Chapter V: Reminiscences of the Past (2)

We have used the Greek terms _methexis_ and _mimesis_ after Plato, as Gioberti has done in his posthumous works, but not precisely in Gioberti's sense. Gioberti identifies the methexis with the plastic soul asserted by Plato, and revived by old Ralph Cudworth, an Anglican divine of the seventeenth century; but though we make the methexis causative in the order of second causes, we do not make it productive of the mimesis. It means what are called genera and species; but even in the order of second causes, genera are generative or productive only as specificated, and species only as individualized. God must have created the genus specificated and the species individualized before either could be active or productive as second cause. The genus does not and cannot exist without specification, nor the species without individualization, any more than the individual can exist without the species, or the species without the genus. For instance, man is the species, according to the schoolmen, the genus is animal, the _differentia_ is reason, and hence man is defined a rational animal. But the genus animal, though necessary to its existence, cannot generate the species man, any more than it could have generated itself. The species can exist only as immediately individuated by the first cause, and hence the pretence of some scientists--more properly sciolists,--that new species are formed either by development or by natural selection, is simply absurd, as has been well shown by the Duke of Argyll. God creates the species as well as the genera; and it is fairly inferred from the Scriptures that he creates all things in their genera and species "after their kind." Furthermore, if God had not created the human species individualized in Adam, male and female, there could have been no men by natural generation, any more than if there had been no human species at all.

This, as we understand it, excludes alike the plastic soul of the Platonists and the Demiourgos of the Gnostics, and teaches that the mimesis is as directly created by God himself as the methexis. Mr. Emerson, indeed, uses neither of these Platonic terms, though if he had, he would, with his knowledge of the Christian doctrine of creation, have detected the error of Plato, and most likely have escaped his own. The term _methexis_--participation--excludes the old error that God generates the universe, which is rather favored by the terms genera and species. We use the term _mimesis_ because it serves to us to express the fact that the lower copies or imitates the higher, and therefore the doctrine of St. Thomas, that "Deus est similitudo rerum omnium," or that God is himself the type or model after which the universe is created, and which each and every existence in its own order and degree strives to copy or represent. The error of Plato is, that he makes the methexis an emanation rather than a creature, and the plastic power that produces the mimesis; the error of Mr. Emerson, as we view the matter, is, that he makes the mimetic purely phenomenal, therefore unreal, sinks it in the methexic, and the methexis itself in God, as the one only being or substance, the _natura naturans_ of Spinoza.

With Plato, the mimesis is the product of the methexic, but is itself passive, and the sooner the soul is emancipated from it the better; though what is the soul in his system of ideas we understand not. With Mr. Emerson, it is neither active nor passive, for it is purely phenomenal, therefore nothing. With us it is real, and, like all real existences, it is active, and is not a simple image or copy of the methexic or the ideal, but is in its order and degree a _vis activa_, and copies or imitates actively the divine type or the _idea exemplaris_ in the divine mind, after which it is created.

Mr. Emerson says, in the introduction to his essay on _Nature_, "Philosophically considered, the universe is composed of nature and soul." But all activity is in the soul, and what is distinguishable from the soul is purely phenomenal, and, if we may take his essay on the _Over-soul_, not republished in these volumes, is but the soul's own projection of itself. The soul alone is active, productive, and it is myself, my own ego; not indeed in its personal limitations and feebleness, but in its absoluteness, as the absolute or impersonal _Ich_ of Fichte, and identically God, who is the great, the absolute I AM.

The error is obvious. It consists in the denial or in the overlooking of the fact that God creates substances, and that every substance is, as Leibnitz defines it, a force, a _vis activa_, acting always from its own centre outward. Whatever actually exists is active, and there is and can be no passivity in nature. Hence, Aristotle and the schoolmen after him call God, who is being and being in its plenitude, _actus purissimus_, or most pure act, in whom there are no possibilities to be actualized. Mr. Emerson errs in his first principles, in not recognizing the fact that God creates substances, and that every substance is an activity, therefore causative either _ad intra_ or _ad extra_, and that every created substance is causative in the order of second causes. What we maintain in opposition both to him and Plato is, that these created substances are at once methexic and mimetic in their activity.

It were an easy task to show that whatever errors there may be, or may be supposed to be, in Mr. Emerson's works grow out of the two fundamental errors we have indicated--the identification of soul, freed from its personal limitations, as in Adam, John, and Richard, with God, or the real being, substance, force, or activity, and the assumption that whatever is distinguishable from God is purely phenomenal, an apparition, a sense-show, a mere bubble on the surface of the ocean of being, as we pointed out in our comments on the proceedings of the Free Religionists, in the magazine for last November, and to which we beg leave to refer our readers.

Yet, though we have known Mr. Emerson personally ever since 1836, have held more than one conversation with him, listened to several courses of lectures from him, and read and even studied the greater part, if not all of his works, as they issued from the press, we must confess that, in reperusing them preparatory to writing this brief notice, we have been struck, as we never were before, with the depth and breadth of his thought, as well as with the singular force and beauty of his expression. We appreciate him much higher both as a thinker and as an observer, and we give him credit for a depth of feeling, an honesty of purpose, an earnest seeking after truth, we had not previously awarded him in so great a degree, either publicly or privately. We are also struck with his near approach to the truth as we are taught it. He seems to us to come as near to the truth as one can who is so unhappy as to miss it.

