It happened that, during these perplexities, M. Fould had occasion

to make another visit to Tarbes, and even to go to Lourdes. Did he

increase the alarm of the prefect by speaking of the sovereign, or

did the Baron receive some new telegram more crushing than the

others? We do not know. But it is certain that, on the 3d of October,

M. Massy, as if struck down by some unseen hand, became pliable as a

broken reed, and that his arrogant stiffness was suddenly changed to

a complete prostration.

The next day he issued, in the name of the Emperor, an order to the

mayor of Lourdes to repeal the decree publicly, and to have Jacomet

remove the posts and barriers.

VII.

M. Lacadé did not hesitate like M. Massy. This issue freed him at

once from the heavy burden which the mingled desire of pleasing both

the prefect and the people, both the heavenly and earthly powers, had

imposed upon him. By an illusion very common with undecided people,

he imagined that he had always been on the side which now prevailed,

and in this spirit he drew up a proclamation to the following effect:

"Citizens of Lourdes, the day which we have so earnestly desired has

at last come; we have earned it by our wisdom, perseverance, faith,

and courage." Such was the sense and style of his proclamation, the

text of which is unfortunately not extant.[137]

The proclamation was read through the town, with an accompaniment of

drums and trumpets. At the same time the following notice was posted

on the walls:

The Mayor of Lourdes,

Acting upon instructions addressed to him,

ORDERS AS FOLLOWS:

The order issued on the 8th of June, 1858, is revoked.

Done at Lourdes, at the Mayor's Office, Oct. 5, 1858.

The Mayor, A. LACADÉ.

At the same time, Jacomet and the sergents-de-ville repaired to the

grotto to take away the barriers and posts.

A crowd had already collected there, and was increasing every

moment. Some were praying on their knees, and, endeavoring not to be

distracted by the hubbub around, were thanking God for having put a

stop to the scandal and the persecutions. Others were standing up

talking in a low voice, and awaiting with emotion what was about to

take place. Many of the women were saying their beads. Some held

bottles in their hands, which they wished to fill at the source of

the fountain. Some were throwing flowers over the barriers into

the interior of the grotto. But no one touched the barriers. It

was necessary that those who had publicly placed them there in

opposition to the power of God should come and remove them publicly

in submission to the will of a man.

Jacomet arrived. Although, in spite of himself, he showed some

embarrassment, and though from the paleness of his face his profound

humiliation might have been suspected, still he had not, contrary

to the general expectation, the dejected appearance of one who had

been conquered. Escorted by his subordinates with their hatchets and

pickaxes, he came forward with a bold face. With a seemingly strange

affectation, he wore his full-dress costume. His large tricolor scarf

was wrapped around him and rested upon his parade sword. A vague

tumult, a dull murmur, with some distinct cries here and there,

was heard from the crowd. The commissary took up his position upon

a rock, and signed to the people that he wished to speak. Every

one listened. His words are said to have been to this effect: "My

friends, these barriers which the municipality, to my great regret,

has ordered to put up, are about to be removed. Who has suffered

more than I from this obstacle raised against your piety? I also am

a Christian, my friends; I share your faith. But the official, like

the soldier, has only one duty; it is the duty, often a very painful

one, of obedience. The responsibility does not rest upon him. Well,

my friends, when I saw your admirable patience, your respect for

authority, your persevering faith, I informed the higher authorities.

I pleaded your cause. I said, 'Why prevent them from praying at the

grotto, from drinking at the fountain? They will do no harm.' And

thus, my friends, the prohibition has been removed, and the prefect

and I have resolved to take down these barriers for ever, which were

so displeasing to you and much more so to me."

The crowd maintained a cold silence. Some of the young people

chuckled and laughed. Jacomet was evidently troubled by his want of

success. He gave orders to his men to take away the fence, which was

done without delay. The boards were piled up near the grotto, and the

police came at nightfall to take them away.

There was great rejoicing at Lourdes. All the afternoon crowds were

going and coming on the road to the grotto. Before the Massabielle

rocks immense numbers of the faithful were kneeling. Canticles and

litanies were sung: "Virgo potens, ora pro nobis." The people drank

of the fountain. Faith was free. God had triumphed.

FOOTNOTES:

[131] _Presse_, Aug. 31, 1858.

[132] _Siècle_, Aug. 30, 1858.

[133] _Amsterdaamsche Courant_, Sept. 9, 1858.

[134] The above extracts are from the _Univers_, on various dates in

August and September, 1858.

[135] Twenty-eighth _procès-verbal_ of the episcopal commission.

The following is the report of one of the physicians appointed to

examine this cure:

"The boy Tambourné, at five years of age, showed the symptoms of hip

disease in the first stage; very sharp pains in the knee, duller at

the hip, a turning out of the foot, lameness at first, afterwards

inability to walk without great suffering. The digestive functions

became impaired. He had a repugnance to food, and became very much

reduced. The disease, going through its first period very rapidly,

was threatening sooner or later to put an end to the child's life,

when the idea was formed of taking him to the grotto of Lourdes,

where his cure was effected instantly.

"The complaint of young Tambourné was of the same class as that of

Busquet, but it was more severe, having affected one of the principal

joints. Its indications were already most distressing to the eyes of

the physician who is able to see what the future has in store.

"It is, no doubt, possible to cure hip-disease, by the means and

processes employed by science. Natural sulphurous waters can remove

it; but in no case is it possible for them to operate with the

rapidity of lightning.

"Instantaneousness of action is so much beyond the healing power

by means of which such waters operate, that it may be asserted

that there is a fact in the supernatural order in all the cases of

immediate cure in which a material lesion has been involved. It

hardly needs to be stated that young Tambourné came to the grotto

carried by his mother, and that a few moments afterwards he climbed

a steep slope, walked and ran the rest of the day, without feeling

the least pain, and with as much ease as before the coming on of the

disease, etc."

[136] We give in this note the report of the physicians entrusted

with the examination of this case by the episcopal commission. It is

remarkable for its circumspection. It does not dare to pronounce in

favor of a miracle; but such a reserve in so striking a case gives to

the reports in which miraculous power is recognized an authority yet

more incontestable and conclusive.

"Mlle. Massot-Bordenave, of Arras, aged fifty-three, was afflicted

in the month of May, 1858, with a malady which deprived her feet and

hands of part of their power and mobility. Her fingers were much

bent.... Her bread had to be cut for her. She went on foot to the

grotto, bathed her hands and feet, and went away cured.

"It cannot be denied that all the _prima facie_ indications in this

case are in favor of the intervention of some supernatural cause;

but examining it with attention, we shall see that this view is

opposed by several well-founded objections. Thus, the beginning

of the trouble was hardly four months before; its character was

not alarming, being a weakness of convalescence, a diminution of

energy in the extensor and flexor muscles of the fingers and toes.

Let the nervous power flow into these muscles, under the influence

of a strong moral stimulus, and they would resume their functions

immediately. Now, may we not admit in this case that the imagination

may have become exalted by the religious sentiment, and by the hope

of becoming the recipient of a favor from heaven?"

[137] A great part of the papers relating to the grotto of Lourdes

were kept by the Lacadé family instead of being left in the archives

of the mayoralty. We endeavored in vain to get at these precious

documents. The Lacadé family say that they have been burned.

TO BE CONTINUED.

MR. FROUDE AND CALVINISM.

The Robert-Houdin of modern English writers, and author of that

popular serial novel grimly entitled _The History of England_,

appears to be only at home in an element of paradox, and in the

clever accomplishment of some literary _tour de force_. _Calvinism:_

An Address delivered at St. Andrews, March 17, 1871, by James Anthony

Froude, M.A.,[138] is his latest performance.

Always liberal in his assumption of premises, no one need be

surprised that the author should claim Calvinism to have been

"accepted for two centuries in all Protestant countries as the final

account of the relations between man and his Maker," and should

represent that "the Catholics whom it overthrew" assail it, etc.

It will be news to most Protestants, Lutherans and Anglicans in

particular, that Calvinism was thus accepted, and the 'overthrown

Catholics' will be not less surprised. Throughout the address, Mr.

Froude industriously insists upon the false idea that Luther was a

Calvinist. The statement refutes itself in its terms. No argument

is needed to show that Luther's free-will doctrine and Calvin's

predestination were simply irreconcilable. It was not skilful in

Mr. Froude to smother in its very birth his labored vindication of

Calvinistic doctrine by such a presentation as this (p. 4):

"It has come to be regarded by liberal thinkers as a

system of belief incredible in itself, dishonoring

to its object, and as intolerable as it has been

itself intolerant. To represent man as sent into the

world under a curse, as incurably wicked--wicked by

the constitution of his flesh, and wicked by eternal

decree--as doomed, unless exempted by special grace

which he cannot merit or by any effort of his own

obtain, to live in sin while he remains on earth,

and to be eternally miserable when he leaves it--to

represent him as born unable to keep the commandments,

yet as justly liable to everlasting punishment for

breaking them, is alike repugnant to reason and

to conscience, and turns existence into a hideous

nightmare. To tell men that they cannot help themselves

is to fling them into recklessness and despair. To

what purpose the effort to be virtuous, when it is an

effort which is foredoomed to fail--when those that are

saved are saved by no effort of their own, and confess

themselves the worst of sinners, even when rescued from

the penalties of sin; and those that are lost are lost

by an everlasting sentence decreed against them before

they were born? How are we to call the Ruler who laid

us under this iron code by the name of Wise, or Just,

or Merciful, when we ascribe principles of action to

him which in a human father we should call preposterous

and monstrous?"

As types of Calvinism and almost perfect human beings, as men

of grandeur and nobility of character, upright life, commanding

intellect, untainted selfishness, unalterably just, frank, true,

cheerful, humorous, and as unlike sour fanatics as it is possible

to imagine any one, Mr. Froude names William the Silent, Luther,

John Knox, Andrew Melville, the Regent Murray, Coligny, Cromwell,

Milton, and John Bunyan. The Calvinism of all the members of this

remarkably assorted group is at least open to serious question. As

to their supereminent goodness and almost angelic purity, it would

be an easy but not a pleasant task to point out the refutation in

their fatal shortcomings. It may be that Cromwell had "the tenderness

of a woman" in his heart, but no testimony to support that assertion

could possibly be procured in Ireland. It may be that Knox was not a

sour fanatic, that William was all unselfishness, that Coligny was

blameless, and that Milton's wife was mistaken in her estimate of her

husband.

