This lasted some minutes; we checked them again, but again they were reënforced, and we were obliged to continue our retreat, which was fast becoming a rout. If the enemy forced us to Kaya, our army was cut in two. The battle seemed irretrievably lost, for Marshal Ney himself, in the centre of a square, was retreating; and many soldiers, to get away from themêlée, were carrying off wounded officers on their muskets. Everything looked gloomy, indeed.
I entered Kaya on the right of the village, leaping over the hedges, and creeping under the fences which separated the gardens, and was turning the corner of a street, when I saw some fifty officers on the brow of a hill before me, and behind them masses of artillery galloping at full speed along the Leipzig road. Then I saw the emperor himself, a little in advance of the others; he was seated, as if in an arm-chair, on his white horse, and I could see him well, beneath the clear sky, motionless and looking at the battle through his field-glass.
My heart beat gladly; I cried "Vive l'Empereur!" with all my strength, and rushed along the main street of Kaya. I was one of the first to enter, and I saw the inhabitants of the village, men, women, and children, hastening to the cellars for protection.
Many to whom I have related the foregoing have sneered at me for running so fast; but I can only reply that when Michel Ney retired, it was high time for Joseph Bertha to do so too.
Klipfel, Zébédé, Sergeant Pinto, and the others of the company had not yet arrived, when masses of black smoke arose above the roofs; shattered tiles fell into the streets, and shot buried themselves in the walls, or crashed through the beams with a horrible noise.
At the same time, our soldiers rushed in through the lanes, over the hedges and fences, turning from time to time to fire on the enemy. Men of all arms were mingled, some without shakos or knapsacks, their clothes torn and covered with blood; but they retreated furiously, and were nearly all mere children, boys of fifteen or twenty; but courage is inborn in the French people.
The Prussians led by old officers who shouted "Forwärts! Forwärts!"—followed like packs of wolves, but we turned and opened fire from the hedges, and fences, and houses. How many of them bit the dust I know not, but others always supplied the places of those who fell. Hundreds of balls whistled by our ears and flattened themselves on the stone walls; the plaster was broken from the walls, and the thatch hung from the rafters, and as I turned for the twentieth time to fire, my musket dropped from my hand; I stooped to lift it, but I fell too; I had received a shot in the left shoulder and the blood ran like warm water down my breast. I tried to rise, but all that I could do was to seat myself against the wall while the blood continued to flow, and I shuddered at the thought that I was to die there.
Still the fight went on.
Fearful that another bullet might reach me, I crawled to the corner of a house, and fell into a little trench which brought water from the street to the garden. My left arm was heavy as lead; my head swam; I still heard the firing, but it seemed a dream, and I closed my eyes.
When I again opened them, night was coming on, and the Prussians filled the village. In the garden, before me, was an old general, with white hair, on a fall brown horse. He shouted in a trumpet-like voice to bring on the cannon, and officers hurried away with his orders. Near him, standing on a little wall, two surgeons were bandaging his arm. Behind, on the other side, was a little Russian officer, whose plume of green feathers almost covered his hat. I saw all this at a glance—the old man with his large nose and broad forehead, his quick glancing eyes, and bold air; the others around him; the surgeon, a little bald man with spectacles, and five or six hundred paces away, between two houses, our soldiers reforming.
The firing had ceased, but between Klein-Gorschen and Kaya I could hear the heavy rumble of artillery, neighing of horses, cries and shouts of drivers, and cracking of whips. Without knowing why, I dragged myself to the wall, and scarcely had I done so, when two sixteen pounders, each drawn by six horses, turned the corner of the street. The artillery-men beat the horses with all their strength, and the wheels rolled over the heaps of dead and wounded. Now I knew whence came the cries I had heard, and my hair stood on end with horror.
"Here!" cried the old man in German; "aim yonder, between those two houses near the fountain."
The two guns were turned at once; the old man, his left arm in a sling, cantered up the street, and I heard him say, in short, quick tones to the young officer as he passed where I lay:
"Tell the Emperor Alexander that I am in Kaya. The battle is won if I am reënforced. Let them not discuss the matter, but send help at once. Napoleon is coming, and in half an hour we will have him upon us with his Guard. I will stand, let it cost what it may. But in God's name do not lose a minute, and the victory is ours!"
The young man set off at a gallop, and at the same moment a voice near me whispered:
"That old wretch is Blücher. Ah, scoundrel! if I only had my gun!"
