Chapter XVII: The End (10)

But let us leave the historical part of M. Jannet’s book, and look at the picture which he draws of our actual condition. We do not purpose to criticise it. We shall let our readers correct errors for themselves, as they can easily do, while we content ourselves with showing them how the political and social aspects of our country impress an intelligent foreign student. M. Jannet is deceived sometimes; he takes too seriously the satire of “the American humorist Edgar Poë,” and the mixture of sarcasm and burlesque which he cites from “The gilded age by Mark Twain and Dudley”; but upon the whole he tells the sober truth. He gives a pretty exact account of our electoral system, and especially of our system of nominations, which practically prevents the people from voting for anybody except the favorites of a little knot of professional politicians assembled in a committee or ward meeting. As political struggles in the United States, he says, are not for the triumph of principles, but only for the possession of power, politics has naturally become debased, high-minded citizens have insensibly become disgusted with it, and at the same time the rising flood of universal suffrage has driven the wealthy classes out of political life. Between 1824 and 1840 the party organizations were definitively settled, and since then politics has been the exclusive appanage of politicians by profession. M. Jannet gives a very unpleasant sketch of this class of persons, and describes the machinery of manipulating conventions and setting up candidates with considerable minuteness and accuracy. Nor is it possible for us to read without mortification his account of the manner in which the professional politicians carry on the government:

“Such institutions leave the nation completely disarmed
against corruption. No one, either in the executive or the
legislative branch, has any interest in stopping it. We
shall even see that, under the political customs of the
country, the representatives of power in every grade have a
manifest interest in tolerating it.… Before the presidential
election the politicians who manage the conventions of the
party make careful bargains with their candidate for the
distribution of the offices. The President, when he desires
a re-election, has here in the same manner a powerful motive
of action; all the federal employees fight for him with
ardor and by every possible means, for the retention of
their places depends upon his triumph. It is easy to see how
party spirit is inflamed by the prospect of so much booty in
case of success. The evils of this system have become more
striking as the number of federal employees has increased.
Given the prevalence of dishonesty and love of money, it is
evident that office-holders who can retain their places only
a few years must make use of the time to enrich themselves.…
But corruption is not confined to the employees, properly
speaking; it extends in a large measure even to the
representatives of the nation. The President nominates his
cabinet, subject to the confirmation of the Senate. But in
the party conventions the President’s choice is fixed in
advance. Arrangements of the same kind are made with the
senators; for their approval is necessary for a thousand
federal appointments, and naturally for the most important.
The result of this state of things is that the Senate which,
by the Constitution is a directing political body without
whose co-operation it is impossible for the President to
carry on the government, becomes a theatre of incessant
intrigue and corruption.”

We prefer not to follow M. Jannet in his brief recital of the Crédit Mobilier scandal, the Fremont affair, the Pacific Mail bribery, the operations of the Tweed and Erie Rings, the boldness of the lobby, the power of the railway corporations in politics, the pressure of enormous debts and taxes as the inevitable consequence of legislative venality, and the degradation of the judicial office. It is a horrible account, but it is not exaggerated. For all his statements—save, of course, some mistakes of secondary importance—M. Jannet can show good American authority.

In the face of all this disorder and corruption the best citizens, disgusted with political life, hold themselves every year more and more strictly aloof from it.

“Men of property, merchants, and manufacturers are injured
by the mismanagement of affairs, and deplore it; but each
one finds it for his individual advantage not to lose his
time in trying to correct public evils. The country is still
rich enough to bear the waste and rascality of a government
which calls itself popular.… Even in these days there are
certain influences of religion, race, or locality which
sometimes bring honest and capable men into the local
political assemblies; but the ruling trait of American
democracy is nevertheless the ostracism of the upper classes
and of eminent men. The consequence is that these classes
become more and more dissatisfied with democratic
institutions, and cast wistful eyes towards the
constitutional government, in reality more free than theirs,
which Great Britain and her colonies enjoy. From De
Tocqueville and Ampère to Duvergier de Hauranne and Hepworth
Dixon, all observers have been struck by this sentiment, not
in general openly expressed, but sufficiently shown by the
considerable number of distinguished Americans who pass the
greater part of their lives out of the country.”

In this there is just a modicum of truth—less now, perhaps, than there was when it was written; for there is to-day an unmistakable tendency among our best citizens to resume that share in the management of public affairs from which they have too long suffered themselves to be excluded. But M. Jannet follows Hepworth Dixon in his stupendously absurd remarks on the “moral emigration” of the best men of America, and finds it a proof of distaste for democratic institutions that Washington Irving should have rambled about the Alhambra, Bancroft accepted the mission to England, and Hawthorne the consulate at Liverpool; that Motley should have read the archives of the Dutch Republic at the Hague, Power and Story studied among the monuments of Italy, and Longfellow amused himself with the “Golden Legend” when he might have found so many heroic subjects at home! We are astonished that M. Jannet, who has certainly read a great many American books, should not have perceived the dense ignorance which distinguishes this particular portion of Dixon’s _New America_ perhaps above the rest of the book. M. Jannet has only to pause and reflect for a moment, and he will not accuse Diedrich Knickerbocker and the author of the _Life of Washington_ and _Rip van Winkle_ of neglecting his own country to lounge in Granada, nor blame the poet of Cambridge because he rhymed the “Golden Legend” as well as the story of Evangeline and Miles Standish. Hawthorne too, the most thoroughly national of American romancers, and Bancroft, who has spent a lifetime in the study of American history! Is it also to Mr. Hepworth Dixon that M. Jannet is indebted for the discovery stated in the following passage?