We regard it as Mr. Emerson's great misfortune, that his early Protestant training led him to regard the Catholic question as _res adjucata_, and to take Protestantism, in some one or all of its forms, as the truest and best exponent of Christianity. Protestantism is narrow, superficial, unintellectual, vague, indefinite, sectarian, and it was easy for a mind like his to pierce through its hollow pretensions, to discover its unspiritual character, its want of life, its formality, and its emptiness. It was not difficult to comprehend that it was only a dead corse, and a mutilated corse at that. The Christian mysteries it professed to retain, as it held them, were lifeless dogmas, with no practical bearing on life, and no reason in the world for believing them. Such a system, having no relation with the living and moving world, and no reason in the nature or constitution of things, could not satisfy a living and thinking man, in downright earnest for a truth at least as broad and as living as his own soul. It was too little, too insignificant, too _mesquine_, too much of a dead and putrefying body to satisfy either his intellect or his heart. If that is the true exponent of Christianity, and the most enlightened portion of mankind say it is, why shall I belie my own understanding, my own better nature, by professing to believe and reverence it? No; let me be a man, be true to myself, to my own reason and instincts, not a miserable time-server or a contemptible hypocrite.

If Mr. Emerson had not been led to regard the Catholic question as closed, except to the dwellers among tombs, and to the ignorant and superstitious, and had studied the church with half the diligence he has Plato, Mohammed, or Swedenborg, it is possible that he would have found in Christianity the life and truth, the reality, unity, and catholicity he has so long and so earnestly sought elsewhere and found not. Certain it is, that whatever affirmative truth he holds is held and taught by the church in its proper place, its real relations, and in its integrity. The church does not live in the past nor dwell only among tombs; she is an ever-present and ever-living church, and presents to us not a dead historical Christ, but the ever-living and ever-present Christ, as really and truly present to us as he was to the disciples and apostles with whom he conversed when he went about in Judea doing good, without having where to lay his head, and not more veiled from our sight now than he was then from theirs. Does she not hold the sublime mystery of the Real Presence, which, if an individual fact, is also a universal principle?

The Christian system, if we may so speak, is not an after-thought in creation, or something superinduced on the Creator's works. It has its ground and reason in the very constitution of things. All the mysteries taught or dogmas enjoined by the church are universal principles; they are truly catholic, the very principles according to which the universe, visible or invisible, is constructed, and not one of them can be denied without denying a first principle of life and of science. Mr. Emerson says, in a passage we have quoted, "All science has one aim, namely, to find a theory of nature," and seems to concede that it has not yet succeeded in finding it. The church goes beyond even the aim of science, and gives, at least professes to give, not a theory of truth, but the truth itself; she is not a method, but that to which the true method leads. She is the body of Him who is "the way, the truth, and the life;" she gives us, not as the philosophers, her views of the truth, but the truth itself, in its reality, its unity, its integrity, its universality, its immutability. At least such is her profession; for the faith she teaches is the substance--hypostasis--of the things to be hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen--_substantia sperandarum, argumentum non apparentium_.

Such being her profession, made long before Protestantism was born, and continued to be made since with no stammering tongue or abatement of confidence, the pretence that judgment has gone against her is unfounded. Many have condemned her, as the Jewish Sanhedrim condemned our Lord, and called on the Roman Procurator to execute judgment against him; but she has no more staid condemned than he staid confined in the new tomb hewn from the rock in which his body was laid, and far more are they who admit her professions among the enlightened and civilized than they who deny them. No man has a right to be regarded as a philosopher or sage who has not at least thoroughly examined her titles, and made up his mind with a full knowledge of the cause.

In the Catholic Church we have found the real presence, and unity, and catholicity which we sought long and earnestly, and could find nowhere else, and which Mr. Emerson, after a still longer and equally earnest search, has not found at all. He looks not beyond nature, and nature is not catholic, universal, or the whole. It is not one, but manifold and variable. It cannot tell its origin, medium, or end. With all the light Mr. Emerson has derived from nature, or from nature and soul united, there is infinite darkness behind, infinite darkness before, and infinite darkness all around him. He says, "Every man's condition is a solution in hieroglyphic of those inquiries he would put." Suppose it is so, what avail is that to him who has lost or never had the key to the hieroglyph? Knows he to interpret the hieroglyph in which the solution is concealed? Can he read the riddle of the sphinx? He has tried his hand at it in his poem of the Sphinx, and has only been able to answer that

"Each answer is a lie."

It avails us little to be told where the solution is, if we are not told what it is, or if only told that every solution is false as soon as told. Hear him; to man he says,

"Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie:
So take thy quest through nature,
It through a thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply."

