Chapter VII (10)

"He could not apprehend the notion that the empire should have no
official form of worship, or rather that it should have two religions
together at one and the same time. He was shocked at the sight of an
incoherent confusion of Christianity and heathenism to be met with at
every step throughout the West, and nowhere more than at Rome itself.
The churches and their rival temples, both opened on the same day, by
order of the senate or emperor, for the same official ceremonies;
Jupiter and Mars, two glorified demons, associated with the one jealous
God, as the protectors of the commonwealth; invoked in the same
language, thanked for the same favors; and then the monuments covered
with profane inscriptions, the statues of idols towering over the
basilicas, or defying on the public squares and at the corner of every
street the cross triumphant; all this adulterous mixture of truth and
error, which the Christian emperors had never dared to proscribe
completely, scandalized the jealous purity of his faith quite as much as
his taste for administrative regularity. As a prefect, he would have
gladly put an end to such confusion, as being a public nuisance; as a a
bishop, he felt indignant against so poisonous a profanation. The empire
acknowledging but one master, and there being but one God in heaven, why
should not these two unities be linked together by an indissoluble
union? Why should the state tolerate within its limits anything beyond
those two grand unities? On this central point Gratian and the bishop
agreed even before they had seen each other. The alliance of the church
and state, which the timorous conscience of a Gratian had looked for,
Ambrose was ready not only to recommend, but enforce as a duty," (vol.
ii. p. 18.)

It would hardly be possible to point out in more positive terms the doctrine which became the groundwork of Christendom in after times, a doctrine which a St. Gregory VII. and an Innocent III. were to carry to its extreme consequences. This was the germ, destined to unfold itself slowly underground, until it should rise and develop its branches in the feudal times, serving as a stay and prop for an anarchical state of society. But let us not wander beyond our subject. Gratian and Ambrose were soon closely knit together in the greatest intimacy, and ere long the influence of the master mind became apparent. Between 378 and 381 Gratian dwelt almost constantly at Milan, issuing new laws, which all bear the stamp of a priestly impulse, which all are inspired by a man who could not forget that _he_ likewise had held civil power. In everyone of these enactments, justly observes our author, we perceive certain dispositions tempering rigor by clemency. Thus it is, for instance, with those privileged corporations of the Roman empire, which were at once a resource and a source of ruin for its very existence by their extortionary tendencies; thus, again, with a more equitable distribution of the annona, which is modified according to the dictates of charity. Elsewhere measures are adopted against burglary or brigandage, but at the same time qualified by certain humane clauses, as to the mode of repression. In fact, the civil ruler shows himself less authoritative, less imperious, less harsh and arbitrary in the display of his power; and yet we meet with a greater firmness, never baulked by alternatives of weakness and helplessness.

In other directions these laws assume the form of what we might call public manifestations of the imperial conscience. Let us supply a few instructive instances.

Milan, August 3, 379.--General law against heretics, expressly modifying the edict enacted at Sirmium in the preceding year, and extending to such sects as shall debase _by their sophistry_ the notion of God, the prohibition of propagandism, which had already been laid upon those who _annulled baptism by renewing it_, (Donatist.)

{373}

Milan, April 24, 380.--Women of low extraction, and condemned by that very fact to appear on the stage are freed from any such obligation as soon as they embrace Christianity; "because," says the law, "the better mode of living they have adopted liberated them from the bond of their natural condition: _Melior vivendi usus vinculo naturalis conditionis evaluit_."

May, 381.--The above law is restricted; "for such women as abandon the purity of a Christian life shall not enjoy the above exemption."

July 21st.--Liberation of certain criminals, in honor of Easter.

May 2, 382.--Penal measures are denounced against those apostates who shall preach apostasy. Whoever abandons the Christian law to embrace idolatry, Judaism, or Manichaeism, is declared incapable of making a will, one of the greatest penalties to which a Roman could be subjected. And all these measures were crowned by another, which made a deep impression throughout the whole empire: the statue of Victory was definitively removed from the hall where the senate assembled at Rome for its deliberations. This was perhaps the greatest proof of the influence which Ambrose had over the imperial mind, and not one heathen, of high or low degree, mistook the hand that had dealt the blow.

At any rate, Ambrose was not the man to deny it. Symmachus, one of the most illustrious patricians, who belonged to the heathen party, having sent up to the throne a petition, whose object was to obtain the restoration of the statue, Ambrose himself entered the lists in a counter petition, or rather manifesto, in which we see at once the bishop and the statesman.

"Every man [says he] who acknowledges the Roman rule bears arms for the
emperors and princes; you are verily the militia of an all-powerful God,
and of the most holy faith. For there is no security for man himself if
he does not worship the true God--the God of the Christians, who governs
all things; he alone is the true God, and demands that we should adore
him from the bottom of our souls. The gods of nations, say the
Scriptures, are nothing else but devils.