Turning my head, I saw an old sergeant, withered and thin, with long wrinkles in his cheeks, sitting against the door of the house, supporting himself with his hands on the ground as with a pair of crutches, for a ball had passed through him from side to side. His yellow eyes followed the Prussian general; his hooked nose seemed to droop like the beak of an eagle over his thick mustache, and his look was fierce and proud.
"If I had my musket," he repeated, "I would show you whether the battle is won."
We were the only two living beings among heaps of dead.
I thought that perhaps I should be buried in the morning, with the others in the garden opposite us, and that I would never again see Catharine; the tears ran down my cheeks and I could not help murmuring:
"Now all is indeed ended!"
The sergeant gazed at me and, seeing that I was yet so young, said kindly:
"What is the matter with you, conscript?"
"A ball in the shoulder,mon sergeant."
"In the shoulder! That is better than one through the body. You will get over it."
And after a moment's thought he continued:
"Fear nothing. You will see home again!"
I thought that he pitied my youth and wished to console me; but my chest seemed crushed, and I could not hope.
The sergeant said no more, only from time to time he raised his head to see if our columns were coming. He swore between his teeth and ended by falling at length upon the ground, saying:
"My business is done! The villain has finished me at last!"
He gazed at the hedge opposite, where a Prussian grenadier was stretched, cold and stiff, the old sergeant's bayonet yet in his body.
It might then have been six in the evening. I was cold and had dropped my head forward upon my knees, when the roll of artillery called me again to my senses. The two pieces in the garden and many others posted behind them threw their broad flashes through the darkness, while Russians and Prussians crowded through the street. But all this was as nothing in comparison to the fire of the French, from the hill opposite the village, while the constant glare showed the Young Guard coming on at the double-quick, generals and colonels on horseback in the midst of the bayonets, waving their swords and cheering them on, while the twenty-four guns the emperor had sent to support the movement thundered behind. The old wall against which I leaned shook to its foundations. In the street the balls mowed down the enemy like grass before the scythe. It was their turn to close up the ranks.
I paid no further attention to the sergeant, but listened to the inspiring shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" ringing out in the momentary silence between the reports of the guns.
The Russians and the Prussians were forced back; the shouts of our troops grew nearer and nearer. The cannoneers at the pieces before me loaded and fired at their utmost speed, when three or four grape-shots fell among them and broke the wheel of one of their guns, besides killing two and wounding another of their men. I felt a hand seize my arm. It was the old sergeant. His eyes were glazing in death, but he laughed scornfully and savagely. The roof of our shelter fell in; the walls bent, but we cared not, we only saw the defeat of the enemy and heard the nearer and nearer shouts of our men, when the old sergeant gasped in my ear:
"Here he is!"
He rose to his knees, supporting himself with one hand, while with the other he waved his hat in the air, and cried in a ringing voice:
"Vive l'Empereur!"
They were his last words; he fell on his face to the earth, and moved no more.
And I, raising myself too from the ground, saw Napoleon, riding calmly through the hail of shot—his hat pulled down over his large head—his grey great-coat open, a broad red ribbon crossing his white vest—there he rode, calm and imperturbable, his face lit up with the reflection from the bayonets. None stood their ground beforehim; the Prussian artillerymen abandoned their pieces and sprang over the garden-hedge, despite the cries of their officers who sought to keep them back.
I saw no more, our victory was certain; and I fell like a corpse in the midst of corpses.
When sense returned, all was silent around. Clouds were scudding across the sky, and the moon shone down upon the abandoned village, the broken guns, and the pale upturned faces of the dead, as calmly as for ages she had looked on the flowing water, the waving grass, and the rustling leaves. Men are but insects in the midst of creation; lives but drops in the ocean of eternity, and none so truly feel their insignificance as the dying.
I could not move from where I lay in the intensest pain. My right arm alone could I stir; and raising myself with difficulty upon my elbow, I saw the dead heaped along the street, their white faces shining like snow in the moonlight. The sight thrilled me with horror, and my teeth chattered.
I would have cried for help, but my voice was no louder than that of a sobbing child. But my feeble cry awoke others, and groans and shrieks arose on all sides. The wounded, thought succor was coming, and all who could cried piteously. And I heard, too, a horse neigh painfully on the other side of the hedge. The poor animal tried to rise, and I saw its head and long neck appear; then it fell again to the earth.
