Chapter XIII (3)

The lady listened, and in her heart arose the wish to help the sick, the aged, and the poor. God had chosen her to be one of his angels of mercy to the suffering, and a minister of benediction to those that mourn. And, choosing her, he called her to the trial, and led her, all unwilling yet, through the fire of affliction. How her wish was accomplished and what fruit it bore is quickly told:

"Where once the shifting throng
Of merry playmates met, with dance and song,
Long rows of simple beds the place proclaim
A hospital, in all things but the name.
In that same castle where the lavish feast
Lay spread that fatal night, for many a guest
The sickly poor are fed! Beneath that porch
Where Claud shed tears that seemed the lids to scorch,
Seeing her broken beauty carried by,
Like a crushed flower that now has but to die,
The self-same Claud now stands and helps to guide
Some ragged wretch to rest and warm inside.
But most to those, the hopeless ones, on whom,
Early or late, her own sad-spoken doom
Hath been pronounced--the incurables--she spends
Her lavish pity, and their couch attends.
Her home is made their home; her wealth their dole;
Her busy courtyard hears no more the roll
Of gilded vehicles, or pawing steeds,
But feeble steps of those whose bitter needs
Are their sole passport. Through that gateway press
All varying forms of sickness and distress,
And many a poor worn face that hath not smiled
For years; and many a crippled child,
Blesses the tall white portal where they stand,
And the dear lady of the liberal hand."

Nothing, we think, could be added to increase the beauty of this picture. In noting the impressions made by the perusal of this charming poem one cannot help calling attention to its healthful, elevated tone, and the purity of thought which pervades the whole. It is a gem of poetic art which all lovers of the true and beautiful must admire. It were needless to say that even by our copious extracts we have not presented all that is worthy of comment. There are very few verses, indeed, in the poem which do not possess equal merit with those of our quotations. The deep pathos which reigns throughout as its flowing rhythm glides smoothly along, is like the murmuring of a brook through quiet woods on a sunny day, compelling the chance wanderer to stop and pass a dreamy hour away by its leafy banks. There is a singular air of peacefulness and repose pervading it that we think to be its peculiar charm, and we envy not the reader who can rise from its perusal without feeling that he has enjoyed a delightful feast for both mind and heart.

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Original

Procession in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

A pilgrimage to the places consecrated by the events in the life of our Lord is, of necessity, full of the deepest interest. However familiar we may be at home with the narrative of all that Christ has done for us, that mighty work of love is invested with new force and power when we kneel at the places where it was wrought--when we meditate on the incidents of our redemption on the spot where it was effected. The offices of the Passion, in Jerusalem, have, therefore, a more striking character than in other lands. The ritual observances of the Catholic Church, everywhere so touching, have in the Holy City the additional impressiveness of recalling to memory events in the places where they occurred.

Every day in the year there is a procession in the church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is one of almost startling solemnity. Those who have been privileged to take part in it can never forget the emotions it excited, and which are renewed daily as the function proceeds. Although no language can adequately express these feelings, yet a description of the procession itself, with a reference to the circumstances in which it is made, may be of advantage, and aid, however imperfectly, in the understanding of this most impressive devotion. The detail of a liturgical service involving many repetitions and sentences in Latin is necessarily somewhat dull; yet it is hoped that the unusual character of the office about to be described will have sufficient attraction for the readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD to induce them to peruse these pages. Should the writer furnish other sketches of his pilgrimage to the Holy Land, they will probably be found of more general interest than this paper.

Late in the afternoon, compline being finished, the procession is formed in the chapel of the Franciscans. Each person is furnished with a lighted taper, which serves the double purpose of honoring the function and for reading the book of the hymns and prayers. The first time anyone is present a large wax candle is given him, and this he is permitted to take away as a remembrance of the office; on subsequent occasions the smaller one is used, which burns until the close of the service. The church being dark, it is difficult to read without this light, which also adds much to the impressiveness of the scene as the line of pilgrims stretches along. The number of persons in the procession varies, being, of course, larger when many strangers are in Jerusalem, as is the case at Easter. Some of the Catholics of the city, and occasionally the sisters of St. Joseph, are present, the priests and brothers of the convent being always there; thus the whole office has dignity and is reverently gone through.