"Now whosoever serves that God ought to bear within him no dissimulation,
no reserve, but devote his whole being to him. If he does not entertain
such feelings, he ought at least to offer no external consent to
idolatrous worship, or to a profane worship; for no one can deceive God,
to whom the secret of our hearts lies open. ... I am really astonished
that any man should hope to see you restore the altars of the Gentiles,
and give money from your coffers for profane sacrifices. .... O emperor!
do not allow any man to deceive your youth. ... And I likewise, I am for
following the experience of the wise, but God's counsels must rule
supreme over all others. If we had to do here with some military concern,
you should consult and follow the opinion of the best approved generals.
But in religious matters you are bound to listen to God. Is the man who
gives you this piece of advice a heathen? Well, don't force him to
believe what he won't believe; but then let him allow you, O emperor! the
same freedom: let him not attempt to force upon the sovereign an act of
violence that he would not himself endure at his hands. The very heathen
does not like a man to belie his own creed; every one ought to maintain
the free and sincere convictions of his own mind. Should those who hurry
you on to such a decision be but nominal Christians, pray, do not allow
yourself to be deluded by a name. Whoever advises you in this way
sacrifices to the gods, whether he admits it or not. ..."

Ambrose wound up by requesting to obtain communication of the petition, with a view of answering it. "In a worldly suit," said he, "you would listen to both parties. This is a matter of religion. I, the bishop, I come forth to defend her. ... If you refuse me, no bishop will submit peacefully to such an iniquity; you may still apply to the church, but you will not meet any more with priests, or at least with any who will not be ready to resist you."

Thoroughly to appreciate the weight of this strong language, it must be remembered that many a lukewarm Christian within the imperial council inclined to the restoration of the famous statue. To refuse the request of Ambrose would, however, have been imprudent, and besides, Valentinian the Younger revered and loved the venerable bishop, who had shown him great kindness in trying circumstances. Once in possession of the pagan manifesto, the great prelate of the West dealt with it in a manner which scattered to the four winds both its arguments and rhetorical flourishes. {374} The whole composition is a masterpiece of sound reason and gentlemanly satire, forming a thorough defence of Christianity against idolatry. When it was read before the council, every wavering mind was struck dumb with astonishment, whilst the youthful sovereign broke forth in the following impassioned words: "It's the voice of Daniel; I will not undo what my brother did." Of course the cause of the goddess Victory was lost for ever.

But something was not and could not be lost--we mean the contest between the church and idolatry, that survived even the final crash of the empire. Yet that crash, though imminent, could not yet be foreseen by either party, still less perhaps by Ambrose himself, who was a true type of the old Roman. His constant object seems to have been to revive the pristine policy of his forefathers, by instilling new life into them, thanks to the sublime doctrines of the new faith. So things went on just in the same way, Christianity impregnating more and more the habits, institutions, and laws of ancient society, but for purposes that were still the secret of Providence. In the mean time Gratian was murdered by the usurper Maximus, and Ambrose was once more called to negotiate with the murderer, and to defend the last relics of the Valentinian family. A short time yet runs on, and Theodosius remains sole ruler of the whole civilized world--a ruler according to the heart of the holy bishop of Milan. With an Ambrose and a Theodosius to prop the tottering edifice, what might not be expected? And yet it was not to be. These two bright figures are but a transient gleam between two storms. Alaric was born--nay, more, he had been a silent spectator in the glittering crowd of courtiers who attended at the coronation of Theodosius. How many wild dreams of invasion, and burning cities, and bloody battles were teeming at that very moment in the brain of that young barbarian!

Singular enough, the first occasion on which Ambrose and Theodosius met, as it were, in public, gave rise to a contest. The emperor, irritated at the summary destruction of a Jewish synagogue by one of the Eastern prelates, had ordered it to be rebuilt at the expense of the prelate. The bishop was absent from Milan when the order was given and sent; on his return, he felt indignant that a Christian prelate should be bound to rebuild a temple dedicated to the execration of Jesus Christ. It was in his eyes a sort of prevarication far more guilty than the violation of any civil law. He immediately wrote to the emperor in the strongest language; and here again he sets forth that great Christian doctrine which was afterward so fully developed and exemplified in the middle age. The whole incident is so striking that we shall give it in the words of Prince de Broglie:

"Ambrose begins by a short insinuative exordium: 'Listen to me, O
emperor! as you wish that God may listen to me when I am praying for
you. If I am not worthy of being heard by you, how should I be worthy of
transmitting your wishes and prayers? If it be not proper for an emperor
to fear plain speaking, it is not likewise proper for a priest to
disassemble his thoughts.'

"He then enters fully and unreservedly into his own doctrine: he
maintains the unlawfulness of any help given by Christians for the
construction of an edifice destined to error; and the faithful, but,
above all, the bishops, have no more the right to do it than the emperor
to impose it upon them. If the bishop yields to the imperial order, he
becomes guilty, and the emperor responsible before God for the bishop's
weakness. 'So you must see,' pursues Ambrose, 'whither you are going.
You ought to fear quite as much the bishop's obedience as his
resistance. If he is steadfast, fear to make a martyr of him; if he
shows weakness, fear that you may bear the weight of his fall. And,
indeed, how will your order be fulfilled? Should the Christians refuse
to accomplish it, will you force them to it through violence? So you
will be obliged to confide to the Count of the East your victorious
standards, your labarum; nay, the very standard of Christ himself, with
the mission of restoring a temple, wherein Christ will be denied.
{375}
Well, pray order that the labarum shall be carried into the synagogue,
and then see whether anyone will obey you. ... History tells us that
idolatrous temples were erected in Rome with the spoils of the
Cimbrians. In our days, the Jews may engrave on the frontispiece of
their synagogue: Temple built with the spoils of the Christians. Public
order requires it, will you say? So the appearance of outward order must
lord it over the interests of faith! No; authority must yield to piety.'

"It would be impossible to assert in language of more rigorous cogency
the supremacy of the religious law over every civil law. The church, in
her maternal prudence, is far from having ratified on these delicate
points the tenets of Ambrose: as she never imposed upon the faithful the
obligation of building temples to error, so has she not forbidden them
to contribute to their material preservation whenever equity, previous
engagements, or the necessity of repairing wrongs requires it of them.
It is, therefore, by no means astonishing that Theodosius, arguing like
a civil lawgiver, should have deemed these demands excessive, or even
that he should have given way to an unusual fit of ill humor. He allowed
the letter to remain unanswered. And yet it contained toward the end two
lines which offered matter for consideration. 'Such is my request,' said
the prelate; 'I have done all in my power to present it with that
respect which is due to you: pray, do not force me to speak out in the
church.'

"Indeed, as soon as he returned to Milan, Ambrose availed himself of the
very first opportunity to speak out at church, and before Theodosius. He
chose for his text the words of Jeremiah: 'Take up thy walnut staff, and
walk forth.' He boldly asserted that the staff mentioned by the prophet
was the sacerdotal rod, intended far less to be agreeable than useful to
those whom it scourges. He then recalled several examples of the old
law, such as Nathan and David, thus showing that in all times the
ministers of God had never spared the truth to kings. The comparison was
in itself clear enough, and Theodosius must have felt somewhat
uncomfortable at the very first words; but still he could hardly expect
that the orator should address him personally. And yet such was the
case, when Ambrose said by way of conclusion: 'And now, O emperor! after
speaking of you, I must speak to you; reflect that the more God has
raised you up in glory, the more you ought to show deference to him who
has given you all. .... It is the mercy of Christ which has made you
what you are. So you must love Christ's body, or the church, you must
wash her feet, kiss them, perfume them, so that the whole dwelling of
Christ shall be filled with your good odor; in other words, you must
honor the meanest of his disciples, and forgive them their faults, since
the repentance of one single sinner gives joy in heaven to all the
prophets and apostles. The eye cannot say to the hand, I do not want
thee, thou art unnecessary. Every member of the body of Jesus Christ is
necessary, and to every one of them you owe protection.'

"The bishop came down from the altar after uttering these words in a
tone of severity, and in the midst of the general amazement, for all
were aware that the emperor was accused, but no one knew the motive of
the reprimand. Theodosius, of course, could not for one instant remain
doubtful. Stopping the prelate as he passed by, 'So you have made me the
subject of your speech,' said he in an angry tone. 'I said what I deemed
of use to yourself,' replied Ambrose. 'I see very well,' resumed the
emperor, more moved than ever, 'that you have been speaking of the
synagogue. I admit that my orders were somewhat harsh, but I have
already mitigated them; and then those monks yonder are so
wrong-headed.' [Footnote 114] Here a courtier thought fit to inveigh
against the monks, but he was soon stopped by Ambrose, who, once more
addressing the emperor, 'I am going to offer the sacrifice!' exclaimed
he; 'allow me to offer it for you fearlessly: free me from the burden
which weighs down my soul.' 'Well, well,' replied Theodosius, as he sat
down again, 'the orders shall be modified, I promise you.' But such a
vague promise, and made as it was in a sullen mood, was not deemed
sufficient. 'Cancel the whole affair,' insisted Ambrose; 'for, if you
allow one tittle of it to remain, your magistrates will take advantage
of it to grind down the poor Christians.' The dialogue proceeded in the
midst of the whole assembly, and the situation became at last downright
intolerable. The emperor gave way, and promised whatever was exacted.
'You swear to it,' said Ambrose; 'I am about to offer the sacrifice on
your word. Mind, on your word,' he repeated a second time. 'Yes, on my
word,' replied Theodosius, who wanted, at any cost, to put an end to
such a scene. The holy sacrifice began; 'and never,' said Ambrose the
next day to his sister, 'never did I feel so sensibly the real presence
of God in prayer.'" (Vol. ii. pp. 247-254.)

[Footnote 114: The Emperor's expression is far stronger: _Menachi
multa scelera faciunt._.]

What a scene indeed! And how it brings out at once the rapid progress which Christian feeling had made of late throughout the empire. Better than the famous penance of Theodosius in the cathedral of Milan, it shows us how strongly the slightest deviation from the general range of Christian opinion worked upon the people. For, in fact, we do not detect here the slightest mark of disapprobation, far less of indignation, among the audience. {376} Any other feeling but astonishment is not once perceptible, and even that is caused by ignorance of the case, not by any want of sympathy for Ambrose. His conduct seems to be taken for granted on the part of his flock, however extreme and out of place it may appear to modern readers. We are justified in considering such cases as signs of the times; fifty years before they could not have taken place, and we doubt whether Constantine would have allowed himself to be thus browbeaten in an open church; sixty years after--the world had fallen a prey to the barbarians, and it was all over with the Roman empire.

