We cannot carry out any further, at present, the topic we have

here briefly introduced, but must confine our remarks to the duty

which is devolved on the wealthy Catholics of the United States by

these decisions of the rulers of the church, which, we take for

granted, they most cordially desire to have fully carried out in

practice. We said just now that they must bestir themselves in the

work of Catholic education. This applies to education in all its

various degrees, but we wish to speak more especially of colleges

for the higher grades of instruction. It is not enough for the

opulent parents whose sons are sent to college, to send them to a

Catholic college and pay a high price for their instruction. There

is a great difficulty in the way of maintaining and improving

our colleges which cannot be met in this manner. If our colleges

are to rely on a revenue derived from the pupils, the tuition

fees must be placed so high that all but the sons of the wealthy

are practically excluded from them. Officers of the army and

navy, lawyers, physicians, and others in similar positions, are

frequently embarrassed by the inadequacy of their incomes to meet

the expenses of a mode of life suited to their social rank. The

great cost of education makes it very nearly impossible for them to

send even one boy, much more several, to the schools and colleges

which are the most eligible. Besides, there are many other parents

in still more moderate circumstances, who have sons desiring, and

fitted for profiting by, the best education. The sons of the rich

are not ordinarily the most eager and diligent students, and, if

a college is exclusively or chiefly composed of youths of this

class, they themselves will degenerate into the most superficial

scholarship, and the college will fail of accomplishing the chief

part of the end for which it is established. Education ought to

be made cheap and accessible to boys and youths of all classes.

This cannot be done without large endowments and revenues. If the

task of earning the money necessary for the vast outlay which must

be made, is left on the shoulders of the clergy and religious

orders, they must necessarily demand a very high price for their

instruction, and thus become the teachers of the sons of the

rich almost exclusively. It follows from this, by strict logical

sequence, that the laity must bestir themselves to active efforts,

and take the burden off the shoulders of the clergy. It is unjust

that a body of men who have sacrificed their lives to the good of

the laity, and who give them the fruit of their talents, their

learning, and their labors, for no compensation beyond their modest

and single livelihood, should be forced to furnish or to beg the

means of buying the grounds, erecting the buildings, and carrying

on the operations of colleges and schools for the convenience of

the rich and leisured classes; and paying, besides, the expenses of

those youths who are without resources, that they may fill their

own places when they are worn out by work. It is the interest of

the laity to provide education for their children, and to provide

for filling up the ranks of the priesthood. The opulent and

influential laity are therefore bound to take an active part in the

work. And, as things are at present, we see no way of doing this

after an organized method, except by associations like that of the

“Catholic Union” of New York. We trust that this respectable body

will take up this matter in earnest, and we urge upon all those who

care for their posterity, their country, and their religion, to

co-operate generously and zealously with it in whatever enterprises

it may undertake, which will certainly be under the highest

ecclesiastical sanction, and managed by men of the greatest ability

and worth.

The topics so briefly discussed in the series of short articles

which we now bring to a close require, as we have already remarked,

volumes and not pages. We are glad to see that one volume, written

with the ability for which its author has already become renowned,

has already been published, which handles some of these topics

and others kindred to them. We allude to the _Sermons_ of F.

Harper, already briefly noticed in this magazine, and now strongly

recommended once more to all who have read our remarks on “The

Duties of the Rich” with interest. We trust that other writers will

follow F. Harper’s example, and that some of the valuable books on

the same class of subjects which exist in other languages will

be translated. It is not, however, by books and essays alone that

the minds and hearts of Catholics of the educated and leisured

classes in society can be sufficiently imbued with Catholic

principles and the Catholic spirit. It is by the living and

divinely commissioned teaching of the preachers of the Word of God,

in their parochial instructions, in the addresses which they have

the opportunity of making on extraordinary occasions, and in the

sermons and conferences of general missions and special retreats,

that the higher as well as the humbler members of the fold are most

efficaciously taught. Pius IX. has given the example and the model

of the preaching most necessary and useful for our times to all who

bear his commission, thus fulfilling in a most extraordinary way

the divine commandment to St. Peter--_Pasce oves meas, pasce agnos

meos_. By his personal teaching he has formed the _élite_ of the

Catholic laity of Europe on the model of their glorious ancestors

of the ages of faith, and not a few of our own countrymen have gone

to drink the pure water of life at the same fountain-head. Imbibed

at the fountain-head or at the rill, it is the only water that can

give health to nations or individuals. We can scarcely hope that F.

Burke’s fine apostrophe,[111] “Be it thine, O Columbia! to place

again the golden circlet of his temporal royalty on the brow of the

Vicar of Christ!” will be literally fulfilled. But we trust that

the spirit of it will not lack that accomplishment which will prove

that the eloquent son of St. Dominic has a sparkle of the prophetic

gift. It requires no inspiration, but only ordinary foresight, to

see the prospect of a rapid and almost measureless increase of

wealth, and of all that belongs to the splendor of a nation, in

the next half century of the United States. The Catholic Church

will largely share in it. And may those who enjoy this prosperity

be as true and loyal to the church and to God as their humble and

persecuted ancestors!

FOOTNOTES:

[109] 2 St. Peter ii. 9-20.

[110] _Dublin Review_, April, 1872, p. 413. _Month_, March-April,

1872, p. 179. See the entire article of F. O’Reilly, which is

admirable.

[111] In his lecture on _The Prisoner of the Vatican_, at St.

Paul’s Church, New York.

FAITH THE LIFE OF ART.

FROM AN ADDRESS BY CESARE CANTU BEFORE “THE ARCADIA.”

TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.

There is in man the memory of a perfection with which he was sent

forth from the hands of his Creator; and, sick of the tameness,

coarseness, and unseemliness which surround him, he feels a craving

to fashion himself after a picture of his imagination conformable

to the idea he possesses of the beautiful--a type which combines

the first and last excellence of being; which it is his to enjoy,

since he has a conception of it, and to which he ought to be able

to arrive, since he aspires towards it. Thus from remembrance

and the feeling of a hereafter is born poetry; is born art: the

realization of the ideal under sensible forms, wherein intellectual

beauty takes precedence over the physical beauty of nature. Both

speak a language which lifts us up to the absolute beauty--God;

of whom creation is an image and symbol. And, moreover, religion

discloses an ideal world which is not contained under external

phenomena.

Man in his fallen state built a wretched hut or scooped out a cave,

wherein to shelter his wife and little ones; but, when he wished to

give worship to the Deity, he erected an altar and decked it with

festoons: he roofed it in, and strengthened it with beams, which

he hastened to adorn, forming cupola, shaft, and capital. History

bears witness that the fine arts were born in the temple, not in

the hut of Vitruvius; that they owe their origin to the aspiration

of a faith, not to the mere fulfilment of a want.

The temple wherein is offered the perpetual sacrifice of the

victim of expiation is a visible profession of faith. The most

grand and characteristic expression of the architecture is

displayed in the imitation which man fabricates of that temple

of the universe which was built by the hands of God. And as its

solidity typifies the duration which every one attributes to true

religion, so it outlives the hands which raised it up. How much

of what antiquity has bequeathed us consists of temples, such as

the pile of Salsetta, the pagodas of Coromandel and Ellora, the

Propylæi, the colossi of granite and porphyry, the obelisks and

pyramids of Egypt--for sepulchres are religious--and the shrines

which were discovered in the millennial forests of America. This

great Rome, the capital of the universe, was a city of fanes and

altars, when Horace reproached it, as a cause of its decay, with

having neglected the worship of the gods. The more fully the idea

of a religion is capable of adapting to itself the forms of the

organic world, the more artistic will that religion become.[112]

The symbol, which is an outward and material exposition of an idea,

and the mystic representation of the divine essence, by means of

external objects to which it is linked by ties that are arbitrary

and remote analogies, ill accords with the beauty which is the

representation of a specific idea to which it corresponds.

Among the Hindoos, the Egyptians, and the Hebrews, the beauty

of form gave place to the requirements of the emblem. Thus art

stood still, being forced to reproduce fixed types; its object

was not to copy nature, but to inscribe ideas. The three-eyed

Siva, the four-headed Brama, the elephant-headed Ganesa, the

hundred-armed giants and hundred-breasted goddesses, can scarcely

be called beautiful. In the religion of the Greeks, where the

life of the deity was confused with the natural, and found its

perfection in man, art holds the first place. The symbol vanished

before the beautiful ideal, which was wrought after a rational

measurement. They cut down those colossi of other peoples to the

due proportions, and shaped their monstrous divinities into a human

likeness. Extricating themselves from hieroglyphics, the choice of

expression and attitude was left to the inspired imagination.

Corruption, ever widening since sin first broke the harmony

between the intellect, the will, and the power of action, created

a heaven of false gods, differing in form and in worship, and

filled the earth with their temples. This variety favored art,

and to it we owe those wonders of the Parthenon, the temple of

Theseus, Pallas Athene, Olympian Zeus, the Didimeon. And though

antiquity has handed down to us very few paintings, the greatest

part of the statues which enrich the museums are those of the

gods. Surely Phidias much have believed in “Zeus thundering in

heaven” when he wrought that statue before which Greece was struck

with wonder.[113] Hence with reason did Emericus David say that

archæology might be defined as the recognition of religion in its

connection with art.

Though the form grew more refined, the idea hidden beneath it grew

more and more corrupt, until it became a worship of force, animate

and animating, which had turned its back upon the Author of being,

and wasted that spiritual breath which is the soul of the statue.

Art materialized, like science, like life itself, called down the

mercy of an unknown God to appease offended justice.

In the fullness of time, humanity was lifted up from its lowliness

by God taking it to himself. Faith grew clear; hope, strong;

charity lived again. Christendom became civilized even by means

of its worship, when art and poetry united in rousing it to

faith and enthusiasm. No longer, as in a religion that allured

the senses, did art debase itself by flattering the passions and

fanning the instincts; its aim now was to curb and purify them;

not to multiply the enjoyments of the fortunate, but to comfort

the unhappy; to lift up to heaven eyes weighed down by suffering,

or dazzled by wealth, or wavering with doubt; to point out that

sublime eternity which hides itself under seeming dissolution or

waning beauty; to turn mind and action to that after-life wherein

alone the present finds its significance.

This regeneration of art began in the Catacombs, where the

persecuted children of Christ expressed, somewhat rudely perhaps,

their dogmas and their hopes; the exploits of the martyrs, whose

agony of shame and death they prepared themselves to imitate. There

the vermilion with which they painted the throne of God triumphant

signified “new conquests, and glory won after still greater trials.”

When from darkness it was able to step forth into the light of

day, art, restored to the temple of its birth, set the feeling

which produced above the mere beauty of the production. It lost in

harmony, but gained in expression, in lifting up human nature even

to the type of moral perfection, to the supreme ideal--God made man.

Then from every side, whatsoever had life came in answer to the

call to play its part in the grand drama of Christianity. And art,

aiming not merely at the beautiful, but at the true and the good,

united with the whole of civilization in expressing that aspiration

after perfection whose desire is never-failing but ever unfulfilled.

In the earliest artistic records which have reached us from the

Catacombs, such as mosaics, miniature paintings, and certain pieces

of sculpture, the idea is set above the form. There is a celestial

purity in them, as though, producing the beautiful instinctively,

they cared not to portray an enticing elegance of the members, the

force and posture of outward life, but rather the expression of the

soul, holiness of thought and deed, and

“That sweet light

Pointing the road which leads to heaven’s height.”[114]

Hence certain images of the saints and of Mary, rude in shape and

coloring, have won the veneration of the people, and inspired that

calm content which comes from God and lifts to God.

A bolder fancy produced the edifices, constructed at first on

the style of the basilicas, and then modified into that order of

architecture which from its planes or arches was called Roman or

Lombard, and finally Gothic.

He who can only admire the Greek and the Roman styles finds in

the Gothic merely ignorance of caprice; with its shafts tapering

aloft in slender grace, or short and heavy, or in clusters; its

capitals where the crude cabbage-leaf creeps in side by side with

the graceful acanthus; its members incoherent, and made out of

proportion; a crowd of small obelisks and tabernacles, buttresses

and enormous water-spouts; bracketed statues and windows of a dizzy

height, sometimes parted into two, sometimes curved into a rose or

twisted into a trefoil; and its figures of uneducated fancy, an

eyesore to the lover of classic harmony.

But in its variety reigns a system far above the order of the

Greeks; derived in part from the basilicas, in part from mystic

allegory. Its ornaments are the productions of our climate, the

strawberry, the parsley, the fig, the oak-tree; as the Arab

uses his palm, the Chinese his inverted coral. Its forms are

symbolic. The number three regulates even those portions of the

structure which are secondary. On the plan of a cross rises the

triangulation of the edifice; and a hundred obelisks, lifted up

equally to heaven, express the concordant homage of love and of

faith. In its dedication everything was allegoric of the origin

of true worship; of the mystic destiny of the church; of the fact

that it is not a building of stones but a living edifice, whose

corner-stone is Christ, whose members are the faithful, whose space

is filled by God, like the universe of which it is an image.

In this association of the real with the symbolic world, of the

fitness of parts in themselves foreign with the united expression

of Christianity, the middle ages produced what those of Leo X., of

Louis XIV., of Napoleon, could not produce: they created a novelty.

