Chapter VIII: Father Rasle (3)

Sir John's theory of progress is just now popular, and is put forth with great confidence in the respectable name of science, and the modern world, with sciolists, accept it, with great pomp and parade. Yet it is manifestly absurd. Nothing cannot make itself something, nor can anything make itself more than it is. The imperfect cannot of itself perfect itself, and no man can lift himself by his own waistbands. Even Archimedes required somewhere to stand outside of the world in order to be able to raise the world with his lever. Yet we deny not progress; we believe in it, and hold that man is progressive even to the infinite; but not by his own unaided effort or by his own inherent energy and natural strength, nor without the supernatural aid of divine grace. But progress by nature alone, or self-evolution, though we tried to believe it when a child, we put away when we became a man, as we did other childish things.

Thus much we have thought it our duty to say in reply to the theory that makes the human race begin in utter barbarism, and civilization spring from natural development or evolution, so popular with our unchristian scientists or--but for respect to the public we would say--sciolists. We have in our reply repeated may things which we have said before in this magazine, and which have been said by others, and better said. But it will not do to let such a book as the one before us go unanswered in the present state of the public mind, debauched as it is by false science. If books will repeat the error, we can only repeat our answer.

FOOTNOTES:

[128] _The Origin of Civilization and the Primitive Condition of Man: Mental and Social Condition of Savages._ By Sir John Lubbock, Bart., M.P., F.R.S., etc. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1871. 16mo, pp. 380.

[129] See _The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex_, by Charles Darwin.

PAU.

American tourists make a great mistake in not generally including the Pyrenees in their route of European travel. Unless ordered there by a physician to repair a wasted or broken-down constitution, they scarcely think of visiting the most beautiful country perhaps in the world. Paris is France, and, as the route from Paris to Spain lies direct, they pass through the Pyrenees, admire them casually, but rarely pause to examine their beauties and the curiosities of the quaint old towns embedded in their hills. Since chances of this nature alone led me to discover what since has remained in my memory an exquisite picture to be revivified at any moment, I cannot blame others for following the usual guide-book routes of Europe, and spending their money freely on places far less worthy their attention. After a severe typhoid fever of ten weeks in Paris, and still so feeble that I had to be almost carried to the depot, I set out on the 5th of January, 1869, accompanied by my nurse, to make the journey to the Pyrenees, if possible, in a day and a half. We left Paris at 10.45 A.M., by the Chemin de Fer d'Orléans. Resting for a few minutes at the historical old towns of Orléans, Tours, Poitiers, Angoulême, and Livourne, we arrived at Bordeaux at eleven P.M., where we remained for the night. The next morning at eight we pursued our journey, passing Dax, so celebrated for its warm mud-baths, said to be a remedy for rheumatic complaints, and a little after one P.M. I found my friends awaiting me at Pau. Entering one of the queer little half-omnibuses that hold six people and their luggage, I was carried through the oddest of small white streets to my lodging in the Jurançon, near the villa of my friend.

Never shall I forget my impressions while entering the room prepared for me, and leaning on the arm of the dear girl who with her mother and sister had done everything for my comfort. It was the Epiphany, the day of light; and it seemed as if the soft sunlight that shone in that pretty room and rested on the fragrant flowers was to me the foreshadowing of a renewed life and happy future. The air was balmy as a June day, and from my window rose the glorious Pyrenees. Covered with their everlasting mantles of snow, they rose proudly to heaven, as if they defied the clouds above them. A second lower range, with its varied shades of green and the tropical luxuriance at its base, completed the picture. Exhausted with my journey, my eyes filled with tears of joy at all my sweet surroundings, I could have begged my God there and then to let me sleep for ever.

Day after day I walked my few steps in my balcony and took in this lovely picture. As yet I had not seen the town; my strength was insufficient, and I simply rested and recuperated. The climate seemed to me a strange one for invalids--a queer mixture, as I thought it, of flannels and sun-umbrellas. The mornings and evenings were cold and chilly with the air that blew down from the mountains, and the middle of the day, from eleven until three o'clock, so intensely hot that it was necessary to be well protected against sun-stroke. Still, it is the great resort of consumptives, and at almost every turn one encounters the muffled-up pale countenance of the poor invalid. But for this one sad feature, the exquisite scenery, the tropical foliage, the picturesque villas, and the town itself, of white limestone, rising around its great chateau to the very heavens, with the merry hum of voices, that greets you on every side, might well make you imagine you had at last found the fairy dreamland--a country that realized the fairy ideal of childhood.

This, too, is the land of the troubadour, and the quaint wild music chanted by the peasantry has a something about it irresistibly attractive, something one hears nowhere else; now dreamy, now bright, almost monotonous at times, then suddenly bursting into strains of sadness in which the whole depths of a life are portrayed. Then there is the ringing mountaineer song, too, with its clear and measured cadence, and a certain bravery in its tones which could easily foretell the difficult mastering of such a people, should it ever again be required.

The mixture of Spanish merchants and wanderers among the population gives to their parks and squares a pretty effect. They cross the Pyrenees with their showy wares, their strings of perfumed beads, bracelets, necklaces, rosaries, all made of the wood that grows at the foot of their mountains. Dressed in their own picturesque costumes, and carrying their merchandise of every imaginable color--red and bright yellow predominating--they accost you with a grace which renders them irresistible, and you find yourself rather poorer for the encounter.

