Chapter III (2)

There was nothing at Dijon to keep alive the fervor of his religious sentiments, and it was a time indeed when, in the confusion of the political upheaval which was soon to wreak havoc in the social life of France, faith was an unfashionable weakness, devotion was an exclusively feminine accomplishment, and piety was supplanted by a pinchbeck philosophy. What wonder, therefore, that he left college at the age of seventeen, with his faith practically destroyed--not an open infidel, but only a nominal Christian? At the age of twenty he went to Paris to commence the practice of the law. It may readily be supposed that in the society of the metropolis, which was then seething with political excitement, and intoxicated with dreams of impossible liberty, in the stirring occupations of his career at the bar where he achieved at once a very signal success, his religious impressions would be still further weakened. At first this certainly was the case; yet there was one peculiarity of his disposition which preserved him from a good many of the dangers of his way of life, and probably contributed, under God, to his conversion. He was one who thirsted for love, yet was without a single bosom friend. He never was attracted by the society of women; but he longed for the affection of some congenial companion of his own sex, who could enter into all his hopes and feelings, and share his disappointments and his pleasures. Without this--and his natural reserve long debarred him from it-- Paris was to him a desert. He was forced to withdraw into himself. Solitude and habits of reflection begot an abiding melancholy. "There are in me," he writes at this time, "two contrary principles, which are always at war, and which sometimes make me very unhappy--a cold, calm reason, opposed to a burning imagination--and the first disenchants me of all the illusions which the second presents. {691} Nobody would commit more follies than I should do on one side of my being, were I not withheld by a habit of reflection which presents things to me in all their aspects. I have played the game of the material interests of this world, and, without having much enjoyed its pleasures or been intoxicated with its delights, I have tasted enough to be convinced that all is vain under the sun; and this conviction comes both from my imagination, which has no limits save the Infinite, and from my reason, which analyzes all it touches. I have a most religious heart, and a very incredulous mind; but, as it is in the nature of things that the mind must at last allow itself to be subjugated by the affections, it is most likely that I shall one day become a Christian. I am alike capable of living in solitude, and of plunging into the vortex of human affairs: I love quiet when I think of it, and bustle when I am in it, sometimes making my Castle in the air to consist in the life of a village curé, and then saying good-by to my day-dream as I pass the Pont-Neuf--held in my present position by that force of reason which convinces me that to try everything and to be always changing one's place is not to change one's nature, and that there are wants in the heart which earth is powerless to satisfy."

By what process he was led out of this darkness into the light of religious happiness, we do not know. Probably he never knew himself the precise means by which the grace of God wrought his conversion. "Would you believe it," he wrote in 1824, "I am every day growing more and more a Christian? It is strange, this progressive change in my opinions. I am beginning to believe, and yet I was never more a philosopher. A little philosophy draws us from religion, but a good deal of it brings us back again." His progress toward the truth was rapid. He shunned the society of his acquaintances. Sometimes he was detected on his knees behind the columns of silent churches. Sometimes his friends surprised him wrapt in sorrowful meditation among his books. At length the clouds broke away. The divine light burst upon him in all its magnificence. The loving friend whom he had sought so long he found in the person of his Saviour. The affectionate heart which had yearned for an object upon which to pour out its wealth found one in Jesus Christ. The eloquent lips had at last a theme worthy of their powers. He resolved to become a priest, and at the age of twenty-two accordingly entered the Seminary of St. Sulpice.

The serenity and peace of mind which came upon him in his new life was like the reaction after long restraint. He seemed created for the priesthood, for he had all the natural gifts most fitting the sacred calling; but his life had been forced into the wrong channel, and now that the pressure was removed, his soul rebounded with an elasticity at which his directors now and then stood aghast. The strict formalism of St. Sulpice, with its rigorous rules of propriety, was but little suited to his independent character; yet it was something more than a natural repugnance to unnecessary restraint which inspired him with a gaiety little known in the prim precincts of the seminary.

"It sometimes happened that his lively and original nature, not
yet under much control, betrayed itself in sallies which
manifested something of the _gallica levitas_, seasoned
with Burgundian love of fun. The good directors were astounded,
and hastened to repress this boisterous levity. He never could
accustom himself to the square cap, that strange head-dress,
the shape of which is so grotesque that one dares not call it
by its true name. Against these caps Lacordaire declared war, a
war at first carried on by epigrams, but which soon became one
of extermination.
{692}
He would snatch them out of the hands of his friends and throw
them into the fire. This gave rise to a great commotion, and
very lively discussions ensued, some declaring in favor of the
square cap, and others for the biretta, which was then a
novelty. But novelty and argument were two things which St.
Sulpice held in equal abhorrence. In the evening, therefore, at
the hour of spiritual reading, the superior addressed them a
grave reproof, and order was once more restored.