Architecture was sacred as in its opening, and those wonders of a

beauty most sublime and spiritual were not wrought at the decrees

of princes, but at the inspiration of faith and charity.

The Gothic made its first grand essay in the holy time of St.

Francis of Assisi, and this became the chosen order of the

Franciscans, as the Basilican was of the Benedictines, and the

mixed architecture of a later date of the Jesuits. St. Francis and

his children, with that greatness which inheres in simplicity,

accompanied by an ascetic spirit, came to imitate nature and true

men rather than to copy types or antique art. But in those days,

the whole of society was animated by faith, and built upon the

dogma of the expiation. The laical body was in harmony with the

ecclesiastical; prayer mingled with warlike exploits; the home

was at peace with the church; the banner bore the same device as

the altar. The plastic art, side by side with poetry, penetrated

every turn of life. Religion was the universal and, as it were,

only inspirer of the artist. Theophilus dedicated his “Lombard

Tract” to holy pictures, missals, vases, the window-panes of the

church, and, step by step, he elevated the mind of the artist

to the God from whom _art emanates_. The artistic confraternity

proposed in their constitutions the purity and independence of

art. That of the Siennese painters, of 1355, said: “By the grace

of God, we are to rude men, who know not letters, manifestors of

the miraculous things worked by the virtue and in the virtue of

the holy faith, and our faith is founded principally in adoring

and believing one God in the Trinity, and in God infinite power

and infinite wisdom, and infinite love and mercy.” In a like sense

says Bufalmacca: “We aim at naught else than to make saints by our

frescoes and pictures, and by so doing, in spite of the devils,

to make men more devout and better.” Philarete designed a city on

the conception of the “Nisi Dominus Ædificaverit,” wherein the

church founded on the cross should be superior to the palace of the

prince, rich with pictures, religious, symbolic, allegorical, and

historic. There was a portico devoted to sacred history; close by

were memorial monuments of heroic Christians, namely, the churches

of St. Francis, St. Dominic, St. Augustine, St. Benedict. There

was a gymnasium wherein to educate the youth, chiefly with prayer,

fasting, and the holy sacraments. Without the fortifications,

the city had an advanced guard, to wit, holy hermits, who should

watch it with the mightiest of arms--prayer. And Brunelleschi

said of Santa Maria del Fiore: “Recollecting that this temple

is sacred to God and the Virgin, I trust that in erecting it in

memory of them it will not cease to infuse knowledge where there is

need of it, and to aid by power and wisdom and wit whoever shall

accomplish such work.” In like manner, Giovanni Villani inscribed

his _Chronicles_ “to the reverence of God and of Blessed St.

John, in commendation of our city of Florence.” How often has the

painter given us his own portrait on his knees, or with some verse

recommended himself to God and the saints! Beneath a picture in the

Venetian gallery we read:

“Gentile Bellino, with filial love of the most holy cross,

painted this.”

And beneath another picture of Gian Bellino:

“Sure Gate of Heaven, lead my mind, guide my life:

All the works which I perform are committed to thy care.”

We may perceive a like inspiration in Giotto, Mino da Fiesole,

Benedetto da Majano, Boninsegna da Siena, Simon Memmi, L’Orgagna,

the Pisani, Franco Bolognese, and other spiritual artists, who

attained a perfection to which the moderns in vain aspire. On the

tomb of Blessed Angelico was written:

“Let me not be honored because I was a second Apelles,

But because I distributed all my gains among thy poor, O Christ!”

I leave it to others to decide with what justice that period

styled itself the Renaissance when men passed from originality to

an imitation of the classic schools--not by divining and catching

their inspiration, but by following in their footsteps. And so we

find in passing from Dante to Polizanio and Sannazzaro, from Giotto

to Dello, the metamorphoses of Ovid accomplished! In this study of

the classics, what they gained in form they lost in conception. The

Medici mixed up portraits with Venuses and Pallases, mythological

subjects with scenes drawn from nature. Lorenzo the Magnificent

caused Pollajolo to represent the strong limbs of Hercules,

Signorelli to paint nude divinities, and public beauties were

taken as the models of saints. At such profanation, Fra Girolamo

Savonarola was struck with grief and horror; and, as well to mend

manners as to disinfect literature, he sought to regenerate art by

restoring it to the bosom of God.

The spirit that he inspired outlived his funeral pyre: and Luca

della Robbia, Lorenzo di Credi, Verocchio, Cronaca, Baccio della

Porta, painted from chaste images and devout subjects. Ghirlandajo,

Pinturicchio, the renowned Masaccio, held faith in the religious

mission of art, as did that Umbrian school which spake to the heart

rather than the senses, beneath the wing of the neighboring Assisi.

From Gentile di Fabriano came Perugino and Raphael, and the first

Venetians, among whom it is no longer a scandal to say that Gentile

Bellino was not inferior to Titian.

Raphael has been called the most marvellous union of all the

qualities which make the others severally great: design, color,

power of chiaroscuro, perspective effect, imagination, style; above

all, expression, and that grace which is the beautiful of beauties.

Not only were his first essays, when still a faithful disciple

of the Umbrian school, works of faith; but also those which he

wrought in his zenith, such as the Attila, Heliodorus, and the

miracle of Bolsena. His delight was in symbolic subjects, theology,

jurisprudence, philosophy, poetry, representing ideas in his

figures. When he preferred to follow his imagination and models to

tradition, he strayed away, as in the commissions of Chigi, and the

beautiful story of Psyche; but later on, when he fled from Rome,

he turned himself to the grand Transfiguration, from the midst of

which he passed to behold it in heaven.

And Michael Angelo? Others have been loud in their praises of the

strength of his joints, the relief and play of his muscles, the

foreshortening, the anatomic fidelity, the expression diffused

through the whole person; but I can never cease wondering how in

the Sistine Chapel he has portrayed the two extreme points of the

life of the human race--the creation and the last judgment; and

that indefinable of melancholy and veneration in the Moses which

sought no model and has found no rival. It is natural; for, from

the Bible, the _Divine Comedy_, and ascetic meditation, he drank in

the inspiration wherewith to ennoble human nature.

Their school passed away in the conceits of the licentious age

which came after--in the figures caught in the very act of standing

to be copied; in flimsy drapery, substituted for the old garments

majestically simple; the infinity of shallow conceptions, frivolous

allegories, and wanderings from the practical road of Vasari; in

the immense pictures of Cortona, Arpino, Lanfranco, the frenzies of

Luca Giordano, and convulsed attitudes of Fiammingo, Spinazzi, and

the genius, erratically great, of Lorenzo Bernini--such things as

these they preferred, I will not say to nature, to which they shut

their eyes, but to so many noble exemplars. They were seized with

the mania of novelty, of surprises, with the idolatry of the form

at the cost of the conception. So they turned from poetic beauty to

what is so inferior--the merely symmetrical.

The most renowned works of the great masters were inspired by

religion: the delicate cherubini of Angelico, the gates of

Ghiberti, the Moses and the Pietà of Buonarotti, the Last Supper of

Leonardo, the Assumption of Titian, the marvellous improvisations

of Tintoretto. From religion Raphael drew those epics which compose

the Vatican galleries and the library at Sienna. To it Correggio

devoted his cupolas, with all their grace and force of chiaroscuro.

Therein Annibale Caracci found his Communion of St. Jerome, and

Domenichino his, which is one of the three great paintings in Rome,

and that Madonna del Rosario where he more clearly displays his

intention of contrasting the sorrows of earth with the joys of

heaven. The Christ of Carlo Dolce and the Madonnas of Sassoferrato

and Murillo are in every household. Maratta was called Carlo of the

Madonnas. And in my own province[115] particularly, the paintings

of Luino, Cesare da Sesto, Gaudenzio Ferrari, Andrea Solaro,

Salaino, Marco d’Oggiono Moretto, the Procaccini, the Campi, and

that Borgagnone, as great as he is little known, are marked by a

religious unction and devout simplicity.

The churches are indeed galleries, or rather harbors from the

vandalism of would-be restorers and the robbery which is according

to law. In them we find the best models of architecture; and since

the unknown authors of the greater cathedrals, and the whole

families of the Campiani at Milan, Bregno and Lombardi at Venice,

Pedoni at Cremona, Rodari at Coma, Pellegrini of Tibaldo, we have

no design better than the sanctuaries of Rho and Caravaggio, the

Fontana in the chapel of the Presepio, the Sanmicheli in the

cathedral of Montefiascone, the Palladio in the Church of the

Redeemer at Venice.

But besides the finish of the sculpture, the glass was stained

with historic subjects, the pulpits and windows marvellously

adorned, the goldsmith’s art was displayed in the ornamentation of

candlesticks, lamps, busts, and canopies, which brought into play

the art of engraving.

The care of recording on tombs the nothingness of human

greatness makes them the truest portraits of the character of

each age. In those of the middle ages the figures are austere,

with hands crossed on the breast, awaiting the trumpet-call of

the resurrection; in the sixteenth century they are pompous,

inappropriate, even immodest.

The cloisters were built upon the most beautiful heights, where

the soul, absorbed in the admiration of nature, was of itself

lifted up to chant the praises of the God who created it. The

porticos were vast tableaux worked by the greatest artists. And

here, while you would suggest to me the John Baptists of the

Discalced Friars, and the Filippo Benizzi in the Annunciation at

Florence by Andrea the faultless, the Holy Solitude, the Camaldoli,

Carthusian monasteries, Alvernia, Vallombrosa, and the sublimity

of Grottaferrata, let me call to your minds our own Lombardy the

sanctuaries of Saronno by Luini, of Varallo by Gaudenzio, the Holy

Mount by Mancalvo, the Carthusian monastery of Garignano by the

great Daniel Crespi, before which Byron was struck with wonder and

with fear. In fine, even in the delirium of art in the sixteenth

century, which are the greatest monuments of sculpture? The St.

Bibiana of Bernini, the St. Cecilia of Maderno, the Susanna of

Fiammingo, the St. Bruno of Houton, from which number we must not

omit the Attila of Algardi. The Assumption of Forli by Cignani

still remains the noblest work of the past age. Since it is a

far easier thing to copy a form than to create a conception,

many have reduced art to imitation. And we see it said that the

type of the Eternal Father is taken from Jove, the Saviour from

Antinous, from Niobe the Mother of Sorrows, and from the Farnese

Flora and the terra cotta Faun, St. Cecilia and St. Joachim; and

it appears equally ridiculous to call one of these imitators a new

Phidias or new Apelles, as for Angelo Mazza to entitle himself

Homer Redivivus. Winckelmann praised Raphael for a head of Christ

“which set forth the beauty of a heroic youth without beard,”

while he criticises Michael Angelo “for having taken his figures

of the Saviour from the barbarous productions of the middle ages.”

With equal discrimination Vasari, of all the wonders of Giotto

at Assisi, can only admire “the very great and truly marvellous

effect of one who drinks standing, but bent down to the earth,

at a fountain.” Very little have these advanced the theories of

Cicognara and Giuseppe Bossi, and the icy grandeur of David,

Gerard, Girodet, and the other imperialists, followed here by

Benvenuti, Cammuccini, Bossi, Diotti, and their like. Fabre, the

French painter, was discussing with Alfieri on a crucifixion which

he was about to paint. After speaking for some time on the type

he ought to choose, he concluded: “Do you know what? I will paint

the head of the Belvedere Apollo, give him a beard, and behold it

done.” Alfieri had the good sense to reply: “If you would succeed

in that, paint a dying Apollo, but not a God who redeemed us.”

After Battoni, the last painter of note of the mixed school, Mengs,

went back to the antique with a mediocrity at once pedantic and

fastidious. But Traballeschi and certain artists of second name,

such as De Maria, Franchi, Ferrari, Torretti, and of higher mark,

Andrea Appiani in the cupola of San Celso at Milan, were the men

who paved the way for the regeneration. Canova[116] undertook to

regenerate art chiefly with classic models, but at least with

enthusiasm. But how far do his Venus, Perseus, Theseus, and even

Psyche, fall behind the Magdalen, and the mausoleums of Maria

Christina, Ganganelli, Rezzonico, and Pius VI.?

Bartolini, a more careful observer of nature, gave an impulse

to the new art, nor is the fault his if he plunged from the

conventionalities of the academy into a prosaic realism. But,

restricting myself among a multitude of sculptors, to the notice

of one or two, who has not admired the Dolorosa and Triumph of the

Cross of Duprè, the Archangel of Finelli, the Deposition from the

Cross, and the tomb at Castelfidardo of Tenerani? These men opened

up a new era, where the worship of ideas prevailed over that of

mere form, combating the servility of the past and the materialism

of the present, aiming at a beauty not at variance with morality--a

beauty perceptible to the reason. I confine myself to the Italians,

but what a pleasure it would be to me to touch upon Munich and the

school of Düsseldorf, and that of Berlin; and Cornelius, Schadow,

the Bohemian Fuhrich, and the Frenchmen Lehmann, Pradier, Flandrin,

and a noble band of others like to them.

So likewise I confine myself to the plastic arts; but were we to

treat of poetry, we could say something of Tasso, crowned in

death, of Perfetti, the laureate of Benedict XII., and Corilla of

Pius VI. Or of music, born also in the church and there perfected

before it went to amuse the court and theatre, whence it returned

with profanity into the church; so that there was nothing left but

to abandon it, if Palestrina had not shown how to wed reverence of

speech with harmony, and reconcile devotion with art. Do you know

of aught more wonderful than the Moses and Stabat of Rossini, the

Crucifixus of Bellini, or the Ave Maria of Donizetti?