While on the way from one station to the next, a hymn is sung; when the place is reached, incense is used; the people all kneel; a versicle and responsory are said, followed by a prayer, concluding with _Our Father_ and _Hail Mary_. Of course, the whole office is in Latin, and thus to ecclesiastics from every part of the world it has a familiar appearance.

Beginning in the Latin chapel, in front of the altar of the blessed sacrament, the function opens with the antiphon, _O sacrum convivium_, and the versicle, "Thou hast given them bread from heaven, having in itself all sweetness." The prayer of the blessed sacrament, _Deus qui nobis_, is said. In the same chapel, a few feet to the right of the high altar, is the station and altar of the column of the flagellation of Christ. {233} A recess in the wall contains a portion of the column behind a grating of iron. In going to this, the hymn _Trophos a crucis mystica_ is sung; the antiphon and prayer, "Pilate took Jesus and scourged him, and delivered him to them that he might be crucified. I was scourged all the day, and my castigation was in the morning, Look down, we beseech thee, O Lord, upon thy church which thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood, that it, being always enriched, may obtain eternal rewards: who livest and reigneet forever and ever. Amen."

With the hymn _Jam crucem propter hominem_ the procession goes to the prison of Christ, a dark place where, according to tradition, our Lord was detained some time. Antiphon and prayer: "I brought thee forth from the captivity of Egypt, Pharaoh being drowned in the Red sea, and thou hast delivered me to this dark prison. Thou, O Lord, hast broken my bonds; to thee will I sacrifice the host of praise. Loosen, we beseech thee, O Lord, the chains of our sins, that, having been freed from the prison of this body, we may behold the light of glory, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

The hymn _Ecce nunc Joseph mysticus_ is sung as the procession moves to the place of the division of the garments of Christ. Antiphon, etc.: "The soldiers, therefore, when they had crucified Jesus, took his vestments and made HERE four parts, to each soldier a part, and the tunic. They divided HERE my vestments for themselves, and on my clothing they cast lots. O God, who, through thine only-begotten Son, didst confer the remedies of salvation on a fallen world, grant to us that, being freed from vices and adorned with virtues, we may be presented in white clothing before the tribunal of thy majesty. Amen."

The procession, chanting the hymn _Crux fidelis inter omnes_, now descends a flight of stone steps, passes through the chapel of St. Helena, and down a second flight to the place where was found the holy cross, the reward of the pious search of the mother of Constantine. Antiphon, etc.: "O blessed cross, which alone wast worthy to bear the Lord and King of heaven! Alleluia. This sign of the cross shall be in heaven when the Lord shall come to judgment. O God, who didst HERE raise up a miracle of thy passion in the finding of the glorious cross of salvation, grant that by the price of this wood we may obtain the favor of eternal life. Amen."

Returning now to the chapel of St. Helena, with the hymn, _Fortem virili pectore laudemus omnes Helenam_, the people kneel in the centre of this edifice, while the priest who leads the devotion goes to the chief altar, which is near the place where the saintly empress waited while the search for the holy cross was made below. This chapel belongs to the Armenians. The antiphon, etc., are as follows: "Helena, the mother of Constantine, came to Jerusalem that she might find the cross of the Lord. Alleluia! Pray for us, O blessed Helena, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ. Mercifully hear the prayers of thy family, O Lord, that as it everywhere rejoices in the fervid study of blessed Helena, who here joyfully found the wood of the holy cross so much desired, so, by her merits and prayers, it may be able always to rejoice in heavenly glory. Amen."

The next station is that of the column of the crowning and mocking, in going to which the hymn _Caoetus piorum exeat_ is sung. Antiphon, etc.: "I gave thee a royal sceptre, and thou hast put on my head a crown of thorns. Plaiting a crown of thorns, they put it on his head. O God, who, in the humility of thy Son, hast lifted up the fallen world, mercifully grant that, casting away the crown of pride, we may obtain the unfading crown of glory, through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

The procession now ascends the flight of step leading to Calvary, going first to the place of the crucifixion, properly so called, where our Lord was nailed to the cross. {234} The hymn _Vexilla Regis prodeunt_ is sung on the way from the place of mocking. The antiphon, etc.: "They took Jesus, and led him forth, bearing his cross: he went to the place called Calvary, in the Hebrew Golgotha, where they crucified him. HERE they pierced my hands and my feet, and they numbered all my bones. O Lord Jesus Christ, son of the living God, who, for the salvation of the world, at the sixth hour, didst ascend the gibbet of the cross on THIS Calvary, and for the redemption of our sins didst shed thy precious blood, we humbly beseech thee that after our death thou mayest grant to us joyfully to enter the gate of paradise: who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen."

A few steps to the left of this place is the spot where the cross was set up, and where the great High Priest offered the sacrifice which taketh away the sin of the world. Going to this, the hymn _Lustris sex qui jam peractis_ is sung, the second verse of which recounts, word by word, some of the incidents of the gospel narrative:

"Hic acetum, fel, arundo,
Sputa, clavi, lancea,
Mite corpus perforatur,
Sanguis, unda profluit:
Terra, pontus, astra, mundus
Quo lavantur flumine!"

The antiphon, etc.: "Now it was about the sixth hour, and darkness was over all the land even to the ninth hour; and the sun was darkened, and the veil or the temple was rent in the midst; and Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, 'Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit;' and, saying these words, he HERE expired. We adore thee, O Christ, and we bless thee because by thy holy cross thou didst HERE redeem the world." The prayer (said in a low voice): "Look down, we beseech thee, O Jesus, upon this thy family for which our Lord Jesus Christ did not hesitate to be delivered into the hands of the executioners and made to undergo the torment of the cross: who with thee liveth and reigneth, world without end. Amen."

Chanting the hymn _Pange lingua gloriosi_, the priests and people now descend to the stone of unction, where the Redeemer was wrapped in fine linen after he had been taken down from the cross. This is midway between Calvary and the scpulchre, and on a level with the floor of the great church and the holy tomb. The nine verses of the hymn admirably express the thoughts and feelings which crowd the mind and heart. Redemption is accomplished, and through Christ's death we live. Antiphon, etc.: "Joseph and Nicodemus took the body of Jesus, and HERE bound it in linen with spices, as is the custom of the Jews to bury. Thy name is as oil poured out; therefore have the young loved thee. O Lord Jesus Christ, who, condescending to the devotion of thy faithful in thy most holy body, didst permit it HERE to be anointed by them, that they might reverence thee the true God, King, and Priest, grant that by the unction of thy grace our hearts may be preserved from all infection of sin: who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen."

The joyful hymn _Aurora lucis rutilat_ is sung as the procession moves on to the most glorious scpulchre where was laid the Hope of the world, and whence he rose on Easter morn, triumphant over death and the grave. Antiphon, etc.: "The angel here said to the women, 'Fear not; ye seek Jesus of Nazareth crucified; he hath risen, he is not here: behold the place where they laid him. Alleluia.' The Lord hath risen from this sepulchre, alleluia, who for us hung upon the wood, alleluia. O God, who by the triumphant resurrection of thy Son, didst here bestow the remedy of salvation on the world, and, having conquered death, hast unlocked for us the way of eternal life, by thine assistance further our earnest desires which thou hast put into our hearts; through the same Christ our Lord. Amen."

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Then, going to the place where Jesus appeared to Mary Magdalene in the habit of the gardener, the hymn _Christus triumphum gloriae_ is sung. Antiphon, etc.: "Jesus, rising early on the morning of the first day of the week, appeared HERE to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had cast seven demons, 'Mary, touch me not, for I have not yet ascended to my Father.' We beseech thee, O Lord God, that we may be helped by the prayers of blessed Mary Magdalene, at whose entreaty thou didst not only raise up her brother who had been four days dead, but didst show thyself after thy resurrection here as the living Lord: who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen."

Lastly, going to the place where, according to tradition, Jesus appeared to his holy mother (this station being in the chapel of the Latins, in front of the altar of the blessed sacrament), the procession returns to the spot whence it started, singing the hymn,

"Jesum Christum crucifixum
Ob peccatorum crimina,
Hunc vidisti et flevisti,
O gloriosa Domina," etc.

The above is an outline of the procession which is made every day in the church of the Holy Sepulchre. But to have a full understanding of its impressiveness, one must be in Jerusalem, and take part in it. In other countries, when reading of the passion and death of our Lord, we are left to imagine the appearance of places which are thousands of miles away; and this consciousness of distance will ever hinder that vivid realization of the incidents which may be had on the spot where they occurred. When the word HIC (here) is said by the officiating priest, all bow down and kiss the floor; and it is enough to melt a heart of stone to be so close to these most sacred spots when the mention of what our Lord has here done and suffered for our sins is made. There is no attempt to work upon the imagination or excite the feelings. The singing and praying are in a natural but reverent tone. It is felt that the devout Christian needs only to be _here_ when the prayers are said, to have his heart subdued and filled with penitence and adoring gratitude and love.

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Original.

At Threescore.

There was but one in all the world,
Fond heart,
To whom thou gayest all, nor kept
A part;
And that was John.
None e'er so gentle, nor so brave as he,
None other's arm so strong or sweet to me
To lean upon.

'Twas down upon the ocean shore
One day,
The heart I once had some one took
Away;
And that was John.
Strange moment! for it seemèd then to me
As if the rocks and sands and clouds and sea
And all were gone.

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You understand, I do not mean
Quite all:
Some one was there, so handsome, straight,
And tall;
And that was John:
But he was all to me, and nothing there
Nor aught in this wide world with him could bear
Comparison.

Long years have passed, and now my step
Is slow.
Though weak his arm, yet strong his heart,
I know,
To lean upon.
Beside me seated in his high-backed chair,
I see a tall old man with silvered hair;
And that is John.

My day of life has always been
Most bright,
But now the shadows longer grow,
And night
Is coming on.
I fear it not, for when my course is run,
I look beyond the grave to meet with One
More dear than John.

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Translated from the Spanish.

The Revenge Of Conscience.

Though one brief spring restores to earth the flowers
Swept from her lap by autumn's stormy hours,
Back to man's breast a lifetime will not win
The heart's ease lost through one frail moment's sin.

White as a nest of gulls, in the cleft of a rock on the wild sea-shore, gleams Cadiz from the concavity of her walls. So audaciously is she seated in the very midst of the billows that the land reaches out an arm to retain her. This slender arm of stone and sand, wearing La Cortadura, a fortress constructed during the glorious war of independence, as a bracelet, separates the violent waves of the ocean from the tranquil waters of the harbor, and conducts to the city of San Fernando, which, situated in the curve of the bay, opens its dock-yards of La Carraca as hospitals to the vessels that return home, maltreated and bruised, from their perilous expeditions.

Poor wanderers, to whom the tempests are ever repeating what the blasts of the world unceasingly say to mortals, "On, on!" When they reach their country, they lay hold of her with their anchors, as children clasp the necks of their mothers with their little hands.

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Beyond the city of San Fernando, the beautiful and worthy neighbor of Cadiz, with its splendid Calle Larga, and its houses solid and shining as if built of massive silver, and beyond the bridge Zuazo, so ancient that its construction is attributed to the Phoenicians, the road divides into two branches the one on the left continuing to follow the curve of the bay, and that on the right taking the direction of Chiclana. It enters this pleasant town through a grove of white poplars, which, settled like hoary patriarchs in the midst of green fields, seem by their whisperings to be encouraging the weaker plants to strengthen themselves and stand like them against the heavy south-west winds. The town is large, and divided into two parts by the river Liro.

From two neighboring heights it was overlooked in former times by a Moorish tower on the one, and a Christian chapel on the other; symbols of its past and present. Within a few years the tower has disappeared and the chapel has become a ruin.

There was a temple and an altar, where
The lonely heart might weep and lay its care:
I wept. Once more I passed that way,
And it was fallen to decay:
Whereat I wept again!

The chapel was under the invocation of St. Anna. It was round and encircled by a colonnade, which commanded the view, in all directions, of a magnificent landscape.

At the foot of the isolated and abandoned tower lay a cemetery. Mouldering humanity creeping sympathetically into the shadow of the decaying ruin. This tower--this seal of stone upon the archives of the place; this inheritance of generations, which the district had guarded like the remains of a dead chief, embalmed by the aroma of the flowers of the field; this austere ruin, which had no longer any relations except with the departed, who were turning to skeletons at its feet; with the birds of night which hid themselves in its obscure recesses from the noise and light of day, and with the winds that came to moan sadly through its branches--this inoffensive tower could not escape modern vandalism.

