Chapter II (3)

Let us apply this principle to what concerns the light of the sun. The photosphere is composed of condensed substances, precipitated in a solid or a liquid state, floating in a transparent and absorbent atmosphere. This matter, being simply incandescent, ought to present to us a continuous appearance, and this continuity can be disturbed only by the absorption of the solar atmosphere. From this it follows, that to ascertain the chemical nature of the substances which compose this atmosphere, it will be sufficient to compare the black lines of the sun with the bright lines of our artificial lights. This has been done. M. Kirchoff first discovered that the sun contains sodium; for the line D of Fraunhofer coincides perfectly with the brilliant lines of this metal. It is equally well known that iron, copper, and twenty other substances which exist upon the earth in a solid state, would, at a temperature of five millions of degrees, be necessarily in a state of vapor.

After having thus made a chemical analysis of the sun, astronomers wish to go further; they have sought to know equally the composition of the stars. We have been led by this to some very remarkable consequences; we have been able to make a kind of classification of these stars, and to determine the group to which our sun belongs. It remains, then, for us now to apply the spectral analysis to the myriads of stars which stud the heavens, to those far distant suns, the greater part of which, perhaps, surpass in grandeur and brightness that which is the centre of our planetary system. It remains for us to interrogate these scarcely perceptible bodies, sparkling at such an incalculable distance, and to demand and draw from them the secret of their chemical composition. This enterprise is daring, but it is not rash. The difficulties are alarming; yet learned men are not discouraged, for they are accustomed to see difficulties disappear before strenuous and persevering labor.

We commenced our study of the stars with the complicated instruments which we employ for the sun; but we soon found out that this complication was useless. We have been able to reduce our instruments to the number of two, a cylindrical glass and a prism. And M. Wolff, of the Paris Observatory, has succeeded recently in suppressing the cylinder, keeping only the essential element, that is, the prism intended to produce the appearance.

We have examined a great number of stars, and I am going to submit to you some of the results at which we have arrived. You see at this moment the appearance which the star Orion presents. This star is of a yellow color; the appearance which it produces is deeply streaked; and it is one of the most beautiful in the heavens. You will find there the line D of sodium, and the line b of magnesium. These are two fundamental lines which have served as marked points to compare this appearance with that of the sun. Besides sodium and magnesium, _a_ of Orion contains iron, copper, and several other known metals; but it is singular that hydrogen is not found there in the free state, as in the sun. There is, then, some essential difference between the stars, of which you will be more convinced as we go further into the subject. Here is the appearance of Sirius. You see it is not nearly so fine. You will find two large bands in blue, in the place of the streak F of the sun; two others in violet; and one, very faint, in yellow. The two first are attributable to hydrogen, and the last to sodium; but we know not to what substance the violet is owing. In the green there are also some very fine lines, but very difficult to seize.

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What is most remarkable is, that all the white stars present the same appearances, and half the stars that are visible belong to this type. Thus the fine stars of the Lyre, of the Eagle, of the Bear, Castor, etc., ought to be ranged by the side of Sirius. There is, however, an exception in [zeta] of the Bear, which is a yellow star. The magnificent stars of Arcturus, of the Goat, of Procyon, belong, on the contrary, to the class of which our sun is a type, except that the iron line E is much more marked. Their color, of light yellow, led to the inference that they were analogous to the sun, and the supposition has been confirmed by spectral analysis. All know substances have an appearance which is peculiar to them, and which characterizes them. Can we say as much of the stars? Do they also present marked differences in their appearance? This has been the subject of very interesting researches. The task has been undertaken at the observatory of the Roman College, and it has led to a result altogether unforeseen, namely, that the stellar appearances appertain to only a very limited number of types. We may classify them in three groups. The first group is that of the white stars like Sirius; the second, that of the yellow stars, of which Arcturus and the second are members; and Orion may be regarded as a type of the third, in which we ought to place _a_ of Hercules, and [Beta] of Pegasus. These two last-named stars have very remarkable appearances. They seem formed of a multitude of channels, which are divided by large black bands. This form of appearance shows us that the stars which belong to this type are surrounded with atmospheres heavily charged with vapor. In this group enters all the red stars, and in particular _Omicron_ of the Whale, that celebrated star which has been called _The Wonderful_. Several small stars of a blood-red color have appearances resembling each other. It is remarkable that in all the appearances belonging to stars of this type, the black lines occupy the same place, which proves that in general they are all made alike.

I have observed further that certain types abound in certain parts of the heavens, and that the stars of the same kind are generally grouped together. Thus the white stars are found in the Pleiades, the Bear, the Lyre, etc.; the yellow in the Whale, Eridan, etc. The constellation of Orion deserves particular attention; it abounds in stars of a green color, reminding us of the nebula which is found in the same region of the sky. This small number of types, and the grouping of which I have spoken, constitute an unforeseen fact, the importance of which is considerable from a cosmological point of view. We should not, however, be hasty in drawing conclusions from it.

