A sweet, ringing, vibrant voice at their side here said:
"And in order by deliberate circumstantial lying, of an awful and blasphemous kind, to please the God of truth; and to compensate themselves by his protection above, in a future life, for the present and immediate destruction which they are incurring among the Pharisees and the men of power here below!"
Looking round, they beheld Esther of the Maccabees.
Never had she seemed to Paulus so beautiful; but there was a marked change; for, however intellectual had always been the translucent purity of that oval brow, through which, as through a lamp of alabaster, shone the vivid mind within, there was now the mysterious effluence of "that Essence increate" who had come to abide in, and had strangely transfigured the appearance of, the faithful-souled Hebrew maiden. And when Paulus, after she had embraced his mother, abstractedly took her hand, his heart was lifted upward with a species of wonder; and, without adverting to it, he was asking himself to what marvellous kingdom she had become heiress, in what supernal court of everlasting joy and unassailable prerogatives was this beautiful creature destined to live, loving and beloved, adorning almost the glories which she reflected, dispensed, and multiplied, as if from some holy, mysterious, and spiritual mirror.
"O dear Lady Aglais! and O legatus!" she said, with a gesture amazing in its expressiveness and pathetic fervor (she had brought the finger-tips of both hands together under the chin, and then lowered them with the palms outward toward her hearers, and so she stood in an attitude of the utmost grace and dignity combined, like one appealing to the candor and good faith of others)—"O dear friends! I was just now passing through my own garden on my way hither, when, under the fig-tree (where he used to sit poring over the holy books of our people), I beheld my dead father, but standing, and not in his old accustomed wicker-chair; and he gazed upon me with large, earnest eyes; and as he stood, his head almost touched the leaves of that hollow, embowering fig-tree; and he was pale, so extremely pale as he was never during life; and he called me: 'Esther,' he said, and his voice sounded far away. Ah! my God, from what a huge distance it seemed to come! And lo! lady, and thou, legatus, he said these words to me: 'I have been in the vast, dim house, and have seen our Father Abraham; and I have seen our great Lawgiver, and all our prophets, excepting only two, Elias and Enoch; and I asked, Where were they? And in all the dim, vast house none answered me, but the forefinger was pressed to the silent lips of those who there waited. And, suddenly, there was the noise of innumerable armies coming swiftly from afar—but your ears are mortal and your eyes veiled, and were I even permitted to tell you that which shook, beyond this little world, the large world and its eternal thrones, your mind would not at present understand my words. Enough, Esther, that I have been allowed to renew to you, in my own behalf, and that of others among ourpeople who have been called before you to the vast, dim, silent city, the exhortation which our ancestor Judas Maccabeus sent with offerings to the high-priest; namely, that you will pray for our spirits. Our innumerable company has just been thinned; the glorious Judas Maccabeus, our ancestor, and that holy mother of the Maccabees, and almost all who were waiting with me in the dim, vast kingdom of expectation, have gone for ever; and I, and a few, have been commanded to expect yet a little time; until the incense of holy prayer shall have further gone up in the presence of the Great White Throne.'"
Esther paused, her eyes dilated, and stood a moment with the hands again brought together; and so perfect a figure of truthfulness, and such an impersonation of sincerity, she looked, that the Jewish servant, who understood not a word of the tongue in which she addressed the Greek lady and her son, gazed at her; his work suspended, his cask held high in air, with all the marks of one who heard and accepted some sacred and unquestionable revelation.
"Go on, dear child," said Aglais. "What passed further?"
"I asked the pale image what this meant, that he should term the condition in which he is waiting and has yet to wait a little time—that vast, dim condition—'a house,' 'a city,' and 'a kingdom.' 'The dwellers,' he replied, 'are watched in that kingdom by silent protectors, mighty and beautiful, whose faces, full of a severe, sad love, are the torches and the only light those dwellers ever see; and the vast, dim city has a sunless and a starless sky for its roof, under which they wait; and that sky is the ceiling which echoes the sighs of their pain; and thus to them it has been a kingdom, and a city, and a house; and, until the ninth hour of last Friday, they were numerous as the nations of men!' 'And at the ninth hour of that day, I asked, 'O my father! what occurred when so many departed, and you and a small number were left still to wait?' And he gazed at me for an instant with a wan and wistful look; then, lo! I saw nothing where he had been standing under the fig-tree.
"But it was at the ninth hour of the last Friday the Master had expired by the side of the penitent who was that very day to be with him in paradise!" cried Aglais.
At Esther's arrival, Paulus and Aglais had both risen from a kind of semicircular wicker settle which occupied one of the corners of the roof; and they now, all three, when Esther had finished her strange, brief narrative, leaned silent and musing against the parapet; where, under the shade of a clustering rhododendron, they had a view westward (drawn, as people are who ponder, toward whatever object is most luminous) of the towers and palaces and pinnacles of the Holy City, then reddening in the sunset. One word respecting the spot where the little group was thus collected, and (among modern, and especially western, nations) concerning its peculiar scenic effects.
The roof was an irregular parallelogram, protected on all sides by a low, thick parapet, at two opposite corners of which, in the diagonals, were two doors of masonry, bolted with massive round bars of iron, or left open; thus excluding or admitting communication with the contiguous houses. The writer, many years ago, saw such parapet doors on the house-tops of modern Algiers; nor was the arrangement unknown in the more famous Eastern cities of antiquity, where the roofs glowed with plantsin vases. When, on some public occasion, the passages were opened, the richer inhabitants, far above the noise, dust, squalor, sultriness, and comparative darkness of the narrow and noisome streets, could stroll and lounge for miles, in mid-air, among flowers; could cross even flying and embowered bridges (of which a privileged number possessed the keys, like those who have keys to the gardens of our squares); and so Dives, unseen of Lazarus, but seeing far down all things little and supine, could wander through parterres of bloom, and perfumed alleys, and shrubberies of enchantment, with effects of sunlight sprinkled, so to speak, with coolness and with shadows, soothed out of the noonday fierceness into tints various and tender; unsoiled of the stains and pains that stained and pained the poor sordid world below; until the hearts of those who thus promenaded amid circumstances of such delicious refinement and luxury, bearing and hearing news, and exchanging civilities, were "lifted up," and became even like to the heart of Nabuchodonosor the king. Sometimes the pecten-beaten dulcimer, or the fingered lyre of six strings, made long-forgotten airs of music beguile the declining day, and linger for hours longer, ravishing the night under the stars of the Syrian sky. Such the scene.