I improved so rapidly in this climate, getting wholly rid of my cough and gaining twenty-five pounds in little over four weeks, that I concluded I was well enough to return to Paris, and thence, after another rest in England, home. I resolved, therefore, to see all that Pau offered to the sight-seer.

I drove with my kind friends several times to and around the varied and pretty villas: the primroses peeped at us from under the hedges, and here and there the rarest tropical trees and plants riveted our attention--and this in February, when the most of the world was ice-bound. The snow-capped mountains, however, rising around us on every side, would not permit us to entirely forget winter. The town itself, of twenty-one thousand inhabitants, is almost a miniature Paris, some squares duplicating those of the great city, and the bridges separating Pau and the Jurançon, though crossing a much prettier river than the Seine, heightening the resemblance.

The churches are costly and beautiful; one built by the Society of Jesus, entirely of white marble, and lined with exquisite pictures and gifts of the wealthy strangers who pass the season at the different hotels, is a perfect gem in its way.

The hotels, the Place Royale with its music every Thursday--weather permitting, as say our friends of the Central Park--where crowds walk up and down and listen to but little, I imagine, are all attractions for the health or pleasure seeker.

Very odd old houses with gabled roofs, and reminding you of Dutch pictures, start out occasionally from among the more modern and fashionable ones, and seem to tell the story of change and decay.

Not unfrequently a merry peasant wedding party, in a whole line of carriages trumpeting vigorously and raising the dust, pass you with shouts, and compel your curiosity to recognize and salute the bride. It is said the strangers with their wealth and fashionable follies are gradually obliterating these good old Béarnais customs, through the spirit of emulation they excite in a hitherto perfectly happy peasantry. Women, however, still walk the streets with their distaffs, and men knit as they guide the plough. Something of primeval innocence still remains. Certainly no country was ever more paradisiacally formed to retain it.

My time was limited, however; I could not stay and study these people and their customs as I would have wished. I could not visit the great summer resort, the famed Eaux Bonnes, so beautifully nestled, they told me, among the higher Pyrenees, but must exert all the strength I had to see before I left the great monument of Pau, the grand old

CHATEAU OF HENRY IV.

The street ascends to it, and through an arcade by stone steps to its park, which is now the everyday public resort. The park extends all around the chateau, and, crossing a pretty bridge erected over the Rue Marca, it continues for some miles in an ornamented walk containing two principal avenues; one so shaded that it is cool all summer, and the other sunny enough at any time to welcome and warm the poor invalid who could not exist without his daily walk.

We do not find here the rich and varied architecture so attractive in other imperial parks, Versailles, for instance; the hand of man is displaced by that of nature, but the woods of rare trees on hills that give everywhere the exquisite panorama of the encircling Pyrenees are more than compensatory for any omissions of art.

The gate of St. Martin greets you as you enter. Built in 1586, it was formerly the main entrance to the chateau when the drawbridge was used. Now it leads to the Hôtel de la Monnaie, a dependence inhabited by the subalterns and furnishers of the palace. Here the money of Béarn was formerly made. Now we approach a hemicycle containing two large vases in Medici form of Swedish porphyry, and given to the chateau of Pau by King Bernadotte, who was born here. The statue of Gaston Phœbus in white marble, the work of the Baron of Triquety, towers between them. He stands the guard perpetual of the chateau.

Much of the land belonging to the former park has been divided and sold, and is now the Place Napoléon. Vestiges, however, of ancient walls are still allowed to exist, and on the left may yet be seen the remains of the Hermitage of Notre Dame des Bris, attributed to William Raymond, ravaged during the religious wars, and entirely destroyed in 1793.

At the foot of the hill on the north side stood also the Castet Beziat (in Béarnais dialect, _dearest castle_). And here let me speak of this odd native patois. It is a mixture of French, Spanish, and Italian, and is understood only by strangers who know the three languages, yet it is euphonious and occasionally dignified. The better class of the peasantry speak both it and a pretty French. They prolong the syllables more than in Paris, which adds greatly to the sweetness of the sound. This _Château Chère_ was built after the model of the Château de Madrid in the Bois de Boulogne, by Marguerite of Valois.

Jeanne d'Albret made it her favorite residence, and here occupied herself exclusively with the education of her children, Henry IV. and Catherine, who, after the death of her mother, made it the secret residence of the Count de Soissons, whom she passionately loved but could not marry. No trace of this Castet Beziat exists now. But let us enter the great chateau, and first consider somewhat its origin. Centule le Bieux was its founder toward the end of the year 982, and his successors continued the southern portion, but it was not finished until the time of Gaston Phœbus, who completed also the great square tower that bears his name, the ramparts and parapets, and the mill-tower, in order that he might make it his residence. This mill-tower gave entrance to the Place de la Basse Ville, or former field of battle, where hand to hand the armed knights decided their judiciary combats. About 1460, Gaston X., desirous to give his Béarnais people a truly royal residence, constructed the north and east portions of the edifice, laid out the park, and decided that the states of Béarn should be always represented in the halls of the castle.

In 1527, the Margaret of Margarets, the sister so dear to Francis I., becoming queen of Navarre by her marriage with Henry II., made it a true palace of the Renaissance, restoring it entirely and refurnishing it from top to bottom.

