Paul and Sally were still at “the hall,” where Melicent considered them her especial subjects, and taught them in season and out of season; but, alas! there were still nine children at home. Polly, the baby of six years ago, is now a stolid lassie of seven, and there are two younger, the last only six months old.
One hot Sunday in July, Edith found the feminine procession without its head. Everything else was in order, but Mrs. Patten sat in a corner of the room, holding her sick baby. It had been sick all the week, and Edith had visited it, and sent the doctor, but this morning it was worse.
“We need not interrupt your discourse, though,” Mrs. Patten said. “He doesn’t notice anything.”
In these Sunday lessons, usually consisting of Bible instructions, histories of the saints, and explanation of Christian doctrine, Edith had instilled a good deal of Catholic truth, without alarming her hearers. She had even obtained permission to teach the children to bless themselves, and say the Hail Mary; only Mrs. Patten had wished thatMother of Christshould be substituted forMother of God.
“But was not Christ God?” asked the young teacher.
“Yes, Miss Edith,” the woman replied. “But Mary was the mother of his human nature only, not of his Godhead.”
“You cannot separate them,” Edith said. “He was not born a mere man, and deified afterward: his birth was miraculous, and God was his Father. She was the mother of all that he was. To be a mother is not to create. You did not make that child’s soul, yet you are his mother. You would not stop to say that you are the mother of his body, and that his soul came from God. You are his mother, because you gave him human life; so Mary did for Christ. Besides, you will always be your child’s mother, though his body will turn to dust, and be regathered again at the last day. But the body of Christ never was destroyed. It sits now at the right hand of the Father, the same human form that Mary cherished, as you do that child.”
Boadicea was silent “They shall say Mother of Christ, then, if you prefer,” Edith said softly. But the next time she came, they said Mother of God. She made no verbal comment on the amendment, but bent and, for the first time, kissed the forehead of the child who gave the title, tears of joy shining in her eyes.
On this July day, after taking her seat, and watching the family arrange themselves to listen, Edith hesitated on what subject she should speak. She had one prepared, but presently concluded to change it.
“I will tell you what baptism is to-day,” she said; and then gave them a clear and simple explanation of the sacrament.
Joe sat on a low stool, with a child in his arms, tears dropping down his cheek now and then, as he glanced from the speaker to his sick child. Mrs. Patten’s face showed only a quiet endurance.
“So necessary is baptism,” Edith concluded, her voice slightly tremulous, “that even a baby must not die without it. If one should be indanger of death, any person who knows how can baptize it.”
She said no more, but, after distributing some little presents to the children, as her custom was, and sitting by the baby a few minutes, went home. The mother was very pale. She sat looking at her child, and seemed indisposed to speak. There was even a sort of coldness in her manner when she took leave of her visitor.
The children went out, and looked after the lady as long as they could see her, then gathered in a whispering group about the door. They felt, rather than knew, the impending sorrow. Joe went, stool in hand, and sat down by his wife. Her lips began to tremble. She was only a woman, poor soul! and wanted comfort, not only for the grief before her, but for the new and terrible fear that had risen up in her heart while Edith Yorke spoke.
“Joe,” she said unsteadily, “that girl is very learned. Dr. Martin can’t equal her. She makes everything awfully clear. She leaves no hole for you to crawl out. If baptism isn’t what she says, then there isn’t any sense in baptism.”
“Yes,” sighed Joe, “she’s a mighty smart gal.”
“Then,” the mother whispered sharply, “if what she says is true, what’s become of our other children, Joe?”
He looked up with startled eyes. He had been thinking of their present sorrow, not of the past. It is only the mother who for ever carries her children in her heart.
“There are three children gone, Joe,” she said imploringly.
He dropped his eyes, and considered anxiously, not so much the fate of his lost children as the fact that Sally looked to him for help. A shallow head goes with a shallowheart, and his first thought was merely how he should evade the weight of his wife’s dependence.
“Oh! you broken reed!” she exclaimed, with suppressed passion.
Thus apostrophized, Joe became desperate, and that desperation imparted to him an air of unwonted decision and authority.
“I tell you what it is, Sally,” he said, “these rules and regulations are very well for learned folks, and they’re to blame if they don’t keep ‘em. But I don’t believe that the Lord is going to punish us nor our young ones for what we don’t know nothing about. He knows well enough that we’d a had ‘em, every soul of ‘em, baptized, if we’d a thought he wanted us to. I’m sure I don’t begrudge the young ones being baptized. So don’t you believe, Sally, but he’ll sly ‘em in somehow, poor little creters! Why, do you s’pose that, while we were sitting here and crying over our dead babies, and saying, ‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord,’ that just at that time he’d got ‘em out of sight somewhere, and was pinching on ‘em and hurting on ‘em for his own amusement, with their scared little faces looking up at him? It don’t stand to reason, Sally.”
The first tears she had shed started from the mother’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Joe,” she said gratefully, “you’ve got some gumption in you, after all.”
Edith went home that day with a troubled heart. Two or three times on the way she stopped, having half a mind to turn back, but did not. She was too agitated to keep quiet or to eat. One thought filled her mind: a soul just slipping away from earth waited on the threshold till she should open for it the gate of heaven. The thought was overpowering.
In the afternoon, Mrs. Yorke and Melicent went to see the sick child, carrying everything they thought might be needed. Edith had sent for the doctor again, and he came while they were there, and accompanied them home. She listened to their talk, and heard them say that the child could not live more than twenty-four hours longer. They spoke kindly, and they had acted kindly, yet it all jarred terribly on her. Of the highest interest at stake, of the miraculous possibility that she saw, they knew nothing. Dared she wait?
After tea her resolution was taken. She came down-stairs, and found Carl pacing to and fro at the foot of the terrace. He threw the end of his cigar away as she approached him, but did not take any further notice of her till it became evident that she wanted him.
“Carl,” she said, “I want you to go over to the Pattens’ with me.”
“Certainly!”
He did not annoy her with questions, nor exclamations, nor expostulations; he simply and promptly started. They avoided the family in going. When one is in suspense, it is distressing to have to explain to those who cannot help and do not understand the need.
“I am going to baptize the baby, if they will let me,” Edith said, when they entered the wood.
He only answered, “Yes!” He knew enough of Catholic doctrine to understand the importance which she attached to the ceremony.
The sun had gone down in a splendor of rose-color, and all the forest was steeped with it. The silver stems of the birches flickered like rubies, and all the streams and springs blushed as if they had newly been changed to wine for some great marriage feast. A brook ran toward them all the way beside their path, like abreathless messenger bidding them hasten at every step. Then that airy flood of light ebbed down the west, and left a new moon stranded there, and stars sprinkled all through the blue. When they came out into the clearing, it was deep twilight. The cabin window shone out red through the dusk, and from the open door a lurid path of light stretched across the garden-plot and plunged into the woods opposite.
Like most people who live in the woods, the family kept early hours, but to-night none of them had gone to bed, nor were the beds prepared for them. The children were huddled together near the fireplace, whispering, and casting frightened glances to where their father and mother crouched on the floor beside the cradle, in which lay their dying babe. They had no lamps nor candles, but a pine-knot, fixed in the fireplace, sent a volume of inky smoke up chimney, and made a crimson illumination in the room. In that light every face shone like a torch.