Another observation of no less importance is the fact that conduct like this on the part of Ambrose did not in the slightest degree deprive him of any influence with the emperor. Quite the contrary; as long as Theodosius remained in Italy, there prevailed the greatest intimacy between these two illustrious personages. Ambrose naturally resumed the station of a confidential advisor, to whom every political affair is freely communicated. No doubt that his opinions might be followed in a less servile manner than under Gratian, but the sovereign himself was a man of mature years, accustomed to all the arts of government, and thus a better appreciator of the bishop's lucid views and truly Christian politics. On both sides there sprang up a sort of mutual understanding, closely bordering on a footing of equality, as one might expect between two master minds. It is indeed probable that to Ambrose we owe the permanent establishment of an Eastern and Western Empire, a division founded upon necessity, and well calculated to avert its imminent ruin.

"Si Pergama dextra
Defendi possent, etiam hac defensa fuissent."

Nor was this all, for other measures reveal the same influence. Contrary to what took place on such occasions, the revolution which placed Theodosius at the head of the whole empire cost no other blood but that spilt on the field of battle against the usurper Maximus. There were no executions, no confiscations, no acts of vengeance; for the first time, Christian mildness and charity had the day to themselves. Such policy, good in all times, was excellent at a time when hardly any monarch could reckon upon transmitting his imperial crown to his immediate descendants.

The reader may now, we trust, form a definite notion of what he may expect to find in the _church and the Roman empire during the fourth century_. It is a general review of what the church maintained, preserved, and appropriated to herself among the confused elements of which was made up ancient civilization. Among that huge mass of elements we have purposely selected the most striking, as offering the best instances of that constant though silent transformation which society itself was undergoing previous to the creation of feudal Christendom. That, in the six octavo volumes before us, there are numberless instances of the same kind, must be evident to every intelligent mind. As another inducement to study the book, we may add that the holy father has bestowed upon it the highest praise in a brief addressed to the author--the best reward, assuredly, which his truly Catholic mind could have wished.

And now, lastly, for one most important application of those historical facts which the Prince de Broglie has placed before the world. To those who are familiar with the annals of the two centuries which preceded the utter downfall of the Roman empire, there is a striking resemblance, in a moral view, with what is going on in our own times. Wherever we cast our eyes, we find a motley assemblage of high-flown philosophical doctrines blended with the most degrading superstitions of polytheism; or at Alexandria, the Neo-Platonic schools borrowing a few partial tenets of Christianity, which it mixes up with a sort of juggler's theurgy. {377} After listening to the apostles of this celebrated school, we had but to cross the street to attend at one of those instructions or lectures--how shall we call them?--in which the Christian teachers, priests, and bishops developed the sublime tenets of the redemption. And again, a little further on, we might have stepped into the Serapeum, and there witnessed the immoral mysteries of the Egyptian worship. And so was it, more or less, over all the Roman world.

Doubtless between our own times and those there are many differences, but how many no less striking points of resemblance? We meet with no immoral mysteries in the public worship, but how many cesspools of the same kind in the lower ranks of society--cesspools emitting such loathsome exhalations as would have shocked more than one heathen philosopher? There are no barbarians at our doors, ready to rush in through every gap and weak point of the body politic; but kings put forth their armies, in order to establish the supremacy of might over right; and their attempts are successful, and on the footsteps of their victorious legions an intoxicated multitude of admirers hurry on, shouting, "Hurrah, hurrah!"

And well may they shout "_Hurrah!_" for they, in their wild ovations, do but foreshadow the advent of a still wilder democracy, animated by all the insensate passions of self-worship. Such, indeed, is the form of idolatry which modern nations have assumed, in defiance of the living God, in defiance of a blessed Redeemer, in defiance of every dogma held sacred to mankind. Such are the barbarians, henceforward to be subdued, converted, baptized once more by Christianity, unless the world itself be condemned to rock and totter to and fro between anarchy and despotism. Take it as you will--consider it as you please--run over England, or France, or Germany, or Italy, or the eastern wastes of Russia,--everywhere you will descry and bear the ground-swell of the huge human tides as if awaiting but the breath of the blast to foam, and surge, and lash itself into fury. Again, the forthcoming invasion is of a far more alarming character than that of the German savages; for, born and nurtured in the bosom of Christianity itself, it has profited by all its lights, benefited by all the forces of modern science. Nay, more, our rising democracy is backed by a host of learned infidels, whose only aim and end is to annihilate revelation, so as to raise in its stead the adoration of man as God. Who will dare to deny that such a situation is fraught with imminent peril or refuse to repeat with an ancient, "_Corruptio optimi pessima_"?

And now as to our helps. An eminent French writer lately remarked in the Revue des Deux Mondes that, after all, in the present state of society there is nothing more alarming than in what has ever taken place since the very birthday of the new dispensation. Has it not ever been its fate to struggle against evil doctrines, evil practices, and evil doers? But, then, in all times it successively modified and tempered anew its weapons, according to the wants and exigencies of every age. This indeed is the very secret, in a human view of the subject; this is the secret of its ascendency over heathen corruption, feudal violence, monarchical despotism, or even revolutionary anarchy. Now, one of the most extraordinary features of the present age is that of thirsting after civil and political liberties, which seem destined to become the ground-work of every future state or government. Let us observe that this very feeling--however vitiated and disturbed it may be--is an offspring of the gospel, and, as such, worthy of our respect. So why should it be so difficult for Catholicism to bring about a conciliation between its sublime doctrines and the new cravings of civilized Europe?