But none of the roof-doors were open that Wednesday evening. Something ailed the Holy City. Out of the hushed heavens, mysteries and a stern doom were brooding over Jerusalem. Already the fermenting germ of those dreadful factions which were to tear to pieces, with intestine rage, the whole Jewish body, while the city was writhing in the vain death-struggle against Titus, a few years later, had begun to make itself sensible to the observant. A fierce hatred of the Romans and an insane eagerness to re-establish the old Jewish independence had taken possession of certain youthful fanatics; and "possessed" indeed they seemed. On the one side, the Roman officers of the garrison, from Pilate down, had received anonymous warnings, in the wildest style, requiring them to withdraw from Jerusalem within a given time, or they should be all executed in the streets, as opportunity might occur; on the other, the prefect of Syria had been earnestly requested by Pilate to strengthen the garrison; while in the city itself the soldiers were strictly admonished to keep to their quarters, to avoid late hours, and to hold no intercourse when off duty with the inhabitants. Leaves of absence were stopped. A few legionaries had been already murdered in the neighborhood of wine-shops, in the small winding alleys, and in places of evil repute, and no efforts succeeded in identifying the perpetrators.
But these were only the feeble and evanescent symptoms, destined to disappear and reappear, of a political and social phase which was not to become the predominant situation until another situation should have exhausted its first fury. This, the first, was to be the war of the Synagogue against the disciples of the Messiah, whom those disciples went about declaring to have risen from the tomb, according to his distinct promise; whom they went about declaring to have been already seen, and heard, and touched by themselves, again and again.
No wonder, then, if Aglais and Paulus and Esther had discussed in hushed tones and in Greek the wonders and various portents attendant upon the supreme and central fact—that Resurrection of the Masterwhich absorbed their whole hearts and minds, leaving no room for any other interest therein at this tremendous epoch—the grand turning-point of human destinies and of our whole planet's history.
From the parapet against which they were leaning, they now gazed in silence upon the splendid scenes below and opposite. Across a maze of narrow streets they saw the mansions, the pinnacles, the towers, and that great supernal "Temple of God," all so soon to perish violently, in a general, a complete, and an irreversible destruction. They saw the play of light and shadow upon one long tree-lined side of Herod's proud palace; they saw the ripple of quivering leaves reflected upon the white colonnades (and their tessellated, shady floors) of Pilate's fatal house; and, while revolving thoughts and questions of unspeakable importance and solemnity, they all three suddenly beheld an acted picture, a passing scene, voiceless to them, yet impressive, which blent itself into their recollection of other scenes, never to be effaced from the memory of mankind, which, not a week before, had been under those very colonnades enacted.
A woman in the attire of a Roman matron came quickly forth upon the first-story balcony in the house of Pontius Pilate, and, leaning over the rail, waved her hand with an imperative gesture to some one below.
She was followed into the balcony more slowly by a man wearing the grand costume of an ancient Roman military governor, who held in his hand a sealed and folded letter, tied with the usual silk string. The man was evidently Pilate himself. He looked long and gloomily at the letter, and seemed to be plunged in thought. He even let what he carried fall at his feet, and did not appear to be aware of this for some moments. It was the woman who picked up the letter, and gave it back into his hand. Then Pilate leaned over the balustrade, in his turn, and spoke to a man below in military costume, who was mounted on a powerful horse, and seemed to be equipped for travel. The soldier saluted, looking up, when he was addressed, and saluted again when his superior had ceased speaking; whereupon Pilate dropped the letter (a large and heavy dispatch), which the soldier caught and secured under his belt, inside the tunic, or "sagum," immediately afterward riding away at a canter. Our three friends saw Pilate, his head bent and his eyes on the ground, slowly and ponderingly re-enter the house by a screen-door, the same through which he had come out upon the balcony; but the lady, clasping her hands a little in front of her forehead, gazed into the heavens with a face ashy pale, and with eyes from which tears were streaming.
It is a well-known and for centuries universally received tradition, besides being a fact recorded by one most respectable and trustworthy author (who, besides, was not a Christian, but a Jew)—a fact without which the allusions to it in various ancient authorities, together with Phlegon the Chronologer's subsequent recital of Tiberius's extraordinary conduct, would be unintelligible and unaccountable—that Pontius Pilate, harassed by the unappeasable reproaches of his wife, and stung by something within his own bosom which allowed him peace no more, until (sleepless, and unable again, unable for ever, to sleep) he bequeathed, some years afterward, by an awful death, whether intentional or not, his name to a great Alpine hill, a hill not thenceforth named, or to be named, while time and mountainslast, by any name but "Pilate's" among distant and then barbarous nations—it is well known, I say, that Pilate sent to Tiberius Cæsar a long and minute relation concerning the life, the death, and the disappearance from the tomb of him whom he had scourged, and whom the Jews had crucified, together with a notice of the supernatural wonders wrought by him; his previous notorious announcement of his own intended resurrection; the directly consequent and equally notorious precautions taken to hinder it; the disappearance, in spite of this, of the body; the testimony of the soldiers that they were witnessestothe abstraction, which they were unable to stop, because they alleged that they were not witnessesofit (being buried in sleep); that, in fact, their testimony proved nothing save the body's disappearance from the massively-sealed tomb (which would have stood a small siege); the failure of the Synagogue to account for the body; the account of it by the disciples; and, finally, the admissions of the Pharisees that all their prophets had become unexplainable if this was not their Messiah, yet that such a conclusion was to them impossible, because he was to have been their king, and a conquering king, and to have founded an empire extending through all nations and tongues; their stern and ever-growing disaffection to the Roman rule; the universal amazement, excitement, and anxiety arising from the circumstance that, while neither the Synagogue nor the soldiers could throw any light upon what had become of the body, the disciples of him who had predicted his own resurrection explained the event openly and fearlessly by stating that they had again and again met him since the previousferia prima; that they cared for no protection except his alone; that the dead was once more among them—living, and henceforth immortal—their Master and God; the ultimate Judge of this world, and the foretold Founder of an everlasting kingdom! Pilate added several strange and astounding particulars.
This, in a general way, is known; and it is likewise known that Tiberius Cæsar was so deeply impressed by the dispatch of the Jerusalem governor, arriving in his hands about the same moment, as we shall find in the next chapter, when a strange incident (narrated by Plutarch) took place, that he suddenly convened the senate in a formal indiction,and proposed to them to raise a temple to Christ, and to rank him solemnly among the gods of the empire! But not such nor of such acknowledgments was to be the kingdom of the "jealous" and the only God.
Aglais, Paulus, and Esther had assisted at a memorable pantomime. They had beheld the mounted soldier who rode with a memorable letter to the sea-coast; they had seen the vain effort of him who had offered the people a choice between Barabbas and "the desired of nations," to call the great of the earth into his perplexities, to quiet his awakened conscience, to turn aside from the dread warnings whispered to his soul, to lull—by futile means—an all too late remorse.