And hence you will conclude that where art has ever been welcomed

and cherished, was under the care of the Popes, in this Rome of

ours, which, in the words of Petrarch, is

“The symbol of the heavens and the earth,

The Saviour’s image, by all men revered.”

Perhaps there has not been a Pope who has not raised some edifice

or given rise to some sculpture or painting.

Eugenius IV. wished to consecrate Fra Angelico bishop; Julius II.,

who secured his splendid dominions from the Po to the Garigliano,

was ever in the company of Bramante, Michael Angelo, Perugino,

Giulio Romano, and commenced the Vatican Museum by placing there

the Apollo, the Laocoon, the Ariadne and the Torso. What shall I

say of Leo X., who seemed to wish by the triumph of art to “give

the lie” to Germany, which accuses Catholics of ignorance and

dearth of civilization? The German reformer on his arrival in

the midst of the artistic wealth of Rome, only perceived therein

profanity, idols, and as it were an absence of reason, and a Pope

making an ostentatious pomp of religion and pretending to the

austerity of Paul and Hilarion in the time of the Farnese and

the Medici. Adrian VI. seemed like a prodigy, a monstrosity, so

accustomed were the minds of men to connect the idea of a pope with

that of a Mecænas of the arts.

They have ever made their palaces a sanctuary of the arts, and

as it were a harbor from the wrecks of time and the greed of

speculators and kings, who paused at the threshold of the Vatican,

resounding with the prayers of all the ages and the blasphemy of

this.

With still greater intelligence, the pontiffs of the past age

collected together the masterpieces, and the Museo Pio Clementino,

and the illustrations of it executed by Winckelmann and Ennius

Quirinus Visconti, became the envy and the model of all foreigners.

Rome, relying on the veneration which the nations entertained

for her, and which kings felt they owed her as the fount of all

authority, set her face against a new age, wherein might alone is

right, and reason speaks on the side of vast battalions and by the

mouth of artillery. What was the outrage which most of all grieved

the Romans? The spoliation of the museums; for the people were

disgusted with kings, nobles, and prelates, but not with the arts.

But the end of injustice is never far removed, and, as victory

had borne them away, victory restored to Rome her popes and

her monuments. Pius VII. who had filled the post left bare by

spoliation, after his return, among other works, built the new wing

across the Belvedere gallery. He left to us the Museo Chiaramonti,

a gallery of paintings, few in number, but each a masterpiece,

and the long gallery of antique inscriptions, arranged after the

manner of the great Morcelli. Gregory XVI. gave us the Christian,

Egyptian, and Etruscan museums, filled with the contents of the

mysterious vaults of Latium, and the numerous vases, so wondrous,

of Etruria and the Campagna, which had just come to light. He

commenced the rebuilding of St. Paul’s, restored the Coliseum,

excavated the Basilica Julia, refitted the Lateran Palace. Poletti

the architect assisted him, aided by Agricola, Paoletti, Finelli,

Tadolini, Botti, Tajetti, Sabatelli, Serani, Minardi, Coghetti,

Bengoni. And as at first, Poussin, Mignard, Ponget, Claude

Lorraine, Le Gros, Valedier, Quesnoy, Laboureur, Monot, Brill,

Agincourt, etc., so afterward came the illustrious foreigners,

Ingres, Thorwaldsen, Gibson, Pettrich, Frederick Overbeck, Voigt

the engraver. From here were taken the statues of Hiram Powers

for the Capitol of Washington, not to mention the objects of art

carried away by the 80,000 foreigners who flock hither from all

parts every year to gaze on the wonders of Rome. A Prussian society

took up its quarters here, to illustrate the new and antique

relics, in rivalry with our Archæological Academy. And the names of

Fea, Nibby, Canina, Bartolomeo Borghese, Visconti, win reverence

from the whole scientific world.

What can I say of Pius IX. that is not known to the whole world?

Let me call to your minds what took place in the midst of the

acclamations which greeted his accession. A deputation from the

Society for the Propagation of the Faith being presented to him,

when among the deputies he found the name of Overbeck, the most

faithful representative of Christian art, he called him to himself,

and gave him his special benediction, accompanied by words of

holy affection. At his wish the court of the Quirinal, where Pius

VII. was arrested, was painted; there is Overbeck’s Christ at the

moment when the Jews thought to cast him from the mountain, and he

escaped from their midst: thus representing at once the perils

which are past and those which are to come.[117] Nor can I forget

the emotion with which the Holy Father lamented to me the deaths,

so close upon each other, of Poletti, Tenerani, Overbeck, and

Minardi; nor the pleasure with which I recall the rearrangement he

effected in the entire museum of the Vatican, and the marvellous

statue of Augustus from the Villa of Livy with which he endowed it,

and the metal colossus of Hercules, purchased with his own money,

the Claudius of Lanuvius, and the Apoxiomenos in Parian marble,

restored by Tenerani, and placed in the Vatican in 1851. There he

placed also the Pomponia Azzia, found in the Appian Way, and the

Ceres disinterred at Ostia, which he substituted for a poor Diana.

It was the time when at his simple summons all the bishops

of the world hastened to the Vatican council. Magnificent

spectacle!--which Rome alone can offer to the world, of all the

representatives of the church united to discuss freely the truth

which the Pontiff should proclaim infallibly. Those prelates, in

the moments of their repose, were wont to admire on all sides the

care which Pius IX. had lavished upon art. Here the circus of

Caracalla restored, and the portico of Octavia disinterred; there,

in the Roman forum, the portico of the _Dii Majores_ and the apsis

of the Basilica of Constantine. In another spot the Basilica of St.

Paul is restored, the arena of the greatest artists in painting,

sculpture, stained glass, and mosaics. He opened the confessions

with their wealth of marbles and metals, in the two patriarchal

basilicas, the Lateran and Liberian. He restored the mausoleums of

St. Constantia, St. Clement on the side of Celio, St. Agnes, St.

Cecilia, Santa Maria in Trastevere, St. Lorenzo without the walls,

with the paintings of Fracassini, Mariani, and Grandi. Mariani

painted St. Lucy of the Banner and Santa Maria in Aquiro, and

Gugliari St. Augustine. Podesti and Consoni drew for the Vatican

Palace the portraits of the most famous ecclesiastics of ancient or

modern times; among which stand out the Martyrs of Fracassini, who

has painted but too little. All these works gave rise not only to

the ancient use of medals, but also to public monuments, such as

the column of the Immacolata, the works of Poletti, and the statue

cast from cannon by De Rossi.

In 1852 was formed a commission of archæology to chiefly examine

the Christian monuments,[118] and explore the Catacombs, the

theatre of those scenes of sacrifice, love, and resignation wherein

society was regenerated, and where now De Rossi convinces us that

scholarship and wit are not enough for speech, but that piety has

a secret of its own to touch on things which are better felt than

described.

The Egyptian Museum was increased by the monuments collected

by Clot Bey. To the Etruscan were added statues, candelabra,

sarcophagi from Bolsena, Tarquinia, and Viterbo. The Christian

Museum of the Lateran was founded, to which the reopened Ostia sent

mosaics, sarcophagi, and epigraphs. The Nomentian and Appian Ways

were excavated still further, as far as Bovilla. And the emporium

of marbles, the site of the seven cohorts of Virgil at Monte Fiore,

and the ruins of the Palatine--which the Pontiff himself visited

suddenly, giving an unexpected joy to the workmen, in the month

of the celebration of Rome’s birth--attest how inexhaustible are

the riches of this city, which, not to mention the seven great

galleries, is indeed one vast gallery. And these excavations,

whether designed or accidental, disclose a wealth ever beyond

expectation, as is seen in the piazza of the Holy Apostles, the

grove of the brothers Arvali, especially in the Church Della Pace,

the piazza Navona, on the Monte Luziale, and in the new cemetery of

the Jews.

That the Pontiff has not been behindhand in works of practical

utility, we see in the Acqua Pia, in the palace of the house of

reform, the military and civil hospitals, and that of peace,

the tobacco manufactory, the adornments of the Pincio, the

penitentiary, the bridges over the Tiber, the Piazza Pia and

elementary school, and a new city commenced on the Viminal and

Esquiline.

And while on this point, we see in the Exposition of the Baths of

Diocletian, which Michael Angelo repaired with a respect not always

shown by his followers, an example of a character which Rome alone

of all the world can produce; and this collection of the objects

of Catholic worship was the most beautiful hymn which the Pontiff

raised against the blasphemy which precedes violence. This was a

thought of the Pontiff’s. It was executed by his command, and at

his own expense. He inaugurated it, closed it in person, and with

his own hand distributed the prizes. Just indeed was the homage

which the artists of every nation then represented in Rome paid

to Pius IX., in the jubilee of his pontificate, the expression of

which he left exposed for many days in the gallery of Raphael,

where Mantovani, Consoni, and Galli at this day emulate the

wondrous decorations of Sanzio and Giovanni da Udine.

The popes and ministers of the church have watched over art with

special care, lest this chosen daughter of God should be sacrificed

to his enemy. And now, what is left? In the face of these glories,

how much misery saddens us! All the manifestations of the supremacy

of materialism over what is spiritual are multiplied, and hence

so many edifices purely industrial. The fever of making and

unmaking on the spur of the moment, the race for life without the

enjoyment of the least repose, have reduced art, which at first

was an enthusiasm, afterwards a taste, now to a fashion and a

luxury, bereft of the mighty force of our ancient community and the

great-minded and holy faith of our fathers. What the romance is to

history, the novel to the epic poem, the drama to the tragedy, the

portrait and its kind are to the great artistic works and historic

paintings, lost in common and epigrammatic subjects, and tortured

with minutiæ.

And this is not the end. He who preserves a sense of shame, of

charity, of faith, must either behold with loathing, or close his

eyes, when he sees the pencil of the lithographer and even the pure

light of heaven prostituted to dishonor whatever he has held most

holy in faith and life, to tempt the senses with foulness that

Sodom would have denounced. As they have made poison distil from

their inkstands, so, with vile ignorance or hateful forethought,

they have made art a pander for impurity and a school for the

barricades and petroleum. From such frenzy, which terrifies the

most daring and causes the most thoughtless to reflect, we hope

that men will return to conscience; and in a world which, in order

to cherish a better faith in its own greatness will believe no

longer in God, this hope is sustained by seeing the Martyrs, of

Giovanni Ferrari; the Angels above the Dead Christ, of Tabacchi;

the Christian Martyr, of Argenti; the Assumption, of Morelli and

Grigioletti; the Saint Joseph, of Bertini; the Saint Clair, of

Mancinelli; the Saint Lucian in Prison, of Ceccarini; the Ecce

Ancilla Domini, of Brioschi.

And you, as many of you as have authority and dignity, labor hard

with the pen, the voice, example, and precept to prevent the youth

not yet contaminated with this new licentiousness, nor yet drunk

with that perfume which lulls before it suffocates, from turning

renegades to the spirituality of art. Make them improve the feeling

rather than the style of their productions. Make them disavow the

causes whose effects we groan under, and which Providence has

allowed so long to afflict us. Make them rise above the prejudices

of the journals and the abjectness of officials, as well as the

mercenary motives of a utilitarian world and from practices which

make a trade of art. Let them never forget the lofty mission of

art, and that the form is merely a garb and outfit to clothe the

moral idea. For beauty is the perfection of being, perceived by the

spirit, felt in the heart, and its handmaid is truth, represented

with love. And, without doubt, for him whose aim is truth, the

best way of finding it is in subjects and deeds of religion. Let

us banish, then, indifference, which slays love and genius alike,

and that cold calculation which smothers trustful faith. The time,

the people, the man best fitted for the culture of art, will be

those whose life, at once profound and active, shall not be bound

down, but indeed lifted up by beliefs that are fixed and by customs

that are right; who combine fidelity to nature with the impulse

of enthusiasm; retaining power over matter, with due regard to

historical and moral proprieties; exciting that emotion which is

not unaccompanied by pleasure, but pleasure mingled with admiration.

Restore, I entreat you, art to its great principles! Fill life

again with those sweet illusions and great delights, making a

language of the deepest thoughts of a civilization ever more

refined, and so accustom us to realize the ideal, to ennoble

humanity! Give it back to its great office, to bear witness to

right belief, and to give joy to the little ones, who are our

brethren in Christ!

FOOTNOTES:

[112]

God’s writ unto our weakness bendeth down,

And with an inner meaning hands and feet

On him bestows whose being knows no bounds.

So holy church an aspect human gives

To Michael and to Gabriel and him

Who made Tobias whole.

Dante’s _Paradiso_, iv.

[113] Cicero (_De Oratore_) says that Phidias, when sculpturing a

Jove or Minerva, had no model from whom to copy. But in his own

mind he set up a certain wondrous type of beauty which came to him

by intuition, and, enwrapt in its contemplation, urged art and hand

to produce its likeness. It is precisely “that fixed idea which

comes into my mind” that Raphael spoke of.

[114] Petrarch.

[115] Lombardy.

[116] Canova made the observation to Napoleon that the artistic

monuments of Rome are religious, or placed under the guardianship

of religion. Religion had saved the treasures of antiquity in the

time of the barbarians, and multiplied them anew in later days.