The answer, if it means any thing, means that man is "a clothed eternity," whatever that may mean, eternally seeking an answer to the mystery of his own being, and each answer he can obtain is a lie; for only eternity can comprehend eternity and tell what it is. Whence has he learned that man, the man-child, is "a clothed eternity," and therefore God, who only is eternal?

Now, eternity is above time, and above the world of time, consequently above nature. Catholicity, by the very force of the term, must include all truth, and therefore the truth of the supernatural as well as of the natural. But Mr. Emerson denies the supernatural, and does not, of course, even profess to have any knowledge that transcends nature. How, then, can he pretend to have attained to catholic truth? He himself restricts nature to the external universe, which is phenomenal, and to soul, by which he means himself. But are there no phenomena without being or substance which appears or which shows itself in them? Is this being or substance the soul, or, in the barbarism he adopts, the ME? If so, the NOT-ME is only the phenomena of the ME, and of course identical with myself, as he implies in what he says of the "one man." Then in me, and emanating from me, are all men, and the whole of nature. How does he know this? Does he learn it from nature?

Of course, Mr. Emerson means not this, even if his various utterances imply it. He uses the word _creation_, and we suppose he intends, notwithstanding his systematic views, if such he has, contradict it, to use it in its proper sense. Then he must hold the universe, including, according to his division, nature and soul, has been created, and if created, it has a creator. The creator must be superior, above nature and soul, and therefore in the strictest sense of the word supernatural; and as reason is the highest faculty of the soul, the supernatural must also be supra-rational.

Does the creator create for a purpose, for an end? and if so, what is that end or purpose, and the medium or means of fulfilling it, whether on his part or on the part of the creature? Here, then, we have the assertion of a whole order of truth, very real and very important to be known, which transcends the truth Mr. Emerson professes to have, and which is not included in it. We say again, then, that he has not attained to catholicity, and we also say that, by the only method he admits, he cannot attain to it. How can he pretend to have attained to catholicity, and that he has already a truth more universal than Christianity reveals, when he must confess that without the knowledge of a supernatural and supra-rational truth he cannot explain his origin or end, or know the conditions of his existence, or the means of gaining his end?

Mr. Emerson says, as we have quoted him,

"Undoubtedly we have no questions to ask which are
unanswerable. We must trust the perfection of the creation so
far as to believe that whatever curiosity the order of things
has awakened in our minds, the order of things can satisfy."

Alway it asketh, asketh,
And each answer is a lie.

There is here a grand mistake. If he had said the Creator instead of creation, there would have been truth and great propriety in the author's assertion. Nature--and we mean by nature the whole created order--excites us to ask many very troublesome questions, which nature is quite incompetent to answer. The fact that nature is created, proves that she is, both as a whole and in all her parts, dependent, not independent, and therefore does not and cannot suffice for herself. Unable to suffice for herself, she cannot suffice for the science of herself; for science must be of that which is, not of that which is not.

Mr. Emerson, we presume, struck with the narrowness and inconsistencies of all the religions he had studied, and finding that they are all variable and transitory in their forms, yet thought that he also discovered something in them, or underlying them all, which is universal, invariable, and permanent, and which they are all honest efforts of the great soul to realize. He therefore came to the conclusion that the sage can accept none of these narrow, variable, and transitory forms, and yet can reject none of them as to the great, invariable, and underlying principles, which in fact is all they have that is real or profitable. To distinguish between the transient and permanent in religion was the common aim of the Boston movement from 1830 to 1841, when we ourselves began to turn our own mind, though very timidly and at a great distance, toward the church. Mr. Emerson, Miss Margaret Fuller, A. Bronson Alcott, and Mr. Theodore Parker regarded the permanent elements of all religions as the natural patrimony or products of human nature. The present writer differed from them, by ascribing their origin to supernatural revelation made to our first parents in the garden, universally diffused by the dispersion of the race, and transmitted to us by the traditions of all nations. Following out this view, the grace of God moving and assisting, we found our way to the Catholic Church, in which the form and the invariable and permanent principle, or rather, the form growing out of the principle, are inseparable, and are fitted by the divine hand to each other.

The others, falling back on a sort of transcendental illuminism, sunk into pure naturalism, where such of them as are still living, and a whole brood of young disciples who have sprung up since, remain, and, like the old Gnostics, suppose themselves spiritual men and women in possession of the secret of the universe. There was much life, mental activity, and honest purpose in the movement; but those who had the most influence in directing its course could not believe that any thing good could come out of Nazareth, and so turned their backs on the church. They thought they could find something deeper, broader, and more living than Christianity, and have lost not only the transient, but even the permanent in religion.

FOOTNOTE:

[36] _The Prose Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson_, New and revised edition. Boston: Fields, Osgood & Co. 1870. 2 vols. 16mo.

THE HOLY-WEEK OF 1869 IN HAVANA.

GOOD-FRIDAY. HOLY-SATURDAY. EASTER-SUNDAY.

GOOD-FRIDAY.

Sad indeed was the aspect of all things within the cathedral on Good-Friday morning. Black draperies covered the pulpit, reading-desks, and seats reserved for the authorities, and every one was attired in mourning. Instead of the rose-color and blue of Holy-Thursday, the ladies now wore black or violet silks and satins with jet ornaments.

