He did not fear to give a colleague to the empire in the person of a

soldier of fortune, like himself; it was Maximian Hercules, his friend.

The similarity of their fortunes had caused their friendship. Maximian

was also born of poor and obscure parents, and had been elevated like

Diocletian, step by step, by his own courage. People have not failed to

reproach this Maximian with taking the surname of Hercules, and

Diocletian with accepting that of Jove. They do not condescend to

perceive that we have clergymen every day who call themselves Hercules,

and peasants denominated Cæsar and Augustus.

Diocletian created two Cæsars; the first was another Maximian, surnamed

Galerius, who had formerly been a shepherd. It seemed that Diocletian,

the proudest of men and the first introducer of kissing the imperial

feet, showed his greatness in placing Cæsars on the throne from men born

in the most abject condition. A slave and two peasants were at the head

of the empire, and never was it more flourishing.

The second Cæsar whom he created was of distinguished birth. He was

Constantius Chlorus, great-nephew, on his mother's side, to the emperor

Claudius II. The empire was governed by these four princes; an

association which might have produced four civil wars a year, but

Diocletian knew so well how to be master of his colleagues, that he

obliged them always to respect him, and even to live united among

themselves. These princes, with the name of Cæsars were in reality no

more than his subjects. It is seen that he treated them like an absolute

sovereign; for when the Cæsar Galerius, having been conquered by the

Persians, went into Mesopotamia to give him the account of his defeat,

he let him walk for the space of a mile near his chariot, and did not

receive him into favor until he had repaired his fault and misfortune.

Galerius retrieved them the year after, in 297, in a very signal manner.

He vanquished the king of Persia in person.

These kings of Persia had not been cured, by the battle of Arbela, of

carrying their wives, daughters, and eunuchs along with their armies.

Galerius, like Alexander, took his enemy's wife and all his family, and

treated them with the same respect. The peace was as glorious as the

victory. The vanquished ceded five provinces to the Romans, from the

sands of Palmyra to Armenia.

Diocletian and Galerius went to Rome to dazzle the inhabitants with a

triumph till then unheard of. It was the first time that the Roman

people had seen the wife and children of a king of Persia in chains. All

the empire was in plenty and prosperity. Diocletian went through all the

provinces, from Rome to Egypt, Syria, and Asia Minor. His ordinary

residence was not at Rome, but at Nicomedia, near the Euxine Sea, either

to watch over the Persians and the barbarians, or because he was

attached to a retreat which he had himself embellished. It was in the

midst of this prosperity that Galerius commenced the persecution against

the Christians. Why had he left them in repose until then, and why were

they then ill treated? Eusebius says that a centurion of the Trajan

legion, named Marcellus, who served in Mauritania, assisting with his

troop at a feast given in honor of the victory of Galerius, threw his

military sash, his arms, and his branch of vine, on the ground, and

cried out loudly that he was a Christian and that he would no longer

serve pagans--a desertion which was punished with death by the council

of war. This was the first known example of the famous persecution of

Diocletian. It is true that there were a great number of Christians in

the armies of the empire, and the interest of the state demanded that

such a desertion should not be allowed. The zeal of Marcellus was pious,

but not reasonable. If at the feast given in Mauritania, viands offered

to the gods of the empire were eaten, the law did not command Marcellus

to eat of them, nor did Christianity order him to set the example of

sedition. There is not a country in the world in which so rash an action

would not have been punished.

However, after the adventure of Marcellus, it does not appear that the

Christians were thought of until the year 303. They had, at Nicomedia, a

superb church, next to the palace, which it exceeded in loftiness.

Historians do not tell us the reasons why Galerius demanded of

Diocletian the instant destruction of this church; but they tell us that

Diocletian was a long time before he determined upon it, and that he

resisted for almost a year. It is very strange that after this he should

be called the _persecutor._ At last the church was destroyed and an

edict was affixed by which the Christians were deprived of all honors

and dignities. Since they were then deprived of them, it is evident that

they possessed them. A Christian publicly tore the imperial edict in

pieces--that was not an act of religion, it was an incitement to revolt.

It is, therefore, very likely that an indiscreet and unreasonable zeal

drew down this fatal persecution. Some time afterwards the palace of

Galerius was burned down; he accused the Christians, and they accused

Galerius of having himself set fire to it, in order to get a pretext for

calumniating them. The accusation of Galerius appeared very unjust; that

which they entered against him was no less so, for the edict having been

already issued, what new pretext could he want? If he really wanted a

new argument to engage Diocletian to persecute, this would only form a

new proof of the reluctance of Diocletian to abandon the Christians,

whom he had always protected; it would evidently show that he wanted new

additional reasons to determine him to so much severity.

It appears certain that there were many Christians tormented in the

empire, but it is difficult to reconcile with the Roman laws the alleged

reported tortures, the mutilations, torn-out tongues, limbs cut and

broiled, and all the insults offered against modesty and public decency.

It is certain that no Roman law ever ordered such punishments; the

aversion of the people to the Christians might carry them to horrible

excesses, but we do not anywhere find that these excesses were ordered,

either by the emperors or the senate.

It is very likely that the suffering of the Christians spread itself in

exaggerated complaints: the "_Acta Sincera_" informs us that the

emperor, being at Antioch, the prætor condemned a Christian child named

Romanus to be burned; that the Jews present at the punishment began to

laugh, saying: "We had formerly three children, Shadrach, Meshach, and

Abednego, who did not burn in the fiery furnace but these do burn." At

that instant, to confound the Jews, a great rain extinguished the pile

and the little boy walked out safe and sound, asking, "Where then is the

fire?" The account goes on to say that the emperor commanded him to be

set free, but that the judge ordered his tongue to be cut out. It is

scarcely possible to believe that the judge would have the tongue of a

boy cut out, whom the emperor had pardoned.

That which follows is more singular. It is pretended that an old

Christian physician named Ariston, who had a knife ready, cut the

child's tongue out to pay his court to the prætor. The little Romanus

was then carried back to prison; the jailer asked him the news. The

child related at length how the old surgeon had cut out his tongue. It

should be observed that before this operation the child stammered very

much but that now he spoke with wonderful volubility. The jailer did not

fail to relate this miracle to the emperor. They brought forward the old

surgeon who swore that the operation had been performed according to the

rules of his art and showed the child's tongue which he had properly

preserved in a box as a relic. "Bring hither another person," said he,

"and I will cut his tongue out in your majesty's presence, and you will

see if he can speak." The proposition was accepted; they took a poor man

whose tongue the surgeon cut out as he had done the child's, and the man

died on the spot.

I am willing to believe that the "Acts" which relate this fact are as

veracious as their title pretends, but they are still more simple than

sincere, and it is very strange that Fleury, in his "Ecclesiastical

History," relates such a prodigious number of similar incidents, being

much more conducive to scandal than edification.

You will also remark that in this year 303, in which it is pretended

that Diocletian was present at this fine affair in Antioch, he was at

Rome and passed all that year in Italy. It is said that it was at Rome,

and in his presence, that St. Genestus, a comedian, was converted on the

stage while playing in a comedy against the Christians. This play shows

clearly that the taste of Plautus and Terence no longer existed; that

which is now called comedy, or Italian farce, seems to have originated

at this time. St. Genestus represented an invalid; the physician asked

him what was the matter with him. "I am too unwieldy," said Genestus.

"Would you have us exorcise you to make you lighter?" said the

physician. "No," replied Genestus, "I will die a Christian, to be raised

again of a finer stature." Then the actors, dressed as priests and

exorcists, came to baptize him, at which moment Genestus really became a

Christian, and, instead of finishing his part, began to preach to the

emperor and the people. The "_Acta Sincera_" relate this miracle also.

It is certain that there were many true martyrs, but it is not true that

the provinces were inundated with blood, as it is imagined. Mention is

made of about two hundred martyrs towards the latter days of Diocletian

in all the extent of the Roman Empire, and it is averred, even in the

letters of Constantine, that Diocletian had much less part in the

persecution than Galerius.

Diocletian fell ill this year and feeling himself weakened he was the

first who gave the world the example of the abdication of empire. It is

not easy to know whether this abdication was forced or not; it is true,

however, that having recovered his health he lived nine years equally

honored and peaceable in his retreat of Salonica, in the country of his

birth. He said that he only began to live from the day of his retirement

and when he was pressed to remount the throne he replied that the

throne was not worth the tranquillity of his life, and that he took more

pleasure in cultivating his garden than he should' have in governing the

whole earth. What can be concluded from these facts but that with great

faults he reigned like a great emperor and finished his life like a

philosopher!

DIONYSIUS, ST. (THE AREOPAGITE),

AND THE FAMOUS ECLIPSE.

The author of the article "Apocrypha" has neglected to mention a hundred

works recognized for such, and which, being entirely forgotten, seem not

to merit the honor of being in his list. We have thought it right not to

omit St. Dionysius, surnamed the Areopagite, who is pretended to have

been for a long time the disciple of St. Paul, and of one Hierotheus, an

unknown companion of his. He was, it is said, consecrated bishop of

Athens by St. Paul himself. It is stated in his life that he went to

Jerusalem to pay a visit to the holy Virgin and that he found her so

beautiful and majestic that he was strongly tempted to adore her.

After having a long time governed the Church of Athens he went to confer

with St. John the evangelist, at Ephesus, and afterwards with Pope

Clement at Rome; thence he went to exercise his apostleship in France;

and knowing, says the historian, that Paris was a rich, populous, and

abundant town, and like other capitals, he went there to plant a

citadel, to lay hell and infidelity in ruins.

He was regarded for a long time as the first bishop of Paris. Harduinus,

one of his historians, adds that at Paris he was exposed to wild beasts,

but, having made the sign of the cross on them, they crouched at his

feet. The pagan Parisians then threw him into a hot oven from which he

walked out fresh and in perfect health; he was crucified and he began to

preach from the top of the cross.

They imprisoned him with his companions Rusticus and Eleutherus. He

there said mass, St. Rusticus performing the part of deacon and

Eleutherus that of subdeacon. Finally they were all three carried to

Montmartre, where their heads were cut off, after which they no longer

said mass.