[117] Overbeck’s principal work, perhaps, is the great piece in the

Frankfort Museum, where he has represented the triumph of religion

in art. He himself has explained it in a little book.

[118] A foreign artist said to me that in his archæological

researches he did not stop at Rome, because there there was nothing

mediæval. Didron, in his _Archæological Bulletin_, counts here

fifty Gothic constructions, and declared that in monuments of the

middle ages Rome was no less rich than Rouen, the most Gothic city

in France.

MAX MÜLLER’S “CHIPS.”[119]

Mr. Max Müller, the learned German professor, and Fellow of All

Souls’ College, Oxford, wrote, and in 1868 published, a collection

of essays on the science of religion which he calls _Chips from a

German Workshop_. He tells us this title was given him by the late

Chevalier Bunsen, who, on advising him to undertake the translation

of the Sacred Book of the Brahmins, the _Rig-Veda_, bade him give,

from time to time, to the public some chips from his workshop. The

intensely absorbing and delightful nature of his studies is to be

seen very clearly by these specimens. They embrace two of the most

important and most attractive branches of human science--that of

the varied forms of human thought in its relations to God; and

that of the multifold languages of the earth, and their mutual

relations. Prof. Müller’s philological investigations are confined

chiefly to the Indo-Germanic family, and confirm beyond possibility

of cavil the intimate connection between the many branches of

that family--the Sanskrit, the Brahmanic language in use at

present, the Persian, the Greek, the Latin with its offshoots, the

Italian, the French, and the Spanish, the Celtic and the English.

In exemplifying what he says on this subject, he speaks of the

meaning of the word _Veda_. Rig-Veda, he tells us, means praise of

knowledge or wisdom--_Rig_ or _Rich_ signifying _praise_ or _hymn_,

and _Veda knowledge_ or _wisdom_. He calls our attention to this

word _Veda_ in support of the theory of the connection of the Aryan

or Indo-Germanic group of languages. The root of it, or the word

deprived of its final vowel--_Ved_--is to be seen by substituting

the interchanging consonants in the English words _wit_, _wot_,

the German _weiss_, Gothic _vait_, Anglo-Saxon _wat_, Greek οἶδα,

to which may be added the Latin word _video_, _to see_, evidently

closely connected with this Sanskrit word signifying to know, for

knowledge is intellectual vision.

What impresses us most, at first sight, is the practical conclusion

to be drawn from the advanced state of philological studies. We

have here a striking proof of the unity of the race of man. Max

Müller speaks of this proof in favor of the unity of the Aryan

races as beyond gainsaying; words are there to establish the truth.

Now, if we see such differently constituted peoples--such as the

English and the Hindoo, the French and the Persian, the Celt and

the Italian--all members of one family, can any one be so rash

as to wish to exclude from fellowship with that family the tawny

Arab, the swarthy Malay, or the dark son of Africa, simply because

they are to be classed under the heads of Semitic and Turanian? It

is well known among physiologists that the differences of facial

angles and cranial thickness constitute nothing essential; while

the investigations of national thought and customs, hitherto veiled

by unintelligible languages, tend continually to demonstrate

and confirm the unity of man, to show that all men are of one

common stock, of one man and of one woman, all made after the one

type--that which exists, as the Bible tells us, in God. So far,

in fact, is real science from doing harm to revelation, that when

it attains its perfection it confirms the truths that have been

revealed. Whence we may draw this conclusion: that men who are wise

will take care to have revelation for their guide, even in science;

they will, it is clear, be saved from going astray, since their

ultimate examinations confirm its truth. It is not unfrequently

the case that the eager scientific man, by a logical process,

draws his conclusion without the slightest suspicion of error in

his premises. It is no wonder he is tenacious of his conclusion;

but how often are his ideas overthrown by “chance,” that strange

discoverer of more than one great treasure of the human race! And

how often sober, thoughtful men, meeting to determine the basis on

which they stand, have to say, as did the Geological Congress of

Paris in 1867: “_The state of the science is not such as to enable

us to make deductions wholly free from danger of error_”! or,

certainly it is most just that we should love science and follow it

faithfully, but always with an eye to that old and familiar adage,

“It is human to err.” There is really nothing after all that saves

a man from mistakes and confusion so much as a proper estimate

of his own conclusions, and a readiness to have them corrected

by others. It is a habit of mind that distinguishes really great

men, like the sounder portion of the Prehistorical Congress of

Bologna, in the autumn of 1871: “There is nothing in prehistorical

discoveries that is in contradiction with revelation.” Bacon has

bid us all put aside the _idola_, and thus free our minds from

prejudice. We should begin by banishing the idol of _self_, the

reliance on our own judgment, so as to be ready at once to abandon

cherished ideas, and to look on the principles of science as more

or less liable to be one day, by further investigation, shown to be

other than we think them. This is all the more important because

_false_ principles always do practical harm, and, if nothing else,

they retard the attainment of what we are searching for, in putting

us on the wrong path. We do not wish to be thought to condemn all

scientific principles as one day liable to be proven false. There

are some, the essential agreement of whose subject and predicate

absolutely excludes all danger of error, others which the constant

experience of the human race has shown to be true, such as, for

instance, the mathematical, and many of those that form the basis

of natural science. These do not contradict revelation, and will

never be proven false. The history of the past, however, is too

full of the _débris_ of systems of every kind that any one of

solid information should not take warning from them, and be on

his guard against looking on any proposition in natural science

as irrefragable which the concordant testimony of men since the

enunciation of it has not shown to be so. The Ptolemean system,

after an undisputed sway, yielded before the assaults of Copernicus

and Galileo, and its solid spheres, whose music filled the poet’s

mind with delight, and charmed the privileged spirits to whom it

was given to hear it, came down in awful ruin, and their sounds

were hushed for ever. Then those whose years did not begin with

the century can recall how eagerly they drank in the doctrine of

the imponderable principles; and lo! what has become of them? The

progress of the age has substituted for it the teaching of the

unity of forces, and motion answers for them all. The solidity of

the sun and its dark spots, under the telescope and the combined

investigations of astronomers, have disappeared, and gaseous

substance and interruption in its continuity have taken the place

of both. And in the recent brilliant discoveries in regard to

the constituent gases of the sun, who is to make us sure that the

lines in the spectrum, by which we profess to know the existence

in the sun of certain determinate objects, may not be produced

by other causes of which we know nothing? All these theories, we

grant, have great probability in their favor, and we do not cite

them with any intent to discredit the labors of the gifted men who

have formed them; but it is wise not to look on them as the end

of all investigation and beyond all controversy. As we think of

these vicissitudes of science, there occur to us, though not in a

spirit of disregard for true science, the words written long ago:

“I have seen the trouble which God hath given the sons of men to be

exercised in it. He hath made all things good in their time, and

hath delivered the world to their consideration, so that man cannot

find out the work which God hath made from the beginning to the

end.” (Eccles. iii. 10, 11.) This, however, is a digression; let us

return to our _Chips_.

By far the most important topic treated of by Prof. Müller is the

knowledge of God existing among the varied nations of men. He gives

great weight, and deservedly, to the result of his observation

in this respect, and we can readily understand why he should lay

so much stress on the importance of the study of the “science of

religion,” or the comparative study of the different religions of

the earth. As a matter of erudition, it must always be a subject

of the greatest interest, not only in itself, but also because it

serves to illustrate the words of the Apostle to the Romans, ch. i.

18-20: “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all

ungodliness and injustice of those men that detain the truth of God

in injustice: because that which is capable of being known[120] of

God is manifest in them: for God hath manifested it unto them. For

the invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are

clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; his

eternal power also, and divinity, so that they are inexcusable.” We

shall have occasion to return to these words. Here we may remark

that this knowledge of God that transpires in all the citations

the learned Orientalist has laid before us, is nothing more than

what as Christians we expected to hear. But in this connection we

have to say that the contrary effect is produced to that intended

by Prof. Müller. This corroboration of the words of St. Paul,

uttered more than eighteen centuries ago, and proclaimed long

before by the author of the Book of Wisdom, ch. xiii., proves that,

so far from the religions of the earth meriting praise for their

reference to a Supreme Being, they deserve to be censured because

they detained the truth in darkness--in injustice. The words of the

Professor are: “We shall learn [from this comparative study] that

there is hardly one religion which does not contain some important

truth; truth sufficient to enable those who seek the Lord, and

feel after him, to find him in the hour of their need.” The first

portion of this assertion is true; the second is incorrect in its

expression, and dangerous in its tendency. It is incorrect in its

expression, inasmuch as it attributes to these religions, as such,

the possession of truth--not all, to be sure, but some truth. We

say, on the contrary, that the truth contained in these various

religious systems is the common inheritance of the human mind.

The light of Almighty God’s countenance shines on us all, no matter

who we are. The Psalmist asks: “_Quis ostendet nobis bona?_” and he

answers: “_Signatum est super nos lumen vultus tui Domine!_” It is

wrong, therefore, to give credit to a false system for the truth it

has enveloped in darkness. And the reason of this is palpable. If

we turn to the words of the apostle, as given above, do we find him

giving credit to the false religions of mankind for the truth they

contain? Anything but this. He says: “The invisible things of him,

from the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood

by the things that are made; his eternal power also, and divinity,

so that they are inexcusable. Because, when they knew God, they

did not glorify him as God.... And they changed the glory of the

incorruptible God into the likeness of the image of a corruptible

man, and of birds and four-footed beasts, and of creeping things.”

Here we have a sentence pronounced against these very religions our

author speaks of as containing sufficient truth to enable those who

seek the Lord and feel after him, to find him in the hour of their

need. The apostle condemns them because “they detained the truth of

God in injustice.”

This is to be said of these false religions even at their best.

But what is to be said of them when we take into consideration the

immense majority of those among the heathen do not attain to any

refined spirituality, but are engrossed in the material, sensual

forms of idolatry, like the conservative Parsees, so graphically

described in the book before us? We must therefore conclude that,

granting Prof. Müller intended to refer to man’s natural knowledge

or his reason as a means of knowing God, to which the apostle bears

witness, he has used an incorrect form of speech in attributing

to these religions efficacy in finding God. It would have been in

every way better to write that, in spite of the errors of these

various systems, there was still light enough left to man, through

his reason, to lead him to God--a truth not only substantiated by

the teaching of theologians, but, as we have seen, expressly laid

down in Holy Writ.

We have said the assertion of our author is not only incorrect in

its form, but dangerous in its tendency. That tendency, with all

respect to Prof. Müller’s expressed opinions, is latitudinarian;

it would lead one to think that, after all, the heathen and all

professing a false religion are in a comparatively safe state. If

this be so, why do we find the apostle assaulting those systems so

uncompromisingly, and asserting that the heathen are inexcusable?

And how do we reconcile with this theory the words of the Gospel,

“Unless ye be born again of water and the Holy Ghost, ye shall not

enter into the kingdom of heaven”? True, there is the _baptisma

flaminis_, the resource of those who have not the blessing of the

actual sacrament; but even this requires a rejection, absolute or

implied, of the false system, and the act of faith in the true

God, accompanied by a firm will of doing whatever it may be known

he asks of a sincere soul. The language of the great theologians

is certainly not in any way favorable to the safety of those who

follow a false religion. They tell us that those who among the

pagans of old were saved, were justified by their faith in a true

God and in the Redeemer to come. The doctor of grace, the great

St. Augustine, whose intellect was one of the most remarkable of

any age, says in _Serm. 3 on the 36th Ps._, “All who were just,

from the beginning of the world, have Christ as their head. For

they believed he was to come, whom we believe to have come already;

by faith in him they were saved, as we are.” Then, in the _Comm.

on the 128th Ps._, he writes: “Has the church only existed now?

The church is of old; from the time the saints were called the

church is on earth. Once it existed only in Abel, and was warred

against by a wicked and perfidious brother, Cain. Once the church

was only in Enoch, and he was taken away from the wicked. Once the

church was only in Noah’s house, and it suffered from all those

who perished by the flood, and only the ark floated on the waters

and escaped to the dry land. Once the church was only in Abraham,

and we know how much he suffered from the wicked. The church

existed only in Lot, and in his house in Sodom, and he bore with

the iniquity and perversity of the Sodomites, until the Lord freed

him from them. The church began to exist in the people of Israel,

and it suffered at the hands of Pharaoh and the Egyptians. And in

the very church itself, amid the people of Israel, there began to

flourish a number of holy souls: Moses and other saints suffered

from the wicked Jews. We come at last to our Lord Jesus Christ; the

Gospel has been preached, and he has said in the Psalms: ‘I have

brought the tidings, and I have spoken, and they are multiplied

beyond number.’” (See also the writings of the same father against

the Donatists.) The same idea of the necessity of faith in Christ

is found constantly in the teaching of the church and in the

writings of the fathers.

We ask after this, who deserve most credit as exponents of the

essential requisites of salvation--the early fathers of the

church, who explain the words of the apostle, “Without faith it

is impossible to please God,” in the sense we have here in St.

Augustine, and which too is had in the ancient Athanasian Creed;

or gentlemen like our author, whose ideas of Christianity, even

when they express them clearly, differ so widely from what was

once held as revealed truth, and who moreover cannot come to an

understanding among themselves as to what the truth of Christ is?