All the personages of the preceding day were present, and the religious services were in nowise different from those of the Catholic Church in other lands, with the exception that, in the reading of the passion, at the words "_gave up the ghost_," all knelt, but did not kiss the ground, as is the custom in France.

During the adoration of the cross, in which the captain-general, apparently almost too ill to stand, and the other gentlemen took part, the choir sang the beautiful hymn _Pange lingua_, with its tender burden of _Crux fidelis_. Never did it sound to me more touching.

"Sing, O my tongue! the Victor's praise;
For him the noblest trophy raise,
The victory of his cross proclaim,
His glory and his laurelled fame;
Sing of his conquests, when he proved
The Saviour of the souls he loved.

O faithful cross! thou stand'st alone;
None like thee in our woods is grown,
None can with thy rich growth compare,
Or leaves like thine, or flowerets bear.
Sweet wood, sweet nails, both sweet and fair,
Sweet is the precious weight ye bear."

The adoration terminated, the procession was formed, exactly as on the day before, to bring back the Blessed Sacrament from the sepulchre. On reaching the foot of the steps, the captain-general delivered up to the bishop the key he had worn suspended from his neck since the preceding morning. As the procession returned, the noble strains of the _Vexilla regis_ resounded through the great church.

"The standard of our King unfurled
Proclaims triumphant to the world
The cross, where Life would suffer death
To gain life with his dying breath!"

My heart beat faster as I listened to the glorious hymn!

The communion made, vespers were chanted in grave and mournful tones, and the service was concluded. As the bishop descended the nave to leave the cathedral, the little girls of the nuns' schools crowded around him to kiss his hand; and it was very pretty to see them clasp his fingers, and look up in his kind face with a confiding smile.

* * * * *

As it had been officially announced that the meditation on the seven words of Jesus on the cross, with the ceremony of the descent from the cross, to be followed by the procession of the interment, were to take place, as is usual every year, that afternoon in the church of _San Juan de Dios_, I determined to be present.

At three o'clock, accordingly, I stationed myself in a shady corner, not far from the principal entrance of _San Juan_, among a crowd of soldiers, volunteers, and colored people. All gazed at me inquisitively. I looked like a lady; but my somewhat Andalusian physiognomy, shaded by the black lace mantilla, put them out a little. I heard them at last decide that I was an _estranjera_, (stranger,) and consequently considered capable of, and permitted, any eccentricity, without derogating from my claim to respect. Twenty minutes passed away thus; a south wind was blowing, and great water-laden clouds were fast covering the sky; the heat was very oppressive, and soon heavy drops of rain began to fall, and every one rushed to shelter. I ran back to the cathedral, my nearest refuge. The _Tenebræ_ had just commenced, and I sat there and listened to the doleful lamentations of Jeremiah, and the wails of the holy women, mingling with the thunder-crashes and the noise of the pouring rain, which fell as it only falls within the tropics. It was a combination of sounds not easily to be forgotten.

At half-past four, the storm was over, and the sky clear and blue once more, so I determined to hasten to _San Juan_, and, though too late to hear the meditation, still witness the descent from the cross. To my surprise, on going to the door I found it impossible to leave the church; the whole place in front of the cathedral was knee-deep in water, and all the streets leading from it looked like swift-flowing rivers! Not until five o'clock did the water subside sufficiently to permit me to cross the street conducting to _San Juan_, where, however, I fortunately arrived in time for the ceremony I so much wished to see.

The high altar had been removed, and in its place, on an elevated platform, were erected three great crosses, the centre one bearing the image, large as life, of our Saviour, the other two those of the thieves crucified with him; the face of the repentant sinner was turned lovingly toward his Lord, that of the unrepentant looked away with a scowl.

The figure of the victim was fearfully natural--the pallor of death was on his blood-stained brow, the gash in his side, and his mangled hands and feet were livid. Two priests, mounted on ladders placed against the arms of the cross, were in the act of taking down the writing when I got near enough to see well. At the command of the preacher, who had just finished the meditation, and who directed them from the pulpit, they then proceeded to draw out the nail from the right hand; when loosened from the tree, the arm fell stiffly and as if dead; before the other was freed, long and wide linen bands were passed under both, and around the body, to sustain it and prevent it from falling forward. _Llorad lagrimas de sangre_--"Weep tears of blood," cried the preacher while this was being done amid the breathless silence of the spectators, "he died for you!" So solemnly, so tenderly did the priests perform their office, that it seemed no representation, but dreadful reality, and my cheeks grew cold, and my heart throbbed painfully when the pale, bruised body was gently lowered and borne to the bier waiting to receive it.

Yes, this cruel death He died for us; but, O true and loving women! one sweet and proud remembrance will be ours for all eternity--_our_ kiss betrayed him not, nor _our_ tongue denied--

"While even the apostle left him to his doom,
_We_ lingered round his cross, and watched his tomb!"