{378}

"Is the notion of liberty (asks M. Vitet) alien and unknown to
Christianity? Was it never enforced within its bosom? Did the church
never practise it? On the contrary, did not liberty surround her cradle?
Was it not in the church that arose a whole system of elections, debates,
and control, which has become both the glory and rightful goal of our
modern institutions? To make peace with liberty, to live cheerfully in
its company, to understand and bless its favors, is that the same thing
as to absolve its errors? Is that to concede one jot to misrule and
anarchy? 'No,' will reply some good people; 'for God's sake, don't mix up
religion with party questions. Don't drag her into such quarrels. The
more she keeps aloof from the affairs of this world the more steadfast
will be her empire.' Granted; and above we have insisted upon this truth;
but still, however disengaged from politics, from worldly interests
however absorbed in prayer and good works we may suppose religious people
and the clergy, still how could they live here below in an utter state of
ignorance as to what was going on? Were it but to attack the vices, the
baseness, the disorders of our age, must they not know them, witness
them, with their own eyes? We put the question to those pious souls who
are scared at the very association of the two words--liberty and
religion. Are we not delighted that eloquent voices should condemn and
brand in the holy pulpit the vagaries of our modern spirit, the
revolutionary frenzy, and all those impious doctrines which are a scourge
to society? Well, if religion is right in waging war against false
liberty, why should not she be entitled to speak of sound liberty? Why
not encourage her to speak of it with kindness and sympathy, duly
appreciating its generous tendencies, making it both beloved and fully
understood? Otherwise, what sort of Christianity is yours, and what do
you believe to be its fate? Are you not making of it a narrow, contracted
doctrine--a privilege of the few--the tardy and solitary consolation of
old age or grief? If of Christianity you ask nothing more, if you are
satisfied with allowing it to live on just enough to show that it is not
dying, like one of those ruins protected by antiquarians, and never used,
though objects of general reverence--why then you must separate it from
the rising generations, from an overflowing democracy; you must allow it
to become isolated and to grow old--to bury itself complacently in the
past, in contempt for the present, just like a scolding, querulous,
morose, unpopular old gentleman. But if better apprehending its true
destiny, you wish Christianity to obtain a salutary influence not only
over yourself and your friends, but over all mankind, let it penetrate
into the hearts of all your brethren, young and old, low and high; let it
fire them with the spirit of justice and truth; let it transform them,
straighten their paths, purify them, regenerate them, by speaking their
own language, by taking interest in their ideas, by yielding to their
wishes, without either weakness or flattery, just as a kind father draws
around him all his children by making himself once more young among them,
by consenting to their requests while he corrects their faults, guards
them against the dangers of life, and teaches them the narrow, severe
paths of wisdom and truth." [Footnote 115]

[Footnote 115: Revue des Deux Mondes, Feb. 1, 1867. The above article,
written by M. Vitet, member of the French Academy, will certainly well
repay the reader's perusal, and enlighten him as to the situation of
Catholicism in France. It is indeed astonishing that such a paper
should have been published by that truly infidel periodical; in fact,
Paris readers are fully aware that the editor consented with the
greatest difficulty to its insertion. But then he had of late lost so
many Catholic subscribers.]

A leaning, then, toward the cause of civil and political freedom might probably become a powerful help to Catholics in the present and future crisis by which the world is now threatened. As M. Vitet very properly remarks, they would not have to sacrifice one single principle; and such an attitude on their part might pave the way for many a conversion. Yet such a help is evidently but a poor one after all--a mere matter of expediency. It is from above and in herself that the church must look for her real helps. And here we are brought round at once to a strong resemblance between the actual state of society and that of the fourth century after Christ. The result of a most extraordinary progress in physical science has bent the minds of men toward sensual enjoyment and money making. "Put money in your purse" seems now the motto of almost every living man, and in England more than in any country. But we may already see what are the effects of this ruling passion, and how it gnaws at the very vitals of our social body. The only means of counteracting this fatal craving are the same through which Christianity conquered the heathen world. Evidently Catholicism alone commands those means, for it is hardly worth while to take into account that bastard, inconsistent system, yeleped Protestantism, which has arrived at its lowest period as a spiritual doctrine, and rather promotes than checks the materialistic tendencies of the day. {379} So to set, as in olden times, bright example of asceticism, humility, charity, self-renouncement, strong faith, and a no less strong love of the poor--such are the chief weapons of the church in her warfare against her antagonists. Most fortunately, she appears at present to put forth her best approved armory in this respect; for never, whether among the clergy or laity, did there exist a more exalted ideal of Christian perfection, nor a stronger will to carry that ideal into execution. Half the work is done, and we have but to maintain our ground manfully in front of our common enemy to win the day.

And yet the day may not be ours. Another world, another form of society may reap the harvest that we have sown. When St. Ambrose and Theodosius, like two brave swimmers, breasted the wave of corruption, quickly followed by the wave of invasion, they fondly imagined, perhaps, that they were securing once more the props of Roman society, or founding a thoroughly Christian empire. Ambrose above all, a true Roman of the old stock, could apprehend no other institutions, no other government but those which had borne the test of a thousand years. Though a saint and a statesman, he could not read the signs of the times; and if he could not, who could? The future was in the hands of God; Ambrose labored and toiled for nations yet unborn, but which were already bursting the womb of their mother Europe. Yea! and so may it be with the men of our own generation.

------

From the Italian of Manzoni.

The Death of Napoleon. [Footnote 116]

[Footnote 116: The translation of this poem from the Italian of
Alexander Manzoni was made by the late Rev. Thomas Mulledy, Provincial
Superior of the Jesuits of Maryland. Manzoni is a standard writer in
Italy, and the ode "Il Cinque di Maggio" is a household poem with the
Italians.]

MAY 5, 1821.

He's gone: as void of motion lay,
When the last breath had winged its way,
His stiffened corse--of such a soul
Bereft so struck from pole to pole,
The astonished world astounded hung,
When in its ears his death knell rung:
Silent in dumb reflective power
It mused upon the final hour
Of that great man--that man of fate,
And knows not, if with equal weight
A mortal foot shall ever press
Its bloody dust with such success.

{380}

Him shining on a gorgeous throne
My muse beheld--nor struck one tone
While fortune's wheel its circles flies.
He falls, gets up--then prostrate lies;
While thousand voices rend the air,
Her voice amongst them none can hear.
Exempt from every servile praise,
For outrage base she forms no lays;
But now, when such a beam had fled,
She quickly rears her drooping head,
And round his urn, with heaving sigh,
She weaves a song that may not die.

From Alpine heights to Egypt's shrine,
From Mansanares to the Rhine,
His thunderbolts unerring flew
Close to his vivid lightning's hue,
From Scylla to the Tanais roars,
From Asia's bounds to Adria's shores.
Was this true glory? undefiled?
Posterity, just, unbeguiled,
The arduous sentence must proclaim,
Whilst we before our Maker's name
Must bow--who wished in him to shine
An impress vast of _hands divine_.

He felt the stormy, trepid joy
Of great _designs_--without alloy;
The anxious heart--its feverish pains--
That eager burn--to seize the reins
_That guide to power's airy height_.
He grasped them, _and with hardy might_
He gained the proud reward--which seemed
To all a folly e'en t' have dreamed.
All things he tried: bright glory's sweet
_Increased by frightful danger's heat,_
_Fair_ vict'ry's _smiles_, and _sadd'ning_ flight,
The _sunny_ throne, and exile's night:
Twice prostrate in the dust he lay,
And twice he blazed in _glory's day_.

His name was _heard_: submissive turned
Two ages--that with fury burned--
And, trembling, stood before his seat,
In expectation of their fate:
He bade them hush with lordly frown,
And as their umpire sat him down.
He disappeared: his shortened days
He closed, far from the busy gaze
Of men--a mark for envy's dart,
For purest piety of heart,
For hate, that can no act approve,
And for indomitable love.

{381}

As o'er the shipwrecked sailor's head
The wave rolls up, with terror dread,
That wave, from whose bleak top before
He searched, in vain, for distant shore;
Soon that soul the sick'ning weight
Of mem'ry felt, and brooding sat.
How oft be undertook to paint
Himself to future days--when faint
Upon the eternal pages sunk
His hand, and in himself he shrunk.

How oft, upon the silent close
Of some dull, tedious days, he rose,
And bending down his lightning eyes--
His hand thrust in his bosom lies--
He stood: and gloomy mem'ry's roll
Of days gone by attacked his soul!
He thought upon the tented field,
The sounding plain with bayonets steeled,
The splendor of his marshalled brave,
The chargers rolling in a wave,
The throbbing breast, the quick command,
And prompt obedience of his band.

Perhaps with torturing cares opprest,
His wearied spirit found no rest,
And he despaired: but quick was given
An aiding hand from piteous heaven,
To lift him up--from this dark sphere,
And place him in more genial air.
And through hope's smiling, flow'ry way
To guide him to the fields of day;
To those rewards that far transcend
The hope that vast desires lend:
Where gulfed in darkness sinks each ray
Of glory that has passed away.

O faith immortal! beauteous! kind!
Turn'd to triumphs o'er the mind!
Write this one too--rejoice! be glad!
For never yet a prouder head,
Or one on loftier deeds intent,
To Calv'ry's infamy has bent!
Off from his ashes do thou guard
All malice black--each venomed word
The God who overthrows--and when
To pity moved--rears up again--
Who scatters terror to the poles!
The God who, when he wills, consoles;
That God has placed himself beside
The desert couch--on which he died.

{382}

Translated from Le Mousquetaire.

Sketch of Père Hyacinthe.

The discourses of Père Hyacinthe, in the church of Notre Dame, have been numerously attended, and the sacred eloquence of the orator has furnished subjects for the strangest criticisms that have appeared in what has been called, in the nineteenth century, the profane world.

It is not my intention to give you a portrait of Père Hyacinthe. It has already been drawn by a master hand. I wish merely to sketch the features, the figure, and the personalities of this great saver of souls.

The preacher, who now attracts to Notre Dame the thinking minds of Paris, is in stature above the middle size; his head is closely shaven, like all those of the order of barefooted Carmelites. It is well known that the disciples of St. Teresa wear but a circlet of hair. It is their earthly crown. His form is too large for the size of his head; his face is monkish; his forehead recalls to mind that of St. Augustine; his eyes have rather the expression of seeking truth than of imparting it; but the mouth opens freely to let fall the word of God upon his hearers; the chin, without being aristocratic, is not wanting in a certain nobility that redeems his appearance, which at first sight is ordinary.

On the whole, Père Hyacinthe carries one's thoughts back to those monks of the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, who, regardless of personal safety, fearlessly crossed the thresholds of palaces to make the dignitaries of earth listen to the teachings of charity, love, and of liberty. This preacher has been accused of voluntarily laying aside spiritual subjects to descend to the things of earth. This reproach is unjust.

It is necessary to speak of what interests people the most; meet them at their own doors, live their lives, and suffer with them. Christ spoke in parables that the ignorant might understand him better, and the poor flocked in crowds to hear these admirable teachings which transformed the old world and regenerated humanity. For different times we must take different means. In this age the man of God desires to enlighten both Scribes and Pharisees, and to warn noble ladies of the seductive temptations of Bael. What can be found objectionable in the earthly character of these teachings? In spite of philosophical reasonings, we must fall back upon the old adage, "The end justifies the means."

I do not wish to institute a comparison between Père Hyacinthe and the sacred orators who have preceded him, but I have heard two of his sermons in Notre Dame. Not being able to judge which was the best, I can only decide which pleased me the more. Père Hyacinthe possesses in the highest degree the gift of awakening man to a proper estimate of himself. Elevate the creature, and he approaches the Creator.

I have the honor of knowing a priest who exercises his holy ministry in the vicinity of our Lady of Loretto. He is the most amiable and benevolent man that I have ever had the good fortune to meet.

He speaks to the humblest sinner as St. Charles Borromeo spoke to the thoughtless Milanese. He has words of consolation and charity for all classes of unfortunates. His door is open to them at all hours of the day or night. Thus has he labored for several years, and God alone knows how many wandering sheep this minister of Christ has brought back to the fold, and how many erring hearts he has reconciled to God, to their families, and to society. {383} Certainly there do not exist two kinds of morality, but the application of morality can and ought to vary according to the situation in which they who are in need of instruction are placed.

The church of Notre Dame is to my mind one of the churches in the world which most elevates the soul and brings it nearer to God. I like the Gothic church; it seems to me that prayers ascend more easily to heaven through steeples whose spires are lost in the clouds.

The Greek Byzantine style is both rich and beautiful; but I think it wanting in majesty. My soul is more deeply impressed upon entering the portal of one of the cathedrals upon the Rhine than upon ascending the steps of the Vatican.

The other day, upon listening to the touching eloquence of Père Hyacinthe, I could not drive from my thoughts the sad remembrance of a sermon I heard several years ago in the same place from another celebrated preacher. I had then for a neighbor in the church of Notre Dame an abbé whose memoirs have formed the subject of one of my best works. The orator selected for his discourse the subject of devotion, "Thou shouldst love thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." All is contained in these admirable words; the law and the prophets.

Such were the first words of the preacher, who from this starting-point caused his hearers to traverse ages, tracing at length the great efforts of those noble hearts who devoted themselves for the good of humanity.

The subject was beautiful, and the orator was truly convincing, every heart beat in unison.

I looked at my neighbor, he was inspired. Before me was an apostle who asked no greater happiness than to suffer martyrdom for the glory of God and the good of his fellow-creatures.

Subsequently I learned the precise details of the life of the priest, who called himself the Abbé Bernard.

His history is so interesting that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of writing it a second time. The father of the abbé had accumulated great wealth in lending money with interest. He was one of those practical men who shut up their hearts in their money chest.

Widowed in early life, he sent his only son to college, where he remained until he had attained the age of seventeen; he then removed him to finish his studies by travelling for two years in England and eighteen months in Germany.

In translating the works of Shakespeare and Goethe, the young Bernard had acquired a knowledge of the two living languages that are now the keys of the commercial world.

He then returned to Paris, with his thoughts more filled with poetry and philosophy than with a mind prepared for the sterile labors of an accountant.

His father, upon placing him in his counting-house, generously allowed him a salary of 2,000 francs. Forced into acquiescence, Bernard began the life of an accountant, in which he continued for several years. Unhappily, the young man fell in love with the daughter of his father's cashier. She was a beautiful blonde, had every desirable quality, but possessed no greater fortune than modesty. Bernard's father, who had other views, dismissed the cashier from his employment and commanded his son never to speak to him again upon the subject of that foolish union. The young man fell ill, but his father remained inflexible, "I would rather," said he, "see him laid in his coffin than give him in marriage to an inferior. I have not worked like a horse and economized for forty years for the bright eyes of Mademoiselle Marie Closet; more than that, it is the extreme of folly; the time has passed ages ago since anyone died for love."

{384}

The father was right, nature triumphed over the malady, and the young Bernard's health was soon restored. The first day he went out during convalescence, he hastened to the father of his beloved, who declined seeing him, not wishing to give a pretext for calumny. Despairing on all sides, the young Bernard resolved to put an end to his existence; a frequent recourse for despairing lovers of twenty and twenty-five years!

His mother, a holy woman, had before her death inculcated in the spring-time of his life religious precepts, of which be retained the faithful remembrance. Strange caprice of the human heart! at the moment he determined to offend God the most, be felt unwilling to die before entering a church.