“Americans, even those who at heart are most disgusted with
democracy, have a passionate love of their country, and look
upon themselves as the first nation of the world. This
patriotism, despite its exaggerations, is a great power for
the country. Without precisely desiring the establishment of
a constitutional monarchy, many enlightened Americans aspire
to a stronger and more stable government under a republican
form. I have been struck, in the intercourse that I have had
with many of them, by the secret admiration with which the
rule of Napoleon III. in its day inspired them. This rule,
democratic in its origin, revolutionary in its principle,
but favorable to the preservation of material order and the
acquisition of wealth, agreed very well with their desire
for additional security, and at the same time with their
lack of principles. Sentiments of this kind—and they are
wide-spread—are one of the greatest dangers that threaten
American society.”

Of course the corruption which disgraces politics appears likewise in the private life of the people. The constant aim of the Yankee, says M. Jannet, is to make money.

“The love of money seizes the young man from the time of his
adolescence, and does not let the old man allow repose to
the evening of his life. Except in the old slave States,
there is no class of people of leisure in America. From top
to bottom of the ladder, all society is a prey to devouring
activity. Its economical results are considerable; the rapid
growth of the nation and its prodigious development in all
the arts of material well-being are the fruits of this
ardent labor which knows no rest. If the Americans love
money, it is not for the sake of mere acquisition, but in
order that they may give themselves up to the enjoyment of
luxuries and launch into new speculations. Harpagon is a
type which does not exist among them. Indeed, they generally
lack those habits of patient economy which constitute the
strength and the virtue of our old races of peasants and
_bourgeois_. Their readiness to spend and their generosity
in case of need equal their appetite for gain. One who fails
to take account of this characteristic restlessness of
American life will get but an imperfect idea of the private
habits and public institutions of the people. In no country
are ‘honors’ more eagerly sought after or is democratic
vanity more freely indulged; but it must be confessed that
‘honor’ is interpreted among Americans, or at least among
Yankees, in quite a different sense from that which is
accepted in Europe. No man plumes himself upon
disinterestedness. Magistrates, generals, statesmen, accept
subscriptions of jingling dollars as testimonials of public
esteem. It is alike in dollars that they pay, among the
Yankees, for injuries and insults. This universal thirst for
gold has perhaps the good effect of softening political
asperities, at least so long as a boundless field remains
open for work and speculation. The unbridled love of money,
in fact, lowers all men to the same level, and stifles alike
fierce fanaticisms and generous passions. The same ardor in
the pursuit of wealth soon scatters the family. Aged
parents, home, or the paternal acres, nothing can restrain
those who are ruled by this passion alone. There is no
attempt, as there is with us, to conceal the love of money.
‘The almighty dollar!’ cry the Americans with admiration. A
new-comer is presented to them. ‘How much is this man
worth?’ they ask, instead of inquiring, as we should do,
about his antecedents and his merit. Everything is
overlooked for a rich man, and, except in a few chosen
circles, a bankruptcy counts for nothing when fortune smiles
again. Nowhere is merit valued without money. Hence the
inferiority of American literature and art; hence the
commercial customs that prevail in professions which we
style liberal. Physicians, counsellors at-law, even
ministers of the Gospel (we speak, be it understood, only of
the Protestant sects), advertise as freely as the commonest
working-man. Poverty is held in contempt to a degree of
which our older society, formed in the school of Catholicity
and chivalry, can have no idea. In spite of universal
suffrage and absolute political equality, there is no
country in which so great a gulf has been placed between the
rich and the poor. This superficially democratic society
would not live in peace two days, if it were not that the
poor man can raise himself with a little trouble to comfort,
if not to fortune. But when the natural riches of the
country become less abundant and the demand for labor
abates, will not these hard social customs become a cause of
formidable antagonism? Distant as this future may still
appear, the question is one which no serious observer can
well avoid asking.

