Chapter XVII: The End (11)

What a surprise! My Aunt de K—— was not expected before the end of the week; but this morning, on returning from my visits among the poor, René left me at the house door, and I hastened as usual into the drawing-room to say good-morning to the dear little ones who daily welcome me with shouts of joy. On entering I beheld an unknown face; it was the _solemn aunt_. A sudden blush mounted even to my forehead. My mother-in-law introduced me; while I lost myself in reverences, my aunt bestowed on me a half-inclination of the head—so cold! looking at me all the time with so searching an eye that I was almost out of countenance. Fortunately, the door was again thrown open very wide, and a footman in full livery announced Mme. Edouard, M. Gaston (this is the pretty baby), and in succession M. et Mme. Adrien, M. et Mme. Raoul, M. et Mme. Paul. All were richly dressed. I hid myself as well as I could behind Lucy’s fauteuil to keep my shabby toilet out of sight, and then took advantage of the entrance of the children to make my escape before the entry of René. The solemnity of the _déjeûner_ nearly sent me to sleep. At eight o’clock in the evening Mme. de K—— retired to her room, alleging that she was fatigued with her journey; you may judge whether any one tried to detain her. Then we began to dress ourselves up, and exchanged silence for joyous dances and merry laughter. _Duchesse_ was a “golden fairy,” superb with her lofty air; there is a touch of my _solemn aunt_ about her. Picciola was charming in her ribbon-decked costume of a shepherdess. Your Georgina was dressed _en Sévigné_; the sparkling Lucy as a _soubrette_ of the time of Louis XIV. A few intimate friends joined us about nine o’clock. The brilliant chords of the piano troubled not the repose of Mme. de K——, who was purposely lodged far from the noise. Our songs, our dances, and lively follies went on till one o’clock; and as I am not tired, and, besides, make a point of sending you news of us before _mortifying_ Lent shall have proclaimed a truce to our delights, with René’s permission I relate to you these little events. Dear Kate, my letters will no longer speak of anything but sanctity. I kiss you with all my heart. _My brother_, who is beginning to read me a chapter of the _Imitation_, tells you how much he is devoted to you in Him whose love is the bond of our souls.

MARCH 10.

My dearest Kate, do not be anxious if I tell you that I am going to keep all the fasting days of Lent. The good doctor gives me permission to do so, in spite of my eighteen years, on condition that in case of the slightest fatigue I give it up. This is understood. M. l’Abbé Charles Perraud, of the Oratory, is preaching the Lent at _Sainte-Croix_. What a congregation! It was a compact crowd. The text was, “Man does not live by bread alone.” In order to please your love of sacrifice I will not send you another note during all these forty days; but as I have not yet made any vow to renounce the most legitimate gratifications of the heart, I shall keep a journal with great regularity, to send you after Easter.

I am reading again _Rob Roy_ with René; this is for our secular reading, but for the spiritual we have the Conferences of Fathers Lacordaire and De Ravignan.

12th.—Was at the sermon: “Enter into your heart.” The orator spoke of recollectedness, inviting us to enter into our heart, promising that by so doing we should find _light_, _joy_ and _virtue_; these were the three points of his discourse. We take interminable walks with Isabelle (Mme. Raoul) and her children. I am working a magnificent chasuble which I wish to present to our _curé_ in Brittany. René reads to us the _Revue du Monde Catholique_ and the _Union_. These gentlemen do not go to the club, but occupy themselves, according to their respective tastes, in painting, carving, illuminating, and creating surprises for us. My _solemn aunt_ took her departure this morning, and all that is cold, heavy and pompous went with her.

I have not told you that Hélène and I are the best of friends. We are of the same age; she has always had an especial liking for René, and she also entrusts me with her confidences. Dear Kate, this good young heart has likewise been wounded by the divine Hand, and she who is the idol of her family desires to leave us, that she may give herself wholly to God. The poor mother knows nothing, but she has a presentiment of this secret (at the same time sweet and distressing), and strives to dissuade her daughter from her purpose. Hélène wishes to be a Carmelite. She has her grandmother’s energy and greatness of soul, and nothing can shake her resolution. Thus there will be a separation under this happy roof; the singing-bird is about to spread her wings and fly away to other skies. Since my pretty niece opened her heart to me I have become quite thoughtful. If it should so happen that God required of me a similar sacrifice; and if, after giving up my sister to him, I must also give him a child of my own!… But I put aside this apprehension. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

14th.—“Bear God in your heart and glorify him in your bodies.” This sermon has deeply impressed me; how I love the Catholic doctrine respecting the body of man!

I love to communicate by the side of René. Hélène followed us this morning; in returning from the altar I involuntarily looked at her, and was struck by the air of ecstatic joy and profound happiness which shone on her countenance. Kate, she is truly called! Adrien dotes upon his daughter. Each one of the family feels the charm of her bright and cheerful piety, which makes her admirable even in the smallest things; she is _grandmother’s_ right hand, who feels herself living over again in this fair child.… How we are going to suffer!