The sick child lay in a stupor, sometimes holding its breath so long that the mother started and caught it up. Thus partially recalled, it breathed slowly again. There was no sound in the room but that low breathing, and the hissing of the flame in the chimney.
But presently there was a sound outside of steps coming nearer, and as they looked at the door Edith appeared on the threshold, all her whiteness of face, dress, and hands changed to pink in the light, as Charity might look hastening on her errand. Her eyes were wide-open and startled; her hair, which had fallen, caught in the low bough of a tree as they came, was drawn over her left shoulder, and twisted about her arm.
After the pause of an instant, shecame swiftly in, and knelt by the cradle, leaving Carl standing in the doorway.
“Thank God! I am in time,” she exclaimed. “I have come, you dear parents, to baptize this child, if you will permit me. You were not to blame for the others, because you did not know. But now you know. Consent quickly; for it is almost gone!”
“Yes, yes!” said the mother. “Make haste!”
Edith called the children, and made them kneel about the cradle, with their hands folded, palm to palm, and she scarcely noticed that Carl came in and knelt behind them.
“I am so anxious to do it rightly,” she said, with one swift glance round the circle. “I never did it before, but it is very simple. I am very unworthy, and am afraid. All of you must say an Our Father for me.”
Edith put a crucifix in the father’s hands, and, as he held it up, bowed herself, and kissed the floor before it. Then she lighted a wax candle she had brought, and gave it to the mother to hold. Lastly, she knelt by the head of the cradle, and poured out a little vase of holy water.
“What is the child’s name?” she asked, quite calm by this time.
Mr. and Mrs. Patten looked at each other. There had been many discussions between them on the subject, and at this moment neither of them could call to mind a single desirable name which had not been appropriated by their children, living or dead.
“I would like to name him for my father,” Edith said. And they consented.
The words were spoken, then Edith leaned quickly, with a triumphant smile, and kissed the new-made saint, and whispered something to it.
The child had been lying in that stupor for several hours, but at her whisper he opened his eyes, and fixed them in a solemn and steady gaze on her face. There was something in the look significant and unchildlike; and, so looking at her, he calmly died. Only a sigh, and the lids half-drooped, that was all on earth. But who shall say what it was in heaven?
It was quite dark when the two went home again. The sultry air was still, and perfumed with sweet fern and wild violets, and the brook ran along with them now with a sound like a child talking to itself. They walked hand in hand, guided by that sound.
“I am very, very happy!” said Edith.
Carl said nothing, but stopped short.
“Have you lost the track?” she asked.
There was still a moment of silence, then he said in a stifled voice, “I have found it again.”
Poor Carl! his finding of that path was heroic. For an instant, a flower-wreathed wicket had seemed to swing across his way, and a path of delight to lead from it. He closed it, and walked on.
After a minute, Edith recollected that she had brought a second candle. They stopped and lighted it, then resumed their walk. She held the candle in her right hand, her left she placed in Carl’s again. The air was so still that the yellow flame waved only with their motion, and the light of it made a halo about them, and brought out leaves and flowers, and drooping branches, that shone a moment, then disappeared.
That ancient forest had arched over many a human group during the unknown centuries of its life, dusky hunters in the chase or on thewar-trail, pale-faced pioneers, glancing right and left for the savage foe, the Catholic missionary, armed only with the crucifix, yet with that weapon and with his pleading tongue conquering the hatchet and the tomahawk, children and youths going a-maying, yet never did it overshadow a fairer group than this.
Looking down at Edith, Carl renounced the thought of painting her as a fairy; he would paint her walking through a dark forest, with a candle in her hand. “Perish civilization!” he said suddenly. “I wish there was not a house between here and Massachusetts Bay!”
Edith smiled, but said nothing. She did not speak till, too soon, they reached the house. There she stopped to enter by the side door. “I will go in this way,” she said. “I do not wish to speak to any one else to-night. Please tell them what I have done.”
He was going, when she softly called him back. “After he was baptized,” she said hurriedly, “I whispered, and told him to pray for you and me when he reached heaven. Good-night, Carl!”
The next forenoon Edith went up to her chamber to dress before dinner. She braided her hair, put on a rose-colored lawn, and fastened a velvet ribbon around her throat with the precious carbuncle. She was blissfully happy, she scarce knew why. Never had she been conscious of such delight. “How sweet, how beautiful is life!” she said to herself. “Thanks, dear Lord! I am so happy!”
She looked smilingly over her shoulder toward the door, for Clara had come running up the stairs and burst into her room.
“Edith,” she said breathlessly, “hehas come! Mr. Rowan has come! He is down in the parlor with papa, and mamma, and Melicent.”
Edith did not change her position nor say a word. She looked steadily at Clara, and waited.
“He is as handsome as a prince,” her cousin went on with enthusiasm. “He gave me this slip of paper for you. Will you be right down?”
“Go and tell him that I will come down in a minute,” Edith said quietly, and still looked at her cousin till she went out of the room and shut the door. Then, overcome by a sudden weakness, she dropped on her knees.
“I am very glad,” she said solemnly, and lifted her eyes. “I thank thee for bringing him safe home again. Help me!”
She unfolded the slip of paper, and read the line it contained: “Don’t come down, Edith, if you are going to say no to me.”
She had never thought of saying no to him.
A minute later she stood in the door of the parlor, where they all were. She was very white, but her lips wore a sweet and resolute smile.
Dick came to meet her, his face in a fine flame, and she placed her hand in his. “It is yours, with their consent,” she said.
For a moment he was unable to speak. He looked at her searchingly, his eyes full of tears. “Are you willing, Edith?” he asked.
“I am more than willing,” she replied.
He led her to Mr. and Mrs. Yorke. “I would not dare to ask you for such a precious gift,” he said, “if God and herself had not already bestowed it.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
In November, 1867, Mr. T. T. Cooper, an English gentleman who describes himself as a “pioneer of commerce,” undertook an overland journey from Shanghai to Calcutta with the hope of discovering some shorter and more direct line of communication between India and China than that lying through the province of Su-tchuen and Eastern Thibet, the only route at present open. The undertaking was not a successful one, Mr. Cooper having been stopped and imprisoned at Weisee-foo, in the province of Yunnan, in July of the following year. This detention was the work of the Thibetan lamas, who have no desire for a free trade which will interfere with their monopolies, and who are, as a matter of course, violently opposed to the introduction of a religion which will weaken their own hold upon the people. Mr. Cooper, although an English Protestant who was contented to describe himself on his travels as a disciple of Confucius, and who took pains to inform the lamas that he could readily sympathize with their dislike of foreign innovations in religious matters, did not fail to share the effects of that distrust of foreigners which is so carefully kept alive in China by the governing classes, the literati, and the priests. While imprisoned at Weisee-foo, his interpreter, a Chinese Catholic, overheard the following conversation between two Mandarins, one of whomwas Mr. Cooper’s jailer, which was, to say the least of it, not reassuring:
“Just as Philip took his place under the window, Tien asked the Atenze Mandarin if he had seen the foreigner who had passed through Atenze on his way to Tali-foo, adding, ‘We have him here in the Yamun.’ His guest replied, ‘No; the cursed barbarian! what is he? I heard he was writing all the time he was in my town, and drawing the country. The son of a dog, too, writes with a pen that requires no ink. I suppose he has come to see the country; and his people will come to take it by-and-by. You have got him here; why don’t you kill him?’ To this my friend Tien replied, ‘Why, it’s no use to kill him; he has no money. We have searched him; he has nothing; and now we are considering what to do with him.’ When Philip had got thus far, he was so completely overwhelmed that it was several minutes before he could proceed: when he had recovered a little, he went on to relate what the Atenze Mandarin said in reply. The ruffian evidently hated foreigners, for he said, ‘Oh! kill him. You dispose of him; and when I return from the fight, I will kill those sons of dogs, the missionaries on the Lan-tsan-kiang: they are fast converting the Lu-tsu, and they will very soon be masters of the country, and we shall be killed; so kill them all, I say.’”
A day or two later, our traveller, who seems to be very plucky and full of courage, managed to effect his escape, but only to retrace his steps toShanghai. His account of his travels is most entertaining, and as it contains a great deal which will be interesting to the general reader, as well as much which is especially so to Catholics, we propose to make copious extracts from it. The book itself has not been reprinted here, and the English edition is so expensive that it is hardly likely to be as generally read as its merits deserve.
The project of undertaking this long and perilous journey had suggested itself to our traveller’s mind so long ago as 1862, but various circumstances rendered it impracticable to begin it until 1867, when the promised support of influential Shanghai merchants made Mr. Cooper again cast about him for ways of surmounting the still remaining difficulties. These were the well-known jealousy manifested by Chinese officials toward strangers; the wild tribes dwelling in the mountains; utter ignorance of the language of the country; and the danger of carrying so large a sum of money as would be necessary for the expenses of the journey. After a month of perplexity, Mr. Cooper concluded to address himself to M. Lamonier, the procurator of the Catholic missions at Shanghai. “I knew,” he says, “that the posts of the French missionaries extended in an unbroken chain to beyond the western border of China; and I felt convinced that only by their help could I hope to pass through the empire. M. Lamonier, ever ready, as are all the Catholic missionaries, to forward all useful projects, soon dispelled my anxiety about the carriage of specie, for he arranged to give me a letter of credit for six hundred taels (£180, the sum he considered sufficient for travelling expenses), addressed to the mission stations in Yunnan, Sz-chuan, and Eastern Thibet; so that it would notbe needful to carry a large sum in silver, until after passing beyond their posts. He also proposed a feasible plan for surmounting the difficulty of the language. A party of young missionaries were expected to arrive from France toward the end of the year; if I accompanied them to Sz-chuan, I could hire a house in some village containing a mission station, and, under the protection of the missionaries, set to work and acquire a sufficient mastery of the language. This arrangement would prolong my journey by six months; but the delay was unimportant, so long as the difficulty of the language was got over. And thus, before leaving M. Lamonier, the two great obstacles which seemed for a time to render my journey impossible were disposed of.”
A part of this plan, however, was not destined to fulfilment. The French consul at Hankou, whose dignity had been touched by some remarks made upon him in the HankouTimesby its English editor, resolved to avenge himself by preventing our Englishman from availing himself of the services of the missionaries, and compelled them to leave Hankou without him. The French consul-general at Shanghai, Vicomte Brenier de Montmorend, on being appealed to, found means to soothe his subordinate’s ruffled temper, and although he lost the promised escort of the young missionaries, Father de Carli, the head of the missions at Hankou, obviated this difficulty by providing him with two native Christians to serve as interpreter and guide. These were both trustworthy men, who joined him rather for the sake of the missionaries than for any liking for the journey, but who, for that reason, served him so much the more faithfully. One of them, George Phillips, whose name Mr.Cooper contracted into Philip, for convenience’s sake, was the eldest son of a family which had been Christians for several generations. “His superior education rendered him, save in dress and manner, quite different to ordinary Chinamen, whose natural superstition and prejudice were replaced by intelligence, strengthened by the study of European philosophy and theology, while a knowledge of the Latin, English, and Chinese languages made the term of interpreter in his case no empty title. Such was my interpreter, who proved, as I expected, a useful servant and intelligent companion.”
Having procured the services of these men, however, Mr. Cooper found it impossible to induce them to start from home until after the Christmas holidays were over; so that it was not until the 4th of January, 1868, that he finally left Hankou for the interior. He had previously taken the advice of the English secretary of legation at Pekin to conform himself in all respects to the line of conduct pursued by the missionaries, and had, during his month of enforced inaction, been trying to accustom himself to the pigtail and petticoats in which he was to introduce himself to the Chinese public. He had also been obliged to relinquish the idea of making scientific observations while on his journey, in order to avoid shocking the inveterate prejudices of the people against the use of instruments for that purpose. Even in keeping a daily record of his travels, he found it necessary to be constantly on his guard against their suspicious curiosity. One amusing instance of his caution in this respect, characteristic alike of our traveller and of his friendly enemy, is worth quoting:
“Round the fire of the little courier hut where we put up for the night,we were joined by a lama, who was, he said,en routefor Bathang. Since the unwelcome addition of the soldier spies to our party, it had become necessary for me to wait till all were asleep, to write up my journal. I was hard at work about midnight, when the lama returned to the room, pretending to have left his prayer-book behind; and seeing me engaged in writing, he became very curious to know what I was doing. Had I owned to recording a simple narrative of the day’s journey, he would have reported that I was taking notes of the country for some sinister purpose, so I replied that I was writing my prayers, a ceremony which I performed every night. This is a very common occupation of the lamas themselves, but he was surprised that a merchant should write prayers; so I told him that I always recited them after they were written, and would commence as soon as I had finished. He waited, and I soon commenced to read my journal over in a monotone like that in which the lamas recite their litanies. After reading thus for nearly half an hour, I stopped and asked my friend to recite his prayers for my benefit, promising to pay him for the service—and off he started and kept it up without ceasing until daylight next morning, when he awoke me, and received his fee of one rupee. He declared that I must belong to the Yellow religion, but I assured him to the contrary, merely saying that my religion much resembled his own. He was evidently puzzled, but pleased at my having made use of his services as a priest, and begged me to allow him to keep under my escort to Bathang.”
His inability to serve the interests of science was perhaps not a trouble of a nature to be very seriously felt by our traveller, whose chief objectin undertaking his journey was a commercial one, and whose quick perceptions and readiness to adapt himself to circumstances were a fair guarantee that he would neither run unnecessary risks nor let any available source of information pass unexplored. His book, which is very free from anything like unpleasant self-consciousness, shows him, notwithstanding, to have plenty of English pluck and determination, accompanied by a very un-English freedom from prejudice. One could find it in one’s heart to wish that in passing through scenery so impressive as that of Eastern Thibet, he might have added to his other good qualities as a narrator something more nearly approaching artistic perception than he anywhere exhibits. The absence of anything of the kind has, however, the effect of making his narrative singularly free from any appearance of conventional book-making—a result which is very like a perfect compensation.