But, according to Harduinus, there appeared a still greater miracle. The

body of St. Dionysius took its head in its hands and accompanied by

angels singing "_Gloria tibi, Domine, alleluia_!" carried it as far as

the place where they afterwards built him a church, which is the famous

church of St. Denis.

Mestaphrastus, Harduinus, and Hincmar, bishop of Rheims, say that he was

martyred at the age of ninety-one years, but Cardinal Baronius proves

that he was a hundred and ten, in which opinion he is supported by

Ribadeneira, the learned author of "Flower of the Saints." For our own

part we have no opinion on the subject.

Seventeen works are attributed to him, six of which we have

unfortunately lost; the eleven which remain to us have been translated

from the Greek by Duns Scotus, Hugh de St. Victor, Albert Magnus, and

several other illustrious scholars.

It is true that since wholesome criticism has been introduced into the

world it has been discovered that all the books attributed to Dionysius

were written by an impostor in the year 362 of our era, so that there no

longer remains any difficulty on that head.

_Of the Great Eclipse Noticed by Dionysius._

A fact related by one of the unknown authors of the life of Dionysius

has, above all, caused great dissension among the learned. It is

pretended that this first bishop of Paris, being in Egypt in the town of

Diospolis, or No-Amon, at the age of twenty-five years, before he was a

Christian, he was there, with one of his friends, witness of the famous

eclipse of the sun which happened at the full moon, at the death of

Jesus Christ and that he cried in Greek, "Either God suffers or is

afflicted at the sufferings of the criminal."

These words have been differently related by different authors, but in

the time of Eusebius of Cæsarea it is pretended that two historians--the

one named Phlegon and the other Thallus--had made mention of this

miraculous eclipse. Eusebius of Cæsarea quotes Phlegon, but we have none

of his works now existing. He said--at least it is pretended so--that

this eclipse happened in the fourth year of the two hundredth Olympiad,

which would be the eighteenth year of Tiberius's reign. There are

several versions of this anecdote; we distrust them all and much more

so, if it were possible to know whether they reckoned by Olympiads in

the time of Phlegon, which is very doubtful.

This important calculation interested all the astronomers. Hodgson,

Whiston, Gale, Maurice, and the famous Halley, demonstrated that there

was no eclipse of the sun in this first year, but that on November 24th

in the year of the hundred and second Olympiad an eclipse took place

which obscured the sun for two minutes, at a quarter past one, at

Jerusalem.

It has been carried still further: a Jesuit named Greslon pretended that

the Chinese preserved in their annals the account of an eclipse which

happened near that time, contrary to the order of nature. They desired

the mathematicians of Europe to make a calculation of it; it was

pleasant enough to desire the astronomists to calculate an eclipse which

was not natural. Finally it was discovered that these Chinese annals do

not in any way speak of this eclipse.

It appears from the history of St. Dionysius the Areopagite, the passage

from Phlegon, and from the letter of the Jesuit Greslon that men like to

impose upon one another. But this prodigious multitude of lies, far from

harming the Christian religion, only serves, on the contrary, to show

its divinity, since it is more confirmed every day in spite of them.

DIODORUS OF SICILY, AND HERODOTUS.

We will commence with Herodotus as the most ancient. When Henry Stephens

entitled his comic rhapsody "The Apology of Herodotus," we know that his

design was not to justify the tales of this father of history; he only

sports with us and shows that the enormities of his own times were worse

than those of the Egyptians and Persians. He made use of the liberty

which the Protestants assumed against those of the Catholic, Apostolic,

and Roman churches. He sharply reproaches them with their debaucheries,

their avarice, their crimes expiated by money, their indulgences

publicly sold in the taverns, and the false relics manufactured by their

own monks, calling them idolaters. He ventures to say that if the

Egyptians adored cats and onions, the Catholics adore the bones of the

dead. He dares to call them in his preliminary discourses, "theophages,"

and even "theokeses." We have fourteen editions of this book, for we

relish general abuse, just as much as we resent that which we deem

special and personal.

Henry Stephens made use of Herodotus only to render us hateful and

ridiculous; we have quite a contrary design. We pretend to show that the

modern histories of our good authors since Guicciardini are in general

as wise and true as those of Herodotus and Diodorus are foolish and

fabulous.

1. What does the father of history mean by saying in the beginning of

his work, "the Persian historians relate that the Phœnicians were the

authors of all the wars. From the Red Sea they entered ours," etc.? It

would seem that the Phœnicians, having embarked at the Isthmus of

Suez, arrived at the straits of Babel-Mandeb, coasted along Ethiopia,

passed the line, doubled the Cape of Tempests, since called the Cape of

Good Hope, returned between Africa and America, repassed the line and

entered from the ocean into the Mediterranean by the Pillars of

Hercules, a voyage of more than four thousand of our long marine leagues

at a time when navigation was in its infancy.

2. The first exploit of the Phœnicians was to go towards Argos to

carry off the daughter of King Inachus, after which the Greeks, in their

turn, carried off Europa, the daughter of the king of Tyre.

3. Immediately afterwards comes Candaules, king of Lydia, who, meeting

with one of his guards named Gyges, said to him, "Thou must see my wife

quite naked; it is absolutely essential." The queen, learning that she

had been thus exposed, said to the soldier, "You shall either die or

assassinate my husband and reign with me." He chose the latter

alternative, and the assassination was accomplished without difficulty.

4. Then follows the history of Arion, carried on the back of a dolphin

across the sea from the skirts of Calabria to Cape Matapan, an

extraordinary voyage of about a hundred leagues.

5. From tale to tale--and who dislikes tales?--we arrive at the

infallible oracle of Delphi, which somehow foretold that Crœsus would

cook a quarter of lamb and a tortoise in a copper pan and that he would

be dethroned by a mullet.

6. Among the inconceivable absurdities with which ancient history

abounds is there anything approaching the famine with which the Lydians

were tormented for twenty-eight years? This people, whom Herodotus

describes as being richer in gold than the Peruvians, instead of buying

food from foreigners, found no better expedient than that of amusing

themselves every other day with the ladies without eating for

eight-and-twenty successive years.

7. Is there anything more marvellous than the history of Cyrus? His

grandfather, the Mede Astyages, with a Greek name, dreamed that his

daughter Mandane--another Greek name--inundated all Asia; at another

time, that she produced a vine, of which all Asia ate the grapes, and

thereupon the good man Astyages ordered one Harpagos, another Greek, to

murder his grandson Cyrus--for what grandfather would not kill his

posterity after dreams of this nature?

8. Herodotus, no less a good naturalist than an exact historian, does

not fail to tell us that near Babylon the earth produced three hundred

ears of wheat for one. I know a small country which yields three for

one. I should like to have been transported to Diabek when the Turks

were driven from it by Catherine II. It has fine corn also but returns

not three hundred ears for one.

9. What has always seemed to me decent and edifying in Herodotus is the

fine religious custom established in Babylon of which we have already

spoken--that of all the married women going to prostitute themselves in

the temple of Mylitta for money, to the first stranger who presented

himself. We reckon two millions of inhabitants in this city; the

devotion must have been ardent. This law is very probable among the

Orientals who have always shut up their women, and who, more than six

ages before Herodotus, instituted eunuchs to answer to them for the

chastity of their wives. I must no longer proceed numerically; we should

very soon indeed arrive at a hundred.

All that Diodorus of Sicily says seven centuries after Herodotus is of

the same value in all that regards antiquities and physics. The Abbé

Terrasson said, "I translate the text of Diodorus in all its

coarseness." He sometimes read us part of it at the house of de Lafaye,

and when we laughed, he said, "You are resolved to misconstrue; it was

quite the contrary with Dacier."

The finest part of Diodorus is the charming description of the island of

Panchaica--"Panchaica Tellus," celebrated by Virgil: "There were groves

of odoriferous trees as far as the eye could see, myrrh and frankincense

to furnish the whole world without exhausting it; fountains, which

formed an infinity of canals, bordered with flowers, besides unknown

birds, which sang under the eternal shades; a temple of marble four

thousand feet long, ornamented with columns, colossal statues," etc.

This puts one in mind of the Duke de la Ferté, who, to flatter the taste

of the Abbé Servien, said to him one day, "Ah, if you had seen my son

who died at fifteen years of age! What eyes! what freshness of

complexion! what an admirable stature! the Antinous of Belvidere

compared to him was only like a Chinese baboon, and as to sweetness of

manners, he had the most engaging I ever met with." The Abbé Servien

melted, the duke of Ferté, warmed by his own words, melted also, both

began to weep, after which he acknowledged that he never had a son.

A certain Abbé Bazin, with his simple common sense, doubts another tale

of Diodorus. It is of a king of Egypt, Sesostris, who probably existed

no more than the island of Panchaica. The father of Sesostris, who is

not named, determined on the day that he was born that he would make him

the conqueror of all the earth as soon as he was of age. It was a

notable project. For this purpose he brought up with him all the boys

who were born on the same day in Egypt, and, to make them conquerors,

he did not suffer them to have their breakfasts until they had run a

hundred and eighty stadia, which is about eight of our long leagues.

When Sesostris was of age he departed with his racers to conquer the

world. They were then about seventeen hundred and probably half were

dead, according to the ordinary course of nature--and, above all, of the

nature of Egypt, which was desolated by a destructive plague at least

once in ten years.

There must have been three thousand four hundred boys born in Egypt on

the same day as Sesostris, and as nature produces almost as many girls

as boys, there must have been six thousand persons at least born on that

day. But women were confined every day, and six thousand births a day

produce, at the end of the year, two millions one hundred and ninety

thousand children. If you multiply by thirty-four, according to the rule

of Kersseboom, you would have in Egypt more than seventy-four millions

of inhabitants in a country which is not so large as Spain or France.

All this appeared monstrous to the Abbé Bazin, who had seen a little of

the world, and who judged only by what he had seen.

But one Larcher, who was never outside of the college of Mazarin arrayed

himself with great animation on the side of Sesostris and his runners.