“The pursuit of wealth is the main-spring of material
progress, but when it is carried to an extreme it misses the
very object of its pursuit. The excessive love of money has
developed in the United States a financial dishonesty which
stains the national character and causes a great loss of the
public property. Who has not heard of the great fires which
so often destroy entire quarters of the large cities? They
are often kindled by individuals who wish to conceal their
bankruptcy or to get the amount of their insurance. These
crimes affect a multitude of innocent persons and cause an
increase in the rates of insurance; in short, it is the
nation at large which pays for such frauds by an increase in
the cost of all its products. It is the same thing with
failures. They entail no dishonor, as they do in France;
that is why they are so many.…

“The causes of this perversion of the moral sense are
complex. Amid the almost infinite subdivision of Protestant
sects there is no longer any religious teaching which
addresses itself with authority to the mass of the nation.
We do not take sufficient account of what Catholicism is
doing in our country to maintain the fundamental ideas of
morality even among men who during their lives remain
strangers to its practices. The corruption of the public
authorities and the inefficient administration of justice
have also a great influence.… Moreover, we must take into
consideration the very mixed character of the population.
Even the native Americans are incessantly in motion. They
transfer themselves from one end of the country to the other
for the slightest of reasons, and thus they escape the
salutary control of local opinion which, among stable
populations, is one of the most powerful moral influences.
The establishment of joint-stock companies for financial and
commercial enterprises—an innovation which dates from about
fifty years ago—has done a great deal to weaken the
sentiment of responsibility.… If certain companies are
honestly administered, a great number are made the occasion
of shameless frauds. We see audacious speculators buying up
a majority of the stock in order to make secret issues of
new shares. This operation is called ‘stock-watering.’ It is
estimated that between July 1, 1867, and May 1, 1869,
twenty-eight railway companies increased their capital from
$287,000,000 to $400,000,000. These shares only serve for
stock-gambling, and woe to those who have them left on their
hands! ‘It would appear,’ says an American writer, ‘that the
railroad speculators have three objects in view: First, to
get as much as possible of the public lands; experience has
proved that the more they ask the more they will obtain, and
that the ease with which Congress is induced to favor their
projects is proportioned to the liberality with which they
distribute funds for corruption. Secondly, to raise in
Europe as large a loan as possible, no matter at what rates.
Thirdly, when they have got all the land and all the money
they can, and have attracted all the immigration from
Germany they can hope for, they sell the railroad, at
whatever loss to the bondholders, and make a little ring of
members of the company its sole proprietors!’ The great
number of these immoral speculations, the adventurous
character of commerce, and the senseless luxury in which all
business men indulge bring on periodically grave financial
crises of which Europe feels only the after effects.
Malversation is common even in institutions which have the
best reasons to be free from it. Enormous defalcations are
daily committed in the administration of charitable works,
neutralizing in a great measure the generosity with which
the Americans have endowed them.”

Alas! it is impossible to deny that these statements are substantially true. The discoveries of corruption in public life which have recently produced so much political excitement surprise nobody who has studied American society. This is a “representative” democracy; and though certain well-understood causes, which it would be out of place to discuss here, have long been at work driving the highest class of our citizens out of public employment, it is undeniable that as a general rule the morality of men in office is about on a level with that of the voters who put them there. When peculation and swindling become common in commerce, and a man who makes money is always treated with respect until he goes to the penitentiary, it is almost inevitable that there should be bribery in the cabinet and conspiracy in the antechambers of the White House. The stream cannot rise higher than its source.

But if we wish to understand the real condition of the American people, we must study it in the nurseries of all public virtue—the home, the school, and the church. With the first of these the woman question has a most intimate connection. De Tocqueville said that Americans did not praise women much, but daily showed their respect for them. Now, says M. Jannet, things have sadly changed. We have ceased to respect women, and we are always talking about their rights. There is a considerable party among us which not only insists upon the right of women to vote and hold office, but would make of them lawyers, physicians, and ministers of the Gospel, and give them the direction of industrial and commercial enterprises precisely as if they were men. M. Jannet confesses that American women, on the whole, show very little eagerness to play the new _rôle_ which the modern social reformers have created for them; but the agitation, if it produces no practical results, has a very unhappy influence upon the female mind, and a bad effect upon female education. How fearfully the family relation has been impaired in America all intelligent observers know. The laxity and confusion of the marriage laws; the shocking frequency of divorce; the publicity given to scandalous and indecent investigations; the prevalence of the crime of infanticide, against which the press, the pulpit, and the medical profession have long exclaimed in horror; the growing inability or unwillingness of American women to bear the burden of maternity; the rapid decay of the American element in the population through the excessive proportion of deaths to births; the breaking up of homes; the license allowed to the young of both sexes—all these things are the appalling symptoms of a deep-seated social disorder. We have been in the habit of making it a reproach to the French that there is no word in their language which expresses the American and English idea of home; but it may be questioned whether, retaining the word, we are not in danger of losing the reality. In the cities, at all events, there has been within the last quarter of a century a lamentable change in domestic life. Fashionable society has broken up the family gatherings around the evening lamp. The mother no longer lives in the midst of her children; she spends her days in shopping, visiting, and receiving, and her nights in the ball-room. Children are educated by hired nurses, and before they are full grown emancipate themselves from the control of parents whom they have never been taught to respect and obey. “At home,” in the jargon of the day, has become a travesty of its original meaning; it designates the exhibition of a domestic interior from which all the characteristics of home life are rigorously excluded. Architects are forgetting the meaning of home, and in the fashionable house of the period the domestic virtues could hardly find a lodgment. The hotel and the boarding-house are driving out of existence those model homes which were once the glory of America. What else could we expect? It is the woman who gives character to the household, and the tendency of our time is to remove woman from the fireside and set her upon the platform.

That there is nothing in the American school system to supply the defects of American home education no Catholic will need to be assured. The whole system rests upon the principle that the school-teacher has nothing to do with the cultivation of the moral nature of his pupil. His duty is limited to the atlas, the copy-book, and the multiplication-table. The pretext upon which this rule has been adopted, says M. Jannet, is respect for all religious beliefs, but its real end is to create a generation without any positive religious belief whatever. Zealous Christians even among Protestants are not deceived by it. A report upon the state of schools in Pennsylvania in 1864 says: “The importance, not to say the absolute necessity, of religious education becomes day by day more apparent. If we wish to maintain our institutions, it is essential to raise the standard of character and to revive among our people the spirit of Christianity. The generation which will soon succeed us should not only be skilful of hand, stout of heart, and enlightened in mind, but it must learn also to love God and man and practise duty.” But unfortunately, continues M. Jannet, such remonstrances have proved unavailing, and the “unsectarian” system is now permanently established—a sad result for which the Protestant clergy is in great part to blame. Nearly all of them approve the system, in the belief that Sunday-schools will be sufficient for religious instruction; but “true Christians point out that this separation of the two branches of education tends to make religion regarded as something foreign to the practical affairs of life.” Our author shows how steadily the godless theory of education has gained acceptance; he perceives the growing disposition to enforce it by the authority of the federal government, and make it obligatory upon the States to provide irreligious schools, and upon the people to use them. In the progress of this destructive tendency he traces the influence of German ideas, political, pseudo-philosophical, socialistic, and atheistic, in which lies one of the greatest dangers of the republic. “Two things strike us in these new currents of opinion: on the one hand, their opposition to the old bases of Anglo-Saxon ideas and liberties under which the United States lived until about 1850; on the other, their identity with the principles disseminated in Europe by the revolutionists. It is impossible for an impartial observer not to recognize here the effect of one and the same cause acting in accordance with a well defined aim. This cause, this agent, let us say at once, is Freemasonry. It is easy to judge of the real purpose which it has in view by studying it in the United States. There the conflicts and passions of the Old World have no place; what Freemasonry seeks to accomplish is the destruction of all positive religion and of every principle of authority in man’s political and social relations.”

Protestantism, far from checking these disastrous tendencies, has allowed itself to increase them; and even if it had the will to constitute itself the defender of the state and the family, it is torn by intestine divisions and driving rapidly towards disintegration. Yet M. Jannet does not quite give us up for lost. “The crisis which is now passing over the country and checking its material prosperity may be the signal for a reform, in forcing honest men to recognize the vices of their institutions and the corruption of their manners.” There are four influences which he hopes may combine to save us. These are, 1, the wisdom and energy of the people of the South, who, after ten years of persevering efforts, have at last begun to recover the direction of their local affairs, and to clear away “the ruins caused by the war and the domination of the Radicals.” 2. The success obtained by the Democrats, or rather the Conservatives, in the elections of November, 1874, and April, 1875—a success that will put an end to the despotism with which the Radicals have cursed the country for fifteen years. We give these two points for what they are worth; of course we do not believe that there is any such fundamental difference between the people of the North and the people of the South, the people who call themselves Republicans and the people who call themselves Democrats, as M. Jannet imagines. 3. The great number of American families who, in the midst of corruption and disorder, have faithfully preserved the virtues and domestic habits which lie at the foundation of all prosperous society. 4. Lastly and chiefly, the marvellous progress of the Catholic Church.

We make no comment upon this portion of his essay, but we end our review with a few lines from his closing paragraph which it will do us Americans, at the beginning of our new century, no harm to take to heart: “In all countries, in all times, under the most diverse historical and economical conditions, the moral laws which govern human society are unchanging and inevitable. Founded upon the decalogue, nay, upon the very nature of God, the distinction between good and evil knows no mutation. Everywhere men are prosperous or unfortunate, according as they keep the divine law or break it.”

[127] _Les Etats-Unis Contemporains, ou les Mœurs,
les Institutions et les Idées depuis la Guerre de la
Sécession._ Par Claudio Jannet. Paris: E. Plon et Cie.
1876.

LETTERS OF A YOUNG IRISHWOMAN TO HER SISTER.

(FROM THE FRENCH.)

ORLEANS, January, 1867.

I hasten to tell you, my darling sister, of our happy arrival in the city of Joan of Arc. It was cold during this long journey, but I was so _silkenly_ enveloped inside the elegant _coupé_ which was René’s New Year’s gift to me that I did not feel it.

_Ah! qu’un autre vous-même est une douce chose!_—“How sweet it is to have a second self!” You know how often I used to say this at the Sacred Heart, and with what questioning eyes our Parisian companions were wont to regard the daughters of Erin. Our impassioned fondness for one another surprised them, and we said that doubtless in France people did not know how to love. Dearest, we have now learnt that the country of our adoption is as _warm_ as our native land. What kind hearts have we not found here! I am glad, therefore, to remain here for the winter; besides, with René I cannot grow weary anywhere. Why, darling Kate, are you not with us? Prepare yourself for frequent letters, as I have the mania of a scribbling friendship, to the astonishment of my mother-in-law. True, my writing-desk accompanies me everywhere, and before all other pleasures I prefer that of conversing with you.

Our home is delightful for comfort and elegance. We—that is, René and I—occupy the second story. Our house is in the _Rue Jeanne d’Arc_, and I have only to go to the window to see the beautiful cathedral, which I do not fail to visit often, there to pray in union with my Kate. _A tout seigneur tout honneur._[128] Let us, then, speak first of this marvel of stone; of this Gothic pile whose lofty towers excite the admiration of the artist. Dearest, shall I tell you? I felt myself more _at home_ there than in any other church. I am not going to describe either the rich chapels or the splendid windows. In these first visits to _Sainte-Croix_ my heart melted with joy at the thought that I am a Catholic. “Well, my little _Irlandaise_, and so you are enthusiastic about Orleans,” said René softly to me, on observing the flush upon my cheeks.

I have been shown also the statue of Joan of Arc in the _Place du Martroi_. This, however, I do not admire; it is not the young shepherdess of my dreams, but a robust maiden of vigorous mould on horseback. But the bas-reliefs!… These are magnificent, sublime! What memories! What a history!—put to death upon the soil of this same France which she had saved. My blood boils when I think of the cruelty of England.

We are quite a large colony here. I must introduce you, Miss Kate, into this family circle. You scarcely know my mother-in-law, having only had an occasional glimpse of her amid the solemnities of my marriage, and when you were thinking only of your Georgina. We orphans were all in all to each other—we who were then on the point of being separated. Dear, dear Kate! my _alter ego_, my idol, who, wholly possessed by the highest love, have willed to consecrate your youth and future to the service of our Lord in the persons of his poor; and now there are you in your coarse habit, while Georgina the worldly is adorning herself with the jewels which became you so well!

My mother-in-law, who is kindness itself to me, is a person of exceeding dignity; quite a mediæval _châtelaine_, with the noble bearing of the heroines of Walter Scott. Her piety is fervent, and, her sons tell me, just a little austere. Ah! dearest, what a blessing is such a mother as this. The breath of the present age has not passed over her dwelling; her children believe and worship; and I seem to behold in her a Christian of the early centuries or a Blanche of Castile. My four sisters-in-law are very kind to the last comer, your Georgina. You saw my brothers in Paris.[129] Mme. Adrien is a Belgian, lively and graceful, and as proud of her “jewels” as the Cornelia of antiquity. She has three sons, who are pupils of the Jesuit Fathers in the _Rue des Postes_, and whom we shall only see during the vacations. Her daughter Hélène, a superb _blonde_, worthy of inspiring a Raphael, has just completed her education at the Benedictines of ——. Mme. Raoul was born of a French family on the other side of the Rhine. Her two daughters, Thérèse and Madeleine, are my delight. I sometimes go and look at them sleeping, and then go to sleep myself to dream of angels. Picture to yourself these twins, the one small and fair, the other tall, slender, with a pale complexion and brown curls; gayly bearing the light burden of their ten years, and alike in one thing only—the voice; and thus they often amuse themselves in taking us by surprise and making us guess which of the two is speaking. Mme. Paul has four treasures: the _dauphin_, Arthur, and demoiselles Marguérite, Alix, and Jeanne, the pretty one who arrived last—all this little population, young, fresh, smiling, chattering, and roguish. Mme. Édouard, the most sympathetic of all, the most French, and the most attractive, who has been married three years, is rich in the sweetest little cherub that could flatter maternal pride.

Adieu, dearest; this is only a sign of life. I am tired with the expeditions of the day, and René reminds me that it is late. Be happy, my Kate, and help me to bless God for my happiness; I am so afraid of being ungrateful.

YOUR GEORGINA.

JANUARY, 1867.

Booksellers are abundant here, my dear; and René, who knows my weakness, daily brings me something new. I have just read _Mme. Rosély_, by Mlle. Monniot, a name dear to our youth. How much I should like to know this authoress! The mind capable of such conceptions must be a personification of virtue and devotedness. The thought occurred to me of writing to her. Dear busy one, you will not even open this book; and yet how much it would please you, it is so beautiful! What pleasure it gave me there to find Margaret again, become a sister of _Bon-Secours_![130] I visited yesterday two churches, St. Paul and _Recouvrance_, both newly restored. There are fine windows at St. Paul’s, but the colors are too vivid for my taste. To the right is a chapel nearly dark, and a black Virgin held in great veneration—_Notre-Dame des Miracles_. I shall often return thither. I prayed there with all my heart for you, for our friends, for our own Ireland. _Recouvrance_ is a charming church, close upon the Loire. (Did I tell you of my transport on seeing the beautiful river about which I had written volumes in the upper classes?) The altar is surmounted by sculptures—Mary and Joseph finding Jesus in the midst of the doctors. This sanctuary is a casket. Around the side aisles are delicious little chapels, with frescoes by Hippolyte Lazerges. I will mention those of the baptistery—Moses striking the rock, and the Samaritan at Jacob’s well. The Samaritan is admirably fine in form and expression. I stayed long before it—this fair page of Scripture made to live, as it were; the Saviour teaching the truth to this sinful woman! Here are the most beautiful confessionals that can be seen, with exquisite little paintings—the father of the prodigal welcoming his son, and the good Shepherd recovering his sheep from among the thorns.