As to the Regent Murray, who was told to his face by John Knox that

his religion was "for his own commoditie," and whom Aytoun[139] has

incarcerated in the immortal amber of his verse as "the falsest

villain ever Scotland bred"--

"False to his faith, a wedded priest:

Still falser to the Crown;

False to the blood, that in his veins

Made bastardy renown;

False to his sister, whom he swore

To guard and shield from harm;

The head of many a felon plot,

But never once the arm!

A verier knave ne'er stepped the earth

Since this wide world began;

And yet--he bandies texts with Knox,

And walks a pious man!"--

we are perfectly satisfied that Robespierre is an accomplished

Christian gentleman beside him, for Robespierre at least never stole

his sister's jewels nor took bribes from his country's enemies.

Then we are treated by the author to a promenade down the path of

ages, amid the wrecks of empires and of systems, and to rhetorically

embroidered sketches, with mention more or less extended of Olympus,

Valhalla, Egyptian idolatry, Buddhism, in which "Zoroaster, like

Moses, saw behind the physical forces into the deeper laws of right

and wrong," Greek theology, the Stoics, "the Galilean fishermen

and the tentmaker of Tarsus," and--Islamism. Of all these, the

last most decidedly brings out Mr. Froude's warmest enthusiasm, and

we find ourselves querying if it is Mohammed's fatalism he so much

admires, for the monotheism of the prophet could hardly be called

Calvinistic, thus making the burning of Servetus a gratuitous waste

of cord-wood. Here we feel bound in justice to say that, although

the men of Galilee and of Tarsus do not appear to excite any very

strong admiration in our author, he nevertheless makes the handsome

concession that he is not "upholding Mohammed as if he had been a

perfect man, or the Koran as a second Bible," and that "the detailed

conception of man's duties was inferior, far inferior, to what St.

Martin and St. Patrick, St. Columba and St. Augustine, were teaching

or had taught in Western Europe."

The early Christian church being essentially Catholic, it

does not draw very heavily on either Mr. Froude's enthusiasm

or his admiration, and, in speaking of "the mystery called

transubstantiation" in the twelfth century, he makes an attempt to

sum up Catholicity in a vein partaking of the brutality with which,

in his _History of England_, he has the cool insolence to speak of

the Catholic religion--the religion of Copernicus, Sir Thomas More,

Fénelon, and Dr. Newman--as "a Paphian idolatry."

The Reformation is, of course, introduced with flourish of trumpets.

But the Reformation was essentially Lutheran, and not Calvinistic.

Luther himself, who was, so Mr. Froude assures us, "one of the

grandest men that ever lived on earth," than whom "none more loyal

to the light that was in him--braver, truer, or wider-minded,

in the noblest sense of the word"--this Luther, we say, was as

sincere a believer as Saint Augustine in the real presence--in

transubstantiation, as Mr. Froude has it--a doctrine which, on all

occasions and as far as in him lies, our English writer seeks to drag

in the mud. And yet this Luther, so believing, was, Mr. Froude seeks

to persuade us, a Calvinist.

Calvinism, in practice, was a lovely thing, and Mr. Froude proves

that it was by--John Knox, whom he thus cites: "Elsewhere," says

Knox, speaking of Geneva, "the word of God is taught as purely; but

never anywhere have I seen God obeyed as faithfully."

Mr. Froude is, moreover, surprised that Calvinism should have

been called intolerant,[140] and sums up its vindication thus:

"Intolerance of an enemy who is trying to kill you seems to me a

pardonable state of mind."

In the face of this citation, it is almost unnecessary to state that

the name of Servetus does not once occur in the forty-seven pages of

the _Address_, nor is the slightest allusion made to him. And if the

curious reader, unacquainted with the practical working of Calvinism

in Geneva, where God was "obeyed so faithfully," should inquire how

it was that this perfect Christian man, Calvin, wrote his laws in

blood and enforced them with the aid of executioners and torturers;

how it was that he persecuted some men and, under color of law,

assassinated others, he may be referred to these witnesses: _First_.

Jerome Bolsec, exiled for proposing "an opinion false and contrary

to the evangelical religion." _Second._ Peter Arneaux, who, for

saying that Calvin was "a wicked man announcing false doctrine," was

condemned to walk the streets of Geneva in his shirt, a lighted torch

in his hand, bare-headed and bare-footed. _Third._ Henri de la Marc,

exiled for saying that Peter Arneaux was a worthy man, and that,

if Calvin had a spite against any one, he gratified it. _Fourth._

Jacques Gruet, who was beheaded and his head afterward nailed to a

post, for the crime of being the author of placards accusing the

Calvinists of persecution, and for proofs of impiety found in his

private writings when his house was searched. _Finally._ Servetus,

who, for being "a sower of heresies," was, by Calvin's authority,

imprisoned, left there for two months to suffer by hunger and

nakedness, and then brought out and, at the age of forty-four years,

burned alive.

We cannot be certain that Mr. Froude has ever heard of any of these

Protestants martyred for their opinions. If he has heard of them, we

presume he means to vindicate Calvin, and to cover their cases by the

crushing statement at page 43: "It is no easy matter to tolerate lies

clearly convicted of being lies under any circumstances; specially

it is not easy to tolerate lies which strut about in the name of

religion."

The passage is characteristic of Mr. Froude's capacity for ambiguity

and indirection, but he neglects to indicate the tribunal of truth

at which these lies are "clearly convicted." It is a serious matter

for a gentleman of no particular religious principle to say that this

or the other theological conviction is a lie which struts about in

the name of religion; for, in the eye of the theologically convicted,

the most offensively disgusting of all struts is the strut of "no

religion to speak of." Moreover, the author had better have left

unpublished the last member of the sentence we have quoted, because,

in his case, it irresistibly suggests this other phrase: "It is not

easy to tolerate novels which strut about in the name of history."

Thus we know, as matter of record, that Norman Leslie proposed to

Henry VIII. the assassination of Cardinal Beaton for a sum of money,

that the negotiation, at first delayed, was finally closed and

carried out. Leslie got his money, and the cardinal was murdered,

because, as Mr. Froude touchingly relates it, Henry's position

"obliged him to look at facts as they were rather than through

conventional forms."

Mr. Froude presents the hired bravo of Henry VIII. thus: "Norman

Leslie did not kill Cardinal Beaton down in the castle yonder because

he was a Catholic, but because he was a murderer."

Mr. Froude does not appear by his writings to have an unvarying

standard of morality. Apparently incapable of judging actions as they

are, he measures them by his personal like or dislike of the actors.

Always the advocate, never the philosophical historian, he presents

but one side of a case. Certain personages in history are with him

always right, certain others are always wrong. Even the crimes of

the former are meritorious, or, at worse, indifferent, while the

indifferent sayings and doings of the latter are sins of deepest die.

We may see this tendency exemplified in the address before us which

seeks to make Calvinism lovely.

The author says, in plain terms, that it was not more criminal in

a Calvinist to burn a witch than for any other person to invite a

spirit-rapper to dinner.

Of course he expresses the opinion euphuistically and in mellifluous

phrase, but, nevertheless, he does express it. And that our readers

may fully understand that we do not even unintentionally misrepresent

him, we give his words. At page 43, we read:

"In burning witches, the Calvinists followed their

model too exactly; but it is to be remembered that they

really believed those poor creatures to have made a

compact with Satan. And, as regards morality, it may

be doubted whether inviting spirit-rappers to dinner,

and allowing them to pretend to consult our dead

relations, is very much more innocent. The first method

is but excess of indignation with evil; the second is

complacent toying with it."

It is worth while to notice how deftly Mr. Froude handles his

positive and comparative.

For Calvinists to burn people alive is _innocent_, and intercourse

with spirit-rappers is _not very much more innocent_.

With such juggling as this of facts and phrases, the author of

Calvinism has written his _History of England_, the delight of

circulating library subscribers because it is "as interesting as a

novel."

And so it is, for the best of reasons.

FOOTNOTES:

[138] New York: Charles Scribner & Co.

[139] Author of _Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers_.

[140] Mr. Froude's memory is not always good. In his _History of

England_, vol. ix., p. 307, he tells us: "The guidance of the great

movement was snatched from the control of reason to be made over to

Calvinism; and Calvinism, could it have had the world under its feet,

would have been as merciless as the Inquisition itself. The Huguenots

and the Puritans, the Bible in one hand, the sword in the other,

were ready to make war with steel and fire against all which Europe

for ten centuries had held sacred. Fury encountered fury, fanaticism

fanaticism; _and wherever Calvin's spirit penetrated, the Christian

world was divided into two armies, who abhorred each other with a

bitterness exceeding the utmost malignity of mere human nature_."

LOVE FOR ANIMALS.

"He prayeth well who loveth well

Both man, and bird and beast;

He prayeth best who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all."

In reading the lives of the saints, I have been particularly struck

with their love for, and their power over, the animal world. They

seemed to live nearer the heart of nature than other mortals, and

perceived there diviner harmonies. Perhaps this sympathetic relation

sprang from the belief that, as the whole natural, world participated

in the fall of man, so it has its part in the fruit of our Saviour's

Passion. At least, they believed that animals, in common with man,

received life from God and exist through him. "All creatures," says

Denis the Carthusian, "partake of the divine, eternal, and uncreated

beauty." The saints respected in animals that divine wisdom which

Albertus Magnus tells us, in his book on animals, is to be recognized

in their instinct. Dr. Newman says: "Men of narrow reasoning may

smile at the supposition that the woods and wild animals can fall

into the scheme of theology and preach to the heart the all-pervading

principles of religion; but they forget that God's works have a unity

of design throughout, and that the author of nature and of revealed

religion is one."

Dr. Faber saw throughout creation a threefold manifestation of God,

typifying his being, the generation of the Son, and the procession of

the Spirit.

Sanctity seems to restore man to his primeval relation to nature, and

give him back the power he possessed in Eden over the animal world.

The Holy Scriptures tell us of beasts and birds sent to minister

to the wants of man, and how the very lions reverenced the prophet

Daniel. Animals were submissive to man before his fall, and they

went obediently into the ark at the command of Noah. Such things

are renewed and repeated in the lives of the Christian saints. It

is not more wonderful that a raven should bring St. Paul the Hermit

half a loaf every day for sixty years, and a whole one when visited

by St. Anthony, than that one should feed the prophet. St. Gregory

of Nazianzen relates that St. Basil's grandmother, St. Macrina,

having taken refuge with her husband in the forests of Pontus during

a persecution, was miraculously fed by stags. St. Bega, when a

hermitess in a cave on the Cumberland coast, lived in supernatural

familiarity with the sea-birds and the wolves of Copeland forest, and

they in part supplied her with food. St. Roch is usually represented

with the dog that used to accompany him in his pilgrimages. When St.