He pretends that Herodotus, in speaking of the Greeks, does not reckon

by the stadia of Greece, and that the heroes of Sesostris only ran four

leagues before breakfast. He overwhelms poor Abbé Bazin with injurious

names such as no scholar in _us_ or _es_ had ever before employed. He

does not hold with the seventeen hundred boys, but endeavors to prove by

the prophets that the wives, daughters, and nieces of the king of

Babylon, of the satraps, and the magi, resorted, out of pure devotion,

to sleep for money in the aisles of the temple of Babylon with all the

camel-drivers and muleteers of Asia. He treats all those who defend the

honor of the ladies of Babylon as bad Christians, condemned souls, and

enemies to the state.

He also takes the part of the goat, so much in the good graces of the

young female Egyptians. It is said that his great reason was that he was

allied, by the female side, to a relation of the bishop of Meaux,

Bossuet, the author of an eloquent discourse on "Universal History"; but

this is not a peremptory reason.

Take care of the extraordinary stories of all kinds. Diodorus of Sicily

was the greatest compiler of these tales. This Sicilian had not a grain

of the temper of his countryman Archimedes, who sought and found so many

mathematical truths.

Diodorus seriously examines the history of the Amazons and their queen

Theaestris; the history of the Gorgons, who fought against the Amazons;

that of the Titans, and that of all the gods. He searches into the

history of Priapus and Hermaphroditus. No one could give a better

account of Hercules: this hero wandered through half the earth,

sometimes on foot and alone like a pilgrim, and sometimes like a general

at the head of a great army, and all his labors are faithfully

discussed, but this is nothing in comparison with the gods of Crete.

Diodorus justifies Jupiter from the reproach which other grave

historians have passed upon him, of having dethroned and mutilated his

father. He shows how Jupiter fought the giants, some in his island,

others in Phrygia, and afterwards in Macedonia and Italy; the number of

children which he had by his sister Juno and his favorites are not

omitted.

He describes how he afterwards became a god, and the supreme god. It is

thus that all the ancient histories have been written. What is more

remarkable, they were sacred; if they had not been sacred, they would

never have been read.

It is clear that it would be very useful if in all they were all

different, and from province to province, and island to island, each had

a different history of the gods, demi-gods, and heroes, from that of

their neighbors. But it should also be observed that the people never

fought for this mythology.

The respectable history of Thucydides, which has several glimmerings of

truth, begins at Xerxes, but, before that epoch how much time was

wasted.

DIRECTOR.

It is neither of a director of finances, a director of hospitals, nor a

director of the royal buildings that I pretend to speak, but of a

director of conscience, for that directs all the others: it is the

preceptor of human kind; it knows and teaches all that should be done or

omitted in all possible cases.

It is clear that it would be very useful if in all courts there were one

conscientious man whom the monarch secretly consulted on most occasions,

and who would boldly say, "_Non licet_." Louis the Just would not then

have begun his mischievous and unhappy reign by assassinating his first

minister and imprisoning his mother. How many wars, unjust as fatal, a

few good dictators would have spared! How many cruelties they would have

prevented!

But often, while intending to consult a lamb, we consult a fox. Tartuffe

was the director of Orgon. I should like to know who was the

conscientious director of the massacre of St. Bartholomew.

The gospel speaks no more of directors than of confessors. Among the

people whom our ordinary courtesy calls Pagans we do not see that

Scipio, Fabricius, Cato, Titus, Trajan, or the Antonines had directors.

It is well to have a scrupulous friend to remind you of your duty. But

your conscience ought to be the chief of your council.

A Huguenot was much surprised when a Catholic lady told him that she had

a confessor to absolve her from her sins and a director to prevent her

committing them. "How can your vessel so often go astray, madam," said

he, "having two such good pilots?"

The learned observe that it is not the privilege of every one to have a

director. It is like having an equerry; it only belongs to ladies of

quality. The Abbé Gobelin, a litigious and covetous man, directed Madame

de Maintenon only. The directors of Paris often serve four or five

devotees at once; they embroil them with their husbands, sometimes with

their lovers, and occasionally fill the vacant places.

Why have the women directors and the men none? It was possibly owing to

this distinction that Mademoiselle de la Vallière became a Carmelite

when she was quitted by Louis XIV., and that M. de Turenne, being

betrayed by Madame de Coetquin, did _not_ make himself a monk.

St. Jerome, and Rufinus his antagonist, were great directors of women

and girls. They did not find a Roman senator or a military tribune to

govern. These people profited by the devout facility of the feminine

gender. The men had too much beard on their chins and often too much

strength of mind for them. Boileau has given the portrait of a director

in his "Satire on Women," but might have said something much more to the

purpose.

DISPUTES.

There have been disputes at all times, on all subjects:--"_Mundum

tradidit disputationi eorum."_ There have been violent quarrels about

whether the whole is greater than a part; whether a body can be in

several places at the same time; whether the whiteness of snow can exist

without snow, or the sweetness of sugar without sugar; whether there can

be thinking without a head, etc.

I doubt not that as soon as a Jansenist shall have written a book to

demonstrate that one and two are three, a Molinist will start up and

demonstrate that two and one are five.

We hope to please and instruct the reader by laying before him the

following verses on "Disputation." They are well known to every man of

taste in Paris, but they are less familiar to those among the learned

who still dispute on gratuitous predestination, concomitant grace, and

that momentous question--whether the mountains were produced by the sea.

ON DISPUTATION.

Each brain its thought, each season has its mode;

Manners and fashions alter every day;

Examine for yourself what others say;--

This privilege by nature is bestowed;--

But, oh! dispute not--the designs of heaven

To mortal insight never can be given.

What is the knowledge of this world worth knowing?

What, but a bubble scarcely worth the blowing?

"Quite full of errors was the world before;"

Then, to preach reason is but one error more.

Viewing this earth from Luna's elevation,

Or any other convenient situation,

What shall we see? The various tricks of man.

_Here_ is a synod--_there_ is a divan;

Behold the mufti, dervish, iman, bonze,

The lama and the pope on equal thrones.

The modern doctor and the ancient rabbi,

The monk, the priest, and the expectant abbé:

If you are disputants, my friends, pray travel--

When you come home again, you'll cease to cavil.

That wild Ambition should lay waste the earth,

Or Beauty's glance give civil discord birth;

That, in our courts of equity, a suit

Should hang in doubt till ruin is the fruit;

That an old country priest should deeply groan,

To see a benefice he'd thought his own

Borne off by a court abbé; that a poet

Should feel most envy when he least should show it;

And, when another's play the public draws,

Should grin damnation while he claps applause;

With this, and more, the human heart is fraught--

But whence the rage to rule another's thought;

Say, wherefore--in what way--can you design

To make _your_ judgment give the law to _mine_?

But chiefly I detest those tiresome elves,

Half-learned critics, worshipping themselves,

Who, with the utmost weight of all their lead,

Maintain against you what yourself have said;

Philosophers--and poets--and musicians--

Great statesmen--deep in third and fourth editions--

They know all--read all--and (the greatest curse)

They _talk_ of all--from politics to verse;

On points of taste they'll contradict Voltaire;

In law e'en Montesquieu they will not spare;

They'll tutor Broglio in affairs of arms;

And teach the charming d'Egmont higher charms.

See them, alike in great and small things clever,

Replying constantly, though answering never;

Hear them assert, repeat, affirm, aver,

Wax wroth. And wherefore all this mighty stir?

This the great theme that agitates their breast--

Which of two wretched rhymesters rhymes the best?

Pray, gentle reader, did you chance to know

One Monsieur d'Aube, who died not long ago?

One whom the disputatious mania woke

Early each morning? If, by chance, you spoke

Of your own part in some well-fought affair,

Better than you he knew how, when, and where;

What though your own the deed and the renown?

His "letters from the army" put you down;

E'en Richelieu he'd have told--if he attended--

How Mahon fell, or Genoa was defended.

Although he wanted neither wit nor sense,

His every visit gave his friends offence;

I've seen him, raving in a hot dispute,

Exhaust their logic, force them to be mute,

Or, if their patience were entirely spent,

Rush from the room to give their passion vent.

His kinsmen, whom his property allured,

At last were wearied, though they long endured.

His neighbors, less athletic than himself,

For health's sake laid him wholly on the shelf.

Thus, 'midst his many virtues, this one failing

Brought his old age to solitary wailing;--

For solitude to him was deepest woe--

A sorrow which the peaceful ne'er can know

At length, to terminate his cureless grief,

A mortal fever came to his relief,

Caused by the great, the overwhelming pang,

Of hearing in the church a long harangue

Without the privilege of contradiction;

So, yielding to this crowning dire affliction,

His spirit fled. But, in the grasp of death,

'Twas some small solace, with his parting breath,

To indulge once more his ruling disposition

By arguing with the priest and the physician.

Oh! may the Eternal goodness grant him now

The rest _he_ ne'er to mortals would allow!

If, even there, he like not disputation

Better than uncontested, calm salvation.

* * * * *

But see, my friends, this bold defiance made

To every one of the disputing trade,

With a young bachelor their skill to try;

And God's own essence shall the theme supply.

Come and behold, as on the theatric stage,

The pitched encounter, the contending rage;

Dilemmas, enthymemes, in close array--

Two-edged weapons, cutting either way;

The strong-built syllogism's pondering might,

The sophism's vain ignis fatuus light;

Hot-headed monks, whom all the doctors dread,

And poor Hibernians arguing for their bread,

Fleeing their country's miseries and morasses

To live at Paris on disputes and masses;

While the good public lend their strict attention

To what soars far above their sober comprehension.

Is, then, all arguing frivolous or absurd?

Was Socrates himself not sometimes heard

To hold an argument amidst a feast?

E'en naked in the bath he hardly ceased.

Was this a failing in his mental vision?

Genius is sure discovered by collision;

The cold hard flint by one quick blow is fired;--

Fit emblem of the close and the retired,

Who, in the keen dispute struck o'er and o'er,

Acquire a sudden warmth unfelt before.

All this, I grant, is good. But mark the ill:

Men by disputing have grown blinder still.

The crooked mind is like the squinting eye:

How can you make it see _itself_ awry?

Who's in the wrong? Will any answer "I"?

Our words, our efforts, are an idle breath;

Each hugs his darling notion until death;

Opinions ne'er are altered; all we do

Is, _to arouse conflicting passions, too_.