The preacher now descended from the pulpit, and quitted the church in company with the other assistant priests; and the direction seemed to be left in the hands of a fraternity called _los Hermanos de la Soledad_--the Brethren of Solitude--a set of tall, fine-looking black men, many with thin lips and _almost_ Roman noses. They were dressed in robes of black glazed calico, with white lace tippets.

A quarter of an hour elapsed; the church remained crowded, but there were no signs of preparation for the procession. Presently a handsome, authoritative-mannered personage, evidently a Spaniard, entered hastily, and, pushing his way unceremoniously through the people, sought the members of the brotherhood, to whom he evidently gave some orders, and then went away. A great silence prevailed, and every one seemed to be waiting for something. I at last mustered up courage to ask a brother when the procession would commence.

_No hay procesion hasta el año que viene_--"There will be no procession until next year"--he answered in a very loud voice.

_Pero, señor, en el diario_--"But, sir, in the newspaper--" I began. "_No hay procesion hasta el año que viene_," he repeated louder still.

The women broke forth in murmurs; but not a man spoke, though compressed lips and scowling brows showed sufficiently what was passing within. I must not omit to remark that the congregation consisted almost entirely of colored creoles.

By dint of soft but firmly continued pushing, and a pleasant smile when the individual I elbowed looked grimly at me, I forced my way out of the disagreeable pack of volunteers and negroes, men and boys, that surrounded me, to the chancel, where I found a number of well-dressed and respectable-looking colored ladies seated on the platform. There the discontent was louder, and I understood distinctly that the disappointment was attributed more to the ill-will of their rulers than to the bad state of the weather. One woman, particularly, exclaimed angrily several times, and sufficiently loud to be heard by all in that end of the building, _Hay procesion para los Españoles, pero no para nosotros_--"There are processions for the Spaniards, but not for us."

However, there was nothing to be done but to submit; so a few persons went quietly away, and I at last succeeded in obtaining a close view of the bier. It was in the form of a sarcophagus with open sides, placed on a trestle concealed by black velvet drapery spotted with silver stars; the upper part very tastefully decorated with white and lilac flowers. The image lying within was covered with a cloth of silver tissue, the head and feet left bare. Close by stood another trestle, also covered with ornamented black velvet, and supporting a small platform, on which stood the figures of the Blessed Virgin, in deep grief, holding in her hand a very handsome lace pocket-handkerchief, and of St. John, with a profusion of fair ringlets, sustaining her in his arms. The bier, followed by the Virgin and St. John, carried by the members of the black _Hermandad_, escorted by soldiers and military music, and accompanied by a vast number of people, constitutes the "procession of the interment," which every Good-Friday (when permitted) leaves the old church of _San Juan de Dios_, passes through many streets of the city, and before the palace of the captain-general, and stops at the cathedral, into which it enters, and where the images are finally deposited with great solemnity. This year, as we have seen, the procession did not take place.

While examining with interest these curious remains of the piety of the first settlers in the island, I heard some one cry out, _No deja ninguno salir_--"Let no one go out"--and at the same moment saw some soldiers lifting up and looking under the velvet draperies as if searching for some one. Five very uncomfortable minutes followed; the door by which I had entered was blocked up with soldiers and volunteers, every one was frightfully silent--and I am not a heroine! At last the people were allowed to go out by one door, while the soldiers and volunteers slowly filled up the church by the other.

Exceedingly great was the relief I felt when I found myself safely seated in the cars, (which in consequence of the rain had been permitted to enter the city and station themselves in their usual place,) and on my way home, where I arrived very tired and almost disgusted with sight-seeing.

HOLY-SATURDAY.

At seven o'clock in the morning of the "_Sabado de Gloria_," the "Saturday of Glory," as the Spaniards beautifully and expressively call this great day, I was already established in my usual place in the nave of the cathedral, though the religious ceremonies were not to commence until eight. The attendance of the public generally was less than on Maundy-Thursday and Good-Friday, and none of the superior authorities of Havana, nor military and civil functionaries, were present.

The new fire was lighted and blessed precisely as is done with us, and the five grains of incense placed on the paschal candle; which, however, was not a tall, thick taper, as in other countries, but a veritable _pillar_ of wax, about a yard high and six inches in diameter; transmitting to us most probably an exact resemblance of that column of wax upon which the patriarch of Alexandria used to inscribe the paschal epoch and the movable feasts, and which in progress of time was employed as a torch during the paschal night, and at last came to be regarded as the symbol of the resuscitated Saviour, the true light of the world.

After reading the prophecies, the deacon, preceded by the holy cross and the paschal candle, and accompanied by the clergy and many of the faithful present, went in procession to bless the new water and the baptismal fonts. This ceremony also was performed exactly as it is with us. At its conclusion the deacon returned to the high altar, and after sprinkling it and the congregation with the newly-blessed water, the short mass of the day commenced.

Scarcely had the officiating priest begun to intone the _Gloria_, when the central door of the church burst open, letting in a flood of golden light; the cannon fired, the drums beat, the bells rang out, and the loud organ pealed forth a triumphant strain, while voices that seemed to come from heaven repeated high and clear, with delicious harmony, _Gloria in excelsis Deo!_

We all simultaneously fell on our knees; for myself, I can say that never in my life before had I experienced such rapturous emotion. Never before had I so perfectly realized the triumph of life over death! Never before, O my God! had I felt so deeply what it was to praise thee, to bless thee, to adore thee, to glorify thee with my whole heart. _Gloria in excelsis Deo!_

"God the Redeemer liveth! He who took
Man's nature on him, and in human shroud
Veiled his immortal glory! He is risen--
God the Redeemer liveth! And behold
The gates of life and immortality
Opened to all that breathe!"

The Alleluia was chanted in the same spirit of joy and exultation, and the services concluded.

* * * * *

Without the church all was now gayety and bustle. The streets were crowded as if by magic with vehicles of every description. The shops were all open; the sweetmeat and fruit-sellers at their posts, looking as if they had never been absent; the lottery-ticket venders in full cry. The horses and mules had their heads decorated with bows and rosettes and streamers of bright-colored ribbons, and their tails elegantly plaited and tied up to one side of their saddle or harness, with scarlet braid. Even the quiet, patient oxen sported a bit of finery, and wore flowers on the ponderous yoke that weighed down their gentle heads. Crowds of busy men hurried hither and thither; gayly-dressed ladies drove about in their stylish quitrins; loud talking and laughing was the order of the day among the colored population; a riff-raff of little blackies pervaded the city, happily _without_ the squibs, crackers, and fire-arms permitted them until this year, but quite sufficiently boisterous to be intolerable; while the church-bells kept ringing out, adding their clang to the noisy confusion, and _not_ with that merry musical chime we are accustomed to hear in England, the land of the scientific, well-trained bell-ringer. But, indeed, nowhere since I listened years ago to the bells of Saint Mary's in dear old smoky Manchester have I heard a regular triple bob-major!

EASTER-SUNDAY.

The sun was not yet up when I started for town on Easter morning. The procession of the resurrection--called, to distinguish it from other processions of the resurrection, _del encuentro_, "of the meeting"--was to commence at six o'clock, and I was determined that no tardiness on my part should prevent my seeing the whole of this singular relic of bygone ages. The transition from darkness to light is so wonderfully sudden, however, in these latitudes, that it was broad day when I reached the cathedral, which I found brilliantly illuminated with wax tapers, and hung with crimson damask draperies. Mass had just begun, and there was a considerable number of persons present, most of them ladies, as is always the case in the churches of Havana. How the sight of the men-crowded churches of the United States would astonish these Cubans, who seem to believe that religion is made for ignorant women and children, and that the less they profess to have, the more enlightened they appear! As if the really enlightened man were not he who most deeply feels the necessity of his Maker's care and love--the consolation of addressing him in prayer!

As soon as the service was ended, I hastened to the _Calle Empedrado_, the street leading directly from the cathedral to _San Juan_, and took up my station on the edge of the sidewalk, about half-way between the two churches. The balconies of the houses and the sides of the great barred, glassless windows were hung with red and yellow draperies; and gayly-dressed ladies and children, and crowds of colored people, with the inevitable volunteers, thronged the streets. While thus waiting, I was struck by the appearance of the dresses of the greater part of the colored creole women; nearly all wore red, white, and blue, the antagonistic colors to red and yellow. Their wearers, in all probability, intended by this show of their political opinions to revenge themselves upon the Spaniards for the loss of their much-loved procession on Good-Friday.

There was soon a murmur of expectation in the crowd around me, and presently there appeared coming toward us from _San Juan_ the image, large as life, of St. Mary Magdalen, dressed in a skirt of silver tinsel, and an open dress of blue satin, trimmed with silver lace. A profusion of long auburn ringlets flowed down each side of the smiling face, and a very elaborate gilded glory was affixed to the back of the head. The arms were slightly raised, and the hand held out. This figure stood on a small platform supported on the shoulders of four of the Brethren of Solitude, such tall men that the saint, as she advanced rapidly, her curls streaming out behind her, seemed to be running over the heads of the spectators. As she passed, all the men took off their hats respectfully. The bearers halted just in front of me, the Magdalen being supposed to look toward the sepulchre; after a few minutes' pause, she suddenly turned and ran back to the church of _San Juan_. In order, probably, to give a more natural appearance to the image, the men who carried it, and who evidently took extreme delight and pride in the duty, waddled as they ran, and so communicated a most ludicrous deportment to the saint. Every one laughed loud as they watched her roll from side to side, plunging forward from time to time, and then recovering herself with a jerk, her hair flopping up and down or streaming out on the air.

_Que bien corre, meneandose_--"How well she runs, shaking herself!"--was the admiring exclamation of several persons near me, and they laughed; yes, men, women, and children, black and white, roared with laughter, and yet, I verily believe, not one among them all laughed in derision, or felt the slightest sentiment of disrespect. "Perfect love casteth out fear," says the apostle; and it never entered into their heads that the good saint could be displeased because, like simple children, they laughed at so artless a representation of her. The grotesque movements excited their hilarity, and they were hilarious on the impulse of the moment, and without _arrière pensée_. The Latin race is sometimes remarkable for a child-like simplicity in its actions which too often is mistaken by colder temperaments for a lack of veneration and propriety.