Roch had the plague, the dog went daily into the city and returned

with a loaf of bread for his master.

Among the old legends that embody the popular idea of the veneration

of the animal world for holiness, is that of the Flight into Egypt.

It is said the lions and leopards crept out of their lairs to lick

the baby hands of the infant Jesus. When Christians, in the times

of persecution under the Roman emperors, were thrown to the wild

beasts in the amphitheatre, there are many examples of these usually

ferocious animals refusing to touch the holy victims, as in the

well-known instances of Andronicus and Tarchus.

St. Blaise is depicted surrounded by a variety of animals, such

as the lion and the lamb, the leopard and the hind, who seem to

have laid aside their animosity. This saint was obliged, in the

persecution of the reign of Diocletian, to take refuge in a cave of

the mountains. It was the haunt of wild beasts, whose ferocity he so

disarmed that they came every morning, as if to ask his blessing,

says the old legend. One day, he met an old woman in distress for the

loss of her only earthly possession, a pig, which had been carried

off by a wolf. Such power had St. Blaise over the animal world, that

when he ordered the wolf to bring back the pig he obeyed.

Some time after, the woman killed her pig and took a part of it to

St. Blaise, who had been thrown into prison and left without any

food, thereby preventing him from starving.

St. Jerome is represented, in Christian art, with the lion he healed,

and which remained with him. The legend tells us the saint made the

lion guard the ass that brought his fagots from the forest. One day,

the lion went to sleep in the woods, and the ass was stolen. The lion

returned home with drooping head, as if ashamed. St. Jerome made him

bring the fagots in place of the ass, which he did till he discovered

his old friend in a caravan of merchants, whom he so terrified that

they confessed their sin to St. Jerome and restored the ass.

There is a very similar legend of the Abbot Gerasimus, who lived near

the river Jordan.

We are told, in the lives of the fathers of the desert, of one of

them who was carrying provisions across the desert to his brethren.

Wearied with his burden and the long journey, he called to a wild

ass he espied to come and aid him, for the love of Christ. The ass

hastened to his assistance, and bore the father and his load to the

cells of his brethren.

St. Aphraates dispersed the army of locusts that threatened the

country around Antioch.

St. Martin commanded the serpents, and they obeyed him.

And we read how the wolf-hounds, hungry and fierce, that were kept

for the chase, respected St. Walburga when she went, late at night,

to visit the dying daughter of a neighboring baron.

It would almost seem as if these animals recognized, as an able

writer says, the presence of Him who lulled the tempest with a word

in the souls in whom he dwells.

Tradition records the fondness of one of the twelve apostles--the

loved apostle John--for animals. Every one has heard of the tame

partridge he took pleasure in feeding. He was seen tending his bird

by a passing hunter, who expressed his surprise to see the apostle,

so renowned for his age and sanctity, thus employing his time. St.

John asked him if he always kept his bow bent. "That would soon

render it useless," said the hunter. "So do I unbend my mind in this

way for the same reason you unbend your bow--to prevent its becoming

useless." Perhaps he derived his love for animals from his ancestress

Rebecca, who showed the kindness of her nature in offering to water

the camels of the stranger. Eliezer saw it, and began wooing her for

his master's son.

There are numerous instances in which animals instinctively betook

themselves to the saints for protection. A hind, pursued by dogs,

took refuge with St. Giles in his cave near the mouth of the

Rhone. The hunters, following on his track, found the wounded beast

crouching beside the saint, who protected him. The hind remained

with St. Giles, who fed on his milk. This saint is represented in

paintings with the animal beside him. "Ane hind set up beside Sanct

Geill," says Sir David Lindsay.

There is a similar legend about St. Procopius, a hermit, with whom a

hunted hind took refuge.

As St. Anselm was riding to the Manor of Herse, a hare, pursued by

hunters, sought shelter under the housings of his mule. St. Anselm

wept, but the foresters laughed, and the hounds stood around at bay.

The saint said: "This poor hare reminds me of the soul of a sinner

beset by fiends eager to seize their prey." He ordered the hunters

not to pursue the hare, which fled.

So a deer took refuge from hunters in the cell of St. Aventin, a

hermit who lived on an island in the Seine. One night a bear attacked

his hut with furious cries. The saint betook himself to prayer, and

at dawn found the animal, subdued and gentle, lying at his door

licking his paw. The saint saw it was pierced by a thorn, and drew it

out, when the beast went quietly away into the forest. When a person,

who lived for a time with St. Aventin, caught some fish, the saint

threw them back into the river, saying: "Go, little creatures, return

to your element and food and remain there at liberty: my element and

food are Jesus Christ, to whom I wish to return, that in him I may

live for ever."

St. Bartholomew, a hermit of Farne, was so gentle in his movements

that the wild sea-birds were not afraid of him. He allowed no one

to molest them. He tamed an eider-duck, which daily fed out of his

hand. One day, as St. Bartholomew was sitting on the sea-shore, a

cormorant pulled the edge of his garment with its bill. He followed

the bird, and found its young had fallen into a fissure in the rocks.

He rescued them from danger.

St. Helier, a hermit in the isle of Jersey, lived for years on a

barren crag overlooking the sea. Attention was called to the place of

his retreat by the flight of the birds who shared the rock with him,

and he was beheaded by his pagan discoverers.

The marine animals would fawn on St. Cuthbert while he was praying

by night on the island of Farne. The eider-ducks are called by the

islanders to this day "St. Cuthbert's ducks."

So the nuns of Whitby "exulting told"

"How sea-fowls' pinions fail,

As over Whitby's towers they sail,

And sinking down, with flutterings faint,

They do their homage to the saint."

St. Serf, an old Scottish monk, had a pet ram which he had raised and

used to follow him about. The laird of Tillicoultry stole the animal

and "ate him up in pieces small." Being accused of the theft, the

laird declared on oath that he had neither stolen nor eaten the ram.

Whereupon, so runs the old legend, the ram "bleated in his wayme"!

The saint predicted that no heir born to the estate of Tillicoultry

should succeed to his patrimony, which prediction has been verified

down to our own time. During the last two centuries Tillicoultry

has been in the possession of thirteen different families, and in

no case has the heir born to it become the owner. Lord Colville,

a distinguished soldier of the time of James VI., retired to his

estate of Tillicoultry to spend the rest of his life in retirement.

Walking on the terrace one day, he slipped while looking up at an

old hawthorn tree, and fell down the bank and was instantly killed.

The estate was afterwards sold to the Earl of Stirling, at whose

death it was sold to Sir Alexander Rollo, and so it has passed from

one family to another down to our time. In 1837, it was bought by

Mr. Stirling, who was accidentally killed. His brother, not the born

heir, succeeded him, but sold it in 1842 to Mr. Anstruther, who in

turn sold it to his brother, the present proprietor.

St. Richard, Bishop of Winchester, through excessive tenderness for

the animal world, hardly ever ate any meat. When he saw any lamb

or chicken on his table, he used to say: "We are the cause of your

death, ye innocent ones. What have ye done worthy of death?" He

thought as Frederick Schlegel, who remarks: "The sorrows of beasts

are certainly a theme for the meditations of men, and I could not

agree to the justice of regarding it as a subject unworthy of

reflection, or of permitting sympathy with them to be banished from

the human breast." St. Richard's love extended to the whole natural

world. In the time of his troubles he used to retire to the parsonage

of a country curate, not far from Winchester, to find solace in

communion with nature. His friend loved to look at him walking in the

garden watching the unfolding of the flower-buds or amusing himself

by budding and grafting, forgetful of the wrath of the king and the

number of his enemies. A graft which the owner regarded with great

pride having died, Richard regrafted it. It lived and bore fruit.

Many stories are told of the love of St. Waltheof, Abbot of Melrose,

for animals, and, in particular, of his affection for the old gray

horse which he constantly rode, and used playfully to call Brother

Grizzle (_Frater Ferrandus_). He was even known to discipline

himself for having killed an insect, saying he had taken away the

life of one of God's creatures which he could not restore. His gray

horse was well known in the valley of the Tweed. The humble abbot

rode him, with his own luggage and that of his few attendants slung

on before him, including the boots of his groom. He appeared before

his kinsman, the King of Scotland, in this array. Waltheof's brother

was ashamed of him, but the king was so edified that he knelt to ask

the abbot's blessing, and granted him all his petitions, saying:

"This man hath put all worldly things under his feet, but we are

running after this fleeting world, losing soul and body in the

pursuit."

Sophronius, writing in a more remote age, says: "Going to New

Alexandria, we found Abbot John, who had spent eighty years in that

monastery, so full of charity that he was pitiful also to brute

animals. Early in the morning he used to give food to all the dogs

that were in the monastery, and would even bring grain to the ants

and the birds on the roof."

And, at a later day again, at Citeaux a great number of storks built

their nests around the abbey, and, on going away for the winter,

would hover over the monks working in the fields, as if to ask their

blessing, which was given them.

We are told in the annals of Corby that the novices had an otter

which they kept for a long time in the refectory. And the success of

Friar Baddo in training a dog is spoken of.

There was a peculiar breed of black dogs in the Abbey of St. Hubert

in the Ardennes, called the dogs of St. Hubert.

The birds of Croyland would feed from the hands of St. Guthlac, the

hermit, and alight on his head and shoulders, and the fish would

come up out of the water for the food he gave them.

So a white swan was for fifteen years in the habit of coming up from

the marshes and flying around St. Hugh of Lincoln, and then alighting

to eat from his hand, sometimes thrusting its bill into his bosom.

This swan survived the saint many years, but, after his death,

returned to its old wild habits, avoiding all human beings.

St. Columba used to feed the sea-beaten herons that alighted on the

island of Iona.

The sparrows would descend and eat out of St. Remi's hand.

And the birds would hover around the hermits of Montserrat and eat

from their hands.

Hugo of St. Victor shows his familiarity with the habits of animals

by his allusions to them in his instructions.

Digby relates that in 1507 there was a lamb in the convent of Muri

that used to go to the choir at the sound of the bell and remain

during the chanting of the divine office. When the matin bell rang,

it would run around the corridors and knock its head against the door

of each cell till it had roused the inmate, and, on going to the

choir, if it saw one vacant stall, it would return to the dormitory

and bleat for the missing one.