A curious fact has been established with regard to one of the white stars in Cassiopeia. Its appearance is directly the opposite of that which is presented by stars of the same color, for, in place of black lines, it shows some brilliant lines. This phenomenon has appeared to me so extraordinary, that I am anxious whether it is an isolated fact. I have observed more than five hundred stars, selecting some of the largest, and I have found only one, [Beta] of the Lyre, which possesses the same peculiarity. M. Wolff says that among the small stars of the Swan he has found some examples of the same kind. A most remarkable fact is, that these brilliant lines were found in a transient star which glittered for a time in the Crown in May, 1866.

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These observations upset the theories which had been prematurely built upon facts formerly known. Still, there is nothing inexplicable here. You have seen that sodium burning gives a line of a very lively yellow, while the line becomes black if the sodium is increased to a considerable quantity. Might not the same thing happen with the hydrogen, which produces the brilliant lines of which I have spoken to you? Might not a small quantity act by radiation, while the action would be one of absorption should the mass be greater?

After having examined the stars, it was impossible to resist the temptation of observing the nebulae. You know that we designate by this name the kind of white clouds which are found spread in the heavens, and of which the nature is not perfectly known. Herschel has assured us that many of them, by means of the telescope, may be resolved into a multitude of small stars approaching very closely to each other. We infer from this that the greater part are composed in the same manner, and that the feebleness of our instruments is the only thing that prevents us from proving it. It is, however, admitted that many of these nebulae are formed of cosmical matter in a state of vapor not condensed. Everybody knows the nebulae which compose the Milky Way. But besides those which are visible to the naked eye, there is a vast number whose existence the telescope has revealed to us. One, of the most celebrated is that which is found in the magnificent constellation of Orion: we have carefully drawn it at the Roman College, and you see at this moment a sketch of it on the screen. The nebulae possess a very feeble light, and we had our doubts of success in seeking to apply the spectral analysis to them. We have, however, succeeded beyond our hopes. The appearances obtained in these observations are very singular. They reduce themselves constantly to luminous streaks, all the other colors failing; it is, in another way, that which happens when we burn an alcoholic solution with marine salt; the flame, analyzed by the spectroscope, gives simply a yellow streak. In the nebulae we find two green lines and a blue one. Such is the result which we obtained in examining the large nebulae of Orion, and that of the Milky Way in Sagittarius. Such is that, also, which furnishes the little nebulae called planetaries, on account of their form, which resembles that of the planets. These facts have been established for the first time by M. Huggins.

As I have just told you, the nebulas present generally but three lines; one belongs to azote, another to hydrogen, and the third is unknown. This result, which was not known before, is of the highest importance; for it teaches us that the nebulae are composed of gas and of vapors far removed from their point of saturation and condensation. These appearances, with luminous lines, distinctly isolated and separated from one another, appertain essentially to gas, and, we ought to add, to gas raised to a very high temperature. Thus we have made a discovery by the aid of the prism, for which the most powerful glasses had failed us.

The nebulae, notwithstanding their shining points, are not in general a collection of stars, but masses of cosmical matter in a state of dissociation under the action of an extremely elevated temperature. The collections of stars are perfectly distinguishable by the continuity of their appearances, as we see in the nebulae of Andromeda, and in some others which are well known. The discovery opens a vast field of investigation, and will be an epoch in science.

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We have wandered far into the depths of space, very far from the point from which we started. This is of no consequence, however, for between the sun, the stars, and the nebulae there is a close relation. The sun is simply a star approaching nearer to us than others. According to a bold hypothesis, its entire mass was at one period in a state of dissociation, which a great part of it still actually preserves. The only thing that makes it differ from the nebulae, and causes us to rank it among the stars, is its superficial stratum of inconsiderable thickness.

What mysteries do we not discover in nature, when we investigate it by the aid of those principles and instruments with which modern science has furnished us! And in the presence of the wonders, what an exalted idea ought we to form of the splendors of the universe and the power of its Creator!

Permit me, gentlemen, in closing this lecture, to quote an admirable thought of Saint Gregory of Nazianzus. The sun, says that father, is the most perfect image of the Deity. You see the effects which it produces; you enjoy its benefits; but you cannot contemplate it directly, nor sound its depths. The loss of life, the greatest of the earthly blessings we enjoy, would be the punishment of the madman who would dare to invade its mysteries. It is the same with the Deity; it is impossible for us to see in himself; and we ought to content ourselves with admiring here below those traces of his infinite perfections which shine in his works.

We have succeeded, by the means with which science has furnished us, in examining this dazzling star, and in doing so we have seen some unexpected wonders; but how many other wonders have escaped us, which will doubtless be discovered at some future time!

