Chapter XLVII: Part IV: She Sang (8)

The doctor rose, and, taking the artist’s hand, said: “I do not know how much truth there may be in your theory. I only know one thing: that you are a man of genius, and, if I had doubted it before, I am now convinced of it. I will reflect on your words; they open to me a new horizon.”

“I have always been pursued by the thought,” said the artist, “that there is a moment when a man understands for the first time what he has seen since his infancy. It is the day when the eyes of the mind open. It is this I have attempted to show in my picture—The First Glance. But as the horizon is constantly enlarging, I endeavor to throw upon everything, each time, a look which I may call The First Glance. In the other composition, Cain after his Crime, I wished to show in Cain, not the melodramatic assassin, but a vulgar, common man. The _stigmata_ of anger, of which he received the visible mark, opens to him the eyes of the soul. He throws upon his crime a first glance. There are spiritual Cains whose arms are innocent. Perhaps there may be some among the insane, of whom we have spoken; and in that case there is more truth in their madness than in their previous security. Their insanity only deceives them about the nature of the crime; their security deceived them about the crime itself.”

The doctor was thoughtful. He took the artist aside, and in a low tone said: “Shall we leave together?” And they left.

After their departure the conversation turned on what had just been said.

“Were you always a materialist?” asked one person of his neighbor.

“It is scarcely fair or generous to choose this moment for such a question,” was the reply.

“As for me,” said a young lady, “I don’t like to hear M. Bayard talk. He is a great artist—that I admit; but when he commences in that style, he worries me!”

“Would it be indiscreet, madame, to ask you why?” timidly inquired a young man with a badly‐tied cravat.

“Because I am afraid he is right in his opinions. I wish to pass gaily through life; and if we believe what he says, life would be such a serious affair, we should have to think. Really, to hear him, we can imagine ourselves surrounded with mysteries.”

VIII.

“I wish to see and study your picture of Cain. I was going to say your portrait of Cain,” said the doctor to the painter; “for it seems to me that you must have known him personally, from the manner in which you have spoken to me of him.”

“Perhaps I have known him,” said Paul. “At any rate, come!” And they entered the studio.

Arrived before the picture, the doctor started back in surprise.

The portrait of Cain was that of the baron, horrible in the resemblance.

There was on that face the coldness of the criminal and the horror of the cursed. The coldness did not impair the horror, nor the horror the coldness; and from the mouth of Cain the spectator might expect to hear the words that S. Bridget heard from the mouth of Satan when he said to God:

“O Judge! I am coldness itself.”

Indifference and despair were in those eyes, on those lips, and on that brow. But the despair was not heartrending, for repentance was wanting, and this despair even appeared expiatory, like justice eating its bread.

The doctor remained a long while motionless. The horizon opened before his eyes. His science sought new depths. He did not precisely reflect, but he remembered, and, perhaps for the first time in his life, passed an hour in profound contemplation.

“So you know him?” said he at last to Paul.

“Whom do you mean?”

“Why, my patient!”

“I don’t know any of your patients.”

Professional discretion arrested the name before it passed the doctor’s lips.

“But, really,” said he, “this head is a portrait. You could not have drawn it by chance.”

“Neither one nor the other,” replied Paul. “No one sat for me, and I did not draw it by chance. It appears to me, when I work, certain faces are offered to me without forcing themselves upon me. I perceive them interiorly; for my eyes are closed and I see nothing. Perceive is not the proper word, for the sense of sight is not needed. If I perceive them, it is with an unknown sense which is not that of sight, and in a peculiar condition, in comparison with which wakefulness is profound sleep. I think these perceptions correspond with some reality, either distant or future, whose photographic likeness at that moment passes before the eyes of the mind.

“This faculty, which may be called natural inspiration, has never abandoned me. The aptitude to surmise what I do not know is the highest form of the activity of my mind, and not only do I surmise what I do not know, but very often I do it, I realize it, without intention and without knowledge. It is as though I were an actor in a drama of which I was ignorant. I recite a part in a play that I do not know, and whose title and plot are equally unknown.

“Yet I feel myself free, and the profound sentiment of my liberty bursts forth, above all, in the remembrance of my faults. I wished to die, but death did not want me. I have sometimes asked myself if, having wished to lose my life, I might not lose inspiration, which would be for me a subtle and cruel manner of death. It has seemed to me that the question has been agitated somewhere, and that inspiration, which has compassion on the weak, came back to me gratuitously. If I had been criminal from malice, it would have abandoned me, perhaps, or have become in me the auxiliary of a future crime. It might have refused to help me, or have assisted me in doing wrong.”

IX.

Shortly after this interview the baron returned to Paris, apparently calmer than usual.

“He is much better,” said Mme. la Baronne. “The doctor alarmed me terribly; but I knew very well in reality there was no danger. My husband is a cold man, and I have nothing to fear for his reason.”

The following night the baron waited until the house was quiet, and then went on tiptoe, as though afraid of being surprised or disturbed. Once safely in his picture gallery, he cut each of the pictures with a penknife, and then one by one burst them open by placing his knee against the canvas; and, that accomplished, left the house toward morning. The porter saw him pass, but did not recognize him.

“Who is that old man,” said he to his wife, “who passed the night in the house?”

The baron’s hair, black the night before, was white as snow.

They waited for him at breakfast, they waited for him at dinner; he did not return. In searching his papers his wife found a note containing these words:

“This time I will not escape; the police are on my track.”

