Chapter XXXIX: Part III (4)

"Heaven preserve me," said the marquis immediately, "from blaming their susceptibility; unfortunately, the secret means which Eve has so long employed scarcely suffice; it is necessary to do more."

"Gaston will aid us, I imagine," replied the governess in a low voice; "but hush! my pupil will not pardon me if I betray her secrets."

Eve returned from the piano; the marquis and the governess exchanged a glance of prudent intelligence.

"Off with us, young lady, to the ball, to the ball, the carriage is waiting!" said the old gentleman gaily, kissing the young girl's forehead.

Madame du Castellet dragged off Eve; the marquis, left alone, thought tenderly of his dear grandchild, the bouquet of jasmine, the unfortunate Mirefont family, of all that Eve had said or done with her habitual grace, while the military march she had played still resounded in his heart.

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"The noble child!" he murmured; "they counselled me to be severe; how could I be? I have been indulgent; I have repressed nothing, spoiled nothing; her generous nature has freely developed itself; she has made herself blessed even by those who do not know her. Happy, yes, happy, will he be who shall be her husband."

The few words exchanged between the marquis and Eve's governess have shown us that for some time, at least, the secret of one of the young girl's good actions had been revealed to her grandfather. The old gentleman would have thought little enough of the coiffures chosen by Eve, or of her taste for such or such a flower; but Madame du Castellet had been much surprised one day by her pupil's predilection for bouquets and wreaths of jasmine. Questions followed each other; Eve evaded them for a long time; the governess insisted. She blamed the girl's extravagance, which did not cease to expend considerable sums for the same flowers.

"I wish to know if this caprice has anything reasonable in it?" she said finally, with firmness, even at the risk of displeasing the young heiress.

Eve blushed; then in a suppliant tone--

"Be at least discreet," she said. "It is the matter of an honorable family suddenly fallen into extreme poverty, whose only resource is the sale of jasmine. People do not buy it, so it is that I buy so much."

"But still," said Madame du Castellet, "without doubt you know the name of the family."

"No, cousin. Fearing to wound worthy people, I have not asked it. Only my artificial-flower seller told me that this jasmine was the work of the only child of a poor knight of St. Louis, completely ruined by the last revolution, and struck with incurable infirmities. His wife can only take care of him and wait on him. I was much affected by the story, and above all by the courage shown by this young girl, who obtained a living for her father and mother by her work. I promised often to buy jasmine on condition that my name should never be mentioned; do not be surprised, cousin, that I keep my promise."

Madame du Castellet embraced Eve with fervor. But soon going to the source, she knew that the family suffering from so many misfortunes was that of the Mirefonts. The marquis was instructed. Various offers of assistance were made, but proudly refused.

Eve continued to adorn herself with jasmine and to make liberal presents of it to all her friends, which Clarisse Dufresnois pleasantly laughed at.

"Do you love jasmine?" she said, smiling. "Apply to Eve. For a lottery, a vase or a crown of jasmine; for a present, jasmine; for a head-dress, jasmine. Madeline, who has penetrated into the delicious boudoir of Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam, saw only jasmine on every side. Has she not given some to you also?"

"Eve has given me a charming bunch," said Leonore. "It was a master-piece of its kind; a flower was never more perfectly imitated." Nobody listened to Leonore.

"Jasmine is, then, Eve's adoration?" said Albertine.

"Perhaps," suggested Suzanne, "it is the emblem of a deep sentiment, some memory."

"In any case, it is a passion, a mania."

"I do not know what to imagine," said Leonore; "but I would rather believe it a work of charity."

"You hear Leonore, young ladies," cried Clarisse; "would it still be wicked to find this abuse of jasmine monotonous?"

Louise de Mirefont had started several times, for she was the unknown artist whose filial devotion created the bouquets and wreaths which Eve had not ceased to buy.

For the second time in her life Louise penetrated into the drawing-room of the Countess de Peyrolles, where she had been presented the {372} preceding winter by Mlle. de Rouvray, an old friend of her mother, and companion to the Countess. At the reiterated requests of Mlle. de Rouvray, Louise's parents consented that their daughter should go among the society in which her birth and education called her to live, had not her entire want of fortune kept her away.

At the time of that single party, which occupied a large place in the young girl's memory, she had remarked one of her masterpieces over the brow of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam. She had blushed, not without an innocent joy.

How different was her feeling now! Every mocking shaft of Clarisse wounded her, the smiles of the other girls put her to torture; and when Leonore, in her indulgent observations, which had consoled her a little, innocently pronounced the word charity, she grew pale and felt humbled. Pride brought to her eyes two tears, which vexation dried on her eyelashes.

"Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam has done me an act of charity," she thought with a sort of wrath. "We have a disguised alms, and M. Gaston du Castellet has failed in all his promises."

Such were, we are obliged to avow it, Louise de Mirefont's first thoughts; pride rendered her unjust and ungrateful. Alas! as we have been told many times, first thoughts in our weak nature are not always the best. An angry suspicion, moreover, augmented the girl's indignation.

The nephew of Eve's governess, Gaston du Castellet, introduced into the family of Mirefont by Mlle. de Rouvray, had he, in an excess of zeal, revealed the secret of a distress courageously concealed for more than four years? Gaston was, himself, in a position of fortune more than mediocre, he lived honorably, but in a very modest office. He had been received with a noble simplicity; his tact, his delicacy, rendered him worthy of such a reception, and he had also conquered the good graces of M. and Mme, de Mirefont.

Louise, during her long is hours of work, often surprised herself thinking of the amiable qualities, the distinction, the benevolence, of Gaston du Castellet. While with a light hand she cut out or adjusted the green leaves or white flowers on their stem, she could not forbid herself to dream of the prudent attentions which Gaston showed her. Together with her fairy fingers, her imagination, or rather her heart, built a frail edifice of green leaves, hope, and white flowers, like the innocence of her love. A word, a glance, a smile of Gaston's, some mark of solicitude for her venerable parents, a generous word pronounced with feeling, received with eagerness, plunged her in long and sweet reveries. Her floral task was generally finished before her dream.

"He wished to associate his efforts with mine to comfort my parents' old age! With what eagerness he assisted my mother!" thought Louise, trembling with emotion. "'Why can I not always replace you thus?' said he. 'My presence will permit you to continue your pious work.' I succeeded in finishing that evening the crown of jasmine for which my employer waited so impatiently. And on Sunday, what could be greater than Gaston's sincere goodness toward my father while my mother and I had gone to pray for him? When we returned our prayers seemed to have been heard: he suffered less, and attributed the amelioration of his state to Gaston's cares, cordial gaiety, and conversation. Heavens! what were they talking of in our absence?"

And Louise's mind lost itself in sweet and charming suppositions. Add to this, that a year before Gaston had met Louise at a ball at Madame de Peyrolles'; he had noticed her there; and a few days afterward was presented to her parents by their old friend Mlle. de Rouvray. Gaston was the only young man admitted to their intimacy. Six months had not rolled away before he occupied a room in the same house with Louise.

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Louise believed herself loved, and did not fear to speak without disguise of the extreme trouble of her family. The young man had already ventured various offers of assistance, he returned to the charge; H. and Mme. de Mirefont constantly with a grateful dignity refused them. Louise, whose delicious work was selling better and better, positively forbade him to attempt any officious proceeding. Gaston promised to make none, and very sincerely kept his word.

"But Gaston was the nephew of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam's governess. As Clarisse Dufresnois said, Eve bought jasmine with devotion; according to Leonore, it was without doubt from charity she did so. Well, then I had Gaston broken his promise? his direct offers being refused, had he employed indirect means? might he not be, finally, Eve de La Tour-d'Adam's agent, her associate, her agent in good works?"

Louise loved Gaston. And you will pardon her injustice, her ingratitude, her jealousy; for her second thought was a burst of repentance; she reproached herself for her pride, she was ashamed of herself for doubting Gaston, and, more than all, for being ungrateful to her benefactress.

Eve entered; she entered crowned with jasmine.

A tear--but this was a tear of gratitude--bathed Louise's eyelashes, and slowly descended down her burning cheeks. Her heart was already refreshed. She no longer heard Clarisse's whispers, she did not see the mocking smiles of Valerie, Albertine, and their companions; she did not even perceive that several young men were coming toward her, and asking her hand for a contra-dance; Eve had entered--she saw only Eve.

"Oh! she is an angel! she murmured rapturously.

"You say truly, Miss Louise, she is an angel!" replied Gaston, taking her hand.

Louise raised her head, dried her eyes, and permitted herself to be carried off by her attentive cavalier, who had observed all, heard all, and understood all, from the moment she had taken her place in the circle of girls.

Eve, conducted by her partner, passed near them, and turning:

"Gaston," she said in a tone of affectionate familiarity, "will you be our _vis-â-vis?_"

The young girls found themselves in each other's presence, their looks met; Louise's ardent gratitude suddenly aroused Eva de La Tour-d'Adam's sympathy.

"What a charming young girl! Do you know her, sir?"

"No, Miss Eve," answered Eve's partner, and his reply was not finished without the compliment called forth by a natural term of comparison, but the triumphant gentleman expended his eloquence for nothing.

"Does she know me?" said Louise to Gaston; "how she looks at me!"

"Eve does not know who you are; she will doubtless ask me your name; well, in telling it, I shall not relate any of your family secrets."

"Oh! so much the better!" exclaimed Louise.

"Just now you were blushing and turning pale, I heard, I noticed--"

Louise lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

"You were wrong," continued Gaston. "The only indiscretion committed has been by your employer, the flower-merchant. Eve is interested in you, she loves you without knowing your name. Her sincere solicitude goes back already for four years; it is only one, Louise, since I had the happiness of first seeing you. It was here. The next day Mlle, de Rouvray received a visit from me, and a few days afterward your parents kindly admitted me to their house."

An expression of happiness lighted Louise's delicate features.

"Then, just now," she said after a moment's interruption, "you divined my thoughts?"

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"I heard Miss Clarisse Dufresnois. I suffered as you suffered. I hastened to justify myself to you."

"Oh, Gaston, how much better is your beautiful cousin than I!"

They now passed in the contra-dance; Eve's hand was not slow in taking Louise's; the two girls shivered at once.

Eve must have seemed singularly absent to her partner; she did not cease to watch Louise and Gaston, she was troubled, and was conscious of a strange uneasiness.

"Why this extreme emotion?" she asked herself; "oh! how my heart beats! I tremble, I suffer, my eyes are growing dim! What is the matter with me? Who is this young girl, and what is Gaston saying to her? They pronounced my name, I believe!"

Gaston was talking enthusiastically to Louise.

"Eve is not of this earth!" he said. "She is a celestial being whom I feel myself disposed to invoke on my knees; the respect with which she inspires me prevents me from seeing even her beauty. I venerate her, but you, Louise, you I love!"

Louise started.

"Oh! do not be vexed by this avowal; I am permitted to make it. During your absence, on Sunday, M. de Mirefont yielded to my request. My happiness, Louise, depends on you alone."

The young girl did not succeed in dissembling her joy, her smiles crowned Gaston's wishes; he continued in a softened voice:

"Oh! it was not without trouble that I triumphed, dear Louise. For a long time your father rejected me on account of his deplorable position; he would not consent, he said, that I should bind my future to the sad destinies of his family. I spoke of my love, he replied by reciting his misfortunes. Permit, I said to him, a son to diminish by his zeal your Louise's task. Would you repulse me if fortune favored you? or do you find me unworthy to share your lot? Her filial virtues even more than her charms have captivated me. If she were destined to opulence like Mlle, de La Tour-d'Adam, for example, I should be insane to dare to aspire to her hand. But your Louise is the companion necessary for a poor, hard-working man like me. She is courageous and devoted. I came to supplicate you to accept my devotion and my courage. Finally, overcome by my insistance, he held out his hand to me; I bathed it with my tears; then, opening his arms: 'Louise shall pronounce,' he said. With what impatience I waited for you that evening! Your mother by this time should be aware of my application, and to-morrow, if you consent, it shall not be simply as a friend, but as your _fiancé_ that I shall enter under your parent's roof."

"Gaston--my _fiancé_," murmured Louise. "O God! I am too happy."

Eve also was near succumbing under a strange emotion; but by a supreme effort she succeeded in conquering it; but she was so pale she might have been taken for an alabaster statue. She was faint when she seated herself at some distance behind Mme. du Castellet and Mlle. Rouvray, who, retired to one side apart, were talking in a low voice but with animation.

Gaston's aunt and the countesses companion, drawn together by the similarity of their positions, made part of that commendable variety of aristocracy which we are permitted to call the poor of the great world. Resigned, free from envy, devoted, body and soul, to the families in which even their office increased the consideration and the regard which they merited, such persons are always justly respected. Their presence honors the houses which welcome them. They lived in the highest sphere with an admirable abnegation; the firmness of their principles equalled the amiability of their character: they had espoused the interests which exclusively occupied them, and were slaves to their duties.

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Eve, still trembling, continued to watch Gaston and Louise, at the same time that, as if her nervous excitement had given her the faculty of hearing the feeblest sounds, she did not lose a word of the conversation of the two old friends.

"You cannot believe how much this marriage contents me," said Madame du Castellet, "I have always been afraid that my nephew was taken with Eve. Eve is so beautiful, so tender, so generous: one cannot know her without loving her. Gaston already loved her like a brother; they saw each other continually in spite of all my skill. I did well, the old marquis did not even suspect the danger. It would have been imprudent to have hinted the possibility; I have lived on thorns for three or four years. Eve and Gaston have known each other from childhood; a formidable friendliness reigned between them; Eve was full of sisterly attentions; I trembled for my poor nephew."

"It is certain that Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam, with her name and her immense fortune, can only make a grand marriage," said Mlle, de Rouvray. "We can doubly felicitate ourselves on the success of our effort. The old Chevalier de Mirefont was ten years younger this evening, when he announced to me the regular request made by Gaston."

"It is scarcely any time since I said to the marquis how much I relied on my nephew, but I did not know it was so advanced."

"It is a settled thing," said Mlle. de Rouvray, smiling, for Gaston and Louise had been constantly observed by the two old friends.

"My nephew will soon be advanced," said Madame du Castellet, "he will not lack a future, and moreover, he will not refuse the advantages of which our good cousin will assure him by marriage contract. The Mirefont family will soon find themselves in ease."

"Louise is worthy of this good fortune," said Mademoiselle de Rouvray.

"When I shall be permitted to tell Eve that her cousin is to marry her interesting _protégé_, oh! I am sure she will be transported with joy."

Eve, at these words, thoroughly understood. Detaching from her headdress a little branch of flowers, she contemplated it a moment. Then she regarded Louise and Gaston, seated by each other, wrapped in their happiness, oblivious of the world around them.

"How happy they are!" she thought

The ball was very animated, Albertine, Valerie, and Lucienne had abandoned themselves to the gaiety of their age, but Clarisse, who observed with secret envy sometimes Gaston and Louise, sometimes Eve, pensive, refusing ten invitations,--Clarisse cried out all at once:

"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam is ill."

The musicians stopped playing. Gaston rushed to his cousin. Louise was the first to take in hers Eve's ice-cold hands; she could not refrain from pressing them to her lips.

Eve soon opened her eyes, saw Louise on her knees, Gaston at her side, smiled on them with angelic sweetness, and addressing herself to the young girl:

"You do not know me," she said, "but I wish you to be my friend. You will come to see me, will you not?"

The little branch of jasmine which Eve had taken from her own forehead remained in Louise's hands. Madame du Castellet, aided by her nephew, carried away Eve de la Tour-d'Adam.

A few minutes after Louise was conducted home.

Clarisse Dufresnois did not fail to attribute Eve's fainting to the desire of appearing interesting; this was at least the version which she gave to the young ladies Suzanne, Valerie, Lucienne, and Albertine, but the supposition which she expressed to the Vicomte de la Perlière, the object of her seventh matrimonial dream, was less inoffensive.

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"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam," said she, "was taken ill of jealousy and vexation, on remarking her cousin's attention to Mlle, de Rouvray's _protégé_."

She enlarged on this theme with so much wit, that the Vicomte de la Perlière, a man of sense who did not lack heart, forgot at the end of the winter to propose to her. The autumn following he asked and obtained Leonore's hand, which did not prevent Clarisse from being more witty than ever.

II.

Eve passed a frightful night, a prey to the delirium of fever; the doctors, forced to reassure the old marquis and the governess, did not conceal from Gaston that his cousin's case presented very alarming symptoms. Gaston was uneasy, Louise shared his fears, but their betrothal took place notwithstanding; the promise already made by M. de Mirefont was confirmed in the family, but on account of Eve's illness Madame du Castellet's absence was excused.

In the Castle de La Tour-d'Adam reigned a profound sadness.

Eve had recovered her ordinary calm and serenity, but her weakness and pallor were extreme; the old marquis was conducted to her room.

"Eve, my dear child, when I think of all you said to me before going to the ball, I reproach myself bitterly for having forced you to go."

"Do not regret it, grandfather, for I am delighted to have seen the young girl who is going to marry my cousin Gaston. I wish her to be my best friend."

"My child," said the marquis again, "is anything lacking that you wish? Have confidence in me."

"What can I lack? you refuse me nothing."

"Doubtless, and for all," suggested the old man, with a real timidity, "you fear to unveil for me the state of your heart! I hesitate to say what I think, my dear daughter, but if you have a secret inclination--"

Eve shuddered, and lowered her large eyes.

"Know well, at least, that I shall never be an obstacle to your happiness; my Eve would not know how to make an unworthy choice."

The young girl bent her head and remained silent. Mme. du Castellet observed her sadly.

"Eve," said she, "you answer nothing?"

"What can I answer?" murmured the heiress, "I ask myself," she said with feeling. "My good father," she said again, "words are wanting to express to you my gratitude and my tenderness."

"Then from what does she suffer?" the marquis asked himself in despair.

As a flower scorched by the sun, Eve languished; the fever disappeared, but her strength did not return. Her only pleasure was to put on, one after another, the freshest of her jasmine wreaths.

The doctors understood nothing of her illness; the most skilful of all interrogated the governess.

"I fear that this young girl is struck by a moral hurt; love, when it is opposed, sometimes presents analogous symptoms."

"We have been beforehand with your question, doctor; Eve knows that her choice would be approved; she made no response."

"Has she pronounced any name in her delirium?"

"None; she spoke only of the good works which constantly occupied her."

Madame du Castellet had found that Eve knew the whole history of Louise's filial devotion.

"Madame," replied the physician, "I persist in believing that Mlle, de La Tour-d'Adam conceals her secret from you. A false shame, without doubt, restrains her; send for her confessor, and have him, if possible, oblige her to tell you the truth."

When the doctor had gone, Madame du Castellet burst into tears. Eve was given up by science, because they {377} absolutely would have it that her illness had a mysterious origin.

The confessor was called, although the governess hoped nothing from his intervention. An emotion of profound piety was painted on the features of the man of God when he came out of the invalid's chamber, but Eve, calm and with pious recollection, was praying with her eyes raised to heaven. The young girl made no confidence to Mme. du Castellet, only several hours later--

"Cousin," she said, "Mlle. Louise de Mirefont and Gaston are slow in coming to see me."

It was not the first time that Eve had expressed the same desire; the governess ordered the carriage in order to go for Mlle. de Mirefont.

"Louise, generous Louise," murmured Eve, "I would that my soul could be blended with yours!"

Her heart beat violently as she thought of Gaston's happiness; Eve did not account to herself for her poignant emotion, but she prayed that God would permit her to live for her noble grandfather.

"My loss would be too cruel for him," she murmured, weeping.

Then she interrogated herself with a simple severity:

"Would I then be culpable for not speaking of that of which I am myself ignorant?"

Her conscience responded by a firm resolution not to carry trouble to the hearts of all those who cherished her. "My duty, I feel, is to rejoice at the happiness of Gaston and of Louise. Do I deceive myself? My God! enlighten me, guide me!"

Eve was kneeling; the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, assisted by his valet, entered, and in a reproachful tone--

"Why do you fatigue yourself thus?" said he; "Eve, I implore thee, be careful of thy strength, if only out of pity for me."

Eve arose with difficulty.

"Forgive me," she said with a sweet smile, "I will not kneel again until I am cured."

Then she sat by her grandfather's side. The marquis, frightened at her mortal pallor, contemplated her with anguish.

"I saw her father perish in the flower of his age," he thought; "her mother a few months after died in giving her life; she was an orphan from her cradle. All my affections are concentrated in her; she has never given me occasion for the least pain. Alas! I suffer to-day for all the happiness she has given me."

"Do not distress yourself, my father," said Eve, who surprised a tear in the old man's dry eyes; "I have asked of God to let me remain to console the rest of your days; my prayer has been heard, it will be granted. Oh, for pity, do not cry more."

The marquis took her hand and pressed it against his heart.

"My father," said Eve after several moments of silence, "our cousin has gone for Gaston and his _fiancée_; my father, I have a request to make of you."

"Tell it, tell it," said the old man ardently.

Eve bent, and said in a trembling voice:

"They are both of them generous and devoted; both of them have suffered much: make them rich, I implore you, lest your wealth should pass into avaricious hands."

"Oh! my God! you expect, then, to die! Eve, my darling daughter, is this your secret?"

"No! I do not wish to die! no! I wish to live for you!"

"But I am old, very old!" the marquis replied, with hesitation, "and--after me--"

"After you whom shall I love?" said Eve in a melodious voice. "Father, I implore you, make Gaston and Louise's future sure, and you will have crowned all my wishes."

Eve had scarcely finished when Mme. du Castellet entered; Louise and Gaston followed her. The two lovers succeeded in wiping away their tears, but their emotion was {378} redoubled when they saw themselves between the young girl and her grandfather.

"Come to me," said Eve, "come, Louise! Do you not know that I loved you before I knew you? See, all that surrounds me is your work. What would I not give to have made, like you, one of these bouquets of jasmine!

"Mademoiselle," murmured Louise, "I have known you and have loved you only for a few days; but my gratitude and my affection for you are boundless."

"Place them on Gaston: he is dear to me as a brother; and you, Louise, call me henceforth your sister."

She held her one hand, with the other she drew Gaston forward; then, addressing the marquis:

"Father," she said, "see them before you; bless them, I pray you."

The old gentleman, weeping, extended his hands, then with a voice choked with sobs:

"Eve, my beloved child! Eve, thou wishest then to die?"

The young girl blushed slightly, a ray of sunlight which played through the curtains crowned her with a luminous halo; she had risen, her ethereal figure mingled with the white flowers which adorned her room.

Gaston said in a low voice to Louise:

"You see plainly, my friend, that she is not of the earth."

They bent reverently; but Eve extended her arms: Louise found herself pressed against her heart.

The marquis, seeing Eve so radiant, renewed his hope:

"She is saved!" he said to Madame du Castellet. "The presence of these young lovers has done her good. Have them come often, I pray you. But I should leave them together. Adieu, my children, adieu!"

He was carried back to the great hall. However, the governess trembled; she saw at last the fatal truth. The heiress's great blue eyes were fixed on hers; the old lady's trouble increased. Eve put her finger on her lips, and drawing her to one side:

"Why are you still distressed, my good cousin," she said to her; "do you not see how happy I am in their happiness?"

Gaston's aunt retired heart-broken, doubtful of her suppositions, not daring to hope for the young girl's recovery.

Eve was seated between the two lovers:

"I demand a part in your joy, my friends, and I wish that my memory may always live with you."

Then she recounted with simplicity the history of her four last years. The praises which she gave to Louise's filial piety penetrated the hearts of the two betrothed, who wished to prostrate themselves before her, her words had so much purity, sweetness, and unction. Louise reproached herself, as if it were a sacrilege, for the thought of pride which she had felt at the ball. Gaston was under an indefinable impression of tenderness and of gratitude. Eve addressed him with noble and tender encouragement. Eve, with a pious ardor, made wishes for the felicity of their union; finally, when they were retiring she divided between them a branch of jasmine.

"Preserve this," she said, "in memory of me."

The sacrifice was accomplished. When they had gone, Eve sighed, prayed, and felt herself weaker. She had expended in this interview the little strength which remained to her.

A despairing cry soon resounded through the house where the young girl's inexhaustible goodness had won all hearts.

"Mademoiselle is dying! Mademoiselle is going to die!"

The Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, fulfilling his promise, went to add a disposition to his will, in case the heiress should not attain her majority. The pen fell from his hand, the chill of death ran through his veins:

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"Eve! Eve! who will take me to her?"

But Eve entered the room, for she, on her side, had prayed the governess to have her conducted there.

The old man saw on her features the certain mark of death, and death struck him. He murmured for the last time the name of Eve, then fell back, cold, in his arm-chair.

However, Eve lived an entire day after her grandfather.

Her agony was slow and gentle. She asked for jasmine, her couch was covered with white flowers, bathed in her tears whose filial love had made them.

"May Louise be your daughter," said Eve to Madame du Castellet "Louise will replace me with you."

Then, addressing Louise:

"My sister, make your husband happy. Love the poor and pray with them for my parents, my grandfather, and myself. God be praised," she murmured finally, "my father's father has preceded me, I go to join him. Adieu, Gaston! my brother, adieu!"

Her voice failed, her heart ceased to beat, heaven counted one angel more.

Madame du Castellet, Gaston, and Louise passed the night in prayers by the two beds of death. Finally, the same hearse conducted to the same tomb Adam, Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, last of the name, and his grandchild Eve, the last branch of an illustrious stock.

A sword which had never been drawn except in a just and holy cause decorated the aged man's coffin, but that of the child cut down at the threshold of life was covered with the white flowers which she had so piously loved.

To-day the mansion of the Tour-d'Adams is inhabited by M. and Mme. de Mirefont, Mme. du Castellet, her nephew Gaston, and her niece, Louise.

A room hung with crowns and wreaths of artificial jasmine serves as the family oratory.

No one ever penetrates there except with recollection.

The servants call it the saints' chamber.

It is that whence rose toward heaven, as an agreeable perfume to God, the soul of a maiden dying in all the purity of first innocence; dead without knowing there existed a forbidden fruit; dead because she loved with that celestial love which belongs only to the angels in paradise.

------

From The Month.

BURY THE DEAD

"Give me a grave, that I made bury my dead out of my sight."--Genesis xxiii.

Enwrapt in fair white shroud.
With fragrant flowers strewn.
With loving tears and holy prayers,
And wailing loud,
Shut out the light!
Bury the Dead, bury the Dead,
Out of my sight!
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Corruption's touch will wrong
The sacred Dead too soon;
Then wreath the brow, the eyelids kiss;
Delay not long,
Behold the blight!
Bury the Dead, bury the Dead,
Out of our sight!

But there are other Dead
That will not buried be,
That walk about in glaring day
With noiseless tread.
And stalk at night;
Unburied Dead, unburied Dead,
Ever in sight.

Dear friendships snapt in twain.
Sweet confidence betrayed,
Old hopes forsworn, old loves worn out,
Vows pledged in vain.
There is no flight,
Ye living, unrelenting Dead,
Out of your sight.

Oh! for a grave where I
Might hide my Dead away!
That sacred bond, that holy trust,
How could it die?
Out of my sight!
O mocking Dead, unburied Dead,
Out of my sight!

O ever-living Dead,
Who cannot buried be;
In our heart's core your name is writ.
What though it bled?
The wound was slight
To eyes that loved no more, in death's
Remorseless night

O still belovèd Dead,
No grave is found for you;
No friends weep with us o'er your bier.
No prayers are said;
For out of sight
We wail our Dead, our secret Dead,
Alone at night.

Give me a grave so deep
That they may rest with me;
For they shall lie with my dead heart
In healing sleep;
Till out of night
We shall all pass, O risen Dead,
Into God's sight!

------

{381}

[ORIGINAL.]

RELIGION IN NEW YORK.

The city of New York is supposed to contain about one million of inhabitants. Of these, from 300,000 to 400,000 are Catholics, probably 60,000 Jews, and from 550,000 to 650,000 Protestants, or Nothingarians.

We will first speak of the provision made for the religions instruction of the non-Catholic majority of our population.

There are 280 churches of all descriptions, excluding the Catholic churches. Of these, there are:

Episcopalian 61
Presbyterian 56
Methodist 48
Baptist 30
Jewish 25
Dutch Reformed 20
Lutheran 9
Congregational 4
Universalist 4
Unitarian 3
Friends 3
Miscellaneous 17
[Footnote 55]

[Footnote 55: These figures are taken from the last Directory. The
"Walk about New York" gives the number at 318.]

The number of communicants in Protestant churches is estimated as 64,800. If the churches were all of ample size and equally distributed through the city, they would suffice tolerably well for the accommodation of the people, should they be generally disposed to attend public worship. A large proportion of them, however, are small, and only 80 churches are situated below First street. The lower and more populous portion of the city is therefore very destitute of church accommodation, while the great majority of the churches, especially the largest and finest, are in the upper part of the town, among the residences of the more well-to-do classes of the community. The Protestant population as a whole is, therefore, very poorly provided with church accommodation.

A pamphlet, entitled "Startling Facts: a Tract for the Times, by Philopsukon: Brinkerhoff, 48 Fulton street, 1864," gives a considerable amount of information on this point. The estimates of this gentleman are based on a supposed population of 950,000. For the section of the city below Canal and Grand streets, including the first seven wards, there are, according to him, 12 churches and 8 mission chapels, capable of accommodating about 15,000 persons. The population of this district is 185,000. Twenty Protestant congregations have within the last twenty-five years abandoned their churches in this district, and removed to new ones up town. One of the old churches (St. George's) is retained as a mission chapel, and another, a very fine one, the Rutgers street Presbyterian church, has been converted into a Catholic church. These removals have reduced the church accommodation from 18,000 to 20,000 sittings, while the population has meanwhile doubled.

For the section between Canal and Fourteenth streets, including also seven wards, there are 88 churches for a population of 262,000. Fourteen churches have been abandoned within ten years. Of these 34 abandoned churches, 3 have been turned into livery stables, and the remainder into public offices or stores and factories.

The upper section, extending to Sixty-first street, includes eight wards, with a population of 418,000, and has 82 churches.

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This gentlemen has counted only what he calls "Evangelical" churches, in which he estimates the total sittings throughout the whole city at 126,600, but the actual attendance at only 84,400. A "Condensed Statement" which we have in our bands, estimates the total Protestant church accommodation at 200,000, and the number of communicants at 64,800. If we allow 150,000 for the ordinary or occasional attendants at Protestant worship, and 25,000 for the Jewish synagogues, we shall have then from 375,000 to 475,000 of the non-Catholic population who attend no place of religious worship or instruction at all. [Footnote 56] The author of the "Startling Facts," who summarily hands over all except the attendants at "Evangelical" churches to the devil, takes a very gloomy view of the state of things, and considers that "865,600 out of the 950,000 pass to the judgment-seat of Christ WITHOUT THE MEANS OF GRACE;" to be condemned, we are left to infer, because they did not enjoy those means; while those who did enjoy them and failed to provide for the wants of the remainder are to be rewarded.

[Footnote 56: "The Great Metropolis, a Condensed Statement," gives
the Protestant church accommodation at 200,000. "Walks about New
York, by the Secretary of the City Mission," estimates the number of
attendants at "Evangelical churches" at 324,000. Allowing 10,000
more for other Protestant congregations, and 25,000 for the Jewish
synagogues, this leaves 240,000 as the minimum number of the
non-Catholic population who attend no place of public worship. It
appears to us that it is a large calculation to allow 1,000
attendants to each church, which would give the total of 280,000
church-goers, leaving a remainder of 320,000. All the non-Catholic
churches together are capable of accommodating less than 225,000
persons at one time, leaving 375,000 who have not sufficient
church-room to accommodate them, if all were disposed to attend
regularly. Nevertheless, it does not appear that the majority of the
Protestant churches are over-crowded. The mass of the
non-church-goers are quite apathetic on the subject. They do not
wish to have churches, and probably would not frequent them if they
were built for them free of expense.]

It must be allowed, however, that he berates them handsomely for their neglect of duty. He says:

"Nor is it intended in these few pages to canvass the question as to
the necessity or the expediency, etc., of what is called the
_up-town removal_ of so many of the churches (in all 36), first from
the lower, and now from the central section of the city. All that
can be done is to note the following facts, and leave others to draw
their own inference as to their practical effects.