"The Abbé Lacordaire always displayed perfect submission to his
directors; and if they were sometimes puzzled by the contrasts
of his singular character, they never had occasion to complain
of his want of humility, modesty, or obedience. He was beloved
by all his companions: his deep and earnest nature, wholly
given up to his new and sacred duties, was adorned with a
certain freshness of poetry, with the fragrance of worldly
refinement, and the grace of a character long pent up within
itself, but now freely poured forth; and all this gave an
indescribable charm to his personal intercourse which made him
generally loved and sought after. All his masters, however, did
not understand him; the singularity of some of his ways, his
liberal opinions, and his instinctive repugnance to certain
points of ordinary routine, doubtless now and then deceived
their observant eyes, and prevented them from at once
appreciating at its just value the pure gold which lay hidden
at the bottom of the vessel."

The consequence of all this was that his superiors remained a long time in doubt about his vocation, and he was not allowed to receive holy orders at the usual time.

"They felt uneasy when they observed his ardor for debates, and
the large claims which he made for reason. When he opened his
lips in class to raise any objection, his words took so lively
and original a turn, and his conclusions were so bold, that
they often proved somewhat embarrassing to the professors. At
last, in order to save time, they begged him to put off his
difficulties till the end of the lecture. He forgot this
sometimes; perhaps it was to relate a story, but the story
generally ended in some treacherous question, or some
home-thrust at the thesis of the master."

A project which he seriously began to entertain of becoming a Jesuit put an end to this hesitation, and in 1827 he was ordained priest. Very soon afterward an appointment as auditor of the Rota at Rome was offered him. It was an office pretty certain to lead to the episcopacy, but he refused it, and accepted the humble post of chaplain to a convent of visitation nuns in Paris, where his widowed mother came to live with him. The abundant leisure which remained to him in this humble position he diligently employed in study. At one time he had nearly made up his mind to become a missionary in the United States, and he had an interview respecting the project with Bishop Dubois, of New York, when that venerable prelate visited France in 1830. The bishop offered him the post of vicar-general. It would be curious to speculate what effect his acceptance of this proposal would have had upon the history of either the French or the American Church. Had he been vicar-general, he would probably have been the coadjutor and successor of Bishop Dubois, and the brilliant career of Archbishop Hughes would have been missed from our annals. In no other diocese than New York would Archbishop Hughes have found a proper field for the full exercise of his remarkable powers; in no other position than the one he actually occupied could he have done such good service to the church as he effected in this chief city of the new world. On the other hand, there can be no question that Henry Lacordaire was but imperfectly fitted for the hard and laborious work required in those days of an American bishop. It was rough work, and the tools needed to be not delicate but strong. To one who had refused a tempting offer from Rome, the prospect of a vicar-generalship in America cannot be supposed to have held out strong inducements; but there were some reasons why a career in this country presented itself to his mind in a strangely enticing light. {693} He had not forgotten his early aspirations for political independence. He had already given deep thought to the problem which was afterward to bring him into such prominence before the world, of associating society and the church, and breaking the unholy alliance between democracy and infidelity. Politically he was an earnest liberal; religiously he was a devout priest. In France, men did not readily see how the two characters could be united; but in America he believed that Catholicism was placed under conditions of development and action more favorable than in any country of Europe. "Who is there," he exclaimed, "who, at moments when the state of his own country saddens him, has not turned his eyes toward the republic of Washington? Who has not, in fancy, at least, sat down to rest under the shadow of her forests and her laws? Weary with the spectacle I beheld in France, it was on that land that I cast my eyes, and thither I resolved to go to ask a hospitality she has never refused to a traveller or a priest." Having obtained the consent of his archbishop, he went to Burgundy to bid farewell to his family. But while there, he received a letter from his friend, the Abbé Gerbet, which changed his course and determined him to remain in France.

In the spring of 1830, he had become intimate with the Abbé de la Mennais, in whom the hopes of so many of the most zealous of the religious party in France then centred. He was fascinated by the genius of that remarkable man; he believed in many of his theories; he tried, with only incomplete success, to accept his philosophy; but De la Mennais was an absolutist in politics, and Lacordaire was an earnest liberal. The revolution of 1830, however, swept away this barrier which had hitherto kept the two men apart. De la Mennais frankly accepted the great changes which followed the abdication of Charles X., and, in conjunction with some of his disciples, prepared to discuss the same problem of the church and society of which Lacordaire was about to seek the solution in America. In this work Lacordaire was invited to take part. "Nothing," says Father Chocarne, "could have caused him greater joy; it amounted to a sort of intoxication. ... And thus the same enthusiastic love of liberty which was carrying this ardent and generous soul to a country blest with a larger freedom than his own, stopped him at the very moment of his departure, and fixed him for ever to take part in the destinies and struggles of his native land."

The _Avenir_ newspaper, which was to be the vehicle of this discussion, was founded on the 15th of October, 1830. The noise of it had no sooner gone abroad than a young French gentleman of brilliant parts, then in Ireland, hastened home to claim a share of the labor. This was Montalembert, and in him Lacordaire found the friend for whom he had long sought, and a worthy object for the affection which he was burning to bestow. They met for the first time at the house of De la Mennais, and loved each other from the first with a love such as knit together the souls of Jonathan and David. De la Mennais, Lacordaire, and Montalembert were three of the principal editors of the new journal.

