The Physical Basis Of Life.
[Footnote 128]
[Footnote 128: New Theory of Life. Identity of the Powers and Faculties of all Living Matter. A Lecture by Professor T. H. Huxley. New York World, Feb. 18th, 1869.]
We know this rather remarkable discourse only as republished in the columns of The New York World, where it had a sensational title which we have abridged. Professor Huxley's name stands high among English physicists or scientists, and his discourse indicates considerable natural ability, and familiarity with the modern school of science which seeks the explanation of the universe and its phenomena without recognizing a creator, or any existence but ordinary matter and its various combinations. The immediate purpose of the professor is to prove the physical or material basis of life, and that life in all organisms is identical, originating in and depending on what he calls the protoplasm.
The protoplasm is formed of ordinary matter; say, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen. These elements combined in some unknown way give rise to protoplasm; the protoplasm gives rise to the plant, and, through the plant, to the animal; and hence all life, feeling, thought, and reason originate in the peculiar combination of the molecules of ordinary, inorganic matter. The plant differs from the animal, and the animal from man, only in the different combinations of the molecules of the protoplasm. We see nothing in this theory that is new, or not as old as the physics of the ancient Ionian school.
The only novelty that can be pretended is the assumption that all matter, even inorganic, is, in a certain sense, plastic, and therefore, in a rudimentary way, living. The same law governs the inorganic and the organic world. But even this is not new. Many years ago, Ralph Waldo Emerson asserted the identity of gravitation and purity of heart, and we ourselves are by no means disposed to deny that there is more or less analogy between the formation of the crystal or the diamond and the growth of the plant. It is not, perhaps, too much to say that the law of creation is one law, and we have never yet been convinced of the existence of absolutely inert matter. Whatever exists is, in its order and degree, a vis activa, or an active force. Matter, as the potentia nuda of the schoolmen, is simple possibility, and no real existence at all. There is and can be no pure passivity in nature, or purely passive existences. We would not therefore deny a certain rudimentary plasticity to minerals, or what is called brute matter, though we are not prepared to accept the plastic soul, asserted by Plato, and revived and explained in the posthumous and unfinished works of Gioberti under the term methexis, which is copied or imitated by the mimesis, or the individual and the sensible. Yet since, as the professor tells us, the animal can take the protoplasm only as prepared by the plant, must there not be in inorganic matter a preparation or elaboration of the protoplasm for the use of the plant?
The professor speaks of the difficulty of determining the line of demarcation between the animal and the plant; but is it difficult to draw the line between the mineral and the plant, or between the plant and the inorganic matter from which it assimilates its food or nourishment? Pope sings,
"See through this air, this ocean, and this earth,
All matter quick, and bursting into birth;"
but we would like to have the professor explain how ordinary matter, even if quick, becomes protoplasm, and how the protoplasm becomes the origin and basis of the life of the plant. Every plant is an organism with its central life within. Virchow and Cl. Bernard by their late discoveries have proved that every organism proceeds from an organite, ovule, or central cell, which produces, directs, and controls or governs the whole organism, even in its abnormal developments. They have also proved that this ovule or central cell exists only as generated by a pre-existing organism, or parent, of the same kind. The later physiologists are agreed that there is no well authenticated instance of spontaneous generation. Now this organite must exist, live, before it can avail itself of the protoplasm formed of ordinary matter, which is exterior to it, not within it, and cannot be its life, for that moves from within outward, from the centre to the circumference. Concede, then, all the facts the professor alleges, they only go to prove that the organism already living sustains its life by assimilating fitting elements from ordinary matter. But they do not show at all that it derives its life from them; or that the so-called protoplasm is the origin, source, basis, or matter of organic life; or that it generates, produces, or gives rise to the organite or central cell; nor that it has anything to do with vitalizing it. Hence the professor fails to throw any light on the origin, matter, or basis of life itself.
It may or it may not be difficult in the lower organisms to draw the line between the plant and the animal, and we shall urge no objections to what the professor says on that point; we will only say here that the animal organism, like the vegetable, is produced, directed, and controlled by the central cell, and that this cell or ovule is generated by animal parents. There is no spontaneous generation, and no well authenticated instance of metagenesis. Like generates like, and even Darwin's doctrine of natural selection confirms rather than denies it. It is certain that the vegetable organism has never, as far as science goes, generated an animal organism. Arguments based on our ignorance prove nothing. The protoplasm can no more produce or vitalize the central animal than it can the central vegetable cell, and, indeed, still less; for the animal cannot, as the professor himself asserts, sustain its life by the protoplastic elements till they have been prepared by the vegetable organism. Whence, then, the animal germ, organite, or ovule? What vitalizes it and gives it the power of assimilating the protoplasm as its food, without which the organism dies and disappears?
Giving the professor the fullest credit for exact science in all his statements, he does not, as far as we can see, prove his protoplasm is the physical basis of life, or that there is for life any physical basis at all. He only proves that matter is so far plastic as to afford sustenance to a generated organic life, which every farmer who has ever manured a field of corn or grass, or reared a flock of sheep or a herd of cattle, knows, and always has known, as well as the illustrious professor.
We can find a clear statement of several of the conditions of life, both vegetable and animal, but no demonstration of the principle of life, in the professor's very elaborate discourse. Indeed, if we examine it closely, we shall find that he does not even pretend to demonstrate anything of the sort. He denies all means of science except sensible experience, and maintains with Hume that we have no sensible experience of causes or principles, all science, he asserts, is restricted to empirical facts with their law, which, in his system, is itself only a fact or a classification of facts. The conditions of life, as we observe them, are for him the essential principle of life in the only sense in which the word principle has, or can have, for him, an intelligible meaning. He proves, then, the physical basis of life, by denying that it has any intelligible basis at all. He proves, indeed, that the protoplasm, which he shows, or endeavors to show, is universal—one and the same, always and everywhere —is present in the already existing life of both the plant and the animal; but that, whatever it be, in the plant or animal, which gives it the power to take up the protoplasm and assimilate it to its own organism, which is properly the life or vital power, he does not explain, account for, or even recognize. With him, power is an empty word. He nowhere proves that life is produced, furnished, or generated by the protoplasm, or has a material origin. Hence, the protoplasm, by his own showing, is simply no protoplasm at all. He proves, if anything, that in inorganic matter there are elements which the living plant or animal assimilates, and into which, when dead, it is resolved. This is all he does, and in fact, all he professes to do.
The professor makes light of the very grave objection, that chemical analysis can throw no light on the principle or basis of life, because it is or can be made only on the dead subject. He of course concedes that chemical analysis is not made on the living subject; but this, he contends, amounts to nothing. We think it amounts to a great deal. The very thing sought, to wit, life, is wanting in the dead subject, and of course cannot by any possible analysis be detected in it. If all that constituted the living subject is present in the dead body, why is the body dead, or why has it ceased to perform its vital functions? The protoplasm, or what you so call, is as present in the corpse as in the living organism. If it is the basis of life, why is the organism no longer living? The fact is, that life, while it continues, resists chemical action and death, by a higher and subtler chemistry of its own, and it is only the dead body that falls under the action of the ordinary chemical laws. There is, then, no concluding the principle or basis of life from any possible dissection of the dead body.
The professor's answer to the objection is far from being satisfactory.
"Objectors of this class," he says, "do not seem to reflect … that we know nothing about the composition of any body as it is. The statement that a crystal of calcspar consists of carbonate of lime is quite true, if we only mean that, by appropriate processes, it may be resolved into carbonic acid and quicklime. If you pass the same carbonic acid over the very quicklime thus obtained, you will obtain carbonate of lime again; but it will not be calc-spar, nor anything like it. Can it therefore be said that chemical analysis teaches nothing about the chemical composition of calc-spar? Such a statement would be absurd; but it is hardly more so than the talk one occasionally hears about the uselessness of applying the results of chemical analysis to the living bodies which have yielded them. One fact, at any rate, is out of reach of such refinements and this is, that all the forms of protoplasm which have yet been examined contain the four elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, in very complex union, and that they behave similarly toward several reagents. To this complex combination, the nature of which has never been determined with exactness, the name of protein has been applied. And if we use this term with such caution as may properly arise out of comparative ignorance of the things for which it stands, it may be truly said that all protoplasm is proteinaceous; or, as the white, or albumen, of an egg is one of the commonest examples of a nearly pure proteine matter, we may say that all living matter is more or less albuminoid. Perhaps it would not yet be safe to say that all forms of protoplasm are affected by the direct action of electric shocks; and yet the number of cases in, which the contraction of protoplasm is shown to be effected by this agency increases every day. Nor can it be affirmed with perfect confidence that all forms of protoplasm are liable to undergo that peculiar coagulation at a temperature of 40 degrees—50 degrees centigrade, which has been called "heat-stiffening," though Kuhne's beautiful researches have proved this occurrence to take place in so many and such diverse living beings, that it is hardly rash to expect that the law holds good for all."
This long extract proves admirably how long, how learnedly, how scientifically, a great man can talk without saying anything. All that is here said amounts only to this: the conclusions obtained by the analysis of the dead body cannot be denied to be applicable to the living body, because we know nothing of the composition of any body organic or inorganic, as it is. Therefore all life has a physical basis! Take the whole extract, and all it tells you is, that we know nothing of the subject it professes to treat. "All the forms of protoplasm, which have yet been examined contain the four elements, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen in very complex union." When chemically resolved into these four elements, is it protoplasm still? Can you by a chemical process reconvert them into protoplasm? No. Then what does the analysis show of the nature of your physical basis of life? "To this complex union, the nature of which has never yet been determined, the name of protein has been applied." Very important to know that. Yet this name protein names not something known, but something the nature of which is unknown. What then does it tell us? "If we use this term [protein] with such caution as may properly arise out of our comparative ignorance of the things for which it stands, it may truly be said that all protoplasm is proteinaceous." Be it so, what advance in knowledge, since we are ignorant of what protein is? It is wonderful what a magnificent structure our scientists are able to erect on ignorance as the foundation.
The professor, after having confessed his ignorance of what the alleged protoplasm really is, continues:
"Enough has, perhaps, been said to prove the existence of a general uniformity in the character of the protoplasm, or physical basis of life, in whatever group of living beings it may be studied. But it will be understood that this general uniformity by no means excludes any amount of special modifications of the fundamental substance. The mineral, carbonate of lime, assumes an immense diversity of characters, though no one doubts that under all these protean changes it is one and the same thing. And now, what is the ultimate fate, and what the origin, of the matter of life? Is it, as some of the older naturalists supposed, diffused throughout the universe in molecules, which are indestructible and unchangeable in themselves; but, in endless transmigration, unite in innumerable permutations, into the diversified forms of life we know? Or is the matter of life composed of ordinary matter, differing from it only in the manner in which its atoms are aggregated. Is it built up of ordinary matter, and again resolved into ordinary matter when its work is done? Modern science does not hesitate a moment between these alternatives. Physiology writes over the portals of life,
'Debemur morti nos nostraque,'
with a profounder meaning than the Roman poet attached to that melancholy line. Under whatever disguise it takes refuge, whether fungus or oak, worm or man, the living protoplasm not only ultimately dies and is resolved into its mineral and lifeless constituents, but is always dying, and, strange as the paradox may sound, could not live unless it died."
Suppose all this to be precisely as asserted, it only proves that there is diffused through the whole material world elements which in certain unknown and inexplicable combinations, afford sustenance to plants, and through plants to animals, or from which the living organism repairs its waste and sustains its life. It does not tell us how carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen are or must be combined to form the alleged protoplasm, whence is the living organism, nor the origin or principle of its life. It, in fact, shows us neither the origin nor the matter of life, for it is only an actually living organism that uses or assimilates the alleged protoplasm. There is evidently at work in the organism a vital force that is distinguishable from the irritability or contractility of the protoplasm, and not derived from or originated by it. Undoubtedly, every organism that falls under our observation, whether vegetable or animal, has its physical conditions, and lives by virtue of a physical law; but this, even when we have determined the law and ascertained the conditions, throws no light on the life itself. The life escapes all observation, and science is impotent, if it leaves out the creative act of God, to explain it, or to bring us a step nearer its secret. Professor Huxley tells us no more, with all his science and hard words, than any cultivator of the soil, any shepherd or herdsman, can tell us, and knows as well as he, as we have already said.
In the last extract, the professor evidently prefers, of the two alternatives he suggests, the one that asserts that "the matter of life [protoplasm] is composed of ordinary matter, is built up of ordinary matter, and resolved again into ordinary matter when its work is done." This the professor applies to man as well as to plants and animals. Hence, he cites the Roman poet,
"Debemur morti nos nostraque."
But we have conceded the professor more than he asks. We have conceded that all matter is, in a certain sense, plastic, and living, in the sense of being active, not passive. But the professor does not ask so much. We inferred from some things in the beginning of his discourse that he intended to maintain that his protoplasm is itself elemental, and pervading all nature. But this is not the case; he merely holds it to be a chemical compound formed by the peculiar chemical combination of lifeless components. Thus he says:
"But it will be observed that the existence of the matter of life depends on the pre-existence of certain compounds, namely, carbonic acid, water, and ammonia. Withdraw any one of these three from the world, and all vital phenomena come to an end. They are related to the protoplasm of the plant, as the protoplasm of the plant is to that of the animal. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen are all lifeless bodies. Of these, carbon and oxygen unite in certain proportions and under certain conditions, to give rise to carbonic acid; hydrogen and oxygen produce water; nitrogen and hydrogen give rise to ammonia. These new compounds, like the elementary bodies of which they are composed, are lifeless. But when they are brought together, under certain conditions they give rise to the still more complex body, protoplasm, and this protoplasm exhibits the phenomena of life. I see no break in this series of steps in my secular complication, and I am unable to understand why the language which is applicable to any one term of the series may not be used to any of the others."
But here is a break or a bold leap from a lifeless to a living compound. No matter how different are the several chemical compounds known from the simple components, the new compound is always, as far as known, as lifeless as were the several components themselves. Hydrogen and oxygen compounded give rise to water, but water is lifeless. Hydrogen and nitrogen, brought together in certain proportions, give rise to ammonia, still a lifeless compound. No chemist has yet, by any combination of the minerals, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen, the constituents of protoplasm, been able to produce a living plant or a living organism of any sort. How then conclude that their combination produces the matter of life, or gives rise to the living organism? There seems to us to be a great gulf between the premises and the conclusion. Certain combinations of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen produce certain lifeless compounds different from themselves, therefore a certain other combination of these same elements produces the living organism, plant, or animal, or originates the matter, and forms the physical basis of life. If the professor had in his school days reasoned in this way, his logic-master, we suspect, would have set a black mark against his name, or, more likely, have rapped him over the knuckles, if not over his head, and told him that an argument that has no middle term, is no argument at all, and that "Transitio a genere ad genus," as from the lifeless to the living, is a sophism.
The professor is misled by his supposing that what is true of the dead body must be true of the living. Because chemical analysis resolves the dead body into certain lifeless elements, he concludes that the living body is, while living, only a compound of these same lifeless elements. That is, from what is true of death, he concludes what must be true of life. But for this fallacy, he could never have fallen into the other fallacy of concluding life is only the result of a certain aggregate or amalgam of lifeless minerals. Our scientists are seldom good logicians, and we have rarely found them able, when leaving traditional science, to draw even a logical induction from the facts before them. This is wherefore they receive so little respect from philosophers and theologians, who are always ready to accept their facts, but, for the most part, unable to accept their inductions. The professor has given us some valuable facts, though very well known before; but his logical ineptness is the best argument he has as yet offered in support of his favorite theory that man is only a monkey developed.
In the extract next before the last, the professor revives an old doctrine long since abandoned, that life is generated from corruption. "Under whatever disguise it takes refuge, whether fungus or oak, worm or man, the living protoplasm not only ultimately dies and is resolved into its mineral and lifeless constituents, but is always dying, and, strange as the paradox may sound, could not live unless it died." We know that some physiologists regard the waste of the body, which in life is constantly going on, and which is repaired by the food we take, as incipient death; but this is only because they confound the particles or molecules of matter of which the body is externally built up, and which change many times during an ordinary life, with the body itself, and suppose the life of the body is simply the resultant of the aggregation of these innumerable molecules or particles. But the life of the organism, we have seen, is within it, and its action from the centre, and it is only its life, not its death, that throws off or exudes as well as assimilates the material particles. The exudation as well as the assimilation is interrupted by death. Why the protoplasm could not live unless it died is what we do not understand.
The professor, of course, not only denies the immortality of the soul, but the existence of soul itself. There is for him no soul but the protoplasm formed of ordinary matter. All this we understand very well. We understand, too, that on his theory the protoplasm assimilated by the organism to repair its waste, renews literally, not figuratively, the life of the organism. But how he extracts life from death, and concludes that the protoplasm must die, as the condition of living, passeth our comprehension. We suppose, however, the professor found it necessary to assert it in order to be able to reason from the dead subject to the living. If the protoplasm were not dead, he could not by chemical analysis determine its constituents; and if the death of the protoplasm were not essential to its life, he could not conclude the constituents of the living protoplasm from what he finds to be the constituents of the dead protoplasm. But this does not help him. In the first place, the waste of the living organism is not death nor dying, though death may result from it. And the supply of protoplasm in the shape of food does not originate new life, nor replenish a life that is gone, but supplies what is needed to sustain and invigorate a life that is already life. In the second place, the vital force is not built up by protoplastic accretions, but operates from within the organism, from the organite or central cell, without which there could be no accretions or secretions. The food does not give life; it only ministers sustenance to an organism already living. No chemical analysis of the food can disclose or throw any light on the origin, nature, or constitution of the organic life itself.
It is this fact that prevents us from having much confidence in chemical physiology, which is still insisted on by our most eminent physiologists. In every organism there is something that transcends the reach of chemical analysis, and which no chemical synthesis can reproduce. Take the professor's protoplasm itself. He resolves it into the minerals, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen: but no chemist can by any possible recombination of them reproduce protoplasm. How then can one say that these minerals are its sole constituents, or that there are not other elements entering it which escape all chemical tests and, indeed, are not subject to chemical laws? Chemistry is limited, and cannot penetrate the essence of the material substance any more than the eye can. It never does and never can go beyond the sensible properties of matter. Life has its own laws, and every physiologist knows that he meets in the living organism phenomena or facts which it is impossible to reduce to any of the laws which are obtainable from the analysis of inorganic or lifeless matter. It is necessary then to conclude that there is in the living organism present and active some element which, though using lifeless matter, cannot be derived from it, or explained by physical laws, be they mechanical, chemical, or electrical. The law of life is a law sui generis, and not resolvable into any other. We must even go beyond the physical laws themselves, if we would find their principle.
As far as human science goes, there is, where the nucleus of life is wanting, no conversion of lifeless matter into living matter. The attempt to prove that living organisms, plants, animals, or man are developed from inorganic and lifeless matter, though made as long ago as Leucippus and Democritus, systematized by Epicurus, sung in rich Latin verse by Lucretius, and defended by the ablest of modern British physico-philosophers, Mr. Herbert Spencer, in his Biology, has by the sane part of the human race in all times and everywhere been held to be foolish and absurd. It has no scientific basis, is supported by no known facts, and is simply an unfounded, at least, an unsupported hypothesis. Life to the scientist is an insolvable mystery. We know no explanation of this mystery or of anything else in the universe, unless we accept the creative act of God; for the origin and cause of nature are not in nature herself. We have no other explanation of the origin of living organisms or of the matter of life. God created plants, animals, and man, created them living organisms, male and female created he them, and thus gave them the power to propagate and multiply each its own kind, by natural generation. The scientist will of course smile superciliously at this old solution, insisted on by priests and accepted by the vulgar; but though not a scientist, we know enough of science to say from even a scientific point of view that there is no alternative: either this or no solution at all. The ablest men of ancient or modern times, when they reject it, only fall into endless sophisms and self-contradictions.
Professor Huxley admits none but material existences, concedes that the terms of his proposition are unquestionably materialistic, and yet denies that he is individually a materialist.
"It may seem a small thing to admit that the dull vital actions of a fungus, or a foraminifer, are the properties of their protoplasm, and are the direct results of the nature of the matter of which they are composed. But if, as I have endeavored to prove to you, their protoplasm is essentially identical with, and most readily converted into, that of any animal, I can discover no logical halting place between the admission that such is the case, and the further concession that all vital action may, with equal propriety, be said to be the result of the molecular forces of the protoplasm which displays it. And if so, it must be true, in the same sense and to the same extent, that the thoughts to which I am now giving utterance, and your thoughts regarding them, are the expression of molecular changes in the matter of life which is the source of other vital phenomena. Past experience leads me to be tolerably certain that, when the propositions I have just placed before you are accessible to public comment and criticism, they will be condemned by many zealous persons, and perhaps by some of the wise and thoughtful. I should not wonder if 'gross and brutal materialism' were the mildest phrase applied to them in certain quarters. And most undoubtedly the terms of the propositions are distinctly materialistic. Nevertheless, two things are certain: the one, that I hold the statement to be substantially true; the other, that I, individually, am no materialist, but on the contrary believe materialism to involve grave philosophical error."
If what he has been from the first endeavoring to prove, and here distinctly asserts, is not materialism and consequently by his own confession, "a grave philosophical error," we know not what would be. "This union of materialistic terminology with the repudiation of the materialistic philosophy," he says, further on, "I share with some of the most thoughtful men with whom I am acquainted." His terminology is, then, better fitted to conceal his thought than to express it. He may repudiate this or that materialistic system; he may repudiate all philosophy, which he, of course does, yet not his terminology only, but his thought, as far as thought he has, is materialistic. Nothing can be more materialistic than the conception of life, sense, sentiment, affection, thought, reasoning, all the sensible, intellectual, and moral phenomena we are conscious of, as the product of the peculiar arrangement or combination of the molecules of the protoplasm, itself resolvable into the minerals, carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and nitrogen.
The scientific professor defends himself from materialism, by asserting that both materialism and spiritualism lie without the limits of human science, and by denying the necessity of a substance, whether spirit or matter, to underlie and sustain—we should say, produce—the phenomena, and the necessary relation of cause and effect, or that we do or can know things under any relation but that of juxtaposition in space and time. He falls back on the skepticism of Hume, and takes refuge behind his ignorance. He is too ignorant either to assert or to deny the existence of spirit, and though he may not be able to prove the phenomena in question are the product of material forces, nobody knows enough of the nature and essence of matter to say that they are not; and in fine, he in the first part of his discourse is only stating the direction in which physiology has for some time been moving. After all, what is the difference, or rather, what matters "the difference between the conception of life as the product of a certain disposition of material molecules, and the old notion of an Archaeus governing and directing blind matter within each living body?"
But if matter lies out of the limits of science, and the professor is unable to say whether it exists or not, what right has he to call anything material, to speak of a material basis of life, or to represent life and its phenomena as the product of "a certain disposition of material molecules"? What, indeed, has he been laboring to prove through his whole discourse, but that the phenomena of life are the product of ordinary matter? After this, it will hardly answer to plead ignorance of the existence and properties of matter. If matter be relegated to the region of the unknowable, his whole thesis, terminology and all, must be banished with it, for it retains, and can retain, no meaning.
Nor will it answer for the professor to take refuge in Hume's skepticism, and say he is not a materialist, because he admits no necessary relation between cause and effect, or that there is within the limits of science, any power or force, or vis activa, which men in their ignorance call "cause," actually producing something which men call "effect." If he says this, what becomes of his thesis, that life and even mind are the product of a certain disposition of material molecules, or of "the peculiar combination of the molecules of the protoplasm"? If he denies the existence, or even the knowledge of causative, that is, productive force, his thesis has no meaning, and all his alleged proofs of a physical basis of the vital and mental phenomena must count for nothing. Every proof, every argument, presupposes the relation of cause and effect. When that relation is denied, and the two things are assumed to have with each other only the relation of juxtaposition, no proposition can be either proved or disproved. The professor, after having asserted and attempted to prove his materialistic thesis, cannot, without gross self-contradiction, plead the skepticism of Hume in his defence. If he holds with Hume, he should have kept his mouth shut, and never stated or attempted to prove his thesis.
Whether we are or are not able to prove that life, sense, and reason do not originate in the peculiar "combination of the molecules of the protoplasm," is nothing to the purpose. It is for the professor to prove that they do. He must not base his science on our ignorance, any more than on his own.
But our space is exhausted and we must close. Taken, as we have taken him, on what he must concede to be purely scientific ground, and brought to a strictly scientific test, the professor's thesis must be declared not proven, and to be destitute of all scientific value. We have met him on his own ground, and have urged no arguments against him drawn from religion or metaphysics; we have simply corrected one or two mistakes in his science, and assailed his inductions with pure logic. If he has not reasoned logically, that is his fault, not ours, and neither he nor his friends have any right to complain of us for showing that his inductions are illogical, and therefore unscientific. Yet we are bound to say that the professor reasons as well as any of his class of scientists that we have met with. No man can reason logically who rejects the
, that is, logic itself, and nothing better than Professor Huxley's discourse can be expected from a scientist who discards all causes and seeks to explain the existence and phenomena or facts of the universe, without rising from second causes to the first and final cause of all.
Two questions are raised by this discourse, of great and vital importance. The one as to the nexus between cause and effect, in answer to Hume's skepticism, and the other as to spirit and matter, and their reciprocal relation. We have not attempted the discussion of either in this article; but should a favorable occasion offer, we may hereafter treat them both at some length.
Two Months In Spain
During The Late Revolution.
Gibraltar.
October 7.
At an early hour yesterday we left Cadiz, which did indeed look like a "silver cup floating on the water," as the Spaniards say of it. As the steamer bore us away, the rising sun upon its white towers and cathedral dome, the belvideres which adorn the roof of every house, (making each look like a church,) the lovely green alameda, the distant mountains, the pretty white towns on the shore, the hundreds of vessels in the sparkling bay, all made an enchanting scene, from which we were recalled to the miseries of sea-sickness! From time to time, we crept upon deck to see the fine sea view, and when we came to Tarifa, near the straits, the scene was magnificent. On one side, the mountains of Africa, Tangier in the distance; on the other, the mountains of Spain and the Moorish-looking town of Tarifa, with an island on which is the lighthouse and defences standing directly in the mouth of the straits; so that it seemed as if a long line of vessels with their white sails spread were encompassing the island. In sight, at one time, were eighty sail. Every nation under the sun seemed represented, as they saluted one another with their flags. Among the rest, Sweden and Norway. We landed at Gibraltar under a glorious sunset. The farewell beams lighted the mountains with a tint of gilded bronze. Gibraltar, opposite these, was like a huge gray mountain, and behind it the sky was of the palest rose color, melting into blue where it touched the water. The town is on the side and at the foot of the "Rock," (a place of sixteen or twenty thousand inhabitants,) and above it are the famous galleries cut through the rock, from which we could see the noses of the great guns peeping from the port-holes, range after range, one above another, till the top is reached, where is the Signal.
The Rock of Gibraltar is 1430 feet high, and about three miles long—a great gray sphinx jutting into the water. It is joined to the mainland by a narrow slip of sand, capable of being submerged if necessary. Upon this neck of land is the "neutral ground," (a narrow strip,) where, side by side, the fair British sentinel and the sunburned Spaniard keep their "lonely round." We mount upon donkeys to ascend the "Rock," passing through the wonderful "galleries" which, at an immense expense, have been cut into the solid rock, where, with the guns, are depositories for powder, balls, etc. Some of these galleries are over a mile and a quarter long, lighted by the port-holes, which, in passing, gave us glimpses of the loveliest of landscapes. Leaving the galleries, we ascend by zigzag paths to the Signal; at every turn feasting our eyes upon the wonderful panorama spread out below us, which is seen in perfection from the summit. Here we looked down upon two seas, the Atlantic and the Mediterranean, and two worlds, Europe and Africa! Spain on one side, with the snowy heights of the Alpujarras and Sierra Nevada; at our feet, the town of Gibraltar, with the lovely alameda, its green trees and bright gardens, the glorious bay crowded with shipping—men-of-war, school ships, steamers, and every small craft; and, seemingly, but a stone's throw across lay Ceuta, at the foot of that other "Pillar of Hercules" which rises 2200 feet, and looks like a mountain of bronze, while Gibraltar is of gray granite. These two great pillars were considered in the olden time the end of the world—the Tarshish of the Bible; the Calpe of the Phoenicians, who erected here Calpe (carved mountain) and Abyla.
Tarik, the one-eyed Berber chief, took Gibraltar in 711, and called it after his own name, Ghebal Tarik, from whence comes Gibraltar.
While upon the "Signal," we signalize the event by taking a lunch of delicious English cheese, bread and butter, (the first butter we have had in Spain,) and such ale! And while thus agreeably engaged, we hear that an American man-of-war is coming into port, which proves to be the flagship of Admiral Farragut; so we repair to the rampart to see the ship saluted by the town, and then by the British frigate Bristol, to both of which the Yankee replied in gallant style. It was a fine sight, and, altogether, the scene a most remarkable one. Down by the neutral ground, some English officers playing cricket looked like ants in the sunshine; the blue guard-tents of the English sentinels, and the white ones of the Spaniards, were little specks, and the Christian and Jewish cemeteries were like checker work on the greensward.
How longingly we looked toward the purple mountains of Africa, and that beautiful city of Tangier which we had hoped to visit! but the quarantine, still in force, obliged us to abandon the idea. It would have been something to set foot in another continent! Ceuta, which belongs to Spain, and is but a prison-house, could not tempt us. Tearing ourselves from this wonderful scene, we descended by the other side of the mountain and entered the city by beautiful gardens near the alameda, seeing below us the government houses, store-houses, magazines, and many fine residences embowered in gardens of tropical trees and plants; whole hedges of geraniums and cactus lined the roadside, and almond trees, dates, and oranges. We passed a convent-school with beautiful and extensive gardens. In the evening there is music on the alameda, where are trees and statues, and marble benches, on which sit the motley population of this strange place; Moors in turbans, bare-legged Highlanders, officers in scarlet, Andalusians in the red faja, Irishmen fresh from their native isle, ladies in French bonnets and English round hats next the Spanish mantilla and ever-moving fan. Gibraltar is a free port, and every people and kindred meet here for trade. The garrison is very large, about three thousand men in time of peace; for the Spaniards see the occupation of this important point in their country with great jealousy, and would gladly seek occasion to win it back. And every now and then the subject is mooted in the English parliament of giving it up, as it is a most expensive appendage to the English people, and can bring little benefit save to their pride.
Malaga Hotel Alameda.
October 8.
Leaving Gibraltar at an early hour, and passing the forest of ships in the bay, we soon see the last of the pillars of Hercules and the African coast. The sea is calm, and the coast of Spain along which we come is most beautiful. There is something peculiarly interesting in the mountains of Spain; they seem to rise hill upon hill till they grow to be mountains, and instead of the blue of most southern countries they are of a mulberry hue—seldom with trees, and reminding one of the purple moors of Scotland. The steamer is crowded with families returning from Gibraltar, whither they had fled to get out of the way of the revolution.
We find a busy, crowded city, a lovely bay with mountains in the background, an old Moorish castle overlooking the city, and a beautiful alameda, with trees, and statues, and marble seats, upon which we look from the windows of our delightful hotel.
October 9.
The first thing to-day is to drive to a lovely villa, (that of the Marquis de Casa Loring,) in whose garden we see every fruit and flower and tree of the tropics. Bananas and mangoes, the coffee-tree, the magnolia and India-rubber trees, and among all these we found, and ate, ripe persimmons!—that homely fruit of old Virginia, found amidst all these oriental splendors; and sweeter were they than even the oranges which we gathered from their overladen trees. Returning, we paused to see another villa, from whence is a more extensive and beautiful view of the mountains, the city and the sea, and the fertile plateau upon which Malaga lies, and which is said to rival even the famous huertas of Valencia and Murcia in variety and luxuriance of vegetation. The cemetery gives another favorite point of view, and the old Moorish castle (Gibralfaro) has even a finer one; but the day is too warm to attempt the ascent. The castle dates from 1279, and the lower portion, (the Alcazaba,) which is connected with it, is supposed to be of Phoenician origin; Malaga having been first a Phoenician colony, and afterwards Roman. Of the remains of the Roman period, we saw two interesting bronze slabs in a pavilion of the Villa Loring this morning, one of them containing the municipal laws of Malaga under Domitian, and the other those of a city (Salpense) now unknown.
The interior of the cathedral, which rises upon the site of an ancient mosque, is not at all remarkable. It was begun in 1528. The church of "El Cristo del Victoria" is interesting, from the circumstance of its being built on the spot where stood the tents of the Catholic kings during the siege of 1487. On the right of the altar hangs the royal standard of Ferdinand, and on the left the one taken from the Moors. When the city surrendered, the former was hoisted on the castle, or alcazaba. Opposite this church is a small church, San Roque, the first Christian edifice built here by Ferdinand and Isabella. The crucifix which was formerly here was the one brought by their majesties, is highly revered, and is now over the high altar of Santa Victoria.
Malaga is famed for its climate, the best in Spain. It is considered drier, warmer, and more equable than that of Rome, Pau, Naples, or Nice, even superior to Madeira. Invalids flock here, and it will soon be as crowded as Nice. The extreme dryness of the air is its marked feature, and it is said that there are not ten days in the whole year when an invalid may not take out-door exercise. The evaporation is so great, the rain has no influence on the air. During nine years, it has rained only two hundred and sixty times. The "oldest inhabitant" does not remember to have seen snow, and the cold winds from the Sierra Nevada are kept off by the mountains immediately surrounding the city. To show the longevity of the inhabitants, in the year 1860, twenty-nine out of five thousand deaths were of people who had lived to the ages of ninety or a hundred.
Granada.
October 10
This morning we leave Malaga at an early hour by rail, the road being cut through extraordinary mountain passes to Antiquera, an old Roman and Moorish town; from thence by diligence to Loja, where we again take the railway. The journey is altogether delightful, the day being cool and bright, and the mountain scenery on either side grand and beautiful. Loja is in a narrow valley, through which runs the Genil river, on one side the Periquete Hills (Sierra Ronda) and the Hacho. The Manzanil unites here with the Genil, both rapid and clear mountain streams fertilizing a lovely valley. Soon after leaving Loja, we reach Santa Fé, (Holy Faith,) built by Queen Isabella to shelter her army in winter during the siege of Granada in 1492, and called "Santa Fé" because she looked upon the war as a struggle for the faith, and believed piously in its happy issue. This little town has been the scene of many important operations and political acts. It witnessed the signing of the capitulation of Granada, and it was to this town that Columbus was recalled by Isabella when he had already reached the bridge of Piños, behind the mountains, determining to ask aid elsewhere for his great undertaking.
Darkness now fell upon us, and except one exquisite view which the setting sun gave of the snow mountains over Granada, we saw nothing till we reached this last stronghold of the Moors in Spain, and found lodgings inside the Alhambra grounds in the Hotel Washington Irving.
October 11.
We go first to the Cathedral, to hear the high mass, and pay our respects to the remains of Ferdinand and Isabella, which rest there. Driving through beautiful ornamental grounds out of the Alhambra gate, down a steep hill in the old Moorish looking city, we find the cathedral, like that of Malaga, greatly ornamented, (in the Greco-Roman style,) built in 1529. Within the sanctuary are eleven pictures by Alonzo Caño, and two of his most celebrated pieces of sculpture—the heads of Adam and Eve carved in cork. Caño was a native of Granada, and is buried in the Cathedral Bocanegra. Another of the celebrated artists of Spain was also a native here, and the cathedral has several of his pictures. But everything connected with the church sinks into insignificance when one enters into the royal chapel, where all that can perish of the great Ferdinand and Isabella lies (a small space for so much greatness, as Charles V. said.) In a crypt, below the chapel, in plain leaden coffins, with but the simple initial of each king and queen upon them, are the coffins of Ferdinand and Isabella and their daughter Joanna, with her husband Philip I. (the handsome)—the last—that very coffin which the poor crazed Joanna carried about with her for forty-seven years, embraced with such frantic grief, and would never be parted from. Nothing was so affecting as the sight of this—not even the remembrance of all Isabella's glories and goodness! So does an instance of heart devotion touch one more than even the sight of greatness. Above the vault are the four beautiful alabaster monuments, made by order of Charles V. to the memory of his father and mother and his grandparents. Ferdinand and Isabella, with their statues, lie side by side; and poor Joanne la Folle looks lovely and placid (all her jealousies over) beside the husband she adored, as if at last sure that she could not be divided from him. Isabella died at Medina del Campo, (near Segovia, about thirty miles from Madrid,) but desired to be buried here in the bright jewel which she had won as well for her crown as for her God. Her body was taken to Granada in December, journeying over trackless moors amidst storms and torrents, of which the faithful and learned Peter Martyr gives account, who accompanied his beloved mistress to her last home.
The inscription which runs around the cornice tells: "This chapel was founded by their most Catholic Majesties, Don Fernando and Doña Isabel, king and queen of las Españas of Naples, of Sicily—of Jerusalem—who conquered this kingdom, and brought it back to our faith; who acquired the Canary Islands and Indies, as well as the cities of Oran, Tripoli, and Bugia; who crushed heresy, expelled the Moors and Jews from their realms, and reformed religion. The queen died Tuesday, November 26, 1504; the king died January 23, 1516. The building was completed in 1517."
The bassi relievi on the altar in this chapel are very interesting, from the scenes they represent—Ferdinand and Isabella receiving the keys of Granada from Boabdil, etc. At each end of the altar are figures of the king and queen in the costume of the day, the banner of Castile behind the king. In the sacristy is the crown of Isabella, the sword of Ferdinand, the casket in which she gave the jewels to Columbus, some vestments embroidered by her own hand, and the tabernacle used on the altar where they heard mass, on which is a picture of the adoration of the Magi, by that wonderful old painter Hemling of Bruges. Lord Bacon has said of Isabella: "In all her relations of queen or woman, she was an honor to her sex, and the corner-stone of the greatness of Spain—one of the most faultless characters in history—the purest sovereign by whom the female sceptre was ever wielded."
We hear mass in the chapel of the Sagrario, a beautiful church in itself. It was on one of its three doors that the Spanish knight Hernan Perez del Pulgar (during the siege of Granada) nailed the words, "Ave Maria;" to accomplish which feat, he entered the town at dusk, and left it unharmed—nay, even amidst the plaudits of the Arabs, who appreciated the deed. He is buried in one of the chapels called "Del Pulgar."
From the Cathedral we visit the "Cartuja," once a wealthy Carthusian convent, built upon grounds given to the monks by Gonzales de Cordova—"El gran Capitan." In the refectory is shown a cross, painted on the wall by Cotan, which so well imitates wood that the very birds fly to it, and try to perch there. The church has a beautiful statue of St. Bruno upon the altar; and a larger one in the chapel of the Sagrario, by Alonzo Caño, is especially fine. The sacristy is rich in marbles from the Sierra Nevada, and the doors and other wood-work of the church and chapel are made of the most curious and beautiful inlaid work—tortoise-shell, ebony, silver, and mother of pearl—all done by one monk, who took forty-two years to accomplish it; and after so adorning this chapel, behold! the monks are driven from it.
In the church are several lovely pictures—a head of our Lord by Murillo; a copy, by Alonzo Caño, of the Viergo del Rosario in the Madrid gallery, and a copy of one of the "Conceptions" of Murillo —that one with the fair flowing hair, so very lovely.
Returning home, we have our first view of the snow mountains, (Sierra Nevada.) How strange and how charming to be beneath a tropical sun, and with all the beautiful vegetation of Africa and the Indies, with people all eastern in dress and manners, and see above one snow-capped mountains like the glaciers of Switzerland! Owing to the proximity of these glaciers, the heat is never intolerable here, and yet the winters are so mild they seldom need fire in their sitting-rooms or parlors.
October 12.
To-day is made memorable by our first visit to the Alhambra. Situated on a high hill, on either side of which flows the Darro and the Genil, this space, which occupies several hundred acres, was formerly surrounded by walls and towers, and contained within it the palaces and villas of the Kalifs of Granada; and so numerous were these that it was called a city, Medina Alhambra. Of all these, there now remains but that portion of the Alhambra known as the summer-palace, (the winter-palace having been torn down by Charles V. to make room for a palace which he never finished.) Besides this summer-palace, there is the "Generalife," (a summer-palace built—later than the Alhambra—in 1319;) the remains of the Alcazabar, (fortress,) the Torre de la Vega, where the bell strikes the hours in the same manner as in the Moorish days, to signify upon whom devolves the duty of irrigating the "vega," the beautiful and fertile plain below; the tower of the captive; tower of the princesses; the tower of the "Siete Suetos," (seven stories;) and the Torres Bermujas, (Red Towers.) The last named are outside the Alhambra walls, but are on the same hill, and claim to belong to an older date than even the Moors or the Goths—supposed to be of Phoenician origin. The walls are entered by several gates, some Arabic, and others more modern. From these gates, you wander among stately avenues of trees, with flowers and shrubs and charming paths, through which now and then is seen a glimpse of the yellow towers, or some picturesque ruin, altogether a scene of enchanting beauty. And when upon one of the "miradors" (look-outs) or terraces which crown these towers and palaces, there lies the Moorish city at your feet, the grand snow mountains on the east, the beautiful vega stretching to the mountains on the west, down which marched the conquering Christians; and on the south lies that mountain so poetically called "the last sigh of the Moor," from which Boabdil looked his last upon the kingdom he was leaving for ever, and where his mother made him the famous reproach which has passed into history, that he did well to weep as a woman over that kingdom he could not defend as a man.
And how venture to describe the Alhambra, which has been written of by such men as Prescott and Irving! how give to any one an idea of that which is unique in the world, of the grace and beauty and wonderful variety of its adornments—the carvings like lace, the bright colored mosaics and azuelos, (tiles,) the transparent stucco work and filagree, the inlaid cedar-wood roofs, the pillars, the domes and fountains, the courts, the beautiful arches! We enter first the Court of the Myrtles, in which a large square pool, filled by a fountain at either end, is surrounded by a hedge of fragrant myrtle, and this in turn by a marble colonnade, over which is a second gallery, with jalousies, through which we could imagine the dark eyed beauties to have peeped. The roofs of these galleries are of cedar-wood inlaid, and the arches and sides of exquisite wreaths and vines in stucco, with shields of the Moorish kings, mottoes and verses from the Koran, etc. This court was a place of ablutions for the kalifs.
From the Court of the Myrtles, one sees the Tower of Comares, (called from the name of its Persian architect;) and within this tower, opening from the Court of Myrtles, and preceded by its "antesala" is the Hall of the Ambassadors, the largest, highest, and most beautifully adorned of all the Alhambra. Here was the sultan's throne and reception room. On three sides, arched windows look down into the deep ravine from which the tower rises; and, beyond, upon an enchanting prospect, the old Moorish city and the verdant hills and mountains. The roof of this hall is a sort of imitation of the vault of heaven, and that of the "antesala" (called "La Barca," from being shaped like a boat) is also very elegant.
On another side the Court of Myrtles is the famous Court of the Lions, with its one hundred and thirty-six pillars of white marble, its twelve lions in the centre, supporting an alabaster basin, (a fountain.) At each end, a pavilion projects into the court, with arabesque patterns so light and graceful that the very daylight is seen through the stucco.
Opening from the Court of the Lions is the Hall of the Abencerrages, deriving its name from the legend according to which Boabdil invited the chiefs of the illustrious family of that name to a feast, and had them taken out one by one and beheaded. Others assert that they were murdered in this hall, and show the stains of blood in the marble of the fountain. As they had been mainly instrumental in placing him upon the throne, this act of ingratitude helped to his ruin. This story is generally believed, but Washington Irving has rescued the name of this "unlucky" one (el chico) from this unjust aspersion. His investigations prove that the crimes laid to the charge of Boabdil were in reality committed by his father, Aben Hassin. He it was who murdered the thirty-six Abencerrages upon suspicion of having conspired against him, and it was he who confined his queen in the "tower of the captive," etc.
On the east side of the Court of the Lions is the "Sale del Tribunal," (the hall of justice,) where the kalifs gave audience on state affairs. Three arches in the centre and two at either end lead into this hall, which is ninety feet long by sixteen wide, with a dome thirty-eight feet high. This is divided by arches into seven rooms, all profusely ornamented, and in the ceilings of several recesses are paintings of Moors, with cimeters, castles, etc. In one of these rooms is the famous Alhambra vase of porcelain, four feet three inches high, which was found full of gold. In another small room are three tombstones, one of Mohammed II., and one of Yusef III., found in the tomb-house of the Moorish kings, near the Court of the Lions, in 1574. They have long and elaborate inscriptions, one of which reads thus:
"In the name of God, the most merciful and clement!
"May God's blessing for ever rest with this our king!
"Health and peace!
"Gentle showers from heaven come down on this tomb, and give it freshness, and the orchard spread its perfume upon it. What this tomb contains is wine without admixture, and myrtles. Reward and pardon be granted to him who lies within.
"It was God's pleasure that he should dwell amid the garden of delights.
"Those that inhabit those happy regions come forth to meet him with palms in their hands.
"If thou wouldst know the story of him who lies in the tomb, listen. He was a prince above all in excellence. May God give him sanctity!
"He was cut down into the dust. Yet the Pleiades themselves are not his equals.
"Unavoidable fate took up arms, and aimed at the very throne of the empire.
"Oh! how great was his fame. His excellence, how high! and unbounded his virtues!
"For Abul Hadjaj was like the moon that points out the road to take, and when the sun went down its brightness beamed no less from his eyes.
"Abul Hadjaj showered down tokens of his liberality. But drought is come; his liberality has ceased; his crops are gathered.
"His generosity is forgotten; his halls are lonesome; his ministers silent, and his rooms deserted.
"But it was God's pleasure, the merciful one, (may he be glorified,) to take him into the eternal dwelling when he deprived him of life.
"Here lies he softly, within this narrow tomb, but his real dwelling is the heart of every man.
"Why should I not pray God that the rain should moisten his tomb with its abundant dew? for the rain of his liberality showered down upon all without ceasing.
"Was he not filled with the fear of God, with gentleness and wisdom? Amongst his qualities, were not virtue, liberality, and magnificence one part?
"Was he not the only one that with his science cleared up all doubts?
"Was not poetry one of his attributes, and did he not deck his throne with verses like strings of pearl?
"Was he not always stout, and held his ground in the battle-field?
"How many enemies his sword repelled!
"But Ebn Nasr, his successor, is certainly the greatest among all monarchs of the earth.
"May God protect him!
"For he is most generous and victorious; besides, he distributes rewards generously. He has saved the kingdom from ruin, and restored it to its former greatness."
The Hall of the Two Sisters takes its name from two white slabs of equal size in the pavement. Here are beautiful arches, windows with painted jalousies, a fountain, and a wonderful roof, composed of three thousand pieces in little miniature domes and vaults, all colored in delicate blue and red with white and gold. From this hall, indeed quite from the Court of the Lions, one sees through a series of arched entrances into the "Corredor de Lindaraja," in which room are thirteen little cupolas, and the Mirador de Lindaraja (a boudoir of the sultana) looks upon the garden of Lindaraja, with flowers, and fountains, and orange-trees.
On the opposite of this lovely garden, and looking into it, are the rooms occupied by Washington Irving, those built by Philip V. for his beautiful queen, Elizabeth of Parma, whom the Spanish call "Isabel Farnese." Several corridors here lead to modernized parts of the building—" the queen's boudoir," a chapel made by Charles V. out of the mosque, and a lofty tower, used by the Arabs as an oratory for the evening prayer, and from which the view is superb—the "Generalife" with its white towers, the woods of the Alhambra, the Darro far below in the deep gorge, and, beyond and above all, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada.
The "Patio de la Mosquita" (the court of the mosque) has only the remains of its beautiful roof.
From this to the baths is a long corridor leading to the Chamber of Rest, which has just been restored by Sig. Contreras, the able architect who is repairing the whole building, by order of the queen. This has a fountain in the centre, marble pillars all round, a gallery above, where the musicians played and sung while the bather inclined upon the cushions below; within were the marble baths of the sultan, the sultana, etc.
"Generalife" means garden of pleasure, and here garden above garden rises upon the mountain side, through which the Darro rushes noisily, being brought by a little canal quite through the mountain. In one of the rooms are some interesting portraits of the kings and queens of Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella, Philip the handsome, Jeanne la Folle, Charles V. and Isabella, Don John of Austria, etc.; and in a second room a series of portraits of the Dukes of Granada, whose descendant, now married to an Italian nobleman of Genoa, owns this lovely place. The founder of this house was a converted Moor, and to his descendants (the houses of Venegas and Granada) Philip IV. made this a perpetual grant. In one of the many gardens are some cypress-trees planted by the Moors, seven hundred years old. Under one of these, a love story is said to have been enacted, of which the beautiful Sultana Zorayda is the heroine. Amongst the portraits in the picture gallery is one of Boabdil, fair and handsome, with yellow hair, and a gentle, amiable look. He may not have had the qualities fitted to the terrible emergency in which he was placed, when domestic contention and misrule had so weakened his empire as to make it difficult to struggle against the growing greatness of Ferdinand and Isabella; but he must have possessed qualities which won for him the love of his people, for many years after his time, the Moors who still lingered about Granada sung the plaintive song said to have been composed by Boabdil himself, relating his misfortunes and his sorrows, spoke of him reverently, and lamented his fate.
It is said he lived to see his children begging their bread at the door of the mosques in Fez. He was killed in Africa, fighting the battles of the prince who gave him shelter.
We hasten from the Generalife to see the sunset from the Torre de la Vega, which is the finest view we have had of the city—the Vega with the lovely rivers winding through it, and the grand mountains beyond. As the sun declined, from the many church bells came the "Ave Maria," soft and musical from the great distance below.
The guide points out the hospital founded by St. John of God, (a Portuguese saint,) the founder of the brothers of charity now spread all over Europe. According to the guide, the saint asked the king for as much land, on which to build this hospital, as he could enclose in a certain number of hours. Of course he was miraculously assisted; and by working all night, he took in so great a space that the king became alarmed. Here he built this hospital and the church in which he is buried. He lost his life rescuing a drowning man, and died blessing Granada.
Tuesday.
Spent the whole morning in the Alhambra, wandering amid its beauties, feasting upon its romantic memories, and reading at intervals the charming legends connected with every spot so delightfully told by Washington Irving. In the hall of the tribunal, we read his account of the entrance of the triumphant Ferdinand and Isabella, and fancy the scene when Cardinal Mendoza celebrated the first mass here.
Seated in the Court of the Lions, we meditate upon the cruel death of the noble Abencerrages, and lean from the window of the Tower of Comares, down which the good Ayesha let her infant son Boabdil escape, to save him from the jealous fury of her rival Zorayda.
And then, in the later days of the beautiful Elizabetta of Parma, we recall the scene where the hypochondriac Philip persists in being laid out for dead, and can only be brought to life by the voice and lute of the fair maiden, "the Rose of the Alhambra."
In contrast to the Alhambra are the remains of the palace begun with such magnificence by Charles V., of which only the walls remain. Within their vast area and amongst its marble pillars, muleteers were depositing their billets of wood, and burdens of dirt and ashes! Sic transit gloria mundi.
We go to look at that which has lasted longer, the church built by him near by, and called Sta. Maria del Alhambra. Wandering on, we find ourselves amongst the ruins of the Franciscan convent (still within the Alhambra walls) which was destroyed by the French in 1809-11, when so much of the Alhambra was injured.
Led by a little boy, and following the wall, we come upon a plantation of cactus, with its red and yellow fruit, which a man is gathering with great scissors, to prevent its prickings. A woman politely cuts and pares some for us to taste. It is sweet and juicy; is much eaten by the poor, who call it "Tuños." They also make from it a palatable drink—a sort of beer. Hans Andersen has written a pretty sonnet to the cactus, which seems especially applicable to this time and occasion.
"Yes, yellow and red are the colors of Spain;
In banners and flags they are waving on high;
And the cactus flower has adopted them too,
In the warm sunshine to dazzle the eye.
Thou symbol of Spain, thou flower of the sun,
When the Moors of old were driven away,
Thou didst not, like them, abandon thy home.
But stayed with thy fruit and thy flowers so gay.
The thousand daggers that hide in thy leaves
Cannot rescue thee from the love of gain;
Too often it is thy fate to be sold,
Thou sunny fruit with the colors of Spain."
Here we find ourselves at the tower of the "Siete Suelos," through which Boabdil passed when he left the Alhambra for ever. It is said that he asked of Isabella that the door might be walled up, so that no one should ever pass through it after him, and his conquerors acceded to his request. Returning through one of the many beautiful paths leading to our hotel, we diverge to look at a view which presented itself, and find we are near the villa of Señora Calderon. Here, terrace above terrace rises in view of the mountains, and on the summit is an artificial lake, with bridges and boats, and winding walks, and flowers and fruits, and statues and fountains—everything to make a perfect paradise.
At night, we have a gypsy-dance. The chief of his troop is the finest guitar player in Spain—there can be no better in the world—a tall, dark, grave man, who received our plaudits with kingly grace; he looked as if in sorrow over the degradation of his people, who are here in great numbers, living in wretched quarters on a hillside, in holes or caves in the ground.
The dancers were four lovely, graceful girls, modestly dressed, and several men, all dark, with large, soft eyes and white teeth. A youth in short jacket, with broad red faja (sash) and the peculiar Andalusian hat, danced a solo of strange fashion, with many movements of the body, and the extraordinary gestures which belong to all. The feet move in short steps—a sort of "heel and toe"—while the body sways to and fro, and the hands and arms move gracefully and expressively. The men had tambourines and the women castanets, and the wild airs to which they danced were accompanied with their voices. The variety of dances and songs was curious and interesting, and often descriptive. At the end of each dance, the girls came round and saluted all, gentlemen and ladies, by passing one arm over the neck.
Wednesday.
Drive about the city, the public squares, etc., and visit the remains of the old Moorish bazaar which occupies a square intersected by narrow lanes, every one of which is beautifully ornamented with pillars and arabesque work.
The alameda, planted in long avenues of trees which meet overhead, beyond which one catches a view of the Snow mountains, and beside which flows the Genil river, can not be excelled in beauty.
The church and hospital of St. John of God is most interesting. Over the door are these words of the saint, "Labor, without intermission, to do all the good works in your power while time is allowed you." The hospital is built round a large court, with fountains and gardens, and a double row of corridors in which sat the sick poor, clean and comfortable. It communicates with the church, which has several good pictures, and a head of St. John the Baptist, carved by Caño.
In a richly ornamented chapel behind the great altar is the body of the saint in a silver casket. The remains of St. Feliciana are also here, as well as many other relics. In an adjoining room is seen the identical basket in which the saint carried provisions to the poor.
The church was built by contributions sent by one of the order from South America. The cedar-wood doors are said to be made from the logs in which the concealed treasures were brought over.
We climb to the top of the "Torres Bermujas," outside the Alhambra walls, from whence is another splendid view—a curious old ruin, dating from the time of the Phoenicians. It is said to have been a stronghold of the Jews, who made a colony here during their persecutions by the Romans; and being treated with equal cruelty by their Gothic conquerors, they invited in the Moors, betrayed the city to them, made terms for themselves, and thus brought upon themselves the eternal enmity of the Spaniards, who treated them with great rigor after the conquest, and finally banished them. In the story of the three beautiful princesses, this tower plays an important rôle; here were confined the captive Spanish knights who eloped with the Infantas, (daughters of Mohammed the left-handed,) and beyond, rising above the deep, romantic ravine, is the Tower of the Princesses, beneath which the knights sang their tales of love.
Madrid, Hotel De Paris.
Friday, October 16.
Yesterday (my feast) and the feast of the great Spanish Saint Teresa was celebrated by our most sorrowful departure from Grenada! At three o'clock in the morning, we descend the hill of the Alhambra, and ruefully mount to the top of a Spanish diligence, and squeeze into what they call the "coupe"—an exalted place behind the coach-box, from whence one looks down upon the ten mules who drag this lumbering vehicle, see all their antics, observe the rash manner in which they tear down precipitous heights, and mount steep ascents, having the comfortable certainty that in no event of danger could we possibly descend from this lofty perch and save ourselves!
A "special providence," however, guards the Spanish diligence, to say nothing of the three "conductors"—the postillion who rides in front, the individual who sits on the box with gold lace and red on his cap, and who smokes leisurely, let what will happen, only occasionally speaking to the mules, calling them by name, and urging them on with a sound like "ayah!" and the boy who runs alongside shouting, screaming, and plying the whip, now jumping on the front of the diligence to rest a moment, now hanging on by one hand to the side doors or behind; active as a cat he springs up and down while the vehicle is at full speed, keeping one all the while in terror for his safety.
Such is the Spanish diligence from the "coupé." In the interior, shut out from the front view, one only hears the united voices of the "conductors," and it is less exciting. We who are above, however, have the advantage of a fine view of the mountains, (the Sierra Morena,) over which we pass by a smooth and beautiful road.
Jaen is the only place of importance which we see, an old Moorish town with histories and legends, a fine cathedral, and a Moorish castle on the height above. From this, a few hours brings us to Menjibar, where we take the railway at six P.M., and reach Madrid about eight the next morning. At Menjibar, we bid adieu to our young American friend, who had journeyed with us since leaving Cordova, and parted with the Scotch and German ladies whom we had encountered at various points.
Madrid is filled with people. General Prim is in this hotel, is modestly refusing to be made dictator, and proposing that Spain shall have, as heretofore, a king. We shall see how long it will be before (like Caesar) he is overpersuaded, and reluctantly assumes power.
Topete (the admiral who, at Cadiz, brought over the fleet) is also in Madrid; and Serrano, the prince of the traitors, is president of the provisional government. The table d'hôte is crowded with men of the press, (letter-writers of all nations,) giving their several impressions of matters to the gullible "public," and interpreting events to suit the taste of their readers. We ask one of these (a witty Frenchman) if he writes for Le Monde. "Oui, Madame, pour tout le monde." Amongst the motley crowd, we distinguish the letter-writer of the London Times, and him of the New York Times, with whom we make acquaintance, and who having lived a long time in France, and being of Irish extraction, is very little of an American in appearance and manner.
Saturday, October 17.
Madrid is a modern city with fine buildings and shops, many handsome streets and squares, and a beautiful promenade, called the Prado, (meadow.) The principal of these squares is the "Puerta del Sol," upon which this hotel opens, and which is always thronged with people, and is all life and bustle. This being the head and front of the revolution, and General Prim being in the house, the doors are besieged by beggars and revolutionists. As we walk the streets, in many shop-windows are vulgar caricatures of the queen and the priests. This is adding insult to injury, and the very essence of meanness—to take away her throne, and then aim at her character as a woman. It is refreshing to find that the best people we see—the best born, the best bred, and the best educated—defend her from these aspersions, and are loyal to her, and to the throne.
Sunday, October 18.
We hear high mass in the church of the "Calatrava," (an ancient order of knighthood,) where are crowds of pious looking men. Certainly it will be difficult for the revolution to rob these people of their religion. For a time they may be intoxicated with the excitement of the change, but the reaction must come, when the sober second thought will bring them back to their true friends. Now, the banishment of the Jesuits, the best and most learned teachers, the confiscation of church property, and the destruction of churches initiates the new order of things. Yesterday, an English gentleman (one of the noisiest supporters of the revolution) told us how the junta had given two places of great trust and importance into the hands of two of the lowest and most vulgar and ignorant of the bull fighters; and thus this class of people who have helped on the revolution must be rewarded. We hear, to-day, that General Prim has offered to promote, one grade, every officer of the army lately opposed to him. To their honor be it spoken, every one refused such promotion.
To Be Continued
Translated From The French.
Sister Aloyse's Bequest.
I.
How delightful it is to sit under the grand old trees of the courtyard on this charming mid-summer evening! The light breeze is redolent with the fragrance of the new-mown hay, and the leaves seem to quiver with joy in an atmosphere heavy with sunshine. The swallows pursue each other in play with short, wild cries, and in the foliage of the linden-tree that brown bird, the nightingale, tries her brilliant cadences, drowned at times by the shouts of the children at their sports answering her in the silences, whom without doubt they understood and admired. The children, happy as the birds, dance and whirl about, just like those motes one frequently sees rising up in a sunbeam. The nuns, sombre and silent figures, watch them, contemplating life in its flower and carelessness. This court-yard where the children play and the birds sing belonged formerly to a monastery of the order of St. Benoit; but now to a cloister built out of its ruins, where the virtues of ancient days flourish under the shelter of modern walls, which are hallowed by the memories of the past.
Some young girls, no less pleased with the gambols of the children, were walking in groups to and fro under the vaulted arches which encircled the court, talking and laughing merrily; but whenever they approached a nun reclining in an easy chair, by an involuntary impulse they lowered their voices. She was a poor invalid, who had been brought out to enjoy the sweet odors and the pleasant warmth of the evening. She appeared to be nearing the end of life, though still young. For the paleness of her cheeks, the emaciation of her body, and the transparent whiteness of her hands, all proclaimed the ravages of a long and incurable illness. There was no more sand in the hourglass, no more oil in the lamp, and her heart—like a timepiece about to stop—was slacking its pulsations. One could not help but see that Sister Aloyse retained a very powerful fascination in the beauty which her terrible illness had not been able to efface. Her dark blue eyes had not lost their almond-shape or sapphire hue. Her figure was still elegant, seen under the loose robe which wrapped her like a winding-sheet; and her voice was as sweet and agreeable as in former days.
At first she felt a little better upon being brought into the garden; but she still suffered, and neither the pure air nor the mildness of the beautiful evening had revived her. She sat in silence, absorbed, perhaps, in those last thoughts, which she did not confide even to herself, and which, to one who is about departing, seem to give a glimpse of those unknown shores which are yet so near to her who waits them.
What is she thinking of? Of her past without remorse; of her future without terror? Does she regret anything which she has renounced for her God? Does one last thread hold captive this celestial bird? I cannot say. She appears sad; yet her companions, always so affectionately attentive, do not seem to be surprised. For Sister Aloyse had always been characterized, even in the more beautiful days of her youth, by a kind of melancholy. She resembled an angel of peace, but yet an angel who weeps.
One young girl, who was walking under the arches, regarded her with great interest; and finally, leaving the group by whom she was surrounded, approached the nun, dropped on her knees in the grass before her, and, looking in her face, said earnestly:
"Well, my sister, are you better this evening?"
Sister Aloyse blushed slightly, just as porcelain is tinged with a faint rose-color when a flame is passed behind it, and answered in a voice sweet and low:
"Thank you, Camille, I am not well, and I shall never be any better till I come into the presence of our Lord. Look! does it not seem indeed as if the gates of heaven were opening yonder?"
She pointed to the west, then filled with the glory and splendor of purple and gold and flame colors.
"Yet one cannot go there," answered Camille in a caressing tone.
"Oh! yes; provided the great God will receive us. And something warns me that I shall shortly go to him."
Both now became silent, Camille sadly regarding her companion. Educated in this convent, she had always been accustomed to see Sister Aloyse there, where she was much beloved. She would like to have given her some pleasure, but what could she give, or what could she say, to a person so detached from earthly things, and whose aspirations were fixed on joys eternal?
The nun was still thinking, praying perhaps; and after a long silence she said,
"Camille, you must come and see me some time before I go away from here. But now good-night, dear!"
Two nuns now came forward to help the sister into the house, while Camille, who had gathered some white roses, carried them to Aloyse, saying,
"They are from my own little garden, my sister; therefore take them, I pray you."
"Willingly," said Aloyse, "and I will offer them to the Holy Virgin. And, Camille, do not forget to remember me in your prayers tonight."
II.
"Go, my child," said the old abbess to Camille, "go to the infirmary and see Sister Aloyse; she has something to say to you."
"Is she going to die?" asked Camille with tears in her eyes.
"She will go to her eternal home soon, but not to-day. Have no fear, child, but go and listen carefully to what she tells you."
Camille with agitated heart (for this poor heart is so quickly stirred at sixteen years!) ascended the staircase which led to the cells of the nuns. She passed through a long corridor out of which opened the little doors, all of which, instead of a number or design, bore some holy image or pious inscription. At the end of this corridor she found the infirmary, a large room, quiet and retired, whose windows opened upon the court and garden below. At this moment it was almost vacant; she found only one bed occupied, that of Sister Aloyse, who, as she had no fever, had been left by the infirmarian while she attended vespers in the chapel. Camille noiselessly approached the bed, the curtains of which were half drawn so that Aloyse could see out. She was sitting up supported by her pillows, and her hands were joined before her on the cross of her rosary. She smiled on the young girl, who timidly embraced her; and then Camille very earnestly asked her why she had sent for her to come to her bedside instead of any other of the girls, or her friends or companions; for she was afraid, as one naturally dreads what is unknown. The nun fixed upon her those searching eyes which seemed to look through and beyond anything present, and said with much sweetness,
"Sit down, Camille; I have something to say to you." She hesitated, but finally said, "You have never heard any one of your family speak of me?"
"Never," answered the child, somewhat surprised. "I have known something of your family—your father," she said with an effort. "But it was a long time ago, a very long time—before you were born. I was related to your grandmother, Madame Reville."
"I never saw her, but I have seen her great portrait," said Camille.
"Yes, it hangs in the red drawing-room, does it not?" asked Sister Aloyse with a sad smile. "Ah! well. Madame Reville received me into her family as a lady's companion—a reader—for I was poor, and needed some home. Your father did not live at home with his mother, but he came there very frequently."
Here she paused, breathing with difficulty, but continued:
"He wished to marry me; Madame Reville was opposed to it; he insisted. I saw he would disobey his mother; I was afraid for him; I was afraid for myself. So I prayed to the good God. He did not reject my afflicted and desolate heart, but he—the Divine Consoler—called me into this home, and placed this holy veil as a barrier between the world and myself. Here I found peace, purchased sometimes with bitter suffering, but real; for it filled the depths of my heart; it was the price of my sacrifice. And I was able to see, in the clear light which streamed from the cross, how all joy is deceitful, and all pleasure empty and false. After two years had passed, I came to consecrate myself with irrevocable vows to God's service, when the friends who now and then came to see me, and public report, which in our day finds its way even into the cloister, told me of the only thing which had still power to afflict me. For, Camille, your father—but what can I say to you who bear his name! M. Reville, angry at my departure, and grieving for the loss of the poor creature that I am, sought forgetfulness in dissipation. Undoubtedly, he forgot me—I trust and hope he did—but he also forgot his God! Your father is not a Christian; nay, he is an enemy to Christianity! Ah! since the day when I first knew that our prayers did not meet in the pathway to heaven, how have I wept, how have I prayed, how have I done penance! Alas! my tears, my blood, my vigils, my sufferings—all have not prevailed, and I am pierced to the depths of my heart with the terrible reflection."
She was unable to continue; her voice died upon her lips, while tears, clear and burning, rolled down her cheeks. Camille, kneeling by her bedside, wept too; for she began to see what this self-denying heart had suffered.
"My child," finally said the sister after a long silence, "I shall soon die, and there will then be no one to pray for him, since your mother, who ought especially so to do, is dead. You love your father, don't you?"
"Yes, with all my heart!"
"Well, then, promise me that you will unceasingly pray for his conversion—that you will offer for him your every action and your every pain; promise me that there shall always be a suppliant voice to take the place of poor Aloyse's, which will soon be hushed in death—to cry 'mercy!' Think of what it is to have a soul and an eternity, and that soul your father's!"
She had seized the hands of the child in both her own, and fixed upon her a look in which the last forces of her life were concentrated. "Promise!" said she. Camille thought a moment—her young face wore a grave and stern expression. Finally, raising one arm toward the crucifix, she said in a distinct voice: "I solemnly promise you, my sister, I will continue what you have commenced. I will pray, I will labor all my life for his conversion." A ray of heavenly light illumined Sister Aloyse's countenance, and she sank back upon her pillows, murmuring, "I can die now."
Two days later she passed away, with a peace and serenity worthy of the blamelessness of her whole life, though in breathing her last she cried, "Have mercy!"
Was it of herself she thought?
III.
Many years have passed away. The grass grows thick and green upon the bed of clay where sleeps Aloyse. Camille, grown into a fine young woman, keeps house for her father. She has travelled with him, she has seen the world, its balls and its routs, but she has never forgotten the promise made to Sister Aloyse. This promise has banished the strength of her limbs and of her youth. She has become serious all at once. She has given to her life but one aim, and that sublime and difficult, and from that moment when the struggle which had animated the life of Aloyse passed into her own all her actions, all her thoughts, had been devoted to the redemption of one soul. At first overflowing with the thoughtless and enthusiastic zeal of youth, she would talk to him of that religion whose arguments her heart found so natural, and which seemed to her so irresistible. Her father would laugh at her, and she would cry; she would persist, however, until he became so angry that she was frightened. Finally she decided to be more quiet in the future, and to leave to God the conduct of her cause. But with what vigils, with what prayers, what sighs, what agony of heart, and with what fervent desire did she ask God for that precious soul! And what vows did she make to the Blessed Mother! What flowers she offered upon her altar! What prayers, in which she thanked God for the kindness that had given mortals this all-powerful Mediatrix! Her father's guardian angel, what careful conversation did she hold with him! How she labored and prayed for that of which he never thought!
As years pass, Camille's piety becomes more rigid; self-denial joins itself to acts of earnest charity, in their turn supplemented by generous alms!
One would naturally ask why Camille, rich and young, charming and admired, should rise so early in the morning, should spend so many hours upon her knees in church? Why she went with the Sisters of Charity to visit the sick, why her attire was so plain and simple, why her room was so little ornamented, why she labored without any relaxation, and finally, why with so interesting an appearance and conversation she preferred so severe a life? No one upon earth could answer these questions except the guardian angel who writes down these noble acts to the account of their forgetful subject, her unrepentant father.
But she accomplished nothing, although the rigors were not for herself, though she maintained, for her father, this piety united with a tenderness which only made her more sweet and affectionate. His hard heart did not open to the rays of divine grace, nor to the timid smiles of his child. The taste for amusement, born of a desire for forgetfulness, had chased from his heart, at the same time with a pure love, the belief in holy things. The heavenly flame had been quickly extinguished beneath the ashes of pleasure; and, like many other children of his age, he had neglected to believe through fear of being compelled to be good. Bad society and bad literature had completed the work of headlong dissipation; and neither marriage nor paternity had reclaimed him. His birth, fortune, and indisputable talents raised him to public offices. And, to be consistent with his principles, and congenial to his friends, he had to be inimical to all religion. The seminaries; the Brothers of the Christian Doctrine; the Sisters, hospitallers or teachers; the free establishments; the Carmelites, who ask nothing of a person; the Clarisses, who ask only a piece of bread; the Little Sisters of the Poor, who gathered food for their old men; the foreign missions; the sermons in Lent in the parish; the general indulgences granted by the pope; the cardinals in the senate; and the Capuchins who went barefooted—were all equally the objects of his strong aversion. He read continually the Journal des Débats, the Revue des Deux Mondes, and the liberal journal of his department—of that department in which he played a prominent part. Shall we say, in excuse for him, that his impiety had never been tried by adversity; and that he had found the world so delightful that he had wished to live for ever in it? In youth he had lived in the midst of noisy pleasures. In more advanced life he lived for comfort, for his house—cool in summer, warm in winter, splendid at all times—for his grand dinners, his good wine, his fine horses and elegant equipages. He enjoyed exquisitely those excellent things which the public generally esteem, but in which divine grace does not much appear. The memories of youth he did not often recall. He now scarcely recollected the name of that poor cousin whom he had once loved so passionately, but who had never forgotten him, who, even in the arms of death, had displayed an angelic love. One day Camille spoke of Sister Aloyse, and added,
"Was she not related to us, father?"
"Yes, yes—a romantic affair! She threw herself into a convent; she became weary even there!"
He took several turns through the room with a preoccupied air, and finally stopping before the great picture of his mother—a withered and haughty figure—he said,
"My mother did not love this poor Aloyse much! Poor girl! What a charming voice she had! A voice which ought to astonish the convent when she chants the Miserere! She will sing no more; she has a pain in her chest. Zounds! The discipline of the convent! What a pity for this pretty Aloyse to be buried alive! On the stage she would equal Malibran!"
And this was all! The remembrance of Aloyse was only that of a young girl who could sing charmingly, and who, perhaps, might have commanded a situation in a theatre!
He loved his daughter; but, for all that, she troubled him, and he was anxious that she should marry, so that he might be relieved from the care and responsibility. She did not oppose his wishes, for she did not feel that God appointed her to lead the life of a nun; but she wished her husband to be a Christian, and said so to her father. He only shrugged his shoulders and cried,
"Still these absurd ideas!"
The Christian, however, presented himself, and at twenty-two Camille Reville became Madame de Laval.
IV.
Camille is now no longer twenty. Her youth has passed on swift wings, and white is beginning to streak her dark hair; but her pleasant face preserves the repose of former days. She has been blessed with mixed and imperfect happiness, such as every one tastes in this world. For in this life the black squares are never far distant from the white ones; and in its tangled skein the dark threads are woven in by the side of brighter colors. She had lived most happily with her husband. Together they had laughed over their little children's gambols, and together wept over them in sickness. They had brought them up with the labor and care which, in our day especially, accompanies all true Christian education. Their eldest daughter, Amelia, had been married about a year; and they were now very happy in expectation of her approaching maternity. The second daughter was finishing her education in the same convent of Benedictines where her mother had been in her youthful days. Their son André was in a polytechnic school, and their youngest, Maurice, was pursuing his Latin studies in his native village.
Through the disappointments and joy of her life, through days of rain and days of sunshine, Camille had pursued one thought faithfully—the grand aim which she had proposed to herself in early life, her father's conversion. As a young wife she had prayed with her husband, for his heart beat in unison with hers. As a young mother, she had taught her children to pray with her. And now, having reached the autumn of life, she still prayed—prayed constantly; but as yet her prayers had received no answer.
The old man lived with her; and every moment she surrounded him with care and tenderness. She watched him and brooded over him more like a mother than like a daughter. And it was hard indeed for her, that this old man of sixty-six years would not listen to any serious conversation, would only rail at holy things, and would learn no lesson from either life or death. And she was ever obliged to turn his words from their real meaning, and interpret his jeers and sarcasms so that they would not shock her innocent little children. At this moment we find Camille in the drawing-room with her father, who is half asleep before a great fire, with the Débats at his feet. She is sewing on some linen for the coming baby; but twice stops to read two short letters received that morning from two of her absent children. After a thousand details about boarding, upon the compositions in history, upon the new piece of tapestry which Clotilde had just begun, upon the sermons delivered by a new father whose name she did not know, she went on to say: "I never forget, dear mother, to pray with you—you know why! It seems to me that the moment is approaching when the gentle God will answer us—as if grandpapa was going to be astonished that he had been able to live so long without thinking of God!"
The second letter was from André, and would have been unintelligible to any one who did not possess the key to a school-boy's language. But at the end there was a passage which Camille kissed again and again: "Dear mamma, I love you, and I always pray with you, just like you." A stick of wood which just now rolled down with a great noise awoke M. Reville, who, after rubbing his eyes, asked his daughter, "Where is Maurice?"
"He is skating. Do you wish me to take his place, and do anything to amuse you?"
"No, thank you. But stop, you may read instead; read this discussion in the Chambers upon the military law."
Camille took the paper and read slowly; and the old man's eyes were still closed when the violent ringing of the door-bell woke him up completely, and made Madame de Laval start.
"What is the matter with you?" asked her father.
"I do not know; only the sudden ringing frightened me."
She jumped up and ran into the hall, and at the same instant her husband entered from the street. She moved toward him, but suddenly stopped, frozen with an inexplicable horror. M. de Laval's face was of an ashy paleness; he tried to speak, he stammered—the words died upon his lips, and his wife, in one of those quick transitions which thought makes, believed he was going to fall dead at her feet.
"What ails you?" she cried, reaching out her arms toward him. "Do not be frightened, Camille," said he; "but Maurice—"
He was unable to finish.
"Maurice!" she echoed. "Where is he? Why does he not come home? O great God! he is dead. He is drowned!"
M. de Laval had now somewhat recovered himself, and he explained: "He rescued a child who was drowning, and was wounded in the head. They are bringing him home. My dear Camille, keep up heart! He lives! God will restore him to us!"
She staggered and looked at her husband with fixed eyes.
"Have courage," he cried.
The servants, already called together by the sad news, had opened the gates to the relatives and the friends who were coming in every direction, and also to those who were bringing Maurice. They bore him on a litter, covered with a mattress, and his head, all bloody, with eyes wide open, rested upon a pillow made of the coats of the brave men; while behind the litter walked a man all covered with blood. He was the father of the child whom Maurice had saved at the price of his own life.
The boy was quickly placed upon the bed, and the physicians were soon by his side, followed by the parish priest. Camille, kneeling beside him, saw, as in an evil dream, the surgeon dress the wound which Maurice had in the temple, and afterward talk in a serious manner to the other physicians behind the curtain. She saw the priest go up to Maurice, and, after talking to him in a low voice, bend over him and raise his hands in the benediction of the dying, and immediately after give him the holy oils. As in a dream she heard her husband's voice saying, "Dear wife, the good God wants him! Look at our Maurice."
She then looked at him. Maurice, aroused by the words of the priest, had regained complete consciousness, and knew that he was dying. He seemed more than tranquil—happy; and, looking around on all present, said,
"Good-by, papa; I only did what you taught me."
He then discovered the father of the rescued child, who had concealed himself behind M. de Laval. "Give my love to your little boy," said he.
His eyes then sought for his mother. She got up, and, bending over him, took him in her arms. "Dear mamma, make me an offering for dear grandpapa's conversion. Say to him—" He stopped. His mother saw the light fade from his eyes, and knew that his breath was hushed in death. For a long time she remained holding him in her arms, like that more desolate of mothers, bathing him with her tears, and unable to listen to the comforting words of either husband or father, both of whom were overwhelmed with grief. At last, her piety, those religious sentiments which had always animated her life, prevailed, and she said aloud,
"Yes, my God! I accept the sacrifice, and I sacrifice him for my father. Save him, Lord, save him!"
Two days later they buried poor Maurice, the whole village attending his funeral.
The same evening the priest, who had been with him in his last moments, presented himself to Madame de Laval, and said:
"You are afflicted, but your prayers are heard. Divine grace has pursued your father, and this very morning, when the body of your child was yet in the house, he called me to him and made his confession. He could hold out no longer, he said to me. Rejoice then, madam, in the midst of your grief."
She did indeed rejoice, though she still wept.
"O Aloyse," said she, "and my dear Maurice! They are then taken away, but at what a price!" "Thank God!" cried the priest. "He separates a family here only to reunite them in eternity!"
From Les Etudes Religieuses
The Second Plenary Council Of Baltimore, And Ecclesiastical Discipline In The United States.
[Footnote 129]
[Footnote 129: Concilii Plenarii Baltimorensis II. Acta et Decreta. Baltimorae, 1868.]
[Introductory Note—The periodical from which the following article has been translated is one of the highest character, published at Paris under the editorial supervision of the Jesuit fathers. The account which it renders of the late Council of Baltimore is made doubly valuable from the fact that it is the work of a foreign, and therefore an impartial, judge. We have been obliged to make a few corrections in the article. Several of these were suggested by the Most Rev. President of the Council, and the rest were required by obvious and quite natural inaccuracies of a writer living in a foreign country.]
The superior of the Grand Seminary of Baltimore has recently done us the honor of transmitting, in the name of his archbishop, [Footnote 130] a copy of the Acts of the Council held in that city in 1866. He asks us to make known the contents to the readers of the Etudes. It gives us pleasure to accede to this request.
[Footnote 130: Mgr. Spalding, Archbishop of Baltimore, is the author of several interesting publications on the religious history of the United States. He has published two essays concerning the legislation of the early Protestant colonies respecting divine worship. In their legislation is to be found intolerance running to the most cruel extremes, and this almost until the Revolution of 1776. Besides these, he is the author of Evidences of Catholicity, Sketches of Early Catholic Missions in Kentucky, and Spalding's Miscellanea.]
On the eve of the great event which the Catholic world expects at the close of this year, it seems to us that there are few subjects more interesting, or more worthy to be treated of, than the present. The very organization of the present council, at which forty-six bishops were present, will give us a fair idea of what is to be done when all the prelates of all countries and churches are convened. Moreover, the decisions made in such an imposing assembly will not fail to clear for us some obscure points. But, better than all, the collection of decrees will make us comprehend the situation of Catholicity in the immense territories of the new world, where it is called to such a lofty destiny.
On the 19th of March, 1866, the Feast of St. Joseph, Mgr. Spalding, using the powers received for this purpose from the sovereign pontiff, convoked at Baltimore a Plenary Council, [Footnote 131] to be opened on the second Sunday of October, in the same year.
[Footnote 131: A council is called plenary at which the bishops of several provinces are assembled. After a general or oecumenical council there is nothing more solemn. The present is the second of this character which has been held at Baltimore. The first took place in 1852.]
If any bishops were prevented from appearing personally, they were to be represented by proxies furnished with authentic powers. The day having come, after a preliminary congregation, held the evening before to clear up certain details, the council opened with a grand, solemn, and public procession; in which figured forty-four archbishops and bishops, one administrator apostolic, two mitred abbots, together with the most distinguished of the American clergy. It was a spectacle alike new and imposing for that great city. More than forty thousand people met to witness it. In the streets through which the procession passed, there was scarcely a house which was not decorated. This was undoubtedly one of the grandest and most beautiful Catholic demonstrations which has yet been seen in that land of liberty, where all sects and communions find a rendezvous. The council furnished one of those striking lessons which the good sense of Americans does not forget, and which by little and little will lead them to understand that where there is unity there is also life.
Every deliberative assembly has need of order; the fathers began by tracing a plan for themselves; these are its principal dispositions.
Every day the particular congregations of theologians were to meet together. These were to discuss among themselves and judge, in a preliminary manner, the measures proposed. The result of their deliberations, gathered by a notary, with the votes and motives alleged for or against, in case of a disagreement, was then to be transmitted to the bishops. These, again, held private congregations where they occupied themselves solely with questions already debated by the theologians. A procès verbal was made, by the secretaries, of what passed in these meetings. A new examination and judgment was made in this second instance; yet these preliminary discussions decided nothing; all was to be referred to the general congregations, and, finally, to the sessions of the council, where the decrees received their last form, and the sanction which makes them obligatory.
As to the order which was to reign in their deliberations, the bishops found nothing better fitted to their purpose than a small portion, clearly stated, and well defined, of the rules called parliamentary, and consecrated under that name in the public assemblies of their land. Each had the right of proposing whatever he would, provided he did so by writing and in the Latin tongue; but a motion made by a member could not become a matter of deliberation, unless another prelate joined the first in making the demand. None was at liberty to depart from the prearranged schedule, nor from the title which formed the object of present discussion. As to the rest, the greatest liberty of opinion was not only accorded, but counselled, as long as the orators confined themselves to the limits of propriety. If any one transgressed these, or prolonged his discourse uselessly, any member could demand a call to order; the promotor was charged with executing the laws of order, but, in cases of doubt, final decision belonged to the president.
Before publication in the sessions, the decrees were submitted to general congregations; when not only the bishops but also the theologians might set forth their opinions, with only this provision, namely, that those should be first heard who formed the commission on which had previously devolved the consideration of the subject then under discussion. Such are the simple and precise dispositions which served to maintain order in so great an assembly.
The apostolic delegate had by right four theologians; the archbishops, three; the bishops, two; some, however, contented themselves with only one. They were divided into seven congregations or bureaux, among which was divided the matter which was to occupy the attention of the council. [Footnote 132]
[Footnote 132: This matter comprised the following subjects.
1. De Fide Orthodoxa, deque erroribus serpentibus;
2. De Hierarchia et regimine Ecclesiae;
3. De Personis Ecclesiasticis;
4. De Ecclesiis bonisque ecclesiasticis tenendis tutandisque;
5. De Sacranentis;
6. De Cultu Divino;
7. De Disciplinae uniformitate promovenda;
8. De Regularibus et monialibus;
9. De Juventute instituenda pieque erudienda;
10. De Salute animarum efficacitis promovenda;
11. De Libris et ephemeribus;
12. De Societatibus Secretis.
Several congregations occupied themselves with two of these subjects at once because of their connection. In the council were added a thirteenth congregation, on the creation of new bishoprics, and a fourteenth, on the execution of the decrees.]
Each congregation was presided over by a bishop; it had, besides, a vice-president and an ecclesiastical notary, charged, as we have seen, with the care of transmitting to the prelates the result of these deliberations. For the council itself were chosen a chancellor archdeacon, a secretary with assistants, a notary, who was to assist those who discharged the same function in the particular congregations; two promotors, one a bishop, the other a priest, charged with maintaining order and observance of rule in the sessions and public meetings; finally, judges, who were to pronounce on motions of absence, or on differences which might arise. Severe penalties were laid on all who should leave before the work of the council should be finished.
This rapid glance at the organization of this assembly and at its plan of operations seems to us necessary, in order to understand the labor accomplished by it.
The chief task of the council was to fix, I had almost said to create, [Footnote 133] ecclesiastical discipline throughout the entire extent of the United States.
[Footnote 133: If the writer had said this, he would have made a great mistake. While the United States formed one province, many provincial councils were held at Baltimore; and since the creation of the other provinces they have been regularly held in each one, and the principal points of discipline have thus been long since effectually settled.—ED. C.W.]
Amid a population so diverse in origin, manners, character; amid the manifold influences produced by the heterogeneous mixture of conflicting sects in which each Catholic congregation is obliged to live, it would seem difficult to establish uniformity. Moreover, the spirit of modern times is in every respect so different from that of bygone ages, private and public institutions have undergone such modifications, that the application of the canon law meets on all sides obstacles apparently insurmountable. The prelates of North America have legislated with such prudence, with such a perfect union of ideas and sentiments, that their churches will hereafter possess in the collection of their decrees a complete code of laws. [Footnote 134] These "acts," printed in a convenient form, are to be used as a text-book in all the seminaries, and this text, with the comments of the professor will, we are assured, suffice for the entire course of canon law. Apart from some inconsiderable differences regarding days of fasting and feasts of obligation, [Footnote 135] all the churches will hereafter have a common law and the same customs. Assuredly, one can scarcely comprehend the vastness of this result, and we are undoubtedly convinced that the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore is destined to a memorable place in the history of Catholicity in the United States.
[Footnote 134: The present council had at heart to re-collect in its acts the legislation fixed by preceding councils. The decrees taken from these are recognized by a different style of print. An appendix gives in extenso all the important portions, above all, those which have come from Rome. Thus all the ecclesiastical legislation of the United States is to be found in a single volume.]
[Footnote 135: The prelates had addressed a petition to Rome that uniformity on this point might be established. The answer which had been returned was, that it was better to respect the existing customs of each diocese, and that, if modifications were to be made therein, each bishop might have separate recourse to the holy see. But the feast of the Immaculate Conception was declared a feast of patronage and obligation throughout the whole of the United States.]
The dogmatic part of the acts has not and could not have the same importance, since a national council, however numerous, generally does naught but state the faith already defined; nevertheless, on this very ground, we find declarations very interesting, and which deserve to command the attention of the Christians of Europe.
It is to the united fathers, and, after them, to the assisting theologians, that the merit of this great work is due. Still, we cannot refrain from noticing Mgr. Spalding, Archbishop of Baltimore and apostolic delegate. Called to the presidency of the council by a special brief of the pope, dated February 16th, 1866, instructed, moreover, by the Propaganda, which recommended to his zeal several important points, he it is who has prepared the matter of the decrees, and has brought together in advance all the elements which have entered into this vast construction. Under his wise and prudent direction, his brethren in the episcopate have made their choice. With the assistance of the secretaries and other officers of the council the edifice rises, to which Rome gives the finishing touch, changing a small number of the materials, and consecrating it with her supreme authority.
Into this sanctuary, built with so much care, I invite the readers of the Etudes to enter, persuaded that we shall find therein much to admire and at the same time much to learn.
I.
The first chapter is consecrated to dogma. It treats of the faith and of the errors which are contemporaneously opposed to it. The prelates here recall the precept, imposed on all, of embracing the truth, and entering the haven of the true church. No safety is to be hoped for outside of this ark which God guards and conducts. However, they add, as to those who are plunged invincibly in error, and who have not been able to see the light, that the Supreme Judge, who condemns no man, save for his own faults, will assuredly use mercy toward them, if, although strangers to the body of the church, they have, nevertheless, with the assistance of grace, fulfilled the divine commandments, and professed those Christian truths which they were able to know. [Footnote 136]
[Footnote 136: Tit. i. p. 6.]
Such is the Catholic doctrine and the just principle to which all our pretended intolerance is reduced. The council recognizes the rights of reason as well as those of sound faith. It inserts at length in its decrees the four propositions formulated in 1855 by the Congregation of the Index, against traditionalism. At the same time it restates the condemnation pronounced by Gregory IX. against the system of Raymond Lulle, which expresses a thought too common in our day, namely, that faith is necessary to the masses, to vulgar and unlettered people, but that reason suffices for the intelligent man of study, and constitutes true Christianity.
We notice in this chapter the solicitude of the bishops to place in the hands of the faithful a version of the Bible in the vulgar tongue. To this end they recommend the Douay translation, already approved and circulated by their predecessors. Far from opposing these efforts, the Congregation of the Propaganda, in the response addressed to the Archbishop of Baltimore with the revision of the acts of the council, lays great stress on the necessity of doing this. The congregation directs the prelate to compare anew the different English editions, to avail himself of other Catholic translations, if there be any, in order that we may have in English a faithful and irreproachable text of all our sacred books, and that this version may be spread throughout all the dioceses of America. Here we have a peremptory answer to those Protestants who, at this late hour, reproach Catholics with interdicting the reading of the Holy Scriptures.
On the question of future life, the fathers declared against those who deny the eternal duration of punishment, or so mitigate its severity that there remains no longer any proportion between the chastisement and the gravity of the offence. Then they rapidly review that multitude of religious sects and errors, which are nowhere so numerous or so different as in that classic land of free thought. Indifferentism, which considers all religions as equal; Unitarianism, which rejects the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ; Universalism, which denies the eternity of punishment after death; finally, pantheism and transcendentalism, which destroy the personality of God, such are the latest forms and last consequences of free inquiry. What a contrast to these is the spectacle which Catholic truth affords; that full, complete, and unchanging Christianity, affirming itself, with full consciousness of its truth, in the face of a thousand systems which cannot withstand it and a thousand communions that fail to comprehend what it really is! All serious hearts in America must be stuck by such a difference. The Council of Baltimore has again made manifest where lies the strength that will triumph over all, and what is to be the "church of the future." The excesses of "Magnetism" and "Spiritism" have been carried beyond what the fathers consider the limits of morality. With regard to the first, they undertake to promulgate the well-known decisions of the sacred congregation of the council. [Footnote 137]
[Footnote 137: Encycl ad omnes episcopos contra magnetismi abusus. August 4th, 1856. Decisions of July 28th, 1847.]
As to the second, not finding any explicit precedent in acts emanating from Rome, they express their own thought and doctrine thus: "It seems certain," they say, "that many of the astonishing phenomena which are said to be produced in the spiritual meetings are inventions; that others are the result of fraud, or are to be attributed to the imagination of the mediums and their assistants, or, possibly, to slight of hand. Nevertheless," they add, "it can scarcely be doubted that some of these facts imply a satanic interference; since it is almost impossible to explain them in any other way." Then, after a magnificent exposition of the action of good and bad angels, the prelates remark that, in a society of which so large a portion remains unbaptized, it is not surprising if the demon regains in part his ancient empire. They severely censure those Catholics who take part even indirectly in the spiritual "circles." Such is the decision of the council; and, for our part, we are happy to see what we have written on this subject [Footnote 138] fully confirmed by so imposing an authority.
[Footnote 138: Les Morts el les Vivants. Paris, Le Clere. Etudes 1862, p. 41.]
II.
The second chapter treats of the hierarchy and government of the church. The fathers begin with a profession of filial loyalty to the holy see, whose privileges they recognize and enumerate with St. Irenaeus, St. Jerome, and St. Leo the Great. They protest with what respect and love they receive all the apostolical constitutions, likewise the instructions and decisions of the Roman congregations, given for the universal church or for their own special provinces. After Pius IX. they rebuke the manner of thought and action of those who count for nothing all that has not been expressly defined as of Catholic faith, and who, embracing opinions contrary to the common sentiment of Christians, fear not to shock their ears with scandalous propositions. The temporal power of the pope, its necessity under the present circumstances, in order to assure the independence of the head of the church, is also the subject of a solemn declaration.
Passing then to the bishops, the council affirms their double right of teaching and governing Christendom in union with the Roman pontiff, the successor of St. Peter and the vicar of Jesus Christ. According to the advice of the fathers of Trent, provincial councils are to be held every three years throughout the whole extent of the United States; for the bishops are persuaded that in these reunions are to be found the most efficacious remedies for the evils which afflict all parts of the church, when the pastors of dioceses, after having invoked the Holy Spirit, unite their wisdom to take measures most fitting to procure the salvation of souls. Accidental forms are ever changing. Formerly, the "synodal witnesses" [Footnote 139] were everywhere in use.
[Footnote 139: Ecclesiastics chosen in the provincial councils to observe the state of persons and things in their dioceses, and to make a report to the metropolitan.]
After the time of Benedict XIV. this function fell into disuse and was supplied by something else. The grave and learned pontiff makes use of these remarkable words, which the council has thought proper to reproduce:
"The customs of men are modified and circumstances are continually changing; that which is useful at one period may cease so to be, and may become even pernicious in another age. The duty of a prudent pastor, unless otherwise obliged by a higher law, is to accommodate himself to times and places, to lay aside many ancient usages, when by his judgment and the light of God he deems this to be for the greater good of the diocese with which he is entrusted." [Footnote 140]
[Footnote 140: De Synod. Dioec. L. V. c. iii. n. 7.]
As a natural corollary to provincial councils, the prelates recommend frequent holding of diocesan synods. If the extent of the diocese will not permit the priests who obey the same bishop to unite yearly, the bishop should at least convoke a synod after each provincial or plenary council, to promulgate the decrees and provide for their observance. In the meantime, ecclesiastical conferences, organized in districts, can supply, at least partly, the place of the synod. The fathers express a wish that such conferences should meet quarterly in cities, and at least yearly in rural districts, where pastors cannot easily assemble.
I pass hastily over some details to arrive immediately at a matter at once very delicate and important, that of ecclesiastical judgments. It is well known that the form required by canon law has become very difficult of application throughout the greater part of Christendom. The Council of Baltimore does not innovate. After an experience of ten years it feels bound to renew a decree made in the Council of St. Louis in 1855. [Footnote 141]
[Footnote 141: That is to say, the Plenary Council, by its enactment, extended this decree of the Provincial Council of St. Louis to the other provinces.—ED. C. W.]
"Priests suspended by sentence of the ordinary have no right to demand sustenance from him, since by their own fault they have been rendered incapable of exercising their ministry. But, in order to cut short all complaints, the fathers are of the opinion that it is more expedient, in the cases of priests and clerics, to adopt a form of trial approaching as nearly as possible the requirements of the Council of Trent. The bishop—or his vicar-general, by his order—shall choose in the episcopal council two members—not always the same—who shall serve him as counsellors, when the accused shall be called to answer before him and his secretary.
"Together, these assistants shall have but one voice, but either can range himself on the side of the prelate against his colleague. If, however, both are of a different mind from that of the bishop or his vicar, the latter may take into his counsel a third, and that judgment shall be rendered to which he shall incline. If it happen that all the consultors named by the ordinary hold an opinion contrary to his, the case is to be transferred to the tribunal of the metropolitan, who shall weigh the motives for and against, and himself deliver sentence. And if the process refers to a subject of the metropolitan, and all his assistants are opposed to him, the cause shall be evoked before the oldest bishop of the province, and he shall have the right to decide, saving always the privileges and authority of the Holy See."
Here we see reappearing the jurisdiction of metropolitans, which in many other churches is little exercised at the present day. On the question of their authority the council furnishes another subject worthy of remark.
In enumerating the rights of archbishops in reference to their ecclesiastical provinces, the fathers have designated but three:
1. To make known to the holy see such of their suffragans as do not observe the laws of residence.
2. To call the said suffragans to a provincial council, at least every three years.
3. To have their cross borne before them in their province, and to wear the pallium therein on the days when they can wear it in their metropolitan church.
The letter written from Rome for the correction of the acts orders two other privileges of metropolitans to be re-established:
1. To supply what is negligently omitted by their suffragans in the cases determined by law; and
2. to receive appeals from the sentence of their suffragans according to the canonical rules.
If we do not deceive ourselves, there is in this correction a significant tendency.
III.
The manner of the election of bishops had already been determined by an instruction emanating from the Propaganda, dated March 18th, 1834. Since that time, at the desire of councils, several changes and modifications had been made. This is the practice consecrated and universally established since 1861: Every three years, each bishop sends to his metropolitan and the congregation of the Propaganda the list of subjects whom he judges worthy of the episcopate, with detailed information of the qualities which distinguish them.
A see becomes vacant, the bishops of the province meet in synod, or any other way, and discuss the aptitude of the candidates presented by each of them. After a secret examination, three names are sent to Rome with the procès verbal of this election. On the representation thus made, the sovereign pontiff designates the one to be promoted to the episcopal dignity.
This portion of Christendom, still so new, has not yet had time to settle itself into regularly divided parishes. If our memory is faithful, we think there is no such thing as a parish, properly so called, in the whole United States. The prelates of the council express a desire to establish some, especially in the great cities; but they add that, in conferring them on the priests who administer them, they would not exempt the latter from removal; this never having, been the custom in America.
Many of the dioceses have no seminaries. The fathers wish that, if they cannot be everywhere established, each province, at least, should have its own, for the formation of which the bishops will unite their resources. Following the custom adopted in France, they separate the Little Seminary, where boys who present the conditions required by the Council of Trent are received, from the Grand Seminary, where clerics study dogmatic and moral theology, canon law, hermeneutics, and sacred eloquence. The council orders the greatest efforts to be made in order to secure eminent professors. If there is an establishment common to an entire province, it should not be confined to teaching the mere elementary ecclesiastical studies, but a thorough course of exegesis and oriental languages should be commenced; and the modern systems of philosophy should be explained in such a manner that graduates should be able to resolve all the difficulties and objections of the day.
"We have now to contend," say the fathers, "no longer with the often refuted heresies and errors of a bygone age, but with new adversaries, unbelievers of a pagan rather than a Christian character, with men who count as naught God and his divine promises—and yet are not thereby prevented from having cultivated minds. According to them, the things of heaven and earth have no other meaning or value than that which reason alone assigns them. Thus, they flatter pride, so deeply rooted in our nature, and seduce those who are not on their guard. If truth cannot persuade them, since they do not care to hear, it must, at least, close their mouths, lest their vain discourse and sounding words delude the simple." [Footnote 142]
[Footnote 142: Act. tit. iii. p. 108.]
Do not these sage reflections disclose the true plan for renewing ecclesiastical studies?
We will not enter on the details of the rules established for the general life and manners of the clergy, according to their different functions. We confine ourselves to remarking that the chapter on preaching alone contains a complete little treatise on the proper manner of announcing the word of God in our times.
IV.
Questions relating to church property attract the attention of the council. In order to comprehend the arrangements determined on in regard to this matter, we must form a correct idea of the situation in which the different Christian communions stand before the American civil law.
It is well known that the legislation of most of the States is willing to accord legal personality to associations, commercial or religious. A religious society represented by trustees easily obtains incorporation; that is to say, is recognized as a person having the right to own property, to receive gifts and legacies, to a certain amount, generally far superior to what is necessary. If this sum is ever exceeded, it is easy to fulfil the requirements of the law by creating a new centre, building a new church.
Nothing then would seem more favorable than these arrangements of American law. But, as they were conceived from a Protestant point of view, they recognize the parish only, and not the diocese, which is, nevertheless, the Catholic unit. Moreover, the trustees, invested with church property, have on several occasions made outrageous and extravagant pretensions. More than once, they have believed that they possessed the right of choosing their pastors, and dismissing them, if they did not suit; they have held that they at least have the right of presenting to the bishop a priest of their own choice, and thus forcing his consent. Hence, the frequent conflicts between the parochial element and the episcopal administration. The first Council of Baltimore formerly protested against this lay interference, which it declared contrary to the teaching of the church and the discipline of every age; it decided that the compensation assigned to members of the clergy, to be provided from the funds of the parish, or by the alms of the faithful, conferred on none the right of patronage. Subsequent councils return incessantly to the same question; and it has even appeared before the civil tribunals. In the diocese of New York, particularly, the disputes between the Catholic trustees and the bishop were prolonged with various results, but without interruption, from 1840 to 1863. Finally, an arrangement was concluded, and on this model the prelates wish to organize all ecclesiastical property.
"Since, in the United States, it is permitted to every citizen and foreigner to live freely and without molestation, according to the precepts of the religion which he professes—for the laws recognize and proclaim this right—nothing seems to hinder us from observing, in all their rigor, the rules established by councils and the sovereign pontiffs for the acquisition and preservation of church property. The fathers, therefore, desire to expose and set clearly before the eyes of the state the true rights of the church with regard to accepting, possessing, and defending sacred property, as, for example the land on which a church is built, or presbyteries, schools, cemeteries, and other establishments, in order that it may be legally permitted to Catholic citizens to follow exactly the laws and requirements of their church." [Footnote 143]
[Footnote 143: Act. tit. iv. p. 117.]
Hence, one of the principal dispositions of this legislation is, that the administrators of ecclesiastical property in parishes shall do nothing without the consent of the bishop. In order that this law may be observed, and that nothing more may be feared from the intervention of the secular tribunals, there is no other plan than for the bishop to place himself before the civil power, as having the right to the full administration of all property belonging to his church as a corporation sole. Some of the states have recognized this right for the future. In others it is not yet recognized. Hence they provide the best means for avoiding, or, at least, diminishing the inconvenience resulting from this state of things.
This requires that mutual securities be taken on the part of the bishop and the trustees. As soon as appointed, the prelate will make a will, and place a duplicate in the hands of his metropolitan. Besides the property of which he is sole proprietor, he will be ex-officio president of all boards of trustees, who possess, in the eyes of the law, the parochial properties. Rules are established for the purpose of ensuring a conscientious choice of these, in order that they may not infringe on the rights of the parish priest, nor take any profit from the revenues of the church. Such are the principal measures relative to this important matter.
V.
In the chapter entitled De Sacramentis we notice the prudence which the council wishes to be used in administering baptism to Protestants returning to the Catholic Church. Although the greater portion of the sects regard what transpires at the baptismal font as a mere ceremony, and frequently, through carelessness, baptize invalidly, nevertheless the priest must not proceed hap-hazard, nor decide on general principles, but must in each case examine carefully into particulars. Only when certain of the nullity or probable invalidity of the baptism, can he confer the sacrament, either absolutely or conditionally.
In France, discussions have lately arisen as to the proper age for administering the holy communion. Although the American child is much earlier developed than the European, the fathers of Baltimore establish as a rule that he shall not be urged at too early an age to present himself at the holy table. Ten and fourteen years are the two extreme limits to which one must ordinarily be confined. Nevertheless, this rule leaves room for all legitimate exceptions, and particularly, in case of danger of death, it would be a grave fault in the pastor who would not administer the eucharist to a child capable of discerning the grace which it contains.
As their country is not a vine-growing land, and one can nowhere be fully certain of the purity of wines imported from Europe, the fathers express a desire to establish in Florida a community which shall be especially charged with the care of preparing the matter for the administration of the different sacraments, wine, oil, etc. This community can also keep swarms of bees, and furnish the different dioceses with pure waxen tapers. Meanwhile they caution priests to beware of using for the holy sacrifice the wines which are commonly sold under the names of port, sherry, Madeira, Malaga, and to choose, rather, Bordeaux, Sauterne, and others less subject to adulteration or fraudulent imitation. Moreover, as the culture of the vine progresses, it will be inexcusable to neglect having recourse to the products of the soil, or at least, not to have a moral certainty of the purity of the wines which are used.
In districts where a few Catholic families find themselves, as it were, lost in the midst of Protestants, the scarcity of priests causes many children to remain unbaptized [Footnote 144] until after marriage; an impedimentun dirimens which renders the marriage null in the eyes of God and the church.
[Footnote 144: The council referred not to unbaptized children of Catholics, for such are not to be found among us, but to unbaptized Protestants, or rather pagans, with whom Catholics have contracted a civil marriage.—ED. C. W.]
They live together in good faith, notwithstanding, and when the priest, discovering the radical fault, speaks to them of renewing their agreement, it frequently happens that the unbaptized party refuses to do it. The fathers unite in requesting from the holy see power to communicate to missionaries dispensations in radice, of which they can make use to rehabilitate such marriages.
As preceding councils have remarked, it is certain that, in most of the provinces of the United States, the decree of the Council of Trent regarding clandestine marriages has not yet been promulgated. In some districts its promulgation is doubtful. Besides, to require the presence of a certain priest for the validity of a marriage appears to the fathers a measure attended with great inconvenience. They demand, therefore, in order to reassure consciences, and establish uniformity, to return everywhere, except in the province of New Orleans, to the ancient discipline, already universally in force. But the holy see has not seen fit to accede to this request, as appears from the answer addressed by the Propaganda to the postulata of the council.
On other points uniformity is supremely desirable. For instance, the bishops earnestly desire it in that which pertains to Christian instruction and in prayer-books. A catechism is to be composed after that of Cardinal Bellarmine, adapted to the peculiar situation of Catholics in the United States. When this catechism has been approved by the holy see, it will be adopted in all the dioceses.
As to prayer-books which do not bear the express approbation of the ordinary, they ought not to be found in the hands of the faithful.
The solicitude of the council here extends to various classes of people. Following the example of the apostle, they recommend to God those who govern; but the formulas of the church are alone to be employed in these prayers, and no one is to imitate certain sects and temples, wherein political passions and partisan rancor utter accents which dishonor God rather than contribute to his worship.
No one will neglect any precaution to free Catholic soldiers and sailors from being obliged, against their conscience, to assist at the rites of dissenting sects. The orphans are an object of special solicitude. They must be gathered into the Catholic asylums which already exist or are yet to be built. This necessity is most pressing, and appeals to the charity of all who can provide against it.
VI.
An entire chapter is consecrated to regular orders of men and women. After recalling the immense advantages which their churches have derived from the labor of religious, the fathers state certain precautions which ought to be taken in order that foundations may be stable and not precarious. Circumstances do not always permit canonical erection or establishment in a permanent manner; hence, in the agreement made between the bishop and the religious community, this clause must hereafter be added, to wit, that the latter will not quit the parish, school, college, or congregation with which it is charged, without notifying the ordinary at least six months in advance. This relates only to diocesan work, properly so called, and not to that which the religious may take up of their own accord, without any obligation to continue.
Bishops shall conform to the canonical laws, defending the rights and privileges of the religious whom they find in the territory submitted to their jurisdiction, and they will avoid giving them subjects of complaint, or motives for going elsewhere. Regulars and seculars work toward the same ends namely, the glory of God and the salvation of souls; hence, no dissension ought ever to arise between them, but harmony, unity, and fraternal love should ever reign supreme.
The council passes a magnificent eulogium on those "sisters" who preserve, in their schools, the innocence of so many young virgins, and who, during the late war, have known how to turn public calamity to the glory of God and the advantage of religion.
Who of the dissenting sects has not admired their zeal, charity, and patience in the hospitals, and may not say, "the finger of God is here"?
Various measures were adopted to assure the observance of the rules of the church on the part of the religious. The fathers have heretofore consulted as to the nature of their sacred engagements. The answers received from Rome state that, in several specially designated monasteries of the Visitantines, the vows are solemn. [Footnote 145]
[Footnote 145: These are the monasteries of Georgetown, Mobile, Kaskaskia, St. Aloysius, and Baltimore. The solemnity of the vows is there preserved according to rescripts formerly obtained from Rome.]
Henceforth, after the novitiate, simple vows are to be made, and ten years later the solemn profession will be permitted. As to other monasteries and religious houses, simple vows alone are permitted, except by special rescript from the holy see; the same rule applying to all convents of women which may be hereafter erected in the various dioceses of the United States. The fathers severely censure those who leave their monasteries and travel through the country, under pretext of collecting money for houses pressed with debt or for new foundations; they declare this to be an intolerable abuse and contrary to the true character of the religious life.
Everywhere, to-day, but in no country more than in America, the question of schools appears most important, and claims the most lively solicitude on the part of the episcopate.
Here the council begins by firmly asserting the rights of the church. Jesus Christ said to his apostles, "Euntes docete," "Going, teach all nations." Since that time, this utterance has been understood in the sense of a mission, to be fulfilled by instruction and the exercise of spiritual maternity toward all, but especially toward youth. Frequenting such public schools as exist in the United States offers a thousand dangers. There indifferentism reigns: corruption of morals is engendered in early youth; the habit of reading and reciting authors who attack religion and heap insults on the memory of saintly personages weakens the faith in the souls of the young, while association with vicious companions stifles virtue in their hearts. The only remedy is to create other institutions, to open further opportunities to Catholic youth. Parochial schools are highly recommended, as well as the sodalities or congregations which devote themselves to the instruction of the youth of either sex.
While speaking of houses of refuge and correction, the fathers notice the numerous abductions of children which are daily made by the different sects. These are orphans, or disobedient children whom parents despair of managing. They are taken to places where their relatives can neither find nor hear from them, and their names are changed, so as not to recall them at some future day to their religion or family. Comfortably nourished, they are reared in the principles of heresy and in hatred of Catholicity. [Footnote 146] Moved with pity, several bishops have already opened houses to gather in these little unfortunates; the council desires them to be everywhere established; for if one ought to applaud the zeal of those who raise magnificent temples to God, much more should one praise those who prepare for him a spiritual dwelling of these precious and living stones.
[Footnote 146: Acts have recently been passed in the Legislature of New York which promise to be a very effectual check to the most nefarious arts of these kidnappers in this State.—ED. C. W.]
Here follows a tribute of recognition of the services rendered by the various colleges and academies which already exist in the United States. The American establishments at Rome, at Louvain, and in Ireland, are now furnishing priests and missionaries. When will it be granted to the bishops to found a grand Catholic university, which will complete all the good accomplished by these institutions? Yet this is not merely a desire; it is ardently expressed by the council; we hope the future may bring about its speedy realization. [Footnote 147]
[Footnote 147: Amen!—Ed. C. W.]
The missions are one of the most efficacious means of procuring the salvation of souls. Regulars and seculars are alike called to this great work. The council demands that a house of missionaries be founded in each diocese, for giving spiritual exercises in the parishes, above all during Lent, Advent, at the time of first communions, and the episcopal visitations. The parish priests are to co-operate cordially with these auxiliaries, and if any refuse to do so, they will be constrained by their bishop. On the other hand, all precautions are taken to avoid any appearance of interestedness, and any interference in the parochial government on the part of the missionaries.
The idea of association, so popular at the present day, is essentially and originally Catholic. If some have used it against us, we know how to reclaim and avail ourselves of it. Hence, the fathers recommend the confraternities approved by the church, such as those of the Blessed Sacrament, the Sacred Heart, the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, and the Holy Angels. They recommend the "Apostolate of Prayer," also, another pious association, which prays especially for the conversion of non-Catholics; they seek to develop the well-deserving undertakings of the "Propagation of the Faith" and "Holy Childhood;" they accord the highest praise to the arch-confraternity of St. Peter; finally, they add other works of piety and mercy, among them the "Society of St. Vincent de Paul," so well adapted to our times, and which has already produced such great results.
After this great encouragement, come restrictions no less called for. No new associations are to be created where ancient confraternities suffice. In case any priest desires to institute a new one, he must have a written permission from his bishop; the latter is forbidden to approve a new foundation unless he is sure that its means and aim are truly Catholic. It will be truly desirable to give such a character to the mutual aid societies to-day so numerous among the working classes.
The welfare of the negroes greatly interests the American episcopate. What a harvest is here to be gathered among these poor souls, purchased by the blood of Jesus Christ, and so well prepared by their emancipation to listen to the Gospel. Heresy spares no effort to assure herself of possessing them—another reason for earnestly seconding the desire expressed by the Congregation of the Propaganda in this respect. But the measures adopted for this end cannot be everywhere the same, and general rules are, therefore, hard to determine. The negroes must have churches either in common with or separate from the other faithful; they must have schools, missions, orphan asylums. Laborers are wanting to this harvest. The superiors of religious orders are requested to designate some of their subjects for this purpose, and secular priests, who feel this to be their vocation, to fly to the succor of this class, so destitute and so interesting. As to particular measures, provincial councils will determine in those regions where the negroes are more numerous.
VII.
Books and journals exercise such a great influence on society, both for evil and for good, that they could not fail to be the object of a special decree. After noticing the disastrous effects of an immoral press, the prelates call on all the servants of Jesus Christ, especially those who are fathers of families, to rid their houses of all noxious and dangerous books. They do not hesitate in this instance to employ the severe words of the apostle, "If any man have not care of his own, and especially of those of his house, he hath denied the faith, and is worse than an infidel." I Tim. v. 8. School-books must be carefully revised, expurgated, when necessary, and submitted to episcopal approbation. A sort of permanent committee is created for this purpose, composed of the superiors of three colleges existing in the arch-diocese of Baltimore.
As to good books, their circulation should be favored as much as possible. It is desirable that associations should everywhere be formed, to employ themselves in this work. The fathers particularly recommend the "Catholic Publication Society" of New York, which has existed for some years, and has already done immense good. Committees in every city are to be formed, and affiliated to the central society, and collections are ordered to be made yearly for assisting this good work.
Prayer-books ought always to be examined by theologians, and none should be printed without the approbation of the ordinary. This has hitherto been only a wish; hereafter it shall be a law obliging all bishops.
Among current periodicals there are many impious and immoral, some more tolerable, but very few deserving eulogy and full recommendation to the faithful. The prelates continue:
"Journals edited or directed by Catholics indirectly contributing to the advantage of religion, must exist. But for fear lest the political opinions of the writers may be attributed to ecclesiastical authority, or to Christianity itself, as often happens, thanks to the bad faith of adversaries, we desire that all should be duly warned not to recognize any journal as Catholic unless it bears the express approbation of the ordinary.
"In several dioceses, there are journals furnished with this approbation, under one form or another, because the bishops require them as a means of conveying their orders or ideas to their clergy and people. Hence they are assumed to have an official character, as if the voice of the pastor were to be heard from every page and line. This is a misunderstanding, although quite general, chiefly propagated by sectarians. From it result grave and intolerable inconveniences. For, whatever may be written by these editors, who may often be controlled by passions private and political, is laid to the account of the bishop, and seems to form a part of his pastoral teaching.
"In order that such a responsibility may cease to weigh upon the episcopate, and in order clearly to set forth the relations between the ordinary and the ecclesiastical journals, the fathers declare that the approbation accorded by a bishop to a Catholic journal merely signifies that he has found in it nothing contrary to faith or morals; and that he hopes such will be the case in future; and moreover, that the editors are well-deserving men, and their writings useful and edifying. The bishop, then, is only responsible for what appears in the paper as his own teaching, counsel, exhortation or command; and for this, only when signed with his own hand." (Act. tit. xi. p. 256.)
They spoke of establishing a journal or review, solely devoted to the exposition and defence of Catholic dogma, of which the archbishops of Baltimore, New York, and perhaps other metropolitans with them, would have the ownership. The question was submitted by the council to the judgment of the ordinaries.
If the fathers wish to be free from a solidarity often compromising, they none the less recognize the services of Catholic writers. The felicitations which they address to them are borrowed from the pontifical allocution of April 20th, 1849, and from the letters apostolic of February 12th, 1866.
VIII.
The church has frequently uttered severe condemnations of secret societies, engaged in acts forbidden by religion and justice. After having recalled to mind and published anew these condemnations, the fathers add that they do not see any reason for applying them to societies of artisans which have no other object than the mutual support and protection of people of the same calling.
These must not favor the practices of condemned sects, nor proceed contrary to equity and the rights of patrons. No one must regard as even tolerated, associations which demand of those entering an oath to do whatever the chiefs command, or which would maintain an inviolable secrecy in the face of lawful questioning. If there be doubt of the nature of an association, the holy see must be consulted. No person, however high his ecclesiastical dignity, ought to condemn any society which does not fall under the censures of the apostolical constitutions. [Footnote 148]
[Footnote 148: At the request of certain bishops, this decree was to be suppressed. It was re-established in acts according to directions from Rome.]
In the thirteenth chapter, the bishops request the erection of fifteen new episcopal sees; to wit, four in the province of Baltimore, seven in that of St. Louis, one in each of the provinces of Cincinnati, Oregon, San Francisco, and New York. They also desire the churches of Philadelphia and Milwaukee to be raised to metropolitan dignity. Excepting this last demand, this chapter has met favorable reception at Rome; and at the present moment, America counts twelve new bishoprics or vicarates apostolic.
We will not speak of the pastoral letter addressed by the bishops of the council to the faithful of their dioceses. It was published at the time in many French journals. Moreover, it merely recapitulates the measures and decrees which ought to be brought to the knowledge of all the Catholic populations. In it one perceives the accent of ardent zeal for the salvation of souls. Amid the felicitations which they address to their flock, the American prelates mingle cries of sorrow at the sight of the abuses which still exist and the souls which are lost. A warm appeal is made to families to favor the development of ecclesiastical vocations; in this country, more than in any other in the world, the harvest is immense, and arms alone are often wanting to gather it.
As to the relations between the church and the state, the fathers declare that, apart from a few brief instances of over-excitement and madness, the attitude taken by the civil power and its non-interference in religious matters is a matter for congratulation; they complain only of its not according the necessary guarantees for church property, according to ancient canons and discipline. But several States have already done what is reasonable in this respect; it is hoped that others will soon follow their example.
Such is the incomplete but at least faithful résumé of the decrees of this great assembly. In reading, one is struck with the wisdom and prudence which characterize them. After the divine assistance, certainly not denied to so holy an undertaking, one here finds something of that American good sense, eminently exact and practical, which, in dealing with lofty things, seizes them principally by their positive side, and, without losing sight of principles, adapts them always to times and circumstances.
If doctrine is greatly represented in this volume, pure theory occupies but a small space. Above everything else the council has wished to be a work of organization. No less remarkable for what it has not said than for what it has said, it seems to embody the device of the poet, "Semper ad eventum festinat;" no superfluous details, no useless erudition; all bears the seal of a legislation soberly but firmly motived, wherein nothing is omitted which can enlighten and convince the mind, and nothing allowed to lengthen a text by right short, or to complicate a simple matter; a majestic monument, of simple and severe proportions, art seems therein neglected, but is by no means wanting.
If it were permissible in presence of so great a work to recur to a secondary detail, we would say that pupils of the seminaries, in studying these acts, will find in them a model of that beautiful Latinity unfortunately too rare in theological treatises.
Their task ended, the prelates had only to congratulate themselves on the success obtained. After having announced to their children that they would be more fully notified of the result in provincial councils and diocesan synods, they have been able to add, with lawful pride, that they expect all manner of good from the practical organization given for the future to the churches of this vast continent.