At Sha-su, which he reached toward the middle of January, after a week or more of rather unpleasant boating experience, Mr. Cooper made his first acquaintance with real Chinese society, which he describes very well, and with some characteristic reflections:
“After breakfast, I paid a visit to the Catholic mission agent, Cheesien-sin by name, a wealthy merchant engaged in an extensive trade with Sz-chuan, with whom I had to arrange about funds for our journey to Chung Ching. We were shown into a little room next the counting-house, where we found several Christians, merchants from Chung Ching, smoking their pipes, each with his cup of tea on a small table before him. As soon as I seated myself, a little boy placed a tea-cup before me, and, throwing in a pinch of fragrant tea,poured in boiling water from a large kettle, which he took from a little stand over a charcoal fire burning in an iron brazier in the centre of the room; having thus helped me to tea, he took my long Chinese pipe, and, filling it with tobacco, handed it to me with a light, and then took up his place behind my chair. Nothing could exceed the quiet politeness and quickness with which this little fellow served me; to every one in the room I was a perfect stranger and a foreigner, yet, being in a house of business, no distinction was made between me and any of the Chinese present.... After waiting about half an hour, the merchant came from the counting-house, and, saluting me very courteously, apologized for having kept me waiting, and after a few remarks on the crops and weather, inquired my business. On learning the object of my visit, he appeared quite pleased, and expressed himself delighted to be able to do anything for a friend of the fathers, and, leading me into his office, he paid me over the sum I required, merely taking from me a receipt for the amount. We then went back to the waiting-room, where he introduced me to several of the Chung Ching merchants, and explained to his guests that I was a foreign merchant undertaking a great journey to open up commerce, and complimented me on my courage in starting alone on so great an enterprise. We all sat smoking and drinking tea for nearly two hours, when I rose to go; but my host said that dinner was just ready, and he would be glad if I would join himself and guests, apologizing at the same time for his homely fare, saying that, if he had known I was coming, I should have had a proper dinner.
“I was so charmed with the manner of this Chinese gentleman—for suchin bearing he really was—that I accepted his invitation, and sat down again; and in a few minutes all the other merchants, except two young men, who were permanent guests, left, and a serving-man then laid out the table, placing a pair of ivory chop-sticks, tipped with silver, for each of us, and brought in the dinner, consisting of fish-soup, boiled and fried fish, stewed ducks, mutton, and fowl. We took our seats—the host last—and were then handed cups (about the size of a large breakfast-cup) of rice, and in the interval before the soup and fish were brought in, baked melon-seeds were placed before us on small plates; these we nibbled at for a few minutes, until our host, taking his chop-sticks up, put their points into a plate of fish, and, looking round the table, bowed to us, whereupon we simultaneously helped ourselves, and commenced our meal. I kept up a lively conversation on the subject of foreigners and their wonderful inventions during the dinner, which I thoroughly enjoyed. When we had finished, we all stood up, holding our chop-sticks by the tips with both hands horizontally in front of our foreheads as a sign of thankfulness, and also respect to our host. We then sat down again, and little kettles of hot Samshu were brought in, and we commenced to drink wine with each other. The two young merchants soon became very loud in my praise, saying that I was quite different to the foreigners in Hankou, I was more like a Chinaman; but were very anxious to know if I was of the same religion as themselves; and when I told that I was a Christian, repeatedly embraced me, calling me a brother. We sat over our Samshu and smoked for a long time, the absence of anything like constraint among us, and the genuine hospitality of our host, makingthe hours pass quickly. I felt that I was seeing Chinese life from a standpoint hitherto unknown to most Europeans, especially Englishmen; and I felt much gratified with this my first admission into the private life of the people whose manners and customs I had adopted. During the time I was in the house I saw no females with the exception of a servant, nor did I ever in the house of any respectable Chinaman meet the womankind during the greater part of a year spent among this people.... As I was going toward the hotel, I could not help reflecting on the scene I had just left, so different in all respects from any previous idea I had formed of the Chinese character, of which, though I had dwelt for years in their country, I confess with shame, I had until now known nothing. I could not help contrasting the reception my host had given me, a total stranger and a foreigner, with that which he would probably have received at my hands had he visited me in Shanghai, when, as is usual with us Englishmen, he would very likely have had to come into my office without the least polite encouragement from me, and have transacted his business standing, after which I should probably have dismissed him with a gesture of impatience. It seems a great pity that we Englishmen, being such a great commercial people, do not associate ourselves more with the people amongst whom we trade. In China, we would do wisely to remember the old adage which tells us to ‘do in Rome as the Romans do,’ and to meet the Chinese more on a footing of equality; in fact, adopt as much as possible their ways of business, and by this means do away with that system of go-betweens which is so detrimental to us in all our dealings with the people, of whom we really knownothing. By being brought more in contact with them, we should pick up their language, and instead of being at the mercy of that villanous thing known under the name of compradore, we should at once preserve our dignity, and enter into more pleasant and profitable relations with a people whose closer acquaintance is better worth cultivating than we in our national insularity are prone to believe.”
Such pleasant experiences, which were often repeated, were not always, however, the order of the day when our traveller met the individual popularly known as the “heathen Chinee.” At the mission-stations, or wherever he encountered isolated Christians, he received always the most cordial hospitality, since even the jealous Chinaman, in becoming Catholic, becomes also cosmopolitan.
At Chung Ching, where Monseigneur Desfleches sent a swell Chinese merchant to be his escort about the city, Mr. Cooper visited a newly-built and very beautiful Taouist temple, belonging to a sect differing widely from the Buddhists, and which he describes as representing the ancient polytheism of the country, as reformed and engrafted with a peculiar theosophy of Laotse, the great rival of Confucius. Here also he assisted at daybreak on a Sunday morning at the sacrifice of the Mass, served by a Chinese priest and Chinese acolytes, and listened to a Chinese sermon. The devout behavior of the congregation, many of whom gathered around him after the Mass was over, and, on learning that he was not a Catholic, naturally expressed fervent hopes that he might soon become one, made a great impression upon our traveller’s mind. He could not, he says, avoid being influenced by them, nor help offering up a silent prayer for the success ofthe Catholic missions in China. He finds the present power of these missions a “most striking instance of the inutility of coercion directed to restrain freedom of mind in religion. The fearful persecutions that assailed the missionaries and their converts during the eighteenth century, failed altogether to arrest the spread of Catholic Christianity, which now, but a hundred years later, numbers its adherents by hundreds of thousands, to be found in all the provinces of the empire.”
Apparently both the missions and the missionaries impressed him much; and he gives a lengthy account of them, prefacing it with the remark that whoever deems it irrelevant is at liberty to skip it. In his judgment, as in that of every intelligent observer, it is the literati and the governing classes who are the promoters of all the persecutions of the converts—the people themselves are neither so jealous of foreigners nor so attached to paganism as is often supposed.