16th.—A long walk with all the darlings, which made me miss a sermon of the Abbé Bougaud, whom I so much want to hear. Visited two churches. Orleans is full of them, and reminds me of the towns in Italy, where one comes upon them at every step. I have had some letters from Ireland, from our friends in Dublin. Lizzie asks me if, like her, I have a “dear, sweet home”; she is enchanted with her position. Ellen, the lively Ellen, gently rallies me on my love for France, and reminds me of Petrarch:

_Non e questa la patria!_

How she misjudges my feelings if she thinks that my happiness could make me forgetful of Ireland!

21st.—Sermon on the love of our neighbor. I have no trouble in loving this dear neighbor of mine. _Duchesse_ allows herself to rally her aunt on what she calls her _love of everybody_! Happily for this lofty little person, Berthe (Mme. Raoul) wages unflinching war against the slightest tendency to pride, and the uncles surpass one another in teasing her out of it. My room is all perfumed with the sweet fragrance of violets. René has brought me home splendid ones from his morning’s ramble. I delight in my bouquets like a child with a plaything; it is long since I have had any flowers, and I love these balmy things, which the poetic Margaret calls the “beauties of nature, queens of solitude, and daughters of the sun.”

25th.—The weather was fine; René had the horses put in, and we set out together, delighted to be alone. As we were coming down the _Rue Royale_ I caught sight of Hélène and her father, lost in admiration before some fine engravings. “Shall we take them with us?” I said to René; and a minute afterwards the future Carmelite was giving us her impressions of the day. How charming she is! And all this beauty is going to conceal itself under the austere _bandeau_ and thick veil.… We went to the _Chapelle Saint-Mesmin_, where Monseigneur has his college and his summer residence. The pure air, the perfumes of the spring, the evening calm, gave me an inexpressible feeling of enjoyment. For a moment I forgot this earth, and in the isolation of thought went back to my childhood; saw our beloved home, and our so lamented mother watching us at play. Why is she not with us still? She would have been so proud of René. “What are you thinking of,” asked Hélène, “looking in this way up to heaven like the picture of the Mignon of Ary Scheffer?” “She is dreaming of Ireland,” replied _my brother_, who had understood me.

31st.—Sermon on the intellectual life: “Lord, give me understanding and I shall live.” My mother-in-law was rather unwell; I passed the day in her room. The whole _flight of doves_, profiting by this fine Sunday, went out to flutter in the bright sunshine. Hélène presented her grandmother with a bunch of double violets; she took them with a smile, and then delicately placed them in my hair, saying as she did so: “Darling Violet, receive your sisters.” I kissed her hand—that soft, white hand which reminds me of my mother’s.

April 2.—“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” The days succeed each other, but are not much alike, it is said, immutability not belonging to this earth. That which always resembles itself is my union with René. He is no sooner absent than something within me suffers; as soon as he returns my heart overflows with joy. Lucy asked me, “Are you never sad?” “Never!” “Happy sister!” she rejoined; “as for me, I weep sometimes when baby suffers; then I feel as if all was lost—as if I must die. Edward calls this exaggeration.” “Dear Lucy, the Holy Ghost has said, ‘If you are glad of heart, sing: if sorrowful, pray.’ Pray, then, so that you may never be sad. God is so good that we ought to serve him with a joyful heart.”

7th.—Played some splendid duets with Hélène, who has remarkable power. Sermon on the supernatural life: “If you eat not the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” The Père Perraud was the intimate friend of the gentle Abbé Perreyve—“this delightful apparition,” said M. de Montalembert, “which, after an interval of thirty years, has made me seem to see again Lacordaire as he appeared before the court of the peers of France, young, eloquent, intrepid, gentle and frank, austere and charming, but above all ardent and tender, endowed with that spring of fascination, that key of hearts, which is found so rarely here below. In him one saw again that noble and sympathetic look which no one who had once received it could ever forget—that eye, questioning and candid as that of a child.”

I am reading again, with René, _Quentin Durward_ and _Charles the Bold_. I am translating into English _Les Enfants d’Édouard_ for Lucy, who says she likes English better than anything, and wishes to teach it to her son. Edward (ours) pretends that I possess all the qualifications for a good professor. They will spoil me, these kind brothers.

12th.—Way of the Cross, of the Friday. I love this devotion. Even the _dauphin_, Arthur, begs to go to it; he has a taste for music, and the pretty voices of the children of the choir fascinate him.

I have to-day been absorbed in a delightful book for which I am indebted to the obliging kindness of Adrien. It is the letters of Silvio Pellico, translated by M. Latour. What an admirable man Silvio is! Do you recollect the _Mémoires d’Andryane_? Silvio speaks of this book, and deeply regrets that his friend, the Frenchman, did not use more reserve in his confidences to the public, as there were still prisoners in the Spielberg.

14th.—Copied a beautiful letter of Mgr. le Comte de Chambord, _our king_, as _duchesse_ proudly says. Mgr. Dupanloup is at Orleans; this evening he appeared in the pulpit. I was there; for, although the sermon was for men only, I like so much to witness this fine spectacle of the nave quite filled with men. I know of nothing more solemn and imposing than the _Miserere_ chanted by this multitude of deep and powerful male voices, accompanied by the rich tones of the great organ. My heart beat; for I was about to listen to the great orator. Alas! after the invocation Monseigneur left the pulpit, and was replaced by the Père Perraud. He took for his text the words of the prophet Isaias: “Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night? And the watchman answered: The morning cometh, and also the night: if you seek, seek: return, come.”[137] M. Bougaud preaches the retreat for ladies; we are entering upon the week that is indeed holy.

