BANNED AND BLESSED.
"And the Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth; . . . .
Cursed is the earth in thy work.
"And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us."
Bud out, glad earth, in beauty,
Ring out, glad earth, in song;
The funeral pall is lifted
That covered thee so long:
The heavy curse laid on thee
For Eden's primal wrong.
Long ages gone, the angels
Hailed thee with pure delight.
The blooming of thy day-time.
The radiance of thy night;
And e'en thy Maker named thee
As pleasant in his sight--
Soon lost that early joyance,
Brief worn that birth-day crown!
The very stars of heaven
Look sorrowfully down
On fairest flowers withered
Beneath man's sinful frown.
Blinded, and banned, and broken,
Along thy penance-path.
Thy vesture streamèd over
With the torrents of man's wrath;
Thou treadest through the ether
A thing of shame and scath.
[{307}] Lift up thy head, poor mourner,
Shake the ashes from thy brow;
Lay off thine age-worn sackcloth
And wear the purple now:
Amid the starry brethren,
Who honor hath, as thou?
The dust from off thy bosom
The Maker deigns to wear;
"The word made flesh," in heaven,
Hath given thee such share
No grandeur of thy brethren
With it can hold compare.
Blest art thou that his footsteps
Along thy pathways trod;
Blest art thou that his pillow
Has been thy grassy sod;
And blest the burial shelter
Thou gavest to thy God.
And for that little service,
Divine the meed shall be:
When "fervent heat" hath melted
The starry choirs and thee,
The moulded dust of Eden
Shall live eternally.
"The first-born of all creatures"
Doth wear it on his throne,
The vesture of humanity
By which he claims his own.
How infinite the pardon
That doth thy penance crown!
GENEVIEVÉ SALES.
March 22, 1806
Translated from French.
L'ABBÉ GERBET. [Footnote 50]
BY C. A. SAINTE-BEUVE.
[Footnote 50: "Considérations sur le Dogme Générateur de la Piété Cathiolique." 4e édition, chez Vaton. 1859]
For a long time I have been reserving this subject for some feast-day, for Corpus Christi or some festival of Mary, feeling that holiness belongs to it; unction, grace mingled with science, and a reverential smile. "But why," some of our readers will say,--"why does l'Abbé Gerbet's name imply all this?" I shall try to show them the reason and give some idea of one of the most learned, distinguished, and truly amiable men that the church of France possesses, as well as one of our best writers; and, without embarking on vexed or doubtful questions, to delineate for them in soft tints the personality of the man and his talent.
But in the first place, that I may connect with its true date this modest name, which has rather courted oblivion than notoriety, let me remind my readers that during the Restoration, about the year 1820, when that regime, at first so unsettled, was beginning to enter into complete possession of its powers, a movement arose on all sides among the youthful spirits, ardently impelling them to literary culture and philosophical ideas. In poetry Lamartine had given the signal of revival, others gave it in history, others again in philosophy; and among the young people there sprang up a universal spirit of emulation, a unanimous determination to begin anew. It seemed as if, like a fertile land, the French mind, after its compulsory rest of so many years, were eagerly demanding every kind of cultivation. Yes, in religion then, in theology, it was the same; a generation had sprung up full of zeal and animation, who tried, not to renew what is in its nature immutable, but to rejuvenate the forms of teaching and demonstration, adapt them to the mental condition of the times, and make the principle of Catholicity respected even by its opponents. For, in the words of one of these young Levites in the beginning of the movement, "to act upon the age, we must understand it."
I could cite the names of several men who, with shades of difference known in the ecclesiastical world, had this in common, that they stood at the head of the studious and intelligent young clergy: M. Gousset, now cardinal archbishop of Rheims, and standing in the first rank of theologians; Mgr. Affré, who met his death so gloriously as archbishop of Paris; M. Douey, the present bishop of Montauban; and M. de Salinis, bishop of Amiens. But at that time, between the years 1820 and 1822, one name alone among the clergy offered itself to men of the world as a candidate for widespread fame. M. de Lamennais in his first Catholic fame had enforced the attention of all by his "Essay on Indifference," stirring a thousand thoughts even in the minds of the astonished clergy.
