Before Dr. Doyle's entrance upon the public duties of his episcopal office, the efforts made for their emancipation by the Catholics had produced but little effect. Petitions crowded to the parliament, but they were hastily and sometimes scornfully rejected. Religious equality had been promised as a reward for the parliamentary union of both countries in 1800; but the insidious policy of Pitt proved the promise fallacious, and when the nation found itself cheated out of its legislative power, without even this slight recompense of religious freedom, deep was the indignation felt. In the movements preceding Dr. Doyle's efforts for the recovery of their rights, the Catholics were unaided by the "higher order" of their countrymen, "who sensitively shrank from participating in any appeal for redress." (Vol. I. p. 156.) The people were thus abandoned by those whom they regarded as their natural leaders, and, with some exceptions, "the Catholic clergy not only held aloof, but deprecated any attempt to disturb the general apathy." (Ibid.) But Dr. Doyle brought new energy to the combat, and, although the victory which crowned the labors of the great "Liberator" in 1829 was principally due to his own herculean powers and indomitable spirit, still the assistance rendered by the Bishop of Kildare was highly appreciated by O'Connell himself. Here it may be remarked that the Duke of Wellington is sometimes lauded for yielding to the claims of the Catholics. It is just to accord praise wherever merited; but, as the hostility of Wellington to the demands of his countrymen had been for years the greatest obstacle to their being satisfied, and as he yielded at last evidently through fear of revolution in case of refusal, it would appear that a reluctant concession, rendered when it could not be safely withheld, is but a slight groundwork upon which to erect a monument to his generosity.
It would be a long though not an ungrateful task, to trace the toilsome progress of the bishop through his many labors for the temporal and eternal welfare of his people. Throughout every page of the work before us we may perceive the deep solicitude with which he continually watched over their moral and social improvement. Wide-spread disaffection at long misgovernment had evinced itself in various species of secret societies—Ribbonmen, White-boys, Peep-o'-day men, etc.—formed either for purposes hostile to the actual state of society, or, more frequently, perhaps, for self-defence against the powerful and extensive organization of Orange-men. The Ribbonmen promised "to be true to, and assist each other in all things lawful;" but if even justifiable in their origin and object, they not unfrequently were guilty of acts which soon aroused the opposition of the clergy. Bishop Doyle found his diocese extensively overrun by numerous parties of these societies; but, as the people loved him, his disapprobation was very effectual in checking their progress. As most of the discontent arose from the collection of tithes from Catholics for the support of Protestant ministers, he reprobated the laws that were thus the cause of evils which it was their office to remove. He himself counselled his people to observe a negative opposition to the collection of these tithes, by refusing to pay them, but never to resist with violence a forcible execution of the law. To force obedience to this law was frequently a dangerous experiment. The legal claims of the parson were sometimes satisfied at the expense of the lives of his unwilling supporters.However incompatible with his character it might appear, yet it was no uncommon occurrence to witness the meek parson at the head of a military force, leading an assault on some undefended cabin or directing their manoeuvres in order to possess himself of a cow, an only pig, or even a wretched bed and bedding of a destitute family. Goaded to fury, the people would sometimes resist the soldiers, and the sacrifice of human life was often the only fruit of a tithe-collecting expedition. It may be interesting to read the following verbatim copy of a bill announcing the sale by auction of the valuable spoil secured in a successful foray by an evangelical gentleman in the neighborhood of Ballymore:
"To besoaledby Public Cout in the town of Ballymore on the 15 Inst oneCowethe property of James Scully one new bed and onegownethe property of John quinn seven hanks ofyearnthe property of the widow Scott onepetty coateand one apron the property of the widow Gallagher seized under and by virtue of leasing warrant for tythe due the Rved. John Ugher. Dated this 12th day of May 1824."
In his celebrated examination before a committee of parliament in 1825, Dr. Doyle rendered ample testimony to the practical evils of this system. Notwithstanding the merciless exposure to which he subjected the entire tithe business, there was nothing done to alleviate the misery or remedy the sufferings with which it is so pregnant, and Ireland still labors under this, one of her most harassing calamities—the cause of her discontent and the source of her degradation. Not a little remarkable is the historical fact, that before the time of the reformation the Irish nation never consented to the system of tithes established in all other countries by the law of the church. Before the invasion there was no such thing known. After that lamentable period the English conquerors attempted to establish it as in England, but "Giraldus Cambrensis," says Doctor Doyle, "imputes it to the Irish as a crime that they would not pay tithe, notwithstanding the laws which enjoined such payment; and, now at the end of six hundred years, they are found to persevere, with increased obstinacy, in their struggles to cast off this most obnoxious impost."