In our last chapter, Paulus and his Athenian mother had obtained, through Esther's recital of her waking dream or vision, one little glimpse at that prison, that place of detention, which she had termed (as she herself had heard it termed) "the dim, vast house," "the vast, dim city," and the "dim, vast kingdom."
The vague notion she could giveof that scene of immurement cannot be expected to prove interesting to so large a number, as Mr. Pickwick has cause to feel an interest in his glimpses of the "Fleet Prison," once famous in London. But such interest as the former house of detention commands is of a different kind, and those who may experience it are a different class. Plato (as a great critic observes) has been translated from age to age into some dozen great modern languages, in order that he might be read by about a score of persons in each generation. But that score are the little fountains of the large rivers that bear to the sea the business of the world. Few are directly taught by Kant, Sir William Hamilton, John Stuart Mill, Cousin, or Balmez; but the millions are taught and think through those whomtheyhave taught to think. Between the good and evil originators or conservators of ideas, and the huge masses who do all their mental processes at third hand, stand the interpreters; and these listen with bent heads, while they hold trumpets which are heard at the extremities of the earth.
Paulus lingered in Jerusalem. Weeks flew by. Spring passed into summer; summer was passing into autumn; and still, from time to time, as, in the evenings, mother and son sat among the flowers on the flat roof, Esther would join them.
One night, she had hardly appeared, when Longinus the centurion followed her, bearing a letter for Paulus, which, he said, had just arrived at Fort Antonio, by the hands of an orderly, from the governor. The letter was from Dionysius of Athens, nowl'un des quarante, a member of that great Areopagus of which the French Academy is partly a modern image; and it was written immediately after his return from a tour in Egypt, and a cruise through the Ægean Sea, among the famous and beautiful Greek Islands, to resume his duties as a teacher of philosophy and a professor of the higher literature at Athens.
Paulus, after a word with his mother and Esther, desired Longinus to favor them with his company. Sherbets and other refreshments were brought. They all sat down on the semicircular wicker settle at the corner of the roof, under the bower-like branches of the large rhododendron; a small lamp was held for Paulus by the Jewish serving-man, and Paulus read the letter aloud to that sympathetic group. Extracts we will give, in the substance, concerning two occurrences. The first, as the reader sees, the listening circle learned from Dionysius; butwehave it in reality from Plutarch, upon whose narrative Eusebius and many other weighty authorities and grave historians have commented.
The captain and owner (for he was both) of the vessel in which Dion sailed back from Egypt to Athens was an Egyptian of the name of Thramnus (some call him Thamus). He said that a very weird thing had happened to him in his immediately previous trip, which had been from Greece to Italy. Dion was at the time at Heliopolis, in Egypt, with his friend, the celebrated philosopher Apollophanes, who, though (like Dion himself) only between twenty and thirty, had already (in this also resembling Dion) obtained an almost world-wide fame for eloquence, astronomical science, and general learning. When Thramnus had neared the Echinades Islands, the wind fell, a sudden calm came, and they had to drop anchor near Paxos. The night was sultry; every one was on deck. Suddenly, from the lonely shore, a loud, strangevoice hailed the captain: "Thramnus!" it cried. None answered. Again, louder than human, came the cry, "Thramnus!" Still none answered. For the third time, "Thramnus!" was thundered from the lonely coast. Then Thramnus himself called out: "Who hails? What is it?" Shrill and far louder than before was the voice in reply: "When you reach the Lagoon of Palus, announce then that the Great Pan is dead."
Thereupon, everything became silent, save the sluggish wash of the waves under the vessel's side. A sort of council was at once held on board; and first they took a note of the exact date and the hour. They found that it was exactly the ninth hour of the sixthjeria, or day, in the month of March, in the fourth year (according with Phlegon's corrected and checked astronomical chronology) of the two hundred and second Olympiad: in other words, this, being translated into modern reckoning, means, six in the afternoon of Friday, the 25th of March, in the thirty-third year of our Lord.
Dion breaks off in his letter here to remark: "You will learn presently what happened to me and to Apollophanes, and to the whole renowned city of Heliopolis, at the same hour exactly of that same day; and it is the coincidence between the two occurrences which has fixed them so deeply in my mind."
Well; he proceeds to say that Thramnus, having asked his passengers, who happened to be unusually numerous, whether they considered he ought to obey this mysterious mandate, and having suggested himself that, if, on their reaching Palus, or Pelodes, the wind held fair, they should not lose time by stopping, but if the wind were there to fail, and they were forced to halt at that place, then it might be no harm to pay attention to the injunction, and see what came of it, they were all unanimously of his opinion. Thereupon, as though by some design, in the midst of a calm the breeze sprang up freshly again, and they proceeded on their way. When they came to the indicated spot, all were again on deck, unable to forget the strange incident at Paxos; and, on a sudden, the wind fell, and they were becalmed.
Thramnus, accordingly, after a pause, leaned over the ship's side, and, as loudly as he could, shouted thatthe great Pan was dead. No sooner had the words been pronounced than all round the vessel were heard a world of sighs issuing from the deep and in the air, with groans, and moanings, and long, wild, bitter wailings innumerable, as though from vast unseen multitudes and a host of creatures plunged in dismay and despair. Those on board were stricken with amazement and terror. When they arrived in Rome, and were recounting the adventures of their voyage, this wild story sent its rumor far and near, and made such an impression that it reached the ears of Tiberius Cæsar, who was then in the capital. He sent for Thramnus and several of the passengers, as Plutarch records for us, particularly one, Epitherses, who afterward, at Athens, with his son Æmilianus, and the traveller Philip, used often to tell the story till his death. Tiberius, after ascertaining the facts, summoned all the learned men who chanced then to be in Rome, and requested their opinion.
Their opinion, which is extant, matters little. The holy fathers who have investigated this occurrence are divided in their views. It must be remembered that Plutarch relates another truly wonderful fact universal in its range, as being notoriously simultaneous with the singular local adventureabove described—the sudden silence of Delphi, and all the other famous pagan oracles, from the 8th day before the Kalends of April, in the 202d Olympiad, at sixP.M.At that hour, on that day (March 25, Friday, Anno Domini 33), those oracles were stricken dumb, and nevermore returned answers to their votaries. Coupling these phenomena together, in presence of a thousand other portents, the holy fathers think, one party of them, that the enemy of man and of God, and that enemy's legions, were grieving and wailing, at the hour which Plutarch specifies (the time of evening, and on the very day, when our Lord died), at the redemption just then consummated; others, that the Almighty permitted nature "to sigh through all her works," in sympathy with the voluntary sufferings of her expiring Lord.
