Chapter IX (2)

At Tortosa, on the Ebro, we begin to see the palm-trees. And here we enter the province of Valencia, the brightest jewel in the crown of Spain. The Moors placed here their paradise, and under their rule it became the garden of Spain. From them the Cid rescued it in 1094, and here he governed like a king, and died here in 1099. It was then annexed to Castile and Arragon. It is a fortified town, about three miles from the sea; and with its narrow streets, tall houses, balconies, with curtains and blinds hanging outside into the street, looks perennially southern and Spanish. We come up from the station in a "tartana," a vehicle peculiar to Valencia, a sort of omnibus on two wheels, made to hold six persons; without springs, and with one horse. The driver sits on the shaft, with his legs dangling down, or supported by a strap. This vehicle jolts horribly, but is very cheap and convenient.

Tuesday, September 13.

To-day we first see the museum, in which are many pictures of Spanish artists, both ancient and modern--two of Spagnoletto, and several of Ribalta and Juanes--two Valencian artists of whom they are very proud. The last is especially famed for his beautiful pictures of our Lord. We saw here the ancient altar used by James the Conqueror, "Don Jaime," as he is called--the great hero of Catalonia, son of Pedro I. He was one of the first sovereigns who established standing armies in Europe. Amongst other wise institutions, the municipal body of Barcelona was his work. He died in Valencia, 1276, on his way to the monastery of Poblet to become a monk, confiding his goodly sword, "La Tizona," to his son Don Pedro, in whose favor he had abdicated that year.

In this museum are many remains of the ancient Saguntum, (now called Murviedro,) which is but a few miles from Valencia, and a model of its old Roman theatre. In the court of the building are some palm-trees three hundred years old.

We next visit an ancient church of the Jesuits to see one of Murillo's "Immaculate Conceptions," which is very beautiful. Then the "Audiencia," an ancient building of the sixteenth century, where are the courts of justice and other courts. Here is some wonderful old carving, and curious portraits of Inquisitors; civil, on one side, ecclesiastical on the other. We were glad to see that the former greatly outnumbered the latter. After this, we go to one of the finest hospitals in the world; with marble floors, and pillars supporting a lofty ceiling; the great windows opening into gardens of orange, and myrtle, and jessamine; all clean, fresh, and cool; with an altar so placed in the centre, under a lofty dome, that every patient could see and hear the divine office. The whole building was alike well arranged; the kitchen large and convenient, and the dispensary grand. {205} Certainly, in all our experience--and we have visited hospitals everywhere--we have seen nothing so _inviting_, so really elegant, as this. Here we meet the two loveliest women we have seen in Spain; both sisters of charity; one having charge of the dispensary, and the other of the foundling institution connected with the hospital. Such white complexions; lovely color; such eyes, and eyelashes, and teeth! Specimens of the beauty of Valencia. And such charming groups of children as we saw amongst these unhappy disowned ones! Unconscious of their fate, they played merrily in the cool court, till, seeing strangers, many ran to hide their beautiful eyes behind the sister's apron. The school-room would have done honor to the most "_enlightened nation_," which might here take a lesson from "_benighted Spain_." Great placards hold the "A B C." Slates hang in order by the little benches against the wall; pictures of beasts and birds, for natural history; maps, for geography; drawings, for mathematics; balls strung on wires, for counting; large books filled with colored engravings of Bible history, from the birth of Adam to the end of the Apocalypse. And such neatness and order! There is one department for the little ones whose mothers leave them each morning, when they go out to work, returning for them at night. Their tiny baskets hung in a row. Some, who were quite babies, were being greatly petted, because it was their first day away from the mother.

While in the school-room, one of the party began examining a large map of Spain with reference to our projected route. The sister seeing this, lowered the map by a cord, and calling a little fellow of five years, he pointed out the oceans by which Spain is surrounded, named the rivers and mountains, the provinces of Spain, and the principal towns; never once making a blunder, though he often paused to recollect himself.

We drive to see the queen's garden, where is every tropical tree and flower. This, with other gardens, borders upon the Alameda, a broad, shady promenade extending three miles to the sea. There is another promenade called the "Glorieta," where the band plays every morning from nine to eleven. We see, also, the Plaza de Toros, (the arena for the bull-fights,) one of the finest in Spain, capable of holding twenty thousand people; built so exactly like a Roman amphitheatre that we feel as if we looked upon the Colosseum in the days of its glory. It is evident that these people inherit the love of this their national pastime from their Roman ancestors. Happily, the fashion is dying out. In Valencia, the bull-fights occur but once or twice a year. They are now making preparations for a three days' "funcion," to begin on the 24th. We saw the poor horses doomed to death. Forty a day is the average number. The men are rarely killed, but often badly hurt.

Wednesday, September 16.