{694}

"They declared their object plainly enough: it was to claim
back for the church of France every privilege of liberty,
whilst rejecting none of its burdens. The revolution had just
made a clean sweep of all ancient traditions. Since the
restoration of order and public worship at the beginning of the
century, the clergy had learnt to their cost the real value of
that protection granted by a power which was ill-informed as to
the real nature of its relations with the church; they had
found out by experience what they had gained in consideration
under the empire, under the restoration, and under the recently
established _régime_ of the _bourgoisie._ What
attitude were they to assume toward the new government? Would
the old endeavors to form an alliance between the throne and
the altar now recommence? The _Avenir_ was founded to
preserve them from this temptation. Its programme was, respect
for the charter and for just laws; but for the rest, an
absolute independence of the civil government. It consequently
advocated liberty of opinion for the press, and war against
arbitrary power and privilege; liberty of education, and war
against the monopoly of the university; liberty of association,
and war against the old anti-monastic laws revived in evil
times; the liberty and moral independence of the clergy, and
war against the budget of public worship. Very vague and
uncertain limits were assigned to these different liberties,
and the reserves stipulated for in the declarations of doctrine
disappeared often enough when the writers were carried away by
the ardor of discussion, and the vehemence of invective. They
were more frequently engaged, we must confess, in obtaining the
thing they sought than in preventing its abuse. Far too radical
in their principles, the polemics of the journal were yet more
so in the course of action which they recommended. 'Liberty is
not given, it is taken,' was a phrase continually repeated; nor
did they scruple to add example to precept. Every morning the
charge was sounded, and every day witnessed some new feat of
arms. The clergy were addressed as an army drawn up in battle
array. Every means was tried to kindle their ardor; the zeal of
the tardy was stimulated, and deserters were set in the
pillory. The chiefs of the party were harangued, the plan of
campaign indicated beforehand, the enemy pointed out and
pursued to death. Philosophers, enemies of religion, ministers,
miserable pro-consuls, members of the university, citizens, and
Gallicans were all attacked at once. Resistance did but rouse
the spirit of the combatants; it seemed as though the sun
always set too early on their warlike ardor. Patience and
discretion were not much regarded in their system of tactics;
they wanted to have everything at once, and could not wait for
to-morrow, and what was not granted with a good grace was to be
snatched by force, and at the point of the sword. This haughty
and antagonistic attitude, this want of experience in men and
things, more excusable in the young disciples than it was in
their master, formed, in our opinion, the greatest fault of the
_Avenir_. Its errors and exaggerations of doctrine might
have been corrected with time, good advice, and the practical
teaching of facts. But those haughty accents, so strange when
heard from the lips of priests, alarmed even their friends, and
created a certain consternation at Rome--Rome ever calm as
truth, and patient as eternity. The responsibility of this
false attitude must be charged chiefly on the Abbé de la
Mennais and the Abbé Lacordaire. It was the latter who drew up
the most incendiary harangues, and opened the most difficult
questions.

......

"The philosophic opinions of M. de la Mennais, and the absolute
theories of his journal, particularly those which represented
the state payment of the clergy as the badge of shame and
slavery, had excited a certain feeling of distrust among the
episcopacy, which daily increased. The young disciples of M. de
la Mennais were never afraid of a combat; but their faith and
loyalty could not endure the vague suspicions raised against
their orthodoxy. They began to desire a clear, open
explanation, and they determined to go and demand it from the
judge of all ecclesiastical controversies, the successor of St.
Peter."

The first suggestion of this course came from Lacordaire. He reached Rome, with his two companions, about the end of December, 1831, and besought an audience with the Holy Father Gregory XVI. for the purpose of explaining their views and intentions, and, we may suppose, of defending their orthodoxy. But Rome is not readily moved by the dreams of young enthusiasts, and their reception was a cold one. They were denied a personal interview, and were required to put what they had to say into writing. At the end of two months, Cardinal Pacca condescended to notice their memorial, promised that it "should be examined," and courteously bade them go home. {695} The effect of this treatment upon De la Mennais and Lacordaire respectively, is a remarkable illustration of their characters. The one, deeply wounded in his pride, is sullen under the reproof and at last throws away for ever the precious gift of faith. The other acknowledges his errors, bows humbly to the command of God, and, delivered from "the most terrible of all oppressions, that of the intellect," starts afresh upon a more glorious career than the one he is forced to abandon. "When I arrived at Rome," he writes, "at the tomb of the holy apostles, St. Peter and St. Paul, I knelt down and said to God, 'Lord, I begin to feel my weakness, my sight fails me, truth and error alike escape my grasp; have pity on thy servant, who comes to thee with a sincere heart; hear the prayer of the poor.' I know neither the day nor the hour when it took place, but at last I saw what I had not before seen, and I left Rome free and victorious. I had learned from my own experience that the church is the deliverer of the human intellect; and as from freedom of intellect all other freedoms necessarily flow, I perceived the questions which then agitated the world in their true light." "It was at this moment, as I venture to believe," says Montalembert, "that God for ever marked him with the seal of his grace and laid up for him the reward due to his unshaken fidelity, so worthy of a priestly soul."