"Now, hearken," proceeded Dion in his letter, "to how I was occupied, hundreds of miles away, in Heliopolis, at the time, the very hour of the very day, when so wild and weird a response came from the powers of the air and the recesses of the deep to those who shouted forth, amid a calm on the silent breast of the Ægean Sea, that the great Pan ('the great All,' 'the universal Lord,' as you, my friends, are aware it means in Greek) had died!
"I had gone out, shortly before the sixth hour on this sixth day, to take a stroll in the tree-shaded suburbs of Heliopolis, with my friend Apollophanes. Suddenly, the sun, in a horrible manner, withdrew its light so effectually that we saw the stars. It was the time of the Hebrew Pasch, and the season of the month when the moon is at the full, and the period of an eclipse, or of the moon's apparent conjunction with the sun, was well known not to be then; independently of which, two unexampled and unnatural portents, contrary to the laws of the heavenly bodies, occurred: first, the moon entered the sun's discfrom the east; secondly, when she had covered the disc and touched the opposite diameter, instead of passing onward,she receded, and resumed her former position in the sky. All the astronomers will tell you that these two facts, and also the time of the eclipse itself, are equally in positive deviation from the otherwise everlasting laws of the sidereal or planetary movements. I felt that either this universal frame was perishing or the Lord and Pilot of nature was himself suffering; and I turned to Apollophanes, and, 'O light of philosophy, glass of science!' I said, 'explain to me what this means.'
"Before answering me, he required that we should together apply the astronomical rule, or formula, of Philip Aridæus; after doing which with the utmost care, he said: 'These changes are supernatural; there is some stupendous revolution or catastrophe occurring in divine affairs, affecting the whole of the Supreme Being's creation.'
"You may be sure, my friends, that we both took a careful note of the hour, the day, the week, month, year; and I intend to inquire everywhere whether in other lands any similar phenomena have appeared; and what overwhelming, unexampled event can have taken place on this little planet of ours to bring the heavens themselves into confusion, and coerce all the powers of nature into so awful a manifestation of sympathy or of horror."
He ended by conveying to Aglais and Paulus the loving remembrance of the Lady Damarais.
Aglais and her son and Esther were spell-bound with amazementwhen this letter had been read; and Paulus exclaimed:
"What will Dion say when he hears that we also saw this very darkness at the same moment; that the veil of the Temple here has been rent in twain; and that he who expired amid these and so many other portents, Esther, and in the full culmination of the prophecies, is again living, speaking, acting, the Conqueror of death, as he was the Lord of life?"
"Let us go to Athens; let us bring our friends, the Lady Damarais and our dear Dion, to learn and understand what we have ourselves been mercifully taught."
So spoke Aglais, offering at the same time to Esther a mother's protection and love along the journey. Paulus was silent, but gazed pleadingly at Esther.
It was agreed. But in the political dangers of that reign, Paulus, owing to his fame itself, had to take so many precautions that much time was unavoidably lost.
Meanwhile, he had again asked the Jewish maiden to become his wife. Need we say that this time his suit was successful? Paulus and Esther were married.
Christianity in the interim grew from month to month and from year to year, and our wanderers had but just arrived at last in Athens in time to hear, near the statue of "the unknown God," while Damarais, the friend of Aglais, and Dion, the friend of them all, stood near, a majestic stranger, a Roman citizen, him who had sat at the feet of Gamaliel, the glorious Apostle of the Gentiles, who had been "faithful to the heavenly Vision," though he had not seen the Resurrection, explain to the Athenians "him whom they had ignorantly worshipped." And when the sublime messenger of glad tidings related the circumstances of the Passion, the scenes which had been enacted in Pilate's house (so well remembered by them), the next day's dread event, and when he touched upon the preternatural accompaniments of that final catastrophe, and described the darkness which had overspread the earth from the sixth hour of that day, Dionysius, turning pale, drew out the tablets which he carried habitually, examined the date of which, at Heliopolis, he and Apollophanes had jointly made note, and showed symptoms of an emotion such as he had never before experienced.
He and Damarais, as is well known, were among the converts of Saint Paul on that great occasion. How our other characters felt we need not describe.
Yielding to the entreaties of their beloved Dionysius, they actually loitered in Greece for a few years, during which Christianity had outstripped them and penetrated to Rome, where it was soon welcomed with fire and sword, and where "the blood of martyrs became the seed of Christians." Esther shuddered as she heard names dear to her in the murmured accounts of dreadful torments.
Resuming their westward course, how Paulus rejoiced that he had in time sold everything in Italy, and was armed with opulence in the midst of new and strange trials! They gave Italy a wide offing, and passing round by the south of Germany, with an armed escort which Thellus (who had also become a Christian, and had, while they were in Greece, sent for Prudentia) commanded, they never ceased their travels till they reached the banks of the Seine; and there, undiscernible to the vision of Roman tyranny in the distance, they obtained, by means of the treasures theyhad brought, hundreds of stout Gaulish hands to do their bidding, and soon founded a peaceful home amid a happy colony. Hence they sent letters to Agatha and Paterculus.
Two arrivals from the realms of civilization waked into excitement the peaceful tenor of their days. Paulus himself, hearing of the death of Paterculus, ventured quickly back to Italy, in the horrible, short reign of Caligula, and fetched his sister Agatha, now a widow, to live with them. Later still, they were surprised to behold arrive among them one whom they had often mourned as lost to them for ever. It was Dionysius. He came to found Christianity in Gaul, and settled, amidst the friends of his youth, on the banks of the Seine. Often they reverted, with a clear light, to the favorite themes of their boyhood; and often the principal personages who throughout this story have, we hope, interested the reader, gathered around that same Dionysius (who is, indeed, the St. Denis of France), and listened, near the place where Notre Dame now towers, to the first Bishop of Paris, correcting the theories which he had propounded to the Areopagus of Athens as the last of the great Greek philosophers.[5]
One other arrival greeted, indeed, the expatriated but happy settlement. Longinus found his way among them; and as the proud ideas of a social system upon which they had turned their back no longer tyrannized over Aglais or Paulus, the brave man, biding his time and watching opportunities, found no insurmountable obstacles in obtaining a fair reward for twenty years and more of patient and unalterable love. He and Agatha were married.
THE END.
FROM THE GERMAN.
To be able to form a correct judgment regarding the future of Europe, there are several points and theories which must be previously considered. First on the list comes—
"The key to the success of the Prussian arms in the contest with France is found in the decadence of the Latin and the virility of the German race. The Latin peoples are corrupt; their star is waning; their moral vigor is gone; while the German nations are still young and fresh. German culture, German ideas, German muscle and energy, are taking the place of the decrepit French civilization. The German victories are but the outward expression of this historical process. We are on the threshold of a new epoch in the history of civilization—of a new period which we can appropriately call the German era." Such is the theory which now possesses the German mind, and is expressed in the newspapers, pamphlets, on the railroads, and in the inns all through Germany, with great national self-complacency. Even many Sclavonians and Italians adopt this view. The conquest of the Latin by the Germanic races; the downfall of the former; the world-wide sovereignty of the latter—these are high-sounding phrases which have a dramatic effect and are popular in Germany. But do they express a truth? Are they philosophically and historically correct in view of the actual condition of political and social life? In the first place, what and where are the Latin races about which we have been hearing so much during the past ten years? The southern inhabitants of the Italian peninsula can lay no claim to Latin origin; for it is well known that they were anciently Greek colonies, which have since intermarried with Romans, Spaniards, and Normans. The Lombards of the north of Italy are mostly of Celtic and not of Latin origin, since they inhabit the ancient Gallia Cisalpina. The old Iberians of Spain were not Latins; and they are now mixed with Gothic, Moorish, Celtic, and Basque blood. As for France, its very name imports that the Latins gave a very small contingent towards forming a nation which is certainly of Celtic and German origin, and many of whose provinces are purely of German race, as Alsace and Lorraine. Where, then, shall we find the Latin races?
There are none properly so-called. Looking at the origin of languages, we may, indeed, speak of Latin, or, rather, of Roman nations. In this regard, we may class the Italians, Spaniards, Portuguese, and French together, on account of the Roman element prevailing in their tongues, in opposition to the Scalavonic-German, the Celtic-Anglo-Saxon-Danish-Norman forming the world-wide English, the Scandinavian, and the pure Sclavonic families. Does thistheory mean that nations of the same tongue should all be politically and socially united, flourish for a period, and then perish together? Understood in this way, the race theory would have few defenders. It may be true that nations, like individuals, must live a definite period—rise, flourish, and decay. It is true, historically, that every nation has an era of prosperity and an era of decadence. But when we come to the question of universal sovereignty, we may ask, When did the Roman nations ever exercise it? Each of them has had its golden age of literature, art, science, and material prosperity; but none of them has had, for any length of time, the sovereignty of Europe. Not Italy, for instance, unless we go back to the days of old Rome, and then we have not an Italian but a specifically Roman supremacy. Not Spain, for although she exercised great power beyond the ocean, and for a time possessed a preponderating influence in Europe, from the reign of Charles V. to the first successor of Philip II., yet who could call the accidental union of so many crowns on the head of a Hapsburg prince a universal sovereignty for Spain? Lastly, France had her age of glory during the reign of Louis XIV., whose influence, or that of the Napoleonic era, cannot be denied. Yet what gaps separate the reign of the great King from that of the great Emperor! Great as was France under Louis XIV. and Bonaparte, she fell to the second rank of nations during the Restoration and under the July dynasty. As leader in the Revolutionary movement, she has always controlled Europe, even in her periods of political weakness, from the days of the encyclopædists to the present time. Even Germany acknowledges the sway of French literature, politeness, and taste. Victorious Berlin copies the fashions and manners of conquered France, as ancient Rome, after conquering Athens, became the slave of Athenian civilization.
Germany, too, must have already passed the period of her maturity, according to the race theory; for, under the Saxon Othos, under the Hohenstaufens, and Charles V., until the Thirty Years' War broke the strength of the empire, she was superior even to France. Does not German genius in its peculiar walks rule the world now? German science, German music? Does not England, usually considered as belonging to the German race, rule the commerce of the world? And was not her political influence on the Continent until recently all-powerful?
No! political sovereignty can be explained by no race theory. From the fall of the first Napoleon until 1848, England with the powers of the "Holy Alliance," or rather with Austria and Russia, held the first place in European politics. From the beginning of 1848 until the Crimean war, England and Russia were in the foreground; after that war it was France and England; now it is Prussia. These are but examples of the political fluctuations which follow each other in continual change, and are seldom of long duration.
And do not the champions of the German race theory see that there is a laughing heir behind them in the Sclavonic supremacy? Once admitting the race theory, we must confess that the Panslavist argues well when he says: "The Roman nations are dead; the German are on the point of dying. They once conquered the world; their present effort is the last flicker of the expiring light which points out the road to us. After them comes our race, with fresh vigoron the world's scene. Europe's future is Panslavism."
The whole theory is radically false. There are no more primitive races to take the place of the old ones. The Germans are as old as the Romans; or, rather, the Romans were simply Germans civilized before their brethren. Russia alone is young in Europe, but she has nothing new to give us; and physical force, without a new social or moral system accompanying it to establish a conquest, never prevails long. We cannot, therefore, judge of Europe's future by this theory of races.
The power of regeneration must be sought for elsewhere.
One would have thought that the sanguinary war of 1870 should have dispelled the illusions of liberalism for ever. By liberalism, we mean that party which believes in the principles of 1789, whose ideal is to have the middle classes, orbourgeoisie, the ruling power, to have society equally divided, to have an atheistical state, and to obtain eternal peace through unlimited material progress, which would identify the interests of nations. Liberalism, rationalism, and materialism are different names for the same system. A state without God, sovereignty of capital, dissolution of society into individuals, united by no other bond than the force of a liberal parliament majority under the control of wealth; material prosperity of the middle classes, founded on gain and pleasure, with the removal of all historical traditions, all ecclesiastical precepts—such is the dream of this "shopkeepers' system." Has not the present war dispelled the dream of happiness arising from mere material prosperity? We doubt it. Notwithstanding the many hard lessons which the liberal school has received since the days of Mirabeau and the Girondins, from the lawyers of the July dynasty to Ollivier, it never seems to grow wiser. It is superficial, never looks into the essence of things. It is in vain to charge the present misfortunes of two great nations on the illiberalism of Napoleon and Bismarck, and thus exalt the merits of liberalism; for liberalism or mere material prosperity was at the bottom of all their plans. From 1789 to 1870, France, with few exceptions, was governed by liberalism; and the revolutions begat the natural consequences of this system in anarchy and military despotism. France during this period has made the most wonderful material progress.