A long letter addressed to his liberal friend. Sir H. Parnell, in 1831, is occupied in expounding his views on poor laws and church property. His advocacy of laws to relieve the poor drew forth his eloquent pleading in their behalf, whilst his extensive knowledge of canon law made him familiar with the ancient legislations of the church with respect to tithes. A short but characteristic passage from this letter we cannot omit:
"I am a churchman; but I am unacquainted with avarice, and I feel no worldly ambition. I am, perhaps, attached to my profession; but I love Christianity more than its worldly appendages. I am a Catholic from the fullest conviction; but few will accuse me of bigotry. I am an Irishman hating injustice, and abhorring, with my whole soul, the oppression of my country; but I desire to heal her sores, not to aggravate her sufferings. In decrying, as I do, the tithe-system, and the whole church establishment in Ireland, I am actuated by no dislike to the respectable body of men who, in the midst of fear and hatred, gather its spoils; on the contrary, I esteem those men, notwithstanding their past and perhaps still existing hostility to the religious and civil rights of their fellow-subjects and countrymen; I even lament the painful position in which they are placed. What I aspire to is the freedom of the people; what I most ardently desire is their union—which can never be effected till injustice, or the oppression of the many by the few, is taken away. And as to religion, what I wish is to see her freed from the slavery of the state and the bondage of mammon—to see her restored to that liberty with which Christ hath made her free—her ministers laboring and receiving their hire from those for whom they labor—that thus religion may be restored to her empire, which is not of this world, and men once more worship God in spirit and in truth."
In this one paragraph we have a compendious exposition of his views and aims with regard to the civil and religious freedom of his country.
When the disfranchisement of the forty-shilling free-holders—a disastrous piece of legislation—was effected in 1831, Dr. Doyle undisguisedly expressed his liberal views of individual right and liberty. One position maintained by him is somewhat remarkable, and we record it, as it accords with the opinion of our fellow-citizens.
"It is the natural right of man," he writes—"a right interwoven with the essence of our constitution, and producing as its necessary effect the House of Commons—that a man who has life, liberty, and property, should have some share or influence in the disposal of them by law. Take the elective franchise from the Irish peasant, and you not only strip him of the present reality or appearance of this right, but you disable him and his posterity ever to acquire it. He is now poor and oppressed—you then make him vile and contemptible; he is now the image of a freeman—he will then be the very essence of a slave. ... Like the Helot of Athens, he may go to the forum and gaze at the election, and then return to hew his wood and fetch his water to the freeman—an inhabitant, but not a citizen, of the country which gave him birth."
Whilst thus battling with the injustice of the times, and wielding with effect his powerful pen and eloquent voice—expounding his views of human right, reproving insidious politicians, reprobating the ungenerous legislation of the government, and refuting the calumnies by which his religion was assailed—he never lost sight of the humbler duties of his pastoral office. From the turmoil and uncertain issues of public discussion, he would revert with a sense of relief to the special care of his own immediate flock. Great was the solicitude which he so frequently expressed and always felt for the salvation of his people. "Ah!" he would exclaim, "how awful to be made responsible for even one soul! 'What then,' as St. Chrysostom says, 'to be held answerable, not for one, but for the whole population of an entire diocese!' 'Quid de illis sacerdotibus dicendum, a quibus sunt omnium animae requirendae?'" It will tell, more than volumes, to know his character as bishop, the exalted views he took of the value of a Christian soul. "And if such," he proceeds to say, "be the value of one immortal soul redeemed by the precious blood of an incarnate God, what must be the value of thousands? And oh! what the responsibility of him who has to answer not for one, but for multitudes—perhaps, ultimately, for millions! How can he reasonably hope to enter heaven, unless with his dying breath he can repeat with truth, 'Father, of those whom thou hast confided to my care, not one has perished through my fault.'" In this spirit his efforts for the education and moral improvement of his people were carried on to a successful issue.His wise restitution of the laws of the church to their proper control over everything connected with his diocese, completely removed the confusion which had long reigned. The statutes decreed for the government of his clergy were rigorously enforced. He placed upon a more intelligible basis the hitherto unsettled relations of religious orders to regular diocesan authority, and although a religious himself, he was never accused of partiality toward such communities. In fact, he found it necessary as it was difficult to induce them to undertake reforms which he deemed very much needed in some points of discipline, in order to render their services more efficient. He writes, (vol. ii. p. 187,) "I have, from time to time, suggested to men of various religious orders the necessity of some further improvement, but in vain. They seem to me the bodies of men who are profiting least by the lights of the age. I regret this exceedingly," etc. In 1822, he wrote that "to suppress or secularize half or most of the religious convents of men in Portugal would be a good work." Thus his zeal for the cause of truth and the benefit of the church led him, not only in this, but in other instances, to express opinions which not many would venture to publish. It is curious to notice his estimate of a writer to whom but few would accord the same justice. In a letter written to Mariana in 1830, he says, "You would like to know something of Fleury. Well, he is the ablest historian the church has produced; but he told truth sometimes without disguise, and censured the views and conduct of many persons, who in return gave him a bad name." As he loved, instead of fearing freedom of thought, so, too, he boldly expressed his opinions; and with all the power at his command endeavored to carry out his views. He was no mere theorist, although he theorized extensively upon two important subjects. One