This morning we go to the markets to see the wonderful display of fruits for which Valencia is so famous. Never were such grapes and peaches, melons and figs, oranges and lemons, apples and pears, the last as fine as could be seen in all New England; the nuts and vegetables equally good. Potatoes, and tomatoes, and peppers, of mammoth size, and even the Indian corn and rice as good as those of America. But even the Spanish gravity is here upset at sight of our round hats, short veils, and parasols. {206} The women hold their their sides with laughter, and we are driven to resolve upon wearing mantillas and fans, which fashion we soon after, in self-defence, adopt. We go to the shops to buy fans, which are a specialty of Valencia, as are also the beautiful striped blankets, (mantas,) which are as indispensable to a Valencian as the fan is to the Valencienne; and is at once his cloak, his bag, his bed, his coverlet, and his towel. They say of a Valencian, that he has two uses for a watermelon--to eat his dinner, and make his toilette. After eating the melon, he washes his face with the rind, and wipes upon his manta. They wear it slung gracefully over the left shoulder, or over both shoulders, the ends falling behind; and over the head-handkerchief is often worn the pointed hat of Philip II.'s time, with wide, turned-up brim.

To-day we visit the cathedral and San Juanes. Like most of the great churches of Spain, the cathedral occupies the site of a Roman temple. This, made into a church by the Goths, was changed to a mosque by the Arabs, and now (since 1240) it is again a Christian church. Some of the doors, and many of the ornaments, are Moorish. The gratings--of brass--are very handsome; as are the altars and screen, of marble and alabaster. This last is most abundant in Spain. A palace opposite to our hotel (that of the Marquis de los Aguas) is beautifully adorned on the outside with statues, and vases, and flowers of alabaster in relievo.

All these Spanish churches are much ornamented with stucco and gilding, according to the taste of the time in which they were built. The cathedral has some good pictures in the sacristy; and within the sanctuary hang the _spurs_ of Don Jaime upon his shield. His body is in one of the chapels.

In an old chapter-house we were shown some great chains taken from the Moors, and a series of portraits of all the archbishops of Valencia; and so much is it the habit to gesticulate in this country, that even these dignitaries, instead of being painted in _ecclesiastical attitudes_, have their fingers in every imaginable position. One must know their expressive language to read what each of these worthies may be saying.

After some shopping, we go to call upon the present archbishop, a graceful and dignified person, who received us most kindly, and presented us each a chapelette and scapular. He has a grand old palace, very plainly furnished; a pretty chapel; and, in a fine old hall, with groined roof, were portraits of his predecessors from the sixth century to the present day.

We have a visit from the English consul, to whom we brought letters. He is very kind and friendly, and full of offers of service. The Spanish sun seems to have warmed the English heart, which seldom gives out so much, save in its own foggy island. He sends us some fine wine, which, with some iced orgeat, secures us a merry evening.

Thursday, 17.

This morning we hear mass in the Church of the Patriarch, into which no woman may enter without being veiled. Then we visit the house in which St. Vincent Ferrer, the patron of Valencia, was born, and where is a fountain greatly esteemed for its miraculous powers.

While at breakfast, a young man enters, whom we take for a Spaniard, but who proves to be an American, and from Maine! He has lived in Cuba, however, and it turns out that his father is a friend of the Spanish ladies with whom we are travelling. {207} He gives a pleasant account of his travels in the north of Spain; tells of the wonders of Burgos; of the railway between that and Miranda, which shows such extraordinary engineering skill; and of the fine scenery through which he has passed. Yesterday, on the mountains, he saw three sunsets; or rather, saw the sun set three times, in descending from range to range.

It is delightful to meet an American who, instead of complaining of the discomforts of travelling in Spain, as most of our people do, sees only what is pleasant. For ourselves, we have been most fortunate; good hotels, most obliging people, and, so far from being extortionate, (as we were told to expect,) we find Spanish hotels cheaper than those of any other part of Europe. To-day we eat the "pollo con arroz," one of the national dishes, (rice with chicken and saffron,) and find it very good.

Hans Andersen, in his little book on Spain, says:

"Connected with Valencia, are several of the old Spanish
romances about the Cid--he who in all his battles, and on
occasions when he was misjudged, remained true to his God, his
people, and himself; he who, in his own time, took rank with
the monarchs of Spain, and down to our own time is the pride of
the country which he was mainly instrumental in rescuing from
the infidels. As a conqueror he entered Valencia, and here
lived with his noble and heroic wife, Zimena, and his
daughters, Doña Sol and Doña Elvira; and here he died in 1099.
Here stood around his bed of death all who were dear to him.
Even his very warhorse, Babieca, was ordered to be called
thither. In song, it is said that the horse stood like a lamb,
and gazed with his large eyes upon his master, who could no
more speak than the poor horse himself. ... Through the streets
of Valencia passed at night the extraordinary cavalcade to San
Peder de Cordoña, which the departed chief had desired should
be his burial-place. The victorious colors of the Cid were
carried in front. Four hundred knights protected them. Then
came the corpse. Upright upon his war-horse sat the dead;
arrayed in his armor with his shield and his helmet, his long
white beard flowing down to his breast.

"Gil Diaz and Bishop Jeronymo escorted the body on either side;
then followed Doña Zimena with three hundred noblemen. The gate
of Valencia toward Castile was opened, and the procession
passed silently and slowly out into the open fields, where the
Moorish army was encamped. A dark Moorish woman shot at them a
poisoned arrow, but she and a hundred of her sisters paid the
forfeit of their lives for that deed. Thirty-six Moorish
princes were in the camp; but terror seized upon them when they
beheld the dead hero on his white charger.

'And to their vessels they took flight,
And many sprang into the waves.
Two thousand, certainly, that night
Amid the billows found their graves.'