Said madame: “I always feared some misfortune would happen to me.”

The next day the baron’s body was found in the Seine under the bridge of Austerlitz.

“I am much distressed, but not astonished,” said the doctor to madame. “I always thought his madness absolutely incurable.”

“Ah! doctor, he destroyed all the pictures. I have not even his portrait.”

“You shall have it, madame,” said the doctor.

Eight days afterwards the doctor kept his promise. He brought the baroness a photograph.

Madame de Brienne was profoundly agitated, and nearly fainted.

“Oh! what a resemblance,” she gasped, “what a resemblance! Doctor, how was it done? This is not natural. It is not his portrait, it is himself. He is going to speak. I am afraid!”

There was horror in the astonishment of the poor woman. She threw upon her husband and herself a first glance.

“But tell me, doctor, where did you find it?”

“Allow me to keep the secret, madame.”

In reality, the thing was very simple: they had only photographed the picture of the great artist—Cain after his Crime.

The Legend Of Vallambrosa.

An ancient myth like ivied vesture clings About fair Vallambrosa’s cloistered walls, Telling that ’neath the roof sweet charity Has spread her soft, warm draperies within What time eight circling centuries have traced, In memories gray and green, her blessedness.

Of the fair, nestling valley here to sing, With sweet‐strung choice of cadenced synonymes, Could better music hold the ear, to note Its silver‐dropping streams and shadowy dells Than that wherewith Italia christened it, Calling it _Aqua‐Bella_, or the _Val‐Ambrosa_, liquid‐toned and clear? No ripple, Methinks, of happier tones or tenderer hues Could voice its lapsing falls and verdant vales Than lives within such naming! Hither came Long years agone—long years before the years That gave the legend birth—a prayerful priest, Bearing the cross where untamed beast and bird, Alone frequenting, poured in wildest notes The praise for life which lowest life uplifts! And here, as ever, man’s triumphant voice Leaped up above the brute’s, beseeching heaven To consecrate with holy dews, and bless, The heights which, cycles later, cradling held The hermitage of one so famed; and grew, As seed luxuriant in rich soil _will_ grow, Because all teeming life must needs expand, These walls of generous hospice that outstretch Their sheltering arms to weary travellers.

If it be true, as we have often heard, That lukewarm sinners make but lukewarm saints, Perhaps the converse proof we hold in hand; For, mark! once lived in Florence, of the proud Gualberto house, one heir to all its pride, Giovanni named—_he_ this same sinner‐saint.

Quickened by summers of some eighteen years, And flushed by southern suns to fervid warmth Of life impetuous, his youthful form Bore stamp already of the venturous will Of a gay, dashing cavalier outgiven To heedless coursings in the round of sense. And yet there dwelt adeep within his breast A living well of tenderness that flowed In gentle care for Hubert, his beloved And only brother. Hubert (a twelvemonth Scarce younger) stood between his tempted soul And much that might have swayed it past recall Over the margin of sin’s dread abyss. ’Twas not that Hubert was a chastened saint, But love within the brother’s ardent soul Invested him with raiment pure and white— Love holding from assoil the fabric fine Itself had wove, and still will choose to weave So long as life is life, or love is love. Thus, when unto Giovanni came a dawn That kindled to a conscious glow of health His own quick pulse, yet, warming, failed to melt The frozen current in pale Hubert’s veins, Because those veins had felt the frigid touch Of steel in duelling combat, there arose Within his anguished heart a stern demand Against the murderer of life for life— An unrelenting thirst of blood, to quell The ghostly phantoms of his fevered brain, And satisfy with feast of sweet revenge His brother’s manes. On one Good‐Friday morn, Followed by armed retainers, and slow bent Unto San Miniato to attend High Mass, in faithfulness to Hubert’s soul, He met unwittingly within a pass That leads to the Basilica this man, Of all men hated most. Close, face to face, Spell‐bound they stood a moment’s span; then flashed From out Giovanni’s sheath his gleaming sword, And by its glittering sign with one will rose From every trusty scabbard near at hand Sharp kindred swords that gleamed defiant fire Into the bright’ning day, and in _his_ face Who stood unarmed, alone. The unsheathed sword Of pitiless Giovanni had well‐nigh Its rueful deed of deadly wrath made sure When he, the helpless foe confronted thus By certain death, saw in death’s pallid light The spectre of his sin as it must seem To disembodied spirits, and he fell Prone, horror‐stricken, at the avenger’s feet. There, graving on the ground with level arms The crucial sign, he prayed for pardoning grace, And grace of lengthened days for penitence, And all in name of Him whose agony Upon the cross he thus in dust recalled!

The sword is stayed, and in the tremulous pause Great waves of varying passions meet And battle in Giovanni’s breast. Through all A voice, as of faint music o’er the din Of tumult, whispers: “_Who loveth brother more_ _Than me, or any loved one more than me,_ _Is all unworthy of me._” Quick, with ever Conquering motions of the Spirit’s power, As winds of peace the passionate waters calm, His sword is dropped, and, offering helpful hands, He cries: “Thou who hast slain my brother be As Christ doth will—a brother unto me.”

O’erwhelmed with gratitude, and filled with deep Contrition for his sin, the uplifted foe Lets fall his head upon Giovanni’s neck, And there with loosened torrent of remorse He pours the unguent of his tears, as once Another penitent poured costly balm Upon the Holiest One, growing therefrom Through mercy’s twofold grace to peace and joy.

