Chapter VII (1)

After all, there was not much in the mysterious box. A square package, looking like a letter, folded in the old style, and just fitting in the box, lay uppermost; upon the outside of which, in a clear, round hand, was written the name _Richard Heremore_. Before breaking the seal of this, Dick took out two paper boxes, in each of which was a miniature, painted on ivory; he glanced at one, then with an expression of intense relief, not unmingled with something of awe, he, for the first time, turned to Rose.

"Look, Rose," he said, in a low voice.

"Do you think this is your mother?" she asked, in a voice even lower and more reverential than his, after a long, long look; for it was a young and beautiful face, with clear eyes that looked frankly at you, and that bore in every feature the unmistakable stamp of true womanliness. 'Do you think this is your mother?"

"I cannot tell yet," said Dick; "but as _this_ is here, it's all right; there's nothing more to dread now!"

But Rose did not answer. Her quick eyes had seen more than the character; they had placed the original of that portrait in her proper social sphere, and that--the highest.

The other miniature was of a man somewhat older, though not more than twenty-five or thirty, if so much; but it was a face of less character and less culture. Dick showed it to Rose, but neither made any comment upon it. Dick then broke the seal of the letter, and again Rose turned away her face. A few slips of paper fell out as he unfolded the package; these he gathered up without looking at them, and then, calling Rose's name once more, he read in a low voice, from the yellow paper, his mother's letter:

"My Dear Child: I have put aside a few little things that have been treasures to me, and as I may not live to see the day when I can give them to you, I write a few lines with them, which possibly may come to your eyes some day. A healthy, ruddy little fellow you are, creeping around my feet and trying to climb up my dress as I write, and I am so weak a woman that I may hardly stoop to raise my darling to my lap. It is hard for me, seeing you so, to write to you as a man; and what kind of a man I have no way to judge. I fear I shall not live long enough to leave any impression of your mother's face upon you; and what will become of you, my own dear child, in this terrible world after I am gone, I dare not think. You are so tender and good now that I cannot realize that you will change; but you will have no one to guide you. You put your arms up to me, your brown, hard little arms, as if to beg me not to speak of this, and I will try to believe that God will save you through everything; so that when you read this, you will be one whom I would be proud to own if I lived.

{791}

"You are my greatest comfort, and such a comfort! It seems as if you knew everything, and could console for everything; and often I think that for you I shall in some way find strength to struggle on for a few years more. Dear child, I know not how much or how little to tell you. I would like to write volumes for you, that you might know me in the future days when no father, mother, or brother will be near to help you in your troubles. But I can only write a little.

"I have been married five years, and you are my oldest but not my only child. You have a sweet little sister asleep on the bed. I say the words to you aloud, and you creep on tiptoe to look at her, turning and smiling at me as you go. Even if she should live after I am gone, which I cannot wish for, I cannot tell whether you will be kept together; if not, I know you will care for her if it is possible, if only because your dead mother asks it. I cannot believe the wonderful child-love you have for her and me will be permitted to die out, or that your heart can ever grow hard, your heart so tender now. There! kiss the dimpled hand ever so softly and come away, for you must not wake the darling now. Will you love her always, let what may be her fate? Remember always, she had no mother to guide her. Your father I have not seen for two years, since Mamie was a few months old. I have since heard that he is dead. I know none of his relatives; for he brought me an entire stranger to New York three years ago, and seemed unwilling that I should make many acquaintances. I have no relatives whom I have ever seen, in the world, except my father, who lives, or did live, at Wiltshire, in Maine. I do not know if he is living or not; I have written to him again and again, but I have heard nothing from him. He would have come to me if he were alive, for he was always devoted to me. I could write you a hundred letters about his love and devotion; and now, if I could only let him know where I am, he would come to me wherever he might be. I have named you for him. He saw you once when you were a month old; he came and took me home for the summer; he loved you dearly, as he loved me, and was proud enough of you. If only I could put you and Mamie in his hands now, how contentedly I could die! For this I toiled and struggled from the day I saw your father last, until this poverty and sickness have killed all hope. Not all hope; for I think every step I hear--and I hear thousands passing by--that my father has come to me to save me, to take my darlings under his care, and to let me die on my own white bed in my own dear room at home.

"There, darling, there's no more to tell. Why should I tell more? You come of good blood, my child, of a brave, upright race. My child, my darling, put your arms tight, tight around mamma's neck, and promise for the man that you will be worthy of your name and race. Be good, be true, be honest. How I should blush in my grave, it seems to me, if child of mine, if these dear children, so pure and innocent, who cling to me now, covering me with kisses, should soil their white souls with falsehood, deceit, or dishonesty. God knows what I would say. Fatherless, motherless, I must leave my little ones; no earthly help, no comfort, nothing, only the one hope that will not leave me to my latest breath, that my father lives, will find me out, save me, and take care of you.