"And the Cid Campeador thus won, after he was dead, good tents,
gold and silver; and the poorest in Valencia became rich. So
says the old 'Song of the Cid in Valencia.'

Cordova -- Province Of Andalusia --
Fonda Suiza -- Hotel Suisse.

September 18.

After a long night journey, (by rail,) we reach a hotel rivalling the cleanness and comfort of the genuine Swiss hotel, and find ourselves in the ancient capital of the Moorish empire, and in that lovely, bright Andalusia, so famed throughout the world.

From the time we leave Valencia until we reach Jativa, (about fifty miles,) we pass over the "Huerta" (the "garden") of Valencia, one continuous plain of verdure; pastures which are cut from twelve to seventeen times a year. Golden oranges, and other fruits hang above these green fields; and dates, and figs, and peaches, and pears, and quinces, pomegranates, plums, apples, melons, and grapes, and olives, with Indian corn, rice, and every vegetable in equal perfection. Well might the Moors term this plain (with Andalusia) "the Paradise of the East." For centuries after their expulsion, their poets still sang verses expressive of their grief for its loss, and it is said they still mention it in their evening prayers, and supplicate Heaven to restore it to them.

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And this fertility is all their work. Every stream has been turned from its channel into numberless little canals, which water this luxurious soil; and these are arranged with such skill and care that crop after crop has its share of irrigation, and in its just proportion. From Jativa the country becomes more mountainous. We pass the ruins of an old chateau on a high hill, (Montesa,) seat of an ancient order of chivalry which existed after the suppression of the Templars. We next pass Almanzar, Chinchilla, Albacete, where they sell the famous "Toledo blades," now hardly so famous. Here we are in La Mancha, and when we stop in Alcazar at midnight, we are near the village of Troboso, which Cervantes makes the dwelling of Don Quixote's Dulcinea. Alcazar is claimed as the birth-place of Cervantes.

Here we leave our road for the grand route between Madrid and Cordova; and here we are crowded into carriages with other ladies, a fate from which we have hitherto been defended; each conductor treating us as if we had been especially committed to his care, and sparing us all annoyance. Fortunately, at Manzanares two of these ladies leave us, and we make acquaintance with the third, who is very kind and polite; offers us a share of her luncheon, and gives us much information of people and things in Spain. She is a Portuguese, and tells us how much larger and finer are the olive-trees in her country than in Spain; she remembers one tree which eight men could not clasp. From her we hear much of the queen as from an unprejudiced source, and learn, what we gathered afterward from many credible sources, that this poor queen is a good woman, a very pious woman, full of talents and accomplishments, generous to a fault, with strong feelings and affections, which induce her to reward to excess those whom she loves or who have served her; and this has given rise to the injurious reports which have found their way to every foreign newspaper, but which no _good_ people in Spain believe.

From Andujar the country is very uninteresting, more of a grazing country, where we see immense herds of cattle, sheep, horses, and goats, with picturesque shepherds minding them. The men wear short trousers, opened several inches at the ankle, showing the untanned leathern buskin, (as is seen in the old pictures of Philip II.'s time,) a red sash, and the black hat turned up all around. Presently we come upon the Guadalquivir, upon which Cordova is situated, and which is crossed here by a bridge of black marble. We drive up the cool, shady streets, catching glimpses, through open doors and curtains, of the little paradise within--the marble courts, with fountain, and orange-trees, and flowers, and vines--a vestige of the old Moorish time. In fact, everything here so preserves its Arabic character that one is transported six centuries back, into the palmy days of the Kalifs, when this city was said to have contained half a million of inhabitants, 200,000 houses, 60,000 palaces, 700 mosques, 900 baths, 50 hospitals, and a public library of 600,000 volumes. Of all these glories only the mosque remains to show by its magnificence that these accounts cannot be exaggerated.

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Saturday, September 19.

We hasten to see the mosque, (the cathedral now,) and, entering a low door-way in the wall which surrounds it, you find yourself in a beautiful oriental court, with fountains, and rows of tall palms, and ancient orange trees and cypress. This is called "the court of ranges." Open colonnades surround the court on all sides save one, from which twenty doors once opened into the mosque; only one of these is now open. Enter this, and you find yourself in a forest of pillars--a thousand are yet left--of every hue and shade, no two alike, of jasper, and verde antique, and porphyry, and alabaster, and every colored marble, fluted, and spiral; and over these, rises arch upon arch overlapping each other. These divide the mosque into twenty-nine aisles from north to south, and nineteen from west to east; intersecting each other in the most harmonious and beautiful manner. The Moors brought these pillars from the ancient temples of Rome, and Nismes, and Carthage. The mosque was built in the eighth century, by Abd El Rahman, who aimed to make it rival those of Damascus and Bagdad. It is said he worked upon it an hour every day with his own hand, and it is certain that it ranked in sanctity with the "Caaba" of Mecca, and the great mosque of Jerusalem. Ten thousand lamps illuminated it at the hour of prayer; the roof was made of arbor vitae, which is considered imperishable, and was burnished with gold. The chapel, where is the holy of holies--where was kept the Koran--gives one an idea of what the ornaments of the whole must have been. Here the carvings are of the most exquisite fineness, like patterns of lace; the gold enamel, the beautiful mosaics, are as bright as if made yesterday. In the holy of holies--a recess in this chapel--the roof is of one block of marble, carved in the form of a shell, supported by pillars of various-colored marble. Around this wall a path is worn in the marble pavement, by the knees of the faithful making the mystic "seven rounds;" and our guide tells us that, when a few years ago, the brother of the king of Morocco came here, he went round this holy of holies upon his knees, seven times, crying bitterly all the while. The chapel of the Kalifs is also remarkable, from the floor to the ceiling, the marble being carved in these beautiful and delicate patterns.