While yet the day was young, the legend tells How both these humbled, contrite cavaliers Offered their thanks for comfort at the shrine Whither their steps together now were led; And how, while kneeling at the crucifix, Broke from the Saviour’s parted lips a smile Upon Giovanni, while the sacred head In gracious token bowed. O crowning joy! Too much to halo one poor human brow, And not the radiance divine extend To others all unconscious, even as once Himself had been of its illumining might! Henceforth no other smile was aught to him If for a passing moment it could hide The memory of that glory from his eyes.

Henceforth the impulse of his life was one Deep, passionate desire to shadow forth, In the best shadowy way a mortal can, The glowing flame of beatific fire _That_ hallowed smile had kindled in his soul. And thence so perfect was his Godward walk That scarce five summers of devoted life Were added to his eighteen worldly years Before San Miniato’s brotherhood Decreed him to its abbacy. But, no! Nor stole nor triple crown had charm for one Too wholly Christ’s to care for stole or crown, Save for that lustrous crown of ransomed souls His earnest life might win to shine as stars. For _this_ to Vallambrosa’s lonely height In rapt and silent vigil he withdrew; But even as sweetness bursts the seedling’s cell, So holiness from him exhaled in light That drew, to seek his counsel, devotees Led faithfully by his unswerving faith To live with him a life of prayer and praise. Or, if they came not cowled as lowly monks, Still hither fared the noble of the land, Even kings whose purple paled beside his gray, And royal ladies and most knightly knights, To pour their wealth of treasure at the feet Of one all saintly. Thus the order grew Of world‐famed Vallambrosa, where to‐day The weary find repose and welcoming cheer, And benison of heavenly graciousness. And thus of one soul’s overflow of light The Saviour’s smile is seen in saving love To stream adown the ever‐widening years That close and closer bring us to the day Of promised joy, when all our utmost need Shall in that glorious smile be satisfied.

Odd Stories. VIII. Snifkin.

There certainly was a time when dogs were more respected than now. Such a period in particular must have been the reign of Gigag, when the Odomites, who had once kicked, maimed, and starved their poor curs in a manner inhuman, now fed and fondled them with an affection that was almost canine. This revolution in sentiment was entirely due to what may be called a genius of instinct possessed by one extraordinary dog. His owner, who was none other than the goblin Gigag, had, in one of those journeys which he sometimes took through his underground thoroughfare, named his four‐footed companion, with a fond conceit, Snifkin; and when they emerged into the atmosphere of the king’s grounds, the latter was allowed the chief place at supper among the royal dogs. Some of this many‐colored pack were wont to bark, as others were to bite. Some were renowned for scent and vigilance, and others for speed and courage; still others for motley skins, lapping lips, great ears, and yelling, yelping, and howling. But the dog Snifkin united their best qualities with a sagacity that was almost diplomatic. He never barked till he was prepared to bite, and he sometimes bit without barking. He had a scent and sight which are only acquired by dogs who have seen a great deal of human nature. So various and cabalistic seemed the marks and colors upon him, that the vulgar ascribed them to the science of Gigag rather than to natural revelation. To crown all, the dog Snifkin showed his ivory teeth at times, sneezing, snorting, and laughing in a way next to human for its friendliness.

From a number of the faculties described arose two incidents which increased the fame and worth of all dogs, and which no man can sufficiently admire. A miser, in whom the sagacious Snifkin recognized a former oppressor of his kind, came to plead his cause at court, alleging his ownership of four hundred and ninety‐five thriving estates, and prosecuting his poor nephew for about as many cents. At a contrast so preposterous the knowing dog could not contain himself, and sniffed, snorted, and showed his teeth to such a degree that even his royal master, at whose side he sat during the hearing of the plea, was forced to join in the general guffaw which greeted the miser.

Another incident related chiefly to one of four malcontent noblemen, who, with bows and smiles, came to the royal presence. With no more ado the dog Snifkin jumped at his throat, bringing him to the foot of the king, when a concealed bodkin fell out of his bosom, and a number of poisons, which Gigag recognized as badly prepared, were strewn upon the floor. Without a word the king understood why it was that his dumb counsellor had not taken soup that day. While irons were being placed on the limbs of the malcontents, a collar made of the finest cloth of gold, adorned with precious stones, was put upon the neck of the loyal dog. By sovereign order it was decreed that, taking with him all the dogs in the kennels of the palace, the crown crier should go out and cry to all the people the patriotism of Snifkin, and the fidelity of dogs generally.

But it would require a million miracles to convince those whose unreason has placed them nearest to the brutes, that dogs and other animals, human and inhuman, exist for the trying and proving of the souls of men. As Snifkin was one day seated in the high easy‐chair of the barber who clipped and shaved for the king’s dogs, a commotion in the street provoked him to bark loudly, hazarding thereby the loss of his nose at the hands of the barber. Arrived in the street, what was his surprise to see fifty of the royal hounds yelping in the most distressful manner over the loss of his tail by the chief hound, who had provoked by impudent barking a slashing cut from the sword of a cavalier, who, it came to be known, was a conspirator against the life of King Gigag. Not being able to contend with swordsmen, Snifkin quickly seized upon the largest and finest specimen of the breed of curs who barked against the king’s hounds, and made short work of him.

This act, loyal though it was, became the signal for that factious state of feeling among the Odomites which eventuated in the famous war of tails. Most of the best dogs belonging to the houses which barked against the king having had their tails cut off, it grew to be a fashion with the malcontents of the realm to reject everything with a tail to it, even were it a shirt, or an entailed estate not already owned and occupied by one of their number, or a story which was not to be continued. In fact, it became a question whether they would give ear to any tale whatever, and hence it was truly said of the malcontent faction that their ears were longer than their tails. Of course the scientific king lost no time in improving the situation; indeed, of putting an end to it. He trained a pack of dogs, under the teaching of Snifkin, to scent out treason, and, when that was done, he managed to give the hydrophobia to a large number of rebellious curs, who afterwards bit their masters. The dog Snifkin barked against this measure in vain.

A war now broke out, assisted by the prince of a neighboring country, who had conceived a great hatred of the goblin Gigag. It was the habit of the royal dogs to discover supplies to their masters, and guard their camp at night, and, besides, to indicate in what direction were the princely headquarters and trains of the enemy, which they knew by the smell of many viands.

The same, perhaps, would have been the practice of those dogs without tails who barked for the malcontents and their ally, were it not that the poor fare they received compelled their flight to the better provisions of the enemy. Nevertheless, it would have gone hard with King Gigag if his rival’s device of drawing off the dogs by a concentration of savory meats in an ambushed ravine had succeeded; for the king, had it not been for the sagacity of Snifkin, would certainly have gone to the dogs. Despairing now of being able to foil their antagonists, the allies heard with growing dismay the general bark and howl in the king’s camp at night ere his warriors slept upon their arms. Only a low growl here and there, or perhaps the voice of some lonely hound who had strayed out of camp to bay the moon, broke the silence of the sleep of war.

While thus the silent avalanche was prepared that was to overwhelm the allies in the carnage of civil strife, a most unforeseen accident occurred. King Gigag was on his rounds through the camp when a dog taken with hydrophobia bit him in the leg. Returning mad to his headquarters, he saw the dog Snifkin laughing and wagging his tail, and, frenzied by the sight, he drew his sword, and at once cut off the whole of that pleasant appendage. Immediately the dog Snifkin became the most beautiful young prince you ever saw. Seizing an enchanted blade that hung up in the tent of the goblin, he defended himself with fury, and by an artful stroke put the unlucky Gigag out of his pains. When it became known throughout both camps that King Gigag had cut off the tail of the dog Snifkin, a reconciliation grew apace between those dogs who had tails and those dogs who had none; and, indeed, the royal hounds especially were anxious to have their tails cut off, so that they might turn at once into princes; but, unfortunately, this result never happened, two of these dogs at least having been curtailed, to their great shame and mortification, without so much as becoming scullions, or anything but unlucky dogs. It was then seen by the Odomites that the dog Snifkin was none other than their long‐lost Prince Gudood, who would have been devoured by the giant Googloom, had not the goblins got hold of him and changed him into a dog; in which character he served the excellent goblin Gigag, who, however, was not made aware of his identity by the evil goblins from whom he had escaped. By means of a birthmark on his right arm the allied lords were speedily brought to understand that this, indeed, was the long‐lost prince who had been affianced to the daughter of the neighboring king. And now with one heart and soul they hastened the marriage of the prince and princess, who ever afterwards lived happily in the joy and glory and union of both kingdoms. In the magnificent bridal procession nothing was more astonishing than the thousand trained dogs of all kinds, large and small, who marched in order, clad sometimes in variegated suits, and wearing rich collars. First came the royal hounds and mastiffs; second, a fine breed of mountaineer dogs as large as wolves; third, two or three hundred pointers, spotted all colors; fourth, as many setters, their backs streaked with colors like gold and snow; fifth, a battalion of mixed red, white, and blue dogs; sixth, a body of sky‐terriers, followed by the finest array of black‐and‐tan dogs that was ever known; sixth, a large number of dogs who looked like nothing so much as walking hearth‐rugs; seventh, a noble lot of shaggy water‐dogs as large as men; then a great many shepherd‐dogs, spaniels, poodles, pups; after these a battalion of dogs shaved to look like lions; and finally a rear‐guard of bull‐dogs with their tails cut off, walking as steadily as firemen on parade. A loud and harmonious barking at intervals interrupted the sound of the wedding bells, and five hundred terrier dogs at least stood up on their hind legs when the marriage ceremony was performed.

Thus the reign of humanity and utility succeeded to the reign of science and pelf. Only dogs were allowed to do the fighting, and they were treated so well that they did nothing worse than bark. The following conversation was one time overhead among them in a street near the king’s palace:

_Royal Mastiff._—Bowoghowow! Bowgh!

_Hound without tail._—Boowoogh! Boohoo! Wowoo!

_Terrier dog._—Gr‐r‐r‐r‐row, r‐row!

_Bull‐dog._—Hr‐r‐r‐um‐g‐r‐r‐u‐m. Bowowgh!

From these syllables it was conjectured by the knowing that the new King Gudood had no enemies, and that peace abode in the land.

New Publications.

DE L’AUTORITE; OU, LA PHILOSOPHIE DU PERSONNALISME. LETTRE AU REV.
PERE J. F. HECKER, SUIVIE D’UN APPENDICE SUR LA SOUVERAINETE DU
PEUPLE. PAR DWIGHT H. OLMSTEAD. Traduction approuvée par l’auteur.
Genève: Japonnier et Steuder. 1874.

