You have requested me, dear friend, to purchase for you a “gross” of little pictures for distribution among your poor and their children.…As to the selection of these pictures I must own myself greatly perplexed, and must beg to submit to you very humbly my difficulties, and not only my difficulties, but also my distress, and, to say the truth, my indignation. I have before my eyes at this moment four or five hundred pictures which have been sold to me as “pious,” but which I consider as in reality among the most detestable and irreverent of any kind of merchandise. A great political journal the other day gave to one of its leaders the title ofL’Ecœurement.[170]I cannot give a title to my letter, but, were it possible to do so, I should choose this one in preference to any other. I am in the unfortunate state of a man who has swallowed several kilograms of adulterated honey. I am suffering from an indigestion of sugar; and what sugar! Whilst in the act of buying these little horrors, I beheld numberless purchasers succeed each other with feverish eagerness in the shops, which I will not specify. Yes, I had the pain of meeting there with Christian Brothers and with Sisters of Charity, who made me sigh by their simple avidity and ingenuous delight at the sight of these frightful little black or rose-colored prints. They bought them by hundreds, by thousands, by ten thousands; for schools, for orphanages, for missions. Ah! my dear friend, how many souls are going to be well treacled in our hapless world! It is the triumph of confectionery. “Why are you choosing such machines as these?” I asked of the good Brother Theodore, whom, to my great astonishment, I found among the purchasers; “they are disagreeable.” “Agreed.” “They are stupid.” “I know it.” “They are dear.” “My purse is only too well aware of the fact.” “Then why do you buy them?” “Because I find that these only are acceptable.” And thereupon the worthy man told me that he had the other day distributed among his children pictures taken from the fine head of our Saviour attributed to Morales—achef-d’œuvre. The children, however, perceiving that there was no gilding upon them, had thrown them aside, gaping. Decidedly, the evil is greater than I had supposed, and it is time to consider what is to be done.In spite of all this, I have bought your provision of pictures; but do not be uneasy—I am keeping them myself, and will proceed to describe them to you. I do not wish that the taste of your beloved poor should be vitiated by the sight of these mawkish designs; but I willtake upon myself to analyze them for your benefit, and then see if you are not very soon as indignant as myself.In the first place we have the “symbolical” pictures, and these are the most numerous of all. I do not want to say too much against them. You know in what high estimation I hold true symbolism, and we have many a time exchanged our thoughts on this admirable form of the activity of the human mind. A symbol is a comparison between things belonging to the physical and things belonging to the immaterial world. Now, these two worlds are in perfect harmony with each other. To each phenomenon of the moral order there corresponds exactly a phenomenon of the visible order. If we compare these two facts with each other, we have a symbol. There is a life, a breath, a whiteness, which are material. Figurative language is nothing else than a vast and wonderful symbolism, and you remember the marvellous things written on this subject by the lamented M. Landriot. In the supernatural order it is the same, and all Christian generations have made use of symbolism to express the most sacred objects of their adoration. There has been the symbolism of the Catacombs; there has been also that of the Middle Ages. The two, although not resembling, nevertheless complete, each other, and eloquently attest the fact that the Christian race has never been without the use of symbols.Thus it is not symbolism which I condemn, but this particular symbolism of which I am about to speak, and which is so odiously silly. I write to you with the proofs before me. I am not inventing, but, mirror-wise, merely reflecting. I am not an author, but a photographer.Firstly, here we have a ladder, which represents “the way of the soul towards God.” This is very well, although moderately ideal; but then who is mounting this ladder? You would never guess. It is a dove! Yes; the poor bird is painfully climbing up the rounds as if she were a hen getting back to roost, and apparently forgetting that she owns a pair of wings. But we shall find this dove elsewhere; for our pictures are full of the species, and are in fact a very plentifully-stocked dove-cote. I perceive down there another animal; it is a roe with her fawn, and with amazement I read this legend: “The fecundity of the breast of the roe is the image of the abundance and sweetness of grace.” Why was the roe selected, and why roe’s milk? Strange! But here again we have a singular collection. On a heart crowned with roses is placed a candlestick (a candlestick on a heart!), and this candelabrum, price twenty-nine sous, is surmounted by a lighted candle, around which angels are pressing. This, we are told underneath, is “good example.” Does it mean that we are to set one for the blessed angels to follow? Next, what do I see here? A guitar; and this at the foot of the cross. Let us see what can be the reason of this mysterious assemblage; the text furnishes it:Je me délasserai à l’abri de la Croix—“I will refresh myself in the shelter of the cross”—from whence it follows that one can play the guitar upon Golgotha. Touching emblem! And what do you say of this other, in which our Saviour Jesus, the Word, and, as Bossuet says, the Reason and InteriorDiscourse of the Eternal Father, is represented as occupied in killing I know not what little insects on the leaves of a rose-bush? “The divine Gardener destroys the caterpillars which make havoc in his garden,” says the legend. I imagine nothing, but merely transcribe, and for my part would gladly turn insecticide to this collection ofimagerie.This hand issuing out of a cloud I recognize as the hand of my Lord God, the Creator and Father of all, who is at the same time their comforter, their stay, and their life. I admit this symbol, which is ancient and truly Christian; but this divine hand, which the Middle Ages would most carefully have guarded against charging with any kind of burden; this hand, which represents Eternal Justice and Eternal Goodness—can you imagine what it is here made to hold? [Not even the fiery bolt which the heathen of old times represented in the grasp of their Jupiter Tonans, but] a horrible and stupid little watering-pot, from the spout of which trickles a driblet of water upon the cup of a lily. Further on I see the said watering-pot is replaced by a sort of jug, which the Eternal is emptying upon souls in the shape of doves; and this, the legend kindly informs me, is “the heavenly dew.” Heavenly dew trickling out of a jug! And there are individuals who can imagine and depict a thing like this when the beneficent Creator daily causes to descend from his beautiful sky those milliards of little pearly drops which sparkle in the morning sunshine on the fair mantle of our earth! Water, it must be owned, is scarcely a successful subject under any form with our picture-factors. Here is a poor and miserably-painted thread lifting itself up above a basin, while I am informed underneath that “the jet of water is the image of the soul lifting itself towards God by meditation.”I also need to be enlightened as to how “a river turned aside from its course is an image of the good use and of the abuse of grace.” It is obscure, but still it does not vulgarize and debase a beautiful and Scriptural image, like the next I will mention, in which, over the motto, “Care of the lamp: image of the cultivation of grace in our hearts,” we have a servant-maid taking her great oily scissors and cutting the wick, of which she scatters the blackened fragments no matter where.The quantity of ribbon and string used up by these symbol-manufacturers is something incalculable. Here lines of string unite all the hearts of the faithful (doves again!) to the heart of Our Blessed Lady; there Mary herself, the Immaculate One and our own incomparable Mother, from the height of heaven holds in leash, by an interminable length of string, a certain little dove, around the neck of which there hangs a scapular. This, we are told, means that “Mary is the directress of the obedient soul.” Elsewhere the string is replaced by pretty rose-colored or pale-blue ribbons, which have doubtless a delicious effect to those who can appreciate it. Here is a young girl walking along cheerfully enough, notwithstanding that her heart is tied by one of these elegant ribbons to that of the Blessed Mother of God, apparently without causing her the slightest inconvenience. Her situation, however, is, I think, less painful than that of this other young person, who is occupiedin carving her own heart into a shape resembling that of Mary. Another young female has hoisted this much-tormented organ (her own) on an easel, and is painting it after the same pattern. But let us hasten out of this atelier to breathe the open air among these trees. Alas! we there find, under the form and features of an effeminate child of eight years old, “the divine Gardener putting a prop to a sapling tree,” or “grafting on the wild stock the germ of good fruits.” This