was upon the practicability of effecting a union between the Anglican and Catholic churches, and the other had reference to the formation of a patriarchate for Ireland. For his action upon both of these questions, arising as they did from the circumstances of his time, he has been made the object of adverse, as well as favorable criticism. Of his theological knowledge, and of the light which his own native genius threw upon every topic he touched, there can be but one opinion, nor will there be found any rash enough to doubt the honesty of his intentions. This is sufficient to exonerate him from all unbecoming charges in the minds of enlightened men, and it is only the vicious and ignorant that stoop to the imputation of evil motives. His view with regard to the union of the churches appears to have been a doctrinal submission to the Catholic Church, and a compromise in matters of discipline. The advantages to be derived from having a patriarch in Ireland, were presented by Dr. Doyle with his usual argumentative ability; and although accused of having desired the office for himself, the charge is an undoubted fabrication. Both of these projects fell through for want of cooperation; but they show the extent to which his love of truth, and love of peace, and love of increasing the power of Christianity led him. Before concluding this notice of only a small portion of his labors and of the events which attended his career, we will transcribe the opinion formed of him by the Count de Montalembert, who, in a tour through Ireland in 1832, visited Dr. Doyle and Dr. Murray."They have inspired me," he writes, "with the greatest veneration, not only for their piety and other apostolic virtues, but for their eloquence and elegance of manners. Dr. Doyle is well known to the Catholic world as one of the most solid pillars of the true faith, and the three kingdoms will long remember his appearance at the bar of the House of Lords, where, by his eloquent exposition of Catholic doctrines, he confounded the peers of England—the descendants of those men who signed the great charter, but whose faith they have denied."
Wasted by his continual labors and incessant care for the welfare of his people, he felt the gradual approach of the last great combat to which all must ultimately yield. He might well exclaim with Saint Paul, "I have fought the good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith, and now there is laid up for me a crown of glory, which the Lord shall render to me, the just Judge." "When exhausted nature apprised him that the last sad struggle was approaching, he called for the viaticum. But recollecting that his Master had expired on the hard bed of the cross, and anxious to resemble him even in his end, he ordered his mourning priests to lift him almost naked from his bed, and stretch him upon the cold and rigid floor, and there, in humiliation and penance and prayer, James of Kildare and Leighlin accepted the last earthly embrace of his God." This was in 1834, in the forty-eighth year of his age, and in the fifteenth of his episcopate.
Mr. Fitzpatrick has rendered a valuable service to his country and religion by writing the life of this eminent man. The next thing to being a great man is to propose to our people the example of great and good men, whom they should honor, and whose memory should inspire those who come after them. Ireland has many such men whose histories have not yet been written, and whose lives would serve to raise in the souls of her sons a generous emulation of their actions. An incident in the life of Dr. Doyle will show that this was a principle with which he himself was deeply impressed, and which he very emphatically expressed. A foreign monk, dressed rather picturesquely, once approached him with a very meek aspect, and said that he was a member of a community from the continent just come to Ireland bearing the relics of a man said to have been "beatified." At the same time he offered to the bishop a considerable portion of the relics. The bishop was somewhat ruffled in temper, and replied sternly: "Sir, we need not the ashes of beatified foreigners while we see the bones of our martyred forefathers whitening the soil around us."
What Saint Columba Said To The BirdBlown Over From Ireland To Iona. [Footnote 21]
[Footnote 21: This is a very ancient legend of the great founder of Iona, and very characteristic of his exalted patriotism and loving tenderness for all creatures, in which he was an antitype of the seraphic St. Francis.]
I.Cling to my breast, my Irish bird,Poor storm-tost stranger, sore afraid!How sadly is thy beauty blurred—The wing whose hue was as the curd,Rough as the seagull's pinion made!II.Lay close thy head, my Irish bird.Upon this bosom, human still!Nor fear the heart that still has stirredTo every tale of pity heardFrom every shape of earthly ill.III.For you and I are exiles both;Rest you, wanderer, rest you here!Soon fair winds shall waft you forthBack to our own beloved north—Would God, I could go with you, dear!IV.Were I as you, then would they say,Hermits and all in choir who join,'Behold two doves upon their way;The pilgrims of the air are they,Birds from the Liffey or the Boyne!'V.But you will see what I am bannedNo more, for my youth's sins, to see—My Derry's oaks in council stand.By Roseapenna's silver strand—Or by Raphoe your flight may be.VI.The shrines of Meath are fair and far,White-winged one! not too far for thee—Emania, shining like a star,(Bright brooch on Erin's breast you are!) [Footnote 22]That I am never more to see.[Footnote 22: It is said that Macha, the queen, traced outthe site of the royal rath of Emania, near Armagh, with thepin of her golden brooch.See Mrs. Ferguson's "Irelandbefore the Conquest,"for this and other interestingCeltic legends.]VII.You'll see the homes of holy menFar west upon the shoreless main—In sheltered vale, on cloudy Ben,Where saints still pray, and scribes still penThe sacred page, despising gain!VIII.Above the crofts of virgin saints.There pause, my dove, and rest thy wing.But tell them not our sad complaints!For if they dreamt our spirit faintsThere would be fruitless sorrowing.IX.Perch as you pass amid their trees,At noon or eve, my travelled dove.And blend with voices of their beesIn croft, or school, or on their knees—They'll bind you with their hymns of love!X.Be thou to them, O dove! where'erThe men or women saints are found.My hyssop flying through the air;My seven-fold benedictions bear—To them, and all on Irish ground.XI.Thou wilt return, my Irish bird—I, Colum, do foretell it thee.Would thou couldst speak as thou hast heardTo all I love—O happy bird!At home in Eri soon to be!