St. Philip Neri could not bear to witness the slightest cruelty to

animals, and would caution the coachman not to run over one. And even

wild animals would respond to his tenderness by their familiarity

with him, and dogs would leave their masters to follow him. Seeing

one of his congregation tread on a lizard as he was passing through

the court, St. Philip said to him: "Cruel fellow, what has that poor

little animal done to you?" He was greatly agitated at seeing a

butcher wound a dog with his knife. A boy having brought him a bird,

St. Philip through pity ordered it to be let out at the window.

Shortly after, he expressed regret for having given the bird its

freedom, for fear it might die of hunger. Louis, one of his young

penitents, had two little birds which he gave St. Philip. He accepted

them on condition the giver would come every day to see after them,

wishing to exert a good influence over the youth. One day Louis came

and found the saint ill in bed, and one of the birds perched on his

face. It then fluttered around his head, singing very sweetly. St.

Philip asked Louis if he had accustomed the bird to do so. Louis

replied in the negative. St. Philip tried in vain to drive the bird

away, and finally had the cage brought, when it went in as if through

obedience.

Father Pietro Consolini, of the Oratory, tells a curious story of

a good brother who worked in the kitchen. In order to satisfy his

devotion for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, he would put a cat upon

the kitchen table, and order it to keep watch while he was absent.

Then he would go off to church with a peculiar confidence in God. The

cat, as if remembering the submission due to man in his primitive

state of innocence, used to mount the table as desired, and remain

there, as if on guard, till the good brother returned.

St. Anthony of Padua also was full of love for animals, as well as

of nature in general, as he showed by constant allusions in his

sermons. He was always dwelling with delight upon the whiteness and

gentleness of the swans, the mutual charity of the storks, the purity

and fragrance of the flowers of the fields, etc., etc. When preaching

once to sinners who refused to listen to him, he suddenly turned

away from them, and, appealing to the animal world, asked the fish

of the water to hearken to him. The old legend tells how they lifted

their heads in great numbers from the water to listen to his words.

St. Bernard would deliver the bird from the snare of the fowler, and

the wild hare from the hounds.

St. Ignatius Loyola admired the beauty, wisdom, and power of the

Creator in his creatures. He was often rapt in contemplation before

an insect, a flower, or a blade of grass.

St. Francis de Sales so constantly manifests an extraordinary love

of nature in his writings that they have been compared to the sacred

veil of Isis, on which was embroidered all created things. Here is

an extract taken at random from his writings, which lose their rare

_bouquet_ in translating:

"It had been snowing, and there was in the court, at least, a foot

of snow. Jean swept a small space in the centre, and scattered grain

on the ground for the pigeons to eat. They came in a flock to take

their food there with wonderful peace and quietness, and I amused

myself with looking at them. You cannot imagine how much these little

creatures edified me. They did not utter a sound, and those who had

finished their meal immediately made room for others, and flew a

short distance to see them eat. When the place was partly vacated,

a quantity of birdlings that had been surveying them came up, and

the pigeons that were still eating drew up in one corner to leave

the more space for the little birds, who forthwith began to eat. The

pigeons did not molest them.

"I admired their charity, for the pigeons were so afraid of annoying

the little birds that they crowded together at one end of their

table. I admired, too, the discretion of the little mendicants, who

only asked alms when they saw the pigeons were nearly through their

meal, and that there was enough left. Altogether, I could not help

shedding tears to see the charitable simplicity of the doves, and the

confidence of the little birds in their charity. I do not know that

a sermon would have affected me so keenly. This little picture of

kindness did me good the whole day."

And again, in writing to Madame de Chantal on the repose of the heart

on the divine will, he says:

"I was thinking the other day of what I had read of the halcyon,

a little bird that lays on the sea-shore. They make their nests

perfectly round, and so compact that the water of the sea cannot

penetrate them. Only on the top there is a little hole through which

they can breathe. There they lodge their little ones, so if the sea

rises suddenly, they can float upon the waves with no fear of being

wet or submerged. The air which enters by the little hole serves as

a counterpoise, and so balances these little cushions, these little

_barquettes_, that they are never overturned."

There is in the Louvre a charming little picture by Giotto of

St. Francis preaching to the birds. The saint's face, with an

earnest, loving expression, is looking up at the birds, that,

with outstretched necks and half-open beaks, appear to catch his

words. The old legend which this painting illustrates with all the

artist's vividness in presenting a story, is equally charming in

its simplicity. It is as follows: As St. Francis was going toward

Bivagno, he lifted up his eyes and saw a multitude of birds. He said

to his companions: Wait for me here while I preach to my little

sisters the birds. The birds all gathered around him, and he spoke

to them somewhat as follows: "My little sisters the birds, you owe

much to God your Creator, and ought to sing his praise at all times

and in all places, because he has given you liberty, and the air to

fly about in, and, though you neither spin nor sew, he has given you

a covering for yourselves and your little ones. He sent two of your

species into the ark with Noah that you might not be lost to the

world. He feeds you, though you neither sow nor reap. He has given

you fountains and rivers in which to quench your thirst, and trees in

which to build your nests. Beware, my little sisters, of the sin of

ingratitude, and study always to praise the Lord."

As he preached, the birds opened their beaks, and stretched out their

necks, and flapped their wings, and bowed their heads toward the

earth.

His sermon over, St. Francis made the sign of the cross, and the

birds flew up into the air, singing sweetly their song of praise, and

dispersed toward the four quarters of the world, as if to convey the

words they had heard to all the world.

The sympathy of St. Francis of Assisi with nature, both animate and

inanimate, is well known. He has been styled the Orpheus of the

middle ages. Like the Psalmist, he called upon all nature to praise

the Lord: "Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all ye

deeps; fire, hail, snow, ice, stormy winds which fulfil his word,

mountains and all hills, fruitful trees and all cedars, beasts and

all cattle, serpents and all feathered fowls."

The very sight of a bird incited St. Francis to lift his soul to God

on the wings of prayer. Crossing the lagunes of Venice on his way

from Syria, he heard the birds singing, and said to his companions:

"Let us go and say the divine office in the midst of our brethren the

birds, who are praising God." But finding they diverted his attention

from his office, he said: "My brethren the birds, cease your song

till we have fulfilled our obligations to God." The birds ceased

their song till the saint gave them permission to resume it.

Preaching in the open air, in the environs of Alviano, St. Francis

could not make himself heard on account of the number of swallows. He

stopped and addressed them: "My sisters the swallows, you have spoken

long enough. It is only right that I should have my turn. Listen to

the word of God while I am preaching."

Meeting a young man who had caught a number of doves, he looked on

them with eyes of pity, and said: "O good young man! I entreat thee

to give me those harmless birds, the scriptural emblems of pure,

humble, and faithful souls, so they may not fall into cruel hands and

be put to death." The young man gave them to St. Francis, who put

them in his bosom, and said to them in the sweetest of accents: "O my

little sisters the doves! so simple, so innocent, and so chaste, why

did you allow yourselves to be caught?" He made nests for them in the

convent, where they laid and hatched their young, and became as tame

as hens among the friars.

St. Francis was often seen employed in removing worms from the road

that they might not be trampled on by travellers, remembering that

our Divine Redeemer compared himself to a worm, and also having

compassion on a creature of God.

He revered the very stones he trod on, so that he sometimes trembled

in walking over them, recalling him who is the chief corner-stone of

the spiritual edifice.

He wished the brothers when they cut wood in the forest to leave some

shoots in memory of Him who wished to die for us upon the wood of the

cross.

A flower reminded him of the rod of Jesse which budded and blossomed,

and whose perfume is diffused throughout the world.

He sometimes wished he were one of the rulers of the land, that at

Christmas he might scatter grain by the wayside and in the fields,

that the birds also might have occasion to rejoice on that festival

of joy.

Before his death, St. Francis made a great feast at Christmas, to

which he invited the animals. He prepared a manger in the woods,

in which there was straw, an ox, and an ass. A long procession of

friars, followed by a crowd of people bearing torches and chanting

hymns, descended the mountain. Mass was offered, and St. Francis

preached on the birth of Christ, after which, filled with a holy joy,

he went through the fields bursting forth into a hymn, calling upon

the vines, the trees, the flowers of the field, the stars of heaven,

and the sun, and all his brethren and sisters throughout nature, to

rejoice with him, and to unite with him in blessing their Creator.

A wolf ravaged the environs of Agobio to the great terror of the

people. St. Francis went forth armed with the sign of the cross, and

commanded his brother the wolf, in the name of Christ, to do no more

harm. The wolf, that was making furiously at the saint with distended

jaws, stopped short, and lay down meek as a lamb at his feet. Then

St. Francis laid before the wolf the enormity of his offence in

devouring men made in the image of God, and promised that if he would

henceforth abstain from his ravages he should be fed daily by the

inhabitants. The wolf signified his assent to the arrangement by

placing his paw in that of St. Francis. Then the saint took the wolf

to the market-place, and made known to the people the compact he had

made. They ratified the agreement to feed the wolf daily till the end

of his days, and for two years he went from door to door to get his

food, harming no one, at the end of which time he died, greatly to

the sorrow of all.

Frederick Ozanam says in this legend, which may provoke a smile:

"The animal that preys upon the spoils and lives of men is the

representative of the people of the middle ages, fierce and terrible

when their passions were excited, but never despaired of by the

church, who took their blood-stained hands in her divine ones, and

gently led them on till she succeeded in inspiring them with a horror

of rapine and violence."

St. Francis would salute in a friendly manner the cattle in the

pastures. Once, seeing a lamb among the goats and cattle, he was

filled with pity, and said to his brethren, "So was our sweet

Saviour in the midst of the Pharisees and Sadducees." A merchant

that happened along bought the lamb and gave it to St. Francis. It

was confided to some nuns, who carefully tended it, and of its wool

spun and wove a garment for the saint, who often kissed it tenderly

and showed it to his friends. Going to Rome, St. Francis took the

lamb with him and, when he left, gave it to a pious lady. The lamb

followed her everywhere, even to church. If she did not rise early

enough in the morning, he would strike his head against her bed till

he roused her.

St. Francis would weep if he saw a lamb about to be killed, recalling

Him who was led as a sheep to the slaughter, and would sell his very

garments to save it from death.