The effort I made reopened my wound, and again I felt the blood running down my breast. I closed my eyes to die, and the scenes of my early childhood, of my native village, the face of my poor mother as she sang me to sleep, my little room, with its niched Virgin, our old dog Pommer—all rose before my eyes; my father embraced me again, as he laid aside his axe at his return from work—all rose dreamily before me.
How little those poor parents thought that they were rearing their boy to die miserably far from friends, and home, and succor! Would that I could have asked their forgiveness for all the pain I had given them! Tears rolled down my cheeks; I sobbed like a child.
Then Catharine, Aunt Grédel, and Monsieur Goulden passed before me. I saw their grief and fear when the news of the battle came. Aunt Grédel running to the post-office to learn something of me, and Catharine prayerfully awaiting her return, while Monsieur Goulden searched the gazette for intelligence of our corps. I saw Aunt Grédel return disappointed, and heard Catharine's sobs as she asked eagerly for me. Then a messenger seemed to arrive at Quatre-Vents. He opened his leathern sack, and handed a large paper to Aunt Grédel, while Catharine stood, pale as death, beside her. It was the official notice of my death! I heard Catharine's heart-rending cries and Aunt Grédel's maledictions. Then good Monsieur Goulden came to console them, and all wept together.
Toward morning, a heavy shower began to fall, and the monotonous dripping on the roofs alone broke the silence. I thought of the good God, whose power and mercy are limitless, and I hoped that he would pardon my sins in consideration of my sufferings.
The rain filled the little trench in which I had been lying. From time to time a wall fell in the village, and the cattle, scared away by the battle, began to resume confidence and return. I heard a goat bleat in a neighboring stable. A great shepherd's dog wandered fearfully among the heaps of dead. The horse, seeing him, neighed in terror—he took him for a wolf—and the dog fled.
I remember all these details, for, when we are dying, we see everything, we hear everything, for we know that we are seeing and hearing our last.
But how my whole frame thrilled with joy when, at the corner of the street, I thought I heard the sound of voices! How eagerly I listened!And I raised myself upon my elbow, and called for help. It was yet night; but the first grey streak of day was becoming visible in the east, and afar off, through the falling rain, I saw a light in the fields, now coming onward, now stopping. I saw dark forms bending around it. They were only confused shadows. But others beside me saw the light; for on all sides arose groans and plaintive cries, from voices so feeble that they seemed like those of children calling their mothers.
What is this life to which we attach so great a price? This miserable existence, so full of pain and suffering? Why do we so cling to it, and fear more to lose it than aught else in the world? What is it that is to come hereafter that makes us shudder at the mere thought of death? Who knows? For ages and ages all have thought and thought on the great question, but none have yet solved it. I, in my eagerness to live, gazed on that light as the drowning man looks to the shore. I could not take my eyes from it, and my heart thrilled with hope. I tried again to shout, but my voice died on my lips. The pattering of the rain on the ruined dwellings, and on the trees, and the ground, drowned all other sounds, and, although I kept repeating, "They hear us! They are coming!" and although the lantern seemed to grow larger and larger, after wandering for some time over the field, it slowly disappeared behind a little hill.
I fell once more senseless to the ground.
We Americans, generally, have got the name of being the most "go-ahead" people on earth. We are always looking out for "the last new thing," and, when we have got it, we try to sail past it, to do something better. We have tried our hands at everything under the sun; we have had our fair share in original invention, and when we have not invented we have brought out the last improvements. Amongst other things, we have tried our hands at the manufacture of religions, and if man could have made a religion, there is not a doubt that we should have succeeded. As it is, we worked the religious element with considerable originality. We have made tracks which no other people have ever thought of, and our imitations of religion have been a prodigious success.
But, in truth, the great majority of thinking people in this country have always remained deeply convinced of the truth of the old original Christianity as the work of God's revelation to man, not as the result of human thought. As a revelation, they know it must have been given once for all as a heavenly treasure, to be preserved in its antiquity to the end, not to be improved upon and adapted and remodelled by human ingenuity.Hence, as a people, we are convinced of the claims of the Christian religion upon our allegiance, and understand moreover that not "the newest thing in religions," but the "veritable old religion," is not only the best, but is theonly truth; our strength in life, our hope in death; the only thing we have to seek after, if as yet we have not found it, the pearl of priceless value, the purchase of our admission into heaven.
