love-tuned song, I know indeed that full many piteous stories do remain from the period of these extraordinary ages when every aspiration of the human heart was often sanctified and pure. But it would be long and out of place to speak of those who, like Tancredie, had no other fault but love; which, by unadvised sight, had been 'Bred in the dangers of adventurous arms, And nurs'd with griefs, with sorrows, woes, and harms." Since, of such love, it is not fitting here to speak, let us turn to a more fruitful source of mourning during the ages of faith, which will enable us to penetrate far deeper than we have hitherto done into their spirit and genius; for as yet we have but merely touched, as it were, upon the surface, and seen nought but what the history of men at all times might be found to supply. CHAPTER III. 0 THOU Almighty Father! As angels of their will tender unto thee meet sacrifice, circling thy throne with loud hosannas; so may the offering of theirs be duly made to thee by saintly men on earth;" such was the prayer that rose incessantly to heaven wherever the Catholic Church had children, and these few words are sufficient to show with what spirit and conduct they regarded and received sorrow. The mourning of piety is a new and abundant theme, which to philosophers themselves, might be presented as one full of interest, and abounding in matter for observation and profound thought. Faith taught men the necessity for mourning, as a means of spiritual purification and of ascent to God. To the eye of faith the state of mourning was therefore a privileged and blessed state; and hence the priest, when about to celebrate the sacred mysteries, on taking the manipule uses this prayer: "Merear, Domine, portare manipulum fletus et doloris, ut cum exultatione recipiam mercedem laboris." All writers of the spiritual life have shown, that those who are to be united to God must suffer many afflictions, internal as well as external, spiritual as well as sensible, in order that both parts may be perfectly purified; for, without such suffering and crosses, there cannot be the complete union and joy of the blessed.* "The perfect," says St. John of the Cross, "have to pass through the night of the senses, the night of the spirit, the night of the memory, and the night of the will, which four nights represent the four kinds of mortification which they must en * St. John of the Cross. The Ascent of Mount Carmel, the obscurce night of the soul. dure. Because they are accepted of God-temptation must prove them." How wondrously conformable to the dictates of Divine wisdom was that maxim of Pythagoras, where he said that "conquerors and those on whom leaves are thrown are polluted." Hence, no doubt the phenomenon which has so often elicited the remark which is found in even the ancient poet, that "the wicked are sometimes more fortunate than the good."+ stance. What examples were beheld in the calamities which befell St. Louis, René of Anjou, Count Elzear de Sabran, St. Elizabeth, Henry VI. of England, many of the popes and other saintly personages during the middle ages. Those arms of the Braschi family, Boreas blowing on the rose, symbolical of the life of the holy Pope Pius VI., might be adopted as a general emblem of the lot of goodness in this perverse world. The history of St. Francis Xavier furnishes a memorable in"The king of Japan, who was converted by the preaching of the saint, had enjoyed the utmost prosperity while an idolater. No sooner did he renounce idolatry, and embrace the Christian faith, than it pleased God to visit him with all kinds of calamities. Two months after his baptism, his subjects rose against him and drove him from his throne. When the Gentiles reproached him with having changed his religion, and said that this was the cause of his misfortunes, he made a vow at the foot of the altar to live and die a Christian; adding, "that if all Japan and all Europe, if the fathers of the society and the Pope himself were to renounce Jesus Christ that he would confess him to the last hour of his life; and that he would be always ready to shed his blood in testimony to his faith."‡ Still more remarkable is the answer which St. Theresa made to a devout merchant from whom she had received an alms, and the events which followed in that man's life. "I have recommended you in my prayers as you desired," said she to him, "and it has been revealed to me, that your name is written in the book of life, and as a sign of the truth of what I say, you will never prosper again in your worldly affairs." So it turned out : his ships were successively wrecked and sunk; becoming unable to pay his debts, he was delivered from prison only through the esteem which his creditors entertained for his piety; and being thus stript of all worldly goods, but contented with the grace of God alone, he closed his days in the odor of sanctity; thus disproving too the testimony of the Greek poet when he said, that "the soul of the man who was once prosperous, when he falls into calamity, wanders over the past pleasures."§ To facts of this kind, however, the holy fathers allude in words that denote how easy it was for men to misunderstand the phenomena. "The winds," say they, "rise upon this ocean; you behold the evil prospering and the good in distress. There is a temptation, there is a flood, and your soul saith, 'O God, God, is this thy justice that the wicked should prosper and that the good should be in distress'?' And God will reply to you, 'Is * Porphyrius de Vita Pythagoræ XXXI. Bouhours, Vie de St. F. Xavier II. 230. + Eurip. Helen. 1213. this your faith? Is this what I promised to you, or is it for this that you are a Christian, that you should prosper in this world?"" "Be not astonished," says Louis of Blois, "and murmur not against God. Refer to the scriptures; there you will see how the devil was heard, and the apostle not heard? In what manner were the demons heard? They sought leave to enter the swine, and leave was granted to them. The devil sought leave to tempt Job, and he received it. In what manner was the apostle not heard? Thrice he besought the Lord that the cause of his suffering might be taken from him; and his answer was, 'Sufficit tibi gratia mea, nam virtus in infirmitate perficitur.' He heard him whom he intended to condemn, and he heard not him whom he wished to save."