From the cathedral, we go to visit the old Roman bridge of sixteen arches, which spans the Guadalquivir. This looks upon some ruins of Moorish mills, and the orange-gardens of the Alcazar, (now in ruins,) once the palace of Roderick, the last of the Goths. As we pass the modern Alcazar, (used as a prison,) an old cavalry officer comes out of the government stables, and invites us to look at the horses--the silky-coated Andalusians of which we have heard so much, and the fleet-footed, graceful Arabians. Each horse had his name and pedigree on a shield over his stall. Returning to our hotel for breakfast, we go out again to see the markets and the shops; visit some churches, and the lovely promenade by the Guadalquivir. Our costumes excite great remark; one woman says to another, "They are masqueraders;" another lifts her hands and exclaims "Ave Maria;" and but for the intervention of our guide, who reproves their curiosity, we should be followed by a troop of children.

Sunday, 20.

Coming to breakfast, we are charmed to find our young American friend whom we had left in Valencia; and, in spite of a pouring rain, we all set out to hear high mass in the cathedral. The mosque was consecrated, and made the cathedral, when the city was captured by St. Ferdinand in 1236. {210} Several chapels and altars were then added, and in 1521, the transept and choir were begun, to make room for which, eighty pillars were sacrificed. Charles V., who gave permission for this act of vandalism, was deeply mortified when he saw what had been done, and reproved the canons of the church, saying, they had destroyed what was unique in the world, to raise that which could be found anywhere.

While we are at mass, our young American arrives with the guide, to tell us that a _revolution_ has broken out, and entreats us to return to the hotel. Some of the ladies are much alarmed; but my friend and myself, remembering that revolutions are chronic in Spanish countries, and are generally bloodless, we maintain our ground, too old soldiers to be driven from the field before a gun is fired; and the result justifies our faith.

Nobody quits the church. We have a solemn procession of the Blessed Sacrament after mass, winding through these beautiful aisles, accompanied by a band of wind instruments, the whole congregation following. We reach home to find our fellow-travellers very much frightened and annoyed at the prospect of a long detention; but we are assured that the worst which can befall us is a delay of a few days, to which we can well submit in this comfortable inn. Making acquaintance with our fellow-prisoners, we grow jolly over our misfortunes. The railways are all cut; General Prim and his colleagues (the exiled generals) are besieging Cadiz; and the queen has fled to Biarritz, to claim the intervention of the Emperor Napoleon. These are some of the rumors which are rife during the day. Hosts of red umbrellas parade the town--the most formidable weapon which we encounter; a few voices faintly cry "Libertad!" and "Viva!" some damp-looking soldiers pass by, with lances from which depend little red flags, looking limp and hopeless in the heavy rain. These troops declare for the people. We ask one of these what they want; the answer is, "Liberty." (Of course.) "And what is that?" "We want a _King_. We will not be governed by a woman." Inflammatory hand-bills are distributed amongst the crowd, very vague in their demands, "_an empty throne_" being the first requisite on the list.

One man is killed, (a fine young officer of the queen's troops mercilessly shot down,) and another man is wounded. In the evening, we hear that the revolution is accomplished in Cordova; the insurrectionists have the city!

Monday, 21.

All is peaceful in appearance, and we go out to shop, to find some of the filagree jewelry for which Cordova is remarkable--an art retained from the time of the Moors. The rain drives us in, and we spend the day with music, books, and in conversation with our new friends--a Spanish lady of rank, who has come to Cordova about a lawsuit, and who shakes with fright, and goes about with a glass of water and a cup of vinegar to quiet her nerves; the poor lady neither eats nor sleeps. The others are of different calibre; a sturdy Scotch lady, and her companion, a sweet and charming German girl. "Who's afeard!"

Tuesday, 22.

We are roused by the sound of military music, and find that 5000 of the queen's troops are entering the city. Such. splendid-looking fellows! Such handsome officers! It is plain the city is taken in earnest _now!_ The inconstant populace clamor and shout; all is enthusiasm; the report is, that the insurrectionists are fled to Seville; the roads are repaired, but we are not allowed to leave the city. {211} Still prisoners of _war!_ Later in the day, we hear that the troops we saw this morning are those which had joined the insurgents at Seville. The queen's troops, commanded by the Marquis de Novaliches, are outside the town, fearing to be too few for those within, and waiting the turn of events. It is supposed there will be some compromise entered into; a convention patched up; and no fighting. The prime minister, Gonzales Bravo, has fled from Madrid, where all is anarchy. This man, who has been the author of all the oppressive measures, and all the banishments which have made the queen's government unpopular, now, in her hour of need leaves her to her fate, after cruelly deceiving her. When she feared the danger of revolution, he assured her she might leave the country without any anxiety; and she went to Biarritz in ignorance of the truth; thus giving her enemies the very opportunity they desired. Even now, (they say,) were she to return, and throw herself upon the generosity of the people, she would be received kindly; such is the loyalty of Spaniards to their monarchs. The influence of Bravo banished the Montpensiers, (the queen's sister and her husband, the son of Louis Philippe,) who were naturally her best friends, and to whom she had showed every kindness. He sent away many of her most popular generals; and now they return, with men and arms, and British and Prussian gold; the people sympathize with them, the troops join them; we hear from Cadiz, that there was a perfect ovation upon their landing.