15th.—Dear Kate, I am in a state of enthusiasm. M. Bougaud is quite what his _Sainte Chantal_ had led me to anticipate: an ardent soul, a heart of fire, his style unique, rich, picturesque, poetic, incisive, penetrating; the priestly heart which knows all the feelings, the aspirations, and the needs of souls.

“Who are you, and what say you of yourselves?” It was admirably fine. He described to us the three wounds, the three martyrdoms, or the three honors of man in this world:, in the mind, the thirst for infinite illumination; in the heart, a keen and incessant hunger after affections; and in the whole being, the craving for eternity. It is from eternity that we are descended, and thither we must ascend again.

I warmly expressed my admiration to René and Edouard, who were waiting for me. My sisters were detained at home by their maternal cares, but it is settled that to-morrow we are to go _in choir_.

16th.—Sermon on the duties of mothers: “Three things constitute a great soul, a soul strong and invincible: a horror of sin, a contempt for all that passes away, and the love of God.” Oh! if it were granted me to have a child, what happiness it would be to me to develop in him these three things.

17th.—I have not been to the sermon, dear Kate … A letter from Fanny W—— has informed me of the sudden death of our dear Mary. I have been weeping all day, thinking of the despair of her poor mother. There had been nothing to prepare her for this thunderclap. Mary appeared to have entirely recovered from the fall she had last year, of which the only remaining effect was an excessive paleness—“a paleness which rendered her so attractive that no one saw in it any alarming symptom. The eve of her death she was speaking of you, of Kate, the chosen one of her heart. Our vigil was prolonged to a later hour than usual; I make use of the word _vigil_, because Mary loved it. We spoke of the great subjects of interest about which she was so enthusiastic—of the church, of Ireland, and of Poland, that other martyr; and Mary said to us: ‘How the saints must implore the Lord for their brethren upon earth!’ Dear soul! she also implores him now. Comfort us, darling Georgina.” I have written. I have tried to comfort these two hearts, so stricken by death—that wound which is incurable here below. May God be their help! Dear Kate, you will not hear of this loss for eight days to come, in the midst of the Catholic alleluia; but it is indeed alleluia that one ought to sing over this early tomb. Happy are they whom God calls to himself! René has been reading to me this evening some chapters on the sufferings of Jesus Christ, by Father Thomas of Jesus. Truly, the Calvary of Lady W—— is the sudden departure of her angelic child; and who can console a mother?

Fanny is saddened on account of their isolation, although, with the marvellous intuition of pure souls, she feels that death separates bodies only. “She is always present to me,” she writes. A world of memories revived within me upon reading these pages, bedewed with many tears. How warmly this family is attached to us!

18th.—I could write a volume upon this Holy Thursday, the Thursday _par excellence_. At seven o’clock I was in the _Black Chapel_ with René; and we did not leave Ste. Croix until past eleven. What a service, dear Kate! The Catholic worship is nowhere more magnificently celebrated. To adorn this vast temple, Monseigneur is having admirable Stations of the Cross sculptured in the walls themselves; the sculptor requires a year for each station, of which the earlier ones are now open to the pious curiosity of the public. Before one o’clock I set out with René, Hélène, and the twins for the visits to the churches—a veritable steeplechase. _Duchesse_ had laid a wager with Arthur that she would see fifteen; and as she was bent upon gaining it, she so prettily pressed me to show her “some more” that we still went on and on. We had afterwards a time of repose; a sermon from that true orator, M. Bougaud: “Whensoever you shall do these things, do them in remembrance of me.” Our Lord has left us a remembrance. What is this remembrance, and with what feelings ought we to regard it? What eloquence! How well he depicted this remembrance, and also how thorough an insight he possesses of the heart! What happy similitudes and figures! How he feels and how he loves! It is plain that the love of God predominates all else in this soul. “When I was young I took offence at Bossuet for saying that friendships pass away with years; but now I am offended with him no more: he saw clearly; he saw only too well.” “When I glance over the globe I am greatly moved. I see Ireland dying of famine; Poland groaning forth her last sigh of agony; Germany, who has not yet stanched the bleeding wounds inflicted by her fratricidal wars; Italy, binding up her wounds in the sun like a poor stricken Samaritan; France, who perhaps in a few months’ time will be covered with blood—all the nations shattered and expiring.… “Dear Kate, I wept as I listened to this enumeration; for I thought of Mary, who died almost while speaking of the martyr-nations. With regard to what M. Bougaud said about the love of God, my pen is powerless to express it.

We are come back this evening from Ste. Croix. Never did I see anything more imposing. The cathedral was full. The singing of the _Stabat_ was something admirable. We were in the transept, and before us this mass of men like a moving sea, a profusion of lights, numerous clergy, the grand voice of the organ, and in the tribune the children of the choir, with the voices of angels. I was transported. A good day, upon the whole, although I should have preferred to all this agitation a few hours of solitude at the feet of Jesus. It is late; René is waiting for me for the holy hour. Good-night, dear Kate; let us love Jesus more and more.