* As far as respects external calamities, reason itself can discern their utility. Heaven has many ways of conferring happiness, and adversity is one of them. This, no doubt, Pindar saw when he sung, Πολλαὶ δ ̓ ὁδοι Σὺν θεοῖς εὐπραγίας. "It is the nature of things," says De Haller, "and all history attests it, that a too long enjoyment of the highest fortune contains in itself the seeds of destruction, that by the softness, the luxury, and the indifference which are its usual results, it ends in enervating the most vigorous races, and in extinguishing that force of soul, along with which all other goods of the earth are lost." If this was often true in reference even to the interests of the present life, much more frequently was it so with regard to the more important concern of the soul's health and condition for eternity. The deep sense which men entertained of this fact during the ages of faith, has given rise to a tone in their whole literature, which has often struck the modern readers, who are constrained to admire the imperturbable resignation with which the most unforeseen and dreadful calamities were endured. The page of history is often suddenly illuminated with bright examples of this kind, which seldom fail to charm even the most insensible: and certainly the contrast which is presented in this respect by our annals to the whole of heathen literature, must excite a surprise not unmixed with the highest pleasure. The ancient poets seem never to have conceived the idea of a spirit of resignation and sacrifice, which would soften and sanctify calamity. Hecuba becomes impious in her misfortune, and says, that to call upon the gods is to invoke evil allies, though it may have a certain form of propriety to appeal to them in misfortune. In the poet's mind it was impossible that any feeling but that of the utmost horror could be excited in the breast of one who, having been the mother of Hector, might now in her misfortunes and subjection, be doomed to guard the keys of the gate, or to prepare food.§ It is easy to see what an advantage the poet of the middle ages would * Ludovic. Blosii Tractat. in Ps. lxxxv. † Olymp. VIII. Eurip. Troades. 473. § Ibid. 494. have had here in following the common inspiration of religion. In fact, there is nothing more remarkable in their whole history and literature, than the astonishing change which Christianity had wrought in the hearts and understanding of men with regard to the contemplation or experience of misfortune. "When Fouquet's mother heard of the arrest of her son, she threw herself on her knees," says the Abbé de Choisy, "and raised up her hands to heaven. 'I thank you, O my God,' she cried, 'I have always prayed to you for his salvation, and lo, here is the way opened!'" Catharine, queen of England, used to say, that she would rather have adverse than prosperous fortune, for that the former never wanted consolation; whereas, in the latter, both mind and judgment were often wanting. When the venerable Mother de Chantal came to Moulins, she had much conversation with the Duchess de Montmorency, who was there residing in the convent of the Visitation. The holy woman expressed her joy that the duchess should have made such good use of her misfortunes. "My misfortunes," replied Madame de Montmorency, "have not been the sole cause of my retreat : I have always felt an indifference for the world, even when I was at the court. My misfortunes found me in this disposition, and I have received them as means granted by God, to enable me to fulfil the wish of my early youth, to live in retreat, unknown, and without other care, but that of my salvation. I have endeavored to place myself in this state, and I have lived now for many years as you see me in this house, hoping that Heaven will have pity upon me."* The chief of modern bards who, in tales of prose, without a rival stands, has chosen for matter of his song, the wisdom and peace of a blessed mourner contrasted with the sadness of one who judged with the world's mind, where he describes the meeting of Bruce and his royal sister, the Abbess Isabel, in her Convent of St. Bride: "The Bruce survey'd the humble cell, And this is thine, poor Isabel ! The noble abbess consoles him respecting his past misfortunes, adding, “And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream, No more I drive in giddy dream, For Heaven the erring pilot knew, And from the gulph the vessel drew. Tried me with judgments, stern and great, *Marsollier, Vie de Mdme. Chantal II. 1810. My house's ruin, thy defeat, Poor Nigel's death; till, tamed, I own Finally, she sends her reply to Lord Ronald, who knew not of her having taken the veil "This answer be to Ronald given : Then follows the lament of the worldly heart "Lost to the world, King Robert said, When he had left the royal maid— The buds of fair affection lost." Would you observe the same resignation in the mourning of heroes? When the master of Santiago beheld his forces overwhelmed by the Moors on the mountains of Malaga, his cry was, "O, Lord of Hosts! from thy wrath do I fly, not from these infidels; they are but instruments in thy hands, to chastise us for our sins!" "This defeat," says one of the devout historians of Spain, "was to teach them, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that God alone giveth the victory ;" and Father Antonio Agapida asserts it to be a punishment for the avarice of the Spanish warriors, who were intent upon spoil. It is the same spirit in the Saxon Chronicle, where it describes the dreadful pestilence and famine which desolated England in the year 1087, concluding with this reflection. "Alas! how wretched and how rueful a time was there! Who is so hard-hearted as not to weep at such misfortunes? Yet such things happen for men's sins,—that they will not love God and justice." While recording the temper and views with which sufferings were borne by St. Louis, by Alfred, and by many other heroic and saintly kings of the middle ages, history is constrained to assume a tone of sanctity which is strangely at variance with its generally profane character. Sometimes the details are very attractive: as those relating to that affecting scene which *Lord of the Isles, IV. |