"1. In every instance of such church removal, it has originated in
_the change of residence of a few of the wealthier families_ of said
church: this, of course, was followed by a diminution of the means
of support to the said church. Hence the plea of _necessity_ for its
removal; and, making no provision to retain the old church for
_missionary_ purposes, the effect has been to scatter by far the
larger portion both of the church members and of the congregation to
the four winds. For,

"2. The old church property having been sold, the new location has
been selected with a sole view to the accommodation of these
families of wealth, who left it for an up-town palatial residence,
and a costly church edifice has been erected (often largely beyond
their means) compatible with their tastes. The _result_ of this has
been,

3. To place the privileges of the church beyond the reach of the
_mediocre_ and _lower_ classes. And this has led to an _ignoring_ of
that divinely appointed law of God, "_the rich and the poor meet
together, the Lord being the maker of them all_" (Prov. xxiii. 12).
Hence the origin of _caste_ in the churches. _Money_ has been
erected into _the standard of personal respectability_, by which
every man is measured; and hence a courting of the favor of the
rich, and a despising of the poor.

"Thus the way is prepared _to account for the paucity_ of attendance
at many of these larger and wealthier churches. A consciousness of
_self-respect_ operates largely to deter those who might otherwise
repair to them. They shrink from an encounter, whether right or
wrong, from that _invidiousness_ to which the above principle of the
measurement of personal respectability subjects them; and taking
human nature as it is, it cannot be otherwise. Hence, finding
themselves thus "cut off" from the privileges of the churches, and
that by the act of the churches themselves, {383} they relapse into
a state of absolute "_neglect of the great salvation_." [Footnote 57]

[Footnote 57: How this is possible in the case of those who have received the gift of infallible perseverance, it is difficult to see, unless the "elect" are chiefly found among the _élite_ of society.]

"And when there is taken into the account _the neglect_ of these
wealthier churches to make provision for the populations in those
sections of the city formerly occupied by them, there is furnished
_an explanation of the vast disparity_ between the number of
churches compared with the immense population as a whole, which
remain unprovided for.

"True, in order to escape the imputation of neglecting _'the poor of
this world'_ altogether, some of the wealthier churches have
established _missionary Sabbath schools outside_ of their own
congregations. The principal denominations--the Episcopalians,
Methodists, Baptists, Reformed Dutch Church, and Presbyterians, are
also doing something in the way of supporting _missionary chapels
for the poor_; but none of them are making provisions for them in a
manner or to an extent at all commensurate either with their _duty_
or their _means_.

"Take, in illustration, a view of the amount of missionary work
being done in this city by the large and wealthy presbytery of New
York. True, the Brick church; the Fifth avenue church, corner
Twenty-first street; the Fifth avenue church, between Eleventh and
Twelfth streets; the Presbyterian church in University place, corner
Tenth street, and perhaps one or two others, each support,
independently of drawing upon the funds raised for domestic
missions, a _mission Sabbath school and chapel_. But out of the
moneys contributed annually by the churches connected with the
presbytery, amounting to from $12,000 to $15,000, there are only
_two regularly organized missionary churches_ connected with that
body. These are the German mission church in Monroe street, comer of
Montgomery, and the African mission church in the Seventh avenue,
each supported at an expense of $600 per annum. Nor are the
ecclesiastical judicatories of other churches doing much better.

"Is this, then, the way to _'continue in God's goodness?'_ Writing
on this subject, so long ago as 1847, the Rev. Dr. Hodge, the oldest
professor occupying a chair in the Princeton Theological Seminary,
and the learned and able editor of 'The Princeton Review,' had used
his pen in refuting the statement of those in the Presbyterian
Church who affirm that _'we have already more preachers than we know
what to do with,'_ etc.; and having disposed of that matter, he
passes to the subject of the _difference in the mode_ of sustaining
and extending the gospel in and by the Presbyterian Church. In
reference to the _policy_ adopted by said church to this end, he
says:

"'Our system, which requires the minister to rely for his support
_on the people_ to whom he preaches, has had the following
inevitable results: 1. In our cities _we have no churches to which
the poor can freely go and feel themselves at home_. No doubt, in
many of our city congregations there are places in the galleries in
which the poor may find seats free of charge; but, as a general
thing, _the churches are private property_. They belong to those who
build them, or who purchase or rent the pews after they are built.
They are intended and adapted for the cultivated and thriving
classes of the community. There may be exceptions to this remark,
but we are speaking of a general fact. _The mass of the people in
our cities are excluded from our churches._ The Presbyterian Church
is practically, in such places, _the church for the upper classes_
(we do not mean the worldly and the fashionable) _of society._" And
to this Dr. Hodge adds, as the _result_ of the working of 'our
system,' the following:

{384}

"'_The Presbyterian Church_ IS NOT A CHURCH FOR THE POOR. She has
precluded herself from that high vocation by adopting the principle
_that the support of the minister must be derived from the people to
whom he preaches._ If therefore, the people are too few, too sparse,
too poor, to sustain a minister, or too ignorant or wicked to
appreciate the gospel, THEY MUST GO WITHOUT IT.'"

Thus far the author of the tract and Dr. Hodge. The statements of the latter are indorsed by the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church. A Baptist clergyman, writing in the "Memorial Papers," a work which was suppressed after publication, says: "The Church has no conversions and no hold on the masses. The most successful church building is that which excludes the poor by necessity." [Footnote 58]

[Footnote 58: A high price will be paid at this office for a copy
of "The Memorial Papers."]

