A Soul's Pilgrimage: Extracts From an Autobiography

AFTER a youth spent in study under the curé of my native village of Vars, and in the college at Gray, near Dijon, I went up in my twenty-fifth year to continue my studies in Paris.

On arriving there — in March, 1843 — I immediately put myself under the direction of the most celebrated and certainly the most gifted of all the Jesuits I have ever met, Père de Ravignan, the Lenten preacher of Notre Dame, and the contemporary of Lacordaire, who at that time preached the Advent course in the same cathedral. It was my earnest desire to prepare myself in the best possible way to fill as worthily as I could the sacred duties of the ministry. Having made sure of a means of living by setting aside two or three hours each day to teaching, I devoted the rest of my time to personal culture. Seldom has a young man had finer opportunities for intellectual growth than I had at this time. For France, the last years of Louis Philippe were perhaps the most brilliant of the century. In every department of learning and letters talent was represented by illustrious men : in poetry, Victor Hugo and Lamartine ; in Parliament, Berryer and Montalembert; in the government, Guizot and Thiers ; at the Sorbonne, Cousin, Jules Simon, Lenormant, Ozanam, and Cœur; at the Collége de France, Michelet and Quinet; in the pulpit, Lacordaire and de Ravignan.

I was anxious to learn something from each of these remarkable men. My Sundays were spent in listening to famous preachers. During the rest of the week I distributed my time between the Sorbonne, the Chamber of Deputies, and the Chamber of Peers. Presently, to my great delight, I found myself in relation with such men as Berryer and Montalembert, Jules Simon and Ozanam, Lacordaire and de Ravignan. The last, as my spiritual director, proved a warm friend as well as a wise and trustworthy guide. I retain a sweet remembrance of many intimate conversations with him. His was not only a holy but a liberal spirit. I was not surprised, later, when I heard it said that he thought of reasserting his independence by asking the general of the Jesuits to release him from his vows.

A trait which exhibited the nobility of his feelings and the largeness of his views appeared in one of our conversations. One day, troubled with doubts, I opened my heart to him, and, encouraged by his evident sympathy, ventured to ask the question, “ Is there not, my father, some way of recognizing what is true from what is false in religious doctrine, by which one may avoid the necessity of constant reference to authorities, so many of which simply confuse the mind by their conflicting statements ? ”

“ There is a way,” he replied, “ which in the case of such doubt I myself follow, and which I recommend to you. Every doctrine which tends to elevate the mind and enlarge the heart is true, and every doctrine which works the contrary effect is false. Follow this principle, and you will feel and be the better for it. I have done so, and am satisfied.”

It was shortly before this that the Society of St. Vincent de Paul was founded. The circumstances which led to its institution are of peculiar interest. On a Sunday evening Ozanam had gathered together a few students of the Sorbonne to take tea with him. After a simple repast, he laid before them a plan by which each one was to undertake, during the coming week, to visit one or two poor families of the neighborhood, and report to him on the following Sunday. The enthusiasm of the young men for so practical a form of benevolent work soon developed, and shortly it became advisable to form the little group into a society, the object of which should be just such simple works of charity. From that modest beginning in the library of this large - hearted man the association has grown until to-day it numbers more than two million members. You may be sure that I was glad of an opportunity to be associated with such a band of zealous men.

Another society to which it was my privilege to belong was Le Cercle Catholique de la Rue de Grenelle, which was founded at this time with the object of banding together Catholics of liberal views, clerics as well as laymen. It counted among its members such men as Lacordaire, Ozanam, Montalembert, de Falloux, de Montigny, and Riancey.

It was my honor to represent this society in Dublin at the funeral of the celebrated Irish liberator, Daniel O’Connell. Never shall I forget the sight that greeted us on our arrival in Dublin Bay. A vast throng had gathered on the quay, and after a solemn and awed silence suddenly burst into a wail of lamentation such as it is given a man only once to hear. It seemed as if the hearts of the bereaved people were breaking with grief. As the cortége moved from the quay the multitude reverently followed the catafalque, and kept up a constant dirge until the remains of their hero were deposited within the church where the funeral service was to be held on the morrow. Few things could have been more imposing than that solemn service and the great procession which attended the body to its last resting-place. It was evident, indeed, that Ireland had lost one of her chief sons, and her people mourned for him as a mother mourns for her best beloved.

Some weeks after our return to Paris, Père Lacordaire pronounced the funeral oration of Daniel O’Connell at Notre Dame. On the evening of the same day a dinner was given to John O’Connell, son of the great statesman, by the Baron de Montigny at his superb hôtel (formerly the hôtel Montmorency) in the Rue de Babylone. Sixty guests were present, including many church dignitaries, statesmen, journalists, and other distinguished men. It was the 22d of February, 1848, — a day destined to prove a memorable one in the history of France. Shortly before we sat down, the populace had begun to assemble in the streets, and the crowds seemed to be moving toward the Champs Elysées. A valet was dispatched every quarter of an hour to bring us news of what was happening. As the reports grew more alarming, the guests became more preoccupied. After dinner the company broke up into little groups to discuss the situation. A messenger presently brought us more serious tidings, so that the Baron de Villequier exclaimed, “ Why, it seems a veritable mob! ” To which the prophetic Berryer replied, “ Take care that it is not a revolution ! ” Two days later Louis Philippe was obliged to flee from the Tuileries, and restless France found herself once more a nation without a ruler.

It was during the outbreak in June of the same year that the heroic death of the saintly Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Affre, occurred. The soul of this devout man was deeply moved by the spirit of strife among the people. It cut him to the heart to see Paris on the verge of a fratricidal war, and God’s call seemed clear to him, as the spiritual father of the community, not to spare himself in any endeavor to restore order and promote peace. Accordingly, on the morning of the 27th he proceeded to the scene of the conflict and mounted the barricades, to plead with the populace on the one hand and the soldiery on the other. Scarcely had he uttered the words “ My children ” when a shot fired from a neighboring building pierced him, and he fell dead before the eyes of the mob. This tragic event was enough. A horror seemed to seize every one, and from that hour the insurrection ceased. Truly the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep.