Lacordaire now resolved to return at once to France, and abandon the _Avenir_ entirely. De la Mennais persisted in remaining at Rome longer and resuming the suspended periodical; but when the pope decided at last in his Encyclical Letter of August 15th, 1832, and decided against him, he made a temporary submission, and withdrew to his country-house at La Chesnaie. In this solitary retreat, where, in the days of his greatness, a knot of favorite disciples used to sit at his feet, he was once more joined by Lacordaire, who had more confidence in the reality of his master's obedience to the Holy See than after events justified. Before long, others of the young school gathered under the roof of the lonely manor-house. De la Mennais chafed daily more and more under the affront to his intellect. He gave signs of rebellion. His heart was torn by passion, and his lips let fall dark threats and alarming murmurs. "The harrowing spectacle," says Lacordaire, "became too much for me to bear." He wrote M. de la Mennais an affecting letter of farewell; and left La Chesnaie alone and on foot. It was not long before the apostasy of De la Mennais brought the sad history to an awful close.

The young priest, who had escaped from the snare, hastened to present himself to the Archbishop of Paris, Mgr. de Quélen. He was received with open arms, as a son who had returned wounded and weary from some dangerous adventure. "You want another baptism," said the archbishop, "and I will give you one." He reappointed him to the chaplaincy of the Visitation, and in the retirement of that peaceful retreat he found rest for his disturbed soul, and girded up his loins for a fresh battle with the world.

He spent about a year in this solitude, and then accepted an invitation from the officers of the Stanislaus College in Paris, to preach a series of conferences to the students. Here, at last, was the vocation for which God had designed him. The pulpit was his proper sphere. After the first day, the pupils had to give up their places to crowds of strangers, and the chapel could not contain the numbers who flocked to listen to his indescribable eloquence. {696} It was an eloquence not restricted by rules. The orator trampled under foot the artificial forms which for centuries had cramped and confined the utterances of the pulpit. He outraged at pleasure all the canons of the schools. His conferences were neither lectures, nor homilies, nor sermons, but rather were brilliant discourses on sacred subjects in which all the sympathies of the audience were by turns engaged. He spoke not merely as a priest, but as a citizen, a poet, a philosopher, as a man of the day, appreciating the spirit and the wants of his own time. But, like all men who strike out in a new path, and are not satisfied to follow exactly in the footsteps of their grandfathers, he encountered bitter opposition from a certain class of purblind formalists. His style, they said, was too human; his rhetoric was too erratic; his disrespect for the text-books of the schools of eloquence was positively appalling. Nay, was he not one of that pestiferous brood which De la Mennais had hatched in the woods of La Chesnaie, and which the Pope had solemnly condemned? Was he not a liberal in politics, a friend of liberty, an admirer of American republicanism? He had recanted his errors; but that was forgotten. He had given the strongest proofs of the steadfastness of his faith and the completeness of his submission to the Holy See; but these were overlooked. He was not merely an orator, but an accomplished theologian, for he had always been a hard student; but to this his opponents resolutely shut their eyes. They denounced him as a dangerous man, a fanatic, an innovator, and a corrupter of youth. Their clamor at last prevailed, and by order of the archbishop the conferences were suspended. This second humiliation, which he accepted with the same docility as the first, was of short duration. M. Affre, afterward Archbishop of Paris, pleaded so earnestly for his reinstatement that he was not only restored to the pulpit but appointed a series of conferences in the great cathedral of Notre Dame. We shall tell in his own words how, after a brief hesitation, he entered upon this important duty:

"The day having come, Notre Dame was filled with a multitude
such as had never before been seen within its walls. The
liberal and the absolutist youth of Paris, friends and enemies,
and that curious crowd which a great capital has always ready
for anything new, had all flocked together, and were packed in
dense masses within the old cathedral. I mounted the pulpit
firmly but not without emotion, and began my discourse with my
eye fixed on the archbishop who, after God, but before the
public, was to me the first personage in the scene. He listened
with his head a little bent down, in a state of absolute
impassibility, like a man who was not a mere spectator, nor
even a judge, but rather as one who ran a personal risk by the
experiment. I soon felt at home with my subject and my
audience, and as my breast swelled under the necessity of
grasping that vast assembly of men, and the calm of the first
opening sentences began to give place to the inspiration of the
orator, one of those exclamations escaped from me which, when
deep and heartfelt, never fail to move. The archbishop visibly
trembled. I watched his countenance change as he raised his
head and cast on me a glance of astonishment. I saw that the
battle was gained in his mind, and it was so already in that of
the audience. Having returned home, he announced that he was
going to appoint me honorary canon of the cathedral; and they
had some difficulty in inducing him to wait until the end of
the station."

The effect of these discourses was irresistible. All Paris came to hear them; and over the young men especially, into whose wants, tastes, feelings, hopes, aspirations, disappointments Father Lacordaire entered so thoroughly, because he had experienced them all himself, his influence was almost unbounded.

{697}

"What above all distinguished his preaching, and marked its
providential mission, whilst it formed the chief reason of his
success, was its adaptation to social needs. It gave to society
what society was hungering and thirsting after; that Living
Bread, the long privation of which had brought it to the verge
of death; it spoke to the world of God, and of his Son, our
Lord and Saviour. Christianity has a social existence, not only
in the sense that it is itself a society, the most united, the
most universal, the most ancient, the most Catholic, and the
most perfect of all societies; but also in this, that all
societies depend on and live by it, as the body depends on the
soul, and draws its life from thence, and as man depends and
lives on God. Now the society which the Abbé Lacordaire
addressed was remarkable precisely in this, that it was
_without_ God. For the first time, perhaps, since
civilized nations have had a history, men were to be seen
endeavoring to progress without the aid of any positive
commerce with heaven. But if it is with difficulty that an
individual can live without religious faith, much more is it
impossible for a nation to do so. What, in fact, is a nation
but a great community of sufferings, miseries, weaknesses, and
maladies of mind and body? Without religion, and above all,
without Christianity, where is the remedy for all these evils,
the consolation for all these misfortunes? The Abbé Lacordaire,
himself brought back to Catholicism by his deep conviction that
society could not do without the church, received as his
peculiar mission the task of developing this truth to the eyes
of his countrymen. 'The old state of society,' he said,
'perished because it had expelled God; the new is suffering,
because God has not yet been admitted into it.' His constant
aim, the thought which ran through all his instructions, his
labors, and his entire career, was to contribute what he could
in order that he might reenter into the faith and life of the
age."

The conferences went on for two years without interruption, and with constantly increasing success. The archbishop bestowed upon the preacher the title of "the new prophet." All at once, in May, 1836, without any ostensible reason, he resigned his pulpit and went to Rome. The fact was, he had not succeeded in living down the misrepresentations and misconceptions which had embarrassed him before. He was still regarded in many quarters as a dangerous man, whose zeal was too rash, and whose orthodoxy was, at the best, but unfirm. What better could he do than seek refuge from detraction in the very bosom of the church? How could he better prove his devout obedience to the Holy Father than by seating himself at the very foot of the papal throne? In the retirement of the Christian capital, he pondered upon his future career. A life such as he had hitherto led he saw was impossible; whatever good he might effect by his preaching would hardly counterbalance the evil of the opposition he aroused among those who could not or would not understand him. Moreover, the archbishop had kindly intimated to him that there was no line of duty open to him except in the routine of regular parochial duty. For this he had neither fitness nor vocation. His only resource was consequently in one of the religious orders. None of them except the Society of Jesus had yet been restored in France. What a glorious task for him to bring back some of them to his native country! After long deliberation, his choice settled upon the Dominicans. The difficulties to be overcome were enormous; and not the least of the obstacles which he had to place under his foot was his own character, his independence of spirit, his love of liberty, his boldness in stepping out of the beaten path. We have no space to relate in detail how he fought and conquered. He made his novitiate at Viterbo, pronounced his vows in May, 1840, and the next day set out for Rome, where the convent of Santa Sabina had been consigned for his use and that of the six companions who were to join him in his mission.

{698}

His stay here was but brief, for he was eager to get back to France. In December, he reappeared in his native country, wearing the habit which had been banished from the kingdom for half a century.

"Here and there he met with a few marks of astonishment, and
sometimes of hostility. At Paris, where he was expected by no
one excepting his most intimate friends, many rejoiced to see
him. His former enemies had no time to think of their old
rancors, nor the lawyers their musty statutes. Everything else
gave way before the sentiment of curiosity. All the world
wished to see the friar, the spectre of past ages, the son of
_Dominic the Inquisitor;_ and especially to know what he
was going to do and to say. Mgr. Affre, the new Archbishop of
Paris, received Père Lacordaire with delight, saw no difficulty
in his preaching at Notre Dame in his new habit, and only
begged him to name whatever day he liked. We must leave Père
Lacordaire himself to relate the story of this bold adventure.

"'I appeared in the pulpit of Notre Dame with my white tunic,
gray-black mantle, and my tonsure. The archbishop presided, the
keeper of the seals, and minister of public worship, M. Martin,
(du Nord,) was also present, as he wished to observe for
himself a scene of which no one could tell the issue. Many
other distinguished persons concealed themselves in the
assembly, in the midst of the crowd which filled the church
from the doors to the sanctuary. I had chosen for the subject
of my discourse the _Vocation of the French Nation_, in
order to veil the audacity of my presence under the popularity
of my theme. In this I succeeded, and next day the keeper of
the seals invited me to a dinner-party of forty persons, which
he gave at the chancellor's mansion. During the repast, M.
Bourdain, formerly minister of justice under Charles X., leant
toward one of his neighbors, and said, "What a strange turn of
events! If, when I was keeper of the seals, I had invited a
Dominican to my table, my house would have been burnt down next
day." However, the house was not burnt, and no newspaper ever
invoked the secular arm against my _auto-da-fé_.'

"This was, in fact, one of his happiest strokes--one of those
surprises which he was fond of, and which suited the
adventurous side of his character. The effect of this
reappearance was immense; the religious standard had been
planted in the very heart of the stronghold; but the victory
was not yet completely gained, and many of those who had been
dazzled and disconcerted by the brilliancy and unforeseen
character of the attack, were not long ere they turned against
him, and demanded an explanation of his illegal triumph, in the
name of the state."

The establishment of the order in France was not effected without a good many troubles. There was trouble at Rome, where he was suspected and misunderstood until he proved his humility and obedience. There was trouble in France, where the government opposed the introduction of an order which was still forbidden by law, and threatened him with penalties which, after all, they lacked the courage to enforce; and where the timid and short-sighted among the clergy would rather have had him submit to wrong than compromise a sleepy sort of tranquillity by standing up boldly for the right. There was even a tedious controversy which, at this distance of time and place, seems wonderfully trivial, whether he should be permitted to preach in his white habit. But his courage conquered. One or two houses of the order were soon opened; and, when the revolutionary troubles came in 1848, the eloquent Dominican was one of the most popular men in France. With the establishment of the republic, a somewhat embarrassing question presented itself for his decision. It was not easy for him, occupying such a position as he did in the public eye, to stand aloof from the great public questions of the day. The good of religion seemed to require that he should mingle in the turmoil of politics. He tells how his determination was at last effected:

"Whilst I was thus deliberating with myself, the Abbé Maret and
Frederic Ozanam called on me. They spoke to me of the trouble
and uncertainty that reigned among Catholics; all old
rallying-points were disappearing in what seemed likely to
become a hopeless anarchy, which might render the new
_régime_ hostile to us, and deprive us of all chance of
obtaining those liberties which had been refused by preceding
governments.
{699}
'The republic,' they added, 'is well-disposed toward us; we
have no such acts of barbarity and irreligion to charge it with
as disgraced the Revolution of 1830. It believes and hopes in
us; ought we to discourage it? Moreover, what are we to do?--to
what other party can we attach ourselves? What do we see before
us but ruin? and what is the republic, but the natural
government of a society that has lost all its former anchors
and traditions?'

"To these reasons, suggested by the situation of affairs, they
added higher and more general views, drawn from the future of
European society, and the impossibility that monarchy should
ever again find any solid resting-place. On this point I did
not go so far as they. Limited monarchy, in spite of its
faults, had always seemed to me the most desirable of all forms
of government, and I only saw in the republic a momentary
necessity until things should naturally take another course.
This difference of opinion was serious, and hardly allowed of
our working together in concert. Nevertheless, the danger was
urgent, and it was absolutely necessary either to abdicate at
this solemn moment, or frankly to choose one's party, and bring
to the help of society, now shaken to its very foundations,
whatever light and strength each one had at his command.
Hitherto I had taken a definite position with regard to public
events; ought I now to take refuge in a selfish silence because
the difficulties were more serious? I might indeed say that I
was a religious, and so hide myself under my religious habit;
but I was a _religious militant_, a preacher, a writer,
surrounded by a sympathy which created very different duties
for me from the duties of a Trappist or a Carthusian. These
considerations weighed on my conscience. Urged by my friends to
decide, I at length yielded to the force of events, and though
I felt a strong repugnance to the idea of returning to the
career of a journalist, I agreed, in concert with them, to
unfurl a standard on which should be inscribed together the
names of Religion, the Republic, and Liberty."

This was the origin of a new political journal, the _Ere Nouvelle_, of which he commenced the publication in the spring of 1848. Nor was this all. The city of Marseilles elected him a representative in the constituent assembly; and, in his white Dominican habit, he took his seat there on the extreme left. We need hardly say that his political career was a bitter disappointment to himself, and a disappointment, too, to many of his friends. There was only one party with which his principles permitted him to ally himself; but that party, as he saw it in the assembly, could not enlist his sympathies. "I could not sit there," he said, "apart from democracy, and yet I could not accept democracy as I saw it there displayed." He held his seat only two weeks. On the 15th of May, a mob invaded the hall of meeting, and for three hours held their representatives intimidated. The next day Lacordaire resigned in disgust. "I found out," said he afterward, "that I was nothing but a poor little friar, and in no way a Richelieu; a poor friar, loving nothing but retirement and peace." Very soon afterward he withdrew likewise from the _Ere Nouvelle_, and here it may be said that his public life came to a close. He preached for some time longer in Notre Dame, but the boldness of his language gave offence, and, after the _coup d'état_ of December, 1851, he resisted all entreaties to appear again in the cathedral pulpit. The strengthening and propagation of his order now took up all his attention. He visited his brethren in other countries, and made a short trip to England. Then, at the age of fifty, he resolved to devote himself to the education of the young. He founded houses of the third order of Dominicans for the express purpose of carrying on this important work, and in one of them, at Sorèze, he finally settled down to pass the remainder of his days. Here, with powers yet unimpaired, the man whose eloquence had stirred all France applied himself to teaching the Greek and Latin grammar. He had no fixed system of education, but his personal magnetism made up for other defects; he gathered around him the best instructors; he lived like a father in the bosom of his family; he filled the place with the odor of gentleness and piety. Here, on the 21st of November, 1860, after an illness of nearly a year, he preached his last.