Not truth itself should always find a tongue;

"To be too stanchly right, is to be wrong."

* * * * *

In earlier days, by vice and crime unstained,

Justice and Truth, two naked sisters, reigned;

But long since fled--as every one can tell--

Justice to heaven and Truth into a well.

Now vain Opinion governs every age,

And fills poor mortals with fantastic rage.

Her airy temple floats upon the clouds;

Gods, demons, antic sprites, in countless crowds,

Around her throne--a strange and motley mask--

Ply busily their never-ceasing task,

To hold up to mankind's admiring gaze

A thousand nothings in a thousand ways;

While, wafted on by all the winds that blow,

Away the temple and the goddess go.

A mortal, as her course uncertain turns,

To-day is worshipped, and to-morrow burns.

We scoff, that young Antinous once had priests;

We think our ancestors were worse than beasts;

And he who treats each modern custom ill,

Does but what future ages surely will.

What female face has Venus smiled upon?

The Frenchman turns with rapture to Brionne,

Nor can believe that men were wont to bow

To golden tresses and a narrow brow.

And thus is vagabond Opinion seen

To sway o'er Beauty--this world's other queen!

How can we hope, then, that she e'er will quit

Her vapory throne, to seek some sage's feet,

And Truth from her deep hiding-place remove,

Once more to witness what is done above?

And for the learned--even for the wise--

Another snare of false delusion lies;

That rage for systems, which, in dreamy thought,

Frames magic universes out of naught;

Building ten errors on one truth's foundation.

So he who taught the art of calculation,

In one of these illusive mental slumbers,

Foolishly sought the Deity in numbers;

The first mechanic, from as wild a notion,

Would rule man's freedom by the laws of motion.

This globe, says one, is an extinguished sun;

No, says another, 'tis a globe of glass;

And when the fierce contention's once begun,

Book upon book--a vast and useless mass--On

Science's altar are profusely strewn,

While Disputation sits on Wisdom's throne.

And then, from contrarieties of speech,

What countless feuds have sprung! For you may teach,

In the same words, two doctrines different quite

As day from darkness, or as wrong from right.

This has indeed been man's severest curse;

Famine and pestilence have not been worse,

Nor e'er have matched the ills whose aggravations

Have scourged the world through misinterpretations.

How shall I paint the conscientious strife?

The holy transports of each heavenly soul--

Fanaticism wasting human life

With torch, with dagger, and with poisoned bow;

The ruined hamlet and the blazing town,

Homes desolate, and parents massacred,

And temples in the Almighty's honor reared

The scene of acts that merit most his frown!

Rape, murder, pillage, in one frightful storm,

Pleasure with carnage horribly combined,

The brutal ravisher amazed to find

A sister in his victim's dying form!

Sons by their fathers to the scaffold led;

The vanquished always numbered with the dead.

Oh, God, permit that all the ills we know

May one day pass for merely fabled woe!

But see, an angry disputant steps forth--

His humble mien a proud heart ill conceals

In holy guise inclining to the earth,

Offering to God the venom he distils.

"Beneath all this a dangerous poison lies;

So--every man is neither right nor wrong,

And, since we never can be truly wise,

By instinct only should be driven along."

"Sir, I've not said a word to that effect."

"It's true, you've artfully disguised your meaning."

"But, Sir, my judgment ever is correct."

"Sir, in this case, 'tis rather overweening.

Let truth be sought, but let all passion yield;

'Discussion's right, and disputation's wrong;'

This have I said--and that at court, in field,

Or town, one often should restrain one's tongue."

"But, my dear Sir, you've still a double sense;

I can distinguish--" "Sir, with all my heart;

I've told my thoughts with all due deference,

And crave the like indulgence on your part."

"My son, all 'thinking' is a grievous crime;

So I'll denounce you without loss of time."

Blest would be they who, from fanatic power,

From carping censors, envious critics, free,

O'er Helicon might roam in liberty,

And unmolested pluck each fragrant flower!

So does the farmer, in his healthy fields,

Far from the ills in swarming towns that spring,

Taste the pure joys that our existence yields,

Extract the honey and escape the sting.

[Illustration: "Truth from her deep hiding-place remove once more to

witness what is done above"]

DISTANCE.

A man who knows how to reckon the paces from one end of his house to the

other might imagine that nature had all at once taught him this distance

and that he has only need of a _coup d'œil_, as in the case of

colors. He is deceived; the different distances of objects can be known

only by experience, comparison, and habit. It is that which makes a

sailor, on seeing a vessel afar off, able to say without hesitation what

distance his own vessel is from it, of which distance a passenger would

only form a very confused idea.

Distance is only the line from a given object to ourselves. This line

terminates at a point; and whether the object be a thousand leagues from

us or only a foot, this point is always the same to our eyes.

We have then no means of directly perceiving distances, as we have of

ascertaining by the touch whether a body is hard or soft; by the taste,

if it is bitter or sweet; or by the ear, whether of two sounds the one

is grave and the other lively. For if I duly notice, the parts of a body

which give way to my fingers are the immediate cause of my sensation of

softness, and the vibrations of the air, excited by the sonorous body,

are the immediate cause of my sensation of sound. But as I cannot have

an immediate idea of distance I must find it out by means of an

intermediate idea, but it is necessary that this intermediate idea be

clearly understood, for it is only by the medium of things known that we

can acquire a notion of things unknown.

I am told that such a house is distant a mile from such a river, but if

I do not know where this river is I certainly do not know where the

house is situated. A body yields easily to the impression of my hand: I

conclude immediately that it is soft. Another resists, I feel at once

its hardness. I ought therefore to feel the angles formed in my eye in

order to determine the distance of objects. But most men do not even

know that these angles exist; it is evident, therefore, that they cannot

be the immediate cause of our ascertaining distances.

He who, for the first time in his life, hears the noise of a cannon or

the sound of a concert, cannot judge whether the cannon be fired or the

concert be performed at the distance of a league or of twenty paces. He

has only the experience which accustoms him to judge of the distance

between himself and the place whence the noise proceeds. The vibrations,

the undulations of the air carry a sound to his ears, or rather to his

sensorium, but this noise no more carries to his sensorium the place

whence it proceeds than it teaches him the form of the cannon or of the

musical instruments. It is the same thing precisely with regard to the

rays of light which proceed from an object, but which do not at all

inform us of its situation.

Neither do they inform us more immediately of magnitude or form. I see

from afar a little round tower. I approach, perceive, and touch a great

quadrangular building. Certainly, this which I now see and touch cannot

be that which I saw before. The little round tower which was before my

eyes cannot be this large, square building. One thing in relation to us

is the measurable and tangible object; another, the visible object. I

hear from my chamber the noise of a carriage, I open my window and see

it. I descend and enter it. Yet this carriage that I have heard, this

carriage that I have seen, and this carriage which I have touched are

three objects absolutely distinct to three of my senses, which have no

immediate relation to one another.

Further; it is demonstrated that there is formed in my eye an angle a

degree larger when a thing is near, when I see a man four feet from me

than when I see the same man at a distance of eight feet. However, I

always see this man of the same size. How does my mind thus contradict

the mechanism of my organs? The object is really a degree smaller to my

eyes, and yet I see it the same. It is in vain that we attempt to

explain this mystery by the route which the rays follow or by the form

taken by the crystalline humor of the eye. Whatever may be supposed to

the contrary, the angle at which I see a man at four feet from me is

always nearly double the angle at which I see him at eight feet. Neither

geometry nor physics will explain this difficulty.

These geometrical lines and angles are not really more the cause of our

seeing objects in their proper places than that we see them of a certain

size and at a certain distance. The mind does not consider that if this

part were to be painted at the bottom of the eye it could collect

nothing from lines that it saw not. The eye looks down only to see that

which is near the ground, and is uplifted to see that which is above the

earth. All this might be explained and placed beyond dispute by any

person born blind, to whom the sense of sight was afterwards attained.

For if this blind man, the moment that he opens his eyes, can correctly

judge of distances, dimensions, and situations, it would be true that

the optical angles suddenly formed in his retina were the immediate

cause of his decisions. Doctor Berkeley asserts, after Locke--going even

further than Locke--that neither situation, magnitude, distance, nor

figure would be discerned by a blind man thus suddenly gifted with

sight.

In fact, a man born blind was found in 1729, by whom this question was

indubitably decided. The famous Cheselden, one of those celebrated

surgeons who join manual skill to the most enlightened minds, imagined

that he could give sight to this blind man by couching, and proposed the

operation. The patient was with great difficulty brought to consent to

it. He did not conceive that the sense of sight could much augment his

pleasures, except that he desired to be able to read and to write, he

cared indeed little about seeing. He proved by this indifference that it

is impossible to be rendered unhappy by the privation of pleasures of

which we have never formed an idea--a very important truth. However this

may be, the operation was performed, and succeeded. This young man at

fourteen years of age saw the light for the first time, and his

experience confirmed all that Locke and Berkeley had so ably foreseen.

For a long time he distinguished neither dimensions, distance, nor

form. An object about the size of an inch, which was placed before his

eyes, and which concealed a house from him, appeared as large as the

house itself. All that he saw seemed to touch his eyes, and to touch

them as objects of feeling touch the skin. He could not at first

distinguish that which, by the aid of his hands, he had thought round

from that which he had supposed square, nor could he discern with his

eyes if that which his hands had felt to be tall and short were so in

reality. He was so far from knowing anything about magnitude that after

having at last conceived by his sight that his house was larger than his

chamber, he could not conceive how sight could give him this idea. It

was not until after two months' experience he could discover that

pictures represented existing bodies, and when, after this long

development of his new sense in him, he perceived that bodies, and not

surfaces only, were painted in the pictures, he took them in his hands

and was astonished at not finding those solid bodies of which he had

begun to perceive the representation, and demanded which was the

deceived, the sense of feeling or that of sight.

Thus was it irrevocably decided that the manner in which we see things

follows not immediately from the angles formed in the eye. These

mathematical angles were in the eyes of this man the same as in our own

and were of no use to him without the help of experience and of his

other senses.