Abandoned later by Henry IV., become king of France, and despoiled of everything precious it possessed by him and Louis XIII., entirely neglected by their successors, it fell into the hands of governors, then was seized by the republicans, who, not contented to sell at the lowest price and piece by piece the lands of the royal domain, converted into a tavern and stables the palace that formerly was the cradle of the great king.

Not until the short reign of Louis XVIII. was any attempt made to restore the castle to its former condition, a work soon neglected and abandoned, but recommenced in 1838 by Louis Philippe, who ordered besides the complete refurnishing of the apartments pretty much as they are seen to-day.

Napoleon III., however, with his taste for the restoration of all fallen grandeur that may recall royalty or the Empire, has done all in his power to produce an almost magic transformation, a complete resurrection of the old chateau, and at the present time the work continues under the supervision of the most able architects.

The beautiful exterior that presents itself so commandingly, the harmony that prevails in every part of the building surrounding the Court of Honor, the pretty windows opening on the chapel, the sculptures everywhere newly restored, the incessant labor on the southern portion, all denote the desire of Napoleon to preserve and embellish one of the most precious monuments of history.

The letters =G-P= in gold are placed in different parts of the building. To Gaston Phœbus is accorded the honor of its construction.

You enter the chateau from the town-side by a bridge of stone and brick, built by Louis XV. to replace the drawbridge that formerly occupied the site of the present chapel.

Pause on this bridge, and look around you. On either side is a deep ditch which once defended the entrance of the chateau, now a magnificent avenue planted with trees and covered with flower-beds. At your left is the chapel, whose date is 1840. The doors and windows are elaborately sculptured. In front, you will notice three arcades constructed in the style of the Renaissance, covered with a terrace and carved balustrade, which serves for the principal entrance.

On your left and under the portico is the porter's lodge. At the right in the new building are the bureaus of administration and service; on the first story, the apartments of the military commander; on the second, those of the register; and on the third and last, the housekeeper's rooms for linen, etc.

The Court of Honor arrests your attention by its original form, its deeply graven sculptures in the niches of the windows and doors representing the different Béarnais sovereigns, and the statue of Mars that faces the principal entrance. If these walls could speak, they would tell how often the Béarnais people have assembled here with shouts of respect or cries of vengeance, according as the qualities of their prince called forth the one or the other.

The towers of the chateau are six in number: at the left on entering, the Tower Gaston Phébus; at the right, the new Tower and Tower Montauzet; at the lower end, the northwest, the Tower Billères; and at the southwestern end, the two Towers Mazères.

The tower Gaston Phébus, or donjon, was called the tile tower, because it is built almost entirely of brick. It has a roof of slate which was carried off in a terrible storm in 1820.

A balcony faces the church of St. Martin, where the president of the states of Béarn took his place to proclaim the name of each newly elected sovereign.

Several illustrious personages have inhabited this tower. Among others, Clement Marot, the favorite and unfortunate adorer of the Queen Margaret, and Mademoiselle de Scudery, who passed the summer here of 1637.

Under the reign of Louis XIV. it was converted into a prison of state, and so continued until 1822.

Each story is now inhabited and richly furnished, and on the fifth is a terrace that commands a most imposing view of the surrounding country.

The tower Montauzet, in the Béarnais dialect, takes its name from the circumstance that only birds could reach the top; Montauzet meaning Mount Bird! In truth, it has no staircase, and history tells us that in case of a siege the garrison ascended it by ladders, which they drew up after them.

It had its dungeons, terrible wells into which criminals were lowered. An iron statue armed with steel poniards received them, clasped them in its arms, and, by ingenious means that the legend does not explain, murdered them in unspeakable tortures. Henri d'Albret closed up the entrance to these dungeons, and they were forgotten until the reign of Louis XV. He caused them to be opened, and discovered skeletons and iron chains fastened to the walls.

The ground-floor of the tower Montauzet formerly contained a fine fountain. This will be replaced. The three stories above are occupied generally by the domestics of the great dignitaries of the crown.

The other towers have nothing of interest. They are named from the villages they face, and are simply advanced sentinels to defend the approach of an enemy from the Pyrenees.

As soon as a visitor arrives at the chateau, he is ushered into the waiting-room called Salle des Gardes, because during the presence of majesty the valets waited here under the supervision of an officer of the household. But little furniture is seen, a few old-fashioned chairs surmounted by lions and the arms of France and Navarre.

From this room we enter the dining-room of the officers of the service. There is nothing remarkable in its furniture, a long and very wide table occupying the centre, and comfortable chairs placed against the wall. Two statues, the one of Henry IV., the other of Tully, stand on either side of the door, and are singularly imposing.

We pass on to the dining-room of their majesties. This is far more elegant. Flemish tapestry adorns the walls, which was brought here from the Château de Madrid in the Bois de Boulogne. It represents the chase in the different months of June, September, November, and December. A clock of the time and style of Louis XIV., and a statue of Henry IV. in white marble, by Francheville, which is said to be older, and to represent the king more correctly than any other, are the principal ornaments.

The Staircase of Honor leads us to the first story. It is richly sculptured with astonishing beauty and skill. Doors lead from it to the kitchens below, and to the different towers.

We ascend and gain the waiting-room. During the presence of their majesties, the door-keepers remain here. When the emperor is alone, he chooses this for his slight repasts.

The most beautiful tapestry covers the walls. The subjects are of all kinds, mostly rural scenes, in which children or fairies predominate. The furniture is of oak, and covered with leather.