And if we must give the preference to the former, what are we

to say of an _opinion_ that serves to lull people into a false

security regarding that which is, of all things, the most vital in

its importance and consequences?

Prof. Müller rightly says that the knowledge of the false religions

of the world makes us appreciate more the Christian religion. Had

he taken the view we have given, he would have had a vastly greater

appreciation of it. He would not have put it in comparison with

other religions, as differing from them by a superior degree of

excellence, but would have shown that they differed essentially,

as right differs from wrong, as truth from error, and therefore

he would, while speaking charitably of individuals and leaving

them to the judgment of God, infinitely just, have condemned and

rejected these false systems of worship as the curse of the unhappy

race of Adam. As we have said before, we are not inclined to

charge Prof. Müller with the full consequences of his assertions,

since in several places of his work he gives his unqualified

acknowledgment of the claims of Christianity. Still we cannot but

look on his loose assertions as the result of the rationalistic

spirit that has begun so rapidly to pervade the most conservative

of English universities. Only a few years ago, when called to give

his testimony before the Board of Inquiry of the House of Lords

regarding the state of the universities, Canon Liddon said that

this tendency to rationalism had come in with the change in the

system of studies and the introduction of the higher philosophical

branches, and that it was making headway among the students in a

marked manner. Nor, when we see those at the head of the university

decide, as they did lately, that the Thirty-nine Articles are not

to be insisted on for examination except in case of those who

are candidates for the honorary degrees, and when we hear in our

own country a board of Anglican bishops declare that the word

“regeneration” in the formula of infant baptism does not imply

any moral change in the one baptized--it does not seem to us that

we are doing Prof. Müller injustice in thinking that he, a lay

professor in the university directed by the Anglican Church, has,

it may be unconsciously, taken in not a little of the leaven of

rationalism.

To this may be referred his translation of the text of St. Justin,

_Ap._ i., § 46, when he makes this Christian philosopher say,

“Christ is the first begotten of God, and we have already proved

him to be the very Logos (or _universal Reason_) of which mankind

are all partakers.” In the Edit. of the Congr. of St. Maurus of

the _Works of St. Justin_, this word universal does not occur; the

Greek text has simply the accusative “Logon,” and the Latin simply

“Rationem.” Certainly all Catholic theologians hold this doctrine

of St. Justin, and teach that the _Logos_ or _Verbum_ or _Ratio_

is the definite wisdom of the Godhead, by which God understands

himself and all things in himself, and that all created wisdom or

reason is but a participation of that Infinite Reason or Word. But

in these days, when the locutions, _universal soul_, _universal

intellect_, _universal being_, are used so much in a pantheistical

sense, we think an author can hardly find fault with those who very

probably misunderstand him when he uses expressions so liable to be

misinterpreted, and charge him with some tendency which he seems

in other places to disclaim. It seems to us the learned professor

should have taken all the greater care in his translation, as St.

Justin (in his _Ap._ ii. § 7) disclaims expressly all pantheistic

teaching, which he declares to be “foreign to all sound thought,

reason and mind.”

To show we do not wish to be unfair to this distinguished scholar,

we will do him the justice to cite his condemnation of the

pantheistic spirit of the times. He is speaking of Barthélemy St.

Hilaire’s _History of Buddhism_, and he quotes the words of the

preface of that writer:

“This book may offer one other advantage, and I regret to

say that at present it may seem to come opportunely. It is the

misfortune of our times that the same doctrines which form

the foundation of Buddhism meet at the hands of some of our

philosophers with a favor which they ill deserve. For some

years we have seen systems arising in which metempsychosis

and transmigration are highly spoken of, and attempts are

made to explain the world and man without either a God or a

Providence, exactly as Buddha did. A future life is refused to

the yearnings of mankind, and the immortality of the soul is

replaced by the immortality of works. God is dethroned, and in

his place they substitute man, the only being, we are told, in

which the Infinite becomes conscious of itself. These theories

are recommended to us sometimes in the name of science, or of

history, or philology, or even of metaphysics; and though they

are neither new nor very original, yet they can do much injury to

feeble hearts.”

And a few lines further on:

“It would be useful, however, if the authors of these modern

systems would just cast a glance at the theories and destinies

of Buddhism. It is not philosophy in the sense in which we

understand this great name, nor is it religion in the sense

of ancient paganism, of Christianity, or of Mohammedanism;

but it contains elements of all worked up into a perfectly

independent doctrine; acknowledges nothing in the universe but

man, and obstinately refuses to recognize anything else, though

confounding man with nature in the midst of which he lives. Hence

all those aberrations of Buddhism, which ought to be a warning to

others.” (P. 203, vol. i.)

We have one other charge against the learned professor for what,

though savoring a little of rationalism, more particularly

regards the Catholic Church. He says that “as the Oriental creeds

degenerated into grosser forms, so Christianity degenerates into

Jesuitism and Mormonism” (p. 185). We grant that the author is

striving to be fair to the pagans, and shows an unwillingness to

condemn them as a whole on account of the corrupt practices of a

portion of them. But in doing so he has shown himself most unjust

to a distinguished Order in the Catholic Church, whose piety,

virtue, and learning claim for them everywhere from Christians a

tribute of respect and gratitude, and nowhere more so than in our

own free land. It is really lamentable to see what we must call a

total want of knowledge in a person of such extensive information

and real ability as Prof. Müller. ’Tis strange that it did not

occur to him that there was a great incongruity in coupling the

Society of Jesus with the corrupt and sensual community of the

Mormons, and it is only another lesson to put us on our guard

against prejudice, which has so wonderful a power in perverting the

judgments of men so worthy of respect for their zeal in the cause

of truth.

This undeserved condemnation of the Jesuit Fathers is not the

only error into which Prof. Müller’s dislike of Catholicity has

betrayed him. On page 190, he speaks of the Buddhist ceremonies,

and in a foot-note refers to the work of the Abbé Huc in which he

describes his travels in China and Thibet, and remarks the curious

coincidence between the rites of the religion of the Grand Lama and

the forms of Catholic worship. Our author tells us that the Abbé

Huc pointed out the similarities between the Buddhist and Roman

Catholic ceremonials with such _naïveté_ that, to his surprise, he

found his delightful _Travels in Thibet_ placed on the _Index_. We

confess our surprise at this information. We never heard of the

abbé’s work having been signed with “the black mark of Peter,” but

we have heard the book very highly praised by persons who would

hardly have praised it had there been anything in it to merit the

censures of the church. We have too at hand a copy of the _Index_

coming down to six years after the publication of the _Travels in

Thibet_, but after a careful search have not been able to find

in it the name either of Abbé Huc or of this work. Moreover, it

strikes us as very unlikely that this writer should have suffered

for what has been stated pointedly by authors of the church from

the first ages down to our time. Had Prof. Müller turned his

attention to Tertullian’s book, _De Præscriptione Hæreticorum_, he

would have found at § 40 the following passage:

“Who is to interpret the sense of what may further heresy?

The devil, forsooth, whose office it is to distort the truth;

who rivals by the mysteries of the idols the very actions of

the divine sacraments. He too baptizes some as believers and

faithful; he promises the putting off of sin by the laver;

and, if I remember aright, Mithras there signs his soldiers

on the forehead, celebrates the offering of bread, and uses

the image of the resurrection, and gains the crown through the

sword (martyrdom). What shall I say more? that he destines his

high-priest for the nuptials of but one (wife)? that he has

his virgins? that he has his celibates? But if we consider the

superstitions of Numa Pompilius, if the priestly duties, emblems,

and privileges, the sacrificial service and instruments, and the

vessels of sacrifice, and the strangeness of their expiations

and votive gifts, has not the devil manifestly imitated the

observances of the Jewish law?”

In the seventeenth century Natalis Alexander, in his

_Ecclesiastical History_ (vol. ii. diss. iii. art. 3, § 3, No.

vii.) replying to the objections of Spencer, in his Dissertation

No. 3 on the _Ritual Laws of the Hebrews_, says: “It is far more

probable that the devil, the rival of God, inspired the heathen

to use in the rites of their divinities, or to carry about with

solemn pomp, arks or mystic vases containing something hidden

(arcanum),” than that the Israelites took their idea from them;

and further on: “Who does not see that the conclusion can be

drawn by just and better right? Therefore, the beaten vases had

their origin in the rivalry of the evil spirit seizing on all

that was splendid in the worship of God, and turning it to his

own worship.” There are besides several rites well known to have

existed among the heathen after the coming of Christ that bear so

close a resemblance to Christian and Jewish forms, that we are

warranted in following those archæologists who attribute them to

imitation of the usages of revealed religion. Take, for instance,

the taurobolium or criobolium, or baptism by the blood of a bull

or goat. In this ceremony the person undergoing it was placed in

a pit with a kind of sieve over his head, through which the fresh

blood of the animal was made to fall upon his whole body. What

is this but the corruption of baptism, the idea of redemption

through blood, and of the sprinkling with blood that took place

by divine command in the old law? It stands to reason that as the

Christian religion gained influence, paganism would, by seizing on

what was marked in it and perverting it to its own uses, strive to

regain its credit by an imitation which in some way would deceive

the ignorant. Prof. Müller can see from this that Catholics are

not unaccustomed to making such contrasts, and that they are far

from fearing them. And as for the case in point, history tells us

that St. Thomas evangelized India and very probably the countries

adjacent to it, while we know that St. Francis Xavier, as narrated

in his life, found decided traces of Christianity among some of

the Indians, though they had not the priesthood. This being the

case, we can readily comprehend how the followers of Buddha should

have adopted many of the forms in use among Christians, even the

recitation of psalms, which we know from the New Testament to have

been in use among the apostles, who, we are told, “went out from

the supper-room after reciting a hymn with their Master.”

Such are the remarks we have thought well to make in the interest

of truth in regard to these volumes of Prof. Müller, which, aside

from these objectionable features, are full of learning and of

interesting information, imparted in an easy and elegant style.

They will be of value to the scholar, especially to those whose

occupations do not allow them to consecrate much time to researches

such as those in which the professor is engaged. They will have the

effect of confirming the believer in the truth of Christianity, and

of making him thankful for the gift of a faith that has saved him

from such fearful enthralment of mind and body as he beholds his

fellow-men condemned to in the many forms of Eastern paganism. It

is true those who are not favorable to positive religious teaching

will wrest not a little of what is said to their own damage--a

danger we have tried to point out. Still, the learned author will,

after all, be justified in remarking that, if such be the case, it

is but another exemplification of the fact that the serpent draws

poison from the same plant from which the bee sips its honey.

FOOTNOTES:

[119] _Chips from a German Workshop._ By Max Müller. New York:

Scribner & Co.

[120] See Kühner’s _Gr. Grammar_, translated by Messrs. Edwards

and Taylor, London and New York, 1859, § 234 (i.), with regard to

the force of the verbal adjective. The word in the Greek text of

Tischendorf, _Ed. Sept._, is γνωστὸv.

TO WORDSWORTH.

Great poet, I have tasted and admired

These many years, but _known_ thee only now--

With nine-and-twenty winters on my brow,

And much beside that oft thy page inspired.

I find in thee a freshness long desired:

And take thy song as migrant bird a lake,

Which first she shunn’d, yet could not all forsake,

Till, last, she nests there--never to be tired.

To nature I have ever turn’d with love,

But now more fondly, from the world of men.

’Twas erst for sympathy: with Byron then:

But now, with thee, religiously--to prove

The sweets of contemplation, and emove

In other minds high thought and holy ken.

MAY, 1872.

TRUE GREATNESS.

There is a singular power in that pithy summons of the exordium

to the preface of the Mass--“Sursum Corda.” It stirs the deepest

feelings of the human heart. Human nature is keenly sensitive to

every appeal addressed to her true instincts. Man needs not to

be told that he possesses the _power_ of fixing his thoughts on

things superhuman, educing from them principles of action, and

shaping thereby his manifold relations with society. It is in

stimulating this latent energy, and lovingly decoying it up to its

most congenial atmosphere, that we experience the tender force of

“Sursum Corda” as a touching address to our innermost self.

Axioms are beyond demonstration. But man, no less than science,

has his own living first principles, and their evidence is of such

a clearness as to be but obscured by ratiocination. For instance,

it is always agreeable to our better nature to give praise where

praise is due. Heathen wisdom has beautifully witnessed to this

homely truth: “Palmam qui meruit ferat.”[121] The inspired son

of Sirach makes it an imperative duty: “Let us now praise men

of renown, and our fathers in their generation.... Let the

people show forth their wisdom, and the church declare their

praise.”[122] If we should be asked to expound the philosophy of

this noble instinct, we should be obliged, we apprehend, either

to mystify what is self-evident, or super-illustrate it by the

equally undemonstrable fact that greatness of character challenges

universal admiration. It is like the golden sunset of Italy,

or the many-tinted beauty of the rainbow. We feel, one and all,

impelled to do it unsolicited homage.

Further, we secretly covet and thirst after it. For, by a cardinal

law of our being, we fain would appropriate and monopolize

whatsoever we deem worthy of admiration. Concerning the particular

qualities of which true greatness is made up, there may be some

difference of opinion. What is indisputable is that its attainment

is the result of sustained effort; that that effort is itself a

fertile source of pleasure; and that in proportion as we loiter

in listless indolence, and shrink from making it, our life is

retrogressive and self-condemned.

Artists, in aiming at eminence copy the great masters. They seek

to touch their lips to the primal fount of inspiration. Now, it

is rather matter of history than abstract speculation or ascetic

predilection, that the very best models of greatness of character

have been the saints. With their deep piety, lengthened vigils, and

extraordinary ecstasies, we are not now concerned. It is as simple

men and women we view them. We are dealing rather with effects than

with causes. Aside from the supernatural aims whereupon they ever

bent and concentrated all their energies, and whereby they daily

renewed their youth, and whereat they ceaselessly imbibed fresh

draughts of vitalizing nectar, they are the highest types on record

of individual excellence. Those fine traits of character which men

are agreed in admiring shine out more conspicuously in the saints

than in any other class of men. On the other hand, human frailties,

social incongruities, personal imperfections, find little or no

place in their history.

Only true men love solitude. Not that anybody positively hates it,

but that most people prefer, instead of soaring alone with the

eagle, to fly low with the herd of the feathered tribe. Hence they

hold, with Aristotle, that he who loves solitude must be either a

wild beast or a god. It is indeed a godlike love, but it was the

cherished heritage of the saints. They were “never less alone than

when alone.”

Independence wins the respect of all. Not that reckless thrusting

of ourselves against all established usages which borders on

silliness, nor yet that waspish spirit of antagonism by which

littleness would, in distinguishing and gainsaying anything, fain

assume the garb of greatness. Christian independence, which is ever

both manly and modest, lies between rashness and sycophancy, but

partakes of the nature of neither. The harebrained truant is but

little further removed from the saint than the fawning parasite.

The kingly prophet of Israel makes frequent and beautiful allusions

to independence, as: “Dominus illuminatis mea et salus mea: quem

timebo?” And again: “Expecta Dominum, viriliter age, confortetur

cor tuum, et sustine Dominum.”[123] If a moral chemist were to

analyze independence, he would most likely discover that its seed

and stem is love of principle. Men have at all times been found

who smiled upon the frowns of fortune, and cheerfully welcomed

adversity, simply because principle still survived in unimpaired

integrity, though all else had perished. There was yet one rich

germ of abiding felicity. Of such it has been well said that “they

need not flatter the vain, nor be tried with the impertinent, nor

stand to the courtesy of knavery and folly. They need not dance

after the caprice of a humorist, nor take part in the extravagance

of another.” Perhaps no one sentence in the writings of the

illustrious Archbishop Hughes furnishes a true key-note to his

character better than this: “I have never had a patron in church

or state.” Few are able to pen such words, and, in doing so, defy

any impeachment of their veracity. A wholesome disregard for the

opinions of others or indifference to human respect is the synonym

of independence. It is, indeed, under the latter name we find

independence mentioned in hagiology and ascetic theology; and it

is one of the insidious poisons which the saints seem most to have

feared. They considered the world so whimsical that, do what they

might, they never could satisfy it. They everywhere saw good reason

for pondering the old argument: “John came neither eating nor

drinking, and you say: He hath a devil. The Son of Man is come both

eating and drinking, and you say: Behold a man that is a glutton

and a drinker of wine.”[124] There is a remarkable instance of

independence in the life of St. Thomas à Becket, and it shows how

utterly irreconcilable are human respect and love of principle.

It was clear to the chancellor that one of two things needs must

come to pass. Either he should be allowed to remain chancellor,

and continue in kindly relations with Henry, or he should be

constrained to accept the archbishopric, and, by denouncing

Henry’s conduct, cease to be the friend of the king. The latter

would have saints for friends at the cost of principle; he would

have precedence given to the crown over conscience; he would have a

courtier prelate with elastic convictions; he would have reconciled

anomalies and “harmonized impossibilities.” But the independence

of conscience is inflexible; and hence the memorable collision

between a powerful monarch, whose fraudulence time has unveiled,

and a prelate of unsullied integrity, whose glorious martyrdom is

one of the great triumphs of the church. A beautiful writer[125]

lays down a simple rule whereby men of vacillating character, in

matters of conscience and duty, may meet those who would shake

their independence with a sort of _argumentum ad hominem_: “Since

worldlings look upon us as foolish, let us regard them in the same

light.”

Closely akin to independence is steadfastness, or firmness of

resolve. Not a mulish obstinacy which spurns counsel, and, by

magnifying ourselves above all others, teaches us only to unlearn

ourselves. Such a spirit betrays utter want of self-knowledge;

for few suffice for themselves, and fewer still see themselves as

they are seen by others. Whoever would attain to greatness should

avoid the fickle and the inconstant. “He that toucheth pitch shall

be defiled therewith.” And as instability in the convictions of

the mind and affections of the heart extends to men’s relations

and occupations in life, branding them in all things as volatile,

supercilious, and untrustworthy, so we should study to be immovably

firm in retaining and acting upon principles which we know to be

based upon truth and justice. In pursuing any course of action

maturely planned, and followed up from commendable motives, we must

courteously but firmly resist all attacks materially affecting

the nature of our resolve. It is common with the giddy and the

irresolute to seek to bring down men of unbending firmness to their

own contemptible level. Whoever lacks the courage to be singular,

lacks the first element of greatness, is wanting in a source of

solid happiness, and can scarcely be a true Christian. To give up a

tried and disinterested friend, to relinquish a line of conduct in

itself good and deliberately entered upon--unless from motives far

more overpowering than those which had hitherto swayed you--besides

furnishing clear evidence of fickleness, inflicts upon the will an

incurable wound.

If steadfastness be the twin-sister of independence, fortitude

is its eldest daughter. It has various manifestations; but it is

best evidenced in danger and in time of difficulty. Opposition is

its touchstone, elicits its latent powers, displays them in their

modest and unborrowed beauty, making us regard their possessor

with feelings akin to those with which we behold a gallant ship

that has just ridden out a violent tempest, or the conqueror who,

having waded, in calm courage, through a sea of blood, conducts his

triumphant legions through the captured provinces to survey the

rich spoils of victory. Fortitude may be considered the lion-virtue

of the human breast. It is the shield of all the other virtues,

rising in earnest promptness at the signal of approaching combat,

and waiting, with giant force, to crush, if it cannot repel,

the invader. Sydney Smith would compare no pleasure to that of

conversation with a man of well-stored mind and communicative

disposition. It seems to us there is no sight more beautiful to

contemplate than that of a brave man in the midst of danger.

If aught could enhance its thrilling interest, it would be the

elevating assurance that the invincible hero wars with bitter

reluctance, and solely for the sacred interests of truth and

justice. Yet such, in all instances, has been the struggle of the

saints and the eminent servants of the church, in which her history

so copiously abounds. Such, in these latter days, was the attitude

of Dr. Doyle, before the lords and commons of Britain, disdainfully

repelling their calumnies against the Catholics of Ireland,

scattering a serried phalanx of Oxford’s ablest champions, and

submitting his very examiners to an unexpected ordeal of scrutiny.

A still more beautiful instance of quiet courage is that evinced

by St. Paul before the judgment-seat of Festus: “Neither against

the law of the Jews, nor against the temple, nor against Cæsar,

have I offended in anything. But Festus, willing to show the Jews a

pleasure, answering Paul, said: Wilt thou go up to Jerusalem, and

there be judged of these things before me? Then Paul said: I stand

at Cæsar’s judgment-seat where I ought to be judged. To the Jews

I have done no injury, as thou very well knowest. For if I have

injured them, or have committed anything worthy of death, I refuse

not to die. But if there be none of these things whereof they

accuse me, no man may deliver me to them: I appeal to Cæsar.”[126]

It was not only a fearless assertion of the civil rights and

liberty of the subject, but also the stirring rebuke to the

perfidious judge for that he sought to transgress the limits of the

constitution. St. Chrysostom’s reply to the courtier who brought

him the intimation of the Empress Eudoxia’s intention to banish him

from his see, breathes the spirit of conscious fortitude: “Is there

any place she can send me where God will not be with me?”

There are few things we more admire in others than energy of

character. Indolence is the weightiest of burdens. It has been

well said, “People that have nothing to do are quickly tired of

their own company.” Sluggishness is the paralysis of the mind,

and the grave of physical health. The intellectual faculties

of the sluggard are like pearls in the depths of the sea, or

ingots of priceless ore in an undiscovered gold-field. They are

a lost treasure. But they are more. Their loss entails life-long

death. “Desires kill the slothful, for his hands have refused to

work.”[127] The most miserable of men is the idler. Pleasure he

cannot enjoy. Food without an appetite is worse than useless; it

is positively noxious. A keen relish for delightful pastime is the

fruit of healthy industry. But from this the sluggard revolts, as

do children from ghosts and hobgoblins. For him there needs no

demon to tempt; he is the direst of tempters to himself. Sloth is

the couch of Lucifer. Moreover, it stifles self-respect, awakening

in its stead a rancorous spirit of hostility to those of opposite

character. The loudest grumblers are idlers. Being out of sorts

with themselves, they can ill brook the conflicting influences of

those who relish labor. When positive and negative electricity

conflict, lightning is the result. And when the magic charms of

ceaseless industry shine like sunbeams on the stagnant, marshy

nature of the do-nothing, there is generated a brood of vipers

which thrive by diffusing poison.

It is not wonderful that the saints should one and all have

declared unceasing war against sloth. They were prodigies of

industry. The mighty feats of labor which they successively

undertook, and, in most instances, amid harassing embarrassment,

carried to speedy completion, astonish the most energetic. It

would seem as if their bodies had been recast in some unearthly

mould, whence they came forth purged from all animal properties.

It was not so much that they acted in harmonious concert with

the will, as that they appear instinctively to have in some sort

anticipated its behests, outrunning it in the race of industry.

And as the sluggard, imperceptibly, becomes so besotted as to

seem denaturalized, so, on the other hand, the quickened energies

of the saints assumed an unflagging elasticity, second only to

the miraculous gift of bilocation, whereby, at sundry intervals,

they were empowered to be simultaneously present in different

localities. If it be true that no great enterprise has ever

been accomplished without sustained effort, and that before the

levelling force of persistent determination the most appalling

difficulties soon disappear, it is no less certain that by none

more than by the saints has this cheering truth been realized. In

a just appreciation of the value and dignity of labor, and the

refreshing streams of pleasure that flow from it, their history

shows them to have excelled: nor is it too much to say that on

this one ground alone they would be entitled to the gratitude and

veneration of mankind.

Hence the uniform cheerfulness which characterized them, and which

they ungrudgingly seized every means of imparting to others. It is

among the balmiest comforts which this shifting world can bestow

to hold constant, or even frequent, intercourse with men of happy

and contented minds. They make life a cloudless sunshine, beneath

whose genial warmth the chilling shadows of sorrow and depression

must needs melt rapidly away. The happiest of men were the saints.

Descrying in nature’s tiniest product but a feebly reflected beam

of uncreated beauty, they could sing with the Florentine bard:

“La gloria di colui che tutto muove

Per l’universo penetra, e risplende

In una parte più, e meno altrove.

* * * * *

O gloriose stelle, o lume pregno

Di gran virtù, del quale io riconosco

Tutto, qual che si sia, il mio ingegno.”[128]

If to murmur or grumble was with them a sin, to be blithe and

cheerful was the lightest of duties. Hours of sadness they indeed

had, when their own and the world’s sins were present to their

piercing minds. But through those passing eclipses there evermore

shone out a radiant smile--glittering sparks, issuing from the

glowing furnace of the heart within, where constantly burned the

loving recollection of promises sure to be redeemed and favors

graciously vouchsafed.

“Sweet intercourse

Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow--

To brute denied, and are of love the food.”

There are, it seems to us, but few more desirable fortunes than

a state of perpetual cheerfulness. It is one which is not to be

purchased with gold. Its roots must be cast in the “eternal hills.”

The saints understood this. They held not in fiefdom from men their

changeless buoyancy of spirits. It was not with them a vortical

flux and reflux. It was not a checkered alternation of rapturous

mirth and gloomy dejection. Such is the ephemeral gladness of the

shallow humorist or the surfeited _bon vivant_. The cheerfulness

of the saints had nothing of the spasmodic. It was not a rushing

avalanche of fitfully majestic grandeur. It was a calm, stilly

lake of perennial transparency, lying in a hushed valley of mossy

verdure, fringed by a redolent clustering of midsummer’s fairest

flowers, reflecting the many-colored beauty of a rich autumnal

foliage, and resounding to the blessed harmonies of nature’s

feathered choristers. It was a fixed and permanent habit of mind,

sustaining the faculties in even security, keeping the emotions

of the will poised in rational equilibrium, dispelling all care,

all discontent, all overweening solitude, and diffusing throughout

their being a moral odor of sweet and undying fragrance.

One of the most evident results of such a state of mind is a spirit

of disinterestedness. This rare gift is, we consider, the strongest

proof of solid virtue. It is also the most winning attraction

observable in Christian character; and this, doubtless, is why

it is so frequently counterfeited, and employed as a subterfuge

to disguise the petty artifices of selfishness. It was not from

disinterestedness, but to be rid of the anxiety attendant upon

wealth, that the Grecian philosopher cast his gold into the

sea. He was the founder of a numerous school, whose adherents,

lacking true greatness of soul, comfort themselves, and seek to

hoodwink others, by aping excellence which they do not possess.