To-day, we have a fine walk in a beautiful park, on one side of the city, from whence we have a charming view of the mountains; on one side, so grand and bold, with olive groves, and white country houses sparkling in the sunshine; on the other side, the hills are low, and their graceful, wavy outlines have the peculiar purple hue belonging to Spain, and form a striking contrast to the others. Between the two, lies the city, and the fertile plains about it. We lose our way in the tortuous streets, and spend the morning peeping into the beautiful patios, (courts,) which open to the heavens, or have sometimes a linen awning over them; with marble pavements, over which the cool fountains play; with orange-trees, and flowers, amongst which sofas, and chairs, and pictures are disposed; and around which often runs a marble corridor, with pillars and curtains, communicating with the other apartments. Here the family sit, and here take place the "tirtulias," the meetings for talk and music. A picture of one of these patios is thus charmingly translated from one of Fernan Caballero's beautiful tales by a late English traveller; and which any one who has been in Spain will recognize:

"The house was spacious, and scrupulously clean: on each side
the door was a bench of stone. In the porch hung a little lamp
before the image of our Lord in a niche over the entrance,
according to the Catholic custom of putting all things under
holy protection. In the middle was the 'patio,' a necessity to
the Andalusian. And in the centre of this spacious court an
enormous orange-tree raised its leafy head from its robust
trunk. For an infinity of generations had this beautiful tree
been a source of delight to the family. The women made tonic
decoctions from its leaves; the daughters adorned themselves
with its flowers; the boys cooled their blood with its fruits;
the birds made their home in its boughs. The rooms opened out
of the 'patio,' and borrowed their light from thence.
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This 'patio' was the centre of all the 'home;' the place of
gathering when the day's work was over. The orange-tree loaded
the air with its heavy perfume, and the waters of the fountain
fell in soft showers on the marble basin, fringed with the
delicate maiden-hair fern. And the father, leaning against the
tree, smoked his 'cigarro de papel;' and the mother sat at her
work, while the little ones played at her feet, the eldest
resting his head on a big dog, which lay stretched at full
length on the cool marble slabs. All was still, and peaceful,
and beautiful."

We close the day with a farewell visit to the cathedral. Surely it is the most wonderful building in the world. Even St. Peter's hardly fills one with greater astonishment. This is altogether unique; and its grace, and elegance, and harmony win one to love it. We lingered by the chapel of the holy of holies, finding beauties which we had not before seen, and bade farewell to it with deep regret; then wandered to the bridge over the Guadalquivir, and gazed upon the truly eastern prospect it reveals.

To-day, a great robber from the mountains, upon whose head a price had been fixed by the late government, comes boldly into town. The people cry, "Viva Pacheco!" In half an hour after, we hear he has been shot--the victim of private revenge.

Cordova is the birthplace of Lucan, the author of the _Pharsalia_; of the two Senecas; of many eminent Moslem poets and authors, and of the famous Gonzales de Cordova, "El Gran Capitan."

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Pope Or People.
[Footnote 50]

[Footnote 50: The _Congregationalist and Boston
Recorder_, Boston, March 4th, 1869.]

We confess to having read with no little surprise an elaborate article in the _Congregationalist and Boston Recorder_ entitled _Pope or People_. Had we met the article in a professedly Unitarian journal or periodical we should have thought little of it; but meeting it in the recognized organ of the so-called orthodox Congregationalists of Massachusetts, we have read it with no ordinary interest. It shows that the Protestant, especially the old Puritan mind of the country, is profoundly agitated with the church question under one of its most important aspects. He who reads with any attention the leading American sectarian journals can hardly fail to perceive that there is a growing distrust in the Protestant world of the Protestant rule of faith, and a growing conviction that the only alternative, as the journal before us expresses it, is either pope or people. Of course the journal in question has no clear apprehension of either of the alternatives it suggests, but it does see and feel the need of certainty in matters of religious belief, and is in pursuit of it. It says:

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"One of our great men once declared that the thing most to be
desired in this world, by an intelligent mind, is an
unfaltering religious belief. In the sense in which he meant
it, his remark is unquestionably true; and it explains the
philosophy of much of the success of the Romish Church. Men do
crave certainty in their conviction; such certainty demands
infallibility on which to found itself, and the papal system
offers the promise of just that infallibility. And thousands
upon thousands of minds rest in that; and being able to receive
it, it meets that innate and inextinguishable craving of the
soul for stability under its feet, and gives them a
great--though it be a fallacious--peace.

"But multitudes, and some even among the nominal adherents of
the papacy, are not able so to receive that doctrine, and are
consequently driven to seek for some other rock on which to
found the house of their faith; too often with the result of
building it on the sand, with its seductive security for fair
weather, and its terrible and irremediable fall when the
tempestuous night-time of death shall come. But for those who
reject the pope and that certitude of conviction which he
offers, what solid ground is there on which to stand secure?"

If the writer knew the Catholic religion better, he would know that the peace we find in believing is not "fallacious," for "we know in whom we believe and are certain;" but he does see that to an unfaltering religious belief infallibility of some sort is absolutely indispensable, and that the Catholic Church promises it; yet, unable or unwilling to accept the pope or the church, he looks around to see if he cannot find elsewhere some infallible authority in which one may confide, an immovable rock or some solid ground on which one may stand and feel that his footing is sure. Does he succeed? We think not. He finds an alternative indeed, but not an infallible authority, and he has proved very conclusively that outside of the church there is and can be no such authority for faith. He says:

"As we look at it, only two alternatives are possible in this
matter of an infallible faith; either the conditions of it
exist outside of the soul in some constituted and certified
authority, or within the soul in the purest and loftiest
exercise of its reason--and we use this word as
_including_ conscience--under the enlightenment of God's
Spirit through his Word. If outside of the soul, in any central
and constituted authority, then in the pope; for it may as well
be in him as anybody, nobody else claims it, and he does. If
inside the soul, then any pope is an impossibility and an
insult, and God remits every man to those conditions of secure
decision which he has established in his breast, and holds him
responsible for a judgment and a life founded upon them. And
this latter, precisely, is God's way with men. He never
commands them to hang their faith on the pope or the bishop;
but rather inquires--in that tone of asking which is equivalent
to the highest form of injunction--'Why, _(aph' heauton,)
out of your own selves_, do ye not judge what is right?'
Even in that precept which many will be swift to quote against
us in this connection,'Obey them that have the rule over you,
and submit yourselves,' it is first true that these 'rulers,'
as the context proves, are mere (_hëgoumenön_) leaders,
and men of example who were already dead, with no flavor of
potentiality therefore about them; whose 'faith' is to be
imitated rather than whose commands are to be submitted to; and
true, in the second place, that the entire appeal of the
apostle is to the tribunal of the Hebrews' reason as the court
of ultimate decision, inasmuch as he declares that for them to
fail thus to follow the good example of the illustrious and
holy dead who had walked before them in the heavenly way, would
be 'unprofitable' for them; leaving the necessary inference
that men are bound to do what is for their highest profit, and
therefore bound to decide, in all solemnity, what will be for
that profit, and, so deciding, by inevitable necessity, to
assume in the last analysis the function of positive masterhood
over themselves and their destiny."

The alternative here presented is not pope or people, but pope or no external authority for faith. But why, supposing the internal or subjective authority to be all that is here alleged, is the pope an impossibility or an insult? Why may there not be two witnesses, the one internal, the other external? Is the revelation of God less credible because confirmed by two witnesses, each worthy of credit? {214} The external and the internal do not necessarily exclude, and, if both are infallible, cannot exclude each other, or stand opposed one to the other. I do not deny or diminish the need or worth of reason by asserting the infallibility of the church, nor the importance and necessity of the infallible church by asserting the full power and freedom of reason. The Catholic asserts both, and has all the internal light and authority of reason that our Puritan doctor can pretend to, and has the infallible church in addition.

We may say the same when is added to "the purest and loftiest exercise of reason" the enlightenment of God's Spirit through his Word. This word, on the hypothesis, must be spoken inside of the soul, or else it is an authority outside of the soul, which the writer cannot admit. His rule of faith is reason and the interior illumination of the Holy Ghost. The Catholic rule by no means excludes this; it includes it, and adds to it the external word and the infallible authority of the church. Catholics assert the interior illumination and inspiration of the Holy Spirit as fully and as strenuously as the Puritan does or can. The authority inside the soul, be it more or be it less, does not exclude the external authority of the church, nor does the external authority of the church exclude the internal authority of reason and the Spirit. Catholicity asserts both, and interprets each by the authority of the other. Catholics have all the reason and all the interior "enlightenment of God's Spirit" that Protestants have, and lay as much stress on each, to say the least, as Protestants do or can.

The great mistake of non-catholics is in the supposition that the assertion of an external infallible authority necessarily excludes, or at least supersedes, reason and the interior illumination of the Spirit. This is false in logic, and, as every one who understands Catholic theology knows, is equally false in fact. There is a maxim accepted and insisted on by all Catholic theologians, that settles, in principle, the whole controversy; namely, _gratia supponit naturam_. Grace supposes nature, revelation supposes reason, and the external supposes the internal; and hence no Catholic holds that faith is or can be produced by the external authority of the church alone, though infallible, or without the grace of God, that illuminates the understanding and inspires the will. Hence our Lord says, "No man cometh to me, unless the Father draws him." In our controversies with Protestants we necessarily insist on the external authority, because that is what they deny; hence is produced an impression in many minds that we deny the internal, or make no account of it. Nothing can be more untrue or unjust, as any one may know who will make himself at all familiar with the writings of Catholic ascetics, or with the Catholic direction of souls.