Neither respect for the memories it evoked, nor reverence for the burial place it so appropriately guarded, nor the romantic in its aspect, nor the historic in its origin, could avail it. They demolished it under the sage protest that it was "ruinous." A ruin "ruinous!" A tower that bore the centuries as you wear days, "ruinous, ruinous!" That petrified mass which would have outlasted all your constructions of wood and clay!

The chapel, also, closed and forsaken, has become the prey of destruction, and its noble colonnade has fallen. Groves, convents, feudal castles, and palaces, the very ruins are disappearing, and they are not even building factories or planting orchards where they stood; to clothe the noble matron Spain, at least with muslin and flowers, instead of the tissues and jewels of which they despoil her. What, then, will remain to us? Pastures wherein to breed the ferocious beast, whose contests afford the refined and gentle diversion that enjoys, above all others, the favor of the people. My God! can it be that the natural ferocity and cruelty of man, like the atmosphere that discharges its electricity in thunder, lightning, and tempest, must have vent and expression?

In the times when Cadiz was the Rothschild among cities, times in which, according to strangers of note and credibility, her merchants lived with the pomp and splendor of ambassadors of kings, the greater part of them had in Chiclana country houses, built and furnished with marvellous richness and taste. Tarnished vestiges still remain of that elegant luxury to which the coming of Napoleon's Frenchmen gave the death-blow.

In the present epoch, in which we often see fulfilled the saying, "Ramparts fall and dust heaps exalt themselves," when old men recount the splendors of those days, _new_--we will not say _young_--men receive their stories as tales of the thousand and one nights, with incredulity and criticism alternating upon their lips.

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In their opinion, gallantry, generosity, and munificence afford material for an appendix to Don Quixote as fantastic virtues which can only exist in over-excited brains.

At the close of the last century, when the events which we are about to relate began to take place, Chiclana was at the zenith of her splendor. Cadiz shone with gold, and, like the sun, shed glory upon all her environs. Nowhere now do they throw away doubloons as they then did here, with the simple indifference of children tossing soap-bubbles into the air, and the lordliness of princes who neither count nor value what they spend in compliment to others. In this epoch occurred the incident which is told of the celebrated Duchess of Alba and the youth, who, seeing twenty thousand dollars upon her table, observed, in her hearing, that this sum, which to her was such a trifle, would make a man's fortune. "Would you like to have it?" asked the duchess. The youth admitted that he would. The lady sent him the money and--closed her doors upon him. In these days the contrary would have succeeded. The money would not have been given, nor would the doors have been closed upon one who, by any means whatever, had acquired it.

In one of the wide, cheerful streets of the above-named town stood a house of more distinguished appearance than the others, though it consisted of but one story, which was somewhat elevated from the ground and reached by a flight of marble steps. The door was of mahogany, studded with great nails of shining metal. The front of the house was surmounted by the arms of the family, carved in marble. Nobility and riches seek each other; in former times they were sisters, in these they are not even cousins. The house porch, the court, and all the apartments, even to the inferior offices, were paved with magnificent blocks of blue and white marble. Columns of jasper supported the four galleries which surrounded the court, and in the area, in the midst of towering plants and alabaster statues, a fountain flowed unceasingly, singing the same pure and infantile melody to the bud half opened in hope, and to the flower falling in leafless despair. Between column and column, embowered in green and flowery tapestries of jassamine and musk rose, hung the gilded cages of bright-hued birds. A canvas awning, cut in points at the edges, and bound with red, shaded the court and preserved its refreshing coolness. The walls of the parlor were of white stucco upon a blue ground; the chairs and sofa were made of ebony, with heavy silver ornaments and coverings of azure _gros de Tours_. The furniture was of slight and simple form and in the Greek style, which the Revolution had brought into favor, making it the order of the day, as it had also introduced the Phrygian cap, the names of Antenor, Anacharsis, Themistocles, Aristides, and other things less inoffensive than these. Upon the table, which was supported by four straight-fluted legs, stood a clock, constructed of white marble and bronze. At that time the taste for the pastoral and idyllic in art had passed, dispossessed by the grave and classic allegories which were presently to be superseded by the cannon, banners, and warlike laurel wreaths with which Napoleon would dispel in wide air the ardor and zeal of the Revolution. In its turn the epoch of the Restoration, which put an end to the supremacy of the sword as the sword had terminated the rule of the democracy, brought back monarchical ideas and religious sentiments with the chivalry, loyalty, and ancient faith which were to introduce the Romantic in literature and the Gothic in arts and customs. Following closely upon these came the taste for the fashions of the times called "of Louis the Fourteenth" and "Louis the Fifteenth." For men are, like children, enthusiasts of the new, and ever trampling with contempt upon the idol of the moment before. Shakespeare has said. "Frailty, thy name is woman!" Well might he have added, "Fickleness, thy name is man!"