He loved the ant less than any other insect, because it was so

thoughtful for the morrow. Of the whole animal world, he cared the

most for birds, who loved him too, and at his death joyfully sang his

triumphant entry into heaven. The larks, in particular, assembled at

an early hour on the roof of the cell where the dead saint lay, with

songs of extraordinary sweetness that lasted for several hours.

An infinite number of such examples could yet be cited, but enough

have been given to show how the animal world lays aside its ferocity

in proportion as man returns to his primitive state of innocence.

This is quite in accordance with our idea of the millennium: The wolf

also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with

the kid, and the calf, and the young lion, and the fatling together,

and a little child shall lead them.

If, then, sanctity brings man back to his true relations to the

Deity, and restores him to his primitive relations with nature,

let us work our way back to Eden by our purity, fasts, vigils, and

prayers.

CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM.

NO. XI.

RELATIONS BETWEEN THE SUBLIMATIVE MOMENT AND SUBSTANTIAL CREATION.

It will be the aim of this article to point out some consequences

which result from the essence and properties of the supernatural

term, considered respectively to the term of substantial creation.

They go to establish the absolute supremacy of the supernatural term

over substantial creation. We shall give them in as many propositions.

_1st. In the general plan of the cosmos, the supernatural term in

itself and in its application, forming that part of the cosmos which

may be called the supernatural order, takes precedence of substantial

creation, or the natural order._

This proposition is easily proven. The greater the intensity of

perfection in a being, the nobler is the being; or, in other words,

the greater amount of being a thing contains or exhibits, the

higher is the place which it occupies in the ordinate location and

harmony of the cosmos. The principle is too evident to need any

proof, and we assume it as granted. Now, we have shown that the

supernatural term in itself and in its application is by far more

perfect than substantial creation; because it is a higher and more

perfect similitude of Christ and of the Trinity; because it is

the complement and the perfection of nature, and enables it to be

joined with the Theanthropos, and through him to be ushered into the

society of the three divine persons, communicating with their life,

and thus arriving at the palingenesiacal state. Consequently, the

supernatural in the cosmic plan must take precedence of substantial

creation, and in the intention and design of the creator must precede

nature.

_2d. The supernatural is the end of substantial creation, and third

end of the exterior action of the infinite._

In a series of means co-ordinate with each other, and depending one

upon another in order to attain a primary object, that which in force

of the excellence and perfection of its nature precedes others,

is to be considered as end in respect to those means which follow

next to it in dignity of nature; otherwise the means could have no

relation whatever with each other, and the primary end could not be

attained. In a series of means co-ordination implies dependence, and

this dependence is established by the superiority of the one, and

inferiority of the other. Hence the superior means in the series

becomes _end_ respectively to inferior means in the same series. Now,

we have demonstrated that the supernatural term precedes nature in

excellence and intensity of perfection; it becomes, therefore, in the

harmony of the cosmic plan, the end of the substantial moment; as the

Theanthropic moment is end in reference to the supernatural, and as

God's manifestation of his infinite excellence and perfections is the

end of the Theanthropos, and thus the primary end of the cosmic plan

is obtained.

"All things are yours," said St. Paul of those in whom the

supernatural term is realized: "you are Christ's; Christ is God's."

_3d. The supernatural term is the exemplar and type of substantial

creation._

For it is the end which determines and shapes the nature of the

means. The creative intelligence of the infinite, by contemplating

the end which it has in view, and the essential laws of being

residing in his nature, which is _the Being_, shapes and fashions

mentally the nature and properties of the means. Hence it is evident

that, the supernatural term being the end of substantial creation, it

stands towards it as the exemplar and type to its copy.

_4th. The supernatural term is the mediator between the Theanthropos

and substantial creation._

This last proposition is a consequence of the preceding ones. For,

if the supernatural term precedes substantial creation in excellence

and perfection of being, if it is its end and its type, it is

evident that, in the general order and harmony of the cosmos, its

natural place is between the Theanthropos and substantial creation.

Consequently, it is mediator between them. Of course, the intelligent

reader will easily understand that this mediatorship is not one

merely of place and location, but a mediatorship of action; since the

terms here in question are all agents.

These four properties of the supernatural moment, which, we flatter

ourselves, have been demonstrated and put beyond the possibility of

doubt, will enable our readers to see the philosophy of various other

truths held by Catholicity, and denied by rationalism, Pantheism, and

Protestantism.

And, first, the possibility of miracles follows evidently from these

principles.

A miracle is a sensible phenomenon superseding or contrary to the

established laws of corporal creation. A body left to itself by the

ordinary law of gravitation should fall to the ground. Suppose it

should hover between heaven and earth without any support, it would

present a phenomenon contrary to the natural law of bodies. It would

be what is called miracle, from the word _miror_, to wonder or to be

amazed, because our intellect is always astonished when it cannot see

at once the cause of an effect.

The possibility of such phenomena contrary to the established laws of

nature has been denied by Pantheists and rationalists, both for the

same reason, though each draw that reason from a different source.

The Pantheist, who admits that the cosmos is nothing but that primary

indefinite something which is continually developing itself by a

necessary interior movement, denies the possibility of miracles on

the ground that the development of the infinite being necessary,

and being performed according to the necessary laws of being, the

development must necessarily be uniform, and the phenomena resulting

from it always the same.

The rationalist, though not admitting the germinal primary activity

of Pantheism, asserts the absolute immutability of the laws of

creation, and consequently cannot concede the possibility of any

contravention to the results of those laws, without supposing their

total overthrow.

We hold that the possibility of miracles follows clearly from the

properties of the supernatural moment; for, if the supernatural

moment precedes nature in force of its intrinsic excellence and

perfection of being, if it is the end and type of the natural

order, it is perfectly evident that the whole natural order is

dependent upon and subject to the supernatural order by the law of

_hierarchy_; and consequently it is evident that the laws governing

the sensible order are also dependent upon and subject to the

supernatural order, and must have been determined and fashioned in

such a manner as to serve every purpose of that same order.

Hence, if the supernatural term, in order to assert itself before

created spirits, to prove its own autonomy, its necessity, requires

a phenomenon contrary to the established law of sensible creation,

those laws must necessarily give way before their hierarchical

superior, otherwise the whole order of the cosmos would be

overthrown. This consequence is absolutely inevitable; and any one

who has followed us in the demonstration of the intrinsic superiority

of the supernatural term over substantial creation, cannot fail to

perceive it. But to make it better understood we shall enter for a

moment into the very heart of the question.

Let us take, as an example, the law of gravitation. Why do bodies

left to themselves fall to the ground? The natural philosopher, with

a look of profound wisdom, will answer at once, because of the law of

gravitation. Now, if our philosopher claims to give no other answer

but that which is within the sphere of his researches, the answer

is correct; because his science of observation can carry him no

further. But if by the word gravitation he should pretend to give a

satisfactory ultimate reason of the phenomenon of the fall of bodies,

his answer would make a metaphysician laugh. The law of gravitation!

Indeed! But what is that law? Does it exist in the body, or in God?

or has it an existence independent of both? If it exists in the body,

how can it be a general law, when each body is an individuum? If it

exist in God, how is it broken or altered, or destroyed, when the

phenomenon of a miracle affects only a particular body? If it has an

existence independent of both, what is it? Is it a god, or a Platonic

idea, and, if so, whence does it derive the force to assert itself

over God's creation?

These few questions, and many more which we could bring forward, show

that to account for the fall of bodies by the law of gravitation, is

to give no particular or satisfactory reason for the phenomenon.

We have already given one theory, the theory of the most profound

metaphysicians of the world, that no finite beings can act without

the aid of God; that God must really and effectively excite them to

action, aid them during the action until it is accomplished; because

he is necessarily the first and the universal cause. Therefore,

bodies as well as higher beings are absolutely dependent upon God

for their action; and that which natural philosophers call the law

of gravitation, or any other law, such as attraction, repulsion,

and so forth, in itself is nothing more than the action of God upon

bodies. Now, God in acting in and upon bodies has certainly a plan

and an order marked out in his mind, according to which he acts in

and directs them. This order he has derived from the infinite laws of

being, which are his very essence, and consequently, in this sense,

that order is stable and immutable. But it must be borne in mind that

this order marked out in the mind of God, according to which he acts

in and directs bodies, is _not the whole order of the cosmos_. It is

only a part, a moment, and the most inferior of all. Consequently,

it is an order subject to and dependent upon the order of the other

and higher moment, and upon the universal order of the cosmos. Hence

the same divine essence, the eternal model and type of everything,

at the same time that it marks out the order for the acting in and

directing of bodies, subjects it to the order of higher moments, and

to the cosmological, universal order. In the application, therefore,

of this eternal order marked out by his infinite essence, God acts in

and directs bodies according to the stable and immutable order proper

to this moment, until an exception is necessary. But when the order

of higher moments and the universal order demand an exception, the

order of the direction of bodies, being inferior, must necessarily

yield to the superior, and the sensible order must, so to speak, be

suspended for that occasion. We have said, so to speak, because even

then the sensible order is not altered or broken, as rationalism

imagines; it is the application of the general sensible order to a

particular body which is suspended. It is not the objective order,

but the subjective particular realization of it, which is superseded.

Let us take as example the law so often mentioned. The general order

established in the mind of God with regard to acting in bodies is

to make them gravitate toward the centre of the earth. Suppose an

exception of this law becomes necessary to assert the supernatural

order. God, upon that particular occasion, does not apply the general

law in a particular body, but acts in it contrary to that law. Is

the law of gravitation broken or altered in consequence of that

exception? If the law were an essential property of bodies, a natural

consequence of their essence, it would be. But the law in its general

and objective essence exists in God only; it does not exist in the

body; and consequently it cannot be altered by a suspension of its

application in a given case.

Were God to act otherwise than to admit such exceptions in the

subjective application of the order of sensible creation, he would

go against reason, and act contrary to his essence; for in that case

he would prefer a particular and inferior order to the general and

superior order of the whole cosmos. The true principles, then, in the

present matter are the following:

1st. The laws according to which bodies act and are directed do not

exist in bodies, but are an order marked out in the mind of God as

derived from his infinite essence.

2d. This order is an element, and an inferior one, of the universal

order of the whole cosmos, and consequently, by the law of hierarchy,

is subject to that same universal order.

3d. This sensible order is always stable and permanent in itself and

in its objective state, but in its application to particular bodies

is subject to variation when this variation is demanded by a superior

order, or by the universal order of the cosmos.