19th.—This morning I hastened with Hélène to make the Way of the Cross before there was a crowd. The service was very fine. Monseigneur was present; he seemed to me to be in great suffering. I was at the sermon preached by M. Bougaud on the Passion. What attractive eloquence! What love for the divine Crucified One! The preacher showed us the Passion as the true Sacrifice in which are united the three parts of the sacrifices of antiquity: oblation, immolation, and communion. He portrayed the august Victim, his beauty, his courage, and his love; and in accents of the most touching pathos he retraced for us the great tragedy of the cross. How he has understood and experienced the Saviour’s love! Speech is inadequate to express his lofty enthusiasm, accompanied as it is by a heart and an imagination enkindled with such fervor.

On a day like this one does not know how to quit the church. We were there again this evening for the sermon of the Père Perraud: “He was bruised for our sins.” This young preacher was truly eloquent; he too believes and loves, and the love of God is a flame which is marvellous in its inspiration. He pointed out to us in the Passion of Jesus Christ a great teaching: hatred of sin; a sure hope; the mercy of the Lord. Kate dearest, this is the first Good Friday that I have ever spent away from you!

20th.—Heard three Masses with René; his ardent piety is a help to my tepidity. This is _the vigil par excellence_, the last of the holy forty days.

M. Bougaud’s concluding sermon has been worthy of the preceding ones; it was taken from the words of St. Augustine, spoken on the same day, in the year 387, when St. Ambrose gave holy baptism to this _son of so many tears_: “I believe in God; I believe in Jesus Christ; I believe in the church.” To listen to M. Bougaud is a royal treat; I hung, as it were, on his lips, drinking in that eloquence which is indeed the two-edged sword spoken of in Scripture. “God is the place of souls. A place is that which bears, which supports.” How ably he developed this great proposition! “Jesus Christ is the only veritable source of love, devotedness, immolation, and sacrifice. All in the present age that is vile, or despicable, or impious will never be able to effect anything against the church; while all it has that is beautiful, noble, refined, great, and excellent will never be able to effect anything but by the church; these I call the two axioms of the intelligence and love of the church. The distinctive and immortal sign which characterizes the church, and which belongs to her alone, is not science, eloquence, or genius; it is devotedness, immolation, sacrifice.” And speaking of the love of God, of Jesus Christ, and of the church, the characteristic of living souls, he said: “It is needful to awaken in souls this threefold love.” It was beautiful, sublime; but a discourse like this cannot be reproduced by lips profane. This evening we had no regular sermon, owing to the fatigue of the preacher. He contented himself with thanking his male auditors for their assiduous and willing attention (the Abbé Bougaud thanked us also, with a charm peculiarly his own), gave a _résumé_ of the principal features of the plan he has been following in this course of instruction, and, after saying a few words on the subject of the Paschal Communion, ended by inviting to it those who have not yet responded to the call of their Saviour, entreating them to be among the workmen who came at the eleventh hour. O Lord Jesus! draw all souls unto thee; reveal to them the incomparable sweetness of thy service.

Dear Kate, I am told so much of the beauties of the Procession of the Resurrection that I have decided to go to it. Marianne promises to wake me. Do you remember the good Duchess Elizabeth giving orders for her foot to be pulled in the night by one of her attendants, and of the pleasing trait of the Landgrave? To-morrow I shall have this volume put into the post; read in every line the unalterable affection of your Georgina. I do not mention René, our hearts having been melted into one alone. _Alleluia_, dear sister of my soul! When will the Catholic alleluia be sung in all the universe? Who can ever have made the title of _papist_ a term of reproach? May England herself one day become papist and receive the pardon of Ireland! O my country! how devotedly I love her.

TO BE CONTINUED.

[128] “To every noble, all honor” (proverb).

[129] Mmes. de T—— were detained in Brittany at
the time of Georgina’s marriage. The birth of Jeanne,
Mme. Paul’s fourth child, took place the same day.

[130] Our Lady of Good Help.

[131] Sermon preached at St. Roch, 1861.

[132] “The Virgin’s Thread,” the poetic and popular
name in France for the gossamer.

[133] _L’entre chien et loup._

[134] _Désassombrir._

[135] _In choir_—in a body; a whole party.

[136] The white-handed Isabelle.

[137] Is. xxi. 11.

THE TYPICAL MEN OF AMERICA.

The commemoration of the birth of American independence one hundred years ago, which is now engaging the attention of our entire community, and exciting a lively interest in every quarter of the civilized world, while it affords us an excellent opportunity for the display of the most tangible evidences of great national prosperity and progress in arts, sciences, and industrial pursuits, will not be without its salutary influence on the thousands of intelligent foreigners who this year, for the first time, may visit our shores. Whether these strangers come to us merely to gratify their curiosity, or, actuated by a laudable spirit of investigation, to study our laws, institutions, and peculiar systems of labor, a personal inspection of our social and political condition will doubtless have the effect of removing many latent prejudices and false conceptions from their minds which have been planted and fostered there by ignorant journalists and hostile critics.

And if, instead of confining their observations to the things to be seen in the grand Exhibition at Philadelphia, or even to the seaboard cities, with their fleets of shipping, gigantic warehouses, and immense factories, they should penetrate into the interior, they will behold a condition of society unequalled in any country or age. There, in the near and far West, the observant traveller will find millions of happy homesteads, wherein the laborious husbandman can repose in the twilight of his useful existence, conscious that the fertile soil upon which he has spent the best years of his manhood, and the roof-tree that covers him, are absolutely his own, subject to no earthly authority but the law which he and his fellows have devised for their mutual happiness and protection.

But while these advances in material as well as political greatness are naturally subjects of honest pride with the people of this country, they likewise give rise to grave reflections, and instinctively suggest the question: Has our progress in the higher aims of life, in civilization, morality, and religion, kept pace with our extraordinary increase in wealth, population, political power, and material development? We have no desire to throw a passing shadow over the festive spirit of this centennial year by dwelling too emphatically on individual and national faults—faults which, though more apparent in our popular system of government than in the more secretive polity of other nations, are nevertheless common to all—but we are obliged in candor to admit that the grosser pursuits of life, the desire to possess the perishable things of the world, have occupied much more the attention of the busy brains and restless physical energy of our population, than the cultivation of solid mental gifts and the practice of public and private virtues.

Much, of course, may be urged in palliation of this undue tendency to materialism. Possessing a fertile, unsettled country of vast dimensions and inexhaustible agricultural and mineral wealth, it was not unnatural that the new-born energies of our young republic should be directed to the attainment of personal independence, by the cultivation and exploration of the almost illimitable public domain of which we became the owners by right of conquest or purchase. But is it not now time to pause on the threshold of our second century of existence, and enquire whether, in this headlong pursuit of material success, we have not almost lost sight of the great and sole end for which man was created, and the means by which his destiny in this world and the next is to be accomplished? Has not our test of human usefulness been an incomplete one, and our standard of mental and moral excellence far too low?

In nature, it is said, everything is great or little by comparison. If the same rule be applied to the conduct and achievements of the men of the present day, as contrasted with those of a past age, we fear it would be found that, while we are willing to honor the virtues of our ancestors and eager to claim a share of their glory, we have lamentably failed in following their brilliant example, and much more so in improving on their plans and methods of benefiting mankind. And yet examples worthy of imitation are not wanting in the short but eventful pages of our history. We need not go back to remote antiquity for them, or even search through tomes of mediæval chronicles for what is so plentifully supplied us in modern records—models of moral purity, unsullied reputation, unselfish ambition, and perfect manhood. Take, for instance, those two illustrious men whose names are most inseparably connected with American history—Christopher Columbus, the discoverer of the New World, and George Washington, the central figure in that group of patriots and statesmen who founded the only really free republic that now exists or ever had an existence.

From the day he left his father’s house in Genoa, at the early age of fifteen, till, spent by toil and worn down by disease, he expired in Valladolid, the great discoverer pursued one unvarying course with a tenacity of purpose and a strength of will that were truly heroic. But Columbus was more than a hero: he was a Christian in the highest sense, a Catholic thoroughly imbued with the doctrines of the church, and as jealous of her honor and authority as the most loving son could be of the reputation of his earthly mother. During nearly half a century of constant study, adventure, grand successes, and disheartening changes of fortune, the experienced seaman, erudite astronomer, and close observer of natural phenomena exemplified in his whole career, with singular consistency, all the supernatural virtues with which God is sometimes pleased to endow his creatures. To a mind well disciplined and stored with all the human knowledge of his age were added a profound faith; deep-seated reverence for authority; a sincere love, not only for friends and relatives, but for all mankind; and an implicit reliance on the beneficence and justice of divine Providence that no terror could shake and no reverse lessen in the slightest degree.

A careful examination of the career of Columbus leads to the conviction that his chief object and ultimate aim from the beginning, what in after-life became more apparent, was to rescue the Holy Sepulchre from the polluting grasp of the infidel, and to bring the light of Christianity to races of men who were in darkness; all other efforts, though consistent with this grand scheme, were subordinate and auxiliary to it. Actuated by an ambition less exalted or an enthusiasm less aborbing, he could never have attained that glorious success which, though partial, has linked his name to immortality. Neither was this crusader a theorist or a religious fanatic, but, on the contrary, one of the most practical and calculating of men. Though thoroughly satisfied with the feasibility of his plans and confident in the rectitude of his motives, he neglected no opportunity of qualifying himself for the noble task upon which he had set his heart. While others attempted to reach Asia by slow and uncertain coasting along the western shores of Africa, he proposed to launch boldly out on the unknown and trackless deep, and, by taking a direct course westward, to reach the remotest parts of the East, where was situated, it was reported, the great Christian empire of Kublai Khan, the land of gold and precious stones, a tithe of which would be sufficient to initiate and sustain a new and more successful crusade against the Mohammedans.

With this end constantly in view, Columbus carefully studied every work on cosmogony and the physical sciences within his reach, accurately noted down each new discovery in navigation, and was never tired of consulting old mariners on their experience and observations. Even the writings of learned churchmen were placed under contribution. “He fortified himself,” says one of his biographers, “by references to St. Isidore, Beda, St. Ambrose, and Duns Scotus.” He also became a practical sailor, and grew as familiar with the frozen seas of Iceland and the torrid heats of the African coast as with the bays and inlets of his native Italy. “I have been seeking out the secrets of nature for forty years,” he tells us, “and wherever ship has sailed, there have I voyaged.”

Having at length, by study and personal observation, accumulated a large and varied stock of scientific knowledge, the future discoverer retired with his family to the remote island of Porto Santo, the advanced outpost of African discovery. There for several years he devoted his leisure to the patient collation and arrangement of his authorities, till he was able to reduce a mass of crude philosophical speculations and ill-digested cosmical theories to an elaborate system, which, if not altogether borne out by subsequent investigation, was in the main correct, and far in advance of the intelligence of the fifteenth century.

His plans thus thoroughly matured, Columbus considered that the time had arrived to put them into execution. He had already submitted certain proposals to Portugal, but they were rejected by a body called the Geographical Council, who, while they treated with seeming contempt the scheme of the astute Italian, had the unparalleled meanness to appropriate and attempt to use secretly the results of his long years of toil and study. Armed with letters of recommendation, he now appeared before the court of Spain, and, with the earnestness and lucidity of a mind thoroughly convinced by long and patient analysis, he explained to Ferdinand and Isabella his great project of crossing the Atlantic and adding to their dual crown, not only a new continent, but the everlasting glory of having been the means of bringing into the bosom of the church millions of human beings. Though engaged in the desperate war which ended in the final overthrow of Moslem power in Spain, the Catholic sovereigns gave the daring adventurer a kind reception, and referred his proposition to a junta of cosmographers for consideration. The members of that body, however, seem to have been as incapable of understanding the merits of the questions submitted for their deliberation as they were of appreciating the high resolve and mental comprehensiveness of their originator. After five tedious years, during which Columbus, with anxious steps but unfaltering courage, followed the court from place to place as the exigencies of the war required, the junta reported that his plans were “vain and impossible.”

Disgusted, but not disheartened, Columbus retired to the small port of Palos, where, in the society of a few learned men, clerical and lay, he forgot for a while his disappointment, but not his darling project. Through the interference of friends negotiations with the Spanish court were renewed, and again broken off on account of the conditions demanded by Columbus being considered exorbitant. He did not think so, however, and the result proved that he did not overrate the value of his services. Abandoning all hope of co-operation from Spain, the gifted Italian was about to pass the Pyrenees, and was actually on his way to the French frontier, when a courier was despatched to recall him to court. The remonstrance of influential friends, and the fear of yielding to a rival the profits as well as the political prestige which were sure to follow the success of Columbus’ projects, at last overcame the caution of Ferdinand; while a strong sympathy with the daring designs of the gifted adventurer, and an ardent desire for the propagation of the faith, made Isabella an active advocate of his interests. At Santa Fé, on the 17th of April, 1492, the agreement between Columbus and the Catholic sovereigns was signed, whereby he became admiral and viceroy of all the seas and countries he might discover; a sharer, to the extent of one-tenth, in all the profits accruing from the trade with such foreign possessions; and, by virtue of his contribution of one-eighth of the expenses of the voyage, a proportionate part of the gains which might result from it.

These conditions, which had previously been looked upon as inadmissible, but which were now willingly allowed, furnish the key to the character of Columbus. Few men of that age cared less for titles, power, or wealth than he; but these means were necessary, he considered, for the accomplishment of his grand ulterior design—the Christian possession of Palestine. He had studied human nature thoroughly, and knew that no great movement, social or political, could ever command the confidence and sympathy of the world unless directed by leaders of approved position and sustained by liberal expenditures of money.

So far, then, his wish was gratified. Ferdinand, the cautious, had yielded a reluctant consent to the fitting out of the expedition on satisfactory terms, and Isabella, his consort, the noblest woman that ever graced a throne, pawned her jewels to procure funds for its proper equipment. Amid the congratulations of his sanguine friends and the prayers of the populace, Columbus, with his fleet of three frail boats and scanty crews, “after they had all confessed and received the sacraments,” set sail from Palos on the memorable 3d of August, 1492.

Once out of sight of land, on the boundless ocean where keel of ship had never ploughed before, naught around him but a gloomy waste of waters, naught above him save the sun and stars, no friend to consult, no familiar voice to whisper hope or combat despair, with a crew both ignorant and superstitious, he held on his prearranged course, self-reliant, watchful, and dauntless. Night succeeded day, and light followed darkness, in dreary succession, yet still no land appeared. Appalled by imaginary dangers and sick from hope deferred, his men, whose hearts were never wholly in their work, first began to murmur, then broke out into open reproaches, and finally threatened to throw their captain into the sea. It was amid such trying circumstances that the true character of the man became manifest in all its magnificent proportions. Calm alike in sunshine and storm, his hand constantly on the tiller and his eye directed to the west, he heeded little the rumbling of mutinous discontent beneath his feet, nor for a moment did he allow himself to doubt that God in his own good time would conduct him safely to the haven of his hopes.

In the dark watches of the night, when the waves ran highest and the heavens were obscured as with a pall, he felt that he had that within his soul beckoning him on, more brilliant in its coruscations than the starry cross that illumines the southern hemisphere, as unerring in its guidance as the beacon which of old led the children of Israel through the pathless desert—implicit belief in the sublimity of his mission, and an entire reliance on the mercy of his Creator, in whose hands he felt himself an humble instrument for the accomplishment of noble ends. Nor were his confidence and humility long unrewarded. After eight weeks of constant watching and unspeakable anxiety, land was at length discovered, the first glimpse of the New World presented to European eyes; and scarcely had the anchor of the _Santa Maria_ become embedded in the sands of San Salvador, than her brave commander and his now repentant followers hastened ashore to plant the sacred emblem of our salvation, and, weeping and prostrate on that heathen soil, to pour forth their thanksgiving to the Almighty.

The honors which were showered upon Columbus on his return to Spain after this great event were in strange contrast to the neglect, treachery, and injustice of which he was afterwards the victim. Three times again did he cross and recross the Atlantic, making on each occasion new and important discoveries. But ignorance, venality, and envy of his fair fame and spotless honor conspired to raise up against him a host of powerful enemies, who at last stripped him of his hard-earned rewards, and would, had it been possible, have robbed him even of the glory of having been the discoverer of America. However, he bore his trials with fortitude as he had worn his great honors with meekness, seldom retorting on his enemies, and but once, as far as we are aware, condescending to complain of the rank ingratitude of a country to which he had given a whole continent. This occurred during his fourth voyage, in a despatch to the king, in which he says: “Wearied and sighing, I fell into a slumber, when I heard a piteous voice saying to me: ‘O fool! and slow to believe and serve thy God, who is the God of all. What did he more for Moses, or for his servant David, than he has done for thee? From the time of thy birth he has ever had thee under his peculiar care. When he saw thee of a fitting age, he made thy name to resound marvellously throughout the earth, and thou wert obeyed in many lands, and didst acquire honorable fame among Christians. Of the gates of the ocean sea, shut up with mighty chains, he delivered to thee the keys; the Indies, those wealthy regions of the world, he gave thee for thine own, and empowered thee to dispose of them to others according to thy pleasure. What did he more for the great people of Israel when he led them forth from Egypt? or for David, whom from being a shepherd he made a king in Judea? Turn to him, then, and acknowledge thine error; his mercy is infinite. He has many and vast inheritances yet in reserve. Fear not to seek them. Thine age shall be no impediment to any great undertaking. Abraham was above a hundred years when he begat Isaac; and was Sara youthful? Thou urgest despondingly for succor. Answer! Who hath afflicted thee so much and so many times—God or the world? The privileges and promises which God hath made to thee he hath never broken; neither hath he said, after having received thy services, that his meaning was different, and to be understood in a different sense. He fulfils all that he promises, and with increase. Such is his custom. I have shown thee what thy Creator hath done for thee, and what he doeth for all. The present is the reward of the toils and perils thou hast endured in serving others.’”

Whether Columbus had a vision, which is not improbable, or that he adopted this metaphorical style of complaint to avoid giving offence to Ferdinand, it is equally characteristic of the depth of his religious feelings and the depth of his gratitude to the Almighty. But remonstrance, no matter how just or how delicately urged, had little effect on the court of Spain. He was soon after recalled, to end his days in comparative want and obscurity. It was not apparently in the designs of Providence that Columbus should have succeeded in his primary object—the delivery of Jerusalem—but his half-success, the demonstration of the rotundity of the earth and the discovery of our hemisphere, were productive of more benefit to humanity than the complete victories of most other great benefactors of mankind. While he has handed down to all ages an imperishable name, he has also left an example to posterity—and particularly to us Americans, who owe him so much gratitude and reverence—that far outweighs in importance his contributions to science and his efforts to aggrandize his adopted country. He has proved in his own person that a soul filled with deep and intense devotion to the Creator, and a will conformable in all things to his laws, are alone capable of leading human beings to the achievement of true and lasting greatness.

Equally salutary, though different in degree and purpose, is the lesson taught us by the life and labors of George Washington, who may be considered as having been in the natural what Columbus was in the supernatural order—a noble specimen of humanity; a lover and benefactor of his kind.

As Americans, we cannot study too diligently the character of him who was properly called the Father of his Country. No other among our Revolutionary ancestors embodied in himself so many of those civic virtues which constitute the perfect citizen. Like most men who have played prominent parts on the world’s stage, Washington was born with strong passions and an imperious disposition; but careful self-culture early changed his powerful impulses into tenacity of purpose and strength of will, while his natural exclusiveness gave him afterwards that dignity of word and action which is absolutely necessary for those who are called upon to command. As general of the army and president of the infant republic, he had men around him of more brilliancy, larger experience, and greater mental attainments; but he alone possessed in a superior degree that well-balanced organization and intuitive wisdom to which all could pay the homage of obedience.

Washington’s mind, however, was neither synthetical nor originating. He was more a man of ability than of genius. He never could have initiated a revolution, though once begun, as experience has proved, he was admirably adapted to carry it out successfully. In a monarchy, he might have been a loyal, chivalrous subject; under a wise, conservative government, he would have been the first to oppose innovation; under all circumstances, he could not have failed to be a high-toned, accomplished, and honorable gentleman.