The reception-room, the largest and most elegant in the chateau, awaits us next. Here, by order and under the eyes of the cruel Montgomery, general of Jeanne d'Albret, ten Catholic noblemen were treacherously murdered. The sun shone in on us through the large bay-windows, and gilded the richly ornamented stone chimney, and threw the reflection of the mountain-tops across the floor. We stood, perhaps, on the very spot where these brave souls had met their death so many years before, though no trace remained of the horrors of that day. The guide told the story, and most of our party passed on to admire the tapestry and the costly vases that lend enchantment to what should be a chamber of mourning. With all its beauty, I was glad to escape to the family apartment.

Here, it is said, Queen Margaret presided. Her picture, and those of Francis I., Henri d'Albret, and Henry IV., formerly graced the walls, but the hand of vandalism, in 1793, spared not even them. They were burned with all the other pictures of the chateau. A bronze statue of Henry IV., when a child, which graces a pretty bracket, and a table, the gift of Bernadotte, ornament the room.

The sleeping apartments of the emperor and empress follow, furnished tastefully with Sèvres china ornaments, on which are representations of Henry IV., Tully, and the Château de Pau, beautifully executed. The walls are hung with Flemish tapestry; but in the boudoir of the empress are to be seen six pieces of Gobelin tapestry, so finished that it was some time before it could be decided they were not oil-paintings. The subjects are: "Tully at the feet of Henry IV.;" "Henry IV. at the Miller Michaud's;" "The Parting of Henry IV. with Gabrielle;" "The Fainting of Gabrielle;" "Henry IV. meeting Tully Wounded;" "Henry IV. before Paris."

An odd Jerusalem chest, also in this room, is the admiration of strangers. It is made of walnut, inlaid with ivory, and was brought from Jerusalem, and purchased at Malta in 1838.

A bath-room of red marble of the Pyrenees is attached to these apartments, from which we ascend to the second story.

Here are large rooms much in the same style as the others, yet not quite so elaborate. In 1848, Abd-el-Kadir and his numerous family occupied this suite. An interesting model of the old chateau is here shown, executed by a poor man named Saget, who presented it to the Orleans family at a very low price, hoping, no doubt, another recompense, which he never received.

A room whose tapestry is devoted to Psyche leads us to a chamber which formed part of the apartment of Jeanne d'Albret, where it is said Henry IV. was born, and where his cradle is still preserved. The bed that Jeanne d'Albret occupied ordinarily is in the room adjoining, and a quainter piece of architecture cannot be imagined. It is of oak, richly carved, covered and mounted by a sleeping warrior and an owl, emblems of sleep and night. In the inner portion, towards the wall, is the Virgin, on one side, holding the infant Jesus, and an Evangelist on the other. Very rich cornices, with lion heads projecting and the framework of the arms of Béarn, complete the description. How, without steps, they ever got into those beds is a mystery; the upper berth of a steamer is easy of access in comparison, but there we have always steps or underberths that serve the same purpose.

The cradle of Henry IV. is a single tortoise-shell in its natural state. It must have been a good-sized tortoise that gave its back to the honor, but he must have been a very little baby to have slept in such a couch. The cradle hangs very gracefully, supported by six cords and flags embroidered in gold, with the arms of France and Navarre. Above is a crown of laurel, surmounted by a white plume of ostrich feathers, and underneath all a table covered with a blue velvet cloth.

The chapel and library are the only remaining objects of interest. The volumes of the library were presented by the emperor a short time ago, and they are well selected.

There were formerly two chapels, but the older one has been done away with. The present one was built in 1849, on the site of the old gate of the drawbridge. The gate is still preserved, and on it a marble slab that formerly bore this inscription:

HENRICUS DEI GRATIA
CHRISTIANISSIMUS REX FRANCIÆ
NAVARRÆ TERTIUS
DOMINUS SUPREMUS BEARNI
1592.

The interior of the chapel has lately been restored and repainted. It is not remarkable for anything, however. The altar-piece is tawdry, and not in the usual good taste of the chateau.

We left this again for the beautiful park, roamed through it once more, and I took my last look at the imposing structure I had studied with so much interest.

I would advise all who visit Europe to see Pau and the Pyrenees. Those who do so will certainly say with me that, had they crossed the ocean for nothing else, they would have been more than compensated.

ST. MARY MAGDALEN.

The winds of autumn whisper back soft sighing
To the low breathing of the Magdalen;
She on her couch of withered leaves is lying--
Dreams she of days that come not back again?
No--past and present both within her dying,
Her earnest eyes upon the page remain;
While the long golden hair, behind her flying,
No more is bound with ornament and chain.
The storm may gather, but she doth not heed;
Nature's wild music enters not her ears;
Her soul, that for her Saviour's woes doth bleed,
One only voice for ever sounding hears:
"Follow his footsteps who thy sins hath borne,
And who for thee the thorny crown hath worn."