It may be proper to speak a word about the power of the pulpit in Paris at this time. Perhaps the two most eminent preachers that France has produced are Bossuet and Lacordaire. Both were the pride of Dijon, their native city. The superiority of Bossuet appeared in what he said, that of Lacordaire in the way in which he said it. The latter’s eloquence corresponds precisely to the word attributed to Demosthenes, and repeated by Massillon. When asked what were the essential elements of oratory, the illustrious Greek is said to have replied : First, action ; second, action; third, action.

I recall an occasion when this principle in the preaching of Lacordaire was illustrated. One Sunday, Abbé Castan, nephew of Archbishop Affre, and I found ourselves almost lost in the immense crowd pouring into Notre Dame to hear the great preacher. The subject he was to treat was the struggle between good and evil, the conflict between the powers of the world and the Church of God. He opened with a paraphrase of the first verses of the second Psalm: 14 Quare fremuerunt gentes? ” Presently, as the idea began to unfold itself to his marvelous imagination, his thought rose to such a height that my friend whispered to me, “ He cannot continue in that strain!” It was true. Human language failed him. Yet, standing there, his face illumined with the great thought, his body swaying under the inspiration of the mighty truth which his tongue refused to utter, he continued his gestures with such descriptive force that, under the action of that mute eloquence, the assembly seemed to shudder. It was only a few seconds, perhaps, though it seemed to me many minutes. Then the preacher slowly drew back his arm and solemnly laid his hand over his heart. After a moment of absolute stillness, the entire audience gave vent to its feelings in one spontaneous outburst of applause.

On the following Sunday we were again in our places, and before the address the Archbishop of Paris felt compelled to request the congregation to remember the sacred character of the place, and to refrain from any outward expression of approval. But such was the eloquence of Lacordaire in pursuing the same theme that erelong the archbishop himself was betrayed into an unconscious clapping of hands, which was enough to lift an irksome restraint from an audience hardly able to suppress its feelings.

At this time the accession to our ranks of John Henry Newman and other distinguished members of the Anglican communion inspired the champions of Romanism in France with the belief that England was ripe for the papacy. Frequent meetings were held among us, and our enthusiasm and zeal for this great end were heightened. I was free to do as I pleased at this time, and being deeply moved by the bright prospects before our Church in Great Britain I determined to give myself to the work of conversion, and to devote my energies to an enterprise which seemed destined to contribute so largely to the glory and power of the Holy See.

My friends were most cordial in their approval of this resolve, and in many happy ways expressed an interest in the step I was about to take. Some of the sweetest evidences of their regard were the books and other gifts they bestowed upon me ; among them was a very tender souvenir from Charles (then Abbé) Gounod. On the evening before my departure this charming man brought me his surplice, berretta, and other personal belongings. These were the more precious to me since, shortly after this, Gounod gave up the idea of following the sacred ministry, in order to devote himself without reserve to that noble art which has made his name immortal.

Arriving in London, I set out immediately to report myself to Cardinal Wiseman for such service as he should think me fitted to undertake. As I had not yet learned to speak English plainly, it was arranged that I should preach as occasion offered at the French church of this great capital, and on Sundays celebrate the military mass at Woolwich for the Roman Catholic soldiers of the garrison. It was not long before I gained familiarity with English, and his Eminence was able to transfer me to the charge of the Catholic mission recently established at Canterbury. Here I preached my first English sermons.

England until then had been looked upon as a missionary territory by the Latin Church, and, as was the custom in all countries of this character, the Roman authority was represented, not by bishops, but by apostolic vicars, of whom at this time there were four. In 1850 Pius IX. divided the country into Catholic provinces, and appointed a bishop for eaeh of them. This bold act on the part of a foreign prelate aroused the indignation of the English people, and provoked widespread and violent opposition. Every evening the streets of London were thronged with long and noisy processions, in which the Pope was carried about in effigy and subjected to all manner of insult. I suffered more than I can say from this blasphemous abuse, as it seemed to me, of the head of our holy religion, and I felt it my duty to protest, no matter how insignificant my protestation might be. Accordingly, I published successively two tracts in favor of the papacy, — entitled Rome and the Holy Scriptures, and Rome and the Primitive Church, — with the hope that some Protestant minds might see the grounds of our claims and the justice of the step taken by his Holiness Pius IX.

These publications attracted more notice than I could have hoped for. By the Catholic press they were heralded as timely utterances, and were spoken of as logical and conclusive arguments for the papal supremacy. But above all other opinions I appreciated that expressed in the following letter : —

... I received with true pleasure your pamphlets and your good letter, my dear abbé ; I thank you with all my heart. God has truly made you an Apostle of England. Continue to spread the good news. I admire the manner in which you are able to write and speak in English. The remembrance of you, be sure of it, remains faithful in the depths of my soul. Au revoir, then, till it please the Lord. Believe in my very tender attachment.
DE RAVIGNAN, S. J.
PARIS, 21February, 1851.

The Protestant journals whose attention was excited by these pamphlets of course judged them differently. One among them, Bell’s Weekly Messenger, published a series of articles in which the Scriptural texts and historic references were the object of severe criticism. The author of these articles, Mr. Charles Hastings Collette, one of the glories of Oxford, and a man deeply versed in the writings of the Fathers as well as the history of the first Christian ages, in a polite letter in which he gave me entire credit for sincerity, announced to me his intention of pointing out that the statements upon which my arguments were founded were either fabrications or else falsely stated. Sure of having advanced only those points which conform to the teaching of the most esteemed authors of Catholic history, and acting besides under the impression which prevails among Roman Catholics, namely, that honesty is not to be expected from Protestants in religious controversy, I did not feel it my duty to reply to his very civil note. My silence did not seem to discourage him, for in the course of a few days he wrote me four other letters, which in turn failed to elicit a reply.