Disinterestedness, if it implies not sacrifice _in actu_, at least

supposes a readiness to submit, as often as need be, to the loss

of private interest. It seeks to eradicate, root and branch, all

narrow self-seeking. Herein lies the secret of its power in evoking

sympathy. It subdues the sternest enemy, wins plaudits from the

most callous observer, captivates all well-regulated minds, and

goes straight to every true, tender, and impressible heart. Knaves

are well aware of its popularity; conceal under its lambkin-like

guilelessness their wolfish cunning; and frequently glide, upon

its unerring prestige, into sudden and unmerited fortune. But only

with the saints--except in instances so rare as but to confirm the

rule--has disinterestedness attained its full growth. Riches, high

position, the esteem of the great ones of this world, such things

they deem it a luxury to be able to despise. But they stopped not

here, for this is but the threshold of disinterestedness. A stilly

and breathless contentment with the existing state of things; an

ever-vigilant eagerness to keep self-interest in the background,

giving due prominence to all things else; a prompt readiness to

be ignored rather than exalted; to be tossed to and fro upon the

sea of life, yet ever be buoyed to the surface by uncomplaining

indifference; to be all to all and dead to self--such is the point

they sedulously strove to reach. It was this beautiful quality

which so much endeared St. Francis de Sales to all with whom he

held intercourse. There went out from him that which distinctly

assured them that they stood in the presence of a superior being.

His sovereign once declared that there was more true nobility

in Francis than in any king he had ever read of, and that he

regarded his lofty virtue as something far more to be coveted

than the throne and sceptre of France. Having been requested by

a distinguished personage to accept a purse of gold, he declined

for the memorable reason that “he really knew not what to do with

it.” Centuries before, Saul of Tharsus spoke in similarly unselfish

strains to the citizens of Corinth: “Behold now the third time I am

ready to come to you; and I will not be burthensome unto you. For I

seek not the things that are yours, but _you_.”[129]

Disinterestedness finds vent in generosity without limit, and in

sympathy which admits of no distinction. Greatness embodies these

ministering angels of succor, and calls them her almoners and

handmaids. Heroes and conquerors have been bravest in their deeds

of magnanimity--most honored in their tender considerateness.

“Cæsar dando, sublevando, ignoscendo, gloriam sibi adeptus

est.”[130] It is said of Napoleon the First that, walking one

day on the coast of Calais, and meditating the ruin of the

British empire, he descried an English lad furtively launching a

tiny skiff, with a view to escaping from the navy of France and

revisiting his native land. There was too much of precocious daring

in the act not to stir the feelings of a soldier who had conquered

everything but his cool contempt for danger. The emperor gave

orders that a vessel of the line should be despatched to bear the

young Saxon to the shores of Britain. The achievements of human

generosity and sympathy fade into insignificance beside the heroism

of the saints. Nothing was with them too sacred to be transformed

into instruments of sympathy--into healing balsam to staunch the

wounds of sorrow and distress. The sacred vessels of the altar

were converted into money; the revenues of the church were made the

patrimony of the poor; and asylums of mercy went up to meet the

ravages of sudden epidemic, wherein the princely blood and fine

feelings of a St. Charles Borromeo and the genius of a Bellarmine

were happiest and most at home in bending over the pestilential

couch of smitten wretchedness. It is written of the “Seraph of

Assisi” that, on learning of a dearth of provisions among a horde

of banditti, he furnished them with an abundant supply, went in

person and publicly embraced the bandit chief, and soon saw them

exchange their career of plunder for a life of edifying industry.

To the hair-splitting sciolist, he would appear to have travelled

beyond the bounds of orthodoxy and sanctioned highway robbery; but

to the closer student of the Gospel, he will rather resemble him

who, going out from Gethsemani, kissed the worst of robbers, and

with his dying breath gave paradise to a public malefactor.

We have thus far indicated a few of those leading characteristics

which, if they be not, in the aggregate, true moral greatness

itself, are recognized as among its special and essential

ingredients. We cannot take leave of this subject without

repeating what at the outset we intimated, namely, that it is in

the lives of the saints those lofty traits of character are most

commonly and most endearingly illustrated. What share grace and

nature respectively have had in the formation and development of

each individual one, it has not been our object to investigate.

“Facienti quod in se est Deus nunquam denigat gratiam.”[131] One

thing only the saints sought at the hands of men--to be denied a

place in their memory. While here below, their wish was for the

most part realized to the fullest. They were of all others the

least understood and most abused. Their lowliness is now fittingly

exalted, and, while their bodies rest in peace, their names shall

be honored from generation to generation. Nor can we conceive

any means whereby men may more easily or more surely attain true

greatness, even in the natural order, than by striving, however

imperfectly, to rival those great men and women, once the earthly

gems of our ransomed humanity, now the sharers of its glorified

dignity and beauty, whom the church, in the progressive march of

time, steadily reproduces to our notice, to strengthen our faith,

to vivify our hopes, and intensify our undivided love for the

Creator in the first instance, and then for our fellow-creature,

without limit or distinction.

FOOTNOTES:

[121] “Let him receive the palm who has deserved it.”

[122] Ecclus. xliv. 1, 15.

[123] “The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear?...

Wait on the Lord, act bravely, let thy heart be strengthened, and

wait for the Lord.”

[124] Luke vii. 33.

[125] St. Francis de Sales, _Introduction_, part iv. chap. 1.

[126] Acts xxv.

[127] Prov. xxi. 25.

[128] _La Divina Commedia_, _Paradiso_, canti i., xxii.

“The glory of him who gives life and motion to all things,

penetrates the universe, and shines forth with more splendor in one

part, and with less in another.

* * * * *

“O glorious stars! O light impregnate with powerful virtues! to

which I am indebted for all my genius, such as it is.”

The above rendering is taken from the admirable prose translation

of the Rev. E. O’Donnell.

[129] 2 Cor. xii. 14.

[130] “Cæsar gained glory for himself, by giving, by raising up, by

pardoning.”

[131] “God never denies grace to one who does what he can.”

RELIGIOUS PROCESSIONS IN BELGIUM.

In Belgium the patronal feasts of the churches and towns are

celebrated with great pomp and splendor. Each church, on its feast,

is adorned in the richest style, the streets and houses of the

parish are decorated with green branches and banners; high and low,

rich and poor, unite to do honor to the Blessed Sacrament, that

is carried in procession on the Sunday during the octave, within

the limits of the parish. From the houses of the nobles hang the

banners, and oriflammes emblazoned with their armorial bearings;

one common bond of sympathy and love unites all ranks, one common

desire to show homage and reverence to the dear Lord and Master,

who is to be borne in triumph in their midst.

Catholicity has so thoroughly moulded the habits and customs of

the people, the festivals of the church make the festivals of

the people; consequently, the feast of the church is also the

_Kermesse_, as it is called, of the people. The parish feast is

the _Petite Kermesse_; the patronal feast of the city the _Grande

Kermesse_, when all business is suspended, and universal rejoicing

prevails.

Bruges celebrates the _Grande Kermesse_ on the 6th of May, in honor

of the Precious Blood, which is on that day carried in procession

from the chapel of _Le Saint Sang_ to the cathedral. In the chapel

of _Le Saint Sang_, the oldest Christian building in Belgium, is

preserved the holiest of relics, the precious blood of our Lord,

which was expressed from the sponge with which his sacred body was

washed after the descent from the cross. It was brought from the

Holy Land by Comte Thierry d’Alsace, one of the first and most

distinguished of the early crusaders, and presented to the bishop

of his native city, Bruges; where it has ever since remained, the

object of the most faithful love and veneration.

Every year, on the 6th of May, the Bishop of Bruges and the canons

of the cathedral go in procession to the chapel of _Le Saint Sang_,

carry the relic, which is inclosed in a shrine of inestimable

value, to the cathedral; high mass is sung, benediction given,

and then the procession returns to the chapel, where, during the

octave, the precious relic is exposed to the veneration of the

faithful.

Bruges is one of the oldest and most Gothic of the Belgian towns;

in the middle ages it was the great commercial _entrepôt_, canals

intersect it in every direction, but trade has moved off to Antwerp

and other cities, and Bruges is left with only the traditions of

its former importance. It is, too, one of the quaintest of places;

grass grows in the streets, and, ordinarily, it is the quietest

of towns; consequently, the English affect it a great deal,

particularly converts. In the most retired part of the town is the

great convent of the _Dames Anglaises_; the chapel is magnificent;

around the walls are tablets with the names of the Talbots,

Giffords, Somersets, Middletons, and others who have died in the

convent, and were its benefactors. The habit is beautiful, pure

white with black veil; they follow the rule of St. Augustine, and

are principally English; nothing can be more calm and peaceful than

their retreat.

The Hôpital St. Jean is also well worth seeing, as its gallery of

paintings contains many of the gems of Memling and other masters of

the Flemish school. The hospital is under the charge of the _Sœurs

Hospitalières_, who are also Augustinians, dress in white like the

_Dames Anglaises_, but are not quite so elegantly picturesque.

The Palais de Justice, the beautiful little Hôtel de Ville, and the

Chapel of the Saint Sang, surround the Grande Place. It was the eve

of the _Grande Kermesse_ when we arrived in Bruges, and all the

country and adjoining towns had emptied into it; the streets and

Places were crowded with peasants in every imaginable costume;

women in round caps, pointed caps, peaks on top and wings on the

side; every age and style was represented. Near the Grand Place

is a belfry, immensely high, called the Carillon, with the most

delicious chime of bells, which made music all the afternoon and

evening. The bells of Bruges are the most famous in Belgium.

In the Grand Place two or three gymnasiums were in full operation;

at all the _Kermesses_ there are machines called _moulins_, like

enormous rotary engines, with chariots for the girls and women,

and horses for the boys and men, decorated with red and gold in

the most fantastic manner. Some of the carriages were red, others

blue, then yellow, and so on; round and round they went, the bands

of music playing, the children screaming with enjoyment, the

women waving their handkerchiefs; the people around looking on

delightedly, some smoking, some drinking, all enjoying themselves.

In another place, a circus was performing in broad daylight, clowns

jumping and turning somersaults, boys standing on men’s heads,

girls poised on the shoulders of other muscular individuals. The

chimes were ringing their merriest, and the great bells of the

cathedral and Notre Dame joined their loud voices to the chorus to

celebrate the eve of the great festival.

Early on the morning of the feast we visited the Chapel of the

Saint Sang, ascended the staircase; a priest sat behind a little

altar, holding the precious reliquary; we kissed the relic, saw

with our own eyes the crimson life-blood of our Blessed Redeemer,

shed for us on Calvary; passed down the other side; and descended

into the subterranean crypt, the oldest church in Flanders. Then

we visited the cathedral and Notre Dame, looked at the beautiful

pictures that adorn the walls, and meditated by the tombs of the

bishops and old dukes of Burgundy. In Notre Dame are the tombs of

Charles the Bold and Maria of Burgundy.

At ten, the high mass commenced in the cathedral; the Bishop of

Bruges sang the mass, the Nuncio’s throne was opposite, and on the

right of the Bishop of Bruges the Bishops of Ghent, Liège, and

Tournai occupied the first of the canons’ stalls, crimson velvet

hangings being thrown over the carved oak in honor of their rank.

The canons were in their stalls; the seminarians and the rest of

the clergy had the good places directly in front of the screen. In

the cathedral of Bruges the high altar is divided from the rest of

the church by great marble walls, on top of which were splendid

hangings of Gobelin tapestry; and all that could be seen was to be

done by peeping through the railing of the doors.

We left at the benediction, and made our way out, so as to see the

procession, which would pass the Hôtel de Flandre. The lancers

were drawn up in front of the cathedral, the streets were lined

with soldiers, flags and streamers floated in the breeze. We had

barely reached our window when we heard the approaching music,

the splendid band of the lancers. After the cavalry, that opened

the way and made the line, came the infantry; then the different

parishes, headed by the banners, the boys in cassocks and surplices

chanting, the girls in white veils and flowers--all that was

beautiful. The women came out from the houses and strewed flowers

and green leaves, so that the street looked like a carpet. In

nearly every detachment was a girl dressed like the Blessed

Virgin; in one, it was the Queen of Heaven--white dress, studded

with stars, mantle and train of blue velvet, gemmed with golden

stars, diadem and sceptre. In another, the Comfortress of the

Afflicted; in another, the Mother of God; again, the Mater Dolorosa.

Then came one of the most beautiful divisions: boys dressed to

represent the different saints of the city and churches--St. James;

St. Sebastian, with his bow and arrows; one, St. Charles Borromeo,

was perfect, mitre on the head, superb cross and chain, the crosier

in his hand--the little fellow marched with as much dignity and

grace as the five bishops who followed.

Immediately before the relic was borne a splendid statue of

the Mother of Sorrows, in purple velvet, surrounded by the

confraternity, dressed in purple, covered with large black lace

veils, followed by the “Three Marys.” Some artist must have dressed

and grouped them. The Blessed Virgin’s face was most exquisitely

pure and sorrowful, her blue mantle and dress fell around her with

perfect grace; the Magdalene supported her on one side, a beautiful

girl, with long flowing hair, superbly dressed, her arms covered

with splendid bracelets; on the other side was the third Mary, her

arm thrown around the Blessed Virgin to support her.

Last of all came the clergy of the cathedral, the seminarians

flinging clouds of incense, the canons in procession. The shrine

was carried in turn by different canons; immediately after walked

the Bishop of Bruges, giving his benediction, his train borne by

three boys; then the three other bishops, and the Nuncio, in a

superb cape and mitre, who likewise blessed the people. It was

beautiful; the white dresses of the children, the red and gold

vestments of the priests (all the vestments, of course, were red in

honor of the Precious Blood), the splendid banners, the magnificent

music, and the picturesque crowd, made an ensemble not easily

forgotten.

In Ghent, the great procession of St. Macaire, which only takes

place once in a century, was celebrated May 19, 1867, with

extraordinary splendor, to implore his intercession for the

preservation of Belgium from pestilence, the cholera, the typhus

fever, and the cattle disease, which so desolated the country the

previous year. The Cardinal of Malines, all the Bishops of Belgium,

the Nuncio, and Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, who preached the

Jubilee, assisted. The city was crowded; over 100,000 strangers

from all parts, even from France and Germany.

The Cathedral of St. Bavon is very old, dates from 940, and was

in its gala dress. The shrine of St. Macaire, of solid silver, a

present from the city of Mons two hundred years ago, was placed

upon a temporary altar, erected in the middle of the transept,

surrounded by thousands of lights, a canopy of evergreens and

flowers overshadowed it, and the church was decorated with garlands

of flowers that hung from the ceiling in immense festoons; hundreds

of pennants suspended from the arched roof fluttered above our

heads; and the _coup d’œil_ from the lower part of the church, or

from behind the main altar, was surpassingly beautiful.

The mass was sung by the Nuncio, in the presence of the cardinal

and the other bishops. After the mass we looked at the paintings

in all the chapels, saw the font where Charles V. was made a

Christian, and by making the most of being strangers persuaded a

polite young gentleman to show us the famous statue of Duquesnoy.

Duquesnoy was one of the greatest sculptors of his day; we had seen

the beautiful statue of St. Ursula in the mortuary chapel of the

Princes of Tour and Taxis, in the church of the Sablon in Brussels,

and were anxious to see the still more famous _chef-d’œuvre_ in the

Cathedral of Ghent.

Duquesnoy, unfortunately, was as wicked as he was talented, and for

some great crime was condemned to be executed. While in prison he

finished his last great work, the recumbent figure of one of the

bishops of Ghent. He devoted his best energies to the task, hoping

by that means to obtain his pardon; the result was a grand success;

he had surpassed all his former efforts; but even the great triumph

could not obtain grace for him; the law was inexorable; he must

die. He asked to see once more his beloved statue, upon which he

had devoted his lonely prison life; he was taken before it, and

in despair and rage he seized a hammer and broke off the fingers

of the right hand. Before he could inflict further damage he was

hurried off, and burnt before the church of St. Nicholas.

We rambled around the cathedral in every direction, looking

perseveringly at the right hands of all the statues, but all the

fingers were perfect; where was Duquesnoy’s? Men were going round

clattering the keys, pushing the people out, priests were in all

corners, telling everybody the church must be cleared to make ready

for the procession. We made a beseeching appeal to a priest, who

stood upon the steps leading to the choir, that we were strangers,

probably never would be in Ghent again in our lives--couldn’t we

see the statue? He gave a wink to one of the ushers, and the young

gentleman responded by inviting us up the steps, and into the

choir we hurried.

There were three thrones, two on the epistle side for the Cardinal

and Nuncio, one on the gospel side for the Bishop of Ghent; the

other bishops had crimson velvet chairs and _pries-dieu_. Behind

the throne of the Bishop was the famous statue; the fingers have

been repaired, but the line is visible where the unfortunate wretch

wreaked his vengeance. Not only did we see the statue well, but our

polite guide insisted upon our examining closely the shrine of St.

Macaire; so we had a chance of admiring the beautiful chasing of

the repository of the relics.

After dinner, we took possession of our window, and at five the

procession came in sight. First, the lancers to make the line;

then the charitable associations of Ghent, the _confréries_ of St.

Francis Xavier, free schools, etc., each headed by superb banners.

The gem of this part was the Jesuit College of St. Barbe, forming

a group--the Triumph of St. Aloysius of Gonzaga. The choirboys

led the van, then the three cardinals--Borromeo, Bellarmin, and

Gonzaga, preceded by pages bearing their escutcheons, followed by

others carrying their trains; the statue of St. Aloysius, followed

by his brother Rudolph, Duke of Mantua, preceded by heralds bearing

the arms of the house of Gonzaga; the young nobles walked behind,

and the avenue was formed by halberdiers in the dress of the time.

The dressing of this group was gorgeous; the sons of the first

families of Flanders arrayed in the most magnificent style. We have

never seen it equalled on the stage.

Then followed in endless succession the religious orders of women,

the Sisters of Charity with the deaf and dumb; the Sisters of the

Visitation with their free schools; the Sisters of St. Joseph;

the Black Sisters, who nurse the sick; the Beguines from the Petit

and Grand Beguinage with their free schools; each division bearing

patron saints decorated in the most beautiful manner, and arranged

in the most artistic style.

The parishes were in full force; each parish was a grand procession

by itself; the schools and _confréries_ of each church with its

insignia. The Living Rosary was exquisite; bands of young girls

reciting the rosary; the Five Joyful Mysteries in white, with white

roses and ribbons; the Five Sorrowful, white and violet; the Five

Glorious, white and red--all with gorgeous banners and streamers.

The parish of St. John the Baptist was distinguished by a group

of the church militant, suffering, and triumphant. The church

militant, young girls dressed in white, green wreaths, ribbons,

and gauze veils floating around, indicating the immortal hopes of

the church; some bearing on velvet cushions the triple crown of

the Pope and the emblems of episcopal authority; the cross borne

aloft, crowned with garlands, and the words, in blazing letters,

“Portæ inferorum non prævalebunt contra te!” The church suffering,

girls in white, purple sashes and wreaths, covered with black lace

veils, bearing the instruments of the Passion, the inscription on

the cross, “Ave crux, spes unica!” The church triumphant, girls in

white, veils of cloth-of-gold, dresses studded with golden stars,

some bearing the banners of the Blessed Sacrament, others golden

palms of victory; the cross golden, with the legend, surrounded by

a halo of glory, “In hoc signo vinces!”

And so passed on the different parishes, each followed by the

clergy of the church in the richest vestments. The religious

orders of men came next, and lastly the parish of the cathedral

of St. Bavon with the precious relics of St. Macaire; the free

schools, the _confréries_, the congregation, and the most exquisite

historical group, representing the courts of the King of France and

the Comte de Flandre as they assisted at the translation of the

relics of St. Macaire in 1067--the soldiers, archers, chaplains,

standard-bearers, and pages in the most accurate costumes. The King

and Queen of France and the Comte de Flandre were magnificently

dressed; no tinsel, but superb diadems and robes of velvet and gold.

The “Slaves of Mary” formed a beautiful group; a lovely statue of

the Blessed Virgin, borne aloft, from which hung golden chains,

carried by young ladies, dressed in white, enveloped in white

lace veils, the chains binding them together. It was difficult to

choose where all was so beautiful, but we were almost tempted to

say it was the gem. Add to this magnificence the streets adorned

with flags, houses covered with green branches and flowers,

balconies with blue, crimson, and yellow velvet hangings glittering

with gold, and some idea may be formed of the uniquely beautiful

spectacle.

The seminary, the curés in surplice and ermine hanging from the

left arm, the deans in copes, the canons of the cathedral, the

bishops of Namur, Liège, Bruges, Tournai, Geneva, and Ghent in

mitre and cope, preceding the shrine of St. Macaire, borne by

priests, surrounded by lights; then the Nuncio; and, last of all,

the Cardinal of Malines--all the bishops giving the episcopal

benediction, the people blessing themselves in the most earnest,

reverential manner.

Well may Ghent have been proud of her procession! The Cardinal of

Malines said it could not have been seen anywhere but in Belgium,

and nowhere in Belgium but in Ghent. It was two hours passing our

window, and five hours going from the Chateau des Espagnols, the

old Abbey of St. Bavon, to the cathedral.

The _Grande Kermesse_ of Brussels is in July, the first Sunday

after the 13th, the anniversary of the translation of the

_Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle_ from St. Catharine’s to the

beautiful collegiate church of St. Gudule. In the fourteenth

century, in the year 1370, sixteen hosts were stolen by the Jews

from the tabernacle of St. Catharine, carried to their synagogue,

and on Good Friday they assembled to gratify their hate; they

placed them upon a table, stabbed them--blood flowed. Shocked at

what they had done, but not converted, even by what they had seen,

they tried to get rid of them, and induced a woman to carry them to

their brethren in Cologne. The woman had been recently converted,

and although, from love of gold, she consented to conceal the

crime, she determined to reveal all to the priest who had received

her into the church. She carried them to him, avowing the part she

had taken in the whole affair; the authorities arrested the Jews,

the guilty ones were executed, the rest banished from Brussels, and

their property confiscated.

St. Catharine’s was a chapel of St. Gudule’s; so the clergy went in

grand procession, followed by the reigning sovereigns, nobility,

and dignitaries, to bring them to St. Gudule’s. The Jews had

destroyed some of them; there only remained three, which are the

especial objects of veneration in Brussels. The synagogue where the

outrage was committed was bought by Comte de Salagar, and converted

into a chapel; but as it was small, a beautiful _chapelle

expiatoire_, designed by Pugin, has been erected adjoining.

Attached to it is a community of ladies, semi-religious, who

perpetually adore the Blessed Sacrament in the spot where it was

profaned; besides their office of perpetual adoration, they devote

themselves to good works pertaining to the Blessed Sacrament; they

make vestments for poor churches and missions, instruct children

for the first communion, visit the sick, and prepare the dying for

the holy viaticum.

Where once the most cruel hate was shown, now the most ardent love

is manifested. The sanctuary is always perfumed with the choicest

flowers, the altar blazes with light, and the incense of prayer and

adoration is ever offered, to atone for the awful insult. On Holy

Thursday, the ladies of Brussels send their richest jewels to adorn

the repository, which is always in the old synagogue; and when one

glances from the tablet, which tells that on this spot the shocking

deed was perpetrated, he beholds, enthroned on high, the holy of

holies, surrounded by diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and

pearls.

The _Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle_ is preserved in St. Gudule’s;

Charles V. built the beautiful chapel of the Blessed Sacrament,

and the superb windows were presented by his royal sisters, the

Queens of Portugal and Hungary, his brother, Ferdinand, King of

the Romans, and Francis I. of France. The sanctuary is surrounded

by a cordon of lamps, always burning, and the monstrance presented

by the Duc d’Arenberg is ablaze with jewels. When the Pays Bas

were under the rule of Austria, the Austrian sovereigns lavished

upon this chapel every mark of affection; the most superb laces,

worth thousands of francs, and jewels; and the unfortunate Marie

Antoinette sent her wedding-necklace of diamonds to be suspended

around the monstrance.

The week before the festival, a retreat is always given in the

Chapelle Expiatoire, and during the octave there are sermons by

some famous preacher every day at St. Gudule’s. One year the

retreat was given by Père Hermann, in religion Frère Augustin

Marie du Très-Saint-Sacrement, a converted Jew, then a bare-footed

Carmelite. He was a great artist, Liszt’s best pupil, the idol of

the salons of Paris, Vienna, Brussels, and all the capitals of

Europe, and was converted by the Blessed Sacrament in a miraculous

manner. He told us the history of his conversion. Said he: “I was

invited to play the organ in a church in Paris for some great

charity. I consented. I played. At the benediction I ceased, I

looked on; when in an instant I felt that I knew that God was in

the Blessed Sacrament. I fell on my knees. I adored, and for some

time was insensible to all around. But, although convinced, I was

not converted. For three months I continued my artist-life, when,

one day in St. Gudule’s, in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament,

I received my _coup de grâce_. I resisted no longer; I became a

Catholic; and you see me now before you, a Carmelite.” We asked

him if it was true that he had been such a great artist. “Yes,” he

answered; “that is, in the history of music Liszt considered me

his best pupil; as such, I accompanied him in his tours, and he

presented me to all the crowned heads as his future successor.” His

preaching was wonderful, always on the Blessed Sacrament, and when

he turned to the tabernacle his countenance was inflamed with love.

The grand procession leaves St. Gudule’s after the High Mass,

winds its way through the streets, adorned in the most gorgeous

manner--military music, soldiers, the different parishes with their

respective clergy, children strewing flowers, and priests swinging

censers before the Très-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, which is borne

under a magnificent canopy by the deacon and sub-deacon of the

Mass, followed by the dean. Through the kneeling crowds they march

until they reach the picturesque Grande Place, and there, on an

altar ornamented with the national colors, the Blessed Sacrament is

exposed for adoration.

At that moment it is superb; the military form the square, the

beautifully dressed children kneel in the centre, the clergy are

ranged on the high flight of steps leading up to the altar--incense

is burning from huge urns; the dean intones the Tantum Ergo, it is

taken up by hundreds--and then the bell rings, the drums roll, the

soldiers present arms, the dean raises the Très-Saint-Sacrement de

Miracle, and gives the benediction to the Hôtel de Ville, and in

blessing that hall blesses the city.