But while we assert the internal we do not concede that it is alone sufficient. "Dearly beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits, whether they be of God," (I John iv. i.) Saints may mistake their own imaginations or enthusiasm for the inspirations of the Spirit, and even in their case it is necessary to try the spirit, and, in the very nature of the case, the trial must be by an external test or authority. The test of the internal by the internal is simply no test at all. {215} The beloved apostle in this same chapter of his first epistle gives two tests, the one doctrinal and the other apostolical: "By this is the Spirit of God known: every spirit that confesseth Jesus Christ to have come in the flesh is of God, and every spirit that dissolveth Jesus (by denying either his humanity or his divinity) is not of God." "We are of God. He that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth us not; by this we know the spirit of truth, and the spirit of error." The internal, then, must be brought to the test of apostolic doctrine and of the apostolic communion or the apostolic authority, both of which are external, or outside of the soul. The assertion of the external does not supersede the internal, nor does the assertion of the internal supersede the necessity of the external infallible authority. The error of our Puritan journalist is in supposing that if the one is taken the other must be rejected; he should know that no one is obliged to choose between them, and that both, each in its proper place and function, may be and must be accepted. It is true, neither reason nor the inspiration of the Spirit can deceive or mislead, us; but we may be deceived as to what reason really dictates, and as to whether the internal phenomena really are interior inspirations of the Spirit; and therefore to the safety and certainty of our faith, even subjectively considered, the external infallible authority of the pope or church is indispensable.

This is evident enough of itself, and still more so from the article before us. The insufficiency of reason and the spiritual light, either in the writer or in us, appears in his understanding of the text of St. Paul, Hebrews xiii., which, as he cites it, reads, "Obey them that have rule over you, and submit yourselves;" but as we read it, "Obey your prelates and submit to them." Which of us has the true version of the words of the apostle? The Puritan interpreter says these prelates, or "these rulers," were mere leaders, and men of example, who were already dead, with no flavor of potentiality, (sic,) therefore, about them; and whose "faith" is to be imitated, rather than whose commands are to be submitted to. We are disposed to believe that they were not dead men, but living rulers placed by the Holy Ghost over the faithful, to whom the apostle commands them to submit; and we are confirmed in this view by the reason which the apostle assigns for his command: "For they watch as having to give an account of your souls, that they may do this with joy, not with grief." Which of us is right? The journalist tells us, moreover, that "the entire appeal of the apostle is to the tribunal of the Hebrews' reason as the court of ultimate decision." We hold that the apostle, from beginning to end, appeals to the revelation held by the Hebrews, and argues from that and the character of their sacrifices and the levitical priesthood, that both were types and figures of the real and everlasting priesthood of Christ and his one all-sufficient sacrifice. Christ having come in the end of the world, and offered himself once for all, the types and figures must give way to the reality they prefigured and announced. Therefore the Hebrews should accept Christ as the fulfilment of their law. He undoubtedly reasons, and reasons powerfully, but from revealed premises. Here we and the journalist are at odds; we cannot both be right: who shall decide between us? While we thus differ, supposing us equally able, learned, and honest, how can either find his cravings for certainty satisfied?

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It is a very common prejudice among Protestants and rationalists that Catholics eschew reason, and assert only an external authority which operates only on the will. It seems to be forgotten that it was the reformers who denied reason, and set up the authority of the written Word against it. No one, as far as our knowledge extends, ever spoke more contemptuously of reason than did Doctor Martin Luther; and the old Puritan and Presbyterian ministers to whose preaching we listened in our boyhood were continually warning us to beware of the false and deceitful light of reason, which "dazzles but to blind." This was in accordance with the doctrine of total depravity with which the reformers started; man being clean gone in sin and totally corrupt in his nature, his reason, as well as his will, must be corrupt, turned against God and truth, and therefore worthy of no confidence. No doubt, Protestants have softened the harshness of many of the doctrines of the reformers, and in several respects have drawn nearer to what has always been the teaching of the church; but it is hardly fair in them to charge the errors of their ancestors, which they have outgrown or abandoned, upon the church which has always condemned them. The Bishop of Avranches, Pascal, the Traditionalists, and some others, commonly regarded as Catholics, yet for the most part tinctured with Jansenism, have indeed seemed to depreciate reason in order the better to defend faith; but the church has expressly or virtually condemned them, and vindicated the rights of reason. Whoever knows Catholic theology, knows that the church never opposes faith or authority to reason, but asserts both with equal earnestness and emphasis, and denies that there is or can be any antagonism between them.

The reformers did not assume that no external infallible authority is necessary to faith. They denied the infallible authority of popes and councils, but asserted that of the written Word, interpreted by private judgment, or rather, by the private illumination of the Spirit, called by some in our day the Christian conscience, or consciousness. Our Puritan journalist, though he rejects not the Scriptures, very ably refutes this theory of the reformers:

"There lies before us a recent number of a religious quarterly
containing an elaborate article entitled 'An Infallible Church
or an infallible Book--which?' the great object of which is to
dethrone the Pope and enthrone the Bible, as the subject of
indubitable faith, with that religious certitude with which it
may logically comfort the soul. To quote its own language, it
would make the Bible 'the supreme and only arbiter in things
spiritual.' And this, it thinks, would cause' divisions to
cease among us for ever.' But this forgets that the Bible is
always at the mercy of its interpreters, and that its unity
becomes continual diversity--being all things to all men, as
they compel it, by the manner in which they receive it. This is
not true merely in the extreme cases of those who are--and who
know that they are--'handling the Word of God deceitfully;' it
is true, as well, of those who mean to treat it with extremest
reverence and humility or receptive faith. Here, for example,
are two meek and lowly, yet wonderfully clear-headed disciples,
like Francis Wayland and Bela Bates Edwards; both able scholars
and patient students of the Word; both, so far as human eye can
judge, eminently seeking and securing the habitual guidance of
the Holy Spirit: and yet, as a matter of fact, reaching, upon
certain points which both feel to be of serious importance,
conclusions as to what is taught in the Bible, diametrically
opposite, and beyond possibility of reconciliation. And who can
deny that the one--seeming to himself to find them in the
Bible--was as sacredly bound to hold, practise, and teach
Baptist, as the other, Pedobaptist views."

We need add nothing to this refutation. Protestants have had from the first all the Bible, all the private judgment, or private illumination, they now have or can hope to have; and yet they have never been able to agree among themselves on a single dogma of faith. The only point on which they have been unanimous is their hostility to the Catholic Church. {217} They have no standard by which to try the spirit; and the Bible, not a few among them are accustomed to say, profanely, "is a fiddle on which a skilful player may play any tune he pleases." Protestants may go to the Bible to prove the doctrines they have been taught by their parents or ministers, or held from Protestant tradition; but they never, or rarely ever, obtain their doctrines from the study of the Holy Scriptures. Hence, sects the most divergent appeal alike to the Bible; and each seems to find texts in its favor. How can any thinking Protestant, who knows this, not be perplexed and uncertain as to what he should believe? The writer admits the difficulty, and asks:

"Are we to understand, then, that Christ is divided? Is there
no such thing as absolute truth? This cannot be admitted, and
we avoid the admission of it by the claim that God's absolute
truth is a truth of love and life, through dogma yet not of
dogma; so that it may be reached and realized by approaches not
only from different but sometimes from opposite directions."

But this does not, as far as we can see, help the matter. Concede that charity or love is the fulfilling of the law, and that nothing more is required of any one than perfect charity, yet the love here asserted is, though not of dogma, "through dogma." Unless, then, we are sure of the absolute truth of the dogma, how can we be sure of the truth of the love and life, since there are many sorts of love? The dogma, according to the Puritan writer, is not the principle, indeed, but it is the medium of the love and life. Will a false medium be as effectual in relation to the end as a true medium? Can a falsehood be, in the nature of things, any medium at all? If we say the absolute truth is a truth of love and life through dogma, it seems to us absolutely necessary that the dogma should be absolutely true; but, whether the dogma is absolutely true or not, the writer concedes that those who reject the infallibility of the church have no certain means of determining. If it be said that the true love and life are practicable with contradictory dogmas, as is said in the last extract made, then dogmas are indifferent; and whether we believe the truth or falsehood of God or Christ; of the human soul; of the origin and end of man; of man's duties, and the means of discharging them,--can make no difference as to the truth of our love and life. The truth of love and life is not, then, an intellectual truth; a truth apprehended by the mind; but must be a mere affection of the heart, or, rather, a mere feeling, dependent on no operation of the understanding, but on some internal or external affection of the sensibility. The love will not be a rational affection, but a simple sentiment, sensitive affection, or sensible emotion, and as far removed from charity as is the sensuous appetite for food or drink.

The _Congregationalist and Recorder_ seems aware that it has not yet found a solid ground to stand on, and fairly abandons its pretension to be able to arrive at absolute truth at all without the pope. It says:

"It is, then, both the privilege and the duty of every man to
be a law unto himself; and out of his own reason and
conscience, enlightened from all knowledge that can be made
available by his own researches and those of his fellows, and
more especially by the patient and docile study of the
Bible--all in the most profound, uninterrupted, and prayerful
dependence upon the Holy Spirit--to judge what is right. From
the decision which he thus reaches there can be, for him, no
appeal. Whether it is anybody's else duty to follow the course
prescribed therein, or not, it is _his_ duty to do so. He
has plead his cause before his infallible tribunal, and its
decision over him is necessarily supreme and inexorable.
{218}
Not to obey it, would be to be false equally to God and to
himself. _If it be not absolute right which he has reached,
it stands in the place of absolute right for him; and only
along its road, however thorny, and steep, and high, can he
climb up toward heaven_. Practically, then, we insist upon
it, there is no infallibility possible to man, but that which
is resident in his own soul."

The conclusion is that to which all who seek their rule of faith in private judgment and private illumination, or inside the soul, must come at last; namely, the man is a law unto himself; that is, is his own law, and, therefore, his own truth. Out of his own reason and conscience, enlightened by the best study he can make, he is to judge supremely what is right. This, we need not say, is pure rationalism. It is man's duty to abide by the conclusion at which he arrives; for although it may not be the absolute right, yet it is the absolute right for him. This makes truth and duty relative; what each one, for himself, thinks them to be. What infallibility is here to oppose to the infallibility of the church? Suppose it is announced to a man that God has established a church which he by his presence renders infallible, to teach all men and nations; will it not be the duty of that man to listen to the announcement, and to investigate to the best of his ability, and with all diligence, whether it be so or not? If, through prejudice, indifference, or any other cause, he fails to do so, will his conviction against such church be excusable, and absolute truth or right, even for him? The article continues: