The Catholic World, Vol. 06, October, 1867 to March, 1868.

by Various

The Third Catholic Congress Of Malines.

The ancient city of Malines, which has once more been the seat of one of those remarkable Catholic congresses already described in our pages, is well worthy of the distinguished honor conferred upon it by these illustrious assemblages. A few words of description will not, therefore, be amiss, as introductory to our sketch of the proceedings of the congress of last September.

The province of South Brabant, in which the city of Malines, or, as it is called in Flemish, Mechelen, is situated, has had a most varied and eventful history. Having originally formed a part of the province of Belgic Gaul, under the Roman empire, it was successively included in the domains of the Frankish and Austrasian kingdoms, and of the duchy of Lorraine. In the year 1005, Brabant, including North Brabant which is now a province of Holland as well as the Belgian province of South Brabant, was erected into a duchy. Godfrey of Bouillon was one of its dukes. Its independence ceased in 1429, when it was annexed to Burgundy. In 1484 it passed under the dominion of the emperor of Germany, at the death of Charles V. was transferred to Spain, again reverted to Germany at the beginning of the eighteenth century, was annexed by conquest to France in 1794, taken from France and annexed to Holland by the Congress of Vienna, and finally, by the revolution of 1830, became a portion of the new kingdom of Belgium, to which we wish perpetuity and prosperity with our whole heart.

South Brabant covers an area of 1269 square miles, containing a population of about 750,000. It is a flat, well-wooded country, crowded with beautiful towns and villages, intersected by several rivers and canals, cultivated throughout like a garden, and alive with thrift and industry. The city of Malines is at the point of intersection of the principal Belgian railways, about fifteen miles from Brussels, and at the same distance from Antwerp and Louvain. The river Dyle partly encircles and partly intersects the city, affording pleasant walks, well shaded, on the outskirts, and creating some most picturesque scenes within the town, by winding among some of the streets, whose residences and warehouses front upon the river. The railway depots have been kept, by the city authorities, on a remote outskirt of the town, so that its quiet and antique streets are not disturbed by the noise and bustle of the trains. Nor are they disturbed by any other kind of noise or bustle. Whatever business is done there seems to be out of sight and hearing. It is the most quiet, tranquil, and clean city that can possibly be imagined. In the centre is a great public square, upon which are situated the cathedral, the headquarters of administration, the military barracks, located in a very antique and picturesque building, the museum, and two hotels, as well as numerous shops and houses. In the centre of the square stands a statue of Margaret of Austria. The city contains a population of 33,000. The streets are wide and regular, but winding. Nearly all the buildings are white, being either constructed of white stone, or covered with a very fine and durable white stucco. Among them are numerous residences of great comfort and elegance, some of them really palatial, although their exterior surface is perfectly plain and simple, without porches, balconies, or grand entrances, to relieve their monotonous smoothness, or break up the continuity of white wall which gives Malines the appearance of a city of mural monuments. The great metropolitan cathedral of St. Rumbold, in the Grand Place, presents, however, a striking contrast to this general effect of uniform and brilliant whiteness, by its vast mass of dark stone and its immense unfinished tower, 340 feet high, which domineers in dark, sombre grandeur over the city. Returning on the Saturday night before the congress to Malines, from Ostend, in company with a friend who has travelled throughout all Europe and seen all its finest churches, we were particularly impressed by the great beauty of the picture presented by the Grand Place and the cathedral in a very clear moonlight and our friend remarked that he never saw anything more grand than the view of the vast, dark cathedral, overshadowing the white walls of the adjacent buildings, and towering above them in strong relief against their moon-bright surfaces. Notwithstanding the sneers of M. Baedeker, the cathedral of Malines is a truly grand and imposing church. It was commenced in the twelfth and completed in the fifteenth century; the tower, which is slowly growing upward toward its proposed height of 480 feet, was commenced in 1452, with the aid of contributions from the pilgrims who resorted there to gain the indulgences of the crusade, granted by Nicholas V. The patron saint of the cathedral, called in French St. Rombaut, in Flemish St. Rumbold, and in English St. Rumold, was the first apostle of Brabant. He is supposed by many writers to have been an Irishman, although others think that he was an Englishman. Not being able to form any opinion of our own on this point, we will take leave to quote what Alban Butler says on the subject:

"The place of St. Rumold's birth is contested. According to certain Belgic and other martyrologies, he was of the blood royal of Scotland (as Ireland was then called) and Bishop of Dublin. This opinion is ably supported by F. Hugh Ward, an Irish Franciscan, a man well skilled in the antiquities of his country, in a work entitled Dissertatio Historica de vitâ et patriâ, S. Rumoldi, Archiepiscopi Dubliniensis, published at Louvain, in 1662, in 4to. The learned Pope Benedict XIV. seems to adjudge St. Rumold to Ireland, in his letters to the prelates of that kingdom, dated the 1st of August, 1741, wherein are the following words: 'If we were disposed to recount those most holy men, Columbanus, Kilianus, Virgilius, Rumoldus, Gallus, and many others who brought the Catholic faith out of Ireland into other provinces, or illustrated by shedding the blood of martyrdom.' (Hib. Dom. Suppl. p. 831.) On the other hand, Janning, the Bollandist, undertakes to prove that St. Rumold was an English Saxon." [Footnote 45]

[Footnote 45: Butler's Lives of the Saints, July 1. Note.]

Whether St. Rumold was Irish or English, at all events his reputation as an Irish saint obtained for us the pleasure of having two very agreeable priests from Ireland to dine with us one Sunday afternoon, who had stopped en route for Aix-la-Chapelle in order to visit the cathedral.

St. Rumold, after spending the earlier part of his life in a monastery, went to Rome in order to receive the apostolic blessing of the pope and authority to preach the faith in the then heathen country of Lower Germany. He was consecrated bishop at some period of his missionary life, when we are not informed, and converted a great number of the people of Brabant. He was assassinated by some wicked men whose crimes he had reproved, on the 24th of June, 775, and is therefore honored as a martyr. A church was built to honor his memory and receive his relics at Malines, and these are still preserved and venerated in the present cathedral, the successor of the original church of St. Rumbold. The church of Malines was made a metropolitan see by Paul IV., and is now the primatial see of Belgium, including Brussels within its diocesan limits. In more recent times, the archbishops have usually been raised to the dignity of cardinals. The Cardinal de Frankenberg, who governed the see in the reign of Joseph II., distinguished himself by his firm opposition to the anti-catholic policy of that emperor. Cardinal de Mean, who died in 1831, and has a beautiful monument in the cathedral, has left behind him the reputation of an intrepid and valiant defender of the rights of the church in most difficult and dangerous times. Cardinal de Sterckx is the present Archbishop of Malines, a prelate advanced in years, but still retaining the full vigor of mind and body, and universally beloved for his patriarchal benignity and mildness of character, as was evident by the genuine and heartfelt warmth of the expressions of attachment which greeted his presence at the congress.

The chapter consists of twenty-two resident canons, who chant the entire office with great solemnity every day. The interior of the cathedral is imposing, and contains some fine pictures, especially a Crucifixion by Vandyke, a Last Supper by Wouters, and other paintings by Flemish masters. The chimes of the cathedral tower, which are unusually melodious and joyous in their tone, ring at the striking of the hours and half-hours, and on many other occasions, especially on festivals and their eves, when they are rung almost without cessation during the greater part of the day, with a very festive and enlivening effect.

There are eight or ten other churches, some of them very large and of imposing architecture, the most remarkable of which is the church of Notre Dame d'Hanswyck, on the outskirts of the city, containing a picture by Rubens of the miraculous draught of fishes. St. John's church has a picture of the Adoration of the Magi, and several smaller pictures, all by Rubens, forming an altar-piece with wings on the high altar. St. Peter's was formerly the Jesuits' church, and some adjacent buildings were once used as a novitiate. Here the B. John Berchmans, whose picture is in the church, lived for a time; and here are still memorials of the noble order so unjustly expelled from their peaceful home, in a beautiful marble statue of St. Francis Xavier placed in a recumbent position under the high altar, and in a series of large paintings on the side walls representing scenes in the life of the saint. The carved work of the pulpit and the confessionals in this church is remarkably fine, and in general this is the case throughout Belgium.

There is a large and commodious grand seminary at Malines, a little seminary, which is on a corresponding scale of completeness and extent, and a college. There are several religious communities of men and women, and, under the care of one of the latter, a very extensive and well-built hospital of recent construction.

The motto of the city, In fide constans, was conferred upon it two centuries and a half ago by one of the emperors of Germany, and is still appropriate, notwithstanding the strenuous and in part successful efforts of the anti-catholic party to seduce the population from their fidelity to the church. Malines is still one of the most thoroughly and openly Catholic cities of Europe. It would be impossible to find more intelligent, courageous, warm-hearted, or devout Catholics than are found in great numbers among the nobility and higher classes. A large proportion of the people are also, as indeed throughout Belgium, especially in the country places, sincerely attached to their religion and in the habit of complying with its duties. Nevertheless, even in Malines that infidel clique calling itself the liberal party, which has the control of the administration, is able to influence a sufficiently large number of the voters to carry all the elections. We were informed by intelligent gentlemen of Malines that this is due in great measure to the official patronage in connection with the railway system, which is a state affair, and places a great number of appointments in the hands of the government. A large class are also excluded from voting in Belgium by the peculiar law of property qualification. The keepers of estaminets, as the drinking-shops are called, are also there as here a very numerous class, and possessed of great influence in politics, all of which is on the side of the pseudo-liberals.

The liberal party is undoubtedly thoroughly anti-catholic and infidel in its principles and aims. Nevertheless, as the devil knows better than to send up his carte-de-visite with his name and likeness on it, the leaders of that party are adroit and plausible enough to carry with them not only the portion of the people which is corrupt, but also a number of good and well-meaning Catholics, as well as a large number of those who are apathetic and indifferent. All the bad Catholics are liberals, we were told, but not all the liberals are bad Catholics. It is a great disgrace, however, to such an ancient and Catholic city as Malines, that the anti-catholic party should rule it, and we hope the stain on its escutcheon may ere long be wiped off.

On the Sunday morning before the opening of the congress, it was difficult to imagine that anything of the sort was at hand. Everything looked as quiet as usual, and there were no visible signs of any great influx of strangers. All at once, however, the congress came, like the sun bursting suddenly in its full splendor out of a cloud. The preparations had been made quietly but efficiently, and during the latter part of Sunday afternoon one became aware all at once of something going on. The city appeared to become full at once, as if by magic, of a thousand or more of clergymen and lay gentlemen from various parts of Belgium, France, and other countries of the world, and even a few adventurous ladies made their appearance at the tables d' hôte of the hotels. The central bureau of the congress held its preliminary session on Sunday afternoon, and during the ceremony of tea, at our hotel on the Grand Place, M. Ducpetiaux, the founder, the prime mover, and the secretary-general of the congress, made his appearance, with various red and blue tickets and printed programmes in his pockets, which indicated that the ball was about to open.

Under the guidance of this experienced pilot, we put out into the hitherto unknown sea of congressional life, by crossing the Grand Place toward the cathedral, to take part in a reunion given by an association of young men, called "The Circle of Loyalty." As we approached the place of meeting, the first object which greeted our eyes was a brilliant, semicircular jet of gas over the arched entrance to a garden enclosed by a high wall, forming the words, "Cercle Catholique." A crowd of juvenile Flamanders with their broad backs and good-humored countenances, watched, and chatted, and peeped about the outside, as is always the case with the boys of all countries whenever there are great doings going on from which they are excluded. Inside the gate, which was vigilantly guarded by well-dressed young men clothed with the usual badges of office, we found ourselves in the midst of a garden filled with a gay and talkative crowd of priests in various sorts of ecclesiastical costumes, and of gentlemen of all ages and many countries, all making themselves as social and happy as possible. Passing through the garden, we were ushered into the large and commodious building which forms the hall of the association, and which was also filled with the members of the circle and of the congress from top to bottom. In the first room we entered, we found the president of the circle, M. Cannart d'Hamalle, one of the principal gentlemen of Malines, and a member of the Belgian senate, in full evening dress, receiving the members as they arrived, with that courtly and at the same time cordial politeness in which the Belgians excel all others. From the lower apartments of the hall we were soon summoned to the audience-room above, where speeches were made and applauded con amore, and a musical entertainment given by a choir and orchestra, consisting of Belgian national hymns, the hymn of Pius IX., and concluding with an exquisite morceau on the violoncello by a young artist of merit, which was vehemently applauded. These social reunions were continued without the formalities every evening during the week.

The congress was opened on the next morning. The place of meeting was the little seminary, situated on the outskirts of the city, near the boulevard which skirts the banks of the river Dyle. The grounds and buildings of the seminary are extremely convenient for the purpose. The buildings are extensive, and, together with the high wall connecting them, enclose a large, quadrangular space. Within this space the members of the congress assembled at an early hour on Monday. The entrances were guarded by young men of the Circle of Loyalty, who formed a body of volunteer police and commissariat during the sessions of the congress, performing their duties in such a manner as to receive well-merited eulogiums approved by the entire assembly, the most eloquent and delicate of which came from the lips of the Count de Falloux. The illustrious statesman and orator, with that felicity and charming grace of manner and expression which are his peculiar characteristics, uttered the sentiment, during one of his speeches, that the array of Catholic youth in attendance upon the congress was its most beautiful and attractive feature, and seemed, as it were, like a little legion of Stanislas Kostkas.

In the enclosure of the seminary, everything was arranged which could facilitate the business of the congress or promote the comfort and convenience of its members. A post-office, booths for the sale of newspapers and for writing letters, a restaurant where refreshments could be obtained at all hours, and where a dinner was provided every day, with other similar conveniences, were established on the premises. The assembly-room was a large exhibition hall, tastefully decorated with the busts of the pope and king, the flags of various nations, and appropriate mottoes. All the members of the congress were furnished with a ticket of membership; no other persons being admitted within the enclosure, except a few ladies, for whom seats were reserved. Special tickets for reserved places and the platform were given to the foreign members and others specially privileged. The number of members in attendance during the week was about three thousand, a large proportion of whom were assembled at the place of rendezvous on Monday morning, the majority being clergymen dressed in the various ecclesiastical costumes of Belgium, France, and Germany, with a sprinkling of the picturesque habits of the old religious orders. At the appointed hour, all moved in a procession, not remarkably well ordered, but very dignified and respectable in appearance, to the cathedral, through a double hedge of citizens lining the streets, by a pretty long route, along which many of the houses and shops were decorated with banners, armorial bearings, and other ornaments of a festal and welcoming nature. After the arrival of the procession, pontifical Mass was celebrated by the cardinal, a number of Belgian and foreign bishops and prelates assisting, and the procession returned once more to the seminary, where the opening session was held.

The cardinal, who is always the honorary president of the congress, on his arrival at the hall of assemblage, assumed the chair amid loud cheers and vivas, and, after pronouncing a short prayer, delivered a brief and paternal allocution. At the close of his allocution, he descended from the platform to a chair in front of it, near which were placed chairs for the prelates. Among the foreign bishops assisting at the congress were the Patriarch of Antioch, the Archbishop of Bosra, Vicar-Apostolic of Bengal, the Vicar-Apostolic of Alexandria, the Archbishop of Rio Grande in Brazil, the Bishop of Vancouver, the Bishops of Natchez and Charleston, U. S., and Chatham, N. S.; Mgr. de Merode was also present during the early part of the session. Mgr. Dupanloup, Père Hyacinthe, and the Count de Falloux came by special invitation as the great orators of the congress. A few clergymen and gentlemen from Germany, Italy, Poland, Spain, Holland, and America, a moderately large number from France, and some scattering individuals from almost everywhere, representing, it was said, eighteen different nations, made up the foreign element of the congress. Among the more distinguished foreign members of the congress, were Mgr. Kubinski, rector of the seminary of Pesth, in Hungary; Mgr. Woodlock, rector of the Catholic university of Dublin; F. Formby, of England; Mgr. Sacré, rector of the Belgian College in Rome; Baron de Bach, formerly Austrian ambassador at Rome; Chevalier Alberi of Florence; Viscount de la Fuente, professor of canon law in the University of Madrid; Don Manè y Flaquer, an eminent Spanish publicist; Count Cieszkowski, of Poland; the Abbé Brouwers, editor of the Tyd, of Amsterdam, etc. The strangers were treated with marked distinction and the most cordial kindness by their Belgian confrères. Nevertheless, apart from the brilliant orators from abroad, whose eloquence was chiefly directed to an object identical with the special and local purposes of the active members of the congress, the international character of the assembly was much less marked than in former years. England had but one representative, F. Formby, and other European countries were not strongly represented, with the single exception of France. Germany had its own congress a week after the one at Malines; and it appears probable that the Catholic congresses will become hereafter more and more exclusively national, occupied with local affairs of practical necessity, and having less of the character of international réunions. The Baron della Faille, in an article published in La Revue Generale, seems, however, to regret this tendency, and to desire that the congress should become more of an international reunion. The late congress was especially marked by this practical and business-like character, and, if it fell behind the former ones somewhat in numbers and éclat, was probably increased in practical utility by this very circumstance. This is precisely the view taken in the Compte-Rendu of the congress published in Le Catholique of Brussels:

"Its labors went more directly to their object, had something about them stronger and better developed, and a more practical character. The accessory aspects occupied a smaller space. Eloquence, even—we speak of the eloquence of words, not of realities—played a lesser rôle. We may say that rhetorical display scarcely appeared at all, and that there was a decided preference for the reality of ideas and facts. Read the details of the general sessions and of the sections. You will see there fewer speeches for effect, but more that give information and instruction. The congress meddled little with speculations, properly so-called; it did not set forth any religious or political metaphysics; it proceeded to its end by the shortest and surest routes. The rights of the church, its necessities, the liberty which it needs, its perils and trials in various countries, the organization and results of pious undertakings, the means of propagating them, the precise and urgent duties of Catholics in respect to religion, such were the matters principally discussed."

It may be well to state also, in this connection, that purely political discussions were prohibited in the congress, and strictly excluded from its deliberations.

The Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, as we have said, is always the honorary president of the congress, and it is by him that the sessions are solemnly opened and closed. The active presidency is confided to some distinguished Belgian nobleman, and this high office has been hitherto filled by the Baron de Gerlache, a statesman and patriot of one of the most illustrious families of the kingdom, who was the president of the national congress by which the constitution was established, and until of late the chief judge of the court of cassation. The Baron de Gerlache having resigned the office of president of the Catholic congress on account of his advanced age and infirmities, he was associated with the cardinal as honorary president, in order to testify the gratitude and veneration of the Catholics of Belgium for his illustrious career of public service; and the office of active president was left vacant. Its duties were performed with great dignity and ability by the first vice-president, Baron Hippolyte della Faille, a senator and leading Catholic statesman. The other vice-presidents were Viscount Kerckhove, Mgr. Laforet, rector magnificus of the University of Louvain, Viscount Dubus de Gisignies, senator, and Count de Theux, honorary vice-president, to whom were added as honorary vice-presidents the Count de Falloux and a number of the other foreigners present. The central bureau, which is a supreme council of management, was composed of the active vice-presidents, M. Ducpetiaux, secretary-general, with four other secretaries and a treasurer, and ten other gentlemen of distinguished rank and character, three of whom are clergymen and seven laymen. The presidents of the sections were Count Legrelle, Canon de Haerne, Mgr. Laforet, Viscount Dubus de Gisignies, and M. Dechamps, with a number of vice-presidents and secretaries. About fifty or sixty clergymen and lay-gentlemen of rank are thus placed at the head of the congress as members of the central and subordinate bureaux, constituting really the working congress. The great mass of the members, the majority of whom are clergymen of Belgium, constitute the audience, and cooperate chiefly by their presence and sympathy, although any member is at liberty to attend any section and gain a hearing for himself, if he has anything to propose to the attention of his colleagues. The measures to be proposed are initiated by the central bureau, sent down to the appropriate section for discussion and preparation, and, after approbation by the central bureau, laid before the congress for their ratification, which is usually given without further discussion, either by acclamation or by a formal vote. The real business meetings are consequently those of the bureaux and sections, the general sessions being devoted to hearing speeches, addresses, and reports. The sections meet during the morning, the members attending any of them they may choose. They are five in number. The first section is occupied with works of Catholic piety, the second with social science and works of general public improvement, the third with education, the fourth with Christian art, and the fifth with the Catholic press.

The general sessions are held during the afternoon, and at the last congress one of the evenings was devoted to a musical entertainment; another to a fête, given by the city, in the Botanical Garden; and the others were spent, by many of the members, in social conversation at the Catholic circle.

Before we give a résumé of the proceedings of these sectional and general sessions of the late congress, it may be well to state the reasons, objects, and guiding principles in view of which the assemblage of these congresses at Malines has been inaugurated and carried on. A great deal has been already published in our former numbers upon this topic; but as our readers may have forgotten it, and not care to look it up afresh, we think it will enable them to appreciate the proceedings of the congress we are describing more thoroughly, if we furnish them the substance anew in a brief and summary manner. In making this explanation, we shall be guided by the published and official statements of His Eminence the Cardinal de Sterckx, the Baron de Gerlache, and M. Ducpetiaux, which are to be found in the authentic documents of the first congress.

The necessity of the times which induced the leading Catholics of Belgium to conceive and execute the plan of convoking a general assembly of the clergy and laity of the kingdom, under the auspices of their primate and bishops, was the peculiar condition of the Catholic Church in relation to the civil administration of the state. The revolution of 1830, which severed Belgium from Holland and made it an independent kingdom, was accomplished by the concurrence of the Catholic majority of the nobility and people with the smaller but more active and enterprising liberal party who were the originators of the movement. By a similar concurrence and compromise between these two totally different elements, a constitution was formed on principles of very enlarged civil and religious liberty, and a Protestant prince, Leopold I., was called to the throne. The late king is usually spoken of by Catholics as a monarch of honorable and upright character, who endeavored to fulfil the duties entrusted to him in a just and impartial manner. Nevertheless, it is quite true that the position of affairs with a Protestant sovereign at the head of a Catholic people was an anomalous one, most unfavorable to the interests of the church and affording the greatest facilities to the so-called liberals to obtain a predominant influence in the state. The Catholic nobility and gentry, whose position, intelligence, and wealth made them the most capable of taking the principal part in directing political affairs, seem to have been too apathetic, and to have confided too much in the sincerity, loyalty, and good faith of the opposite party. The consequence was, that this party was allowed to get the control into its own hands, and enabled to secure an amount of influence over the people, who are fundamentally good, but too apathetic to their own highest interests, which has proved very dangerous, and has threatened to prove very disastrous, to religion. The accusation publicly made against this party by the gravest and most high-minded statesmen of Belgium is, that it has pursued an unremittingly perfidious policy in direct violation of the constitution, the end of which is to deprive the Catholic Church of that liberty and those rights solemnly guaranteed to it by the fundamental law of the realm, and, as far as possible, to decatholicize and unchristianize the people. The Catholic congress was called together and organized in order to unite the most influential laymen of the kingdom with the leading members of the clerical order, to take counsel together and adopt measures for counteracting this anti-catholic, infidel policy of the pseudo-liberal party. The honor of originating this glorious and happy enterprise, and of doing more than any other individual to promote its success, is ascribed by unanimous consent to M. Edouard Ducpetiaux, of Brussels, a gentleman whose name deserves to be enrolled with those of the most illustrious benefactors of his country. M. Ducpetiaux is a gentleman of wealth and high education, the author of some valuable works on social science, a corresponding member of the French Institute, and was formerly inspector-general of the prisons and public charitable institutions of Belgium. It is impossible to find in the world a man more genial, kind-hearted, unassuming, and energetic in prosecuting every benevolent work or one more enthusiastically beloved by those who are associated with him in the noble cause of promoting the Catholic faith in Belgium and Europe. Happily for the interests of religion in this ancient Catholic country, a number of other gentlemen of the highest standing and the most thorough Catholic loyalty cooperated with him in his great undertaking. The wise, generous, and unfaltering patronage and support of the venerable primate of Belgium, the Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, crowned it with that sanction and imparted to it that spirit of union with the Holy Roman Church and the hierarchy, which are the guarantee of its genuine Catholicity and the vital principle of its activity. The congress was intended to serve as an instrument for thwarting the destructive policy of the infidel party by combining together those zealous and loyal Catholics who, in their isolation and separation, were in danger of losing courage; revealing to them their real strength, animating their faith and ardor by able and eloquent addresses from the most illustrious champions of the church, concerting and taking means to carry out all kinds of measures for preserving and extending a Catholic spirit among the people. The more precise and definite objects to be aimed at were, to win for the church the full and perfect possession of her liberty and other divine rights, to promote the cause of Catholic education, to make known and give new impetus to all kinds of religious and charitable works and associations already existing, as well as to found new ones; to provide for the publication of books, tracts, magazines, and newspapers devoted to the sound and wholesome instruction of the people; to preserve, restore, and augment the treasures of religious art; and to work for social reform by alleviating the burdens, miseries, and privations of the laboring classes. The special reason for calling a congress for these purposes was, in order that the nobility and other influential classes of the laity might be brought into direct and immediate cooperation with the clergy for promoting and defending the sacred cause of religion. The words of the Most Eminent Cardinal de Sterckx carry with them such a weight of authority and wisdom on this head, not only on account of his position as primate of the Belgian hierarchy, but also from the still higher rank which he holds as a prince of the Roman Church, and from the fact that he has spoken and acted throughout after seeking counsel and direction from the Holy Father, as well as from his own high personal character, that we will make a citation of them from his allocution at the opening of the first congress:

"It is true, gentlemen, that the government of the church belongs to the clergy; it is true that it is to the sovereign pontiff, to the bishops, and to the priests that the deposit of faith and the care of souls has been confided. It is to them that the divine Founder of the church has said: 'Go, teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' It is to them that He has said: 'You are the light of the world, you are the salt of the earth.' Nevertheless, the Christian laity are also called to contribute to the propagation of the gospel, to sustain and defend the church of God. By baptism they have become the children of the church, and they are bound to take to heart the interests of their mother; by confirmation they have become soldiers of the church, and they are bound to defend her against the attacks of her enemies. It is, moreover, by the practice of good works that we are all obliged, both ecclesiastics and laymen, to secure our salvation. 'Strive,' says the prince of apostles to all Christians without distinction, 'strive to secure your vocation and election by the practice of good works.'

"But, if such is the duty of the laity, they ought to concert together in order to fulfil it with zeal and perseverance; they ought to combine and form associations; they ought to confer together, in order to plan the means of doing with more certainty and success that which they could only do in a very incomplete manner if they were abandoned to their own individual capacities."

We add one more sentence from the same allocution, which manifests the genuine and large-minded liberality of sentiment so conspicuous in this wise and venerable prelate and in the body of eminent men who have had the principal direction of the congress:

"All honest opinions may be expressed, all measures proper for promoting that which is good may be proposed. Both the one and the other may be defended, discussed, and combated with the greatest liberty; but you will also be all ready to abandon, if necessary, your sentiments and your projects, in order to rally to the support of those measures which shall be judged to be the best. In this way you will arrive at that perfect union which the Saviour demanded for his disciples: You will all have but one heart and one soul, and the success of your labors will be secured."

There can be no doubt that the congress of Malines has accomplished a great deal of the good contemplated by its eminent and excellent promoters. The mere assemblage of so many fervent Catholics together, and the enunciation of their common sentiments, wishes, and purposes, have had a great influence in giving increased courage, confidence, and zeal to the faithful adherents of the church in Belgium. Moreover, many works of great practical utility have either been inaugurated or have received additional extent and vigor. Among them may be mentioned the support given to the Catholic University of Louvain, the formation of a society among the alumni of the university, the establishment of Catholic circles of young men in the towns, the formation of libraries, the establishment of lectures and conferences, the formation of charitable and religious associations, the foundation of a Catholic publication house, the multiplication of books, tracts, and newspapers, the care given to the preservation, repair, and increase of churches, the cultivation of the fine arts in connection with religion, the efforts made for the sanctification of the Sunday and for the amelioration of the condition of the laboring classes. It is impossible to enumerate all that has been done, and would require a more minute knowledge of the state of things in Belgium than we possess—such a knowledge as is possessed only by those who have been engaged permanently in the work of the congress from the beginning.

In regard to the work of the congress lately held, our information is also much restricted and very general, as we are obliged to rely on the succinct reports already published. The meetings of the sections being held simultaneously in different rooms, and their proceedings being a continuation of those of preceding congresses as well as of a great number of various branches of active effort carried on perpetually by those engaged in them, we cannot pretend to give any complete and detailed statement of practical results, but merely an indication of the general topics discussed and the general objects had in view in the measures adopted.

In the first section, the topics discussed related to the Christian burial of the poor, the sanctification of the Sunday, the work of St. Francis Xavier for the instruction of laboring men, which has forty thousand members from this class in the cities of Belgium, the work of St. Francis Regis for legitimating illicit unions and facilitating marriages among the poor, and the contribution in aid of the pope called St. Peter's pence.

The second section was exclusively occupied with considering the interest of the laboring class and the relation of capital to labor, the terrible and at present insoluble European question ouvrière. The discussions in this section were more lively and the interest excited more general than in any other section.

The third section discussed three questions:

1. The attitude which Catholics ought to take in view of the war declared against the law of 1842, and in the eventuality of its abrogation.

2. The means of protecting the schools of the middle class against the incursions of official bureaucracy.

3. The improvement to be introduced in the Catholic system of instruction, under which head the improvement of historical text-books was especially considered.

The fourth section discussed the subject of instruction and improvement in religious art, the permanent exposition of fine paintings and statuary in churches, the means of developing and propagating religious art, and literary works imbued with a Christian spirit. M. Bordeaux, an eminent French archaeologist, was present, and spoke with ability in this section, giving interesting details of the progress of sacred archaeology in France. Among other recommendations, we were happy to find one relative to the removal of the ridiculous images which disfigure some fine churches, and the abolition of the unpleasant custom of paying a franc to the sacristan for removing the curtains before certain pictures. Desires were expressed for the publication of a manual of sacred archaeology and architecture as a guide to priests and architects.

The fifth section had a great number of important questions before it relating to the Catholic press, Catholic circles, popular lectures, secret societies, judicial oaths, etc., which it appears were not so well prepared beforehand or dealt with in so thorough a manner as the questions laid before the other sections. The most important resolution arrived at by this section was that of effecting a union of the Catholic circles for young men by means of a central organization. The formation of similar circles for the benefit of the industrial classes, and the giving of popular lectures on a more extensive scale, were also recommended.

Such is an imperfect and meagre outline of the work accomplished in the morning sessions of the several congressional sections. These sessions were opened at eight or nine o'clock, and continued until twelve or later. At three o'clock the general sessions of the congress were opened, continuing until six or seven in the evening; and we will now attempt to give a sketch of their proceedings.

The opening of the congress by the cardinal has already been noticed. After His Eminence had left the president's chair, the nominations of the central and sectional bureaux made by the committee of delegates were proposed and ratified by the assembly, and the chair was taken by the Baron della Faille, who immediately pronounced a long, elaborately written, and extremely able opening discourse. The baron is a gentleman of plain but impressive dignity, whose entire bearing and language bear the stamp of solid sense, elevated principles, thorough conscientiousness, and quiet but indomitable courage. A tone of profound and deeply meditative Christian thought and fervent Catholic piety predominates in his discourses, with a little shadow of sadness, as if he felt the great interests of the church and society to be in great danger; together with an undercurrent of suppressed emotion, as of a just and high-minded man indignant at the baseness of those who are faithless to their duty toward God and their fellow-men; as well as deeply resolved to be faithful to the death himself, at whatever cost of selfish interests.

At the outset of his discourse, the distinguished vice-president laid down the proposition that a state of conflict is the perpetual condition of the church, and proceeded to develop his views concerning the radical causes of the hostility which Christianity perpetually excites in the human bosom against its principles, its precepts, and its claim of authority over reason, conscience, and human activity. This part of his discourse was profoundly theological, the views and reasonings presented being all derived from the doctrine that man, in consequence of the original sin into which he fell from his primitive state of integrity, finds a perpetual repugnance and struggle in his own bosom of selfish passion against the supernatural law. This repugnance and resistance tends to produce itself in society even after it has been christianized and civilized, in the form of a retrograde movement toward irreligion and barbarism.

The orator proceeded then to examine the question whether this conflict could be terminated, so far as its disturbing influence on political tranquillity and the peace of society is concerned, by a reformation or reconstruction of the relations between the two orders, spiritual and temporal, religion and society, the church and the state. To this question he addressed himself to give a historical solution, arguing from the facts of the past as to what might be expected in the future. "When the irreconcilable adversaries of the truth," said the orator, with energy and emotion, "tear the state away from the church, reject Christ, ah! gentlemen, it is not in order to create for us a more peaceful condition; it is, on the contrary, in order to attack us more freely. If the civil power forces itself to be impartial, guided by reason alone, it is not secure from error; it will often be deceived, and the Catholic religion, being incapable of submitting to the manipulations of the temporal authority, will always be the first thing menaced. But what if this same power is malevolent? what if it has fallen into the hands of our enemies?" The orator then went on to sustain the position thus laid down by a reference to the actual policy of the so-called liberal governments of Europe toward the Catholic Church. He demanded that a single European state should be indicated, where liberalism is in power, which has not persecuted the church. After reproaching the blindness and apathy of a great number of Catholics who hang loose from an active part in the conflict against infidelity, he set forth, in very forcible language, the common duty of all to maintain, or rather to make a conquest of, the liberties of the church. This, he said, could only be accomplished by an obstinate conflict with the enemies of the church, in which there could be ni paix ni trêve. Touching then upon Belgium in particular, the country which liberty has made so famous, he asked the question, What is the condition of things there now? Without disparaging the amount of liberty still left to them, he declared that they had already lost enough to awaken just regret in their own minds, and to suggest the caution to their too confident friends: "Do not exaggerate the authority of this example, and take care for yourselves." He then went on to affirm that the church in Belgium is combated in its religious and charitable works—in the exercise of worship, where it has new assaults to expect, without any respect for the conditions which have been affixed to charitable institutions, or to the solemn engagements of the state. Such, he exclaimed, is our situation, in spite of our legislation which was favorable to us, in spite of promises the most formal, compacts the most solemn. Elsewhere, he asked, is the situation more favorable? The orator then deduced the conclusion which was the final object aimed at throughout his closely reasoned discourse, that the Catholics of Europe must rely on themselves alone, and prepare for a combat which must be sustained with courage, constancy, and union. In this part of his discourse, the baron proved how legitimate is the title he has received from his warlike ancestors, and we were reminded of the old days and old scenes of the chivalrous, warlike Netherlands, when the fathers of the peaceable gentlemen in the costume of civilians, who sat upon the platform or on the floor of the congress, rode forth with their pennons flying, clad in steel armor and coat of mail, to fight against the paynim for the cross and sepulchre. "We are the children of the Crusaders!" he exclaimed. "To a threatening infidelity let us oppose a new crusade, and let us each one bring his own arms with him."

On the conclusion of the discourse, which had been frequently interrupted by applause, the assembly gave loud and long-continued expression to the universal sentiment of admiration with which this introductory discourse of the illustrious Belgian statesman was received.

An address to the Holy Father was then voted by the assembly; the address was intrusted to Mgr. de Merode, to be presented by him to His Holiness on his return to Rome. Information of the vote was transmitted to Rome by telegraph, and in response to it the Holy Father sent his benediction on the opening of the congress, and subsequently another benediction on its close. After some communications from the secretary, the first public session of the congress was adjourned.

At the second session, on Tuesday afternoon, the hall was still more crowded than on the day previous. A few moments before it was opened, the Count de Falloux entered, leaning on the arm of Mgr. Laforet, amid prolonged and enthusiastic acclamations.

At the opening of the session an address to the cardinal was proposed and voted. M. de Falloux was nominated honorary vice-president, and a large number of the foreign members were honored with the same mark of distinction.

The favorite demonstration of cheering accompanied all these courteous formalities, and no sooner had it subsided than it was awakened to new and increased vigor by the arrival of the cardinal with the accompanying prelates, conducting the illustrious Bishop of Orleans, Mgr. Dupanloup, together with the celebrated orator of the Carmelite order, Father Hyacinthe. Long, loud, and often renewed were the acclamations with which the assembly greeted the heroic, veteran champion of the Catholic cause, "the Lamoricière of the episcopate," as he was happily designated by one of the orators of the congress. The president succeeded in silencing the thunders of congratulation long enough to allow him to address a few words of salutation to Mgr. Dupanloup in the name of the assembly, when they again burst forth with irrepressible energy, and could not be appeased until the illustrious orator, reluctantly yielding to the irresistible demand of three thousand voices, ascended the tribune to pronounce a short but fervid allocution.

Mgr. Dupanloup presents much more the exterior aspect of a hard-working apostolic missionary, or of an austere and self-denying religious, than of a stately dignitary of the church; and his style of address is in accordance with his personal appearance, having more of the unstudied energy, the spontaneous fire, of an earnest, popular preacher, than of the polished, artistic eloquence of a French academician.

His dress was a simple black cassock, with the slightest possible amount of purple trimming, and a cloak of the same color, just enough to indicate his episcopal rank, but still more significant of his profound indifference for its decorations. Everything else about his person and manner wore the same air of unstudied negligé and inattention to the ceremonial of exterior elegance and polish. As he appeared in full view of the audience upon the platform, an expression used by Rufus Choate of Napoleon the First could be applied to him, as giving with terse completeness a designation to the impression we received of the physical, intellectual, and moral tout ensemble of the man—"the worn child of a thousand battles." The same idea is conveyed by the title given him by general acclamation at the congress, "the Lamoricière of the episcopate." The bishop is somewhat over sixty years of age, his hair is gray, his movements somewhat indicative of failing bodily strength, his countenance vivid, lighting up as if from the flame of an internal, ever-burning furnace which is consuming his physical frame, his manner natural, easy, familiar, yet kindling at intervals into a startling, vibrating eloquence that thrills through the nerves like an electric shock. Mgr. Dupanloup had not preached in his diocese for the last two years on account of weakness in the throat, and, on taking the tribune at Malines, he apologized for himself on the ground that his voice was weakened by long and laborious use. In point of fact, his excuses seemed to be well-grounded; yet, as he caught the expression of the eyes and faces of his sympathetic audience, the electrical influence of the atmosphere of the place, surcharged with the enthusiasm of the Catholic faith, seemed to reanimate all his ancient fire, and he sent forth, like a flash of lightning, with a tone that vibrated through every heart in that august assembly, the eloquent exclamation, "Nous savions que le feu sacré est immortel dans l'Eglise; mais ICI ON EN VOIT LA FLAMME!" The bishop spoke but a few minutes, seizing the opportunity of the renewed applause which broke out on his uttering these words to descend hastily from the tribune, having produced an effect by this sudden coup de main of eloquence which it would be impossible to describe in any language we have at command.

The acclamations caused by Mgr. Dupanloup's début in the assembly having subsided, a short and amusing conflict arose between the amiable pertinacity of M. Ducpetiaux in insisting upon an immediate address from the Count de Falloux, and the reluctance of that gentleman to yield to the demand; in which the latter was obliged to succumb. Indeed, the audience came at once to the support of their secretary in such overwhelming force that resistance was impossible, and the illustrious French statesman was borne up to the tribune just vacated by the illustrious French bishop, as it were by a great wave of applause.

The Count de Falloux is a finished specimen of the most graceful and polished type of French gentlemen, orators, and men of polite letters. The paleness of his countenance, together with an expression of subdued languor in his eye and movements, bore witness to the truth of his avowal, that a pitiable state of health had prevented him from making any preparation for addressing the congress. In consequence of this, the count made no long or elaborate discourses. In his discourse of Tuesday, which was the longest, he spoke but half an hour. Nevertheless, this brief discourse, although apparently an unstudied, impromptu utterance of thoughts and sentiments occurring at the moment; delivered, without any effort at oratory, in a simple, almost conversational manner; was a specimen of the most consummate, captivating, and classical eloquence; as our readers will see for themselves, we hope, so far as a translation can enable them to do so, when the text of the discourse is published in full in our pages, as we intend it shall be; together with those of Mgr. Dupanloup and Father Hyacinthe. The expression of M. de Falloux's countenance, the tones of his voice, and his entire manner of address bear an impress of gentleness, of graceful, charming persuasiveness, through which he wins the hearts of his audience at once, and gains an easy, almost imperceptible dominion over their minds. With exquisite grace and delicacy, he complimented all the most distinguished persons present, the congress, and the Belgian nation; thanking the latter especially for the honor and kindness shown to his illustrious and suffering friend Montalembert, then confined to his chamber by sickness at his villa of Brixensart, near Brussels. The genuine, affectionate tenderness and emotion with which he spoke of Montalembert communicated itself at once to his sympathetic audience, and called out the most energetic, enthusiastic acclamations of the name so dear to the Belgian Catholics. "It is to you," said the orator, "that Montalembert owes the motto expressive of that sacred cause to which his life has been devoted, Liberty as in Belgium." The theme thus introduced with such consummate skill and effect occupied the remainder of the discourse, which was in its drift and aim a modest, reserved, courteous, but not the less powerful apology and defence of the nineteenth century and the cause of liberty against the charge of being essentially anti-catholic and irreligious.

The name of Montalembert was, in every instance when it was mentioned, greeted with the same hearty applause during all the sessions of the congress; a circumstance which elicited from him a letter of thanks and sympathy, afterward publicly read by the Count de Falloux, and received with acclamations of the most energetic character by the assembly.

We do not feel ourselves competent to express an opinion on the question how far the applause given by the congress to these two illustrious Catholic statesmen of France indicated an approbation of the principles in regard to the alliance of religion and liberty which they advocate. There is, no doubt, a great difference regarding this very important, delicate, and complicated question, in Belgium as well as throughout Europe; a difference existing, consequently, among the members of the Congress of Malines. The Count de Falloux's speech has been courteously but searchingly criticised by some of the most prominent writers for the Catholic press in Belgium, and still more severely by another writer in one of the English papers; while, as is natural, it is sustained with equal courtesy as well as with equal decision by Le Correspondant of France. All the members of the congress, as well as all other firm adherents of the Catholic cause in Europe and the world, are of one mind and one heart, in filial devotion to the Pope, loyalty to the Holy See and the Catholic Church, determination to fight against anti-catholic, infidel pseudo-liberalism in both its phases of despotism and radical demagogueism for the perfect liberation, the complete liberty of the Catholic Church from the tyranny, both of governments and of revolutions. In regard to the basis of settlement between the church and civil, political society, or the state, through which this liberty can be most effectually gained, most durably established, there is a divergence which sometimes threatens to become a sharp contest, involving in its issues other questions more directly ecclesiastical or theological. The most admirable feature of the Congress of Malines was, that this difference of opinion was neither violently smothered nor permitted to burst into a flame of discord, but subdued by the dominant power of mutual charity, respect, and courtesy. The Catholics of Belgium, we may also add those of France also, give a good example in this respect worthy to be imitated by all, but especially needing to be imitated by the Catholics of England and our own country. The Belgian Catholics are too deeply sensible of the imminent duties and perils of the Catholic cause in front of the deadly enemy of all religion, to tolerate the excesses of party spirit or internal dissension among themselves, to allow the tyranny of theological opinion the right of branding all dissidents as disloyal to the church, to tolerate the secret undermining or open detraction of the reputation of eminent, meritorious advocates of the Catholic cause, much less to permit the violation of the rules of Christian charity and courtesy by those who write for the press. They have felt the necessity of shunning personal or party disputes, rising above the spirit of clique or sectional interest, throwing off indifference and apathy toward measures or enterprises set on foot by men of zeal and courage for the common good, and combining together in a spirit of disinterested, self-sacrificing effort, strong enough to sweep away and drown all petty interests, for the common, the sacred, the glorious, but deeply endangered cause of God, religion, and true philanthropy. If we are so fortunate as to have a Catholic congress in the United States, we trust it will be animated by the same spirit which prevailed in the Congress of Malines, and that its influence will promote powerfully this truly Catholic spirit wherever it is felt.

To return from this digression; when the Count de Falloux had finished his speech, a very pleasing interlude occurred in the presentation of a magnificent vase of gold, on the part of the central bureau, to M. Ducpetiaux, by the Viscount Kerckhove, who made a graceful and appropriate speech on the occasion, embracing affectionately the amiable secretary at its conclusion, to the unbounded delight of the audience. Several other addresses were then read, some compliments were passed between the congress and the representatives of the city of Malines, an excellent report was read by Mgr. Nameche, vice-rector of the University of Louvain, from a committee appointed to give a premium to the best treatise on the education of young ladies, an animated speech was made by one of the juvenile members of the congress, and the session was adjourned.

The general session of Wednesday was addressed, after a few preliminary proceedings, by Lieutenant-General de Lannoy, a veteran warrior of the Belgian army, in a brief but exceedingly eloquent speech, commending the charitable heroism of the pontifical Zouaves during the visitation of Rome and Albano by the cholera. It was resolved to send an expression of the sentiment of the assembly to the secretary of war at Rome, and two young Belgian Zouaves present in the audience were invited to a seat on the platform. Father Tondini, an Italian Barnabite, then read a paper relating to a work in which he is engaged, for promoting the return of Russia to the unity of the church. He was followed by the celebrated Mgr. Dechamps, formerly a Redemptorist missionary, now the Bishop of Namur, who pronounced an able and eloquent discourse on the subject of Catholic unity. After this eloquent prelate had left the tribune, it was taken by the Bishop of Charleston, who employed the remaining time of the session, the hour of adjournment having been fixed at five P.M., on account of the oratorio in the evening, in a discourse on the state of the Catholic religion in the United States, but principally in his own diocese. The learned bishop, whose presence did so much honor to the hierarchy and the Catholic body of our own country at the Congress of Malines, exposed the sad state of the Catholic people of South Carolina, as well as of the whole population, but more especially of the colored race, in consequence of the late war. He communicated a project of his own for establishing a community of monks upon an island on the coast of South Carolina, as the nucleus of a great work for converting and civilizing the colored population. The address of Bishop Lynch produced a most profound impression upon the assembly; and we are happy to state that some of the wealthy members of the congress gave handsome contributions toward his benevolent undertaking.

On Thursday the great event of the session was the discourse of Mgr. Dupanloup, of which we give no analysis here, as the text of the discourse is to appear in our pages. It was throughout a scathing denunciation of the principle of the pseudo-liberals, the liberâtres, as he designated them, the liberticides, as we would propose to call them in English. Near the close of his discourse he gave utterance to a sentence which has aroused the attention of all Europe, and bids fair to make its echo heard for a long time to come. It was à propos of a plan, proposed, we believe, by the editor of the Paris Siède, for erecting a statue to Voltaire.

"Shall I remind you of Voltaire, the inventor of the title The Infamous, by which he designated the church? And he, what name did he give himself? He called himself philosopher. Ah! well, gentlemen, no one shall ever bring me to give the name of philosophers to a d'Holbach, to a Lamettrie, or the rest of the impious men who conspired with their master to crush the Infamous. But what do I hear? People say that they desire to erect a statue to the man who gave this name to Christianity. Indeed! and I, on my part, say that they will have raised a statue to INFAMY PERSONIFIED. (Prolonged bravos.) I should like to encounter here a man who would contradict me! I would promise to give him, as soon as he pleased, proofs with which all Europe would resound. This violence done to good sense, to rectitude, to French honor, revolts me. I repeat it, they will raise a statue to INFAMY PERSONIFIED. The Bishop of the Orleans of Joan of Arc could not have or express a more worthy sentiment." (Prolonged acclamations.)

The editor of the Siède has offered to take up the glove thus thrown at him, and a short but spicy correspondence has been interchanged between himself and the bishop, who is preparing to redeem his pledge in a pamphlet containing the proofs of his assertion.

We cannot refrain from noticing one more passage in this remarkable discourse, one which came like a flash of lightning from the bishop's mouth, striking the assembly with an irresistible force, but especially kindling every heart of a Belgian there present into aflame of patriotic enthusiasm. The effect was indeed indescribable. We add our fervent hope that it may be ineffaceable, especially upon the hearts of the Belgian youth there present, to whom their country looks with such fond hope for the future.

"O patriotism! it is not to you that I have to preach it; but I say to you simply, You HAVE A COUNTRY, KNOW HOW TO KEEP IT!" Words apparently simple and commonplace as written down on paper to be read by those who are remote from the scene of their utterance, strangers to the memories, the associations, the hopes and fears whose key-note they struck, and unable to represent to themselves the attitude, the tone, the expression of the orator who gave them utterance. But words which, as Dupanloup uttered them, with a sudden élan, in which his whole soul of fire seemed to blaze forth before the eyes of his audience, "VOUS AVEZ UNE PATRIE, SACHEZ LA CARDER!" Were sufficient to set a whole nation on fire.

The castigation given to infidelity by the intrepid Bishop of Orleans caused the party suffering from his well-applied lash to give utterance to its smarting sensations by an outcry in the Independence Belge, repeated by the London Times, and echoed by some of its feeble imitators in America. The burden of the complaint against Mgr. Dupanloup is, that he did not treat the soi-disant liberal party with sufficient courtesy or respect. For our own part, we did not find anything in his discourse, nor have we ever seen anything in any of his writings, in the slightest decree contrary to the charity of a Christian or the dignity of a bishop. In speaking of the party called by the extremely vague, general name of liberal, we must distinguish. We assent to the opinion of the amiable writer who furnished the sketch of the late congress in Le Correspondant, that it is incumbent on the champion of the Catholic cause to combat for it with courteous arms. We allow that a very large proportion of those who would class themselves under the general head of liberals, whether they call themselves liberal Christians or liberal philosophers, are entitled to courtesy. But, when it is question of such men as Voltaire and his modern disciples, who are engaged in the nefarious work of destroying all Christian faith in the hearts of the Catholic people, as well as poisoning the very well-spring of all political and social life, we deny that, apart from courtesies of private life, and in the public arena of discussion, they are entitled to any courtesy at the hands of a loyal defender of Christian faith and civilization, beyond that which his own self-respect and Christian charity require him to show to the deadliest enemies of the human race. We trust the time has not yet come in England or America when the name of Voltaire must be mentioned with respect. Whatever courtesy any man of that class deserves can only be given on the same principle that the poor woman addressed the executioner during the French reign of terror, with a plea to spare the lives of herself and her children, in the words, "Ayez pitie, M. le Bourreau." We hope it is through ignorance only that so many in England and America, calling themselves by the Christian name, extend their sympathy to a class of men who are laboring for the destruction of all religion and all social order; if it be through ignorance, their eyes will be opened in due time, perhaps in a somewhat startling manner.

When the thunders of acclamation, in the midst of which the Bishop of Orleans descended from the tribune, had subsided, the audience felt as if they had been swept up, by the hurricane of his eloquence, to a height from which it was difficult as well as unpleasant to descend on terra firma. His discourse was well styled in the Bulletin of the next morning, "ce discours monument" and, in our own mind, it is like some of these chefs d'oeuvre of Raffaelle in the Louvre, whose excellence is more vividly appreciated in the reminiscence than in the actual moment of viewing them.

The remainder of the session was occupied by an interesting memoir on the state of Italy, by the Chevalier Alberi of Florence, and an address on North American missions, by the Bishop of Vancouver.

The great speech of the Friday session was that of Father Hyacinthe. It was preceded by a short though brilliant address from the eminent statesman M. Adrian Dechamps, and another short address from the Count de Falloux, who read a letter from M. de Montalembert, which will be published hereafter.

Father Hyacinthe, dressed in the picturesque, impressive habit of the Carmelites, presented a striking contrast in appearance, as well as in the style of his eloquence, to the two great French orators who had preceded him. He is still in the full vigor of the prime of manhood, untouched by any token of decline; on the contrary, hardly more than just arrived at the full efflorescence of physical and intellectual maturity. The poetic sentiment seems to predominate in him, with an exuberance of the tender and expansive emotions of the heart, the pleasing, radiant creations of the imagination, yet not without the power of descending to the deeper region of tragic sentiment, or striking out more bold and sublime conceptions. His ordinary manner and expression are gentle and winning, his eye and countenance full of benevolence, his voice sweet, musical, somewhat feminine. When the spirit of oratorical inspiration carries him away, his countenance changes to a more earnest, impassioned expression, his gestures are rapid and vehement, his voice alternately sinks to a deep, low, organ-like tone, or rings out clearly like a trumpet, and the whole mind and body are roused into an action in which every cord and nerve has the tension of a ship's cordage under full sail. After the discourse, which was two hours long, and held the audience in a breathless attention interrupted only by their applauses, the eloquent father was completely exhausted and obliged to return home to his lodgings at once for a period of perfect quiet and repose. Of the discourse, which was on the question ouvrière, we will not speak, leaving our readers to peruse it in the translation which will be given in our pages hereafter.

A short address was made by Mgr. Rogers, Bishop of Chatham, N. S., thanking the Catholics of Europe for their charitable assistance to the missions of America, and giving some naive details of the primitive manners of the Acadians. Canon Rousseau then gave an analysis of the memoir presented by Father Hecker in a French translation for publication among the congressional documents, relating to the progress of the Catholic religion in the United States. Finally, M. l'Abbé Brouwers, a young priest of Amsterdam, succeeded in gaining the attention of the audience, already fatigued and impatient, to an address on the religious condition of Holland. This young priest exhibited proofs in his speech, of possessing the gift of sacred eloquence in no common degree. Another thing about him that pleased every one was, that he gave a bright, cheerful picture of the state of things in his own country. Everything was going on well, and promised to go on still better in the future—a circumstance quite creditable to the contented disposition of the compatriots of our first settlers in New York.

The closing service on Saturday morning was devoted to the reading of the reports of the sections and voting their conclusions. This work had been commenced at an extraordinary general session on Friday morning. The president gave a short concluding discourse, and after some usual formalities the members of the congress repaired to the cathedral, where a sermon was preached by Father Hyacinthe, the Te Deum was chanted, and the cardinal gave his benediction on the close of the congress. A general communion of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul had already been made on Friday morning in the church of Notre Dame d'Hanswyck. We may add here that a bulletin of the acts of the congress was published every morning, and also that there is an association called the Catholic Union, which is a sort of permanent standing committee of the congress during the intervals of its assemblages.

An elegant and recherché banquet, at which about three hundred gentlemen were present, concluded the Catholic réunion at Malines in a very pleasant manner, and before nightfall we had bidden adieu to Malines and were on our way to Brussels, preparatory to a return to Paris, and thence to America.

In conclusion, we beg leave to thank, in the name of the entire American delegation, the Cardinal Archbishop of Malines, and the other distinguished gentlemen of Belgium who are the chief directors of the congress, especially the noble-hearted and amiable secretary, M. Ducpetiaux, for the hospitality and consideration so kindly extended by them during our stay at Malines; and we trust that it may be in our power at a future day to return this hospitality in an equally cordial manner to some of their number as guests of the Catholics of the United States of America. Vive la Belgique! Vive le Congrès Catholique de Malines!

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Translated From The French.
The Story Of A Conscript.

I.

Those who have not seen the glory of the Emperor Napoleon, during the years 1810, 1811, and 1812, can never conceive what a pitch of power one man may reach.

When he passed through Champagne, or Lorraine, or Alsace, people gathering the harvest or the vintage would leave everything to run and see him; women, children, and old men would come a distance of eight or ten leagues to line his route, and cheer and cry, "Vive l'Empereur! Vive l'Empereur!" One would think that he was a god, that mankind owed its life to him, and that, if he died, the world would crumble and be no more. A few old republicans might shake their heads and mutter over their wine that the emperor might yet fall, but they passed for fools.

I was in my apprenticeship since 1804, with an old watchmaker, Melchior Goulden, at Phalsbourg. As I seemed weak and was a little lame, my mother wished me to learn an easier trade than those of our village, for at Dagsberg there were only wood-cutters and charcoal-burners. Monsieur Goulden liked me very much. We lived on the first story of a large house opposite the "Red Ox" inn, and near the French gate.

That was the place to see princes, ambassadors, and generals come and go, some on foot, and some in carriages drawn by two or four horses; there they passed in embroidered uniforms, with waving plumes and decorations from every country under the sun. And in the highway what couriers, what baggage-wagons, what powder-trains, cannon, caissons, cavalry, and infantry did we see! Those were stirring times!

In five or six years the innkeeper, George, had made a fortune. He had fields, orchards, houses, and money in abundance; for all these people, coming from Germany, Switzerland, Russia, Poland, or elsewhere, cared little for a few handfuls of gold scattered upon their road; they were all nobles who took a pride in showing their prodigality.

From morning until night, and even during the night, the "Red Ox" kept its tables in readiness. Through the long windows on the first story nothing was to be seen but great white table-cloths, glittering with silver and covered with game, fish, and other rare viands, around which the travellers sat side by side. In the yard behind, horses neighed, postilions shouted, maid-servants laughed, coaches rattled.

Sometimes, too, people of the city stopped there, who in other times were known to gather sticks in the forest or work on the highway. But now they were commandants, colonels, generals, and had won their grades by fighting in every land on earth.

Old Melchior, with his black silk cap pulled over his ears, his weak eyelids, his nose pinched between great horn spectacles, and his lips tightly pressed together, could not sometimes avoid putting his magnifying-glass and punch upon the work-bench, and throwing a glance toward the inn, especially when the cracking of the whips of the postilions awoke the echoes of the ramparts and announced a new arrival. Then he became all attention, and from time to time would exclaim:

"Hold! It is the son of Jacob, the slater," or of "the old scold, Mary Ann," or of "the cooper, Franz Lépel! He has made his way in the world; there he is, colonel and baron of the empire into the bargain. Why don't he stop at the house of his father who lives yonder in the Rue des Capucins?"

But, when he saw them shaking hands right and left in the street with those who recognized them, his tone changed; he wiped his eyes with his great spotted handkerchief, and murmured:

"How pleased poor old Annette will be! Good! good! He is not proud; he is a man. God preserve him from cannon-balls!"

Others passed as if ashamed to recognize their birthplace; others went gayly to see their sisters or cousins, and everybody spoke of them. One would imagine that all Phalsbourg wore their crosses and their epaulettes; while the arrogant were despised even more than when they swept the roads.

Nearly every month Te Deums were chanted, and the cannon at the arsenal fired their salutes of twenty-one rounds for some new victory. During the week following every family was uneasy; poor mothers especially waited for letters, and the first that came all the city knew of; the rumor spread like wildfire that such an one had received a letter from Jacques or Claude, and all ran to see if it spoke of their Joseph or their Jean-Baptiste. I do not speak of promotions or the official reports of deaths; as for the first, every one knew that the killed must be replaced; and as for the reports of deaths, parents awaited them weeping, for they did not come immediately; sometimes they never came, and the poor father and mother hoped on, saying, "Perhaps our boy is a prisoner. When they make peace, he will return. How many have returned whom we thought dead!"

But they never made peace. When one war was finished, another was begun. We always needed something, either from Russia or from Spain, or some other country. The emperor was never satisfied.

Often when regiments passed through the city, with their great-coats pulled back, their knapsacks on their backs, their great gaiters reaching to the knee, and muskets carried at will; often when they passed covered with mud or white with dust, would Father Melchior, after gazing upon them, ask me dreamily:

"How many, Joseph, think you we have seen pass since 1804?"

"I cannot say, Monsieur Goulden," I would reply', "at least four or five hundred thousand."

"Yes, at least!" he said, "and how many have returned?"

Then I understood his meaning, and answered: "Perhaps they return by Mayence or some other route. It cannot be possible otherwise!"

But he only shook his head, and said: "Those whom you have not seen return are dead, as hundreds and hundreds of thousands more will die, if the good God does not take pity on us, for the emperor loves only war. He has already spilt more blood to give his brothers crowns than our Revolution cost to win the rights of man."

Then we set about our work again; but the reflections of Monsieur Goulden gave me some terrible subjects for thought.

It was true that I was a little lame in the left leg; but how many others with defects of body had received their orders to march notwithstanding!

These ideas kept running through my head, and when I thought long over them, I grew very melancholy. They seemed terrible to me, not only because I had no love for war, but because I was going to marry Catharine of Quatre-Vents. We had been in some sort reared together. Nowhere could be found a girl so fresh and laughing. She was fair-haired, with beautiful blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and teeth white as milk. She was approaching eighteen; I was nineteen, and Aunt Margrédel seemed pleased to see me coming early every Sunday morning to breakfast and dine with them.

It was I who took her to high Mass and vespers; and on holidays she never left my arm, and refused to dance with the other youths of the village. Everybody knew that we would some day be married; but, if I should be so unfortunate as to be drawn in the conscription, there was an end of matters. I wished that I was a thousand times more lame; for at the time of which I speak they had first taken the unmarried men, then the married men who had no children, then those with one child; and I constantly asked myself, "Are lame fellows of more consequence than fathers of families? Could they not put me in the cavalry?" The idea made me so unhappy that I already thought of fleeing.

But in 1812, at the beginning of the Russian war, my fear increased. From February until the end of May, every day we saw pass regiments after regiments—dragoons, cuirassiers, carbineers, hussars, lancers of all colors, artillery, caissons, ambulances, wagons, provisions, rolling on for ever, like the waters of a river. All flowed through the French gate, crossed the Place d'Armes, and streamed out at the German gate.

At last, on the 10th of May, in the year 1812, in the early morning, the guns of the arsenal announced the coming of the master of all. I was yet sleeping when the first shot shook the little panes of my window till they rattled like a drum, and Monsieur Goulden, with a lighted candle, opened my door, saying, "Rise up, he is here!"

We opened the window. Through the night I saw a hundred dragoons, of whom many bore torches, entering at a gallop; they shook the earth as they passed; their lights glanced along the house-fronts like dancing flames, and from every window we heard the shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!"

I was gazing at the carriage, when a horse crashed against the post to which the butcher Klein was accustomed to fasten his cattle. The dragoon was thrown to the pavement, his helmet rolled in the gutter, and a head leaned out of the carriage to see what had happened—a large head, pale and fat, with a tuft of hair on the forehead: it was Napoleon; he held his hand up as if about taking a pinch of snuff, and said a few words roughly. The officer galloping by the side of the coach bent down to reply; and his master took his snuff and turned the corner, while the shouts redoubled and the cannons roared louder than ever.

This was all that I saw.

The emperor did not stop at Phalsbourg, and, when he was on the road to Saverne, the guns fired their last shot, and silence reigned once more. The guards at the French gate raised the drawbridge, and the old watchmaker said:

"You have seen him?"

"I have, Monsieur Goulden."

"Well," he continued, "that man holds all our lives in his hand; he need but breathe upon us and we are gone. Let us bless Heaven that he is not evil-minded; for if he were, the world would see again the horrors of the days of the barbarian kings and the Turks."

He seemed lost in thought, but in a moment he added:

"You can go to bed again. The clock is striking three."

He returned to his room, and I to my bed. The deep silence without seemed strange after such a tumult, and until daybreak I never ceased dreaming of the emperor. I dreamed, too, of the dragoon, and wanted to know if he were killed. The next day we learned that he was carried to the hospital and would recover.

From that day until the month of September they often sang the Te Deum, and fired twenty-one guns for new victories. It was nearly always in the morning, and Monsieur Goulden cried:

"Eh, Joseph! Another battle won! Fifty thousand men lost! Twenty-five standards, a hundred guns won. All goes well, all goes well. It only remains now to order a new levy to replace the dead!"

He pushed open my door, and I saw him bald, in his shirt-sleeves, with his neck bare, washing his face in the wash-bowl.

"Do you think, Monsieur Goulden," I asked, in great trouble, "that they will take the lame?"

"No, no," he said kindly; "fear nothing, my child, you could not serve. We will fix that. Only work well, and never mind the rest."

He saw my anxiety, and it pained him. I never met a better man. Then he dressed himself to go to wind up the city clocks—those of Monsieur the Commandant of the place, of Monsieur the Mayor, and other notable personages. I remained at home. Monsieur Goulden did not return until after the Te Deum. He took off his great brown coat, put his peruke back in its box, and again pulling his silk cap over his ears, said:

"The army is at Wilna or at Smolensk, as I learn from Monsieur the Commandant. God grant that we may succeed this time and make peace, and the sooner the better, for war is a terrible thing."

I thought, too, that, if we had peace, so many men would not be needed, and that I could marry Catharine. Any one can imagine the wishes I formed for the emperor's glory.

II.

It was on the 15th of September, 1812, that the news came of the great victory of the Moskowa. Every one was full of joy, and all cried, "Now we will have peace! now the war is ended!"

Some discontented folks might say that China yet remained to be conquered; such mar-joys are always to be found.

A week after, we learned that our forces were in Moscow, the largest and richest city in Russia, and then everybody figured to himself the booty we would capture, and the reduction it would make in the taxes. But soon came the rumor that the Russians had set fire to their capital, and that it was necessary to retreat on Poland or to die of hunger. Nothing else was spoken of in the inns, the breweries, or the market; no one could meet his neighbor without saying, "Well, well, things go badly; the retreat has commenced."

People grew pale, and hundreds of peasants waited morning and night at the post-office, but no letters came now. I passed and repassed through the crowd without paying much attention to it, for I had seen so much of the same thing. And besides, I had a thought in my mind which gladdened my heart, and made everything seem rosy to me.

You must know that for six months past I had wished to make Catharine a magnificent present for her fête day, which fell on the 18th of December. Among the watches which hung in Monsieur Goulden's window was one little one, of the prettiest kind, with a silver case full of little circles, which made it shine like a star. Around the face, under the glass, was a thread of copper, and on the face were painted two lovers, the youth evidently declaring his love, and giving to his sweetheart a large bouquet of roses, while she modestly lowered her eyes and held out her hand.

The first time I saw the watch, I said to myself: "You will not let that escape; that watch is for Catharine, and, although you must work every day till midnight for it, she must have it." Monsieur Goulden, after seven in the evening, allowed me to work on my own account. He had old watches to clean and regulate; and, as this work was often very troublesome, old father Melchior paid me reasonably for it. But the little watch was thirty-five francs, and one can imagine how many hours at night I would have to work for it. I am sure that, if Monsieur Goulden knew that I wanted it, he would have given it me for a present, but I would not have let him take a farthing less for it; I would have regarded doing so something shameful. I kept saying, "You must earn it; no one else must have any claim upon it." Only for fear somebody else might take a fancy to buy it, I put it aside in a box, telling father Melchior that I knew a purchaser.

Under these circumstances, every one can readily understand how it was that all these stories of war went in at one ear and out at the other with me. While I worked I imagined Catharine's joy, and for five months that was all I had before my eyes. I thought how pleased she would look, and asked myself what she would say. Sometimes I imagined she would cry out, "O Joseph what are you thinking of? It is much too beautiful for me. No, no; I cannot take so fine a watch from you!" Then I thought I would force it upon her; I would slip it into her apron-pocket, saying, "Come, come, Catharine! Do you wish to give me pain?" I could see how she wanted it, and that she spoke so only to seem to refuse it. Then I imagined her blushing, with her hands raised, saying, "Joseph, now I know indeed that you love me!" And she would embrace me with tears in her eyes. I felt very happy. Aunt Grédel approved of all. In a word, a thousand such scenes passed through my mind, and when I retired at night I said: "There is no one as happy as you, Joseph. See what a present you can make Catharine by your toil; and she surely is preparing something for your fête, for she thinks only of you; you are both very happy, and, when you are married, all will go well."

While I was thus working on, thinking only of happiness, the winter began, earlier than usual, toward the commencement of November. It did not begin with snow, but with dry, cold weather and strong frosts. In a few days all the leaves had fallen and the earth was hard as ice and all covered with hoar-frost; tiles, pavement, and window-panes glittered with it. Fires had to be made to keep the cold out, and, when the doors were opened for a moment, the heat seemed to disappear at once. The wood crackled in the stoves and burnt away like straw in the fierce draught of the chimneys.

Every morning I hastened to wash the panes of the shop-window with warm water, and I scarcely closed it when a frosty sheen covered it. Without, people ran puffing with their coat-collars over their ears and their hands in their pockets. No one stood still, and, when doors opened, they soon closed.

I don't know what became of the sparrows, whether they were dead or living, but not one twittered in the chimneys, and, save the reveille and retreat sounded in the barracks, no sound broke the silence.

Often when the fire crackled merrily did Monsieur Goulden stop his work, and, gazing on the frost-covered panes, exclaim:

"Our poor soldiers! our poor soldiers!"

He said this so mournfully that I felt a choking in my throat as I replied:

"But, Monsieur Goulden, they ought now to be in Poland in good barracks; for to suppose that human beings could endure a cold like this, it is impossible."

"Such a cold as this," he said; "yes, here it is cold, very cold, from the winds from the mountains; but what is this frost to that of the north, of Russia and of Poland? God grant that they started early enough. My God! my God! the leaders of men have a heavy weight to bear."

After the frosts so much snow fell that the couriers were stopped on the road toward Quatre-Vents. I feared that I could not go to see Catharine on her fête day; but two companies of infantry set out with pickaxes, and dug through the frozen snow a way for carriages, and that road remained open until the commencement of the month of April, 1813.

Nevertheless, Catharine's fête approached day by day, and my happiness increased in proportion. I had already the thirty-five francs, but I did not know how to tell Monsieur Goulden that I wished to buy the watch; I wanted to keep the whole matter secret; and it annoyed me greatly to talk about it.

At length, on the eve of the eventful day, between six and seven in the evening, while we were working in silence, the lamp between us, suddenly I took my resolution, and said:

"You know, Monsieur Goulden, that I spoke to you of a purchaser for the little silver watch."

"Yes, Joseph," said he, without raising his head, "but he has not come yet."

"It is I who am the purchaser, Monsieur Goulden."

Then he looked up in astonishment. I took out the thirty-five francs and laid them on the work-bench. He stared at me.

"But," he said, "it is not such a watch as that you want, Joseph; you want one that will fill your pocket and mark the seconds. Those little watches are only for women."

I knew not what to say.

Monsieur Goulden, after meditating a few moments, began to smile.

"Ah!" he exclaimed; "good! good! I understand now; to-morrow is Catharine's fête. Now I know why you worked day and night. Hold! take back this money; I do not want it."

I was all confusion.

"Monsieur Goulden, I thank you," I replied; "but this watch is for Catharine, and I wish to have earned it. You will pain me if you refuse the money; I would as lief not take the watch."

He said nothing more, but took the thirty-five francs; then he opened his drawer, and chose a pretty steel chain, with two little keys of silver-gilt, which he fastened to the watch. Then he put all together in a box with a rose-colored favor. He did all this slowly, as if affected; then he gave me the box.

"It is a pretty present, Joseph," said he. "Catharine ought to deem herself happy in having such a lover as you. She is a good girl. Now we can take our supper. Set the table."

The table was arranged, and then Monsieur Goulden took from a closet a bottle of his Metz wine, which he kept for great occasions, and we supped like old friends rather than as master and apprentice; all the evening he never stopped speaking of the merry days of his youth; telling me how he once had a sweetheart, but that, in 1792, he left home in the levée en masse at the time of the Prussian invasion, and that on his return to Fénétrange, he found her married—a very natural thing, since he had never mustered courage enough to declare his love. However, this did not prevent his remaining faithful to the tender remembrance, and when he spoke of it he seemed sad indeed. I recounted all this in imagination to Catharine, and it was not until the stroke of ten, at the passage of the rounds, which relieved the sentries on post every twenty minutes on account of the great cold, that we put two good logs in the fire, and at length went to bed.

III.

The next day, the 18th of December, I arose about six in the morning. It was terribly cold; my little window was covered with a sheet of frost.

I had taken care the night before to lay out on the back of a chair my sky-blue coat, my trousers, my goat-skin vest, and my fine black silk cravat. Everything was ready; my well-polished shoes lay at the foot of the bed; I had only to dress myself; but the cold I felt upon my face, the sight of those window-panes, and the deep silence without made me shiver in advance. If it were not Catharine's fête, I would have remained in bed until midday; but suddenly that recollection made me rush to the great delf stove, where some embers of the preceding night almost always remained among the cinders. I found two or three, and hastened to collect and put them under some split wood and two large logs, after which I ran back to my bed.

Monsieur Goulden, under the huge curtains, with the coverings pulled up to his nose and his cotton night-cap over his eyes, woke up, and cried out:

"Joseph, we have not had such cold for forty years. I never felt it so. What a winter we shall have!"

I did not answer, but looked out to see if the fire was lighting; the embers burnt well; I heard the chimney draw, and at once all blazed up. The sound of the flames was merry enough, but it required a good half-hour to feel the air any warmer.

At last I arose and dressed myself. Monsieur Goulden kept on chatting, but I thought only of Catharine, and when at length, toward eight o'clock, I started out, he exclaimed:

"Joseph, what are you thinking of? Are you going to Quatre-Vents in that little coat? You would be dead before you accomplished half the journey. Go into my closet, and take my great cloak, and the mittens, and the double-soled shoes lined with flannel."

I was so smart in my fine clothes that I reflected whether it would be better to follow his advice, and he, seeing my hesitation, said:

"Listen! a man was found frozen yesterday on the way to Wecham. Doctor Steinbrenner said that he sounded like a piece of dry wood when they tapped him. He was a soldier, and had left the village between six and seven o'clock, and at eight they found him; so that the frost did not take long to do its work. If you want your nose and ears frozen, you have only to go out as you are."

I knew, then, that he was right; so I put on the thick shoes, and passed the cord of the mittens over my shoulders, and put the cloak over all. Thus accoutred, I sallied forth, after thanking Monsieur Goulden, who warned me not to stay too late, for the cold increased toward night, and great numbers of wolves were crossing the Rhine on the ice.

I had not gone as far as the church when I turned up the fox-skin collar of the cloak to shield my ears. The cold was so keen that it seemed as though the air were filled with needles, and one's body shrank involuntarily from head to foot.

Under the German gate, I saw the soldier on guard, in his great gray mantle, standing back in his box like a saint in his niche; he had his sleeve wrapped about his musket where he held it, to keep his fingers from the iron, and two long icicles hung from his mustaches. No one was on the bridge, but, a little further on, I saw three carts in the middle of the road with their canvas-tops all covered with frost; they were unharnessed and abandoned. Everything in the distance seemed dead; all living things had hidden themselves from the cold; and I could hear nothing but the snow crunching under my feet. On each side were walls of ice, as I ran along the trench the soldiers had dug in the snow; in some places swept by the wind, I could see the oak forest and the bluish mountain, both seeming much nearer than they were, on account of the clearness of the air. Not a dog barked in a farm-yard; it was even too cold for that.

But the thought of Catharine warmed my heart, and soon I descried the first houses of Quatre-Vents. The chimneys and the thatched roofs, to the right and left of the road, were scarcely higher than the mountains of snow, and the villagers had dug trenches along the walls, so that they could pass to each other's houses. But that day every family kept around its hearth, and the little round window-panes seemed painted red, from the great fires burning within. Before each door was a truss of straw to keep the cold from entering beneath it.

At the fifth door to the right I stopped to take off my mittens; then I opened and closed it very quickly. I was at the house of Grédel Bauer, the widow of Matthias Bauer and Catharine's mother.

As I entered, and while Aunt Grédel, astonished at my fox-skin collar, was yet turning her gray head, Catharine, in her Sunday dress—a pretty striped petticoat, a kerchief with long fringe folded across her bosom, a red apron fastened around her slender waist, a pretty cap of blue silk with black velvet bands setting off her rosy and white face, soft eyes, and slightly retroussé nose—Catharine, I say, exclaimed:

"It is Joseph!"

And she ran to greet me, saying:

"I knew the cold would not keep you from coming."

I was so happy that I could not speak. I took off my cloak, which I hung upon a nail on the wall, with my mittens; I took off Monsieur Goulden's great shoes, and felt myself pale with joy.

I would have said something agreeable, but could not; suddenly I exclaimed:

"See here, Catharine; here is something for your fête."

She ran to the table. Aunt Grédel also came to see the present. Catharine untied the cord and opened the box. I was behind them, my heart bounding—I feared that the watch was not pretty enough. But in an instant, Catharine, clasping her hands, said in a low voice:

"How beautiful! It is a watch!"

"Yes," said Aunt Grédel; "it is beautiful; I never saw so fine a one. One would think it was silver."

"But it is silver," returned Catharine, turning toward me inquiringly.

Then I said:

"Do you think, Aunt Grédel, that I would be capable of giving a gilt watch to one whom I love better than my own life? If I could do such a thing, I would despise myself more than the dirt of my shoes."

Aunt Grédel asked:

"But what is this painted upon the face?"

"That painting, Aunt Grédel," said I, "represents two lovers who love each other more than they can tell: Joseph Bertha and Catharine Bauer; Joseph is offering a bouquet of roses to his sweetheart, who is stretching out her hand to take them."

When Aunt Grédel had sufficiently admired the watch, she said:

"Come until I kiss you, Joseph. I see very well that you must have economized very much and worked hard for this watch, and I think it is very pretty, and that you are a good workman, and will do us no discredit."

From then until midday we were happy as birds. Aunt Grédel bustled about to prepare a large pancake with dried prunes, and wine, and cinnamon and other good things in it; but we paid no attention to her, and it was only when she put on her red jacket and black sabots, and called, "Come, my children; to table!" that we saw the fine table-cloth, the great porringer, the pitcher of wine, and the large round, golden pancake on a plate in the middle. The sight rejoiced us not a little, and Catharine said:

"Sit there, Joseph, opposite the window, that I may look at you. But you must fix my watch, for I do not know where to put it."

I passed the chain around her neck, and then, seating ourselves, we ate gayly. Without, not a sound was heard; within the fire crackled merrily upon the hearth. It was very pleasant in the large kitchen, and the gray cat, a little wild, gazed at us through the balusters of the stairs without daring to come down.

Catharine, after dinner, sang Der liebe Gott. She had a sweet, clear voice, and it seemed to float to heaven. I sang low, merely to sustain her. Aunt Grédel, who could never rest doing nothing, began spinning; the hum of her wheel filled up the silences, and we all felt happy. When one air was ended, we began another. At three o'clock, Aunt Grédel served up the pancake, and as we ate it, laughing, she would exclaim:

"Come, come, now, you are children in reality."

She pretended to be angry, but we could see in her eyes that she was happy from the bottom of her heart. This lasted until four o'clock, when night began to come on apace; the darkness seemed to enter by the little windows, and, knowing that we must soon part, we sat sadly around the hearth on which the red flames were dancing. I would almost have given my life to remain longer. Another half-hour passed, when Aunt Grédel cried:

"Listen, Joseph! It is time for you to go; the moon does not rise till after midnight, and it will soon be dark as a kiln outside, and an accident happens so easily in these great frosts."

These words seemed to fall like a bolt of ice, and I felt Catharine's clasp tighten on my hand. But Aunt Grédel was right.

"Come," said she, rising and taking down the cloak from the wall; "you will come again Sunday."

I had to put on the heavy shoes, the mittens, and the cloak of Monsieur Goulden, and would have wished that I were a hundred years doing so, but, unfortunately, Aunt Grédel assisted me. When I had the great collar drawn up to my ears, she said:

"Now, Joseph, you must go!"

Catharine remained silent. I opened the door, and the terrible cold, entering, admonished me not to wait.

"Hasten, Joseph," said my aunt.

"Good-night, Joseph, good-night!" cried Catharine, "and do not forget to come Sunday."

I turned around to wave my hand; then I ran on without raising my head, for the cold was so intense that it brought tears to my eyes even behind the great collar.

I ran on thus some twenty minutes, scarcely daring to breathe, when a drunken voice called out:

"Who goes there?"

I looked through the dim night, and saw, fifty paces before me, Pinacle, the pedler, with his huge basket, his otter-skin cap, woollen gloves, and iron-pointed staff. The lantern, hanging from the strap of his basket lit up his debauched face, his chin bristling with yellow beard, and his great nose shaped like an extinguisher. He glared with his little eyes like a wolf, and repeated, "Who goes there?"

This Pinacle was the greatest rogue in the country. He had, the year before, a difficulty with Monsieur Goulden, who demanded of him the price of a watch which he undertook to deliver to Monsieur Anstett, the curate of Homert, and the money for which he put into his pocket, saying he had paid it to me. But, although the villain made oath before the justice of the peace, Monsieur Goulden knew the contrary, for on the day in question neither he nor I had left the house. Besides, Pinacle wanted to dance with Catharine at a festival at Quatre-Vents, and she refused because she knew the story of the watch, and was, besides, unwilling to leave me.

The sight, then, of this rogue with his iron-shod stick in the middle of the road did not tend to rejoice my heart. Happily a little path which wound around the cemetery was at my left, and, without replying, I dashed through it, although the snow reached my waist.

Then he, guessing who I was, cried furiously:

"Aha! it is the little lame fellow! Halt! halt! I want to bid you good-evening. You came from Catharine's, you watch-stealer."

But I sprang like a hare through the heaps of snow; he at first tried to follow me, but his pack hindered him, and, when I gained the ground again, he put his hands around his mouth, and shrieked:

"Never mind, cripple, never mind! Your reckoning is coming all the same; the conscription is coming—the grand conscription of the one-eyed, the lame, and the hunch-backed. You will have to go, and you will find a place under ground like the others."

He continued his way, laughing like the sot he was, and I, scarcely able to breathe, kept on, thanking Heaven that the little alley was so near me; for Pinacle, who was known always to draw his knife in a fight, might have done me an ill turn.

In spite of my exertion, my feet, even in the thick shoes, were intensely cold, and I again began running.

That night the water froze in the cisterns of Phalsbourg and the wines in the cellars—things that had not happened before for sixty years.

On the bridge and under the German gate the silence seemed yet deeper than in the morning, and the night made it seem terrible. A few stars shone between the masses of white cloud that hung over the city. All along the street I met not a soul, and when I reached home, after shutting the door of our lower passage, it seemed warm to me, although the little stream that ran from the yard along the wall was frozen. I stopped a moment to take breath; then I ascended in the dark, my hand on the baluster.

When I opened the door of my room, the cheerful warmth of the stove was grateful indeed. Monsieur Goulden was seated in his arm-chair before the fire, his cap of black silk pulled over his ears, and his hands resting upon his knees.

"Is that you, Joseph?" he asked without turning round.

"It is," I answered. "How pleasant it is here, and how cold out of doors! We never had such a winter."

"No," said he gravely. "It is a winter that will long be remembered."

I went into the closet and hung the cloak and mittens in their places, and was about relating my adventure with Pinacle, when he resumed:

"You had a pleasant day of it, Joseph,"

"I have had, indeed. Aunt Grédel and Catharine wished me to make you their compliments."

"Very good, very good," said he; "the young are right to amuse themselves, for when we grow old, and suffer, and see so much of injustice, selfishness, and misfortune, everything is spoiled in advance."

He spoke as if talking to himself, gazing at the fire. I had never seen him so sad, and I asked:

"Are you not well, Monsieur Goulden?"

But he, without replying, murmured:

"Yes, yes; this is to be a great military nation; this is glory!"

He shook his head and bent over gloomily, his heavy gray brows contracted in a frown.

I knew not what to think of all this, when, raising his head again, he said:

"At this moment, Joseph, there are four hundred thousand families weeping in France; the grand army has perished in the snows off Russia; all those stout young men whom for two months we saw passing our gates are buried beneath them. The news came this afternoon. Oh! it is horrible! horrible!"

I was silent. Now I saw clearly that we must have another conscription, as after all campaigns, and this time the lame would most probably be called. I grew pale, and Pinacle's prophecy made my hair stand on end.

"Go to bed, Joseph; rest easy," said Monsieur Goulden. "I am not sleepy; I will stay here; all this upsets me. Did you remark anything in the city?"

"No, Monsieur Goulden."

I went to my room and to bed. For a long time I could not close my eyes, thinking of the conscription, of Catharine, and of so many thousands of men buried in the snow, and then I plotted flight to Switzerland.

About three o'clock Monsieur Goulden retired, and a few minutes after, through God's grace, I fell asleep.

IV.

When I arose in the morning, about seven, I went to Monsieur Goulden's room to begin work; but he was still in bed, looking weary and sick.

"Joseph," said he, "I am not well. This horrible news has made me sick, and I have not slept at all. I will get up by and by. But this is the day to regulate the city clocks; I cannot go; for to see so many good people—people I have known for thirty years—in misery, would kill me. Listen, Joseph; take those keys hanging behind the door, and go. I will try to sleep a little. If I could sleep an hour or two, it would do me good."

"Very well, Monsieur Goulden," I replied; "I will go at once."

After putting more wood in the stove, I took the cloak and mittens, drew Monsieur Goulden's bed-curtains, and went out, the bunch of keys in my pocket. The illness of Father Melchior grieved me very much for a while, but a thought came to console me, and I said to myself: "You can climb up the city clock-tower, and see the house of Catharine and Aunt Grédel." Thinking thus, I arrived at the house of Brainstein, the bell-ringer, who lived at the corner of the little court, in an old, tumble-down barrack. His two sons were weavers, and in their old home the noise of the loom and the whistle of the shuttle was heard from morning till night. The grand-mother, old and blind, slept in an arm-chair, on the back of which perched a magpie. Father Brainstein, when he did not have to ring the bells for a christening, a funeral, or a marriage, kept reading his almanac behind the small round panes of his window.

The old man, when he saw me, rose up, saying:

"It is you, Monsieur Joseph."

"Yes, Father Brainstein; I come in place of Monsieur Goulden, who is not well."

"Very well; it is all the same."

He took up his staff and put on his woollen cap, driving away the cat that was sleeping upon it; then he took the great key of the steeple from a drawer, and we went out together, I [was] glad to find myself again in the open air, despite the cold; for their miserable room was gray with vapor, and as hard to breathe in as a kettle; I could never understand how people could live in such a way.

At last we gained the street, and Father Brainstein said:

"You have heard of the great Russian disaster, Monsieur Joseph?"

"Yes, Father Brainstein; it is fearful

"Ah!" said he, "there will be many a Mass said in the churches; every one will weep and pray for their children, the more that they are dead in a heathen land."

We crossed the court, and in front of the tower-hall, opposite the guard-house, many peasants and city people were already standing, reading a placard. We went up the steps and entered the church, where more than twenty women, young and old, were kneeling on the pavement, in spite of the terrible cold.

"Is it not as I said?" said Brainstein. "They are coming already to pray, and half of them have been here since five o'clock."

He opened the little door of the steeple leading to the organ, and we began climbing up in the dark. Once in the organ-loft, we turned to the left of the bellows, and went up to the bells.

I was glad to see the blue sky and breathe the free air again, for the bad odor of the bats which inhabited the tower almost suffocated me, But how terrible the cold was in that cage, open to every wind, and how dazzlingly the snow shone over twenty leagues of country! All the little city of Phalsbourg, with its six bastions, three demilunes, two advanced works; its barracks, magazines, bridges, glacis, ramparts; its great parade-ground, and little, well-aligned houses, were beneath me, as if drawn on white paper. I was not yet accustomed to the height, and I held fast on the middle of the platform for fear I might jump off, for I had read of people having their heads turned by great heights. I did not dare go to the clock, and, if Brainstein had not set me the example, I would have remained there, pressed against the beam from which the bells hung; but he said:

"Come, Monsieur Joseph, and see if it is right."

Then I took out Monsieur Goulden's large watch which marked seconds, and I saw that the clock was considerably slow. Brainstein helped me to wind it up, and we regulated it.

"The clock is always slow in winter," said he, "because of the iron working."

After becoming somewhat accustomed to the elevation, I began to look around. There were the oak-wood barracks, the upper barracks, Bigelberg, and lastly, opposite me, Quatre-Vents, and the house of Aunt Grédel, from the chimney of which a thread of blue smoke rose toward the sky. And I saw the kitchen, and imagined Catharine, in sabots and woollen skirt, spinning at the corner of the hearth and thinking of me. I no longer felt the cold; I could not take my eyes from their cottage.

Father Brainstein, who did not know what I was looking at, said: "Yes, yes, Monsieur Joseph; now all the roads are covered with people in spite of the snow. The news has already spread, and every one wants to know the extent of his loss."

He was right; every road and path was covered with people coming to the city; and, looking in the court, I saw the crowd increasing every moment before the guard-house, and the mairie, and the post-office. A deep horror arose from the mass.

At length, after a last, long look at Catharine's house, I had to descend, and we went down the dark, winding stairs, as if descending into a well. Once in the organ-loft, we saw that the crowd had greatly increased in the church; all the mothers, the sisters, the old grandmothers, the rich, and the poor, were kneeling on the benches in the midst of the deepest silence; they prayed for the absent, offering all only to see them once again.

At first I did not realize all this; but suddenly the thought that, if I had gone the year before, Catharine would be there praying and asking me of God, fell like a bolt on my heart, and I felt all my body tremble.

"Let us go! let us go!" I exclaimed, "this is terrible."

"What is?" he asked.

"War."

We descended the stairs under the great gate, and I went across the court to the house of Monsieur the Commandant Meunier, while Brainstein took the way to his house.

At the corner of the Hotel de Ville, I saw a sight which I shall remember all my life. There, around a placard, were more than five hundred people, men and women crowded against each other, all pale and with necks outstretched, gazing at it as at some horrible apparition. They could not read it, and from time to time one would say in German or French:

"But they are not all dead! Some will return."

Others cried out:

"Let us see it! let us get near it."

A poor old woman in the rear lifted up her arms, and cried:

"Christopher! my poor Christopher!"

Others, angry at her clamor, called out to silence her.

Behind, the crowd continued to pour through the German gate.

At length, Harmautier, the sergent-de-ville, came out of the guard-house, and stood at the top of the steps, with another placard like the first; a few soldiers followed him. Then a rush was made toward him, but the soldiers kept off the crowd, and old Harmautier began to read the placard, which he called the twenty-ninth bulletin, and in which the emperor informed them that during the retreat the horses perished every night by thousands. He said nothing of the men!

The sergent-de-ville read slowly; not a breath was heard in the crowd; even the old woman, who did not understand French, listened like the others. The buzz of a fly could have been heard. But when he came to this passage, "Our cavalry was dismounted to such an extent that we were forced to collect the officers who yet owned horses to form four companies of one hundred and fifty men each. Generals rated as captains, and colonels as under-officers"—when he read this passage, which told more of the misery of the grand army than all the rest, cries and groans arose on all sides; two or three women fell and were carried away.

It is true that the bulletin added, "The health of his majesty was never better," and that was a great consolation. Unfortunately it could not restore life to three hundred thousand men buried in the snow; and so the people went away very sad. Others came by dozens who had not heard the news read, and from time to time Harmautier came out to read the bulletin.

This lasted until night; still the same scene over again.

I ran from the place; I wanted to know nothing about it.

I went to Monsieur the Commandant's. Entering a parlor, I saw him at breakfast. He was an old man, but hale, with a red face and good appetite.

"Ah! it is you!" said he, "Monsieur Goulden is not coming, then?"

"No, Monsieur the Commandant, the bad news has made him ill."

"Ah! I understand," he said, emptying his glass, "yes, it is unfortunate."

And while I was regulating the clock, he added:

"Bah! tell Monsieur Goulden that we will have our revenge. We cannot always have the upper hand. For fifteen years we have kept the drums beating over them, and it is only right to let them have this little morsel of consolation. And then our honor is safe; we were not beaten fighting; without the cold and the snow, those poor Cossacks would have had a hard time of it. But patience; the skeletons of our regiments will soon be filled, and then let them beware."

I wound up the clock; he rose and came to look at it, for he was a great amateur in clock-making. He pinched my ear in a merry mood; and then, as I was going away, he cried as he buttoned up his overcoat, which he had opened before beginning breakfast:

"Tell Father Goulden to rest easy, the dance will begin again in the spring; the Kalmucks will not always have winter fighting for them. Tell him that."

"Yes, Monsieur the Commandant," I answered, shutting the door.

His burly figure and air of good humor comforted me a little; but in all the other houses I went to, at the Horwiches, the Frantz-Tonis, the Durlachs, everywhere I heard only lamentations. The women especially were in misery; the men said nothing, but walked about with heads hanging down, and without even looking to see what I was doing.

Toward ten o'clock there only remained two persons for me to see: Monsieur de la Vablerie-Chamberlin, one of the ancient nobility, who lived at the end of the main street, with Madame Chamberlin-d'Ecof and Mademoiselle Jeanne, their daughter, They were émigrés, and had returned about three or four years before. They saw no one in the city, and only three or four old priests in the environs. Monsieur de la Vablerie-Chamberlin loved only the chase. He had six dogs at the end of the yard, and a two-horse carriage; Father Robert, of the Rue des Capucins, served them as coachman, groom, footman, and huntsman. Monsieur de la Vablerie-Chamberlin always wore a hunting vest, a leathern cap, and boots and spurs. All the town called him the hunter, but they said nothing of Madame nor of Mademoiselle de Chamberlin.

I was very sad when I pushed open the heavy door, which closed with a pulley whose creaking echoed through the vestibule. What was then my surprise to hear, in the midst of general mourning, the tones of a song and harpsichord! Monsieur de la Vablerie was singing, and Mademoiselle Jeanne accompanying him. I knew not, in those days, that the misfortune of one was often the joy of others, and I said to myself, with my hand on the latch: "They have not heard the news from Russia."

But while I stood thus, the door of the kitchen opened, and Mademoiselle Louise, their servant, putting out her head, asked:

"Who is there?"

"It is I, Mademoiselle Louise."

"Ah! it is you, Monsieur Joseph. Come this way."

They had their clock in a large parlor which they rarely entered; the high windows, with blinds, remained closed; but there was light enough for what I had to do. I passed then through the kitchen and regulated the antique clock, which was a magnificent piece of work of white marble. Mademoiselle Louise looked on.

"You have company, Mademoiselle Louise?" I asked.

"No, but monsieur ordered me to let no one in."

"You are very cheerful here."

"Ah! yes," she said; "and it is for the first time in years; I don't know what is the matter."

My work done, I left the house, meditating on these occurrences, which seemed to me strange. The idea never entered my mind that they were rejoicing at our defeat.

Then I turned the corner of the street to go to Father Féral's, who was called the "Standard-Bearer," because, at the age of forty-five, he, a blacksmith, and for many years the father of a family, had carried the colors of the volunteers of Phalsbourg in '92, and only returned after the Zurich campaign. He had his three sons in the army of Russia, Jean, Louis, and George Féral. George was commandant of dragoons; the two others, officers of infantry.

I imagined the grief of Father Féral while I was going, but it was nothing to what I saw when I entered his room. The poor old man, blind and bald, was sitting in an arm-chair behind the stove, his head bowed upon his breast, and his sightless eyes open, and staring as if he saw his three sons stretched at his feet. He did not speak, but great drops of sweat rolled down his forehead on his long, thin cheeks, while his face was pale as that of a corpse. Four or five of his old comrades of the times of the republic—Father Demarets, Father Nivoi, old Paradis, and tall old Froissard—had come to console him. They sat around him in silence, smoking their pipes, and looking as if they themselves needed comfort.

From time to time one or the other would say:

"Come, come, Féral! are we no longer veterans of the army of the Sambre and Meuse?"

Or,

"Courage, Standard-Bearer! courage! Did we not carry the battery at Fleuries?"

But he did not reply; every minute he sighed, and the old friends made signs to each other, shaking their heads, as if to say:

"This looks bad."

I hastened to regulate the clock and depart, for to see the poor old man in such a plight made my heart bleed.

When I arrived at home, I found Monsieur Goulden at his work-bench.

"You are returned, Joseph," said he. "Well?"

"Well, Monsieur Goulden, you had reason to stay away; it is terrible."

And I told him all in detail.

He arose. I set the table, and, whilst we were dining in silence, the bells of the steeples began to ring.

"Some one is dead in the city," said Monsieur Goulden.

"Indeed? I did not hear of it."

Ten minutes after, the Rabbi Rose came in to have a glass put in his watch.

"Who is dead?" asked Monsieur Goulden.

"Poor old Standard-Bearer."

"What! Father Féral?"

"Yes, near an hour ago. Father Demarets and several others tried to comfort him; at last, he asked them to read to him the last letter of his son George, the commandant of dragoons, in which he says that next spring he hoped to embrace his father with a colonel's epaulettes. As the old man heard this, he tried to rise, but fell back with his head upon his knees. That letter had broken his heart."

Monsieur Goulden made no remark on the news.

"Here is your watch, Monsieur Rose," said he, handing it back to the rabbi; "it is twelve sous."

Monsieur Rose departed, and we finished our dinner in silence.

V.

On the eighth of January, a huge placard was posted on the town-hall, stating that the emperor would levy, after a senatus-consultus, as they said in those days, in the first place, one hundred and fifty thousand conscripts of 1813; then one hundred cohortes of the first call of 1812, who thought they had already escaped; then one hundred thousand conscripts of from 1809 to 1812, and so on to the end; so that every loophole was closed, and we would have a larger army than before the Russian expedition.

When Father Fouze, the glazier, came to us with this news, one morning, I almost fell through faintness, for I thought:

"Now they will take all, even fathers of families. I am lost!"

Monsieur Goulden poured some water on my neck; my arms hung useless by my side; I was pale as a corpse.

But I was not the only one upon whom the placard had such an effect: that year many young men refused to go; some broke their teeth off, so as not to be able to tear the cartridge; others blew off their thumbs with pistols, so as not to be able to hold a musket; others, again, fled to the woods; they proclaimed them "refractories," but they had not gens d'armes enough to capture them.

The mothers of families took courage to revolt after a manner, and to encourage their sons not to obey the gens d'armes. They aided them in every way; they cried out against the emperor, and the clergy of all denominations sustained them in so doing. The cup was at last full!

The very day of the proclamation I went to Quatre-Vents; but it was not now in the joy of my heart; it was as the most miserable of unhappy wretches, about to be bereft of love and life. I could scarcely walk, and when I reached there I did not know how to announce the evil tidings; but I saw at a glance that they knew all, for Catharine was weeping bitterly, and Aunt Grédel was pale with indignation.

"You shall not go," she cried. "What have we to do with wars? The priest himself told us it was at last too much, and that we ought to have peace! You shall not go! Do not cry, Catharine; I say he shall not go!"

"This carnage," she continued, "has lasted long enough. Our two poor cousins, Kasper and Yokel, are already going to lose their lives in Spain for this emperor, and now he comes to ask us for the younger ones. He is not satisfied to have slain three hundred thousand in Russia. Instead of thinking of peace, like a man of sense, he thinks only of massacring the few who remain. We will see! We will see!"

"In the name of Heaven! Aunt Grédel, be quiet; speak lower," said I, looking at the window. "If they hear you, we are lost."

"I speak for them to hear me," she replied. "Your Napoleon does not frighten me. He commenced by closing our mouths, so that he might do as he pleased; but the end approaches. Four young women are losing their husbands in our village alone, and ten poor young men are forced to abandon everything, despite father, mother, religion, justice, God! Is not this horrible?"

Then Aunt Grédel became silent. Instead of giving us an ordinary dinner, she gave us a better one than on Catharine's fête day, and said, with the air of one who has taken a resolution:

"Eat, my children, and fear not; there will soon be a change!"

I returned about four in the evening to Phalsbourg, somewhat more calm than when I set out. But as I went up the Rue de la Munitionnaire, I heard at the corner of the college the drum of the sergent-de-ville, Harmautier, and I saw a throng gathered around him. I ran to hear what was going on, and I arrived just as he began reading a proclamation.

Harmautier read that, by the senatus-consultus of the 3d, the drawing for the conscription would take place on the 15th.

It was already the 8th, and only seven days remained. This upset me completely.

The crowd dispersed in the deepest silence. I went home sad enough, and said to Monsieur Goulden:

"The drawing takes place next Thursday."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "they are losing no time; things are pressing."

It is easy to imagine my grief that day and the days following. I could scarcely stand; I constantly saw myself on the point of leaving home. I saw myself flying to the woods, the gens d'armes at my heels, crying, "Halt! halt!" Then I thought of the misery of Catharine, of Aunt Grédel, of Monsieur Goulden. Then I imagined myself marching in the ranks with a number of other wretches, to whom they were crying out, "Forward! charge bayonets!" while whole files were being swept away. I heard bullets whistle and shells shriek; in a word, I was in a pitiable state.

"Be calm, Joseph," said Monsieur Goulden; "do not torment yourself thus. I think that of all who may be drawn there are probably not ten who can give as good reasons as you for staying at home. The surgeon must be blind to receive you. Besides, I will see Monsieur the Commandant. Calm yourself."

But these kind words could not reassure me.

Thus I passed an entire week almost in a trance, and when the day of the drawing arrived, Thursday morning, I was so pale, so sick-looking, that the parents of conscripts envied, so to speak, my appearance for their sons. "That fellow," they said, "has a chance; he would drop the first mile. Some people are born under a lucky star!"

To Be Continued.

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