The question, therefore, as between Christians, narrows itself to the simple issue, Which is the old religion, and what was primitive Christianity?
But, again, we may narrow the question still more. All admit, as beyond all doubt, that there is one church, and one only, which is historically in possession of the old religion. Other churches in this country have their history, and we know when each began; some are not as old as the Declaration of Independence, none are older than the era of the Reformation, 300 years ago. The Catholic Church stands alone in her ancient descent and undaunted lineage amongst the churches of the modern creation. "True," it is answered, 'the Catholic Church isthe old church' In the line of her bishops she can, no doubt, trace her descent until, as Macaulay says, 'history is lost in the twilight of fable.' Ifshecannot count name by name the long succession of her pontiffs up to the apostles, there is certainly no other church that can put in the shadow of a claim to apostolic succession. But ancient as she is, she is not old enough to be primitive, and we should hardly think that any educated Catholic would venture to stand up before the public and say honestly that he believed, and was ready to give proof, that the Catholic Church of the present day and primitive Christianity are identical."
Such, strange as it seems to Catholics, is very much the attitude of the educated Protestant mind, when least prejudiced toward the church. Protestants, even of this class, do not know that the identity of the Catholic religion and primitive Christianity is a first principle with us, and has always been so, centuries before Protestantism was heard of; that this is the one only basis on which the Catholic Church rests her exclusive right to "teach all nations," and has always rested it. Disprove the justness of this claim, and you have reduced the Catholic Church to the level of one of the sects. So ancient and world-wide a challenge can only seem new and strange to Protestants, because they do not know even our first principles, still less the reasonings on which they rest. But clearly it cannot be rash and foolhardy in us to put forward claims to which the intellect of the vast majority of Christians, for nearly twenty centuries, has given in its adhesion. But to come to our own age and to facts of our own experience which meet us at every turn, we hear every day and have heard for the last thirty years, here and in England, and in all other Protestant countries, of great numbers of conversions to the Catholic religion. Amongst them there have been many of the leading minds of the day, high-classed men, the flower of the universities, now holding eminent positions in different walks of science and literature, at the bar, in the senate, and in the church.To name Dr. Newman as the leading intellect amongst recent converts to the Catholic Church, is to name one who possesses a more than European reputation, nay, who is as well known on this as on the other continent for acuteness and accuracy of thought, sobriety of judgment, and indefatigable research into every question involving the history of Christian antiquity, primitive belief and practice; and such men are but a reproduction, in our day, of the same type which we find in all those other men of high moral and intellectual endowments who, from the days of St. Augustine, have brought to the service of the church the mental powers which had been trained in the camp of her enemies. What do all such conversions involve but the emphatic admission, on the part of such converts, that the Catholic religion has made out her claim to identity with primitive Christianity?
Perhaps we, in this country, are more than others averse to bowing down to the authority of great names. Still it cannot be denied thatperitus in arte sua, the man who has made any art or science his particular study is and always must be an authority. We may examine a question for ourselves, or try an experiment in physics, but we must admit that the chances are a hundred to one that, after having tried it, we shall find only the predicted result. It is in this sense that we have brought forward the authority of majorities, and of great names in the present question, not as deciding the matter, "What is the truth?" but as justly producing on the minds of unprejudiced persons a strong presumption in favor of the justness of such conclusions. If it be said that the undoubtedly great minds which have embraced the Catholic religion are no proof, or even presumption, that the Catholic religion is true, we reply, Be it so; they do, however, afford a strong presumption of the sincerity of such converts when, as is generally the case, it can be shown that they embraced the Catholic faith against the force of early prejudice and to their own temporal loss. And it affords also a strong persuasion that the reasons which they had for the change of religion must have been weighty, since they wrought conviction in the minds of men well capable of judging of the force of argument, and who knew also all that could be urged on the other side. In fact, the argument in favor of the Catholic religion, drawn from the fact of the great and good men who have in every age embraced it, is similar to that which is very commonly brought forward in favor of the general evidences of Christianity, from the fact of their having wrought conviction in the mind of St. Paul or of Sir Isaac Newton.
The large number of conversions taking place every day amongst ourselves, not merely of the unlearned but even more in proportion, of the more educated and the more morally elevated, and the special weight which the submission of persons specially eminent for moral and intellectual gifts carries with it, ought to have, and indeed are found to produce at least this effect on sensible men, that it makes them pause to consider, and try to assign a sufficient reason for such conversions. Anyhow, whether any reason good or bad can be assigned for this movement, it is afact, to which no one who enters into society can shut his eyes. Conversion to the Catholic religion is like an epidemic; there is no neighborhood or profession, scarcely a family in any class of society in which conversions to the Catholic Church have not taken place. I enter a railway car or a steamboat; I go to a dinner party; I stand up with my partner at a ball; and, in the pauses of the busy hum of voices or of musical sounds, I become aware that my opposite neighbors are actually discussing with interest, attacking or defending, the Catholic religion.
Going into town by the cars the other day, I met my uncle Joe in a brown study. "Good morning, sir! why so gloomy?"
"Why, John, my eldest son, has become a Papist, sir; sorry for it; a good, steady lad, but he has got into the hands of the priests, sir; I fear it is all up with him. I suppose he will shave his head next, leave his boots at home, and turn out like one of those bare-footed friars we used to see in Belgium last fall."
"Well, but, uncle," say I, "it cannot be helped, you see; you would not have the boy, as you call him—though he is two and twenty if he is a day—go against his conscience and remain a nominal Protestant to please you." "No, sir," he replies, "you have me there; I stand up for the principle of liberty of conscience, sir. Yes, sir, liberty of conscience. I know all about it, civil and religious liberty, which the fathers of our glorious republic established once and for all time as the palladium of our constitution. But how the boy can fancy the Catholic religion to be true, and make a matter of conscience to join it, that is my puzzle, I can tell you."
"Well, but my dear sir, it is no flattery to say to you, your son is no fool. He knows what he is about; for his age, there is not a more promising young fellow at our bar; only last week old Judge Davis complimented him for the way in which he had taken a very complicated case in equity and literally turned it inside out and held it up for inspection. He is not a child; he has cut all his teeth, and is not one to be led by the nose by any man, be he priest or lawyer—you don't walk round a Yankee lawyer in a hurry."
"Well, that is true," said my uncle. "He has as sound a head as any lad I know, and at school and college he was always well up. Whatever has turned his head to Papacy? Do you know I sometimes think it is what they call amonomania—like the man who was sensible enough in everything else but mad on one point, and thought he was a pump; and another took to his room and could not be got to go out because he thought he was made of glass, and would not stand jostling in the streets. Then think of Joanna Southcote, Joe Smith, and the rest. My word! there is no end of the aberrations of the human intellect."
"Well, sir," I replied, "I don't think that will hold water, for you and I know a dozen sensible, first-rate men who have turned Catholics; no fanatics, but cool-headed men of business, good neighbors, good husbands, honest men. There is Mr. A., Judge B., General C., within the present year. They are not men to make a serious change, which they know would set every one talking and criticising them, unless they knew well what they were about, and could give reasons for the change and stand a little criticism."
"Well, that is nothing but common sense," he replied; "still I am puzzled, I can tell you, to think why they did it."
"Well, my dear sir, I think I can tell you why they did it. Because they found out that it was the old original religion, after all."
"Well, you do astonish me. I do believe you must have turned Catholic yourself, by the way you speak."
"That's a fact uncle! You see, we have not met for more than nine months. I was led, through the conversion of a very dear friend of mine, to examine into his reasons, and the result is, that I became a Catholic just before last Christmas."
"I am glad I met you to-day," he rejoined, "for to tell you the truth, I was very much cut up about this business. I have not seen John since he did it. I thought I should have to meet him to-day, and I fully intended to cut up rough with him over it. And so, Philip, you are a Catholic; let me look at you; well, I wonder how you felt when you went down on your knees and told the priest everything right away—but I suppose they did not get you up to that point, did they?"
"As for that," I replied, "set your mind at ease. I went to confession like any pious old woman, and when it was over, I never felt so light and happy since I was a boy. I felt as if I had got rid of a load, like Christian, in thePilgrim's Progress, when his heavy burden fell off at the foot of the cross of Christ, and rolled down into his sepulchre, to be buried out of sight for-ever."
"Ah! well," said he, "if one could really believe in it, and was sure it was all true, I grant you. But I tell you what, I want to have some more talk about these matters. You see, I know nothing except by hearsay against the Catholic religion, and so I have no right to pronounce an opinion—but you can't deny that they have a bad name. Go into any of our churches and hear what they all have to say against the Catholics. I don't believe one half of it; it is clear out of the question that good moral men, with all their wits about them like many we know, could be Catholics if one half of the things said against them were true. Anyhow, they have got a bad name and there is no denying it."
"That is true enough," I answered; "but do you remember of whom it was said, 'As for this sect, it is everywhere spoken against,' and that Christ tells us that in those days he, the great teacher of truth, was called by those who did not believe in him, 'Beelzebub;' that is, they actually gave out that he was the devil! And then he goes on to say, 'If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more those of his household;' and I suppose in those days there were sincere, zealous men, of whom Saul was one, who took up this cry and repeated it, and so it came to be very generally believed."
"That's true, again," he answered; "but here we are, at your place, and I must go on to my office to get my letters. But after business I hope you will not dislike a little more talk on these matters; so you must go back with me to Linfield." It was agreed, therefore, that we should go home together, and that I should stop a few days at his country place, a few miles out of town.
We met accordingly by appointment, and were soon seated together in his carriage, and before long free from the noise and turmoil of the city, and driving along the quiet country roads, with the sights and sounds of harvest all around, and nothing to distract our converse on grave topics. "Well," he said, "your last words have been on my mind all day. Because so many speak against the Catholic religion, and it has got a bad name, that is no proof that it is not right. The Jews said worse of the early Christians and of our Lord himself.
"Then there is another thing you said, that what made you a Catholic was, that you came to see that the Catholic religion and primitive Christianity are identical—so I understood you. Am I right in this?"
"Certainly," I replied, "that is precisely my proposition; stated in that form, the whole question is put, as it were, in a nutshell."
"Just so," he answered, "if that were proved. So now tell me just how you proved it to yourself."
"With all my heart, sir," was the reply. "Then see here, we must first lay down our definitions of what I mean by primitive Christianity, and what I mean by the Catholic religion."
"Certainly," he assented.
"Primitive Christianity, then," I continued, "is soon settled. By it I mean the religion taught by the apostles to their disciples, and by those disciples taught to others, and so on—the religion of the New Testament."
"Very good," he broke in; "no one can find fault with that, only we have always been taught that the religion of the New Testament, a primitive Christianity, was substantially the same as Protestantism, so that it never struck me till this moment that there was any fair doubt that the primitive Christians were Protestants, all but the name; and of course we know that the name was not given them at that day."
"All right! We will see about that later on," I continued. "Now let me tell you, in as few words as I can, what I mean by a Catholic."
"Well, I am all attention," he said.
"By a Catholic, then," I continued, "I mean a Christian who is a member of that vast, world-wide society which is generally known and called, by friend and foe, the Catholic Church, the spiritual head of which is the Bishop of Rome. This church, or united body—for you know the word church is the same asecclesiain Latin or Greek, and means 'an assembly,' or 'united body'—this united body we call catholic, or universal, because it has always vastly outnumbered all other divided bodies of Christians, whether taken singly or all put together. The number of Catholics in the world is usually stated to be two hundred millions; of Russian, Greek, and Oriental schismatics about ninety millions, and Protestants of all denominations about seventy millions. This vast united body, as it has always borne the name of Catholic, so is it the only body of Christians that can be called the catholic or universal church, if we attach any meaning to the word as a definition of the visible church, such as we find set down in the Creed, 'I believe in the Catholic Church.' However, as the name Catholic is sometimes claimed in some indefinable sense by other bodies of Christians, those to whom it belongs of right, and by the force of terms, have no objection, for the sake of distinction, to the term sometimes applied to them, of Roman Catholic, meaning merely therealcatholics; that is to say, those who, though universal, or spread everywhere, are yet united in one visible society, through being all in communion with the Bishop of Rome; being Roman in their centre of unity, and Catholic in their world-wide circumference.
"Thus the Catholic Church, alone of all Christian bodies, bears, as it it were, written on her forehead, that mark of unity divinely impressed by her Heavenly Founder and preserved by the power of his dying prayer, as a perpetual note of her heavenly origin. 'I pray thee, O Father, that they may be one in us, that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.'
"I think that you will admit that the old church founded by our Lord was to have on her these marks of unity and universality, and that these marks are to be found on no church at the present day but the church Catholic."
"Yes," he replied after a moment's reflection, "I think this may fairly be admitted; but unity is not all that our Lord prayed for; in the same prayer he said, 'Holy Father, keep them in thy truth,' and we say that the old church fell away, and that it no longer teaches the essential truths of the gospel, or has obscured them by false doctrines."