We are not surprised that our Protestant fellow-citizens love to point with commendable pride to the example of their great and good co-religionist, though Protestantism, particularly that professed in his day, and by his family and associates, had little to do with the formation of his character or the regulation of his public actions; but as Catholics we yield to none in admiration and affection for the noblest citizen of our common country. We can never forget that when our numbers were “few and faint, but fearless still,” when Puritan fanaticism and Anglican superciliousness endeavored to underrate our services, malign our motives, and misrepresent our doctrines, George Washington, rising superior to the narrow, petty bigotry of his generation, was the first to give a hearty and candid recognition to our claims as good and faithful citizens. His words to Bishop Carroll and the other representatives of the Catholics of the Revolution are indelibly impressed on the memory of the millions of Catholics among us who feel, and are proud to acknowledge, that to him and his associates they are mainly indebted for the civil and religious liberty they now so freely enjoy. “As mankind become more liberal,” he wrote, “they will be more apt to allow that all those who conduct themselves as worthy members of the community are equally entitled to the protection of civil government. I hope ever to see America among the foremost nations in examples of justice and liberality. And I presume that your fellow-citizens will not forget the patriotic part which you took in the accomplishment of their Revolution and the establishment of their government, or the important assistance which they received from a nation in which the Roman Catholic faith is professed.”

Though a sincere Christian, Washington cannot be said to have been a religious man. The cold formalities of Episcopalianism to which he was accustomed could not touch his heart nor inspire his soul with great and glowing emotions; but this was more the fault of the system in which he was reared than of himself. The motives of his actions seem to have been principally based on a refined sense of honor, on his comprehension of the requirements of the natural law, which in his regard was usually in conformity with the teachings of the church. He was just, honest, truthful, and manly; faithful in his social relations and moderate in his ambition. Had he possessed some of the glorious enthusiasm of Columbus, great as he was, he might have been still greater; and had the discoverer united to his other wonderful qualities the worldly wisdom of Washington, his star might not have descended amid the darkness and disappointment which clouded the last years of his eventful life.

Taking the character of the two greatest personages, we find in their collective lives the development of the highest qualities which human nature is capable of exhibiting. As such, we desire to hold them up for imitation to the youth of this country, who in a short time will take the place of the present generation in the conduct of our civil and domestic affairs. That those men were of different races and peculiar national tendencies does not prevent the blending of their characters into one harmonious whole. The greatest nations of ancient and modern times, those which have developed the most equitable and stable systems of government, with the greatest liberty and the highest civilization, have been formed upon the union of various tribes, clans, and families, having many radically different tendencies and special characteristics. In what one people may be deficient another may have a superabundance; and the volatile and supersensitive nature of one race is counteracted by the sedateness and stolidity of others less imaginative. As the river Nile, flowing from different sources, bears in its course the riches of the soils of a hundred climes, and empties them all into the lap of Egypt, so families of men, gifted by their Creator with various qualities of heart and mind, collect together, each with its contribution, to form a lasting and magnificent commonwealth. This is as true of religious as of political society. The church, guided by a divine instinct, finds employment and turns to account the genius of all her children, no matter how peculiar or dissimilar their attributes. She welcomes and perfects the organizing power of the Latin races, and the fire and enthusiasm of the Celtic, equally with the solidity of the Germanic and the imagination of the Orientals. Unity in diversity, authority with liberty, are essentials and correlative in the science of good government, whether it be that of a republic or of the universal church.

Who knows but that the nation now in process of forming in the bosom of our republic, from the various races of Europe, with ampler natural capacities quickened into greater activity by the political character of its institutions, is destined, in the order of events, to give to Christianity an expression more adequate and more in accordance with its universal spirit and divine origin? The church of Christ has no reverses in the movement of her divine mission, and she has turned to account each race according to its gifts in the Old World from her beginning. May not all these, in their best energies combined in the New, be called to realize the highest type of the Christian character? Do not the leading traits of Columbus and Washington point out to us the ideal Christian, the union of the most exalted faith with the thoroughest manhood? For as Christ was perfect God and perfect man in one personality, so is he who unites the most exalted faith with the most thorough manhood in one personality the complete Christian. Is not this ideal Christian the glorious promise of the future of this New World?

Protestantism, which has been the religion of the vast majority of our countrymen, is gradually losing its hold upon their convictions. The religion alone which can claim the attention of all mankind is the Catholic. It alone has all the notes of truth, both inward and outward, in its favor.

Unsupported by religious convictions, no nation can realize its true destiny. Unity of religious conviction, and the virtues necessary to uphold its institutions, are more necessary to a republic like ours than to any other form of political government. The principles and views of human nature on which our republic is based are sustained by the doctrines of Christianity taught by the Catholic Church. Gradually the church and the republic are approaching each other, and with this nearer approach there springs up reciprocal appreciation and sympathy. Fanatics on one hand, and infidels on the other, may warn, may threat, and may attempt to keep them apart by conspiracy and persecution, but in vain; for God, in whose providence they are destined to be united, will not be frustrated by the puny efforts of his enemies to keep them asunder. Out of this divine wedlock will spring forth children whose lives will be of the highest type of Christian manhood, and whose civilization will be the most glorious development of God’s kingdom on earth.

CATHOLICS IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.