is all pretty well; but what can be said of this ciborium which has been energetically stuck into a lily, with the legend, “I seek a pure heart”? These gentlemen, indeed, treat you to the Most Holy Eucharist with a free-and-easyness that is by no means fitting or reverent. It is forbidden to the hands of laics to touch the Sacred Vessels, and it is only just that the same prohibition should apply to picture-makers. They are entreated not to handle thus lightly and irreverently that which is the object of our faith, our hope, and our love.Hitherto I have refrained from touching upon that very delicate subject which it is nevertheless necessary that I should approach—namely, the representation of the Sacred Heart. And here I feel myself at ease, having beforehand submitted to all the decisions of the church, and having for long past made it my great aim to be penetrated with her spirit. Like yourself, I have a real devotion to the Sacred Heart, nor do I wish to conceal it. When any devotion takes so wide a development in the Holy Church, it is because it is willed by God, who watches unceasingly over her destinies and the forms of worship which she renders to him. All Catholics are agreed upon this point. It is true that certain among them regard the Sacred Heart as the symbol of Divine Love, and that others consider it under the aspect of a very adorable part of the Body of the God-Man, and, if I may so express it, as a kind of centralized Eucharist. Well, I hold that to be accurate one ought to admit and harmonize the two systems, and therefore I do so. You are aware that it is my belief that physiology does not yet sufficiently understand the mechanism of our material heart, and I await discoveries on that subject which shall establish the fact of its necessity to our life. The other day, at Baillère’s, I remained a long time carefully examining a fine engraving representing the circulation of the blood through the veins and arteries, and I especially contemplated the heart the source and receptacle of this double movement, and said to myself, “The worship of the Sacred Heart will be one day justified by physiology.” But why do I say this, when it is so already? Behold me, then, on my knees before the Sacred Heart of my God, in which I behold at the same time an admirable symbol and a yet more admirable reality. But is this a reason for representing the Sacred Heart in a manner alike ridiculous and odious? I will not here enter upon the question as to whether it is allowable to represent the Sacred Heart of Jesus otherwise than in his Sacred Breast, and I only seek to know in order to accept unhesitatingly whatever with regard to this may be the thought of the church. But that which to my mind is utterly revolting is the sight of the profanations of which these fortieth-rate picture-manufacturers are guilty. What right have they, and how do they dare,to represent hundreds of consecrated Hosts issuing from the Sacred Heart, and a dove pecking at them as they are dropping down? What right have they to make the Heart of our Lord God a pigeon-house, a roosting-place for these everlasting doves, or into a vase out of which they are drinking? What right have they to insert a little heart (ours) into the Divine Heart of Jesus? What right have they to represent to us [a Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus on a small scale] three hearts, the one piled upon the other, and cascades of blood pouring from the topmost, which is that of Our Lord; upon the second, which is that of his Blessed Mother; and thence upon the third, which is our own? What right have they to make the Sacred Heart shed showers of roses, or to give its form to their “mystic garden”? Lastly, what right have they to lodge it in the middle of a full-blown flower, and make the latter address to it the scented question, “What would you desire me to do in order that I may be agreeable to you?” Ye well-meaning picture-makers! beware of asking me the same question; for both you and I very well know what would be the answer.The truth is that these clumsy persons manage to spoil everything they touch, and they have dishonored the symbolism of the dove, as they have compromised the representations of the Sacred Heart. The dove is undoubtedly one of the most ancient and evangelical of all the Christian symbols; but a certain discretion is nevertheless necessary in the employment of this emblem of the Holy Spirit of God. This discretion never failed our forefathers, who scarcely ever depicted the dove, except only in the scene of Our Lord’s baptism and in representations of the Blessed Trinity. In the latter the Eternal Father, vested in pontifical or imperial robes, holds between his arms the cross, whereon hangs his Son, while the Holy Dove passes from the Father to the Son as the eternal love which unites them. This is well, simple, and even fine. But there is a vast difference between this and the present abuse and vulgarization of the dove as an emblem, where it is made use of to represent the faithful soul. No, truly, one is weary of all this. Do you see this flight of young pigeons hovering about with hearts in their beaks? The beaks are very small and the hearts very large, but you are intended to understand by this that “fervent souls rise rapidly to great perfection.” These other doves, lower down, give themselves less trouble and fatigue; they are quietly pecking into a heart, and I read this legend: “The heart of Love is inexhaustible; let us go to it in all our wants.” The pigeon that I see a little farther off is not without his difficulties; he is carrying a stout stick in his delicate beak, and—would you believe it?—the explanation of this remarkable symbol is, “Thy rod and thy staff have comforted me.” Here again are carrier-pigeons, bringing us in their beaks nicely-folded letters in charming envelopes. One of these birds [who possibly may belong to the variety knows as tumbler pigeons] has evidently fallen into the water; for he is shown to us standing to recover himself on what appears to be a heap of mud in the middle of the ocean, with the motto, “Saved! he is saved!” Next I come upon a party of doves again—always doves!—whose occupation is certainly no sinecure. Oarshave been fitted to their feeble claws, and these hapless creatures are rowing. Here is another unfortunate pigeon. She is in prison with a thick chain fastened to her left foot, and we are told that she is “reposing on the damp straw of the dungeon.” Further on appears another of this luckless species, on its back with its claws in the air. It is dead. So much the better. It is not I who will encourage it to be so unwise as to return to life. True, in default of doves, other symbols will not be found lacking. Here are some of the tender kind—little souvenirs to be exchanged between friend and friend, wherein one finds I know not what indescribable conglomerations of religious sentiment and natural friendship. Flowers, on all sides flowers: forget-me-nots, pansies, lilies, and underneath all the treasures of literature: “It is a friend who offers you these”; “Near or far away, yours ever”; “These will pass; friendship will remain.” “C’est la fleur de Marie Que je vous ai choisie.” (N.B.—This last is in verse.)I know not, my dear friend, whether you feel with me on this point. While persuading myself that all these playfulnesses are very innocent, I yet find in them a certain something which strikes me as interloping, and I do not like mixtures.We have also the politico-religious pictures. Heaven forbid that I should speak evil of thefleurs-de-lyswhich embalmed with their perfume all the dear Middle Ages to which I have devoted so much of my life; but we have in these pictures of which I am speaking mixtures which are, to my mind, detestable, and I cannot endure this pretty little boat, of which the sails are covered withfleurs-de-lys, its mast is the Pontifical Cross, and its pilot the Sacred Heart. Is another allusion to legitimacy intended in this cross surrounded with flowers and bearing the legend, “My Beloved delights himself among the lilies”? I cannot tell; but if we let each political party have free access to our religious picture-stores, we shall see strange things, and thenGare aux abeilles!—“Beware of the bees.”One characteristic common to all these wretched picturelings is their insipidity and petty childishness. They are a literature of nurses and nursery-maids. The designers must surely belong to the female portion of humanity; for one is conscious everywhere of the invisible hand of woman. One is unwilling to conceive it possible that any one with a beard on the chin could bring himself to invent similar meagrenesses. These persons are afraid of man, and have wisely adopted the plan of never painting him, and of making everybody under the age of ten years. Never have they had any clear or serious idea of the Word, the God made man—of him, the mighty and terrible One, who pronounced anathema on the Pharisees and the sellers in the Temple. They can but represent a little Jesus in wax, or sugar, or treacle; and alarmed at the loftiness of Divinity, and being incapable of hewing his human form in marble, they have kneaded it in gingerbread.And yet our greatest present want is manliness. Truly, truly, in France we have well-nigh no more men! Let us, then, have no more of these childishnesses, but let us behold in the divine splendor and perfect manhood of the Word made flesh the eternal type of regenerated humanity.