And here for the first time we meet l'Abbé Gerbet. He was born in 1798 [{309}] at Poligny, in the Jura. After completing his first studies in his native town, he passed through a course of philosophy in the academy of Besançon; and in obedience to an instinctive vocation, which awoke within him at the age of ten years, began his theological studies in the same city. During the dangers of invasion, in 1814-1815, he went into the mountains to visit a curate, a relation or friend of his family, and remained there to study. Thither came one day a young student of the Normal School, Jouffroy, two years his senior, who in going home to pass his vacation in the village of Pontets, had paused a moment on the way. Jouffroy, though in the first flush of youth and learning, and wearing the aureole upon his brow, did not disdain to enter into discussion with the young provincial seminarian. He combated the proofs of revelation, and especially contested the age of the world, relying upon the testimony of the famous Zodiac of Denderah, so often invoked in those days, and so soon destroyed. The young seminarian, in the presence of this unknown monument, could only answer: "Wait." These two young men never met again, compatriots though they were, and from that day forth adversaries; but l'Abbé Gerbet and Jouffroy, while carrying on a war, pen in hand, never failed to do so in the most dignified terms of controversy, and Jouffroy, whose heart was so good despite his dogmatic language, always spoke of l'Abbé Gerbet, if I remember rightly, with feelings of affectionate esteem.
On arriving in Paris at the close of the year 1818, l'Abbé Gerbet entered the seminary of Saint-Sulpice, but his health, which was already delicate, not allowing him to stay there long, he established himself as a boarder in the House of Foreign Missions, where he followed the rules of the seminarians. He was ordained priest in 1822 at the same time with l'Abbé do Salinis, whose inseparable friend he has always remained.
A little later he was appointed assistant professor of the Holy Scriptures in the Theological Faculty of Paris, and went to live in the Sorbonne. Having no lectures to deliver, he soon began to assist M. de Salinis, who had been made almoner in the college of Henry lV., and it was at this time that he first knew M. de Lamennais.
At twenty-four years of age, l'Abbé Gerbet had given evidence of remarkable philosophical and literary talent, and had sustained a Latin thesis with rare elegance in the Sorbonne. By nature he was endowed with all the gifts of oratory, a sense of rhythmic movement, measure, and choice of expression, and a graphic power which, in one word, must become a talent for writing. To these endowments he added an acute and elevated faculty for dialectics, fertile in distinctions, which he sometimes took delight in multiplying, but without ever losing himself among them. In the very beginning of his friendship with M. de Lamennais, he felt, without perhaps acknowledging it to himself, that that bold and vigorous genius, who was wont to open new views and perspectives, as it were by main force, needed the assistance of an auxiliary pen, more tempered, gentler and firm,--a talent that could use evidence judiciously, fill up spaces, cover weak points, and smooth away a look of menace and revolution from what was simply intended as a broader expression and more accessible development of Christianity. L'Abbé Gerbet clothed M. de Lamennais' system as far as possible with the character of persuasion and conciliation that belonged to it: to soften and graduate its tendencies was properly the part he filled at this time of his youth.
Upon this system I shall touch in a few words that will suffice to explain what I have to say of l'Abbé Gerbet's moral and literary gifts. Instead of seeking the evidences of Christianity in such and such texts of Scripture, or in a personal argument [{310}] addressed to individual reason, M. de Lamennais maintained that it should, in the first place, be sought in the universal tradition and historical testimony of peoples, for he believed that even before the coming of Jesus Christ and the establishment of Christianity a sort of testimony was to be traced, confused certainly, but real and concordant, running through the traditions of ancient races and discernible even in the presentiments of ancient sages. It seemed to him demonstrable that among all nations there had been ideas, more or less defined, of the creation of man, of the fall and promised reparation, of the expiation or expected redemption--in short, of all that should one day constitute the treasures of Christian doctrine, and was then only the scattered and persistent vestige of the primitive revelation. From this he argued that the lights of ancient sages might be considered as the dawn of faith, and that without, of course, being classed among the fathers of the primitive church, Confucius, Zoroaster, Pythagoras, Heraclitus, Socrates, and Plato should be considered up to a certain point as preparers for the gospel, and not be numbered among the accursed. They might almost be called, in the language of the ancient fathers, primitive Christians--at least they were like so many Magi travelling more or less directly toward the divine cradle. By this single view of an anterior Christianity disseminated through the world, by this voyage, as it were, in search of Catholic truths floating about the universe, the teaching of theology would have been wonderfully widened and enlarged, for it necessarily comprised the history of philosophical ideas. M. de Lamennais' system, which is especially attractive when developed historically by the pen of l'Abbé Gerbet, has not since then been recognized by the church. It appeared to be at least delusive, if not false; but perhaps, even from the point of view of orthodoxy, it can only merit the reproach of having claimed to be the sole method, to the exclusion of all others; combined with other proofs, and presented simply, as a powerful accessory consideration, I believe that it has never been rejected.