We read lately in a liberal journal that the only remedy for the rejuvenation of states was "the inviolability of the individual, and respect for the popular will." Always the same emptiness of phraseology with these impracticable dabblers in philosophy. What will you do if the infallible "popular will" refuses to recognize the inviolability of individuals? Cannot these gentlemen see that their system merely opens the door for socialism? They take away religion, and teach the epicurean theory of enjoyment; they destroy constitutional forms of government, and base authority on the ever-shifting popular whim. Socialism comes after them, and says, "You say there is no God, and I must have pleasure. I have counted myself, and find that I am the majority; therefore, I make a law against capital and property. You must be satisfied, for you are my teacher, and I merely follow out your principles to their logical consequences."
A new era is dawning. Not a mere political period, but a complete social change, for the actual order of things is disorder, a compound of injustice and abuses. We must have fraternity and equality. Away with the nobles; away with the wealthy classes; away with property; all things must be in common. The happiness of Europe will never be realized until socialism reigns supreme. Such is the socialistic theory. But does not every one see that its realization is impossible, and brings us back to barbarism? The right of property is essential to society. It is contrary to nature to expect that mankind will give up this right to please a whim of drones—a system according to which the lazy and indolent would have as much right to property as the industrious and hard-working. If all is to be common property, who will work, who will strive to acquire, whose ambition will be aroused, whose interest excited for the attainment of something in which he will have no right or title? And in fact, both liberals and socialists use words which they do not mean; they are far more despotic when they get power than those whom they are continually attacking. At the Berne Congress of 1868, a socialist orator said: "We cannot admit that each man shall choose his own faith; man has not the right to choose error; liberty of conscience is our weapon, but not one of our principles!" By error he meant Christianity. In fact, ultra-radicalism is simply ultra-despotism. Men blamed the despotism of Napoleon III.; but look at the despotism of Gambetta, and remember the despotism of Robespierre and the "Reign of Terror." Destroy religion, and you have nothing left but egotism. Man becomes to his brother-man either a wolf or a fox.
Socialism may indeed have its day in Europe's future. The logic of liberalism leads to it; but it will be a fearful day of disorder and revolution; a sad day for the wealthier classes; but still only a day. Earthquakes are possible, and sometimes they engulf cities; but they pass away, and quiet returns. New vegetation springs up on the ruins. If socialism ever gains Europe, it will vanish in virtue of thereductio ad absurdum; therefore its mastery can never be permanent.
Since neither the race theory, nor liberalism, nor socialism, can enable us to solve the problem of Europe's future, let us pass to other considerations, glance rapidly over the past, study the present external and internal condition of the continent, in order to be able to form a judgment on the subject which we are discussing.
The French Revolution of 1789 had its effects all over Europe. In France since that date, liberalism, anarchy, and Byzantinism have held alternate sway. The Bonaparte invasions carried through the rest of Europe the liberal principle of secularization with theCode Napoléon. The writings of the philosophers and encyclopædists, and Josephism, had prepared the way. The reaction of 1815 was based on Masonic theories of philanthropism and religious indifferentism. The Emperor Alexander and the Holy Alliance were infected with these views. The revolutionary movementin Germany, Italy, and Spain has since been simply against office-holders and the police. The influence of religion has been ignored. Palmerston was thecoryphæusof the liberals, and during his time English diplomacy played into the hands of all the irreligious and revolutionary elements in Europe. This unprincipled system was finally represented by Napoleon III., in whose diplomacy the theory of "non-intervention," of "nationalities," of "sovereignty of the people," were put forward as the types of the perfection of modern society. In point of fact, they are mere words used as a cloak to cover up Macchiavellism.
The "balance of power" theory, of purely material import, ruled in 1815, but it soon gave way before the influences of the "liberal" doctrines of humanitarianism and the race system. Religious convictions and Christian institutions were ignored in politics, and a system of police substituted in their place. Greece received its king in consequence of this system which has prevailed in the external relations of Europe since 1830. In 1848, the revolutions and insurrections in Europe were merely premature appearances of the socialistic element in liberalism. Napoleon III., by his Macchiavellian policy, which Guizot has happily termed "moderation in evil-doing," coerced them. He gave all the sanction of French power to the principles of the liberal school which he was supposed to represent. On the principle of "non-intervention," he prevented the interference of Austria and Spain in favor of the Holy See. He protected the seizure of Naples and Sicily; approved the invasion of the Papal States, and substituted, in the place of dynastic right and popular right, the colossal delusion of theplébiscite. On the nationality theory, he allowed Austrian power to be destroyed, and founded, in opposition to all French interests, Italian and German unity.
Although very defective since it ignored the full claims of religion, still there was a fixed public law in Europe from 1815 to 1859. Respect for the minor powers; the sentiment of the solidarity of thrones against the efforts of Carbonarism and the cosmopolitan revolutionary party; and regard for treaties, characterize that period. The traditions of the people were respected; and treaties repressed avarice or ambition; and there was real peace in Europe—the peace of order, according to the beautiful expression of St. Augustine. It is true, far-seeing minds saw the threatening cloud on the horizon of the future, and knew that the system of 1815 did not rest on the right foundations. Still, even mere external forms are a protection.
But since 1859 law or treaties no longer seem to bind. There seems to be nothing fixed in the public law of Europe. All is whim; might instead of right, sentiment instead of principle. Powers can no longer unite, for they cannot trust each other. Instead of all being united to protect the individual state, now all are hostile to each other. Italy insists on unification in spite of law and right, and to gain her purpose depends to-day on Prussia; yesterday, it was on France. She hates Austria, and Austria acts as if she did not perceive the hatred, and will not interfere lest she might offend the liberals. Vienna is in dread of Berlin and St. Petersburg; St. Petersburg is in dread of Berlin. England looks jealously at Russia, who, meanwhile, is arming in grim silence, and with occasional manifestations of her old predilections. France counts now for nothing. Prussia, which fifteen yearsago was allowed merely by the favor of Austria to sit in the congress of the great powers, is now the only great military power in Europe. We say military, for it is not the real, the hidden power. As in the Greek mythology grim, inexorable fate ruled above all the gods, so the head lodge of the secret societies makes of the Prussian leaders its blind tools; Italy obeys it; Napoleon was its slave; Austria, its sacrifice; and now Prussia also must bend the knee. Such is Europe ten years after the Franco-Austrian war: the Europe of Metternich, Nesselrode, and Wellington.
The revolution has changed the internal policy of states as well as their external relations. Forty years ago, Donoso Cortes remarked that England was endeavoring to introduce its constitution into the Continent; and that the Continent would try to introduce its different governmental systems into England. We are now witnesses of the truth of this observation. Democratic ideas are gaining ground in Great Britain; and bureaucracy, with its centralizing tendencies, is replacing the English theory of self-government. Military conscriptions, along with universal suffrage, will come next. Owing to the extension of the franchise, the House of Commons is losing its aristocratic character, and the House of Lords its influence. England will go the way of France.
We see what the liberal system begotten of the revolution has caused in France. An enervated, un-self-reliant, disunited generation, without traditions, organization, consistency, faith, or true patriotism, is its result. The decrees of theCode Napoléonconcerning inheritances have broken up families; the departmental system has destroyed the provincial peculiarities in which lies the people's strength; the system of common lodging-houses for the laboring classes has destroyed respect for authority, and afforded ready material for the purposes of despotism or secret societies.
In Italy and Spain, we see the same spectacle. The French, led into Italy by the first Napoleon, brought thither the principle of centralization and a revolutionary code. After Napoleon's downfall, the restored princes allowed too much of his system to remain. This arose from a want of judgment. The ancient municipalities were destroyed, even to some extent in the States of the Church; Piedmont receiving most of the poison, and thus becoming the hearth of the revolution. Constitutionalism, anarchy, and military governments in Spain prove the working of revolutionary doctrines. The old freedom of that Catholic country, the growth of centuries, gives way before a nominal liberty, but a real despotism.
In Germany, too, centralization carries the day. This country had the good fortune to be composed of several independent states, without any great central power, and the provincial spirit consequently remained strong. But now two un-German words, "unification" and "uniformity," expressing un-German tendencies, are carrying the Germans into despotism. Germany will be Prussianized, and Prussia Germanized, say the unificators; but all will, in the end, be compelled to give way before the republicans and socialists. The high schools of Germany are all infected with the revolutionary doctrines and Masonic ideas.
What shall we say of Austria?Thanks to "liberalism," it has disappeared, and is now a dualism in its government and tri-parliamentary in its system.
The licentiousness of the press helps to destroy everything stable in governments. Journals without principle, honor, or religion, filled with scandals, edited by adventurers, whose only object is to make money and serve faithfully their owners, issue their thousands of copies daily to corrupt the public mind. Evil spreads more rapidly than good, and consequently the influence of the religious press is weak compared to that of the revolutionary papers, subsidized by the agents of secret societies or by the unprincipled men of wealth, who readily purchase the aid of corrupted minds to help on their ambition.
Governments have therefore ceased to be Christian, and have become "liberal," that is, infidel. According to liberalism, religion is the private affair of each individual. Civil society should recognize no dogma, no worship, no God. We know well that this principle, from its very intrinsic absurdity, cannot be practically carried out. For instance, God will be recognized when it is necessary to swear fidelity to a constitution, and the external forms of religion will be invoked at the opening of a new railroad or a session of parliament. But in principle the liberal state ignores all positive religious belief. Its only dogma is that a law passed by a majority of voters remains a law until the next majority abrogates it. This system is called "separation of church and state," or "a free church in a free state." Then follow broken concordats—in France and Bavaria, broken by organic articles; in Baden, Piedmont, Austria, and Spain, destroyed by the will of the prince and cabinet ministers. Then follows a usurped educational system, in which the rights of the family and church are disregarded. In all of these states, more or less, there is a public persecution of the church; a repression of her rights; enthrallment of her ministers; invasion of her privileges. God is in heaven, consequently the church should confine herself to the sanctuary; that is to say, God does not trouble himself about the conduct of nations, politics, legislation, or science. These are all neutral affairs, over which his authority does not extend, and therefore the church has nothing to do with public life. So say the liberals. They take from God and give it to Cæsar, the modern civil divinity, all that is his, except one thing which it is impossible for them to take from him, and that is conscience. They endeavor to estrange conscience from God more and more by education, by the press, and by public opinion manufactured by the leaders of the secret societies. Hence all the talk about "liberty of conscience." For the same end, they talk of toleration, but they mean simply indifference, which hence becomes the shibboleth of the party which the church unceasingly opposes.
This is, in a few words, the actual condition of the church in European society. It is an unnatural condition. Even Macchiavelli says: "Princes and republics which would remain sound must, before all things, guard the ceremonies of religion and keep them ever in honor. Therefore, there is no surer sign of the decay of a state than when it sees the worship ofthe Most High disregarded." Macchiavelli spoke from the lessons of experience and as a mere utilitarian. Our modern utilitarian politicians have not his capacity or penetration. They are mere superficial observers of fact, and cannot see that thesummum utileis thesummum jus. This fault lies in ignoring the assistance of the supernatural order—in their erroneous opinion that there is no absolute truth. The church is not a hospital for diseased souls; Christianity is not a mere specific for individual maladies; but as our Lord has taught us to pray, "Thy kingdom come ... on earth as it is in heaven," so must revealed truth pervade the earth; percolate through civil society, not merely in its individual members, but in all its natural relations, family, municipal, and state. This is what the church has taught Europe, and only by conforming with this teaching can Europe stand. Since Christianity came into the world, the Christian state is the normal condition of political governments, and not an ideal impossible of realization. Undoubtedly, human weakness will always cause many aberrations from the rule. But the question is not regarding this point, but as to the recognition of the rule. The sin against the Holy Ghost is the most grievous of all sins. Our Lord, always so mild and forbearing toward human passions, is unflinchingly stern against malicious resistance to truth, and this has been precisely the great evil of our time ever since 1789. In the early ages, individuals and nations fell into many errors, but they never touched the sacred principles of religion. Liberalism and Freemasonry have caused the denial of truth itself.
"Must we, then, fall back into the darkness of the middle ages?" Such a question, while it shows little knowledge of the middle ages, exhibits likewise a spirit of unfairness in discussion. For our purpose, it suffices to show the latter. What would we think of a man who, on being told that our faith should be childlike, should say to the priest, "Must I, then, become a child again?" Plainly, we would say to him: Good friend, you talk nonsense; for you know well that you cannot get again your infant body, nor blot out the knowledge and experience acquired in a life of thirty years. But was not the sun the same four years ago as it is now? Do not two and two make four now as long ago? Did you not eat and drink when you were a child as you do now? Some things are always true in all places and times; and therefore we do not want to bring you back into the middle ages merely because we want to give the church that position which God has assigned to her.
"Then you want to saddle a theocracy on the back of the nineteenth century?" Let us understand each other. In a certain sense, a theocracy must be the aim of every rational being. God has appointed two orders to govern men: they are church and state, neither of which must absorb the other. Theocracy is not a government of priests, as those imagine who have before their eyes the Hindoo civil systems. Let us for a moment forget these catchwords, "middle ages" and "theocracy," and go to the marrow of the subject.
The church is the guide of consciences; not the arbitrary teacher of men, but the interpreter of revelation for them. St. Thomas likens the office of the Vicar of Christ to that of the flag-ship of a fleet, which the other vessels, that is, the secular governments must follow on the open sea in order to reach the common haven of safety. Each vessel has its own sailsmoves in its own way, and is managed by its own mariners. The church never interferes in the appropriate sphere of the secular power. But she warns; she advises; she corrects all civil authority when it deviates from the truth and opposes the revealed order. Her authority over the state is not direct, but indirect; she teaches, but she cannot coerce; shemustteach, for political and social questions necessarily have relations with dogmatic and moral subjects. The church must condemn wrongs, no matter by whom perpetrated, whether by states or individuals. This is all the theocratic power the church claims. A Christian state will respectfully hear her warning voice, and thus avoid the danger; while a pagan state shuts its ears, despises the church's admonitions, and plunges into the abyss.
Modern paganism in civil governments has brought Europe into her present miserable condition. Can she get out of it, or is European society hopelessly lost?
The Franco-Prussian war of 1870 is one of the most important events in the history of Europe. The prostration of France is no indication that she will never rise again, for in 1807 Prussia was in a worse condition than France is now. In 1815, and until the past few years, Prussia was last in the list of the great powers, though now she is the first. France, then, in a few years may rise again to her full power. There are no more fresh, uncivilized races to come into Europe to take the place of those which are now said to be decaying. We have shown that liberalism has reached its acme, been found wanting, and is dying. Its efforts in Italy, Spain, Germany, Vienna, and Pesth are but the last convulsions of an expiring system. The natural child of liberalism—socialism—must also disappear before the common sense of mankind. What remains? Will there be in Europe the alternate anarchy and despotism of the Central American republics without any end? Must we despair of Europe's future? No, a thousand times no! We look to the future with hope and consolation.
Common sense and religion will win the day; Christianity has still the regenerating power which she showed in civilizing the barbarians. Christianity has been the principle of national life since the Redeemer established it as a world religion. The spiritual life must be renovated by truth and morality. Christianity is both. We Christians hope, therefore, for the conversion of the popular mind; we begin even now to perceive signs of regeneration, renovation, renewed energy, and vigor in mental convictions and civic virtues.
God's punishments are proofs of his mercy. He chastises to convert. The first punishment of France, in 1789, was not enough to teach her to repent. Louis XVIII. came to the throne a free-thinker instead of a Christian. The prostrate armies of Metz and Sedan are the result of corrupting and enervating infidelity. God chastises ambition and pride in nations as well as in individuals. The Republic has shown itself incapable, because it possessed neither honor, principle, nor religion. The victories of Prussia are a blessing of God for France. The Prussian army is but the instrument which God has used to punish a culprit nation—a revolutionary, irreligious, and frivolous system of government. Victorious Germany,too, will be taught to reflect when it sees the blood of its thousands of slaughtered sons, and the miseries which the war has entailed on its once happy families. Wars teach unruly nations to reflect. Will the present war suffice to humble Europe, and cause her to reflect? We know not; but God will send other chastisements if this one avails nothing. Dark clouds are already rising in the East, which may soon burst over Austria and Germany. The rod of God's anger will be felt by Austria again, for her lessons of 1859 and 1866 have been forgotten. They have only made her throw herself more fondly into the arms of the devil. In Italy, the secret societies will yet avenge on the house of Savoy the blood of the defenders of the Vicar of Christ.
But the German empire has been re-established under a Prussian emperor. Yes, but this is only an episode in the actual crisis of the world. A Protestant emperor of Germany is entirely different from a German emperor. The old German emperors represented the idea of the Christian monarchy; the Protestant emperor in Berlin represents modern Cæsarism. His empire cannot last long, for history tells us that empires of sudden and accidental growth lose rapidly the power which they as rapidly acquired. But is not Prussia's triumph the triumph of Protestantism in Europe? Such a question is easily answered: Protestantism as a positive religion no longer exists in Prussia or elsewhere; and Protestantism as a negation exists everywhere, perhaps more in some Catholic lands than in Prussia. On the battle-fields of Wörth and Gravelotte, the Catholic Church was not represented by France, and Lutheranism by Prussia. Catholic Bavarians, Westphalians, and Rhinelanders fought for Prussia, and would be astounded to hear that they were fighting for heresy. Priests and Sisters of Charity accompanied them to battle. Who, on the other hand, would call the Turcos Catholics? Or the French officers, who never heard Mass, and who curtailed the number of Catholic chaplains to the minimum? Were the French soldiers, who drilled on Sundays instead of going to church, on whose barracks, in some cases, was written, "No admission for policemen, dogs, or priests"—were they the Catholic champions? No; the Christian soldier in France first appeared, in this war, with Charette and Cathelineau in the Loire army, demoralized and destroyed, however, by the mad-cap radical, Gambetta, and his infidel associates. In fact, the Prussian army was more Catholic than the French. The latter must be won back to religion from the enervating influences of Freemasonry and Voltairianism before it can regain its prestige. The only hope for France is in her zealous clergy, in the vigor of the old Catholic provinces, and in her humiliations, which ought to bring repentance.
The rustling of Catholic renovation is heard all over Europe. The rising generation will bring Italy back to the church. The spirit of the Tyrol and of Westphalia is spreading through Germany. The Ultramontanes in Saxony, Bohemia, Steyermark, show the energy of this renovation. The peasantry of Austria and of a large portion of Germany are still uncorrupted. Hungary is steadfast in the faith. The seizure of Rome by the Sardinian robbers has roused the Catholic heart of the world and helped on the cause of regeneration. Where the Catholic faith was supposed to be crushed, lo! it has raised its head defiantly.
The deceived nations want peace,freedom, order, and authority. These blessings infidelity and liberalism have taken away. The people are beginning to see that the old yet ever young Apostolic Church alone can guarantee them. They will turn to Rome, where lives the Vicar of Him who said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life;" to Rome freed again from the barbarians; to Rome become Roman again when it has ceased to be Sardinian; to Rome will the people look for peace and order. It is Rome that tells men that Christ is Lord of the world; that he conquers; that he governs. The social dominion of Christ will again be established. We shall see again Christian states founded on Christian principles and traditions, with Christian laws and rulers. Whether these rulers will be kings or presidents we know not; but they will in either case consider themselves as mere delegates of Jesus Christ, and of his people, not as Byzantine despots or representatives of mob tyranny. They will understand that statesmanship does not consist in giving license to the wicked[6]and forging chains for the good. We shall have Christian schools, Christian universities, Christian statesmen. Ye liberals in name, well may ye grow pale! The future of the world belongs to the principles of the Syllabus, and this future is not far off. We conclude with the words of Count de Maistre: "In the year 1789, the rights of man were proclaimed; in the year 1889, man will proclaim the rights of God!"