We do not cite these statements in order to make a point against Protestantism from the admissions of its advocates, or to exult over these admissions. We respect our anonymous friend, and the learned and accomplished Princeton divine, for their candor, honesty, and zeal for the religious instruction of the poor. We have nothing in view except an exposition of the real state of things in New York, and are anxious to arrive at facts. Allowing for all errors and exaggerations, and with a perfect willingness to admit everything which can be said to extenuate the evil, we must admit the palpable, undeniable fact, that some hundreds of thousands of our population are either unprovided with the opportunity of attending any form of worship and religious instruction, or are indifferent to the subject. Sunday is to them a mere holiday from work (to many not even that), to be spent in recreation and amusement, if not in something positively bad.

It appears especially that the lower section of the city has been almost entirely given up by Protestants. [Footnote 59] There is one very notable and very honorable exception, however, in Trinity church, which has always been the best managed ecclesiastical corporation of all the Protestant religious institutions in our country.

[Footnote 59: That is, except as a missionary ground.]

The educational and eleemosynary institutions of New York are on a colossal scale. We will not go into extensive details on this subject, as our topic is properly the religion of the city. It is estimated that there are 144,000 children in New York, of whom 104000 are at school, [Footnote 60] and 40,000 growing up without instruction. The poverty, wretchedness, and indifference of parents is more to blame for the condition of that portion not at school, than the want of accommodation.

Hospitals, refuges, asylums of all kinds, abound in the city; as well as dispensaries where medical assistance and medicine can be obtained by the poor gratuitously. There is, beside, a gigantic system of domestic relief and outdoor charity under the direction of the municipal authorities. The number of individuals relieved in various ways during the year by these public charities is about 57,000; 30,000 receive gratuitous medical attendance from the dispensaries. For education, $1,000,000 a year is expended by the city, and for public charity, $700,000. The collections made for local purposes of benevolence are estimated at $500,000, and the other collections made in Protesant churches at $500,000 more. The ecclesiastical expenses of maintaining the various churches are estimated at $1,000,000. The great Protestant societies whose headquarters are in New York, receive about $2,700,000 annually. $6,000,000 were distributed among the families of soldiers during the late war. Beside these rough estimates of the vast sums expended by great public organizations, there is no counting the amount of individual contributions, often on a large scale, to colleges, etc., and the sums expended in benevolent works by private societies or individuals.

[Footnote 60: This includes also Catholic schools and colleges. The
estimate is too small, however, and another gives 206,000 as the
number going to school.]

{385}

There can be no doubt that the people of New York, possessing means, are a very liberal and philanthropic class. That there is still remaining a great deal of "evangelical" religious zeal and activity is also manifest. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the influence of the old, orthodox Protestant tradition has remarkably diminished, and that the minority of nominal Protestants have lapsed into a state of indifference to positive Christianity. We doubt if 25,000 men can be found in the city who sincerely profess to believe the tenets common to what are called the "evangelical" churches; and of these but a small fraction adhere intelligently to the distinctive doctrines of any one sect; _e.g._, the Protestant Episcopal, or Presbyterian. The remainder have a general belief in the truth of Protestant Christianity, more or less vague, with a great disposition to consider positive doctrines as matters of indifference. Outside the communion list of the different churches, we believe the general sentiment to be, among the educated, that Christianity is a very useful, moral institution, containing substantially all the truth which can be known respecting ultra-mundane things, but without any final authority over the reason, and completely subject to the criticism of science. Among the uneducated, we believe that negative unbelief, and a supine indifference to everything beside material interests, prevails. We will not attempt to assign causes or reasons for it; but the fact is evident. A vast mass of the population is completely outside of the influence of any religious body, or any class of religious teachers professing to expound revealed truths concerning God and the future life. Moreover, the traditional belief in revealed truths is much weaker in the young and rising generation, even of those brought up under positive religious instruction, than it is in the present adult generation. There appears to be no tangible, palpable reason for thinking that Protestant Christianity, under any form, is in a condition to revive its former sway; to keep what it retains, or to recover what it has lost. The mere lack of church accommodation will not account for this, and if at once this lack were remedied, it would not change it materially. For, in those places which are furnished with a superabundance of churches, the same undermining of religious belief is going on. The fact that the most respectable Protestant publishers make no scruple of republishing the works of such writers as Renan and Colenso, and that these books are read with such avidity, indicates the way the current is setting.

What the result of all this will be, is a matter for very serious consideration. Our political, civil, and moral order is founded on Christianity. The old Christian tradition has been the principle of the interior life of the nation. Take away positive Christian belief, and the moral principles which are universally acknowledged are still only a residuum of the old religion. The spirit of Christianity survives partly in civilization as its vital principle. How long a certain political and social order may continue after faith has died out, we cannot say. We cannot but think, however, that a disintegrating principle begins to work as soon as religious belief begins to die out. There is nothing, therefore, more destructive to the temporal well-being of men, than the spread of sceptical and infidel principles. Merely from this point of view, therefore, the decay of religious belief and earnestness ought to be deplored as the greatest of evils, and one for which no advance in physical science or material prosperity can compensate. What the moral fruits already produced by this decay are, and what the prospects are for the future in this direction, we leave our readers to gather from the perusal of the secular papers; and it may be estimated from the cry of alarm which is from time to time forced from them, as new and startling developments of the progress in vice and criminality are made.

{386}

We turn our attention now to the Catholic population of the city, and the religious institutions under the control of the Catholic Church.