In a little while the saint came running down the street again, saluted respectfully again by the merry crowd. A halt of five minutes, while she looked earnestly in the direction of the sepulchre, and then she turned and rushed back, more violently agitated than before, and amidst reiterated shouts of laughter, to _San Juan de Dios_, to tell the Blessed Virgin the good tidings that her Son was alive again.

And now the loud strains of martial music reached our ears, and we saw emerging from the square in front of the cathedral, and slowly advancing toward us, a high, handsome structure carried on the shoulders of a member of the black _Hermandad_. In the centre of it stood the image of the risen Saviour, crowned with a radiant glory; his right hand extended as if to welcome, his left grasping a white and gold banner, which displayed, when the breeze unfurled its folds, a blood-red cross. A little angel with outspread wings seemed to hover in front of the gorgeous fabric, as if to herald the coming Lord. A regiment of colored soldiers, wearing white drill uniforms with red facings, escorted this triumphal car, the band playing its gayest airs.

At the same moment the Holy Virgin, attired in gold-colored silk damask, with a magnificent halo around her head, appeared at the opposite end of the street coming to meet him. She was followed at a short distance by St. Mary Magdalen, now more subdued in manner. The Virgin's arms were raised as if about to clasp them around her beloved Son, and her face wore an expression of ecstatic joy.

The two processions met where I stood, and after a short pause, St. Mary Magdalen, who was the nearest to the church of _San Juan de Dios_, turned round and led the way thither, the Virgin turning also, and the two processions now forming but one. Slowly, but to the liveliest music, in which mingled the strains of Riesgo's hymn, the whole mass of us--for we spectators fell into the ranks--moved onward, every one looking glad and gay, and so we at last reached the old church, which was far too small to contain one half of us, and the images entered one after the other with all the assistants who could force their way in. We weaker vessels, left outside, seeing it hopeless to try to get in, soon dispersed. I have since learnt that no kind of religious ceremony took place; the images were simply set down, and after a while the church was cleared of the people and closed for an hour or two.

There are processions of the resurrection from a great number of churches perambulating the city every Easter-Sunday; but this one "of the Meeting," is by far the most curious and interesting. That of the church of the _Espiritu Santo_ is considered one of the prettiest, because of the children in fancy dresses that take part in it. This year, I was told, a great majority of them wore volunteer or _cantinera_ (canteen-women, or sutler) costumes, to the great disgust of Cuban mothers.

* * * * *

There was, of course, much festivity going on in the city and suburbs all that day. There were family meetings and the pleasant _retreta_ in the evening for some; the theatre and public balls for others; and, I am sorry to say, there was cock-fighting for that brutal minority which in all countries seems to seek its greatest enjoyment in the contemplation of bloody strife.

Yet, in sad truth, there had been strife enough in the streets of Havana during the past week to have contented the most sanguinary temper, and sorrow enough to have softened the hardest. Palm-Sunday had witnessed the farewell to all that was dear to them of two hundred and fifty unfortunate men; had witnessed, also, the wretched end of the two youths about to embark with the other prisoners, and the noble death of the courageous commissary of police, shot down while he sought to protect them from the vengeance of the volunteers, whom their mad bravadoes, as they were marched down to the ship, had infuriated. In the course of the week a colored man had been killed in the streets for seditious cries, and several others stabbed at night by unknown hands. And as if to keep up the constant anxiety and fear that overcast Havana like a lurid cloud, the Cubans by every possible covert insult, and only just avoiding the most terrible consequences, had shown their hatred of their Spanish rulers.

One trifling incident became a subject of interest and excitement that would have been absurd under any other circumstances than the present. On Good-Friday a _gorrion_ (sparrow) was found dead in the _Plaza de Armas_ by a volunteer. Some say, though others contradict the report, that the poor little bird had its eyes torn out, its heart transfixed with pins, and a paper attached to one of its feet containing the words, _Asi mueran todos los gorriones_--"May all sparrows die thus!" Now, it must be understood that _gorrion_ is another of the appellations bestowed on the Spaniards by the Cubans. A few sparrows having been brought from Europe to the island by some ship-captain, they prospered and multiplied in such a degree that they soon outnumbered and domineered over the _Bijirita_, a native bird somewhat smaller, but much resembling the sparrow in form, color, and habits. An analogy being imagined between the Spaniards and the new-comer--the name of _gorrion_ was given to all the natives of the peninsula of Spain, while the Cubans adopted that of _Bijirita_.

The little dead _gorrion_ found on Good-Friday was placed with much ceremony in a glass coffin, and laid in state in a room of one of the barracks, on a lofty catafalque, with velvet pall and lighted tapers and a guard of honor. Crowns of fresh flowers, and of red and yellow "everlastings," were suspended around and above the remains of the typical bird, and two exquisite nosegays, each more than three feet high, and as much in circumference, the gifts of the captain-general and of the _generala_ his wife, stood one at the head, the other at the foot of the mimic tomb. All the volunteers paid their respects with much ceremony to the little representative of their race, and so many people crowded to visit it on Holy-Saturday that it was at last determined to utilize public curiosity.

On Easter-Sunday every person who wished to see the _gorrion_ was obliged to pay ten cents, which were to go to the fund destined to aid the volunteers disabled in the present terrible struggle. On Easter morning the sum received amounted to three hundred and fifty-one dollars!

A great number of songs, sonnets, and odes were composed in honor of the poor little bird, and the manuscripts were tied by colored ribbons to the crowns suspended above it. They have since been collected and printed, and sold for the benefit of the same fund. Many of them were published in the _Diario de la Marina_, the official daily paper of Havana. The following are specimens of the effusions:

AL GORRION.

Gloria al Gorrion que aquì veis
Inanimado y marchito,
Ya jamas de su piquito
El dulce canto oireis.
Pero en cambio no olvideis
Los que lo mireis con saña,
Que si ya la muerte empaña
Su mirada inteligente,
De su raza prepotente
Hay millones in España!

_La Compañia de Cazadores del 7^o Batallon._

TO THE SPARROW.

Glory to the Sparrow that you see here
Lifeless and blighted,
Never more from his little bill
Will you hear a sweet song.
But in exchange, do not forget,
You who look at him with ill-will,
That if indeed death has dimmed
His intelligent glance,
Of his most powerful race
There are millions in Spain!

_The Company of Cazadores of the 7th Battalion._

Aqui reposa un Gorrion
Que esta tarde se le entierra
Y otros cien en pié de guerra
La sirven de guarnicion,
Bijiritas, en tropel
Furiosas aleteais
¿Por ventura no observais
Que estais ya mas muertas que el?
Descansa en paz, oh gorrion,
Y admite esta ofrenda fria
De la cuarta compañia
De este quinto batallon!

TRANSLATION.

Here rests a Sparrow,
To be buried this afternoon,
And a hundred more in warlike trim
Serve him as a guard.

You crowds of Bijiritas
Who beat your wings with fury,
Do you not by chance remark
That you are already more dead than he is?

Rest in peace, O sparrow!
And accept this cold offering
From the fourth company
Of the fifth battalion.

The gorrion was buried, and Havana left once more without other thought than that which had occupied Spaniards and Cubans for the several months previous. It is said that in former days ships which approached the tropic of Cancer, knew when they were nearing the shores of Cuba by the sweet odor of flowers and honey borne to them on the breeze; now, alas! the beautiful island is recognized from afar rather by the light of her burning plantations--by the smell of gunpowder and of blood! To all who have lived in Havana and who have friends among both parties; to all who know and appreciate the proud sense of honor and unshrinking courage of the one, and the quick intelligence and high aspirations of the other, the present struggle must and does give the deepest pain.

But while they sympathize sincerely with those who sorrow, they believe that "behind a frowning providence God hides a smiling face," and that, the strife ended, Cuba will rise again from her ashes, purified and regenerated; for it is written that "they who sow in tears shall reap in joy"!

THORNS.

HOMAGE TO THE CROSS, GOOD-FRIDAY, 1870.

Here his head rested,
Crimsoned with blood;
Jesus' hard slumber-place,
Pillow of wood!

Here his eye clouded;
Dwell there, my gaze,
Where the dear light of love
Dyingly plays!

Here the nails rankled;
There the lance tore,
While strove the water-tide
Vainly with gore!

Here the heart agonized,
Hid from the glance;
Pierced with ingratitude
Worse than the lance!

Here his soul parted--
Break not, my heart!
Oh! what a deadly hurt,
Sinning, thou art.

Here the feet turn to thee;
Press them, my lips!
While a love-agony
Through my heart creeps!

RICHARD STORRS WILLIS.

MARY STUART.

It is at once a remarkable fact and a striking exemplification of the vitality of poetic justice in history that, from among modern Scotch Puritans, from the spiritual descendants of John Knox, should have come three of the noblest and most effective modern vindications of Mary Stuart.

We refer to the work by Mr. Hosack noticed in our last number, to that which we make the subject of the present article,[37] and to the poem of Bothwell,[38] one of the finest in the entire range of English literature. Professor Aytoun's poem is accompanied by a body of historical notes, which are in themselves a model of legal argument and dialectic power, covering the entire period of the history of Mary Stuart in Scotland. And yet these three writers are very far from being looked upon by their countrymen as the holders of singular opinions. It may be news to many persons, but it is, nevertheless, the fact that they merely reflect the prevailing feeling in Scotland concerning its unfortunate queen of three centuries agone, murdered in an English prison. The sentiment of the great body of the Scotch people, gentle and simple, Puritan and Catholic, is to this day decidedly in her favor, and the superficial reader who, trusting to a superficial Froude, sneers at Mary Stuart, is safer from reproof in New York than in Edinburgh.

Mr. Caird's work, of which the second edition was published last year, appears to be made up of the material of a series of lectures delivered by him in some of the Scotch cities, and, like Mr. Hosack's work, is marked with evidences of great research, ability, and a thorough knowledge of the country, the people, and the times under discussion.