{700}

Important as the labor was in which Father Lacordaire had spent the closing years of his life, we cannot help feeling that it was not the labor for which he had been specially endowed, nor was it that in which his heart was most deeply engaged. It is rather as the preacher of Notre Dame than as the president of Sorèze, rather as the reconciler of religion and society than as a teacher of boys, that he stands before us in the page of history. What a bitter comment is it upon the condition of affairs in France, fifteen or twenty years ago, that such a man could be stopped in such a career! The story of Lacordaire often reminds us of a passage in one of George Eliot's novels, where the life of one who had gone through bitter sorrow and disappointment is described as being "like a spoiled pleasure-day, in which the music and processions are all missed, and nothing is left at evening but the weariness of striving after what has been failed of." It was partly so with his life; not wholly, of course, for the reward of the striving came at evening, though the object of the struggle had been missed. Disappointment and weariness were the burdens which God laid upon him, and he leaves a brighter renown, as well as reaps a brighter reward, for the sweetness with which he bore them.

--------

Sayings Of The Fathers Of The Desert.

Abbot Isaac said: I know a brother who was reaping, and who wished to eat an ear of corn, and he said to the master of the field: Are you willing I should eat one ear of corn? And he, hearing these words, was astonished and said: The field is thine, Father, and dost thou ask me? So scrupulous was the brother.

Abbot Sisois once said in confidence: Believe me, I have been thirty years without praying to God on account of my sins; but when I pray I say this: O Lord Jesus Christ, save me from my tongue. And yet it causes me to fall every day, and be delinquent.

Abbot Pastor said: As the bees are driven from their hives by smoke so that their honey may be obtained, even so does bodily rest banish the fear of the Lord from the soul, and take from it every good work.

A certain old man determined that he would drink nothing for forty days. Whenever he was tormented by burning thirst, he took a vessel, and, having filled it with water, placed it before him. And when his brethren asked why he did this, he answered: In order that, seeing what I greatly desire, and yet not tasting it, my suffering may be the more intense, and hence that the reward which God shall give me may be greater.

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{701}

Providence.

When I remember all my days,
And note what blessings each displays,
What words can speak my grateful praise?

What varied beauty thrills my sight!
What sounds my listening soul delight!
What joys of touch and appetite!

And, more than any joy of sense,
The happiness serene, intense,
That comes to me, I know not whence,

Unless it be that He is near,
And speaks some words I cannot hear,
But which unto my soul are clear.

For there are times--ah! who can tell
The gladness inexpressible
With which my soul doth overswell!

Ev'n sorrows that once seemed to press
My soul to brinks of wretchedness,
I know were but his means to bless.

Out of the deeps of pain and fear,
He led me to a higher sphere,
Where all his purpose is made clear.

Had not such sorrow struck my ways,
I had lived out my earthly days,
Barren of either prayer or praise.

Wherefore each day, when I recall
The blessings which his hands let fall,
For _this_ I thank him most of all;

And would not, if I could, forego
The sorrow which he made me know,
For unto it so much I owe.

{702}

This happy life, this lovely earth,
These joys which every day brings forth,
Are now to me of tenfold worth.

Such wondrous love all things disclose,
Such joy through all my being glows,
That in my soul a longing grows

That I might see this One All-Good,
And tell him all my gratitude,
In words however weak and rude.

But ah! I fear it cannot be
That I this loving God can see,
For he fills out infinity;

And out of him there is no place
Where I can stand to see his face:
Enough, I lie in his embrace,

And sometimes, albeit dimly, feel
That he is near, and doth reveal
Himself in joy unspeakable.

I said, indeed, 'I shall not see
Him face to face;' yet it may be
That joy of joys awaiteth me.

For when this grossness, that doth fence
My being in the bonds of sense,
Falls off when I am taken hence,

New powers of which I do not know
May be revealed in me, and show
The One to whom myself I owe,

And I may see him face to face.
Lord, grant it of thy boundless grace,
The crown of all my happiness!

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{703}

From The Etudes Religieuses,
Historiques Et Litteraires,
Par Des Peres De La Compagnie De Jesus.

The Pre-historical Congress Of Paris.

An "_International Congress of Anthropology and Pre-historical Archaeology_" assembled in the amphitheatre of the _Ecole de Médecine_, at Paris, on the 17th of last August, and held sessions until the 30th. The meaning of the terms anthropology and archaeology is familiar; but the word _pre-historical_, being of recent origin, requires an explanation. It is used to designate either material objects, or events and epochs, or even men, _anterior_ not only to written history, but also to all oral tradition and to every monument having a certain date and an origin historically determined.

In the lowest strata of the earth which we tread, in caverns unknown for centuries, under the _tumuli_ or heaps of shells and fossils; in the bottom of lakes where formerly dwellings and villages were built on piles; and in cromlechs and raths, are found, with the bones of animals now extinct, arms, instruments, and utensils of stone, evidently fashioned by the hand of man. In the next stratum above, the same stone objects are found; but this time the stone is polished and accompanied with bones of a different character--most frequently the bones and horns of the reindeer. Human remains, skulls, jaw-bones, and teeth, begin to appear in greater quantity. But in these two first layers of the earth no metal is discovered. It is only in the third stratum that brass, then iron, often all the other metals, are met. These singular fossils, and the invariable order of their existence, in France as well as in other countries, are the facts of which the present essay treats.

The epoch in which iron begins to appear in the layers of the earth is one the date of which is known to us either by the relations of historians, or by traditional recollections, or by inscriptions and medals found in the soil. These strata, therefore, and their antiquities, belong to the historical epoch. But the lower strata, of more ancient formation, all the fossils found in them, curious specimens of primitive industry, monuments of the social state and manners of the first men; human remains also which bear testimony to man's physical conformation; all these, anterior to history, belong to _pre-historical_ archaeology and anthropology. These sciences are very young in years and manners, but very old by their object and the age to which they carry back our thoughts.

The Paris Congress met to compare the discoveries of different countries, and thus obtain a more perfect knowledge of the _pre-historical_ period, and draw more general inferences from it.

A first congress assembled in 1866, at Neufchâtel, in Switzerland; the second is that of Paris, last August; the third will meet this year in England. The Congress of Paris was singularly favored by the Universal Exposition. The most eminent representatives of European science were there. Russia alone was not represented. Among the foreign members who spoke were Franks, Squier, Vorsaae, Nilsson, Desor, Clément, Virchow, and especially Carl Vogt, the learned naturalist. {704} It was this outspoken and venturesome _savant_ who at Neufchâtel declared himself a partisan of the _man-monkey_. France had there her Lartet, President, De Mortillet, Secretary, De Longperier, the learned antiquarian of the Louvre, and De Quatrefages, the eminent naturalist of the museum. These two last illustrious members of the French Institute had a preponderating influence in the congress, for the interest of science and the glory of their country. The Abbé Bourgeois, the Marquis de Vibraye, Alexander Bertrand, Alfred Maury, Henry Martin, and Doctor Broca, were also present and addressed the assembly.

If we are to believe certain reports, of which the positivist sheet _La Pensée Nouvelle_ is the organ, it was proposed to prove satisfactorily that the appearance of man on the earth dates from one hundred to sixty, or at least from forty thousand years; that this appearance is not the result of a creation properly so called, but the term of a slow and necessary evolution, as would be, for instance, the progressive transformation of the monkey type into the human; imperceptibly taking place for thousands or rather millions of ages! In this way the authority of the Bible would be set at naught, as being old, and gradually falling to pieces; but more especially because it is revealed and undoubtedly true. We could then do without the _hypothesis_ of a God, Creator of man, since our learned men would show that they could do without the _hypothesis_ of a God, Creator of heaven and earth.

Was this the real aim of the Paris Congress? If so, it was the same as that which well-informed men allege to have been the object of the first hall of the history of labor in the French Exposition. It is certain that, for several years, many books, reviews, journals, and even so-called official discourses which every one may read, have openly tended in this direction.

But let us confine our remarks to the congress. We dislike to affirm that such was the fixed thought of the majority of the foreign and French members. The love of science, the praiseworthy desire of collecting information, or of giving it regarding facts very ancient in themselves, but very new in regard to us; these motives gathered in Paris important strangers, and Frenchmen of different classes and opinions. On the other hand, it seems impossible to deny that an ardent minority had the intention of overthrowing the biblical theory of creation both as to time and character; of this minority all except one were Frenchmen.

Yet--let us hasten to say it--the minority did not succeed. The scandal did not take place. The majority was not convinced of the falsity of the traditional teaching. The new doctrines were not found to be certain. A few affirmations and eccentric theories were expressed. But they were so justly, learnedly, and wittily answered, that the theorists had to doubt their ill-judged systems. This is a very important result, in such an affair.

A programme of all the excursions to be made in common to the Exposition, to the Museum, to the Palace of Saint Germain, to the megalithic monument at Argenteuil, to the environs of Amiens, to the Museum of Artillery, and to the Museum of the Anthropological Society, was traced in advance. Six principal questions occupied the six evening sessions at the _Ecole de Médecine_. {705} The day after these sittings, the members met again in the same place, in free session, each to propose his difficulties, hear the written communications of absent members; examine packages arriving daily, containing new specimens of the primitive works of man, arms, utensils, different instruments in stone, in bone, in bronze, or in iron found in the bowels of the earth, in caverns, or lakes and in Druidical cromlechs, raths, or mounds, in France, Switzerland, Italy, Germany, Great Britain, Denmark--in short, everywhere.

The six fundamental questions formed six theses, comprising the entire domain of _pre-historical knowledge_. "What are the most ancient vestiges of man's existence? In what geological conditions, among what _fauna_ and _flora_ have they been found in the different parts of the globe; and what changes have taken place since then, in divisions of land and water?" This was the first question. Next question: "Has the dwelling of the primitive man in caverns been general? Is it true of one race alone, referable to one and the same epoch?" Third question: "What relations are there between the men to whom we owe the megalithic monuments, and those who formed the lake dwellings?" The fourth was: "Is brass the product of indigenous industry, the result of a violent conquest, or the effect of new commercial relations?" This had reference to the use of brass in the west. Fifth question: "What are, in the different countries of Europe, the chief characteristics of the first epoch of iron? Is this epoch anterior to the historical period?" The sixth and last was the most important question: "What are the notions acquired regarding the anatomical characteristics of man in the pre-historical times, from the most remote times to the appearance of iron? Can the succession of several races, and their traits, be discovered, especially in Western Europe?"