Finding himself within two steps of the church of St. Vincent de Paul, he entered the temple. Lights burned before the two altars. At his right, a marriage was being celebrated, and at the end of the chapel a funeral service was being performed. The bridal party was not numerous; but the deceased must have occupied a high position in society, judging from the numbers who followed his remains to their last resting-place. Bernard became absorbed in prayer. When he raised his eyes, he saw before him a young priest blessing the assemblage. An idea quick as lightning crossed the mind of the self-destroyer. It is noble, thought he, to console others, even when there is no hope of happiness for one's self. A week had not elapsed before Jean Léon Bernard entered a theological seminary. Two years after be received ordination; he never saw his father again, but the banker settled upon him an annuity of three thousand francs. The young Levite was sent to a small village to begin the exercise of his holy ministry. After celebrating his first mass, he found upon entering the sacristy a letter awaiting him sealed with black. His father had just died and left him an inheritance of over four millions.

Remember Christ himself has said, "The poor and those who lead sinful lives are in great need of being encouraged and consoled." Bernard returned to Paris, the great centre of glory and the abode of every misery.

When I first saw him at Notre Dame, the Abbé Bernard had been administering his admirable charities in that capital for ten years. From the time he put on the soutane he lived the life of a saint, his days and nights were at the disposal of suffering humanity. He passed his time and consecrated his life to healing the wounds of the soul and curing those of the body. He multiplied himself, as it were, to accomplish his hard task. He was soon everywhere, carrying words of peace to the dying, of hope to the occupants of prisons, and alms to the afflicted of all classes.

Indefatigable in well-doing, with charity for the faults of others, this worthy disciple of Christ exercised severity only toward himself.

Though scarcely forty years of age, he appeared more than fifty; in the vigor of life he was bent like an old man. The worn features and the cadaverous paleness of his countenance would have given him a doomed look, had not his whole aspect been illumined by the divine halo of charity.

I will relate a few more particulars, in the brief space allotted me, of the life of this priest and the manner of his death. In order to fulfil a great mission of charity this abbé set out for Rome. Arriving at Marseilles, he learned that a change consequent upon the state of the tide would compel him to wait three days for a boat leaving for Civita Vecchia.

Patience being a Christian virtue, the worthy priest submitted to the necessity without a murmur. Having nothing better to do, he set out upon a tour of investigation through this interesting city, which, thanks to the conquest of Algeria and the opening of the isthmus of Suez, should become at some future day the first maritime city of the world. Pursuing his walk, he took a cross street dividing the port from the oldest quarter of Marseilles. He had hardly advanced thirty steps, when be found himself among a crowd assembled before a house of humble appearance. A horrible sight burst upon his vision. A woman stood before the door uttering the most piercing shrieks.

{385}

The priest asked, "What is the matter?"

"What! Monsieur le Curé!" replied the porter at the gate. "Do you not understand that here lies another victim to the terrible epidemic which is ravaging the city, and that this woman is shrieking for help for her husband who is dying?" Without waiting for the sentence to be finished, the Abbé Bernard made his way through the crowd and directed his steps toward the unhappy woman. "Take me to your husband," said he, extending his hand toward her.

The woman regarded him earnestly, but, prevented from replying by choking sobs, she showed him the way to the third floor. Upon a rough bed a naked man was prostrated. Two of his comrades were rubbing him with woollen cloths.

Finding himself in the presence of cholera the abbé reflected a second, then wrote some words upon a detached leaf of his note-book. "Here," said he to the elder of the two porters, "is an order and five francs. Run quickly to the apothecary's! I will take your place until you return." The priest took the cloths and rubbed the poor unfortunate. Under his skilfully applied friction the sick man became calm; but upon seeing the costume of the priest he could hardly contain himself with terror. "My God!" cried he, "must I die? Yes, they have brought me a confessor." The abbé assured him he would be better. The messenger returned bringing the medicines. The priest remained three hours by his bedside, and when the doctor arrived he declared him out of danger.

In the south, the people are sensational and carry their feelings to great excess. We can hardly wonder, then, that in their enthusiasm the woman and porters carried the Abbé Bernard out to the street in triumph. Unhappily, while enthusiastic, they are superstitious. The crowd immediately spread the report that the priest had power to cure the cholera. At the end of the street, a woman, upon seeing the abbé, threw herself upon her knees, exclaiming with sobs: "Father, my child is dying; I have only him on earth; in the name of the Holy Virgin save him." The indefatigable apostle of charity followed her to the poor little creature only five or six years of age, whom he found rolling in agony. God has not given to man the power of staying the angel of death when he turns from his path to strike the infant in its cradle. Prayers and science are often powerless. Notwithstanding, the child was saved.

The worthy abbé did not regain his hotel until a late hour, greatly overcome with fatigue. The next morning he did not leave his room. Toward noon, fearing he was ill, they visited him, and found him with closed eyes and a smile upon his lips. He was dead. The good pastor had given his life for his flock.

Such was the man I had for a neighbor at one of the sermons of Père Lacordaire. Such was the man whom memory recalled to my thoughts yesterday while listening to the last discourse of Père Hyacinthe.

------

{386}

Original.

The Two Lovers of Flavia Domitilla.

By Clonfert.