{792}

"It has been hard for me to write this poor, childish letter; one poor apple-woman--poor, yet not so poor as I--has been my only friend; to her I have talked for hours of you, and she has listened earnestly, and will do her utmost for you two. God will aid her, I know. I will not put any 'good-byes' on paper so little likely ever to be seen by your eyes; but I will kiss you a thousand times, my darling, while I take one last look at these portraits of your father and me, you leaning against my knee looking at them too. You, pure, unsullied child, shall cling to me, and answer, though you cannot understand, the promises to be good I ask of you to fulfil through all your life. Your mother,

"Mary Heremore Brandon."

"_Brandon_!" repeated Rose and Dick together, when he read the signature. Then Dick read the slips of paper that had fallen out of the letter; they were all the same, notices of her marriage from different papers:

"MARRIED. At the residence of the bride's father, on Wednesday,
May 5th, Charles Brandon, of New-York, to Mary, only daughter
of Dr. Richard Heremore, of Wiltshire, Maine."

Rose looked at Dick almost with terror in her face. Dick knew not how to answer her.

"It may not be the same," she said at last.

"The letter does not seem sure of his death," suggested Dick.

"But you have met him--would he not have noticed your name?"

"I should think so. But it was long ago, and perhaps he has known others of the name. Besides, Miss Brandon--O Rose! if she should be that sister!--Miss Brandon told me her mother died long ago; she seemed so proudly to disclaim this Mrs. Brandon, whom I called her mother."

"How could he be with your father, if Mr. Brandon is that, and he not know any thing about you?"

"I cannot understand it. I will go to see him to-morrow."

"O Dick!"

"Yes, dear Rose, I must. I have only two days of vacation left, and I must know all before I go back."

"And then you will not be here for so long?"

"Yes, I will, Rose; I'll be here if I have to walk all night, see your windows, and go back before daylight! Yes, I will see you. I will not bear all the long separation as I did before, it is too much! Now, may I go to-morrow?"

"Yes, Dick, you must go. O Dick! what a mother she was! I can just see her, so weak she could not lift little you in her arms; and yet, I am sure, giving you a thousand caresses, and crying over you as she wrote that letter! If she could only see you now!"

"I know she does see me; but she does not see me as I ought to be, having had such a mother."

"She is proud of you if she sees you."

"See how patient she was, Rose! She says she is poorer than the poor apple-woman, and yet no complaint; and she was not used to trouble, I am sure, from her face."

"So sweet and grave as she is! Really, Richard, look! Upon my word, Miss Brandon has just such eyes! It _is_ so! See! the same blue-gray eyes, so clear, deep, and looking at you so frankly and graciously; not with the frankness of a question asked; but--I can't describe it--but that calm, straightforward way Miss Mary has when she listens to you; always as if she would encourage you, too, to go on. Indeed, you must go to-morrow!"

{793}

"It is so strange, Rose. I feel my head almost turning. Have we time to read it over once more?"

"I fear not, for it is already quite late; but you will tell mamma and Aunt Clara about it, and Uncle Carl?"

"Oh! at once; as soon as I can. I shall think of nothing else until to-morrow. Rose, he must have treated her badly, or she would have given me his name instead of her father's."

"I think, perhaps she meant _Brandon_ to be added."

"She does not say a word against him; but she does not praise him. I will make him tell me, himself, if he is the man. Do you think he is?"

"I am sure of it! And Miss Brandon is your sister; perhaps that is why she spoke to you that Christmas day, and why you have always been so attracted to her."

"How strange it is! Will she be sorry to have me for a brother, I wonder?"

"Sorry! She will be very proud of you."

"I wonder how I should speak to her. O Rose, Rose! do say something to steady me; I feel so strange, and as if I were talking so foolishly!"

"You are not talking foolishly, dear Dick; and if you were, there is only Rose to hear you, and shall you not talk as you please to her?"

"Thank God, my darling! this has not separated us."

"No, not yet."

"Not yet!"

"What will your new father and your grand sister think of me?"

"Well, Rose, wait till I ask them!"

"Perhaps a grandfather, too," said Rose.

"I love him already. If he should be living, that would be something grand, wouldn't it? You may be sure she loved him."

"And you may be sure she never let him know until perhaps the very last, that she was in trouble. Women and children never tell their sorrows to those who are entitled to help them."

"Why, Rose?"

"Oh! I cannot tell you that! I only know it's so. Here we are at home. Have patience; for though to-morrow you will have the news, to night is all _I_ have!"

"And no matter what happens, Rose," said Dick, as they lingered a moment outside the house, "you will trust me just the same?"

"Of course I will," Rose answered readily. A question and answer that have been given--and falsified--I wonder how many times since the world began; falsified, for even a woman's faith is not without limit; though Rose thought it was, as many had thought before her. "Of course I will; why should you ask, Dick?"

"I don't know; only that everything seems whirling around with me to-night, and the only thing that seems clear to me is that I must not lose you."

"It will be your own fault if you do," said Rose. "But you must not try me too much; for things might get whirling around with me, too, some day, and I should not know faith from want of pride; so be good."

"And if it is possible, I must come down at once and tell you how it all ends. If it could only be that I could have you close at hand to tell you all!"

"Indeed! I am glad," exclaimed Rose, who, much as she loved Dick, could not endure to think of the time when she should have to leave her home. {794} "Come in, now. What will Uncle Carl say to all this, I wonder?"

Uncle Carl did not say much, when, the children having been sent out to play, the elders drew their chairs closer around the still standing tea-table, and listened intently to Dick's story. The others received it with many exclamations and much wiping of eyes; but the stolid German smoked his big pipe and looked, or tried to, as if he had known it all before.

"I'll know before this time tomorrow if it's the same," said Dick, when the reading was finished, and many conjectures had been put forward and discussed.

"It is the strangest thing ever was heard of," exclaimed Mrs. Alaine, "that he should meet you so often and not know who you were!"

"With your mother's name, too," added Mrs. Staffs.

"Perhaps, after all, he is not so ignorant," suggested Dick. "It may be that it was on account of my name he made so much of me."

"I think he must be devoured with remorse," Mrs. Alaine said forcibly, "whenever he thinks of his beautiful wife."

"This Mrs. Brandon couldn't hold a candle to her," added Mrs. Stoffs.

"I never saw her," said Dick.

"She was very pretty," explained Carl, speaking unexpectedly.

"Pretty!" cried Mrs. Stoffs, in great surprise.

"Pretty!" repeated Mrs. Alaine, with great contempt.

"Pretty!" echoed Rose, with great incredulity. "Why, Uncle Carl, she was a little doll-baby!"

"She was very pretty," persisted Carl.

"Well, indeed, if you call such a baby pretty, I give up!" said Mrs. Stoffs. "Why, Mr. Dick, she did not look as if she could say boo to a goose, and yet she ruled the whole house; it was her extravagance that ruined the poor man."

"I think it was his own dishonesty," said Carl.

"O Uncle Carl!" remonstrated Rose, "right before Mr. Richard."

"We don't know yet that he has anything to do with 'Mr. Richard,' as you call him; but I'd say it, if need were, to the man's own face. His wife may have been a little, tyrannical, extravagant fool; but the more fool he for letting her take other men's money out of his purse."

"Indeed, Carl, that's a thing they'll never say of _you_," responded his wife, laughing. "But now come away, and let Mr. Dick get some rest, for I suppose he'll be off by daylight."

"I shall, indeed," said Dick.

"Well, good-night! Mr. Dick, you must not let these things keep you awake; if you find your family out, it may be the last time you will sleep under our roof."

"If I thought that, Mrs. Stoffs, I should seek them with a heavy heart; but nothing can make that so but death, can it?"

"Go to bed, good people," grumbled Carl; "all your noise makes my head ache."

He went up with Dick and had a long conversation with him, after the rest were asleep.

"Go find Dr. Heremore, of Wiltshire, unless there comes to be no doubt that he is gone away, or dead," were his parting words; "he is better worth seeking than any other. You will need money, and you shall owe me for this." And he gave him a few gold pieces which Mrs. Stoffs, in the sanctuary of her own room, had hurriedly and gladly brought out from countless rags, all tied up in an old stocking, at her liege lord's command, for this purpose.

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"But, Mr. Stoffs, I have, I think, enough for this."

"Then do not spend mine, but take it with you for fear of accident. Good-night; do not be fooled by anything Mr. Brandon may say--he's an artful one--but find out all you can about your grandfather; remember that."

So Dick was left to pass a sleepless, fevered night, filled with the strangest fancies, and perplexed by a thousand fruitless conjectures. At the first glimmering of daylight he was up, and, after making a show of eating the substantial breakfast his kind friends had prepared for him, turned, without being able to say more than a word or two, to leave.

"Dood-by," said Trot, sliding down from her chair, with her bib on, and her face not over clean, to get his parting kiss, as well as to put in a reminder for his return. "What 'oo bing Trot from the 'tore?"

"What do you want, Trot?" asked Dick, lifting her up.

"Me wants putty tat," she answered with animation; "dear 'ittle titten!"

Dick promised to do his best, shook hands silently all around, tried to laugh at the old shoe Minnie had ready to throw after him, at last heard the gate close behind him, and was alone on his way to the little yellow station-house.

"He'd better be alone," Rose had said when something had been said privately about accompanying him. "He has a great deal to think about, and he can do that best while he is walking in this fresh morning air."

"O mamma!" she said, when Mrs. Alaine stood beside her, after Dick had passed out of sight, "O mamma! if Mr. Brandon should take it angrily!"

"You may be sure he will not," replied Mrs. Alaine, "he is so broken down, he will be very thankful to find a son like our Dick who will be worth so much to him. He is the most selfish man ever lived, Mr. Brandon is."

"Well, I wish it were over," sighed Rose, turning back to the house and the day's round of household duties.

To Be Concluded.

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{796}

Translated From The French.

The Approaching General Council.

By Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop Of Orleans.