This pamphlet, the English original of which we have not seen, has been sent to us from Geneva, by the author, we presume. The Rev. F. I. T. (not J. F.) Hecker has been abroad, travelling for the restoration of his impaired health, for more than a year, and cannot, therefore, give his personal attention to Mr. Olmstead’s very courteous _Letter_, at least for the present, and in the columns of THE CATHOLIC WORLD. Moreover, the author is mistaken in attributing a certain article in THE CATHOLIC WORLD, with which he chiefly employs his pen in the _Letter_, to F. Hecker. The article in question is one of the numerous contributions with which Dr. Brownson enriched and adorned our pages during the interval of the suspension of his own _Review_. In our opinion, Mr. Olmstead has not dealt a very heavy blow upon the head‐piece of his veteran antagonist. In fact, we do not see that he has attempted any serious answer to arguments which he would find it no easy task to refute. Mr. Olmstead deals more in objections and assertions than in arguments, and his assertions are so general and vague that one would need to write a treatise on general and special metaphysics to refute them. They merely amount to this: that Mr. Olmstead agrees with Kant and J. Stuart Mill. F. Hecker’s works were written for persons who either believe in some sense in Christianity, or at least in God and in human reason and intelligence. It is not necessary to prove the premises admitted by the persons with whom you argue. If they are Protestants, you assume the truth of Christianity. Your only effort is then to prove that Catholicity is the genuine Christianity. If they are rationalistic theists, you prove that the truth of Christianity, and specifically the authority of the church as one of its essential doctrines and laws, is demonstrable from principles of reason and natural theology. When it is a question of arguing with an atheist or sceptic, these topics must be postponed, and the discussion turned upon the first principles of metaphysics. Even here something in common must be admitted as a starting‐ point for argument. If a man denies everything or doubts everything, the only thing which can possibly be done is to watch him closely until he asserts something, and then you can do no more than show to a bystander his absurdity. If we understand Mr. Olmstead correctly, he admits the reality of all that is contained within self‐consciousness, and considers all else, by the mere fact of its being exterior to consciousness, as an unknown quantity in respect to its reality. He merely holds this, however, as an opinion, and admits that the contrary is very probable. If he is in earnest—and it is fair to presume that he is—in searching for philosophical truth, the only way in which a Catholic philosopher could argue with him to any purpose would be by presenting a theory of the origin of ideas and knowledge, which would give him something objective as a primitive element in his very first act of intellectual self‐ consciousness. This is rather too serious a task to be performed in a hurry. Whatever we have to say on these great fundamental topics of philosophy has been already partly said in the elaborate articles which have appeared in our columns, and will be said hereafter in articles of a similar nature. We refer the author of the _Letter_ and others in a similar position to THE CATHOLIC WORLD, _passim_, to get what modicum of light we are able to furnish them. If they wish for more light, they must go to the great works of great authors, and study them carefully. As for the great number of very excellent persons who do not trouble their heads with philosophy, and who complain that our philosophical articles are too dry and abstruse, we must beg them to content themselves with the lighter portions of the magazine, and allow us to give a reasonable amount of space to the few readers who have some taste and capacity for real science.

HOLY PLACES: THEIR SANCTITY AND AUTHENTICITY. By F. Philpin de
Rivières, of the London Oratory. London: Washbourne. 1874. (New
York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)

F. De Rivières gives play both to reason and imagination in an instructive and agreeable manner in treating of the attractive topic of holy places. The book contains some interesting information about the recent explorations in Jerusalem.

THE MONTH OF MARY OF OUR LADY OF LOURDES. By Henri Lasserre.
Translated from the French (23d edition) by Mrs. Crosier. London:
Burns and Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication
Society.)

Henri Lasserre’s beautiful work—of which a translation, which the best judges have pronounced to be of the very highest literary merit as well as the most literal accuracy, appeared in this magazine—is abridged and divided into thirty‐one chapters for each day of the month of May, in this neat and pretty volume.

The Blessed Virgin pressed very hard on the head of the old serpent when she appeared at the rocks of Massabielle. The sympathizers with this “revolutionnaire malheureux,” as Renan calls him, in his warfare on the Queen of Heaven, frequently show their perplexity and vexation at the overwhelming proof of the miracles she has wrought, by an attempt at scornful ridicule, which is always unaccompanied by any argument, or any attempt at meeting the challenge so often addressed to them to rebut the evidence M. Lasserre has furnished. Louis Veuillot, probably the wittiest man now on the earth, once said of a certain Frenchman that he was a clever writer, but _fort piqué contre le Saint Esprit_. Dr. Coxe, who has formerly shown himself to be a clever poet, to say the least, in his recent pamphlet against Bishop Ryan, which is not at all clever, but only cunning, has exhibited a great pique against Our Lady of Lourdes. In this we see a fulfilment of the ancient prophecy, “I will place enmity between thee and the woman, between thy seed and her seed.” The vulgar and unmeaning jibes of the infidel and the heretic, as well as the pious writings and devout pilgrimages of the faithful, alike serve to make the wonderful event of Lourdes more and more widely known all over the world, to the greater glory of God, and his Blessed Mother.

A FULL CATECHISM OF THE CATHOLIC RELIGION (preceded by a short
history of religion), from the creation of the world to the
present time. With Questions for Examination. Translated from the
German of the Rev. Joseph Deharbe, S.J., by the Rev. John Fander.
Fourth Edition. London: Burns & Oates. 1874. (New York: Sold by
The Catholic Publication Society.)