MEMOIR OF FATHER JOHN DE BRÉBEUF, S.J.[130]

Among the foremost and most distinguished of the Catholic missionaries of America stands the name of Father John de Brébeuf, the founder of the Huron Mission. Normandy has the honor of giving him birth, and Canada was the field of his splendid and heroic labors; yet the mission of which he was the great promoter was the prelude to, and was intimately connected with, subsequent missions in our own country; and at the time of his glorious death, his heaven-directed gaze was eagerly and zealously turned towards the country of our own fierce Iroquois, the inhabitants of Northern New York, amongst whom he ardently longed to plant the cross of the Christian missions. His labors and those of his companions opened the northwestern portions of our country, and the great Valley of the Mississippi, to Christianity and civilization, and the discoveries and explorations which followed were partly the fruits of his and their exalted ministry and enlightened enterprise; for, as Bancroft says, "the history of their labors is connected with the origin of every celebrated town in the annals of French America; not a cape was turned, not a river entered, but a Jesuit led the way." His fame and achievements belong to all America, indeed, more truly, to all Christendom. Saint, hero, and martyr as he was, his merits are a part of the heritage of the universal church; and while his relics are venerated on earth, and even the enemies of our religion accord to him the most exalted praise, Catholics may, with the eye of faith, behold him in that glorious and noble band of martyrs in heaven, decked in resplendent garments of red, dyed in their own blood, passing and repassing eternally, in adoration and thanksgiving, before the throne of him who was the Prince of Martyrs.

"It hath not perished from the earth, that spirit brave and high,
That nerved the martyr saints of old with dauntless love to die.
In the far West, where, in his pride, the stoic Indian dies;
Where Afric's dark-skinned children dwell, 'neath burning tropic
skies;
'Mid Northern snows, and wheresoe'er yet Christian feet have trod,
Brave men have suffered unto death, as witnesses for God."

While historians outside of the Catholic Church have marvelled at such extraordinary virtues and unparalleled achievements as have been displayed, not alone by a Xavier, but by the missionaries of our own land, and have extolled them as an honor to human nature, Catholics may be excused for regarding them as miracles of the faith, triumphs of the church, and martyrs of religion. It seems strange that the general historians of the church have bestowed so little notice upon the planting and propagation of the faith in America. The history of these events presents to our admiration characters the most noble, deeds the most heroic, virtues the most saintly, lives the most admirable, and deaths the most glorious. While the church of America, in our day, counts her children by millions, what more inspiring lesson could she place before their eyes than the history of her early days, when her priests and missionaries were confessors and martyrs? Of these was the subject of the present memoir.

John de Brébeuf was born in the diocese of Bayeux, in Normandy, March 25, 1593, of a noble family, said to be the same that gave origin to the illustrious and truly Catholic house of the English Arundels. He resolved to dedicate himself to the service of God in the holy ministry, and, with this view, entered the novitiate of the Society of Jesus, at Rouen, October 5, 1617. Having completed his noviceship, he entered upon his theological studies. He received subdeacon's orders at Lisseux, and those of deacon at Bayeux, in September, 1621; was ordained a priest during the Lent of 1622, and offered up the holy sacrifice of the Mass for the first time on Lady-day of the same year. He was, though of the youngest, one of the most zealous and devoted priests of his order, and, from the time that he consecrated himself to religion, was given to daily austerities and rigorous self-mortifications.

Catching the spirit of his divine Master, Father Brébeuf conceived an ardent thirst for the salvation of souls, and the foreign missions became the object of his most fervent desire. This chosen field was soon opened to his intrepid and heroic labors. When Father Le Caron, the Recollect missionary in Canada, asked for the assistance of the Jesuits in his arduous undertaking of conquering to Christ the savage tribes of North America, Fathers John de Brébeuf, Charles Lallemant, and Evremond Massé, themselves all eager for the task, were selected by their superiors for the mission. These apostolic men sailed from Dieppe, April 26, 1625, and reached Quebec after a prosperous voyage. The reception they at first met was enough to have appalled any hearts less resolute and inspired from above than were the hearts of Father Brébeuf and his companions. The Recollects, a branch of the Franciscan Order, who, through Father Le Caron, had invited them over, had received at their convent on the river St. Charles no tidings of their arrival; Champlain, ever friendly to the missionaries of the faith, was absent; Caen, the Calvinist, then at the head of the fur-trading monopoly of New France, refused them shelter in the fort; and the private traders at Quebec closed their doors against them. To perish in the wilderness, or to return to France from the inhospitable shores of the New World, was the only alternative before them. At this juncture the good Recollects, hearing of their arrival and destitution, hastened from their convent in their boat, and received the outcast sons of Loyola with every demonstration of joy and hospitality, and carried them to the convent. It is unaccountable how Parkman, in his _Pioneers of France in the New World_, in the face of these facts, related by himself in common with historians generally, should charge against the Recollects that they "entertained a lurking jealousy of these formidable fellow-laborers," as he calls the Jesuits; who, on the contrary, were the chosen companions of the Recollects, were invited to share their labors, and with whom they prosecuted with "one heart and one mind" the glorious work of the missions. The sons of St. Francis and St. Ignatius united at once in administering to the spiritual necessities of the French at Quebec, and the latter, by their heroic labors and sacrifices, soon overcame the prejudice of their enemies.