Your letter has just reached me. Thanks, Kate! How sweet and good a thing it is to be so loved! Fain would I shed around me some little of the happiness with which I am flooded. My mother-in-law is so kind as to let me share in her works of charity, and my good René accompanies me into the abodes of the poor. Oh! in these low streets what miseries there are, what repulsive infirmities! These poor quarters remind me of London. In the evening we pay visits. Orleanese society appears to me much less frivolous than that of Paris. I felt very shy at the prospect of all these introductions, but they came about in the most natural way in the world. Our family party is so united, so animated, that we have no need to seek amusement from without. At ten o’clock _Grandmother_ gives the signal for us to separate. René and I prolong the evening by reading together. With regard to René, I am full of remorse for having—quite inadvertently, however—neglected to enclose in my last letter the one which he had written to you, and which you must since have received. Oh! how excellent he is, this brother of yours; and how proud of him I am—so intellectual, so distinguished, so handsome, and, what is far better and worth all the rest, so pious! Every morning we go together to Mass at _Sainte-Croix_. The Masses of communion are said in an expiatory chapel before the image of the Mother of Sorrows. From an artistic point of view this chapel is an anachronism—a Greek marble in a Gothic church. But what peace reigns there, what recollection; and one can pray there so well! Orleans seems to me empty in the absence of its great bishop, now in Rome. Do you remember our enthusiastic exclamations while reading his excellent work on education? I am impatient to be presented to him, to speak to him of Ireland—of this people which he has justly called “a people of martyrs and apostles.”[131]

Have read the _Souvenirs d’une Institutrice_, by Mme. Bourdon. That isolation, those struggles against penury, that life so troubled and stormy, made a hymn of thanksgiving gush out of my heart to Him whose providence has ordained for me so different a destiny. “O fortune!” said the Solitary of Cayla, “what suffering dost thou not cause when thou art adverse!” Dear Kate, with all my heart I pity the poor, especially the mothers. René made a discovery yesterday—a young married couple in utter distress, owing to the illness of the husband. The young mother is wholly occupied in the attendance necessary to the sick man and to her new-born son, who might be well named Benoni, the poor darling! It does not possess even a cradle. How I wept while listening to the story of their last three months! We sent the doctor to them, and I felt the pleasure of a child in myself choosing whatever I thought needful for this family. Mary and Joseph must have been thus at Bethlehem. The poor woman had sold her furniture bit by bit, not venturing to beg or speak to any one of her troubles; and yer the charities here are admirably organized.

Lucy (Mme. Édouard) is coming with us to-morrow on a pilgrimage to Cléry; I shall pray there for my Kate, and for all whom we love. I go the round of the churches with Lucy; René carves, paints, or writes, and we have music together. My mother-in-law has given me a beautiful piano, one of Pleyel’s. Our brothers have excellent voices. Lucy and I play splendid pieces of Mendelssohn, Mozart, and Beethoven. What concerts, what harmonies, what an enchanted life! From eight o’clock in the evening until ten we work for churches or the poor. Don’t be uneasy, dear Kate, with regard to what you call the unsettled, aimless life of the world; my hours and minutes are regulated with a mathematical precision. René loves order above everything, and my mother-in-law’s hobby is punctuality. Your Georgina, who is not over-exact and a bit of a loiterer, is making rapid strides to attain to the perfection of her lord and master, who is good and lovable a thousand times over, and never scolds.

Do you remember our old mistress Annah, who invariably used to say upon quitting us, “My husband will scold,” at which we always laughed, little giddy ones that we were? I bow before your gravity, and kiss you a hundred and a hundred times.

FEBRUARY, 1867.

I am just come from _St. Pierre du Martroi_, where the Père Minjard has been preaching a sermon in behalf of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul—an institution shown by the eloquent orator to be a source of comfort to sorrows otherwise inconsolable, and also a preservative against a social danger. What a picture he drew of atheistic poverty—poverty without God! What eloquence! What a soul of fire! At last, under this austere Dominican habit, I have beheld a man of genius. Thought makes this manly countenance its abode, and here dwells intellect in its plenitude. His eyes sparkle at times with a lightning flash almost dazzling. Ah! dear Kate, what an absorbing discourse.

How exactly like yourself it is to be so interested in Benoni and his family! I scarcely venture to go there, the poor woman so overwhelms me with her thanks. In vain I tell her again and again that she is my _sister_, and that in giving her a little from my abundance I have done nothing more than my strict, rigorous, obligatory duty. She receives me as if I were an angel from Paradise. The young man is recovering his health, and the child his roses. Thanks to my good René, who is really the most generous of men, I have installed them in a commodious and airy apartment where everything is bright with sunshine. This morning the God of the Eucharist entered this truly sanctified dwelling. This little household is so religious, resigned, and thankful to a kind Providence that God must take pleasure in it as in a temple.

Our pilgrimage was charming. Lucy consecrated her baby to Our Blessed Lady; and how happy the little love appeared to be about it! The church of Cléry is of Gothic architecture, sufficiently remarkable, but how dilapidated, poor, and bare! I noticed a clock and a Christ which must be as old as the time of Louis XI.; a magnificent Way of the Cross; beautiful antique carving in a small chapel which is quite in a ruinous state. The black Virgin is _Notre-Dame de Cléry_, who shared with _Notre-Dame d’Embrun_ the affection and the eccentric devotion of the son of Marie d’Anjou, in whose mind they represented two distinct persons; and were invoked (O blasphemy!) almost as witnesses of the atrocities and revengeful deeds of the sombre lord of Plessis-lez-Tours. The black Virgin is over the high altar. I had a couple of tapers placed before this miraculous image, one for my Kate’s intentions and one for my own. The tomb of Louis XI. and of Charlotte of Savoy is in the nave. By the side of the pulpit is a monument of black marble; four colonnades of white marble support the upper portion, also of the same material, upon which the King of France is kneeling, his hand joined and his face turned towards the altar of the Blessed Virgin. His countenance has not by any means the wily and cruel expression given to him in the portraits of the time. At the four corners are four angels facing the spectators. On the way home we visited the Church of St. Fiacre. The road is animated in spite of the season; there, too, is the river, the beautiful river, the river so eminently French. Besides, must not even the dullest landscape appear radiant when one is twenty years old, with a husband whom one adores, a golden future in prospect, and heaven itself in the heart? Kate dearest, I am faithful to my daily _Te Deum_; it is the only hymn that can express what I feel.

My mother-in-law gave a large dinner-party in the evening. I made myself resplendent … in simplicity! This, at least, is the encomium bestowed on me by René, who pretends that I was very much admired. I would not say this to any one but my sister. Great names were represented there; some of the greatest in France—names of chivalrous associations. How happily inspired was Mother St. Athanasius in making us read the chronicles of the middle ages! It is to my having done so that I am indebted for the most gracious smiles of two honorable dowagers to whom I spoke of the glorious and historical deeds of their ancestors. Edward sang with me _Le fil de la Vierge_;[132] and altogether _la petite Irlandaise_ found the evening too short and the company too amiable. These kind brothers and sisters never weary of bringing me forward, placing me in the light, and making everybody love me; my mother-in-law calls me her lily, her heath-flower, her violet; and the children are wild about Aunt Georgina. Dear Kate, how ravishingly fair is the dawn of my existence as a young wife!

A fortunate meeting, dearie—namely, with Margaret W——, the beautiful Englishwoman, who is, she says, _en passage_ here. I was at Ste. Croix, lost in my thanksgiving after communion, when a rustling of silk and lace reminded me that I was still on earth, and a musical voice with a slight English accent said in my ear: “_C’est bien vous?_—Is it really you, Georgina?” I raised my head and recognized our friend. We came out together. Margaret has since paid me a visit, and my mother-in-law asked her to spare a whole day to Georgina. All the family is won by the grace and lively wit of _la belle Anglaise_. She is on her wedding tour; her husband is very agreeable—an accomplished gentleman, with the manners and bearing (if you please) of a peer of England. Lady Margaret told us about her presentation at court. Queen Victoria is very fond of her. In the evening twilight[133] we found ourselves alone together; then, looking straight into my eyes, Margaret asked me: “Are you truly and perfectly happy, Georgina?” You may guess what was my answer. “So much the better; so much the better,” sighed the lofty lady; and then, blushing and with a full and beating heart, she confided to me her grief—her husband does not love her! And yet he had seemed to me full of thoughtful attention to her. “Ah! dear Georgina, if you only knew what I suffer. I love Lord William passionately. I believed in his love, and now I know that my large fortune tempted his mother, who, by dint of entreaties, persuaded him to marry me, when he really loved his cousin, a poor and pretty orphan, who was, moreover, well deserving of his affection.” I did not know what to say to her. Was she seeking consolation? I cannot tell. She was lofty and proud until this intimate confidence. I took her hand, and with the utmost tenderness expressed my sympathy, assuring her that no one could see her without loving her, and that there could be no doubt that Lord William returned her affection. She burst into tears and kissed me twenty times. Had I convinced her? In the evening I watched the English peer attentively; his amiability was perfect. I managed skilfully to bring out the talents of Margaret, who sang and played the loveliest things, and with such an expression!… Pray for this heart, dear Kate. Ah! how true it is that a serpent hides among the flowers. Who would not envy the happiness of this young bride, endowed with all the good things of this world, and of an aristocratic beauty really incomparable? On returning from Italy Margaret will visit Switzerland. We have agreed that she is to write to me, and that we will do impossibilities to meet again.

René complained of my being melancholy after the departure of “the English.” I could not confide to him the secret of my friend. “Dear Georgina, has this fine bird of passage inspired you with her wandering propensities?” “You know very well, René, that with you I desire nothing.” “Smile, then, my lady, or I shall think you are ill; come, sing me ‘The Lake,’ to shake off your gloom.”[134]

My eyes will no longer stay open, dear sister; my tender affection to you.

FEBRUARY 17, 1867.

A heavenly day, dear Kate; all fragrant with holy friendship, and, still better, with divine love. Père Minjard preached a charity sermon at Ste. Croix on behalf of the schools in the East. We went _en chœur_,[135] as the twins say. What incomparable eloquence! Nothing so captivates me as the art of language. I was fascinated, and as if hanging on the lips of this son of Lacordaire. He took for his text, “We must rescue Christ. Christ is in danger.” In a sustained and always admirable style he showed us Christ, in peril in the Gospel, by false criticism; in peril in tradition, by false science; in peril in the church teaching, by false politics; in peril in the church taught, by false literature—all this is a social danger. Oh! what beautiful things, what sublime thoughts; I could have wished the sermon never to end, and felt myself living a life of intelligence in a higher region than I had ever dreamed of before. Here is one among other beauties: “In our hours of poetry and youth have we not all dreamed of the East, with its clearer sun, its balmier breezes, its holier memories?… Such is, in fact, the incomparable favor that Christ has granted us in leaving in our hands the destiny of his name and his works.” Would that I could transcribe to you this living harmony, this austere teaching, ardent and true! How splendidly he brought before us the ancient memories of that East from which everything we have has come to us; the grand and Christian souvenirs also of the Crusades, and of those ages of faith when men were capable of a passionate ardor for the beautiful and the good! Never had I imagined such rapidity of thought, such facility of elocution, such magnificence of language. The few words of allusion to Mgr. Dupanloup were of exquisite delicacy: “And I say this with so much the more freedom because he to whom my eulogies would be addressed is not present.” What a picture, too, he drew of the debasement of our souls if we no more had Jesus Christ!

A walk yesterday in the _Jardin des Plantes_. Our English parks are naturalized in France, except in the official gardens—flat and monotonous squares. A fine view from the top of the rising ground and the sky of France with René—all this I found superb. The twins were with us, amusing themselves with a violet, and at every step uttering exclamations of joy. Thérèse takes the airs of a duchess, and thus gets called by no other name—a custom which does not seem to displease her. As for Mad, so small and fragile, I have named her Picciola. My nieces are already pious, and delight to take me into the churches; we have seen five—the Visitation, the Sacrè-Cœur, the Presentation, the Bon-Pasteur, and the Sainte-Enfance.

Great sensation at home: my mother expects her elder sister, _la tante solennelle_—the solemn aunt—as the _dauphin_, Arthur, has whispered to me. Everybody makes up a countenance and a toilet suitable to the occasion; even the babies put on serious faces. These preparations make me afraid. I whisper to you that the least cloud frightens me; our sky is always so clear. My mother-in-law, kind and maternal as she is to me, nevertheless intimidates me greatly. René is going away to-morrow on business, and this first separation causes me more pain than I am willing to confess. I long so much to say to him: “Take me with you.” I feel it would be unreasonable. He is going to travel eighty leagues in a few days, and does not wish to expose me to this fatigue, though it seems to me that with him nothing could be difficult. What will you say, dear Kate, to your Georgina?—that you no longer recognize her great courage, and that inability to bear the least contrariety is not the mark of a Christian; that I ought rather to thank Providence for sending me the opportunity of gaining a little merit. Dear little preacher! the heart that loves does not reason, and René is my universe. But I promise you to accept this light trial.

Send your good angel to the traveller, darling Kate.

_Evening._—I set out to-morrow with the dawn! René read in my eyes that I was fretting, and altered his itinerary; I am radiant, and looking forward to a thousand delights.

Love your Georgina. Let us pray together for our green Erin, so worthy of our love. I have always in my heart the hope of its resurrection.

MARCH 6, 1867.

Shall I tell you about my journey, dearest Kate? We made a halt in Brittany, the land of true poets, where we are to pass the summer. As we walked over the barren heaths we shut our eyes and evoked the old memories of Armorica, while the mild image of Guy de Bretagne and of Isabelle aux Blanches Mains[136] mingled in our imaginations with the shades of the martyrs. Dear Kate, I enjoyed this excursion immensely. The farther I go, the more I realize the happiness which God has allotted me in giving me for guide, adviser, and support this dear and gentle René, so truly the _brother_ of my heart. We have been reading together the life of Saint Elizabeth by M. de Montalembert. The “dear saint” of Protestant Germany was wont to call her husband by the sweet name of brother, and this we thought so suave, so charming, and angelic that we agreed to call each other brother and sister when we are alone. Oh! what a heavenly thing is Christian love. That which I first of all admired in René, even when he was to me merely a stranger, was his recollectedness in church. He has often said to me—and with what earnestness!—“Georgina, let Jesus be all in all to us.” It is to your prayers, my darling Kate, that I owe this happy destiny.