This is the most celebrated catechism of the century, has been most extensively approved and brought into use, and will be of great service to those who are employed in teaching young people the Christian doctrine, as well as for the instruction of converts.

THE COMMONITORY OF S. VINCENT OF LERINS. London: Washbourne. 1874.
(New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)

There is no treatise of such small size as the _Commonitory_ among Christian writings, so far as we know, which has been so universal in fame and influence, and has made its author so illustrious, as this one.

The neat little _libretto_, containing the translation, with some accompanying testimonies of eminent Protestant divines to the excellence of the work, is edited by the Rev. John Lynch, of Ballymena, Diocese of Down and Connor, Ireland. In the preface he mentions the fact that S. Vincent and S. Patrick were fellow‐students. The treatise can be easily read and understood by any intelligent person, and yet contains an amount of instruction and information on Catholic doctrine equal to that which is ordinarily spread through volumes.

MONASTICON HIBERNICUM. With Engravings in Gold and Colors, Maps
and Views. By Mervyn Archdall, A.M. Edited by the Right Rev. Dr.
Moran. Vol. I., 4to. Dublin: W. B. Kelly. 1873.

This well‐known historical work is now republished in the most splendid style. It is a history of religious houses and orders in Ireland, extensive, learned, and full of romantic and religious interest. The first volume contains two fine views of the exterior and interior of S. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin, one of the ancient episcopal palace, and several engravings, in gold, of different religious orders. The work is, of course, a costly one, and is only published by subscription. Every wealthy Irishman in the United States ought to subscribe for a work which is an honor to his country and the Catholic religion. The first edition is, however, limited to one thousand copies, and we presume that persons desiring to procure a copy will find it necessary to send on their names immediately.

CHERUBINI: MEMORIALS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS LIFE. By Edward Bellasis,
Barrister‐at‐Law. London: Burns & Oates. (With a portrait.)

This is an elaborate biography of the great musical composer, edited and published with the greatest care in an attractive style of typography. It cannot fail to interest very much those who have a taste for musical literature.

LA SAINTE ECRITURE ET LA REGLE DE FOI. Par l’Abbé Bégin, de
l’Université Laval. Québec: Coté et Cie. 1874.

With admirable precision and clearness the Abbé Bégin develops and defends in this volume the Catholic doctrine of the rule of faith in accordance with the soundest and most orthodox theology. We cannot sufficiently recommend his treatise to clergymen and other students of sacred science. There are some mistakes in the spelling of English names, as is very usual in French books. For example, we have Richard Buxter instead of Baxter. Whoever wishes to preach, lecture, or write for the press on the topics treated in this volume will find it even more available for use than the treatises contained in our dogmatic text‐books.

SKETCHES OF ILLUSTRIOUS SOLDIERS. By James Grant Wilson. New York.
George P. Putnam’s Sons. 1874.

This work has a promising look, the author’s name reminding us that the military profession was for some time his own, and that he is a diligent student of the literature of his subject.

Military biography has a strange charm for most readers; indeed, it is doubtful whether fiction has an equal fascination at certain periods of our lives. Few of us have attained middle age without having had our cheeks frequently glow and our patriotism grow warm at the narration of deeds of prowess performed by our favorite heroes. Unfortunately, however, the production of this species of literature has fallen to a great extent into the hands of literary adventurers‐writers who looked only to making the most of a profitable enterprise. Hence the periodical eruption of lives of great captains, distinguished, indeed, as men count greatness, but whose most valid claim to eminence consisted in their ability to destroy whatever opposed the realization of the objects of their ambition, and the permanent maintenance of unjustly‐won crowns. To this cause we may partly attribute the fact that people have well‐nigh lost sight of the loftiest form of heroism—that which prompts a man to stake everything on the defence of a principle; to brave all dangers and sustain all privations, so that conscience be kept pure and the Christian character preserved unsullied.

The work under notice belongs to a different category. It is written, for the most part, in a calm, judicial spirit, the author evidently intending to avoid partisanship, and exhibiting a painstaking fidelity to the data before him. Occasionally, however, he betrays the hero‐worshipper in the case of individuals who appear anything but admirable to us. On such common ground as the sketch of Washington we are glad to express our agreement with the author. We also like his estimate of anecdotes as illustrations of character.

UNIVERSAL PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY OF BIOGRAPHY AND MYTHOLOGY. By J.
Thomas, A.M., M.D. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1874.

A COMPLETE PRONOUNCING GAZETTEER. Edited by J. Thomas and T.
Baldwin, assisted by several other gentlemen. Philadelphia: J. B.
Lippincott & Co. (Sold at 25 Bond St., New York)

Next to a dictionary of the language we rank dictionaries of persons and places, as works of reference for those engaged in writing, and, indeed, for all intelligent readers as well. We hear of so many men of eminence, or of localities so nearly alike in orthography, that we never feel entirely at ease without reference to a good authority; so that, for the mere purpose of identification, books like these are worth all they cost. The period and country at and in which a given subject lived, his occupation, his contemporaries, and for what he was distinguished; the county, state, or kingdom in which a certain city or town lies, serve all ordinary uses. Should we desire more, we can at our leisure resort to the encyclopædias or individual biographies for fuller information. Of course these works would be more acceptable if written from our point of view; but that we cannot expect for a long time to come. Meanwhile, being reasonably impartial, as we have found them to be so far as we have examined, we accept them as the best attainable. Lest the fact that they are each in one volume should convey an inadequate idea of their extent, we may state that the _Biographical Dictionary_ has 2,345 closely‐printed royal octavo pages, and the _Gazetteer_ xviii.‐2,182 pages of the same size and compactness. We know of no works of the kind so convenient and full in all matters for which they are ordinarily consulted.

A DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By Joseph E. Worcester,
LL.D. Boston: Brewer & Tileston. 1874.

As it would be quite superfluous to advise any one to get a dictionary at the present time, we content ourselves with asking our readers to get _the best_—Worcester’s Unabridged. We have warmed towards this author, among other reasons, because he is less of an iconoclast than some of his fellow‐lexicographers. It has grieved us not a little to see our favorite words maltreated as if they had no personality about which to be sensitive, or pedigree whereof to be proud. We can scarcely recognize them in the new dress, or rather mask, in which they are often presented. Were we a boy again, not a hair of our head would rise at a spect_er_, and we should have an additional reason for refusing allegiance to a sovereign who held only a scept_er_—though the sun should still refuse to set on her dominions.

In saying this we would by no means disparage a standard in spelling. When some new Ursa Major shall arise who will not only give us an uniform, harmonious system of orthography, but such substantial reasons in favor of it as will satisfy the learned and confound all opponents, we may yield to the general verdict. But we are not at all on the lookout for such a contingency while our language is in the process of formation, and expect to possess our Worcester Unabridged in peace for many long years to come. The work has lxviii.‐1,786 pages quarto, and is quite as full, we believe, as any other extant in the various tables, grammatical and other information having a bearing on the main purpose of the volume.

The same publishers also issue Worcester’s _Comprehensive Dictionary_, Worcester’s _Primary Dictionary_, and _A Pocket Dictionary_, compiled from the quarto and school dictionaries of J. E. Worcester, by Loomis J. Campbell; for those who desire inexpensive and portable manuals.

THE CATHOLIC WORLD. VOL. XIX., NO. 114.—SEPTEMBER, 1874.

Matter.

II.

The activity displayed by matter in the production of natural phenomena is twofold, viz., attractive and repulsive; and the question has been raised whether these two kinds of activity can reside in one and the same subject, or, owing to their opposite nature, require separate subjects. With regard to molecules, it is quite certain, though some have thought otherwise, that in all ponderable bodies each molecule is in possession of both powers; but with regard to the primitive elements which enter into the constitution of a molecule, the question needs a special treatment, as no direct evidence is supplied by experimental science for an affirmative more than for a negative solution, and different views have been advanced which it is important to examine in the light of philosophical principles, that we may ascertain which of them has the best claim to adoption both in philosophy and in molecular mechanics.

Attractive and repulsive powers.

Since it is well known that all the phenomena of the material order, whether physical or chemical, ultimately depend on attractions and repulsions, we are compelled to admit the existence in nature of attractive and repulsive powers. Neither attractive powers alone nor repulsive powers alone would afford us a rational explanation of natural facts. If the primitive elements of matter were all repulsive, and nothing but repulsive, then neither the cohesion of material particles nor the gravitation of bodies would be possible; no solid and no liquid would exist; and all matter from the very beginning of its existence would have vanished in a state of extreme attenuation through the immensity of space. If, on the contrary, the primitive elements of matter were all attractive, and nothing but attractive, no expansive power would be found in nature; for the expansion of bodies evidently depends on a repulsion prevailing between their molecules. All solid and liquid bodies likewise proclaim the existence of repulsive powers by the resistance they oppose to compression. This resistance shows that their molecules are endowed with powers whose exertion impedes their mutual approach as soon as they have reached a certain limit of distance. It is plain that the power which impedes the approach under pressure must be a repulsive one. Thus both attractive and repulsive powers exist in nature.

But do they exist together in the same primitive element of matter? Boscovich answers in the affirmative; but his answer is not supported by any cogent reason. Having found no other means of accounting for the impenetrability of bodies, he assumed that every element of matter is so constituted as to be attractive at all great distances, according to the law of universal attraction, but that each element, at molecular distances, becomes repulsive in order to resist pressure, and again attractive in order to exercise chemical affinity, and then repulsive again, these alternations going on a certain number of times, till at last repulsivity alone prevails, which indefinitely increases when the distance of two elements indefinitely diminishes.

Yet this theory is by no means needed to account either for the impenetrability of bodies or for any other phenomenon; as what Boscovich ascribes to elements may be, and is in fact, a property of molecules—that is, of a compound system of elements. On the other hand, the theory is unnaturally complex, and the alternation of the attractive and repulsive exertions looks as unscientific as the epicycles of the old astronomers and other hypotheses once admitted as plausible, and now superseded by a fuller knowledge of natural laws. To a mind which examines the question of attractive and repulsive powers in the light of philosophy, it must be evident that each primitive element of matter cannot possess them both. _If an element is attractive at any distance, it must be attractive at all distances, whether enormously great or indefinitely small; likewise, if an element is repulsive at any distance, it must be repulsive at all distances._

This proposition can be proved as follows: Opposite actions cannot originate from one and the same simple principle when such a principle has no control over itself, but acts by inherent necessity. But in each primitive element of matter there is but one simple principle of activity, which has no control over itself, as it acts by inherent necessity. And therefore no primitive element can be both attractive and repulsive, but is either attractive at all distances or at all distances repulsive.