From his transient home at Quebec, Father Brébeuf watched for an opportunity of advancing to the field of his mission among the Indians. The first opportunity that presented itself was the proposed descent of Father Viel to Three Rivers, in order to make a retreat, and attend to some necessary business of the mission. Father Brébeuf, accompanied by the Recollect Joseph de la Roche Dallion, lost no time in repairing to the trading post to meet the father, return with him and the expected annual flotilla of trading canoes from the Huron country, and commence his coveted work among the Wyandots. But he arrived only to hear that Father Viel had gained the crown of martyrdom, together with a little Christian boy, whom their Indian conductor, as his canoe shot across the last dangerous rapids in the river Des Prairies, behind Montreal, seized and threw into the foaming torrent together, by which they were swept immediately into the seething gulf below, never to rise again. Neither the death of Father Viel, nor his own ignorance of the Huron language, appalled the brave heart of Father Brébeuf, who, when the flotilla came down, begged to be taken back as a passenger to the Huron country; but the refusal of the Indians to receive him compelled him to return to Quebec. On the twentieth of July, 1625, he went among the Montagnais, with whom he wintered, and, for five months, suffered all the rigors of the climate, in a mere bark-cabin, in which he had to endure both smoke and filth, the inevitable penalties of accepting savage hospitality. Besides this, his encampment was shifted with the ever-varying chase, and it was only his zeal that enabled him, amid incessant changes and distractions, to learn much of the Indian language, for the acquisition of the various dialects of which, as well as for his aptitude in accommodating himself to Indian life and manners, he was singularly gifted. On the twenty-seventh of March following, he returned to Quebec, and resumed, in union with the Recollects, the care of the French settlers. The Jesuits and Recollects, moving together in perfect unison, went alternately from Quebec to the Recollect convent and Jesuit residence, on a small river called St. Charles, not far from the city.

The colony of the Jesuit fathers was soon increased by the arrival of Fathers Noirot and De la Nouë, with twenty laborers, and they were thus enabled to build a residence for themselves--the mother house and headquarters of these valiant soldiers of the cross in their long and eventful struggle with paganism and superstition among the Indians. Father Brébeuf and his companions now devoted their labors to the French at Quebec, then numbering only forty-three, hearing confessions, preaching, and studying the Indian languages. They also bestowed considerable attention on the cultivation of the soil. But these labors were but preparatory for others more arduous, but more attractive to them.

In 1626, the Huron mission was again attempted by Father Brébeuf. He, together with Father Joseph de la Roche Dallion and the Jesuit Anne de Nouë, was sent to Three Rivers, to attempt a passage to the Huron country. When the Indian flotilla arrived at Three Rivers, the Hurons were ready to receive Father de la Roche on board, but being unaccustomed to the Jesuit habit, and objecting, or pretending to object, to the portly frame of Father Brébeuf, they refused a passage to him and his companion, Father Nouë. At last, some presents secured a place in the flotilla for the two Jesuits. The missionaries, after a painful voyage, arrived at St. Gabriel, or La Rochelle, in the Huron country, and took up the mission which the Recollects Le Caron and Viel had so nobly pioneered.

The Hurons, whose proper name was Wendat, or Wyandot, were a powerful tribe, numbering at least thirty thousand souls, living in eighteen villages scattered over a small strip of land on a peninsula in the southern extremity of the Georgian Bay. Other tribes, kindred to them, stretched through New York and into the continent as far south as the Carolinas. Their towns were well built and strongly defended, and they were good tillers of the soil, active traders, and brave warriors. They were, however, behind their neighbors in their domestic life and in their styles of dress, which for both sexes were exceedingly immodest. Their objects of worship were one supreme deity, called the Master of Life, to whom they offered human sacrifices, and an infinite number of inferior deities, or rather fiends, inhabiting rivers, cataracts, or other natural objects, riding on the storms, or living in some animal or plant, and whom they propitiated with tobacco. Father Brébeuf had acquired sufficient knowledge of their language to make himself understood by the natives, and he was greatly assisted by the instructions and manuscripts of Fathers Le Caron and Viel. Father Nouë, being unable to acquire the language, by reason of his great age and defective memory, returned to Quebec in 1627, and was followed the next year by Father de la Roche, who had made a brave but unsuccessful effort to plant the cross among the Attiarandaronk, or Neutrals. The undaunted Brébeuf was thus in 1629 left alone among the Hurons. He soon won their confidence and respect, and was adopted into the tribe by the name of _Echon_. Though few conversions rewarded his labors among them during his three years' residence, still he was amply compensated by his success in gaining their hearts, acquiring their language, and thoroughly understanding their character and manners. So completely had he gained the good-will of the Hurons, that, when he was about to return in 1629 to Quebec, whither his superior had recalled him, in consequence of the distress prevailing in the colony, the Indians crowded around him to prevent him from entering the canoes, and addressed him in this touching language; "What! Echon, dost thou leave us? Thou hast been here now three years, to learn our language, to teach us to know thy God, to adore and serve him, having come but for that end, as thou hast shown; and now, when thou knowest our language more perfectly than any other Frenchman, thou leavest us. If we do not know the God thou adorest, we shall call him to witness that it is not our fault, but thine, to leave us so." Deeply as he felt this appeal, the Jesuit could know no other voice when his superior spoke; and having given every encouragement to those who were well disposed toward the faith, and explained why he should go when his superior required it, he embarked on the flotilla of twelve canoes, and reached Quebec on the seventeenth of July, 1629. Three days after his arrival at Quebec, that port was captured by the English under the traitor Kirk, who bore the deepest hatred toward the Jesuits, whose residence he would have fired upon could he have brought his vessel near enough for his cannon to bear upon it. He pillaged it, however, compelling the fathers to abandon it and fly for safety to Tadoussac. But Father Brébeuf and his companions were, together with Champlain, detained as prisoners. Amongst the followers of Kirk was one Michel, a bitter and relentless Huguenot, who was by his temperament and infirmities prone to violence, and who vented his rage especially against the Jesuits. He and the no less bigoted Kirk found in Father Brébeuf an intrepid defender of his order and of his companions against their foul calumnies, while at the same time his noble character showed how well it was trained to the practice of Christian humility and charity.

