesus, looking back on him with a severe countenance, said to

him, 'I am going, and you shall wait till I return.' And according as our

Lord said this Cartaphilus is still awaiting his return. At the time of our

Lord's suffering he was thirty years old, and when he attains the age of a

hundred years he always returns to the same age as he was when our Lord

suffered. After Christ's death, when the Catholic faith gained ground, this

Cartaphilus was baptized by Ananias, (who also baptized the apostle Paul,)

and was called Joseph. He dwells in one or other divisions of Armenia, and

in divers eastern countries, passing his time among the bishops and other

prelates of the church; he is a man of holy conversation and religious; a

man of few words, and very circumspect in his behavior; for he does not

speak at all unless when questioned by the bishops and religious; and then

he relates the events of olden times, and speaks of things which occurred

at the suffering and resurrection of our Lord, and of the witnesses of the

resurrection, namely, of those who rose with Christ, and went into the holy

city, and appeared unto men. He also tells of the creed of the apostles,

and of their separation and preaching. And all this," added the archbishop,

(though we should think the statement rather superfluous,) "he relates

_without smiling or levity of conversation_, as one who is well

practised in sorrow and the fear of God, always looking forward with dread

to the coming of Jesus Christ, lest at the last judgment he should find him

in anger, whom, on his way to death, he had provoked to just vengeance."

There is something not easy to explain in this story. Matthew Paris was an

eye-witness of the events which he relates, so there can be little doubt

that the Armenian prelate or his interpreter did really tell some such

wondrous tale as this to the monks of St. Albans. Was it a pure invention?

Or did the interpreter, by a familiar species of embellishment, represent

his master as having seen the wandering Jew when he had only _heard_

of him? Or had the archbishop been deceived by some impostor who had taken

advantage of the popularity of the legend to palm himself off upon the

credulous as its veritable hero? One thing at all events is clear from the

narrative of the monk of St. Albans; and that is, that the fable was by no

means a new one in his time, though he is the earliest known writer who has

handed it down to us. The Jew, according to this narrative, refused all

gifts that were offered him, being content with a little food and scanty

raiment; but with all his humble piety he seems to have cherished an odd

sort of pride; for it is related that "numbers came to him from different

parts of the world, enjoying his society and conversation, and to them,

_if they are men of authority_, he explains all doubts on the matters

on which he is questioned."

{764}

After the Armenian had visited the shrine of "St. Tumas de Kantorbire" in

England and "Monsigour St. Jake," whereby we suppose is meant Santiago de

Compostela in Spain, he went to Cologne to see the heads of the three

kings, and there he is reported, in a rhyming chronicle by Philip Mouskes,

afterward Bishop of Tournay, as repeating the story he had told at St.

Albans, but with very slight differences.

There is no further mention of the Wandering Jew in literature for more

than two hundred and fifty years; but, in 1505, he turns up to some purpose

in Bohemia, where a poor weaver named Kokot was in great perplexity to find

a treasure that had been buried by his great-grandfather sixty years

before. The Jew had been present when the treasure was hid away, and he now

appeared opportunely to show the heir where to find it. He seemed at this

time to be about seventy years of age. About the same time we hear of him

in the East, where there was a tradition that he appeared to the Arabian

conqueror Fadhilah, and predicted the signs which were to precede the last

judgment. But this mysterious visitor, who is called Zerib Bar Elia, seems

to have been confounded in a curious way with the prophet Elijah. The most

circumstantial account of the undying one was given about the middle of the

sixteenth century by Dr. Paul von Eitzen, afterward Bishop of Schleswig,

who seems to have been thoroughly deceived by one of the many impostors who

arose during that century and the next, claiming to have been survivors of

the rabble who followed Jesus to Calvary. Dr. Von Eitzen's story is that,

being in church one Sunday in Hamburg, in the year 1547, "he observed a

tall man with his hair hanging over his shoulders, standing barefoot during

the sermon over against the pulpit, listening with deepest attention to the

discourse, and whenever the name of Jesus was mentioned bowing himself

profoundly and humbly, with sighs and beating of the breast. He had no

other clothing in the bitter cold of the winter, except a pair of hose

which were in tatters about his feet, and a coat with a girdle which

reached to his feet; and his general appearance was that of a man of fifty

years." The learned doctor was so much struck by the man's looks that after

the sermon he made inquiries about him. He found that he was a mystery to

everybody. Many people, some of them of high degree and title, had seen him

in England, Scotland, France, Italy, Spain, Denmark, Sweden, Poland,

Hungary, Russia, Persia, and other countries, and nobody knew what to make

of him. So Dr. Von Eitzen sought him out and questioned him. "Thereupon he

replied modestly that he was a Jew by birth, a native of Jerusalem, by name

Ahasuerus, by trade a shoemaker; he had been present at the crucifixion of

Christ, and had lived ever since, travelling through various lands and

cities, the which he substantiated by accounts he gave; he related also the

circumstances of Christ's transference from Pilate to Herod, and the final

crucifixion, together with other details not recorded in the evangelists

and historians; he gave accounts of the changes of government in many

countries, especially of the East, through several centuries, and moreover

he detailed the labors and deaths of the holy apostles of Christ most

circumstantially." The stranger added that he had done his best with others

to have Christ put to death, and that, when sentence had been pronounced,

he ran home and called his family together that they might look at the

deceiver of the people as he was carried to execution. When the Lord was

led by to Calvary, he was standing at the door of his shop with his little

child on his arm. Spent with the weight of the cross which he was carrying,

Christ tried to rest a little, but Ahasuerus, for the sake of obtaining

credit among the other Jews, and also out of zeal and rage, drove the Lord

forward and bade him hasten. "Jesus, obeying, looked at him and said, 'I

shall stand and rest, but thou shalt go till the last day.'

{765}

At these words the man set down the child, and, unable to remain where he

was, he followed Christ, and saw how cruelly he was crucified, how he

suffered, how he died. As soon as this had taken place, it came upon him

suddenly that he could no more return to Jerusalem, nor see again his wife

and child, but must go forth into foreign lands, one after another, like a

mournful pilgrim. Now, when, years after, he returned to Jerusalem, he

found it ruined and utterly razed, so that not one stone was left standing

on another; and he could not recognize former localities.

.....

Dr. Paul von Eitzen, along with the rector of the school of Hamburg, who

was well read in history and a traveller, questioned him about events which

had taken place in the East since the death of Christ, and he was able to

give them much information on many ancient matters; so that it was

impossible not to be convinced of the truth of his story, and to see that

what seems impossible with men is, after all, possible with God." It does

not seem to have required Dr. Von Eitzen's investigation to prove that what

is impossible with man may be possible with God; but how any amount of

questioning could demonstrate the truth of the stranger's story we are at a

loss to see. It apparently failed to strike the reverend doctor and his

associate that the Jew could have learned the history of the East as easily

as they learned it themselves; and even if he made a good many blunders in

his narrative, it is by no means certain that his questioners were wise

enough to detect them.

This impostor, for so we may safely call him, observed the traditional

silence, modesty, temperance, and poverty which the legend uniformly

ascribes to the Wandering Jew, never accepting a larger alms than two

skillings, (about nine cents,) which he immediately gave to the poor; never

laughing; gladly listening to pious discourse; reverencing with sighs the

utterance of the divine name; and waxing very indignant whenever he heard

any one swear, especially by God's death or pains. He spoke the language of

whatever country he travelled in, and had no foreign accent; so at least

the account runs, but it does not appear how that fact was ascertained, nor

is there mention of any competent linguist having examined his abilities in

that line. He never staid long in one place.

Twenty-eight years afterward, that is, in 1575, two legates sent from

Schleswig to the court of Spain declared on their return home that they had

encountered the same mysterious person in Madrid, and conversed with him.

In appearance, manner of life, habits, and garb, he was just the same as he

had appeared in Hamburg. He spoke good Spanish. It is not said, however,

that these legates had themselves seen the man when Dr. Von Eitzen talked

with him twenty-eight years before, and the probability is, that they only

inferred from the description left of that strange traveller that the

wanderer in Madrid was the same person. In 1599, he is reported at Vienna;

in 1601, at Lubeck; and about the same date at Revel in Livonia, and Cracow

in Poland. He was also seen in Moscow, and in January, 1603, we find record

again of his appearance at Lubeck. The next year he was in Paris. Rudolph

Botoreus, who records his visit to that city in his history, apologizes for

mentioning what may seem a mere old wives' fable, but says the story was so

widely believed that he could not omit it. Bulenger, about the same date,

also mentions the report of the Jew's arrival in Paris, but confesses that

he neither saw him nor could hear anything authentic concerning him.

The frequency of the reappearance of this mythical character in different

parts of Europe during the seventeenth century seems to indicate that the

imposture was a profitable one. He assumes different names and tells his

story with several variations. In one work he is called Buttadaeus.

Elsewhere he is known as Isaac Laquedem.

{766}

In some accounts it is said that he was born of the tribe of Napluali,

seven or eight years before the birth of Christ. He ran away from his

father, who was either a carpenter or a shoemaker, to accompany the three

wise men to Bethlehem; and his description on his return of the wonders he

had seen and the rich presents which the magi laid at the feet of the babe

whom they hailed King of the Jews, led to the massacre of the innocents. He

was, according to this version, a carpenter by trade, and made the cross

upon which the Lord suffered. At the end of every hundred years he falls

into a fit or trance, from which he awakes with renewed youth, returning

always to the age at which he was when the Saviour was crucified. He has

tempted death in every conceivable form; he has courted pestilence, thrown

himself into the thickest of battles, and called upon the sea to swallow

him; but a miraculous interposition of divine power preserves him through

everything, and the curse still drives him on from land to land, and will

allow him no rest until the crucified Son of Man shall come in his glory to

judge the world. Penitent and devout, yet tortured with remorse, he sweeps

on perpetually round and round the world, and the sudden roar of a gale at

night is attributed by the vulgar to the passing of the everlasting Jew.

There is a Swiss story that he was seen one day standing on the Matterberg

contemplating the scene with mingled awe and wonder. Once before he stood

on that desolate spot, and then it was the site of a flourishing city. Once

again he will revisit it, and that will be on the eve of judgment.

So late as the beginning of the last century a man calling himself the

Wandering Jew made considerable noise in England, where many of the common

people were found ignorant enough to believe in him. Following the custom

of some of his early predecessors, he preferred the conversation of persons

of distinction, and spared no pains to thrust himself into aristocratic

company. Some of the nobility, half in jest, half out of curiosity, were

wont to talk with him, and pay him as they might a mountebank. He used to

say that he had been an officer of the sanhedrim, and that he had struck

Christ as he was led away from Pilate's judgment seat. He remembered all

the apostles, in proof of which he used to give what purported to be a

description of their appearance, dress, and peculiarities; he had been

acquainted with the father of Mohammed, and had disputed with the prophet

himself about the crucifixion of Christ; he knew Saladin, Tamerlane, and

Bajazet; he was in Rome when Nero set it on fire, and he remembered

minutely the history of the crusades. He spoke many languages, and even

conversed with an English nobleman in Arabic. Oxford and Cambridge sent

professors to discover whether he was an impostor. It does not appear that

he shrank from their examination, for it is pretty certain that he had been

a great traveller, and it is not at all improbable that he was well enough

read in history to perplex his questioners. On matters of detail it was

easy enough for him to impugn the accuracy of authorities which

contradicted him. Educated persons were not long in learning to laugh at

his assumptions, but the vulgar trusted him, and even believed in his power

of healing the sick. We are not aware that the humbug was ever thoroughly

exposed to the satisfaction of the people at large, and when he afterward

passed over to Denmark and Sweden he left probably a plenty of dupes behind

him. The last recorded appearance of a person claiming to be the Wandering

Jew was in 1774 at Brussels.

It would be a curious and interesting study to trace, if we could, the

origin of this myth, but it is a baffling inquiry. Its kinship with the

stories of long slumbers, marvellous resuscitations, and miraculous

prolongation of life is sufficiently apparent, yet it presents remarkable

differences from all these, and it is noteworthy that, during the five

centuries and more in which we know that it flourished, it underwent no

considerable modifications, such as popular legends in general are subject

to.

{767}

When we first hear of it, it is already wide spread and as completely

developed as it was when it finally dropped out of popular belief. And, as

our readers can see from the narratives we have quoted, there never was

even plausible reason to believe that the story was true. None of the

testimony as to the Jew's appearances will bear the very slightest

examination. Either the stories are manifest fabrications, or the persons

to whom they refer were merely ordinary vagabonds. No vagabond, however,

could have established such pretensions unless there had previously been

some legend in vogue to suggest them and to induce people to accept them.

Some have imagined that Ahasuerus is a type of the whole Jewish race,

which, since it rejected the Redeemer, has been driven forth to wander over

the face of the earth, yet is not to pass away until the end of time. This,

however, can hardly be; for Ahasuerus becomes a devout Christian, and,

moreover, one of his principal characteristics is contempt of money. Others

identify him with the gypsies, who are said to have been cursed in a

similar way because they refused shelter to the Virgin and child during the

flight into Egypt; but this is only a local superstition which never

obtained extensive acceptation. The more probable explanation is, that some

pious monk borrowed one of the old legends which we referred to at the

beginning of this article, and adding to it a conception taken from the

words of the Saviour, "There are some of them standing here who shall not

taste death till they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom,"

constructed an allegory which was afterward accepted for literal truth in a

not very critical age, and was kept alive by a succession of impostors.

------

{768}

Original.

"Abide In Me."

"I am the vine, you the branches."

"I AM the Vine."

"'Tis true, dear Lord, and yet the fruit,

And cool, green leaves that cast the grateful shade,

Are mine."

"Fie, silly branch! Without a root

Deep hidden in the lowly earth,

Thy fruit or leaves would ne'er had birth.

How quickly would thy coronal of leaves,

Which now from men such flattery receives,

Lose all its glory in their sight, and fade

And die;

Thy fruit for tastelessness be spurned;

Thyself be cast into the fire and burned,

If I

Who am, of all thou hast, the source,

Did not with living sap the force

Supply."

"Lord! pardon me my foolish pride;

Too much in my own strength I do confide.

Decree

That henceforth I shall bare and barren be,

If I give not all glory unto thee;

And chide

My wayward spirit when it turns aside,

And thinks to live and flourish, and yet not abide

In thee."

------

Abridged from The Dublin University Magazine.

The Invasions Of Ireland By The Danes.

A knowledge of history is considered an essential portion of the mental

acquirements of every gentleman and lady, but it is for the most part a

disagreeable, and, in many respects, a slightly immoral study, if we apply

the same criterion to it which we do to its relative, romance. Moral

lecturers on fiction instruct us that any novel or romance which centres

its chief interest in wicked men or women, and devotes the greater portion

of its pages to their proceedings, is an immoral, or, at least, an

unedifying book. We need not waste pages or lines here in pointing out what

sort of designs or deeds enter into the tissue of historical narrative, but

as (the above reasoning notwithstanding) history is, and will continue to

be, a popular and engrossing study, it is of importance that we be

acquainted with the true nature of past events.

Desiderata for a Good Irish History.

With regard to our own country we have not in this case been well favored.

Those histories which have appeared in print rest for their authority on

hitherto inedited MSS., many portions which are of a legendary and romantic

character. It is evident that it is only when all these MS. chronicles,

that are worth the trouble and expense, are published and compared with

each other and with foreign contemporary history, we can arrive with any

certainty at the truth or probability of past events, the existence or

otherwise of some semi-mythic heroes, or truthful chronological

arrangement.

For the coming history of Ireland we are thankful that preparations have

been making. We have had Keating's history badly translated for three

half-centuries. He compiled it in the seventeenth century from MS.

documents, some of which are unhappily not now in existence. Dr. O'Connor

was enabled, through the munificence of the Duke of Buckingham, to get into

print, accompanied by a Latin translation, the Annals of Tighernach, a monk

of Clonmacnois, in the eleventh century, and a portion of the Annals of

Ulster, but these books are nearly as inaccessible as the original MSS.

{769}

The Annals of the Four Masters, (the O'Clerys of Donegal Abbey, early part

of the seventeenth century,) edited by the late Dr. O'Donovan, have been

issued in a costly style by the firm of Hodges & Smith. For about a quarter

of a century our Archaeological and Celtic Societies have been publishing,

with translations, papers of great value, and at last, though at the

eleventh hour, government has lent a hand in bringing before the public

valuable materials for the future historian of Ireland. These consist of a

portion of the ancient Irish code: the Senchus Mhor, the Chronicum

Scotorum, edited by Mr. Hennessy, and the Wars of the Gael with the

Foreigners, [Footnote 275] (with translation,) edited by Rev. Dr. Todd.

This, we trust, is only an earnest of what government means to do. We hope

to see in succession the Annals of Tighernach, of Lough Cé, of Ulster,

[Footnote 276] and others issued at the moderate price adopted.

[Footnote 275: The War of the Gaedhill with the Gaill; or The Invasions

of Ireland by the Danes and other Norsemen. The Original Irish Text,

edited with Translation and Introduction by James Henthorn Todd, D.D.,

A.B., M.R.I.A., F.S.A., Senior Fellow T.C.D. Published by the Authority

of the Lords Commissioners of Her Majesty's Treasury, under the

Direction of the Master of the Rolls. London: Longmans & Co.]

[Footnote 276: Tiernach O'Braoin, Abbot of Clonmacnois, died in 1088.

The Annals that bear his name are continued to the fourteenth century.

They exhibit great conscientiousness on the part of the writer, who

never gives way to Bardic enthusiasm. The other chief books are the

Annals of Inisfallen, probably begun by Maol Suthain O'Carroll,

secretary to Brian Borumha, the Annals of Boyle, the Annals of Ulster,

compiled by Charles Maguire, a learned ecclesiastic at the Isle of

Shanat, in Lough Erne. His death occurred in 1493. The Annals begin at

A.D. 441 and are continued to 1541. The Annals of Loch Cé, compiled by

Brian MacDermot, relate events from the battle of Clontarf to 1590. The

Annals of Connacht include all that passed from 1224 to 1562. The

Annals of Clonmacnois were translated from the Gaelic into English in

1627, by Connia Mac Egan; the original is not extant.]

The deeply read and zealous editor of the work just quoted below would

prefer to have been exercised on some of the others. We quote his own

words:

"The editor cannot but regret that this tract, so full of the feelings of

clanship,... should have been selected as the first specimen of an Irish

chronicle, presented to the public under the sanction of the Master of

the Rolls. His own wish and recommendation to his Honor was, that the

purely historical chronicles, such as the Annals of Tighernach, the

Annals of Ulster, or the Annals of Loch Cé, should have been first

undertaken. The two former compilations, it is true, had been already

printed [Footnote 277], although with bad translations and wretchedly

erroneous topography; and a rule which at that time existed prohibited

the Master of the Rolls from publishing any work which, even in part, had

been printed before. This rule has since been judiciously rescinded, and

it is hoped that his lordship will soon be induced to sanction a series

of the chronicles of Ireland, especially the two just alluded to, which,

it is not too much to say, are to the history of Ireland and of Scotland

what the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is to that of England. The Annals of Loch

Cé (pr. Kay) belong to a later period. They begin with the battle of

Clontarf, and continue the history, with some few gaps, to 1590."

[Footnote 277: The Annals of Ulster are given only to the year 1131.

The Dublin MS. extends to 1503. The Chronicum Scotorum is not here

mentioned, because it is already on the list of the Master of the

Rolls, edited by Mr. W. M. Hennessy.--_Note by Rev. Dr. Todd._]