"Well, let that pass for the moment," I replied. "We will see later on whether you will continue to maintain these propositions. I will now state the principal points on which we are agreed with Protestants, and afterward the distinctive points on which we differ from them. And I think you will admit that the points on which we are agreed with you are precisely every one of those points which you would consider to be the great essential, fundamental doctrines of the gospel. We believe, then, in the unity and trinity of God, three coequal persons, one in substance, and in the incarnation of God the Son, who became the Son of Blessed Mary, ever Virgin, of the substance of his mother according to his manhood, as he had been from all eternity God the Son, of one substance with the Father—God of God. So we believe and hope for redemption and grace, to do good works acceptable to God, and which he will reward amply and solely from and through Christ our Lord, and in prayer, love, repentance, obedience, and holiness, as conditions of our salvation through him. And we believe that eternal perdition and endless woe will be the lot of those 'who neglect so great a salvation.' We believe also that all Holy Scripture is written by divine inspiration, and when studied and rightly understood, by aid of God's Holy Spirit, is most profitable for instruction in all Christian perfection. In a word, Catholics believe all that religious Protestants consider to be of the essence of true religion; and they also reject every tenet or position which can clash with these paramount truths of revelation. A Protestant, therefore, in becoming a Catholic, has to give up nothing which he believes essential in religion. No doubt he would have to add to his faith certain other truths which at present he does not hold, because he has not come to see that they are parts of revealed truth."
"I have not lost a word," he replied, "of what you have been saying. I confess it is quite a new light to me, that all these doctrines which you have stated are part and parcel of the Catholic faith; but, my dear Philip, I cannot help fancying that all Catholics are not like you, for I have always heard that they denied or obscured nearly every one of these doctrines."
"As for these statements of doctrine not being the authorized teaching of the church, I can only say that you will find them all stated fully by the authorities of our church in the canons and catechism of the Council of Trent, and stated briefly in every child's catechism. Yet, notwithstanding, as you say, Protestants generally seem to think that they know our religion better than we do ourselves; although they seldom read our books, they insist on denying that we reallydohold these points which we profess to hold in common with them; but I think you will admit that we ought to be allowed to know our own creed best. It is a wonder that they do not rather rejoice to believe that we have so many points of faith in common, and those the very points in which they consider the essence of true religion to consist. It seems as if they had an instinctive feeling that the strength of their position would be broken up if once if should appear that the differences between themselves and the old religion were on but few points, and those such as they do not consider the most essential."
"Well, anyhow," he rejoined, "whatever be the reason, there is a strong prejudice on both sides; Protestants are as strongly convinced that you are in the wrong as you Catholics are convinced that you are right. One or other of us must be wrong; and if we assert that you are wrong against such a strong conviction on your part, and one that has subsisted for so many ages, and been held by such a vast majority, why, we are forced to admit that our strong conviction against you is no argument that we are in the right. But you can't deny that such a strong conviction as ours must have some foundation in reason."
"Just so," I answered, "I do not deny it at all. These same reasons seemed so convincing to me once that I could not have believed that any reasoning could have convinced me that I was mistaken. I will just touch on some of the reasons which weighed most with me against the Catholic religion. From my own experience I am convinced that the difficulty Protestants generally feel, in admitting that Catholics reallydohold all that they deem to be essential, arises chiefly from this, that it seems to them clear and evident that certain other doctrines which we hold, such as the merit of good works, the invocation of Saints, the inherent efficacy of Sacraments, Purgatory, the real Presence, and the sacrifice of the Mass, the use of images, pictures, and relics, the Immaculate Conception, and devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and perhaps other doctrines and practices,mustnecessarily interfere with the mediatorial office of Christ and with the worship of God, and be impious or idolatrous."
"Well," he answered, "you have given a long list enough, and it makes me feel all over just as I was before I met you. I declare, to my dying day I never could take in all those things; and I can't see how you, or any sensible man, could come to believe them. Nay, don't tell me you believe them. Why, your church can't expect it of an American citizen, whatever may be the case with Frenchmen and Spaniards, that have been, as one may say, brought up to it, and had it bred in the bone. I am sure I could easier turn Jew and go back to the old original religion of all than become a Catholic."