On the occasion here particularly alluded to, Kirk was conversing with the fathers, who were then his prisoners, and, with a malignant expression, said:

"Gentlemen, your business in Canada was to enjoy what belonged to M. de Caen, whom you dispossessed."

"Pardon me, sir," answered Father Brébeuf, "we came purely for the glory of God, and exposed ourselves to every kind of danger to convert the Indians."

Here Michel broke in: "Ay, ay, convert the Indians! You mean, convert the _beaver_!"

Father Brébeuf, conscious of his own and his companion's innocence, and deeming the occasion one which required at his hands a full and unqualified denial, solemnly and deliberately answered:

"That is false!"

The infuriated Michel, raising his fist at his prisoner in a threatening manner, exclaimed:

"But for the respect I owe the general, I would strike you for giving me the lie."

Father Brébeuf, who possessed a powerful frame and commanding figure, stood unmoved and unruffled. But he did not rely upon these qualities of the man, though he knew no fear, but illustrated by his example on this as on every other occasion the virtues of a Christian and a minister of peace. With a humility and charity that showed how well the strong and naturally impulsive man had subdued his passions, he endeavored to appease the anger of his assailant by an apology, which, while it was justly calculated to remove all cause of offence, was accompanied with a solemn vindication of himself and companions from the unjust imputation just cast upon them. He said:

"You must excuse me. I did not mean to give you the lie. I should be very sorry to do so. The words I used are those we use in the schools when a doubtful question is advanced, and they mean no offence. Therefore, I ask you to pardon me."

"Bon Dieu," said Champlain, "you swear well for a reformer!"

"I knew it," replied Michel; "I should be content if I had struck that Jesuit who gave me the lie before my general."

The unfortunate Michel continued in this way unceasingly to rave over the pretended insult, which no apologies could obliterate. He died shortly afterward in one of his paroxysms of fury, and was interred under the rocks of Tadoussac. It was not permitted to him to execute his threatened vengeance on the Jesuit, whom he was the first to insult, and whom he never forgave, though himself forgiven.

Father Brébeuf, together with the truly great and Catholic Champlain, the governor of Quebec, and with the other missionaries, were carried prisoners to England, whence they all made their way to France.

Sad at this interruption of their work of love among the benighted sons of the Western wilds, the missionaries did not despair, but only awaited the restoration of Canada to France in order to resume their labors. In the volume of his travels published by Champlain in 1632, is embraced the treatise on the Huron language which Father Brébeuf had prepared during his three years' residence with that tribe, and which, in our own times, has been republished in the _Transactions of the American Antiquarian Society_, as a most precious contribution to learning.

The English government disavowed the conduct of Kirk, and Canada was restored to France during the year 1632. As the conversion of the native tribes was ever one of the leading features in the policy of Catholic statesmen in the colonization of this continent, it was determined to renew the missions which we have seen interrupted. In selecting missionaries for this task, the choice fell not upon the Jesuits, nor the Recollects, as might have been expected, but upon the Capuchins; and it was only when these good fathers represented to Cardinal Richelieu that the Jesuits had already been laboring with fidelity and success in that vineyard, and requested that the missions might be again confided to them, that Fathers Paul Lejeune and Anne de Nouë, with a lay brother, were sent out in 1632. They arrived at Tadoussac on the twelfth of July. It soon became Father Brébeuf's great privilege and happiness to follow them. On the twenty-second of May, 1633, to the great joy of Quebec, Champlain returned to resume his sway in Canada, and Father Brébeuf accompanied him together with Fathers Massé, Daniel, and Devost. Though Father Brébeuf was not inactive about Quebec, still his heart longed for the Huron homes and council-fires, and still more for Huron souls. Shortly afterward, he had the consolation of beholding the faithful Louis Amantacha, a Christian Huron, arriving at Quebec, followed by the usual Indian flotilla of canoes. A council was held, sixty chiefs sat in a circle round the council-fire, and the noble Champlain, the intrepid Brébeuf, and the zealous Lallemant, stood in their midst. A treaty of friendship was concluded between the French and the Hurons, and, in confiding the missionaries to his new allies, Champlain thus addressed the latter: "These we consider as fathers, these are dearer to us than life. Think not that they have left France under pressure of want; no, they were there in high esteem: they come not to gather up your furs, but to open to you the doors of eternal life. If you love the French, as you say you love them, then love and honor these our fathers." This address was responded to by two of the chiefs, who were followed by Father Brébeuf in his broken Huron, "the assembly jerking in unison, from the bottom of their throats, repeated ejaculations of applause." The members of the council then crowded round him, each claiming the privilege of carrying him in his canoe. And the Indians from the different towns began now to contend among themselves for the honor of possessing Father Brébeuf for their respective settlements. The contest was soon decided in favor of Rochelle, the most populous of the Huron villages. On the eighth of August, the effects of Father Brébeuf and of his companions, Fathers Daniel and Devost, were already on board the canoes, when another more serious difficulty arose: an Indian murderer had been arrested by order of Champlain, in consequence of which an enraged Algonquin chief declared that no Frenchman should enter the flotilla. The Hurons were ready and anxious to convey the fathers, but they feared the consequences of a rupture with the Algonquins. The fathers were thus constrained, to the common sorrow of themselves and their Hurons, to behold the flotilla depart without them. But the last scene in this separation was yet more touching. The faithful and pious Louis Amantacha, overwhelmed with sorrow at the loss of the fathers, lingered in their company to the last moment, humbly made his confession, and, for the last time for him, this Christian warrior received the holy communion from the hands of Father Brébeuf. Then, having rejoined his companions, the flotilla quickly glided from the view of those who would have laid down their lives to save the souls of those benighted and thoughtless voyagers.

Father Brébeuf and his companions returned to labor for a time longer among the French and Indians in and about Quebec, where their labors were full of zeal and not without success. It was here that Father Brébeuf baptized Sasousmat, the first adult upon whom he conferred that sacrament. While in health, Sasousmat had requested that he might be sent to France for instruction in the faith, but he was now overtaken by a dreadful illness, which deprived him of reason. Father Brébeuf visited him while in this state, and, returning from his couch to the altar, he offered up for his benefit the holy sacrifice of the Mass in honor of St. Joseph, the glorious patron of the country; his prayer of sacrifice was heard in heaven, and Sasousmat was restored to his mind. Father Brébeuf then instructed him, and the joyful neophyte ardently and touchingly entreated the father to baptize him. But the cautious and conscientious priest deferred the sacrament, to the astonishment of the Indians, whose habit was to refuse nothing to the sick. One of Sasousmat's Indian friends said to the father, with great impatience: "Thou hast no sense; pour a little water on him, and it is done." "No," replied the priest of God, "I would involve myself in ruin were I to baptize, without necessity, an infidel and unbeliever not fully instructed." The patient was afterwards removed to the residence of Notre Dame des Anges, where he continued to receive the instructions of the father, and where he grew desperately ill, and was finally in an hour of danger baptized. At the moment of his decease, a resplendent meteoric light illumined the death-room, and shone far around about the country. There was afterwards another adult, named Nassé, a steadfast friend of the missionaries, who fell dangerously ill, and was nursed by Father Brébeuf. He too made earnest entreaties to be baptized, but the father subjected the convert to long delays and probations, and finally only bestowed the sacrament when death was imminent. Instances are related in which baptism was refused to adults, even _in extremis_, where the requisite dispositions were wanting. Such examples, of which there are not a few recorded in the Jesuit _Relations_, besides exhibiting the zeal and self-sacrificing labors of the Catholic missionaries for the salvation of souls, furnish us with a complete refutation of the wanton calumny that those early missionary priests were in the habit of bestowing the sacrament upon entire multitudes of savages without previous instruction or probation--a calumny now fully refuted by the _Relations_ and letters of the fathers themselves, who, while they penned the humble story of their labors, to be transmitted to their superiors in Europe, knew not that the same would serve as evidence for their own vindication.

With the return of spring, the time again drew near for the appearance of the usual flotilla of Indian canoes at the trading post of Three Rivers. On the 1st of July, Fathers Brébeuf and Daniel repaired to Three Rivers, to procure a passage in the flotilla for the Huron country, and Father Devost joined them in a few days. But the canoes were slow in coming in; the Hurons had sustained a terrific defeat, losing two hundred braves, and the gallant Christian warrior Louis Amantacha was among the slain. No sooner, however, had a few canoes arrived, than Father Brébeuf pressed forward to secure a passage; but the hostile Algonquin and the cautious Huron discovered innumerable obstacles in the way of his going with them, and it seemed that he was again to be disappointed in his hopes of reaching his beloved mission. At length, by the influence of the French commanders, which was supported as usual by presents, it was arranged that a passage should be given to one missionary and two men, and even then Father Brébeuf was left out. He thus describes his difficulties: "Never did I see voyage so hampered and traversed by the common enemy of man. It was by a stroke of heaven that we advanced, and an effect of the power of the glorious St. Joseph, in whose honor God inspired me to promise twenty masses, in the despair of all things." At the moment that this vow was made, a Huron, who had agreed to carry one of the Frenchmen in his canoe, was suddenly inspired to take Father Brébeuf in his stead. Thus a passage was secured. But such were the hurry, confusion, and want of accommodation, that the missionaries were compelled to leave behind them all their effects, except such as were necessary for saying Mass. Too glad to be admitted into this vineyard which they had so long sought, they cheerfully made every sacrifice. With light and joyous hearts and ready hands, they plied the oar from morning till night; they recited the sacred office by the evening fire; they nursed all who fell sick on the voyage with so much charity and tenderness as to melt the hearts of those savage sons of the wilderness; at fifty different points, where the passage was dangerous or obstructed, they volunteered to carry the packages, and even the canoes, on their shoulders around the portages; and at one place Father Brébeuf barely escaped a watery grave at a rapid where his canoe was hurried over the impetuous current. At length, after much suffering, they reached the shores of the Huron country on the 5th of August, 1634.

The following description of this remarkable journey of the fathers is from the eloquent and graphic, but not always impartial, pages of Parkman's _Jesuits in North America_: