Chapter IX: A Bright Evening (2)

But this relation subsisting between Christ and his Father, and which is the type of the essence of the church, is an essential, indivisible, and indestructible relation. The relation, therefore, existing between Christ and his church and her members, from which her unity springs, is also essential. That is, aside from this unity, the church cannot be a subject even of thought――is unthinkable. Were it possible that it should be lost for a moment, the church, at the instant her unity was lost, would no longer exist. For the unity of the church is not derived from her organism, but, on the contrary, the organism of the church is derived from her unity, which has its rise in that essential, indwelling, and abiding presence of the invisible relation which exists between Christ and his Father: “I in them, and thou in me: that they may be made perfect in one.” Just as the life of the soul springs from the presence of the divine Essence, and this life pervades and sustains the whole body and its members, so, in like manner, the unity of the church, which springs from the presence of this divine relation, pervades and sustains the whole church and her members. The unity of the church is also indivisible. Multitudes may leave the church, but their absence does not break her unity. Many may lose the unity of the church, but it never can be lost from the church. Thousands may deny the unity of the church, but it will continue to exist in spite of their denial. In the nature of perfect unity, one and indivisible are correlative; for each of its parts contains and acts with the force of the whole. As God is everywhere present in the world, and the soul everywhere present in the body, so the unity of the church is everywhere present and pervades the whole body of the church. It is also an indestructible unity. For whatsoever may be the action of the lapse of time or the deeds of men, they can neither disorganize, reduce, nor overthrow it. Being divine in its nature, the hand of man may menace, but it is powerless to destroy the unity of the church. It will remain, after men have done their utmost and worst against it, as it was before.

This unity in which the Divinity dwells is the primal source of the life of the church, and, through her, of each and all of her members; is the type and exemplar of the perfect organism in which each and all of her acts proceed from one formal principle and one central point of active force. The church, therefore, may be defined, in the sense of Christ’s prayer, as that visible, organized body, in which the members are made one with God and with each other in Christ, by a participation of the invisible communion existing between Christ and his Father in the unity of the divine Essence.

In all this we have added nothing to the above passage from our author explanatory of “the expected church unity.” What we have done was to render its meaning more explicit, and this will be readily acknowledged in reading his own explanation, as follows:

“The starting-point, of course, is unity of faith,
especially faith in Christ. The union of believers to one
another results from their union to a common Lord and
Saviour: ‘I in them, and thou in me: that they may be made
perfect in one.’ The second element of a true unity is love.
We need not dwell here, for it is a point conceded. The
third element is oneness of aim and effort. The
conversations and prayer of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and
seventeenth of John show that faith and love in Christian
hearts are with a view to definite results. In the fifteenth
chapter it is said: ‘He that abideth in me, and I in him,
the same bringeth forth much fruit; for without me ye can do
nothing.’ And in the seventeenth chapter this fruit and this
doing are declared to be the glorifying of Christ, and, as
contributing to that, the bringing the world to believe in
him. All highest glory to God and good to man are contained
in believing and loving the Lord Jesus. All the fruits of
the Spirit enumerated by Paul in Galatians depend from the
branch that abideth in Christ the vine. No man can be in
Christ by faith without wishing all others to be――without
praying the prayer of Jesus, and working the work of Jesus,
that they may be. And this being the effect on all real
disciples, it is clear that a union of faith and love is
also a union of aim and effort.

“We are prepared to say, in the fourth place, that the one
thing remaining to render this union complete――a perfect
unity, such as Christ prayed for――is oneness of
organization. By organization is meant, as the word imports,
everything pertaining to the outward structure and furniture
of the church――its government, methods of operation,
ordinances, worship, etc.”

DR. KNOX ON THE NECESSITY OF THE UNITY OF THE CHURCH.

“We can but observe,” he says, “in the first place, that
most of the good we know in this world is connected with
organization, and is nothing without it. It is the nature of
all life to organize, and the most perfect of organisms is
that which we have in the human form――Scriptural type, by
the way, of the organization belonging to the spiritual life
that is in Christ’s body, the church. No one thinks it
necessary to depreciate the organic part of man in order to
exalt that which is intellectual and moral.… It is not
enough to say of human life in the general: ‘What we want is
good-will, right understanding between man and man――no
matter about society and government. That is merely exterior
and organic; we wish to do with essentials.’ For all the
ends of social welfare it has ever been found that organized
society _is_ one of the essentials, and without it the
public weal cannot be promoted.”

“It is the nature of all life to organize.” Precisely so. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the nature of all life is organic; for life and organism are related to each other as cause and effect, and hence are inseparable. Christianity unorganized would be a pure nonentity. Christianity is a life――specific life; it is therefore by its very nature specific, visible, organic.

“For all the ends of social welfare it has ever been found that organized society is one of the essentials, and without it the public weal cannot be promoted.” Organized society is essential to all life, and no less essential to its own defence and preservation; for what would have become of Christianity without organization when the colossal power of the Roman Empire was set to work to exterminate it? Christianity would have been strangled in its cradle. What would have become of Christianity unorganized when the barbarians from the North overthrew the Roman Empire? Christianity would have been swept from the face of the earth. What would have been the issue if Christianity had been left to individual effort when the Moslems attacked Europe and threatened to feed their horses from the altars of Christian churches? Why, Europe would be to-day Mohammedan, and, if any Christians were left, they would be at the mercy, as the Servians were, of the Grand Turk. Christianity unorganized, facing an organized, hostile, powerful force, would have been as chaff before the wind.