I.Cling to my breast, my Irish bird,Poor storm-tost stranger, sore afraid!How sadly is thy beauty blurred—The wing whose hue was as the curd,Rough as the seagull's pinion made!II.Lay close thy head, my Irish bird.Upon this bosom, human still!Nor fear the heart that still has stirredTo every tale of pity heardFrom every shape of earthly ill.III.For you and I are exiles both;Rest you, wanderer, rest you here!Soon fair winds shall waft you forthBack to our own beloved north—Would God, I could go with you, dear!IV.Were I as you, then would they say,Hermits and all in choir who join,'Behold two doves upon their way;The pilgrims of the air are they,Birds from the Liffey or the Boyne!'V.But you will see what I am bannedNo more, for my youth's sins, to see—My Derry's oaks in council stand.By Roseapenna's silver strand—Or by Raphoe your flight may be.VI.The shrines of Meath are fair and far,White-winged one! not too far for thee—Emania, shining like a star,(Bright brooch on Erin's breast you are!) [Footnote 22]That I am never more to see.[Footnote 22: It is said that Macha, the queen, traced outthe site of the royal rath of Emania, near Armagh, with thepin of her golden brooch.See Mrs. Ferguson's "Irelandbefore the Conquest,"for this and other interestingCeltic legends.]VII.You'll see the homes of holy menFar west upon the shoreless main—In sheltered vale, on cloudy Ben,Where saints still pray, and scribes still penThe sacred page, despising gain!VIII.Above the crofts of virgin saints.There pause, my dove, and rest thy wing.But tell them not our sad complaints!For if they dreamt our spirit faintsThere would be fruitless sorrowing.IX.Perch as you pass amid their trees,At noon or eve, my travelled dove.And blend with voices of their beesIn croft, or school, or on their knees—They'll bind you with their hymns of love!X.Be thou to them, O dove! where'erThe men or women saints are found.My hyssop flying through the air;My seven-fold benedictions bear—To them, and all on Irish ground.XI.Thou wilt return, my Irish bird—I, Colum, do foretell it thee.Would thou couldst speak as thou hast heardTo all I love—O happy bird!At home in Eri soon to be!
Are there any souls who can read the gospels as they would a common history of an heroic being? Whose frames do not thrill at the sublime words the anointed Saviour uttered? Whose hearts do not glow with an unearthly warmth at the touching incidents which mark the divine footsteps? Who see in the miracles only a temporary relief from natural ailments? Who feel in the tremendous agony of the passion only the ordinary tide of human emotion in contemplating suffering? Such as these will not sympathize with Lotis, as she rose from the cleansing waters with one sole aspiration in her heart; one firm, unchangeable purpose in her will; one object of interest for her intellect; one single love to fill every affection she was conscious of. Long ago she had sought the truth, the light, the life, the way. She possessed them now; it remained for her to form herself upon the model, to think his thoughts, to act his deeds, to live in his sight, and be crucified in him; and all because she felt that here on earth it was the only life worth having, the only love worth loving. The perversion of the world had become to her the necessary result of its having forsaken God; and because it has forsaken God, and cannot recognize truth, it will ever persecute good; and they that live godly in Jesus Christ must necessarily suffer persecution—the persecution to which a blessing is promised. Day and night did Lotis meditate on the words of God; nor was it long ere she desired to bring them into action. After the example of the Christians of Jerusalem, she had placed her resources at the feet of the Bishop of Athens, and now she placed her services under his direction. But there was one thought that haunted her, and often she uttered one word in his presence; that word was Chione.
"And what do you think can be done for Chione, my child?" asked the good bishop one day.
"I do not know, father, (so let me call you, I beg;) I do not know; but I understand her struggle now, which I did not when I sat with her on the ruins; I see what she meant when she could not give up Magas, or the applause of the world. She dreaded slavery because she was not free in soul. Would I could win the interior freedom for her by wearing the exterior chain. Father, let me beg Chione's freedom, bodily freedom; hers is not a spirit to be coerced into discipline. Surveillance only exasperates her."
"I believe it, my child, when it is not of her own choosing. Remember, however, she obeys Magas."