"Have a care, my dear sir," I answered; "make no rash statements. I once thought as you do now. I can't answer all objections against these doctrines in one breath. Give me time, and I am not afraid of going into them one after the other. But I can't attempt it now; and now, as we are getting near home, just walk your horse along this shady bit of road, and I will finish for to-day. Now, with regard to all these doctrines which seem so strange and repugnant to you, let me say, as an honest man who once thought and felt as you do now, but who has come by God's grace to see things differently—let me say, as one who knows that he must answer for his every word before Christ's unerring tribunal, that there is not one of those points which is not capable of being shown in no degree to interfere with the supreme prerogatives of our divine Lord and only Saviour, and which is not capable of conclusive proof. Would to God that Protestants, instead of reading and hearing only what is said against us, would hear and read what we have to say for ourselves. These early prejudices, this 'human tradition,' which 'they have received to hold,' would be dispersed like the morning mists before the sun.
"The general answer that I would give to such objections is, read Catholic books, and you will find that all these allegations are as old as Protestantism, and that they have been answered a hundred times over."
"If we are Catholics, it is simply under God's grace, because we have read for ourselves, and have been satisfied with the Catholic answer on every single point. If I am asked to name any particular works which would be found specially useful—I mean works of a popular character—I would mention Bishop Milner'sEnd of Controversy; The Faith of Catholics, by Waterworth; various works of Dr. Newman and Archbishop Manning;Temporal Mission of the Holy Ghost, andRule of Faith; the works of Archbishop Kenrick; and other works which may be obtained at any Catholic bookstore. But most Protestants, as was my own case when a Protestant, have a strong prejudice against reading Catholic books. I believe the basis of this prejudice (which would be logical enough if its basis were just) is much the same as that which would rightly disincline all religious persons, unless in some way it became a duty, from reading Socinian and deistical writings. They have been accustomed to consider that Catholics have this in common with Socinians and deists, that they all, more or less, reject those doctrines of redemption through Christ which every baptized and thinking Christian feels to be part of the inner life of his soul, which he would die rather than part from. But those who reason thus against the Catholic religion, and are unwilling to examine its evidence, forget that Thomas à Kempis, or the author of theImitation of Christ, was a Catholic, a monk of the middle ages, devoted to every Catholic doctrine. His fourth book on the Eucharist manifests, in every page, his belief in the real Presence, and the sacrifice of the Mass; and he speaks of invocation of saints, purgatory, priestly absolution, and other Catholic doctrines. Yet this work, on account of the pure love of God and trust in a Saviour, which it breathes in every line, is almost as great a favorite with devout Protestants as it is with pious Catholics. Translated from beginning to end by John Wesley, it is to be found as a manual of piety, with hisimprimatur, recommended by him, in the hands of all his followers.
"The same may be said of the works of St. Bernard, Fénélon, Paschal, all well-known names familiar through translations of their works to all well-read Protestants. Again, the Jansenist writers of the school of Port Royal are, I believe, generally admired by what are called the Evangelical school among Protestants. Yet the Jansenists all held the creed of Pope Pius, laid down at the Council of Trent, and all the distinctive doctrines of the Catholic religion.
"I have spoken before of Dr. Newman as a name honored by all, by Protestants as well as Catholics. No one has written more ably in defence of every doctrine of the church. Could he, who is the author of the lines I am just going to repeat, have written so truly and touchingly of the love of our Blessed Lord and faith in him, if he had held any doctrine which interfered with or overshadowed the supremacy of that Lord and only Saviour?
'Firmly I believe, and truly,God is three, and God is one.And I next acknowledge dulyManhood taken by the Son.And I hope and trust most fullyIn that manhood crucified.And each thought and deed unrulyDo to death as he hath died.Simply to his grace, and solely,Life and light and strength belong.And I love supremely, solelyHim the Holy, him the Strong.And I hold in veneration,For the love of Christ alone,Holy church, as his creation,And her teaching as his own.'Dream of Gerontius.
'Firmly I believe, and truly,God is three, and God is one.And I next acknowledge dulyManhood taken by the Son.And I hope and trust most fullyIn that manhood crucified.And each thought and deed unrulyDo to death as he hath died.Simply to his grace, and solely,Life and light and strength belong.And I love supremely, solelyHim the Holy, him the Strong.And I hold in veneration,For the love of Christ alone,Holy church, as his creation,And her teaching as his own.'Dream of Gerontius.