If we can thus speak of the material sun and its splendors, what shall we not say of its prototype, when, freed from this material covering of sense, and reduced to a state of pure intelligence, we contemplate him with the eyes of our soul? Science and Faith are two rays issuing from the same focus, the one direct, the other reflected. As long as we are upon this earth we should be content with the second, our vision not being strong enough to support the brightness of the first. But a day will come when we shall see the Divinity face to face; and, in the meantime, the man who denies his unfathomable mysteries, under the pretence that our feeble powers are not equal to their comprehension, is as foolish as the rude peasant who should deny the wonders with which I have entertained you, under the pretext that his eyes are dazzled by the light of the sun. A day will come when the direct rays of the Science of Divinity will no longer dazzle our intelligence: the high destinies which awaits humanity will permit of our contemplating the unclouded essence of the Deity, as the reward of the persevering but not blind fidelity with which we shall have here below, without pride as without baseness, believed in his existence and admired his greatness.

----------------

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Translated From The French.

An Italian Girl Of Our Day. [Footnote 155]

[Footnote 155: _Rosa Ferrucci: her Life, her Letters, and
her Death_. By the Abbé H. Perreyve.]

Continued From Page 372.

I here interrupt, for a moment, the order of these _Letters_, to introduce a fragment from one of the writings of Signorina Ferrucci, in which is found, eloquently developed, the idea with which the last letter closes. Need we wonder that, to so a pure a soul, Christianity was all mercy and all love? Certainly not. The passions of men have so often disfigured the sweet countenance of the gospel that those outside the household of faith form a false idea of it, and, in their inability to distinguish what is divine from what is human, they reject all. But, if they would only learn to leave men and draw near to God, to flee vain disputes and go to the centre where all is calm, they would soon know that the genius of Christianity is indeed love. Pure souls, whom anger and dispute have not marred, know this well. The young author whom I am about to cite understood it, and it is with a feeling of respect that I transcribe these beautiful pages, which breathe so strong a perfume of the gospel:

The love of God, which inflames the heart of man and infuses
into it a holy zeal, has assuredly nothing in common with that
implacable fanaticism with which infidelity so unjustly charges
the religion of Jesus Christ. And yet it is but too true that
the sons of one Heavenly Father, the inhabitants of a world
watered by the Redeemer's blood, have more than once, while
waging cruel war upon each other, ranged themselves under the
standard of the cross. But because such horrors darken the page
of history, are we to conclude that the love of God banishes
all toleration from the human heart, or can we deny that the
Catholic religion is all love? And shall the blind fury of men
make the world forget the numberless benefits which, for
nineteen centuries, the gospel has bestowed upon all nations
and upon its most cruel enemies?

O church of the Redeemer! who dost pray for thine enemies, and
dost show thyself ever ready to succor them, even as our
Heavenly Father maketh his sun to shine upon the most
ungrateful of mankind, who was it that filled thy heart with
that holy and ever active love of all the virtues? Who gave
thee the strength to oppose at all times a tranquil front to
the masters of the world? Whence have thy martyrs derived that
courage which made them joyfully bend their heads under the axe
of the executioner? Who taught thee to confound the subtle
contradictions of the philosophers, and, with the same hands,
to break the chains of the slave? How is it that, ever firm and
immovable, thou alone hast survived the vicissitudes of all
things and the overthrow of so many thrones? Who has given thee
such power of persuasion that by its prodigies "from the very
stones are raised up children to Abraham"? In fine, whence hast
thou received that inviolable authority which resolves all
doubts, dissipates our errors, humbles the mighty, sustains the
weak, enlightens the world, pardons all faults, and consoles in
every affliction and in every distress?

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Ah! who does not see that so many miracles have been wrought by
the sole power of that divine love kindled in thee by Jesus
Christ? For just as thou lovest Jesus in fatigue and in repose,
in tears and in joy, in persecution and in peace, in combat and
in victory, so also thou lovest in him and for him the humble
and the great, the faithful and the unbelieving, the poor and
the rich. There is not on this earth a human being for whom
thou dost not pray, and whom thou wouldst not, at any price,
bring back to the bosom of him who suffered for all men because
he loved all. Oh! may thy desires soon be fulfilled, holy
church of the living God!

How, then, can that man call himself the friend of God and the
true son of the church of Jesus Christ, who would oppose arms
to arms, violence to violence, forgetting these words of
Christ, "Love your enemies," "Father, forgive them, for they
know not what they do"? The blind apostles of intolerance show
well that they have never penetrated in its true sense the life
of the Redeemer, who, suffering every injury, and even the
death of the cross, drew the whole world to himself by the
irresistible power of pardon and of love. He who would be
willing to forget his prejudices, and, retiring into the
solitude of his own heart, would plant there the sweet image of
Jesus Christ, such a one would soon learn how far the power of
Christian meekness transcends that of the sword, and he would
shudder at the thought of pursuing with fire and steel them
whom the cross alone may vanquish. Ah! if Jesus crucified
entered truly into our hearts, how many things would he not
make them understand! [Footnote 156]

[Footnote 156: Della Carità Cristiani.]

Again, I find, in the same paper, this beautiful sentiment:

I believe that charity consists not solely in compassionating
the sufferings of the poor and relieving them. Its character is
more general: it must be the soul of all our sentiments. For my
part, I see charity in patience, in humility, in faith, in
docile submission to superiors, in justice, in courage, in
fortitude, in contempt of the world, in the desire of heaven.
Charity is, indeed, the light of God, infinite as himself.
Whoever has received into his heart a ray of this divine light
is bound, if I may so speak, to communicate its warmth to the
whole world.