The converts are principally recruited from the well-to-do middle classes, although there are in the villages many Christian communities composed of the industrious peasantry. When Mr. Cooper was in China, the missions were enjoying perfect toleration, but from his observation of the marked dislike of the Christians displayed by the officials and the literati, he was apprehensive that this apparent peace might be at any moment exchanged for all the perils of persecution—an apprehension which, as all the world knows, has since been most fearfully realized. We extract a few passages from his account of the missions, as recording the impressions of a candid observer as to the success of a work of which he was yet capable of lamenting that the devoted men who labor in it “are not the apostles of a simpler andpurer faith.” Yet when he meets “apostles” of what he supposes to be a “simpler and purer faith,” he can hardly preserve a decent gravity in contemplating either their methods or their results. “By their fruits ye shall know them” is naturally the last reflection suggested to the mind of a Protestant when he considers missionary work. The application of the text would be so speedily fatal to his Protestantism that the instinct of self-preservation keeps him from making it:
“TheSociété des Missions Etrangères, which from its headquarters in Paris directs the affairs of this mission, is most careful in the selection and training of the candidates for missionary life. As their work lies much among the wealthy and educated, though the poor and ignorant are by no means neglected, every missionary sent to Sz-chuan is specially educated for the purpose of meeting the Chinese literati on equal terms. They land in China generally as young and newly-ordained priests, under vows by which the rest of their lives is dedicated to the Sz-chuan Mission. Once having entered upon their work, they never abandon it, nor return to their native country; indeed, it is impossible for them to do so, for I have good reasons for stating that any recreant who may seek, in violation of his engagements, to quit the country, is certain to be apprehended by the Mandarins and sent back to the jurisdiction of the mission. This has an apparent connection with the edict of Khang-hi, which accorded toleration to those missionaries only who would swear never to return to Europe. The young missionary on entering China strips himself of his nationality; he shaves his head, and adopts the Chinese costume, and conforms in all respects to the Chinese mode of life.His first two years are spent either at one of the principal mission stations or at some out-station, in close attendance on an old and experienced father, under whose care he systematically studies the language and the manners of the people to whose service he has devoted his life. He is also trained in the working of the mission, and, as soon as he is a proficient in the language, is appointed to a permanent post under general orders from the bishop of the district to which he has been sent from Paris. It can easily be imagined that a mission numbering its converts by tens of thousands, and carrying its labors over such a vast extent of country as Western China and Eastern Thibet, must be a well-organized institution systematically administered. Taking advantage of the division of all the provinces into districts, each district is worked by the mission with more or less activity, as the disposition of the people will allow. The apostolic bishop resident at Chung Ching exercises a metropolitan authority over four other bishops, who reside at Cheutu and Swi-foo, in Sz-chuan, Yunnan-foo in Yunnan, and in Kwei-cheu, and Bishop Chauveau at Ta-tsian-loo. The latter has charge of the mission stations of Eastern Thibet established at Bathang, Yengin, and Tz-coo, on the western banks of the Lan-tsan-kiang. I was informed that there were, in 1868, three hundred French missionaries, besides native priests and catechists, engaged in the missions working in the above provinces. The pay of a missionary varies from one hundred taels[79]per mensem—the salary of a bishop—to twenty taels, the scanty stipend of the simple fathers. Out of this they provide themselves with everything. At small out-stations, of course, thepeople give many presents of food, but even then the pay is so trifling, compared with the salaries drawn by Protestant missionaries, that one can only wonder how these French missionaries manage to exist, and it is only when their self-denying and abstemious mode of life is witnessed that an adequate idea can be formed of real missionary work.
“By a strict system of reports, coming from every missionary in charge of a district through his bishop to the metropolitan bishop at Chung Ching, the affairs of the mission are administered with the regularity of a well-organized government. Closely observing the Chinese customs, the bishops assume the title of Tajen, ‘Excellency,’ and the fathers, according to their precedence in the mission, Ta-low-ya, ‘Great Elder,’ and Low-ya, ‘Elder.’ Every convert coming into the presence of a father is obliged to bend the knee, a custom which a recent able French writer declares he has himself heard the Christians complain of as unbecoming. In exacting this apparently slavish mark of homage from their flock, the fathers imitate the magistrates, and by this means, as well as by the influence they naturally acquire in the direction of civil affairs among their converts, they very probably excite the jealousy and hatred of the governing classes. As an illustration of this, I may quote the words of an old and experienced father: ‘We are not persecuted on religious grounds, but on political, because they fear our influence over the people.’ From my own experience of the Chinese, I must say that (however repugnant to our Western ideas) the exaction of the utmost respect from their converts is absolutely necessary to the maintenance of the religious authority of the clergy, for the Chinese, as yet, know no intermediatestep between servile submission and insolent independence; and, when compared with that of any Protestant mission in the world, their success is so wonderfully great, that I feel inclined to give them the full credit of knowing from experience what is best for the interest of their mission.... The education of the young is a special object of care; at all the principal mission stations there are separate schools for boys and girls. The boys are taught to read and write Chinese and Latin, besides geography and other useful information, which tends to dispel their Chinese prejudices. Promising candidates for the priesthood are usually sent to Macao and Hong-Kong, and occasionally to Rome, to receive their professional education. The girls are taught to read and write Chinese, and are instructed in sewing, etc. At Chung Ching and Cheutu there are boarding-schools, where young girls are educated till they are marriageable. These pupils are eagerly sought for by the converts in marriage, and are reputed to make excellent wives. The native Christians, as a rule, are remarkable for their good character; their houses are distinguished by their superior cleanliness and order.... I cannot but record how forcibly I was impressed by their devout attention to the offices of their religion, and this is not merely superficial—they are staunch adherents of their faith, but few being ever found to apostatize even under the pressure of persecution; and having myself witnessed the beneficial effects of their labors, I conclude with wishing the utmost success to the pious and laborious agents whose self-denial has been rewarded by such extraordinary results.”
On reaching Ta-tsian-loo, at that time the headquarters of BishopChauveau, to whom Mr. Cooper gratefully records his many obligations, and whom he calls the ablest man and kindest friend he found in Western China, he made acquaintance with some of the Thibetan lamas, and visited their lamasery, of which he gives an interesting account. The chief lama paid him a visit at his hotel, and, as he showed a good deal of curiosity concerning his intentions, Mr. Cooper proceeded to define his position by remarking that he had heard that the lamas were averse to French missionaries entering their central kingdom, and added that he was not surprised that a great religious country like Thibet should object to the introduction of a new religion. The lama, unused to the easy way in which a travelled Englishman can carry his religion, was amazed, but on learning that Mr. Cooper was not a Frenchman, but professed a different faith from theirs, being in fact a simple disciple of Confucius, quite indifferent to new creeds, and disposed to look with friendly eyes upon all religions whatsoever, he became at once more cordial, invited him to the lamasery, warned him of a conspiracy against his liberty, and cautioned him to avoid identifying himself in any way with the Catholic missionaries. Mr. Cooper’s return call upon his new friend was not in all respects pleasant:
“Crossing the courtyard, the lama led me up a flight of stairs into his room, which differed from those occupied by the other lamas only in its furniture and superior cleanliness. The other rooms were dirty, and contained nothing save a small stove in the centre of the floor, and a large wooden bucket, somewhat like an attenuated churn, and containing the everlasting butter-tea of the Thibetans. My host’s room, however, hadin it several chairs of Chinese make, and round the stove was spread a thick woollen carpet, on which I was invited to squat. Having comfortably seated myself, a youth attired in lama robes brought in silver cups, one of which my host filled with butter-tea, and, as an especial mark of hospitality, broke off from a huge pat of rancid butter a piece as large as his fist, and put it into my cup, which he politely handed to me; then, filling his cup in the same way, he invited me to drink with him. Good manners obliged me to drink, and I succeeded in swallowing a mouthful of the greasy mess with well-feigned pleasure, which, my host observing, nodded his head, and, bending gracefully forward with a flourish, stirred round the piece of butter in my cup with his little finger, and again pressed me to drink. I would have given worlds to have been spared this second trial; but, calling up all my resolution, I made another gulp, and hastily relighted my pipe, while my hospitable host sipped his melted butter with as much gusto as an alderman would his full-bodied port.
“Expressing a wish to view the lamasery, I was shown over it by the lama, and visited the chapel or temple, where he daily offered his prayers to the Grand Lama, as he said; meaning, I presume, Buddha. It was a superb little place. At one end a railing, richly ornamented and gilded, fenced off intruders from a gilded image of Buddha, about five feet high, sitting in a contemplative posture, enveloped in a white drapery of silk gauze. Round the four walls were rows of niches, like pigeon-holes, about a foot square, in each of which was a small Buddha of solid gold, about two inches high. There could not have been less than a hundred of these images, and myfirst impression was that they were only gilt; but the lama pointed them out to me as gold, and several of them which I handled were made of the precious metal.... I learned from Bishop Chauveau that before the Chinese conquest the lamas used to marry, but that the Chinese, fearing the power of the sacerdotal caste, procured an order from Lhássa enforcing celibacy on all lamas. Notwithstanding this, at the present time, out of the population of the three kingdoms of Thibet, more than one-third are lamas. It may be imagined, therefore, what a power the priesthood has over the people. In almost every family one or more of the sons are lamas from compulsion. In a family of, say, four sons, the chief lama of the district will generally insist upon two becoming lamas, and, at the age of between twelve and fourteen, the boys are taken to the lamasery, where they are educated, and, when grown up, admitted into the priesthood. If the parents object to give up their sons to the priesthood, the threat of an anathema from the lips of the chief lama or the grand lama at Lhássa, is sufficient to overcome all opposition; thus the ranks of the priesthood are constantly recruited and their power strengthened. The population, owing to this, is gradually lessening, and the lay people are the mere slaves of the lamas, who live in luxurious idleness, for each lamasery possesses enormous estates, as well as the revenues drawn from the lay population in the shape of tithes on produce, both of cattle and grain.”
At Bathang, which our traveller visited in May, 1868, he made still further acquaintance with the lamas, but seems to have found no cause to form a more favorable opinion of them. The lamasery which he describes, and the town of Bathang itself,have since been destroyed, as readers of theAnnals of the Propagation of the Faithwill remember, by an earthquake which occurred on the 11th of April, 1870. The valley of Bathang seemed to Mr. Cooper a sort of little Eden, by reason of its great fertility and beauty. The town contained, according to him, some 6,000 inhabitants, including the lamas, who lived just outside it. Bishop Chauveau, however, whose information is of course more accurate, rates them at 8,000 or 9,000. Of these at least 3,000 were killed by the earthquake, including 430 of the lamas. One of these men had for some time been prophesying some fearful calamity as a judgment from the gods upon the frequent conversions from lamanism, and he induced the people to renew some of their heathenish practices, and it was during these performances that the town was destroyed, and the prophet himself killed. None of our missionaries were injured, and the ill fate of the lamas and their lamasery has had the fortunate effect of making the people look with still greater disfavor upon them. The gods, they say, seem to be getting tired of the lamas. Mr. Cooper being admitted as witness against them, such a disposition on the part of their deities would appear to be only natural:
“My arrival at the gates of the lamasery caused a great hubbub. Hundreds of lamas swarmed on the flat roof of the buildings which composed the square block enclosed by a high wall, while numbers hurried to and fro through the courts and passages in a state of great excitement. Dismounting outside the gate, I left my pony in charge of the gatekeeper, and entered. Scarcely, however, had I passed the inner gate, when a lama, addressing me in Chinese, inquired my business. I informedhim that I was desirous of seeing the building, and, giving him my card, desired him to present it to the chief lama, with a request for permission to view the lamasery. He requested me to remain at the gate until his return, and took my message to the chief lama.... From where I stood I could see but little of the interior building. As much, however, as was visible proved that the fame of the Bathang Lamasery was justly deserved. In the centre of the block of buildings, the roof of the sacred temple was plainly visible, its massive gold covering flashing and gleaming in the sunlight with dazzling brilliancy. On the roofs, and, indeed, everywhere, the place was literally alive with roosters, which kept up an incessant crowing, blending in a chorus with the chants of the lamas. These birds are sacred to Buddha, and number, I was told, more than a thousand. None are ever killed, and their ranks are constantly swelled by the donations of the country people, who bring the chickens to the lamasery as religious offerings. The birds are all capons, and, like the lamas, live a life of celibacy. Not a single hen is allowed to come within the building. Everything in the sacred edifice is dedicated to the worship of Buddha, and supposed to be free from the contamination of the outer world.
“I noticed several nuns about, with shaven heads, but dressed in the ordinary garb of Thibetan women, with this difference, that the color and material of their dress were the same as those of the priestly robes of green stuff. These nuns are the abject slaves of the lamas, performing all the drudgery of the house in common with youthful novices or deacons. They, however, in the outer world enjoy, like the lamas, a superior social position, and commandconsiderable respect from both sexes of the lay people. They do not shut themselves up entirely in lamaseries, like cloistered nuns of the Romish religion, but often live with their families, and work at the household duties and in the fields. These nuns, like the priests, profess the strictest chastity, dedicating themselves entirely to the worship and service of Buddha. But, from my own observations, and from the openly expressed opinion of the lay inhabitants of Thibet, which I had frequent opportunities of hearing, virtue is a thing unknown among the priesthood, and the lamaseries are little better than dens of debauchery. Just as I had begun to be impatient at his long absence, the lama returned with a message that my presence was not desired within the building, as it would unsettle the priests at their devotions, but if I wished to leave an offering in the shape of money or anything else, it would be accepted. As this concession on the part of the chief lama was meant as an expression of good-will, I gave the messenger a tael of silver, and, with a feeling of disappointment, returned home. I afterward found that I had reason to congratulate myself on my exclusion from the lamasery, as many of its inmates were suffering from small-pox. This fearful disease commits great ravages among the Thibetan population; of whom almost every fourth person is disfigured by its effects.... When cases occur in a town, the lamas compel the families attacked to remove to the mountains, and seal up their houses. Should the sick persons be unable to bear removal, they are shut up in the house, all communication with them being prohibited, and are left to die or recover, as the case may be.”
It was in a great measure to thelamas that Mr. Cooper owed the non-success of his journey, although, the object of it becoming known, the Chinese government also was interested in preventing its accomplishment, since with a new trade route opened to foreign enterprise, the existing monopolies would of course be destroyed. “Nothing,” says Mr. Cooper, “is more contrary to the policy of the Chinese government and lamas than the introduction of Assam tea. The Chinese on their part dread the loss of their valuable wholesale monopoly, to maintain which they give the lamas the monopoly of the retail supply; who, by this means, hold in absolute subjection the people, to whom tea is a prime necessary of life. The lamas, on their part, fear that, with the introduction of British trade, the teachers of the new religion would come, and free trade and free thought combined would overthrow their spiritual sway.... I myself was destined both now and in a subsequent journey to experience their determination to prevent the intrusion of the detested Palin.”
Nothing would be easier than to extend our quotations from this interesting traveller, every page of whose book is entertaining. On leaving Bathang, the impossibility of inducing a male Thibetan to act as a servant had made it necessary for his interpreter to hire an elderly female as a cook; but Mr. Cooper, while supposing that he was merely assisting at an impromptu picnic, found himself unexpectedly married, with all due Thibetan form, to a pretty little maid, who, her parents were persuaded, would be an excellent substitute for a servant. He soon managed to return her to her relatives, but not until after an amusing compliance with the religious customs of his new bride, which wemust let him relate. They were passing one of those cairns of prayer-stones which the piety of the travelling Thibetans erect along the road. No Buddhist passes them without adding a stone and muttering a prayer:
“Lo-tzung, having contributed her quota of stones and prayers, gave me to understand that, in order to secure our future happiness, she must have a couple of Khatah cloths to attach to the flagstaffs, and there was nothing for it but to unpack one of the baggage-animals and get out the ‘scarves of felicity’(?) Having given them to the young lady, I was inwardly congratulating myself that now, at least, we should be able to continue our march, for the afternoon was wearing, and our station for the night still distant. But my matrimonial embarrassments had not yet ended. It was necessary for me to tie one of the ‘scarves of felicity’ to the flagstaff, and kneel in prayer with my bride. This I peremptorily refused to do; but poor Lo-tzung shed such a torrent of tears, and informed me with such heart-broken accents that, if I did not do this, we should not be happy, and that she especially would be miserable, that there was nothing for it but to comply. And there, on the summit of a Thibetan mountain, kneeling before a heap of stones, my hand wet with the tears of a daughter of the country, I muttered curses on the fate that had placed me in such a position.”
It had been Mr. Cooper’s intention to take this little girl along with him to Calcutta, since to cast her off would have given dire offence to the Thibetans, and there hand her over to the care of the Catholic Sisters. The hatred of the lamas, however, pursued him on his journey, and, by prohibiting the people from sheltering him or selling him food, they sonearly reduced the party to starvation that Lo-tzung was only too glad to leave him and take shelter with an uncle. Later on, at Weisee-foo, as we have already related, he was imprisoned, and narrowly escaped with his life, only to begin at once to retrace his steps homeward. On reaching Kiating, on his return journey, he met for the first time traces of Protestant missionary work, and tells an amusing story about it:
“On the second day, a Chinese Christian called upon me, from whom I learned that a Protestant missionary had visited the city in the early part of the year, and had distributed a good many religious books; one of which, in the possession of the landlord of the hotel, proved to be a copy of the New Testament in Chinese. The owner produced the volume, and, adjusting his spectacles with a solemn air of wisdom, turned up the passage which runs as follows: ‘It is easier for a mule [the camel in the English version] to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.’ Having read these words, he looked over his spectacles at me, and asked in a very contemptuous voice if it was possible for any man to believe such a statement, and if foreigners really did believe the statements made in this book? It had been my invariable custom since commencing to travel in China to avoid religious discussions, and always to proclaim myself a disciple of Confucius, so I now replied that I was not a teacher of religion, but only a humble disciple of Con-fu-dzu, but as to the statement about the mule passing through the eye of a needle, I thought I could explain that; and then proceeded to interpret the word ‘needle’ as used in the passage referred to. This somewhat mollified mine host, who remarkedthat he had no doubt that English teachers found great difficulty in writing the flowery language, and it would perhaps be as well if they did not write religious books for the Chinese under such circumstances. When I was alone, I could not but regret that the praiseworthy efforts of the missionary in Kiating had not been more successful. However, as soon as it becomes safe for Europeans to travel in China, there is little doubt but that the self-denying and hard-working Protestant missionaries will enter upon a new and extensive field of labor, in which their energy, devotedness, and well-knownpacificinfluence will doubtless win for them, if not success, at least admiration from their supporters at home.”
After leaving Hankou for Shanghai, he again came upon their traces—apparently without great gratification:
“As we steamed past the city of Yang-chow, in the province of Nganhoei, we saw the British fleet which had been sent up to demand satisfaction for an outrage committed on some Protestant missionaries, who had been beaten and otherwise maltreated. The sight of a British fleet on the Yang-tsu for such a purpose was curious indeed, and must, I have no doubt, have done much toward convincing the people of Yang-chow of the force of Protestantism, if not of its pacific nature. For myself, I remember the patient French missionaries, whose only resource had been flight into mountain fastnesses, and then recall the rebuke given by the Master to the disciple for drawing his sword against the high-priest’s servant; and it seemed hard to reconcile the presence of a fleet at Yang-chow for such a purpose with the doctrines professed by his servants. Probably, however, times have changed since Paulpreached Christ crucified, and suffered martyrdom; and it may now be found more expedient to proclaim the Gospel from the cannon’s mouth, and summon gunboats to exact reparation for our modern martyrs.”
Here we take leave of our traveller, whose unfortunate experiences did not prevent him from undertaking a similar journey, though by a different route, in the following year, and with a like unsuccessful result. His book is very well worth reading, simply as an entertaining record of travel in a little known country; although to a Catholic it has the further interest of furnishing another of those involuntary testimonies from Protestant pens, which record the unvarying failure of their own missionary enterprises in producing any beneficial effect upon the heathen, and the exceeding heroism and devotion and the uniform and great success which as invariably characterize our own.
[78]Travels of a Pioneer of Commerce in Pigtail and Petticoats; or, An Overland Journey from China toward India.By T. T. Cooper, late Agent for the Chamber of Commerce at Calcutta. With Map and Illustrations. London: John Murray. 1871.
[79]Not quite $170.
Nature has been lavish in her gifts to this lovely island, once so famous as the nursing-school of the godly and learned. Though fallen from her high estate, though no longer the unrivalled land of science, she is still the
“Land of wild beauty and romantic shapes,Of sheltered valleys and of stormy capes;Of the bright garden and the tangled brake,Of the dark mountain and the sunlit lake!”
Rugged, precipitous cliffs protect her coasts, while her shores are indented by the most magnificent bays and harbors. Her bosom is stored with precious metals, and the most fertile soil in the world crowns her granite base. Her very geographical position is an advantageous one, for she is placed, as it were, an advanced guard on the outskirts of Europe—she opens the route to the great Western world, and she offers the first eastern port to the American mariner.
“Moist, bright, and green, her landscape smiles around;” pellucid lakes reflect as in a mirror the hills, rocks, and precipices on their margins; here are undulating plains of unequalledverdure; there, garden-like tracts where the myrtle, the rose, and the laurel need no culture; where the evergreen arbutus, in wonderful luxuriance of growth, appears to be indigenous; where every spot is enamelled with flowers and fragrant herbs.
Beautiful Ireland! most picturesque land on the face of the globe! Alas! why not also the richest and happiest?
Religion and learning early found a welcome home in this “emerald gem of the ocean.” Even in the dark days of paganism, the priest-and-poet Druid of Erin appears to have been superior in intelligence and culture to his brethren of England and of the Continent; and when Christianity was first preached in the land, no other people ever welcomed it with such ardent enthusiasm as did the Irish; no other people ever clung to their faith with such inviolable fidelity as Irish Catholics have since done.
During the five centuries that followed the apostolic labors of Saint Patrick, so great was the multitude of holy personages who trod in theway which he traced out; so eminent the sanctity of their lives; so illustrious their learning, that Ireland received the proud title of “Island of Saints and Doctors.” The number of her churches was infinite, and her monasteries and convents were at once the abodes of piety and the sheltering homes of the poor and the stranger. Her theological schools and colleges were the most renowned of Europe. Their halls were open to the students of every clime, “who,” says Moreri, “were there received with greater hospitality than in any other country in the Christian world.” Hither, as to the “emporium of literature,” the youth of France, Germany, and Switzerland repaired in search of knowledge. But to the English nobility and gentry especially, the Venerable Bede tells us “Ireland showed the most cordial hospitality and generosity, for, great though their numbers, they wereallmost willingly received, maintained, supplied with books, and instructed without fee or reward.”
And the tide of sanctity and learning overflowed the shores of the holy isle; many were the pious missionaries who, in those days of religious fervor, went forth to labor for the salvation of souls among the nations of Europe. The memory of their works is still preserved in the countries which reaped the fruits of their zeal. The Italian town, San Columbano, still bears the name of the great Columbanus, a native of Leinster; andSt.Gall, in Switzerland, still reminds us of his friend and disciple Gallus. The hermitage of Saint Fiacre, another Irish saint, is still one of France’s consecrated spots; and the memory of the Connaught man, Saint Fridolin, “the Traveller,” is still blessed on the banks of the Rhine. The famous universities of Paris and of Pavia owe their originto the learning and industry of Clement and John, both Irishmen. From Ireland the Anglo-Saxons derived their first enlightenment, and till the thirteenth century the literature of Scotland was the special province of the Irish clergy.
“When we look into the ecclesiastical life of this people,” says the learned Görres, “we are almost tempted to believe that some potent spirit had transported over the sea the cells of the Valley of the Nile, with all their hermits, its monasteries with all their inmates, and had settled them down in the Western isle—an isle which, in the lapse of three centuries, gave eight hundred and fifty saints to the church; won over to Christianity the north of Britain, and, soon after, a large portion of the yet pagan Germany; and, while it devoted the utmost attention to the sciences, cultivated with especial care the mystical contemplation in her religious communities, as well as in the saints whom they produced.”
Numerous vestiges are still to be found in Ireland of those days of enthusiastic faith. Ivy-grown abbeys and churches, and the habitations of saints; and the emblem of our holy creed, now rudely cut on pillar stones, now exquisitely carved in fine proportions, are to be met with scattered over the whole length and breadth of the land—“memorials,” we are told “by a celebrated archæologist, “not only of the piety and magnificence of a people whom ignorance and prejudice have too often sneered at as barbarous, but also as the finest works of sculptured art, of their period, now existing.”
In the wild and lonely valley of Glendalough, County Wicklow, are yet to be seen the remains of the noble monastery, “once the luminary of the Western world,” founded in the beginning of the sixth century bySaint Kevin, around which a city rose, flourished, and decayed. Gloomy mountains encompass the silent and now almost uninhabited glen, in whose bosom lie the ruins of shrines which nearly thirteen centuries ago were raised in honor of their God by men joyous and thankful in the feeling of certain immortality—men whose fathers in their youth reverenced the Druid as a more than human counsellor.
“Yes, peopled were once these silent shadesWith saintly forms of days departed,When holy men and votive maidsLived humble here, and heavenly-hearted!”
Here are assembled dismantled churches, crumbling oratories, broken crosses, shattered monumental stones, and tombs, no longer to be distinguished, of bishops, abbots, and recluses. And near the wasted remains of the holy piles, one of those mysterious edifices, a tall and slender Round Tower, stands, still strong and straight, like a sentinel guarding the wrecks of the past. It is impossible to imagine a scene of sterner, more desolate grandeur. On the shore of one of the two lakes that lie embosomed in the glen, rises a beetling rock, in a cavity of which Saint Kevin is said to have lived while pursuing that course of study and contemplation for which his name is even now revered. In this same cavern, too, still known by the name of “Saint Kevin’s Bed,” the illustrious saint and patriot Laurence O’Toole is believed to have ofttimes mused and prayed when he was abbot of Glendalough.
In the county of Meath we find the remains of Saint Columb’s house—Saint Columbkille, the elegant poet, the pious founder of so many monasteries—a high stone-roofed construction of singular architecture, seeming to combine the purpose of an oratory with that of a habitation.
On the celebrated Rock of Cashel stands a group of ruins unparalleled for picturesque beauty and antiquarian interest. The most ancient structure, with the exception of the Round Tower, is Cormac’s chapel, built by Cormac MacCarthy, the pious king of “deep-valleyed Desmond,” in the beginning of the twelfth century. It also is a stone-roofed edifice, with Norman arches and an almost endless variety of Norman decorations. Near it rise the magnificent cathedral founded by Donogh O’Brien, King of Thomond, about 1152; and on the plain beside the rock, Hoar Abbey, the ancient castle of the archbishops, a perfect Round Tower, and numerous crosses.
And one of the grandest of these ancient holy piles, Newtown Abbey, now lies a crumbling heap on the banks of the Boyne. What it once was may, however, still be conceived, of from the exquisite beauty of some of the remaining capitals, vaulting, and shafts, and from the many fragments of its noble windows which are strewn about the neighboring cemetery. This, alas! like many another of the magnificent ruins of Ireland, has been used as a quarry; not by the unlettered peasant, who is rarely found wanting in a devotional feeling that leads him to regard antiquities, and especially those of an ecclesiastical origin, with a sentiment of profound veneration; but by contractors for the erection of new buildings, and sometimes even by men of station and education, who seem to have forgotten that age and neglect cannot deprive structures once consecrated to God, and applied to the service of religion, of any portion of their sacred character.
Bective Abbey, not far from Newtown, is another wonderful wreck, which seems to combine ecclesiasticalwith military and domestic architecture in the most singular manner. It presents indeed a striking evidence of the half-monk, half-soldier character of its founders. Battlemented towers, cloister-arches, and rooms with great fire-places; the flues carried up through the thickness of the walls, and continued through tapering chimney-shafts, seem to have made the Abbey of Bective a kind of monastic castle, and previous to the use of artillery it must have been a place of great strength.
Perhaps one of the most beautiful edifices ever erected in Ireland was the church of Killeshin, near Carlow, once decorated with richly sculptured capitals representing human heads, the hair intertwined with serpents. This magnificent building was more hardly treated by the destructiveness of an individual who, about forty years since, resided in the neighborhood, than by the storms and frosts and thunderbolts of ages. The detestable vandal wantonly defaced the exquisite capitals, and almost entirely obliterated an Irish inscription which extended round the abacus!