You have requested me, dear friend, to purchase for you a “gross” of little pictures for distribution among your poor and their children.…
As to the selection of these pictures I must own myself greatly perplexed, and must beg to submit to you very humbly my difficulties, and not only my difficulties, but also my distress, and, to say the truth, my indignation. I have before my eyes at this moment four or five hundred pictures which have been sold to me as “pious,” but which I consider as in reality among the most detestable and irreverent of any kind of merchandise. A great political journal the other day gave to one of its leaders the title ofL’Ecœurement.[170]I cannot give a title to my letter, but, were it possible to do so, I should choose this one in preference to any other. I am in the unfortunate state of a man who has swallowed several kilograms of adulterated honey. I am suffering from an indigestion of sugar; and what sugar! Whilst in the act of buying these little horrors, I beheld numberless purchasers succeed each other with feverish eagerness in the shops, which I will not specify. Yes, I had the pain of meeting there with Christian Brothers and with Sisters of Charity, who made me sigh by their simple avidity and ingenuous delight at the sight of these frightful little black or rose-colored prints. They bought them by hundreds, by thousands, by ten thousands; for schools, for orphanages, for missions. Ah! my dear friend, how many souls are going to be well treacled in our hapless world! It is the triumph of confectionery. “Why are you choosing such machines as these?” I asked of the good Brother Theodore, whom, to my great astonishment, I found among the purchasers; “they are disagreeable.” “Agreed.” “They are stupid.” “I know it.” “They are dear.” “My purse is only too well aware of the fact.” “Then why do you buy them?” “Because I find that these only are acceptable.” And thereupon the worthy man told me that he had the other day distributed among his children pictures taken from the fine head of our Saviour attributed to Morales—achef-d’œuvre. The children, however, perceiving that there was no gilding upon them, had thrown them aside, gaping. Decidedly, the evil is greater than I had supposed, and it is time to consider what is to be done.
In spite of all this, I have bought your provision of pictures; but do not be uneasy—I am keeping them myself, and will proceed to describe them to you. I do not wish that the taste of your beloved poor should be vitiated by the sight of these mawkish designs; but I willtake upon myself to analyze them for your benefit, and then see if you are not very soon as indignant as myself.
In the first place we have the “symbolical” pictures, and these are the most numerous of all. I do not want to say too much against them. You know in what high estimation I hold true symbolism, and we have many a time exchanged our thoughts on this admirable form of the activity of the human mind. A symbol is a comparison between things belonging to the physical and things belonging to the immaterial world. Now, these two worlds are in perfect harmony with each other. To each phenomenon of the moral order there corresponds exactly a phenomenon of the visible order. If we compare these two facts with each other, we have a symbol. There is a life, a breath, a whiteness, which are material. Figurative language is nothing else than a vast and wonderful symbolism, and you remember the marvellous things written on this subject by the lamented M. Landriot. In the supernatural order it is the same, and all Christian generations have made use of symbolism to express the most sacred objects of their adoration. There has been the symbolism of the Catacombs; there has been also that of the Middle Ages. The two, although not resembling, nevertheless complete, each other, and eloquently attest the fact that the Christian race has never been without the use of symbols.
Thus it is not symbolism which I condemn, but this particular symbolism of which I am about to speak, and which is so odiously silly. I write to you with the proofs before me. I am not inventing, but, mirror-wise, merely reflecting. I am not an author, but a photographer.
Firstly, here we have a ladder, which represents “the way of the soul towards God.” This is very well, although moderately ideal; but then who is mounting this ladder? You would never guess. It is a dove! Yes; the poor bird is painfully climbing up the rounds as if she were a hen getting back to roost, and apparently forgetting that she owns a pair of wings. But we shall find this dove elsewhere; for our pictures are full of the species, and are in fact a very plentifully-stocked dove-cote. I perceive down there another animal; it is a roe with her fawn, and with amazement I read this legend: “The fecundity of the breast of the roe is the image of the abundance and sweetness of grace.” Why was the roe selected, and why roe’s milk? Strange! But here again we have a singular collection. On a heart crowned with roses is placed a candlestick (a candlestick on a heart!), and this candelabrum, price twenty-nine sous, is surmounted by a lighted candle, around which angels are pressing. This, we are told underneath, is “good example.” Does it mean that we are to set one for the blessed angels to follow? Next, what do I see here? A guitar; and this at the foot of the cross. Let us see what can be the reason of this mysterious assemblage; the text furnishes it:Je me délasserai à l’abri de la Croix—“I will refresh myself in the shelter of the cross”—from whence it follows that one can play the guitar upon Golgotha. Touching emblem! And what do you say of this other, in which our Saviour Jesus, the Word, and, as Bossuet says, the Reason and InteriorDiscourse of the Eternal Father, is represented as occupied in killing I know not what little insects on the leaves of a rose-bush? “The divine Gardener destroys the caterpillars which make havoc in his garden,” says the legend. I imagine nothing, but merely transcribe, and for my part would gladly turn insecticide to this collection ofimagerie.
This hand issuing out of a cloud I recognize as the hand of my Lord God, the Creator and Father of all, who is at the same time their comforter, their stay, and their life. I admit this symbol, which is ancient and truly Christian; but this divine hand, which the Middle Ages would most carefully have guarded against charging with any kind of burden; this hand, which represents Eternal Justice and Eternal Goodness—can you imagine what it is here made to hold? [Not even the fiery bolt which the heathen of old times represented in the grasp of their Jupiter Tonans, but] a horrible and stupid little watering-pot, from the spout of which trickles a driblet of water upon the cup of a lily. Further on I see the said watering-pot is replaced by a sort of jug, which the Eternal is emptying upon souls in the shape of doves; and this, the legend kindly informs me, is “the heavenly dew.” Heavenly dew trickling out of a jug! And there are individuals who can imagine and depict a thing like this when the beneficent Creator daily causes to descend from his beautiful sky those milliards of little pearly drops which sparkle in the morning sunshine on the fair mantle of our earth! Water, it must be owned, is scarcely a successful subject under any form with our picture-factors. Here is a poor and miserably-painted thread lifting itself up above a basin, while I am informed underneath that “the jet of water is the image of the soul lifting itself towards God by meditation.”
I also need to be enlightened as to how “a river turned aside from its course is an image of the good use and of the abuse of grace.” It is obscure, but still it does not vulgarize and debase a beautiful and Scriptural image, like the next I will mention, in which, over the motto, “Care of the lamp: image of the cultivation of grace in our hearts,” we have a servant-maid taking her great oily scissors and cutting the wick, of which she scatters the blackened fragments no matter where.
The quantity of ribbon and string used up by these symbol-manufacturers is something incalculable. Here lines of string unite all the hearts of the faithful (doves again!) to the heart of Our Blessed Lady; there Mary herself, the Immaculate One and our own incomparable Mother, from the height of heaven holds in leash, by an interminable length of string, a certain little dove, around the neck of which there hangs a scapular. This, we are told, means that “Mary is the directress of the obedient soul.” Elsewhere the string is replaced by pretty rose-colored or pale-blue ribbons, which have doubtless a delicious effect to those who can appreciate it. Here is a young girl walking along cheerfully enough, notwithstanding that her heart is tied by one of these elegant ribbons to that of the Blessed Mother of God, apparently without causing her the slightest inconvenience. Her situation, however, is, I think, less painful than that of this other young person, who is occupiedin carving her own heart into a shape resembling that of Mary. Another young female has hoisted this much-tormented organ (her own) on an easel, and is painting it after the same pattern. But let us hasten out of this atelier to breathe the open air among these trees. Alas! we there find, under the form and features of an effeminate child of eight years old, “the divine Gardener putting a prop to a sapling tree,” or “grafting on the wild stock the germ of good fruits.” This is all pretty well; but what can be said of this ciborium which has been energetically stuck into a lily, with the legend, “I seek a pure heart”? These gentlemen, indeed, treat you to the Most Holy Eucharist with a free-and-easyness that is by no means fitting or reverent. It is forbidden to the hands of laics to touch the Sacred Vessels, and it is only just that the same prohibition should apply to picture-makers. They are entreated not to handle thus lightly and irreverently that which is the object of our faith, our hope, and our love.
Hitherto I have refrained from touching upon that very delicate subject which it is nevertheless necessary that I should approach—namely, the representation of the Sacred Heart. And here I feel myself at ease, having beforehand submitted to all the decisions of the church, and having for long past made it my great aim to be penetrated with her spirit. Like yourself, I have a real devotion to the Sacred Heart, nor do I wish to conceal it. When any devotion takes so wide a development in the Holy Church, it is because it is willed by God, who watches unceasingly over her destinies and the forms of worship which she renders to him. All Catholics are agreed upon this point. It is true that certain among them regard the Sacred Heart as the symbol of Divine Love, and that others consider it under the aspect of a very adorable part of the Body of the God-Man, and, if I may so express it, as a kind of centralized Eucharist. Well, I hold that to be accurate one ought to admit and harmonize the two systems, and therefore I do so. You are aware that it is my belief that physiology does not yet sufficiently understand the mechanism of our material heart, and I await discoveries on that subject which shall establish the fact of its necessity to our life. The other day, at Baillère’s, I remained a long time carefully examining a fine engraving representing the circulation of the blood through the veins and arteries, and I especially contemplated the heart the source and receptacle of this double movement, and said to myself, “The worship of the Sacred Heart will be one day justified by physiology.” But why do I say this, when it is so already? Behold me, then, on my knees before the Sacred Heart of my God, in which I behold at the same time an admirable symbol and a yet more admirable reality. But is this a reason for representing the Sacred Heart in a manner alike ridiculous and odious? I will not here enter upon the question as to whether it is allowable to represent the Sacred Heart of Jesus otherwise than in his Sacred Breast, and I only seek to know in order to accept unhesitatingly whatever with regard to this may be the thought of the church. But that which to my mind is utterly revolting is the sight of the profanations of which these fortieth-rate picture-manufacturers are guilty. What right have they, and how do they dare,to represent hundreds of consecrated Hosts issuing from the Sacred Heart, and a dove pecking at them as they are dropping down? What right have they to make the Heart of our Lord God a pigeon-house, a roosting-place for these everlasting doves, or into a vase out of which they are drinking? What right have they to insert a little heart (ours) into the Divine Heart of Jesus? What right have they to represent to us [a Pelion, Ossa, and Olympus on a small scale] three hearts, the one piled upon the other, and cascades of blood pouring from the topmost, which is that of Our Lord; upon the second, which is that of his Blessed Mother; and thence upon the third, which is our own? What right have they to make the Sacred Heart shed showers of roses, or to give its form to their “mystic garden”? Lastly, what right have they to lodge it in the middle of a full-blown flower, and make the latter address to it the scented question, “What would you desire me to do in order that I may be agreeable to you?” Ye well-meaning picture-makers! beware of asking me the same question; for both you and I very well know what would be the answer.
The truth is that these clumsy persons manage to spoil everything they touch, and they have dishonored the symbolism of the dove, as they have compromised the representations of the Sacred Heart. The dove is undoubtedly one of the most ancient and evangelical of all the Christian symbols; but a certain discretion is nevertheless necessary in the employment of this emblem of the Holy Spirit of God. This discretion never failed our forefathers, who scarcely ever depicted the dove, except only in the scene of Our Lord’s baptism and in representations of the Blessed Trinity. In the latter the Eternal Father, vested in pontifical or imperial robes, holds between his arms the cross, whereon hangs his Son, while the Holy Dove passes from the Father to the Son as the eternal love which unites them. This is well, simple, and even fine. But there is a vast difference between this and the present abuse and vulgarization of the dove as an emblem, where it is made use of to represent the faithful soul. No, truly, one is weary of all this. Do you see this flight of young pigeons hovering about with hearts in their beaks? The beaks are very small and the hearts very large, but you are intended to understand by this that “fervent souls rise rapidly to great perfection.” These other doves, lower down, give themselves less trouble and fatigue; they are quietly pecking into a heart, and I read this legend: “The heart of Love is inexhaustible; let us go to it in all our wants.” The pigeon that I see a little farther off is not without his difficulties; he is carrying a stout stick in his delicate beak, and—would you believe it?—the explanation of this remarkable symbol is, “Thy rod and thy staff have comforted me.” Here again are carrier-pigeons, bringing us in their beaks nicely-folded letters in charming envelopes. One of these birds [who possibly may belong to the variety knows as tumbler pigeons] has evidently fallen into the water; for he is shown to us standing to recover himself on what appears to be a heap of mud in the middle of the ocean, with the motto, “Saved! he is saved!” Next I come upon a party of doves again—always doves!—whose occupation is certainly no sinecure. Oarshave been fitted to their feeble claws, and these hapless creatures are rowing. Here is another unfortunate pigeon. She is in prison with a thick chain fastened to her left foot, and we are told that she is “reposing on the damp straw of the dungeon.” Further on appears another of this luckless species, on its back with its claws in the air. It is dead. So much the better. It is not I who will encourage it to be so unwise as to return to life. True, in default of doves, other symbols will not be found lacking. Here are some of the tender kind—little souvenirs to be exchanged between friend and friend, wherein one finds I know not what indescribable conglomerations of religious sentiment and natural friendship. Flowers, on all sides flowers: forget-me-nots, pansies, lilies, and underneath all the treasures of literature: “It is a friend who offers you these”; “Near or far away, yours ever”; “These will pass; friendship will remain.” “C’est la fleur de Marie Que je vous ai choisie.” (N.B.—This last is in verse.)
I know not, my dear friend, whether you feel with me on this point. While persuading myself that all these playfulnesses are very innocent, I yet find in them a certain something which strikes me as interloping, and I do not like mixtures.
We have also the politico-religious pictures. Heaven forbid that I should speak evil of thefleurs-de-lyswhich embalmed with their perfume all the dear Middle Ages to which I have devoted so much of my life; but we have in these pictures of which I am speaking mixtures which are, to my mind, detestable, and I cannot endure this pretty little boat, of which the sails are covered withfleurs-de-lys, its mast is the Pontifical Cross, and its pilot the Sacred Heart. Is another allusion to legitimacy intended in this cross surrounded with flowers and bearing the legend, “My Beloved delights himself among the lilies”? I cannot tell; but if we let each political party have free access to our religious picture-stores, we shall see strange things, and thenGare aux abeilles!—“Beware of the bees.”
One characteristic common to all these wretched picturelings is their insipidity and petty childishness. They are a literature of nurses and nursery-maids. The designers must surely belong to the female portion of humanity; for one is conscious everywhere of the invisible hand of woman. One is unwilling to conceive it possible that any one with a beard on the chin could bring himself to invent similar meagrenesses. These persons are afraid of man, and have wisely adopted the plan of never painting him, and of making everybody under the age of ten years. Never have they had any clear or serious idea of the Word, the God made man—of him, the mighty and terrible One, who pronounced anathema on the Pharisees and the sellers in the Temple. They can but represent a little Jesus in wax, or sugar, or treacle; and alarmed at the loftiness of Divinity, and being incapable of hewing his human form in marble, they have kneaded it in gingerbread.