The reader will observe, after what we have said, how futile is the

argument of rationalists that a miracle is impossible because the

laws of bodies are immutable. Certainly, if the laws exist in the

bodies. But the laws of bodies, as we have said, are nothing more

than the order marked out in the mind of God, according to which

he acts in and directs them, and, this order being universal and

objective, is never changed or altered. Only its application in

particular bodies on a particular occasion is not made, or made in

a contrary sense, because such is the requirement of the universal

order. If this be kept in view, every difficulty will vanish in

reference to this matter; for this is exactly that which prevents

rationalists, from understanding the possibility of miracles--their

want of perception that it is _God_ who acts in every single body.

They imagine a general principle, as if it were self-existing, which

pervades all the bodies, which ought to be destroyed to permit the

exception. Now, this is a mere phantom. It is God, we repeat it, who

applies the order marked in his mind in every single body, which

in his mind _only_ is universal and objectively immutable, but

subjectively, in its application, it need not be constant, except

so long as no exception is required. Our natural philosophers of

the rationalistic school imagine the law of bodies to be a sort of

demigod, stern and immutable, particularly loth of and averse to

being disturbed, and consequently cannot see the possibility of a

miracle.

The second truth which follows from the attributes of the

supernatural moment, is that _prayer governs the universe_.

Prayer, taken in its strictest acceptation, is the universal mode

of action of spirits elevated to the supernatural moment. To

understand this rightly, it is necessary to observe that every

moment of the action of God, considered in its term, is possessed

of a particular mode of action resulting from and befitting its

essence and attributes. Thus, substantial creation, or the whole

aggregate of being included in this moment, acts as it were by

_apprehension and volition_. In spiritual beings, this manner of

acting is strictly and properly so; in inferior beings, like the

brutes, it is less so, but bears a great resemblance to it, for the

animal has apprehensive faculties, though wanting in the power of

generalization and abstraction, and confined within the concrete and

in the individual; and he has also instincts and tendencies leading

toward the object apprehended. The vegetable kingdom acts according

to the same manner, though more materially; for it apprehends the

elements required for its growth from the earth and the atmosphere,

and, assimilating them to itself by an interior force, is able to

develop itself. Every one is aware that the general laws of matter

are those of _attraction and repulsion_, which bear a resemblance,

though a faint one, to the law of apprehension and volition.

Now, the particular mode of acting in persons elevated to the

supernatural moment is by _prayer_, which is composed of various

elements according to various relations under which it is considered.

It may be considered in itself, its essence and nature, and in the

persons to whom it has reference. The persons are the infinite

and the finite. In itself, prayer is divided into two moments--a

deprecatory moment, and a life-giving moment.

A deprecatory moment--because the effect of the prayer, resting

absolutely on the free will of the infinite, cannot be claimed by the

finite as a right, but as an effect of an infinite, goodness yielding

to a supplication; and in this sense it implies the following

elements on the part of the finite:

1st. An acknowledgment, theoretical and practical, of the infinite

as being the absolute and universal source of all good; and of the

absolute dependence of the finite upon the infinite in all things;

this acknowledgment arising in the finite from the consciousness and

feeling of its finiteness both in the natural and the supernatural

order.

2d. A gravitation, natural and supernatural, on the part of this

finite toward the infinite, as the origin and the preserver of the

being in both orders, as the mover of its natural and supernatural

faculties, and as the final complement of both.

3d. A cry to the infinite for the satisfaction of this aspiration.

4th. A firm and unshaken reliance of being satisfied in this

aspiration, founded both on the intrinsic goodness and on the

personal promises of the infinite.

These four elements on the part of the finite are absolutely

necessary to constitute a prayer in its deprecatory sense; and they

are either implicitly or explicitly to be found in every prayer. The

spirit who bows before the infinite must acknowledge theoretically

and practically that God is the Master and Lord of all things, the

infinite eternal source of all being and all perfection; he must

acknowledge and be conscious freely and deliberately that his being

comes from God, and that that same divine action which created and

elevated it must maintain it in existence, aid it in the development

of its faculties, and bring it to its final completion. He must

freely and deliberately yearn after all this, and have firm reliance

that the infinite will maintain his being, aid it in its growth, and

bring it to its full bloom in the palingenesia.

On the part of the infinite, prayer in this same deprecatory sense

implies an action of God existing and aiding the finite in producing

the aforesaid four acts necessary to constitute a prayer.

If we regard prayer in its life-giving moment, it implies two

elements: one on the part of the infinite, the other on the part of

the finite. On the part of the infinite, it implies a real actual

and personal communication, a giving of himself by a personal

intercourse to the finite; and, on the part of the latter, a

personal apprehension of the infinite, and an assimilation of and

transformation into the infinite. We cannot refrain here from quoting

a beautiful page of a French writer in explanation of this last

element: "When man's will, lifted by an ardent desire, succeeds in

putting itself in contact with the supreme will, the miracle of

the divine intervention is accomplished. Prayer, which _renders

God present to us_,[141] is a kind of communion by which man feeds

on grace, and assimilates to himself that celestial aliment of the

soul. In that ineffable communication, the divine will penetrates our

will, its action is mingled with our action to produce but one and

the same indivisible work, which belongs whole and entire to both;

wonderful union of grandeur and of lowliness, of a power eternally

fecund, and of a created activity which is exhausted by its very

duration, of an incorruptible and regenerating element with the

infirm and corruptible elements of our being; union, which believed

in invariably, though conceived in different manner by the savage

tribes as well as by the most civilized nations, has been under

different forms, and in spite of the errors which have obscured it,

the immortal belief of humanity."[142]

Now, we maintain that prayer, understood in all its comprehension,

besides the effect which it produces in its own natural sphere, is

also the hierarchical superior of the action of the whole substantial

creation; and that, consequently, the latter must yield to the

former, whenever they should happen to come in conflict with each

other; and thus, under this respect, it may be said that prayer

governs the world.

This may be proven by two sorts of argument; one as it were exterior,

the other intrinsic to the subject.

The first is drawn from the properties of the supernatural moment.

For, if this moment is superior to substantial creation, if it is

the end and type of it, every one can see that the mode of acting

of elevated spirits--spirits in whom the supernatural moment is

realized and concreted--must necessarily precede and be superior to

the mode of action of substantial creation, and that the latter must

necessarily be subject to the former--unless we abolish and deny the

universal law of hierarchy presiding and ruling over all the moments

of the exterior action of God, and founded on the intrinsic and

respective value of beings. _Actio sequitur esse_ is the old axiom

of ontology. If the being of the supernatural moment is superior to

the being of substantial creation, the mode of action of the first

must also, in force of that axiom, be superior to the mode of action

of the latter. When, therefore, a natural law, a law of substantial

creation, comes in opposition with a true prayer, a prayer made with

all the conditions which its nature requires, the natural law must

yield and give way to prayer.

The second argument is drawn from the essence of prayer as

a life-giving agent. What is prayer in this sense? It is an

actual communication of the finite with the infinite, an actual

participation of the infinite and his attributes; it is a possession

which the finite takes of the infinite, the appropriation, the

assimilation of the infinite. It is the finite transported and

transformed into the infinite. For in it the mind of the finite takes

hold of the mind of the infinite, and is, as it were, transformed

into it; the will and energy of the finite grasps the will and the

almighty power of the infinite, and is changed, as it were, into it;

the person of the finite is united to the person of the infinite, and

is assimilated to him. Now, it is evident that prayer understood in

this sense is no longer an act of the finite alone, but an act of

both the finite and the infinite; it is the result of the energy of

both. Its efficacy and energy therefore must be as superior to the

energy of all substantial creation as the infinite is superior to the

finite. Consequently, it is evident that when a natural law pregnant

with finite energy comes in conflict with a prayer impregnated, so to

speak, with infinite energy, the former must yield to the superior

force of the latter.

Prayer governs the world also in a sense more general than the

one we have hitherto indicated for it. The sum of all the actions

of substantial creation has been so disposed, and is so ruled and

governed, as to be always subject to the sum of all the actions of

the supernatural moment, and this for the same reasons developed

above.

Here it can be seen with how much reason those philosophers who

call themselves rationalists sneer and wax indignant at the fact,

constant in time and place, of the importance which mankind has

attached to prayer for physical reasons, as for rain, for fair

weather, for a good harvest, and the like. They show evidently how

far they are from understanding the sublime hierarchical harmony of

the cosmos, which the simple ones of the earth, who have faith in

God, instinctively feel and acknowledge. For if God did not create

the cosmos at random without a plan or design, he assuredly must have

followed and maintained the necessary relations of things. Now, if

substantial creation and its mode of action is hierarchically--that

is, in comprehension of being--inferior to the supernatural term and

its mode of action, if the latter is the end and type of the former,

and if they are not to be kept apart, but to be brought together into

unity and harmony, and must thus harmoniously act, it is clear to

the rudest understanding that the one mode of action must be subject

to the other, and that consequently, when a prayer is in opposition

with the realization of natural law, the natural law must yield, and

the prayer must prevail.

Nor will it do to say that if such were the case the natural order

would no longer enjoy any stability or permanence, because some

prayer or other might come continually in opposition to it. For

the whole series of actions of substantial creation is marked out

eternally in the mind of the infinite. Likewise the whole series of

actions of the supernatural moment is marked out in the same mind;

they are brought together in beautiful harmony in the same divine

intellect from all eternity. God has foreseen when and how a prayer

would require the suspension of the natural law, and has willed and

decreed it, so that no suspension of natural law, consequent upon

a prayer, can take place which has not been foreseen and arranged

harmoniously from all eternity; and if we could for a moment cast

a glance into the mind of the infinite, we should see an infinite

series of actions of substantial creation; an infinite series of

actions of the supernatural moment; all intertwined in a most

harmonious whole, and the different exceptions here and there only

linking together the two orders, putting them in bolder relief, and

enhancing the beauty and harmony of the whole cosmos. The theory

which we have been vindicating explains also a phenomenon so frequent

and so common in the history of the Catholic Church--the saint who

works miracles, or the _Thaumaturgus_.

A saint is one in whom a certain fulness of the supernatural term

resides, and hence a certain fulness of the particular mode of action

belonging to that moment. A saint can pray well; therefore he can

work miracles, and does oftentimes. Protestantism has not only denied

most of the miracles not recorded in the Bible, but has gone so far

as to deny the possibility of such miracles ever occurring after

the establishment and propagation of Christianity, on the plea that

they are no longer necessary. It was but a logical consequence of

its doctrine of justification. If man is not really made holy in

his justification, if he does not receive in his soul the term of

the supernatural moment as really inherent in him, it is clear he

cannot have or possess the mode of action of that moment, still less

a certain fulness of it. Consequently, neither is he elevated above

substantial creation, nor is his mode of action superior to the

action of that same moment, and therefore he cannot exercise a power

and an efficacy which he has not. In other words, a man justified

according to the Protestant doctrine cannot be a saint intrinsically,

and cannot consequently pray. And how could he work miracles? It was

natural to deny such possibility.

But endow a man with the supernatural term in a certain fulness,

and hence suppose him possessed of a fulness of its mode of action

intrinsically superior in energy to the mode of action of substantial

creation, and you may suppose he is likely to exercise it, and work

miracles oftentimes.

As to the plea of necessity, it is absolutely futile. A miracle would

be necessary even after the establishment of Christianity in all

times and places, which, by the bye, has not been accomplished yet,

if for no other reason, in order to assert and vindicate from time

to time the existence and the supremacy of the supernatural over the

natural.

The third truth emanating from the qualities of the supernatural

moment is that those created persons in whom the term of that moment

is realized are essentially mediators between the Theanthropos and

substantial creation.

The principle follows evidently from the fourth quality essentially

belonging to the supernatural term, that of being mediator between

the other moments, the hypostatic and the substantial.

For if the term of that moment in intensity of being and perfection

hold a place between the other two moments, it is evident that those

in whom the moment is realized must hold the same middle place and

be, consequently, mediators. Hence, it appears how the Catholic

doctrine of the intercession, and, by logical consequence, of the

invocation, of saints, is a cosmological law, as imperative as any

other law of the cosmos. For what does the word mediator mean?

Limiting the question to location or space, it signifies a thing

placed or located between two others; in a hierarchical sense,

confining the question to being and essence, it expresses a thing

in essence and nature inferior to one and superior to another; in

the same sense, confining the question to action and development,

it exhibits a thing in its action and development inferior to the

action and development of one and superior in the same to another.

The person, therefore, in whom the supernatural term is realized

is mediator in the sense of being in essence, nature, attributes,

action, and development, superior to the same things of substantial

creation, and inferior to those of the Theanthropos. Now, as the

cosmos is not governed by the law of hierarchy alone, but also by

the law of unity and communion, and as these laws imply a real

and effective union and communication of being and action between

the terms of the cosmos, it follows that the person in whom the

supernatural term is concreted is in real and effective communication

with the Theanthropos, as inferior, and in real and effective

communication, as superior, with substantial creation; he is in

communication with the former as subject and dependent, with the

latter as superior, and with both as medium; that is, a recipient

relatively to the Theanthropos, as transmitting what it receives from

the Theanthropos relatively to substantial creation; both relations

being exercised by the person elevated in every sense, either as

receiving from the Theanthropos and transmitting to substantial

creation, or as representative of substantial creation before the

Theanthropos.

And as we are speaking of moral persons, that is, free, intelligent

agents, in what can these relations consist but in this, that

elevated persons, acting as mediums, may intercede and obtain favors

for created persons from the Theanthropos, and these may invoke their

intercession in their behalf?

The doctrine, therefore, of the intercession and the invocation of

saints is a cosmological law, resulting from the law of hierarchy,

unity, and communion, and governing the relation of purely created

persons with those elevated to the supernatural moment.

It must be here remarked that the mediatorship of persons elevated

is not confined only to persons in their mere natural state, but it

extends also to persons elevated to the supernatural moment, because

the supernatural term admits of variety of degree, some persons being

endowed with a certain fulness of that moment, some with much less.

Those in whom the fulness is realized are hierarchically mediators

between the Theanthropos and other elevated spirits possessing a less

amount of that term, and can consequently intercede for the latter.

It must be remarked, in the second place, that the law governs the

cosmos not only in its germinal state, but also in its state of

completion and perfection; and we cannot possibly discover or imagine

by what logical process Protestantism, which admits this law in

the germinal and incipient state of the cosmos, denies it to exist

between persons elevated to the state of palingenesia and those

who are yet in the germinal state. This denial, so far as we can

see, could be supported only by the supposition that as soon as an

elevated person reaches its final development, every tie of union,

every bond of intercourse, is immediately broken asunder between him

and other persons living yet in the germinal state of the cosmos. But

how false and absurd this supposition would be is evident to every

one who at all understands the exterior works of God. The cosmos

being measured by time, is essentially successive; in other words,

all the elements of the cosmos cannot possibly reach their final

completion at one and the same time, the law of variety and hierarchy

necessarily forbidding it. It is absolutely necessary, then, that

some elements should reach their final perfection first and some

afterwards, in proportion as they come to take place in the cosmos

successively. If, therefore, by one element of the cosmos reaching

its final development all intercourse were to be broken between it

and all other elements which have not reached so high a condition, it

would follow that the cosmos would never be one, never in harmony,

until all had reached their final completion and the creation of

more elements entirely ceased. It would be a continual disorder and

confusion until the end of the world. Now this is absurd, since unity

and harmony must always govern and adorn God's works. Nor can we see

any intrinsic reason why it should be broken. The only plea alleged

by Protestants in support of this suspension of all communion between

the spirits in palingenesia and those living on earth, is that there

can be no possible means of communication between them. They express

this idea commonly by saying that the saints in heaven cannot hear

our prayers. How philosophical this plea is we leave it to the

intelligent reader to determine. Suppose we had no direct answer to

give to this plea, the absolute necessity of the cosmos being one and

harmonious would make a true philosopher infer that the infinite must

have found a means whereby to keep up this communication, though it

might be unknown to us what that means actually is.

But the direct answer is at hand. The Word of God is essentially the

life of the cosmos. He is the type of all the essences, of all the

natures, of all the personalities, of all the acts composing the

cosmos. The cosmos, in all these respects, is reflected in the Word.

"All that was made in him was life." (St. John.)

Now, all elevated spirits are united to and live in the Incarnate

Word. The spirits or persons in the germinal state are united to his

person by the supernatural essence and the supernatural faculties

of intelligence and of will. This forms the essential union between

them and the Theanthropos. The spirits in the final state are united

to him in the same substantial sense, with the exception that their

supernatural essence has reached its utmost completion, their

supernatural intelligence is changed into intuition, and their

supernatural will has immediate possession of God.

The consequence of these principles is that the spirits in the

germinal state produce acts of invocation to the spirits in the final

state, and these acts are reflected or reproduced in the Theanthropos

as the type and the intelligible objective life of the cosmos.

The spirits in the final state see, by intuition, in the Theanthropos

all those acts of invocation of the spirits in the germinal state,

and thus come to know what the spirits on earth claim from them.

As orator and audience, living in the same atmosphere, can hold

intercourse with each other, because the words uttered by the orator

are transmitted by the air to the ears of his audience, so the

spirits on earth and the spirits in heaven hold intercourse with each

other, because they live in the same medium.

The spirits on earth making acts of invocation to their brethren in

heaven, these acts are reflected or reproduced in the Theanthropos,

and from him reverberate and reach the eyes of the spirits in heaven

living in him, and thus they come to the knowledge of the wants and

prayers of their brethren on earth.

But why such interposition of persons when we could go directly to

the Theanthropos? Does this not detract from the mediatorship of

Christ?

Why, but because the cosmos must be one? Why, but because all the

elements of the cosmos must communicate with each other? And how

can this doctrine detract from the mediatorship of Christ when _he_

is made the source, the origin, the end of everything? If Catholic

doctrine claimed this intercourse independently of the Theanthropos,

it would certainly detract from his mediatorship. But do we not

establish and centre this mediatorship of the saint entirely in the

Theanthropos?

The last truth which follows from the essence of the supernatural

term is what is called the worship of saints. This truth is not only

a cosmological law, but an ontological principle, since, considered

in its simplest and most ultimate acceptation, it implies nothing

more than the duty incumbent on every moral agent to acknowledge,

theoretically and practically, the intrinsic value of being. Suppose

a certain being is possessed of a hundred degrees of perfection, so

to speak, I cannot, without a flat contradiction to my intelligence,

which apprehends it, deny or ignore it; I cannot, without a flat

contradiction to my expansive faculty or will, which is attracted by

it, fail to appreciate it practically. Now, the worship of saints,

against which Protestantism has written and said so much, is founded

entirely on that ontological principle. The saint is possessed

of a certain fulness of the supernatural term. The supernatural

intelligence of other elevated spirits apprehends this fulness, and

the supernatural will of the same spirits cannot fail to value it.

This theoretical and practical appreciation is esteem, and when

expressed outwardly is honor and praise. By the ontological principle

of recognizing the value of being, therefore, it is evident that the

Catholic theory of the worship of saints is not only theologically

lawful, but eminently philosophical. Protestantism, in denying this

worship, follows the same principle without being aware of it.

It starts from its own doctrine of justification, which consists,

as we have seen, not in the interior cleansing of the soul from sin

and in its elevation to the supernatural moment, but in an external

application to it of the merits of Christ. The example of the cloak

is most appropriate. Suppose a man, all filthy and loathsome; cover

him with a rich and splendid cloak, so as to hide the filth and

loathsomeness, and you have an example of Protestant justification.

It is all foreign, outward, unsubjective. Now, apply the ontological

principle of the value of being to a saint of this calibre, and it

is evident that you cannot esteem and value him because he is worth

nothing subjectively, and hence the denial of the worship of saints

is a logical consequence of the Protestant doctrine of justification,

and an application, in a negative sense, of the ontological principle

of the value of beings.

On the contrary, admit the Catholic doctrine of justification,

whereby a man is not only cleansed from sin, but elevated to a

supernatural moment, receiving as inherent in him a higher and nobler

nature and higher and nobler faculties, and it is evident that you

must acknowledge _this_, value, esteem, and honor it.

FOOTNOTES:

[141] Orig. _De Orat._

[142] Gerbet, _Le Dogme Générateur de la Piété Catholique_.

SAYINGS OF THE FATHERS OF THE DESERT.

So that there were in the mountain monasteries like tabernacles, full

of divine choirs of men singing, reading, praying; and so great an

ardor for fasting and watching had his (St. Antony's) words enkindled

in the minds of all that they labored with an avidity of hope and

with unceasing zeal in works of mutual charity, and in showing mercy

to those who needed it, and they seemed to inhabit a sort of heavenly

country, a city shut off from worldly conversation, full of piety and

justice. Who, looking at such an army of monks--who, beholding that

manly and concordant company, in which there was none to do harm,

no whisper of detraction, but a multitude of abstinent men and an

emulation of kind offices, would not immediately break forth into the

words: How beautiful are thy tabernacles, O Jacob, and thy tents,

O Israel! As woody valleys, as watered gardens near the rivers, as

tabernacles which the Lord hath pitched, as cedars by the waterside

(Num. xxiv. 5, 6)?

* * * * *

The disciple of an aged and famous monk was once assailed by

temptation. And, when the old man saw him struggling, he said to

him: Do you wish me to ask God to take away this trial from you?

But he answered: I see and consider, father, that though I wrestle

painfully, yet out of this labor I bear fruit. But ask this of God in

thy prayers, that he may give me patience to endure. And his father

said to him: Now I know, my son, that thou hast made great progress,

and surpassest me.

* * * * *

Let no man, when he has despised the world, think that he has left

anything great.--_From the Life of blessed Abbot Antony, by St.

Athanasius._

THE ITALIAN GUARANTEES AND THE SOVEREIGN PONTIFF.

After having been proposed by the government of Italy, recast by the

Chamber of Deputies, amended by the Senate, adopted by the Chamber as

amended, and approved and signed by the King and his ministers, the

project of the guarantees for the Sovereign Pontiff's independence

has become a part of the law of the land. We are perfectly willing

to believe that his majesty, regarding this scheme as promising

the fullest amount of freedom it was possible to obtain from his

parliament for the Head of the Church, signed it with a feeling

of relief; for if we are to credit the rumors, more or less well

founded, one hears in Florence and in Rome, broken tables and

furniture overturned bore witness to the unwillingness of the supreme

authority in the state to permit the violation of the Papal territory

or to accept the plébiscite of the so-called people of Rome. Not so,

however, was it with the legislators of the kingdom. To them the

Papacy has been and is a huge incubus, that disturbs their rest,

frightens them in their dreams, and which can be got rid of in truth

only by their waking up to a sense of what their real duty is. Their

aim has been, in dealing with it, to yield up as little as possible

of their ill-gotten power over the successor of St. Peter, and to

secure themselves as effectually as possible against the only power

they ever feared--his spiritual weapons. This is the criterion by

which we should study these guarantees; by the light of it we propose

to examine them, and to discuss their pretended advantages.

When the Italian government, hurried on by the spirit of revolution,

seized upon Rome during the complications of last autumn that

insured impunity for the moment to the act, they found themselves

face to face with the spiritual ruler of the whole Catholic world,

and with the fixed convictions or invincible prejudices of two

hundred millions of men, who regarded the position in which the

Sovereign Pontiff had been placed as not only against all law,

but also hurtful to their best interests. How were they to deal

with so delicate a question? The situation of Europe might for a

time delay the solution, but eventually there must be an account

given and satisfaction rendered to the Catholic world. The cabinet

hit on the only means it could hope to use with any appearance of

success, and the promises of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Sig.

Visconti Venosta, served as a decent pretext to liberal governments

not to interfere actively in the accommodation of things in Italy.

These promises are contained in the despatches sent to different

governments during last winter, and published in the diplomatic

documents laid before the various legislative bodies of Europe

during the past six months. To do the minister justice, he has stood

out successfully against the extreme radical party in parliament

that opposed most violently any idea of concessions such as he had

designed for the independence of the Sovereign Pontiff, and his

appeal to the loyalty of Italy brought down the applause of the

house, and effectually destroyed the influence of his opponents.

Still, even if we attribute to any other feeling than fear of foreign

intervention the measures adopted, they are not for that reason

intrinsically enhanced in value, nor are they anything more than the

most the Italian government is capable or willing to do to protect

the power of the Pope.

That power, be it well understood, is in the eyes of the rulers of

Italy merely a spiritual power, for the temporal, they consider,

was annihilated by the cannon that beat down the walls on the 20th

of September, 1870, and by the plébiscite of the 2d of October

following. How does this law of guarantees confirm the exercise of

that power? We shall see by referring to several of the articles, not

quoting the law at length, as it has already appeared in the public

journals.

Article II. says in the last clause: "The discussion of religious

questions is entirely free."

Article III. says that the Sovereign Pontiff may have his guards

"without prejudice to the obligations and duties resulting from such

guards, from the existing laws of the kingdom of Italy."

Article IV. contemplates the possibility of the government taking

upon themselves the expenses of the museums and library of the

Pontifical palaces.

Article V. says these museums, library, collections of art and of

archæology, are "_inalienable_."

Article VIII. forbids sequestration of papers _merely_ spiritual in

their character.

Article XIII. declares that the ecclesiastical seminaries of Rome,

and of the six suburban sees presided over by cardinals, are to

continue subject to the Holy See, without any interference on the

part of the _scholastic_ authorities of the kingdom.

Article XVI. says: "The dispositions of the civil laws with regard

to the creation and the manner of existence of ecclesiastical

institutions, and the alienation of their property, remain in force."

Article XVII. The recognition of the juridical effects of the

spiritual and disciplinary acts, as well as of any other act of the

ecclesiastical authority, belongs to the civil jurisdiction. Such

acts, however, are void of effect if contrary to the law of the state

or to public order, or hurtful to the rights of private persons, and

are subject to the penal laws if they constitute a crime.

Let us take a cursory glance at these cullings from the "guarantees,"

and see if they conflict at all with the spiritual power of the

Pontiff. Before the twentieth of September, 1870, the whole of the

city of Rome and the dependent provinces were presided over in

spirituals by the Pope, and all of the inhabitants were Catholics,

except a few Jews, treated with charity, though not allowed to make

proselytes. By this decree the door is thrown open to every sect that

chooses to come and try to proselytize the Roman people. They must

see as clearly as we do that the last clause of Article II. deals the

most powerful and insidious blow at the spiritual power of the Pope

in spiritual matters, encouraging his people to spiritual defection,

or at least lessening him in their esteem as a spiritual teacher.

This is too evident to need further dwelling on, and we pass to the

next indictment.

The Pope's guards are to protect him and execute his orders, but

inasmuch as they are not on this account freed from the obligations

of Italian citizens by the tenor of Article III., it is quite easy to

understand how in the course of time elements of discord may arise;

and therefore, in the use of his guards the Pope must conform to the

civil code of the kingdom of Italy, or take the consequences referred

to further on.

Articles IV. and V. regard the library and museums of the Vatican

and of other palaces. The original draught of the project declared

these collections the property of the state. The criticism it excited

on this account brought about the modifications we have here, which

substitute _inalienability_ for the asserted right of property,

without adverting to the fact that such a modification implies

dominion in the one making it, while there is contemplated a possible

taking on themselves by the government of the expenses of these

museums that certainly points to the same idea.

The VIIIth Article forbids the sequestration of papers and documents

of the ecclesiastical authorities _merely_ spiritual in their nature.

The inference is that any other documents not merely spiritual

may be sequestrated; and, as doubts may arise, who is to decide?

Certainly not the church or the Pope, for he is the accused; there is

no umpire; and a strong police force is at the beck of the Italian

government, and the question will be solved readily.

The XIIIth Article, regarding the ecclesiastical seminaries and

colleges, exempts them from the control of the _scholastic_

authorities, but, with regard to their temporal concerns, we are told

in the XVIth Article they must be subject to the civil jurisdiction.

We leave it to our practical men of America to say whether or not

the man who holds the purse-strings and manages the funds has any

influence on the people he pays or are paid through him. In the case

before us the Italian civil authorities are those who pay, having in

many cases the full administration of the funds. We feel tempted to

refer to the case of the Roman College, the funds of which have been

withheld since the first of January, 1871.

The first draught of Article XVII. was too strong. It said openly:

In case of conflict between the civil and ecclesiastical powers,

the supreme civil tribunal of the kingdom was to decide. This was

toned down to suit better rather tender susceptibilities. The result

we have in the clause quoted above, which says the same thing in

other words, and in stronger terms, if we look to the penal sanction

referred to. Here is the whole pith of the matter. "As long as it

is possible for us to get on without dispute," say the government,

"all well; but the moment a question arises, _we_ must solve it."

Moreover, as the legislative authorities have made the law, they can

amend or alter it if they think proper, and there is and can be no

guarantee that they will not.

Such are the disadvantages created by the vexed project, which from

the amount of discussion it has caused, deserves the title of the

_Pons Asinorum_ of the Italian parliament.

There are several points in this law which have some title to be

looked on as advantages, relatively to the condition in which the

Sovereign Pontiff has been placed since the overthrow of his temporal

sovereignty. These are the inviolability of the person of the

Sovereign Pontiff, the payment of the monthly sum of fifty thousand

dollars, the protection of the Conclave as well as of the Pontiff

in the discharge of duty, the immunity of ecclesiastics employed by

him, the postal and telegraphic arrangements, and the abolition of

the royal 'placet' and 'exequatur.' But it is to be remarked that,

on the first place, with regard to some the dignity of the Head of

the Church will not permit him to avail himself of them; then with

reference to others, they are imperatively wrung from the Italian

government by the public opinion of foreign nations; while, lastly,

respecting others, the government will always have it in their power

to exercise a surveillance that renders the concessions more or less

nugatory, and in nowise satisfactory to the people of Catholic and

non-Catholic nations.

But independent of all the above reasons, there are intrinsic motives

that make any code of guarantees worth little more than the paper on

which they are indited. All are agreed that the Head of the Church

must be independent; the Italian government acknowledges it, and

Catholics and non-Catholics proclaim it throughout the world. In what

does this necessary independence consist? It consists essentially in

being free of undue influence from any source whatsoever. Now, such

freedom can be obtained only by restoring the Pope to the condition

in which he was prior to the year 1860. For we can imagine the

several other conditions in which the Pope might be placed.

He may continue as he is at the present moment.

He may be the privileged citizen of a Roman republic.

He may be the sovereign ruler of the city of Rome under the

protection of the Italian government together with other governments

throughout the world.

None of these conditions is a guarantee of his freedom.

In the first place, we suppose him to be in the condition in which

he is at the present moment. The reasons we have given above, the

practical experience had of the protection given to the Pope and

those attached to him, the seizure of the encyclical, and other acts

of which his eminence the Cardinal Secretary of State has complained

publicly, the subjection a salary paid by the Italian government

would bring with it, and the general suspicion to which his acts are

liable, from the influence of the powerful government under which

he lives--all make it impossible that this state of things should

continue.