"The man of Sedan" went to sleep at last as the year opened. He is reported to have died a Christian death, though the evidence of adequate reparation for his past crimes is wanting. Whatever he may have been, he left many close personal friends behind him. He did more than this: he left a party, or the germ of one, in that fatal legacy of the "Napoleonic idea," to his young son, who, if his life be spared, will probably guard it well, and follow closely in the footsteps of his father, if he have the chance to do so, which God forefend! His English education will not harm him; and he has seen too much of France and imperialism to relinquish an empire which, unless God give him grace to learn a better wisdom than that which his father bequeathed, he cannot fail to consider his by right. For the present he is harmless enough personally; but if France continues in its unsettled state, and if the son inherit any of the power and scheming of the race, he is as likely as any other to be the coming man. We trust, however, that neither of these conditions will be verified.
The death of the Emperor Napoleon undoubtedly lightened France. This is not the time to examine his actions or his policy. He is now part, and a very large part, of history; and history will paint him as it has painted better and greater men—in light and shade.
The pilgrimages to the various French shrines were a feature of the year, drawing the eyes of the world to France, and the blessing of heaven on France. Millions of pilgrims of all classes, ages, and cast of politics visited La Salette, Paray-le-Monial, Our Lady of Lourdes, and a multitude of other shrines. The whole world looked on with wonder. There was abundance of ridicule among a class of writers from whose pens commendation would be an insult. One pilgrimage went from Protestant England under the leadership of the Duke of Norfolk, hereditary Earl Marshal of England. The leading secular newspapers, as a rule, gave very fair and respectful accounts. If it were not invidious to select from many, the letters of the correspondents of the London Times in England, and of the New York Herald in this country—particularly the latter—were admirable in tone, spirit, and style. Pilgrimages were prohibited in Italy and Germany, on the ground that they were political assemblages. They seem rather likely to increase than to diminish in the coming year, and undoubtedly they have imparted a fresh impetus to faith, and returned a solemn answer to the "men of the time," the philosophers of the age, who find it so easy to disbelieve in God.
1873 will be memorable in Spanish annals. The heart sickens and shrinks from going over the dismal record. It is almost startling to read of "the king" receiving deputations on New Year's, and that king Amadeus. His abdication can scarcely have caused surprise to persons who had the slightest inkling of the real state of affairs in Spain. The Catholic World, in its review of last year, although matters smiled on Amadeus at the time, said: "We do not expect to find Amadeus' name at the head of the Spanish government this day twelve-month." It said also, "A good regent, not Montpensier, might bring about the restoration of Don Alfonso; but where is such a regent? Don Carlos possesses the greatest amount of genuine loyalty to his name and cause, and he would be the winning man, could he only manage his rising in a more efficient manner." How far those predictions have been verified by events our readers may satisfy themselves. They required, indeed, no very keen insight to make.
Previous to the abdication of Amadeus, the Carlist insurrection, under the leadership of Prince Alfonso, the brother of Don Carlos, Saballs, and a number of other chieftains of greater or less note, again broke forth with renewed vigor. After his abdication, the government was all at sea; and from that time to the present date there has been nothing but a succession of changes of government, one as incapable as another, until the country no longer presents the appearance of a nation. Don Carlos appeared at the head of his forces early in the year. Frequent reports of Carlist annihilation have kept the telegraph wires busily employed ever since; yet, singular to relate, Don Carlos at present is actual king in the north of Spain. The forces sent against him have been defeated in every important engagement, and he only needs artillery to advance into the heart of the country. How it will go with him during the coming winter, which is rigorous in the north, remains to be seen. Insurrections broke out in various parts of the country, resulting, in some places, in scenes of horror and inhumanity, compared with which the horrors of the Commune in Paris were humane. Men seemed possessed by fiends, and the Spanish idea of a federal republic took the form of every petty town its own absolute sovereign. There was serious danger more than once of such insignificant governments embroiling themselves with foreign powers. Part of the fleet revolted, and is still in revolt. Part of the army endeavored to do so more than once. They cannot but despise wild theorists of the Castelar type, who would heal a bleeding nation with windy speeches. The future looks dark for Spain; and its only hope now lies in Don Carlos gaining the throne as speedily as he may. The country is overwhelmed with financial dangers, and it will take a cycle of peace and sound government to atone for the untold evils of these few years of excess. As matters now stand, victory sits on the helm of Don Carlos, and the coming year will probably find him King of Spain. We hope and believe that he will prove himself worthy of the vast sacrifices which have been made in his favor, and show as a wise, temperate, and truly Catholic sovereign over a noble race run mad with riot. As for a Spanish republic, Alcoy and Cartagena indicate what that means.
In this connection it would seem that we should take some notice of the case of the Virginius; but, at the time of sending this to press (Nov. 29), the question is too incomplete and unsettled to enable us to announce the final solution, which will have become a fact when these lines are read. To pronounce our own judgment on the merits of the case, in the brief and superficial manner to which our limits would restrict us, we are unwilling. We merely say one thing, which is obvious on the face of things, that there was no sufficient reason to justify the hurried and summary massacre of the prisoners captured on the Virginius. Filibustering we detest as a crime. Nevertheless, Cuba has been frightfully misgoverned. The reconciliation of Cuba to Spanish rule is impossible. If it can be rightfully made a free state, or annexed to the United States, we think it will be a benefit to the Cubans to be set free from Spanish rule.
The great feature of the English year has been the educational question—a question that at present is agitating the world, and is debated alike throughout all Europe, in our own country, in the states of South America, in India even, and in Australia. It is summed up in this: Shall education be Christian or not? If Christian, it tends to make the coming race bad citizens, inasmuch as it teaches children that there is a God, whose laws even governments must obey. There are side issues, but that constitutes the main point, however governments may seek to disguise the fact. If unchristian, the children learn that they are only graduating to become capable citizens of the state, and that that is their highest duty. This is paganism, and to this doctrine of education Christians cannot consent.
Mr. Gladstone, finding his party shaking, once more strove to consolidate and make it a unit on an Irish question. He took up the Irish educational grievance—and undoubtedly a sore grievance it is—and tried to construct a university which should be equally acceptable to all creeds and no creeds. As might have been expected, it proved acceptable to none. Mr. Gladstone's model university was to exclude chairs of theology, philosophy, and history. The very proposal is sufficient to show how impossible it was for Catholics to support such a measure. The Irish vote very rightly turned the scale against him, and Mr. Disraeli was credited with a victory. After a threatened dissolution, the Gladstone government resumed, and the conservative gains have gone on steadily increasing, so that it is not at all improbable that Mr. Disraeli will find himself and the conservative party in power after the next general elections.
The British government paid to the United States the amount of the Geneva award—£3,500,000.
A war is being waged against the Ashantees, successfully so far. The Australian colonies are advancing in wealth and independence. From Bengal, at the close of the year, comes a dread rumor of famine that seems to be only too well founded. There was an increase in the price of coal, resulting, apparently, from a report of its scarcity.