In this syllogism the major is evident. An active principle which, like the human soul, can, by immanent operations, assume at pleasure different attitudes towards the term of its action, and which masters the conditions and controls the intensity of its exertions, may perhaps be considered competent to originate actions of opposite kinds.(159) But a being which is destitute of immanent operations, and acts by an inherent necessity of its nature, has no power to modify itself or to alter its intrinsic determination; and its action is so ruled by its intrinsic determination that there is no chance of its being either transmuted into its opposite, or even partially suspended. Now, in a primitive being the principle of activity is nothing else than the simple act which formally determines its nature; and it is plain that wherever there is one simple formal act, there can be only one formal determination to act. And consequently a simple principle of activity which has no immanent operations cannot be the source of two opposite kinds of actions. Bodies and their molecules, on account of their physical composition, contain as many distinct principles of activity as they contain physical components or elements; hence we can easily account for their capability of originating opposite actions by admitting that among those elements some are attractive and others repulsive. But in a primitive element it is impossible to admit of two opposite active principles; for a primitive element is a being entitatively one, having only one essential act, and consequently only one active principle and one intrinsic determination to act. It would therefore be absurd to expect from such an element actions of such an opposite nature as are attraction and repulsion. For evidently, to enable the element to display two opposite powers, two opposite determinations would be necessary. Hence, if the intrinsic determination enables the primitive element to attract, such an element will always attract, and never repel; and if, on the contrary, the intrinsic determination enables the primitive element to repel, such an element will always repel, and never attract. In other terms, the attractive and the repulsive power cannot coexist in the same primitive element.

This conclusion, which affords the only possible basis for the speculations of molecular mechanics, is one of those which mere scientists cannot reach through their empirical and inductive method; but its truth is not less certain for that; it is rather all the more certain, as it is not founded on accidental facts, but on the unchangeable nature of things and the transcendental relation of the principles involved in the constitution of real beings.

Our proposition may be confirmed by reflecting that the change of attraction into repulsion, according to Boscovich, would depend on the diminution of the distance between the agent and the patient. Now, this view is inadmissible. For a change of distance, though necessarily accompanied by a change in the intensity of the action, cannot exercise any influence on the specific nature of the action. The _intensity_ of the action is an accidental thing, and can change without in the least interfering with the nature of the agent; and for this reason it can, and must, depend on distance as a condition implied in the exercise of the active power. But the _nature_ of the action always follows the nature of the substance from which it proceeds. Now, a change of distance does not change the nature of the substance. And accordingly the nature of the action must remain the same, even though the distance be indefinitely diminished.

Moreover, if there were any distance at which the action of a primitive element could change from attractive to repulsive, evidently the element, at such a distance, would be unable to exercise either attraction or repulsion, as Boscovich concedes; and therefore, at such a distance, the material element would have no activity. We may, then, ask: Whence does the attractive power emanate which is to have uncontrolled sway at all greater distances? Does it emanate from any point of space outside the element? Then it would not be the active power of the element, as it would have nothing to do with it. On the other hand, it is obvious that if it emanates from the element, it does not end at a distance from it. For, since the active power is really identical with the formal principle from which the primitive element receives its nature, it is as necessary for the elementary power to reach the very centre of the element as it is for the form to be intrinsically terminated to its matter. Whence it follows that the elementary power of attraction, which prevails at all great distances, must emanate from the very centre of the element. But if so, why shall it not prevail up to that very centre? Is it, forsooth, because in the neighborhood of the centre an opposite principle prevails? Were this the case, the same primitive being would have two formal acts, and it would be _two beings_ and _two natures_; which is an evident contradiction. As long, therefore, as we adhere to the fundamental doctrine that a primitive being cannot have more than one simple principle of activity, we must admit that a primitive element, if attractive at any distance, is attractive at all molecular distances, and, if repulsive at molecular distances, is repulsive at all distances.

Against the existence of attractive and repulsive powers in distinct primitive elements some objections now and then have been made. It has been said, first, that what we call repulsion is only a result of certain vortical movements of the ether all around the molecules of ponderable bodies. This objection is based on a false supposition. We have already shown that the arbitrary theory of the vortices fails altogether to explain the great phenomenon of universal attraction; and we may easily show that it fails as completely in regard to molecular repulsion. In fact, the centrifugal forces which are developed by vortical movements, and which in this theory are assumed as the cause of the phenomena of molecular resistances, are not active powers. They are components of the vortical movements, and nothing more; that is to say, they do not _efficiently_ produce movements, but are the _formal_ principles of movements already produced. To ascribe to them the molecular resistances and the impenetrability of bodies is, therefore, to admit the effect without the cause.

Secondly, some authors object that the resistance called into play by pressure is not a real action, and requires no efficient repulsive powers. They consider it, according to the vulgar prejudice, as a merely _passive_ resistance; for they imagine that a body, when pressed or impinged on, resists the progress of the obtruding body _by its own inert matter_, which with its materiality obstructs the way onward. This old explanation is still popular with the great mass of the uninstructed, but is scientifically and philosophically worthless. For whatever causes a real change really acts; now, a body resisting the advance of another body causes a real change in the rate of its movement; therefore a body resisting the advance of another body really acts. Its resistance is therefore _active_, and not passive; that is, it consists in an exertion of repulsive power, and not in a material obstruction of the path.