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The clock formed a group, composed of an effigy of time, under the figure of an old man; two nude young girls with arms interlaced, leaning upon the old man, and representing innocence and truth; and two other figures, wrapped in dark veils, symbolizing sin and mystery flying from time, who, with raised finger, appeared to threaten them. The effigy of time was well and expressively executed; and when the clear and sonorous voice of the hour, counting its dead sisters, was added to its expressive gesture, it seemed like the warning voice of an austere patriarch, and could not fail to affect him who, meditating upon the sense of the allegory, heard the measured echo of its strokes. On each side of the clock was a bronze candlestick, in the form of a negro standing upon a marble pedestal and adorned with brazen chains. The negro carried upon his head and in his hands baskets of flowers. In the centres of the flowers the candles were set. The ceiling was painted to represent light, floating clouds of gray and white, through which was seen a nymph of the air, apparently holding in her hands the tasselled cords of azure silk which sustained an alabaster lamp, destined to filter a light as mild and soft as that of the moon, a light extremely flattering to female beauty, and therefore adopted for select reunions. In the middle of the room, upon a mosaic stand, rested a great glass globe. In it swam fishes of those lovely colors which the water displays in emulation of the air that has its gorgeous birds, and the earth that parades its charming flowers. Here they lived, silent and gentle, unvexed by the circuit which bounded their action, like pretty idiots, seeing everything with their great eyes, and comprehending nothing. The globe was surmounted by a smaller one filled with flowers, of which there was also a profusion arranged in jars in the recesses of the windows. The windows were hung with lace-edged muslin curtains, like those now used, except that the muslin was Indian instead of English, and the lace thread, made by hand, instead of cotton woven. As it was summer time, only a dim light was allowed to penetrate the drawn blinds. The atmosphere of the apartment was perfumed with flowers and pastilles of Lima.

Upon the sofa reclined a woman of extraordinary beauty. One alabaster hand, hidden in a mass of auburn curls, supported her head upon the pillow of the sofa. A loose cambric dress, adorned with Flanders lace, robed her youthful and perfect form. Through the lace of her robe just peeped the point of a little foot encased in a silken stocking and white satin slipper. At that time no other shoe was used by ladies of distinction upon any occasion, and luxury reached even to the wearing of lace slippers lined with colored satin.

The apostles of the last foreign fashion, admirers of the buskin, regard with sovereign contempt this rich and elegant custom, which, in their eyes, is guilty of two mortal sins--that of being old-fashioned, and that of being Spanish. The lady's left hand was adorned with a splendid brilliant, and held a cambric handkerchief of Mexican embroidery, with which, from time to time, she dried a tear that slid slowly down her pearly cheek.

The reader thinks that he divines the cause of this solitary tear shed by a woman, young, beautiful, and surrounded by the evidences of a luxurious and enviable position. He has decided that it must be the token of wounded affection, and has guessed wrong. Respect for truth, even at the sacrifice of admiration for the heroine of our story, obliges us to confess that this tear was not of love, but of spite. Yes, that brilliant drop, falling from eyes as blue as the sky of evening, gliding between those long, dark lashes, and across those delicately glowing cheeks, was the evidence of spite.

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But before we proceed it is necessary to explain the cause of the ill-humor of our heroine.