It may be understood, however, even without entering into the heart of the matter, that in 1824, when l'Abbé Gerbet, in concert with M. de Salinis, established a religious monthly magazine, entitled the "Catholic Memorial," and began to develop his ideas therein with modesty and moderation, but also with that fresh confidence and ardor that youth bestows, there was, to speak merely of the external form of the questions, a something about it that gave the signal for the struggle of a new spirit against the stationary or backward spirit. The old-fashioned theologians, whether formalist or rationalistic, who found themselves attacked, resisted and took scandal at the name of traditions which were not only Catholic but scholastic and classic. But in l'Abbé Gerbet they had to deal with a man thoroughly well read in the writings of the fathers, and possessed of their true significance. He could bring forward, in his turn, texts drawn from the fountain-head in support of this freer and more generous method; among other quotations, he liked to cite this fine passage from Vincent de Lérius: "Let posterity, thanks to your enlightenment, rejoice in the conception of that to which antiquity gave respectful credence without understanding [its full meaning]; but remember to teach the same things that have been transmitted to you, so that, while presenting them in a new light, you do not invent new doctrines." Thus, while maintaining fundamental immutability, he took pleasure in remarking that, in spite of slight deviations, the order of scientific explanation has followed a law of progress in the church, and has been successively developed; a fact which he [{311}] demonstrated by the history of Christianity.
"The Catholic Memorial," in its very infancy, stirred the emulation of youthful writers in the philosophical camp. It was at first printed at Lachevardière's, where M. Pierre Leroux was proof-reader, and the latter, on seeing the success of a magazine devoted to grave subjects, concluded that a similar organ for the promotion of opinions shared by himself and his friends might be established with even better results. In that same year, 1824, "The Globe" began its career, and the two periodicals often engaged in polemic discussions, like adversaries who knew and respected each other while they clearly understood the point of controversy. For the benefit of the curious, I note an article of M. Gerbet's [Footnote 51] (signed X.) which represents many others, and is entitled "Concerning the Present State of Doctrines;"--the objections are especially addressed to MM. Damiron and Jouffroy. It was the heyday then of this war of ideas.
[Footnote 51: 1825. Vol. 4th, p. 188. ]
L'Abbé Gerbet's life has been quite simple and uniform, marked by only one considerable episode--his connection with l'Abbé de Lamennais, to whom he lent or rather gave himself for years with an affectionate devotion which had no term or limit except in the final revolt of that proud and immoderate spirit. After fulfilling all the duties of a religious friendship, after having waited and forborne and hoped, Gerbet withdrew in silence. For a long time he had been all that Nicole was to Arnauld--a moderator, softening asperities and averting shocks as far as possible. He never grew weary until there was no longer room for further effort, and then he returned completely to himself. These ultra and exclusive methods are unsuited to his nature, and he hastened to withdraw from them, and to forget what he would never have allowed to break out and reach such a pass if he had been acting alone. It needs but a word, but a breath, from the Vatican to dissipate all that seems cloudy or obscure in l'Abbé Gerbet's doctrines. His gentle clouds inclose no storm, and, in dispersing, they reveal a depth of serene sky, lightly veiled here and there, but pure and delicious.
I express the feeling that some of his writings leave upon the mind, and especially the work that has just been reprinted, of which I will say a few words. "Les Considérations sur le Dogme générateur de la Piété Catholique," that is to say, Thoughts upon Communion and the Eucharist, first appeared in 1829. It is, properly speaking, "neither a dogmatic treatise nor a book of devotion, but something intermediate." The author begins by an historical research into general ideas, universally diffused throughout antiquity--ideas of sacrifice and offering, as well as of the desire and necessity of communication with an ever-present God, which have served as a preparation and approach toward the mystery; but, mingled with historical digressions and delicate or profound doctrinal distinctions, we meet at every step sweet and beautiful words which come from the soul and are the effusion of a loving faith. I will quote a few, almost at hazard, without seeking their connection, for they give us an insight into the soul of l'Abbé Gerbet. As, for instance, concerning prayer:
"Prayer, in its fundamental essence, is but the sincere recognition of this continual need (of drawing new strength from the source of life) and an humble desire of constant assistance; it is the confession of an indigence full of hope."
"Wherever God places intelligences capable of serving him, there we find weakness, and there too hope."
And again:
"Christianity in its fulness is only a bountiful alms bestowed on abject poverty."
[{312}]
"Is there not something divine in every benefit?"
"Charity enters not into the heart of man without combat; for it meets an eternal adversary there--pride, the first-born of selfishness, and the father of hatred."
"The gospel has made, in the full force of the term, a revolution in the human soul, by changing the relative position of the two feelings that divide its sway: fear has yielded the empire of the heart to love."
L'Abbé Gerbet's book is full of golden words; but when we seek to detach and isolate them, we see how closely they are woven into the tissue.
The aim of the author is to prove that, from a Christian and Catholic point of view, communion, accepted in its fulness with entire faith, frequent communion reverently received, is the most certain, efficacious, and vivid means of charity. In speaking of the excellent book entitled "The Following of Christ," he says:
"The asceticism of the middle ages has left an inimitable monument, which Catholics, Protestants, and philosophers are agreed in admiring with the most beautiful admiration, that of the heart. It is wonderful, this little book of mysticism, upon which the genius of Leibnitz used to ponder, and which roused something like enthusiasm even in the frigid Fontenelle. No one ever read a page of the 'Following of Christ,' especially in time of trouble, without saying as he laid the book down: 'That has done me good.' Setting the Bible apart, this work is the sovereign friend of the soul. But whence did the poor solitary who wrote it draw this inexhaustible love? (for he spoke so effectively only because of his great love.) He himself tells us the source in every line of his chapters on the blessed sacrament: the fourth book explains the other three."
I could multiply quotations of this kind, if they were suited to these pages, and if it were not better to recommend the book for the solitary meditation of my readers; I would point out to be remembered among the most beautiful and consoling pages belonging to our language and religions literature, all the latter part of Chapter VIII. Nothing is wanting to make this exquisite little book of l'Abbé Gerbet's more generally appreciated than it now is but a less frequent combination of dialectics with the expression of affectionate devotion. Generally speaking, the tissue of l'Abbé Gerbet's style is too close; when he has a beautiful thing to say, he does not give it room enough. His talent is like a sacred wood, too thickly grown;--the temple, repository, and altar in its depths are surrounded on all sides, and we can reach them only by footpaths. I suppose that this is because he has always lived too near his own thoughts, never having had the opportunity to develop them in public. Feeble health, and a delicate voice which needs the ear of a friend, have never allowed this rich talent to unfold itself in teaching or in the pulpit. If at any time he had been induced to speak in public, he would have been obliged to clear up, disengage, and enlarge not his views, but the avenues that lead to them.
In 1838, being troubled with an affection of the throat, he went to Rome and, always intending to return home soon, remained there until 1848. It was there that in the leisure moments of a life of devotion and study, in which, too, the most elevated friendship had its share, he composed the first two volumes of the work entitled "A Sketch of Christian Rome," designed to impart to all elevated souls the feeling and idea of the Eternal City. "The fundamental thought in this book," he says, "is to concentrate the visible realities of Christian Rome into a conception and, as it were, a portrait of its spiritual essence. An excellent interpreter in the way he has chosen for himself, he goes on to speak of the monuments not with the dry science of a modern antiquary, [{313}] or with the naïf enthusiasm of a believer of the middle ages, but with a reflective admiration which unites philosophy to piety.
"The study of Rome in Rome," he says again, "leads us to the living springs of Christianity. It refreshes all the good feelings of the heart, and, in this age of storms, sheds a wonderful serenity over the soul. We must not, of course, attach too much importance to the charm which we find in certain studies, for books written with pleasure to one's self run the risk of being written with less charity. But none the less should we thank the Divine Goodness when it harmonizes pleasure with duty."
In these volumes of l'Abbé Gerbet, introductions and dissertations upon Christian symbolism and church history lead to observations full of grace or grandeur, and to beautiful and touching pictures. The Catacombs, which were the cradle and the asylum of Christianity during the first three centuries, interested him especially, and inspired in him thoughts of rare elevation. Here are some verses (for l'Abbé Gerbet is a poet without pretending to be one) which give his first impressions of them, and show the quality of his soul. The piece is called "The Song of the Catacombs," and is intended to be sung. [Footnote 52]
[Footnote 52: We translate "Le Chant des Catacombes" into prose, that the noble ideas may be given with literal accuracy. The author intended it to be sung to the air of "Le Fil de La Vierge" (Scudo). We give one verse of the original:
"Hier j'ai visité les grandes Catacombes
Des temps anciens;
J'ai touché de mon front les immortelles tombes
Des vieux Chrétiens:
Et ni l'astre du jour, ni les célestes sphères,
Lettres du feu,
Ne m'avaient mieux fait lire en profonds caractères
Lo nom de Dieu.">[
"Yesterday I visited the great Catacombs of ancient times. I touched with my brow the immortal tombs of early Christians, and never did the star of day, nor the celestial spheres with their letters of fire, teach me more clearly to read in profound characters the name of God.
"A black-frocked hermit, with blanched hair, walked on in front-- old door-keeper of time, old porter of life and death; and we questioned him about these holy relics of the great fight, as one listens to a veteran's tales of ancient exploits.
"A rock served as portico to the funeral vault; and on its fronton some martyr artist, whose name is known, no doubt, to the angels, had painted the face of Christ, with the fair hair, and the great eyes whence streams a ray of deep gentleness like the heavens.
"Further on, I kissed many a symbol of holy parting upon the tombs. And the palm, and the lighthouse, and the bird flying to God's bosom; and Jonas, leaving the whale after three days, with songs, as we leave this world after three days of trouble called time.
"Here it was that each one, standing beside his ready-made grave, like a living spectre, wrestled the fight out, or laid his head down in expectation! Here, that they might prepare a strong heart beforehand for the great day of suffering, they tried their graves, and tasted the first-fruits of death!
"I sounded with a glance their sacred dust, and felt that the soul had left a breath of life lingering in these ashes; and that in this human sand, which weighs so lightly in our hands, lie, awaiting the great day, germs of the almost god-like forms of eternity.
"Sacred places, where love knew how to suffer purely for the soul's good! In questioning you, I felt that its flame could never perish; for to each being of a day who died to defend the truth, the Being eternal and true, as the price of time, has given eternity.
"Here at each step we behold, as it were, a golden throne, and while treading on tombs we seem to be on Mount Tabor. Go down, go down into the deep Catacombs, into their lowest recesses--go down, and your [{314}] heart shall rise and, looking up from these graves, see heaven!"
Beside these verses, which are not found in the volumes of "Christian Rome," and are only a first utterance, should be placed, as an original picture full of meaning, his words concerning the slow and gradual destruction of the human body in the Catacombs. We all know Bossuet's mot (after Tertullian) in speaking of a human corpse: "It becomes a something unutterable," he exclaims, "which has no name in any language." The following admirable page from l'Abbé Gerbet's book is, as it were, a development and commentary of Bossuet's words. At this first station of the Catacombs he confines himself to the study of the nothingness of life: "the work I do not say of death, but of what comes after death;" the idea of awakening and of future life follows later. Listen:
"In your progress you review the various phases of destruction, as one observes the development of vegetation in a botanic garden from the imperceptible flower to large trees, rich with sap and crowned with great blossoms. In a number of sepulchral niches that have been opened at different periods one can follow, in a manner, step by step, the successive forms, further and further removed from life, through which what is there passes before it approaches as closely as possible to pure nothingness. Look, first, at this skeleton; if it be well preserved in spite of centuries, it is probably because the niche where it lies was hollowed out of damp earth. Humidity, which dissolves all other things, hardens these bones by covering them with a crust which gives them more consistency than they had when they were members of a living body. But not the less is this consistency a progress of destruction; these human bones are turning to stone. A little further on is a grave where a struggle is going on between the power that makes the skeleton and the power that makes dust; the first defends itself, but the second is gaining ground, though slowly. The combat between life and death that is taking place in you, and will be over before this combat between one death and another, is nearly ended. In the sepulchre near by, of all that was a human frame nothing is left but a sort of cloth of dust, a little tumbled and unfolded like a small whitish shroud, from which a head comes out. Look, lastly, at this other niche; there is evidently nothing there but simple dust, the color of which even is a little doubtful from its slightly reddish tinge. There, you say, is the consummation of destruction! Not yet. On looking closely, you discern a human outline: this little heap, touching one of the longitudinal extremities of the niche, is the head; these two heaps, smaller and flatter, placed parallel to each other a little lower down, are the shoulders; these two are the knees. The long bones are represented by feeble trails, broken here and there. This last sketch of man, this vague, rubbed-out form, barely imprinted on an almost impalpable dust, which is volatile, nearly transparent, and of a dull, uncertain white, can best give us an idea of what the ancients called a shade. If, in order to see better, you put your head into the sepulchre, take care; do not move or speak, hold your breath. That form is frailer than a butterfly's wing, more swift to vanish than a dewdrop hanging on a blade of grass in the sunshine; a little air shaken by your hand, a breath, a tone, become here powerful agents that can destroy in a second what seventeen centuries, perhaps, of decay have spared. See, you breathed, and the form has disappeared. So ends the history of man in this world."
This seems to me quite a beautiful view of death, and one that prompts the Christian to rise at once to that which is above destruction and escapes the catacomb--the immortal principle of life, love, sanctity, and [{315}] sacrifice. I can only indicate these noble and interesting considerations to those who are eager to study in material Rome the higher city and its significance.
Among l'Abbé Gerbet's writings I will mention only one other, which is, perhaps, his masterpiece, and is connected with a touching incident that will be felt most deeply by practically religious persons, but of which they will not be alone in their appreciation. It was before the year 1838, previously to the abbé's long residence in Rome, that he became intimate with the second son of M. de la Ferronais, former minister of foreign affairs. Young Count Albert de la Ferronais had married a young Russian lady, Mdlle. d'Alopeus, a Lutheran in religion, whom he eagerly desired to lead to the faith. He was dying of consumption at Paris in his twenty-fifth year, and his end seemed to be drawing near, when the young wife, on the eve of widowhood, decided to be of her husband's religion; and one night at twelve o'clock, the hour of Christ's birth, they celebrated in his room, beside the bed so soon to be a bed of death, the first communion of one and the last communion of the other. (June 29, 1836.) L'Abbé Gerbet was the consecrator and consoler in this scene of deep reality and mournful pathos, but yet so full of holy joy to Christians. It was the vivid interest of this incomparable and ideal death-bed which inspired him to write a dialogue between Plato and Fénélon, in which the latter reveals to the disciple of Socrates all needful knowledge concerning the other world, and in which he describes, under a half-lifted veil, a death according to Jesus Christ.
"O writer of Phaedon, and ever admirable painter of an immortal death, why was it not given to you to be the witness of the things which we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, and seize with the inmost perceptions of the soul, when by a concurrence of circumstances of God's making, by a rare complication of joy and agony, the Christian soul, revealed in a new half-light, resembles those wondrous evenings whose twilight has strange and nameless tints! What pictures then and what apparitions! Shall I describe one to you, Plato? Yes, in heaven's name, I will speak. I witnessed it a few days ago, but at the end of a hundred years I should still call it a few days. You will not understand the whole of what I tell you, for I can only speak of these things in the new tongue which Christianity has made; but still you will understand enough. Know, then, that of two souls that had waited for each other on earth and had met," etc.
Then follows the story, slightly veiled and, as it were, transfigured, but without hiding the circumstances. "Plato as a Christian would have spoken thus," said M. de Lamartine of this dialogue, and the eulogium is only just.
L'Abbé Gerbet could, no doubt, have written more than one of these admirable dialogues if he had wished to devote himself to the work, or if his physical organization had enabled him to labor continuously. He processes all that is needed to make him the man for Christian Tusculanes. Three times in my life have I had the happiness of seeing him in places entirely suited to him, and which seemed to make a natural frame for him: at Juilly, in 1831, in the beautiful shades that Malebranche used to frequent; in 1839, at Rome, beneath the arches of solitary cloisters; and yesterday, again, in the episcopal gardens of Amiens, where he lives, near his friend, M. de Salinis. Everywhere he is the same. Imagine a slightly stooping figure, pacing with long, slow steps a peaceful walk, where two can chat comfortably together on the shady side, and where he often stops to talk. Observe closely the delicate and affectionate smile, the benign countenance, in which something reminds us of [{316}] Fléchier and of Fénélon; listen to the sagacious words, elevated and fertile in ideas, sometimes interrupted by fatigue of voice, and by his pausing to take breath; notice among doctrinal views, and comprehensive definitions that come to life of themselves and prove their strength upon his lips, those charming mots and agreeable anecdotes, that talk strewn with reiniscences and pleasantly adorned with amenity,--and do not ask if it is any one else--it is he.
L'Abbé Gerbet has one of those natures which when standing alone are not sufficient unto themselves, and need a friend; we may say that he possesses his full strength only when thus leaning. For a long time he seemed to have found in M. de Lamennais such a friend of firmer will and purpose; but these strong wills often end, without meaning to do so, by taking possession of us as a prey, and then casting us like a slough. True friendship, as La Fontaine understood it, demands more equality and more consideration. L'Abbé Gerbet has found a tender and equal friend, quite suited to his beautiful and faithful nature, in M. de Salinis; to praise one is to win the other's gratitude at once. Will it be an indiscretion if I enter this charming household and describe one day there, at least, in its clever and literary attractions? L'Abbé Gerbet, like Fléchier, whom I have named in connection with him, has a society talent full of charm, sweetness, and invention. He himself has forgotten the pretty verses, little allegorical poems, and couplets appropriate to festivals or occasional circumstances, which he has scattered here and there, in all the places where he has lived and the countries he passed through. He is one of those who can edify without being mournful, and make hours pass gaily without dissipation. In his long life, into which an evil thought never glided, and which escaped all turbulent passions, he has preserved the first joy of a pure and beautiful soul. In him a discreet spirituality is combined with cheerfulness. I have by me a pretty little scene in verse which he wrote a few days ago for the young pupils of the Sacred Heart at Amiens, in which there is a faint suggestion of Esther, but of Esther enlivened by the neighborhood of Gresset. The bishop of Amiens always receives them on Sunday evenings, and they come gladly to his salon, where there is no strictness, and where good society is naturally at home. They play a few games, and have a lottery, and, in order that no one may draw a blank, l'Abbé Gerbet makes verses for the loser, who is called, I think, le nigaud (the ninny). These nigauds of l'Abbé Gerbet are appropriate and full of wit; he makes them by obedience, which saves him, he says, from all blame and from all thought of ridicule. It is difficult to detach these trifles from the associations of society that call them forth; but here is one of the little impromptus made for the use and consolation "of the losers;" it is called the "Evening Game:"
"My children, to-day is our Lady's day;
Now tell me, I pray, in her dear name,
Should the hand that this morning a candle clasped,
Hold cards to-night in a childish game?
I would not with critical words condemn
A pastime the world holds innocent,
Let me but say that its levity
May veil a lesson of deep intent
Think at the drawing of each card
That every day is an idle game.
If at its close in the treasures of God
There is no prize answering to your name.
This evening game is an hour well passed
If God be the guardian of your sports;
And the day, closing as it dawned,
Shall rejoin this morning's holy thoughts.
I startle you all with my grave discourse;
You would laugh and I preach with words austere;
No worldly place this--'tis the bishop's house;
So pardon this sermon, my children dear."
This is the man who wrote the book upon the eucharist and the dialogue between Plato and Fénélon, and who had a plan of writing the last conference of [{317}] St. Anselm on the soul; this is he whom the French clergy could oppose with honor to Jouffroy, and whom the most sympathetic of Protestants could combat only while revering him and recognizing him as a brother in heart and intelligence. L'Abbé Gerbet unites to these elevated virtues, which I have merely been able to glance at, a gentle gaiety, a natural and cultivated charm, which reminds one even in holiday games of the playfulness of a Rapin, a Bougeant, a Bonhours. There has been much dispute lately as to the studies and the degree of literary merit authorized by the clergy; many officious and clamorous persons have been brought forward, and it is my desire to notice one who is as distinguished as he is modest.
For a long time I have said to myself, If we ever have to elect an ecclesiastic to the French Academy, how well I know who will be my choice! And what is more, I am quite sure that philosophy in the person of M. Cousin, religion by the organ of M. de Montalembert, and poetry by the lips of M. de Lamartine, would not oppose me.
Monday, Day after the Feast of Assumption, Aug. 16, 1832.
[Since the above article was written, the Abbé Gerbet has had conferred on the episcopal dignity. He died about one year ago.--Ed. C. W.]
[ORIGINAL.]