"Because he flatters her, fosters her pride, and maintains her in her station; besides, she loves him, and a woman easily obeys where she loves."
"She has bound herself to follow Christ."
"But she does not feel free to do it. Perhaps, were exterior freedom granted to her, she might follow what she knows to be truth. I shall never forget her appearance in the ruins of Tiryns when first I accosted her. Chione has not lost her faith."
"Faith without works is dead," [Footnote 23] said the bishop; "for works are the expression of our love, of that divine charity without which we are nothing. [Footnote 24] Though we speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, we become as sounding brass or tinkling cymbals."
[Footnote 23: James ii. 20.][Footnote 24: I Cor. xiii. I, 2.]
"Chione knows this," said Lotis; "she feels it intensely; it is this feeling which occasions the struggle which she says is destroying her."
"Well, she shall have her freedom, my daughter, though I doubt its effecting a good result. It is scarcely in the redemptive order. Our Lord cured those only whose souls were turned to him. [Footnote 25]
[Footnote 25: "And he did not many mighty works there, because of their unbelief." Matt. xiii. 58.]
Men try to penetrate the secrets of matter, and call their guesses science. The action of mind they observe not, or they would see that it obeys laws as unfalteringly as the insensate stone. A soul perfectly united to God is endowed with power that seems supernatural to those who know not that 'soul' is of divine origin, and even in its primal attributes towers above matter. The action of such a soul on one open to its influences is miraculous, as all action of grace is; but it was once Adam's privilege by conferred gift at creation; it is now the Christian's right, purchased for him by Christ. The apostles, as you know, heal those whom their shadow falls upon, not of their own power, but by virtue of the Holy Spirit that dwells in them; but the power of God thus manifests itself only when the recipient has at least some degree of recipient power, obtained by grace also. Christ is silent before his unbelieving judges, works no miracle for Herod; yet he cannot exist without grace flowing from him; but grace falling on souls who will not receive it, but hardens them the more. [Footnote 26] This is why an apostate is ever harder to reconvert than one who has never received the faith; this is why we are forbidden to cast our pearls before swine; this is why I tremble for Chione. Remorse was busy at her heart when you left her. If she listens to the voice of God thus speaking within her, she may yet be a saint; if she rejects the proffered voice, Ifear, I fear the effect of grace rejected in such a mind as hers; it will demonstrate itself with no ordinary power."
[Footnote 26: "And God hardened the heart of Pharao." Exodus x. 27.]
"At the words she heard at Ephesus she fainted away," said Lotis.
"Better," answered the bishop, "better had she thrown herself at the feet of the apostle, and said simply, 'I repent me of my sin.' Of what service to her was her remorse? It stopped her eloquence, paralyzed her tongue. She could no longer mystify her hearers by vain terms of an unintelligible philosophy of which she held the key in her hand, though she would not use it. From what you have told me, it was remorse, and not repentance, she felt."
"Oh! that she might be saved, though it were as by fire," fervently ejaculated Lotis.
The bishop looked at her face beaming with heavenly charity, and the spirit of prophecy awoke within him.
"Lotis," said he, "all Christians are more or less sureties for one another, and must bear each other's burdens, even as our Master became surety for each one of us, and bore our sins upon the cross. It is a fearful burden Chione has to endure, more especially for one of her disposition. 'Twill be, indeed, a saving as if by fire, when salvation comes to her.Say, would you be willing to help her bear her burden? If the flames are kindled, and she shrinks from them, will you pass through them in her place?"
"To save her? Yes! Indeed I would! Father, I love Chione."
"Then offer yourself to God for her, my daughter, and strengthen yourself by prayer for the suffering you must look forward to. Chione will be granted to expiatory love."
......
"Now, my Chione, we will go to Athens."
"No, not to Athens, Magas; anywhere rather than to Athens; I beg of you not to take me to Athens."
"Why, what caprice is this? Where in all the world will you find yourself likely to be appreciated so well as at Athens? What audience more intelligent, more refined, more susceptible of sublime emotions? I love Athens; you know I do, and you may judge of the depth of my love for you, that, to ensure your freedom, I have kept from it so long; but now, no one has a claim upon you save myself; so we will go to Athens."
"I thought you had set your heart on going to Rome."
"That was only when I deemed Athens was out of the question. But my—my Chione, you are free; we may go anywhere. My estates are suffering from want of my presence; besides, I will settle some of the revenues on you. You must come to Athens with me."