THE SECOND REASON FOR CHURCH UNITY.

“Especially,” says Dr. Knox, “ought we to note how this fact
of exterior organization has been recognized in the
provision for the general _spiritual_ well-being. If you say
the elements of that well-being are primarily interior and
spiritual, such as love, faith, fellowship, yet as
positively are they never dispersed from the exterior and
physical――that is, from the organism through which they
obtain their manifestation. The church is that organism.
Hence whenever, under apostolic preaching, there was in any
community the beginning of Christian knowledge, faith,
obedience, there was the immediate beginning of a Christian
church.… In all their epistles and prayers it was the
_visible_ as well as vital thing――the church at Rome,
Ephesus, Corinth――which they have in their eye as an object
of beauty and blessedness: ‘Now ye are the body of Christ
and members in particular, ye are all baptized into one
body.’… Their virtual unity must become visible; their
essential unity, organic unity.”

In this passage there is laid down a most important principle: “The interior and spiritual are never dispersed from the interior and physical.” That is, an invisible church is an absurdity, and a simple interior piety a dream. On this principle we would change the last sentence, and make it read thus: “Their virtual unity is always visible; their essential unity, organic unity.”

THE THIRD REASON FOR UNITY IS EXPRESSED AS FOLLOWS:

“Just in ratio that effort for a common end becomes earnest and efficient does it tend to a common organized method.” Grant it, we say, and it follows that just in ratio as the common end is important, so will the effort become earnest and efficient in producing a common organized method for its realization. But no greater or more important end than the one that Christ came upon earth to realize, which was the salvation of the world, can be imagined. Hence Christ established his church as a common organized method for the realization of his divine mission; and it follows that, so far as his power extends, he would be with it, watch over it, and protect it until it accomplished the purpose for which he had called it into existence. And those who would subvert the church established by Christ, judged by this principle, really attempt, whatever may be their profession, to overthrow Christianity.

DR. KNOX’S FOURTH REASON FOR THE UNITY OF THE CHURCH.

“Oneness of organization is indispensable to oneness of
manifestation. The union for which Christ prayed is apparent
as well as actual――‘perfect in one, that the world may know
that thou hast sent me.’ Now, it is certain that the
numerous church organizations are in apparent conflict with
unity. They are regarded by multitudes as diverse, and even
adverse, corporations. Allow that this, to a great extent,
is only in appearance; yet just to that extent it is an
evil. The impression is not the one Christ seeks of an
impressive unity. And ecclesiastical history reveals how
often the evil appearance has been identical with the actual
evil. The setting up of separate church establishments tends
inevitably to jealousy, strife, ambition, alienation, as the
universal experiment proves.”

Every sentence almost of the above passage is a death-blow to the entire movement of Protestantism from its origin as a system of religion. As its very name signifies, it began in denial, and its fertility is not in the direction of unity and oneness of organization, but in that of breeding strifes, sowing discords, and exciting enmities. New sects are ever on the increase in its bosom, new church organizations are set up in the same sect against each other, and its main drift is plainly in the direction of mere individualism, ending in entire negation. “O Protestantism!” exclaims one of its adherents, “has it, then, at last come to this with thee, that thy disciples protest against all religion? Facts which are before the eyes of the whole world declare aloud that this signification of thy name is no idle play upon words, though I know that this confession will excite a flame of indignation against myself.”[155]

There is one point in the above extract on which we must differ from the learned doctor, and that is where he maintains that “the conflict with unity” among Protestants is “apparent” and not “adverse”; and here are some of our grounds:

This apparent unity among Protestants has its centre and source elsewhere. For every one of the revealed truths of Christianity which they maintain as fundamental, conceding for the moment that they are even agreed upon these, will be found in the last analysis to depend upon the authority of the Catholic Church. For example, the Bible is to Protestants the sole source of all revealed truth, and the only rule of faith. Now, that the Protestants received from the Catholic Church the Bible is a simple historical fact. Again, how do they know that the book called the Bible contains the whole of the inspired written word of God, and nothing else? Only from the unimpeachable witness and guardian of the Bible――the Catholic Church. Take from under the truths of Christianity, which Protestants still retain, the logical support of the Catholic Church, and Protestantism, as a system of religion, in ratio as men begin to feel the necessity of rendering to themselves a rational account of their religious convictions, will be abandoned and fall into utter ruin. And whatever fruits of Christian virtue or flowers of piety grow on the tree of Protestantism, they are parasitic; for the sap which gives life to the tree is derived from its roots, which are nourished in the soil of the garden, to their sight concealed, of the Catholic Church. In this virtual relation to the Catholic Church lies the hope of the salvation of those Protestants who are really in good faith. The unity among Protestants, therefore, is only “apparent,” while its conflicts with unity are real and “adverse.”

For the moment you enter on an examination of those doctrines in detail, regarding which, to use the language of this author, “there is throughout evangelical Christendom a substantial unity,” that instant innumerable and irreconcilable differences and contradictions arise. There exists among what are called evangelical Protestants a vague and affective desire for unity, but it is only strong enough to bring them together occasionally to display before the public their complete lack of real unity. They may even be led by it to recite the Apostles’ Creed, as though they were of accord in their belief as to the meaning of its contents; but let no further strain be put upon their bond of unity, lest it should snap into a thousand pieces, revealing, in the words of our author, “different organic bodies with features facing all ways, hands striking one against another, feet moving off in independent directions, and lips uttering the whole alphabet of shibboleths.” Grapes are not gathered of thorns.

DR. KNOX’S FIFTH REASON FOR UNITY.

“Organic unity,” he says, “is a required element in the _moral power_ the church is yet to wield. The Romish Church has borrowed untold strength from this source――one in name and form the world over.”

Dr. Knox’s evidently reluctant compliment to the Catholic Church ought not to be passed by without due recognition. It is a very high compliment: the highest possible compliment, according to his own showing. For he has laid down the principle that “the interior and spiritual are never dispersed from the exterior and physical.” Now, as the Catholic Church is “the world over one in name and form”――that is, in “the exterior and physical”――it follows she must be one in “the interior and spiritual,” as the former are never “dispersed from” the latter. The Catholic Church, therefore, is truly the church of Christ, as she alone is “perfect in one.” She alone possesses the inward and outward notes of that unity which Dr. Knox and those who agree with him are expecting to come as the ideal Christian Church. They have only to work out their premise to its logical conclusion to be landed in the bosom of the Catholic Church, which is the realization upon earth, so far as human nature will allow, of the ideal Christian Church.

“If her [the Catholic Church’s] actual unity,” he proceeds to say, “had answered to her organic, Protestantism must needs have been still heavier armed to make head against her.” This is not a reasonable supposition. Prior to the sixteenth century the actual unity of the Catholic Church did answer to her organic, and she was in a fair way to Christianize and civilize the whole world. But the religious secession started by Luther and his followers stopped the church in her course, and set Christians against Christians, broke up the fraternity of Christian nations, and sowed everywhere the seeds of dispute, enmities, and wars in the bosom of Christendom. Millions of her children, backed up by political powers, turned against the church, and concentrated their attacks chiefly in the direction of the overthrow of the Roman See, and the destruction of the centre and guardian of the unity of her organization, the Roman Pontiff. If her vital energies and vast resources were turned towards where the attacks were the fiercest, in order to meet and repel their effects, this was, in the nature of the situation, a necessity, and furnishes no ground for an accusation. But God in his providence turns the enemies of his church into instruments of her glory; for, as in repelling the errors of Arius and his adherents, the church was necessitated to define, and for ever establish beyond all dispute, her belief in the divinity of Christ, so in like manner, in her defence against the errors of Luther and his followers, she was compelled to settle beyond dispute all doubt of the authority, the rights, and prerogatives communicated by Christ to his Apostle Peter and to the successors of his see, the Roman Pontiffs. The bark of Peter has had to battle through a threatening storm which has lasted three centuries, but she has come out of the danger in perfect safety, with increased strength and renewed splendor. For her “organic unity,” thanks to the action of Protestantism, being greatly perfected, her “actual unity” now can display itself with a correspondingly-increased vigor and vitality. Her interior, spiritual beauty will be brought out more clearly to the sight of the world, attracting all souls; for whatever may be said of the power and majesty of her “name and form the world over,” the real beauty and glory of the church, like that of the king’s daughter, “is all within.” The glory of this new phase of the church, of which it seems Dr. Knox has had a glimpse, though he does not appear to recognize her features, he expresses in the following manner: “But when the day dawns that shall give us a visible springing from an interior unity, that will be a spectacle like the sign of the Son of Man in the heavens.”

After the compliment which we have already noticed, it would be unusual if the holy Church did not receive some bitter words of abuse. Here they are in the concluding lines of the paragraph under notice:

“Though Satan, in the person of Rome and Rationalism,
‘dilated stood,’ as Milton describes him in his attitude
towards Gabriel,

“‘Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved,’

“he would know that sign, as when Gabriel showed him the
golden scales aloft, and he

“‘Fled
Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night.’”

This language belongs to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when the sectaries of that period universally held that the pope was Antichrist, and the Catholic Church his kingdom. It might be heard from the mouth of a ranter in Exeter Hall, or, in days gone by, in the Broadway Tabernacle, or come from the pen of the vaticinating Dr. Cummings, and not excite surprise; but we submit that such language is unworthy of the cause which Dr. Knox so ably advocates, and is in discord with the whole tenor of his article, which, we gladly acknowledge, breathes throughout a more candid and a better spirit.

THE SIXTH REASON FOR UNITY.

“This is found,” he says, “in that element of efficiency that lies in economy.” This is an important element, but we have already encroached beyond our limits, and must hasten to our close. The article proceeds to show that there is a “rapidly-increasing unity of faith, affection, and aim” among evangelical Christians, and details the grounds for the hope of a “prospective unity of organization,” explaining “the causes at work to produce it.”

ACCORDING TO DR. KNOX, THE UNITY OF THE CHURCH ONCE EXISTED.

“Furthermore,” he continues, “the church has once been in
the perfect unity we are advocating. The members ‘continued
steadfast in the apostles’ doctrine and fellowship, in
breaking of bread, and in prayers’ (Acts, ii. 42). The
unity, according to this record, began in theological
doctrine, but extended to outward organization (fellowship),
to visible sacraments (breaking of bread), and forms of
worship (prayers). This was what Christ had just before
prayed for a making perfect in one; a unity, interior and
exterior, spiritual and organic.”

In another passage he describes the discordant elements of Protestantism, and draws, without knowing it, the portrait of the actual Catholic Church, and contrasts her perfect unity with the divisions of the Protestant sects. Here it is:

“In the primitive church, when Christ would have the body
constituted with diversity――not all head, or hands, or feet;
not all hearing, seeing, or smelling, but a body with many
members, and each member its own function――he yet did not
think it necessary this diversity should be sectarian in
order to be Christian. He did not give some to be
Episcopalians――high, and low, and ritualistic; some to be
Congregationalists――associated, and consociated, and
independent; some to be Methodists――Protestant, Primitive,
and Episcopal; some to be Baptists――open and close; some to
be Presbyterians――old and new, Cumberland and Covenanter,
Associate Reformed and Presbyterian Reformed, and others
perhaps unreformed, to say nothing of Burgher and
anti-Burgher, Secession, and Relief. Here was variety――a
very millennium of it, such as it was. It was a variety,
however, that finds no place in the New Testament, and no
mention in Christ’s catalogue of particulars. This was his
list of bestowments that Paul enumerates, when he ‘gave some
to be apostles, and some prophets, and some evangelists, and
some pastors and teachers, for the perfecting of the saints,
for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body
of Christ.’ Having these, the body was thought to be well
furnished without the modern inventions above specified.
Here was variety and here was efficiency. ‘Many members, but
one body.’ ‘Diversities of gifts, but one spirit.’
‘Differences of administration, but the same Lord.’
‘Diversities of operations, but the same God, which worketh
all in all.’ Read the whole twelfth chapter of 1st
Corinthians, and the fourth of Ephesians, and see how amply
diversified is the church of God: all the more beautiful and
useful for the reason Paul here declares, that God has so
constructed it that there should be ‘no schism in the body.’
The variety and beauty lie in the varied members and their
varied functions; not, as our sectarian conservatives would
have it, in there being different organic bodies with
features facing all ways, hands striking one against
another, feet moving off in independent directions, and lips
uttering the whole alphabet of shibboleths.”

This description is not very complimentary to that movement which started with the profession of renewing the religion of the Gospel and of primitive Christianity. Judged by Dr. Knox’s standard, it is clear that Protestantism, whatever it may be, is not primitive Christianity.

THE UNITY OF THE CHURCH IS LOST.

The entire article under consideration is based on the supposition that the visible organic unity of the church that once existed, no longer exists, but is lost. “It is also,” says Dr. Knox, “universally admitted and expected that this lost unity will at some time be regained” (p. 666). Now, that scandals would come, and tares would grow with the wheat, heresies, schisms, and sects would arise――all this we are told in the New Testament; but that the unity which Christ communicated to his church should be “lost,” and, therefore, his church fail――this we read nowhere in the pages of the inspired Word. On the contrary, we read in the Gospels that Christ promised to “build his church,” and that he predicted that “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” And we also read: “Behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world.” How one who believes in the divinity of Christ, the inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, and that Christ built his church, and can admit, nay, assert, that she has “lost” her unity, the very essence of her being――that, consequently, the church of Christ has failed――we are at a loss to know, and look for further explanation and instruction on this subject from Dr. Knox.

But it must be remembered also, and taken into account, that when Christ offered up his prayer for unity, he not only petitioned that his disciples might be one, but he also said: “And not for them only do I pray, but for them also who through their word shall believe in me.” This covers all time, and leaves no room for the supposition that the unity which was the object of his prayer should ever be “lost.”

How to meet this difficulty is the question of questions among those who, under one pretext or another, have separated themselves from the unity of the Catholic Church. Their ingenuity has been exercised not a little on this point, and the world has listened to the Greek patriarchal theory, and to the Anglican branch theory, and the invisible church theory of some of the so-called reformers, but all these theories are like clouds without rain and broken cisterns that can hold no water. For once admit that the unity of the church for which Christ prayed has ever existed, and concede that it has been lost, no matter what theory or hypothesis you may devise, at that moment, the conclusion is inevitable, Christianity is a failure.

The unity of the church of Christ was divine, and the human cannot create or give birth to the divine. This truth has been recognized and acted upon even among Protestants. The Irvingites and Mormons teach on this point their fellow-Protestants a lesson in sound logic. “We start,” they say, “as all Protestants do, in admitting that the Catholic Church was in the beginning the church of Christ, and that at some period of time afterwards she became corrupt and failed. This is our common premise. Now, to establish the church, which is a divine institution, requires a special divine mission and authority; hence our claim to this special divine inspiration and authority for the reinauguration of the church of Christ upon earth.” This reasoning on the part of the Irvingites and Mormons, as against other Protestants, is unanswerable and leaves them nowhere.

If the Christian Church ever existed, it exists now in all its vitality and force; for the divine creative act which called it into existence was as real, continuous, and immutable as the creative act which called into existence the universe. The same Almighty who said, “_Fiat Lux_,” said, “_Edificabo ecclesiam meam_”; and, considering the place she holds in the hierarchy of creation, there is less reason to suppose that the church should fail than that the whole universe should go to utter wreck and ruin.

The learned doctor has an inkling of this insurmountable difficulty, and hence he looks forward to one scarcely knows what kind of supernatural action which is to “compose” out of the existing different evangelical sects a visible organic unity. The idea of composing the unity of the church is a contradiction in terms. If lost, only a new divine creative act can restore it. To expect this after the Incarnation and the Day of Pentecost is a chimera. The only escape from this, and the only perfectly consistent one, is that this unity is still existing, clothed with “a divinely-appointed organism _jure divino_,” and open to all who really and sincerely believe in Christ. He does not deny that the church of Christ does still exist; he admits its possibility, and says:

“We do not base our argument for ultimate unity of
organization on the assumption that there is a divinely
appointed organism defined in the New Testament. We may
believe the Scriptures contain nothing explicit on this
point――no _jure divino_ model of church polity. If, however,
there is such an appointed form――which is here neither
affirmed nor denied――we insist that it is the best form, and
our point holds good――viz., in the coming development of an
earnest faith and fellowship, that form will ultimately be
apprehended and accepted. In that mental condition into
which the church is soon to come, it will be recognized that
the end is the main thing, and the agency of no account
except as it is adapted to the end. And as in the arts of
ordinary life, as in politics and public education, it is at
length discovered what the best way to the desired result
is; and as the earnest effort for the valued result lays
hold at last of the best method, which thus becomes the
common one, so must it be in the great earnest religious
movement of these latter days, looking to the millennial
age. Mark well the process. The faith and love of the
church, quickening into new life in these pre-millennial
efforts, will emerge into a spiritual earnestness little
short of a new experience; this earnestness will content
itself with nothing short of the most effective method; the
effective method will be accepted as the best, and the best
method is the one method which shall complete the spiritual
unity of God’s people in an organic unity.”

Agreeing with Dr. Knox in “the nature of the unity of the church,” and that the principle of “life is organic,” and also that the church with this unity and organic life has existed, the conclusion is evident: either he must yield up his premises, or enter into the fold of the Catholic Church as the only claimant to this unity and organization whose title is unimpeachable. May that day “of earnest faith and fellowship” of which he speaks be hastened, when will be apprehended and accepted “that church polity” “defined in the New Testament,”[156] and which “completes the spiritual unity of God’s people in an organic unity!” “May the generation now coming upon the stage … not pass away until these things are fulfilled!”

[153] “The Organic Unity of the Church. By Wm. E. Knox,
D.D., Elmira, N. Y.” _The Presbyterian Quarterly and
Princeton Review_, Oct., 18;6.

[154] St. John xvii.

[155] Dr. Jenischuber, _Gottesverehrung und Kirche_, § 210.

[156] To those of our readers who are desirous of seeing the
argument drawn from the New Testament on this point, and at
the same time the whole question as between the Catholic
Church and the Presbyterians or evangelicals fully treated
and placed in a clear light and in a masterly manner on the
basis of the Holy Scriptures, we recommend the volume
entitled _The King’s Highway_, by the Rev. Augustine F.
Hewit. The Catholic Publication House, New York.

MONSIEUR GOMBARD’S MISTAKE.

CONCLUDED.

About a month after this memorable expedition of M. Gombard’s the town of Loisel was in a state of extraordinary commotion; the elections were going on, which meant that all men had gone mad, that the seven devils were let loose, and that no man could be sure of sleeping in his own bed from one night to another. The decree had gone forth that General Blagueur was the government candidate, which signified that every man was to vote for him, and that every man who didn’t was a dead man――every man, that is, who had anything to lose or anything to hope for from the powers that were. No one knew who this General Blagueur was, or where he came from, or anything about him, except that he was the right man whom it was their business to put into the right place. This was all it concerned them to know or to care as dutiful subjects of Napoleon III. But though there were many such at Loisel, there were many of another sort, who set their backs stiffly against the right man, and were perversely bent on having a wrong man of their own. It does not matter to our story whether this rebellious outburst was justifiable or successful. It may be mentioned, however, for the comfort of the many who are born sympathizers with rebels in every class and country, that the rebellion of Loisel did succeed, and that General Blagueur was ignominiously beaten. But what a price Loisel paid for this wicked victory! A detachment of troops was at once sent down to prey upon its vitals and hold a cocked pistol at its head. The state subsidy promised to the local municipality for rebuilding the tumble-down hospital was refused; the concession for a railway to connect it with the main line, after having been distinctly promised to an enterprising company, was withdrawn; the prefect was “promoted” to a post in a dismal, out-of-the-way town in an eastern department. It was said at one moment that the mayor was going to be dismissed, or in some way visited by the imperial displeasure. But this was one of those unreasoning panics that are common to every period of social terror; men lose their heads, and see monstrous and impossible events impending. The government, powerful as it was, never dreamed of laying a finger on M. Gombard.

The worthy mayor forbore, with his usual prudence, from taking any prominent part in the war that was raging at Loisel, and ostensibly left the prefect all the honors and perils of leadership; but it was perfectly well known, as he admitted to friends in confidence, that if M. le Préfet reigned, M. le Maire governed; and M. le Maire’s power arose in great measure from the consummate tact with which he managed to hide this fact from everybody, above all from M. le Préfet. Now, it happened that, just when the excitement of the contest was at its greatest, when the wildest stories were afloat about the sinister machinations of the government, the base and cruel means it employed to compass its ends――setting brother against brother, and wife against husband, carrying bribery and discord and all manner of corruption into the very marrow of the bones of Loisel――it happened that, when things were in this state, a young man arrived at the principal inn of the place. He did nothing to provoke the anger or suspicions of the population: he was silent, unobtrusive, speaking to no one at the _table-d’hôte_ where he took his meals; but before he had been two days at Loisel the entire town was infuriated against him. He had been seen standing before a dismantled old round tower that guarded the entrance to the town, and once had boasted of battlements and a cannon; this report had gone abroad the first day of his arrival, and the next morning it was positively stated that he had been seen by an applewoman and a milkman walking _round_ the tower, and scrambling upon a broken wall close by to get a view _into_ it. It was at an early hour, before anybody was likely to be abroad. Such facts, resting on such clear and forcible evidence, admitted only of one interpretation――the stranger was a paid miscreant sent down to examine the tower with a view to fortifying it as of yore, and so terrifying the refractory towns-people into surrendering their independence to the government. A council was called by the outraged citizens, and in ten minutes the fate of the engineer was decided. A rush was made on the inn where he lodged; he was seized, dragged forth amidst the yells of the enraged mob, and would have rendered up his mercenary soul to judgment there and then, if the prefect had not chanced to ride up at the moment to the scene of popular justice.

“What is this? Call out the soldiers! I will have every man of you shot, if you don’t release your prisoner!” he cried, charging boldly into the fray.

“He’s a spy, a traitor! We won’t have him here! He wants to murder us; to butcher our wives and children,” etc. Fifty people shouted out these and similar cries together; but they had ceased maltreating the unfortunate stranger, and were now only clutching him and threatening him with clenched fists.

“If he is guilty of any misdemeanor or crime, or intent to commit crime, he shall be made to answer for it; but it is the business of the law to see justice done, not yours. Let go your prisoner!” said the prefect in a tone of high command.

Courage and the prestige of lawful authority seldom fail to impress and subdue an excited mass of men. The mob fell back, and two _gendarmes_, at a sign from the prefect, stepped forward; the crowd made way for them. “That man is under arrest. Conduct him to the _mairie_ and lock him up,” said the prefect.

The _gendarmes_ marched off the rescued man, a crowd trooping on with them, hooting and yelling with an energy that sounded far from reassuring, though it was so in reality, being a kind of safety-valve to the excited mob. It was a great relief, nevertheless, to the object of this manifestation to find himself locked up and safe out of its reach. He was not a coward, but the bravest may be permitted to shrink from such inglorious danger as this from which he had just escaped.

He had not been many hours in captivity when a sound of steps and voices approaching the door announced that some one was about to appear――probably the magistrate. The key turned in the lock, and M. Gombard entered, accompanied by two other persons: one was a clerk who was to take down in writing the interrogatory of the mayor and the prisoner’s replies; the other was a witness who was to sign it. The moment M. Gombard beheld the prisoner his countenance changed; he felt it did, though no one present noticed it. In the hatless, muddy, battered-looking man who rose painfully to salute him the mayor recognized the lover of Mlle. Bobert. Was he still only her lover? In all probability he was her husband by this time. When M. Gombard had mastered his surprise and recovered from the shock of the discovery, he proceeded to examine the prisoner. The latter made no attempt at self-defence; he admitted, with a frankness which the reporter set down as “cynical,” that he had visited the round tower on the two occasions alleged; that he would gladly do so again, if the citizens of Loisel gave him the opportunity. He had a natural love for old monuments of every description, and was professionally interested in them――especially ancient fortifications and fortresses of every kind; this old tower was a curious specimen of the fifteenth-century style, he was anxious to take a sketch of it, and so on, with more in the same tone. The clerk wrote on with great gusto, interlarding the prisoner’s remarks with commentaries intended to complete them, and explain more fully the depth of malice every word revealed: “The accused looked boldly at M. le Maire”; “the accused here smiled with a fiendish expression”; “the accused assumed here a tone of insolent defiance”; “the countenance of the accused wore an air of cool contempt,” and so on. Meantime, the mayor was wondering at the calm, dignified manner of the prisoner, and admiring his well-bred tone and perfect self-possession; he was evidently no common kind of person, this lover, or husband, of Mlle. Bobert. At the close of the interrogatory, when the clerk had wiped his pen and was folding up his document, the mayor, with a vaguely apologetical remark, inquired whether the prisoner was a married man. The answer came with the same quiet distinctness as the preceding ones: “No, monsieur, I am not.” He bowed to M. Gombard, and M. Gombard bowed to him. The interview was at an end. “The case looks bad,” observed the reporting clerk, as the door closed behind them, M. Gombard himself locking it, and pocketing the key unnoticed by the others, who hurried on, loudly discussing the matter in hand.

“Do you not think it looks badly, M. le Maire?” inquired the reporter.

“Very badly. We shall be the laughing-stock of the whole country, if the prisoner is brought to trial; we shall pass for a community of cowardly idiots. We must do our utmost to prevent the affair getting into the local paper, at any rate. You are a friend of the editor’s; have you influence enough with him, think you, to make him sacrifice his interest for once from a patriotic motive? It would be a fine example, and you will have done the town a service which I shall take care they hear of in due time.”

The reporter held his head high and looked important. “I was thinking of this very thing, M. la Maire, while I was taking down the prisoner’s answers,” he said. “I did my best to swell the silly business into something like a charge, feeling, as you say, that we should be disgraced if the case were trumpeted over the country as it really stands; but the best way to hinder the mischief will be to keep it out of the paper. I think I can promise you that this shall be done.”

“Then my mind is at rest. The honor of Loisel will be saved!” said M. Gombard.

“It shall, it shall, M. le Maire!” said his companion. He was excited and big with a sense of patriotic responsibility.

The next day was the grand crisis in the electioneering fever――the opening of the ballot-box. All Loisel was abroad and on tiptoe with expectation; there was no buying or selling that day. No wonder the unlucky inmate of the lock-up was forgotten. M. Gombard, however, had not forgotten him.

Late on the previous night, when the town had gone to bed and the streets were silent, nobody being abroad but the night watch and a few stragglers whose business and state of life made them avoid public notice and daylight, M. Gombard might have been seen stealing out by the back door to his own stable, and thence to the corner of a neighboring street, where he fastened his horse to a lamp-post, and stole back to the _mairie_ with the quick, furtive air of a thief. He stepped softly down the stone passage that led to the lock-up room, laid his dark-lantern on the floor outside, and then turned the key slowly and with as little noise as possible. The dead silence that reigned in the place made the slight grating of the key sound like a shriek. When the mayor entered the room, the prisoner was walking up and down, trying to keep his blood in circulation; for the cold was intense, and he was famished with hunger. “I have come to release you,” M. Gombard said. “There is no time to lose. I have left a horse ready saddled at the corner of the street that leads straight to the ruined tower; you will mount him and ride for your life.”

The prisoner could hardly believe his ears.

“What does this mean?” he said. “You are a perfect stranger to me, and whoever you are, you must run a great risk in rendering me this service. May I ask why you take this interest in me?”

“I am glad to pay back a service that one whom … that was rendered to me not long since when passing through Cabicol. I will not say more; but you will learn all from the person in question most likely some day. Meantime, have no hesitation in accepting this service at my hands. It is a debt of gratitude that I am happy to be able to pay. Come, every minute is precious.”

The prisoner was not inclined to shut the door on his deliverer; whatever his motive might be, mysterious or romantic, it was a merciful chance for him. The two men left the house, stepping softly, stealthily like a couple of thieves. When they reached the entrance of a street, M. Gombard stopped, and pointed silently to where the gaslight fell upon the horse, giving him the appearance of a phantom beast amidst the surrounding gloom. The traveller held out his hand, and grasped the mayor’s in a long, strong pressure. M. Gombard returned it, and noticed now that his companion was bareheaded.

“You forgot your hat!” he said in a low voice.

“I lost it in the fray this morning.”

“Then the town of Loisel owes you another. Take this; it will serve you on the road as well as a new one.”

M. Gombard pulled off his hat and handed it to the fugitive, turned brusquely from him, and hurried home.

No one remembered the stranger who had provoked the popular fury, until two days after his arrest, when the agitation of the electioneering crisis had subsided, and the authorities had leisure to attend to ordinary business. Then it was discovered that the bird had flown, no one knew when, no one knew how. There was great consternation amongst the subordinate officials at the _mairie_ whose duty it was to have looked after him; but each declared he was not responsible, that the prisoner had not been given into his charge, that the prisoner was only put there temporarily, and ought to have been conveyed at once to the jail, etc. This did not prevent them shaking in their shoes in mortal dread of being turned out of their places. The reporter was one of the first to hear of the escape. He flew at once with the intelligence to M. Gombard. M. Gombard looked him straight in the face and burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter; he shook, he held his sides, he laughed till he cried again. The reporter did not at first know what to make of it; but at last the contagion of M. le Maire’s mirth was irresistible. He began to laugh also, and then M. Gombard roared, and the two kept it up until they nearly died of it. At last M. Gombard, who was the first to recover himself, took out his red cotton handkerchief and wiped his eyes, and blew his nose, and, after sundry gasps and subsiding chuckles, said: “It is the cleverest joke I ever saw performed in _my_ life, and you are the cleverest rogue I ever met with! It was bad enough to play it off unknown to me, to keep the fun of the thing to yourself; but then to walk in here with such cool impudence, and never move a muscle of your face while you announced it as the latest intelligence! Ha! ha! ha!” And off he went again, falling back in his chair, and laughing till the tears rolled down his cheeks.

The reporter was in a terrible state. He had not the faintest notion what the fun was about, and he had really joined in it till he could laugh no more. One thing was clear: somebody had done something which M. le Maire thought extremely clever and was highly diverted at, and that he――the reporter――had the credit of.

“Tell me, how did you do it?” said M. Gombard, again recovering himself and mopping his face, that was now as red as the handkerchief.

“Really, M. le Maire, I――I don’t quite understand,” said the reporter, smiling and trying to look at once confused and knowing.

“Come, come, no more of this! Tell it out like a good fellow; let me have the fag-end of the fun at any rate. How did you manage to give them all the slip?”

“Positively, monsieur, there is some mistake. I don’t see――I don’t understand――” stammered out the reporter.

M. Gombard gave a tremendous gasp, as if the laughter were still in him and it required a huge effort to keep it down.

“Well, well,” he said, “I won’t press you, but I think you _might_ have trusted me; we are old friends now. However, keep your secret and accept my best compliments. You missed your vocation, though; you ought to have been a diplomatist. I see no reason after this――after this”――here he began to shake again and brought out the cotton handkerchief――“why you should not be minister some day. _Vous irez loin, mon cher――vous irez loin!_”

There was a knock at the door. The two men stood up.

“M. le Maire, I am to understand that you are rather glad than otherwise of this――this mysterious disappearance?” said the reporter, with some hesitation.

“Glad! You deserve the Cross for it!” exclaimed the mayor. “It is the greatest service you could have rendered to the town. Some day or other they shall hear of it.”

“I really must disabuse you of a false impression,” began the reporter. “Anxious as I was to be of use, my share in this matter――”

“Tut, tut!” said M. Gombard, “none of this nonsense with me, my dear fellow. Keep your own counsel――quite right; but don’t be such an idiot as to deny your services to those who can reward them. Mark my words: _Vous irez loin!_” He tugged gently at the reporter’s ear, and, shaking hands with him, sent him away happy and elated, but utterly mystified.

The affair made some noise; a _procès verbal_ was drawn up, there was an interrogatory of the clerks, and before a week the escape of the spy was forgotten.

Just before Easter――that is, three months after this little electioneering incident――M. Gombard had occasion to go to Cabicol again. This time, however, he was not alone; he was accompanied by M. le Préfet, the new one, who was making a _tournée_ in his kingdom, and took the mayor with him by way of a moral support. He was a timid man; he knew that his appointment was unpopular, and that M. Gombard’s influence might help to reconcile people to it.

They alighted at the _Jacques Bonhomme_ to change horses and take some refreshment before officially inspecting the town of Cabicol. M. Gombard was anxious to get some news of Mlle. Bobert, when the marriage had taken place, and how it was supposed to prosper so far; but there was no opportunity of saying a word to the landlord, for the prefect was there, and M. Gombard had no plausible excuse for leaving him. He could not help remarking the strange expression of the landlord’s countenance on first beholding him; the scared, incredulous glance he cast upon him, and the mysterious manner in which, on assisting him from the chaise, he pressed his arm and whispered: “I congratulate you, monsieur; I congratulate you.”

What could the fellow mean by this extraordinary behavior! But the mayor remembered how oddly he had behaved on the occasion of his former visit, and set him down as an original, a harmless monomaniac of some sort.

Just as they were starting, and the prefect was receiving the compliments of M. le Curé at the door of the _Jacques Bonhomme_, M. Gombard seized the opportunity of a word with the landlord. Pointing his cane towards the old house opposite, he observed in a careless manner:

“Your pretty heiress is married by this, of course? What is her name now?”

“Married! Alas! no,” replied the landlord mournfully. “Monsieur has not, then, heard?”

“Good heavens! she is not dead?” cried M. Gombard, dropping his feigned indifference in an instant.

“She is blind, monsieur――stone blind! It was a terrible accident; she was thrown from a carriage, and the shock and injuries she sustained destroyed her sight. They say she may recover it after a while; but I doubt it, monsieur, I doubt it.”

“And her _fiancé_――has he given up――”

The mayor was here cut short by the prefect, who called out from the post-chaise, where he had already seated himself.

“Come, M. Gombard, we had better be starting.”

M. Gombard left Cabicol with a sad heart. He looked wistfully up at the latticed window under the grand old escutcheon where he had last caught a glimpse of the beautiful young creature, now so heavily stricken. It made his heart ache to think of her in that lonely house, her bright eyes sightless, dwelling in perpetual night. Why had not his rival insisted on marrying her in spite, nay, because, of this catastrophe? He could fancy how her brave and generous nature would refuse to accept what she considered a sacrifice; but what sort of a love was his that could not overcome such reluctance? Poor child! How gladly _he_ would have devoted himself to soothing and cheering her darkened life! But perhaps he was wronging his rival; it might be that she had merely postponed their marriage, that they both believed in her ultimate recovery, and that she preferred waiting, until it had taken place, until her brown eyes had been restored, until the spirit which once animated them should awake and vivify them as of old.