And yet our greatest present want is manliness. Truly, truly, in France we have well-nigh no more men! Let us, then, have no more of these childishnesses, but let us behold in the divine splendor and perfect manhood of the Word made flesh the eternal type of regenerated humanity.
Summer storms are fleeting things,Coming soon, and quickly o’er;Yet their wrath a shadow bringsWhere but sunshine dwelt before.On the grass the pearl-drops lieFresh and lovely day appears;Yet the rainbow’s arch on highIs but seen through falling tears.For, though clouds have passed away,Though the sky be bright again,Earth still feels the transient swayOf the heavy summer rain.Broken flow’rs and scattered leavesTell the short-lived tempest’s power;Something still in nature grievesAt the fierce and sudden shower.There are in the human breastPassions wild and deep and strong,Bearing in their course unblestBrightest hopes of life along.O’er the harp of many stringsOften comes a wailing strain,When the hand of anger flingsDiscord ’mid its soft refrain.Tears may pass, and smiles againWreathe the lip and light the brow;But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain,Some bright hope lies crushed and low.Some heart-idol shattered liesIn the temple’s inner shrine:Ne’er unveiled to human eyes,Sacred kept like things divine.Speak not harshly to the lovedIn your holy household band;Days will come when where they movedMany a vacant chair will stand.To the erring—oh, be kind!Balm give to the weary heart;Soft words heal the wounded mind,Bid the tempter’s spell depart.Let not passion’s storm arise,Though it pass like summer showers;Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.Speak, then, gently; tones of strifeLightly breathed have lasting power;Memories that embitter lifeOften rise from one rash hour.
Summer storms are fleeting things,Coming soon, and quickly o’er;Yet their wrath a shadow bringsWhere but sunshine dwelt before.On the grass the pearl-drops lieFresh and lovely day appears;Yet the rainbow’s arch on highIs but seen through falling tears.For, though clouds have passed away,Though the sky be bright again,Earth still feels the transient swayOf the heavy summer rain.Broken flow’rs and scattered leavesTell the short-lived tempest’s power;Something still in nature grievesAt the fierce and sudden shower.There are in the human breastPassions wild and deep and strong,Bearing in their course unblestBrightest hopes of life along.O’er the harp of many stringsOften comes a wailing strain,When the hand of anger flingsDiscord ’mid its soft refrain.Tears may pass, and smiles againWreathe the lip and light the brow;But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain,Some bright hope lies crushed and low.Some heart-idol shattered liesIn the temple’s inner shrine:Ne’er unveiled to human eyes,Sacred kept like things divine.Speak not harshly to the lovedIn your holy household band;Days will come when where they movedMany a vacant chair will stand.To the erring—oh, be kind!Balm give to the weary heart;Soft words heal the wounded mind,Bid the tempter’s spell depart.Let not passion’s storm arise,Though it pass like summer showers;Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.Speak, then, gently; tones of strifeLightly breathed have lasting power;Memories that embitter lifeOften rise from one rash hour.
Summer storms are fleeting things,Coming soon, and quickly o’er;Yet their wrath a shadow bringsWhere but sunshine dwelt before.
Summer storms are fleeting things,
Coming soon, and quickly o’er;
Yet their wrath a shadow brings
Where but sunshine dwelt before.
On the grass the pearl-drops lieFresh and lovely day appears;Yet the rainbow’s arch on highIs but seen through falling tears.
On the grass the pearl-drops lie
Fresh and lovely day appears;
Yet the rainbow’s arch on high
Is but seen through falling tears.
For, though clouds have passed away,Though the sky be bright again,Earth still feels the transient swayOf the heavy summer rain.
For, though clouds have passed away,
Though the sky be bright again,
Earth still feels the transient sway
Of the heavy summer rain.
Broken flow’rs and scattered leavesTell the short-lived tempest’s power;Something still in nature grievesAt the fierce and sudden shower.
Broken flow’rs and scattered leaves
Tell the short-lived tempest’s power;
Something still in nature grieves
At the fierce and sudden shower.
There are in the human breastPassions wild and deep and strong,Bearing in their course unblestBrightest hopes of life along.
There are in the human breast
Passions wild and deep and strong,
Bearing in their course unblest
Brightest hopes of life along.
O’er the harp of many stringsOften comes a wailing strain,When the hand of anger flingsDiscord ’mid its soft refrain.
O’er the harp of many strings
Often comes a wailing strain,
When the hand of anger flings
Discord ’mid its soft refrain.
Tears may pass, and smiles againWreathe the lip and light the brow;But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain,Some bright hope lies crushed and low.
Tears may pass, and smiles again
Wreathe the lip and light the brow;
But, like flowers ’neath summer’s rain,
Some bright hope lies crushed and low.
Some heart-idol shattered liesIn the temple’s inner shrine:Ne’er unveiled to human eyes,Sacred kept like things divine.
Some heart-idol shattered lies
In the temple’s inner shrine:
Ne’er unveiled to human eyes,
Sacred kept like things divine.
Speak not harshly to the lovedIn your holy household band;Days will come when where they movedMany a vacant chair will stand.
Speak not harshly to the loved
In your holy household band;
Days will come when where they moved
Many a vacant chair will stand.
To the erring—oh, be kind!Balm give to the weary heart;Soft words heal the wounded mind,Bid the tempter’s spell depart.
To the erring—oh, be kind!
Balm give to the weary heart;
Soft words heal the wounded mind,
Bid the tempter’s spell depart.
Let not passion’s storm arise,Though it pass like summer showers;Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.
Let not passion’s storm arise,
Though it pass like summer showers;
Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,
Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.
Speak, then, gently; tones of strifeLightly breathed have lasting power;Memories that embitter lifeOften rise from one rash hour.
Speak, then, gently; tones of strife
Lightly breathed have lasting power;
Memories that embitter life
Often rise from one rash hour.
There once lived a widow named Mary Jane, who had a beautiful daughter called Flora. The widow was a sensible, humble woman; the daughter, on the contrary, was very haughty. Many young persons desired her in marriage, but she found none to please her; the greater the number of her suitors, the more disdainful she became. One night the mother awoke, and, being unable to compose herself again to sleep, she began to say her rosary for Flora, whose pride gave her a great deal of disquietude. Flora was asleep near her, and she smiled in her sleep.
The next day Mary Jane inquired:
“What beautiful dream had you that caused you to smile in your sleep?”
“I dreamed that a great lord conducted me to church in a copper coach, and gave me a ring composed of precious stones that shone like stars; and when I entered the church, the people in the church looked only at the Mother of God and at me.”
“Ah! what a proud dream,” cried the widow, humbly drooping her head.
Flora began to sing. That same day a young peasant of good reputation asked her to marry him. This offer her mother approved, but Flora said to him:
“Even were you to seek me in a coach of copper, and wed me witha ring brilliant as the stars, I would not accept you.”
The following night Mary Jane, being wakeful, began to pray, and, looking at Flora, saw her smile.
“What dream did you have last night?” she asked Flora.
“I dreamed that a great lord came for me in a coach of silver, gave me a coronet of gold, and when I entered the church those present were more occupied in looking at me than at the Mother of God.”
“O poor child!” exclaimed the widow, “what an impious dream. Pray, pray earnestly that you may be preserved from temptation.”