It was very unwillingly that Chione acceded; but what could she do? Was she less a slave now than before? Sometimes she thought she was more so; for had she gone to the Lady Damaris, resumed the practice of her religion, which clung to her inner being, although outwardly she gave no sign of faith, she knew she would have been not only freed, but placed in a position to render her independent of Magas. And why did she not do this now—why? Her fame had preceded her to the city, and she resolved to prove worthy of the reputation she had acquired. Poetry, art, mythic types, and Christian dogmas, blended in euphonic union in the discourses she delivered, while her impassioned verse thrilled every heart; everywhere she was greeted as the modern Sappho, everywhere honored as the tenth muse; and at last the acclamations of her fellow-citizens called her to the very temple of the muses in which we were first introduced to her, there to receive the crown of music, eloquence, and poesy. How could she refuse? How could she renounce the world? ... The throng was immense; not only theéliteof Athens were there, but strangers came in crowds to hear the celebrated Leontium. The small temple had been somewhat injudiciously chosen, since not one half of the crowding throng could enter. The festival had been proposed as a private tribute of friendship from the most exalted citizens of Athens to their adorable muse; but Leontium (as her public name ran) was no longer a private person; it was found impossible to distance the crowds; and hastily a platform was erected outside the building in the sacred grove, that the public might be accommodated and have a chance of hearing their favorite sing the glories of Athens.
We will not attempt to describe the preparatory exercises; the beautiful intertwinings and graceful wreathings of the various myths represented on that day, when all the energies of the city seemed exhausted to impart glory to the classical allegories that were about to disappear from among mankind for ever.There was an elegance, a chastity about the performance never witnessed before, and an influence was felt impending that belonged not to the types before them. To the superior taste of Magas and Chione some of this atmosphere of exaltation was doubtless due; yet the audience felt as if something more than this was around them; as if the divinities themselves were present, and insisting on receiving the homage that for so many ages had been presented as their right.
But now it was nearly over. The walls of Thebes had risen to the lyre of Amphion, while the slow but untiring Hours had followed to its soft music the glorious chariot of Apollo; and so artfully was all contrived that the spectators could not discover by what magic the stones were moved, or the figures representing the hours supported as they moved on the mists away.
Hermes, instructing Cadmus in the art of letters; Minerva, introducing the distaff into the household; and Ceres, teaching man to sow the corn; all these had followed with appropriate poetry and music, with many others of a similar description. And then, as if to heighten the effect by contrast, came a hush, a calm, a silence; the stage was covered with clouds; the incense rendered every object indistinct; low, melancholy tones uttered at intervals, kept expectation on the stretch; then suddenly a blast of trumpets seemed to clear away the mists; and the clouds receding, disclosed Aurora opening the gates of the morning to the music of the spheres, who then passed slowly out of sight as a far more lovely vision broke upon the spectators—Venus Urania, borne by the graces into the company of the muses, descending from the skies to greet the votaries who, garlanded and wreathed, were waiting to receive her in a burst of celestial song. The illusion was complete; the daughter of Coelus and of Light was on her first appearance greeted with a tumult of applause; and as in wavy, measured movements, encircled by the graces, she floated down to earth, scattering her bright inspirations in sparks of fire upon the muses who were kindling into enthusiasm at her approach, the whole assembly caught the melody as it rose from the inspired sisterhood:
Beautiful daughter of Coelus and Light,Coming in glory to gladden our sight.Vision of loveliness! star of the day!Grateful and glad is the homage we pay.All girt by the graces, thou comest to earth;With joy and with music we welcome thy birth.Oh! stay, thou sweet goddess, to brighten our life,To banish our sorrows, to still every strife.O Venus Urania! we call upon thee,Inspirer of gladness, of ecstasy!
Beautiful daughter of Coelus and Light,Coming in glory to gladden our sight.Vision of loveliness! star of the day!Grateful and glad is the homage we pay.All girt by the graces, thou comest to earth;With joy and with music we welcome thy birth.Oh! stay, thou sweet goddess, to brighten our life,To banish our sorrows, to still every strife.O Venus Urania! we call upon thee,Inspirer of gladness, of ecstasy!
The singers were the multitude; the sound of the voices of the muses, or those who personified them, was lost in the thrilling greeting which that multitude gave to their favorite—Chione.
Dressed in a dazzling robe spangled with gold, crowned with rays so artificially disposed that they seemed to emit light as she was descending, Chione came forward as the Venus Urania of the Temple.
The throng hushed as she raised her arm to speak; among the thousands there, scarce a sound was heard; the very breathing was suppressed, for fear one tone of that eloquent voice should be unheard. "My friends," she began.
Suddenly a low, piercing wail broke upon the throng, like the moan of a distressed spirit, so unearthly was the sound. Again it rang through the echoes, under ground, over head. Chione started, and the throng was awed.Then, in the fearful silence, these words were heard. Distinctly they came forth, though uttered in a wild, unearthly cadence, as if they were spoken by one of another world:
Once for silver, now for gold,Is the Lord of glory sold!Woe, deep woe!Judas went to his own place;Nor shall time the sin efface.He must every joy forego!For ever, woe! [Footnote 27]
Once for silver, now for gold,Is the Lord of glory sold!Woe, deep woe!Judas went to his own place;Nor shall time the sin efface.He must every joy forego!For ever, woe! [Footnote 27]
[Footnote 27: It is on record that, at the first preaching of the Gospel, numerous signs, sounds, and words were uttered in the pagan temples, at the times of worship, to the confusion of the multitudes therein assembled. I leave the fact as I found it, to the construction of my readers, each one for himself!]
Every heart was chilled; Chione paled and trembled. Magas sprang to her relief. "It is but a trick of your own devising; you are paid back in your own coin. Compose yourself, it is nothing." The crowd was too dense to allow a search to be made. There was a long pause, but at length Chione was called upon to proceed. Her theme was, "The Glory of Athens—of Athens, the Civilizer of the Nations."
The tremor which was still slightly apparent in the frame of the Venus Urania when led forward by Magas, (now habited as Apollo, that he might consistently bear a part in the scene, and watch over any demonstration that should again affect the goddess he worshipped with so intense a devotion,) gave an increased interest to her appearance; the look of appeal she seemed to cast over that mighty throng, as if to claim protection from some invisible enemy of her peace, imparted an additional tenderness to the sympathies of the audience. Chione regained her courage, as she inhaled the moral atmosphere that surrounded her; she forced back the unwelcome shades of thought that had been called from their tombs, where she intended them to lie buried for ever. She gazed around. The scene at the back of the stage had been changed. The citadel of Athens had been introduced, and hovering above it was Minerva, the tutelary divinity of the place. Chione was evidently surprised; perhaps again she suspected an interruption; but Magas whispered, "By my command," and she at length made a gesture, as if to begin. There was, however, a marked change in her inspiration; she was no longer the commanding genius of the temple. It was evident to all that she was under some irrepressible, some irresistible influence. Magas looked anxious; his whole soul was bound up in Chione's success. She was his pride, his glory, his Aspasia, his Sappho. Never yet had he known her to fail; and he watched her words as if his very life depended upon them. She commenced:
"Athenians, you have asked me to speak to you of the glory of our city. Behold it! Wisdom is watching over its citadel. The glorious Minerva, issuing from the head of the immortal father of gods and men, presides over the welfare of Athens—has ever presided over it! This is our crown, this our glory. The history of this our Athens, is unlike the history of any other city in the world; for it forms a chain of glory, a long-continued tissue of renown. Her history is, a web of varied dyes, introducing characters of every degree of virtue, talent, heroism, or nobility.
"Time was, Athenians, that this beautiful land, now covered with fertile fields and richly ornamented villas; now the splendid resort of intelligence, philosophy, and science—time was, that Athens, the enlightened, the refined, the artistic; Athens, whose works of beauty will supply all time with models; Athens, whose pathways throughout the whole region round, even to the Piraeus, are adorned with statues of her illustrious sons—the poets, painters, warriors, and statesmen she has produced; Athens, within whose citadel arises the Parthenon, which would itself be the wonder of the world, were not that wonder exhausted on beholding the gigantic statue of our tutelary-goddess which it contains; time was, that Athens was a drear and sandy waste, the resort of savages who knew not the use of fire—who were clothed in skins, and lived on roots and acorns. [Footnote 28]But Minerva looked with complacency on the spot she had selected for the dwelling-place of her chosen people. She sent Theseus to Attica, to clear the land from the pirates that infested it; to enact laws, and teach the uncultured men to submit to righteous rule. It was first the law of force, though not unmixed; for men unused to government must be coerced until their powers of mind expand; until they feel what lawful government can effect; until they know that lawlessness is not true liberty. But not long was Athens ruled by one. Athenae, Queen, who loves this citadel, had other views. Her chosen city was to bear the glorious palm of an enlightened freedom.
"A deed unparalleled in the annals of nations occurred. Codrus, her king, inspired by that sublime divinity who hath care of Athens, devoted himself to destruction, that the favored city of Minerva might be saved. Codrus died! more sublime in his death than the loftiest monarch ever was in life. Who does not bow before the shade of Codrus? Who does not feel that, by his patriotism, his disinterestedness, his heroism, he laid the foundation of his country's greatness?
His death—our life!
"Bear with me; I must pause a moment here."
Music filled up that pause; but music so solemn, so grand, that the audience felt as if the spirit of the mighty dead were hovering over them. Chione resumed:
"To so great a hero, it was impossible to find a worthy successor! 'Man is not fit for irresponsible power. Too commonly he uses it but to give the reign to his own passions, while he represses in his subjects the development of those lofty qualities of soul which distinguish man from the brutes that scour our plains. No other king ever wielded the sceptre in Athens; for Minerva intended that a people should be formed, and not a single individual. She wished a body of men to rise to greatness, not a crowned monarch to acquire renown by the extirpation of millions.
"Athenae loved her children, and she gave them a law-giver whose first act relieved the poor of their burdens; released them from the oppression of the rich. Solon knew that the poor are the sinews of a nation; he knew too, that there is a point in which the crushing power of debt destroys the qualities that form the man, the free-man so dear to wisdom; and Athens shook off this oppression beneath his righteous sway. The laws of Solon shall be honored as long as rectitude itself is honored, because they recognize that principle of individual development which alone can form a great people. Particular modes of bringing out this principle may change, may pass into other modes; but the principle itself is eternal, it is worthy of Solon, worthy of the descendant of the immortal Codrus; it was a direct inspiration of that wisdom which has so unweariedly watched over the formation of the Athenian people.
"Such a principle was it to which we owe the sages and the heroes that adorn our annals. What heart does not thrill on hearing the name of Miltiades, of Themistocles, of Cimon, or Aristides? Who does not glow with rapture at beholding the works of Phidias, of Praxiteles, Apelles? Who can study with Anaxagoras, converse with Socrates, or speculate with Plato and Aristotle, nor feel the divine inspiration communicated to themselves? Who can read the annals of Xenophon and Thucydides, without feeling proud that he himself is a citizen of Athens; and which of us has not wept tears of ecstatic emotion at beholding a tragedy of Euripides or of Sophocles? What country in the world could ever boast of such a galaxy of celebrated names?
"Tell me not that these men were not all of Athenian origin. What if some few of them first saw the light in some other city than that of Athens. Not the less to Athens do they owe their genius and their fame; none the less from her did they receive their inspiration, their culture, and development. The influence of Athens is not limited to her own domain. Her great men live for ever to kindle thoughts of greatness throughout the world. Many far distant, both in time and space, will, to endless ages, love to muse with Pericles on the banks of the Ilissus, while he is planning those exquisite creations which have linked his name with all that is sublime and beautiful in human art. Many will rejoice with him as gently he sinks to rest, sustained by the sublime consciousness that, during the whole of his long career, he had never caused an Athenian to shed a tear.
"His career was for humanity, and in this he resembled Athens; for unlike the vulgar glory that crowns the conqueror's arms, the boast of Athens is that, although so many deeds of prowess attest the heroic valor of her children, yet never, never did she enter on an aggressive war for the mere sake of conquest, for the vain-glorious motive of adding by injustice another territory to her own. No, Athens has shed her benefits abroad; has made known to the nations all the virtues of the earth. She has proved herself capable of great acts, alike in war as in peace. Her genius is godlike, it is diffusive. The very site Minerva chose for her citadel betokens this destiny. Athens is compelled by circumstance to seek by peaceful commerce the corn necessary for her subsistence. The goddess gave her the honey of Hymettus, the Pentelic marble, and the silver mines of Laurion, that her eloquence might be sweet, her courage firm, and her commerce gainful; but she denied her corn, that corn which is the nutriment of the body, that, by fetching it from foreign lands, she might, in doing so, communicate to the world those sublime ideas which form the nobler nutriment of the soul.
"Thus is it that wisdom is the glory of Athens; it explains the history of the past; it affords a key to our present position.
"The mighty genius of force now bestrides the nations; it keeps down the surging emotions of half-savage men; itself, with its stoical insensibility to beauty, with its gladiatorial slaughters, betokening that it is hardly yet emerged from barbarism. Is this constrained calm to effect no purpose in the decrees of wisdom? Examine, and you will find that the glory of Athens is still increasing, even under a supposed subjection. [Footnote 29]
[Footnote 29: The Romans, out of reverence to letters, left to Athens a nominal freedom a long time after they had virtually subjugated her. It was not till the reign of Severus that her civilization was crushed. Chione is supposed to speak one hundred and fifty years before that period.]
"The nominal dependent refines and civilizes her conqueror. The wisdom of Athens, which, confined within its own narrow domain, could but have enlightened the inhabitants of a few cities, is now spreading over the entire earth; the words of its sages are instructing our haughty rulers; the myths of our poets are civilizing Rome. This, then, is the glory of Athens; and such glory must needs be eternal. Lands may change owners, and physical force give a momentary, a seeming nobility to a barbarian; but mind is immortal! the empire of ideas lasts for ever. Thus is Athens the civilizer of the nations.
"Sons of Athens! heirs of the philosophic ages! children of the poets! to you I need not explain how the beautiful devices which surround us are types of a higher knowledge—how many a glorious idea lies hidden under the name Minerva. The veiled Isis of Egypt, upon whose statue was inscribed, 'I am all that has been, all that shall be, and none among mortals has ever yet lifted my veil,' was, as you know, but another form of our loved Deity. Wisdom must preside at every institution designed to last. The precepts of Anaxagoras, the reveries of the divine Plato, alike instruct us in the eternity of ideas. Truth goes by different names upon this earth; it is represented by the nations under different myths, according to the conception men form of it. It requires a high intellect to contemplate truth in the abstract; to most minds it is simplified, endowed with power by being personified; hence our worship. Isis in Egypt, in Athens becomes Minerva; the veil, if not lifted, is at least rendered more transparent; and it may be that the time of its lifting is at hand. Portents of wondrous power are working in men's hearts; the principle of development evolved in Athens is becoming spread over the earth. Let us take courage. Athens is still at the head of civilization; it remains with her children that she so continue.