The church and the world have been filled with expectation for more than a year. When the catholic bishops were gathered at Rome to celebrate the eighteenth centenary of the martyrdom of St. Peter, and for the solemn canonization of saints, the Sovereign Pontiff declared the necessity of a general council, and announced, at the same time, his intention to convoke it at an early date.

The bull of induction has already appeared. On the twenty-ninth day of last June, the feast of the holy apostles Peter and Paul, the Holy Father, by letters addressed to all the bishops of the Christian world, fixed the date of the future council, and summoned the Episcopate of the Catholic Church to Rome. Since that time, by two truly paternal letters, the Holy Father has invited the Greek Bishops, and our separated brethren of all the protestant communions, to profit by the future council to undertake again the work of reunion, already several times attempted by the church, but which has always been frustrated by the misfortunes and the evils of our day.

So it is no longer merely a hope. The first act necessary for the holding of the council is accomplished. The apostolic letters, known already throughout the world and received everywhere with joy, even amid the infatuations and the bitter woes of the present time, have stirred the hearts of the people. All look again to Rome. Even her enemies are attentive as well as astonished, and they feel that a great event is going to happen. And truly that which is soon to come to pass at Rome, and in the church, is a rare and solemn fact, a fact of sovereign importance, perhaps even the greatest event of the century. Let no one feel surprised at this language. I am well aware that events of immense importance have marked the beginning and the course of the nineteenth century. Profound revolutions have passed over it, and even yesterday we have seen one of the oldest thrones of Europe toppling over. Enmities and wars have disturbed nations. The old and new world are forced to meet the same difficult problems. Yet in this century there is something superior to worldly ambition and the interests of political passions. It is the spiritual interests of the people, and those supremely important questions, whose solution brings peace to the soul, and tells us of the eternal destinies of humanity. It is for such purposes as these that the Catholic Church calls her bishops to Rome. True it is that the church appears to many men as being of little importance; she seems to occupy only a small place in modern society, so small, indeed, that modern politicians have recommended that she should no longer be taken into consideration. Yet the church is, and must remain, the most noble power of the world, because she is the spiritual power; and Rome, the centre of this power--Rome which will soon see within her walls these great sessions of catholicity--will be always, according to the words of the poet, "the most beautiful and the most holy of things beneath the sun."--_Rerum pulcherrima Roma_.

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What then is the Catholic Church, and what is this council which is going, within a few months, to present so grand a spectacle to the world? I propose to follow the example of my venerable colleagues, who have, in France and in the different parts of Christendom, published pastoral instructions on this subject. I will recall to your minds what an ecumenical council is, to which, for a long time, we have not been accustomed. I will state the motives, inspired from on high, which have induced the Holy Father to take this step, which is the most considerable and extraordinary of the pontifical government. Then we shall see if there is any foundation for the alarm that the announcement of this act has caused among certain badly disposed or feebly enlightened minds: finally, I will make known what we, bishops, priests, and faithful, have the right to expect.

I.

The Council.

"God," says Bossuet, "has created a work in the midst of us, which, separated from every other cause and belonging to him alone, fills all time and all places, and bears everywhere in the world the impression of his hand, the stamp of his authority: it is Jesus Christ and his church."

There exists, then, in this world, above all human things, though at the same time most intimately connected with them, a spiritual society, an empire of souls. An empire of a different and divine order, more heavenly than worldly, and yet an empire really here below, a complete society, having, like every other society, its organization, its laws, its action, its life. A society not built up by the hand of man, but by God himself. It does not require the approval of any human being; for its mission is as sacred as its source, and it draws from it all its essential rights. A pilgrim in this world and a divine stranger, as Bossuet has somewhere said, and yet a sovereign, the sovereign of souls, where she has an inviolable sanctuary. She does not encroach upon the temporal powers, neither will she abdicate at their suggestion her divine rights. She is happy to meet with their approval, and she does not disdain their alliance; but she knows, when it is necessary, how to do without them. She does not impede their terrestrial mission, nor will she consent that they should interfere with her career. A universal society is God's church, which knows no limit of time or barrier of space; she is the treasure-house of celestial goods, charged to communicate evangelical truth to men until the end of time; and, for this reason, as well as by her origin and her growth, she holds in a world which she alone has civilized, a place which no other power will ever fill. Yes, this marvel exists upon the earth; among all human, temporal, limited, and constantly changing governments, there is this spiritual society, this government of souls, extending everywhere, immutable, without boundaries, and which is called the Catholic Church.

If we examine her construction more closely--and we must do this if we wish to understand the meaning of the most solemn of her acts, the Ecumenical Council--we shall see with what divine art Jesus Christ has proportioned the means to the end. {798} It is a part of our faith, that the Son of God has given to men, not for a time but for the whole duration of time, "for all days, even to the consummation of the world, "a collection of truths, of commandments, and of sacred ordinances. The Christian society that our Lord called his church, _ecclesiam meam_, has the guardianship of these divine revelations. A visible society, because religion should not be an occult thing; and perpetually visible, because perpetuity has been promised to it; in short, a universal society, because all men, without exception, are called and admitted within her fold.