The adventure of the man born blind was known in France towards the year

1735. The author of the "Elements of Newton," who had seen a great deal

of Cheselden, made mention of this important discovery, but did not take

much notice of it. And even when the same operation of the cataract was

performed at Paris on a young man who was said to have been deprived of

sight from his cradle, the operators neglected to attend to the daily

development of the sense of sight in him and to the progress of nature.

The fruit of this operation was therefore lost to philosophy.

How do we represent to ourselves dimensions and distances? In the same

manner that we imagine the passions of men by the colors with which they

vary their countenances, and by the alteration which they make in their

features. There is no person who cannot read joy or grief on the

countenance of another. It is the language that nature addresses to all

eyes, but experience only teaches this language. Experience alone

teaches us that, when an object is too far, we see it confusedly and

weakly, and thence we form ideas, which always afterwards accompany the

sensation of sight. Thus every man who at ten paces sees his horse five

feet high, if, some minutes after, he sees this horse of the size of a

sheep, by an involuntary judgment immediately concludes that the horse

is much farther from him.

It is very true that when I see my horse of the size of a sheep a much

smaller picture is formed in my eye--a more acute angle; but it is a

fact which accompanies, not causes, my opinion. In like manner, it makes

a different impression on my brain, when I see a man blush from shame

and from anger; but these different impressions would tell me nothing of

what was passing in this man's mind, without experience, whose voice

alone is attended to.

So far from the angle being the immediate cause of my thinking that a

horse is far off when I see it very small, it happens that I see my

horse equally large at ten, twenty, thirty, or forty paces, though the

angle at ten paces may be double, treble, or quadruple. I see at a

distance, through a small hole, a man posted on the top of a house; the

remoteness and fewness of the rays at first prevent me from

distinguishing that it is a man; the object appears to me very small. I

think I see a statue two feet high at most; the object moves; I then

judge that it is a man; and from that instant the man appears to me of

his ordinary size. Whence come these two judgments so different? When I

believed that I saw a statue, I imagined it to be two feet high, because

I saw it at such an angle; experience had not led my mind to falsify the

traits imprinted on my retina; but as soon as I judged that it was a

man, the association established in my mind by experience between a man

and his known height of five or six feet, involuntarily obliged me to

imagine that I saw one of a certain height; or, in fact, that I saw the

height itself.

It must therefore be absolutely concluded, that distance, dimension, and

situation are not, properly speaking, visible things; that is to say,

the proper and immediate objects of sight. The proper and immediate

object of sight is nothing but colored light; all the rest we only

discover by long acquaintance and experience. We learn to see precisely

as we learn to speak and to read. The difference is, that the art of

seeing is more easy, and that nature is equally mistress of all.

The sudden and almost uniform judgments which, at a certain age, our

minds form of distance, dimension, and situation, make us think that we

have only to open our eyes to see in the manner in which we do see. We

are deceived; it requires the help of the other senses. If men had only

the sense of sight, they would have no means of knowing extent in

length, breadth, and depth, and a pure spirit perhaps would not know it,

unless God revealed it to him. It is very difficult, in our

understanding, to separate the extent of an object from its color. We

never see anything but what is extended, and from that we are led to

believe that we really see the extent. We can scarcely distinguish in

our minds the yellow that we see in a _louis d'or_ from the _louis d'or_

in which we see the yellow. In the same manner, as when we hear the word

"_louis d'or_" pronounced, we cannot help attaching the idea of the

money to the word which we hear spoken.

If all men spoke the same language, we should be always ready to believe

in a necessary connection between words and ideas. But all men in fact

do possess the same language of imagination. Nature says to them all:

When you have seen colors for a certain time, imagination will represent

the bodies to which these colors appear attached to all alike. This

prompt and summary judgment once attained will be of use to you during

your life; for if to estimate the distances, magnitudes, and situations

of all that surrounds you, it were necessary to examine the visual

angles and rays, you would be dead before you had ascertained whether

the things of which you have need were ten paces from you or a hundred

thousand leagues, and whether they were of a size of a worm or of a

mountain. It would be better to be born blind.

We are then, perhaps, very wrong, when we say that our senses deceive

us. Every one of our senses performs the function for which it was

destined by nature. They mutually aid one another to convey to our

minds, through the medium of experience, the measure of knowledge that

our being allows. We ask from our senses what they are not made to give

us. We would have our eyes acquaint us with solidity, dimension,

distance, etc.; but it is necessary for the touch to agree for that

purpose with the sight, and that experience should second both. If

Father Malebranche had looked at this side of nature, he would perhaps

have attributed fewer errors to our senses, which are the only sources

of all our ideas.

We should not, however, extend this species of metaphysics to every case

before us. We should only call it to our aid when the mathematics are

insufficient.

DIVINITY OF JESUS.

The Socinians, who are regarded as blasphemers, do not recognize the

divinity of Jesus Christ. They dare to pretend, with the philosophers of

antiquity, with the Jews, the Mahometans, and most other nations, that

the idea of a god-man is monstrous; that the distance from God to man is

infinite; and that it is impossible for a perishable body to be

infinite, immense, or eternal.

They have the confidence to quote Eusebius, bishop of Cæsarea, in their

favor, who, in his "Ecclesiastical History," i., 9, declares that it is

absurd to imagine the uncreated and unchangeable nature of Almighty God

taking the form of a man. They cite the fathers of the Church, Justin

and Tertullian, who have said the same thing: Justin, in his "Dialogue

with Triphonius"; and Tertullian, in his "Discourse against Praxeas."

They quote St. Paul, who never calls Jesus Christ "God," and who calls

Him "man" very often. They carry their audacity so far as to affirm that

the Christians passed three entire ages in forming by degrees the

apotheosis of Jesus; and that they only raised this astonishing edifice

by the example of the pagans, who had deified mortals. At first,

according to them, Jesus was only regarded as a man inspired by God, and

then as a creature more perfect than others. They gave Him some time

after a place above the angels, as St. Paul tells us. Every day added to

His greatness. He in time became an emanation, proceeding from God. This

was not enough; He was even born before time. At last He was made God

consubstantial with God. Crellius, Voquelsius, Natalis Alexander, and

Horneck have supported all these blasphemies by arguments which astonish

the wise and mislead the weak. Above all, Faustus Socinus spread the

seeds of this doctrine in Europe; and at the end of the sixteenth

century a new species of Christianity was established. There were

already more than three hundred.

DIVORCE.

In the article on "Divorce," in the "Encyclopædia," it is said that the

custom of divorce having been brought into Gaul by the Romans, it was

therefore that Basine, or Bazine, quitted the king of Thuringia, her

husband, in order to follow Childeric, who married her. Why not say that

because the Trojans established the custom of divorce in Sparta, Helen

repudiated Menelaus according to law, to run away with Paris into

Phrygia?

The agreeable fable of Paris, and the ridiculous one of Childeric, who

never was king of France, and who it is pretended carried off Bazine,

the wife of Bazin, have nothing to do with the law of divorce.

They all quote Cheribert, ruler of the little town of Lutetia, near

Issay--Lutetia Parisiorum--who repudiated his wife. The Abbé Velly, in

his "History of France," says that this Cheribert, or Caribert, divorced

his wife Ingoberg to espouse Mirefleur, the daughter of an artisan; and

afterwards Theudegild, the daughter of a shepherd, who was raised to the

first throne of the French Empire.

There was at that time neither first nor second throne among these

barbarians whom the Roman Empire never recognized as kings. There was no

French Empire. The empire of the French only commenced with Charlemagne.

It is very doubtful whether the word "mirefleur" was in use either in

the Welsh or Gallic languages, which were a _patois_ of the Celtic

jargon. This _patois_ had no expressions so soft.

It is also said that the ruler or governor Chilperic, lord of the

province of Soissonnais, whom they call king of France, divorced his

queen Andovere, or Andove; and here follows the reason of this divorce.

This Andovere, after having given three male children to the lord of

Soissons, brought forth a daughter. The Franks having been in some

manner Christians since the time of Clovis, Andovere, after her

recovery, presented her daughter to be baptized. Chilperic of Soissons,

who was apparently very tired of her, declared that it was an

unpardonable crime in her to be the godmother of her infant, and that

she could no longer be his wife by the laws of the Church. He therefore

married Fredegond, whom he subsequently put away also, and espoused a

Visigoth. To conclude, this scrupulous husband ended by taking Fredegond

back again.

There was nothing legal in all this, and it ought no more to be quoted

than anything which passed in Ireland or the Orcades. The Justinian

code, which we have adopted in several points, authorizes divorce; but

the canonical law, which the Catholics have placed before it, does not

permit it.

The author of the article says that divorce is practised in the states

of Germany, of the confession of Augsburg. He might have added that this

custom is established in all the countries of the North, among the

reformed of all professions, and among all the followers of the Greek

Church.

Divorce is probably of nearly the same date as marriage. I believe,

however, that marriage is some weeks more ancient; that is to say, men

quarrelled with their wives at the end of five days, beat them at the

end of a month, and separated from them after six weeks' cohabitation.

Justinian, who collected all the laws made before him, to which he added

his own, not only confirms that of divorce, but he extends it still

further; so that every woman, whose husband is not a slave, but simply

a prisoner of war during five years, may, after the five years have

expired, contract another marriage.

Justinian was a Christian, and even a theologian; how is it, then, that

the Church derogates from his laws? It was when the Church became the

sovereign and the legislator. The popes had not much trouble to

substitute their decretals instead of the civil code in the West, which

was plunged in ignorance and barbarism. They took, indeed, so much

advantage of the prevailing ignorance, that Honorius III., Gregory IX.,

and Innocent III., by their bulls, forbade the civil law to be taught.

It may be said of this audacity, that it is not creditable, but true.

As the Church alone took cognizance of marriages, so it alone judged of

divorce. No prince effected a divorce and married a second wife without

previously obtaining the consent of the pope. Henry VIII., king of

England, did not marry without his consent, until after having a long

time solicited his divorce in the court of Rome in vain.

This custom, established in ignorant times, is perpetuated in

enlightened ones only because it exists. All abuse eternizes itself; it

is an Augean stable, and requires a Hercules to cleanse it.