One morning I heard a knock at the door of the house where I lived, and, as the servant was absent, I answered the call. I found myself face to face with a gentleman of distinguished appearance, who handed me his card, and to my astonishment I read the name of my correspondent and adversary, Charles Hastings Collette. Common courtesy obliged me to receive him. Without ado he announced the purpose of his visit by repeating in a decided voice what he had written ; declaring that he had perfect faith in my sincerity, that the pamphlets were marked with the stamp of honesty, and that had it been otherwise he would have disdained any dealings with me. Then he said that he was ready to prove to me that I had been mistaken in many of the texts quoted and in most of the supposed facts submitted in my argument. “Without doubt,” he said, you drew your knowledge from the most estimable sources known to you. But these sources are far too modern. I ask you but one thing, and that, as a man of honor, which I take you to be, you cannot honestly refuse me. It is to consult, not Protestant books, but the writings of Catholics of an earlier date than the Council of Trent, of whose authenticity and authority there can be no question. To this effect, I pray you to make conscientious researches in the library of the British Museum, where such documents abound. I shall secure you the necessary permission to consult these works, and as the librarian is my friend I shall ask him to help you in your investigations, and we shall see what conclusion the study will lead you to.”

By refusing to accede to such a request I should have given proof of a want of love for truth ; and so sure was I of my ground and of the historical validity of my argument that I did not hesitate to follow the wish of this ardent and courteous opponent. For a fortnight I spent all of my afternoons and part of my evenings in searching those books which could enlighten me on so grave a subject. By faithful study I was able to compare the facts as I had been taught them with the facts as the early Church historians stated them. The result of this investigation was as painful to me as it was satisfactory to Mr. Collette. On all the contested points I found that the weight of authority was against my position. I will cite one decisive instance.

Among all the treatises on dogmatic theology in use, in my day, in the high seminaries of the Church, the one most esteemed was the work of Cardinal Gousset, perhaps the greatest Roman theologian of the century. In this work the sixth canon of the Council of Nice (A. D. 325) is thus written : “ Ecclesia Romana semper habuit primatum.” From this canon one draws the irresistible conclusion that the first ecumenical council, although composed almost exclusively of bishops from the East, who would naturally look with jealousy upon the growing influence of the See of Rome, found itself obliged to witness to the truth of her supremacy by a special canon, declaring that from the beginning Rome had had the primacy. Surely no more positive assertion could be made of the fact which Protestant historians repudiated so decidedly.

Resting secure in my knowledge of this canon, I was almost stunned to find that the original form of the canon, as enacted by the Council, was quite different from what I had been taught. The sixth canon simply states that Rome has a relative primacy. The plan before the Council was to transform the See of Alexandria into a patriarchate, and the purport of the canon was, that as the bishop of Rome had the primacy over the bishops of the suburbicarian cities, in the same way it was fitting that the bishop of Alexandria should occupy a similar rank with regard to the bishops of Lower Egypt. The part that had been suppressed in our manuals gave the subject an entirely different complexion.

This discovery, and others like it, gave me a most severe shock. I requested the librarian to permit me to carry away and keep until the next day the collection of the acts of councils, where I had found the canons in their original integrity. He consented, and I lost no time in finding Cardinal Wiseman. I asked him if there was any doubt as to the authenticity of the sixth canon of Nice as it is given in our manuals of theology. “ None that I know of,” he replied. I then showed him my volume, and said, “ It is a Catholic publication; old, it is true, but only the more to be trusted on that account. Here are the terms in which the sixth canon is expressed.” His Eminence appeared very much astonished, and as he remarked that I suffered from something more than astonishment he advised me not to attach too much importance to the matter. An interview with my spiritual director, Father Brownbill, gave me no more satisfaction than that with the cardinal. For the first time in my life I found myself assailed by doubt, and with no friend to turn to.

Now, to entertain doubt is regarded as one of the greatest sins by the Roman Church, a species of interior apostasy, to be dealt with in the most rigorous way; and in the teachings of the masters of the spiritual life there is, for the temptations against faith as for those against purity, one sole remedy, — flight. After a long struggle I determined to fly, and resolved to have nothing more to do with Protestants, to avoid all matters of controversy, and to devote myself exclusively to works of zeal in Catholic countries.

The times were favorable for this purpose. The Secular Jubilee was about to be celebrated in France by missions in the leading churches. I had been invited to take part in several of these missions as preacher and confessor. This now appeared to me providential; the more so as the subjects treated in the pulpit on such occasions — sin, repentance, death, judgment, and the like — are almost strangers to controversy. I accepted the invitations, therefore, with a kind of desperate gratitude, and during more than two months passed the greater part of my time in the pulpit and the confessional.

The day came when, although I had still many engagements, I found myself completely worn out and forced to think of rest. After that, recalling the word of the sage, that the best writings on religion are those forbidden by the Congregation of the Index, I allowed myself to pass over this interdiction, and among other works to read with a lively interest L’Histoire de la Civilisation en Europe et en France, by M. Guizot. The manifest spirit of sincerity, the largeness of view, the historical science, which this work reveals impressed me so deeply, and produced such a change in my manner of appreciating things, that I felt sure its talented author could help me in my present dilemma. To unburden myself to this great man might seem to him a strange tribute to his genius, yet so deep was my longing for counsel and guidance just at this time that I felt such a course was justifiable, and believed that he would not take my confidence amiss.

My plea was addressed simply to M. Guizot, Paris ; and though I looked anxiously and long for an answer, to my deep disappointment none came. Whether the letter never reached its destination, or whether M. Guizot mistrusted its motive, I had no means of ascertaining. I have come to believe it was never received.

Judging it inopportune to take any one else into my confidence, I resolved to think and act for myself and on my own responsibility. The more I studied and reflected, the more my faith in the fundamental doctrines of Romanism weakened, and I felt that before long not only my opinions, but also my conscience would impose upon me the duty of abjuration. As such a step could not but bring me personally the gravest consequences, deeply afflict my best friends, and, worst of all, carry desolation into the bosom of my family, I felt bound to make a last effort by going to Rome and studying the system on the spot in its immediate application.

As I had not revealed to any of my friends what was passing within me, when they learned that I was going to the capital of the Roman world they entirely misinterpreted the object of the journey and congratulated me on my resolution. Several prelates, the Cardinal Archbishop of Besançon among them, sent me letters of recommendation of the most flattering kind. All supposed I was about to make what is called a pilgrimage ad limina apostolorum. They had a natural reason for believing this, as I had received from the Vatican special privileges, and more recently had been extended the widest powers in the matter of indulgences, such as the altare privilegiatum personale, of which I have the titles still in my possession.

It was my intention to remain six months in the Holy City. Circumstances compelled me to leave at the end of a month ; yet during that brief period I saw and learned enough to satisfy me that the capital of the Roman world was the last place for one in my frame of mind to visit. It may be that I was not in a condition to judge impartially. Perhaps the temper of my thoughts was over-critical, too susceptible to adverse impressions. I had resolved, it is true, to investigate fearlessly and study frankly all that bore upon my religious position. Nevertheless, every private interest, home ties, the love and respect of friends, present position and future prospects, would naturally have induced me to see things in their most favorable light. If the facts were to lead me to separate from the Church of Rome, it would be only because the facts were too glaring and emphatic to be glossed over.

I pass by the vexations to which, on arriving at Cività Vecchia, I was subjected, at the hands of the gendarmes, the customs officers, and the countless horde of faquini. Suffice it to say that I reached the Eternal City at last, poorer in pocket, but richer in experience.

As soon as I was settled in fairly comfortable lodgings I proceeded to make myself familiar with the city. The churches first absorbed my attention. What shall I say of their dignity and splendor, their wealth and magnificence ? What shall I say of the vast numbers of monks and priests and prelates who throng these stately buildings, and testify to the power and prestige of this great church, and lend an air of sanctity to its ancient seat ? Certainly here the religion of Jesus should be at its best. Here we should find the purest morality and the deepest spiritual life. Here charity and good works, the distinctive marks of the disciples of Christ, should abound without measure. Rome should lead the world in all that is noble and holy and gracious in religion.

The pain of a bitter disenchantment was in store for me. I had been in the city but a few hours when a revolting sense of the unreality of its religious life took possession of me. Every day seemed to deepen that unwelcome impression. I found myself going from place to place in increasing amazement at the squalor and ignorance and vice visible and openly present at each new turn. Instead of righteousness and piety and a sweet reverence among the people, there were iniquity and uncleanness and degrading superstition. Education and self-respect, — those choice fruits of Christianity, — where had they concealed themselves ? On the one hand the luxury of the prelates, on the other the profound misery of the people ; on this side churches of surpassing stateliness, on that homes of the poor, unspeakable in their filthiness ; here a cleric in gorgeous attire, there a beggar in hideous and noisome rags. How could I escape the shameful meaning of such a contrast ! One would indeed have had to be a slave to prejudice to overlook this disgusting travesty of the religion of Him who came to preach the gospel to the poor, to heal the broken-hearted, to set at liberty those who are bruised.

“ And what do these men do, this multitude of priests ? ” I asked myself again and again. “ Do they not see the wretched condition of the people ? Have they no concern for the public distress and ignorance and immorality ? ” I could not discover a single sign of a real and genuine interest in such matters, nor did I learn of any organized effort to lift the people from their hapless plight. The dignitaries of the Church were occupied with other things. Their time was taken up with affairs of a more imposing nature : resplendent ceremonies, now at this altar, now at that; the keeping of great festivals and the observance of great occasions. The city seemed wholly given up to idolatry and enamored with the superb spectacle of an elaborate worship. Even this might mean something, did it only inspire the people with a deeper reverence and regard for sacred things. But it was evident that the solemn functions possessed no real solemnity ; it was not awe of God that held the crowd, but a stupid wonder and admiration of those gorgeously robed men who served at the altar. At St. Peter’s, the Lateran, St. Paul outside the Walls, Trinità de’ Monti, it was always the same, — a wanton display of religious pomp and ceremonial, without heart, without devotion, without any spiritual reality.

On Christmas I attended the midnight office at S. Maria Maggiore. The church was splendid with lights and ornaments ; the ceremony was the greatest possible display. Among all the princes of the church I liked the appearance of the Pope alone. His face was sympathetic, and he seemed embarrassed by the many singular honors conferred upon him. The assembly had the air of taking part in some worldly gathering rather than in a religious service. The frivolity of the people, their free conversation, prevented one from believing that they were conscious of being in a holy place. One may doubt if a single soul carried away any feeling of edification.

The feast of the Epiphany found me at the Sistine Chapel. What a spectacle is that mass in the presence of the Pope ! The chamberlains grouped like dogs at the feet of their masters, the cardinals ; the officiating clergy carelessly lolling on the altar steps in their sacerdotal vestments, turning their backs upon the cross and the tabernacle during the singing ; then that meaningless series of perfunctory honors, kissing of hands, kissing of the feet of the Pope, which seems to be given in lieu of the homage due to the Host upon the altar. Nothing is present to remind one that it is the house of God. The triple pontifical crown everywhere — on the walls right and left, at the entrance, and in the sanctuary — tells the story truly. It is not the cross of Christ, but the crown of the Pontiff, that is reverenced.

I came away from this service resolved to follow the direction of my own conscience, cost what it might. An accident served to help me in this decision. I was boarding in a family whose chief religious devotion seemed to consist in reciting the rosary together, in order to obtain a favorable number at Tombola. The members of the family knew that I was a priest, and having observed that, unlike other priests, I did not say the daily mass, they indicated in many ways that they were suspicious of my orthodoxy. I had reason to believe that they would not keep this suspicion to themselves, and so I thought it well to seek another lodging.

Seeing on the door of a house on the Plaza d’Espagna the notice “ Rooms to let,” I entered and ascended the stairs to examine them. As I passed through the hall, my eye was caught by a door-plate bearing the inscription “ Rev. Charles Baird, Chaplain of the American Legation.” This discovery seemed to me providential. I had never conversed with a Protestant minister. In obedience to a strange impulse I knocked. Mr. Baird was within, and received me with marked politeness. I was a stranger, and yet I found myself in a few moments explaining to him my peculiar position. His evident sympathy and kindness inspired me to tell him all, and I felt more than repaid for my confidence by his affectionate and tender manner. After a few comforting and encouraging words, he said: “You cannot doubt my profound sympathy in the religious crisis to which you have been led, and I shall be happy to meet and talk with you again, but it must not be in this place. Everything which passes in my apartment is watched. Only a few weeks ago, a monk, tormented as you now are by doubt, and who had come to confer with me two or three times, disappeared ; I have not heard from him nor of him since. I should not be surprised if it is already known that you are here. Do not return to these rooms. I will appoint a place of meeting where there will not be the same risk.” I promised to do as Mr. Baird had told me, and left him my address.

Some days later, as I was walking from the Gesù to the Capitol, where two streets cross, I was suddenly accosted by two men, who threw themselves upon me, and while one covered my mouth to prevent an outcry, the other rifled my pockets. I supposed my purse had been taken ; but no, it was safe in my pocket. My portfolio, containing many precious papers, — my passport and letters of recommendation, that from the Archbishop of Besancon among them, — was gone.

I went at once to the police prefecture, hard by, and asked to speak with the prefect himself. I told him what had occurred, and he expressed surprise. He inquired if there was any money in the portfolio. I told him there was nothing but private papers and letters, valuable to me, but useless to any one else. Thereupon this worthy officer said, “If these men are ordinary thieves and find that the contents are of no value to them, they will probably bring them to us. You had better leave with us some little indemnity to pay them for their trouble.”

This affair now appeared to me more serious than I had thought at first, and without further delay I sought the office of the French ambassador. Happily, he knew me, being, as I was, a member of Le Cercle Catholique. He seemed glad to see me, but when I told him what had just happened his countenance became grave. “ Allow me to ask you a question,” he said. “ How do you stand from a religious point of view ? ” I thought it right to tell him frankly the reason for my presence in Rome. “ That truly grieves me,” he replied. “You know I am a Catholic. Nevertheless, in the present case I must act as an ambassador of France. I know you to be a reputable citizen. I shall give you a new passport on this condition : you must leave Rome in twenty-four hours. For that time I take you under my protection, but if you remain longer I will not be responsible for the outcome.” He then told me the experience of the Abbé Laborde, who had been sent to Rome by the Archbishop of Paris to protest against the proclamation of the new dogma of the Immaculate Conception. Upon his arrival he was speedily taken in hand and shut up in the Castle of St. Angelo. He was liberated only after severe threats on the part of the French government.

On leaving the ambassador I went at once to Mr. Baird. “ What has happened does not surprise me,” he said, upon learning of my misadventure. “Well, now that you are in security for twenty-four hours longer we can see something of you. Come to-morrow to our service at ten o’clock. Afterward we will breakfast together, and at one o’clock you can take the diligence for Cività Vecchia.”

I acted according to the desire of my new friend, in whom I was happy to find a true Christian gentleman, and on the morrow I attended for the first time in my life a Protestant service, and that in the very centre of Romanism. During my stay in the Holy City this was the only occasion when I was truly edified and comforted by a religious service. In the simplicity and manifest sincerity of that brief period of devotion I found what I had failed to find in all the pomp and ceremony of the great churches, — an atmosphere of reverence and faith, a worship of God in spirit and in truth.

For a year and a half after my departure from Rome I lived in London and in Dublin, lecturing on French literature, and engaging as opportunity presented in work of a religious character. All this time my heart was unsatisfied, and my movements were embarrassed by the excessive zeal of some of my newfound Protestant friends. I determined, therefore, in order to find a place of freer movement, to go to the United States. Knowing that Boston was the capital of mind and the centre of culture in the great republic, I concluded to take up my residence there for a time, at least, in order to see American life and thought at its best. Of this my journal speaks more explicitly : —

November 3,1855. Yesterday a friend took me to the home of Mr. Longfellow, the preëminent poet of the New World. He received us in the room where Washington had his headquarters, and where a Frenchman delights to find the name of Lafayette. Mr. Longfellow invited me to dine with him to-day, so that my first dinner in the United States, outside of a hotel, was at the house of one of America’s purest glories, — a house venerated as a sanctuary by his countrymen, — and in the company of several of the most cultivated minds of Boston; for Mr. Longfellow, who does nothing by halves, had also invited to this dinner the leading professors of the university at Cambridge. It was a delicate attention, too, that the dinner was prepared and served entirely à la française. But what followed I valued and enjoyed far more than the dinner. When the twelve other guests had gone home, he asked me to remain in order that we might engage in more intimate conversation. I shall not soon forget his charming candor and warm-hearted sympathy, which quickly won my confidence and made it easy for me to speak to him of my personal experiences.

November 5. Almost by chance I was introduced to-day to the Bishop of Massachusetts, the Right Reverend Dr. Manton Eastburn. I was not prepared for this introduction, and when it was proposed I regretted that my costume was not appropriate for meeting a person of such dignity. On seeing his lordship all awkwardness on my part disappeared. Not one distinctive mark characterized this man save his fine presence and distinguished and affable manners. The bishop spoke to me as a minister of Christ, and showed me much kindness. . . . The bishop is, with the ministers under his jurisdiction, the primus inter pares, a sort of elder brother. Surely, this manner of being and acting is more apostolic than that of the superb prelates under Roman authority.

November 15. The circle of my acquaintance, and I may say of my friends, is enlarging every day. They are almost without exception noble types of humanity. Yesterday I was presented to one especially worthy, a true gentleman and a member of the American Congress, the Hon. Robert C. Winthrop. To-day, the one who now occupies the pulpit of Dr. Channing, his worthy successor in noble qualities of heart and soul, Rev. Dr. Ezra Gannett, came to invite me to dine at his house with some distinguished men whom he desired me to know.

November 25. To-day I can either boast or reproach myself for having sat in the assembly of those whom the orthodox call infidels. I went to hear Theodore Parker at the Music Hall, — Theodore Parker, who is avoided and disavowed even by Unitarians. Now I must confess that in all he said there was not an idea nor a word that wounded me ; on the contrary, this appeared to be just the atmosphere for my present state of mind. Mr. Parker, in my sense, is a logical and truly brave preacher ; the others — I speak, of course, of the liberals — seem to draw back from the consequences of the principles they have laid down. Here is a Protestant indeed, in the full sense of the word. After the service I was introduced to Mr. Parker, who already knew something of my history, and welcomed me with marked politeness. He invited me to call upon him for a confidential talk at any time that I should feel inclined to do so.

The first year in New England was most encouraging. My literary conferences met with unexpected success. A complete course was given in the hall of the Y. M. C. A. in Boston, and various series at Cambridge, Lynn, Milton, Nahant, and Newport. From all these places the most gratifying letters came to me, quite unexpectedly, from several persons well known in the world of letters; among them, Longfellow, Theodore Parker, Dr. Hedge, Edmund Quincy, Wendell Phillips, Lothrop Motley, Bishop Eastburn, Charles Brooks, Henry Tuckerman, Robert C. Winthrop, Rufus Choate, and Edward Everett.

Two propositions were just then made to me : the one, to fill the professorship of French language and literature in Washington University, at St. Louis; the other, to establish a collegiate school for young ladies at Lexington, Kentucky.

I went to St. Louis first; but as the aspect of things there did not appear favorable, I soon left for Lexington, where I was already known to the family of Senator Duncan. I was also furnished with letters to Mr. Breckinridge, afterwards Vice - President of the Confederacy, the family of Henry Clay, and several others. One of the largest and best houses in the city was put at my disposal, and many pupils were already enrolled, when an incident happened which brought all my projects to a sudden end. One Sunday, in returning from church, I passed, without knowing it, through the slave-market. It was an open square, where many men had gathered and were employed in bartering for a female slave. Coming from Boston, where I had been associated with Wendell Phillips, Lloyd Garrison, and others of the abolitionist party, to which my heart thoroughly belonged, I could not help in some degree showing the pain and indignation I felt. This criticism stirred up bad feelings, which some of the people did not hesitate to express so openly that a friend heard their threats, and lost no time in repeating them to me. Late that night I was awakened by a soft rapping upon my window, which opened upon the broad piazza of the hotel, and I found there a young mulatto who was engaged in doing some printing for the school. He brought news of a plot to tar and feather me, and in this high - handed and desperate way to cut short my dangerous doctrines. I did not propose to retract what I had said, and so there was nothing for it but to leave the place at once.

New York seemed to me to offer not only the most favorable opportunities for my literary efforts, but also a large field for study of the many and various phases of religious belief and activity. I had but a very few friends in that city, yet I felt that they were men whom I could trust. This confidence was not misplaced. From the moment of my arrival, Henry Tuckerman, Dr. Henry Bellows, and others took a most lively interest in my well-being. It was shortly arranged that I should give a course of sermons on unity, in the church of Dr. Bellows, at the corner of 19th Street and Fourth Avenue. These sermons met with a flattering reception, and drew many people of a liberal mind among the various Protestant denominations. As the church could not always be at our disposal, my friends made arrangements that I should use a hall in the Cooper Institute, and there continue the free and open discussion of religious doctrine and truth. I preached there during the eight months from October, 1858, to May, 1859. The success of this enterprise was somewhat remarkable. The hall, though an ample one, was on several occasions found to be too small for the audience.

My Sunday discourses might have continued indefinitely, had I not received in April of 1859 a letter from Mr. Longfellow, asking me to become an assistant professor of the French language and literature at Harvard University. As this invitation came to me entirely unsought, and was accompanied by an expression of deep affection on the part of Mr. Longfellow, I asked myself with no little concern whether I should not accept it. The thought of putting down a task so lately begun and so fall of promise was distasteful to me, and I accepted Mr. Longfellow’s invitation only with the determination that at some future day I would resume religious work.

Many were the expressions of regret by those who made up our little congregation that the services were to be discontinued. A generous effort was made, started by Mr. Leavitt Hunt, to establish the enterprise upon a permanent basis ; but as this came after my letter of acceptance had been sent to Mr. Longfellow, it could not accomplish its purpose.

Hardly had I begun my course of lectures at the university when a proposition was made to me by Mr. Agassiz, whose school in Cambridge will long be remembered as the leading institution in this country for the education of young women. Most of the instructors were professors at the university. Mr. Agassiz was preparing at this time to make a journey of exploration in South America, which would probably consume many months, and he came to me with the request that I should take his lecture hours in the school for a course in French literature. I at once accepted this offer, and found myself happy in a work so congenial to my training and inclinations. But another proposition followed this, which pleased me even more. The Rev. Dr. Manning, pastor of the Old South Church, a Congregationalist of the liberal school, having heard of the work I had been doing, called on me and asked me to undertake a similar work in Boston. He placed the Old South Chapel at my disposal, and the Sunday after the first of my services had been announced in the papers I found the chapel full. To take up religious work again was most agreeable to me. especially as I had not ceased to regret my enforced separation from our little band of enthusiasts in New York.

My life at Cambridge renewed many of the associations which I had found so helpful and gratifying during my first visit to Boston. Among others, it was my privilege to come in contact with that rare mind, Ralph Waldo Emerson. I recall quite distinctly a day I spent at his home in Concord. In the afternoon he proposed a walk in a grove a short distance from his home. In the middle of this bit of woods was a somewhat spacious pond, which Mr. Emerson looked upon as a lake. We sat down on a little hill which commanded a view of it. After some moments of mute contemplation Emerson said to me, “ It is now fifteen years that every day when the weather and my occupations permit I come and sit for a few moments in this place, and each time I find in this little lake some new beauty.”

I made the acquaintance at this time of two other men of eminence, James Freeman Clarke and Thomas Starr King. The latter was to prove not only an agreeable companion, but a warm-hearted friend. In such an atmosphere, among men of many views, I found ample food for reflection and abundant opportunity for study in the line of both religious and political thought.

The death of Theodore Parker grieved me immeasurably. I find in my journal some expressions of my sorrow.

May 11, 1860. He is dead. What a loss ! The nation will at last appreciate him. Strange circumstance! the very day they learn the sad news is the one on which the Unitarians hold their annual convention in the same hall where each Sunday people have come in crowds to hear him. It could not be said that all the Unitarians who attended this convention were in full sympathy with Theodore Parker ; notwithstanding, this evening all prejudice seemed to have vanished as if by enchantment. When the news of his death became known, each speaker in turn referred affectionately and reverently to the prophet who had been taken from them, and each time the public received his name with the most heartfelt testimony of sympathy and regard. Indeed, all the interest of the meeting turned to a manifestation in favor of the reformer. . . .

The Unitarians seem to me to be the most intelligent of Protestant ministers, and in almost every instance superior men. Their liberalism is sincere ; they love and preach virtue for its own sake ; their discourses are less sermons than lofty moral essays, in which the conscience as well as the mind finds much to stimulate and strengthen it. Of all those who honored me with their friendship, there was not one for whom I did not entertain a high and sincere regard ; but I must mention one especially, the best man, perhaps, whom I have had the privilege of knowing, — the Rev. Dr. Gannett. I remember that on one occasion he spoke in words of the most sincere admiration of M. de Cheverus, the first Roman bishop of Boston.

Abandoned in a miserable cabin, not far from Boston, was an infirm negro. The bishop found him, and, without informing any one, every evening, after his day’s duties, quietly made his way to the cabin and devoted himself to this afflicted creature ; washing and dressing his sores, making his bed, and providing for his various wants. A servant, who remarked that on the bishop’s return his coat was covered with dust and feathers, wondered where his master went, and followed him afar off on one of his excursions. Looking between the loose timbers which made the wall of the cabin, he saw the man of God engaged in his work of mercy.

Dr. Gannett told me this story with admiration for such devotion on the part of a prelate. Little did he suppose that I myself would surprise him in the exercise of a no less humble and Christlike charity. I had been told that a certain German teacher. Professor Sherb, was lying ill in a cold and comfortless attic in a miserable quarter of the city, and had no one to take care of him. At my first free moment I sought the lodging of this poor man, but Dr. Gannett was there before me. I found him at the door with a broom in his hand, with which he had been sweeping the room of the invalid. I entered, and saw the sick man sitting in front of a newly lighted fire, carefully rolled up in a blanket, eating grapes which had been brought him by the good Samaritan. The mattress had been removed from the bed, the sheets had been hung out to air, the meagre furnishings of the room had been put in order: and all this by the hand of my excellent friend, who appeared quite confused when caught in the act.

His embarrassment was not less when, on another occasion, I discovered him in one of the back streets of Boston carrying a bowl of steaming broth into a miserable-looking abode where no doubt dwelt another of his charges.

My life and work at Harvard University continued until the outbreak of the rebellion. Naturally the college life was affected by this serious trouble, and many departments of the university were virtually suspended. Among both professors and students the most ardent patriotism was manifested, and when the call came for volunteers a large proportion of our number were not slow to respond. I remember a most affecting scene which expressed the deep loyalty of both North and South to what they conceived to be right. When it became evident that the country was upon the verge of a supreme crisis and that war was inevitable, a general meeting of the students and professors was held before separating to go to their several states. Many of our men were Southerners and it was seen that at the call of duty fellow student would be obliged to face fellow student in the impending struggle. This thought cast a very deep solemnity over our meeting, and nothing could have been more touching than to see these men embrace one another with the utmost affection on the eve of their separation.

The attitude of foreign countries toward the North will be remembered as doubtful. England was decidedly antagonistic, while France seemed to be uncertain. Her press was divided and by no means positive in friendliness toward the cause of the Union. It seemed to me that I could be of service to my adopted country by visiting Paris and counseling with those in control of the journals of the day, some of whom I knew, with the object of winning their support for the government. I communicated with the Rev. Dr. Bellows, president of the Sanitary Commission, and suggested the advisability of the step I had in mind. He approved my project most heartily, and after a conference with the Secretary of State, Mr. Seward, commissioned me to carry out this scheme. It was arranged that I should start for Paris without delay, see in particular each of the prominent journalists, preachers, and professors who exercised any marked influence on public opinion, and work in the best way to win them to the cause of the Union.

After seven years of absence I found myself in Paris once more. My emotions cannot be described, nor is it my desire here to dwell upon the many recollections which came to me as I viewed again places so familiar and formerly so closely identified with my life. As soon as possible I sought interviews with the leading men of the liberal party: Jules Simon, Eugène Pelletan, Prévost-Paradol of Le Journal des Débats, Louis Jourdan of Le Siècle, Elisée Reclus of the Revue des Deux Mondes, Frédéric Morin, Edouard Fauvety, Vacherot, and others, — all men of the highest standing in the world of letters. Those who had at first some doubt on the subject soon became convinced that the war was not, on the part of the North, a war for sovereignty, but a war for deliverance; that whatever might be the pretensions of parties and the particular views of many, slavery was the real cause of the struggle, and its abolition must be the ultimate result. And from that moment, with a unity and perseverance quite remarkable, all of these worthy men became earnest defenders of the Union, whether in public journal or in private writing.

I was especially anxious to meet M. Edouard Laboulaye, for I knew him to be more than all the others interested in the conflict and in sympathy with this country. As he was not then in Paris I wrote to him at his country-seat. I received in answer a letter asking me to come to Bourg-la-Reine and spend a day with him. Of course I took advantage of this invitation, and passed seven of the most agreeable hours of my life in an uninterrupted conversation with M. Laboulaye. The chief and almost the only subject of our talk was the American republic, her trials, her hopes, her institutions. Great indeed was my surprise to find a Frenchman who had never crossed the Atlantic better acquainted with the affairs of this country than many Americans, more earnest about the maintenance of the Union than many of our celebrated politicians, and appreciating better our privileges and dangers than many of our leaders.

Of that conversation I shall relate only the rather strange circumstance which was the beginning of his acquaintance with the great men and things of this country. One day, as M. Laboulaye was looking for some curiosity or lost treasure on the shelves of a second - hand bookseller of the Quai Voltaire, he by chance opened a stray volume of sermons by William Ellery Channing. Sermons by an American preacher were a novelty to him. The sum of five cents secured the book, and while pursuing his course toward the Champs Elysées he began to read it. The more he read, the more his wonder and interest increased ; so much so that he sat down under a tree, and could not stop until he had finished the volume. Happy in this unlooked - for discovery, he started to return to his house, when he encountered his friend, Armand Bertin, then the celebrated editor of the Débats. “Congratulate me,” said M. Laboulaye. “ I have just put my hand on a great man.” “ Well,” replied the editor, “ one who meets with such good fortune is indeed to be congratulated. And who is your great man ? ” “ Channing ! ” “ Canning ? ” exclaimed M. Bertin. “ A fine discovery indeed ! Every one knows Canning.” “ I don’t mean Canning, the Englishman ; I mean Channing, an American preacher,” and forthwith M. Laboulaye asked the privilege of writing for the Débats his impressions of Channing. M. Bertin assented, and three articles were successively published on the Boston divine. Several articles followed on other American celebrities, and from that time this country and her institutions became the favorite topic of M. Laboulaye’s studies.

All his discoveries he communicated with true enthusiasm, first to the numerous hearers of his lectures at the Collége de France, then to the public through the journals or through his pamphlets, which were always read with avidity; and finally, on this same darling subject he published two books, destined to remain as monuments of his wonderful knowledge of and devotedness to this country, namely, L’Histoire Politique des EtatsUnis, a standard work of the literature of this age, and Paris en Amérique, the best, perhaps, of modern satires. Thus, while he remained always devoutly attached to France as a revered and cherished mother, he seemed to have loved Young America as a charming spouse.

When I returned to the United States the civil war was at its height. The attention of the whole country, North and South, was centred in the momentous struggle. Every other interest fell into abeyance before the grave and critical problem which the nation had been called upon to solve. Naturally, at such a time, the thoughts of the people, especially in the East, were not given to matters intellectual and educational. While I was casting about in some concern for an occupation, an unexpected proposal came from my friend the Rev. Thomas Starr King, then pastor of the First Unitarian Church of San Francisco, and the leading preacher of the Pacific coast. It was largely due to his influence and eloquence that California was secured to the Union. Mr. King’s plan was that I should come to San Francisco and establish a school on the plan of that of Mr. Agassiz in Cambridge. An invitation to undertake such a work was very congenial to me, and came most opportunely ; I was more, than glad to accept it.

From the moment of my arrival at San Francisco Mr. King threw himself with all his heart into the project before us. A fine location was chosen in a most desirable quarter of the city, South Park, and plans were prepared for a large and handsome building. In the meantime the parish house of the Unitarian Church was placed at our disposal. Here on February 1, 1864, our school was opened by Mr. King himself. The prospects were bright before us, and not the least inviting was the prospect of being in close touch with a man of such excellent spirit. From time to time we enjoyed most interesting conversations together, always on some religious, scientific, or political subject. At one of these meetings, I remember, we remained two hours in the gallery of the new church, communicating our views and sentiments in an expansion full of charm. When we got up to separate, taking both my hands in his, he said: “It is Wednesday; let it be understood that for the future every Wednesday, from two till four o’clock, we shall put aside for mutual edification and conversation like that which we have just enjoyed.” Man proposes, God disposes. The following Wednesday Mr. King was lying upon his death-bed, and the Wednesday after that the soul of this man of God was in heaven.

March 4, 1864. What a date ! What a day ! What a loss! The best of friends, the most ardent of patriots, the most generous of philanthropists, the good, the noble Starr King is taken from us ! Could we have believed last week, when he brought us a new testimony of his precious interest, could we have thought it was his last visit, his last going out, the last occasion given us to hear his most sympathetic voice, to look in life upon his serene face ! . . . All the city is in consternation. Friends meet and clasp hands with tearful eyes, but cannot speak. They say more tears have been shed to-day than during all the city’s life. More than a thousand flags float at half-mast, on private dwellings as well as on public buildings. O worthy man, how deeply your people love you!

March 5. The manifestation of today in honor of the noble dead is not less worthy than that of yesterday. The remains are lying in state in the church which has just been completed, and seems now as if built to be his monument. A company of the first regiment of militia and the Free Masons act as a guard of honor. From noon until ten o’clock at night a long file of people continued to pass by and to gaze for the last time on the inanimate features of him who but a few days before electrified the multitude.

The following Sunday, not only the congregation, but many strangers assembled in the church at the usual hour. The pastor’s gown was laid upon the pulpit. Not a word was said. Not a note was sung ; only from time to time the organ was played softly, while the people sat in mute contemplation, giving their thoughts and their hearts to the noble life which had so suddenly been taken from them. The first regular service was held a week later, in memory of this holy man. The high privilege was mine, on that occasion, to voice the feelings of the people and to express their last tribute to the dead.

C. F. B. Miel.