We return to the letters.

July 15.

Sweet were the impressions, Gaetano, which our walk yesterday
in that beautiful garden left on my mind. Is it not true that
the flowers, the trees, the blue sky, the pure soft air, the
song of the birds, the hum of the insects--all conspired to
speak to our hearts of God? I feel, too, that all these
beautiful things seemed more joyous to me because you were
there, for to me they all seemed to reflect the feelings of
your heart. Then those beautiful verses of my mother's which
Uncle G---- read to us affected me powerfully. Earth and
heaven, flowers and songs, all borrowed a new charm from the
harmony of those beautiful stanzas.

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July 22.

I do not know the places you speak of, unless you mean Romito
and Antignano. I went as far as La Torre on foot, one beautiful
August morning, without suffering much from the heat, which was
tempered by the sea-breeze. After having traversed that long,
steep road, which becomes at every step more solitary and more
closely shut in between the hills and the sea, I went up to the
top of the little fortress, and thence for a long time I gazed
on the neighboring islands and the vast horizon where sea and
sky seemed to unite, and I even discerned some of the lands of
the Maremma. Another time, with the Plezza, the Gabrini, and
other friends, we went as far as Romito. The sun had already
sunk below the horizon. Every moment the last glimmering of
twilight was becoming more faint, and soon the moon rose behind
the hills. Her pale rays were reflected in the sea, where
nothing was seen save a solitary fishing-boat; and the gentle
murmur of the waves, as they came slowly to die on the rocky
shore, was the only sound that broke the stillness of the
night. We crossed from time to time the dry bed of one of those
torrents which fall from the mountains into the sea; and thus,
now talking, now silent, gazing, admiring, we passed the two
little towers, and, arrived at the limits of the two communes,
we stopped and turned back, as if we had reached the Columns of
Hercules, There is a comparison that would please my good
friend Louisa V----. Would you believe it, in her last letter
she gravely compares me to a navigator steering toward a new
world. "Yet no," she says, "love is a world as old as the
earth." That may be, my good Louisa; but to me it is new, all
new, Gaetano, and I believe, even, that it will never grow old,
like everything that comes directly from God, who is endless
duration in eternal youth! On this is grounded my sure hope
that, after having united us here on earth, he will unite us
again in the life to come; and this thought alone raises me
from earth to heaven!

This was not the first time that Rosa had visited Antignano. That calm and lovely shore had witnessed the sports of her childhood. Three or four years before the date of the last letter we have given, she wrote from that place to one of her young friends the following pretty letter:

Antignano, July, 1853.

In spite of our joy at being here, believe me, my dear Maria,
we feel your absence sadly. It turns to melancholy the joyous
memories of last year. This is from my heart, Maria; how happy
I should be to have you at this moment by my side! Come back to
us then, dear friend, come back! The little wood where we spent
so many happy hours, the great shady trees, the smiling
country, and the sea--all call you back. Why, it is but two
days since I heard a wave which came bounding over the sea say
to you, "Come down, young girl, from the flowery bank into this
calm sea, and yield to the invitation of the sun, who with his
brilliant rays is brightening air and earth and water." But
this pretty song of the naiad was suddenly interrupted, for my
poor wave broke and expired on a rock. All its sister wavelets
murmured the same prayer to you, but all, like the first, soon
broke upon the shore; and I grew pensive at the sight, for
those poor waves, vanishing so quickly, seemed to me a true
image of our shattered hopes, which cause us so many tears.
Meanwhile a little interior voice remained with me, and
murmured sweetly in my ear, "Courage, courage! Why are you sad?
Cannot Maria come back? I am your good friend Hope, listen to
me and believe me: I promise you that next year Maria shall be
here." This consoled me a little, for I always believe what my
good friend Hope tells me. Courage, then, and patience, and I
am sure of having you yet at Antignano. Dear Maria, pardon this
letter, which is as long as it is foolish, and, if you do not
understand it, seek in it only a new proof of my tender
affection for you. Meanwhile, let us leave the world of dreams
and enter that of news. ...

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To Gaetano.
July 28.

This day brings to us a mournful anniversary. Poor Charles
Albert! on this day, and at the very hour in which I write, he
yielded up to God his soul, oppressed with grief, but still
full of an unshaken confidence in the justice of his cause and
the imprescriptibility of his rights. Doubtless the saints have
welcomed into heaven him who on earth loved God and suffered
for justice' sake. It is with feelings of compassion that I
think of the king, his son, surviving all his family, who have,
one after the other, gone before him to the grave.