Flora abruptly left her mother, that she might not hear her remonstrances.
That day a young gentleman came to ask her in marriage. Her mother regarded this proposal as a great honor, but Flora said to this new aspirant:
“Were you to seek me in a coach of silver and offer me a coronet of gold, I would not wed you.”
“Unfortunate girl!” cried Mary Jane, “renounce your pride. Pride leads to destruction.”
Flora laughed.
The third night the watchful mother saw an extraordinary expression on her child’s countenance, and she prayed fervently for her.
In the morning Flora told her of her dream.
“I dreamed,” she said, “that a great lord came to seek me in a coach of gold, gave me a robe of gold, and when I entered the church all there assembled looked only at me.”
The poor widow wept bitterly. The girl left her to escape seeing her distress.
That day in the court-yard of the house there stood three equipages, one of copper, the other of silver, and the third of gold. The first was drawn by two horses, the second by four, the third by eight. From the first two descended pages clothed in red, with green caps; from the third descended a nobleman whose garments were of gold. He asked to marry Flora. She immediately accepted him, and ran to her chamber to decorate herself with the golden robe which he presented to her.
The good Mary Jane was sorrowful and anxious, but Flora’s countenance was radiant with delight. She left her home without asking the maternal benediction, and entered the church with a haughty air. Her mother remained on the threshold praying and weeping.
After the ceremony, Flora entered the golden equipage with her husband, and they departed, followed by the two other equipages.
They drove a long, a very long distance. At last they arrived at a rock where there was a large entrance like the gate of a city. They entered through this door, which soon closed with a terrible noise, and they were in midnight darkness. Flora was trembling with fear, but her husband said:
“Reassure yourself; you will soon see the light.” In truth, from every side appeared little creatures in red clothes and green caps—the dwarfs who dwell in the cavities of the mountains. They carried flaming torches, and advanced to meet their master, the King of Metals.
They ranged themselves around, and escorted him through long valleys and subterranean forests. But—a very singular thing—all the trees of these forests were of lead.
At last the cortége reached amagnificent prairie or meadow; in the midst of this meadow was a château of gold studded with diamonds. “This,” said the King of Metals, “is your domain.” Flora was much fatigued and very hungry. The dwarfs prepared dinner, and her husband led her to a table of gold. But all the meats and all the food presented to her were of this metal. Flora, not being able to partake of this food, was reduced to ask humbly for a piece of bread. The waiters brought her bread of copper, of silver, and of gold. She could not bite either of them. “I cannot give you,” her husband said, “the bread that you wish; here we have no other kind of bread.”
The young woman wept, and the king said to her:
“Your tears cannot change your fate. This is the destiny you have yourself chosen.”
The miserable Flora was compelled to remain in this subterranean abode, suffering with hunger, through her passion for wealth. Only once a year, at Easter, she is allowed to ascend for three days to the upper earth, and then she goes from village to village, begging from door to door a morsel of bread.
An Exposition of the Church in View of Recent Difficulties and Controversies, and the Present Needs of the Age.London: Basil Montagu Pickering, 196 Piccadilly. 1875. New York:The Catholic World, April, 1875.
An Exposition of the Church in View of Recent Difficulties and Controversies, and the Present Needs of the Age.London: Basil Montagu Pickering, 196 Piccadilly. 1875. New York:The Catholic World, April, 1875.
(FromLe Contemporain.)
I.Renewed Working of the Holy Spirit in the World.—We are, in a religious, social, and political point of view, in times of transition which we are not able to understand, for the same reason that no one can follow the movements of the battle-field who is in the midst of the engagement.
To judge from appearances, especially those which are nearest at hand, we are on the brink of an abyss. The Catholic religion, openly persecuted in Germany, prostrated now for several years in Italy and Spain by the suppression of the religious congregations, attacked in all countries, abandoned by all sovereigns, appears, humanly speaking, to be on the brink of destruction. There are not wanting prophets who predict the collapse of Christianity and the end of the world. There are, however, manly souls who do not allow themselves to be discouraged, and who see grounds for hope in the very events which fill ordinary hearts with terror and consternation.
Of this number is an American religious, Father Hecker, who has just issued a pamphlet in English, wherein, without concealing the difficulties of the present, he avows his expectation of the approaching triumph of religion.
His motives are drawn from the deep faith he professes in the action of the Holy Spirit in the church, outside of which he does not see any real Christianity. It is the Holy Spirit whom we must first invoke; it is the Holy Spirit of whom we have need, and who will cure all our ills by sending us his gifts.
“The age,” he says, “is superficial; it needs the gift of wisdom, which enables the soul to contemplate truth in its ultimate causes. The age is materialistic; it needs the gift of intelligence, by the light of which the intellect penetrates into the essence of things. The age is captured by a false and one-sided science; it needs the gift of science, by the light of which is seen each order of truth in itstrue relations to other orders and in a divine unity. The age is in disorder, and is ignorant of the ways to true progress; it needs the gift of counsel, which teaches how to choose the proper means to attain an object. The age is impious; it needs the gift of piety, which leads the soul to look up to God as the heavenly Father, and to adore him with feelings of filial affection and love. The age is sensual and effeminate; it needs the gift of force, which imparts to the will the strength to endure the greatest burdens, and to prosecute the greatest enterprises with ease and heroism. The age has lost and almost forgotten God; it needs the gift of fear to bring the soul again to God, and make it feel conscious of its great responsibility and of its destiny.”
The men to whom these gifts have been accorded are those of whose services our age has need. A single man with these gifts could do more than ten thousand who possessed them not. It is to such men, if they correspond with the graces which have been heaped upon them, that our age will owe its universal restoration and its universal progress. This being admitted, since, on the other hand, it is of faith that the Holy Spirit does not allow the church to err, ought we not now to expect that he will direct her on to a new path?
Since the XVIth century, the errors of Protestantism, and the attacks upon the Catholic religion of which it gave the signal, have compelled the church to change, to a certain extent, the normal orbit of her movement. Now that she has completed in this direction her line of defence,[171]it is to be expected that she will resume her primitive career, and enter on a new phase, by devoting herself to more vigorous action. It is impossible to dispute the fresh strength which the definition lately promulgated by the Council of the Vatican has bestowed upon the church. It is the axis on which now revolves the church’s career—the renewal of religion in souls, and the entire restoration of society.
Do we not see an extraordinary divine working in those numerous pilgrimages to authorized sanctuaries, in those multiplied novenas, and those new associations of prayer? And do they not give evidence of the increasing influence of the Holy Spirit on souls?
What matter persecutions? It is they which purify what remains of the too human in the church. It is by the cross we come to the light—Per crucem ad lucem.
A little farther on the author explains in what the twofold action of the Holy Spirit consists.
He acts at one and the same time in an intimate manner upon hearts, and in a manner quite external on the church herself.
An indefinite field of action conceded to the sentiments of the heart, without a sufficient knowledge of the end and object of the church, would open the way for illusions, for heresies of every kind, and would invite an individual mysticism which would be merely one of the forms of Protestantism.
On the other hand, the exclusive point of view of the external authority of the church, without a corresponding comprehension of the nature of the operations of the Holy Spirit within the heart of every one of the faithful, would make the practice of religion a pure formalism, and would render obedience servile, and the action of the church sterile.
Moreover, the action of the Holy Spirit made visible in the authority of the church, and of the Holy Spirit dwelling invisibly in the heart, form an inseparable synthesis; and he who has not a clear conception of this double action of the Holy Spirit runs the risk of losing himself in one or other of the extremes which would involve the destruction and end of the church.
In the external authority of the church the Holy Spirit acts as the infallible interpreter and the criterion of the divine revelation. He acts in the heart as giving divine life and sanctification.
The Holy Spirit, who, by means of the teachings of the church, communicates divine truth, is the same Spirit which teaches the heart to receive rightly the divine truth which he deigns to teach. The measure of our love for the Holy Spirit is the measure of our obedience to the authority of the church; and the measure of our obedience to the authority of the church is the measure of our love for the Holy Spirit. Whence thesaying of S. Augustine:Quantum quisque amat ecclesiam Dei, tantum habet Spiritum Sanctum.
It is remarkable that no pope has done so much for the despised rights of human reason as Pope Pius IX.; that no council has done better service to science than that of the Vatican, none has better regulated its relations to the faith; that none has better defined in their fundamental principles the relations of the natural and the supernatural; and the work of the pontiff and of the council is not yet finished.
Every apology for Christianity must henceforth make great account of the intrinsic proofs of religion, without which people of the world would be more and more drawn to see the church only on her human side.
The Holy Spirit, by means of the sacraments, consummates the union of the soul of the believer with God. It is this end which true religion should pursue. The placing in relief the internal life, and the constitution of the church, and the intelligible side of the mysteries of the church—in short, the intrinsic reasons of the truths of the divine revelation combined with the external motive of credibility—will complete the demonstration of Christianity. Such an exposition of Christianity, founded on the union of these two categories of proofs, will have the effect of producing a more enlightened and intense conviction of religion in the souls of the faithful, and of stimulating them to more energetic action; and it will have, as its last result, the opening of the door to their wandering brethren, and gathering them back into the bosom of the church. With the vigorous co-operation of the faithful, the ever-augmenting action of the Holy Spirit will raise the human personality to such an intensity of strength and greatness that there will result from it a new era for the church and for society—an admirable era, which it would be difficult to describe in human expressions, without having recourse to the prophetic language of the inspired Scriptures.
II.The Mission of Races.—In pursuing his study upon the action of the Holy Spirit in the world, the author says that a wider and more explicit exposition of the dogmatic and moral verities of the church, with a view to the characteristic gifts of every race, is the means to employ in order to realize the hopes he has conceived.
God is the author of the different races of men. For known reasons of his providence, he has impressed on them certain characteristic traits, and has assigned to them from the beginning the places which they should occupy in his church.
In a matter in which delicate susceptibilities have to be carefully handled, it is important not to exaggerate the special gifts of every race, and, on the other hand, not to depreciate them or exaggerate their vices.
It would, however, be a serious error, in speaking of the providential mission of the races, to suppose that they were destined to mark with their imprint religion, Christianity, or the church. It is, on the contrary, God who makes the gifts and qualities with which he has endowed them co-operate in the expression and development of the truths which he created for them.
Nevertheless, no one can deny the mission of the Latin and Celtic races throughout the greater part of the history of Christianity. The first fact which manifested their mission and established the influence they were to exercise was the establishment of the chair of S. Peter at Rome, the centre of the Latin race. To Rome appertained the idea of the administrative and governmental organization of the whole world. Rome was regarded as the geographical centre of the world.
The Greeks having abandoned the church for schism, and the Saxons having revolted against her by heresy in the XVIth century, the predominance which the Latin race, united later on to the Celtic race, assumed in her bosom, became more and more marked.
This absence of the Greeks and of a considerable part of the Saxons—nations whose prejudices and tendencies are in many respects similar—left the ground more free for the church to complete her action, whether by her ordinary or normal development, or by the way of councils, as that of Trent and that of the Vatican.
That which characterizes the Latin and Celtic races, according to our author, is their hierarchical, traditional, and emotional tendencies.
He means, doubtless, by this latter expression, that those races are very susceptible to sensible impressions—to those which come from without.
As to the hierarchical sentiment of theCeltic and Latin races, it appears to us that for upwards of a century it has been much weakened, if it be not completely extinct.
In the following passage the author is not afraid to say of the Saxon race:
“It is precisely the importance given to the external constitution and to the accessories of the church which excited the antipathies of the Saxons, which culminated in the so-called Reformation. For the Saxon races and the mixed Saxons, the English and their descendants, predominate in the rational element, in an energetic individuality, and in great practical activity in the material order.”
“It is precisely the importance given to the external constitution and to the accessories of the church which excited the antipathies of the Saxons, which culminated in the so-called Reformation. For the Saxon races and the mixed Saxons, the English and their descendants, predominate in the rational element, in an energetic individuality, and in great practical activity in the material order.”
One might have feared, perhaps, a kind of hardihood arising from a certain national partiality in regard to which the author would find it difficult to defend himself against hishalf-brethrenof Germany, if he had not added:
“One of the chief defects of the Saxon mind lay in not fully understanding the constitution of the church, or sufficiently appreciating the essential necessity of her external organization. Hence their misinterpretation of the providential action of the Latin-Celts, and their charges against the church of formalism, superstition, and popery. They wrongfully identified the excesses of those races with the church of God. They failed to take into sufficient consideration the great and constant efforts the church had made in her national and general councils to correct the abuses and extirpate the vices which formed the staple of their complaints.“Conscious, also, of a certain feeling of repression of their natural instincts, while this work of the Latin-Celts was being perfected, they at the same time felt a great aversion to the increase of externals in outward worship, and to the minute regulations in discipline, as well as to the growth of papal authority and the outward grandeur of the papal court. The Saxon leaders in heresy of the XVIth century, as well as those of our own day, cunningly taking advantage of those antipathies, united with selfish political considerations, succeeded in making a large number believe that the question in controversy was not what it really was—a question; namely, between Christianity and infidelity—but a question between Romanism and Germanism!“It is easy to foresee the result of such a false issue; for it is impossible, humanly speaking, that a religion can maintain itself among a people when once they are led to believe it wrongs their natural instincts, is hostile to their national development, or is unsympathetic with their genius.“With misunderstandings, weaknesses, and jealousies on both sides, these, with various other causes, led thousands and millions of Saxons and Anglo-Saxons to resistance, hatred, and, finally, open revolt against the authority of the church.“The same causes which mainly produced the religious rebellion of the XVIth century are still at work among the Saxons, and are the exciting motives of their present persecutions against the church.“Looking through the distorted medium of their Saxon prejudices, grown stronger with time, and freshly stimulated by the recent definition of Papal Infallibility, they have worked themselves into the belief—seeing the church only on the outside, as they do—that she is purely a human institution, grown slowly, by the controlling action of the Latin-Celtic instincts, through centuries, to the present formidable proportions. The doctrines, the sacraments, the devotions, the worship of the Catholic Church, are, for the most part, from their stand-point, corruptions of Christianity, having their source in the characteristics of the Latin-Celtic races. The papal authority, to their sight, is nothing else than the concentration of the sacerdotal tendencies of these races, carried to their culminating point by the recent Vatican definition, which was due, in the main, to the efforts and the influence exerted by the Jesuits. This despotic ecclesiastical authority, which commands a superstitious reverence and servile submission to all its decrees, teaches doctrines inimical to the autonomy of the German Empire, and has fourteen millions or more of its subjects under its sway, ready at any moment to obey, at all hazards, its decisions. What is to hinder this Ultramontane power from issuing a decree, in a critical moment, which will disturb the peace and involve, perhaps, the overthrow of that empire, the fruit of so great sacrifices, and the realization of the ardent aspirations of the Germanic races? Is it not a dictate of self-preservation and political prudence to remove so dangerous an element, and that at all costs, from the state? Is it not a duty to free so many millions of our German brethren from this superstitious yoke and slavish subjection? Has not divine Providence bestowed the empire of Europe upon the Saxons, and placed us Prussians at its head, in order to accomplish, with all the means at our disposal, this great work? Is not this a duty which we owe to ourselves, to our brother Germans, and, above all, to God? This supreme effort is our divine mission!”