Henry IV. could not be the father of a king of France without the

permission of the pope; which must have been given, as has already been

remarked, not by pronouncing a _divorce_, but a _lie_; that is to say,

by pretending that there had not been previous marriage with Margaret de

Valois.

DOG.

It seems as if nature had given the dog to man for his defence and

pleasure; it is of all animals the most faithful; it is the best

possible friend of man.

It appears that there are several species absolutely different. How can

we believe that a greyhound comes originally from a spaniel? It has

neither its hair, legs, shape, ears, voice, scent, nor instinct. A man

who has never seen any dogs but barbets or spaniels, and who saw a

greyhound for the first time, would take it rather for a dwarf horse

than for an animal of the spaniel race. It is very likely that each race

was always what it now is, with the exception of the mixture of a small

number of them.

It is astonishing that, in the Jewish law, the dog was considered

unclean, as well as the griffin, the hare, the pig, and the eel; there

must have been some moral or physical reason for it, which we have not

yet discovered.

That which is related of the sagacity, obedience, friendship, and

courage of dogs, is as extraordinary as true. The military philosopher,

Ulloa, assures us that in Peru the Spanish dogs recognize the men of the

Indian race, pursue them, and tear them to pieces; and that the Peruvian

dogs do the same with the Spaniards. This would seem to prove that each

species of dogs still retained the hatred which was inspired in it at

the time of the discovery, and that each race always fought for its

master with the same valor and attachment.

Why, then, has the word "dog" become an injurious term? We say, for

tenderness, my sparrow, my dove, my chicken; we even say my kitten,

though this animal is famed for treachery; and, when we are angry, we

call people dogs! The Turks, when not even angry, speak with horror and

contempt of the Christian dogs. The English populace, when they see a

man who, by his manner or dress, has the appearance of having been born

on the banks of the Seine or of the Loire, commonly call him a French

dog--a figure of rhetoric which is neither just to the dog nor polite to

the man.

The delicate Homer introduces the divine Achilles telling the divine

Agamemnon that he is as impudent as a dog--a classical justification of

the English populace.

The most zealous friends of the dog must, however, confess that this

animal carries audacity in its eyes; that some are morose; that they

often bite strangers whom they take for their master's enemies, as

sentinels assail passengers who approach too near the counterscarp.

These are probably the reasons which have rendered the epithet "dog"

insulting; but we dare not decide.

Why was the dog adored and revered--as has been seen--by the Egyptians?

Because the dog protects man. Plutarch tells us that after Cambyses had

killed their bull Apis, and had had it roasted, no animal except the dog

dared to eat the remains of the feast, so profound was the respect for

Apis; the dog, not so scrupulous, swallowed the god without hesitation.

The Egyptians, as may be imagined, were exceedingly scandalized at this

want of reverence, and Anubis lost much of his credit.

The dog, however, still bears the honor of being always in the heavens,

under the names of the great and little dog. We regularly record the

dog-days.

But of all dogs, Cerberus has had the greatest reputation; he had three

heads. We have remarked that, anciently, all went by threes--Isis,

Osiris, and Orus, the three first Egyptian divinities; the three brother

gods of the Greek world--Jupiter, Neptune, and Pluto; the three Fates,

the three Furies, the three Graces, the three judges of hell, and the

three heads of this infernal dog.

We perceive here with grief that we have omitted the article on "Cats";

but we console ourselves by referring to their history. We will only

remark that there are no cats in the heavens, as there are goats, crabs,

bulls, rams, eagles, lions, fishes, hares, and dogs; but, in recompense,

the cat has been consecrated, or revered, or adored, as partaking of

divinity or saintship in several towns, and as altogether divine by no

small number of women.

DOGMAS.

We know that all belief taught by the Church is a dogma which we must

embrace. It is a pity that there are dogmas received by the Latin

Church, and rejected by the Greek. But if unanimity is wanting, charity

replaces it. It is, above all, between hearts that union is required. I

think that we can relate a dream to the purpose, which has already found

favor in the estimation of many peaceably disposed persons.

"On Feb. 18, 1763, of the vulgar era, the sun entering the sign of the

fishes, I was transported to heaven, as all my friends can bear witness.

The mare Borac, of Mahomet, was not my steed, neither was the fiery

chariot of Elijah my carriage. I was not carried on the elephant of

Somonocodom, the Siamese; on the horse of St. George, the patron of

England; nor on St. Anthony's pig. I avow with frankness that my journey

was made I know not how.

"It will be easily believed that I was dazzled; but it will not so

easily be credited that I witnessed the judgment of the dead. And who

were the judges? They were--do not be displeased at it--all those who

have done good to man. Confucius, Solon, Socrates, Titus, Antoninus,

Epictetus, Charron, de Thou, Chancellor de L' Hôpital, and all the great

men who, having taught and practised the virtues that God requires,

seemed to be the only persons possessing the right of pronouncing his

devrees.

"I shall not describe on what thrones they were seated, nor how many

celestial beings were prostrated before the eternal architect of all

worlds, nor what a crowd of the inhabitants of these innumerable worlds

appeared before the judges. I shall not even give an account of several

little interesting peculiarities which were exceedingly striking.

"I remarked that every spirit who pleaded his cause and displayed his

specious pretensions had beside him all the witnesses of his actions.

For example, when Cardinal Lorraine boasted of having caused some of his

opinions to be adopted by the Council of Trent, and demanded eternal

life as the price of his orthodoxy, there immediately appeared around

him twenty ladies of the court, all bearing on their foreheads the

number of their interviews with the cardinal. I also saw those who had

concerted with him the foundations of the infamous league. All the

accomplices of his wicked designs surrounded him.

"Over against Cardinal Lorraine was John Calvin, who boasted, in his

gross _patois_, of having trampled upon the papal idol, after others had

overthrown it. 'I have written against painting and sculpture,' said he;

'I have made it apparent that good works are of no avail, and I have

proved that it is diabolical to dance a minuet. Send away Cardinal

Lorraine quickly, and place me by the side of St. Paul.'

"As he spoke there appeared by his side a lighted pile; a dreadful

spectre, wearing round his neck a Spanish frill, arose half burned from

the midst of the flames, with dreadful shrieks. 'Monster,' cried he;

'execrable monster, tremble! recognize that Servetus, whom you caused to

perish by the most cruel torments, because he had disputed with you on

the manner in which three persons can form one substance.' Then all the

judges commanded that Cardinal Lorraine should be thrown into the abyss,

but that Calvin should be punished still more rigorously.

"I saw a prodigious crowd of spirits, each of which said, 'I have

believed, I have believed!' but on their forehead it was written, 'I

have acted,' and they were condemned.

"The Jesuit Letellier appeared boldly with the bull Unigenitus in his

hand. But there suddenly arose at his side a heap, consisting of two

thousand _lettres-de-cachet_. A Jansenist set fire to them, and

Letellier was burned to a cinder; while the Jansenist, who had no less

caballed than the Jesuit, had his share of the flames.

"I saw approach, from right and left, troops of fakirs, talapoins,

bonzes, and black, white, and gray monks, who all imagined that, to make

their court to the Supreme Being, they must either sing, scourge

themselves, or walk quite naked. 'What good have you done to men?' was

the query. A dead silence succeeded to this question. No one dared to

answer; and they were all conducted to the mad-houses of the universe,

the largest buildings imaginable.

"One cried out that he believed in the metamorphoses of Xaca, another in

those of Somonocodom. 'Bacchus stopped the sun and moon!' said this one.

'The gods resuscitated Pelops!' said the other. 'Here is the bull _in

cœna Domini_!' said a newcomer--and the officer of the court

exclaimed, 'To Bedlam, to Bedlam!'

"When all these causes were gone through, I heard this proclamation: 'By

the Eternal Creator, Preserver, Rewarder, Revenger, Forgiver, etc., be

it known to all the inhabitants of the hundred thousand millions of

millions of worlds that it hath pleased us to form, that we never judge

any sinners in reference to their own shallow ideas, but only as to

their actions. Such is our Justice.'

"I own that this was the first time I ever heard such an edict; all

those which I had read, on the little grain of dust on which I was born,

ended with these words: 'Such is our _pleasure_.'"

DONATIONS.

The Roman Republic, which seized so many states, also gave some away.

Scipio made Massinissa king of Numidia.

Lucullus, Sulla, and Pompey, each gave away half a dozen kingdoms.

Cleopatra received Egypt from Cæsar. Antony, and afterwards Octavius,

gave the little kingdom of Judæa to Herod.

Under Trajan, the famous medal of _regna assignata_ was struck and

kingdoms bestowed.

Cities and provinces given in sovereignty to priests and to colleges,

for the greater glory of God, or of the gods, are seen in every country.

Mahomet, and the caliphs, his vicars, took possession of many states in

the propagation of their faith, but they did not make donations of them.

They held by nothing but their Koran and their sabre.

The Christian religion, which was at first a society of poor people,

existed for a long time on alms alone. The first donation was that of

Ananias and Sapphira his wife. It was in ready money and was not

prosperous to the donors.

_The Donation of Constantine._

The celebrated donation of Rome and all Italy to Pope Sylvester by the

emperor Constantine, was maintained as a part of the creed of Rome until

the sixteenth century. It was believed that Constantine, being at

Nicomedia, was cured of leprosy at Rome by the baptism which he received

from Bishop Sylvester, though he was not baptized at all; and that by

way of recompense he gave forthwith the city of Rome and all its western

provinces to this Sylvester. If the deed of this donation had been drawn

up by the doctor of the Italian comedy, it could not have been more

pleasantly conceived. It is added that Constantine declared all the

canons of Rome consuls and patricians--"_patricios et consules effici"_

--that he himself held the bridle of the mare on which the new bishop

was mounted--"_tenentes frenum equi illius_."

It is astonishing to reflect that this fine story was held an article of

faith and respected by the rest of Europe for eight centuries, and that

the Church persecuted as heretics all those who doubted it.

_Donation of Pepin._

At present people are no longer persecuted for doubting that Pepin the

usurper gave, or was able to give, the exarchate of Ravenna to the pope.

It is at most an evil thought, a venial sin, which does not endanger the

loss of body or of soul.

The reasoning of the German lawyers, who have scruples in regard to this

donation, is as follows:

1. The librarian Anastatius, whose evidence is always cited, wrote one

hundred and forty years after the event.

2. It is not likely that Pepin, who was not firmly established in

France, and against whom Aquitaine made war, could give away, in Italy,

states which already belonged to the emperor, resident at

Constantinople.

3. Pope Zacharias recognized the Roman-Greek emperor as the sovereign of

those lands, disputed by the Lombards, and had administered the oath to

him; as may be seen by the letters of this bishop, Zacharias of Rome to

Bishop Boniface of Mentz. Pepin could not give to the pope the imperial

territories.

4. When Pope Stephen II. produced a letter from heaven, written in the

hand of St. Peter, to Pepin, to complain of the grievances of the king

of the Lombards, Astolphus, St. Peter does not mention in his letter

that Pepin had made a present of the exarchate of Ravenna to the pope;

and certainly St. Peter would not have failed to do so, even if the

thing had been only equivocal; he understands his interest too well.

Finally, the deed of this donation has never been produced; and what is

still stronger, the fabrication of a false one cannot be ventured. The

only proofs are vague recitals, mixed up with fables. Instead of

certainty, there are only the absurd writings of monks, copied from age

to age, from one another.

The Italian advocate who wrote in 1722 to prove that Parma and Placentia

had been ceded to the holy see as a dependency of the exarchate, asserts

that the Greek emperors were justly despoiled of their rights because

they had excited the people against God. Can lawyers write thus in our

days? Yes, it appears, but only at Rome. Cardinal Bellarmine goes still

farther. "The first Christians," says he, "supported the emperors only

because they were not the strongest." The avowal is frank, and I am

persuaded that Bellarmine is right.

_The Donation of Charlemagne._

At a time when the court of Rome believed itself deficient in titles, it

pretended that Charlemagne had confirmed the donation of the exarchate,

and that he added to it Sicily, Venice, Benevento, Corsica, and

Sardinia. But as Charlemagne did not possess any of these states, he

could not give them away; and as to the town of Ravenna, it is very

clear that he kept it, since in his will he made a legacy to his city of

Ravenna as well as to his city of Rome. It is surprising enough that the

popes have obtained Ravenna and Rome; but as to Venice, it is not likely

that the diploma which granted them the sovereignty will be found in the

palace of St. Mark.

All these acts, instruments, and diplomas have been subjects of dispute

for ages. But it is a confirmed opinion, says Giannone, that martyr to

truth, that all these pieces were forged in the time of Gregory VII. "_E

costante opinione presso i piu gravi scrittori che tutti questi

istromenti e diplomi furono supposti ne tempi d'Ildebrando_."

_Donation of Benevento by the Emperor Henry III._

The first well attested donation which was made to the see of Rome was

that of Benevento, and that was an exchange of the Emperor Henry III.

with the pope. It wanted only one formality, which was that the emperor

who gave away Benevento was not the owner of it. It belonged to the

dukes of Benevento, and the Roman-Greek emperors reclaimed their rights

on this duchy. But history supplies little beyond a list of those who

have accommodated themselves with the property of others.

_Donation of the Countess Mathilda._

The most authentic and considerable of these donations was that of all

the possessions of the famous Countess Mathilda to Gregory VII. She was

a young widow, who gave all to her spiritual director. It is supposed

that the deed was twice executed and afterwards confirmed by her will.

However, there still remains some difficulty. It was always believed at

Rome that Mathilda had given all her states, all her possessions,

present and to come, to her friend Gregory VII. by a solemn deed, in her

castle of Canossa, in 1077, for the relief of her own soul and that of

her parents. And to corroborate this precious instrument a second is

shown to us, dated in the year 1102, in which it is said that it is to

Rome that she made this donation; that she recalled it, and that she

afterwards renewed it; and always for the good of her soul.

How could so important a deed be recalled? Was the court of Rome so

negligent? How could an instrument written at Canossa have been written

at Rome? What do these contradictions mean? All that is clear is that

the souls of the receivers fared better than the soul of the giver, who

to save it was obliged to deprive herself of all she possessed in favor

of her physicians.

In short, in 1102, a sovereign was deprived of the power of disposing of

an acre of land; yet after this deed, and to the time of her death, in

1115, there are still found considerable donations of lands made by this

same Mathilda to canons and monks. She had not, therefore, given all.

Finally, this deed was very likely made by some ingenious person after

her death.

The court of Rome still includes among its titles the testament of

Mathilda, which confirmed her donations. The popes, however, never

produce this testament. It should also be known whether this rich

countess had the power to dispose of her possessions, which were most of

them fiefs of the empire.

The Emperor Henry V., her heir, possessed himself of all, and recognized

neither testament, donation, deed, nor right. The popes, in temporizing,

gained more than the emperors in exerting their authority; and in time

these Cæsars became so weak that the popes finally obtained the

succession of Mathilda, which is now called the patrimony of St. Peter.

_Donation of the Sovereignty of Naples to the Popes._

The Norman gentlemen who were the first instruments of the conquests of

Naples and Sicily achieved the finest exploit of chivalry that was ever

heard of. From forty to fifty men only delivered Salerno at the moment

it was taken by an army of Saracens. Seven other Norman gentlemen, all

brothers, sufficed to chase these same Saracens from all the country,

and to take prisoner the Greek emperor, who had treated them

ungratefully. It was quite natural that the people, whom these heroes

had inspired with valor, should be led to obey them through admiration

and gratitude.

Such were the first rights to the crown of the two Sicilies. The bishops

of Rome could no more give those states in fief than the kingdoms of

Boutan or Cachemire. They could not even grant the investiture which

would have been demanded of them; for, in the time of the anarchy of the

fiefs, when a lord would hold his free land as a fief for his

protection, he could only address himself to the sovereign or the chief

of the country in which it was situated. And certainly the pope was

neither the sovereign of Naples, Apulia, nor Calabria.

Much has been written about this pretended vassalage, but the source has

never been discovered. I dare say that it is as much the fault of the

lawyers as of the theologians. Every one deduces from a received

principle consequences the most favorable to himself or his party. But

is the principle true? Is the first fact by which it is supported

incontestable? It is this which should be examined. It resembles our

ancient romance writers, who all take it for granted that Francus

brought the helmet of Hector to France. This casque was impenetrable, no

doubt; but had Hector really worn it? The holy Virgin's milk is also

very respectable; but do the twenty sacristies, who boast of having a

gill of it, really possess it?

Men of the present time, as wicked as foolish, do not shrink from the

greatest crimes, and yet fear an excommunication, which would render

them execrable to people still more wicked and foolish than themselves.

Robert and Richard Guiscard, the conquerors of Apulia and Calabria, were

excommunicated by Pope Leo IX. They were declared vassals of the empire;

but the emperor, Henry III., discontented with these feudatory

conquerors, engaged Leo IX. to launch the excommunication at the head of

an army of Germans. The Normans, who did not fear these thunderbolts

like the princes of Italy, beat the Germans and took the pope prisoner.

But to prevent the popes and emperors hereafter from coming to trouble

them in their possessions, they offered their conquests to the Church

under the name of _oblata._ It was thus that England paid the Peter's

pence; that the first kings of Spain and Portugal, on recovering their

states from the Saracens, promised two pounds of gold a year to the

Church of Rome. But England, Spain, nor Portugal never regarded the pope

as their sovereign master.

Duke Robert, _oblat_ of the Church, was therefore no feudatory of the

pope; he could not be so, since the popes were not the sovereigns of

Rome. This city was then governed by its senate, and the bishop

possessed only influence. The pope was at Rome precisely what the

elector is at Cologne. There is a prodigious difference between the

_oblat_ of a saint and the feudatory of a bishop.

Baronius, in his "Acts," relates the pretended homage done by Robert,

duke of Apulia and Calabria, to Nicholas II.; but this deed is

suspected, like many others; it has never been seen, it has never been

found in any archives. Robert entitled himself "duke by the grace of God

and St. Peter"; but certainly St. Peter had given him nothing, nor was

that saint king of Rome.

The other popes, who were kings no more than St. Peter, received without

difficulty the homage of all the princes who presented themselves to

reign over Naples, particularly when these princes were the most

powerful.

_Donation of England and Ireland to the Popes by King John._

In 1213, King John, vulgarly called Lackland, or more properly

Lackvirtue, being excommunicated and seeing his kingdom laid under an

interdict, gave it away to Pope Innocent III. and his successors. "Not

constrained with fear, but with my full consent and the advice of my

barons, for the remission of my sins against God and the Church, I

resign England and Ireland to God, St. Peter, St. Paul, and our lord the

Pope Innocent, and to his successors in the apostolic chair."

He declared himself feudatory lieutenant of the pope, paid about eight

thousand pounds sterling in ready money to the legate Pandulph, promised

to pay a thousand more every year, gave the first year in advance to the

legate who trampled upon him, and swore on his knees that he submitted

to lose all in the event of not paying at the time appointed. The jest

of this ceremony was that the legate departed with the money and forgot

to remove the excommunication.

_Examination of the Vassalage of Naples and England._

It may be asked which was the more valuable, the donation of Robert

Guiscard or that of John Lackland; both had been excommunicated, both

had given their states to St. Peter and became only the farmers of them.

If the English barons were indignant at the infamous bargain of their

king with the pope, and cancelled it, the Neapolitan barons could have

equally cancelled that of Baron Robert; and that which they could have

done formerly they certainly can do at present.

Were England and Apulia given to the pope, according to the law of the

Church or of the fiefs, as to a bishop or a sovereign? If to a bishop,

it is precisely contrary to the law of Jesus, who so often forbids his

disciples to take anything, and who declares to them that His kingdom is

not of this world.

If as to a sovereign, it was high treason to his imperial majesty; the

Normans had already done homage to the emperor. Thus no right,

spiritual or temporal, belonged to the popes in this affair. When the

principle is erroneous, all the deductions are so of course. Naples no

more belonged to the pope than England.

There is still another method of providing against this ancient bargain;

it is the right of the people, which is stronger than the right of the

fiefs. The people's right will not suffer one sovereign to belong to

another, and the most ancient law is to be master of our own, at least

when we are not the weakest.

_Of Donations Made by the Popes._

If principalities have been given to the bishops of Rome, they have

given away many more. There is not a single throne in Europe to which

they have not made a present. As soon as a prince had conquered a

country, or even wished to do it, the popes granted it in the name of

St. Peter. Sometimes they even made the first advances, and it may be

said that they have given away every kingdom but that of heaven.

Few people in France know that Julius II. gave the states of King Louis

XII. to the Emperor Maximilian, who could not put himself in possession

of them. They do not sufficiently remember that Sixtus V., Gregory XIV.,

and Clement VIII., were ready to make a present of France to whomsoever

Philip II. would have chosen for the husband of his daughter Clara

Eugenia.

As to the emperors, there is not one since Charlemagne that the court of

Rome has not pretended to nominate. This is the reason why Swift, in his

"Tale of a Tub," says "that Lord Peter became suddenly mad, and that

Martin and Jack, his brothers, confined him by the advice of their

relations." We simply relate this drollery as a pleasant blasphemy of an

English priest against the bishop of Rome.

All these donations disappear before that of the East and West Indies,

with which Alexander VI. of his divine power and authority invested

Spain and Portugal. It was giving almost all the earth. He could in the

same manner have given away the globes of Jupiter and Saturn with their

satellites.

_Particular Donations._

The donations of citizens are treated quite differently. The codes are

unanimously agreed that no one can give away the property of another as

well as that no person can take it. It is a universal law.

In France, jurisprudence was uncertain on this object, as on almost all

others, until the year 1731, when the equitable Chancellor d'Aguesseau,

having conceived the design of making the law uniform, very weakly began

the great work by the edict on donations. It is digested in forty-seven

articles, but, in wishing to render all the formalities concerning

donations uniform, Flanders was excepted from the general law, and in

excepting Flanders, Artois was forgotten, which should have enjoyed the

same exception; so that in six years after the general law, a particular

one was obliged to be made for Artois.

These new edicts concerning donations and testaments were principally

made to do away with all the commentators who had considerably embroiled

the laws, having already compiled six commentaries upon them.

It may be remarked that donations, or deeds of gift, extend much farther

than to the particular person to whom a present is made. For every

present there must be paid to the farmers of the royal domain--the duty

of control, the duty of "_insinuation_" the duty of the hundredth penny,

the tax of two sous in the livre, the tax of eight sous in the livre,

etc.

So that every time you make a present to a citizen you are much more

liberal than you imagine. You have also the pleasure of contributing to

the enriching of the farmers-general, but, after all, this money does

not go out of the kingdom like that which is paid to the court of Rome.

DRINKING HEALTHS.

What was the origin of this custom? Has it existed since drinking

commenced? It appears natural to drink wine for our own health, but not

for the health of others.

The "_propino_" of the Greeks, adopted by the Romans, does not signify

"I drink to your good health," but "I drink first that you may drink

afterwards"--I invite you to drink.

In their festivals they drink to celebrate a mistress, not that she

might have good health. See in Martial: "_Naevia sex cyathis, septem

Justina bibatur_"--"Six cups for Naevia, for Justina seven."

The English, who pique themselves upon renewing several ancient customs,

drink to the honor of the ladies, which they call toasting, and it is a

great subject of dispute among them whether a lady is toastworthy or

not--whether she is worthy to be toasted.

They drank at Rome for the victories of Augustus, and for the return of

his health. Dion Cassius relates that after the battle of Actium the

senate decreed that, in their repasts, libations should be made to him

in the second service. It was a strange decree. It is more probable that

flattery had voluntarily introduced this meanness. Be it as it may, we

read in Horace:

_Hinc ad vina redit lætus, et alteris_

_Te mensis adhibet Deum,_

_Te multa prece; te prosequitur nero_

_Defuso pateris; et labiis tuum_

_Miscet numen; uti Graecia Castoris_

_Et magni nemore Herculis._

_Longas o utinam, dux bone ferias_

_Praestes Hesperiae; dicimus integro_

_Sicci mane die, dicimus uvidi,_

_Quum sol oceano subest._

To thee he chants the sacred song,

To thee the rich libation pours;

Thee placed his household gods among,

With solemn daily prayer adores;

So Castor and great Hercules of old

Were with her gods by graceful Greece enrolled.

Gracious and good, beneath thy reign

May Rome her happy hours employ,

And grateful hail thy just domain

With pious hymn and festal joy.

Thus, with the rising sun we sober pray,

Thus, in our wine beneath his setting ray.

It is very likely that hence the custom arose among barbarous nations of

drinking to the health of their guests, an absurd custom, since we may

drink four bottles without doing them the least good.

The dictionary of Trévoux tells us that we should not drink to the

health of our superiors in their presence. This may be the case in

France or Germany, but in England it is a received custom. The distance

is not so great from one man to another at London as at Vienna.

It is of importance in England to drink to the health of a prince who

pretends to the throne; it is to declare yourself his partisan. It has

cost more than one Scotchman and Hibernian dear for having drank to the

health of the Stuarts.

All the Whigs, after the death of King William, drank not to his health,

but to his memory. A Tory named Brown, bishop of Cork in Ireland, a

great enemy to William in Ireland, said, "that he would put a _cork_ in

all those bottles which were drunk to the glory of this monarch." He did

not stop at this silly pun; he wrote, in 1702, an episcopal address to

show the Irish that it was an atrocious impiety to drink to the health

of kings, and, above all, to their memory; that the latter, in

particular, is a profanation of these words of Jesus Christ: "Drink

this in remembrance of me."

It is astonishing that this bishop was not the first who conceived such

a folly. Before him, the Presbyterian Prynne had written a great book

against the impious custom of drinking to the health of Christians.

Finally, there was one John Geza, vicar of the parish of St. Faith, who

published "The Divine Potion to Preserve Spiritual Health, by the Cure

of the Inveterate Malady of Drinking Healths; with Clear and Solid

Arguments against this Criminal Custom, all for the Satisfaction of the

Public, at the Request of a Worthy Member of Parliament, in the Year of

Our Salvation 1648."

Our reverend Father Garasse, our reverend Father Patouillet, and our

reverend Father Nonnotte are nothing superior to these profound

Englishmen. We have a long time wrestled with our neighbors for the

superiority--To which is it due?

THE DRUIDS.

_The Scene is in Tartarus. The Furies Entwined with Serpents, and Whips

in Their Hands._

Come along, Barbaquincorix, Celtic druid, and thou, detestable Grecian

hierophant, Calchas, the moment of your just punishment has returned

again; the hour of vengeance has arrived--the bell has sounded!

THE DRUID AND CALCHAS.

Oh, heavens! my head, my sides, my eyes, my ears! pardon, ladies,

pardon!

CALCHAS.

Mercy! two vipers are penetrating my eye-balls!

DRUID.

A serpent is devouring my entrails!

CALCHAS.

Alas, how am I mangled! And must my eyes be every day restored, to be

torn again from my head?

DRUID.

Must my skin be renewed only to dangle in ribbons from my lacerated

body?

TISIPHONE.

It will teach you how to palm off a miserable parasitical plant for a

universal remedy another time. Will you still sacrifice boys and girls

to your god Theutates, priest? still burn them in osier baskets to the

sound of a drum?

DRUID.

Never, never; dear lady, a little mercy, I beseech you.

TISIPHONE.

You never had any yourself. Seize him, serpents, and now another lash!

ALECTO.

Let them curry well this Calchas, who advances towards us, "With cruel

eye, dark mien, and bristled hair."

CALCHAS.

My hair is torn away; I am scorched, flayed, impaled!

ALECTO.

Wretch! Will you again cut the throat of a beautiful girl, in order to

obtain a favorable gale, instead of uniting her to a good husband?

CALCHAS AND THE DRUID.

Oh, what torments! and yet we die not.

TISIPHONE.

Hey-dey! God forgive me, but I hear music! It is Orpheus; why our

serpents, sister, have become as gentle as lambs!

CALCHAS.

My sufferings cease; how very strange!

THE DRUID.

I am altogether recovered. Oh, the power of good music! And who are you,

divine man, who thus cures wounds, and rejoices hell itself?

ORPHEUS.

My friends, I am a priest like yourselves, but I never deceived anyone,

nor cut the throat of either boy or girl in my life. When on earth,

instead of making the gods hated, I rendered them beloved, and softened

the manners of the men whom you made ferocious. I shall exert myself in

the like manner in hell. I met, just now, two barbarous priests whom

they were scourging beyond measure; one of them formerly hewed a king in

pieces before the Lord, and the other cut the throat of his queen and

sovereign at the horse gate. I have terminated their punishment, and,

having played to them a tune on the violin, they have promised me that

when they return into the world they will live like honest men.

DRUID AND CALCHAS.

We promise the same thing, on the word of a priest.

ORPHEUS.

Yes, but "_Passato il pericolo, gabbato il santo._" [_The scene closes

with a-figure Dance, performed by Orpheus, the Condemned, and the

Furies, to light and agreeable music._]

EASE.

Easy applies not only to a thing easily done, but also to a thing which

appears to be so. The pencil of Correggio is easy, the style of Quinault

is much more easy than that of Despréaux, and the style of Ovid

surpasses in facility that of Persius.

This facility in painting, music, eloquence, and poetry, consists in a

natural and spontaneous felicity, which admits of nothing that implies

research, strength, or profundity. Thus the pictures of Paul Veronese

have a much more easy and less finished air than those of Michel Angelo.

The symphonies of Rameau are superior to those of Lulli, but appear

less easy. Bossuet is more truly eloquent and more easy than Fléchier.

Rousseau, in his epistles, has not near the facility and truth of

Despréaux.

The commentator of Despréaux says that "this exact and laborious poet

taught the illustrious Racine to make verses with difficulty, and that

those which appear easy are those which have been made with the most

difficulty."

It is true that it often costs much pains to express ourselves with

clearness, as also that the natural may be arrived at by effort; but it

is also true that a happy genius often produces easy beauties without

any labor, and that enthusiasm goes much farther than art.