This enthusiastic remembrance of the house of Savoy is not the only one to be found in the letters of Rosa Ferrucci. The misfortunes of the king, Charles Albert; the death of the Duke of Genoa, his son; the ruin of so many hopes, for a moment triumphant--all these often call forth in her correspondence plaints and regrets. I like to see this love of national independence in so pure a soul. She says somewhere:

"In considering the history of nations, we discover at every
step new and infallible proofs of the wisdom and omnipotence of
him who directs the affairs of the world; of that mysterious
justice which surpasses all human understanding as the heavens
surpass the earth. Hope, then, in the Lord, ye victims of
oppression! Acknowledge the hand which alone can give you
deliverance! And you, usurpers of the rights of the vanquished,
triumph not without trembling at the tears which you have
caused to flow. He lives, he will live for ever, who will never
remain deaf to the lamentations of his people Israel. If he
defers his justice, are you to cease to believe in him? Because
he can wait, will your presumption know no bounds? Do you
forget that God is patient because he is eternal?" [Footnote
157]

[Footnote 157: Della Carità Cristiani]

Patriotism was, however, a family tradition with Rosa Ferrucci. At the time of the memorable events which, in 1848, threatened the speedy overthrow of Austrian rule in Italy, Signer Ferrucci, with his colleagues in the University of Pisa, quitted his chair, and, at the head of the students, who had formed themselves into a body, set out for the army, accompanied by his young son. They took part in all the battles of that unfortunate campaign--at first in its victories, then in its reverses--and returned to Pisa only after the ruin of the last hope. These are facts too little known in the contemporary history of that unhappy Italy whose faults are the theme of every tongue, while few know how many noble hearts she can still produce.

We resume the correspondence:

August 4.

May I tell you, Gaetano, what I have been thinking about our
future life? We must first, as we have so often said, have
continually present to our minds the will of God, endeavor to
accomplish it in all things, and be ever submissive to it from
our inmost hearts. Then we must have but one heart and one soul
in serving God, and I hope that we shall have but one heart
also in loving our dear parents. What ingratitude would be ours
if in our happiness we forgot them to whom we owe so much, and
who loved us before we knew what love was! [Footnote 158]

[Footnote 158: "Prima che noi potessimo sapere che fosse
amore."]

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Let us endeavor so to regulate the affections of our hearts
that one shall not be stifled by the other, but that all,
forming a sweet harmony, may rise toward him who created us,
and for whom alone we must live. May he alone be the end of all
our actions and of all our thoughts! Then fatigue will never
overcome our courage, our duties will never seem too heavy, our
life will be calm, our intentions pure, and we shall taste even
here below that interior peace,

"Which no one knows but he who feels it."

Such is the plan of our life. I have but lightly sketched it,
fearing that I might seem to be giving counsels and prescribing
rules to you. All this is possible only by the grace of God.
Let us beg it through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin at
the approaching festival of the Assumption; we have so great
need of her protection and guidance.

"We pray for grace and it obtain
From her who is its mother."

September 15.

To-day I am as sad as I was joyous yesterday. Your departure,
the thought of an inevitable separation from my father and
mother, a thousand conflicting feelings in my heart,
undefinable to myself, have made me weep. Alas for us women! we
are weaker than the leaves which are stripped from the trees
and scattered by the first wind of autumn; and, childhood
scarce passed, our hearts, capable only of loving and
suffering, are torn by a thousand contrary emotions of joy and
sadness. Pardon me these murmurs, O my God! No, I ought not to
weep, but ought rather to pour out my soul in thanksgiving.

I open my whole heart to you, Gaetano, because it is you who
are to be the support of my life; to share all my thoughts,
dispel my fears, and be my counsellor and guide. Singular
thing! my new hopes have made all my feelings more keen and
ardent. Hence those alternations of joy and sadness, to whose
deepest emotions I was till lately a stranger. As it is, I do
not know how I am to tear myself from the arms of those who
watched over my childhood and who love me so much. But let us
forget all this to-day. I can no longer speak of my mother
without my eyes filling with tears. It is drawing near that
dear October. If I cannot enjoy your ruralizing, I can, at
least, be happy in thinking of the pleasure you will find in
it. You are going to see your mountains again, and those
pine-groves, which from my childhood I have ever loved and
admired. In the midst of the flowers, the plants, the trees,
you will think often of him who created us with souls capable
of loving the beautiful and good; of him who this year has
opened to you the horizon of a new life, in which I hope you
will never find either regrets or thorns. Oh! how easy, as it
seems to me, does the beauty of the country make the love of
God. How sweet it is to think that the same God who gives the
dews and the fertilizing rains to the earth, foliage to the
trees, flowers and harvests to the fields, is also that loving
Father who supports us in all our trials and so sweetly invites
our souls to repose in himself! Let me speak to you of the good
God, Gaetano; I love so much to think of him.

September 25.

I cannot express the pleasure it is to me to gaze into the deep
azure of the beautiful mornings of which

"The air is sweet and changeless,"

and of the lovely evenings when the stars seem to speak, and
tell in a sacred language the wisdom of God. The country does
good to our souls. In admiring its beauties and its treasures
ever new, we are led more easily to think that, if earth was
made for man, man was created to love God. I often say to
myself, What, then, will heaven be, if there is so much of
beauty on this poor earth, where we are not so much dwellers as
pilgrims? ... On the eve of St. John's day, all Florence was
illuminated. There was nothing to be heard but games and noisy
laughter among the people. Every one was gazing eagerly at the
fireworks and the illuminations; but no one thought of admiring
the most beautiful ornament of the feast--I mean the moon,
whose tremulous rays were reflected in the Arno, lengthening
the shadows of the trees.

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September 28.

Next year we will go to the country together. If you knew how I
love your mountains, with their tall pines, their flowers,
their streams, and their green summits. I still remember the
moment I left them. It was a November morning. The faint rays
of a cloud-veiled sun shed a pale light on the horizon, the
leaves were falling from the trees, and the snow of the day
before still covered the summits. All nature was solitary and
sad. Who could have told me then, that to this melancholy spot
which I was leaving as a child, I should return with you a
happy bride?

October 23.

Enjoy well your ruralizing; its pleasures are a thousand times
sweeter than those of our towns. How pleasant it is of an
evening to climb the heights, and thence behold the vast
expanse of heaven still purpled by the sun's last rays; to see
at one's feet the fields, the pine groves, the pale olives, the
elms, yellow-tinted by autumn, the little, scattered cottages
of the peasants, with the smoke of the evening fire rising from
the roof, and the village church, which seems by the tolling of
its bell "to mourn the dying day,"

"Il giorno pianger che si muore!"
[Transcriber's note: This sentence is blurred.]

I am far from all this now, but I often think of it. Again I
see our happy day at Cuccigliana, our mountain walk, and that
beautiful horizon, with its luminous depths, which promised me
a joyous future. How many things nature can say! How she can
speak to the heart! How, above all, she can speak to it of God!
Flowers, hills, forests, earth, and sky--all are more
beautiful when we have learned to discern in them the beauty of
God. How many times already, Gaetano, have I gone over again
our walk on the Serchio, where the rustling of the leaves was
the only accompaniment to our long conversations! Ah! may God
bless thee, may he render thee happy, and all my desires will
be satisfied.

Eve of All Saints' Day.

Oh! if the feast of to-morrow should one day be our feast! Do
not suppose, however, that I am presumptuous enough to hope
that we shall ever be like the saints of our altars. No; but I
believe that not only those great saints, but also all the
souls of the just who are admitted to the beatific vision of
God, are invoked on this great day by the church. This it is
that emboldens my desires. ...

If you are sad, recollect that it has pleased God thus to
alternate in this world our joys and sorrows, in order to
implant more deeply in our souls the desire of that life in
which weeping shall be no more. Then shall we be united I hope,
in the love and blissful contemplation of that God whom we now
adore under the veil of faith.

{549}

Meanwhile it is sweet to say to one's self: God loves me
infinitely more than I can love myself. He thinks of me and
watches over me with a tenderness surpassing all the tenderness
of a mother. What, then, should I fear? And besides, how be
Christians and not be willing to suffer for love of a God who
has suffered so much for us? I would share these thoughts with
you, Gaetano, because I find in them my strength and
consolation every day. Treasure them in your heart, call them
often to mind, and your sadness will disappear as

"La neve al sol si disigilla." [Footnote 159]

[Footnote 159: "The snow dissolves before the sun."]

I do not think we shall lose by the exchange when, having
finished Milton, we read Virgil together. That great man seems
to me indeed

"The light and honor of the other poets,"

as our Dante says. We shall reap from this reading the great
advantage of being able to compare the principal episodes of
the AEneid with the best passages of other poems. I assure you
I do not regret the time I give to my little studies; if I had
to commence them again, I should apply myself only with more
diligence and attention. I owe to them the best pleasures that
I have known; above all, I owe to them community of
intellectual life with you. [Footnote 160]

[Footnote 160: I would for a moment call the reader's
attention to this sentiment. Such should, indeed, be the
chief end of the studies of every Christian woman--community
of intellectual life with her husband, community of
intellectual life with her sons.]

Now that I do not take lessons, and that, consequently, I have
no more leisure, I know no more lively pleasure than to shut
myself up in my little room with my books and my pen; and even
during those hours which I ought and which I am determined to
devote to needlework, I love still to think of what I have read
and to beguile the time by these pleasant memories. Having had
some time for study to-day, I resumed the reading of Muratori,
taking the history of the wars of Odoacer and Theodoric. The
subject is a familiar one, but I return to it always willingly,
because I think the history of the middle ages even more
important for us to know than ancient history. And then what
joy of soul to see the church, in all places and in the most
barbarous ages, the mother and guardian of civilization, the
friend and consoler of the vanquished, the last bulwark of the
oppressed against the unbridled pretensions of power!

Poor Italy! how she has suffered! What carnage! How much blood
shed in vain! How many tears!

January 1, 1857.

Let us pray God, let us pray him with our whole heart to-day,
Gaetano, to bless our union, our souls, our actions, our
thoughts, our life. May he deign to preserve long those who are
dear to us, to shield us from great misfortunes, and, above
all, never to withdraw his grace from us! Such are the prayers
that we will offer together, united in heart, though separated
by distance. God will see the sincerity of our desires, and he
will grant them.

The serenity of the heavens gladdens all nature, and rejoices
also our souls, which in the light of the sun seem, as it were,
a reflection of the Increated Light. I do not think I am
superstitious, Gaetano; and if the new year had commenced in
the midst of lightning, thunder, and dismal rains, I should
certainly not, on that account, have augured ill for our
future. But now, contemplating the calmness and pureness of the
sky and of the whole horizon, I ask of God to give us a life
like to this beautiful day, that is to say, such a life that
nothing may ever be able to disturb in our souls that peace
whose source is in God, its eternal fount.

{550}

January 4.

After some cold days, the weather has again become very mild,
and the air is balmy as with the first perfumes of spring. How
brightly the sun shines to-day! Its warm beams inundate my
little room. Seated at my table, at some distance from the
window, my eye wanders involuntarily to what I can see of the
sky. I fancy I see a great blue eye looking down lovingly on
me. Ah Gaetano! how good is God!

I have just learned the death of a very dear friend. Young,
beautiful, brought up in opulence, the only daughter of a
mother who idolized her, she wished to become a Sister of
Charity in order to serve God in his poor. For ten years she
has been a tender mother to the orphan, and she has just died
in the bloom of her days. Dear and good Sister Maria! how happy
I should have been to see her again! I do not cease thinking of
her! Schiller would say here: "Cease to weep: tears do not
resuscitate the dead." Ah! with what a far different power do
the words addressed by the Redeemer to the afflicted come home
to our hearts: "Blessed are they that weep, for they shall be
comforted!" The more I meditate on these words, and then look
on earth in its renewal, the pure light and deep azure of the
sky, the more I am impressed, death notwithstanding, with the
infinite goodness of God and the ineffable bliss of a future
life. I hear sometimes of the good being oppressed by the
wicked; I often see virtuous persons in misfortune; will not,
then, the just also have their day and their recompense? Ah!
often, when at night I raise my eyes toward the twinkling
stars, I think of those happy souls who are there on high,
higher than the stars, in the eternal enjoyment of the beatific
vision, of adoration and love without end. If man would only
fix his soul on such thoughts, what is there on earth that
could discourage him?

I received your dear letter this morning, Gaetano, and lest you
should suppose I thought it too gloomy, I must tell you that I,
too, have been thinking of death the whole day, and that I even
offered a special prayer to our Lord to be merciful to me when
the hour shall have come for me to pass from time to eternity,
and, as I hope, "from the human to the divine." We have need of
abandoning ourselves with a child-like confidence into the arms
of God, if we wish to keep alive in our hearts the hope of
seeing in heaven him whom we adore on earth. For my part, if,
instead of thinking of him alone, I turned to think of myself,
I really know not whither my reflections might lead me. But
hope, which is a Christian virtue, is a firm expectation of
future glory, I will, then, forget my fears and believe that,
despite our imperfections, we may one day taste in the bosom of
God a happiness even of the shadow of which we cannot catch a
glimpse on this earth. We shall then know in what overflowing
measure the Lord rewards even the feeblest efforts of his
friends. We shall know how everything here below was inevitably
passing away with ourselves, how this earthly life vanished
more lightly than a dream, and that there remains nothing to
man after death but love, that ethereal part of the soul which
God claims all for himself. Yet more: I believe that the love
which shall unite and commingle our souls on high will not be
absorbed in the contemplation of the divine essence in such a
manner that the sweetness of loving each other still shall
escape our perception.
{551}
I believe, on the contrary, that it will be the triumph of love
to exist and to endure in God, and to unite in one canticle of
praise the souls which God made to love one another.

More sorrow--Matilda is dead! [Footnote 161] Oh! how we loved
her. She was an angel! It is we only who suffer, for to her it
is pure happiness to have quitted earth. Not a murmur was ever
heard from her lips. She found all peace and all strength in
the love of God. Her soul so easily opened itself to joy. The
day before her death, seeing some flowers, "What beautiful
things our God has made!" she exclaimed. Her friends wished to
inform her father of her imminent danger. This she constantly
opposed, wishing to spare that poor father the agony of a last
farewell. Here are examples.

[Footnote 161: Matilda Manzoni, daughter of the celebrated
author of _I Promessi Sposi_.]

I do not know the introduction you speak of; but my mother has
read to me the admirable verses of Manzoni which are prefixed
to it. How many things these verses recall to me. They have
affected me powerfully. Returning in memory to the times that
are past, I fancied as I listened to them that I heard the
sweet voice of my poor Matilda, who, in reciting this beautiful
poetry, evinced so tender an admiration for her father's
genius. We were at Viareggio. It was a beautiful summer
evening, and the peace of a starlit sky penetrated deep into
our souls. Matilda said to me: "Rosa, if you could only tell me
the first verse of those stanzas, I am sure I could recite the
whole." For some time I ransacked my poor memory in vain.
Suddenly came the word, "Pause awhile." That word was enough.
Matilda recited without failing in a word--and oh! with what
feeling--the whole piece of poetry. Dear friend! she is with
us no longer, and we shall see her no more on earth. When I
parted with her last, I said to her: "Farewell till we meet
again." I ought to have said: "Farewell till we meet in
heaven."

When the storm came upon us, [Footnote 162] two terrific peals
of thunder were heard at once. I confess, Gaetano, I did not
expect to reach Pisa. And oh! how terrible is the thought of
death, when all around reminds one of the almighty power of
God. I trembled as I thought of eternity. I saw my own
nothingness, and that my only refuge was in the bosom of God.
There did I cast myself with all the confidence of my soul.
Unperceived by any one, I drew from my bosom my crucifix, and,
concealing it in my hand, I pressed it to my lips. I felt then
what help religion will give us in our last moments, for I
immediately regained courage, and all my fears vanished.

[Footnote 162: Signorina Ferrucci was, with her parents,
returning from Leghorn to Pisa, when they were surprised by a
violent storm, which is the subject of this letter.]

To Signorina Louisa B----.

I received your sad and tender letter yesterday, my dear
Louisa, and I answer it without delay, to prove to you that
your sorrows are mine. Poor Antonietta! Yet, why weep for her?
Her soul has winged its flight to the celestial regions, where,
as she said in her delirium, all was ready to receive her. It
is not to her, then--it is to you, to your family, to
ourselves, that our tears belong.
{552}
As soon as I heard the sad tidings, I raised my heart to God,
and offered him a fervent prayer for your mother and yourself.
As to Antonietta, I could not pray for her, because I saw her
truly in the midst of the angelic choirs.

Dear friend, would that I could console you; but I feel with
sadness my utter inability. It is God alone who has the secret
of true consolation. Is not he our good Father? Does not he
await us in that blessed abode where there are neither sorrows
nor tears, but where reign eternal peace and happiness? And
then, my poor Louisa, if life seemed to promise your dear
sister happiness and joy, has not death put her in possession
of joys more pure, happiness more profound, than she could ever
have desired? Oh! how enviable is her lot. She will never know
the troubles, the disappointments, the disenchantments of this
life. She will be spared all the suffering which is inseparable
from a long existence. Death has been to her a beautiful angel,
come from heaven to crown her with flowers. Dry your tears,
Louisa: your sister is happier than we.

To Gaetano,

Each day is bringing you nearer the mournful anniversary you
spoke of in your last letter. I beg, I conjure you, Gaetano, to
allow to your heart no sentiment but that of resignation.
Remember that we shall see in heaven those who are taken from
us on earth; and that the sufferings of this life are the means
by which we are to attain endless beatitude. I speak thus, not
to preach patience to you, which it would ill become me to do,
but to give you a word of consolation; for I know all that you
have suffered, all that you still suffer in secret. The cares
of business and the multiplicity of exterior duties will not
prevent sorrowful memories from taking possession of your soul.
You can, then, but offer your sufferings as a sacrifice,
believing that they will render us more worthy of the divine
love. If I already shared your life, I would do everything in
my power to console and encourage you on these sad days.
Meanwhile let us both strive each day to lessen our
imperfections, and to let the love of God have fuller scope in
our hearts. Thus shall we, if not without fear, at least
without remorse, reach that solemn moment of our life, the one
that will end it. May God, who, we hope, will one day unite us
on earth by holy ties, deign to unite us also in heaven!

January 21.
(Three days before the commencement of her illness.)

Truly we must be always ready to die when and as God wills, and
to love him infinitely more than all the things of this world
which are passing away with our frail lives. Our immortal soul
is not made for this world, where all is fleeting, dissolving,
changing. By the very nature of its being, it yearns for
heaven. For me, living or dead, in this world or the next, I
will be ever thine, my Gaetano, in the love that God knows and
blesses.

This letter is the last that Rosa Ferrucci wrote.

Concluded In Next Number.

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{553}

The Sanitary and Moral Condition of New York City.

A glance at New York City, embracing the entire of Manhattan Island, will show that its geographical position, its advantages for sewerage and drainage, in fact for everything that would make it salubrious and healthy, cannot be surpassed by any city in this or any other country. And still, with its bountiful supply of nature's choicest gifts, many of our readers will be surprised to hear that our death-rate is higher than that of any city on this continent, or any of the larger cities of Europe. We append a table showing the relative per annum mortality in various cities:

Death. Population.

New York 1 in 35
London 1 in 45
Paris 1 in 40
Copenhagen 1 in 36
Christiansund,
(Norway.) 1 in 40
Liverpool 1 in 44
Philadelphia 1 in 48
Boston 1 in 41
Newark, N. J 1 in 44
Providence 1 in 45
Hartford 1 in 54
Rochester 1 in 44 [Footnote 163]

[Footnote 163: _Health in Country and Cities_. W. F.
Thorns, M. D.]

Let us first examine the conditions which favor and cause this excessively high death-rate, and then approximate as nearly as possible what our percentage of mortality should be, under good hygienic regulations.