But the divine revelations could not be transmitted unaltered for ages, if they had been subjected to changing and capricious interpretations of private judgment; therefore it was indispensable that the doctrinal authority should be sovereign, that is to say, it must be infallible. An authority cannot be sovereign in matters of faith, and demand an interior assent, without being infallible. This it was that the divine Founder of Christianity has wished to do, and really did, when, giving to the apostles their mission, he pronounced these words, the last which have fallen from his lips: "As the Father has sent me, I send you. Go then and teach all nations, baptize them in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, and teach them to observe all the commandments that I have given to man: and behold I am with you all days, even to the consummation of the world." Such is, then, the essential character of the church; it is a doctrinal authority, providentially infallible by the divine assistance, in all things revealed by God.

It is easily seen how unity is born of this infallibility; not an accidental unity, but a necessary and permanent unity, because the principle of unity is permanent in the church. The principle of unity, and besides this, a centre of unity, was among the indispensable conditions of a church thus founded. It was necessary that a teaching church, spread throughout the world, should have a head, a centre, a chief, in order that it might be united in a single and distinctive body. Jesus Christ has not neglected this necessity; for among his disciples he chose one whom he invested with certain special privileges, to whom he entrusted, according to his divine expression, "the keys of the kingdom of heaven," whom he called the rock, the foundation-stone of the edifice, whom he commanded "to confirm his brethren in the faith," whom he called the pastor of the sheep as well as of the lambs, that is to say, the shepherd of the entire fold.

This is the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. In order to place a perpetual check upon time, which destroys all things, and in order to give the necessary support to the human mind, which is ever changing, it was, indeed, necessary that a religious society should be thus constructed. But a divine hand was required to constitute a society of this kind, which was composed of frail men; and these grand characters of unity and authority, in perpetuity and in catholicity, are in the church as the shining seal of the powerful hand which has established it. Thus it remains firm among men, and even in spite of universal change. In vain is the natural restlessness of the human mind shocked at the dogmas of our faith, and heresies succeed to heresies; [Footnote 283] this constant movement cannot affect her firm constitution; she will remain, as says the apostle, "the pillar and ground of truth"--_Columna et firmamentum Veritatis_.

[Footnote 283: "It is necessary that heresies should be."
Corinth, xi. 19. Terrible necessity, says Bossuet.]

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Such is the Catholic Church. An ecumenical council is this Catholic Church assembled to do, with more solemnity, the same work which, dispersed, she does every day. This work is the transmission and authentic interpretation of the dogmatic and moral truths of divine revelation. This is what I desire to explain at this time, so that it may be clearly understood by our contemporaries, who have long been unaccustomed to these things. My design is not, indeed, as you know, an intention to write so exhaustively that no one else may treat upon the questions connected with the councils of the church. Volumes have and could again be written on this subject. But at least there are some necessary notions which require to be explained with precision, since these matters are not familiar at this day, and also because, as on every other topic, the simple and fundamental ideas are always the most useful.

A council is an assemblage of bishops convoked for the purpose of discussing questions concerning the faith, morals, and discipline. A council is particular or general; particular, if it represents only a part of the church; general or ecumenical, when it represents the universal church. A general council, simply because it represents the whole church, has the gift of doctrinal infallibility and supreme authority given by Jesus Christ to the church herself, to the body of pastors united to their chief. A particular council has no infallibility.

The supreme chief of the church, the Pope, and he only, has the right of convoking general councils. For the same reason, the Pope alone has the right of presiding over their deliberations. And as a question of fact, it is true that popes, either personally or by legates, have presided over every ecumenical council. Thus at Nice, Constantinople, Ephesus, Chalcedon, as well as at Trent, the popes presided by legates. At the councils of Lateran, Lyons, Vienna, and Florence, they presided personally. "Holy Father," wrote the fathers of Chalcedon to Pope St. Leo, "you will preside in the midst of the bishops, who are judges of the faith, as the chief over the members in the persons of those who hold your place." It is the sovereign pontiff's duty to close the council, to dissolve it in case of necessity, and to confirm its decrees. The accord of the bishops and the Pope is manifestly necessary for the ecumenical character of a council.

Gathered in council from all quarters of the world, and having the Pope at their head, as witnesses of the faith of their churches, as judges of the divine law, "_Episcopis judicibus_" said the fathers of Chalcedon. "_Defining I have subscribed_," "_I have subscribed pronouncing with the holy synod_;" [Footnote 284] thus it was that the bishops of Chalcedon and Ephesus, and also of Trent, affixed their signatures.

[Footnote 284: "_Definiens subscripsi_:"
"_Subscripsi pronuntians cum sancta synodo_."]

Custom governs the exterior forms used in these assemblies. The solemn sessions, where the decrees are promulgated, are distinguished from the congregations where they are elaborated; with what care, what exactness, what profound research, the history of the Council of Trent has already shown, and the coming Council of Rome will give us a no less remarkable proof. The Holy Father, indeed, ever since he took the great resolution of convoking a council, has been occupied with activity proportioned to the importance of the future assembly. He has used such means as were proper for the head of the church in an ecumenical council. {800} Several commissions or congregations, composed of learned cardinals, and of theologians chosen from different nations, were at once appointed by him, and are now zealously working upon the questions which will be considered in the council. There is a special congregation upon Dogma, one upon Canon Law, one to consider the various questions concerning Religious Orders, one to discuss the relations of Church and State, and one upon the churches of the East.

It is the usage of the church, when the Pope intends to convene an ecumenical council, to notify in advance the bishops who bring there not only the authority of their sacred character, but also the counsels of their experience, because their dispersion in many different countries has given them great knowledge and a special competency to understand the times and the needs of their people. Thus Pius IX., in two allocutions, addressed to the bishops assembled at Rome, announced to them the future council. By his last Bull, he has called them all there and fixed the precise date, so that the prelates, notified and convoked in advance, may have the time to study the questions at their leisure, and arrive perfectly prepared at the date indicated by the Sovereign Pontiff.

I do not need to add that, although the Pope and bishops can add disciplinary laws, and modify, more or less, the canon law, because these are not by their nature immutable, that in matters of faith, it is not the business of councils to make dogmas. Dogmas are never made in councils, but they may be formulated there. All that concerns dogma is learned from the holy Scriptures and tradition, and from their authorized interpreters. It is only after these have been thoroughly investigated and discussed, and after the invocation of the Holy Ghost, that the council declares what has always been, what is now, the belief of the church.

History counts eighteen ecumenical councils. [Footnote 285]

[Footnote 285: The following is a list of these eighteen
ecumenical councils:
1. Nice, in 325, against Arius, who denied the divinity of
the Word.
2. Constantinople, in 381, against Macedonius, who attacked
the divinity of the Holy Ghost.
3. Ephesus, in 431, against Nestorius, who erred concerning
the Incarnation, and refused to give the Blessed Virgin the
title Mother of God.
4. Chalcedon, in 451, against Eutyches, who originated an
error, the opposite of that of Nestorius.
5. Constantinople, in 553, against the three celebrated
chapters which fostered the error of Nestorius on the
Incarnation.
6. Constantinople in 680, against the Monothelites, who
continued the error of Eutyches, in denying that Jesus Christ
had a human will.
7. Nice, in 787, against the Iconoclasts, or breakers of
images.
8. Constantinople, in 869, against Photius, the author of the
Greek schism.
9. Lateran, in 1123, or the promulgation of peace between the
ecclesiastical power and the empire, after the long quarrels
of the Investitures, and also for the Crusades.
10. Lateran, in 1139, for the reunion of the Greeks and
against the errors of the Albigenses.
11. Lateran, in 1179, for different questions of discipline,
and against the heresies of the day.
12. Lateran, in 1215, against the Vaudois.
13. Lyons, in 1245, for the Crusade and the troubles with the
Emperor Frederic.
14. Lyons, in 1274, for the Crusade, and for reunion with the
Greeks.
15. Vienne, in 1311, for the Crusade, and different questions
of discipline, and for the affair of the Templars.
16. Florence, in 1439, for reunion with the Greeks.
17. Lateran, in 1511, against the conventicle of Pisa.
18. Trent, in 1545, against Protestantism.
Several sessions of the Council of Constance have also been
considered ecumenical.]

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It would be difficult to determine the almost infinite number of particular councils. Nothing can show more clearly than do these assemblies the wonderful vitality of the church, and the power she bears within herself to protect her own existence both against the errors which the human mind is ever producing, and also against corruption and abuses within the church, abuses which are unavoidable because of the infirmity of human nature. She is the only society upon the earth where revolutions are not necessary, and where reform is always possible. There is not one of these many councils but which has a regulation upon discipline at the same time that it has a definition of faith; and the great Council of Trent itself, without fearing that word, reform, which had revolutionized Europe, accepted it, because it belonged to the church, and accompanied its dogmatic decrees concerning the Catholic faith with decrees concerning reformation--_De Reformatione_. Assembled in ecumenical council the Pope and bishops thoroughly investigate the situation of affairs in the Christian republic, and use fearlessly the remedy for its wounds and its sufferings. Thus the immortal youth of the church is renewed, a more active and vigorous breath of life animates this immense body, and even society feels its happy influence. It is, then, one of these ecumenical assemblies which the Pope has just convoked. After long meditation upon the needs of the time, and earnest prayer for God's guidance, the head of the Catholic Church has spoken a single word. He has made a solemn sign, and it is sufficient. From the west and east, from the north and south, from every part of the habitable globe, from every race, from every tongue, from every nation, the chiefs of this great spiritual society, the dispersed members of this government of souls, leave their sees to meet at the place appointed by the Sovereign Pontiff. They meet, not as in human congresses, to debate concerning peace and war, conquests and frontiers, but to treat of souls and their sacred interests, of things spiritual and eternal. They obey the divine words of Him who founded the church, "_Go, therefore, and teach all nations_." They meet to accomplish the most august duty of their sovereign mission--to proclaim, in a general council of the church, and, as it were, in the very face of human errors, those truths whose guardianship has been confided to them by Him who is the Truth itself. Such is the work of an ecumenical council. Can there in this world be a greater one?

It is now three hundred years since the world has seen one of these assemblies; even at the beginning of this century they were considered impossible. "In modern times," wrote J. de Maistre, less than fifty years ago, "since the civilized world is, so to speak, cut up into some sovereignties, and the world has been so much enlarged by the boldness of our sailors, an ecumenical council has become a chimera."

The political difficulties which so provokingly impeded the Council of Trent were remembered, and it seemed that the present time was yet more unfavorable. It was thought that the modern powers were more defiant and more hostile, and consequently that the liberty of the church was in greater danger, her action more circumscribed than ever. But we wronged our century, and instead of coming before God with complaints, we shall do better to adore his powerful hand, which, as an ancient proverb goes, "can write straightly on crooked lines," and force events to bend themselves, in spite of man's efforts, to his eternal designs. A missionary and a traveller, the church longs to see the road diminish. A preacher and a liberator, she profits and rejoices over the destruction of fetters. Then our age has accomplished these two works, the suppression of distance, the breaking down of barriers. I understand the words distance and barriers in the social and political sense, as well as in a material point of view. It was thought that they would serve only the world's interests, but they are really allies of the faith; all this marvellous movement, which seemed to be contrary to catholic ideas and opposed to the Catholic Church, will turn to her advantage. {802} The spirit of the age obliges political governments, whether they be willing or not, to act more fairly toward the church, and it has destroyed the old prejudices which even recently have hindered her actions. The holding of an ecumenical council is easier to-day than it would have been in the times of Philip II., Louis XIV., or of Joseph II.

"For the convocations of the bishops alone," says again J. de. Maistre, "and to establish legally this convocation, five or six years would not be sufficient." To-day it has been enough for Pius IX. to post his bull upon the walls of the Lateran; modern publicity, in spite of many wishes to the contrary, carries it to the extremities of the earth. Soon, thanks to the marvellous progress of the sciences and mechanics, the bishops will hasten to obey the Pontiff's summons on the wings which steam has given to our vessels and our cars. These have, as it were, consumed space. The bishops will come from every free country, and, as we hope, even from those which are not free. And thus--for I like to repeat it--this double current of the ideas and of the industry of our time is going, in the future, not to serve the material life of man alone, but also to aid us in the government of souls, in the highest manifestation of the spiritual life of man, in the greatest work of God's Holy Spirit upon the earth. It is just, as divine Providence has so willed, that we should see in this the secret harmony hidden in the depths of things and in the unity of divine works. Matter is placed once more at the service of the spiritual, and the thoughts of man follow the order of God's counsels.

Three times already, as you are aware, the bishops have gathered about the vicar of Jesus Christ within a few years; but none of these three great reunions had the character of a council. The glory of resuming the ancient traditions of the church, so long interrupted, by the convention of a true ecumenical assembly, has been reserved to this magnanimous Pontiff, so powerful in his mildness, so calm amid his trials, and so confident in that God who has sustained him and who has manifestly inspired him to undertake the work of summoning the ecumenical council.

II.

The Programme Of The Council.

And why, with what thoughts, has the head of the church called to this great tribunal of catholicity those whom he names as being "his venerable brothers, the bishops of the catholic world, whose sacred character has called them to partake in his solicitudes? "_Omnes venerabiles fratres totius catholici orbis sacrorum antistites, qui in solicitudinis nostrae partem vocati sunt_." The apostolical letters inform us clearly. It is necessary to read them and to judge the church with equity by her own statement, not by rancorous or frivolous commentaries. The programme of the future council is thus traced in the bull of the Sovereign Pontiff:

"This ecumenical council will have to examine with the greatest
care, and determine what is best to do in times so difficult
and so perverse as these, for the greater glory of God, for the
integrity of the faith, for the honor of divine worship, for
the eternal salvation of men, for the discipline of the regular
and secular clergy, for their useful and solid instruction, for
the observance of ecclesiastical laws, for the reformation of
customs, for the Christian education of youth, for general
peace and universal concord."

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"It is necessary for us to use every exertion that, by God's
help, we may separate every evil from the church and from
society; to lead back into the straight way of truth, justice,
and salvation, those unfortunate people who have wandered from
it; to repress vice and refute error, so that our august
religion and its salutary doctrine may acquire a new vigor
throughout the world, that it may be extended further every
day, that it regain its empire, and thus that piety, honesty,
justice, charity, and all Christian virtues maybe strengthened
and flourish for the greatest good of humanity."

The entire programme, all the work of the future council, is in these words. There are, then, two great objects, the good of the church and the good of human society. This is its object and its only object.

But especially does the church assemble her bishops that her interior life may be reanimated, and, as the apostle says, "To stir up the grace of God which is within us." The reason of this is because the church has the wonderful privilege that I have already mentioned--she is the only body which possesses the power of perpetually renewing her youth in the course of a perpetual life. It is in virtue of this divine constitution that none of the truths which she has preserved can change, can be lost, can be increased--that not even a syllable can be altered or an iota destroyed! "One jot or one tittle of the law shall not pass away until all be fulfilled," said Jesus Christ. The church is a living institution composed of men, borrowing its head and its members from every nation and from all ranks, always open to receive those who wish to come to her, and unceasingly increased by the addition of new races of men among her children. A river which has received many streams into its current reflects the objects along its banks and adapts its course to the climate, and to the country with its irregularities; so the Catholic Church has the gift of accommodating herself to the times, to the institutions, and to the requirements of the generations through which she passes and the centuries which she civilizes.

And more than this is true, because in the world she labors perpetually in order that she may ever become more worthy to speak of God to men, and in a way to be heard and understood by them. She is continually examining, with respect, and at the same time with sovereign authority, her disciplinary books, her laws, her institutions, her works, and especially her members, distributed in the different grades of the hierarchy. Indeed, we do not believe that we are without faults or blemishes. "Ah! should we be astonished," Fénélon used to say, "to find in man the relics of humanity!" But, eternal thanks be given to God, we find in the imperishable treasury of truth, and of the divine laws which we are called to guard, the means of recognizing our faults and reforming our manners.

Thus it is especially against ourselves, or rather for ourselves, that this council is going to assemble. There will not be one among us to take his seat in this august assembly, who has not in the early morning bent his knee upon the lowest step of the altar, bowed his head, struck his breast, and said, "If God is not better known, if he is not better served than by me, if the truth suffers violence, if the poor are not assisted, if justice is in peril, O God! it is my fault, it is my fault, it is my most grievous fault!" Monarchs of the earth, who settle the fate of nations with such a frightful boldness, an examination like this would be good even for you, if you could only endure it! {804} O human assemblies, parliaments, tribunals, popular conventions, do you think that this rigid self-examination, these confessions, these scruples, and these courageous habits of discipline and reform, will be useless in appeasing blind agitation and arrogant passion, or in rousing up sleepy routine?

When each of us has thus examined, questioned, and accused himself, we shall ask ourselves, What are the obstacles which to-day prevent the propagation of the faith among those who have not yet received it, and its reestablishment among those who have lost it? We shall revise regulations, we shall reform abuses, we shall reestablish forgotten laws, we shall modify whatever requires modification. Under the supreme authority of a common father, of the bishop of bishops, the experience of old men, the zeal of the young, the inspiration of the holy and the wisdom of the wise, will all concur in declaring the present condition of the church, its mission upon the earth, and its duties in the future. This examination will be made in the most unconstrained and fraternal discussion, which will soon be followed by solid resolutions, which will become, then, and for centuries, the rule of the church's life.

Such will be the first object of the assembly of bishops. An object at once sublime and humble, one which fills the children of the church with respectful admiration, and which strikes her enemies with an astonishment that they seek in vain to disguise. Yes, our ministry is so noble, our assemblies so elevated above other assemblies, that the language of man contains the involuntary admission of its superiority. If they desire to designate a noble office, a superior mission, they call it, often even with exaggeration, a _priesthood_. If they wish to speak of some unusually imposing and solemn gathering, which will have a place in history, they say it was a _council_ of kings or legislators. Human language has no more lofty words than these: not that we should pride ourselves upon them, for our hands have not done these things. They come from God, and the dignity of the words which express them recalls to our humility at once the majesty of our vocation and the formidable extent of our duties.

But what is the cause, in our day and at this hour, of the retreat of the entire catholic episcopate into the breast of a new cenacle? If I may presume to put it thus, what does this vigil of arms mean? [Footnote 286] Why these preparations, this work of a great council? Why has the Sovereign Pontiff, under the eye of God, and from his inspiration, judged it proper to call the church together in this second half of the nineteenth century?

[Footnote 286: The Bishop of Orleans is here referring to the
pious custom of the days of chivalry, which compelled the
knight who was to receive his armor for the first time on the
following morning to pass the vigil watching in the chapel,
where his future arms were placed upon the altar.]

It was said of our Master, the divine Saviour of the world, that "he was wounded because of our iniquities." Yes, it is for the iniquities of man, and for our own, that we are going to impose such a work upon ourselves. The more dangerous the times are, the more necessary is it for us to be pure enough to withstand the most formidable conflict, wise enough to enter into the most stirring discussions, prepared to engage in the rudest conflicts. And if men ask why we are striving to increase knowledge and charity among ourselves, we will answer that, not forgetting ourselves and our own needs, we are doing it also on their account, looking earnestly upon their condition, their aspirations, and their sufferings, and with a hearty desire to do them more good.

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III.

Causes Of The Council.