“One of the chief defects of the Saxon mind lay in not fully understanding the constitution of the church, or sufficiently appreciating the essential necessity of her external organization. Hence their misinterpretation of the providential action of the Latin-Celts, and their charges against the church of formalism, superstition, and popery. They wrongfully identified the excesses of those races with the church of God. They failed to take into sufficient consideration the great and constant efforts the church had made in her national and general councils to correct the abuses and extirpate the vices which formed the staple of their complaints.
“Conscious, also, of a certain feeling of repression of their natural instincts, while this work of the Latin-Celts was being perfected, they at the same time felt a great aversion to the increase of externals in outward worship, and to the minute regulations in discipline, as well as to the growth of papal authority and the outward grandeur of the papal court. The Saxon leaders in heresy of the XVIth century, as well as those of our own day, cunningly taking advantage of those antipathies, united with selfish political considerations, succeeded in making a large number believe that the question in controversy was not what it really was—a question; namely, between Christianity and infidelity—but a question between Romanism and Germanism!
“It is easy to foresee the result of such a false issue; for it is impossible, humanly speaking, that a religion can maintain itself among a people when once they are led to believe it wrongs their natural instincts, is hostile to their national development, or is unsympathetic with their genius.
“With misunderstandings, weaknesses, and jealousies on both sides, these, with various other causes, led thousands and millions of Saxons and Anglo-Saxons to resistance, hatred, and, finally, open revolt against the authority of the church.
“The same causes which mainly produced the religious rebellion of the XVIth century are still at work among the Saxons, and are the exciting motives of their present persecutions against the church.
“Looking through the distorted medium of their Saxon prejudices, grown stronger with time, and freshly stimulated by the recent definition of Papal Infallibility, they have worked themselves into the belief—seeing the church only on the outside, as they do—that she is purely a human institution, grown slowly, by the controlling action of the Latin-Celtic instincts, through centuries, to the present formidable proportions. The doctrines, the sacraments, the devotions, the worship of the Catholic Church, are, for the most part, from their stand-point, corruptions of Christianity, having their source in the characteristics of the Latin-Celtic races. The papal authority, to their sight, is nothing else than the concentration of the sacerdotal tendencies of these races, carried to their culminating point by the recent Vatican definition, which was due, in the main, to the efforts and the influence exerted by the Jesuits. This despotic ecclesiastical authority, which commands a superstitious reverence and servile submission to all its decrees, teaches doctrines inimical to the autonomy of the German Empire, and has fourteen millions or more of its subjects under its sway, ready at any moment to obey, at all hazards, its decisions. What is to hinder this Ultramontane power from issuing a decree, in a critical moment, which will disturb the peace and involve, perhaps, the overthrow of that empire, the fruit of so great sacrifices, and the realization of the ardent aspirations of the Germanic races? Is it not a dictate of self-preservation and political prudence to remove so dangerous an element, and that at all costs, from the state? Is it not a duty to free so many millions of our German brethren from this superstitious yoke and slavish subjection? Has not divine Providence bestowed the empire of Europe upon the Saxons, and placed us Prussians at its head, in order to accomplish, with all the means at our disposal, this great work? Is not this a duty which we owe to ourselves, to our brother Germans, and, above all, to God? This supreme effort is our divine mission!”
It would be impossible to enter into the idea of the Bismarckian policy in a manner more ingenious, more exact, and more striking.
It is by presenting to Germany this monstrous counterfeit of the church that they have succeeded in provoking its hatred of her, and the new empire proposes to be itself the resolution of a problem which can be only formulated thus: “Either adapt Latin Christianity, the Romish Church, to the Germanictype of character and to the exigences of the empire, or we will employ all the forces and all the means at our disposal to stamp out Catholicity within our dominions, and to exterminate its existence as far as our authority and influence extend.”
This war against the Catholic religion is formidable, and ought not to leave us without alarm and without terror.
Truth is powerful, it is said, and it will prevail. But truth has no power of itself, in so far as it is an abstraction. It has none, except on the condition of coming forth and showing itself living in minds and hearts.
What is to be done, then?
No thought can be entertained for a moment of modifying Catholic dogmas, of altering the constitution of the church, or of entering, to ever so small an extent, on the path of concessions. What is needed is to present religious truth to minds in such a manner as that they shall be able to see that it is divine. It is to prove to them that our religion alone is in harmony with the profoundest instincts of their hearts, and can alone realize their secret aspirations, which Protestantism has no power to satisfy. For that, the Holy Spirit must be invoked in order that he may develop the interior life of the church, and that this development may be rendered visible to the persecutors themselves, who hitherto see nothing in her but what is terrestrial and human. Already a certain ideal conception of Christianity exists amongst non-Catholics of England and of the United States, and puts them in the way of a more complete conversion. As to the Saxons, who, in these days, precipitate themselves upon an opposite course, we should try to enlighten their blindness. Already we have seen the persecutors, whether Roman or German, become themselves Christian in their turn. We shall see the Germans of our days exhibiting the same spectacle. It is a great race, that German race. Now, “the church is a divine queen, and her aim has always been to win to her bosom the imperial races. She has never failed to do it, too.”
Already we can perceive a very marked return movement amongst the demi-Saxons, or Anglo-Saxons. It is a great sign of the times.
At different epochs there have been movements of this kind in England. But none exhibited features so serious as that of which we are witnesses in these days. Conversions to the church multiply without number, above all amongst the most intelligent and influential classes of the nation; and that in spite of the violent cry of alarm raised by Lord John Russell, and in spite of the attacks of the ex-minister Gladstone, who has the reputation of being the most eloquent man in England.
The gravitation towards the Catholic Church exhibits itself in a manner still more general and more clear in the bosom of the United States.
The Catholics in that country amounted to scarcely a few hundreds at the commencement of this century. They form now a sixth of the population of the United States. They number about 7,000,000. And the Catholic is the only religion which makes any real progress.
It is, then, true “that the Catholic religion flourishes and prospers wherever human nature has its due liberty. Let them but give to the church rights only equal to those of other confessions, and freedom of action, and we should see her regain Europe, and, with Europe, the world.”
Now, might we not conclude that these two demi-Saxon nations, England and the United States, are predestined by Providence to lead the Saxons themselves in a vast movement of return towards the Catholic Church?
Before concluding, the author returns to the Latin and Celtic nations, and directs towards them a sorrowful glance.
As for France, he regrets that a violent reaction against the abuses of the ancient régime, of which he gives a somewhat exaggerated picture, has brought about an irreligious revolution and a political situation which oscillates ceaselessly between anarchy and despotism, and despotism and anarchy. He deplores still more that the progressive movement has been diverted from its course in Spain and in Italy by the evil principles imported from France.
“At this moment,” says the author, “Christianity is in danger, on the one hand, of being exterminated by the persecution of the Saxon races; on the other, of being betrayed by the apostasy of the Celto-Latins. This is the great tribulation of the church at the present time. Between these two perils she labors painfully.”
According to human probabilities, thedivine bark should be on the point of perishing. But perish it cannot. God cannot abandon the earth to the spirit of evil. “Jesus Christ came to establish the kingdom of God on the earth, as a means of conducting men to the kingdom of God in heaven.”
It is thus, in his last chapter, our author surveys the future: