The Catholic World
Chapter 328 : MAXWELL DREWITT.A Novel. By F. G. Trafford. Harper & Brothers.This is an Irish tale, e

MAXWELL DREWITT.

A Novel. By F. G. Trafford. Harper & Brothers.

This is an Irish tale, exceedingly well written, and just and manly in its tone and sentiment.

L. Kehoe announces the early publication of "CHRISTINE, AND OTHER POEMS," by George H. Miles, Esq. The volume will be brought out in a superior style of binding and typography, worthy of the high merit of the poetry.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

From JAMES O'KANE, New York. Betsey Jane Ward, (better half to Artemus) her Book of Goaks with a hull Akkownt of the Coarts.h.i.+p and Maridge to A 4 Said Artemus, and Mister Ward's Cutting-up with the Mormon fare Secks with Pikturs drawed by Mrs. B. Jane Ward. 12mo, pp. 312.

[Verbatim;--Transcriber.]

FROM THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY.

Doctor Kemp. The Story of a life with a Blemish. 8vo, pamphlet.

From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York. Nos. 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17 of D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.

From the office of the AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Ind. Specimen sheet of the Golden Wreath for the month of May, composed of daily considerations on the Triple Crown of our Blessed Lady's joys, sorrows, and glories. With Hymns set to Music for May devotions.

{433}

THE CATHOLIC WORLD.

VOL. III, NO. 16-JULY, 1866.

[ORIGINAL.]

THE NEAREST PLACE TO HEAVEN.

There are some places in this world nearer to heaven than others. I know of a place which I think is the nearest. Whether you may think so I do not know, but I would like you to see it and judge for yourself.

Please to go to France, then to Paris; then take a walk a little distance outside of the Barriere de Vaugirard, and you will come to a small village called Issy. When you have walked about five minutes along its narrow and straggling street, which is the continuation of the Rue de Vaurigard, you win see on your left a high, ugly stone wall, and if I did not ask you to pull the jangling bell at the porter's lodge and enter, you might pa.s.s by and think there was nothing worthy of your notice about the place. You say you have not time to stop now, that you have an appointment to dine at the Hotel des Princes, in Paris, but that some other time you will be most happy, etc. Wait a moment, perhaps I may be able show you something quite as good as a dinner, even at the Hotel des Princes. Ring the bell. The st.u.r.dy oaken door seems to open itself with a click. That is the way with French doors; but it is the porter's doing. When he hears the bell, he pulls at a rope hanging in his lodge, which communicates with the lock of the door. You are free to enter. Go in. But you cannot pa.s.s beyond the porter's lodge without giving an account of your self. You cannot get into this heavenly place without pa.s.sing through the porter's review, anymore than you can get into the real heaven without pa.s.sing the scrutiny of St. Peter. I hope you are able to satisfy the "Eh; b'en, M'sieu'?" of good old pere Hanicq, who is porter here. He is a _pere_, you understand, by the t.i.tle of affection and respect, and not by virtue of ordination. You may not think it worth your while to be over humble and deferential in your deportment towards porters as a general rule; but I think you may be so now; for, if I do not mistake, you are speaking to a venerable old man who will die in the odor of sanct.i.ty. Pere Hanicq is not paid for his services, {434} troublesome and arduous as you would very soon find his to be if you were porter even here. He is porter for the love of G.o.d. You see he does not stop making the rosary, which is yet unfinished in his hand, while he talks to you. He does not recompense himself by that business either, as shoemaker porters, tailor porters, and the like eke out their scanty salaries; but it enables him to find some well-earned sous to give away to others poorer than himself. You say this lodge is not a very comfortable place, with its cold brick floor.

It is not. Neither is that narrow roost up the step-ladder a very luxurious bed. Right again, it is not. But the Pere Hanicq is not over particular about these things. Besides, he is not worse off in this respect than the hundred other people who live in this place nearest to heaven. Indeed, most of them have a much narrower and drearier apartment than his. Now that you have said a pleasant word to the good old soul, (for he dearly loves a kindly salutation, and it is the only imperfection I think he has,) you may pa.s.s the inner door, and you observe that you are in a square courtyard, a three-story irregularly shaped building occupying two sides of it; stables and outhouses a third, and the street wall the fourth. Before you go further, I would advise you to look into one of those tumble-down looking outhouses. It looks something like a rag and bottle shop. It is a shop, and the Almoner of the poor keeps it. Here the residents of these buildings may find bargains in old odds and ends of second-hand, and it may be seventy times seventh-hand furniture, either left or cast off by former occupants. Here the Almoner,--that voluble and sweet tempered young man in a long black ca.s.sock,--disposes of these articles of trade, enhancing their value by all the superlatives he can remember, for the benefit of certain old crones and hobbling cripples, whom perhaps you saw on the right of the courtyard receiving soup and other food from another young man in a long black ca.s.sock, who is the Almoner's a.s.sistant. You don't know it, perhaps, but I can tell you that the Almoner's a.s.sistant, as he ladles out the soup and divides the bread and meat, is mentally going down on his knees and kissing the ragged and worn-out clothes of these old bodies whom he helps, for the sake of Him whom they represent, and who will one day say to him: "Because you did it unto the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me."

Now you may go into the house, after you have been struck with the fact how completely that high stone wall shuts out the noise of the street. You say, however, that you hear a band playing. Yes; that comes from an "Angel Guardian" house over the way, like Father Haskins's house in Roxbury, Ma.s.sachusetts (there ought to be angels, you know, not far off from the nearest place to heaven), where the "gamins," as the Parisians call them,--the "mudlarks" or "dock rats,"

as we call them,--are taken care of, fed, clothed, instructed, and taught an honest trade, also for the love of Him who will one day say to the Pere Bervanger and to Father Haskins what I have before said about the Almoner's a.s.sistant.

Well, here is the house. This is the first story, half underground on one side, and consequently a little damp and dingy. Here to the right is the Prayer Hall. This has a wooden floor, (a rare exception,) wooden seats fixed to the wainscoting, and here and there a few benches made of plain oak slabs, which look as if they had lately come out of one of our backwoods saw-mills. A large crucifix hangs on the wall, and a table is near the door, at which the one who reads prayers kneels. The ninety-nine others kneel down anywhere on the bare floor, without choosing the softest spot, if there be any such. Those portraits hanging around the walls represent the superiors of a community of men who are entrusted {435} with the guardians.h.i.+p of this place nearest to heaven. The most of those faces, as you see, are not very handsome, as the world reckons handsome, but I a.s.sure you they make up for that by the beauty of their souls. The morning prayers are said here at half-past five the year round, followed by a half hour's meditation, and the evening prayers at half-past eight. The hundred residents come here too just before dinner, to read a chapter of the New Testament on their knees, devoutly kissing the Word of G.o.d before and after reading it; and then each one silently reviews the last twenty-four hours, and enters into account with himself to see how much he has advanced in that particular Christian virtue of which his soul stands the most in need. It is a good preparation for dinner, and I would advise you to try it, even if you cannot do it on your knees.

It is a perfect toilette for the soul. Here also you will find the afore-mentioned hundred people at half-past six o'clock, just before supper, listening to a short reading on some spiritual subject, followed by a sort of conference given by the Superior, or head of the house, so full of unction and sweet counsel that it fairly lifts the heart above all earthly things, and seems to hallow the very place where it is spoken.

Turn now to the left. That door in the corner opens into a chapel dedicated to St. Francis of a.s.sisi. Here the Pere Hanicq and the few servants of the house hear ma.s.s every morning, and begin the day with the best thought I know of, the thought of G.o.d. Keeping still to the left you pa.s.s into the Recreation Hall; and if this be recreation day, you will see congregated here the liveliest and happiest set of faces that it has ever been your good fortune to meet in this world.

Billiards, backgammon, chess, chequers, and other games more simple and amusing in their character, are here; and I can tell you that they are like a group of merry children playing and amusing themselves before their heavenly Father. You might pa.s.s the recreation days here for many a year before you would hear an angry word, or a cutting retort, or witness a jealous frown or a sad countenance. Notice that smiling old gentleman with a bald head capped by the black calotte.

That is the Pere T----. He is very fond of a game of billiards, and I know he loves to be on the winning side; the princ.i.p.al reason of which, however, you may not divine, but I know: it gives him a chance to pa.s.s his cue to some one who has been beaten, and obliged to retire. And many learn by that good old father's example to do the same kind and charitable act; and, take it all in all, I am inclined to think this room is not much further off from heaven than many other places about this dear old house.

Of course everybody is talking here, except the chess-players, and at such a rate, that it is quite a din; but hark! a bell rings: all is instantly silent, the games are stopped, the very half-finished sentence is clipped in two, and each one departs to some a.s.signed duty. They are taught that the bell which regulates their daily exercises is the voice of G.o.d, and that when he calls there is nothing else worthy of attention. I have no doubt they are right: have you?

There is one other place to visit on this ground floor, the Refectory.

A long stone-floored hall with two rows of tables on either side, and one at the upper end where sits the head of the house, a high old-fas.h.i.+oned pulpit on one side, the large crucifix on the wall, and that is the Refectory. It looks dark and cold, and so it is; dark, because the windows are small and high; and cold, because there is no stove or other heating apparatus--a want which may also be felt in the other rooms you have visited; and as the windows are left open for air some time before these rooms are occupied, it must be confessed there is a rarity and keenness about the {436} atmosphere, and a degree of temperature about the cold stones in mid-winter, which are not pleasant to delicately nourished const.i.tutions. No conversation ever takes place in the refectory except on recreation days, or on the occasion of a visit from the Archbishop of Paris. At all other times there is reading going on from the pulpit, either from the Holy Scripture or some religions book, which enables the listeners to free their minds from too engrossing an attention to the more sensual business of eating and drinking: not that their plain and frugal table ever presents very strong temptations to gourmandize!

As you are American, and accustomed to your hot coffee or strong English black tea, with toast, eggs, and beefsteak for breakfast, I fear the meal which these hundred young men are making off a little cold _vin ordinaire_, well tempered with colder water, and dry bread, during the short s.p.a.ce of twelve minutes, (except during Lent and on other fast days, when they do not go to the refectory at all before twelve o'clock,) will appear exceedingly frugal, not to say hasty. You observe, doubtless, that short as is the time allotted to breakfast, nearly every one is reading in a book while he is eating. Do you wish to know the reason? I will tell you. It is not to pa.s.s away time, but to make use of every moment of time that pa.s.ses. None in the world are more alive to the shortness and the value of time than the hundred young men before you. Every moment of the day has its own allotted duty; and when there is an extra moment, like this one at breakfast, when two things can be done at once, they do not fail to make use of it. They take turns with each other in the duty of waiting on the tables, except on Good Friday, when the venerable Superior, and no less venerable fathers, who are the teachers of these young men, don the ap.r.o.n, and serve out the food proper in quant.i.ty and quality for that day.

Now that you have seen the first story, you may "mount," as the French say, to the second. If you have not been here before, I warn you to obtain a guide, or amidst the odd stairways and rambling corridors you may lose your way. This is the chapel for the daily Ma.s.s. It is both plain and clean, and you will possibly notice nothing particular in it save the painted beams of the ceiling, the only specimen of such ornament, I think, in the whole house. It is there a long time, for this is a very ancient building, having once been the country-seat of Queen Margaret of Anjou; and this little chapel may have been one of her royal reception-rooms for all you or I know.

Hither, as I have said, come the young Levites to a.s.sist at the daily sacrifice. I believe I have not told you before that this is a house of retreat from the world of prayer and of study for youthful aspirants to the priesthood of the Holy Church. I do not know what impression it makes upon you, but the sight of that kneeling crowd of young men in their ca.s.socks and winged surplices, absorbed in prayer before the altar at the early dawn of day, when the ray of the rising sun is just tinging the tops of the trees with a golden light, and the open windows of the little chapel admit the sound of warbled music of birds, and the sweet perfumes from the garden just below, enamelled with flowers, is to me a scene higher than earth often reveals to us of heaven's peace and rapt devotion in G.o.d. Ma.s.s is over now, and you may go, leaving only those to pray another half hour who have this morning received the Holy Communion.

All these rooms which you see here and there, to the right and to the left, are the cells of the Seminarians, about eight by fifteen feet in size, and large enough for their purposes, though certainly not equal to your cosy study at home in America, or to the grand _salon_ you have engaged at the Hotel des Princes. As you are a visitor, perhaps you may go in and look at one. There is {437} no visiting each other's rooms among the young men themselves at any time, save for charity's sake when one is ill. An iron bedstead, with a straw bed, a table, a chair, a crucifix, a vexing old clothes-press, whose drawers won't open except by herculean efforts, and when open have an equally stubborn fas.h.i.+on of refusing to be closed; a broom, a few books, paper, pen and ink, a pious picture or statue, and you have the full inventory of any of these rooms. As they need no more, they have no more: a rule of life that might make many a one of us far happier than we are, tortured by the care of a thousand and one things which consume our time, worry the mind, and are not of the slightest possible utility to ourselves, and the cause, it may be, of others'

envy and discomfort. I am aware that, as you pa.s.s along the corridors, you think it is vacation time, or that every one is absent just now from their rooms, all is so silent. But wait a moment. Ah! the bell again. Presto! Every door flies open, and the corridor is alive with numbers of the young men going off to a cla.s.s or to prayers. Now that they are gone, suppose you peep into one of the rooms again; that is, if some newcomer, not yet having learned the rule to the contrary, has left the key in his door. Ah! he was just writing as the bell rang; the pen is yet wet with ink. Pardon! I do not intend that you shall read what he has written, but you may see that he has actually left his paper not only with an unfinished sentence, but even at a half formed letter. That is obedience, my friend, to the voice of G.o.d, which I have already told you is recognized in the first stroke of that bell. I suppose you may read the inscription he has placed at the foot of his crucifix, since it is in plain sight. "I sat down under the shadow of my Well-Beloved, whom I desired, and his fruit was sweet to my palate." (Cant, ii. 3.) Yes, you are right. It is a good motto for one who has sacrificed every worldly enjoyment for the sake of that higher and purer joy, the love of Jesus crucified. You are noticing, I perceive, that everything looks very neat and clean, that the bed is nicely made, and what there is, is in order. They have tidy housekeepers, you say, here. So they have, and a large number of them, too,--one to each room--the Seminarian himself.

I think you may "mount" another stairway now--when you find it--to the third story. I just wish you to step into that door on the right. It is the Chapel of St. Joseph; and if you happen to enter here after night prayers you will see a few of the young men kneeling before the altar, over which is a charming little painting representing the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph holding the Child Jesus by the hand.

They come to pay a short visit in spirit to the Holy Family before retiring to rest. "Beautiful thought!" I believe you. I see your eyes are a little dimmed by tears. What is the matter? "Oh! nothing; only I was thinking that by coming up a few more steps in this house, one has mounted a good many steps nearer heaven." Not ready to go Oh! I understand, you wish to pay a little visit yourself to the Holy Family. Good. Now, along this corridor, around this corner, down that stairway which seems to lead nowhere,--take care of your head!--through those doors, and you are in a much larger chapel. All finished in polished oak, as you see, with a bright waxed floor. The seminarians sit in those stalls which run along the whole length of either side of the chapel. Here, on Sundays and festivals, they come to celebrate the divine offices of the Church. I wish you could hear them responding to each other in the solemn Gregorian chant. Listen; they are singing, and only to and for the praise of G.o.d, for no strangers are admitted, so there is no chance for the applause of men.

Possibly you may be sharp-eyed enough to note those mantling cheeks and detect the thrill of emotion in their voices as the swelling chorus fills the whole building with melody. Truly, {438} I wonder not that you are moved, for the song of praise rises amid the clouds of grateful incense from chaste lips, and from pure hearts given in the flower and spring-time of life to G.o.d alone. I can tell you, that whether their voices are singing the mournful cadence of the Kyrie, the exultant sentences of the Gloria, the imposing chant of the Credo, the awe-struck exclamations of the Sanctus, or the plaintive refrain of the Agnus Dei; or whether they respond in cheerful notes to the salutations of the sacrificing priest at the Altar, one other song their hearts are always singing here: "Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi, in domum Domini ibimus"--I was glad when they said unto me, we will go into the house of the Lord. A heavenly joy is filling their ardent souls, moved by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and is reflected from their countenances as the sunlight sparkles on the ripples of a quiet, shaded lake, when its waters are gently stirred by a pa.s.sing zephyr wafted from the wings of G.o.d's unseen angel of the winds.

Now you may go out into the garden. A charming esplanade directly behind the house you have visited. Well-kept gravelled walks stretch here and there through a glittering parterre of flowers of every hue and perfume. A pretty fountain sends its sparkling drops into the air in the centre of a basin stocked with gold-fish, which are very fond of being fed with bread-crumbs from the hand of saintly old Father C----. You do not know the Pere C---- you say. Then you may envy me. I know him. Shall I tell you what he said to me one day?

"Tenez, mon cher, on doit prier le, Bon Dieu toujours selon le premier mot de l'office de None, 'Mirabilia,' et non pas selon le premier mot de Tierce, 'Legem pone.'" G.o.d bless his dear old white head! it makes my heart leap in my bosom to think of him. Where were you? Oh! yes, beside the fountain. On each side of the garden is an avenue of trees and in one corner a little maze, hiding a pretty statue of the Blessed Virgin at whose feet that Almoner of the poor has placed a little charity-box, thinking doubtless, and not without reason, that here, hidden by the trees and close shrubbery, some one, you for instance, might like to do something with a holy secrecy which shall one day find its reward from the Heavenly Father of the poor, openly. So I will just turn my head while you put in a donation fitting for an American who has a suite of rooms at the Hotel des Princes. I know you are loth to leave this pretty spot. I have had equal difficulty in dragging you away from the other places to which I directed your steps; but you have not seen all. Come along. Cross the garden. Here, behind the large chapel is a curious grotto all inlaid with sh.e.l.ls, floor, walls and roof. This is the place where Bossuet, Fenelon and Mr. Tronson held some conferences about a theological subject which need not take up your time now. Turn up that winding walk to the left, and you see a little shrine dedicated to Our Lady, to which the young men go to celebrate the month of May; and it is a quiet little nook where one may drop in a moment and forget the world. The world is not worth remembering all the tune, you know. As you pa.s.s to the middle of the garden again you notice a long archway, built under a high wall.

Before you enter it please first notice that fine terra-cotta statue of the Virgin and Child near it, and take off your hat in pa.s.sing, as all do here. This archway pa.s.ses under a road, which is screened from view by high walls on either side, which also prevent the grounds you are in from being seen from the road. I have often thought about that high-walled road running through the middle of this place nearest to heaven. How many of us pa.s.s along our way of life, stony, toilsome, dry and dusty, like this road, and are often nearer heaven and heavenly company than we think; and how many others there are we know and love, whose road runs close beside, {439} if not at times directly through the Paradise of the Church of G.o.d on earth, and know it not.

Oh! if they did but once suspect it, how quickly would they leap over the wall!

Now you are through the archway. Directly before you is a magnificent avenue of trees, all trimmed and clipped as it pleases this methodical people, and here is a fine place for a walk in recreation. The seminarians recreate themselves, as they do all other acts, as a duty and by rule. One hour and a quarter after dinner, ten minutes at half-past four, and an hour and a half after supper appears to suffice, although I am afraid it is rather a short allowance. Silence is the rule during the other twenty-one hours out of the twenty-four, and broken only by duty or necessity. How do you like it? Be a.s.sured it is profitable to those who are desirous of living near to G.o.d.

Recollect what Thomas a Kempis says in his "Imitation of Christ:" "In silentio et quiete proficit anima devota"--In silence and quiet the devout soul makes great progress. You observe also that the reverend teachers of these young men are taking recreation with them. Yes; and in this as in every other duty of this life of prayer and of study they subject themselves to the same rule that they impose on others.

Example, example, my friend, is the master teacher, and succeeds where words cannot. They have learned beforehand in their own school the lessons of chast.i.ty, obedience, poverty, patience, meekness, humility and charity, of silence, and every other Christian mortification of our wayward senses which they are called upon to teach here. They have a novitiate adjoining this house, called the "Solitude," and their motto is inscribed over the little portal in the stone wall which separates the two enclosures. This is it, "O beata Solitude! O sola Beat.i.tudo!" There is a short sentence, my friend, which will serve as a subject of meditation for you, for a longer time than you imagine.

Look at the Pere M----, the reverend superior. What gentleness of soul beams from that kindly countenance! It makes one think of St. Philip Neri. Ah! and there is the Pere P----, with a face like St. Vincent of Paul, and a body like n.o.body's but his own, all deformed as it is by rheumatism. I don't ask you to kiss the hem of his ca.s.sock for reverence sake, for that might wound his humility, and he might moreover knock you down with his crooked elbow, but if you could see what place the angels are getting ready for him up in heaven, I think you would wish to do so. And all the others, old or young--bowed with age or strong of arm and firm in step--you will find but little difference in them. They are all cast in about the same mould, of a shape which only a life, and a purpose of life such as theirs could form. You would like to know what that young man is about, would you, running from one knot of talkers and walkers to another, saluting them, and saying something to each? Listen; he is repeating the pa.s.sword of the house. The pa.s.sword? Even so. And is it secret? Yes, and a secret too. It is the secret of a holy life, the holy life to be led here, and not to be forgotten, where it is the most likely to be, in the dissipation of recreation. Lay it up to heart, for it will do you good. "Messieurs, Sursum corda!"

This building on your right as you come out of the archway is a ball-court. If you will step into the "cuisine," as a sort of wire cage is called, in which you can see without being in the way, and the irregular roof of which serves admirably to cause the ball to come down crooked, and "hard to take," you may see some good ball-playing; and if you know anything about the game, I am sure all will offer at once to vacate their places and give up the pleasure of playing to please you. Somehow, these seminarians are always seeking to please some one else. Fraternal charity, which prefers the happiness of others to its own, is cultivated here to such a degree, that I tell you again you will not find a place {440} nearer heaven; where charity is made perfect and consummated in G.o.d.

Turn down now to the left for a few steps, and look to the right.

Another beautiful avenue. The trees branching from the ground rise up and mingle together on all sides so as to form a complete arch. A building at the end. Yes; that is the place of all places in this lovely enclosure the most venerated by all who come to pa.s.s a part of their lives in dear old Issy. It is the chapel of Lorette. Walk up the avenue and examine it. It has a facade, as you see, of strict architectural taste. I know that you, being an American, would very soon sc.r.a.pe the weather-beaten stones, paint up the wood-work, and put a new and more elegant window in front, if you were in charge. Perhaps it might improve it, perhaps not. Standing as it does alone, out there in the midst of extensive grounds, it makes you think of the Holy House of Loretto in Italy, of which you know something, I suppose, and of which, indeed, the little chapel inside is an exact copy, and hence has obtained its name. Let me say a word about it before you go in, for no one is expected to break the religious silence which the young levites here are taught should reign about the tabernacle where reposes the sacred and hidden presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist. It is this chapel, especially dedicated to his own dear and blessed mother, that they have chosen for his dwelling-place among them, as her home at Nazareth was also his. It is what you might expect. The Mother and the Son go together. A childlike and tender devotion to her whom he chose for the human source of his incarnate life, through which we are elevated and born anew unto G.o.d, cannot be separated from the profound act of adoration which humanity, nay, all creation, must pay to him who is her Son, the first-born of all creatures. His mysterious incarnate presence is with us always in the Holy Eucharist, and will be, as he promised, unto the consummation of the world; and the priest, by the power of his own divine word, is its human source. You remember the saying of St. Augustine: "O venerable dignity of the priest, in whose hands, as in the womb of the Virgin, the Son of G.o.d is incarnate every day!"

Enter. On the wall to your left, just inside the outer door you see this inscription:

"Ilic Verb.u.m caro factam est, et habitavit in n.o.bis." [Footnote 69]

[Footnote 69: "Here the Word was made flesh, and dwelt amongst us."]

On the wall directly opposite, this:

Sta venerabundus, Qui allunde ut stares veneris, Lauretanam Deiparae domum admiraturus.

Angusta tota est, Toto tamen Christiano orbe angusto, FACTUS EST h.o.m.o.