Columbia IBnitJer^ttp 
 
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 THE LIBRARIES 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT 
 
.~. . " On his brest a bloodie crosse he bore, 
 
 The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
 
 For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore, 
 
 And dead, as living, ever him ador'd : 
 
 Upon liis shield the like was also scor'd. 
 
 For soveraine hope which in his helpe he had. 
 
 Right-faithful true he was in deede and word." 
 
 — Spenser. 
 
OF I 
 
 k NYOKK 
 COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT 
 
 PEER OF FRANCE 
 DEPUTY FOR THE DEPARTMENT OF DOUBS 
 
 A CHArXER OF RECENT FRENCH HISTORY 
 
 BY 
 
 Mrs OLIPHANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE ' LIFK OF EDWARD IRVING.' 
 * S. FRANCIS OF ASSISI,' ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKAVOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCLXXII 
 
o 
 
 Vol I 
 
TO THE COMPANION OF HIS LIFi: 
 THE GUARDIAN OF HIS MEMORY 
 
 ANNA, COMTESSE DE MONTALEMBERT 
 
 (N^E COMTESSE DE MERODE) 
 
 @^^is §oak is Instribetr 
 
 WITH AFFECTIONATE SYMPATHY AND REGARD 
 
 20027 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 My first duty in sending this book into the 
 world is to acknowledo;e the extreme and most 
 generous confidence and kindness with which 
 the family of the Count de Montalembert have 
 honoured me. Both in her own hospitable 
 home at La Eoche, and in mine, the Comtesse 
 de Montalembert, with the crrace which belonsrs 
 to her name, has afforded me every possible 
 opportunity of increasing my acquaintance 
 with the character and sentiments of her noble 
 and distinguished husband ; and no words can 
 be strong enough to express my obligations 
 to her. Everything in these volumes which 
 concerns the youth and private life of Count 
 de Montalembert has thus been dra^^^l direct 
 from the fountain-head. 
 
VIU PREFACE. 
 
 So far, however, as concerns his public life, 1 
 have taken advantage chiefly of his own exposi- 
 tion of himself which is to be found in his pub- 
 lished works. And as it was inevitable that 
 Madame de Montalembert, a most sincere and 
 fervent Catholic, should differ from my conclu- 
 sions and sentiments in various important par- 
 ticulars, I am anxious to exonerate her entirely 
 from all responsibility in a work, which is writ- 
 ten from a point of view very different from 
 hers — which cannot be expected to be in 
 accordance Avith her religious belief — and in 
 which there are many feelings and expressions, 
 on this subject, with which she can have no 
 sympathy. Lest her great kindness to me 
 should entangle her in a supposed assent to 
 any of my political or religious opinions, I feel 
 it my duty to state most distinctly that this 
 has not been the case ; and that while receiving 
 with gratitude the kind communications made 
 to me, I have reserved my own opinion on all 
 points — the only possible means by which an 
 artist, of whatever description, can hope to 
 produce a genuine and recognisable portrait. 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 This statement is perhaps unnecessary for the 
 English reader ; but if I am so fortunate as to 
 obtain any readers in France, they will better 
 understand its propriety. Having said this, 
 I repeat my sincere and cordial acknowledg- 
 ments to Madame de Montalembert and her 
 daughters ; to M. le Yicomte de ^leaux, the 
 son-in-law and executor of Count de Montalem- 
 bert ; to M. Theophile Foisset, and M. Cornudet, 
 his life-lono; friends : to the Eio-ht Honourable 
 W. Monsell, through whose kind intervention 
 several letters have been intrusted to me ; and 
 to Mrs Craven, the accomplished authoress of 
 ^Le Recit d'une Sceur.^ 
 
 M. 0. W. OLIPHAXT. 
 
 Windsor, 1872. 
 
CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. HIS EARLY TEARS 
 
 II. HIS YOUTH 
 
 III. THE YEAR 1830 — EXPEDITION TO IRELAND 
 IV, l'aVENIR — " GOD AND LIBERTY " . 
 
 Y. l'ayenir continued, 1831 
 VI. downfall 
 
 VII. CATHOLIC SUBMISSION 
 
 YIII. THE WANDER-YEAR — ST ELIZABETH 
 
 IX. THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE 
 
 X. MARRIAGE 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 22 
 67 
 
 111 
 166 
 204 
 249 
 269 
 307 
 332 
 
MEMOIE 
 
 OP 
 
 COUNT DE MONTALEMBEET. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. -V.YOJKlV 
 
 HIS EARLY YEAES. 
 
 Chaeles Foubes Eene DE MoN^TALEMBEPvT, 
 son of a noble French eraigre and liis English 
 wife, was born in London on the 15th May 
 1810. The two races which culminated in this 
 one figure, the most illustrious which has dis- 
 tinguished either line, communicated to him so 
 completely their double character, that it is 
 interesting to note their characteristics from 
 the beginning. The house of Montalembert 
 was the most distinguished of the two, though 
 not older perhaps than that of the Forbes, who 
 can be traced back into the legendary twilight 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
2 HIS EAELY YEARS. 
 
 of Scottish history. The Montalemloerts had 
 their origin in Poitou. They were a warlike 
 and chivalrous race, soldiers from their earliest 
 appearance in history. Among the brief re- 
 cords inscribed beside their shields in the family 
 tree by the affectionate hand of their descendant, 
 there are scarcely more than half-a-dozen who 
 are not marked as tue in some war or feud of 
 their time A seigneur of the name, Monta- 
 lembert d'Ess6, appears by the side of the most 
 chivalrous of French kings, Francis I., as de- 
 scribed by his royal brother-in-arms. "Here 
 are four of us, gentlemen of la Guyenne," says 
 Francis, *'I, Sanzac, Montalembert, and la Chas- 
 teigneraye, ready to encounter all comers in 
 France.'' Of this same Montalembert, when 
 appointed first gentleman of the royal bed- 
 chamber, the courtiers said that he was more fit 
 to charge the enemy than to dress the king — 
 " Plus propre a donner une camisade a Tenne- 
 mi qu'une chemise au roi." At an earlier 
 period, a crusading knight had inscribed upon 
 the shield of the family the cross, most fit 
 cognisance of their last descendant ; and later, 
 the line produced, in the person of Marc- 
 Een^, Marquis de Montalembert, a name which 
 holds its place by that of Vauban in the history 
 of scientific warfare. The brother of this OTeat 
 
HIS EARLY YEARS. 3 
 
 engineer was tlie grandfather of Charles de 
 Montalembert. He was one of the nobles 
 driven out of France by the Ee volution — a man 
 whose beautiful melancholy face, full of that 
 sense of failure and tragic sadness which would 
 seem the most natural mood of a man of his 
 class at that terrible period, stands out in the 
 quaintest strangest contrast with the thoughtful 
 but comfortable and well-to-do countenance of 
 the grandfather Forbes, his contemporary, whose 
 share in the existence of the young Charles 
 was still greater than his. They are types of 
 different worlds, as well as diflferent races. The 
 cycle of chivalry, of romance, of poetic elevation 
 over the common cares and needs of rude ex- 
 istence, shows in the one — at its end, consciously 
 dying out, with all the grace of misfortune 
 not personally deserved, that mournful beauty 
 of loss and sacrifice which softens the world 
 towards a fallen cause, howsoever that cause 
 may have deserved its fall. Thus stands Jean 
 de Montalembert at one side of the portal ; and 
 on the other James Forbes, with trim peruke 
 and calm countenance, strong in English order, 
 prosperity, and progress, expecting nothing but 
 good, hearing of nothing but victory, raises with 
 cheerful confidence the curtain of life for the 
 new actor about to step upon that tragic stage 
 
4 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 No young beginner could have had predecessors 
 more perfect in their typical character ; no new 
 soul could have more perfectly embodied in one 
 those two great currents of the past. 
 
 It is, however, with his grandfather Forbes 
 that the early life of the young Montalembert 
 is most closely connected. It is not necessary 
 for our purpose to establish what was the exact 
 line of connection with the Irish Earls of 
 Granard, which is one of the distinctions of 
 the family; but it is apparent that they did 
 not spring from any of the better known Scotch 
 branches of the name, as has been generally 
 supposed. James Forbes himself was an Eng- 
 lishman by birth and breeding. He was born 
 of that class of English gentry which then sent 
 its sons in shoals to India, with all the more 
 comfort and confidence that in those days 
 interest ruled supreme, and competitive exami- 
 nations had not been thought of. He went 
 out to Bombay as a writer, and was twenty 
 years in India and the East. He was the 
 author of several books, one of which, ' Oriental 
 Memoirs,^ is still known, and procured for him 
 a considerable reputation in the scientific as 
 weU as in the literary world. He was a great 
 traveller, a minute observer, fond of natural 
 science, and as learned in it as that early epoch 
 
HIS EARLY YEAES. 5 
 
 of scientific investigation permitted — an excel- 
 lent draughtsman, and most painstaking col- 
 lector. Though the ordinary reader is no longer 
 familiar ^ith his name, he had acquired suffi- 
 cient reputation among his contemporaries to 
 be specially released by Napoleon as an Eng- 
 lish savant — on the intercession of Carnot, 
 then head of the French Institute, and Sir 
 Joseph Banks, the President of the Eoyal 
 Society — after a short imprisonment at Verdun, 
 amono; the other detenvs seized and held fast 
 after the short peace of 1803. About five years 
 after this adventure his only child married the 
 young emigre, Marc-Rene de Montalembert, son 
 of Count Jean, who had been brought to England 
 by the first emigration at the age of fifteen, and 
 had taken service with the English army in India. 
 Mr Forbes was at this time residing in a pretty 
 house at Stanmore, near Harrow, where he had 
 settled on his return from India ; but it was 
 apparently in his house in Albemarle Street 
 that the little Charles, his first grandchild, the 
 heir of both races, was born. 
 
 At a very early age, fifteen months, the child 
 was given over entirely to his grandfathers 
 keeping; for these were stirring days for all 
 connected with the emigration, and change 
 was rife and hope high. The young Count 
 
6 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 de Montalembert and his wife were moving 
 hither and thither as a soldier's household 
 must, and in 1814 went back to France with 
 the restored Bourbons ; so that the arrange- 
 ment which secured a peaceful home and up- 
 bringing for their little boy was no doubt a 
 relief to their anxieties, as well as a most blessed 
 consolation to the old man left behind. The 
 child thus given to Mr Forbes in his old age 
 seems to have become at once the object of that 
 adoring love, a sentiment at once more tender 
 and more absorbing than simple paternity, 
 which so often, passing over the head of one 
 generation, links age and infancy together in 
 the most beautiful of connections. The well- 
 filled library at Stanmore became at once the 
 scene of one of the most touching little dramas 
 of domestic affection. There were but two 
 actors in it ; and, as usual in all the deepest of 
 human sentiments, one only was active, the 
 other passive. The old man among his books, 
 with all the treasures of his well-spent life 
 around him, woke up in the stillness of his 
 solitude at sight of the bright-eyed baby in the 
 corner, trained to play quietly, lest it should 
 disturb him, and lifting wondering blue eyes 
 from time to time to the tranquil aged figure 
 which filled up its little world. The grand- 
 
HIS EAELY YEARS. 7 
 
 father was stirred into a tender entliusiasni by 
 the presence of the child for whom his own many 
 experiences, his information, his varied acquire- 
 ments, might form an inheritance as real, and 
 perhaps not less important, than his worldly 
 possessions. It was not as a fils des croises, 
 the scion of a chivalrous and warlike race, and 
 one of the natural leaders in the future of a 
 distracted and unhappy country, that this good, 
 learned, respectable, and pious Englishman re- 
 garded his little grandson ; but as his own boy, 
 heir of all his thoughts and studies, a little 
 creature to be trained into the same habits of 
 investigation and thoughtful inquiry which were 
 dear to himself. The thouoiit that thus all his 
 own labours might fructify and bless the world 
 after him, turned into delight and eagerness, 
 with Mr Forbes, those struggles of the old and 
 solitary to keep themselves occupied and cheer- 
 ful which are often so pathetic to spectators. To 
 him was given the privilege of making his own 
 life, and its studies and knowledge the founda- 
 tion of a new life of infinite capability and hope. 
 He set to work at once upon this delightful 
 enterprise. He would almost seem to have 
 thought of nothino^ else from the moment of 
 the child's birth. The great work of his life, 
 that from which he had hoped to win the 
 
8 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 gentle recollection of posterity, a thought 
 sweet to all men, liis * Oriental Memoirs,' be- 
 came the tangible centre of all these loving 
 thonghts and anxious labours. The Avork itself 
 is chiefly upon the natural history of the East. 
 He took its little kernel of printed matter, which 
 was for all the world, and enshrined it in a 
 succession of immense volumes, full of illustra- 
 tions done by his own and other hands. Be- 
 fore little Charles was able to utter an articulate 
 syllable, this great work was begun. With pen 
 and pencil, both of which he could use skilfully, 
 with the artist's brush, and even with the more 
 homely collector's paste and scissors, the fond 
 grandfather laboured year after year, as his 
 little boy grew. Leisure, learned and tranquil 
 and tender, is visible in every page ; the very 
 handwriting is a wonder — love and j)atience are 
 in every stroke. He wrote fond letters to the 
 baby, to serve as prefaces to his vast work. He 
 placed a portrait of the little face he loved so 
 well, drawn by his own hand, with pretty gar- 
 lands of grandfatherly verse, as the frontispiece : 
 to these he added portraits, also by himself, of 
 his own family — portraits which he had taken 
 with him when he went a boy to India, but 
 which now, like every other precious thing he 
 possessed, were to swell the inheritance of this 
 
HIS EARLY YEAES. 9 
 
 little heir of his soul. Never was a more won- 
 derful monument of an old man's love. The 
 spectator gazes at the baby portrait looking 
 at him with round blue eyes out of the ample 
 page, with that faltering laugh which has 
 tears in it. This was Charles de Montalem- 
 bert as he appeared at Stanmore more than 
 half a century since, looking up from his 
 corner in his white frock and blue ribbons, the 
 delight and joy and sacred hope of the old phil- 
 osopher's heart. Probably the ideal life which 
 appeared in visions to the grandfather was very 
 unlike that which the child was to realise. Not 
 much philosophy of that calm kind, no leisure, 
 complete and peaceful like that under the 
 shadow of which his first days were passed, 
 was to come to the son of the French emigre, 
 the future peer of France, whose lot had fallen 
 upon evil days. James Forbes, Protestant and 
 natural philosopher, no doubt was far from 
 thinking what an enthusiast for the old faith, 
 what an active and fiery politician, he was thus 
 training. But in one point the old man's dream 
 and hope were realised. The young life was not 
 formed on the model of the old ; but the good- 
 ness and purity and piety of the ancestor were 
 transferred — sufiering as it were a sea-change, 
 into the rich and stranore relisrious devotion of 
 
10 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 the descendant, without losing anything of their 
 earnestness or practical power; and we may 
 add, what can be said of few, that the innocent 
 child at Stanmore in 1813, the date of his por- 
 trait, could scarcely be more true or more spot- 
 less than the man who died in Paris in 1870, 
 tried by many conflicts, by good fortune and evil 
 fortune, by persecution and by prosperity. So 
 far as this goes, the adoring love which watched 
 over his cradle was not disappointed. 
 
 The book to which we have referred exists 
 still in the extensive and carefully arranged 
 library which Count de Montalembert left behind 
 him, and which probably took its origin in the 
 infant traditions of Stanmore — forty-two great 
 quarto volumes, the long result of all Grand- 
 father Forbes's investigations and wanderings, 
 the record of all he had seen and cared for in 
 his travels. It is difficult to look without 
 emotion at this immense compilation, though 
 there are pages in it which might tempt the 
 stranger to a smile. Love has many ways of 
 revealing itself. For love's sake, the poet tells 
 Tis, Dante attempted to paint a picture, and 
 Eaphael wrote sonnets. This is the love-poem 
 of the old F.E.S. of Stanmore Hill. He left to 
 his darling along with this wonderful work, and 
 many a curiosity beside, the better inheritance of 
 
HIS EARLY YEARS. 11 
 
 liis goodness, higli honour, piety, and the noble 
 tradition of a life spent in God's service. To 
 the last his memory was gratefully cherished by 
 his descendant. He was the parent of Mon- 
 talembert's soul. 
 
 The following letter, written when the child 
 was not a year old, forms the first preface to the 
 big book : — 
 
 TO CHAELES FOEBES M0:N'TALEMBEET. 
 
 "The manuscript letters intended for these 
 volumes (Oriental Memoirs, in the form of 
 letters to the writer's family) being now pre- 
 pared for the press, and one hundred drawings 
 printed for the engravers, I wish to render one 
 set of the book more complete by adding as 
 many copies as possible from my original sketches 
 in the voluminous folios from which the others 
 were taken ; and if my life and faculties are 
 preserved, I propose to add near a thousand 
 more from the subjects which formed the amuse- 
 ment of my juvenile hours in foreign climes and 
 distant shores. This would appear to many a 
 singular undertaking in their sixty-second year ; 
 but I have been accustomed to application ; and 
 when I have a beloved object in view, the 
 emplopnent becomes delightful. AYithout such 
 an object I never should have begun these addi- 
 
12 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 tional drawings ; and wliere, my dear child, 
 could I have found one so endeared to me by 
 every tender tie as yourself ? The sweetness of 
 your disposition at a very early age presents a 
 happy prospect to your parents ; and I trust by 
 the divine blessing the opening blossom will 
 gradually expand into a beautiful flower, and in 
 due time produce abundant fruit. Impressed 
 with these ideas, on the commencement of this 
 new year, to you, my beloved child, I dedicate 
 these enlarged volumes, leaving their continu- 
 ance and completion to Him * in whose hands 
 my time is/ That you, my dear boy, may be 
 brought up in the faith, and favour, and love of 
 that greatest and best of Beings, is the ardent 
 prayer of your affectionate parent, 
 
 " James Forbes. 
 
 " Erighthelmstoxe, 1st January 1811." 
 
 A few months later a second prefatory letter, 
 written as people wrote when life was long and 
 time ample, with a care and clearness unknown 
 to this hasty generation, describes the ** pleasure 
 which I have enjoyed in proceeding thus far for 
 my beloved grandchild.^^ It is a work " which 
 daily convinces me," he adds, " of an increasing 
 affection for my child of promise." And on 
 Charles's third birthday this tender enthusiasm 
 
HIS EARLY YEARS. 13 
 
 bursts fortli still more warmly. "Ut ameris 
 amabilis esto '' is the motto which the fond 
 painter placed below the little portrait which 
 he then made of his darling — adding the fol- 
 lowing verses, in which simple love reaches in 
 its homeliness a certain prophetic height, and 
 shapes its blessing in the very lines upon which 
 the life of the beloved one was to be drawn : — 
 
 " Accept, sweet cliild, this pledge of love — 
 Accept the heartfelt strain, the fervent prayer — 
 
 • • • • • • 
 
 The prayer that He who guides the steps of youth 
 
 Through all the puzzled and perplexing round 
 
 Of life's meandering path, upon thy head 
 
 May shower down every blessing, every joy 
 
 Which health, which virtue, and which fame can give ; 
 
 That noble fame by arduous contest gained 
 
 O'er passion's sway, — oh may thy little heart 
 
 Beat high ^vith young ambition's honest praise. 
 
 Ne'er may'st thou hear a tender tale of woe 
 
 And feel thy heart at rest ; ne'er may'st thou check 
 
 In thy swoln eye the tear of sympathy, 
 
 The milk of human kindness, nor reject 
 
 The humble voice of honest poverty." 
 
 This peaceful life and companionship went on 
 till the child grew into early, and indeed pre- 
 cocious, intelligence, becoming more and more 
 the companion of his grandfather. They were 
 much at Brighton ; and wherever they went, the 
 boy was the grand object of the old man\s life. 
 After the Eestoration, Count de Montalembert, 
 Charles's father, who had been specially recom- 
 
14 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 mended to the notice of Louis XYIII. by having 
 been intrusted with the good news of Napoleon^s 
 overthrow and consignment to the island of Elba, 
 was named a peer of France, and changed his pro- 
 fession of arms for that of diplomacy. And in 
 181 6, on the eve of his departure forWurtemberg, 
 after being appointed Minister Plenipotentiary of 
 France at Stuttgart, Mr Forbes and Charles paid 
 him a visit in France, where they seem to have 
 remained for some time. Louis XYIII. had 
 been a neighbour of the old philosopher in 
 England, and received him most graciously and 
 kindly, with the royal favour which even philo- 
 sophers prize, on his appearance in Paris. The 
 grandfather signalised this visit by making a 
 series of copies from his letters, so as to form 
 a kind of journal for the amusement and in- 
 struction of Charles, just six years old. At 
 Calais he begins these notes by an account of 
 the famous episode of Queen Phillippa, told in 
 detail in a letter to the child himself; and he 
 describes to one of his numerous correspondents 
 in England his plan of thus transcribing all that 
 is most interesting, "to be preserved along with 
 the sketches and drawings I am doing for him — 
 all of which," adds the fond commentator, " he 
 eagerly enters into, with observations and criti- 
 cisms not very common for a child of little more 
 
HIS EAELY YEARS. 15 
 
 than six years of age." Thus his education 
 went on unconsciously. And though Mr Forbes 
 was very candid in his opinions about the French 
 character, about the superfluous pomp of ritual 
 in the Paris churches, and various other delicate 
 subjects, his remarks have all been carefully 
 preserved. During his stay in Paris it would 
 appear that the little Charles had gone for the 
 first time to school ; but of this there is no dis- 
 tinct record. It was on their return to England, 
 when the work of education had been fairly com- 
 menced, that the following letter was written, 
 affording a charming glimpse of the child's 
 rapidly developing character. The reader will 
 perceive without much difficulty how much of 
 this sweet childish perfection is due to the atmo- 
 sphere by which he is surrounded ; but it is 
 easy to imagine, at the same time, how delightful 
 to the old man must have been that excjuisite 
 instinct of the child which confers upon so 
 many sympathetic little souls under ten the 
 power to say and do things which they never 
 come up to in their later years. Even the finest 
 influences, however, do not produce, but only 
 develop a fine nature ; and there is a delightful 
 mixture in this little incident of the boy and 
 his training, the real character as well as its 
 beautiful covering. The letter is headed '^ Para- 
 
16 HIS EARLY YEARS. 
 
 graph of a letter to Eliza," and dated Albemarle 
 Street, 28th April 1818 :— 
 
 " I told you, my dear Eliza, that I should 
 take Charles to his school as soon as possible 
 after his birthday, and so I did ; for as he well 
 knew at Paris that I loved him too much to 
 keep him from his studies at the Scotch College 
 there when only seven years old, it operates more 
 powerfully now he is eight. However, be that 
 as it may, the day of our separation arrived last 
 week, to me a trial of no common kind, for 
 except at short intervals, I have never lived alone 
 for fifty-one years until now, and I felt it deeply. 
 I told him I would take him after breakfast, or, 
 if he liked it better, he might dine with me and 
 we would go to the school in the evening. He 
 hesitated a little and then said, ' As I am to go, 
 I had rather go at once.' 
 
 " We accordingly set off, and when about half- 
 way to Fulham, observing him looking about 
 very carefully, I asked what he wanted 1 He 
 said he was taking notice whether there were 
 any houses near us. I replied this part of the 
 road was more free from houses than any other, 
 adding, but what can that signify ? He then 
 clung his little arms round my neck, nestled 
 his little head in my bosom, and gave one sob. 
 
HIS EAELY YEARS. 17 
 
 saying, in a half-stifled voice, 'Now, my dear 
 grandpapa, as you have taught me always to 
 speak truth and to conceal nothing from you, let 
 me entreat of you to answer as truly the ques- 
 tion which I shall now put to you/ I promised 
 him I would ; and I now give to you and Monta- 
 lembert the very words in which this sweet child 
 thus addressed me : — 
 
 " * You know, my dear grandpapa, that I have 
 left my papa and mamma, my brother and sister 
 at Stuttgart, to be your child ; and now you 
 and I are everything to each other until we see 
 them again. Tell me therefore — but you must 
 tell me truly — if since we left Paris I have been 
 the boy you expected and wished me to be, and 
 if you love me as much as when we were there 
 all together 1 ' It was almost too much for me ; 
 but I could with truth assure him that he had 
 been all, and even more than all, I anticipated. 
 Then said he, ' I am the happiest boy in the 
 world, nor shall I drop one tear when you leave 
 me ;' nor did he." 
 
 This charming anecdote reads like a page out 
 of one of Miss Edo:eworth's delio;htful children s 
 stories, or, even to go farther back, like an un- 
 published fragment of some more delicate Sand- 
 ford and Merton. Just so did the little heroes 
 
 VOL. T. B 
 
18 HIS EAELY YEAES. 
 
 of tlie old world, sublime in baby -honour, 
 make tbeir confessions and confidences. There 
 is a fashion in character as well as in costume ; 
 and good Mr Forbes was of the Sandford and 
 Merton period, and unconsciously makes his dar- 
 ling talk in those pleasantly precise little sen- 
 tences which belons: as much to last century as 
 its lace ruffles and Q;old lace. The whole scene 
 is delightful ; the still suburban road in the April 
 sunshine, no houses in sight whence curious eyes 
 could view that ebullition of feeling — the child 
 with his little heart full, the old man, hence- 
 forward doomed to live alone, with a heart more 
 full still, enduring " a trial of no common kind," 
 but looking cheerful for his boy's sake. Nothing 
 can be more gentle, more subdued, more natural ; 
 and yet what tender delight and sadness, ex- 
 quisite sentiment of childhood, and deep un- 
 spoken feeling of lonely age, are in the simple 
 story. It was "almost too much" for the old 
 man ; and hard must be the heart which would 
 not feel with him. 
 
 There is very little known about this school 
 in Fulham, not even who was the teacher, or 
 into whose companionship the little hero fell 
 who made his first step in the world with such 
 courageous virtue. The only record he himself 
 has left of it was, that he was whipped for run- 
 
HIS EARLY YEAES. 19 
 
 ning about in liis niglitgown Avhen bed - time 
 came; a pleasant bit of naughtiness which shows 
 that little Charles was not jDerfect. His first 
 letter, or at least the first which has been pre- 
 served, belongs to somewhere about this period. 
 It is written to his father and mother at Stutt- 
 gart in the same carefully regulated style in 
 which he is represented as addressing his gi^and- 
 father. In it he declares with solemnity that 
 he would rather accept "the most ignominious 
 State of Life than be disobedient to his Papa 
 and Mamma." Thus the Sandford and Merton 
 tone, refined by the special characteristics of 
 this little o^entleman, full of hio-h feeling^ and 
 honour from his birth, runs through his early 
 years, with a reflection at once amusing and 
 touching of the grandpapa's manner and diction. 
 The child might have had a gayer beginning in 
 the young gay household of the French Am- 
 bassador at Stutts^art : but the charm of this 
 touching companionship, and all the germs of 
 thought and noble sentiment which were sown 
 in him in these quiet years, give to this prefatory 
 chapter of his life an interest totally difierent 
 from that of the merry nursery. A shade of 
 pensive tenderness hangs over the young ex- 
 istence, a soft childish atmosphere of musings 
 and dreams. Perhaps he thought wistfully 
 
20 HIS EARLY YEAKS. 
 
 sometimes of the little brother and sister whom 
 it would have been pleasant to play with, and all 
 the spectacles and delights of the brighter world ; 
 but no doubt a certain pride in the fact that he 
 was the sole companion of such a learned philo- 
 sopher as his grandfather mingled with his love 
 for that tenderest guardian. Children brought 
 up in such circumstances, in the sole society of 
 their elders, have generally a delightful sense of 
 this honour and elevation. 
 
 It did not, however, last very long. A little 
 more than a year after this heroic entry upon 
 life, the old man and the child made their way 
 across France to visit the Count and Countess 
 de Montalembert. But at Aix-la-Chapelle death 
 stopped one of the travellers. Alone with the 
 servant who accompanied them, little Charles 
 watched through a dreadful night and saw his 
 grandfather die. It was the first anguish of his 
 life, and he never referred to it without a shud- 
 der of pain in later days. By a curious and 
 melancholy coincidence, the only other death 
 w^hich affected him to the same degree occurred 
 also in the nioht, at an inn, and amono^ strano^ers. 
 The poor little desolate boy, alone with the dead 
 parent Avho had cherished him so fondly, waiting 
 for the arrival of the other parents who were 
 half strano^ers to him, is as sad a fissure as could 
 
HIS EARLY YEARS. 21 
 
 well be imagined ; and he makes all tlie greater 
 claim upon our sympathy from the fact that his 
 little life was about to undergo a total change, 
 and that the influences which were to surround 
 him for several ensuing years were such as to 
 seem entirely contradictory of his past, and at 
 variance with all his previous training. The 
 first distinct period of his young life was thus 
 brought summarily to a close. Mr Forbes, how- 
 ever, had carried out what was the fondest wish 
 of his life. He had made of himself a founda- 
 tion and starting-point for his grandchild. His 
 example of intellectual labour, industry, and 
 order was never forgotten by the boy ; and it 
 was no doubt greatly instrumental in preserving 
 him from the frivolities and crowd of idle social 
 occupations which are so apt to suck the heart 
 out of youth. The old man died, leaving all the 
 collections of his life, the forty -two volumes 
 of his bio: book, the result of all his laborious 
 studies and researches — his very soul, so to 
 speak — to his darling. Half a century has 
 passed since that melancholy night at Aix-la- 
 Chapelle ; but the portrait of James Forbes still 
 holds the place of honour in the library which 
 his grandson has made illustrious, and in the 
 house where a younger generation have learned 
 to love and honour his memory. 
 
22 
 
 CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 The deatli of Mr Forbes brought about an 
 instant revolution in the life of Charles de 
 Montalembert. He went back to the charge 
 of his father and mother — no bad fate, it may 
 be supposed, for a child ; but young as he was, 
 his habits were already formed, and the new 
 life would scarcely seem to have suited him as 
 did the old one to which he had been trained. 
 The Count, his father, was already involved 
 in the bustle and uncertainty of a dijDlomatic 
 career, often absent from his country, and when 
 there swallowed up by the claims of society 
 and that perpetual intercourse with the world 
 which his position and profession alike de- 
 manded. His wife was young and lively, enter- 
 ing into all the gaieties which were not only 
 permissible and natural, but even necessary in 
 her circumstances ; and the children would 
 seem to have been much left to themselves. 
 
HIS YOUTH. 23 
 
 For a year or t^ro we lose sight of the grave 
 little Engiisli child, brought up in his grand- 
 father's library, and set afloat on a new world 
 at nine years old, with his forty-two volumes, to 
 reconcile himself as best he could with the un- 
 accustomed flutter and brightness of his French 
 life. But very soon we find our boy again, in 
 a succession of neat little books, his earliest 
 diaries, books already divided into the journal 
 proper, and the commonplace-book of extracts 
 and comments. At thirteen he comes before 
 us in his own person, taking up with a charm- 
 ing childish seriousness that story of his life 
 which henceforward he never quite put out of 
 his own hands. The early volumes do not 
 contain very much that is novel. They are 
 occupied chiefly with narratives of the seaside 
 expeditions of the family — the walks and drives 
 and rides which they took together. Every- 
 thing is put down most conscientiously : how 
 often he bathed in the sea ; how many of these 
 baths were shared by Arthur his brother ; how 
 often papa walked with his boys to the nearest 
 heio:ht, and how charmino- the \dew was when 
 they reached it. The soft tranquillity of those 
 narrow childish skies surrounds us with the 
 calmest atmosphere ; and there is a little ac- 
 companpng volume of illustrations, sketches in 
 
24 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 pencil of Havre and Dieppe, and some of the 
 villages about. But when the family goes back 
 to Paris, other sentiments come in. The thir- 
 teen-year-old boy begins to chafe secretly over 
 the loss of his time and the interruption of his 
 education. He whom Grandfather Forbes had 
 trained to such a serious sense of duty was 
 compelled now to see his precious days melting 
 away in visits, in amusements, in walks and 
 drives and pleasure-making, at once uncongenial 
 to his tastes and distracting to his early-devel- 
 oped sense of duty. How was he ever to be- 
 come a man fit to take his due place in the 
 world, and fulfil the career to which he was 
 born, if he was thus left ignorant and trained 
 to nothing but frivolity '? Already his heart 
 burned with these thoughts, young as he was. 
 Almost bitterly, now and then, when he closes 
 the record of some expedition or merrymaking, 
 he adds, " Day lost, like so many others." The 
 child who at this early age felt so deeply the 
 pause in his intellectual training could have 
 been no common child. 
 
 At the same time, his political sentiments 
 were already warmly and strongly developed. 
 When he was twelve, he puzzled and fright- 
 ened the small soul of his brother Arthur, 
 aged ten, by an attempt to make that little 
 
HIS YOUTH. 25 
 
 hero swear everlasting fidelity to the Charter. 
 " Mais qu'est ce que c'est que la Charte 1 " 
 cried little Arthur, opening great eyes upon 
 his more enlightened brother, half weeping, 
 half terrified. Charles, for his part, knew 
 all about La Charte. In September 1833, 
 when Louis XYIIL died, he records with a 
 glow and swell of words which show his little 
 heart to have been really moved, that the king- 
 died after a long illness, which he endured with 
 a heroic patience worthy the august author 
 of the 'Charte Constitutionelle.' This is his 
 fir^t distinct expression of opinion upon public 
 matters. His religious ideas must have been 
 confirmed and cultivated by the recent recep- 
 tion of a member of his family, born a Pro- 
 testant, into the Catholic Church. Charles was 
 only twelve when this event took place ; and 
 we find, in a memoir lately published of his con- 
 fessor, the Abbe Busson, that he was employed 
 to copy out the arguments of that divine and 
 others, upon the points in controversy between 
 the Church of Eome and that of England. No 
 doubt the gentle excitement and enthusiasm 
 attendant upon this incident had an effect upon 
 the susceptible and enthusiastic boy, and directed 
 his thoughts to serious subjects. A year later he 
 made his first communion — that most touching 
 
26 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 of incidents in the child-life of France. It was 
 in the Church of St Thomas Aquinas, in the Kue 
 du Bac — the church in which he heard his last 
 mass, and which was associated with his entire 
 life — that he received those instructions prepara- 
 tory to the first communion, which in France are 
 given to all the children of the parish together 
 assembled, and which are much more publicly 
 important than any religious instruction con- 
 veyed to children among ourselves. There the 
 little crowd met who were to move the world, 
 and influence it during so many succeeding years 
 — forming ties to the place and locality which 
 help to explain, even among those indiffer- 
 ent to religion, the attachment of Frenchmen 
 to their capital : for few Frenchmen, how- 
 ever irreligious, look back upon this period of 
 their lives with anything but reverential and 
 softened feeling ; and to Charles de Monta- 
 lembert it was a delight often repeated, a new 
 link both in love and friendshijD, to find that 
 those whom he attached to him in after-life 
 had shared those instructions in the same parish, 
 and had the same associations with the homely 
 church which he loved all his life. 
 
 He was fourteen before his interrupted edu- 
 cation was really resumed. At this time the 
 Abbe Nicolle, head of the College Rollin or 
 
HIS YOUTH. 27 
 
 Sainte-Barbe, who probably bad been attracted 
 privately by tbe intelligence of the neglected boy, 
 or touched by his own unusual sense of loss of 
 time, interfered with his parents on his behalf; 
 and he began to study with some regularity 
 under the care of M. Gobert, one of the pro- 
 fessors of the College Henri lY. — M. Mcolle 
 examining him from time to time to judge of 
 the progress he made. Of one of these examina- 
 tions Charles records that M. NicoUe expressed 
 himself satisfied : " which is more than I am 
 myself," adds the boy. This tone of self-clis- 
 satisfaction indeed runs throuo:h all the childish 
 journal, which, however, conveys no impression 
 of a discontented or unpleasantly precocious 
 boy, but is, on the contrary, full of external 
 matters, • cheerfully material and practical, re-' 
 cording sights seen and expeditions made — 
 though a soft little spiritual sigh, a sense that 
 he is not doing what it is most noble to do, 
 and that life is coming while he is not prepar- 
 ing for it, gives a higher sentiment to the whole. 
 Sometimes he is petulant and philosophical, as 
 when he describes the entry of Charles X. to 
 the Tuileries. He had to stand four hours 
 waiting, and vows that of his own will he will 
 never do so on any such ridiculous occasion 
 again ; and then he had to go to see the fire- 
 
28 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 works in the evening, notwithstanding that a 
 great deal of work neglected against his will 
 was waiting for him at home. " But according 
 to the old principle/' he adds, with precocious 
 sarcasm, " all that sort of thing is secondary." 
 On another occasion he says, with fine scorn, 
 that he is supposed to require distraction, and 
 is accordingly dragged into folly and idleness, as 
 if these could be any enjoyment to him ! And 
 then the boy pauses to reflect, saying to him- 
 self that he is now in the vestibule of the world, 
 waiting till the door shall open, and that he 
 must have patience. Nothing can be more 
 interesting; than this self - communion of the 
 little lonely soul, pursuing with a devotion and 
 fidelity, of which he himself is only half-con- 
 scious, the best and highest aims; yet never 
 with any unhealthy fever of zeal — always 
 happily capable of being drawn away to a new 
 marvel — with bright wondering eyes always 
 ready to note and observe everything that 
 comes in his way, be it museum or country 
 walk, ancient chateau or bustling seaport. 
 This curious mixture of the practical and ideal, 
 this power of interesting himself in everything, 
 yet through all turning ever with a noble vision- 
 ary impatience to loftier things, remained one 
 of his most striking peculiarities all his life. 
 
HIS YOUTH. 29 
 
 Such a disposition, however, is very strange 
 in a child ; and there is something at once 
 amusing and touching in the picture drawn by 
 his own hand of this young figure standing 
 " where the brook and river meet," longing to 
 push on that soft-moving chariot of the Days 
 and Years, and dash into the bright and busy 
 life of which this was but the vestibule. Never 
 anxious courtier waited more impatiently before 
 the door of his place-dispensing master than 
 the little Charles waited outside that gate 
 which admitted, after all, only into another ves- 
 tibule — the chamber of education, which so many 
 of his ao'e elude with all their mio-ht. How he 
 fumes at the importunate and ceaseless gaieties 
 which keep drawing him away from it ! Some- 
 times he is carried off to the theatre, and is 
 amused and forgets himself; but in society in 
 the evenings yawns his weary head off, and 
 frets against the silken bondage. By himself 
 he reads, and keeps a chronicle of his reading, 
 making up as he best can for the want of aid 
 in those private studies, and with a naive and 
 delio:htful conscientiousness, writino; down his 
 opinions of all the authors he reads, new and old, 
 delivering judgment upon Sallust and Tacitus, 
 'upon Shakespeare and Kacine and Corneille, 
 with a delicious simplicity. The earliest critical 
 
30 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 record of his reading — dated from '23 to '25, 
 between his thirteenth and fifteenth years — gives 
 also a careful summary of many modern books ; 
 but the boy's verdict upon the greater writers 
 is more amusing in its straiohtforward decisive- 
 ness. He makes even a little cataloo[ue of the 
 plays of Shakespeare, by way of expressing his 
 verdict more clearly. The " Tempest " he finds 
 "sublime in some parts, but in others ridiculous.'' 
 The " Midsummer Night's Dream" (he was too 
 young, no doubt, to enter into the humour of 
 Bottom) un peu ennuyeux. " Twelfth Night" 
 he finds " mediocre," but ^' King Lear" is " sub- 
 lime." " Hamlet," " divine ; " and he describes 
 " Othello " as " too touchins;." Strangle little 
 simple record, perfectly modest, yet full of a 
 boy's natural confidence in that fresh vision of 
 his, which made everything new by looking 
 upon it with such bran-new, shining, not-to- 
 be-wearied eyes ! 
 
 In this book, too, there is a little touch which 
 shows his yet wavering nationality, not quite 
 settled between the French, which had as it were 
 swallowed him up, and that dear English, which 
 had begun to grow dim, yet still confused him 
 a little in the use of certain idioms, and breathed 
 a certain faint fragrance into his speech all his 
 life. After giving an analysis of a serious work 
 
HIS YOUTH. 31 
 
 upon English law, the boy not quite fifteen adds 
 with some solemnity, " Few works have pro- 
 duced so much impression upon me as this. 
 It has convinced me of ivliat I had long sus- 
 loected, that England is the first nation in the 
 world." 
 
 It was thus that the gentle days passed on 
 while the boy waited in that vestibule. How 
 much longer they are, those early days, than 
 the busier ones that follow ! so much time in 
 them — time for work, and for readincr and 
 criticism and worlds of reflection ; and then 
 one's fifteenth year is a year so important in 
 one's life ! He muses upon this with an im- 
 pression of solemn responsibility in which there 
 is a certain awe. Probably, he thinks, the 
 work and conduct of this year will decide his 
 success or non-success at college, and by that 
 means afiect his whole career. The final and 
 momentous date of his entry at college seems to 
 have been somewhere about the time when he 
 was sixteen. He went to the College Sainte- 
 Barbe, of which the Abb^ NicoUe, his friend, 
 was the head. Though in his later days he 
 concurred in the opinion of many of his contem- 
 poraries that the influence of such schools was 
 very bad, especially in respect to religion, u]3on 
 the boys educated in them, yet he himself seems 
 
32 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 to have been very happy in his college."^'" He 
 was permitted apparently many privileges, as the 
 son of a peer of France, at once in favour at 
 Court and popular outside, had a good chance 
 to be — and formed some warm friendships there 
 which lasted all his life. The dearest and closest 
 of these — a friendship most touching, steady, 
 and faithful — was that which united him to M. 
 Leon Cornudet, a gentleman whose influence 
 over him in the early part of his life was very 
 great, and whose sympathy, interest, and affec- 
 tion never deserted him. M. Cornudet still has 
 in his possession a document which he guards as 
 one of his chief treasures, a solemn act of self- 
 consecration, by which the two lads bound them- 
 selves to God and each other to serve their 
 country to the utmost extent of their power, 
 and to give all their lives and talents to the 
 cause of " God and freedom." This solemn 
 league and covenant was Charles de Montalem- 
 bert's work and suggestion. He was seventeen 
 when it was executed ; and in the fervour of 
 his feelings he desired to sign it with his blood. 
 
 * The reader wiU pardon us for using the words school and 
 college indifferently. Among the French there is no such dis- 
 tinction as exists between ourselves between school and univer- 
 sity in training youth. Education is completed at the Lycee or 
 college, which is in connection with the University, and con- 
 trolled by it. 
 
HIS YOUTH. 33 
 
 M. Corniidet, however, less ectliusiastic tliaii 
 his young companion, suggested to him that 
 blood thus drawn was not like blood shed upon 
 a battle-field for a great cause, with which there 
 might have been good reason to sign such a 
 dedication ; and accordingly the two names are 
 appended in ordinary ink to this remarkable 
 document.'" It is remarkable not only as show- 
 ing the fervour of the young mind so early- 
 wise and anxious to devote itself to God's ser- 
 vice, but the extraordinary unity of the life 
 which till its latest day was moved and con- 
 trolled by the ruling principle, the master-pas- 
 sion which thus came into its being in earliest 
 youth. God, his country, and freedom — this was 
 the device which he had already taken up. It 
 is the music to which his whole life was set. 
 
 It was when he was seventeen that this bond 
 was made ; and in the very beginning of this 
 year we find, among various meditations in his 
 commonplace-book, the following words, dated 
 22d April 1827:— 
 
 " God and liberty — these are the two prin- 
 cipal motive - powers of my existence. To 
 
 * We are prevented from printing tbis engagement by the 
 very natural desire of M. Cornudet to give it himself to the 
 world, along with the collection of youthful letters which he is 
 at present publishing in the ' Contemporain.' 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
34 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 reconcile these two perfections shall be the 
 aim of my life." 
 
 The comment upon this profession of faith 
 is scarcely less interesting than itself. It is 
 evident that Montalembert in later life went 
 over all these youthful records with that half- 
 amused, half- melancholy affectionate pleasure 
 with which we all trace the odd doings and 
 sayings of that strange being who was ourself. 
 Upon this he has written in red ink, his 
 favourite way of calling attention to any 
 special page, the simple remark " D^ja ! ! I " 
 One can fancy with what tender, pleased recol- 
 lections of the sweet youth which was past, 
 with what a sense of touching unity, with 
 what smiles and moistened eyes, this was done. 
 
 The two young friends who sealed their 
 youthful friendship by the solemn covenant 
 which we have described, went together, as soon 
 as they had done it, to the communion-table, 
 where they knelt together, adding the sanctity 
 of a sacrament to the vow they had made. In 
 the heart of the big lycee, full of boyish levity 
 and indifference to everything that resembled re- 
 ligion, they sustained and supported each other 
 in the more serious and nobler way of thinking, 
 which was so rare at the period. In these days 
 there was nothing like popular religion in France. 
 
HIS YOUTH. 35 
 
 There is not miieli now, perhaps, the reader will 
 think; but Lacordaire and Montalembert have 
 both lived their lives since then, and the classes 
 immediately under their influence, if no others, 
 have changed in many respects since the days 
 when it was a wonder to hear of a man, and 
 especially of a young man, that he professed 
 Christian sentiments. These two were the leaven 
 of the new generation in Sainte - Barbe ; and 
 they clung together with all the enthusiasm for 
 religion and for each other which distinguishes 
 the young convert in the first warmth of his 
 feelings. How warm these Christian feelings 
 were, and how tender was this mixture of youth- 
 ful piety and social affectionateness, may be 
 perceived from the following extract taken 
 from the same book, and dated in the same 
 year, 1827 : — 
 
 " How sweet is prayer ! and, above all, prayer 
 for our friends ! What a charm there is in this 
 conversation, sanctified by the presence of God, 
 with all we love ! For my own part, I know 
 no more efiectual consolation, no pleasure more 
 attractive, than to gather round me in my 
 little cell at Sainte-Barbe all who possess my 
 love and respect, to unite myself to those 
 whom distance and difi*erent circumstances 
 separate from me, to transport myself thus, all 
 
o 
 
 6 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 at once, into the midst of a beloved circle, and 
 to recompense their bounty for me by my humble 
 prayer for them at the foot of the throne of the 
 Almighty/' 
 
 These pious thoughts, however, are not the 
 only ones that fill his mind. In the same 'petite 
 cellule de Sainte-Barhe, the musing youth feels 
 the fire of patriotism kindling in his soul. 
 *' Mourir pour la patrie 1 " he cries on one occa- 
 sion, j)i"obably moved by the sound of the air 
 called by that name, into sudden realisation of 
 the sentiment. " To die for one's country is fine, 
 but to live for one's country is better ; " and then 
 he goes on to reflect what a true patriot ought 
 to do. To sacrifice all his personal likings and 
 vanities for his great object ; neither to seek the 
 favour of the mob nor to fear its wrath ; to serve 
 a prince even who may have treated him ill, if 
 that is for his country's advantage ; to be able 
 to bear adversity for her sake, — such are a few 
 of the duties he thinks incumbent on a patriot. 
 Already it is evident the boy was Avise enough 
 to see that a Frenchman who would serve France 
 had many discouragements before him, and might 
 have to serve her Avith the enforced and painful 
 patience of those who only stand and wait. It 
 is not to be supposed that any shadow of his 
 own future was already hovering over him in 
 
HIS YOUTH. 37 
 
 his petite cellule ; but already his much-in- 
 quiring, much-pondering soul had begun to in- 
 terrogate the future as well as the past, and to 
 prepare itself for all the situations which his 
 imagination foresaw. 
 
 Thus Charles de Montalembert lived and 
 moved and grew, in the curious, profane, semi- 
 monastic life of the great i^ension, governed 
 after a fashion so different from the schools with 
 which we are acquainted. In the full maturity 
 of his life, when he described the free existence 
 of an English public school to his countrymen, 
 he made a contrast which will recur to many a 
 reader's mind between Eton and the " univer- 
 sitarian barrack " in which he himself was 
 trained. " What a difference,'' he says, " be- 
 tween this place and the houses where we were 
 educated — true prisons walled up between two 
 streets in Paris, everywhere surrounded by roofs 
 and chimneys, with two rows of miserable trees 
 in the midst of a paved or gravelled court, and a 
 wretched walk every week or fortnight among 
 the suburban lanes ! " It is difficult, however, to 
 imagine an Eton boy of the present period keep- 
 ing such a journal ; but the times have changed, 
 and perhaps the difference between '27 and '70 
 is almost as great as that between France and 
 England. His letters to his young friend Cornu- 
 
38 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 det are very unlike tliose wliicli we can imagine 
 to be sent by an English youth of seventeen to 
 another. Here is a description at once of 
 friendship and of patriotism which shows the 
 ardour, the high sentiment, and eager hopes 
 with which he entered life : — 
 
 " Our union '' (he writes) " will be sanctified 
 by religion — without that it would be vanity 
 and nothingness. We will show to the world 
 that it is possible to be Christians without 
 being retrograde in mind, and to serve God 
 with the noble humility of freemen. Our 
 political opinions are the same. We are pre- 
 pared to live for freedom and our country, or 
 perhaps more easily to die for them. If Pro- 
 vidence calls me to a life less tranquil and 
 more brilliant than yours, I will seek with you 
 rest and true happiness. We will redouble our 
 joys and lessen our misfortunes by sharing them. 
 If we are powerful and happy, friendship will 
 increase our wellbeing ; if we are poor, hated, 
 and despised, we shall find another world in the 
 heart of a friend. I whom no one understands, 
 who am devoured by an indefinable restlessness, 
 have yet sufficient egotism to burden you with 
 my friendship, and to force you to interest 
 yourself in one whom you scarcely know ; but 
 
HIS YOUTH. 39 
 
 you know that friendship is the only movement 
 of the soul in lohich excess is permissible. For 
 my part I give myself up to that excess, too 
 happy to think that your \Yisdom will preserve 
 me from every other/' 
 
 Such was the immense estimate which this 
 young visionary had formed of the uses of 
 friendship. 
 
 And with all its drawbacks, this life at school 
 was a happy life to him, as to most men. He 
 was allowed an unusual degree of freedom ; and, 
 his father having by this time left Paris as am- 
 bassador to Sweden, was permitted to pass his 
 occasional holidays with the friends of his family, 
 to visit them now and then in the evening, and 
 to keep up his acquaintance with the outside 
 world. Sometimes even he visited the Cham- 
 ber of Peers, and listened to the debates, no 
 doubt with many thoughts of the time when he 
 too would take his place there. He found their 
 discussions, however, " frightfully commonplace" 
 — " dune mediocrite effrayante ; '^ and though 
 perhaps not sufficiently enlightened to perceive 
 the new troubles in store for France, and which 
 were slowly ripening towards the Eevolution of 
 July, yet it is evident that already he had made 
 the discovery that many difficulties were likely 
 
40 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 to beset his own path, and that of his com- 
 panions who felt with him. The clergy, he com- 
 plained, did not understand the spirit of the times. 
 " What shall I do ? " he cried, after some reflec- 
 tions of this kind. " What will become of me — 
 how shall I reconcile my ardent patriotism with 
 my attachment to religion '? '' Thus the great 
 problem of his life had already dawned upon 
 him. Amid all these reflections, however, we 
 do not hear very much of his studies.'''' Like 
 
 * It may he interesting to the reader to know exactly what 
 these studies were. The routine was as follows : " He rose at 
 four o'clock. At half-past four he studied alternately Greek 
 philosophy in Xenophon, and German history in Pfeffel. From 
 six to half-past seven, after a short interval of reading, which 
 he gave up to a poet, he did his task of mathematics. At half- 
 past seven came breakfast and recreation with his fellow-stu- 
 dents. From eight to ten a mathematical class, followed by 
 recreation for half an hour. From half-past ten to a quarter 
 past twelve, study or class of physics. Then dinner. At a 
 quarter to one, a lesson of chemistry twice a-week on Tuesdays 
 and Fridays ; on the other days recreation, in company with 
 a friend. From two o'clock to a quarter past four, a class of 
 philosophy. At a quarter past four, tea {gouter) and recreation. 
 From five to six, reading of philosophical works. From six to 
 half-past seven, study of the philosophy lesson. At half-past 
 seven recreation, or study continued in his own room. At half- 
 past eight, supper and prayers. At nine o'clock our young col- 
 ledan, having returned to his own room, read a Greek or Latin 
 poet, and afterwards studied Greek history in Thucydides or 
 Xenophon until ten o'clock. From ten till eleven it was the 
 turn of German history in Pfeffel or Schiller, On Sundays there 
 was a lesson of Greek and the reading of Plato." This account 
 of a life almost incredibly laborious, is taken from an article by 
 M. Foisset in the ' Correspondant ' of the 25th May 1872. 
 
HIS YOUTH. 41 
 
 many otlier young men of genius, lie does not 
 seem to have been attracted by the routine of 
 classical drill, which is the same for all tem- 
 peraments and constitutions. He had done his 
 Latin badly, " as always," he complains on one 
 occasion ; his mind and thoughts were busy 
 about other things. 
 
 The duties of a patriot and the duty of a 
 Christian, and how to harmonise these two, 
 were the questions that occupied him chiefly; 
 and it is apparent that the vagueness and 
 indecision of his mind in respect to his own 
 career had already begun to oppress him. A 
 French nobleman has not the clear and patent 
 path of public life before him like an English- 
 man — his title is a doubtful advantage, his 
 means not sufficient in most cases to make him 
 a power in his country ; and revolution had de- 
 prived the Montalemberts even of that local 
 establishment which helps more or less in the 
 decision of a man's fate. Charles had no in- 
 clination towards the diplomatic career adopted 
 by his father ; he was not disposed towards 
 soldiering, like the most of his race ; and from 
 the quiet retreat of Sainte-Barbe, and through 
 all its innocent enjoyments, he regards thought- 
 fully, somewhat anxiously, the world he must 
 so soon enter, and in which he is determined to 
 
42 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 play a man's part. The straightforward sim- 
 plicity and openness of the journal betray the 
 boy to us as few boys ever betray themselves. 
 His innocent eyes, with a little curve of pre- 
 mature care over them, are perpetually gazing 
 out of that petite cellule, sometimes with the 
 exaggerated sadness of youthful disappoint- 
 ment, always with an eagerness which is wistful 
 and full of uncertainty. Already, though all 
 his natural relationships remained to him, the 
 conviction had entered his mind that his future 
 must be of his own making, and that his pecu- 
 liar hopes and ambitions were not of a kind to 
 insure the sympathy of the ambassador's gay 
 household. Thus to a certain extent he felt 
 himself alone in the world. Perhaps he exag- 
 gerated the feeling, with the well-known ten- 
 dency of poetic youth to indulge in the de- 
 lightful melancholy of superiority, and to feel 
 itself incompris ; for in everything the lad's aims 
 were fancifully high, and pleasant mediocrity 
 had no charm for him. In August 1828 he 
 announces suddenly that he has definitively 
 determined upon writing a great work on the 
 politics and philosophy of Christianity. This 
 grand idea at once elevates and comforts him, 
 all the more that it demands an immediate 
 sacrifice. He must give up the history and 
 
HIS YOUTH. 43 
 
 politics of his own time ! This he announces 
 abruptly, taking away our breath ; and then we 
 hear no more about it. Here, too, in the little 
 original journal the elder commentator has left 
 a smile upon the page in the shape of three notes 
 of admiration in red ink. This pleasant link 
 between the boy and the man may make the 
 reader smile too ; but there cannot be anything 
 but tenderness and sympathy in such a smile. 
 
 An instance, however, that he had by no 
 means given up the politics of his own time, 
 and that his interest in them was thoroughly 
 enlightened and independent, is furnished by 
 his friend Rio, the future historian of Christian 
 Art, then a young scholar and journalist, with 
 a career still more uncertain than that of the 
 Count de Montalembert's son could be. M. Eio's 
 friends, who were of the dominant party, and 
 who had been seeking some opportunity of serv- 
 ing him, found, as they thought, an admirable 
 way of doing this, on the promulgation in 1827 
 of a new law for the regulation of the press, by 
 which two censors were appointed to keep the 
 always rebellious newspapers of Paris in order. 
 Eio was named to this office, in conjunction with 
 Cuvier, — a conjunction so complimentary that 
 of itself it might have dazzled a young man. 
 He did not hesitate for a moment, however, to 
 
44 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 refuse tlie odious office, simultaneously witli the 
 distinoTiished colleague who had been intended 
 to share it. Amid the public plaudits which 
 this disinterested act procured him, he received, 
 M. Eio tells us, " many private congratulations, 
 the most precious of which to me were conveyed 
 in a letter written from the College of Sainte- 
 Barbe, by one of its pupils who was destined to 
 precocious fame.'^ The letter was as follows : — 
 
 " Madame de DavidofF has just told me, my 
 dear Eio, of the generosity you have shown in 
 this last business. Allow me as a friend to con- 
 gratulate you, and as a Frenchman to express 
 my gratitude. 
 
 " In place of certain pecuniary advantages 
 which so degrading a situation might have 
 brought you, you have acquired the esteem of 
 the nation, which, unfortunately, is of the oppo- 
 site party from the Government. I never could 
 have believed that you had accepted it, notwith- 
 standing the formidable authority of the *Moni- 
 teur.' Such an acceptance would have been a 
 real perversion. Ch. de Montalembert." 
 
 This little letter proves how real and vivid 
 was the interest which the young student of 
 seventeen took in the political movements of his 
 
HIS YOUTH. 45 
 
 time — at least, in so far as they were connected 
 with the character of his friends and the na- 
 tional freedom. 
 
 In the year 1828 he gained, at the general 
 concours, the first prize for a discours or 
 speech in French — we are not told on ^yhat 
 subject. This yearly concours is a contest be- 
 tween the best pupils of all the eight colleges 
 in Paris, and is therefore a much more im- 
 portant matter than the examination of one 
 particular school. The prize thus gained 
 would seem to have been his only great aca- 
 demical distinction. The following year he left 
 Sainte-Barbe. His disappointment at having no 
 prize to carry away with him on his departure 
 is expressed with the utmost boyish naivetSy 
 though he was now nineteen, not only feeling 
 himself a man, but expressing himself like an 
 enlightened one. He had not worked solely for 
 reward, he says, and yet a crown at the end of 
 the year would have been agreeable. This is 
 said in reference to the chaplet of laurel-leaves 
 which accompanies every -piize on the other 
 side of the Channel — a sort of decoration which 
 would fill an English schoolboy with profound 
 amaze and discouragement. Xot^dthstandinpr 
 the almost certainty of his non-success, young 
 Montalembert went to hear the names of the 
 
46 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 successful candidates at the concours read out, 
 and was more disappointed than the philosophy 
 of nineteen liked to allow. He felt it " a greater 
 misfortune than he had supposed " it would be, 
 and looked on sadly at the distribution of prizes, 
 wondering within himself if the successful can- 
 didates had really worked more studiously than 
 himself, and contrasting his present obscurity 
 with the glory of last year. This shadow in- 
 creased his melancholy at the moment of lea^dng 
 Sainte-Barbe, and breaking up all the associa- 
 tions of his youth. For some days he went 
 about with a heavy heart, thinking how happy 
 he had been, and what a transitory thing life 
 was, and feeling the future before him to be very 
 uninviting. Sainte-Barbe had not been Paradise, 
 any more than other mortal refuges are ; he 
 had complained much of the general apathy, 
 and had been forced to take refuge in the 
 society of two or three special friends among 
 all the careless lads surrounding him. But 
 when the last night came, and he thought over 
 his past years in the j^etite cellule which he was 
 about to leave, tears of that profound melancholy 
 which we smile at in after-years, but which is so 
 poignant while it lasts, filled his eyes. He went 
 back over all those tranquil days, full of pleas- 
 ant labour and duty and enthusiastic youthful 
 
HIS YOUTH. 47 
 
 friendship. His mind had developed in this 
 studious seclusion, and he had acquired a few 
 friends who were to him like brothers. But from 
 all of these good things, the work, the quiet, the 
 dear companions, he had now to tear himself, and 
 go away to a strange country, to become once 
 more a witness of "the profound uselessness of 
 life ! " Such were the thous^hts that filled his 
 mind in his last night at Sainte-Barbe. Sadly 
 his existence passed before him in this moment 
 of feelino;. Is it indeed true that life is nothino^ 
 but a succession of bonds made and broken, 
 of hearts torn asunder, he asks 1 And if it 
 has already proved so in this early period, what 
 will it be when youth is over and the real 
 stormy career of existence commenced, and 
 nothing left to stand between the boy and all 
 these realities that loom darkly around him ? 
 His eyes fill with tears as he thus bids 
 farewell to his youth. He begins to grow 
 old, he thinks — " Je me fais vieux ; " his 
 pleasures diminish, and his illusions are dis- 
 appearing day by day. Into this fantastic des- 
 pondency he drops deeper and deeper, musing 
 that, after all, even youth is of little account, 
 and leaping with visionary impatience to the 
 end of all, that Death which makes everything 
 clear. No doubt much of this was the mood 
 
48 ' HIS YOUTH. 
 
 of the moment, elevated into the grief of a life, 
 as youth and journal-keeping have a tendency 
 to do ; but it is at the same time perfectly real, 
 and shows what warmth of feeling was in the 
 lad's solitary heart. 
 
 It was Sweden, as we have said, which was 
 the place of his banishment — where a gay and 
 lively existence awaited him, which it is strange 
 to find so uncongenial at his age. But gaiety 
 and idleness seem to have been the hetes noires 
 of his mind, and he foresaw that henceforward 
 he should have no means of escaping from them. 
 The letter which follows, and which was written 
 at Sainte-Barbe, throws some light upon his 
 distaste for society — which, after all, was not 
 for all society, but only that which he found 
 frivolous and unprofitable : — 
 
 " As I have told you, I have very rarely, I 
 might even say never, found pleasure in the 
 society which has been decorated with the name 
 of grand monde. ... I feel myself always out 
 of place there, a burden upon others, and only 
 too conscious of being a burden to myself. 
 Besides, I have a most just and reasonable 
 motive for not caring for society, which is, that 
 I lose my time in it ; and it seems to me rather 
 
HIS YOUTH. 49 
 
 hard to be obliged to do wbat is injurious to 
 me without even finding it agreeable. 
 
 " It is usual to say that youth is the time 
 which should be specially appropriated to the 
 pleasures of society. I look upon this opinion 
 as a complete paradox. It seems to me, on the 
 contrary, that youth should be given up with 
 ardour to study, or to preparation for a profes- 
 sion. Ah ! when one has paid one's tribute to 
 one's country ; when it is possible to appear in 
 society crowned with the laurels of the debate 
 or of the battle-field, or at least of universal 
 esteem ; when one is sure of commanding respect 
 and admiration everywhere, — then is the time to 
 like society, and to enter it with satisfaction. 
 I can imagine Pitt or Fox coming out of the 
 House of Commons where they had struck their 
 adversaries dumb by their eloquence, and enjoy- 
 ing a dinner-party. I can imagine Grattan 
 amusing himself, after fifty years of glory, play- 
 ing hide-and-seek with children. But for an 
 obscure and unknown individual, lost in the 
 crowd of other men, or at the best numbered 
 only among the elegants who feel themselves 
 obliged to wander every evening into three or 
 four houses where they are half stifled under 
 pretence of enjoying themselves, I see neither 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 pleasure nor honour in it. I see only a cul- 
 pable loss of time, and mortal weariness." 
 
 The description of his journey is given in full 
 detail; everything was new to him, and he 
 took an interest, notwithstanding that never-to- 
 be-cured despondency, in all he saw. First of 
 all came the quaint old towns of Belgium, with 
 their clean streets and busy people, and the 
 tinkling cheerful carillon, which notes the pas- 
 sage of the hours; then Holland, stranger still, 
 with masts mingling among the church towers 
 and steeples, and everything clean and flat and 
 monotonous. Throughout the whole length of 
 the way the indefatigable lad scarcely spares us 
 a village ; there is something to be seen every- 
 where — at the very least, a pretty face at a door- 
 way, a piece of costume, an effect of light or 
 shade — something to show that his young eyes 
 noted everything. On his arrival in Sweden 
 he was plunged at once, as he had divined, into 
 all the distractions of society. At this point of 
 his story we have a little glimpse, unintentional 
 on his part, of his personal manners and the 
 impression he made on strangers, which is amus- 
 ing enough. We all know what a veil of stiff 
 solemnity, made up of youthful shyness and lofty 
 scorn for conventionality, is apt to hang about 
 
HIS YOUTH. 51 
 
 the young university man among ourselves, 
 wlio is conscious of higli aims and destitute of 
 any lively sense of humour. When the am- 
 bassador's studious son, full of serious thoughts, 
 and hating the frivolity round him, appeared, 
 against his will, in that gay circle, the Swedish 
 ladies smiled aside and made gentle gibes at the 
 stilted grandeur of the jeune homme superieur. 
 Some time afterwards, when he had made friends 
 among his new surroundings, one of the cleverest 
 and most charming of these ladies, the Comtesse 
 d'Uofo;las, confided to him the fact that she had 
 
 CO ' 
 
 thought him pedant et altier. "Pedant et altier ! " 
 Young Montalembert pondered with much vex- 
 ation over these words. He *had the keenest 
 sense of the ludicrous, and a mind most suscep- 
 tible even to the gentlest ridicule. And he had 
 been very splendid in his young superiority — 
 he had condescended to note his partner at a 
 ball as " an excellent young person ; '' he had 
 attempted to lead the conversation to higher 
 subjects, even in the midst of quadrilles and 
 nonsense. It is easy to conceive the intense 
 blush of shame which this private bit of infor- 
 mation gave him. But the reader does not like 
 him less that he thus exhibits now and then the 
 imperfections of his age. 
 Notwithstanding, however, this grand youthful 
 
52 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 superiority, we find an extremely lively sketch of 
 the Swedish court in this portion of the journal. 
 Bernadotte, the one strong stock of soldier- 
 royalty which took root under the first Napoleon, 
 stands out in full relief from the youth's descrip- 
 tions. The successful soldier of fortune, taking up 
 with double energy all the old tyrannical tradi- 
 tions of the dynasty he had displaced, liberal in 
 nothing, hard-hearted and hard-headed, yet with 
 a certain swagger of false humility, is set before 
 us in a few vigorous touches. " The king is a true 
 Gascon," says the young observer, and proves 
 his assertion by the following characteristic 
 anecdote : " The king told my father that he 
 considered himself the natural subject of Charles 
 X., and that, should that monarch ever require 
 his services, he would leave his throne to his 
 son, and hasten, a simple soldier, to offer his 
 sword to his native sovereign/' This is very 
 fine Gascon indeed, and the Montalemberts, 
 father and son, were both of them very capable 
 of perceiving the twinkle in the eye of the wily 
 old Free Lance who thus hoped to impose upon 
 them. The trooper monarch and his wife, who 
 had been an innkeeper's daughter before becoming 
 a queen, were not exactly calculated, perhaps, to 
 bring the lighter graces of a court to perfection ; 
 and the young critic gives a comical sketch of a 
 
HIS YOUTH. 53 
 
 soiree, the domestic delights of which were sud- 
 denly put a stop to by their arrival, after which 
 event it became royalement ennuyeuse. To tell 
 the truth, except on the occasions when he meets 
 the charming Madame d'Ugglas or one of her 
 immediate circle, he finds society in general still 
 far from gay. With something between a yawn 
 and a sigh he describes the soirees assommantes, 
 the beds ennuyeiix, to which he is dragged about 
 aorainst his will. He was still in "that stao^e of 
 boyhood when the grave youth does not dance, 
 and looks with mingled envy and scorn upon 
 those who do ; and there is an amusing description 
 of a ball at the French Embassy for which the 
 family and its friends make vast preparations — 
 preparations in which he is compelled to join. 
 The ladies take him in hand, and teach him how 
 to bear his part in a special quadrille, which 
 " we are to have the absurdity of dancing before 
 the king and queen," and which at length goes 
 off very well, he confesses, with a mixture 
 of shame and satisfaction. Never was a 
 pleasanter picture of the boy, full of splendid 
 intellectual assumptions yet perfect simplicity, 
 awkward, standing on his dignity, flushing with 
 foolish boyish shame, suffering poignant agonies 
 of self-criticism ; then yielding gradually, with- 
 out knowing it, to the charm of women's society. 
 
54 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 finding himself at last understood, with a glow 
 of delight, and becoming manageable and amen- 
 able even to the bondage of balls. Through all 
 these fluctuations he shows himself to us una- 
 wares with the most delightful candour. Youth, 
 with all its foolishnesses and generosities, is 
 fragrant upon every page. 
 
 While thus, however, he allowed himself to 
 be gently drawn into the pleasant scenes around 
 him, young Montalembert departed in no single 
 point from the higher and graver aims of his life. 
 He made out a scheme of intellectual w^ork for 
 himself immediately on his arrival in Stockholm. 
 He studied the institutions of Sweden with a 
 gravity and interest afterwards manifested in his 
 long and elaborate article on the subject, which 
 was published in the following year. During the 
 course of these latter studies he pauses to reflect 
 in his journal with indignant wonder upon the 
 curious servility of the nation which had accepted 
 a new dynasty with all the errors and j)rejudices 
 of the old, and without its glorious traditions 
 and recollections. Everywhere he thus brings 
 the past to bear upon the present, keeping up 
 between history and politics that natural con- 
 nection which is of such service to both ; but 
 at the same time it is the lessons and not the 
 prejudices of the past that fill his mind, — and 
 
HIS YOUTH. 55 
 
 no ancient patriot could have been more close 
 and bold in bis adberence to tbe sacred cause 
 of Liberty — notwitbstanding all tbe personal 
 disadvantages of ber supporters for tbe moment, 
 and all tbe sacred and beautiful associations 
 tbat lingered over tbe past, in wbicb sbe 
 scarcely existed — tban was tbis young son of 
 tbe emigration, born to royalism as to religion. 
 Tbe following letter, addressed to M. Eio, will 
 sbow bow well be could combat political de- 
 spondency in otbers, altbougb be was by no 
 means superior to its assaults in bis own 
 person : — 
 
 " Do not, I beseecb you, abandon yourself to 
 tbat political discouragement wbicb Burke justly 
 calls tbe most fatal of all maladies. Do not 
 despair of tbe cause wbicb you bave adopted, 
 or give up sound principles because a generation 
 witbout faitb and witbout soul seems to dis- 
 bonour tbem by its pretended attacbment. I 
 perceive tbat you are overwbelmed by tbe ab- 
 solute want of entbusiasm and political faitb, 
 by tbe miserable individualism wbicb seems to 
 strengtben every day. But tell me, my dear 
 friend, is it by going back upon tbe past tbat 
 you will find a remedy for tbis melancboly state 
 of affairs '? Do you bope to serve your country 
 by associating yourself witb men wbose aim, and 
 
56 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 the intellectual direction of whose political feel- 
 ings, are quite different from your own '? Ought 
 you not rather to endeavour to put yourself at 
 the head of the existing movement, to master 
 it, to direct it in the good Avay, to show that 
 religious faith is not a power that holds back 
 {puissance retardatrice), that its progress is less 
 timid, and much less uncertain, than that of 
 merely rational independence. ... In order 
 that Catholicism may triumph, it must have 
 liberty as its ally, as its tributary. I am con- 
 vinced that a day will come when this great 
 work will be accomplished. We may not see 
 that day, but at least let us not retard it." 
 
 Strange words for an observer so young; and 
 containing the whole hope and inspiration of 
 his life. 
 
 Montalembert made another friend at Stock- 
 holm, whose influence, acting through him, had 
 so much effect upon Eio that he dedicates several 
 pages in his Epilogue to an explanation of how 
 this influence, at second-hand, directed his life, by 
 turning him towards the Catholic philosophers 
 of Germany, and adding, as it were, another 
 side to his existence. On Montalembert the 
 same influence seems to have acted less power- 
 fully, though it afi"ected him likewise with de- 
 lighted surprise to find a priest as much inter- 
 
HIS YOUTH. 57 
 
 estecl in pliilosophical science as any secular 
 thinker, and qualified to take up, elevate, and 
 extend the studies which M. Victor Cousin (then 
 his chief intellectual adviser, and who appears 
 to have taken much interest in his beoinnino; 
 life, though afterwards one of his warmest oppo- 
 nents) had urged upon him, but which, being 
 purely rationalistic in their tendency, had not 
 attracted him. "I am reading Kant, whom 
 I find horribly difficult," he vn:ote to Eio. " M. 
 Cousin recommended me to give myself up 
 entirely to this study; but I shall not follow his 
 advice. I have made a precious discovery here 
 — that of a Catholic priest who is at the same 
 time a philosopher, and who believes that faith 
 may be reached by knowledge. His toleration 
 is as great as his science. He has revealed 
 to me the existence of a numerous school in 
 the universities of the south of Germany, in 
 Vienna, Munich, and Landshut, which has set 
 itself to combine philosophy with religion — 
 a thought which has always governed my 
 own philosophical studies. The chiefs of this 
 school are Zimmer and Baader, the latter a 
 Catholic theologian and disciple of the great 
 Schelling, who is so ill understood in France.'^ 
 
 This gentleman, however, the Abb^ Studach, 
 though an interesting figure amongst his youth- 
 
i58 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 ful recollections, and a friend to whom he con- 
 tinued faithful as long as he lived, does not 
 seem to have exercised any great practical sway 
 over Montalembert's thoughts. He was fond of 
 philosophy, but it was not his special subject. 
 Much more important to him was an influence 
 of a totally different kind, which now came into 
 marked prominence in his life. Among the books 
 which had influenced him most, according to 
 the account of M. Eio, were the speeches of 
 Burke and of Grattan. "The last above all,'' 
 he says, "as the unwearied champion of the 
 greatest of causes, acquired rapidly the grandeur 
 of the hero of a crusade to the eyes of his young 
 admirer, whose enthusiasm, heightened day by 
 day by the fame of O'Connell's patriotic ora- 
 tions, led him a little later to make an excur- 
 sion, full of attractions for him, into the country 
 of that great man." 
 
 His interest in Ireland, thus begun by means 
 of his grandfather's library, was strengthened 
 by many causes, and gradually rose to supreme 
 importance in his mind. His birth and early 
 training: had made the concerns of the British 
 Isles almost as important to him as those of his 
 own country; and he took a hot and eager inte- 
 rest in England's faults as well as in her virtues. 
 And the very air had been ringing for some time 
 
HIS YOUTH. 59 
 
 back with tlie echoes of that great struggle for 
 Catholic emancipation which ended in victory 
 for the Catholic cause. O'Connell, the first great 
 visible example of Liberal politics joined with a 
 thorough devotion to Catholic principles, had just 
 carried everything before him ; and his advent 
 and work had moved foreign lookers-on still more 
 profoundly than it moved those who were nearer 
 at hand. So singular a figure in the political 
 world attracted the attention of all good Catho- 
 lics, and more especially of those who were in- 
 clined towards Liberal opinions; and our young 
 enthusiast, prepared by the course of reading we 
 have just indicated, regarded, it is evident, the 
 Irish demagogue with much of that warm sym- 
 pathy and reverential feeling with which he 
 would have regarded a national prophet and 
 hero. Ireland had, indeed, many claims upon 
 the interest and compassion of good Catholics 
 everywhere. She was the one faithful among 
 the little band of isles which the Continent has 
 always looked upon with curious, half-admiring, 
 wholly-wondering eyes, never sure of compre- 
 hending what they would be at. And Ireland 
 was not only faithful, but she had suffered for her 
 faith. She was the only Catholic nation, except 
 perhaps Poland, which could be said to be 
 persecuted. The sympathy which she has thus 
 
60 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 attracted has at all times been a matter of sur- 
 prise, and even of offence, to the English, mind ; 
 but it is perfectly natural in itself Distant 
 spectators could not be expected to know how 
 much harsher even the severest penalties inflic- 
 ted by exasperated Protestantism in her day of 
 power were in appearance than in reality ; and 
 heaven knows their appearance and letter of 
 law were as bad as anything could be. But if 
 Ireland was interesting even in her passive state, 
 while submitting to the many wrongs with 
 which England was charged, she was ten times 
 more interesting when she began to struggle for 
 her rights. The very fact of the struggle gave 
 her an additional claim upon the sympathies of 
 an age when political feelings were so strong, 
 and when the new fashion of indifference had 
 not yet come into use. The Constitutionalist 
 directed all his attention to the struggle, for it 
 was carried on by constitutional means ; the 
 Liberal followed it eagerly, for it was liberty 
 which was in question — and O'Connell and his 
 bands were wildly Liberal; and the Catholic 
 watched it with still more eager and devout 
 eyes, praying for the prosperity of so good, so 
 noble, so holy a cause. Thus it was not sur- 
 prising that young Montalembert, who loved 
 freedom better than anything in the world 
 
HIS YOUTH. 61 
 
 except the Church, should be moved beyond 
 measure by this great spectacle, this union of 
 profound faith and burning patriotism, the very 
 union he had dreamed of all his life as the 
 height of ideal perfection. This " island of the 
 saints,^' this "modern Palestine," in all the 
 purity of an exceptionally fervent religiousness, 
 had placed herself in the very van of the army 
 of liberty; and the young man's visionary soul 
 went out towards such an ideal champion of 
 faith and freedom with the warmest enthusiasm. 
 These enthusiastic emotions, acting upon a 
 mind which was full of intellectual activity and 
 eao'er for work, suo^o-ested the idea of a book 
 'which long occupied his fancy, though it was 
 never carried out. He made up his mind to 
 write a history of Ireland, partly founded upon 
 the works of Grattan, and which should include 
 many passages translated from these works; and 
 in order to do this as he ought, he decided that 
 a visit to Ireland was necessary. This notion, 
 which he entitles a projet adorable, filled him 
 with delight. Ireland, for the time, seems to 
 have possessed him. He could think and write 
 of nothing else. Plans for his journey, and for 
 the book which was to make that journey mem- 
 orable, filled his mind to the exclusion of all 
 other interests. When Catholic emancipation 
 
62 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 was granted, he became, if possible, still more 
 eager for bis expeclitioD, and bailed witb double 
 delight the great national act which not only, 
 as he says, gave deliverance to his Catholic 
 brethren, but was at the same time a great tri- 
 umph of justice, and the best guarantee of the 
 happiness and progress of England. He who 
 felt his English blood beat warmly in his veins 
 whenever England distinguished herself for 
 good or evil, and to whom no local enlighten- 
 ment had yet been given, bestowed his approval 
 as warmly as he had given his sympathy ; and 
 all his thoughts and hopes and plans tended 
 towards the execution of the projet adorable, 
 the independent exjDedition, which was to be 
 the beginning of his life. 
 
 This pleasant project, however, had to be 
 given up. It was done with a very sore heart, 
 and with feelings verging on despair. The 
 cause of the sacrifice was the failing health of 
 his sister, a young girl of fifteen, whom he had 
 scarcely known until his arrival at Stockholm. 
 Her sudden emergence out of the nursery into 
 the sweet individuality of girlhood, had given 
 him, on his arrival, a genuine thrill of pleasure ; 
 and he had then felt for the first time that some 
 compensation was possible to him for the loss 
 of the companions whom he had left behind in 
 
HIS YOUTH. 63 
 
 Paris. Througliout the brief story of his life in 
 Sweden there are many delightful references 
 to Elise, made with boyish affection and pride. 
 When she was confirmed, she seemed to her 
 brother " delicious in her white veil ; " and on 
 the occasion of the great ball at the French 
 Embassy, to which we have already referred, 
 one of the pleasantest details which he affords 
 is contained in the brief words, " Elise a heau- 
 coup hrille'' But this gentle Elise, so early 
 introduced into society, had already begun to 
 droop in the chilly northern air ; and after some 
 vague anxieties, which no one cared to particu- 
 larise, there suddenly came an order from the 
 physicians for her instant removal. This sudden 
 sentence changed everything. It would not 
 seem that Charles was himself affected by the 
 anxiety of his parents. At twenty death looks 
 so improbable, so unlikely, that it is evident the 
 reversal of his own plans affected him more 
 deeply than his sister's illness. There was no 
 one but he to escort Elise and her mother in 
 their toilsome journey across Germany, and the 
 necessity was irresistible ; but, it must be ad- 
 mitted, that he did not fulfil this duty with any 
 alacrity. It was ruin to his great scheme, to 
 which he . had already begun to attach exag- 
 gerated importance. He describes his proposed 
 
64 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 expedition to Ireland as a project to whicli all 
 the prospects of his future life attached them- 
 selves; and consequently gave it up only with a 
 deep pang. In the first shock he felt as if his 
 happiness, his career, and probably fame itself, 
 were all buried in the abyss which had sud- 
 denly opened at his feet, and, with youthful 
 petulance, blamed Providence, which could 
 scarcely have sent him a more poignant dis- 
 appointment. The ground, which had been 
 beginning to feel solid and firm under him, 
 again yawned and quivered, and he looked for- 
 ward with disgust and dismay, which he did not 
 attempt to conceal, to the months of idleness 
 which were now again probably before him. 
 
 In this spirit, not by any means contented or 
 resigned, young Montalembert set out with his 
 mother and sister to conduct them to France. 
 But soon these rebellious and dissatisfied thoughts 
 were changed for very different reflections. The 
 little party had ended one part of their jour- 
 ney, and traversed Germany, without, it is appa- 
 rent, any very grave apprehensions — when death 
 overtook them on the way. It was at Besangon, 
 just within French territory, that this fatal 
 event occurred. They had arrived in the even- 
 ing, and the young invalid was not worse than 
 usual. It was the 29th October, a day not to 
 
HIS YOUTH. 65 
 
 be forgotten. His sister had asked Charles to sit 
 up with her that night, but he had not been 
 permitted to do so, his mother thinking her 
 maid a more fitting watcher ; but in the middle 
 of the night he was called up suddenly, and, 
 rushing to the invalid's room, found her al- 
 ready in a hopeless condition, and beyond all 
 human succour. With heart-rending minute- 
 ness he goes over all the melancholy scene 
 — the sudden excitement and night-alarm, the 
 rushing to and fro, the strange doctors suddenly 
 called, the dreary strange inn roused up. For- 
 tunately, however, there were friends at hand. 
 The Cardinal de Rohan, Archbishop of Besan- 
 9on, hastened to carry the last sacraments to the 
 dying girl, and to give what consolation was pos- 
 sible to her- mother and brother. The circumstan- 
 ces were not so sad as those under which, ten 
 years before, he had been separated from his kind 
 grandfather ; but there was resemblance enough 
 to call up many a sad recollection ; and the loss 
 of this new and tender natural ajffection, just as 
 it had begun to warm his heart, was a great and 
 painful blow. The reader will easily imagine 
 the compunctions, the visionary remorse which 
 seized the young man, who had given up his 
 schemes so unwillingly to be Elise's escort 
 and companion. With his heart, as he thought, 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
66 HIS YOUTH. 
 
 broken, blaming himself for his carelessness 
 of her, and overwhelmed with his first grief, 
 he buried Elise in the strange place which 
 henceforward had the closest claim upon him. 
 Never was a sadder journey than that which 
 the mother and son, weeping and silent, pursued 
 together to Paris ; and thus he began the year 
 1830 — a year of many great events, and one 
 which, little as he then anticipated it, introduced 
 him to the excitements and stormy delights, the 
 disappointments and fatigues, of public life. 
 
67 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE YEAR 1830 — EXPEDITION TO lEELAND. 
 
 While this young life had been growing into 
 early maturity, France had been gradually ap- 
 proaching another crisis in the fatal cycle of 
 Eevolution — that vast and dangerous net in 
 which her feet had become entanoied. We are 
 
 o 
 
 not called upon here to enter into the politics of 
 the period,- which the subject of this memoir was 
 as yet too young to enter upon as an independent 
 agent; but it is impossible to exhibit fully the 
 one figure in which our interest centres, without, 
 at least, indicatino^ the backoTound ao^ainst which 
 it reveals itself, and the contendinof forces whose 
 conflict it was so soon to swell. For several 
 years the superficial and unconsidering world 
 had believed that the reign of an ordinary calm 
 routine of life had been resumed in France — 
 that the great and awful Eevolution, though it 
 had wrought immense damage, and produced 
 
68 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 some benefits, as storms do, was yet nothing but 
 a monstrous accident in history, a convulsion 
 which, from the very nature of things, and con- 
 stitution of humanity, could not be repeated. 
 The restoration of the Bourbons, though many 
 people felt it to be an anachronism, like the re- 
 storation of the Stuarts, had nevertheless been 
 accomplished, and Louis XVIII. had been fairly 
 faithful to the Constitution. The resemblance, 
 however, between these two families was fated 
 to be carried out almost to the last particular, 
 and history was preparing one of those signifi- 
 cant repetitions which occur now and then as 
 if to prove to men how short-sighted and un- 
 teachable, how little afi'ected by the examples 
 nearest to them, and unmoved by the bitterest 
 experience of others, they themselves are. The 
 first Bourbon, like the first Stuart, died peace- 
 fully on his unsteady throne, warning with his 
 last breath the brother who succeeded him — an 
 old man like himself, to whom a long reign 
 was impossible — to guard the crown for the baby 
 heir, who, most harmless of pretenders, has done 
 little from that time to this to agitate his coun- 
 try or the world. 
 
 But Charles X. was not the man to give 
 much heed to such advice. He was one of 
 those narrow, honest, royal men, who, being 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 69 
 
 absolutely certain they are right, are impervi- 
 ous, and inaccessible either to reason, patriot- 
 ism, or terror. It is not to kings alone that 
 this character belongs ; but there have been 
 so many kings of the type, that Tve may 
 safely accept them as its best representatives. 
 The new monarch, a good man in his way — 
 religious, honourable, and full of honest con- 
 viction — set himself steadfastly to the work 
 of annulling all the good that the Eevolution 
 had done, and shaking himself free of the con- 
 stitutional curb with which his free kingly action 
 had been restrained. Whether he intended to 
 restore society to its ante-Eevolution conditions 
 is a question it is impossible to answer, for time 
 was not given him to take more than the first 
 steps in that fatal way. He attacked the liberty 
 of the press with fierce vehemence, and, though 
 defeated by the calm and regular action of the 
 law, carried his assault to the last extremity ; 
 he interfered with the fundamental laws of the 
 representative system, arbitrarily proroguing and 
 then dismissins: a Parliament which disaorreed 
 with him ; and, finally, he had the boldness to 
 supersede Parliament altogether, and issue direct 
 ordinances of his own, putting deputies and 
 public alike at defiance. This was all the length 
 he was permitted to go. Had the country been 
 
70 THE YEAE 1830 — 
 
 tamer, he might have succeeded in imposing 
 upon her the yoke which twenty years later 
 was placed on her neck by a younger and more 
 resolute hand. But in 1830 there was a great 
 spring of political fervour in men's minds. The 
 heaving of the late storm had left still a certain 
 excitement and agitation in the atmosphere, a 
 readiness to take alarm and rouse into action 
 which men trained to long peace and the com- 
 posure of an undisturbed life seldom possess. 
 That generation, however, had no traditions of 
 quietness to keep it still. It had seen, or its im- 
 mediate parents had seen, the tremendous phan- 
 tasmagoria of revolution, the melting of heaven 
 and earth, the passing away of an old world 
 in blood and fire, the coming of a new, also 
 in blood and fire, the drunkenness of triumph 
 and the humiliation of conquest. Such a 
 tumultuous ebb and flow of emotion had 
 left France irritable and watchful ; and before 
 much harm had been done, before her Charter 
 — that sublime Charter which Charles de Mont- 
 alembert, aged twelve, had made his little 
 brother swear eternal fidelity to — had been 
 damaged except by an ineff"ectual attempt to 
 rend it asunder, the country was up, determined 
 to resist all such tyrannical interference. The 
 struggle had been going on while young Mont- 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 7l 
 
 alembert grew out of boyhood to the first 
 threshold of man's estate. Though he was 
 always deeply interested in all political move- 
 ments, it does not seem that this one moved 
 him very deeply. He was occupied with his 
 personal affairs, his anxiety about his own 
 career, and his personal grief. 
 
 There was, however, a new element also ris- 
 ing in the horizon, which was to excite his in- 
 terest to the utmost, and to affect his future life. 
 The French clergy had attached itself to the 
 monarchy with that persistence which has of 
 late linked the Church so often to a fallinof 
 cause. How the Church of Eome should have 
 so far forgotten her cunning, and that splendid 
 and far-sighted wisdom which once secured her 
 the highest position among secular powers, it is 
 difficult to tell; but at least her faithful ad- 
 herence to the ancient rules of government has 
 procured her many woes, and may gain her a 
 certain commendation for generosity, if for no- 
 thing else. In the case of France, however, this 
 clinging of the priesthood to the Crown is suffi- 
 ciently comprehensible on the simplest grounds 
 of reason ; for the Eevolution throughout had 
 been inimical to the Church, had persecuted 
 priests, and closed places of worship, and even 
 abolished religion, in its mad and momentary 
 
72 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 fever. It is hard to obtain, and indeed unreason- 
 able to expect, from any class, the power of im- 
 partially judging and appreciating the good qua- 
 lities of the antagonist class which has conquered, 
 persecuted, and cut it to pieces ; and, on the 
 other hand, it is but too natural that the spirit- 
 ual descendant of the priest who was silenced, 
 hunted down, and probably guillotined by the 
 Revolution, should regard the posterity of the 
 Revolution — the Liberals, who inherited its stan- 
 dard, and who were believed to inherit all its 
 principles — with a mixture of horror and terror. 
 The priesthood accordingly clung to the Crown, 
 feeling that by its aid alone could any resistance 
 be made to the common enemy. Nothing is 
 easier than to say that the instincts of the priest- 
 hood are always on the side of oppression — as 
 nothing, it seems to us, is more difficult than to 
 believe that an enormous body of men, most of 
 them friendly and well-meaning, to say the 
 least, towards their neighbour, should systemati- 
 cally prefer to see that neighbour oppressed. 
 It is, however, impossible, we think, to come 
 to any comprehension of the recent history of 
 France without taking into account the pro- 
 digious Ghost — we can give it no other name 
 — which since '93 has frightened and disturbed 
 the repose of all the peaceful and timid, which 
 
EXPEDITION TO lEELAND. 73 
 
 has affected even strong minds with, super- 
 stitious terror, and which, within our own expe- 
 rience, has made the masses take refuge in a 
 protection they hated, as a child might fly 
 into the arms of its worst enemy to be freed 
 from some visionary horror, more appalling 
 than any reality. This Ghost, with its bound- 
 less sway upon the imagination, has never yet 
 been exorcised ; and we, whom no such spi- 
 ritual enemy has ever confronted, are very 
 slow to appreciate its power ; but those whose 
 fathers or mothers have perished by the guil- 
 lotine have no difficulty in realising it, and 
 see the apparition before them at many a still 
 moment when the world Mug^hs at their terrors. 
 The panic of which they were the natural heirs, 
 w^hich had come to them from their immediate 
 predecessors, and had left upon them as it were 
 a permanent birth-mark of the Terror, attached 
 the priesthood of France to the re-established 
 throne with a closeness and tenacity which won 
 for them the double hatred of the suspicious and 
 watchful people over whom, on the other hand, 
 a counter- Ghost of Tyranny, paler, yet still 
 alarmino; Avas ever standino^. This element of 
 visionary superstitious fear — fear not only of 
 what is seen, but of what is supposed and remem- 
 bered — has told far more than we can reckon in 
 
74 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 all the French conflicts of this century. If these 
 Ghosts are ever laid, and the national imagina- 
 tion permitted to forget them, it will be a good 
 day for France, the beginning of a better life. 
 
 Superiority to the prejudices of their class, 
 however, is not to be expected from any number 
 of men ; and the priesthood, as we have said, 
 cluno[ to the throne. It had other motives be- 
 sides that of political fear. It was favoured and 
 flattered, was able to blossom out in processions 
 and pageants, and was kept in high hope of hav- 
 ing restored to it some at least of the privileges 
 and possessions of ante-Eevolution times. No 
 doubt there were many individuals in the 
 Church quite capable of appreciating the evil 
 character of these times, and the inexpediency 
 of any return to them; but persecution had 
 wrought its usual effect, and had raised up a 
 line of martyrs to dazzle the eyes of their suc- 
 cessors, and throw a fictitious reflection of 
 beauty and sanctity upon the cause for which 
 nominally they died, and of which in reality 
 they were the victims. It is difficult for the 
 Scotch peasant to realise the narrow^ness and 
 imperfection of the faith for which the maiden- 
 martyr of his village, or the grey-haired patriarch 
 of his glen, gave up their simple and saintly 
 lives ; and in the same way it is intensely diffi- 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 75 
 
 cult for a Frencli ecclesiastic or a French noble, 
 looking back upon the sublime patience and 
 heroic bravery with which their predecessors 
 died, to believe in the vileness and corruption 
 of the society which produced these martyrs, 
 or in the wickedness of any effort to restore it. 
 Those victims who were ''justified,'' to quote 
 the old Covenanting phrase, in the Place de la 
 Greve, justified to many who came after them 
 a cause with which they had nothing to do, and 
 of which in many cases they were the opponents; 
 but immediate posterity has not leisure to in- 
 vesti orate such nuances of historical truth. 
 
 There were, however, certain exceptions to 
 this almost universal adherence of the Church 
 to the Crown. Priests, after all, are men, and 
 often are drawn from the same source, the same 
 family, and from the midst of the same influ- 
 ences, which form the ordinary mass of citizens 
 in every country. At this very moment two 
 remarkable individuals, intensely unlike each 
 other, different in all their tastes and habits of 
 mind — one old, but with the fiery heart of a 
 novice ; one young, but already showing the 
 sobriety of a more candid genius — were living 
 in the agitated world of Paris, waiting with 
 keen impatience for the moment when they too, 
 though priests, might be able to strike their 
 
76 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 blow for freedom, and deny indignantly the 
 common slander which made every priest an in- 
 strument of tyranny. These men were Felicite 
 de Lamennais and Henri Lacordaire, two figures 
 destined to hold the most interesting and pic- 
 turesque place in the history of religion in 
 France, and to exercise an immense and long- 
 extending influence over the fortunes of the 
 subject of this memoir. Seldom has any 
 national priesthood succeeded in alienating 
 itself more completely from popular sympathy 
 than the priesthood of France had done at this 
 moment ; and seldom have two reformers, so 
 popular, so national, so eagerly devoted to 
 political freedom, arisen within the ecclesias- 
 tical pale. With all the picturesqueness of a 
 paradox, with all the fervour of an apostolic 
 mission, they show themselves to us in the 
 heart of that agitated world — men as difl'erent 
 as day and night, but momentarily united in a 
 generous and visionary enterprise. The moment, 
 however, had not yet arrived when their united, 
 yet difierent, and soon discordant influences 
 should afiect the life of Charles de Montalem- 
 bert. He in the mean time began the year with 
 apparently little thought or knowledge of the 
 political crisis which was impending. He had 
 been absent for many months in Sweden ; he 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELA2^D. 77 
 
 had been travelling, and bis mind was more 
 bent upon tbe one foreign country be bad made 
 some solid acquaintance witb, and tbe otbers 
 wbicb be bad traversed witb tbe eyes of a most 
 intelligent traveller, tban witb tbe storms wbicb 
 already began to blow about tbe political borizon 
 of France. 
 
 Tbe beginning of tbis year, indeed, seems to 
 bave been a very sad one for tbe young man. 
 He was alone witb bis motber in Paris, and at 
 no time were bis pursuits and bers tbe same ; 
 be was quite uncertain as to bis future career, 
 restless, unbappy, and not knowing wbat to do 
 witb bimself. Grief for bis recent loss wrougbt 
 beavily upon bim — grief increased by tbose 
 visionary compunctions wbicb afflict all loving 
 souls. Projects of all kinds, and of tbe most 
 diflferent character, glanced across bis brain. 
 Sometimes for a moment be tbougbt of becom- 
 ing a priest, sometimes of joining as a volun- 
 teer (simple soldat) tbe expedition to Algiers, 
 wbicb was tben setting out bent upon conquest. 
 But neither of these fugitive notions were seri- 
 ous enough to bave any results ; and even 
 during this moment of uncertainty he still 
 carried on bis intellectual work witb a dili- 
 gence characteristic of bis entire life. He 
 began the study of law, that universal course 
 
78 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 of learning which a Frenchman indicates 
 when he says, " Je faisais mon droit." Young 
 Montalembert, too, prepared to faire son droit, 
 without any apparent intention of using the 
 knowledge thus acquired ; and he occupied 
 himself by writing an article on Sweden, dur- 
 ing the course of which labour it probably 
 was that he went to his favourite church to 
 pray devoutly that he might have the grace 
 of watching, and might not fall asleep over his 
 work at night, the only time which he could 
 devote to it. Happy young eyes — happy, 
 though dimmed with many a gentle tear — to 
 which sleep came with such sweet inopportune- 
 ness ! In after-days he worked half through the 
 night without needing to resort to any such 
 prayer. 
 
 The article on Sweden was shown to M. 
 Guizot when it was completed, with a view to 
 being published in the * Eevue Frangaise,' of 
 which he was editor. Guizot read it with 
 interest, which pleased the young writer, but, 
 with that horrible and heartless callousness 
 common to critics and editors, advised him to 
 cut it down to half its size! This is recorded 
 in the journal with all the injured feeling and 
 melancholy sense of the world's inability to 
 appreciate him, which is natural to an author of 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 79 
 
 twenty. He laments that lie will thus lose half 
 of his best ideas. " Encore nne illusion perdue ! " 
 he exclaims, with delicious despair; but, sum- 
 moning all his good sense to his aid, he made the 
 sacrifice. After this the reader will sympathise 
 in the indignation "with which, a little later, our 
 young hero records that Guizot has suppressed 
 the latter part of his article, which contained 
 that spirited and candid sketch of Bernadotte, 
 which we have noted in the previous chapter. 
 Most likely young Montalembert was perfectly 
 right, and it was that bit of vivid character- 
 painting which really gave interest to his arti- 
 cle ; but the injury done him by his editor, 
 and the outraged pride and melancholy lost 
 illusions of the lad are charmingly simple and 
 naive, and admit us into the very heart of his 
 sensitive and eager being. 
 
 Strangely enough, there is no mention of 
 the existing politics of the moment, though 
 there is perhaps no episode of the Parlia- 
 mentary life of France which is so worthy or 
 so interesting ; but the beginning of literary 
 fellowship with men already famous, or who 
 have since become so, begins to be apparent. 
 Though he had resisted and resented the com- 
 pulsion which dragged him from one fashionable 
 soiree to another, his disposition was eminently 
 
80 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 social ; but the society he loved was one in 
 which intellectual interests should be predo- 
 minant, and not that which was to be found 
 in the monotonous splendour of fine houses. 
 In this eventful spring he made many new 
 acquaintances of the class we have indicated. 
 He met Lamartine, and made friends with 
 Sainte-Beuve, who, curiously enough, was then 
 beginning life with something of the same 
 visionary religious enthusiasm which stimulated 
 Charles de Montalembert himself, and whom he 
 describes as strong in the belief that Europe 
 was to be regenerated by the Catholic Church ; 
 and Victor Hugo, then the poet of all sweet and 
 virtuous things, and whose mind was also 
 penetrated by the hope of a universal religious 
 restoration and rebirth of the world. There is 
 a slight sketch in the journal of an even- 
 ing spent at the house of the latter, in which 
 it is apparent that even the young man^s 
 enthusiasm for a favourite poet does not 
 neutralise his natural clear-sightedness — and 
 which shows the great writer to us in all the 
 purity of his youthful fame, but surrounded by 
 that clique of worshipping inferiors who are 
 the worst enemies of poets, and their almost 
 constant attendants. At the same time Monta- 
 lembert formed his first connection with the 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 81 
 
 ' Correspondant/ a periodical to wHcli he con- 
 tributed all his life, and which has remained the 
 faithful champion and organ of the Catholic 
 party in France. Indeed, his disappointment 
 and indignation at Guizot's baseness are scarcely- 
 over when we find him eno^ao^ed on an article 
 on Ireland, the object of his constant interest, 
 for this magazine, which we presume was pub- 
 lished without retrenchments. Some time after 
 he records of these two articles, with a charming 
 subdued patience and resolve to make the best 
 of it, that one of his friends finds the article on 
 Sweden wearisome, and that on Ireland com- 
 monplace. This is disappointing, he adds, with 
 sad reasonableness, but better than if his friend 
 had praised him insincerely. His father, how- 
 ever, who by this time had joined him in Paris, 
 compensates him for the other s cruelty by his de- 
 lighted surprise on hearing that the latter paper 
 was his production. It says much, however, 
 for the twenty-years-old author, that he received 
 discouraging comments wdth so much patience, 
 and subdued his wounded amour i^ropre so 
 completely as to bear his friend no grudge for 
 his frankness. 
 
 On the whole, therefore, this interval of wait- 
 ing, which he mourns over as so idle and 
 so dreary, was not without its alleviations. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
82 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 There is a brief sketch in the journal of a soiree 
 passed at one of the many houses which he fre- 
 quented in the evening, after the delightfully 
 easy and pleasant fashion of French society, 
 where the conversation had turned upon poetry. 
 In this discussion he undertook the defence of 
 the romantic school, and felt a pleasant and mo- 
 dest consciousness that he had borne his part 
 sufficiently well. ^^Bon soir, romantique,'' one of 
 the party called to him on leaving, " ou hon soir, 
 aimahle Jiomme ; car vous etes tous les deux." 
 This simple expression of applause pleases him 
 so much that he writes it down in his journal 
 with a charming mixture of boyish delight and 
 amusement at the thought that he has thus 
 proved himself really competent to hold his 
 place among men, and that other people recog- 
 nised and acknowledged his manhood and talents. 
 At the very same time, however, the lad, in his 
 innocent superabundance of emotion, turns aside 
 to be very melancholy, bids " adieu a I'enfance" 
 with pensive sadness, and reflects seriously that 
 he is now twenty, with his education finished, 
 and the world before him, though as yet, alas ! he 
 has done nothing. Montalembert never enters 
 into the painful self-analysis which fills so many 
 juvenile journals, especially those of youths whose 
 minds are penetrated by a deep sense of religion. 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAXD. 83 
 
 Fortunately this fatal kind of introspection was 
 not congenial to his healthy and vigorous mind ; 
 but in his fits of despondency he criticises him- 
 self a little, fearing that he is sometimes 'pedant 
 and havard — that his " only virtue, modesty," is 
 getting destroyed ; and that his judgment, even 
 of political matters, is not so sound as he had 
 thought. With this self-reproach in his mind, he 
 forms an evanescent resolution of leaving Paris, 
 and settling himself in the country, in order to 
 work without disturbance — a resolution which 
 he communicates to his father, but which we 
 hear no more of; and at the same time he be- 
 comes conscious that he must uproot from his 
 mind the fatal dreams of glory which torment 
 him ! Happy boy, with all his youthful sad- 
 nesses and perversities ! Never were dreams of 
 glory more pure or more disinterested ; and not- 
 withstanding the many disappointments of his 
 life, there are perhaps few men who have fol- 
 lowed out more completely the visions of their 
 adolescence, working through manhood " upon 
 the plan that pleased his childish thought/^ 
 
 Shortly after, the plan of his visit to Ireland 
 reappears. Though his heart was in it more 
 than in any other project presented to his fancy, 
 he hesitated, with a generous wish to devote 
 himself to another young friend, one of his col- 
 
84 THE YEAR 1830 — ■ 
 
 lege companions, Gustave Lemarcis, whose failing 
 health required him to leave France for a warmer 
 climate. The young Montalembert, touched 
 with that tender remorse, which is so beautiful 
 in youth, to feel himself so full of life and joy 
 while his friend was sinking into the grave, 
 made a hasty resolution to accompany Gustave, 
 and ameliorate for him as much as possible the 
 painful path he had to tread. But as this sacri- 
 fice seems to have been quite unnecessary, it was 
 not carried out. The summer moved on big with 
 fate, and still many projects fluctuated in his 
 mind. M. Victor Cousin, always one of his advis- 
 ers, recommended to him a work on the great men 
 of England, or, failing that subject, on the theolo- 
 gians of the middle ages — a suggestion in which 
 there seems a first faint shadow of the ^ Monks 
 of the West' — but strongly dissuaded him from 
 undertaking the history of Ireland, on which he 
 had set his heart. However, a decision was 
 finally come to, all other plans were set aside 
 for the moment, his preparations were pushed 
 on — and in the end of July, on the very eve 
 of the Kevolution, he at last set out on his 
 long- coveted, long -dreamed -of journey. Pro- 
 bably Count de Montalembert, seeing what was 
 coming, was glad to seize the opportunity, and 
 get his enthusiast-son out of the way at such 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 85 
 
 a crisis ; and apparently tlie young man's poli- 
 tical instinct was not yet sufficiently keen to 
 make him aware how near the excited elements 
 of discord around him were to their next great 
 ebullition. Peacefully he took his way across 
 France, got over the Channel, and reached Eng- 
 land. There were no railways in those days, 
 and the journey was slower than now. He had 
 scarcely got to London when he heard of the 
 Eevolution, and its success. The effect of this 
 news upon him was immense. His first thought 
 was that the unexpected convulsion was a " sub- 
 lime victory ; " and a sudden hot sense of vexa- 
 tion and mortification not to have had a share 
 in the glorious fight, was his first sentiment. 
 For a moment he grumbled at Providence, 
 as we are all so apt to do. Is he never to 
 be permitted to take part in a great event, or 
 throw himself conclusively into life 1 he cries ; 
 and with a mingling of anxiety for his family, 
 who are in the midst of the tumult, and of 
 strong desire to be himself in that exciting centre, 
 he hurries back again to France without losing 
 a day. But his reception in Paris was the most 
 discouraging which young enthusiast ever re- 
 ceived. His father, who no doubt had been 
 congratulating himself on Charles's absence, re- 
 ceived him with anything but pleasure, and sent 
 
86 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 Hm liumedly back again, somewhat discomfited 
 and discouraged, and full of many conflicting 
 tliouo'hts. 
 
 These thoughts were characteristic enough. 
 The young man, it is evident, had already 
 learned to some extent to know himself, that 
 most difficult of all knowledge. After his first 
 movement of exultation and excitement on hear- 
 ing the news of the Eevolution, and almost in 
 the same breath with his exclamation, that it was 
 very hard he could not be there to fight for the 
 people, he had paused to say to himself that the 
 people victorious would not long continue his 
 idol — and that a cause when triumphant had no 
 attraction for him; significant words, full of 
 self-insight, and revealing one great secret of his 
 after-life. For he was born to be in opposition 
 — an opposition with no revolutionary tenden- 
 cies, lawful and loyal as opposition is in Eng- 
 land — an idea which France even now has 
 scarcely mastered, and never, except by moments, 
 put in practice. Charles de Montalembert in- 
 herited this faculty, along with various others, in 
 his English blood, and already felt its influence, 
 without probably identifying what it meant, 
 or whence it came. " Je n'aime pas les causes 
 victorieuses." This sentiment gained strength 
 and reality after the breathless visit to France, 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 87 
 
 from wliicli he was sent back so summarily. 
 Even during Hs brief stay at Paris he had 
 learned that the victory of the people, how- 
 ever noble and splendid, carried disagreeable 
 personal consequences ^Yith it. His brother, 
 who was one of the pages of Charles X., had 
 escaped through a window, and, as was sup- 
 posed, at peril of his life — and his prospects 
 were destroyed by the dethronement of his 
 royal master. His father was on the eve of 
 resigning his post as ambassador ; and there 
 were fears that the hereditary peerage would 
 be abolished — an event which, if it took place, 
 would destroy his own highest hopes, and alter 
 his position in a moment. Such personal con- 
 siderations are very apt to make the best and 
 maturest patriot despondent about the prospects 
 of his country ; and Charles de Montalembert 
 was not superior to this natural sentiment. 
 Ponderino: over the matter as he returned to 
 resume his journey, his thoughts were much 
 different from the enthusiasm with which he 
 heard the first news of the glorious Three Days. 
 With the seriousness of a philosopher he con- 
 sidered in the abstract this exciting event, which 
 in itself it was so difficult to contemplate with 
 philosophy. Already its fatal side had become 
 apparent to him. " Freedom," he tells us with 
 
88 THE YEAR 1830 — ^ 
 
 precocious gravity and stateliness, " never gains 
 anything by such violent movements. It lives 
 by slow and successive conquests, perseverance 
 and patience." It is thus with much heaviness 
 of heart, with serious apprehensions at once for 
 his family and his own future career, that he 
 actually sets out at last upon the expedition 
 which once was to him a projet adorable, 
 involving his happiness, and, as he hoped, his 
 fame. But our young moralist was too much 
 occupied for the moment with a real weight of 
 thought to remark upon this tempting example 
 of the vanity of human wishes. He took his 
 way towards the island of his thoughts, the 
 Isle of Saints, the second Palestine — for so, 
 as we have already seen, his enthusiasm had 
 distinguished that most difficult and trying 
 portion of the British dominions — without either 
 remark or reflection upon the changed current 
 of his own thoughts. 
 
 At that moment O'Connell was the chief 
 figure in Ireland. He had gained Catholic 
 Emancipation in the previous year, and this 
 was a sufficient and a most just claim upon 
 the devotion of his countrymen — a claim, how- 
 ever, with which unfortunately he w^as not 
 contented. To visit this great man, and gain 
 edification and instruction from sight and 
 
EXPEDITION TO TEELAKD. 89 
 
 hearino- of sucti a leader, was Montalem- 
 bert's chief object; and though, his lively and 
 keen observation, and the warm buman sym- 
 pathy in his heart, sprang up into interest in 
 everything he saw and heard, so soon as he was 
 fairly launched in the new ^country, yet Derry- 
 nane was the shrine towards which the young 
 pilgrim's steps were at once bent. There is a 
 delightful description of his journey across the 
 mountains of Kerry, by, we believe, the same 
 bold and beautiful road of which Mr Froude 
 has lately given us an animated and graphic 
 description/" Young Montalembert travelled 
 in the most picturesque manner. He made 
 the journey on horseback, taking with him a 
 little Irish boy as guide, who led him across 
 the hills, and chattered to him with all that 
 ready wit which characterises the nation. The 
 traveller was delighted with the intelligence 
 of the boy, who astonished him by a perfect 
 knowledge of all the recent events in France, and 
 by the vehemence of his hatred towards Eng- 
 land. In this locality the latter sentiment, which 
 elsewhere might have roused some feeling within 
 the breast of the young man, who was himself 
 half English, seems to have appeared to him at 
 
 * See " A Fortniglit in Kerry," in second series of ' Short 
 Studies on Great Subjects.' 
 
90 THE YEAK 1830 — 
 
 once pleasing and natural ; and when the bright- 
 eyed little fellow, mounted behind him, began 
 to chant the Psalms with which both were so 
 familiar, and to waken the mountain echoes 
 with the Litany of the Virgin, his conquest 
 was complete. The picture is one which will 
 move the reader, whatever his prejudices may 
 be. The great mountains on all sides, with all 
 their varied slopes, folding in these young 
 figures, moving specks of human life in the 
 great desolate yet splendid landscape ; the 
 stars coming out in the soft skies of August, 
 at that hour when the Angelus sounds, and the 
 peace of night drops gently upon the weary day ; 
 the clear sweet childish voice, mellow in its 
 softened brogue, pealing forth its Ave Maria ; 
 and the young stranger with this voice of home 
 in his ears, and his heart full of enthusiasm for 
 the Church, the universal mother, and of re- 
 verent devotion towards all the holy and sacred 
 things included in her worship. If the heart of 
 the youth was taken by storm, depressed as it 
 was and full of agitation, who could wonder ? 
 The child's litany was more than an act of wor- 
 ship : it was the voice of universal brotherhood, 
 of a sympathy wide as the earth and high as the 
 heaven. 
 
 The journey, however, was much more conge- 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 91 
 
 nial and pleasant than was the scene upon which 
 he entered at the end of his pilgrimage, where 
 Montalembert evidently sustained that shock 
 which happens so often to the young enthusiast 
 when his ideal is suddenly replaced by a reality. 
 On his arrival at Derrynane he found the door be- 
 sieged by a crowd of countrymen in their frieze 
 coats, full of talk and argument, waiting for the 
 return of O'Connell, to whom they were accus- 
 tomed to bring all their quarrels for arbitration. 
 This circumstance, however, though the din 
 somewhat startled him, must have been quite 
 consistent with the young stranger's ideas ; and 
 he waited with youthful interest and veneration 
 for the appearance of the Liberator. When the 
 great man appeared, however, he had but little 
 time for his youthful visitor, whom he " received 
 kindly," and — probably with a good-natured no- 
 tion that this was what he would like best — 
 ushered him suddenly into the drawing-room, to 
 his utter consternation and bewilderment. For 
 the drawing-room was as crowded as the lawn 
 outside, with a family of sons, daughters, nieces, 
 and nephews — new figures, such as had not pre- 
 sented themselves to his imagination in connec- 
 tion with O'Connell. This was very different 
 from what the young French patriot and philo- 
 sopher had looked for, and he seems to have been 
 
92 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 completely thrown out of his reckoning. He had 
 counted apparently on making a call only, and 
 most likely on being received by his hero at 
 a private audience, in which they should have 
 discussed with befitting solemnity the great con- 
 cerns of freedom and piety. But to be thrust 
 among a merry band of laughing Irish girls and 
 young men, utterly unprepared for such society, 
 and to find that he was expected, as a matter of 
 course, to dine and sleep in the hospitable open 
 house, drove him wild with consternation, all 
 the more that he had brought no change of dress, 
 and was obliged to spend the evening in his 
 travelling costume, a misfortune which must 
 have keenly afiected a French vicomte of 
 twenty. Charles de Montalembert is much too 
 perfect a gentleman to utter a word of comment 
 upon the merry overflowing household into 
 which he is introduced thus suddenly ; but the 
 impression of mingled amazement and discom- 
 fiture in his mind is very apparent. So is his 
 disappointment with the man whom he had so 
 much admired. The political position held by 
 O'Connell was so important an example for the 
 Catholic party, and at a distance was so impos- 
 ing, that when he returned to France, into the 
 society of those who still believed warmly in 
 the Liberator, Montalembert warmed back into 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 93 
 
 sometliino: of his old enthusiasm. But in the 
 sincerity of his journal, and straightforwardness 
 of his youthful impressions, he measured the man 
 at once, and formed an enlightened judgment of 
 him. He perceived instantly that this figure, 
 which had loomed so laro^e throuo-h the mists, 
 was not so imposing near at hand, and recorded 
 the fact with ingenuous regret. Something, 
 indeed, of the stunned sensation of one who 
 has fallen from a lofty ideal height into very 
 commonplace reality, is evident in all he says. 
 
 So far as that evening went, however, he saw 
 but little of the great man. The family sat down 
 to dinner twenty -five in number; and probably 
 O'Connell, though full of kindness, had no idea 
 that the serious lad, who was only twenty, and 
 a Frenchman, would really have preferred a 
 patriotic discussion with himself to the society 
 of the pretty and gay young Irishwomen who 
 were so much nearer his own age, and so much 
 more likely to amuse him. After dinner the 
 post came in, and the Liberator withdrew to 
 a side -table in the merry drawling-room, and 
 read his papers and letters while the young 
 people danced and amused themselves. But 
 our poor young traveller in his morning dress 
 had no mind to dance, and stood aside looking 
 at the burly figure over his papers with a rueful 
 
94 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 sense of mortification and incongruity. Pro- 
 bably the young ladies were equally disap- 
 pointed, and considered the grave young man, so 
 suddenly thrown among them, as a very unlikely 
 type of a young French vicomte. Thus his 
 pilgrimage ended in disappointment, and failed 
 of its chief purpose and aim. 
 
 Somewhat disconsolate, the traveller took his 
 way once more across the hills after this dis- 
 appointing visit. On one point of his route, 
 the name of which has escaped our memory, 
 he again saw O'Connell, and heard him speak 
 at a meeting, where various specimens of rude 
 and excited demagogues of a lower order filled 
 the young Frenchman with dismay. The meet- 
 ing was disagreeable, boisterous, and wanting 
 in all true meaning. The speech of O'Connell 
 himself was scarcely more satisfactory. Monta- 
 lembert found the language of the Liberator to 
 be "common," and his spirit wanting in eleva- 
 tion, though at times there were indisputable 
 gleams of eloquence. The impression made 
 upon him by the tone of this meeting, its noisy 
 enthusiasm, its applause of everything that was 
 worst and most commonplace in the speeches of 
 its leaders, seems to have been thoroughly pain- 
 ful ; and when he heard that he himself would 
 be expected to address the tumultuous assem- 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 95 
 
 blage, tlie young man stole out and hid himself 
 out of the way with a most natural sentiment. 
 He was disenchanted — which is a state of mind 
 very difficult to bear, often more depressing and 
 painful than a positive misfortune. There were, 
 however, other scenes which exercised a more 
 pleasant and soothing influence upon him. In 
 religious matters Ireland was beyond improve- 
 ment; and here is a sketch, enlarged from the 
 brief notes of his diary, which he afterwards pub- 
 lished in Paris, of a scene which, after all his dis- 
 appointments, no doubt gave to the fervent 
 heart of the young Catholic a consolation beyond 
 words : — 
 
 " I will never forget the first mass which 
 I heard in a country chapel. I rode to the foot 
 of a hill, the lower part of which was clothed 
 with a thick plantation of oak and fir, and 
 alighted from my horse to ascend it. I had 
 taken only a few steps on my way when 
 my attention was attracted by the appearance 
 of a man who knelt at the foot of one of the 
 firs ; several others became visible in succession 
 in the same attitude ; and the higher I ascended 
 the larger became the number of these kneeling 
 peasants. At length, on reaching the top of the 
 hill, I saw a cruciform building, badly built of 
 stone, without cement and covered by thatch. 
 
96 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 Around it knelt a crowd of robust and vigor- 
 ous men, all uncovered, though the rain fell in 
 torrents and the mud quivered beneath them. 
 Profound silence reigned everywhere. It was 
 the Catholic chapel of Blarney, and the priest 
 was saying mass. I reached the door at the 
 moment of the elevation, and all this pious 
 assembly had prostrated themselves with their 
 faces on the earth. I made an effort to pene- 
 trate under the roof of the little chapel thus 
 overflowed by worshippers. There were no 
 seats, no decorations, not even a pavement ; the 
 floor was of earth, damp and stony, the roof 
 dilapidated, and tallow candles burnt on the 
 altar in place of tapers {cierges). I heard the 
 priest announce in Irish, the language of the 
 Catholic people, that on such a day he would 
 go, in order to save his parishioners the trouble 
 of a long journey, to a certain cabin, which should 
 for the moment be turned into the house of 
 God — there to distribute the sacrament, and to 
 receive the humble ofierings with which his 
 flock supported him. When the holy sacrifice 
 was ended, the priest mounted his horse and 
 rode away ; then each worshipper rose from 
 his knees and went slowly homeward; some 
 of them, wandering harvesters, carrying their 
 reaping-hooks, turned their steps towards the 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 97 
 
 nearest cottage, to ask the hospitality to wliich 
 they were considered to have a right ; others, 
 with their wives riding behind them en croupe 
 went off to their distant homes. Many remained 
 for a much longer time in prayer, kneeling in 
 the mud, in that silent enclosure chosen by the 
 poor and faithful people in the times of ancient 
 persecutions." 
 
 It may easily be supposed with what enthu- 
 siasm the young man, mortified by so many 
 illusions perdues, witnessed this scene, in which 
 all his power of enthusiastic s}Tiipathy and 
 admiration could satisfy itself, without any 'cold 
 shadow of contradictory reality to disturb imagi- 
 nation. Probably, had he gone deeper, he would 
 have found even there many circumstances 
 which would have jarred upon the high ideal of 
 his soul. But all assemblies of men possess the 
 same imperfections, and it is impossible not to 
 sympathise with him in the genuine emotion with 
 which he looks on at such a crowd. Here is an- 
 other sketch, also amplified from the journal, and 
 expressing, though it was not published until a 
 later period, the vividness of his first impres- 
 sions. He begins by saying with a little regret 
 — the same kind of resfret which made him so 
 unhappy because he was not present at the Ee- 
 volution of July — that he had never had a share 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
98 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 in any real crisis, any period of special and 
 solemn excitement, in Ireland : — 
 
 " I liave only shared her daily piety," he goes 
 on; "I have but seen in passing her habitual trials 
 and virtues. Often on Sunday, when entering an 
 Irish town, I have seen the streets encumbered 
 with kneeling figures of labouring men in all 
 directions turning their looks always towards 
 some low doorway, some obscure lane which led 
 to the Catholic chapel, built behind the houses 
 in those times of persecution when the exercise 
 of that worship was treason. The immense 
 crowd which endeavoured to force an entrance 
 into the narrow and hidden interior prevented 
 the approach of two-thirds of the faithful ; but 
 they knew that mass was being said, and they 
 knelt in all the surrounding streets, joining 
 themselves in spirit to the priest of the Most 
 High. Very often I have mixed with them, 
 and enjoyed their looks of astonishment when 
 they saw a stranger, a man not poor like them- 
 selves, taking the holy water with them and 
 bowing before their altar. And often also, from 
 the gallery reserved for the women, I have 
 contemplated one of the most curious sights 
 which it is possible to imagine — the nave of the 
 Catholic chapel during the sermon. This part 
 of the church was given up to men ; there were 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 99 
 
 no seats, and the population crowded into it 
 in floods, each, tide rising higher, till the first 
 comers were pushed forward against the altar- 
 rails, and so crowded together that they could 
 not move a limb. All that could be seen of 
 them was a moving mass of dark-haired heads, 
 so close too;ether that one could have walked 
 across them without danger. From moment to 
 moment this mass moved and wavered, long 
 groans and deep sighs became audible ; some 
 dried their eyes, some beat their breasts ; every 
 gesture of the preacher was understood on the 
 instant, and the impression produced was not 
 concealed. A cry of love or of grief answered 
 each of his entreaties, each of his reproaches. 
 The spectator saw that it was a father speaking 
 to his children, and that the children loved their 
 father." 
 
 Curiously enough, this is perhaps the subject 
 of Montalembert's eloquence which the Eng- 
 lish reader will feel least moved by. Who is 
 there of us who has not seen similar sis^hts in 
 Italy, and been similarly touched by them 1 But 
 when we remember how much political use has 
 been made of these sermons, and how little they 
 have done for the real dignity and advancement 
 of Ireland, that chill falls upon us which so often 
 
100 THE YEAE 1830 — 
 
 damps the enthusiasm with which, being sadly 
 behind the scenes, we hear of our next neighbour's 
 noble doings. But Ireland was a distant and a 
 foreign country to the young Frenchman ; and 
 in a scene which appealed so completely to his 
 sympathies it would be hard to expect him to 
 descend into the depths and note all that was 
 to be said on the other side. In his ' Lettre sur 
 le Catholicisme en Irlande,' from which we have 
 just quoted, and which was published in 
 ' L'Avenir ' in the following year, there is the 
 most terrible picture of the impositions of the 
 Irish Established Church, and the wrongs of the 
 Catholics in respect to that ecclesiastical cor- 
 poration. Nothing could be worse than the 
 state of things therein described. But perhaps 
 Montalembert himself did not see the full force 
 of his own remark in the same paper when 
 referring to the emancipation of Catholics in 
 Ireland, an event which he had celebrated with 
 the greatest enthusiasm when it took place. 
 When, however, he visited the country, he found 
 that this immense event had, after all, done but 
 little for Ireland ; " the truth being,'' he says, 
 " that all the ridiculous and monstrous penal- 
 ties legally abrogated by that enactment, were 
 already abrogated in fact." These are very 
 pregnant words, and well worthy the considera- 
 
EXPEDITIO:^ TO IRELAND. 101 
 
 tion of foreign observers. At tlie same time, it 
 is sadly and curiously characteristic of Ireland, 
 that all the great reforms for which she has 
 agitated, have been found, immediately after 
 their attainment, to be just what she did not 
 most want, and to have done little for her. 
 However, the Enoiish reader must remember — 
 a fact which it is always difficult for the insular 
 mind to understand — that on the Continent 
 generally, and in France in particular, Ireland 
 and Poland were considered before recent legis- 
 lation as being exactly in the same position ; 
 equally maltreated, insulted, and oppressed by 
 an alien and dominant race. 
 
 From these scenes of enthusiasm and polemi- 
 cal but o-enerous indio-nation it is amusino- to 
 follow the young traveller immediately after 
 to the house of one of those hated members 
 of the Anglo-Irish aristocracy and hierarchy, 
 who were to him the special and most cruel 
 tyrants of that martyr-people, and with whom, 
 it might have been thought, he would have 
 held no communion. This incident, however, 
 recalls to us in the most delightful way the 
 fact that our hero was but twenty, with the 
 openest heart and liveliest imagination in the 
 world. He went, armed probably with an in- 
 troduction, to the house of Lord Donoughmore, 
 
102 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 wliicli lay in his way; and here he who had 
 been so disconcerted by his sudden introduction 
 to the huge O'Connell family, suddenly found 
 himself in an interior of a totally different de- 
 scription. The " old lord," whom he describes 
 as an Anglican clergyman, does not count for 
 much in his recollections ; but there were three 
 nieces 1 in whose company he spent one of the 
 pleasantest evenings of his life. The prettiest 
 sketch of this evening follows. "We hear the 
 sweet Irish girls sing ; we hear their soft 
 mellow talk, their gentle laughter, and are 
 charmed, as he is, by all their winning ways. 
 When the music is over, he reads poetry 
 to them, and they quote to him their favour- 
 ite passages. Never was there such a delight- 
 ful night. "When he goes to his room, it is 
 with his head full of these charming sisters. 
 The Avorst is that he does not quite know which 
 one he likes best ; but after much musing he at 
 last comes to a decision. In a few words the 
 young diarist sets all this delightful youthful 
 vision, with its soft haze of excitement, its 
 incipient liking and tender touch of possible 
 romance before us. Next morning he goes 
 down-stairs, with a strong hope that the old 
 lord may ask him to prolong his visit. But, 
 alas ! all the hints he can give are not sufficient 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 103 
 
 to elicit the hoped-for invitation. The old lord 
 perhaps was afraid of the effect upon his wards 
 of this delightful young Frenchman ; for Mon- 
 talembert records with much vexation, that the 
 presence of his host prevented him even at the 
 moment of leave-taking; from tellino; the youno^ 
 ladies how sorry he was to go away, and how 
 much he hoped to see them again. As our 
 traveller, however, departed with a sigh, he said 
 to himself sadly that perhaps on the whole this 
 unusual want of hospitality was "for the best." 
 For it is so easy to fall in love ; and the after- 
 steps are not so easy. As it was, fortunately, 
 he had been struck only by the lightest glancing 
 arrow — there had been no time to inflict a very 
 deep or lasting wound. 
 
 From this charming scene, which is a digres- 
 sion, and comes in by the way, young Monta- 
 lembert went to Maynooth, and to the house of 
 the Duke of Leinster hard by. There, too, there 
 were fair ladies and much fine company ; but 
 even with this temptation so close at hand, it 
 was the society of the priests which pleased him 
 most. There w^ere some accomplished and emi- 
 nent men then in the higher ranks of the priest- 
 hood in Ireland, who divined the powers and were 
 moved by the fresh enthusiasm of this young 
 champion of the faith. Two of these, Arch- 
 
104 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 bisliop Murray of Dublin, and Dr Doyle the 
 Bishop of Kildare, were at Maynooth during 
 his visit there, and the young man was affected 
 to tears when one of these gentlemen proposed 
 that his health should be drunk by the party 
 at the college table. The honour of being thus 
 highly thought of by men whom he held in so 
 much reverence, filled him at once with humil- 
 ity and with a modest pride. This is the 
 last chapter of his Irish expedition, and lov- 
 ingly he lingers over it — wavering between the 
 ducal house close by, with all its festivities, and 
 the bare rooms of the college, where he could 
 talk freely of those subjects which were to him 
 already the most important in the world — the 
 best way of benefiting and elevating a people, 
 and of spreading everywhere the beneficent 
 influence of the true faith. 
 
 He left Ireland in September, having passed 
 there " two of the happiest months of my life." 
 His sorrow in leaving it, however, is increased 
 by the most characteristic regret, one which 
 reveals the young man's tender and friendly 
 nature in the most engaging way. Two things 
 have been wanting to him to make his enjoy- 
 ment perfect. He has had no friend travelling 
 with him, to whom he could talk afterwards of 
 dear Ireland; and he has left behind him no 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAXD. 105 
 
 enduring ties of friendsliip. Every one whom he 
 met has been very kind, hospitable, and flatter- 
 ing ; but the young friendly soul cannot bear 
 to think that he has left the beautiful coun- 
 try and its delightful people without leaving 
 any seed of life-long attachment and fellowship 
 behind. This gives him a visionary sense of 
 desolation as he leaves its pleasant shores. He 
 looks back sadly upon the island, which he has 
 gone through only like some bright bird of pas- 
 sage, to be forgotten the moment he is out of 
 sight. This very fanciful sorrow is a real grief 
 to him. Another matter which he regrets, but 
 with less seriousness, is the fact that he has 
 acquired no materials for his proposed History 
 of Ireland. But, on the other hand, the advan- 
 tages of- the journey have been great. These 
 two months represent ten years of freedom and 
 power, he says, with a high swell of enthusiasm 
 and emotion in his heart. 
 
 And there can be very little doubt that this 
 expedition was of the utmost consequence in the 
 formation of his mind and direction of all his 
 future labours. He had already discovered in 
 himself that inclination towards the unfortunate 
 which is one of the highest principles of chivalry, 
 though not always perhaps a perfectly safe guide 
 either in politics or in morals; and it is not 
 
106 THE YEAR 1830 — 
 
 difficult to understand the overwhelming im- 
 pression which must have been made upon such 
 a mind by the aspect of affairs in Ireland. 
 Naturally, as we all do, the young observer 
 approached these affairs not impartially but 
 from one side, and with all the strenuous cer- 
 tainty of his age felt his standpoint to be the 
 only just one. From that standing-ground he 
 saw a heretic Church, without any pretension to 
 be the Church of the people, enjoying large ec- 
 clesiastical revenues, assembling its half-dozen 
 worshippers in vast churches meant for the 
 masses, and enjoying all the consideration and 
 importance due to a great hierarchy ; while, on 
 the other side, the true Church in modest frieze 
 — while the other wore purple and fine linen — 
 said its multitudinous prayers in the mud, under 
 thatched roofs, in poverty and wretchedness, with 
 a fervour and simjDlicity of devotion which went 
 to the very heart of the looker-on. That must 
 be a miserable form of faith indeed which does 
 not, when so presented, attract the respect and 
 reverence of every generous mind ; but the wor- 
 ship of splendid Eome deprived of all ornaments 
 and accessories, and held in miserable hovels 
 amid the barest unlovely poverty and devasta- 
 tion, is always a pathetic sight. A dethroned 
 queen cheerfully fulfilling the meanest offices, and 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAXD. 107 
 
 workinor with her ot\ti hands for her children, 
 may not be intrinsically nobler than a simple 
 woman who does the same things by habit and 
 nature ; but how much more does her aspect 
 touch the beholder ! Somethino- of the same 
 interest hangs about the hedge-chapel, where, 
 without an ornament on the altar or a change 
 of vestments, the humble priests celebrate the 
 same service which is celebrated under the 
 splendid dome of St Peter s with all that art can 
 do to minister to its effect. The simpler rite 
 which rejects these aids is expected to do with- 
 out them ; but when Rome, who does not reject 
 them, does without them, even the most unsym- 
 pathetic bystander must be touched by that 
 evidence of divine strength still remaining in 
 her. And to the young Catholic enthusiast, 
 the nakedness and poverty of the Church he 
 adored appealed with a much warmer and closer 
 charm. Her faithfulness to the people whose 
 souls she had to guard, her steadfast persistence 
 and perseverance, her spare fare, her mean dwel- 
 lings, her martyr lowliness of life, recalled to 
 him all the triumphs of her origin, all the per- 
 secutions she had surmounted, all the blood 
 that had been shed and the pangs that had 
 been endured, before ever she set foot within 
 a palace or dreamt of the Vatican. The sight 
 
108 THE YEAR 1830- 
 
 sent him back to primitive times — to that 
 age of primal fervour of which he afterwards 
 became the historian — to those early recollec- 
 tions which are common to all Christians. And 
 that impression which is made upon us all by 
 the sight of simple and sincere devotion — that 
 feeling half of reverence, half of wonder, with 
 which the Protestant stranger looks upon a 
 church full of rapt Italian worshippers in those 
 distant regions where neither politics nor pro- 
 fanity have stepped in to disturb their faith — 
 was tenfold deeper in the mind of the young 
 French Catholic, who had indeed dreamt of such 
 devotion as this, and felt that his life would be 
 well spent could he bring it into the neglected 
 Church of his own country, but who never till 
 now had seen with what all-absorbing fervour 
 men were still capable of worshipping God. 
 
 Evidently this was the turning-point in 
 Montalembert's career. He was taken by storm 
 in the midst of all the vague and contending 
 impulses of his mind ; and he was taken on 
 the Aving with no opportunity to examine more 
 deeply or make out more distinctly all the 
 tendencies and consequences of this great the- 
 ocracy. He saw only that it was a theocracy, 
 an ideal government, which is always entranc- 
 ing to the young soul. These poor priests, 
 
EXPEDITION TO IRELAND. 109 
 
 rude, laborious, and poverty-stricken as were 
 the flocks they swayed, were in reality the 
 rulers of that great people. They gave to 
 it all its consolation, all its elevation, that 
 divine element which makes such a wonderful 
 separation between the lowest human existence 
 and the life of the brute. The priesthood was 
 at once the kino^ and the soul of the Irish 
 people. What a contrast was this to France, 
 which scoff'ed at religion, which hated priests, 
 which considered the word another name for a 
 tyrant, and associated every ecclesiastic with 
 despotism and reaction ! Here, in this island 
 of the saints, the priest was the standard-bearer 
 of freedom. It was he who kept the people 
 steadily up to the mark in their struggle 
 ao^ainst • Government — who cheered them, and 
 guided, and kept the fire of political agitation 
 burning in their breasts — who was the leader 
 of all patriotism and liberty. Young Monta- 
 lembert, like other enthusiasts, did not ask 
 himself perhaps with sufficient patience what 
 these great-sounding words meant. He took it 
 for granted that they bore the highest meaning 
 such words can bear — freedom and patriotism, 
 and profound devotion to the Catholic faith. 
 What was it, after all, but his own formula put 
 into passionate and most real life 1 
 
110 THE YEAR 1830. 
 
 Thus, while the young traveller came to 
 Ireland with his head full of a great many 
 different projects, and his destination as yet 
 undecided — ready to be drawn into any gene- 
 rous and highly - aiming movement — loving 
 above all things the good of his country, and 
 seeking above all things the worthiest career, 
 whatever that might be, in which to serve her 
 — he left it decided and fixed for ever, a Catholic 
 champion, a sworn knight of the faith. All his 
 youthful piety, and the resolutions which he 
 had expressed so early, had worked towards 
 this end. But there can be little doubt that it 
 was Ireland which decided his future. He had 
 come to see the Liberator, from whom he derived 
 not very much ; but, by the way, he had seen a 
 worshipping nation, and his imagination had 
 been inspired by the sight, and all his resolu- 
 tions had burst into flower. 
 
Ill 
 
 CHAPTEK TV. 
 
 L'AVENIK. — "GOD AND LIBERTY." 
 
 The episode wliicli follows is one of the most 
 curious in recent history : it is tlie very romance 
 of journalism, perhaps the only chivalrous inci- 
 dent which has ever taken place in the history 
 of newspapers. We have already mentioned 
 the names of Felicite de Lamennais and Henri 
 Lacordaire. The elder of these two was a 
 priest of Brittany, the son of a family of bour- 
 geois gentry in that ancient and loyal province 
 — who had begun his life as firmly Eoyalist as he 
 was devoutly Catholic. He was perhaps the 
 most distinguished man in the French priesthood 
 at this moment — "the most illustrious ecclesiastic 
 of his time,'^ Lacordaire, who had no natural 
 sympathy with him and no love for him, does 
 not hesitate to say. Many years before, he 
 had mov^ed the whole Catholic world by his 
 * Essai sur ITndifference/ a work which raised 
 
112 l'avenir. 
 
 him to the highest popularity in the Church 
 and among the faithfuL So great was the 
 honour in which he was held, that the late Pope, 
 Leo XIL, not only sent for him to Eome and 
 overwhelmed him with caresses, but did him 
 the distinguished honour of hanging his por- 
 trait among saints and martyrs in his own 
 private cabinet, as that of the only man living 
 who was worthy to hold such a place. He was 
 a man in whom fancy, imagination, self-will, 
 and the intense logic peculiar to the Celtic 
 intellect, were stronger than reason ; born with 
 that desire for sympathy which sometimes 
 degenerates into a desire for worship ; with 
 great conversational powers and eloquence of 
 style ; a man of intense personal influence more 
 than solid weight ; the sort of soul which moves 
 through the world surrounded by a little pha- 
 lanx of adorers. His contemporary reputation 
 was unbounded, and his character and position 
 were both full of interest. Lamennais's signal 
 change of sentiment in his later years has armed 
 as many tongues against him as once were 
 blatant in his praise. But the story is a very 
 sad one ; and it is not our intention to throw 
 any stone at him, or to disturb the silence in 
 which his then brothers-in-arms have shrouded 
 the end of his life. 
 
(( ^^T^ A^T^ T TT^^^rr,^^ '> 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 113 
 
 At this period, however, Lamennais was sur- 
 rounded by nothing but honour and universal 
 respect. The Abbe Gerbet, whom Victor Cousin 
 distinguished as " un ange mystique," was one 
 of the high priests of this prophet, leading 
 under him the band of disciples which sur- 
 rounded the master, and brino^inpf in whom he 
 could from ''the world" as well as from the 
 clergy — new souls to join the adoring circle, or 
 to be converted by the influence of its leader. 
 It was in the former class that he must have 
 reckoned a young advocate from the department 
 of the Cote-d'Or, a thoughtful young man, full 
 of reason and goodness, but also of enthusias- 
 tically liberal sentiments, pure in morals and 
 character, but Pagan rather than Christian in 
 his opinions, as were most of the educated 
 young men of the period. This was young 
 Lacordaire, lately arrived from Dijon to qualify 
 himself fully for the bar, all unacquainted with 
 his future destiny, and bringing with him all the 
 undeveloped eloquence which afterwards made 
 him so famous. He was without any personal 
 faith of his own, except that belief in '' Liberty " 
 which was the one creed of Frenchmen at the 
 time ; but his mother was good, pious, and a 
 Legitimist, and probably by her suggestion, 
 the friend and patron, to whom he had been 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
114 l'avenir. 
 
 cliiefly recommended, had introduced liim to a 
 society called " des Bonnes Etudes/^ hoping that 
 the company of the select number of pious 
 young Eoyalists who formed it might do him 
 good. But the Society for Good Studies had 
 not done much for him : and he would seem 
 to have regarded Lamennais also with curiosity 
 and attention, studying with eyes cold and clear 
 the strange spectacle of a man of genius pos- 
 sessed and dominated by religious faith. Lacor- 
 daire was not, however, a bigot in his scepticism, 
 or contemptuous of the faith which he did not 
 understand, but simply observant and unsym- 
 pathetic. "The sight of Lamennais and his con- 
 versation produced no impression upon me but 
 one of curiosity,'' he himself t^ls us. Up to a 
 certain point his aspect was that of a spectator, 
 curious and studying all things, but quite unde- 
 cided in respect to religion — inclining, indeed, 
 rather against than for everything that looked 
 like orthodox faith. 
 
 It is not necessary for us to describe the means 
 by which Lamennais was brought from royalism 
 and absolutism to a strong conviction of the 
 necessity of liberal institutions for the country, 
 and to share that enthusiasm for " Liberty '' 
 which then possessed France like a kind of in- 
 spiration : nor can we, on the other hand, enter 
 
"god akd liberty. 115 
 
 into tlie curiously silent and sudden way in 
 which Lacordaire's conversion to the profound- 
 est religious belief took place. This latter 
 event, hov^ever, had no sooner happened, than, 
 with the decision and promptitude peculiar to 
 his character, the young advocate resigned his 
 worldly avocation and began his studies for 
 the priesthood. During the course of these 
 studies he had many rebuffs to bear, for the 
 ecclesiastical world into which he had entered 
 was as curiously observant of him and as un- 
 sympathetic, as he himself had been a little 
 while before of the enthusiastic religion and 
 royalism of the young men of the society " des 
 Bonnes Etudes;" and his progress into the priest- 
 hood was something of a struggle — many ob- 
 stacles being introduced by his suspicious 
 teachers between the student they did not 
 understand and his aim. 
 
 Such were the two men, perfect types of 
 French character both, who were about to 
 come into the life of the young Charles de 
 Montalembert — the one like a comet, disturbing 
 the atmosphere, bringing brilliant illumination, 
 disorder, pain, and final darkness in its train ; 
 the other as a steadfast friendly star, full of wise 
 guidance and good influence. He was not even 
 acquainted with either during the spring and 
 
116 l'avenir. 
 
 summer of 1830, which he spent in Paris. In 
 the mean time, however, they had been drawing 
 unconsciously together — approaching, as it were 
 from opposite poles, one great conclusion. La- 
 mennais's political sentiments had changed gra- 
 dually and slowly, but in their approaches to 
 liberalism and even democratical opinion had 
 preserved the ecclesiastical colour with which 
 naturally the ideas of a pious priest would be 
 tinged. Probably it was to the work of 
 O'Connell that his full transformation into a 
 champion of liberty was due. Such indirect 
 influences of a great popular movement are 
 seldom sufficiently appreciated at the moment ; 
 and these indirect results are often, as we believe 
 they were in this instance, founded upon a 
 somewhat mistaken view of the enterprise 
 which they intended to emulate. In the eyes 
 of the Catholic world — which distance and 
 ignorance of English institutions kept unaware 
 of the fact discovered by young Montalembert 
 on his visit to Ireland, that the great part of 
 the Catholic wrongs, of which O'Connell made 
 political capital, had been abrogated in fact long 
 before they were formally abolished — O'Connell's 
 agitation was chiefly a religious movement — a 
 £rand and sublime national efi'ort for the en- 
 franchisement of religion. As such it produced 
 
«^^x^ A -^TTx TT-r>T^r,rr,^T " 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. Il7 
 
 an immense effect upon the Catholic mind 
 throughout the Continent. At risk of weary- 
 ing the reader we repeat this, as it is the only 
 means by which he can come to any compre- 
 hension of the curiously elevated place given to 
 O'Connell on the other side of the Channel, 
 where he ranks not only as a patriot of the 
 most exalted class, but if not as a saint, yet as 
 a confessor of the faith and one of its noblest 
 champions. Probably, indeed, one of the great- 
 est of his achievements was the impulse given 
 by a mistaken conception of his work to the 
 Catholics of France and of Belgium, who re- 
 garded it only from a religious point of view. 
 
 There seems little doubt that it was this vision 
 of a Liberator who should, in the general impulse 
 towards freedom, win for the Church too a 
 crowning liberty, that roused the imagination 
 of Lamennais. Freedom was at that time, as 
 we have said, the passion of all Frenchmen who 
 were not absolutely devoted Legitimists. The 
 Charter — the free institutions it guaranteed, the 
 self-government which it held out to the hopes 
 of the nation — was the popular idol. But in the 
 midst of this impetuous rush towards political 
 freedom the Church remained in bondage. Even 
 the men who were content to risk their lives for 
 the integrity of their Parliament and for their 
 
118 l'avenir. 
 
 riglit to elect it, saw no harm — nay, tlie reverse — 
 considered it right and necessary that all eccle- 
 siastical dignitaries should be appointed by 
 Govern ment, and denied to the clergy the right 
 to elect their representatives, the bishops. This, 
 which every modern government has insisted 
 upon as indispensable to its safety, was a direct 
 contradiction of all the theoretical rights guar- 
 anteed by the doctrines of liberty and equality. 
 Nor were these the only wrongs of the Church 
 in France. Prejudice and impiety had imposed 
 upon her a much heavier yoke than the English 
 heretics had imposed upon the Catholic Church 
 in England. At the very time of which we 
 speak it was dangerous for a priest to go about 
 the streets en soutane, in the costume of his 
 class ; and when the cholera appeared in Paris, 
 the services of priests, volunteered on all hands, 
 were refused at the hospitals, and they had to be 
 smuggled in privately in the dress of laymen to 
 administer the last sacraments to such expiring 
 sufferers as desired their services. Everything 
 was free, except religion ; nor does it seem to 
 have occurred to the generality of men that the 
 Church had any right to ask the freedom which 
 every other institution had secured. The diffe- 
 rence between the opinion of secular society on 
 this point, and that which began slowly to 
 
f< r.^T^ »T.1T^ T XT^T^T^m^T '^ 
 
 GOD a:nd liberty. 119 
 
 develop in the breasts of certain religious men, 
 cannot be better expressed than in the words 
 of Lacordaire, who had entertained the former 
 sentiments in the beo;innino; of his career, and 
 who had now become one of the leaders of the 
 movement for relio;ious freedom. 
 
 ** In my youth," he says, " the liberal question 
 presented itself to me only as affecting the 
 country and humanity. I desired, like most 
 of my contemporaries, the final triumph of the 
 principles of 1789 by the establishment and 
 execution of the Charter of 1814. In this 
 everything was included for us. The Church 
 in our thoucrhts was nothinof but an obstacle : 
 it never entered into our minds to supjDose that 
 she too required to invoke freedom, and to 
 claim her share in the patrimony of these new 
 rights. When I became a Christian, this second 
 point of view became visible to me : my liberal- 
 ism thus embraced France and the Church 
 together, and I suffered so much the more in 
 the civil struo^g-le that I had henceforward two 
 causes to sustain in one — two causes which 
 seemed irreconcilable enemies, which no voice 
 ought to attempt to bring together." 
 
 Thus from totally different points of view 
 these two minds drew near each other. Lamen- 
 nais, impatient of the subjection of the Church 
 
120 l'aveniPw 
 
 to a continual course of worldly expediences, and 
 of the fatal identification of her cause with that 
 of the fallen monarchy, took up with enthu- 
 siasm the new reign of constitutional freedom, 
 chiefly because of the great opening it afforded 
 for that claim of freedom for religion which he 
 was burning to make. Lacordaire, on the other 
 hand, a young man trained in all the traditions 
 of political liberty, and accustomed to assert 
 for himself a right to perfect individual free- 
 dom, suddenly found, with indignation and 
 anguish, that the class to which he had joined 
 himself was the only one denied that freedom 
 which he felt to be no less his right now than 
 it had been in his secular days ; and with all 
 the strength of his nature, resisting the idea 
 that he was no longer a man like others, laid 
 bold claim, as a priest, to the same rights 
 which other men possessed. Thus the two, 
 approaching the subject from different aspects, 
 agreed in their claim of rights. So far as Lacor- 
 daire was concerned, a strong sense of personal 
 humiliation, mingled with his indignant resent- 
 ment at the wrong done to the Church, filled 
 him with vague and passionate longings for some 
 way of appealing against so great an injustice, 
 and winning liberty of action for that community 
 with which henceforward his lot was cast. When 
 
C« /-,^T^ A >.-T^ T T^-r^^rr^^^ " 
 
 GOD AXD LIBERTY. 121 
 
 lie learned by means of tlie Abbe Gerbet that tlie 
 great Lamennais, tlie most distinguished ecclesi- 
 astic in France, had adopted the popular cause, 
 and was about to claim for the Church her 
 share in the freedom of the country, he was 
 overwhelmed with joyful emotion. " I found in 
 him the defender of the ideas which had always 
 been dear to me, and to which I had not believed 
 it possible that God would send such a help and 
 such a magnificent manifestation," he says. 
 " M. de la Mennais presented himself all at once, 
 and it was justifiable to believe that he was to 
 be the O'Connell of France, and to obtain, after 
 glorious combats, the same emancipation which 
 quite recently had crowned the efforts and the 
 head of the great Liberator. The cause was the 
 same," he adds, "the means alike, the talent 
 equal. However, the difficulties were greater 
 for M. de la Mennais than for O'Connell. 
 O'Connell had a nation behind him, and M. 
 de la Mennais had only a little battalion, 
 slowly brought together by his genius and his 
 virtues." 
 
 Lacordaire himself had not been personally at- 
 tracted by the leader who had thus put himself 
 at the head of the new crusade. Their charac- 
 ters and ways of thinking were essentially differ- 
 ent ; but in face of the enemy such differences 
 
122 l'avenie. 
 
 disappear, and he was one of the first to enroll 
 himself in the band of Lamennais's supporters 
 in this great effort. The first determination 
 they came to was to establish a journal, the 
 avowed purpose of which was " to claim for the 
 Church her part in the liberties acquired by the 
 country." When religion was most shamed and 
 set at nought, and everything calling itself 
 ecclesiastical was considered hostile to the 
 people, this little group of eager champions 
 took up the despised symbols of the Church, 
 and held them high over tricolor alike and 
 fleur-de-lis, binding themselves to watch over 
 and denounce every encroachment on her free- 
 dom, to resist every attack, to assert her rights, 
 and fight for them one by one, at whatever 
 cost. They took up her reproach, and made it 
 their pride, casting aside all compromises, and 
 rejecting passionately the wisdom of the serpent, 
 which had heretofore been supposed her only 
 inspiration, as well as the panic and submissive- 
 ness of terror which had kept her in the back- 
 ground. No longer the serpent but the lion was 
 to be their symbol. They threw prudence to the 
 winds when they established their bold scheme 
 of resistance — their bold assertion of liberty. 
 Their work was not veiled under any pretence 
 of humility or pious meekness. It was boldly 
 
ft^^T^ »^TT^ XT^T.T^m,r'^ 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 123 
 
 announced as a work "at once Catholic and 
 national, from which might be expected the en- 
 franchisement of religion, the reconciliation of 
 diflfering minds, and, in consequence, the renewal 
 of society." 
 
 Such was this strange, lofty, and foolish 
 dream. How it could be possible to do all this 
 by means of a newspaper, neither the leader, in 
 the nervous excitability and visionariness of his 
 perpetual youth, nor his seconds, in the enthu- 
 siasm natural to their years, seem to have 
 inquired. The effort which they were about 
 to make was to liberate the Church, to re- 
 concile the spirits, to replace religion in the 
 position from which she had started so many 
 ages ago, when she was the companion of demo- 
 cracy and freedom, the guardian of all national 
 causes. So great was the vision that floated 
 before the new journalists. The subscribers 
 never reached a larger number than 1200, so it 
 is evident that material success was not in the 
 thoughts of this rash band; but they were 
 ready to make any sacrifice for the maintenance 
 of the enterprise, and their supporters, if few, 
 were fervid, and full of self-devotion. 
 
 The * Avenir ' appeared for the first time on 
 the 15th October 1830, about the time of Charles 
 de Montalembert's return from Ireland. He is 
 
124 l'avenir. 
 
 said, by some writers, to have '^accourut clu 
 fond de Tlriande'' in order to join himself to 
 this new enterprise. But at all events, as soon 
 as he returned to Paris, one of his earliest 
 visits seems to have been to Lamennais, who 
 made an instant and deep impression upon 
 him. He records this visit in his journal as 
 the most interesting and important moment 
 of his life. Besides the newspaper, another 
 enterprise, a society for the defence of religious 
 liberty " Agence generale pour la defense de la 
 liberty religieuse," of which it was the organ, 
 was called into being ; and the first connection 
 between Lamennais and his new disciple seems 
 to have been formed by this society, of which 
 young Montalembert was at once named one of 
 the directors. The rules of the association we 
 give below.'" 
 
 The society was governed by a council of 
 
 * 1. To endeavour to obtain redress for every act against the 
 liberty of ecclesiastical ministrations, by actions before the 
 Chambers and before all the tribunals, from the Conseil d'Etat 
 down to the court of the Juge de paix. In the more important 
 cases, publication should be made of the judge's decision, plead- 
 ings, &c., at the cost of the Agence Generale^ and distributed 
 throughout France. 
 
 2. To sustain every educational establishment, primary, 
 secondary, and superior, against all arbitrary attempts to in- 
 fringe freedom of instruction, without which there can neither 
 be liberty nor religion. 
 
 3. To maintain the right of all Frenchmen to meet for 
 
t( ^r^-n. A^TX^ -r TT>T^T^m^r " 
 
 GOD AND LIBEETY. 125 
 
 nine persons, of whom Lamennais was pre- 
 sident. Never did young man, introduced into 
 PuIdHc life under the highest auspices, plunge 
 into his work with more delight than did young 
 Montalembert. The mere fact of having work 
 to do was delightful to his ardent mind ; and 
 as if the very finger of Providence indicated the 
 path to him, the new paper and the new society 
 had chosen for their motto that old device of his 
 school-days, the first sentiment that had fixed 
 his wanderino' thouo;hts, ^' God and freedom" — 
 "Dieu et la liberty." Some of his friends, it 
 is evident, opposed his new enthusiasm. M. 
 Victor Cousin, whose influence over his youth 
 has been already referred to, and whose opin- 
 ions are quoted upon almost every subject of 
 importance mentioned in the journal, protested, 
 we are told, against Lamennais's political prin- 
 ciples, which had become republican. To these, 
 however, Montalembert declared he had no 
 intention of abandoning himself. Cousin was 
 throughout strongly opposed to the 'Avenir' 
 and its directors. A little later he is reported 
 
 prayer, for study, or with, any other legitimate aim, equally 
 advantageous to religion, to the poor, and to civilisation. 
 
 4. The Agence Generale is intended to be a connecting link 
 between all the local associations already established in France, 
 or which may be established, with the aim of forming a mutual 
 assurance against all the tyrannies hostile to religious liberty. 
 
126 l'avenir. 
 
 to have spoken of them in the contemptuous 
 words so commonly applied in France to people 
 who occupy themselves sjDecially with religious 
 matters, calling them ge7is de la Sacristie ; and 
 even in a moment of exasperation went so far 
 as to say that he would have them all shot, had 
 he the power, as disturbers of the public peace. 
 To this petulant expression of wrath, however, 
 it is evident young Montalembert paid no heed ; 
 and he seems to have been left in freedom by 
 his parents to act as he thought best. His 
 father, who had by this time formally resigned 
 his embassy, was living in Paris, apparently to 
 some extent withdrawn from public life ; and, at 
 all events, the new circle of friends who now 
 surrounded his son were entirely out of the way 
 of the courtly diplomate. They were men 
 without secular distinction of any kind, and, 
 with the exception of Lamennais, who was no 
 doubt the greatest religious writer of his genera- 
 tion in France, the whole party was young, 
 nameless, and as yet without reputation in the 
 world. A father in Count de Montalembert 's 
 position might well have objected to the utter 
 absorption of his son in such an unworldly and 
 unhopeful mission ; but either his own mind 
 was moved with some generous sympathy for 
 the same cause, or he was wise enough to let 
 
<C ^^-r^ *T.TT^ ^^^^^^,^;j 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 127 
 
 the youthful genius choose its own way of 
 develojDing. To Charles himself this new and 
 great object in life changed the aspect of every- 
 thino^ around. He felt within himself a new 
 vivacity and elasticity, which sprang from his 
 new hopes. A year before he had complained 
 of the monotony of life, how nulle it was ! what 
 a weary round of nothingness, one day following 
 another, shaped after the same pattern of frivo- 
 lous occupation and tiresome leisure. But now 
 everything had changed. Even subjects once 
 important to him sank into indifference ; he 
 became impatient of vain politics, the differ- 
 ent nuances of royalism and republicanism. 
 All his thoughts, he tells us, flowed in the chan- 
 nel of Catholic liberty. 
 
 Thus, with a sudden elan of that enthusiasm 
 which has so often made his race victorious, this 
 young descendant of the Crusaders rushed into 
 arms for the same cause — for the Church, which 
 to him was the purest, highest, and most sacred 
 of all agencies, the most divine of human in- 
 stitutions, the great and consecrated Servant of 
 God, and Helper of humanity. When the sub- 
 ject is looked at on its merits, no believer in 
 Christianity can refuse to admit that these words 
 ought to be no rhetorical flourish, but the simple 
 expression of truth and reality. Whatever the 
 
128 l'avenir. 
 
 failures and imperfections of the Churcli may 
 be, it ought to be true of her that she is the 
 teacher, the friend, the help and support of 
 humanity, and that everything which conduces 
 to her free and perfect action must be for the 
 advantage of men. This, we say, ought to be, 
 thouo:h we do not venture to assert that it is : 
 but Charles de Montalembert was certain, and 
 did assert it with all the force of his being. For 
 the consecration of his life thus made he has 
 been wondered at by many a spectator, sneered 
 at by some, or smiled at, as natures vary ; re- 
 garded as an enthusiast, a visionary, a man 
 whose life was a mistake, and who spent all his 
 energies in endeavouring to reconcile the irre- 
 concilable. Such words will, at all times and 
 in all circumstances, assail the man who acts up 
 to his ideal, and who endeavours to guide his 
 life on first principles, setting aside the second- 
 ary and all that is born of circumstance. And 
 we believe that no reader who will throw him- 
 self into Montalembert's position, and regard 
 the things around him from his point of view, 
 will fail to see that his self-dedication was justi- 
 fied to the utmost by all his principles, and was 
 nobly reasonable and wise, according to all his 
 beliefs and thoughts. 
 
 Neither was there anything contrary to the 
 
" GOP AND LIBERTY." 129 
 
 rules of reason or natural justice in tlie claims 
 lie upheld. 
 
 His country had just acted on one of those 
 sudden impulses which, not yet debased by much 
 repetition, still seemed to the majority of men a 
 noble outburst of national determination. Not 
 fearing the terrors which had resulted from the 
 first Eevolution, equally undeterred and unse- 
 duced by its traditions and examples, France 
 had seized the reins of State out of the hands 
 which had begun to hold them arbitrarily, and 
 had proved that at no risk would she allow her 
 dearly -bought constitutional freedom to pass 
 from her. The State was free — at least for the 
 moment — and why should not the Church also 
 be free '? To this claim we know no logical 
 negative which can be given. It is easy to an- 
 swer it by departing from the direct question — 
 by asserting, as some do, that the absolute free- 
 dom of a spiritual caste is unsafe for the human 
 race ; or, as others say, that the Church of Eome 
 is bound in absolute obedience to a foreign, and 
 distant, and infallible head, who may require of 
 her a course of action contrary to the laws and 
 peace of the country in which she is located. 
 But these arguments do not afi'ect the principle. 
 They are expediencies, infringements upon natu- 
 ral liberty for practical necessity. In point of 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
130 l'avenir. 
 
 fact, and in abstract right, a priest has as strong 
 a claim to personal freedom as an advocate or a 
 groom — and the priesthood in general has at 
 least as good a right to judge for itself in mat- 
 ters which concern its occupation and duty as 
 any secular trade has. This was the principle 
 adopted in its fullest extent by the Society 
 for the Defence of Eeligious Liberty, presided 
 over by Lamennais ; and for this principle it 
 was that young Charles de Montalembert, an 
 enthusiast for constitutional freedom, a true 
 patriot and good Catholic, pledged his life and 
 compromised his future, while still in the abso- 
 lute stage of youthful feeling ; but without ever 
 repenting after of this early dedication of his 
 genius and his toil. 
 
 It was in the month of November of this year 
 that Montalembert first met Henri Lacordaire, 
 who was just so much older than himself as to 
 mingle some pride on the part of the youth with 
 the most brotherly love, which immediately 
 sprang up between them. Lacordaire was twenty- 
 eight, Montalembert only twenty; and the young 
 Vicomte, with eyes full of the ennobling lights 
 of imagination, saw his new friend surrounded 
 by an aureole of genius and budding greatness. 
 His description of their first meeting, which is to 
 be found in the short but eloquent biographical 
 
(e ^^T^ AXTFN T xT^-n-r»rr,T^ '» 
 
 GOD AND LIBEETY. 131 
 
 sketcli which he made of his friend thirty years 
 after, is full of the vivid colours and swelling strain 
 of enthusiasm. " Born to love and to struggle," 
 says Montalembert, " he already bore the seal 
 of the double royalty of soul and mind. He 
 appeared to me charming and terrible — a type 
 of enthusiasm for everything good, and of virtue 
 armed to defend truth. I saw in him one of 
 the elect, predestined to all that youth most 
 loves and adores — genius and glory." This en- 
 counter inspired both young men suddenly with 
 one of those friendships to which youth is prone, 
 and which take a warmer and more caressing 
 form among Frenchmen than among ourselves. 
 The passion of friendship does not less exist in 
 our more reserved and silent race ; but among 
 us it is young women rather than young men 
 who embrace each other, and show their mutual 
 love in caressing words. Such tenderness, how- 
 ever, is not confined to women among other 
 nations. The young priest and the young noble 
 " fell in love " with each other, as we say. They 
 found in each other kindred minds, the same 
 warm enthusiasm and admiration for all Christian 
 goodness, the same eageK and almost violent love 
 of their country and its liberties. One can well 
 imagine what a wonderful opening it must have 
 made in the austere life of the lonely young priest 
 
132 l'avenir. 
 
 when this enthusiast boy, full of admiration and 
 zeal and warm affectionateness, came bodily 
 into it, taking possession of him by storm, with 
 all the eagerness of his temperament, and the 
 confidence which rank and worldly superiority 
 give. There seems to have been no pause or 
 preliminaries necessary to this friendship. "Next 
 morning," Montalembert adds, " he took me to 
 hear his mass, which he said in the chapel of a 
 little convent of the Visitandines in the Latin 
 quarter; and already we loved each other as 
 youth loves in the ardour of its pure and gener- 
 ous impulses, and under the fire of the enemy." 
 In the same month of November the ' Avenir ' 
 was seized for two articles displeasing to the 
 Government — articles of Lacordaire's. Whether 
 these were the same for which, in the beginning 
 of the next year, Lacordaire and Lamennais 
 were tried, and which contained an assault upon 
 Louis Philij)pe on the occasion of his first nomi- 
 nation of bishops, it is not easy to make out ; 
 probably it was some preliminary petulance. 
 The interest of the event to us, however, arises 
 from the extremely characteristic vexation of 
 Montalembert that he had not actually joined 
 himself to the staff of the paper before this 
 incident occurred. When he read the articles 
 in question, he rushed to Lacordaire to congrat- 
 
(( ^^T. .-VTT^ X XT^x^T^rr^xr '> 
 
 GOB AND LIBERTY. 133 
 
 ulate him, but for liis own part felt depressed 
 and cast down, upbraiding himself and his evil 
 fate which made him always ''too late" to 
 share in any martyrdom, eager as he was to 
 fight and suffer. " I dream of persecution and 
 martyrdom as I once dreamt of work and glory," 
 he says. It is not wonderful to find that, after 
 his acquaintance with Lacordaire began, the 
 idea of becoming a priest, which once before had 
 occurred to him, should have returned to his 
 mind. Before he had fully engaged in the new 
 work, and when he saw with envy his friends 
 undergoing the martyrdom which he did not 
 share, he discussed this question over again with 
 himself — Should he become a priest, and thus 
 get himself too into the way of suffering for his 
 faith ? But no : the youth adds, with engag- 
 ino; naturalness, " I love movement and h7nnt, 
 and the world is on fire." Thus good sense and 
 his better instincts held him back from the last 
 sacrifice, which was not one suitable or natural 
 to him. The world was on fire ! and he longed 
 to be in the midst of the smoke and flames, 
 getting his share of the scorching and pain as 
 well as of the bruit and movement which he 
 loved. 
 
 It will be evident, from the very enthusiasm 
 and eagerness of the young man thus longing 
 
134 l'avenih. 
 
 for self-immolation, yet pausing on the brink 
 to contemplate tlie pleasant world around, that 
 his view of political and social matters was not 
 likely to be a very impartial one. To such a 
 youth, possessed with that fervour of religious 
 partisanship which is perhaps the most absorb- 
 ing of all emotions, the common talk of his 
 contemporaries, who were occupied with nothing 
 in particular, but contented with the butterfly 
 life which all along had been so painful to him- 
 self, could not be other than foolishness. Thus 
 we find that when he visited the gallery of the 
 Chamber of Peers, where his father had begun 
 to take creditable part in the proceedings, the 
 young men whom he met there, sons of peers 
 like himself, disgusted him with their frivolity. 
 He to whom life was such a serious matter, who 
 had wrenched himself with so much trouble out 
 of the stream of fashionable idleness and gaiety, 
 looked upon them with that doubly grave dis- 
 approbation which is natural to a young refor- 
 mer. But yet, notwithstanding his gravity, 
 he was fond of society always, and not averse to 
 amusement ; and it is pleasant to find our young 
 champion of the Church betrayed into warm 
 though momentary commendation of Taglioni, 
 whose modest and poetic grace of movement 
 was so difierent from the bacchanalian feats 
 
ii ^r^-r^ A -KTT^ TX-r>T7,T^rT,^r " 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 135 
 
 of the more recent ballet. He declares witli 
 fervour that nobody has danced like her since 
 the epoch of Christianity; and that she is 
 divine ! Montalembert was no Puritan at any 
 period, and the fervour of his religious feelings 
 did not divorce him from the ordinary world 
 and its duties. He had joined the National 
 Guard some time before, and there are several 
 lively descriptions in his journal, of nights and 
 days under arms, when the sound of the generate 
 called him from his literary occupations, and he 
 hastened to assume uniform and musket, mount- 
 ing guard now at the Hotel de Ville, now at the 
 National Assembly, now at the Luxembourg, 
 waiting for the attack of "the students," or 
 other disaflfected bands ; who, however, never 
 appeared. 
 
 In his thoughts upon political matters 
 he took a gloomy view of the situation alto- 
 gether. Neither the new king nor the vic- 
 torious people pleased him. The despotism 
 of the latter especially, in their flush of 
 victory, he found abominable. No doubt, even 
 so early as this, that aimless and unreason- 
 able discontent, which is the seed of revolu- 
 tion, had already resumed its place in men's 
 minds after the first flush of triumph was 
 over. It could scarcely have been otherwise. 
 
136 l'avenir. 
 
 When a country has, at a great cost of blood 
 and trouble, upset one system and estab- 
 lished another in a vain and impossible hope 
 of perfection, what wonder that it should feel 
 disappointed next morning when it awakes 
 and sees the world much the same as ever, 
 the daylight as sober, evils and troubles still 
 existing, and the superlative as far oflf as be- 
 fore ? Next morning even the most glorious 
 event of an individual life has lost that illumi- 
 nation of hope which fulfilment slays. So far 
 as Montalembert and his family were personally 
 concerned, the events of the year had been 
 entirely unfavourable. They had made an end 
 of diplomatic employment and success for the 
 father, and had shut out from the son many of 
 those hopes of external fame and progress which 
 he had indulged during his youth; which he 
 had indulged — but which certainly never could 
 have been fulfilled; since a soul so distinctly 
 born in opposition could no more have found a 
 place in the arbitrary counsels of the legitimate 
 Bourbons than it could in the court of Na- 
 poleon. 
 
 There are some brief but amusing notes of the 
 literary persons of the period and their ideas to 
 be found in the journal at this date, which make 
 it evident that young Montalembert kept up all 
 
« ^^-rv 1 >.x-r^ T TT^T^T^n^^x " 
 
 GOD AND LIBEETY. 137 
 
 his early relationships with them. We have 
 already quoted Cousin's trenchant expressions of 
 rage against the new Catholic movement and its 
 leaders. Victor Hugo, on the other hand, we 
 find, took a lively interest in it, and sympathised 
 deeply with Lamennais. The poet still thought 
 that it was from the Church of Eome that the 
 regeneration of the world was to proceed, and 
 dreamt of a confederation of nations which 
 should secure for Europe peace, purity, and 
 freedom, under the headship of the Pope. At 
 an after-period he is described as more Christian, 
 more Catholic than ever, but very Buonapartist 
 in politics ! Michelet, on the other hand, is 
 represented to us as taking a purely scientific 
 and sesthetical delight in all the revolutions and 
 commotions which had taken place, for the 
 characteristic reason that " they make history." 
 At another literary house which we will not 
 name, the lively young observer remarks dis- 
 contentedly that he had met only " obscurs 
 doctrinaires et laides femmes " — a most char- 
 acteristically French way of mingling the least 
 pleasant elements of society. 
 
 It was not until the end of tjie year that 
 Montalembert began to write in the ' Avenir ; ' 
 but in the mean time he had published several 
 articles in the * Correspondant/ one of which 
 
138 l'aveniii. 
 
 contained a very elaborate account of English 
 institutions ; while another discussed the exist- 
 ing state of affairs in France. In these articles 
 he gave expression to two of the sentiments 
 which pervaded his whole life — his horror and 
 contempt for the sway of democracy on the one 
 hand, and his trust in aristocratical government 
 on the other. This trust and this horror, the 
 reader will remark, were not accompanied even 
 at his early age by any of the inclinations to- 
 wards absolute government, or scorn of popular 
 liberties, which usually accompany such senti- 
 ments. On the contrary, the young writer 
 hated absolutism with the utmost force of his 
 being, and loved liberty with equal intense- 
 ness. It was as a matter of sentiment that 
 he took up and held fast, all his life, this 
 visionary support of his own caste, and ad- 
 miration for it in the abstract — a support 
 and admiration, however, which made him 
 only more genial and sympathetic to his friends 
 of less distinguished birth. No man ever 
 exhibited a more complete sense of equality, or 
 was more utterly free from the very shadow of 
 assumption on his own part ; and no man ever 
 had a greater love and reverence for the aristo- 
 cratical principle. This was one of the para- 
 doxes in a nature full of paradox. A great 
 
fC^^T^ .,TXN TTT^TnT^mTr" 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 139 
 
 number of his friends were not noble, and these 
 were as entirely placed at their ease, and ad- 
 mitted to the most endearing and familiar 
 intercourse with himself and his family, as if 
 they had been princes born ; and his quick 
 and impetuous nature had as little tolerance for 
 the follies and impertinences of great personages 
 as had the wildest democrat; but, on the other 
 hand, he entertained to his last day a certain 
 admiration for that vulo-ar Eno;lish love of a 
 lord which is one of our least attractive qual- 
 ities. To him it was attractive ; it breathed, 
 one can scarcely tell what fragrance of recollec- 
 tion, of the times when feudal lords were dear 
 to their vassals. This was one of his supersti- 
 tions about which he was weak. We doubt 
 much whether it ever occurred to him that his 
 personal value was increased by the fact that he 
 was Count de Montalembert ; but he liked to 
 think that nobility was in itself a noble thing, 
 and that to love it was good for a people. 
 
 With this sentiment in his mind, and with 
 that strong sense of justice which always dis- 
 tinguished him, it is not wonderful to find him 
 putting himself in the place of the Eoyalists, 
 whom the Government of July treated with 
 harshness, and turning upon that Government 
 with indignant protestations, as he does in the 
 
140 l'avenir. 
 
 article published in the * Correspondant ' of the 
 13th December, though he himself was far from 
 being a Legitimist. Here he asks why commands 
 and honours, which are lavished upon the ser- 
 vants of the Empire, should be taken from those 
 ready to serve France under all circumstances, 
 whose historical names alone are against them. 
 "It is even said," he cries indignantly, " that 
 when the sons of ancient families have offered 
 themselves for service in a regiment now sta- 
 tioned at Paris, they have been answered that 
 the august colonel of that corps wished for no 
 noble names in his regiment ; " and he goes on 
 with a passion almost lyrical to ask why it is that 
 the new Government divides the nation in two, 
 and stigmatises half of them as " vanquished." 
 "Where have you conquered us?" he says ; "upon 
 what battle-field have we measured our forces 1 
 Who among you dare say that we defended the 
 Ordinances of July ? Because you proclaim 
 yourselves our enemies, it does not follow that 
 you are our conquerors, or that you have any 
 right to throw the name of Vanquished ' in the 
 teeth of men whom you have only deceived. 
 And why should Ave have been vanquished ? 
 Is it because we write de before our names, or 
 because we make the sign of the cross when we 
 enter a church ? Then your liberty is nothing 
 
(Cr^r^T. A>TT^ T xx.T:,x.m-cr " 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 141 
 
 but a lying and cruel oppression. Is it because 
 we have served France for fifteen years ? But 
 you forget, tben, that the third part of the offi- 
 cials of that period were the nurslings of Imperial 
 despotism, the same who now ask and obtain 
 your favours, and who, because they carried the 
 tricolor when it was the sign of a withering 
 absolutism, impudently boast of having been 
 the friends of liberty." 
 
 Thus the young champion fought for his class, 
 though he agxeed in few of its principles — for 
 his class, but still more for justice and the equal 
 distribution of freedom to all. 
 
 Nor is his other early production, entitled *Du 
 Mouvement et de la resistance en Angleterre/ 
 less characteristic. His late visit to the British 
 Islands had not put him in charity with Eng- 
 land. But already the fascination which he 
 always felt towards the institutions and social 
 framework of this country had drawn him into 
 such an investigation and comprehension of 
 English affairs as few young Frenchmen pos- 
 sessed. It is true that his own semi-English 
 origin must have helped in this; but he had 
 been out of England since he was eight years 
 old, and does not seem during the interval to 
 have had any special opportunity of studying 
 her laws or manners. This sketch, however, of 
 
142 l'avenir. 
 
 the English constitution — in which it is his ob- 
 ject to prove that the agitation then reigning, and 
 which was finally calmed by the Eeform Bill of 
 1832, would not in any way shake the balance 
 of England or injure her position — is full at once 
 of real knowledge, and of that determined theory 
 which every fact unconsciously shapes itself to 
 fit. For one thing, it was the opinion of young 
 Montalembert that the Duke of Wellington was 
 the only English statesman capable of ruling 
 the crisis and bringing the country safely through 
 it. " He alone," he says, " venerated by the 
 army, deeply esteemed by foreign diplomacy, 
 endowed with an essentially military self-pos- 
 session, indefatigable activity, and an invincible 
 obstinacy and calm — he alone can make head 
 against the crisis which approaches, and which 
 must shake England to its very depths." He 
 then gives an account of the opposition party, 
 which he does not think highly of — which is 
 distinguished by a total want of homogeneity 
 — but which includes, " in the first place, the 
 populace," the lower class en masse, which he 
 characterises as " the vilest and most sanguinary 
 in Europe" — a hard judgment even of our roughs, 
 who have never done more than pick our pockets. 
 The most characteristic point of the essay, how- 
 ever, is his sketch of our hierarchy of national 
 
"god and liberty." 143 
 
 life — the curious succession of aristocracies, one 
 within another, which in his eyes constituted the 
 streno-th of England. With a visible satisfaction 
 and comfort he explains to his French readers how 
 the " three hundred and fifty families of the peer- 
 age " are supported and sustained by " a body 
 much more numerous, and spread over the whole 
 country — the gentry — which is almost entirely 
 master of the soil ; " how this, in its turn, is 
 supported by the yeomanry, and by the clergy, 
 who spring from its bosom, and who have 
 entirely given themselves up to its sustenance 
 and support in all circumstances. ^' The Church 
 has annulled its influence for the good of the 
 aristocracy," he says — and this is the only 
 particular which does not please him ; though, 
 as the Church is a heretic Church, there is a 
 certain satisfaction even in its sacrifice of in- 
 dividual power. We do not wish to weary the 
 reader with these early indications of Mon- 
 talembert's judgment and sentiments, which, 
 however, it may be interesting to compare with 
 his maturer verdict upon English afiairs, which 
 was published a quarter of a century later. 
 Nothing could more entirely prove the unity of 
 the man, and the early ripeness of his opinions. 
 There were few things which interested and 
 satisfied him more throughout his life than this 
 
144 l'avenir. 
 
 theory of tlie beneficent influence and immense 
 power of aristocracy in England — a theory 
 which perhaps more even than his English 
 blood endeared our country to him, and filled 
 him with a constant interest in all that was said 
 and done within our four seas. 
 
 His first article in the ' Avenir' appeared in 
 December. Its subject was Poland, and the 
 revolution, momentarily successful, which had 
 arisen in that unfortunate country in emulation 
 of France. This was soon followed by his '' Let- 
 tre sur le CatJiolicisme en Irlande" from which 
 we have already quoted. These papers (though 
 the latter is full of statistics and details) are lyr- 
 ical outbursts of enthusiasm, burning and glow- 
 ing with the most high - pitched and fervent 
 sympathy for the two typical Catholic nations, 
 which always continued the special objects of 
 his love. Things were going well in Poland at 
 the moment, and it is a cry of joy which the 
 young champion of all the unfortunate shouts 
 forth to earth and heaven. " At last she has 
 uttered her cry of awakening, at last she has 
 shaken ofi* her chains, and threatens with them 
 the head of her barbarous oppressors, this proud 
 and generous Poland, so slandered, so oppres- 
 sed, so dear to all free and Catholic hearts ! " 
 " Who is he," adds the young man in his 
 
<C ^^T^ A>TT^ T T-r.T.T^m^r " 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 145 
 
 ecstasy, " with fhe heart of a man in his breast, 
 who does not feel it beat with joy at the. news 
 of the holy revolt of the Poles ? and we Catho- 
 lics, with what a transport of happiness, and 
 at the same time with what pious seriousness, 
 ouD-ht we to receive this new and wonderful 
 answer of God to our long prayers!" There is 
 a breathless rush of words, a flow and fulness of 
 enthusiasm, in everything he says, which carry 
 the reader along at racing speed, till he grows 
 almost as breathless as the young writer, who 
 has no pity for his slower pace. The style, 
 though not yet formed in all the suave and flow- 
 ing grace of its maturer expression, already con- 
 tains all the elements of after-excellence. And 
 even the exasoferation, the hot flush of enthusi- 
 asm, the breathlessness of the young orator, con- 
 ciliate and carry with him the sympathy of the 
 reader. It is impossible to resist the frank and 
 generous impetuosity of this torrent of elo- 
 quence. He speaks, he does not wTite ; it is as 
 an orator, not as the calm author of a news- 
 paper article, that we consider him. While 
 we read, somehow the scene changes, the 
 young figure rises before us, with eyes glowing 
 and sparkliug, with mobile countenance, and 
 lono^ locks floatino; on the wind of his own 
 eagerness and speed. Whether we agree with 
 
 VOL. L K 
 
146 l'avenir. 
 
 him or not, we are carried away by his earn- 
 estness, his intense belief in all he is saying. 
 And what he is saying is ever generous, mag- 
 nanimous, full of the very spirit of chivalry. 
 If he takes the wrong side by chance, it is only 
 when that is the side of misfortune. If his 
 judgment is deceived, it is through pity and 
 charity, and a noble tenderness for all who suffer ; 
 and no injustice, no oppression, no evil, ever 
 has from him a moment's support. His weak- 
 ness is to dislike victorious causes, and abandon 
 the successful ; but that is a generous weakness, 
 and one not found too often among humankind. 
 It was in the beginning of the year 1831 that 
 the * Avenir ' came first into violent contact with 
 the authorities. King Louis Philippe had for 
 the first time exercised his right of nominating 
 bishops, and called forth by the act two of Lacor- 
 daire's violent and eloquent articles, flaming 
 with indignation at this encroachment of the 
 new Government upon the rights of the Church. 
 It is a proof of the note and influence of the 
 newly-established journal, small as was the 
 actual number of its supporters, that it received 
 so soon this crowning mark of success and popu- 
 larity. Lamennais and Lacordaire were united in 
 the indictment, and accused of having used sedi- 
 tious language, and excited the people to hatred 
 
" GOD AND LIBERTY." 147 
 
 of the Government and disobedience to the laws. 
 Lamennais was defended ably by M. Janvier, 
 an advocate not in the least agreeing with his 
 opinions ; but Lacordaire, who was still nomin- 
 ally a member of the French bar, defended him- 
 self with all the natural eloquence for which he 
 was afterwards distinguished, and that ready 
 power of debate which his combative attitude 
 was so well calculated to develop. Contrary to 
 all expectation, these two revolutionaries, who 
 were of so strange and novel a type, were ac- 
 quitted without hesitation ; and thus the first 
 victory was won, encouraging the party to re- 
 newed zeal and effort. " The decision was not 
 given till midnight," says Montalembert. '* A 
 numerous crowd surrounded and applauded the 
 victors of the day. When it had dispersed, we 
 returned together alone, in the darkness, along 
 the quays. When we reached his threshold I 
 hailed in him the orator of the future. He 
 was neither intoxicated nor overwhelmed by his 
 triumph. I saw that for him the little vanities 
 of success were less than nothing, mere dust of 
 the darkness. But I saw him at the same time 
 eager to spread the contagion of courage and 
 self-devotion, and charmed by those evidences 
 of mutual faith and disinterested tenderness 
 which shine in young and Christian hearts 
 
148 l'avenir. 
 
 with a glory purer and more delightful than 
 all victories." 
 
 Perhaps it was during this loving walk along 
 the banks of the Seine, in the stillness of the 
 great city, with faint lights glimmering in the 
 tall houses, and the stars of heaven and lamps 
 of earth reflected together in the silent river, 
 that, while his young companion, in the warmth 
 of his enthusiast-soul, prophesied glory and 
 honour for him, Lacordaire, turning these bril- 
 liant auguries aside, spoke words of gentler 
 meaning, which went to the very heart of his 
 susceptible friend. " He who loved more deeply 
 the joys of Christian friendship than those dis- 
 tant echoes of renown, made me understand that 
 the greatest struggles only affect half our being; 
 that they leave untouched our dreams of that 
 which goes above all, the life of the heart ; and 
 that the character of our days, from beginning 
 to end, depends upon the presence or absence 
 of a beloved recollection in our hearts. It was he 
 who spoke to me thus," says Montalembert : 
 '' and he added immediately, ' Ah ! we ought to 
 love nothing but the Infinite, and this is why, 
 when we love, those whom we love become so 
 perfect to us.' " Nothing can be more touching 
 than this brief sketch. The priest still so young, 
 in the languor of mingled satisfaction and ex- 
 
'^ GOD AND LIBERTY." 149 
 
 haustion wliicli followed his great effort, falls 
 back with an affecting sense of repose, at once 
 happy and melancholy, upon the love of the 
 youth by his side, whom he has adopted into 
 his very heart. To our Protestant imaginations 
 the shadow of a recollection that all love but 
 this was cut off from him, intrudes whether we 
 will or not ; but probably no such thought was 
 in the mind of Lacordaire. He had been, accord- 
 ing to his own description, very solitary during 
 all his life in Paris, deprived of any souve7iir aime 
 to make his days pleasant ; and what was his 
 coming fame to him in comparison with this 
 fresh and delightful novelty of brotherly love 1 
 
 The unexpected victory encouraged the Cath- 
 olic party .to new exertions. Up to this mo- 
 ment it had been religious liberty, as involved 
 in the action of the Church alone, which had 
 occupied them. The appointment of bishops 
 by the Government, the tyranny of a prefect 
 who compelled a parish priest to inter an 
 infidel in his church, and other such infringe- 
 ments of the absolute law of liberty in the 
 persons of ecclesiastics and in the administra- 
 tion of the Church, had been their chief theme ; 
 and their claim for perfect freedom of action 
 had carried with it, as a necessary consequence, 
 a desire to separate the Church from the State 
 
150 l'avenie. 
 
 by throwing aside all national provision. Now 
 the young revolutionaries made up their minds 
 to a further step. At that period, education in 
 France was a monopoly in the hands and under 
 the direct control of the University of Paris. 
 The existence of private schools, or of any 
 educational institution not licensed and regu- 
 lated by this body, was absolutely forbidden. 
 This is a state of affairs so extremely difficult 
 to realise, that the English imagination, used 
 to evasion of all harsh and unjust edicts, imme- 
 diately jumps to the conclusion that it must 
 have been impossible to maintain it, and that 
 some manner of eluding such a law must have 
 been discovered. But the habit of inscribing 
 laws on the statute-book and evading them ever 
 after is a strictly British habit, and unknown 
 to more logical races. Such were the laws 
 respecting education which existed in France 
 in the year 1830, amid all the boast and fer- 
 vour of freedom. A stipulation, it is true, had 
 been made in the amended Charter, promising 
 that provision should be made, " with the least 
 delay possible, for public instruction and the 
 liberty of teaching.^' But the monopoly of the 
 University was still in full force, and no law had 
 as yet been proposed for its modification. A 
 study of the results produced by the sway of 
 
(( /-i^T^ A -^--rx T FT^T-T^nnT^ " 
 
 GOD AXD LIBERTY. 151 
 
 secularism in education upon the youtli of 
 France at this period, might be very profitable 
 and important for ourselves at the present crisis 
 of our history ; but this is not the place to enter 
 upon it. It had, however, produced a state of 
 utter irreligiousness in the great colleges and 
 schools of France, such as few would like to 
 see paralleled in England. Nothing can ex- 
 ceed the warmth with which men of any marked 
 religious feeling speak on this subject — and 
 the personal conviction with which the elder 
 generation who passed through it, recall to each 
 other, as a recollection shared by all, the evil 
 influences which thus surrounded their youth. 
 Lacordaire records of himself that he left colleo;e 
 with '^religion destroyed" in his soul. He had, 
 "like almost all the youths of his period, lost 
 his faith at school." And it is with all . the 
 confidence of a man speaking of facts known 
 to his hearers, and which no one can gainsay, 
 that Montalembert, some time later, gives the 
 following sketch of the habitual influence of the 
 Lycee, prefacing it with the notable words, Vous 
 le savez. It was a subject on which all were 
 equally well informed. 
 
 " Is there," he says, " a single establishment of 
 the University where a Christian child can live 
 in the exercise of faith ? Does not a contagious 
 
152 l'avenir. 
 
 doubt, a cold and tenacious impiety, reign over 
 all these young souls whom she pretends to in- 
 struct ? Are they not too often either polluted, 
 or petrified, or frozen *? Is not the most flagrant, 
 the most monstrous, the most unnatural im- 
 morality inscribed in the records of every col- 
 lege, and in the recollections of every child who 
 , has passed as much as eight days there ? " 
 
 It may be said that accusations as trenchant 
 have been made against our own public schools 
 and all great institutions where boys are massed 
 together. But at least an alarmed English 
 parent has always had an alternative in his 
 power. The French father, however, had no 
 alternative. The Lyc^e was his sole resource. 
 If he conscientiously desired religious instruc- 
 tion for his son, his only chance was to put 
 that son in the garb of a seminarist, and send 
 him, under this false pretence, to a purely 
 ecclesiastical academy — an expedient against 
 which an honest man naturally revolted, and 
 which few high-spirited boys were likely to 
 bear. This was the wrong against which the 
 young champions of religious liberty now com- 
 menced their crusade. The form which their 
 assault took was one directly prompted and 
 suggested by that work of O'Connell which 
 influenced them so greatly. They took a step 
 
le nrST^ A ATTN TTT,T^T>mTT" 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. > 153 
 
 "which, though perfectly legitimate in itself, was 
 wrong in the eye of the law ; not with the hope 
 of successfully resisting that law, but in order 
 to point out the hardship and wrong of it 
 by the proceedings w^hich w^ould inevitably be 
 taken against them. This kind of opposition 
 was totally new in France, and took the world 
 altogether by surprise. It does not appear that 
 Lamennais, whom they called their master, had 
 anything to do with this digression in their 
 broader career. The originators of the enter- 
 prise and its executants were Lacordaire and 
 Montalembert alone. 
 
 Their immediate stimulus to action was the 
 interference of the authorities of the University 
 with certain small schools in Lyons, where the 
 choristers received from the priests a gratuitous 
 education. These schools were summarily closed 
 by the Eector of the Academy of Lyons, acting 
 under orders from his chief: and the wronor 
 was so patent and unmistakable that the pro- 
 motors of the new agitation seized upon it as 
 the foundation of their resistance. 
 
 In order to try this issue, the young men 
 opened a little school in the beginning of May 
 1831 in Paris. Before taking this step, the staff 
 of the *Avenir,^ headed by Lamennais, had 
 addressed a petition to the Chamber of Peers, 
 
154 l'avenir. 
 
 whicli was presented by the Count de Monta- 
 lembert, praying that the promise of the Charter 
 should be carried out. This petition produced 
 no response either from the Minister or the 
 Chamber; and having thus found the useless- 
 ness of words, the young reformers proceeded to 
 demonstrate to all France the oppressive char- 
 acter of the restriction under which they lay, 
 and their own regard for freedom in this parti- 
 cular. Their school was opened on the 7th of 
 May, in a room in the Eue des Arts. There is 
 something which, without feeling anything but 
 respect for the chief actors in the scene, we 
 may almost call comic in this curious incident 
 — serio-comic, with a certain grandiloquence in 
 it, and that absence of all sense of the humorous 
 in the situation, which makes our neighbours 
 on the other side of the Channel go seriously 
 through many episodes, the effect of which 
 would, in our hands, be spoilt by ill-timed 
 laughter. Lacordaire and his friends — for there 
 was a third gentleman, M. de Coux, associated 
 with the two principals — had, we may presume, 
 no hope whatever of being permitted to con- 
 tinue their school, any more, as they would them- 
 selves have explained, than O'Connell had of 
 securing a seat in Parliament by his first elec- 
 tion ; therefore the little scene which follows 
 
Cf^^T^ *>-T^ T T-r^T^T^m^- '» 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 155 
 
 was not miicli more than a piece of grave act- 
 ing. The school was opened solemnly by an 
 address from Lacordaire, which was applauded 
 to the echo by a company of his supporters, 
 chiefly young men, who had ofi'ered, had there 
 been any call for their services, an hour of their 
 time daily to help on the new institution. 
 After this enthusiastic opening the school began 
 next morning, and twelve children presented 
 themselves — not enough to prove that the ser- 
 vices of the volunteer teachers were very neces- 
 sary, but enough to establish their principle, 
 which was all that was wanted. The morning 
 passed over quietly; and no doubt the little 
 pupils must have opened great eyes of astonish- 
 ment at the siuQ-ular devotion shown towards 
 them by these three very exceptional school- 
 masters. In the afternoon, however, the pro- 
 ceedings were interrupted by the entrance of a 
 commissary of police, followed by three police- 
 men, who intimated their intention of closing 
 the school. Lacordaire, who had everything 
 prepared for such an emergency, immediately 
 produced a protest, which he and his colleagues 
 signed. Then, without taking further notice of 
 their visitors, they proceeded to set the lessons 
 for next day, while the astonished policemen 
 looked on. We quote the account of the scene 
 
156 l'avenik. 
 
 which followed from the volume entitled ' M. de 
 Montalembert, et extraits de ses QEuvres/ lately 
 published in a series entitled the ' Gloires du 
 Catholicisme au XlXme. Sifecle/ by the Abb6 
 Dourlens. 
 
 " Surprised by this resistance, the commissary 
 of police cried loudly, ' In the name of the law 
 I declare the school closed; and I warn the 
 children not to return until the decision of jus- 
 tice has been pronounced/ 
 
 " * The hour of dismissal having come,' said 
 Lacordaire, gravely addressing his pupils, ' we 
 will now pray together, and separate/ 
 
 " All then knelt, and repeated a prayer to the 
 Holy Virgin. The commissary and his agents, 
 standing still, regarded this scene with the 
 deepest amazement. 
 
 " The next day the children returned, and so 
 did the commissary. As on the preceding 
 evening, he summoned the teachers to with- 
 draw, but when they referred him to their 
 protest he turned to the children. 
 
 " ' In the name of the law,' he said, with 
 energy, ' I command you to retire.' 
 
 " ' And I,' said Lacordaire, ' in the name of 
 your parents, whose authority I have, I require 
 you to remain.' 
 
"god a^b liberty/' 157 
 
 " ' Once more, in the name of the law,' cried 
 the commissary, with impatience, ' I summon 
 you to go away/ 
 
 '^'And I,' repeated Lacordaire, with calm 
 firmness, * in the name of the authority which 
 your parents have confided to me, I command 
 you to stay where you are/ 
 
 " These words were repeated a third time on 
 both sides. The children, encouraged by the 
 looks and gestures of their masters, remained 
 intrepidly in their places, and cried unani- 
 mously, ' We will remain — we will remain ! ' 
 
 " The policemen had finally to employ force to 
 empty the room. Lacordaire resisted, and was 
 the last to be expelled. Whenever he had been 
 drawn out of the room, seals were placed on the 
 door of the school, and the three improvised . 
 schoolmasters were placed at the bar of the 
 Police Correctionelle." 
 
 Curious scene, in which the twelve little 
 gamins^ prematurely polemical, no doubt, played 
 their part of resistance with intense enjoyment, 
 and which the young martyrs must also to some 
 extent have enjoyed. It was a struggle for 
 principle, and was meant most seriously by all 
 parties concerned ; but yet we wonder whether 
 there was not a certain lurkino- lauohter in our 
 
158 l'avenir. 
 
 young Vicomte's blue eyes. Enthusiasm, how- 
 ever, and the high strain of religio-political 
 feeling, seldom generate humour, which, besides, 
 is not a foremost quality of youth ; but with all 
 tenderness for these sublime young sufferers, we 
 at least may be permitted a smile. 
 
 This was to young Montalembert one of those 
 epochs in which, to balance the general uni- 
 formity of existence, life is nothing but a 
 string of important events. He had scarcely 
 got himself into the heat of this combat when 
 the death of his father raised him from a 
 secondary position to that of a peer of France, 
 representing a well-known name and holding 
 an important position. The grief was a great 
 one to his sensitive spirit, especially as it was 
 evident that there was a certain raiDprochement 
 of ideas between the father and son, at least at 
 the end of the Count de Montalembert's life, 
 and that he had taken a fatherly pride and 
 satisfaction in the commencement of life made 
 by his young representative. Now, however, 
 the young man had to step into his fathers 
 place, feeling the new vacancy and strangeness, 
 and his increased loneliness, with the warmth 
 which was natural to all his feelings. But in 
 the haste and din of the conflict then rao-- 
 
 o 
 
 ing, there was something which lulled and 
 
« /-,^,. l^TT^ XTT.T.T^m^r" 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 159 
 
 silenced the outcries of personal pain ; and 
 as this loss occurred before the trial of the 
 young revolutionaries, the first step taken by 
 Montalembert in his new character was to 
 appeal that he might be tried by his peers, 
 according to the law of France — a step which 
 threw a still greater glow of romantic distinction 
 over the story, and called all eyes to the novel 
 appearance at the bar of the Chamber of Peers 
 of the three accuses, indicted for having opened 
 a free school for poor children in the midst of 
 Paris. The advantage of thus calling public 
 attention to their cause was perhaps greater in 
 appearance than in reality ; but in any way 
 in which it can be looked at, the scene was a 
 striking one, and well calculated to inspire the 
 imagination ; and the judges were probably the 
 most favourable who could have been found 
 in France, well disposed towards the rebel, 
 who was one of themselves, and touched by 
 the feeling of his recent loss, and by the fact 
 that a public appearance was thus demanded of 
 him before the natural tears had dried in his 
 eyes. According to the law, his two fellow- 
 culprits accompanied him to this higher tribunal ; 
 and here the dehict at once of Lacordaire and 
 Montalembert took place in the great world. 
 Their audience included all that was noblest in 
 
160 l'avenir. 
 
 France ; men prepared — by those centuries of 
 education which cultivate in a race a deepened 
 sense, at least, of all the superficial graces of 
 oratory and diction — to be influenced by the 
 fresh eloquence of the two speakers who were 
 to count thereafter among the greatest orators 
 of their time. Lacordaire spoke first, a bold 
 and fine address, in which he drew a daring 
 parallel between the Government which had 
 taken advantage of a right accorded by the 
 Charter, but not formulated in a law, to impeach 
 the previous ministers, and himself who had 
 used a similar right for a benevolent purpose. 
 " If they could do it, so could I,^' said the brave 
 priest, " with this difi'erence, that they asked 
 blood, and that I desired to give a free education 
 to the children of the poor ; " and he ended by 
 recalling to his judges the example of Socrates 
 " in the first struggle for freedom to teach." 
 " In that cause celehre by which Socrates fell," 
 said Lacordaire, "he was evidently culpable 
 against the gods, and in consequence against 
 the laws of his country. Nevertheless, posterity, 
 both pagan and Christian, has stigmatised his 
 judges and accusers ; and of all concerned have 
 absolved only the culprit and the executioner, — 
 the culprit, because he had failed to keep the 
 laws of Athens, only in obedience to laws more 
 
(< ^r^^ A^TT^ T ■r-^^-^,T^rT^^T " 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 161 
 
 elevated still ; and the executioner, because he 
 presented the cup to the victim with tears." 
 When the elder defendant had thus proudly and 
 plainly warned his judges of the possible fate 
 before them, young Montalembert followed. He 
 was in mourning, and his voice trembled as he 
 alluded to " the voice so dear to me which lately 
 sounded in this place." He was just twenty-one, 
 and looked still younger than his age, his fresh, 
 boyish, beardless face still preserving the first 
 perfect outline and the evanescent bloom of 
 youth. Everything in and about him tended 
 to prepossess the friendly court before which he 
 appeared ; and when he justified himself in the 
 following words, his youth, his simplicity, his 
 beginning of eloquence, all must have pleaded 
 for him : — 
 
 ^' I know that by myself I am nothing," said 
 the young speaker; " I am but as a child ; and 
 I feel myself so young, so inexperienced, so 
 obscure, that nothing less than the recollection 
 of the great cause of which I am here the 
 humble champion could encourage me. But I 
 am happy in possessing a recollection of words 
 pronounced for the same cause in this very 
 place by my father. And I am sustained by 
 the conviction that this is a question of life and 
 
 VOL. L L 
 
162 l'avenir. 
 
 death for the majority of Frenchmen — for 
 twenty-five millions who hold the same relig- 
 ious faith as myself ; and by the unanimous cry 
 of France for freedom of teaching ; and by the 
 written wishes of those fifteen thousand French- 
 men whose petition we have ourselves carried 
 to the other Chamber ; and by the rights of 
 thousands of families whose oSspring are spring- 
 ing up in a region which arbitrary legislation 
 has made a desert ; — in one word, by the image 
 of a cruel past to atone for, and an invaluable 
 future to assert, and, above all, by the name I 
 bear — that name which is great as the world, 
 the name of Catholic. I have all these principles 
 to sustain me when I thus appear before you ; 
 and I require to remind myself of these great 
 arguments, not only to give me courage, but to 
 convince my judges that I have not been guided 
 in what I have done by any inspiration of 
 vanity, or any thirst for distinction. It is 
 sufficiently well known that the career on which 
 I have entered is not of a nature to satisfy 
 an ambition which seeks political honours and 
 places. The powers of the present age, both 
 in government and in opposition, are, by the 
 grace of Heaven, equally hostile to Catholics. 
 There is another ambition not less devouring, 
 perhaps not less culpable, which aspires to re- 
 
CC ^r^-r^ . T.^T^ -r xT^T-,T^r^^x » 
 
 GOD AND LIBERTY. 163 
 
 putation, and which is content to buy that at 
 any price : that, too, I disavow like the other. 
 No one can be more conscious than I am of the 
 disadvantages with which a precocious publicity 
 surrounds youth, and none can fear them more. 
 But there is still in the world something which 
 is called faith — it is not dead in all minds ; it 
 is to this that I have early given my heart and 
 my life. My life — a man^s life — is always, and 
 especially to-day, a poor thing enough; but this 
 poor thing consecrated to a great and holy cause 
 may grow with it ; and when a man has made 
 to such a cause the sacrifice of his future, I be- 
 lieve that he ought to shrink from none of its 
 consequences, none of its dangers. 
 
 "It is iai the streno;th of this conviction that I 
 appear to-day for the first time in an assembly 
 of men. I know too well that at my age one 
 has neither antecedents nor experience ; but at 
 my age, as at every other, one has duties and 
 hopes. I have determined, for my part, to be 
 faithful to both.^' 
 
 We quote these words not so much as illus- 
 trating the early style of the future orator, but 
 as manifesting the position he thus early took 
 up. "It was thus," says M. Sainte - Beuve, 
 " that M. de Montalembert, suddenly succeed- 
 
164 l'avenir. 
 
 ing to the position of a peer on the very eve of 
 the abolition of its hereditary character, made 
 his debut as an orator at the bar of the noble 
 Chamber at the age of twenty-one, and in the 
 position of defendant. But his youth, his ease 
 and grace, the elegant precision of his style and 
 diction, veiled this fact ; and his judges were the 
 first to forget that the speaker before them was 
 one accused at their bar ; they saw in him only 
 the beginning of an orator. The entire Chamber 
 listened with a surprise which was not without 
 pleasure to the young man's bold self-justifica- 
 tion, and, looking at its talent and grace alone, 
 found in it first of all the highest promise of 
 future public service. The House of Peers re- 
 ceived this latest-born production of its heredi- 
 tary right with the favour, and almost with 
 the tenderness, which a mother has for the last 
 of her children. From that day M. de Monta- 
 lembert, though formally condemned, was borne 
 in the very heart of the peerage — he was its 
 Benjamin." Almost the same sentiment is 
 expressed by the Due de Broglie, who adds, — 
 "The Chamber smiled at an eloquence so full 
 of promise, as a grandsire smiles at the gener- 
 ous and mutinous vivacity of the last child of 
 his race.'' The fervour and force and chival- 
 rous courage of the young speaker stirred the 
 
"god and liberty/' 165 
 
 noble blood of France, wbicli was chilled in its 
 veins by revolution and overthrow. Here was a 
 proof that the chill was not for ever, that youth 
 and enthusiasm could still rekindle the ancient 
 fires. The defendants were sent from the bar 
 of the Peers with a gentle reprimand, which 
 was as good as an acquittal, and a mild fine 
 of a hundred francs ; and this defeat had, as 
 was natural, all the efi'ect of a ^dctory. 
 
166 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 L'AVENIR continued, 1831. 
 
 This victory, however, thougli brilliant, was 
 without results ; the young agitators, involved 
 in a cloud of other occupations and excitements, 
 had not leisure or patience to carry out the 
 slow process of O'Connell's method, and get 
 themselves re-tried, re-heard, and re-condemned, 
 until their point was gained. On the contrary, 
 having made this one remarkable assertion of 
 their principles, they let it drop, or rather remit- 
 ted it into private channels, into the hands of the 
 Society for the Defence of Religious Liberty, and 
 the tedious machinery of petitions and local 
 agitations. We are not aware that any of 
 the many French commentators upon the his- 
 tory of this brilliant year have noted the absence 
 of the special circumstance which made O'Con- 
 nell's agitation so successful — its perseverance, 
 and perpetual repetition of the same attempt. 
 
l'avexir, 1831. 167 
 
 M. Cochin, in his able sketch/" remarks with a 
 certain astonished admiration upon the charac- 
 ter of the brilliant but brief assault upon the 
 law, which was " so new, so unexpected, so 
 singular, and, in one word, so un-French/' 
 " What,'' he says, *' had led this young man, or 
 rather these two young men, to employ this 
 unusual method, this patient course of proceed- 
 ing, which, making a formal commencement, 
 marches on step by step, mounting scientifically 
 to the assault, and conquering liberty with 
 patience and circumspection, — a course of pro- 
 ceeding, I repeat, so un-French '? " Perhaps it 
 would be more to the instruction of the world 
 had the distinguished speaker inquired what 
 induced them to give it up. Was it the natu- 
 ral impatience of their nation of a process so 
 gradual ? or was it the undiscriminating zeal of 
 youth, which knows no perspective, to which 
 all the objects it pursues are equally great and 
 equally practicable '? or was it simply the ex- 
 citement of a combat more impassioned still, 
 which carried them away in spite of themselves, 
 and tore them from the practical point of free- 
 dom which they might have won, into the wild 
 
 * Le Comte de Montalembert : Discours prononcee le 1^^ 
 Avril 1870 a la Societe Generale d'Education, par M. Augustin 
 Cochin, Membre de I'lnstitut. 
 
168 l'ayenir, 1831. 
 
 pursuit of an ideal whicli they could never win 1 
 Our own impression is, that they were moved 
 by all of these hindrances, but chiefly by the 
 latter. For, indeed, that splendid abstraction of 
 religious liberty w^hich the little army of the 
 * Avenir ' hoped to conquer and realise, included 
 all lesser liberties, and made the individual 
 struggle unimportant. The two young cham- 
 pions who had made so bold a beginning were 
 accordingly driven back into the larger and 
 more rapid stream : even Lacordaire, with all 
 his natural wisdom, was too much intoxicated 
 by the wild hope of that grand freedom of a 
 theocracy, which has charmed all pious imagi- 
 nations since the beginning of time, to reflect 
 that the liberty to teach would have been much 
 easier to win ; and Montalembert, still younger 
 than he, full of romance and enthusiasm, 
 and with all the devotion of a disciple towards 
 the visionary Lamennais, the " master " whose 
 sway he was proud to acknowledge, could 
 scarcely be expected to sacrifice the ideal to 
 the practicable. They did just enough, accord- 
 ingly, to draw the eyes of France upon them, 
 to make an immense stir and commotion in 
 society, and to raise a question which, once 
 mooted, could sooner or later have but one 
 answer; when they were swept away, as we 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 169 
 
 have said, by the wilder torrent, and, rushing 
 after their chimera of an emancipated Church, 
 let the possible victory drop for the moment out 
 of their eager hands. 
 
 We are not of those who consider that this 
 ideal of a self-governed Church, or, to adopt the 
 words of its champions, a Church governed by 
 God's laws alone, and unrestricted by the pru- 
 dential enactments of men, is either a fanatical 
 dream, or the invention of h}'pocritical ambi- 
 tion. We are certain, on the contrary, that 
 not only to the three men whose brief but bril- 
 liant strugrorle we are endeavourino; to set before 
 the reader, but to many a humbler and less 
 remarkable Christian, this ideal theocracy has 
 been the highest and most beautiful vision 
 which imagination could conceive. If we are 
 compelled to add that it has never been suc- 
 cessfully realised, this is no more than we are 
 obliged to say of every high ideal ever conceived 
 by man. Perhaps the conditions of human 
 nature are such that it never will be realised ; 
 but yet the mind which cannot recognise the 
 beauty and nobility of this hope is wanting in 
 something, and does as much injustice to its 
 own higher part as to the devout souls at 
 whom it sneers. A Church — who can doubt — 
 which should be independent of all the coarser 
 
170 l'aYENIR, 1831. 
 
 inducements of ambition ; wMcli slionld be free 
 to use every faculty for the advantage and succour 
 of man ; which, poor itself, should be the nat- 
 ural champion of the poor ; which, free itself, 
 should be the natural defender of all liberty ; 
 which, acting on God's laws, and not on man's, 
 should be the same everywhere, awful to the 
 evil-doer, tender to the penitent, making religion 
 a reality and not a form, and enlightening men 
 everywhere as to their true interests, their wisest 
 way, — who can doubt, we repeat, that such a 
 Church, ideally pure, honest, and disinterested, 
 would be the greatest benefactor the world ever 
 saw ? And this was what their Church of the 
 future appeared in the eyes of Lamennais, 
 Lacordaire, and Montalembert. This was what, 
 through the mists of distance, through the 
 generous glamour of imagination, the Church in 
 Ireland, poor and persecuted, but ever patriotic, 
 maintaining in the midst of the most debasing 
 poverty a certain spiritual standard of good 
 and evil, and even a certain power of intellec- 
 tual stimulation, appeared to them. Not only is 
 the human interest of the situation entirely lost 
 to those who refuse to acknowledge this real and 
 most vivid hope and conviction, but life itself, 
 and our own minds, are so much the poorer 
 and duller from an inability to understand this 
 
l'aVENIR, 1831. 1*71 
 
 variety of feeling. To these men the Church 
 was the greatest of all agencies, and religion 
 the highest of all influences : and the thoug;ht 
 that such a power, so divinely adapted for all 
 man's necessities, should be limited by frivolous 
 bonds of local manufacture — should have its 
 lips closed by a foolish edict — should be com- 
 pelled to accept rulers chosen upon an altogether 
 different principle from that of its foundation — • 
 should be stopped in its natural acti^dty here, 
 and forced there to do what it would not, — was 
 altoo-ether revoltinpr and terrible to their minds. 
 It is impossible to form any true idea of the 
 subject of this memoir without fully identifying 
 this fundamental principle. To him the idea 
 of a secular statesman regulating the Church, 
 excited the same flush of painful indignation 
 which a soldier feels when he sees (as has been 
 so often unhappily the case of recent days) the 
 council of his generals thrown into confusion by 
 the arbitrary interference of an ignorant civilian. 
 Few men refuse to sympathise with the fury 
 and indignation roused in the latter case ; but 
 in the former the world smiles or sneers at the 
 sacerdotal pretension. Yet Montalembert, for 
 one, was no sacerdotal devotee ; his conflicts 
 through life were as much with priests as with 
 laymen. He was no worshipper of the priest- 
 
172 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 hood; but he was a worshipper of the ideal 
 Church ; and this worship, and vision, and hope 
 transported his soul. 
 
 While the foreground of the picture is occu- 
 pied by the episode of the school, and the 
 romantic and brilliant defence of the volunteer 
 schoolmasters before the House of Peers, the 
 background is filled up with a host of lesser 
 activities. The Ee volution of Julv had not 
 passed over without some lawless consequences. 
 In the very beginning of the year 1831, a fune- 
 ral service in the beautiful church of Saint- 
 Germain TAuxerrois, on the anniversary of the 
 murder of the Due de Berry, was made the 
 occasion of a great demonstration by the crowd 
 against the Legitimists, and still more, as the 
 Catholic party believed, against religion. This 
 boiling over of the worst revolutionary feeling, 
 that evil sediment which is in all popular ebul- 
 litions, and which had been wonderfully re- 
 strained and kept in check at the moment of 
 revolution itself, took the vile form of an assault 
 upon the church of Saint-Germain, which was 
 seriously injured, crosses being in some cases 
 pulled down from the walls and trampled under 
 foot by the mob. At the same time the arch- 
 bishop's palace was sacked, and almost destroyed. 
 To make this outrage still more impressive, so 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 173 
 
 far as young Montalembert was concerned, lie 
 himself was in arms, with his company of Na- 
 tional Guards, posted at a point where they were 
 totally unrequired, and hearing in the distance 
 the tumult of destruction which they were not 
 permitted to stop. A few years later he spoke in 
 his place in the House of Peers of this riot, with 
 a force of suppressed feeling extremely natui-al in 
 the circumstances. " For my part," he said, " I 
 can neither think of it nor talk of it calmly ; for 
 I have still upon my heart the recollection of 
 having been detained ten hours under arms, in 
 the midst of twenty thousand bayonets equally 
 unused, and detained far from the scene of the 
 crime, while the waves of the Seine carried past 
 us fragTQents of ruin from the archiepiscopal 
 palace, bearing witness to the shame and im- 
 potence of society in these evil days." There 
 can be little wonder that the young man's 
 indignation exceeded all bounds at such a 
 moment and under such circumstances. He 
 poured it forth, glowing and flaming like the 
 lava from a volcano, in the pages of the ' Ave- 
 nir,' lamenting, not only in the interests of reli- 
 gion, but in those of outraged liberty, the insult 
 thus done to the symbols of Christian faith. 
 This article, which appeared on the 19th of 
 February, six days after the riot, is entitled 
 
174 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 " La Croix/' and in it tie pours forth tlie pas- 
 sion of his heart : — 
 
 " If there was ever a legitimate cause of sor- 
 row, it is that which has seized our hearts in 
 these days of anguish. We have not only to 
 deplore, like some, that liberty, the name of 
 which has been prostituted to cover the most 
 revolting excesses ; we have not only, like others, 
 to strike our brows against the stones of our 
 profaned altars — both these griefs are united in 
 our grief; we are constrained to share all the 
 complaints, all the groans, which recent events 
 have torn from both parties ; and who could be 
 surprised if our souls should sink under the 
 weight of this complication of evils and injuries 1 
 We had dreamt of a sublime alliance — this dream 
 had become our life, we abandoned ourselves to it 
 with the enthusiasm of young and fervent faith. 
 We marched in the midst of darkness and in 
 thorny ways, murmuring without cease two 
 sacred names, and finding in these two names a 
 consolation in all our weariness, an answer to 
 all enmities, a remedy for all our sinkings of 
 heart. These two names have been outraged, 
 that sacred alliance has been thrown into the 
 dust, this dream has ended, and we awake in 
 the midst of the orgies of a sacrilegious people. 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 175 
 
 The future in wliich our souls dwelt, where our 
 eyes sought a vivifying light, is veiled over ; the 
 powerful breath which inspired us with faith and 
 courage is no longer anything but a faint sigh, 
 which seems dying away. We lived by right of 
 an immortal thought, and we have fallen into 
 the arms of a mortal despair.'' 
 
 After this exordium, he addresses the two 
 parties whose antagonism had brought on this 
 assault upon the religion which embraced both, 
 and had neither part nor lot in their quarrels. 
 
 " Men of the past," he cries, " how long will 
 you remain faithful to this madness '? how long 
 will you persist in uniting that which God has 
 put asunder, an eternal kingdom with one that 
 passes away 1 When will you cease to betray 
 the noble affections of your heart by an alliance 
 which equally ruins both causes which are dear 
 to you '? It has been your doing : you have 
 fastened j om: fleur-de-lis to a crucifix, and the 
 people have protested against the union by a 
 sacrilege. 
 
 " And to the others we say : * Men of power, 
 dare you still lull yourselves in the hope that 
 this power will be able to save your faith ? dare 
 you confide to it the destinies of the Church of 
 
176 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 God, give up to it the choice of her pastors, and 
 sell the tribute of your prayers to that authority 
 which, with sixty thousand bayonets under its 
 orders, has permitted churches to be destroyed, 
 and has left the most sacred signs of that wor- 
 ship, of which you proclaim yourself the de- 
 fenders, to be dragged through the mud and 
 thrown into the stream/'* 
 
 This glowing protest was followed by another 
 appeal, an address to the Koyalist party, whose 
 alliance was so great a danger for the Church, yet 
 who were as profoundly opposed as the men of 
 July to the politics and mission of the ' Avenir/ 
 It is very evident that the heart of the young 
 writer was moved towards this party, which 
 included so large a proportion of his own class, 
 even when his opinions were most strongly 
 against them ; and it was, we believe, partly as 
 a counterpoise to an article of excessive rigour 
 against the Eoyalist party, written by Lamen- 
 nais, that this warm and eloquent appeal, 
 " A ceux qui aiment ce qui fut," was published. 
 It is an anxious remonstrance against the fatal 
 practice common to the higher classes of France, 
 and apparently to the classes most distinguished 
 by education and refinement, wherever demo- 
 cracy rules supreme, of withdrawing from all 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 177 
 
 share in the political life of their country, and 
 in pride or in sullenness leaving the mob to rule 
 by themselves. The address with which it 
 begins has something singularly and touchingly 
 personal in it, like the address of one brother to 
 another, and shows the generous and poetic soul 
 of the young writer as in a glass. 
 
 *' We who are new to public life and to the 
 conflicts which have absorbed your existence, 
 we do not represent ourselves to you as parti- 
 sans of your political faith, or neophytes of that 
 worship of legitimate kings which you profess, 
 without making any account of the legitimacy 
 of nations ; but we say in simplicity and good 
 faith — if you but knew how much we respect 
 the unfortunate love, how much we venerate 
 the long enthusiasm of your fidelity, and how, 
 above all, the common faith which unites us 
 calls forth our sympathy, you would regret the 
 dissensions which separate us, you would recog- 
 nise in us children of the same father — Chris- 
 tians to whom it is grievous not to be united 
 with other Christians in all their thoughts, and 
 who long to gather all together in a unity 
 higher than that which can be dissolved by the 
 events of earth. 
 
 " We feel none of this sympathy, God knows, 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
178 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 for tlie regrets of courtiers, the disappointment 
 of officials, the mortifications of self-love or 
 ambition which produce nothing more than 
 conspiracies of the drawing-room and miserable 
 petty conflicts. But we feel a sympathy strong 
 and deep for the disinterested attachment of 
 those provincial Koyalists, of those rural popu- 
 lations which have never seen the Court, which 
 have received nothing from it, which have 
 gained nothing by its return, and lost nothing 
 by its fall. The former, very much more closely 
 linked to the ancient dynasty and involved in 
 its faults, have been the first to march under 
 the new banner ; the latter have remained un- 
 shaken in their afiection, in the sadness of their 
 regret, in the Avorship of that hereditary belief 
 which they cherish as a holy patrimony. We 
 respect them, and we have had need of all our 
 faith in the eternal designs of God, we have had 
 need of all the awe inspired by those terrible 
 chastisements with which he strikes kings and 
 peoples, to keep us from being drawn by too 
 warm a sentiment towards men of such stain- 
 less honour. Governed, however, by a thought 
 which is higher than all thrones, and with our 
 eyes fixed upon the future, which God permits 
 us to see in glimpses, we do not share their 
 regrets, but we are profoundly touched by 
 
l'avenie, 1831. 179 
 
 tliem ; we do not live under tlie empire of their 
 loves and recollections, but we bow ourselves 
 before their self-devotion ; for wherever there is 
 self-devotion there is faith, and wherever there 
 is faith there is the breath of God/^ 
 
 This preface shows how nearly the young man, 
 preux chevalier and champion of the unfortu- 
 nate, he who hated victorious causes, had been led 
 away by his chivalrous sympathy for the fallen 
 into the ranks of the absolutist party — a position 
 in which he could not have found rest for a 
 moment. But interesting as this is personally, 
 it is not more so than the patriotic wisdom of 
 his hot young pleading with this party, to come 
 out of its sullen or contemptuous seclusion, 
 and take its just and constitutional part in the 
 conduct of the nation. 
 
 "You possess" (he says) "half of the soil of 
 France ; by your numbers, by your faith, by 
 your virtues, even by your wealth, you are in- 
 vincible. How do you dare then to remain 
 longer apart from the struggles which decide 
 day by day the dearest interests of your 
 country'? While you await the time when 
 you can expose your lives for her on the field 
 of battle, why do you shrink from the duties 
 
180 l'avenih, 1831. 
 
 of peaceful and free citizens '? Eoyalists, nobles 
 of France, landed gentlemen, we exhort you 
 formally; make use of the innumerable advan- 
 tages of your position, make use of the legitimate 
 influence which belong to you over the masses. 
 Confess frankly those opinions of which it is at- 
 tempted to make a crime, and which legislative 
 restriction endeavours in vain to annul. At- 
 tach to yourselves once more, by your disinter- 
 estedness, by your tenderness, by your devotion 
 to the general interest, the populations which 
 surround you. Do not misunderstand the double 
 popularity to which you are called — the power- 
 ful popularity of official disfavour and the holy 
 popularity of virtue. 
 
 " Enter then with courage and confidence 
 into public life. Hasten to enroll yourselves in 
 the ranks of the National Guard ; ask arms 
 from the country, and swear not to lay them 
 down when your God is insulted. Fulfil zeal- 
 ously the sacred duty of electors, and give to 
 the country representatives who will under- 
 stand the true union of order and freedom. 
 Called to share in the national sovereignty, 
 make use of it with that seriousness and con- 
 science which France demands of you. Do, in 
 a word, what your fathers did — make with us 
 and with all men of good faith, who seriously 
 
l'aventr, 1831. 181 
 
 love liberty, a league for the iDuhlic good, upon 
 which at once the attacks of impiety and 
 the evil snares of power will fall. Throw the 
 weight of your virtues into the balance when 
 God weighs the destinies of the country, and 
 suffer no longer the baseness of a ruffian or the 
 power of a speculator to precipitate it into the 
 dust.'' 
 
 It would have been well for France if all 
 the better and purer spirits, whose devotion to 
 a dead cause have made them useless for her 
 service, would have taken these wise words — 
 almost too wise to have come from a brain of 
 one-and-twenty — to heart. Unfortunately they 
 have never done so ; and perhaps the most 
 fatal particular in all the evils brought about 
 by her many revolutions is, that one detachment 
 after another of her best and wisest has been 
 paralysed and laid aside, to look on while their 
 inferiors both in mind and morals did the public 
 work and debased the national character. At 
 this very moment, when all the elements are in 
 confusion, and no one knows which will come 
 uppermost, there is nothing more discouraging 
 to a patriotic Frenchman than the consciousness 
 of that voiceless crowd which stands aside 
 looking on and taking no share in whatever is 
 
182 l'aventr, 1831. 
 
 done in the country, leaving tlie scum to come 
 uppermost and have its way. The very ex- 
 istence of this dumb passive mass, which 
 neither votes nor speaks, in the midst of all 
 the agitations around, is a wonderful fact. It 
 was but to one portion of this — a portion kept 
 silent by its sympathies with the past, and not 
 by mere apathy — that Montalembert made his 
 impassioned appeal ; but the appeal might be 
 extended in its application, and even heightened 
 in its entreaties, were there any such voice as 
 his to sound it now into the ear of the country 
 which he loved to his last breath. 
 
 We will quote but one other fragment from 
 these glowing pages of the ' Avenir.' The 
 articles on Poland, of which there are three or 
 four, are so many poems, lyrics of an enthu- 
 siasm which mio;ht sound extravagant if it were 
 not so tuneful and so full of unbounded and 
 most generous sympathy for valour and misfor- 
 tune. These lyrical outbursts, however, we 
 leave to be sought out by those who are still 
 (if such remain), or have been, enthusiasts for 
 Poland. But there is a short article, entitled 
 " La Foi," also from the ^ Avenir,' strangest 
 composition for a newspaper — a lofty, melan- 
 choly, half-inspired strain, which reads like an 
 echo of something proclaimed to an awe-stricken 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 183 
 
 people by a primitive propliet — from wHeli 
 we will quote an impressive picture of that 
 world without faith which was, the writer 
 sadly felt, before his eyes as he wrote. Once 
 more the political party, which professed itself 
 Christian, shared, with the avowedly profane, 
 the indignant and eloquent warning of this 
 young monitor. 
 
 " A great void has been made in the heart of 
 every individual and of every people ; and this 
 void is heavy as a punishment, wearisome as a 
 death-struggle. Driven about by the wind of 
 their caprices upon the ocean of human misery, 
 nations and men have closed their sails to one 
 breath only, and that is the breath of God. There 
 is no more union among them, no self-surrender, 
 no more tender affections, no more heartfelt 
 faith ; a dull defiance has replaced all this, and 
 its icy empire is shared only by derision and 
 bitterness. Kings and great men, who were 
 the first to undermine the soil of the Christian 
 world, have felt that soil tremble beneath them, 
 and have so fallen into contempt and impotence 
 that the day of their funeral will be for them a 
 day of mercy. The people, enriched only for a 
 moment by the fall of its masters, no longer 
 knows with what intention it broke their yoke, 
 
184 l'aVENIR, 1831. 
 
 and now gazes with consternation upon the 
 earth, which remains barren under its victory, 
 and upon the heaven, which it does not under- 
 stand. Seated between the tomb of his fathers, 
 whom he has disowned, and the cradle of his 
 children, for whom he feels only a bitter pity, 
 man is no more than a melancholy puppet, con- 
 demned to play I know not what lugubrious 
 comedy before I know not what icy spectators. 
 " Alas 1 and it is not only in the hearts of the 
 impious and of the children of perdition that 
 the divine breath is extinct — that the heavenly 
 life is at its last sigh. The children of God, 
 what are they doing ? . . . Worshippers of 
 the past, where is that faith which your fathers 
 found everywhere, and which inspired all their 
 self - devotion, which presided over all their 
 affections, which mingled itself with their whole 
 life ? Is it this which governs all your passions, 
 which reigns over all your attachments — is it 
 this which is the root of all your hopes ? . . . 
 No ; deaf to the voice of Him who came into the 
 world alone and without human alliance, they 
 are led away by their foolish passions, to seek a 
 god, according to their fancy, under the folds of 
 some royal mantle, or within the circlet of a 
 mortal crown. . . . They believe with blind 
 faith in the immortal power of a family, in the 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 185 
 
 miraculous destiny of a child, in the terrible 
 punishment of their enemies ; but tell them that 
 God is there in the midst of those crumbling 
 thrones, of this volcanic agitation of peoples, in 
 this martyrdom of a nation of heroes ; tell them 
 that it is His hand which regulates the vast 
 field of revolutions, and that He gathers all His 
 creatures thus for the work of His glory ; tell 
 them so, and they will shake ofi" the dust from 
 their feet against you — they will retire from 
 you, they will fly into solitude, into idleness. 
 For what reason, oh my God '( — to forget and to 
 betray Thee ! 
 
 " There is no more life in the world ; the 
 thought of God, which has been everywhere 
 banished, has carried with it everywhere dura- 
 tion, truth, and life. For the personal affections, 
 as for political attachments, there is no loDger 
 a sacred sanction, and no longer a future. 
 Where is the tie which has not been broken 1 
 \"\niere is the cause which is not distrusted 1 
 Where is the principle which reigns as a master 
 over a single soul ? An indescribable giddiness 
 has seized upon men — no one knows where he 
 is going, no one wishes to go where his fate 
 urges him. They lie, they heap oath upon 
 oath ; but all their vain words, in which God is 
 not once named, are quickly effaced from the 
 
186 L*AVENIR, 1831. 
 
 recollection of men. Just enough of memory 
 is left to them to know themselves perjured." 
 
 It is thus that the young agitator, the young 
 polemic, the youth who at the same moment 
 was playing the curious little episode of his 
 schoolmastership, and was presently to defend 
 that daring Quixotism before his peers — it was 
 thus he wrote in one of those sad moments of 
 inspiration which belong to young genius. He 
 was sad ; his heart was torn for his country, and 
 for that absence of all concern for the better 
 part which was her melancholy characteristic ; 
 and yet at the same time — as we see in a hun- 
 dred ways — even while he uttered these melan- 
 choly fulminations, he was full of hope and 
 light-heartedness, doing his work with a cheer- 
 ful enthusiasm which never forsook him, and 
 expecting everything that was good and joyful 
 for his people and his faith. This practical 
 paradox is always possible to youth ; and it was 
 happily possible to his vigorous and vivacious 
 spirit at all times of his life, even when youth 
 was long past. But in the mean time youth 
 breathes in all he does and says, even in the 
 unmeasured force of his exultation and despair, 
 his sense of immense downfall and his certainty 
 of success to come. No compromises were pos- 
 
l'ayenie, 1831. 187 
 
 sible to him. What he said, he said with all his 
 heart, throwing himself into it with abandon and 
 unreserve, with absolute earnestness and faith. 
 
 At the same time other work than that of 
 simple journalists occupied the conductors of 
 the ' Avenir.' The Society for the Defence of 
 Eeligious Liberty w^as as active as the news- 
 paper which Avas its organ. Montalembert 
 announces in his journal that he was himself in 
 communication w^ith twenty -two departments, 
 and the energetic propagandism which they 
 carried on involved many journeys through 
 France for the formation of local societies and 
 the encouragement of new disciples. '^ The 
 means of communication, both personal and by 
 post," he says at a later period, " were much 
 more difficult than now ; there were neither 
 railways nor telegraphs ; and in our propa- 
 gandist journeys we took three days and three 
 nights to go, in execrable diligences, from Paris 
 to Lyons." Some of these journeys are amus- 
 ingly referred to in the letters of Lacordaire, 
 where he throw^s many a friendly gibe at his 
 friend's dainty personal habits — for Montalem- 
 bert in this particular was English in all his 
 ways, indulging in those perpetual baths and 
 ablutions which puzzle the true Continental 
 soul ; and insisted upon making himself fresh and 
 
188 l'aVENIR, 1831, 
 
 clean and neat on his arrival at a new place, 
 whatever might be the hour or the circum- 
 stances. This delightful peculiarity made his 
 friend smile, and he upbraids him lovingly with 
 "tes toilettes de deux heures;" which, how- 
 ever, after a diligence-journey of three days and 
 three nights, every Englishman will sympathise 
 in. All this movement and activity was life 
 and joy to Montalembert. In the beginning of 
 1831 he had the great grief of losing one of the 
 friends of his boyhood, Gustave Lesmarcis, who 
 died after a long illness at Nice, and, as it hap- 
 pened, on the very day when Montalembert had 
 sadly visited and gazed with many recollections 
 at the closed windows of his house at Conflans. 
 But even under this blow his work supjDorted 
 him. " Now that I am no longer idle, I can 
 bear anything," he says. His occupations, too, 
 threw him into the midst of a little crowd of 
 men of congenial enthusiasm, who thought and 
 felt as he did, and upon whose imaginations the 
 beautiful dream of a free Church had made a 
 similar impression. Enthusiasm of this kind, 
 when real, is perhaps the most beautiful and 
 ardent of all enthusiasm, especially as mani- 
 fested by the young laymen, who could derive 
 no personal advantage of any kind from the 
 Church's emancipation, and whose disinterested 
 
l'ayexik, 1831. 189 
 
 glow of zeal, and eagerness for the freedom of 
 religion, had all the grace and warmth of patriot- 
 ism, with a certain visionary and pure flame 
 added to it, more tender and elevating than 
 patriotism itself. 
 
 " Good was it in that time to be alive, 
 But to be young was very heaven:" 
 
 this is the spirit of the words in which, going 
 back with happy sadness into his own recollec- 
 tions, Montalembert draws for us with his own 
 hand the picture of this period — the year of the 
 ' Avenir': — ■ 
 
 " I will be pardoned for dwelling upon the 
 events of this year, which were so memorable 
 for us. There is no man, however obscure and 
 little worth his life may have been, who does 
 not at the end of his days feel himself drawn 
 by an irresistible current towards the moment 
 when the first fire of enthusiasm awoke his soul 
 and trembled on his lips ; there are none who 
 do not breathe with a sort of intoxication the 
 perfume of their recollections, and who do not 
 feel themselves tempted to boast beyond mea- 
 sure of their charm and brilliancy. Happy 
 and sad days, we say to ourselves — days de- 
 voured by work and passion, days such as one 
 sees but once in one's life ! I do not fear to 
 
190 l'avENIR, 1831. 
 
 exaggerate tlie value and the intensity of those 
 struggles for the essential principles in ques- 
 tion, which decided the attitude of Catholics in 
 France and elsewhere from the Eevolution of 
 July to the time of the Second Empire. The 
 present generation can form little idea of the 
 strong and generous passions which then in- 
 flamed all hearts. . . . AVhat life there was in 
 the soul! what fervour in the intelligence! what 
 disinterested worship of the flag, the cause 1 
 how many deep and fruitful furrows were made 
 in the young hearts of the time by an idea, by 
 an act of self-devotion, by a great example, 
 by an instance of faith or of courage ! ... To 
 understand the pure and disinterested enthu- 
 siasm which then burst forth in the parsonages 
 of the young clergy, and in certain groups of 
 frank and noble young men, one must have 
 lived in these times, read in their eyes, received 
 their confidences, grasped their tremulous hands, 
 and contracted in the heat of the combat ties 
 which death alone could break." 
 
 The same sentiment is also expressed by 
 Lacordaire. " However cruel Time may be," he 
 says, " it can take nothing from the happiness 
 of the year which is just over, and which will 
 remain in my heart for ever like a virgin newly 
 dead." 
 
l'avexir, 1831. 191 
 
 It was their year of romance, the blossom of 
 more than one life, to which other blossom was 
 denied. Lamennais, a man who does not seem 
 to have been susceptible to the more vulgar at- 
 tractions of ecclesiastical ambition, whose fame 
 was pur et simple, without either bishop's mitre 
 or cardinal's hat in prospect, rose and expanded 
 with this sudden access of ambition for his 
 Church ; bursting as it were into full flower of 
 hope, after long years of vague verdure and inde- 
 finite growth. Lacordaire, who beneath his exu- 
 berance of imagination and eloquence hid all 
 the passion of a reserved and self-concentrated 
 nature, had let himself go upon the delightful 
 current of enthusiasm, opening for once in his 
 life the v^ry floodgates, and pouring himself 
 forth with that conscious effusion and self- 
 forgetfulness which in its very fulness grows 
 more full, breaking every boundary in the deli- 
 cious sense of ahandon which is so difficult to it 
 on ordinary occasions. Montalembert's position 
 was different ; for in him the material had been 
 all ready waiting the first strong influence which 
 should seize it ; and the facts which determined 
 the nature of this influence were, so far as it 
 is permissible to use such words, entirely for- 
 tuitous. But all the more eaorer was this first 
 application of his abstract enthusiasm to real 
 
192 l'avenie, 1831. 
 
 work, an ardent and tumultuous stream, carry- 
 ing all before it. 
 
 Around these three were a little crowd of 
 men, chiefly young, who had escaped out of 
 the bare and hard monotony of the secular 
 schools, that unlovely level of cynicism and pro- 
 faneness which, whatever its opinions may be, 
 revolts every sensitive mind ; or, on the other 
 hand, out of the ecclesiastical seminaries, with 
 their narrow horizons, and that routine of ob- 
 servance which lies heavy upon the young 
 priest, just as the routine of non-observance 
 disgusts the young layman. Out of all these 
 different burdens, out of the monotonous life 
 which brought nothing but disappointment, 
 where even revolution changed little in the 
 people, and even misfortune mended little in 
 a king, this group of lives burst into sudden 
 flower. The principle, which was their life 
 and bond of union, was something altogether 
 new, though old as Christianity; and never was 
 there a time which had more need of a new 
 hope, never time more painfully conscious of 
 wanting some legitimate and undebased link 
 with the past. And this new thing was a some- 
 thing yet untried — a power which had never had 
 fair-play ; most probably, nay, most certainly, as 
 they all felt, it was the one panacea neglected 
 
l'ayenir, 1831. 193 
 
 all this time, wMcli miglit heal the world. As 
 they rushed about all over the country, spread- 
 ing the news of it, finding everywhere a fit 
 audience, often few but always worthy, what 
 wonder if their hearts burned within them more 
 and more, and if their confidence grew day by 
 day in this infallible remedy which they had 
 discovered, and which was to heal all ills ? 
 Outside of the little band many of the best 
 minds of France stood curious, looking on, 
 touched by the enthusiasm, prepossessed by the 
 genius employed on this new crusade, wonder- 
 mg" what it was all to come to, and admirino^ 
 though they gave no adherence. Victor Cousin 
 might denounce them as gens de la Sacristie, 
 but Victor Hugo gazed at them with sym- 
 pathetic attention, dreaming of a world re- 
 generated by Catholicism; and was not the 
 Sacristie itself part of the Church, and the re- 
 proach such as might be taken up proudly, and 
 in very scorn of scorn made into a distinction ? 
 Those who stood aloof from them, those who 
 vilified them, were, it seemed to these enthu- 
 siasts, the commonplace mass both of people 
 and priests, who were unable to understand the 
 height of their hopes, or the magnanimous and 
 generous character of their enterprise. Vulgar 
 statesmen, who feared ecclesiastical influence 
 VOL. I. N 
 
194 l'aVENIE, 1831. 
 
 above all things ; clergy who trembled for the 
 poor remnant of position and provision which 
 was still left to them ; and those profane masses 
 who tore down the cross from the church wall, 
 and sacked houses, and destroyed whatever 
 they could find to destroy, — such were their 
 enemies : while all that was noblest and purest 
 in the Church of the past — all that Avas great, 
 generous, and expansive in the Church of the 
 future, was on their side ; or so at least they 
 thought. And more and more, as that vulgar 
 opposition grew hotter, their ideal became dearer 
 to them — the ideal of the Church separated for 
 ever from all the vile ties which bound her 
 to the side of the great, which tempted her 
 to ambition and worldly wants and wishes — 
 divinely poor, divinely free, going about doing 
 good like her Master, having, like Him, perhaps, 
 no place to lay her head, yet ministered to by 
 angels, protected by Cod, delivering man. We 
 do not hesitate to say that it was a noble and 
 beautiful dream. However little we may agree 
 with them, however impracticable the idea may 
 seem to us, and however history may pronounce 
 against it, no sympathetic mind can ever look 
 on without a thrill of admiration and fellow- 
 feeling at such an enterprise. It could not but 
 fail; but those who believed in its possibility 
 
l'ayenie, 1831. 195 
 
 proved themselves by so doing to be men of a 
 heroic strain. 
 
 And the leaders who were so united in work 
 were at the same time brethren, and more than 
 brethren, in heart. They lived in the same 
 house, making a family of themselves under the 
 genial fatherhood of Lamennais, and establish- 
 ing a home and centre to which all sympathies 
 naturally came, and which overflowed with the 
 lively stir of business, and the intimate and 
 loving intercourse of youthful friendship. There 
 is a glimpse of this common dwelling-place in 
 one of the letters addressed by Lacordaire to his 
 friend while absent on one of the many journeys 
 of the Agence. "We have left the Eue de 
 rUniversite," he writes ; '* there was no longer 
 anything to keep us there — at least there was 
 nothing to keep me, as you were there no 
 longer. We are now at No. 98 Eue de Yau- 
 girard. It is a pleasant house. Besides the 
 entrance court there is another large gravelled 
 court at the side, and a good garden, in which 
 we shall take our walks. M. Feli (the diminu- 
 tive of Felicite, by which name all his disci- 
 ples addressed Lamennais) occupies the ground- 
 floor to the left. The chapel is above his rooms, 
 and by the side of it two pleasant apartments 
 for M. Gerbet and M. Combalot. Above them, 
 
196 l'aVENIR, 1831. 
 
 on the second floor, nobody lives at present. 
 On the third floor, on the left of the court, is 
 my room, which has two large windows com- 
 manding an immense view from the hills of 
 Montmartre to the Castle of Meudon, and even 
 further off, taking in St Sulpice, TAbbaye, the 
 Arc de Triomphe, the Invalides — while close by 
 is the garden of the house, which fills in the 
 foreground as if it had been made for that alone. 
 This, however, is not the best of my apart- 
 ment. It is entered by a door at the end of the 
 corridor, but there is another door which admits 
 to a charming room, which I have taken pos- 
 session of for you. Thus we shall be together. 
 If I should have chosen wrongly for you, and 
 you would rather not have a room so close to 
 your friend, the place must remain vacant. I 
 speak of the house, and not of the heart." 
 
 " Eeturn quick, my dear friend, return quick," 
 he adds a few days later. " We need you, and 
 I can no longer live without you. Every day I 
 go into your room, which is beside mine, to open 
 the window and put it in order, as if you 
 were already there. But even friendship cannot 
 create what does not exist. I have been in low 
 spirits these few days because of our change. 
 How good it would be to die in the place where 
 one was born, without ever leaving the same 
 
l'avenie, 1831. 19*7 
 
 roof ! but there are few so happy in this world, 
 and even the rich are wanderers (vagabonds) 
 like others. Palaces have ceased to be heredi- 
 tary as well as cabins. We are like those wood- 
 men who make themselves a hut at the foot of 
 a tree, and after having destroyed everything 
 around them, finish by cutting down the very 
 trunk against which they supported their heads, 
 before they leave the spot. Let us make at least 
 an eternal friendship in the midst of this world, 
 where there is no longer anything durable and 
 unchanging. Let our hearts be as the hearths 
 of our fathers. My good Eene, I await your 
 coming; I entreat you not to linger on the 
 way. How strange to take any pleasure in 
 being absent ! Besides, we want you. . . 
 We have scarcely enough spoons to eat our soup, 
 or beds to sleep in. It is a bivouac." 
 
 Thus poor, sad, joyful, and busy, hoping 
 everything and possessing nothing, with no 
 support but work and friendship, and the high 
 ambition of serving their country, the little 
 band laboured and struggled, sometimes put to 
 sad straits, but never losing courage, and with a 
 certain lawlessness in their bold career which 
 must have afforded a gleam of pleasure at least 
 to the younger brethren of the dauntless party. 
 The 'Avenir,' indeed, throughout all its short 
 
198 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 career, is more like a spiritual Quixote than an 
 ordinary newspaper. It goes against every ill 
 deed and ill doer in its way with a rush and 
 fury which make the sober spectator giddy, 
 flinging itself at the head of its adversary, re- 
 jecting all thoughts of expediency, maintaining 
 a cause as superlative as that of any sacred 
 majesty or Utopian republic, the cause of the 
 absolute Best in a world full of compromises. 
 The rights it claimed for the Church, and the 
 impossible sacrifices which it promised in her 
 name, raised for it enemies on every side, thick 
 and many. The Church and the world equally 
 erected themselves against so generous yet so 
 rash a champion; for if the world was deter- 
 mined not to grant the absolute rights thus 
 claimed, the Church was as little disposed to 
 follow the beck of its self-appointed leaders, 
 and give up even the poor remnant of revenue 
 that was left to her, her morsel of bread, at its 
 call. 
 
 While all the world thus rose in resistance 
 to the counsels of the ^Avenir,' the resources 
 of its little band began to be exhausted, and 
 the moment grew nearer and nearer in which 
 downfall must come. By what a singular and 
 romantic expedient the end of this curious 
 knight-errant of newspapers was made different 
 
l'aVENIR, 1831. 199 
 
 from all other sucli conclusions, we can best ex- 
 plain in the words of that one of its editors 
 whose good sense at this moment was most to be 
 relied on, yet who, strangely enough, was the 
 author of the rash suggestion which brought so 
 much trouble upon all the band. It is Lacor- 
 daire who speaks : — 
 
 *' At the same time," he says, after describ- 
 ing the origin and policy of the paper, " this 
 movement had not a foundation sufficiently 
 broad. It was too sudden and too ardent 
 to sustain itself for a long period. To have 
 a steady success, it is necessary that an enter- 
 prise should be deeply rooted in the spirit 
 of the time. Although O'ConneU had gone 
 before us,- he was in a great measure un- 
 known to France ; and we appeared to the 
 cleigy, to Government, to all parties, like a 
 parcel of children, without ancestors and without 
 posterity. Our undertaking was as the tempest 
 coming from the desert, and not like the fruit- 
 ful rain which refreshes the air and blesses the 
 fields. It was necessary, then, after thirteen 
 months of a daily combat, to think of retreat. 
 Our funds were exhausted, our courage failing, 
 our strength diminished even by the extrava- 
 gance with which we had employed it. The 
 same day when this resolution was taken, I went 
 
200 l'aVENIR, 1831. 
 
 early to tlie room of M. de la Mennais, and 
 showed him tliat we could not come to an end 
 like this, but that we ought to go to Eome to 
 justify our meaning, to submit our opinions to 
 that tribunal, and to give, by this proceeding, 
 such a proof of our sincerity and orthodoxy as 
 would be always, whatever might happen, a 
 blessing to us, and a weapon taken out of the 
 hand of our enemies." 
 
 Enlightened by the wisdom of experience — 
 that wisdom which never comes soon enough to 
 stop a foolish enterprise — Lacordaire complains 
 that Lamennais, who was twenty years his 
 senior, and ought to have known better, did 
 not make the least objection to this mad but 
 most touching and simple reference to what the 
 honest young priest considered an infallible 
 tribunal of justice. But Lamennais was not 
 one of the men who learn by experience, or 
 who was ever likely to stop, by cold interven- 
 tion of wisdom, a proposal so attractive. He 
 accepted the idea at once, without pause or 
 hesitation. "Yes,'' he said, "we must go to 
 Eome." It was a course in accordance with all 
 his own feelings ; it was a brilliant and romantic 
 way of escaping from the dead prose of failure ; 
 and it was, at the same time, a possible means 
 of triumphing over all the petty oppositions and 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 201 
 
 enmities whicli they had encountered. It is 
 evident that the idea of a repulse from Eome 
 never entered into his mind. In his former 
 visit he had been received with nothing but 
 applauses. The sweetest of praise — that which 
 is bestowed by one's chief whom one half adores, 
 and who is the highest authority upon earth to 
 us — had been lavished upon him ; and no doubt 
 Lamennais anticipated new triumphs, and that 
 his cause would be splendidly vindicated, and 
 he himself made triumphant over his enemies. 
 Montalembert was too young to ma.ke any op- 
 position to such a proposal, and too enthusiastic 
 to do anything but embrace it with delight. 
 Accordingly, a last number of the *Avenir' 
 was published, in which the purpose of the 
 editors to suspend the paper until they had 
 gone to Eome to seek sanction and authority for 
 its continuation, was announced " with pomp," 
 as Lacordaire tells us ; and the most curious 
 pilgrimage ever undertaken either in modern or 
 ancient days began. In the nineteenth century, 
 on the morning after a revolution, these three 
 modern Frenchmen, thorough men of their time, 
 set out accordingly, with a simplicity worthy 
 of the heroic ages, to seek approval of their 
 opinions and works from their spiritual head. 
 Neither from primitive Ireland nor romantic 
 
202 l'avenir, 1831. 
 
 Poland had sucli an expedition set fortL These 
 two examples of faith and obedience had fight- 
 ing enough on hand, and mixed motives, on 
 which perhaps they could not, with a safe 
 conscience, seek the Pope's blessing. But the 
 Frenchmen did it, who were sprung of the most 
 sceptical race on earth, and at one of its worst 
 moments. It was reserved for them to give 
 this extraordinary, bizarre, yet most touching 
 proof of a faith as real as that which moved 
 Saint Louis. In ancient days they would have 
 gone with pilgrim staff and shoon, making the 
 journey toilsomely and slowly ; but though they 
 travelled instead in the quietest, most civilised, 
 and commonplace manner, it was no less a pil- 
 grimage. If they had done nothing more to 
 prove their unworldliness, their generous un- 
 wisdom, trust, candour, and good faith, they 
 must have demonstrated them now beyond all 
 question. And of all the expeditions under- 
 taken in this century, we doubt if there is one 
 other as affecting, as remarkable, as simple, and 
 strange. They went to their Pope with that 
 absolute realisation of their relationship to him 
 as children to their father, which is so confus- 
 ing to the unimaginative soul. They took it for 
 a fact, this theory, this matter of abstract be- 
 
l'avenir, 1831. 203 
 
 lief, and acted -apon it, putting all ordinary 
 mortals, wlio keep facts and theories apart in 
 their distinct places, into such a ferment of 
 embarrassment and bewilderment as fortunately 
 occurs but seldom, even in the wonderful world 
 of Eome. 
 
204 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DOWNFALL. 
 
 It is evident that this extraordinary expedition 
 was undertaken with very little fear of its 
 results. The conductors of the 'Avenir' had 
 so much faith in their principles and in the 
 supreme authority to whom they referred their 
 cause, that they went sure not only of a just 
 judgment but of a triumphant vindication. 
 They felt, as David did when he referred his 
 cause to God, that the Vicar of Christ would 
 bring out their righteousness as the noonday. 
 From mocking Paris, full then as now of gaiety 
 and trifling and laughter, where many scoffed 
 at them and all wondered, they went out, hold- 
 ing their heads high in the primitive certainty 
 of their faith. They took their " devout ima- 
 gination,'^ their impossible ideal, without any 
 misgivings, from that world of levity into the 
 graver centre of astute policy and traditionary 
 
DOWNFALL. 205 
 
 wisdom. And they went to ask the Head of 
 the Church to commit himself, to sanction a 
 new and revolutionary movement, to bless the 
 very banners of revolt, and acknowledge as 
 pioneers of his army the ecclesiastical Ishmaels 
 who had carried fire and flame everywhere dur- 
 ing their brief career. The looker-on cannot 
 but smile at an expedition so unlikely; but 
 it was real as life and death to the pilgrims 
 who undertook it, and who, in their conviction 
 of the justice of their cause, were for the mo- 
 ment absolutely without fear. 
 
 The 'Avenir' came to an end in November 
 1831 ; and immediately after, ^^ we set out," says 
 Lacordaire — " M. de la Mennais, M. de Monta- 
 lembert, and I — like three soldiers worn out by 
 war, seeking rest from their combats under the 
 paternal roof." The two elder pilgrims arrived 
 in Eome on the eve of the new year; but 
 Montalembert, who was now making his first 
 visit to Italy, travelled less directly, and we 
 find him in December in Florence, where he 
 formed one of his sudden but devoted friend- 
 ships with the young Albert de la Ferronays, 
 son of Count de la Ferronays, ambassador at 
 Eome under Charles X., who had resigned his post 
 after the Eevolution of July, and who, like so 
 many other noble Legitimists, had been obliged 
 
206 DOWNFALL. 
 
 to fall back upon tlie remains of a fortune 
 mucli diminislied by tbe first Eevolution, and 
 continued in an honourable exile, poor, pious, 
 and irreproacbable, in the country to which he 
 had been sent as representative of France. It 
 is at this point that the subject of this memoir 
 enters into one of the most delicate and exquis- 
 ite pictures ever drawn, — a narrative in which 
 the life of a real family is set fully and frankly 
 before us, without ever once conveying to the 
 reader a sense of sacred privacy invaded or un- 
 due confidence given. The ' Eecit d^une Soeur ' 
 is too well known to require any praise or any 
 description here. It is unique in literature. It 
 is a romance more detailed and more efi'usive 
 than fiction, a love-story as pure as ever maiden 
 dreamed, a tale in which the most private inci- 
 dents of life are recorded without the smallest 
 breach of that modesty which is indispensable 
 to honourable existence. It throws, at the same 
 time, into the most lovable and attractive light, 
 the virtues and excellences of that vieille no- 
 blesse which has unfortunately lost the influ- 
 ence it ought to have had in France, but which 
 retains so much that is noblest and purest and 
 most admirable in human character, and has 
 produced some of the most delightful individual 
 men and women ever brought into the world. 
 
DOWNFALL. 207 
 
 The new friend of Montalembert, the hero of 
 this beautiful book, Albert de la Ferronays, was 
 not a man calculated for the rougher work of 
 the world. He was one of those spotless and 
 tender souls, " most gentle, most unfortunate," 
 to Avhom Providence makes up for the early 
 death which awaits them by giving them in 
 their lifetime, heaped up and running over, the 
 gift of universal love and sympathy. He was 
 at Florence with M. Eio, the future historian 
 of Christian art, when young Montalembert, as 
 usual seeing and describing everything, arrived 
 in Florence. The two youths were nearly the 
 same age, and had many sentiments in com- 
 mon. Albert had been making a tour through 
 Tuscany, visiting with Eio the most interest- 
 ing points in that lovely country, and those 
 which were most distingTiished by historical 
 and religious recollections; and had paused 
 to make a " retreat " at Florence in all the 
 tender enthusiasm of that youthful piety which 
 is so much more angelic, if often perhaps 
 less real, than piety at any other age ; and 
 which had, no doubt, been warmed and 
 strengthened by the sight of many a church 
 and castle and village made memorable by 
 saintly legends. The three travellers passed 
 some time together in Florence; and it was 
 
208 DOWNFALL. 
 
 here probably, under the influence and teach- 
 ing of M. Eio, that the first strong impulse 
 towards religious art, and appreciation of its 
 beauty and meaning, came to Montalembert. 
 They went to Eome together, according to 
 Madame Craven, in January 1832, though 
 from the recollections of M. Rio, as published in 
 his Epilogue to ' TArt Chretien,' he and Albert 
 would seem to have followed and not accom- 
 panied their common friend. 
 
 Lacordaire and Lamennais had reached 
 Eome on the last day of 1831, and there 
 Montalembert rejoined them. From the first 
 moment of their entrance into that centre 
 of all their hopes, a change is evident in 
 the very atmosphere surrounding the three 
 pilgrims. A sombre cloud immediately en- 
 veloped their life. Out of the free air and 
 the sunshine the two priests plunged at once 
 into chill and shadow. Their younger com- 
 panion had all the advantages of his greater 
 youth, his rank, and his condition of layman 
 to sustain him ; but he too felt the difference. 
 The shade of ecclesiastical Eome — calm, patient, 
 swallowing up enthusiasm, a place not of the 
 present, in which the affairs of the passing day 
 seem impertinences — came over them all at once, 
 chilling the very blood in their excited veins, 
 
DOWNFALL. 209 
 
 thrusting tliouglits upon them which had never 
 intruded their disagreeable presence before. The 
 terrible possibility of disappointment — a possi- 
 bility unforeseen and unregarded hitherto — came 
 all at once upon them. They had come out of 
 a fever of work, endless exertion, and excitement, 
 into absolute quiet and repose. They had come 
 from the company of men who thought like 
 themselves — and of men who thought exactly 
 the reverse, yet so far respected and feared their 
 effort as to combat it hotly — into the calm and 
 indifference of a community which knew little 
 about them, and cared less. The very greatness 
 of the hope which had brought them here gave 
 bitterness to the mortification with which they 
 found themselves not even assailed or condemned, 
 but passed over without notice. It was such a 
 trial as few men have to bear, and it came upon 
 them with so little preparation that the hard- 
 ship was doubled. The curious stillness that 
 followed their arrival in Eome strikes the reader 
 with a sense of uneasiness and suspense and 
 coming storm, as does the hush before a tempest. 
 No doubt they tried to say to themselves that 
 here was the moment of peace they had longed 
 for ; that the wearied soldiers were resting in 
 their father's house : and many a specious piece 
 of self- argument besides to convince themselves 
 
 VOL. L 
 
210 DOWNFALL. 
 
 that all was well and going well; but this is 
 only one of the bitterest forms of unacknow- 
 ledged downfall, and soon they were unable to 
 lull themselves into quiet even by such flatter- 
 ing thoughts. 
 
 Their first step in Eome had been to visit 
 some of the old friends of Lamennais, who 
 during his previous residence there had received 
 him as a saint, almost as a god ; but these were 
 the days when his portrait hung in Leo XII/s 
 cabinet, and every voice was in his favour. 
 The accueil tres reserve which their old ac- 
 quaintances gave would seem to have been the 
 first thing which threw chill enlightenment 
 upon the mind of Lacordaire, who, as became 
 his nature, was the first to discover the mistake 
 they had made. Lamennais either could not or 
 would not perceive the tacit evidences of Papal 
 displeasure exj)ressed by the cold looks of his 
 friends and the neglect shown of his presence. 
 But Lacordaire, whose amour "propre was not so 
 deeply concerned, perceived it at once. The 
 change of the place had changed the position 
 altogether. In Paris, Montalembert and Lacor- 
 daire had already gained notoriety, and, though 
 not equal in fame to their master, were still 
 individually notable — first actors in the feverish 
 little drama. In Eome these two young men 
 
DOWNFALL. 211 
 
 were in a great degree reduced to the role of 
 spectators. They were young, and they were 
 nameless, while Lamennais was recognised as a 
 personage worthy of censure, as he had once 
 been worthy of applause. This spectator-posi- 
 tion no doubt quickened the sight, naturally 
 clear, penetrating, and practical, of Lacordaire. 
 Other influences too affected him. It was his 
 first visit to Eome, and that fact of itself im- 
 pressed his mind deeply. " He, a journalist and 
 bourgeois of 1830,'^ says Montalembert, " a de- 
 mocrat in all his opinions, perceived at the first 
 glance not only the inviolable majesty of the 
 supreme pontificate, but its difficulties, its long 
 and patient plans, and the policy which was 
 indispensable in managing men and things." 
 In short, he perceived that to call upon an old, 
 majestic, world-ruling authority, compelled to 
 consider the interest of all Christendom, and to 
 observe the traditionary policy of centuries, to 
 approve and adopt a bran-new, untried, political 
 movement, was at once hopeless and absurd. In 
 taking this view he made himself the representa- 
 tive of that large body of reasonable men, not only 
 in the Eoman communion, but in all others, 
 who, finding it impossible to carry the authority 
 of their Church with them in secondary points, 
 have tacitly abandoned their polemical position, 
 
212 DOWNFALL. 
 
 and decided upon keeping their personal opin- 
 ions to themselves, rather than give up the 
 immense moral support of that Church in their 
 attempt to teach and elevate their fellow- 
 creatures. This was the position taken up by 
 Lacordaire. He had been the first to recom- 
 mend this step ; he was the first to see its 
 futility and foolishness ; and at the same time 
 he had moral courage enough to be the first to 
 suggest its abandonment, and the relegation 
 into safe silence of all the impracticable abso- 
 lutism of their rash and impetuous claims. 
 
 Lamennais was a man of different nature, 
 different views, the representative of a totally 
 different class. His circumstances, too, were 
 different. He had won just fame by the ex- 
 ertions of his past life, and he had committed 
 himself and his reputation to the issue of this 
 enterprise. If he failed and was condemned, 
 who in the Eoman world would think of the 
 humble young priest, Henri Lacordaire, or of 
 the enthusiast-boy, Charles de Montalembert ? 
 They were but as children, involved, but lightly 
 involved, in the failure of a father. Their future 
 was not compromised, nor their life stultified. 
 Even with Lacordaire, to whom as a priest the 
 complication was more serious, the ' Avenir ' 
 and all its rash chivaby might be swept away, 
 
DOWNFALL. 213 
 
 and yet he miglit survive. It might pass abso- 
 lutely from the face of the earth, and be as if it 
 had never been, and the worst reproach to which 
 he could be liable would be that his zeal had 
 outrun his discretion, a fault easily excused in 
 a young man. But Lamennais was fifty, a 
 power in the Church, with an immense reputa- 
 tion, and the eyes of many upon him. He was 
 past the age when men, foiled in one enterprise, 
 can lightly or cheerfully take up another ; and 
 having once taken such a step, he could not 
 retire unnoticed. Withdrawal, if a more digni- 
 fied proceeding personally, would have been, so 
 far as the public were concerned, as bad as con- 
 demnation. Besides all this, there had happened 
 to him a thinof which sometimes befalls a calm 
 thinker unawares, after years engaged in philo- 
 sophical speculations and deliberations, which 
 have never roused his soul into excitement — 
 he had become possessed by something more 
 mighty than the highest authority, by a strong 
 and deep personal conviction, a determined and 
 absolute sense that he was right, though heaven 
 and earth should pronounce against him. This 
 fact carried him into an entirely dijfferent at- 
 mosphere from that of his companions. Clearly 
 his only hope, the only chance of escape for 
 him, the sole means of preserving his allegiance 
 
214 DOWNFALL. 
 
 as a Catholic, lay in the possibility of persuad- 
 ing, praying, insisting, forcing the Papal author- 
 ity to agree with him. If this could not be 
 done, what was the abyss that darkly opened 
 before his feet, what the ruin that threatened 
 him ? Men in this state of feeling are like stars 
 broken loose from their orbits, if stars ever 
 could break loose. If they cannot be held by 
 some subtle power of attraction, the only course 
 possible to them is to crash wildly through 
 space, wounded and wounding, till they drop into 
 the unfathomable depths below. The position 
 is tragical, pitiful, terrible in its hopelessness; 
 and Lamennais's aspect during this interval of 
 suspense is not so much that of a man anxiously 
 hoping for a favourable result, as of one possessed 
 by the determination of despair to procure at all 
 hazards the sentence which alone could keep 
 his life in harmony with itself. 
 
 We are obliged to insist upon those two dif- 
 ferent attitudes of his companions, in order to 
 show the reader the position which young Mon- 
 talembert occupied between them, with his heart 
 torn asunder, loved and trusted and argued 
 with by both — preaching hope to one and 
 patience to the other, and getting wounded on 
 both sides as peacemakers generally do. He 
 was too candid and reasonable even now not to 
 
DOWKFALL. 215 
 
 perceive the wisdom of Lacorclaire's better judg- 
 ment ; but lie was warmly attached to his " Mas- 
 ter," and quite incapable of deserting him. At 
 the same time, it would be foolish to assert that 
 the matter was as profoundly important to him 
 as to them, or that he had not many alleviations 
 to console him for his share in this internal 
 strife. He was surrounded by variety and nov- 
 elty at the very moment when his friends were 
 feeling to the bottom of their hearts the ne- 
 glect and isolation in which they found them- 
 selves. He had two lives, while they had but 
 one. His outdoor existence, which was passed 
 among all the wonderful historic scenes and 
 great recollections of Eome, strengthened him 
 for the inner one, which was so sadly overcast. 
 One day it was Lacorclaire who accompanied 
 him to localities which, both in their Christian 
 and pagan associations, were overflowing with in- 
 terest to both. Another time Eio would be his 
 companion — Eio, who knew and could expound 
 everything, but who at this moment was rapt, 
 he tells us, in an indolent and genial state of 
 non-exertion, scarcely to be roused even by 
 frescoes or catacombs. And, on the other side, 
 he had Albert, with whom he could wander 
 over the sunny slopes of Pincio, listening 
 for hours together, with all the sympathy of his 
 
216 DOWNFALL. 
 
 years, to tlie beginnings of that love- tale wLicli 
 all readers are now acquainted with. These 
 varieties of life must have made the slow days 
 more tolerable, as they lingered on one by one ; 
 and doubtless there were many hours, or even 
 days, in which he could escape altogether from 
 all those questions of what the Pope would do — 
 from all those chill doubts as to final success — 
 from the mortification of neglect, and the painful 
 thought of going back again, disowned and dis- 
 couraged, to that France which the three friends 
 had left with such proud confidence. Albert, be- 
 sides making him the confidant of his love, had 
 even ventured to take Montalembert to the Casa 
 Margherita, where dwelt the beautiful Countess 
 d'Alopeus and her daughter, the gentle and 
 beloved Alexandrine of the * Eecit d'une Soeur,' 
 who sang soft songs to them, and charmed the 
 very hearts out of their bosoms. Albert had no 
 sooner done this, it is true, than he fell into 
 visionary jealousy of his friend, whose genius 
 and gifts were greater than his own ; but young 
 Montalembert, though he looked on with a 
 mixture of interest and envy at his friend's 
 romance, had not yet reached for himself that 
 moment of supreme youthful emotion. 
 
 Thus the young man had a double life in the 
 midst of all those treasures of art, and the associ- 
 
DOWNFALL. 2l7 
 
 ations to which even the least sensitive are more 
 or less susceptible, in Eome. He had his Dante 
 ever at hand, which he studied with enthusiasm, 
 and which moved his mind to those historical 
 researches which were always dear to him. And 
 with his " Master " to look up to (notwithstand- 
 ing that in one matter he might doubt his 
 perfect judiciousness), and with Kio, Albert, 
 and Lacordaire (notwithstanding their many 
 discussions) to love him and bear him continual 
 company, perhaps he was not, on the whole, 
 much to be pitied. Even Lacordaire, though 
 the matter was more important to him, seems 
 to have found also a certain alleviation in his 
 surroundings. "I see him still,^' says Monta- 
 lembert, "wandering for long days among the 
 ruins and monuments, stopping now and then 
 as if lost in admiration, with that exquisite feel- 
 ing for true beauty which never left him, gazing 
 upon all that is unique and wonderful in Eome, 
 moved above all by the tranquil and unequalled 
 charm of her horizons ; then returning to the 
 common hearth to preach resignation, submis- 
 sion, and reason to M. de la Mennais.'' Thus 
 whatever varieties might break their life and 
 charm them into forgetfulness, every evening, 
 every return to the common roof, brought them 
 back to the common burden, as, after all inter- 
 
218 DOWNFALL. 
 
 ruptions and alleviations, tlie heart of man re- 
 turns continually to its prevailing care, what- 
 ever that may happen to be. 
 
 At length, after some weeks of this discour- 
 aging neglect, they asked an interview with the 
 Pope. Before this was granted, they were re- 
 quired to draw up a formal account of their 
 views and intentions, and what it was they 
 wanted. It was Lacordaire who was selected 
 to do this ; and though he did it with a heart 
 which had began to tremble, no doubt his plea 
 was both forcible and eloquent. After a long 
 interval their audience was granted to them. 
 They were presented to the Pope by the Car- 
 dinal de Kohan, representative of one of the old- 
 est and greatest houses of French nobility, and 
 an old and constant friend of Montalembert. 
 Never was there a better evidence of the mode 
 in which Rome treats her rash children than 
 this interview. They were very well received 
 — benevolently and graciously — poor pilgrims, 
 who had come with such a high intent ! " He 
 treated us with the kindness natural to him," 
 says Montalembert, " without the shadow of a 
 reproach ; but he made not the slightest allu- 
 sion to the matter which had brought us to 
 Rome." " The Pope received us graciously, but 
 without saying a single word of our business,'"' 
 
DOWNFALL. 219 
 
 says Lacordaire. The bewildering character of 
 such a reception, more discouraging, more over- 
 whelming than opposition, may readily be con- 
 ceived. There was "not the shadow of a re- 
 proach ; '^ only their enthusiasm, their zeal, their 
 foolish fervour were thrown back upon their own 
 hearts. Support, strength, hope, or consolation 
 were not to be found there. For this they had 
 rashly left their life, with all its occupations and 
 possibilities ; for this they had travelled and 
 waited and hoped. Who can wonder that the 
 soul of a visionary like Lamennais was filled 
 with indignant bitterness? Some time after- 
 wards, the secretary of Cardinal Pacca brought 
 a letter from his master to the disappointed 
 party. " It arrived very early," says Lacordaire, 
 " and I took it immediately to M. de la Men- 
 nais, who was not yet up. Its substance was 
 that the Holy Father did justice to our good 
 intentions, but we had treated supremely deli- 
 cate questions without the moderation which 
 was desirable ; that these questions should be 
 examined, but that in the mean time we might 
 return to our own country, where we should be 
 told, when the proper moment came, what the 
 decision was." 
 
 Here, then, was the end at once of their 
 enterprise and the long suspense in which they 
 
220 DOWNFALL. 
 
 had been held. Lamennais would not believe 
 even the evidence of his senses. " He read 
 Cardinal Pacca's letter coldly/' says Lacordaire, 
 " and announced to me that he wonld remain 
 in Eome and await the decision promised us." 
 Montalembert gives a still more graphic account 
 of this interview, in the early brightness of the 
 spring morning at the bedside of the master. 
 When the letter had been read, he says, " Lacor- 
 daire placed resolutely before him this alternative 
 — ' Either we ought not to have come at all, or 
 else we must now submit and be silent.' The 
 Abbe de la Mennais refused to accept this con- 
 clusion. *' I will demand an immediate decision," 
 he said, " and will await it at Eome ; after that, 
 I will decide what to do." After this painful 
 conflict of sentiment, Lacordaire, with his heart 
 full, rushed into the room of his younger friend 
 and communicated the letter to him. " I found 
 Montalembert," he says, " disposed to follow the 
 example of our common master." Thus the pil- 
 grim band was torn asunder — the two elders in 
 direct and declared opposition, the youngest of all 
 still more torn asunder than they, agreeing with 
 one by the reason and with the other by the heart. 
 Lacordaire left Eome very soon after, feeling that 
 the pledge of submission under which he had 
 come, as well as many other serious inducements, 
 
DOWNFALL. 221 
 
 demanded this step of him. '' After several days 
 of melancholy reflection/' he says, " I thought I 
 owed it to myself to decline the responsibility of 
 what seemed to me a great mistake ; and on the 
 15th March 1832, 1 set out for France alone, with 
 the saddest presentiments, and after the most 
 melancholy farewells. M. de la Mennais was 
 not accustomed to be opposed, and disagreement 
 appeared to him almost treason. M. de Mon- 
 talembert, whose friendship with me was still 
 but of short standing, was wounded by per- 
 ceiving that my reason was stronger than my 
 afifections." 
 
 Lacordaire went away sadly, feeling himself 
 separated from his friends, and probably not 
 without reason to suppose that the breach 
 between them was likelv to be a serious one. 
 And the first sensation of those who were left 
 behind would not seem to have been painful. 
 Friendship has its pardonable disloyalties ; and 
 the departure even of a beloved critic is some- 
 times welcome for a season. Almost immediately 
 after, Eio and Albert de la Ferronays came to 
 occupy the place which he had left vacant ; and 
 no doubt his absence must to a certain extent 
 have been a relief, for it ended the conflict 
 that had been going on for weeks, and left the 
 younger disciple at liberty to consent to all 
 
222 DOWNFALL. 
 
 the master wished without a perpetual struggle 
 against Lacordaire's arguments and the good 
 sense which dictated them, and which found an 
 echo in his own reasonable mind. As for Mon- 
 talembert, he had evidently no wish to leave 
 Rome, and he had the attachment of a son for 
 Lamennais ; and when their tete-d-tete was 
 broken by the arrival of the other two, who 
 had no share in the painful burden of the past 
 or in the anxieties of the future, an agreeable 
 interval of quietness followed. Of this M. Rio 
 gives us a very pleasant sketch in his Epilogue, 
 already quoted. 
 
 " Our life was settled and regulated only from 
 the day when we decided to join MM. de la 
 Mennais and de Montalembert. This was a 
 great event in the life of Albert, almost more 
 than in my own; for my mind only derived 
 some advantage from my subsequent relations 
 with the Abb^ de la Mennais, while Albert was 
 to find in the friendship of M. de Montalembert, 
 who was little older than himself, an inexhaust- 
 ible sympathy with his happiness and in his 
 sufiering. We had all four a point of intellec- 
 tual union in the daily reading of one or two 
 cantos of Dante's great epic ; but neither Albert 
 nor I were suflS.ciently initiated in that divine 
 
DOWNFALL. 223 
 
 poetry, and the progress of M. de la Mennais 
 did not answer to the high idea which we had 
 formed of his analytical qualities, whatever 
 subject he might apply them to. The only 
 one among us who was capable of resolving, in 
 a manner at all satisfactory, the political or his- 
 torical problems which even in the finest cantos 
 of the * Inferno ' or ' Purgatorio ' distract so 
 often the enjoyment of the reader, was M. de 
 Montalembert, who, to our great edification, 
 kept up this study by the side of that of the Holy 
 Scripture, as if to draw from the very fountain- 
 head the inspirations which were to give so 
 much brilliancy to his after-career." 
 
 There is something amusing in this picture of 
 the yoimg student, whose industry and power 
 of mastering any intellectual difficulty were 
 so much greater than those of ordinary men, 
 dragging his whole little retinue of friends with 
 him into the heart of the great poem which he 
 loved — though among the three fellow-students 
 who toiled after him in those daily readings 
 there was not one who perfectly understood the 
 subject of their joint studies. We doubt whe- 
 ther Lacorclaire's independent and masterful in- 
 tellect could have been led away, in the midst of 
 so many troubles, to this daily exercise, which 
 
224 DOWNFALL. 
 
 comes so quaintly into the story. But Mon- 
 talembert would seem to have been Dante-mad 
 at this period of his life — a delightful insanity, 
 which is apt to seize upon those who make early 
 acquaintance with that mighty poet in his own 
 land. Thus a certain ease of mind makes itself 
 visible in the little circle, with time enough on 
 its hands to read Dante every day, which is very 
 different from the sombre air of excitement and 
 suspense which had surrounded them before 
 Lacordaire's departure. " Our poor little trio in 
 Eome," Montalembert wrote years afterwards to 
 Alexandrine, ignoring the presence of Lamennais, 
 who by that time had dropped altogether out of 
 sight, " where our dear Albert studied with so 
 much zeal, and wrote volumes of notes upon the 
 history of Italy and Tuscany, holding a little 
 scaldino'^' between his legs to keep himself warm.'' 
 Thus the impetuous Dante-lover made his fel- 
 low-students work, leading them on with his own 
 penetrating historical instincts and poetic zeal. 
 
 The only annoyance which disturbed the little 
 domestic party in this interval of quiet was 
 locked in M. Kio's friendly bosom, and did not 
 affect the others ; it was that Count de la 
 Ferronays, a most submissive Catholic and faith- 
 
 * An earthenware vase containing wood-embers which ia much 
 used iu Italy in cold weather in the absence of fires. 
 
DOWNFALL. 225 
 
 ful Eoyalist, trembled to see his impressionable 
 and sensitive son thrown into the daily society 
 of two such red-hot revolutionaries as Lamennais 
 and Montalembert. This alarm produced con- 
 tinual letters, which disturbed the good Eio very 
 much ; and in the end of April, Albert was re- 
 called by his father to Naples, where the family 
 were living. Montalembert made up his mind 
 to make an excursion with them into these new 
 and beautiful coasts ; and we are again obliged 
 to M. Eio for a delightful sketch of a part of 
 this journey, which they made alone, Albert's 
 health forbidding him to be of the party. 
 Their object was to visit on foot the great Ab- 
 bey of Monte Cassino, the headquarters of the 
 Benedictine order, which all travellers from 
 Eome to Naples must recollect, seated upon its 
 lofty height, and looking over the great plain as 
 it spreads into the blue horizon and bluer sea. 
 It is curious to note how early the future bio- 
 grapher of St Benedict and his order was 
 moved to make this pious pilgrimage. " He 
 took more interest in seeing this famous abbey 
 than in all the other interesting places on 
 our way," says Eio ; unawares his life already 
 wove itself in with the names that were to oc- 
 cupy so great a place in its later records. Here 
 is a sketch of the outset of this journey in that 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
226 DOWNFALL. 
 
 delightful April of Italy which is more sweet 
 than summer, the very season of poetry and 
 youth : — • 
 
 " The first day was delicious. The weather was 
 beautiful, and the country still more so. Each of 
 us had his Dante, and as we went we read aloud 
 alternately, taking up the poem at the place 
 where we had left off in our readings with the 
 Abbe de la Mennais ; that is to say, at the be- 
 ginning of the * Purgatorio,' which I then read 
 for the first time. I can still recollect the colour 
 of the sky, the snake which rushed across our 
 path, the distant perspective, and the far- off 
 sounds which struck our eyes and ears, when 
 my companion began to read, in tones full of 
 emotion, the first lines of the eighth canto — lines 
 which ought never to be read except at sea or 
 in the depth of the country, within the sound of 
 some village bell. 
 
 ' Era gia I'ora che volge il disio 
 Ai naviganti, e'interisce il ciiore 
 Lo di die han detto a dolci amici addio, 
 
 E che lo novo peregrin d'amore 
 Punge, se ode squilla di lontano 
 Clie paia il giorno pianger che si muore.' 
 
 "There was still light enough to read, with the 
 slowness which my imperfect knowledge re- 
 quired, the two or three following cantos up to 
 that beautiful paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer, 
 
DOWNFALL. 227 
 
 * Oh Padre nostro die ne' cieli stai,' 
 
 whicli seems made expressly, for fatigued tra- 
 vellers/' 
 
 This little incident reveals to ns as in a picture 
 the poetic journey — but whether they attained 
 the heights of Monte Cassino in this lingering 
 and interrupted way we are not informed. 
 From Naples they went to Amalfi, where Albert, 
 with his absorbing romance, was once more of 
 the party ; and in the company of the young 
 lover, who was capable of little but to babble of 
 Her, Montalembert spent a month of refreshing 
 leisure. Notwithstanding the graver anxieties 
 in his own mind, and the lively sense of ridicule 
 which was already developed in him, he entered 
 into all these confidences with a sympathy 
 which gave strength and consolation to the 
 young lover. *' You were never either cold or 
 sarcastic with me," Albert wrote immediately 
 after they had parted company. " You under- 
 stand everything ; and now that you are here 
 no longer, I have such need of you ! '^ Only a 
 very large and many-sided mind could have an- 
 swered to all the claims at present made upon 
 him. Between Lamennais, in his anger and dis- 
 appointment, obstinately lingering in Eome, and 
 inaccessible to reason so far as one question was 
 concerned, and Albert, indifierent to everything 
 
228 DOWNFALL. 
 
 in the world but Elle, what a difference there 
 was ! but both had his ear, his attention, and 
 his sympathy, full and lavish, bestowed without 
 restriction or arriere j^e'^see. He counselled 
 Albert how to manage the delicate affairs in 
 which Elle was concerned with as much gravity 
 and good faith as though a kingdom had been 
 in question ; and he returned out of the travels 
 and pursuits which he loved, to support and 
 succour the master, who fumed and fretted at 
 Eome without a word of complaint, though it 
 is doubtful whether his convictions ever went 
 entirely with those of Lamennais ; and it is 
 certain that this state of semi-rebellion against 
 the decision of the Church was always painful 
 and distressing to him. From the middle of 
 May to the middle of July, two of those blazing 
 summer months in which Eome is like a furnace, 
 and every soul that can quit her burning streets 
 flies to the refuge of the woods or the hills, 
 Montalembert remained with Lamennais, doing 
 all he could to calm and subdue him. This 
 martyrdom was of a very silent sort, unre- 
 warded and unapplauded, but it is the hardest 
 kind of self-sacrifice. 
 
 By the middle of July, however, even Lamen- 
 nais seems to have given up the hope of any 
 reply from the Pope to his urgent applications ; 
 
DOWNFALL. 229 
 
 and at last he allowed himself to be persuaded 
 to leave Eome, and to join in an art-pilgrimage 
 into Germany, under the guidance of Eio, upon 
 which Montalembert had set his heart. Before 
 he left Eome, however, he announced his inten- 
 tion of resuming the * Avenir ' on his return 
 to Paris, accepting the silence of the Holy See 
 as a consent to his so doing. Thus his last 
 step was to provoke the thunders which had so 
 long slumbered. With this final flourish of 
 trumpets the pilgrims departed, in a mood of 
 mind very different from that with which they 
 had arrived in Italy. They went to Munich, 
 where they remained for some weeks, and where 
 Lamennais, after the long hush of enforced silence 
 which had" occurred in his life, plunged with eager 
 relish into the argumentations of the religious 
 and Catholic school of German theologians then 
 reigning in Munich, and of which M. Eio was 
 an impassioned disciple. We are not told what 
 share or interest Montalembert took in these 
 discussions. Probably it was not great, for the 
 bent of his mind was not towards theological 
 discussion ; but no doubt to Lammenais the 
 sense that he was on familiar ground, and once 
 more able to maintain his own part fearlessly 
 against equal opponents, must have had a soft- 
 ening and ameliorating influence, predisposing 
 
230 DOWNFALL. 
 
 him towards the more submissive attitude 
 which he afterwards assumed. And Munich, 
 then in all the early enthusiasm of reviving art, 
 with its new school of Christian painters work- 
 ing in the full sunshine of royal favour, must 
 have afforded a crowd of new interests to Mon- 
 talembert. Very soon, too, a pleasure of a dif- 
 ferent kind, a joyous surprise, came upon him. 
 Lacordaire, who had passed these later months 
 sadly and obscurely in Paris, bearing the burden 
 of his rashness even after he had withdrawn from 
 it, on hearing of Lamennais's expressed determi- 
 nation to resume the ' Avenir,' went off secretly 
 into Germany, in order to avoid all occasion of 
 fruitless meetings and discussions, and to de- 
 tach himself completely from all possibility of 
 being drawn into a new and rebellious under- 
 taking. " In order to escape from the necessity 
 of breaking publicly with my companions in 
 arms, or following them against my will in the 
 ruin which they were preparing for themselves, 
 I rushed,^' he says, " into Germany, with the in- 
 tention of hiding myself there for some months. 
 I chose Munich for no other reason than that I 
 had heard living was cheap there." He arrived 
 in ignorance that the very persons whom he 
 wished to avoid were established in the same town 
 before him ; but the melancholy young priest 
 
DOWNFALL. 231 
 
 liad scarcely found a lodging and settled himself 
 in his spare little chamber, where he meant to 
 live cheaply and keep himself hidden from the 
 world, when the door opened, and Montalem- 
 bert suddenly appeared. He had found out his 
 friend s arrival by the list of strangers published 
 in the papers, and with his usual impetuosity 
 lost not an hour in seekino; him out. No doubt 
 their reunion, notwithstanding all the painful 
 circumstances involved, was to both a great 
 happiness, for the dissension between them was 
 very slight and easily healed. And it is very 
 probable that Montalembert's joy in renewing 
 his intercourse with Lacordaire was increased 
 by the hope of finding in him a pleader more 
 efiectual than himself to deter their master from 
 further resistance. 
 
 Throughout all this time of agitation, in- 
 deed, Montalembert's position is very attrac- 
 tive and engaging. He stands to Lamennais 
 in the relationship which we sometimes see a 
 sensible son or daughter in common life occupy 
 towards an impetuous parent. The young 
 observer, free of the passions which move 
 the elder, sees all his rashness, the unfortunate 
 steps he takes, the unhappy words he speaks in 
 heat and irritation, with a heart half broken by 
 distress and powerlessness to help ; yet clings 
 
232 DOWNFALL. 
 
 to the hasty father with double loyalty, defend- 
 ing him hotly out of doors, while timidly, tear- 
 fully remonstrating within. And what delight 
 it is to a young soul, so torn asunder between 
 love and disapproval, to see some powerful 
 advocate of the wiser way come in, whom he 
 backs up with glances of encouragement, with 
 whispered prayers, which in his heart he feels 
 as half a crime ! This was Montalembert's 
 position. He was too young, too inexperienced, 
 to express boldly all the vague trouble and dis- 
 approbation that was in his own mind ; but 
 when, to his delight and wonder, he found the 
 name of Lacordaire in the Munich paper, like 
 an angel sent from heaven to his aid, it was 
 with double eagerness that he rushed to him, 
 longing to see him for love's sake, and longing 
 still more for his influence and help. No doubt 
 it required some trouble and many entreaties to 
 induce Lacordaire thus to rush into the very 
 meeting he had fled out of Paris to avoid. 
 But his flight itself had been prompted by 
 a desire to keep from an open breach, and 
 this no doubt aided the importunities of his 
 friend. Finally, they went together to Lamen- 
 nais's room. " He received me with visible 
 displeasure," says Lacordaire, " but the meeting 
 was a solemn one. We entered into conversa- 
 
DOWNFALL. 233 
 
 tion, and for two tours I exerted myself to 
 show tiim how vain was his hope of resuming 
 the ' Avenir/ and how such a step would be 
 against at once reason, good faith, and honour. 
 At last, whether it was that my arguments had 
 convinced him, or that my separation from the 
 undertaking made some impression upon him, 
 he said to me these words, * Yes, you are right ; 
 your conclusion is just.' " The reader will 
 easily imagine the comfort given by this reply 
 to the eager soul of Montalembert, who sat 
 looking from one to another with an anxiety he 
 could not conceal, putting in now and then his 
 modest word, supporting the wise counsel with 
 all the secret force of his sjnupathy and prayers, 
 thouo^h never for a moment swervino: from the 
 loyal devotion which bound him to support his 
 master, even where he could not altogether 
 agree or sympathise. 
 
 The momentary victory thus obtained was 
 very soon put to the j)i"oof. Next day the 
 philosophers, authors, and artists of Munich, 
 amono- whom the French visitors had been 
 living — uniting, as it seems so much easier for 
 men of their professions to unite anywhere than 
 in England — gave a dinner outside the walls of 
 Munich to the distinoruished stranp^ers. It was 
 Lamennais who was the special guest, but his 
 
234 DOWNFALL. 
 
 younger friends were glorified by the surrounding 
 of his fame. When the feast was nearly over, 
 Lamennais was called out from the table ; and 
 it was at this moment of friendly ease and 
 enjoyment that the Encyclical letter of Gregory 
 XVL, which condemned at once his principles 
 and his enterprise, was placed in his hand. He 
 ran his eyes over it hastily ; and very likely in 
 that genial atmosphere, after all the laudations 
 of which no doubt he had been the object, 
 its condemnation fell more lightly upon him 
 than it would have done had he read it in 
 his chamber. His friends watched him with 
 anxiety, seeing that something important had 
 come, and impatient and uneasy to know 
 what it was. Lacordaire's arguments, the 
 pleasure of reunion with him, the hearty 
 applause and worship of the German sympa- 
 thisers round him, — all must have moved 
 Lamennais to a favourable interpretation of 
 what he read. The party went out after 
 their meal to a neighbouring village for 
 coflfee, and on the way Lamennais told what 
 had happened in an undertone to the two 
 colleagues, who rushed to his side as they went 
 out to hear the news. "I have received an 
 encyclical of the Pope against us. We must 
 not hesitate to submit/' he said. Thus he took 
 
DOWNFALL. 235 
 
 tlie step they had so prayed and hoped he 
 would, and so feared he would not take, with 
 all the ease of a foregone conclusion. It was so 
 much better than they hoped, that the young 
 men followed him with tremulous excitement 
 and anxiety, after the interrupted entertain- 
 ment of the evening, to his rooms, where at 
 once '' he made out in a few lines, short but 
 precise, an act of obedience, with which the 
 Pope was satisfied." 
 
 " God," says Lacordaire, piously, " had thus 
 brought us together at Munich to sign a joint 
 and sincere adhesion to the will of the Father 
 of the faithful, without distinction, without re- 
 striction." The younger disciples were at the 
 height of joy; all their old love and admira- 
 tion for their leader was doubled. They car- 
 ried him ofi", as it were, in triumph to France, 
 " vanquished victors," as Lacordaire says with 
 enthusiasm, conscious of having done their best, 
 and conscious of having crowned that best with 
 the highest self-renunciation — the sacrifice of 
 their own will to that of their spiritual head. 
 It was with a certain swell of triumph that they 
 made this journey, more happy almost than if 
 they had been successful, in that strange pas- 
 sion of half- weeping joy, with which children 
 applaud the father who has turned aside in 
 
236 DOWNFALL. 
 
 time from an error they tliought liim certain 
 to fall into. "The sacrifice of M. de la Men- 
 nais was much greater than ours/' says even 
 the moderate Lacordaire, who was never a wor- 
 shipper of the master ; " we were young, he was 
 fifty ; he was the chief, we were only private 
 soldiers." Thus they took him back on their 
 shoulders, on their hearts, blowing a hundred 
 trumpets. It was a downfall indeed ; but the 
 downfall was as glorious as any victory. 
 
 It is unnecessary for us to follow further the 
 history of Lamennais and Lacordaire. They 
 went together to Brittany, but soon separated, 
 being two souls of utterly different constitution, 
 which only could have come together under 
 some arbitrary impulsion. And when Lamen- 
 nais had regained his solitude of La Chesnaie, 
 and read at his leisure that Encyclical which he 
 had accepted so hastily, other sentiments less 
 submissive arose in his mind — sentiments which, 
 setting his priesthood apart, and the submission 
 which was his duty as a Catholic, were natural 
 enough in the breast of a sincere and honest man, 
 whose opinions were genuine. In this Encycli- 
 cal letter, which is dated the 15th August 1832, 
 Pope Gregory declared that it is "from the in- 
 fected fountain of indifierentism that the absurd 
 and erroneous maxim — or rather the delusion — 
 
DOWNFALL. 237 
 
 that liberty of conscience must he assured and 
 guaranteed, has flowed. The way to this per- 
 nicious error is prepared by that liberty of 
 opinion without limit, which is spreading far 
 and near to the danger of society, both religious 
 and secular, and of which certain impudent 
 persons have affirmed that there may arise an 
 advantage to religion/' The Encyclical goes on 
 to forbid all resistance against authority, of 
 whatsoever kind. "Let all consider that, accord- 
 ing to the saying of the apostle, all power comes 
 from God. Thus he who resists power resists 
 the ordinance of God. Both divine and human 
 laws rise up against those who attempt, by the 
 shameful plots of revolt and sedition, to shake 
 the fidelity- of the people to their princes, and to 
 cast them down from the throne. The first 
 Christians, in the midst of the fury of persecu- 
 tion, served the emperors faithfully. These fine 
 examples of inviolable submission to princes — a 
 submission which is the necessary consequence 
 of the precepts of the Christian religion — con- 
 demn the detestable insolence and wickedness of 
 those who, inflamed by the heat of an audacious 
 liberty, use all their efibrts to shake and over- 
 throw the rights of kings." The liberty of the 
 press is entitled "a fatal liberty, which cannot 
 be too much hated and cursed." This was the 
 
238 DOWNFALL. 
 
 document whicli had. procured instant submis- 
 sion and abandonment of all their projects from 
 the three pilgrims united at Munich ; and we 
 repeat it is little wonderful that, when the leader 
 of that religious crusade which had taken " God 
 and liberty '^ for its device — read over care- 
 fully and slowly the sentence thus pronounced 
 against him, a change came over those meek dis- 
 positions of submission which had so overjoyed 
 his younger friends. Lamennais has little more 
 to do with our immediate narrative ; but the 
 question of this submission is so interesting and 
 important in the late as well as in the early life 
 of Montalembert, that we cannot but pause to 
 consider the matter more fully than can be done 
 in the midst of a narrative : this, however, we 
 prefer to do in a separate chapter, which the 
 reader, who may be indifferent on the subject, 
 may pass over if it pleases him — and in the 
 mean time conclude this part of our story. 
 
 Montalembert remained in Paris, when his 
 friends, the vanquished victors, vaincus vic- 
 torieux, retired to the country. He estab- 
 lished himself in a little apartment in the 
 old aristocratic quarter, which he never for- 
 sook, the Faubourg St Germain ; and no doubt, 
 with all the more enjoyment for the trial 
 through which he had just passed, entered 
 
DOWNFALL. 239 
 
 ao-ain into those modest and refined pleas- 
 ures of society which a man can enjoy who has 
 it in his power to call around him the high- 
 est spirits of his time. He was now nearly 
 three-and-twenty, still a youth, but ripened into 
 manhood by conflict and trial, and by the re- 
 sponsibilities of a public position which he had 
 taken upon him so early. He was very lonely, 
 sadly debarred from those domestic enjoj-ments 
 which were abeady dear to him, left by himself 
 in that oxeat wilderness of Paris to make out life 
 as he could. His mother had settled in England, 
 his young brother was a student at the Military 
 School, and he had no near relations to stand in 
 the place of his own family to him. We shall 
 see further on how deeply he felt all this ; but 
 in the mean time we may quote an account of 
 his manner of life, in one particular at least, as 
 given by Frederic Ozanam, a man of congenial 
 mind, whose pursuits and desires were all like 
 his own. It is dated in January 1833, a few 
 months after the events above described. 
 
 "M. de Montalembert receives his friends 
 every Sunday evening ; there is a great deal of 
 varied and expansive talk ; pimch and cakes 
 are served to the visitors, who come and go in 
 bands, four or five friends together. I reckon 
 
240 DOWNFALL. 
 
 upon going now and then. Last Sunday I saw 
 there MM. de Coux, D'Ault-Dumesnil, Mickie- 
 wicz, a great Lithuanian poet, Werner de Merode, 
 whose father the Belgians think of electing their 
 king, and Sainte-Beuve. An odour of brother- 
 hood and of Catholicism breathes through these 
 little parties. M. de Montalembert has an an- 
 gelic countenance, and is very brilliant in con- 
 versation. He is a good story-teller, and ex- 
 tremely well informed. 
 
 " The points of doctrine on which Eome has 
 required silence are never brought in question. 
 In this respect the wisest discretion is kept up ; 
 but literature, history, the interests of the poor, 
 the progress of civilisation, are largely discussed. 
 The conversation is animated, the speakers 
 grow excited sometimes, our hearts are warmed 
 — and one carries away a feeling of satisfaction 
 and pure pleasure, good resolutions and courage 
 for the future." 
 
 Curious glimpse into a life which had changed 
 itself, thrown aside its favourite occupations, put 
 a seal upon its lips in obedience to the mandate 
 of the Pope ; and all this at twenty-three, and 
 in the nineteenth century ! To us, in our dif- 
 ferent existence, regulated by laws and customs 
 so diverse, the idea is almost too astounding to 
 
DOWNFALL. 241 
 
 be credible. We refrain for the moment from 
 endeavouring to explain it. But when the 
 reader considers what manner of young man 
 this was, how full of fire and enthusiasm, how 
 brilliantly endowed by nature, how overflowing 
 with activity, he will be unable to pass it over 
 with the ordinary smile of wondering contempt 
 at the mixture of superstition in his character 
 which made such a sacrifice possible. Such a 
 man could not but have had some way of ac- 
 counting to himself for such a strange submis- 
 sion, and he could not but have had a strong 
 motive, whether comprehensible or not to us. 
 
 During this year Montalembert made several 
 journeys through France, and at least one into 
 Belgium. These expeditions, however, whether 
 taken up specially in the interests of Art or not, 
 revealed to the young observer, whose eyes were 
 so keen and clear, and whom nothing escaped, 
 the neglected condition of the great architectural 
 monuments of France, the noble old buildings, 
 both ecclesiastical and secular, of the middle 
 ages. His love of everything that was beautiful, 
 his inclination towards th-e picturesque history 
 of the Ages of Faith, and, above all, his fervent 
 Catholic spirit, made this question profoundly 
 interesting to him ; and in the very beginning of 
 the year 1833 he assailed the world on the sub- 
 
 VOL. L Q 
 
242 DOWNFALL. 
 
 ject in an eloquent and energetic article, entitled 
 "DuVandalisme en France," which was published 
 in March, in the ' Revue des deux Mondes/ In 
 this long and able paper his style showed itself 
 fully formed, pruned down out of the luxuri- 
 ance of the * Avenir,' but still retaining much of 
 the rush and ardour, the sweeping torrent of 
 life, which were so evident in the lyrical out- 
 bursts of his early youth, and which continued 
 to his latest day to animate every subject he 
 touched. Like every young patriotic critic, the 
 indignant writer took it for granted that his 
 own country enjoyed an unhappy pre-eminence 
 in this national crime. 
 
 "It is only in France that Vandalism reigns 
 alone and without restraint," he cries. " The 
 ancient soil of our country, surcharged as it 
 was with the most marvellous creations of 
 the imagination and faith, becomes day by 
 day more naked, more uniform, more bare — 
 nothing is spared. The devastating axe at- 
 tacks alike forests and churches, castles and 
 hotels de ville. One would say that the in- 
 tention of our contemporaries was to persuade 
 themselves that the world began yesterday, and 
 was to end to-morrow, so anxious are they to 
 annihilate everything whose duration exceeds 
 
DOWNFALL. 243 
 
 the life of a man. Even the ruins whicli we 
 create ourselves are not respected; and while we 
 hear that in England the great proprietors spend 
 every year a considerable income in preserving 
 those which are on their lands, and that in Ger- 
 many the people hold their Liberal meetings 
 within the ruins of their old castles, as if to put 
 their new-born liberties under the protection of 
 the past, among ourselves we do not even 
 leave Time to do his natural work; we refuse to 
 Nature her motherly mourning. For Nature, 
 always gentle and loving, is specially so in re- 
 spect to the ruins which man has made : she 
 seems to take pleasure in ornamenting them 
 with her most beautiful decorations, as if to 
 console them for their nakedness and desolation. 
 But we tear away their shroud of verdure, their 
 crowns of flowers ; we violate the graves of past 
 ages. The ancient noble puts them up to auc- 
 tion, the new citizen buys them ; and if he does 
 not condescend to give them a place in his new 
 constructions, he patches them up and embel- 
 lishes them according to his fancy. Both unite 
 in order to dishonour those relics of the 
 past.^' 
 
 The critic goes on to enumerate the enemies 
 of art, and to classify the different kinds of 
 
244 DOWNFALL. 
 
 Vandals y who placed every old building in tlie 
 country in danger. 
 
 "Modern Vandalism divides itself into two 
 classes, very different in their motives, but 
 bringing about a similar result. These two 
 modes of operation may be distinguished by 
 the name of destructive and reconstructive Van- 
 dalism. Each of these ideas is carried out by very 
 different classes of Vandals, whom I range in the 
 following order, assigning to each the rank which 
 its violence against everything that is antique 
 {contre les vieilleries) merits : — 
 
 I. — Destructive Vandalism. 
 
 First Class. The Government. 
 
 Second „ Maires and Municipal Councils. 
 
 Third „ Proprietors. 
 
 Fourth „ Conseils de Fabriques and the Clergy. 
 
 *' In the fifth place, and at a long distance 
 from the above. Insurrection. 
 
 II. — Eeconstructive Vandalism. 
 
 First Class. The Clergy and Conseils de Fabriques. 
 
 Second „ The Government. 
 
 Third „ Municipal Councils. 
 
 Fourth „ Proprietors. 
 
 '' Insurrections have at least the advantage 
 of restoring nothing." 
 
DOWNFALL. 245 
 
 This article was written in the form of a 
 letter to Victor Hugo, the head of the Komantic 
 school in literature, and the very earliest begin- 
 ner of that crusade in favour of religious art 
 which has been more successful than Montal- 
 embert's campaign for religious liberty. " It is 
 impossible,^' says the young writer, addressing 
 the already celebrated poet, "for any one to 
 occupy himself with our national art, our his- 
 torical monuments, the sublime relics of our 
 past, without at once thinking of you, who, the 
 the first in France, have constituted yourself the 
 champion of that cause." Two years before, 
 Montalembert had reviewed 'Notre Dame de 
 Paris' in the 'Avenir,' dwelling with enthusi- 
 asm upon all the splendid framework of that 
 wonderful tale, while gently and modestly rebuk- 
 ing the less commendable details of the extra- 
 ordinary romance woven in with it ; but even 
 these imperfections did not lessen his enthusi- 
 asm for the great genius, which since then has 
 wasted itself in so many strange vagaries. 
 
 His only other literary work of this year was 
 a preface to a book of Polish poetry, the ' Livre 
 des Pelerins Polonais,' by Adam Mickiewicz, 
 fragments of which are still included in his col- 
 lected works. The reason of its mutilated con- 
 dition is, that this little production fell also 
 
246 DOWNFALL. 
 
 under the censure of Kome, for Lamennais had 
 filled the atmosphere with commotion, and 
 stray discharges of Papal artillery continued 
 for some time to disturb all the echoes. The 
 preface was condemned in a letter written by 
 the Pope to the Bishop of Eennes ; and it 
 would almost seem as if Lamennais had a cer- 
 tain malicious pleasure in seeing his disciple 
 touched by the censure which had fallen so 
 heavily on himself. " Puisque le vin est tire, il 
 faut le boire," he wrote ; and notwithstanding 
 Montalembert's remonstrances against the work 
 upon which he was himself engaged — 'Les 
 Paroles d'un Croyant' — he proceeded to com- 
 plete it, and to justify the condemnation. 
 Grieved by this new venture, alarmed by all 
 the results it might produce, and sick of those 
 imbittering and endless controversies, Montal- 
 embert made up his mind to withdraw for a 
 time from France and from the society of his 
 master. It was not that he loved the master 
 less, or was less anxious to serve and succour 
 him. He had indeed for some time made a 
 regular yearly contribution to his support, which 
 he kept up anxiously through all their divisions, 
 and would gladly have done anything to with- 
 draw him from the fatal circle of irritation, rebel- 
 lion, and doubt which began to close around him. 
 
DOWNFALL. 247 
 
 But he could not waste his own life in futile 
 attempts to save Lamennais ; and he had still 
 some objects in life, some favourite studies, 
 and at least one friend who could share his 
 labours. Politics were interdicted to him, but 
 history and art were free. Accordingly, he 
 resolved to return to Germany. As early as 
 May, immediately after the publication of his 
 article '^ Du Yandalisme,^' he had written to Eio, 
 then in England, the following invitation and 
 appeal : — 
 
 " My friend, I feel more than ever that it is 
 impossible for me to travel — that is, to rush 
 about the world for the purposes of curiosity, 
 without you. The only person who could re- 
 place you. would be Albert ; but I don't know 
 what he is doing with himself. In heaven's 
 name, leave thy England, and come here a 
 little that we may arrange matters. You have 
 been for six months in that country of fogs. 
 Come and make yourself a little like a French- 
 man again." 
 
 Eio was not deaf to this appeal. He would 
 seem to have joined Montalembert at the little 
 town of Ploermel, in Brittany, from whence they 
 went together to see Lamennais, or were joined 
 by him there ; and some brief moment of loving 
 intercourse was between the three, who seem 
 
248 DOWNFALL. 
 
 then to have met all together for the last time. 
 La Chesnaie had already witnessed one se- 
 paration — the sad departure of Lacordaire ; 
 and even this meeting was overcast by the 
 bitter complaints and sarcasms of Lamennais 
 against Eome and its decisions — complaints 
 which, however he may have been tempted 
 temporarily to share them, never seem to have 
 found any real echo in Montalembert's heart. 
 This may be said to have been his final sever- 
 ance from the master of his youthful enthu- 
 siasm. Both were changing day by day, 
 dropping further apart from each other. They 
 parted with mutual affection, and continued a 
 most close and tender correspondence for some 
 time ; and they had at least one more personal 
 interview after Montalembert's return. But the 
 golden chain was broken, and never to be per- 
 manently reunited. Montalembert left Paris that 
 autumn, and made his way into Germany, with 
 many painful and distracted thoughts, but once 
 more an object, such as it was, — and found a 
 new and congenial work awaiting him, and the 
 beginning of a happier life. 
 
249 
 
 ('" COL. COLL. 
 
 rJBRARY 
 
 iN.YOKK. 
 
 CHAPTEE Vll. 
 
 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 The transaction wHcli we have just recorded is 
 one of the most curious in recent history. In 
 the fulness of the nineteenth century, in the 
 very atmosphere of revolution, two young men, 
 ingenuous and proud, true children of their 
 generation,, full of liberal ideas and opinions, 
 loving freedom, and jealous of any attempt to 
 curb the progress of free institutions, suddenly 
 stopped short in their career, gave up their most 
 cherished projects, relinquished an occupation 
 they loved, and if they did not adopt, at least 
 consented to the proclamation of doctrines 
 which they hated, keeping silence upon their 
 own. This sudden change is as wonderful as 
 ever revolution was, and its motives are more 
 mysterious than those which have determined 
 any revolution. Had they anything to gain by 
 it ? No : on the contrarv, their lives were torn 
 
 \ 
 
250 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 from tlieir habitual places, and all was for a 
 time cliaos around tliem. Were tliey fools or 
 bigots incapable of judging what they were 
 about to do 1 No ; on the contrary, one of 
 them at least was the very impersonation at 
 once of genius and good sense ; and in the other 
 enthusiasm was already tempered by a keenness 
 of mental vision sometimes almost harsh in its 
 vivacity. What, then, was the cause ? They 
 were men of good judgment and vigorous 
 imagination both — neither of them likely to 
 escape from those obstinate questionings of the 
 mind with which every man is more or less 
 assailed when he has taken a decided step in any 
 new direction, or changed his course of action. 
 Had they done it unadvisedly, on some hasty 
 impulse which seemed to promise harmony and 
 reunion, it would have been less remarkable. 
 But they do not seem to have had any thought 
 of this. They did it simply because it appeared 
 to them their duty ; their best way of serving 
 God, their most honourable course towards 
 men. The ^question is so strange, so intricate, so 
 all but incomprehensible to us, that it demands 
 the most patient consideration. Of course it is 
 much easier to point to it as an instance of the 
 great defect of the Eoman Catholic system, and 
 the astonishing superstition or servility of the 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 251 
 
 Catliolic mind, than to make any endeavour to 
 enter into its real causes. In all controverted 
 questions it is always the easiest way to conclude 
 that your opponent is deluded, or guilty, or a 
 fool ; and there is no opinion more generally held 
 on this side of the Channel than that the life of 
 such a man as Montalembert is a mistake, wil- 
 fully stultified by his own action, and made 
 useless to humanity in secular matters because 
 of its subserviency in matters spiritual. This, 
 however, is not only an uncomfortable doctrine, 
 and one which may be equally applied to 
 ourselves by any obtuse intelligence which de- 
 clines to make any attempt to understand us ; 
 but it is at the same time wholly uninstructive, 
 throwing no light to us upon human nature ; 
 but, on the contrary, closing the door between 
 us and some of our fellow-creatures, whom it 
 might be very well worth our while to under- 
 stand. And it is certain that no man can be 
 understood when he is looked at, not from his 
 own point of view, but from the spectator s, whose 
 views and beliefs and training have been totally 
 different from his. It is hard to start with, for 
 us, to whom the liberty of private judgment is 
 the very foundation of all intellectual and spir- 
 itual life, to understand a man who carefully 
 and rigorously limits that liberty, and in one 
 
252 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 class of subjects relinquishes it altogether; 
 therefore caution and care are all the more 
 necessary when we attempt to decide upon the 
 character of that man's motives and the spring 
 of his actions. 
 
 And in the first place, we must premise that 
 Lacordaire and Montalembert both belonged to 
 that class which is to be found in all countries 
 and varieties of faith, and which by tempera- 
 ment and conviction is more devoted to the 
 Church than to the State. With such men, 
 religious influences hold a place higher than 
 any other ; and though there have been many 
 instances in which they have combined with this 
 sentiment great devotion to the State also, yet 
 the former has always been more momentous, 
 more all-important to them. The class is perhaps 
 pretty fairly divided in political opinions, yet 
 leaning most to Conservatism by a curious natural 
 process which acts upon both sides. The earnest 
 Churchman is moved towards Conservatism by 
 the fact that a quiet maintenance of the statu quo, 
 whatever that may be, in politics, is best for the 
 work of religion ; he believes that political excite- 
 ment distracts men's minds from matters much 
 more important, and consequently he is disposed, 
 in perhaps a majority of cases, to lend his support 
 to the powers that be. The political man, on 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 253 
 
 the other hand, however liberal in his opinions, 
 who does not like to be troubled by the heat 
 and commotion produced by religious strug- 
 gles, is constantly found to be conservative in 
 Church matters for the very same reason. By 
 nature, more than by training, Charles de Mon- 
 talembert belonged to this class, of whom it 
 used to be said in Scotland, that they would do 
 everything for the State, and a good deal more 
 for the Church. Lacordaire belonged to it, not 
 by training nor perhaps by nature, but by con- 
 viction. To both of them the one thing need- 
 ful, the absolutely indispensable influence for 
 men, was that of Eeligion. Fervent in their 
 love of free institutions, and in their hatred of 
 tyranny, they were yet influenced beyond all 
 other motives by an anxious wish to convert, to 
 purify, to save the souls and amend the lives of 
 their countrymen. To secure them against the 
 tyranny of secular government ; yes — to watch 
 jealously over the Charter, the Constitution, 
 permitting no infringement of the rights which 
 it guaranteed, — these were objects dear to their 
 hearts, and which roused them to enthusiasm; 
 but that which filled them with still deeper 
 enthusiasm was the idea of a nation converted 
 to God, endowed with the divine Charter of 
 salvation, and holding its faith and the observ- 
 
254 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 ances of religion clearer than any other rights. 
 To his life's end there never was a movement 
 for constitutional and popular freedom which 
 did not secure the instant interest of Montalem- 
 bert, which did not swell his voice and light up 
 his eyes with sympathy ; but above all this, and 
 still more precious, he held the progress of reli- 
 gion, not refusing an honest and warm admira- 
 tion to the piety even which he considered to 
 be built upon a wrong foundation. His readers 
 and friends are alike aware with what thorough 
 appreciation and regretful tenderness he spoke 
 and wrote of the religious spirit of England, 
 contrasting it, almost with tears, with the con- 
 dition of orthodox France. He had that rare 
 candour of soul which permits a man to per- 
 ceive the qualities he loves even in his oppon- 
 ent. Thus almost in any form religion was 
 dear to him — dearer than everything else ; and 
 the spread of what he believed to be true reli- 
 gion was his highest and most cherished mission 
 in this world. 
 
 Having made this proviso to begin with, let 
 us recall Montalembert's account of the effect 
 which Rome at the first glance produced upon 
 Lacordaire. It was the young priest's first 
 visit to that centre of the faith he adored, and 
 the impression which it made upon him was 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 255 
 
 great. Perhaps there is no place in the world 
 which affects strangers with sentiments so pro- 
 found and so different. On Lamennais, for 
 instance, Avho had been there before, and whose 
 soul was weary with the contradictions of life, 
 its influence was altogether e^dl. " One of the 
 most joyful days of my life,'^ he cries, ^' will be 
 that on which I shall leave this great sepulchre, 
 where nothinof is to be found but bones and 
 worms;" and he goes on to congratulate himself 
 that his life is not destined to be spent in that 
 " moral desert," where faith and love are sought 
 for vainly " in the midst of old ruins, upon which 
 the vilest human passions sun themselves like 
 unclean reptiles." Lacordaire was moved in a 
 totally different way. The view of the old me- 
 tropolis of Christianity silenced and solemnised 
 his mind. In the words which we have already 
 quoted, "He, a journalist and citizen of 1830, 
 a Liberal and Democrat, understood at the first 
 glance not only the inviolable majesty of the 
 supreme pontificate, but its difficulties, its long 
 and patient plans, and the expedients indispens- 
 able to the government of men on this earth." 
 The miseries and infirmities inseparable from 
 ever}^ economy in which the human is mixed up 
 with the divine did not escape him, but they 
 appeared to him drowned in the mysterious 
 
256 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 splendour of tradition and authority. In short, 
 Eome revealed itself to Lacordaire as a sort of 
 visible incarnation of the Church and the prin- 
 ciple of religion — an ever-living eternal prin- 
 ciple, to which the systems of this world are 
 but as the insects that live and die in a day. He 
 saw, or thought he saw, how insignificant, in the 
 presence of this everlasting reality, were all the 
 vicissitudes of politics and the developments of 
 civilisation ; and at the same time he perceived 
 all the strength which was given to every reli- 
 gious worker by the very existence of this great 
 Power, making but secondary account of secular 
 matters, and watching over the great organisa- 
 tion of the Church in a way to secure its interest 
 and progress through all, whether thrones stood 
 or fell, whether nations rose or declined, faithful 
 to the one great idea of Catholic Christianity. 
 This conception took hold upon the young man's 
 ardent mind with all the force of a revelation. 
 He realised, with a sudden thrill of soul and 
 being, the greatness, the consistency, the an- 
 tiquity of Eome; how it had lived and watched, 
 and had patience, subordinating everything to 
 its great purpose, taking advantage of every- 
 thing which could aid that purpose, yet never ac- 
 knowledging anything in the world as of equal 
 importance with its own holy and sacred cause. 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 257 
 
 There are many people who consider that cause 
 to be the cause of spiritual tyranny, the sub- 
 jection of the world to the greatest and most 
 penetrating of despotisms — a power which con- 
 trols and overrides the intellect, which contra- 
 dicts and despises reason, and which lays upon 
 men's shoulders burdens too terrible to be borne. 
 But this was not Lacordaire's opinion. To him 
 it was religion pure and undefiled, which was 
 the cause of Eome. To his thinking, it was the 
 best of all influences that went out from her in 
 pure and fertilising streams to enrich and purify 
 all the nations. For hundreds of years had not 
 she poured out blessings upon the world '? and 
 it was her vocation now, her paramount mission, 
 to watch that all was going well with religion, 
 to think of that chiefly, to consider its interests, 
 and not what was abstractly good or best in 
 secular aff'airs. 
 
 This steady, long, persistent purpose seized 
 hold of his imagination — he was overawed 
 by it. After all, what were his own hot 
 and sudden theories of a day, that he should 
 come to vex with them the ear of this great 
 mother, which was intent to hear over all the 
 world the marching of her sacred armies, and 
 the blessed footsteps of those who carry over 
 mountain and desert the glad tidings of peace ? 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
258 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 He felt himself like a fretful cliild thrusting its 
 frivolous pains and troubles upon the mother 
 who is a queen, and whose mind is occupied 
 with the affairs of a great kingdom. To such a 
 child it is enough if the royal mother turns to 
 him for a moment, lays her soothing hand upon 
 his head, and passes on, without time to con- 
 sider his plaints, to her own more majestic 
 business. He was half ashamed, half grieved, 
 to have made his petty appeal, vexing her in 
 the midst of all her lofty cares. Before she 
 had said a word in reply, he had shrunk back, 
 feeling his prayer out of place and untimely. 
 To convert the world, to save souls, to promote 
 holiness and obedience and the love of God, these 
 were the real matters which filled her mind. 
 Even an earthly mother more nobly occupied 
 could not be expected to pronounce if this toy 
 w^as good or not, if this game was or was not 
 to be pursued. And what were all these vary- 
 ing affairs of the world, the poor illusions of 
 political life, the excitements of the moment, 
 but toys and games in comparison with that 
 vast and wise supervision of interests so much 
 greater, to which day and night, through all 
 vicissitudes of time, through revolution and 
 quiet, through peace and war, she gave her high 
 attention ? Some such lofty ideal conception as 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSIO^\ 259 
 
 this seized "iipon the mind of Lacordaire. AYhen 
 we consider that it was he who suggested the 
 pilgrimage, it is easy to conceive what his rapid 
 conviction of its inappropriateness must have 
 cost him. He was startled, touched, awed by 
 his discovery. A mother in such circumstances 
 may not always be guarded in her expressions, 
 may send the importunate child away hurriedly, 
 or even harshly, in her preoccupation ; but that 
 preoccupation is more than an excuse, it is a 
 sublime and overwhelming answer to all possi- 
 bilities of objection. 
 
 This was how it was that Lacordaire sub- 
 mitted instantly, submitted before his submis- 
 sion was called for, feeling instinctively that his 
 appeal was' mistaken, and, in the true sense of 
 the word, impertinent. This was the soul and 
 sentiment of his conduct ; and it had, besides, a 
 practical side, which, in face of present events, 
 especially calls for our attention. As his ima- 
 gination was inspired by the consistency, the 
 unity, the patience and duration of spiritual 
 government in Rome, so was his practical sense 
 moved, by the force of that wonderful organisa- 
 tion, which backs up every poor priest with the 
 power as of a great kingdom behind him, and 
 gives him a steadfast and powerful authority to 
 lean upon whatever may be his own weakness. 
 
260 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 Dissent has never thriven — nay, it has never 
 been possible — in Eoman Catholic countries. 
 Except at the Eeformation, when the great over- 
 flow of spiritual rebellion was favoured by such 
 a combination of circumstances as has never 
 occurred since, no man or group of men have 
 succeeded in rebelling against Eome, and yet 
 continued to keep up a religious character and 
 influence. No man has been able to do it, 
 whatever the excellence of his beginning might 
 be, or the purity of the motives with which he 
 started. Even in the Church of England the 
 case of a man who separates himself from her 
 communion is generally a painful one. He 
 makes a commotion and excitement in the 
 world for a time before he has fully made up 
 his mind; and at the moment of his with- 
 drawal he is sure of remark and notice, at all 
 events, from certain classes. But after that 
 brief moment he sinks flat as the spirits do in 
 the ' Inferno,' and the dark wave pours over 
 him, and he is heard of no more. All that sus- 
 tained and strengthened and gave him a fictitious 
 importance as the member of a great corporation 
 has fallen away from him. He has dropped 
 like a stone into the water — like a foundered 
 ship into the sea. In England, however, after 
 all has been done, there is a sea of dissent to 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 261 
 
 drop into, and tliougli Ms new surroundings 
 may please him little, yet lie will come out 
 of the giddiness of his downfall to take some 
 comfort in them — will accustom himself by 
 degrees to the lower social level, the different 
 spiritual atmosphere. But he who dissents from 
 the Church of Eome has no such refusre. The 
 moment he steps outside her fold he finds him- 
 self in outer darkness, throuo^h which awful 
 salutations are shrieked to him by the enemies 
 of religion, by those whom he has avoided and 
 condemned all his life, and with whom he can 
 agree only on the one sole article of rebellion. 
 If he ventures to hold up his head at all after 
 what all his friends will call his apostasy, the 
 best that he can hope for is to be courted by 
 heretics, professed enemies of the Church which 
 he has been born in, and which probably he 
 loves most dearly still, notwithstanding his dis- 
 obedience. To quarrel with your home is one 
 thing — to find its domestic laws hard, and its 
 prejudices insupportable; but to plunge into 
 the midst of the enemies of that home, and to 
 hear it assailed with the virulence of ignorance 
 — to join in gibes against your mother, and 
 mockery of her life and motives — is a totally 
 different matter. Yet this is almost all that a 
 contumacious priest has to look forward to. A 
 
262 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 recent and striking example, to whicli we need 
 not refer more plainly, will occur to every one 
 who has watched the contemporary history of 
 the Eoman Catholic Church. In this case a bril- 
 liant and remarkable preacher — a man supposed 
 the other day to be one of the most eminent and 
 promising sons of Eome — after wavering and fall- 
 ing away in some points from ecclesiastical obe- 
 dience, suddenly appeared in an admiring circle of 
 gentle Anglicanism, surrounded by a fair crowd 
 of worshipping Protestants, ready to extend to 
 him all that broad and universal sympathy 
 which he had no doubt been trained to regard 
 as vilest latitudinarianism, or the readiness of 
 Pilate to make friends with Herod. This pros- 
 pect must chill the very soul of a man who has 
 received the true priestly training, and who has 
 been educated in that love of his Church which 
 is of itself a noble and generous sentiment. The 
 best thing that can happen to him is to fall 
 among heretics ; the other alternative, and the 
 only one, so far as events have yet made it ap- 
 parent, to fall among infidels : and as his edu- 
 cation has taught him to make but small dis- 
 tinction between them, and the infidels are 
 nearer at hand, and his own countrymen, what 
 wonder if it is into their hands that the miser- 
 able man, torn from all his ancient foundations. 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 263 
 
 ejected from his natural place, heart-weary with 
 the madness which is wrought by anger against 
 those we love, should fall — what wonder if he 
 should rush to the furthest extremity, hiding 
 what he feels to be his shame, and endeavouring 
 to take some dismal comfort in utter neo;ation 
 of that past from which he has been torn ? 
 Whether there are new developments in the 
 future for the new Protesters whom a recent de- 
 cision has raised up, we cannot tell. But such 
 has been the case in the past. Life is over for 
 the rebellious priest who breaks with his Church ; 
 his possibility of service in his vocation has come 
 to an end ; even the most careless peasant in his 
 parish will turn from him. He is a deserter 
 from his regiment in the face of the enemy, 
 false to his colours, a man no longer of any 
 human use. 
 
 And this idea no doubt glanced through the 
 mind of Lacordaire, fillino; it with shudderino' 
 dread. Out of Kome there is no salvation — 
 and, a consideration more immediate, and per- 
 haps more telling still, out of Eome there was 
 no Use. He trembled when he saw the edge of 
 the precipice upon which he was standing. To 
 set up his puny will in opposition to that of the 
 Church — to hold by his own way and leave the 
 way she had traced out, along which alone, 
 
264 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 walking humbly, he could serve God and man 
 — this thought appalled him, and stopped him 
 short in mid career. 
 
 And further still. A true Catholic is bound 
 to receive, in matters of faith, the judgment of 
 Eome, but not in secular matters. The en- 
 cyclical letter which implied a stern condem- 
 nation of the doctrines and efforts of the 
 'Avenir,' consequently required the silence of 
 its editors, and made the continuance of their 
 paper an impossibility; but did not by any 
 means involve their adoption of any political 
 principles therein set forth. Once more we are 
 compelled to avail ourselves of the simile con- 
 tinually employed by Eoman Catholic writers. 
 The Church, in this particular transaction, is 
 like a mother commanding her children to ab- 
 stain from something she disapproves of, and 
 in respect to which she has a certain right to 
 their obedience. It may happen that she is 
 not perfectly wise in her allocution on the 
 matter. She may mix in irrelevant subjects, 
 she may interpolate abuse of persons in no 
 way involved. Such things do happen some- 
 times in maternal, or, for that matter, pater- 
 nal, commands and prohibitions ; but the son 
 who loves his mother, and who allows her 
 right to exercise some control over him, will 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 265 
 
 accept the prohibition without by any means 
 necessarily accepting the general views of things 
 which accompany it, or the irrelevant matter 
 with which it is surrounded. In the very same 
 way Lacordaire accepted the Pope's prohibition. 
 He obeyed; he made the sacrifice of his own 
 wishes, the occupation he loved, and the imme- 
 diate advocacy of a cause which he thought 
 worthy and noble. He was content to allow 
 that in everything that concerned the Church's 
 welfare and progress (which was what he had 
 intended to fight for throughout), the Church 
 herself, who had thouo;ht of nothino^ else for 
 eighteen hundred years, was a better judge 
 than he, a young man of eight-and-twenty. To 
 this he submitted without a question; but he 
 did not change his views on the other subjects 
 which Eome chose to interpolate. No assent, 
 no subscription of these doctrines was demanded 
 of him. He submitted to the practical necessity; 
 but he did not go out of his way to explain 
 how far he demurred or objected to the theo- 
 retical statements. They left his mind and 
 opinions unchanged. Even at the present day, 
 after the proceedings by which the late Council 
 have laid another bond upon Catholic souls, the 
 impossible burden of obedience in points of 
 secular opinion has never been imposed, nor can 
 
266 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 it be so — although, no doubt, an immense pre- 
 possession in favour of, or in opposition to, a 
 particular theory, can always be given to a mass 
 of people by the expressed opinion of an infal- 
 lible Pope. 
 
 We have done our best to show how a man 
 could thus pause in his career, relinquish his 
 work, and change, as it were, the whole direc- 
 tion of his life and thoughts at the Papal bid- 
 ding, without forfeiting his title to our respect, 
 or really laying himself open to the reproach 
 of servility or hypocrisy. We have done so, 
 arguing from what we may call simple and 
 reasonable human motives, without taking into 
 consideration that supreme veneration for the 
 head of his Church which every true Catholic 
 is bound to feel. We think we have said 
 enough to show that such a sacrifice, astound- 
 ing as it was, might be still comprehensible, 
 and need not involve any paltering with truth, 
 or failure in personal constancy to personal 
 conviction. It was not that these men loved 
 political faith and loyalty less, but that they 
 loved what they believed to be spiritual truth 
 and obedience more. 
 
 In all this we have spoken of Lacordaire as 
 the chief agent, though almost everything we 
 
CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 267 
 
 have said refers to his younger friend and com- 
 panion as well. Montalembert was very young. 
 He was enchained, by the enthusiasm of youth- 
 ful love and sympathy, to the very different 
 nature of Lamennais; and though, we believe, 
 always agreeing with Lacordaire in his heart, yet 
 scarcely for the moment in a position to form 
 an independent judgment. We take Lacor- 
 daire as the type and representative of a good 
 Catholic, of brilliant intelligence yet perfect 
 docility, with all the more satisfaction, how- 
 ever, that his was the hand which moulded 
 the young mind of Montalembert at this par- 
 ticular and most trying moment, and that the 
 same principles which we have attempted 
 to set forth soon became part of the very 
 nature of the younger man, and influenced 
 his entire life. 
 
 " Les points de doctrine sur lesquels Eome a 
 demande le silence ne sont point remis sur le 
 tapis. La plus sage discretion regno a cet 
 egard," says Ozanam, in the words quoted in a 
 previous chapter. To us this " discretion " may 
 appear painful or pitiful according to our point 
 of view ; but to Montalembert it was a sacrifice 
 demanded by the highest authority known to 
 him — a sacrifice painful but yet honourable. The 
 
268 CATHOLIC SUBMISSION. 
 
 hearts of the friends were sore with the neces- 
 sity thus laid upon them ; but they submitted 
 with a sense that submission was their duty. 
 The idea that it involved disgraceful weakness 
 or unmanly servility never, we believe, once 
 entered into their minds. 
 
269 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THE WAXDER-YEAE. — ST ELIZABETH. 
 
 Whex Montalembert left Paris at this dreary 
 moment, tilings were going very badly with 
 Hm. He had lost his first object in life, and 
 he was as yet too young to enter upon his Par- 
 liamentary career. A peer of France was not 
 allowed to join in the public deliberations of the 
 august body to which he belonged until he had 
 attained the age of twenty-five, and our young 
 traveller wanted more than a year of that dis- 
 creet age. The little band of friends whose 
 brotherhood he had so deeply enjoyed was broken 
 up. Lamennais, as he felt painfully, was enter- 
 ing upon a path in which he could not follow ; 
 and between him and Lacordaire, though there 
 was no real disagreement, there was a vague veil 
 of separation — a something, a nothing — which 
 yet detached them from each other ; and few men 
 have entered life so devoid of domestic ties as 
 
270 THE WANDER-YEAK. 
 
 was this young man, wliose lieart positively hun- 
 gered for love and the tenderer emotions. With 
 a sadness and sense of isolation, which was 
 only temporarily lightened by the society of 
 M. Eio, he plunged into Germany. His inter- 
 est in Christian art, no doubt, had originated 
 in his friendship with his present companion, 
 and had been largely cultivated by the journey 
 which they had already taken together. Dur- 
 ing his solitary expeditions through France, 
 although indignation against Vandalism had 
 moved him more than pleasure, he had been 
 inspired with an enthusiastic admiration for 
 ancient architecture, and determination to de- 
 fend the old churches at least in their external 
 form, if it was not permitted to him to fight as 
 a defender of the Church herself. And it was 
 the architecture of Germany which now occupied 
 him most — a rich and abundant subject ; or 
 rather this was his ostensible object, his argu- 
 ment to himself for quitting everything and 
 plunging himself into that silence and solitude 
 for which pensive youth so often feels a fantastic 
 longino;. 
 
 Eio, however, quitted him after a short time, 
 having studies which called him to Munich ; and 
 then the solitude of the young traveller became 
 very overwhelming. His heart is like a sea 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 27l 
 
 disturbed by storms, lie tells us in his journal, 
 quoting the words of St Augustine. It was when 
 he had just fallen into this discouraging lone- 
 liness that chance led him to stay his wandering 
 steps at the little town of Marbourg, on his way 
 to Frankfort. There were few railways in those 
 days, and travellers were compelled to make more 
 frequent pauses, and form acquaintance with 
 places out of the way. Here, however, he found 
 an unexpected interest — a celestial friend await- 
 ing him in the unknown place. Marbourg, small, 
 dull, and chiefly Protestant, had been one of the 
 shrines of the ancient worship, the city of St 
 Elizabeth ; and it was thus, all unawares, that 
 the young enthusiast fell upon his true subject — 
 the beautiful and varied history of those saintly 
 lives which have been found more charming to 
 the human race than any mythology, and by 
 their mixture of actual humanity with religious 
 truth, have done so much in all ages to pro- 
 mote and strengthen faith. According to the 
 preface of his Life of St Elizabeth, it was on 
 the saint's day that Montalembert arrived in 
 Marbourg. He went to the church, his centre 
 of interest in all such places, a noble Gothic 
 building, stripped and cold, and dedicated to 
 the Lutheran worship, but still retaining that 
 inalienable beauty and majesty of form which 
 
272 THE WANDER- YEAR. 
 
 no neglect can fundamentally injure. His first 
 note of this visit in his journal indicates rather 
 a deep and tender recollection of the fair young 
 sister whom he had lost some years before, and 
 who bore the name of the saint, than that 
 enthusiasm for the heavenly lady which was his 
 passion in the folloAving years. After he had 
 paid this first visit to the church, he went to a 
 bookseller's shop and asked if any life of St Eliza- 
 beth was to be found. " The bookseller," says 
 M. Cochin, " made an expedition into his garret, 
 and brought out of it a pamphlet covered with 
 dust. ' Here is a life of her,' said the man, ' if 
 you take any interest in it ; it is never asked 
 for here, but I have one copy left, and here it 
 is.' " By way of something to read, Montalem- 
 bert took this little local publication with him, 
 when he set off by diligence to continue his 
 journey. It was written by a Protestant, very 
 briefly and barely. But the charm of that 
 beautiful romance of youthful self-devotion in- 
 stantly began to assert its power. The young 
 traveller in the lumbering German schnellposte 
 was moved to speedy enthusiasm ; his heart was 
 touched to its very depths, and his emotion was 
 brought to a climax when he remembered that 
 this day, on which he made acquaintance with 
 her life, was the very day dedicated to her in 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 273 
 
 the calendar of tlie Church. Instantly, with 
 characteristic impetuosity, he resolved, accord- 
 inoj to his own words, to sacrifice to her '' his 
 fatigue and his hopes." Before he set out upon 
 this journey he had vowed to himself that wher- 
 ever a choice of things to do lay before him, he 
 would choose that which was the most Catholic. 
 He sprang out of the diligence when it came to 
 its first halt, and carrying with him the poor 
 little hrochure which had thus filled his life all 
 at once with a new hope and a new motive, took 
 his place in the return coach, which was going 
 back again to Marbourg, hoping to find out the 
 poor little Catholic chapel of the place, and to hear 
 mass there in celebration of the day. So far as 
 this hope went, however, he was disappointed ; 
 there was no mass in the little neglected church. 
 This chilled the impetuous young votary of 
 the half-forgotten saint, who, melancholy alter- 
 native, took his way, when no mass was pos- 
 sible, in the rain — for even the weather declared 
 itself against him — to the Lutheran superinten- 
 dent, who was the author of the little book. 
 Him he found to be a man " as intelligent as a 
 Protestant could be ; " but does not seem to have 
 derived very much information from him ; and 
 next day went away considerably discouraged, 
 and disposed to think that the return which he 
 
 VOL. L S 
 
274 THE WANDER- YEAR. 
 
 liaci made so eagerly to the deserted shrine had 
 been in vain. 
 
 It would be curious now to see the little book, 
 written by the man who was " as intelligent as 
 was possible to a Protestant/' which was the 
 foundation of that beautiful medieval vision — 
 tender and touching love -poem, and romance 
 of religion, which filled the young man's life 
 from this time until his first book was published. 
 In the interval he wandered about like a chival- 
 rous minnesinger of old — his harp slung at his 
 back, yet his sword ever ready, murmuring every- 
 where that stately and sweet name of Elizabeth, 
 the name of his lady in the skies. Such chiv- 
 alrous and visionary passions are not rare in 
 the Church of Rome, where men before now 
 have been known to give themselves up, with 
 a devotion strange to realise, to the purest, 
 most visionary, and disinterested of attach- 
 ments, the love of that holy and blessed Mary, 
 who is not, as we think, a goddess to them, 
 but something more sweet, more rare, more 
 tender than any woman, while yet immeas- 
 urably above them — out of their reach, yet 
 within it — the lady of their dreams. To us 
 such devotion seems unreal and fantastical; but 
 there are many instances in which it has been the 
 inspiration of very tender and Christian souls 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 275 
 
 shut out from any mortal love. And sucli the 
 love of the holy Elizabeth became to Charles de 
 Montalembert. All at once, in his sadness and 
 loneliness, this divine lady came and smiled 
 upon him, stirring herself in heaven as did the 
 divine Beatrice when she came to Dante's aid : — 
 
 " Donna e gentil nel ciel che si compiange, 
 Di qnesto impedimento ov io ti mando. 
 Si che duro giudicio lassu frange." 
 
 We quote, from the introduction to the Life 
 of St Elizabeth, the famous and beautiful 
 description of the forlorn church, and the 
 thoughts with which it inspired him : — 
 
 "On the 19th of November 1833 a traveller 
 arrived at Marbourg, a town in the electorate 
 of Hesse, situated upon the beautiful banks of 
 the Lahn. He paused to examine the church, 
 which was celebrated at once for its pure 
 and perfect beauty, and because it was the 
 first in Germany where the pointed arch pre- 
 vailed over the round in the great renovation 
 of art in the thirteenth century. This church 
 bears the name of St Elizabeth, and it was 
 on St Elizabeth's Day that he found himself 
 within its walls. In the church itself, which, 
 like the country, is now devoted to the Luther- 
 an worship, there was no trace of any special 
 
276 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 solemnity, except that in honour of the day, 
 and contrary to Protestant custom, it was open, 
 and children were at play in it among the 
 tombs. The stranger roamed through its vast, 
 desolate, and devastated aisles, which are still 
 young in their elegance and airy lightness. 
 He saw placed against a pillar the statue of a 
 young woman in the dress of a widow, with a 
 gentle and resigned countenance, holding in one 
 hand the model of a church, and with the other 
 giving alms to a lame man. Further on, upon 
 the naked altars, whence no priestly hand ever 
 wiped the dust, he examined with interest 
 ancient paintings on wood, well-nigh defaced, 
 and carvings in relief, all broken, but both alike 
 deeply impressed with the fresh and tender 
 charm of Christian art. He saw among these 
 pictures that of a terror-stricken girl showing 
 to a crowned warrior her robe filled with roses ; 
 further on, this same warrior, stripping with 
 violence the covering from his bed, is repre- 
 sented as finding Christ there, lying on the cross. 
 Further on still, the two are shown tearing 
 themselves with anguish from one another's 
 arms; the lady is then depicted, fairer than 
 in all the other representations, stretched on 
 her bed of death midst weeping priests and 
 nuns; and lastly, bishops exhume a coffin on 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 277 
 
 whicli an emperor lays his crown. The tra- 
 veller was told that these were events in 
 the life of St Elizabeth, queen of that coun- 
 try, who died on that day six hundred years 
 ago in that very town of Marbourg, and lay 
 buried in that very church. At the end of a 
 dark sacristy he was shown the silver shrine, 
 covered with sculpture, which had enclosed the 
 relics of the saint, until one of her descendants, 
 turned Protestant, had torn them from it and 
 scattered them to the winds. Beneath the 
 canopy of stone which once covered this shrine 
 he saw that each step was deeply hollowed, and 
 was told that these were the traces of countless 
 pilgTims who once had come to kneel, but who 
 for three centuries had come no more. He 
 knew that there were certainly in that town 
 some of the faithful and a Catholic priest, but 
 neither mass nor any remembrance of the saint 
 whose anniversary fell on that very day. The 
 faith which had left its deep impress on the 
 cold stone had left none upon human hearts. 
 
 "The stranger kissed the steps hollowed out 
 by generations of the faithful, and retook his 
 solitary course ; but a sweet and sad recollection 
 of the neglected saint, whose forgotten /^^e he 
 had come, an unwitting pilgrim, to celebrate, left 
 him no more. He undertook to study her life. 
 
278 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 He ransacked in turn those rich stores of ancient 
 learning which learned Germany offers in such 
 profusion. Fascinated and charmed more every 
 day by what he learned of her, the thought 
 became little by little the guiding star of his 
 course. After having exhausted the books and 
 chronicles, and consulted the most neglected 
 manuscripts, he was anxious, as the first of 
 the old biographers of the saint had done, to 
 examine localities and popular traditions. He 
 went then from town to town, from castle to 
 castle, from church to church, searching every- 
 where for traces of her who had ever been 
 called in Catholic Germany the dear Saint 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 " He tried in vain to visit her cradle at Pres- 
 bourg, in far-off Hungary ; but he could at least 
 make some stay in the famous castle of Wart- 
 bourg, where she came when a child, and where 
 she lived as a girl, and was married to a husband 
 as tender and pious as herself. He could climb 
 the rough paths by which she used to pass to 
 distribute to the poor, her dearest friends, her 
 never-failing alms. He followed her to Creuz- 
 burg, where first she became a mother ; to the 
 monastery of Eeinhartsbraun, where at the age 
 of twenty she was forced to part from her loved 
 one, who went to die for the tomb of Christ ; to 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 279 
 
 Bamberg, where she found a refuge from cruel 
 persecution ; over the holy mountain of An- 
 dechs, the cradle of her race, where she offered 
 up her wedding-dress, when, after the death of 
 her dearly loved husband, she had become a 
 Avanderino' and exiled widow. At Erfurth he 
 put to his lips the long glass which she had 
 left in memory of herself to some humble 
 sisters. Lastly, at Marbourg, where she con- 
 secrated the last days of her life to works of 
 heroic charity, and where she died at the age of 
 twenty-four, he returned to pray by her dese- 
 crated tomb, and to gather with pain and diflS.- 
 culty some remembrance of her from the mouths 
 of a people who have renounced with the faith 
 of their fathers the regard due to their bene- 
 factress." 
 
 From Marbourg the young pilgrim went to 
 Frankfort; and there he found his old life clutch- 
 ing at him once more in a shadowy but painful 
 way. On arriving at that town he found a 
 letter from Lamennais, along with still another 
 letter from the Pope, condemning once again 
 that insubmissive priest. This was very griev- 
 ous to Montalembert, who had, it would appear, 
 for a moment extricated himself from this im- 
 broglio, which was always growing darker and 
 
280 THE AVANDER-YEAPv. 
 
 deeper. In great distress and trouble of mind, 
 all alone as he was, without any one to bias him, 
 he discussed the whole matter over again within 
 himself, feeling himself *^ obliged to examine 
 the depths of his conscience and faith," in order 
 to make sure what he should do. The result of 
 this examination was, that he made u]3 his mind 
 to advise Lamennais to submit once more. For 
 a long time after, this subject perplexed and 
 filled him with pain. Lacordaire wrote him 
 incessant letters, begging him not to forsake 
 the right way ; and the pious and distinguished 
 Madame Swetchine, with whom he had made 
 acquaintance in Paris, also wrote to him, urging 
 and entreating him to be steadfast. Against 
 these letters came the plaints, the appeals, the 
 remonstrances of Lamennais himself. The 
 young man was forced once more into the pain- 
 ful position of one whose heart attracts him to 
 both sides, between two uncompromising oppo- 
 sites. He staved off the pleadings of Lacordaire 
 as he could, and with an affectionate subtilty 
 which is touching in the circumstances, plied 
 Lamennais, on the other hand, with all the 
 arguments which Lacordaire had addressed to 
 himself ! This one fact shows better than any- 
 thing else could do the painfulness to a mind 
 so affectionate of this position between two 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 281 
 
 magiiets, as it were, eacli of whicli drew him 
 aside by turns. The agitation which existed at 
 the same time among his friends, and their 
 anxiety that he should come to a right decision 
 on this matter, is well exemplified by a hasty 
 and anxious letter, written in December by 
 Albert de la Ferronays, in which he exclaims, 
 " For heaven's sake, my friend, force yourself 
 not to listen to the entreaties of M. de la Men- 
 nais ! '^ A perfect storm of letters fell upon him at 
 this crisis. Letters from Lamennais, full of sup- 
 pressed rebellion and sentiments which began to 
 shock and wound personally his young disciple; 
 letters from Lacordaire, pleading, reasoning, ap- 
 pealing to his affection ; and letters from Naples, 
 and no doubt many other places, calling upon 
 him to stand fast, in accents of painful alarm 
 and uncertainty. Characteristic enough were 
 the trifles by which Lamennais shook his own 
 personal power. For one thing, he congratu- 
 lated Montalembert on being a layman, and 
 begged him to preserve at any price that 
 blessed independence — a sentiment which was 
 very painful to the feelings of so pious a 
 Catholic. At another time he communicated 
 the fact that he himself had given up all sacer- 
 dotal functions, no longer saying his daily mass, 
 or fulfilling the special duties incumbent on a 
 
282 THE WANDER- YEAR. 
 
 priest — a statement which made Montalem- 
 bert's pen drop from his hand in horror as he 
 recorded this terrible falling away. '' For the 
 first time/' he cries, " I begin to fear freedom, if 
 this is what it leads to." But when Lamennais, 
 tired with so many remonstrances and contra- 
 dictions, weary with the confused life into 
 which these encyclical and Papal letters had 
 thrown him, wrote hastily a kind of farewell to 
 the friend who was no longer in full accord 
 with him, curtly informing him that he should 
 submit, but withdrawing in future from their 
 intimate relationship, and adding the cruel words, 
 '' our paths are now separate,'' the sudden 
 blow fell upon Montalembert like a thunderbolt. 
 And nothing can show more clearly the pro- 
 found sincerity and warmth of his affection for 
 his " master," notwithstanding all their disagree- 
 ments, than the letter which follows, published 
 in Lamennais's correspondence, without name 
 or date, but unquestionably his, and written in 
 the very end of 1833 : — 
 
 " Some passages of your letter have been so 
 cruel, so different from all that has ever passed 
 between us, so different from the sentiments 
 which I have always believed you to entertain 
 towards me, that if they had not been in your 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 283 
 
 handwriting I should never have imagined them 
 to come from you. 
 
 "In announcing to me a step which is of 
 so much importance for both of us, you refuse 
 to tell me your motives ; you say that ' you are 
 about to commence a new life, but that you do 
 not wish to communicate your ideas on this 
 subject, because you desire to involve no one in 
 your fate.' And you end by this phrase, which 
 has filled me with consternation, * We shall 
 meet, I hope, on high ; but we walk in two 
 different paths on the earth.' I lose myself in 
 endeavours to discover a reason for these terrible 
 words. I venture to ask you what have you 
 done with your memory '? Can you have 
 forgotten the intimate and tender friendship, 
 paternal and filial, which has united us — I 
 do not say since the beginning of the ' Avenir,' 
 but still more especially since its end — since 
 our journey to Italy — since our sojourn of S. 
 Andrea delle Yalle — since you gave me that 
 pleasant name of 'son,' which I have always 
 been so proud to bear ? . . . What have I done 
 to deserve so rapid and so harsh a change ? 
 How can you believe that a union so complete 
 in the past, in the years w^hich have been the 
 most active and important in my life, and pro- 
 bably in yours also, should not have produced, 
 
284 THE WANDEE-YEAR. 
 
 at least for me, an enduring connection in tlie 
 future. This thought, this hope, has always 
 held the first place in my mind, and I cannot 
 admit for an instant the possibility of giving it 
 up. ... I belong to you altogether; and now 
 that my conscience is no longer oppressed with 
 doubt as to the direction in which you may be 
 thrown, I am ready to obey you at your first 
 word. To be able to associate myself with you, 
 and to find a sacred duty in following and 
 waiting upon you, will be for me consolation and 
 happiness.'' 
 
 But while Montalembert made this passionate 
 declaration of personal attachment and devotion, 
 he was unshaken in the gradual resolution he 
 was forming not to allow himself to be drawn 
 away by a single step from his attitude of sub- 
 mission towards the Church ; and the reader 
 will feel that he has travelled round to the other 
 side of the globe, or rather that the solid globe 
 has turned with him, bringing antipodal night 
 suddenly into the warmth of sunrise, when he 
 reads the following brief response, which has in 
 it a certain excusable asperity of impatience, 
 and which was written in answer to three anxi- 
 ous letters addressed to him by the family of 
 de la Ferronays, in which Albert, Pauline, and 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 285 
 
 Alexandrine, each after their fashion, had 
 pleaded with and entreated him not to allow 
 himself to be led away. The reply is dated 
 from Munich the 3d January 1834, and must 
 have been written only a few days after the 
 letter just quoted. 
 
 '^ I confess that I have been much surprised 
 by reading the reflections which my letter from 
 Frankfort has called forth from you, all three. 
 I must have expressed myself very badly if I 
 have left you to suspect for a moment that I 
 should not exactly follow the course you advise 
 me. It appears to me, however, that I told you 
 expressly that I was going to Munich, and that 
 if I had for a moment thought of going to Paris, 
 it was for the purpose of using my feeble influ- 
 ence with M. de Lamennais, to turn him from all 
 idea of resistance. All the excellent thoughts 
 which you express with so much aflection, good- 
 ness, and that true eloquence which comes from 
 the heart, have been my very sentiments ; and 
 there is not a word in your letters which does 
 not exactly agree with all that I have thought 
 and wished since I read the fatal brief of Octo- 
 ber 5th. There is not even a word in them 
 which I have not already said or written to M. 
 de Lamennais to persuade him to act as I did 
 
286 THE WANDER-YEAH. 
 
 -to retire from the field, bow himself under 
 
 the severe hand of God, and await humbly and 
 submissively the accomplishment of a higher 
 will. But, strange to say, and I hesitate to 
 tell it to you, M. de Lamennais has shown 
 himself wounded by my counsel, although I 
 gave it with more tenderness, solicitude, and 
 anxiety than I should have shown to any other 
 living being. His answer proves only too well 
 how much my dissent from him has grieved 
 him, and that his heart is changed towards me. 
 I should never have believed it, and I do not 
 think I have deserved it. However, he has 
 taken the part I advised.'^ 
 
 This seems to have been almost the first time 
 that Montalembert avowed his disappointment 
 with the friend to whom he had been so faith- 
 ful. Lamennais rarely appears again in the 
 journal. There is a passing groan of regret and 
 grief over the " Paroles d'un Croyant ; " but 
 fortunately another interest had come into the 
 young man's life. In the very midst of his 
 distress, while he declares himself " miserable " 
 at the fall of his master, he introduces to us, as 
 it were with the other hand, his new love. The 
 grandeur of the middle ages attracted and con- 
 soled him. '* If I could but forget my political 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 287 
 
 hopes ! " he cries. In that case his religious 
 studies might yet afford to him happiness and 
 peace. 
 
 There is, however, another want and void in 
 his life which begins to make itself felt, and is 
 expressed with a simplicity and naivete which 
 make the reader smile. We doubt whether 
 an Englishman would, even in the sacred 
 retirement of his journal, make his plaint so 
 simply and openly. At intervals through all his 
 young life, his sense of solitude seems to have 
 recurred to Montalembert, weighing him to the 
 very ground. There w^ere circumstances which 
 specially forced this upon his mind in the spring 
 of 1834. Albert de la Ferronays was about to 
 be married "to his beloved Alexandrine ; and his 
 friend Eio, too, was on the eve of marriage. It 
 was this later event which forced from him the 
 plaints which appear in his journal during his 
 stay in Munich. All at once, out of his troubles 
 with Lamennais, and his conflict with himself, 
 his mind veers round to a different, very dif- 
 ferent subject, and he bursts forth into a 
 melancholy cry. He feels his position "mis- 
 erably inferior " to that of Eio, the bride- 
 groom ; and with whimsical wretchedness he 
 proceeds to record that he dares not speak 
 to a pretty girl when he meets one ; that 
 
288 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 it is painful to liim to see a beautiful young 
 wife even in the street — especially in such 
 a place as Munich, where lovemaking is 
 carried on in the street ! For what has he to 
 do with love "? At twenty-four he has begun 
 to lose the power of feeling ; he has lost even 
 the years that belong to love, and it is a pain to 
 him to hear its name. " I have never been able 
 to touch the heart of any woman," he says, 
 with a misery which is perfectly real, but which 
 it is difficult not to smile at. His ''inferiority" 
 went to his heart ; and it was with a sigh of 
 profound sadness, and something like mortifica- 
 tion, that he turned from the sight of that happi- 
 ness which he envied, to throw himself into the 
 service of his saintly lady Elizabeth. She was 
 his substitute for the earthly loves which filled 
 other men's lives with happiness. "She," he 
 exclaims in a moment of efiusion, " is my only 
 friend." 
 
 While he was at Munich he went upon a pious 
 pilgrimage to Andechs, where his saint had gone 
 before him, and where she had given her wed- 
 dino'-dress as an ofi'erino\ With enthusiasm he 
 describes the homely procession of the pilgrims. 
 They were chiefly poor people, belonging to the 
 peasant class, and full of that simple yet high- 
 toned piety which has a charm of frankness and 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 289 
 
 simplicity unknown to more lofty worshippers. 
 His piety as a gentleman and a foreigner made 
 as deep an impression upon them. "I don't 
 know what country you are of/' one of them 
 said to him, " but you are a good Catholic, and 
 you are my brother." This gave a passing 
 pleasure to the heart of the solitary young wan- 
 derer ; but he is always ready to recur to the 
 subject of his loneliness. It is a string which the 
 mere passing breeze touches into melancholy 
 vibration. His heart is empty and his life is a 
 failure, he says — U7ie vie manqiiee. While he 
 was thus sighing his heart out, Albert at Naples, 
 in the delightful foolishness of his betrothal, 
 was asking Alexandrine for a ring on which 
 C'est iwur la vie was inscribed ; and was refused 
 with the smiling, tender response, C'est trop 
 coiirte, la vie! All these sweet follies came 
 pouring upon young Montalembert in the happy 
 lover s letters ; and on the other side of him was 
 Eio, to whom he felt so inferior ! No wonder 
 that he felt his lonely life to be manquee — he 
 who had never yet been able to touch a woman's 
 heart ! 
 
 After his stay in Munich, where he studied in 
 the public libraries, and pursued his search after 
 details of the life of his beloved saint, he went 
 into Thuringia, which was her country, or 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
290 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 rather the country of her husband, where she 
 had spent almost the whole of her life. In one 
 obscure and small place here, he found the ori- 
 ginal MS. of her life, ornamented with minia- 
 tures. At Erfurt he visited the Ursuline Con- 
 vent, which had been one of her favourite resorts, 
 and where the room which she had occupied 
 was shown to him, and a glass which she had 
 used, and which all the girls at the school 
 (though Protestants) drink out of on the day 
 of her fete. He approached this sacred glass 
 reverently to his lips. At Eisenach, which is the 
 next point noted, family recollections of a tender 
 kind united themselves with his pursuits. It was 
 one of the places at which he had stayed for a 
 day or two with his mother and sister, five years 
 before, not long before the death of Elise. Look- 
 ing through the books of the hotel he saw his 
 own name written there, and immediately all the 
 circumstances of his former visit came back to 
 his mind. One of the waiters, too, recognised 
 him, and recollected his sister — a fact which 
 touched the traveller deeply. The man spoke 
 with tears in his eyes, of the fair fading young 
 creature, whose appearance had made an im- 
 pression upon him ; and Montalembert, it is 
 evident, opened his heart forthwith to this 
 humble sympathiser, telling him how lonely he 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 291 
 
 was ; for he records, — " The waiter says he is 
 better off than I am ; he is not alone in the 
 world." At Eisenach he spent the anniversary 
 of his father's death, a day which overwhelmed 
 him all the more that the place was sternly 
 Protestant, and no priest was there from whom 
 he could ask a mass for the soul of the departed. 
 The Protestantism of the district altogether was 
 a sad stumbling-block and trouble to him. The 
 Eeformation had not only obliterated the dear 
 St Elizabeth, but had substituted in her place 
 a substantial figure, whose very name is obnox- 
 ious to all good Catholics. Montalembert found 
 the burly form of Martin Luther established 
 in the Wartburg, reigning in the guide-books, 
 and sought after by all those profane and chat- 
 tering pilgrims who call themselves tourists. 
 And it is easy to enter into the feelings with 
 which he, a real pilgrim, with a true and rever- 
 ential love for the distant past, took his solitary 
 way to the old castle where his saint had lived, 
 in the enforced company of a fluttering and 
 noisy Protestant crowd, who went to gaze at 
 the stains made on the wall by Luther's ink- 
 stand, and to laugh with nineteenth century 
 flippancy at the Eeformer's devil. Luther's 
 inkstand and his demon and himself were alike 
 sickening to the young Catholic, an effect which 
 
292 THE WANDER- YEAR. 
 
 indeed the company of a crowd of tourists was of 
 itself enough to produce. He went about with 
 his heart full, avoiding as much as he could 
 the noisy stream of people, trying to find some 
 traces of the older and sweeter inhabitant. But 
 very few were left ; " everything," he exclaims 
 indignantly, " is Luther ! " As the tourists 
 went wandering up and down, filling the ancient 
 place with voices and laughter and vulgar din 
 of to-day, Montalembert gathered some white 
 roses and forget-me-nots — "fleurs de Sainte- 
 Elizabeth " — a soft recollection of nature which 
 did something to console him. But he tells us 
 that the Wartburg was to him like another 
 Holy Land in the possession of the infidels — a 
 strong metaphor, which, however, is very com- 
 prehensible, and which the warmest Protestant, 
 with a heart susceptible to human sympathies, 
 will forgive to the melancholy and solitary 
 young wanderer. In the entire district, which 
 to him was sanctified by the name of Elizabeth, 
 there was not one single soul who could under- 
 stand his sentiments, or enter into his half- 
 pious, half-romantic devotion. Li the library 
 of Eisenach he found some materials that proved 
 of use to him ; but the librarian, too, was a Pro- 
 testant, incapable of understanding what he 
 sought or why he sought it. In short, this holy 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 293 
 
 land of medieval Catholicism was the holy land 
 of the Eeformation too, and Luther had super- 
 seded Elizabeth even in the hospital which her 
 charity had founded. 
 
 From Eisenach Montalembert returned to Mar- 
 bourg, where he resumed his beloved studies in 
 the place where he had first learned to know his 
 saint. But the June days were long, and passed 
 slowly with nothing but this study to enliven 
 them ; and the little German town, full of Pro- 
 testants, had all the strangeness without any of 
 the excitement of a new place. There was, in- 
 deed, the beautiful church of St Elizabeth, full of 
 old records in stone, and old pictures of her for- 
 gotten life ; but none to whom he could speak 
 of his subject, or who could give him the moral 
 support of their sympathy. The Lutheran 
 superintendent who had written the hrochure 
 which revealed that celestial lady to her new 
 adorer, moved, no doubt, by the sight of the 
 interest he had evoked, began to think of a new 
 edition of his little book, and shut up his lips 
 in consequence, refusing to communicate any 
 further information ; and when we reflect what 
 the thoughts must have been in Montalembert's 
 mind while he wandered through the beautiful 
 forsaken aisles of the old church, or by the river- 
 side under the acacias, it will not be difficult 
 
294 THE WANDEE-YEAR. 
 
 to understand the visionary depression wliicli 
 weighed him down. A waif and stray upon 
 the earth, as he must have felt himself, without 
 any strong link of domestic love to hold him to 
 one place more than another in this dreary 
 world — blown this way and that by gusts of 
 opinion — now clutched at by Lamennais^s im- 
 patient hand, now pushed back by Lacordaire 
 — censured by the Pope, yet in his heart 
 submitting to the Pope, — with room for all of 
 them in his warm affections, if only they would 
 have permitted him to love them without insist- 
 ing on agreement as well. And Eio and Albert, 
 one on each side, insulting his solitude with 
 their happiness, with raptures which rent his 
 heart, and which, it appeared to him, he could 
 never share ! 
 
 All these miseries fled, however, to the winds 
 one morning when his solitary chamber door 
 was opened, and Lacordaire looked in. This 
 unexpected visit filled him with happiness as 
 unexpected. Even the discussions which fol- 
 lowed, the long arguments, the reconsideration 
 once more, and over and over again, of the 
 old story, were changed — by the fact that they 
 could be discussed in person, a quattr'occhi 
 — from pain into pleasure. " He came to me 
 at the tomb of St Elizabeth to persuade me,^' 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 295 
 
 says Montalembert. "I was displeased witli 
 my friend, because tie had taken another way 
 from mine, and had pronounced himself more 
 publicly and decisively. I was even bold 
 enough to reproach him with his apparent for- 
 getfulness of those liberal opinions with which 
 we had been both set on fire." And '' it was 
 then," he adds, " that my eyes, at first distracted 
 and irritable, but soon and always after, wet 
 with the tears of everlasting gratitude, penetrated 
 into the very depths of that generous soul.^' 
 There is nothing, however, of these discussions 
 in the journal, but only a burst of delight at 
 his friend's arrival — delight which throws a 
 reflection upon Marbourg itself, and the Lahn, 
 and all the- surrounding scenery. With Lacor- 
 daire by his side, our young solitary found 
 Marbourg as fine as Salzbourg. He took his 
 friend to all his haunts — to the cathedral, which 
 he admired with enthusiasm — and no doubt to 
 all those promenades of the little town which 
 had been so dull to him ; and with what efiu- 
 sion of the heart he poured forth all his griefs, 
 all his restless longings for happiness, all his 
 doubts and difficulties, into that attentive ear ! 
 He " told everything " to Lacordaire, and was 
 consoled. 
 
 We must not, however, linger too long upon 
 
296 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 the details whicli reveal the young man to us 
 day by day. He continued during the autumn 
 his loving pilgrimage to the places made mem- 
 orable and holy by the residence or charities 
 of his saint, and began, in the intervals of his 
 wanderings, the beautiful book which was the 
 result of so much loving labour. In the begin- 
 of winter he recrossed the Alps ; and we find 
 him again immediately after, with that delighful 
 difference in the presentment which is made 
 when the hand of a friend takes up the pencil 
 which has dropped from his own, in the little 
 ideal household, where every day's history is an 
 idyl, of Albert de la Ferronays, at Pisa. On 
 the threshold of this charming picture we pause 
 to quote a letter from that young and happy 
 bridegroom — who had already, however, been 
 attacked by the cruel disease which killed him. 
 By this the reader will perceive what were the 
 kind of commissions with which these ardent 
 young friends charged each other. The letter is 
 dated from Pisa, the 5th November 1834 : — 
 
 " Dear friend, before you leave Florence will 
 you make a pilgrimage for me to Santa Maria 
 Novella ? In the first or second chapel to the 
 right of the high altar, behind the altar, you 
 will find a tomb in black marble, surmounted 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 297 
 
 by a group representing the Virgin Mary sur- 
 rounded by angels. Three years ago I went 
 often to pray there, and I have always retained 
 the feeling that I owe my happiness to the 
 prayers which I left behind that altar; for it 
 was in that year that, after leaving Florence, 
 I met Alexanclrine in Eome. I am superstitious, 
 because I am happy. Pray there, then, for 
 yourself — ask for a similar happiness. All is 
 posible to God, and He grants everything to 
 faith. Then ask for health for me. Is it 
 wrong ? After so much happiness should not 
 I be able to bear some suffering ? The will of 
 God be done ! but I hope that my prayers will 
 not displease Him. You understand? Pray 
 much for me there. . . . 
 
 " Try, my dear friend, not to leave Lucca till 
 noon, because I am forbidden to go out before 
 two o'clock, and I want to go and meet you ; 
 unless, indeed, it was your intention to leave 
 so early as to be here before my hour for going 
 out. In that case it is very different. Don't 
 delay a moment. I long too much to see you." 
 
 When we remember that this bridegroom, so 
 ideally happy, so good, so young, was even at 
 that moment entering the valley of the shadow 
 of death, there is something heart-rending in his 
 
298 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 mixture of liuman longings and gentle youthful 
 submission. "Is it wrong 1 " His friend, we 
 may be sure, fulfilled his commission to the 
 letter; and many a pious young Catholic no 
 doubt since then has sought the black tomb, 
 with its crown of angels, to breathe that prayer 
 which is the most wistful and touching utter- 
 ance of the human soul — that prayer for the 
 dead which Eome authorises, and which nature 
 clings to, whether it be a duty or a sin — for the 
 gentle spirit of Albert. Strangely enough, poor 
 nature, half instructed, cheats herself as usual in 
 those longing supplications, and utters her cries 
 of love for those who have least need of them, 
 for the predestined angels whose heaven the 
 veriest sceptic dares not doubt. 
 
 On the 10th November, Madame Albert de 
 la Ferronays, the beloved Alexandrine who is 
 the heroine of the ' Eecit dune Soeur,' announ- 
 ces thus the arrival of her husband's friend : — 
 
 '^ Mental arrived at seven in the evening. 
 Albert is so happy ! We rushed to meet him 
 upon the stair. He has told me several times 
 since that the cordiality with which I received 
 him surprised, but put him at his ease. He 
 had been a little frightened by the idea of find- 
 ing me established here, a third party between 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 299 
 
 Albert and him. But how could I have received 
 him otherwise than cordially ? Albert loves 
 him with a friendship such as I never saw 
 before." 
 
 From this date for about two months the 
 diary of the young wife is full of this cherished 
 friend. They went together to the Campo 
 Santo in the moonlight ; they took long walks 
 too'ether, Albert sometimes takino; refuD;e in the 
 carriao-e which followed them. And it was 
 with Montalembert that Alexandrine, still trem- 
 bling between her old Lutheranism and the 
 faith of her husband, went to the Christmas 
 midnight mass at the cathedral, when Albert 
 was not able to go. "How grieved I was to 
 go without Albert ! " she says ; " he who would 
 have been so happy there. He was ill, how- 
 ever, and ought to have gone to bed ; but when 
 we came back he was still up, waiting for us 
 with tea ready, so resigned, so light-hearted 
 and charming ! " 
 
 And never was there housemate more agree- 
 able than the young visionary, the solitary 
 enthusiast of Marbourg, the politician of Paris. 
 He made himself the servant as well as the 
 friend of the youn^ pair ; he took upon him all 
 the active offices for which Albert's weakness 
 
300 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 disqualified liim ; he carried tlieir letters to the 
 post ; he went and bought chestnuts for them, 
 and no doubt other necessaries ; he added a new 
 charm of genial conversation, and all the novelty 
 of his travels, to the lovers' tSte-d-tSte, which 
 was never dull, but which nevertheless was all 
 the sweeter for this pleasant interruption. In 
 the morning Albert went up-stairs to the apart- 
 ment which his friend occupied overhead, and 
 spent the morning with him. In the afternoons 
 they went out together, always with the car- 
 riage close by, in case Albert should be fatigued. 
 In the evening after their gay dinner, which 
 perhaps was not splendid, for none of the 
 party were rich, " Montal " read to them — 
 sometimes legends of the saints, and among 
 others those associated with the life of St 
 Francis of Assisi, no doubt the delightful and 
 naive Fioretti di San Francesco. Once or twice 
 he read short extracts from his manuscript 
 of St Elizabeth, which delighted them, and 
 filled the young pair with a gentle pride in 
 their friend. " How he loves this St Eliza- 
 beth ! " cries Alexandrine, in one of her letters. 
 "He collects the smallest, the most minute 
 details about her. He told me the other day a 
 story of a knight who wore the colours of a 
 saint who had appeared to him in a dream. . . . 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 301 
 
 "What do you tliink of the life we lead ? For 
 my part I love it. We subscribe to the library 
 in Leo'horn, and our tables are covered with 
 reviews, with journals (these last for Montal), 
 with Walter Scott's novels for Albert, and other 
 books of all kinds for him and for me." Then 
 she sang to the two delighted young men the 
 German airs, of which " Montal had made a 
 delightful collection during his journey in Ger- 
 many." "It is so delightful, so singular, so 
 good," says Albert, " for our three natures, to 
 let the days flow together, without any bondage 
 of society, in perfect intimacy, having no ties 
 but those of the heart.'' We will quote two 
 other simple vignettes of this delightful episode 
 in the life of the three friends ; and the reader 
 who knows the scene in which it occurred w411 
 have little difficulty in surrounding the three 
 young figures with that stiU background of half- 
 deserted Pisa, with all its tall palaces, and the 
 grass growing in its streets, and Arno running 
 brown between the majestic lines of houses on 
 either bank. Pisa was in its mild winter flutter 
 of society ; and the pleasant humility and sim- 
 plicity of the life which poor gentlefolks are 
 able to live in scraps of great Italian palaces, 
 finding to their own surprise that poverty is 
 practicable and even pleasant, rises before us 
 
302 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 like a breath from the past. The first of these 
 delightful little sketches is dated Tuesday, 13th 
 January 1835 : — 
 
 "We all -went to the Cascine, then (which 
 amused us much) we all went to order a bonnet 
 for me. At dinner Albert suddenly took the 
 resolution of going to a ball which was to be 
 given that evening, but which we had all three 
 declined. I resisted, fearing that it might do 
 him harm ; but he insisted, and ending by say- 
 ing, ^ Je le veux.' He told my maid to prepare 
 everything, and by degrees I allowed myself to 
 be persuaded into the pleasant annoyance of 
 making myself as pretty as possible {' je me 
 laissaifaire la douce violence '), This occupied 
 me entirely for two hours. To make the joke 
 complete, we forced Montal to go with us. We 
 had hard work to succeed in this, for he had 
 nothing to put on. Albert lent him almost 
 everything. Then it was necessary to get a 
 shoemaker for him, and a hairdresser to cut his 
 hair. All this amused us immensely ; and the 
 end of all, which made us laugh more than all 
 the rest, was that, recollecting all at once that 
 we had no servant, we took the shoemaker's 
 boy with us in that capacity to go with us to 
 the baU ! " 
 
ST ELIZABETH. ' 303 
 
 Albert adds, with all the glee of an invalid 
 breaking rules, the day after this ceremony, 
 " Yesterday I forced my wife to go to a ball. 
 Idem, I dragged Montal there, and after an 
 hour of moderate satisfaction, we returned to 
 take tea at home. My little Alex,'' adds the 
 young husband, " was charming in her pretty 
 blue dress, and with her diamonds.'' How at- 
 tractive is this soft boyish, childish gaiety, the 
 little bright scene full of delightful laughter, 
 among so many shadows of closely-gathering 
 darkness ! 
 
 This charming little society, however, had to 
 be broken up before long. On the 15th Janu- 
 ary Alexandrine joined her husband up-stairs 
 in Montal's rooms for the first and last time, 
 while he packed his possessions before his 
 journey. Here is the description of this "der- 
 niere soiree chez Montal " : — 
 
 " He had got bewildered in the midst of his 
 trunks, his books, and his papers. I looked at 
 his books a little ; they had almost all a reli- 
 gious purport, but there were also many legends 
 and national histories. I helped him to pack, 
 and while we did so we discussed religious sub- 
 jects a little. He read to me in triumph a fine 
 passage from Alphonso de Liguori upon the 
 
304 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 worship of the Holy Virgin, in which I did not 
 yet believe, and persuaded me to burn Father 
 Clement (a book which was supposed an anti- 
 dote to Catholicism, lent to me by some Protes- 
 tant friends, but which had a totally different 
 effect from that which it was intended to pro- 
 duce). Then we went down-stairs, still very 
 happy. Montal made me sing a quantity of 
 romances and national airs, which he had col- 
 lected in his journeys. Among them was a 
 charming German hymn, the words translated 
 from St Bernard {Jesus wie siis, wer dein 
 gedenht), and which said that nothing was so 
 sweet as to think of Jesus, nothing so delight- 
 ful as His presence. Montal made me sing it 
 over and over, though at first he had thought 
 it was almost a profanation to allow me to 
 sing it at all. He was astonished to hear that 
 I sang it with an expression approaching, he 
 said, to that of three pious girls at Eatisbonne, 
 who sang it while they worked.'' 
 
 This amusing bit of intolerance did not affront 
 Alexandrine, who was very nearly converted 
 into as good a Catholic as either of her audience, 
 and who all through her beautiful young life 
 seems to have been as humbly conscious of the 
 infirmity of her Protestantism as could be de- 
 
ST ELIZABETH. 805 
 
 sired. The three sat up together till half-past 
 two in the morning, enjoying to the utmost the 
 sad delights of their last evening together. " He 
 wept when he left us/' says Alexandrine, " and 
 regretted this good family life, as he called it, 
 which we have lived together, and to which he 
 had grown so thoroughly accustomed.^' The very 
 letter in which this account of the leave-taking 
 is contained had to be retarded, as the Italian 
 maid would not go out in the evening to post it, 
 and the young couple felt their want of ser- 
 vants, "now that we no longer have Montal- 
 embert." He went away in bad weather, with 
 a sympathetic accompaniment of rain and cloudy 
 skies ; and the first letters his friends wrote 
 to him are full of lamentations over his loss. 
 *' You have no idea of the void which you have 
 left in our poor little home " (the latter w^ord in 
 English), writes Albert. " We regret you much, 
 very much " {beaucoup, heaucoiip), says Alex- 
 andrine ; " and I don't know if we shall be able 
 to resume the cheerfulness which we had before 
 you arrived, for at dinner and at tea there 
 is always a vacant place, which recalls sadly 
 the excellent friend who filled it so well. . . . 
 Keep us informed," she adds, " very exactly of 
 the fate of our dear St Elizabeth ; you know 
 how much interest w^e take in her ; and you 
 VOL. I. u 
 
306 THE WANDER-YEAR. 
 
 who write so rapidly, write to us everything 
 about yourself, as illegibly and hastily as you 
 like — we shall always be able to read it." 
 
 Thus terminated his share in the idyl of his 
 friends. His own idyl was still some little 
 distance off. He returned to Paris to take his 
 seat in the House of Peers, as he now approached 
 the end of his twenty-fifth year, the age at 
 which a peer of France attained his political 
 majority ; and after the brilliant false start of 
 the * Avenir,' and all the troubles it brought in 
 its train, to begin seriously his public life, and 
 make his appearance in the world with the 
 gravity of a man. 
 
307 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 MoNTALEMBEET returned from his wanderings 
 in the year 1835, and settled in Paris. His 
 most intimate and cherished friends were now 
 collected in the place which is so dear to every 
 Frenchman. Lacordaire, once more chaplain 
 of the Visitandines, had already become known 
 as a great preacher by his " Conferences " — a 
 series of Lenten sermons — at the College Stanis- 
 las ; and in the Lent of this year reached to the 
 height of his fame in Notre Dame, where all 
 Paris rushed to hear him — the archbishop him- 
 self occupying his episcopal place, and all that 
 was best in France crowding round the pulpit. 
 It would be difficult to exaggerate the effect 
 which these wonderful discourses produced in 
 France. They took up in a more effectual way 
 the echoes of that reliorious excitement which had 
 been called forth by the passionate chivalry of 
 
308 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 the ' Avenir/ and moved the mass of society 
 as no preacher had done for more than a cen- 
 tmy. They took away the reproach of religion, 
 if we may use such words. Neither Lacordaire 
 himself, nor the friends who supported him, 
 could be any longer contemptuously stigmatised 
 as gens cle la Sacristie. And any spectator 
 who may have witnessed the Conferences of 
 j)reachers much less notable than Lacordaire, 
 which still were held within the last few 
 years at the same sacred season in Notre 
 Dame, will be very well able to understand 
 the contagion of pious enthusiasm, and the 
 emotion and prepossession towards Christian 
 faith (to speak of no more solemn impression) 
 which must have been produced by these 
 immense assemblies. The new society of St 
 Vincent de Paul, just formed by Ozanam, in all 
 its beginning of fervour, formed the nucleus of 
 the audience, and around this little phalanx the 
 crowd surged, daily growing greater. " You 
 too," cried Montalembert many years afterwards, 
 in generous indignation, appealing to the recol- 
 lections of those who had forsaken their first 
 love — " you too swelled these crowds, intoxi- 
 cated with eloquence and enthusiasm, you who 
 now profess to doubt the existence of that which 
 you have forgotten or betrayed." The whole gay 
 
THE COMMEXCEMEXT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 309 
 
 world of Paris was moved to its centre by this 
 new influence ; and though it may be true that 
 many centres of real and humble piety are to 
 be found at all times even in the most corrupt 
 society — a fact which we believe devoutly — 
 yet it is certain that at this moment those cen- 
 tres of piety were of a kind more remarkable, 
 and calculated to catch the eye and attention, 
 than is at all common in the world. Madame 
 Swetchine, noble, wise, and pious, endowed with 
 all that power of personal influence which tells 
 so much upon society, gave to the religious 
 party that wonderful advantage in France, a 
 salon, where wit and genius, and all that was 
 most socially attractive, removed piety into a 
 region where it was unassailable by the profane 
 wits of esiorit fort and scoffing philosopher; 
 and the young men who attached themselves to 
 her were all men rising into note, eminent in 
 literature and eloquence, and destined to great- 
 ness in the public service. There was in this 
 sympathetic society much that was congenial 
 to Montalembert. Except in so far as Lamen- 
 nais was concerned, who fortunately was but 
 for a short time in Paris, he was in full accord 
 with all his companions. And even the fret of 
 that painful connection seems to have terminated 
 during this season. Lacordaire was in his 
 
310 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 immediate neighbourliood ; Madame Swetcliine 
 gave him the affectionate reception of a mother; 
 and Eio had established himself at St Ger- 
 mains, within reach. Accordingly he settled 
 down in Paris, and took up seriously the com- 
 position of his Life of St Elizabeth, for which 
 he had collected materials so conscientiously and 
 carefully. With his books, his papers, his col- 
 lections of MSS. and legends round him, he 
 gave himself up to the laborious life which was 
 congenial and natural to his mind, sweetened 
 by that perpetual intercourse with his friends 
 which was still dearer. At the very same time 
 another book of kindred character, the * Poesie 
 de TArt Chretien,' was likewise growing into 
 being. And "in a charming house near the 
 terrace, the windows of which commanded a 
 delightful view over the country," Eio read to 
 Montalembert, '' the most sympathetic and the 
 most constant of our visitors," parts of his 
 manuscript, — " those portions which I knew 
 would be in harmony with his personal impres- 
 sions, which were not always the same as my 
 own." Here the imagination pauses on a dis- 
 tinct and delightful picture which presents 
 itself like an illustration to our story. That 
 terrace of St Germain s, so full of historical 
 recollections, with the deep coolness of the sum- 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 311 
 
 mer woods behind, and Seine running softly by 
 upon its immemorial pilgrimage ; bere, in tbis 
 storied seclusion, from wbicb tbe Grand Mon- 
 arque fled to escape tbe constant view of tbose 
 towers of St Denis, wbicb recalled to bim 
 his future tomb, and where the last of the 
 Stuart kings bid bis unhappy bead, and brooded 
 over bis lost throne, — these two young men 
 compared their recollections, exchanged their 
 literary confidences, and together, in the fire 
 and fervour of their youth, opened the great 
 grave of the past, and brought out from it many 
 a wonder, rich and strange, which the times had 
 forgotten. It was the renaissance of all that 
 beautiful and lofty art which, up to that time, 
 bad been buried in neglected old churches, and 
 allowed to crumble in broken-down cloisters. 
 All our present ideas in respect to art have, 
 more or less, taken colour, though we knew it 
 not, from tbose researches and readings. For 
 France especially it was the reopening of one 
 splendid chapter of her history, the disinterring 
 of her middle ages from their dusty and sordid 
 tomb. 
 
 While thus, however, our young author la- 
 boured to "vindicate the Christian ideal in 
 history," as his friend did in art, other duties 
 also occupied bis thoughts. He had taken his 
 
312 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 place in the House of Peers on attaining the 
 age of twenty-five; and altliough he was not 
 allowed to vote until he was thirty, his Parlia- 
 mentary career as a speaker immediately began. 
 It was the year in which the infernal machine 
 of Fieschi was directed against the life of Louis 
 Philippe — an occasion which would have roused 
 all the sympathies of the nation had not the 
 Government of the moment done their best to 
 quench the good feeling of the people by that 
 fatal inclination to coercion which seems to 
 affect all parties alike in France the moment 
 that power is put into their hands. The 
 Government of July, created by journalism 
 and individual opinion, succumbed to this ap- 
 parently irresistible tradition ; and after the 
 attempt on the king, presented to the Parlia- 
 ment the so-called laws of September, entitled 
 by their framers, not "repressive/' but "sup- 
 pressive " of all discussion which should affect 
 the person of the king, the rights of the reign- 
 ing house, and the constitution of the country. 
 Not only in newspapers, but in the theatres 
 and in pictures, was any discussion of these 
 three subjects, or — discussion in art being im- 
 possible — any attempt to shake their authority, 
 forbidden under penalties "intended to make 
 all escape impossible." It was in opposition, 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 313 
 
 but in vain opposition, to this law that Mon- 
 talembert made his first speech as a member 
 of the Chamber; and no better illustration 
 could be given of the sense in which he had 
 made his submission to the Pope's sentence, 
 which we have already treated at such length. 
 He submitted to that sentence with perfect do- 
 cility and good grace, so far as it affected the 
 ' Avenir ' and his own movements ; but he did not 
 pretend to adopt, nor did he ever feel it neces- 
 sary to assent to, the opinion of the Holy See in 
 respect to the liberty of the press. Thus after 
 three years, which had been rendered aimless, 
 and filled ^dth much vexation and annoyance, 
 in consequence of his personal obedience to the 
 commands- of the Church, the young politician, 
 leaving that ground which it had cost him so 
 much to hold, but without for a moment giving 
 up his submission as a Catholic, stood up in 
 impassioned defence of that principle which 
 Pope Gregory had pronounced accursed, but 
 which Montalembert never ceased to think of 
 the highest importance to true freedom. No- 
 thing could better illustrate how far his submis- 
 sion went, and where it stopped absolutely 
 short. 
 
 We cannot give any resume of the speech itself, 
 for we are now at the commencement of his public 
 
314 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 life, which is full of speeches, and which would 
 soon occupy much more space than is at our 
 command did we enter into it in detail; but 
 we may note the effect which, according to 
 various writers, his appearance made upon the 
 Chamber of Peers — an assembly unaccustomed 
 to the fervour and warmth and young eloquence 
 which thus suddenly burst forth among them. 
 All agree in giving to the new orator a quite 
 exceptional position. The French Chamber of 
 Peers never possessed the dignity or authority of 
 our own House of Lords ; but it partook of the 
 nullity and formal blank of powerlessness which 
 make our Upper House the terror of aspiring- 
 politicians, and had, besides, a character of 
 artificiality and uncertainty such as is unknown 
 to any of our institutions. It was a creation, 
 against the instincts of the times, and only 
 waiting the day when the popular forces should 
 be strong enough to pull it to pieces. In the 
 midst of this artificial existence, the voice of 
 the young peer, who was a real man of his time, 
 undeniable in life and fact, struck the half-dead 
 Chamber with such a sense of actual existence 
 as it had rarely felt before. "When he re- 
 appeared in the Chamber," says Sainte-Beuve, 
 " he had the right to say anything, to dare any- 
 thing, so long as he retained that elegance of 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 315 
 
 aspect and diction which never forsook him. 
 He could utter with all freedom the most 
 passionate pleadings for that liberty which was 
 the only excess of his youth. He could develop 
 without interruption those absolute theories 
 which from another mouth would have made 
 the Chamber shiver, but which pleased them 
 from his. He could even give free course to 
 his mordant and incisive wit, and make personal 
 attacks with impunity upon potentates and 
 ministers. In one or two cases the Chancellor 
 called him to order for formes sake ; but the favour 
 which attends talent carried everything before it. 
 His bitterness — and he was sometimes bitter — 
 from him seemed almost amenity, the harshness 
 of the meaning being disguised by the elegance 
 of his manner and his perfect good grace." " It 
 was," adds M. Nettement, " a sight fuU of inter- 
 est to see this ardent, enthusiastic, impetuous 
 young man rise in the midst of the Chamber 
 of Peers, composed almost entirely of the relics 
 of past conditions of society — men gTown grey 
 in public business, worn out with politics, and 
 among whom experience had destroyed enthusi- 
 asm — and disturb with the accents of an im- 
 passioned voice the decent calm, the elegant 
 reserve, and the polite conventionality, full of 
 knowledge of things and men {savoir et savoir 
 
o 
 
 16 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 vivre), yet somewhat cold, of their habitual 
 discussions — as he vindicated, in the name of 
 new generations and of the future, the rights 
 and interests of that religion which was said to 
 have no partisans but old men, and no life but 
 in the past." 
 
 His actual Parliamentary debut was thus made 
 in defence of the liberty of the press, as his first 
 premature appearance in that assembly had been 
 in defence of the liberty of teaching. Free- 
 dom, whether in one particular of national life 
 or in another, was the perpetual refrain, the 
 burden of his life. "I do not pretend," he 
 said, '^ to constitute myself the champion of the 
 liberty of the press or of any other liberty — 
 they have no need of my defence. Liberty, I 
 am deeply convinced, has become the inalien- 
 able inheritance of France. . . . What I am 
 about to defend by attacking this projected en- 
 actment is rather social order, which is gravely 
 threatened by an unforeseen overturn of the 
 ideas and habits which have long reigned 
 amongst us — and the Government of July, which 
 is endangered in its popularity and honour, in 
 its just and salutary influence, by a number of 
 violent measures, of which the present is the 
 most serious." 
 
 Thus he began his Parliamentary career in 
 
THE COMMEXCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 3l7 
 
 opposition. It was liis natural place and ten- 
 dency. That he had candour and nobleness of 
 mind sufficient to overcome this natural inclina- 
 tion when any government, however displeasing 
 to him, originated measures which he believed 
 for the good of the people, will be abundantly 
 demonstrated in his later life. But at the same 
 time all the impulses of nature tended to sepa- 
 rate him from the side of power. The alerts 
 and surprises of political assault and criticism 
 had a great deal more attraction for him than 
 the monotony of empire could ever have had ; 
 but the opposition which he thus began, and 
 which he carried on more or less duriuof all the 
 period in which political life was possible to 
 him, was of a kind little known in France and 
 much misunderstood. He opposed the Govern- 
 ment of Louis Philippe from no desire to bring 
 in another government, or to prepare another 
 revolution. He was not hostile to the throne, 
 though he thus set himself to criticise and cen- 
 sure its action. He was indeed servino- the 
 throne after his fashion, and more truly, more 
 wisely, than those who advised the coercions he 
 opposed. It was the Government which he de- 
 fended against itself, against the evil agencies 
 which it was brinQ-ins: into beino^ for its own 
 destruction. In short, he was the representa- 
 
318 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 tive, and almost the only representative, of con- 
 stitutional opposition, without arriere pensee 
 or hostile motive, in France. But this position 
 was one little understood by, nay, all but incom- 
 prehensible to his countrymen. It came to him 
 from his English blood, from his grandfather's 
 library, from the habit of a much reflective 
 mind, and of a generous impatient spirit, to which 
 wrong was intolerable. The time indeed came 
 when even this generously impatient soul learned 
 for one critical moment to submit to expedi- 
 ency, and to follow the leading of circumstances; 
 but that time was still distant : and in opposition 
 a man may hold by absolute rules of right and 
 wrong which would be impracticable to a ruler, 
 or at least which no ruler has had the strength 
 of mind to attempt to carry out in practice. 
 He did all that man could do to familiarise his 
 country with the existence of a loyal and law- 
 loving opposition. But to most Frenchmen it 
 still seems easier to retire into proud seclusion, 
 or to turn aside into conspiracy, than to work 
 at actual government from the wrong side. 
 Montalembert has left at least a tradition behind 
 him of this noble and self-denying role, but we 
 fear that at most times he alone constituted all 
 his party, and that even he has scarcely made 
 its principles understood. 
 
THE COMMEXCEMEXT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 319 
 
 We may pause here, however, to note among 
 the many beautiful aspects of his character the 
 one referred to by Sainte-Beuve in the words 
 above quoted, and which formed the one jarring 
 note amid so much harmonv. Now, and at all 
 times, there was in his fine and melodious 
 nature a harsher vibration, as of some chord 
 which had been overstrained, and gave forth a 
 sharp discord when any unwary touch came 
 U23on it. " He was sometimes bitter," says 
 Sainte-Beuve ; and this sharpness was not con- 
 fined to his public appearances. There are in- 
 dications in the 'Eecit dune Soeur,' that even his 
 most admiring friends sometimes sufiered by 
 this unforeseen and sudden shaft, which would 
 fall like a flash of lightning out of a serene sky, 
 in the midst of the warmest and most afiec- 
 tionate intercourse. Even the praise of Albert 
 de la Ferronays, " Tu es ni froid ni railleur pour 
 moi," shows a consciousness of this alarminof 
 quality ; and there is one mild little plaint made 
 by the gentle Alexandrine, which shows a 
 wound. " I have been a little hurt by the terms 
 ' dissipated and dangerous ' which you used in 
 speaking of my life before my marriage," she 
 says. " This wounds me on account of my 
 parents. Dear and good friend, it seems to me 
 that you are sometimes too severe for this poor 
 
320 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 world." It is very seldom that this sharp and 
 harsh vibration makes itself heard, but it does 
 come now and then, a tone, an accent, over in 
 a moment, yet full of the power to sting. 
 
 In the beginning of his career, however, Mon- 
 talembert made little employment of this pro- 
 digious weapon in public warfare. He was too 
 immensely in earnest, too exalted in thought 
 and style as yet, to trust to a gibe. The 
 chivalrous character which distingTiished his 
 whole life is very notable in his various public 
 appearances at this early stage of his career, 
 while as yet he was "pricking o'er the plain," 
 a gentle knight ready to answer any call of 
 the oppressed, but not bound to any special 
 enterprise. His next subject was Poland. The 
 Emperor Nicholas had abolished the charter 
 granted to the Poles by his predecessors, and 
 their constant sympathiser and champion in 
 France immediately took up their cause. We 
 will not attempt, as we have already said, to 
 give an account of his early speeches ; but one 
 or two extracts may be of use to the reader, as 
 shomng the various sides of his character as 
 well as of his opinions, — his power of sympathy 
 in the most diflferent causes, the real insight 
 which we can understand and acknowledge in 
 so many cases, and the other class of sentiments, 
 
THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 321 
 
 "whicli were as truly a part of his mind, Tvliicli 
 we can neither agree in nor understand. Here, 
 for instance, is an instructive passage, showing 
 once more his high opinion of England, and 
 at the same time throwing a curious light upon 
 a state of affairs now, alas ! come to an end. 
 To stimulate his own country by the example 
 of her insular neighbour, was always one of his 
 favourite desires. His object on this occasion 
 was to call forth a public expression of French 
 sympathy for the Poles. 
 
 ^' Far be it from me to embarrass in the smal- 
 lest degree the King's Government, or to inter- 
 pose a movement of unreflecting violence into 
 its policy. • But each one has an individual 
 part to play. Let the executive power retain 
 a diplomatic freedom and reserve if it will, but 
 let the Legislature be permitted to make a frank 
 and sincere avowal of national sentiments, and 
 the firm and decided expression of national 
 opinion. This is its right, its duty, and its 
 special mission. It owes the accomplishment 
 of this duty not only to the country, but to the 
 world. In that unequal division of the rights 
 and duties of public life which has been made 
 among the nations of the earth, those who arc 
 most richly endowed with these crowning posses- 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
322 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 sions are bound, as the rich are bound towards 
 the poor, to make up for that unjust partition 
 by beneficent sympathy, and by constant inter- 
 est in outraged and enslaved nations. In a 
 period like ours, when the fusion of different 
 races becomes daily more complete, the obliga- 
 tion which is imposed by humanity is not less 
 required by wise policy. In this lies the glo- 
 rious privilege of free speech {tribunes lihres) ; 
 it is the crown of political existence. What is 
 it that has raised the British Parliament to so 
 high a degree of popularity and moral influence 
 in Europe ? Is it not because for more than a 
 century no grave event has happened in any 
 country without finding an echo there ? Is it 
 not because no right has been oppressed, no treaty 
 broken any^vhere, without a discussion on both 
 sides of the question before the Peers and Com- 
 mons of England, whose assemblies have thus 
 become, in the silence of the world, a sort of 
 tribunal where all the great causes of humanity 
 are pleaded, and where opinion pronounces those 
 formidable judgments which sooner or later are 
 always executed ? '' 
 
 After this intelligent and eloquent description 
 of one attitude of power — of the free and full and 
 (in those days) sympathetic discussions of Eng- 
 
THE COMMEXCEMKNT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 323 
 
 land, here is a picture of another attitude, and 
 a totally different kind of moral influence. It is 
 contained not in a speech, but in an article pub- 
 lished in the ' Univers ' (at that time, be it 
 remembered, a totally different paper from the 
 one which now bears that name), and is devoted 
 to the consideration of events which made a 
 great noise in their day, though they have well- 
 nigh died out of recollection by this time, — the 
 conflict between the Archbishop of Cologne and 
 the King of Prussia on the subject of mixed mar- 
 riages. The Archbishop had refused to perform 
 the marriage-ceremony between a Catholic and 
 a Protestant in cases where there was not an 
 agreement beforehand that the children should 
 be brought up in the Catholic faith. For this 
 sin against the law he had been imprisoned. 
 To encourage and support him in his martyr- 
 dom Pope Gregory XVI. pronounced an allocu- 
 tion ; and it is on this that the following glow- 
 ing picture of Papal power and beneficent influ- 
 ence is founded. The TVTiter begins by point- 
 ing out how complete an answer to all the re- 
 proaches of her enemies is the dignified protest 
 against injustice thus made by Kome. 
 
 " Henceforward we shall be able to measure 
 what point of downfall has been reached by 
 
324 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 that which is called a decrepit power, condemned 
 to reign only over ruins. For us faithful Cath- 
 olics, whom divine mercy has preserved from 
 such fatal errors, we ought not less to thank 
 the Vicar of our God for having so gloriously 
 confounded his enemies, and for having thus 
 deprived wandering yet believing souls of every 
 excuse for their wandering. Let us await 
 with humble admiration the day on which the 
 light and transparent veil, which hid from us 
 the long - suffering of our father, shall have 
 been torn asunder. The glorious mystery of 
 his justice has been all at once lighted by a 
 great light. All at once we have been al- 
 lowed to see how much force and energy there 
 was in that patience which it is so hard to 
 understand, but so glorious to possess, in an 
 age so hungry of living, so eager for strife as 
 ours ; patience which passes the limits of human 
 wisdom because it knows only those of divine 
 charity, but patience which never goes so far as 
 to give up a right or deny a truth. Yes, let us 
 repeat it Avithout ceasing, the Church is patient 
 because she is immortal. But there comes a 
 moment when she draws from her immortality 
 a courage and strength, the mere shadow of 
 which soars above all the strength and courage 
 of this earth. All the Catholics who suffer, who 
 
THE COMMEXCEMEXT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 325 
 
 groan under the yoke of lieresy or persecuting 
 schism, know now, that the moment will come 
 when a sovereign balm will be dropped into 
 the wounds of their hearts, and when, after 
 rendering to Csesar the things that are Cae- 
 sar's, they will hear a voice, which has echoed 
 throuo'h eio;hteen centuries, biddino; Csesar ren- 
 der in his turn to God the thiugs which are 
 God's. 
 
 "... In the mao;nificent lanefuao^e of the 
 Church, there is I know not what treasure of 
 greatness and moderation, Avhich transports the 
 Christian soul with joy. She strikes without 
 wounding, she sends forth her thunder without 
 driving any to despair; and scarcely has she 
 struck, scarcely has she thundered, when she 
 stretches out her hand to heal and to raise up. 
 Tell us, then, what power in the world could 
 play the same part ? Tell us what modern theory 
 of society or of human government could pro- 
 duce a position like that of Eome 1 Tell us, in 
 short, where is the power which could thus 
 encamp, like an everlasting guardian, upon the 
 threshold of the human conscience to keep it 
 inviolable '? And who else has the ris^ht and the 
 will to say to people as to kings, to despotism 
 as to anarchy, Hitherto shalt thou come, and no 
 further 1 " 
 
326 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 Nothing could give a better idea of the mind 
 obstinately faithful to one belief, and inacces- 
 sible to any reasoning, so far as that was con- 
 cerned, on one side — while at the same time open 
 as day to actual experience of fact on the other. 
 Never was man more tolerant in principle than 
 Montalembert. The rights he claimed for him- 
 self he was ready and willing to accord to every 
 Protestant; and we do not believe that any 
 inducement would have persuaded him to wrong 
 an individual heretic, or deprive him or her of 
 any natural right, even for the advantage of 
 the Church, much less his own. Yet in certain 
 points his sight was obscured, or rather it was 
 so firmly fixed in another direction that the 
 opposite view escaped him, though it was one 
 which in any other circumstances would have 
 been the first to catch his eye. It is quite evident 
 that in this business of the Cologne archbishop, 
 the injustice of compelling a Protestant father 
 or mother to relinquish all religious rights over 
 their children, never occurred to him. His 
 mind was entirely possessed by the spectacle of 
 the '^deux grands vieillards, Tun sur les hordes 
 du Ehin, I'autre sur ceux du Tibre," " one drag- 
 ged captive in the midst of bayonets and can- 
 nons with the match alight, because he would 
 not profane a blessing — the other raising from 
 
THE COMMEXCEMEXT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 327 
 
 the depths of his old palace a voice which does 
 not perhaps command ten thousand soldiers, 
 but which moves ten million souls ;" and in 
 sight of this great spectacle of the resistance of 
 the spiritual to the secular, the much smaller 
 apparitions of the Protestant bride or bride- 
 groom, condemned to sacrifice for the sake of 
 that blessing all claim upon his or her posterity,""* 
 steals away into the shadow and eludes his 
 dazzled eyes. This, to our own thinking, is by 
 much the most curious instance which has yet 
 occurred in his history, of the paradoxical con- 
 junction of tolerance and intolerance — profound 
 reorard for the riohts of others, and absolute in- 
 difierence to them — devotion to liberty and sub- 
 mission to "authority — which characterised Mon- 
 talembert. In everything else up to this point 
 we are able to understand his rule of action, 
 and to a certain extent to agree in it as prac- 
 ticable and possible to a mind entirely loyal, 
 honest, and true. But here we lose our chart, 
 
 * It is just to note, however, the Roman Catholic argument 
 which is supposed to cover this natural injustice. It is that, 
 while a Roman Catholic must almost despair of the salvation of 
 his child's soul, which, out of the Church, can be saved only by 
 " invincible ignorance," the Protestant parent, who has no such 
 fear, and who believes that a true believer in Christ will be saved 
 in any communion, is in a much less painful position ; and that 
 the sacrifice of the latter is only for this world, while on the 
 part of the former it may be for eternity. 
 
328 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 our clue through the labyrinth, and are com- 
 pelled to fall back upon that old principle — old, 
 yet one of the newest in our modern code, and 
 which has nowhere been more faithfully held 
 than in England — that we have a right to take 
 away from those who disagree with us all facili- 
 ties for spreading error, or even for bringing 
 up their successors in their own damnable 
 doctrines. Of itself this is a perfectly com- 
 prehensible theory, whether applied to proble- 
 matical German babies or to the real hordes of 
 Irish infancy. The strange thing is to find it 
 along with all manner of generous, noble, and 
 tolerant thoughts in the mind of Montalembert. 
 In the year 1836 was published the Life of 
 Saint Elizabeth. This great era in a young 
 author's life, the publication of his first book, is, 
 however, eclipsed in that of Montalembert by 
 the much greater event which was close at 
 hand, and which already threw a rosy shadow 
 before. The work itself is one of which no 
 critic of the present day needs to speak. Of all 
 the saintly studies that have followed it, and 
 they have been many, none has successfully 
 emulated the beauty, the grace, the harmonious 
 charm of this beautiful book. The story itself 
 is so pure and sweet, so rich in poetry, so 
 tragic, yet so full of that angelic elevation 
 
THE COMMEXCEMEXT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 229 
 
 and tenderness whicli charm the pain away, 
 that even under less skilful treatment it 
 could scarcely fail to attract the general heart. 
 But never was a hand more calculated to 
 enhance all the lights of the picture than 
 that of Montalembert. The simplicity and 
 fulness of his own faith interpreted to him the 
 self-devotion of his heroine ; and the stirrings 
 of his own heart, the vao;ue louQ-ino^ for love 
 and companionship which had rent his young 
 spirit during his first acquaintance with St 
 Elizabeth, made him enter into the touching 
 romance of her love with double sympathy. 
 The book has all the charm of a love-story, of 
 the tenderest and most ideal of romances, and 
 of a saint's leo^end, in one. Nothino; could be 
 sweeter than the delightful childhood of the 
 young Elizabeth, half angel, half baby, which 
 opens up to us the whole old world in its quaint 
 costume and wondrous ways ; unless, indeed, it 
 were the pictures which we find a little further 
 on, of the medieval maiden in her absolute 
 faith, full of a thousand sweet womanish excuses 
 for her own virtue ; and of the young wife cling- 
 ing to her Crusader with that passion of love, 
 and grief, and pride, and approval which inspires 
 a woman and makes her heroic in her own 
 despite. The young writer's whole heart was 
 

 THE COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 
 
 poured forth in this book. It was the first full 
 revelation he had been able to make at once of 
 himself, and of the ideal loftier than himself 
 which possessed him. All his wanderings alone 
 in the world, his longings for love and happier 
 life, his readiness to sacrifice himself for his 
 faith, his yearning over the lost and perishing, 
 took shape in this life of visionary love, of heroic 
 self-sacrifice, of submission and sufi'ering and 
 spiritual victory. La chere Sainte Elizabeth ! 
 The picture here presented was a portrait of 
 her in the first place, a beautiful star of perfec- 
 tion, shining in the soft twilight sky of distant 
 ages, drawing her biographer onward and up- 
 ward — young, impassioned, capable of all griefs 
 and delights as he was ; and in another point 
 of view it was an ideal picture of his own 
 mind, expressing his thoughts and wishes and 
 infinite endless musings, as in his own person 
 he never could have done. AVith this stamp of 
 reality upon it, in addition to all its poetical 
 beauty and truth, no wonder that the book 
 found great and instant favour. It is the 
 very blossom and essence of Montalembert's 
 life. 
 
 The work was preceded by a fine sketch of 
 the history and character of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury, showing much of the broader historical 
 
THE COMMEXCEMENT OF PUBLIC LIFE. 331 
 
 power which the author afterwards exhibited. 
 It was dedicated to the gentle memory of his 
 young sister — his own Elizabeth. Thus, not 
 like a common book, but like the visionary, 
 poetic revelation it was, it came into the 
 world robed and adorned with the tender recol- 
 lections of the past, and the undefined, passion- 
 ate, youthful hopes of the future. We have 
 seen a little case with two miniatures, which it 
 was Montalembert's custom till the end of his 
 life to carry about with him wherever he went, 
 the portraits of two girlish faces : one over which 
 her early fate has thrown to the spectator a 
 gentle sadness ; the other fair and vigorous with 
 the beauty of vitality. The two portraits are 
 those of his sister and his bride. These two 
 fair faces come before us as by magic when we 
 take up the beautiful book which embodies and 
 expounds the young writer's very heart ; they 
 hold it between them, the one inspiring him out 
 of the celestial past into which she had gone, 
 the other equally inspiring him out of the celes- 
 tial unknown in which she still was. This was 
 his poem which he chanted with his heart rent 
 asunder by exquisite past sorrow which was not 
 all pain, and inspired by the thrill of that 
 unknown happiness which was to come. 
 
332 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MAEEIAGE. 
 
 Of tlie next great event in Montalembert's life 
 we are grieved that we are not permitted to 
 speak as the extreme beauty of the story would 
 have tempted ns to do. The reserve and natu- 
 ral delicacy of individual feeling close our lips 
 upon one of the most exquisite, tender, pure, and 
 touching of love-tales. It seems almost unneces- 
 sary to say that the ordinary French usages in 
 respect to marriage were highly uncongenial 
 to such a mind as his. The negotiations and 
 family arrangements which are so common on 
 the other side of the Channel, revolted him. He, 
 who was full of the highest poetic "love of love," 
 and appreciation of everything that is most 
 beautiful and noble in the union of two hearts 
 and spirits, had little patience or tolerance for 
 the half - commercial transaction — so much 
 dot, so many titles, social distinctions, or 
 
MAE EI AGE. 333 
 
 other compensating qualities — wliicli takes the 
 place in France of our more spontaneous though 
 equally imperfect system. At this period of 
 his life, as has been already recorded, he had 
 been very deeply tantalised and rendered melan- 
 choly by the happy marriages of his two friends, 
 Albert de la Ferronays and M. Rio. He had felt 
 that the very sight of lovers and the name of 
 love, gave him — so far was he from having part 
 or lot in the matter — exquisite pain ; and alto- 
 gether his mind was in a very pensive mood. 
 Lacordaire, too, had added to his discourage- 
 ment even while he advised him to marry, by 
 tellino; him that romances were rare in France, 
 and that what St Teresa had said of her own time 
 was true of this — " They love not." But if ever 
 man was determined to make head against the 
 custom of his time and country in any unworthy 
 particular, that man was Montalembert ; and 
 Providence had reserved something better for 
 him, a happiness as perfect and pure, an idyl 
 as complete as that of Albert and Alexandrine. 
 This idyl, we repeat, it is not for us to tell ; 
 nor can we dwell upon the happy ways, always 
 and evidently providential in the eyes of bride- 
 groom and bride, by which the new pair were 
 brouQ^ht too-ether. He was married in Auo-ust 
 1836 to a daughter of the noble house of De 
 
334 MAERIAGE. 
 
 Merode, one of the noblest in Belgium, and pos- 
 sessing also large estates in France — a family dis- 
 tinguished not only for pure and long descent, 
 but for the most liberal and enlightened political 
 principles, and which had taken a large share in 
 the Eevolution which made Belgium an inde- 
 pendent kingdom. Madame de Montalembert 
 was the daughter of Count Felix de Merode, 
 already referred to, and the sister of the now 
 well-known Monsignor de Merode, of whom 
 all the world has heard. Their first meetino- took 
 place in the early spring of 1836, very shortly 
 before the death of Albert de la Ferronays, which 
 happened in Paris just at the moment when his 
 friend had attained the crowning blessedness of 
 life. The two scenes thus going on side by side 
 were sadly different. Montalembert was one 
 of the small circle assembled at that midnis^ht 
 mass in the dying man's chamber, where Alex- 
 andrine proclaimed herself a Catholic and re- 
 ceived the communion along with her husband 
 — a moment of mingled anguish and joy. This 
 happened on the 3d of June : on the 29th, 
 Albert died ; and a fortnight later the Count 
 and Countess de Merode, accompanied by their 
 daughter, came to Paris to settle the prelimi- 
 naries of the marrias:e. Thus the threads of 
 life twine themselves together, the bitter and 
 
MAPvEIAGE. 335 
 
 the sweet, the infinitudes of youthful happiness 
 with those blacknesses of despair which cannot 
 be described in words. It was not despair that 
 followed Albert's death ; but a most Christian, 
 most submissive and holy sorrow. Yet, not- 
 withstanding, there is always something heart- 
 rending in the mere vicinity of the widow and 
 the bride. 
 
 Immediately after their marriage, Montalem- 
 bert and his young wife went at once by way 
 of Switzerland to Italy. In November we find 
 them at Venice, then in Eome, where they 
 passed the season of Christmas. The happy 
 lovers made a tender pilgrimage to those sacred 
 places where the other happy pair, who had 
 preceded them, and who were now separated by 
 death, had spent their early days. They went 
 to the room where Albert had sufiered so much 
 in Venice, and murmured the De lorofundis 
 with low voices and swelling hearts. They 
 went and gazed at the Casa Margherita, where 
 Albert and Alexandrine had first met, and where 
 Montalembert had become the witness and con- 
 fidant of their growing afiection, but did not 
 enter the house, as it was " gorged with English." 
 Albert, indeed, as was natural, was very much 
 in their thoughts. " I fear to be ungrateful to 
 his holy memory,'^ the happy bridegroom wrote 
 
336 MARRIAGE. 
 
 to Albert^s young widow. ^^I fear to forget, 
 in the midst of my new happiness, the ardent 
 prayers and tender solicitude of him who, as 
 you say, procured that happiness for me. And 
 yet God knows that I constantly throw back 
 my heart and thoughts upon Albert when 
 I can detach them from the present. I have 
 taken pleasure in feeling myself under the pro- 
 tection of him who was the closest companion 
 of my life and the confidant of all my emotions, 
 and who would have given, I am sure, a part 
 of his happiness to preserve mine.'' There were 
 many things throughout this journey which re- 
 called the past, the recent past of 1832, with 
 all its Avanderings, to Montalembert — a recol- 
 lection bitter in some points, very sad in others, 
 but still not without its consolation ; for the one 
 friend who remained of those who then shared 
 his life, the Abb^ Lacordaire, was again with 
 him, meditating a step scarcely less important 
 than that which the young Count had taken. 
 Lacordaire was on the eve of entering the order 
 of S. Dominic, a proceeding which may be said to 
 have caused a sort of resurrection of the monas- 
 tic orders, at least in France. In the mean time, 
 however, he was once more the partaker of his 
 friend's brightened existence, living in the same 
 intimate and constant communion with him as 
 they had enjoyed of old. 
 
MARRIAGE. 337 
 
 The young pair left Italy in March, the snow 
 beating upon them as they left that country of 
 flowers and sunshine ; and in May we find Mon- 
 talembert once more in Paris, and in his place 
 in Parliament, where he spoke twice — once on the 
 Emancipation of Slaves, and again upon the ques- 
 tion of Ecclesiastical Property, the Government 
 having proposed to take possession of the site of 
 the ancient palace of the Archbishop of Paris, 
 which had been sacked and almost destroyed in 
 1831, to make of it a public promenade. Mon- 
 talembert spoke strongly and warmly, as might 
 be looked for, against this project, but began his 
 speech by expressing *^ loudly and without re- 
 serve ^' his admiration " for the two great acts by 
 which, in the short space of one week, the Gov- 
 ernment has had the happiness and glory of 
 distinguishing its policy." These two acts were 
 — a general amnesty to prisoners condemned 
 for political ofi'ences, and the restoration and 
 reopening of the Church of St Germain I'Aux- 
 errois ; events of a very difierent character, yet 
 both equally satisfactory to the champion of 
 religion and of freedom. 
 
 The month of May, which was spent in Paris, 
 supplies many touching scenes to the faithful 
 journal which has preserved through all these 
 years in the fragrance of its first freshness the 
 
 VOL. I. Y 
 
338 MARRIAGE. 
 
 happiest episode of its writer's life. May is 
 the month of Mary; and there is a tenderness 
 and effusion in the many services performed at 
 the flower-decked altars, in which human feeling 
 and all the sweetness of grateful recollection 
 come in, making them to the devout Catholic a 
 combination — perhaps not very comprehensible 
 to many of us — of divine worship and tender per- 
 sonal celebration of the merits of a real human 
 friend, which is very exquisite in its appeal to 
 the feelings. Perhaps no Protestant will ever 
 really be able to seize the infinite shades of differ- 
 ence between the worship of adoration which the 
 Eoman Catholic Church, like all others, reserves 
 for God alone, and the worship of veneration 
 which she so lavishly extends to His saints, and, 
 above all, to the Virgin. Yet that there is a dif- 
 ference, and that the one kind of religious ser- 
 vice is carefully discriminated — at all events in 
 the minds of all intelligent worshippers — from 
 the other, is a fact which few who have taken 
 the trouble to study the question from a non- 
 polemical point of view will dispute. The con- 
 fusion of the heretic understanding, when it 
 attempts to fathom this fine and delicate dif- 
 ference, is not perhaps shared by the faithful 
 believer, who has been trained all his life to look 
 up to Mary as to another and more elevated 
 
MAERIAGE. 339 
 
 mother. But young Montalembert and his 
 young wife, when they set out together in 
 those early summer evenings in the delightful 
 independence and companionship of their new 
 life, might well attract all the sympathy of the 
 looker-on, whatever were his opinions. They 
 went now to one church, now to another, enjoy- 
 ing the tender religious sentiment, and the over- 
 whelming sense of their own happiness; and 
 then would walk home together in the soft 
 May moonlight, surrounded by an atmosphere 
 of blessedness, finding everything lovely, fra- 
 grant, melodious. Paris itself, which has seen 
 so many strange and terrible scenes, grows 
 hushed and peaceful about these two young 
 figures ; the river flows softly, the towers 
 of Notre Dame rise with a protecting grace 
 ao^ainst the backoround of softened blue : 
 and under the dark arches of St Eustache, 
 where they betake themselves sometimes from 
 the stillness of their noble quarter across the 
 river, how the lights shine on the white-decked 
 altar, and the Salve Regina rises on delicious 
 voices into the great darkness of the vaulted 
 roof ! That music rose straight to heaven while 
 those young hearers listened to it in simple and 
 unquestioning devotion ; and heaven itself was 
 with them in this soft, genial, religious May. 
 
340 MARRIAGE. 
 
 The only grief whicli Montalembert records 
 at this moment is one which the reader will 
 not feel to be very serious. He was deeply 
 distressed that his wife would not admire a 
 certain church, of which we have unfortunately 
 forgotten the name ! He could not bear that 
 there should be even this point of difference. 
 At the same time, however, while he gravely 
 records this lover-like distress, he was not so 
 much absorbed or rapt in his new bliss as to be 
 indifferent to the events which were going on, 
 or to give up the occupations of his life. A 
 long and most careful analysis of Eio's book on 
 Christian Art, the first worthy recognition which 
 it had received, dates from this early summer ; 
 and he even congratulates himself in his journal 
 that his happiness does not disqualify him from 
 interest and action in other matters. 
 
 The rest of the summer was spent at Yil- 
 lersexel, a vast and interesting old chateau 
 belonging to the family of Madame de Monta- 
 lembert, one of the many noble houses which has 
 been destroyed by Prussian guns during the re- 
 cent war. Here Montalembert's enthusiasm for 
 architectural beauty was fully satisfied. We 
 are not aware whether it was at this moment, 
 or at an earlier period, that, while examiniug 
 the genealogical records of the family of which 
 
MAERIAGE. 341 
 
 he now formed a part, lie made the delight- 
 ful discovery that the beautiful young wife 
 whom he adored was of the very blood and 
 lineage of his dear St Elizabeth ! a discovery 
 which made him more and more gTatefully 
 conscious of the benediction of Heaven upon 
 him in his happy union. Here, too, was born 
 his eldest child, christened Elizabeth-Hiltrude, 
 the second name being that of the saint whose 
 little chapel stood in the ancestral woods, and 
 whose holy well was the object of many pil- 
 grimages. In this well the ring of betrothal 
 had been dipped which first united the pair ; 
 and now their child was placed under the pro- 
 tection of this woodland patroness, as well as 
 of the loftier and more renowned saint, who 
 was at once her mother's ancestress and the 
 heavenly lady of her fathers knightly devo- 
 tion. Such delightful prejudices of the heart 
 have no place among our religious thoughts ; 
 yet how charming is the human grace with 
 which they link the present to the past ! 
 
 After this new beorinnino; of life there followed 
 a few years of tranquil domestic existence, not 
 without movement and that hruit which, from his 
 earliest days, Llontalembert had acknowledged 
 himself to love — but still calm, disturbed by no 
 clamour of perpetual publicity, with time in it 
 
342 MARRIAGE. 
 
 for much literary work and much family enjoy- 
 ment. The agitation which filled some years of 
 his later life with continual bustle and business, 
 that assault upon the monopoly of the University, 
 and claim for freedom of teaching, which had 
 so early occupied him, was taken up to a certain 
 extent during these gentle years, but not with 
 that determined tenacity of purpose which in- 
 spired him at a later period ; and in his leisure 
 the more congenial subject of Art came uppermost, 
 and suggested most of his literary themes. The 
 question of Freedom in Education was not yet 
 ripe for discussion. Since its old champions had 
 fallen under Papal censure, the question itself 
 had dropped, as it were, out of fashion. It had 
 become entangled in the ruins of the ' Avenir,' 
 and none had dared to disinter it, or assume 
 to themselves any share of the opprobrium 
 which had crushed and quenched that im- 
 prudent pioneer of freedom; and a host of 
 difficulties were involved in its resuscitation. 
 The bishops of France looked coldly on it, and 
 indeed upon all enterprises which required agita- 
 tion. "Le bruit ne fait jamais de bien, et le 
 bien ne fait jamais de bruit," said one of them, 
 with epigrammatic wisdom ; and probably this 
 mot itself did much to prevent the possibility 
 of organising any constitutional agitation on 
 
MARRIAGE. 343 
 
 this important subject. Foiled, therefore, for 
 the moment in the special object which he pur- 
 sued without failinoj or foro^etfulness for so 
 many years, Montalembert turned, as we have 
 said, to Art, the other subject which attracted 
 him most. In 1837 his paper on the "Etat 
 actuel de Tart religieux en France" was pub- 
 lished. His sketch, *' Du Yandalisme," had 
 appeared only four years before, and already 
 he was able to speak of improvement and pro- 
 gress such as he had not hoped for. 
 
 '*An immense change,'' he says, "has been 
 worked in men's minds since the time when we 
 were moved to raise a humble, unknown, and 
 almost solitary voice against the Yandals of 
 various kinds who were devastatino- the monu- 
 ments of our faith and our history. In a very 
 few years the aspect of affairs has changed. The 
 Eevolution of July, while it gave the last blow 
 to the aiicien regime, in the present and in the 
 future, gave a new impulse to the study and 
 understanding of the ancienne France in the 
 past — not the bastard and inconsistent past of 
 recent centuries, but the past of that great period 
 when Christianity reigned over humanity, soul 
 and body. The new Government j)laced itself 
 frankly on the side of the party, very few in 
 
344 MARRIAGE. 
 
 number, which, moved by the invectives of M. 
 Victor Hugo, attempted to struggle against the 
 torrent of destruction. Using their power with 
 salutary energy, M. Guizot and his successors, 
 as Minister of the Interior and as Minister of 
 Public Instruction, have extended the immense 
 and inevitable arms of civilisation to arrest the 
 municipal hammer and the industrial brush, 
 while at the same time they have instituted and 
 encouraged vast and important publications, 
 the object of which was to raise the treasures 
 of national art from the dust, and to reveal 
 them to the country. This noble and excellent 
 example ought to have been given by Govern- 
 ment at an earlier period, and will, thank God, be 
 necessary in the future. On the other hand, 
 a deeper study of foreign countries has pro- 
 duced unexpected results. On examining more 
 closely the habits and the learning of England 
 and Germany, men have learnt to understand 
 the profound respect and tender care professed 
 by these great nations for the monuments of 
 their past ; and, turning their thoughts back on 
 their own country, they have found out with 
 surprise and admiration that France still pos- 
 sesses in her provincial towns, notwithstanding 
 the melancholy nakedness of some and the 
 ridiculous decoration of others, cathedrals more 
 beautiful than the most celebrated in Eugland. 
 
MARRIAGE. 345 
 
 Among the dust of her libraries have been found 
 poems more original and full of inspiration 
 than the most popular epics of Germany ; and 
 the manuscripts of these poems have been found 
 to be adorned by miniatures more exquisite and 
 delicate than even the much-vaunted miniatures 
 of the Vatican. Thus the world has at last found 
 out and understood that even in France there 
 exists another kind of art, another kind of 
 beauty, than the material beauty and pagan art 
 of the times of Louis XIV. and of the Empire.'' 
 
 Of this change Montalembert himself ^Yas one 
 of the chief originators ; and though he goes on 
 to complain that '' unfortunately this discovery 
 has been made chiefly by literary men or travel- 
 lers," yet there can be little doubt that he felt 
 the creation of the Committee of Historical Art, 
 in 1834, and that of the Commission on Historical 
 Monuments, which was brouo^ht into beino; in 
 this very year 1837, to be partly his own doing. 
 Of both of these committees he was subsequently 
 appointed a member, and continued to work 
 actively upon them until the days of the Empire, 
 at which time, as is succinctly and significantly 
 stated in a note to his article on Eeligious Art, 
 '* He was excluded from the Comite des Arts 
 by an order signed Fortoul, and dated Septem- 
 ber 14, 1852 ; and from the Commission des 
 
346 MARRIAGE. 
 
 Monuments Ilistoriques by an imperial decree 
 of the 15 til December 1860, countersigned A. 
 Walewski." The Empire was no more favour- 
 able to his severe and pure conceptions of Chris- 
 tian art, than to others of his most cherished 
 opinions. 
 
 The article on "I'Etat actuel de Tart religieux " 
 was chiefly directed against the debased senti- 
 ment of j)ictures and sculptures professing to be 
 religious ; and Avas followed by a second article, 
 '' De Tattitude actuelle du Vandalism e en 
 France,'' in which the writer castigates with 
 merciless precision the general mass of French- 
 men, who, notwithstanding all the remonstran- 
 ces of antiquarians and the efforts of Govern- 
 ment, still persisted in regarding old churches 
 and convents as so many immense quarries for 
 the reparation of their own houses, or aid of 
 their own funds. We might add a long list of 
 speeches and of shorter writings, all with the 
 same end and meaning. The laideur systema- 
 tique of public buildings, the vile taste of the 
 decorations with which the Peers were surround- 
 ed in the Luxembourg, the levity of the music 
 often heard in churches — all attracted his notice 
 and criticism in their turn. Few people out of 
 France, and perhaps only a limited number 
 even there, are aware of his unwearying labours 
 in this department of the public service. 
 
MARRIAGE. 347 
 
 In the end of 1838 Montalembert appeared 
 as the champion of Belgium, then threatened 
 with the loss of the Duchy of Luxembourg, 
 which was accomplished at a later period. This 
 speech is a very fine and eloquent protest 
 against those interferences with popular rights 
 and partitions of kingdoms which were so 
 summary and so general after the great wars of 
 the beginning of the century ; and at the same 
 time against that tyrannical interposition in the 
 affairs of a small State which Europe has always 
 permitted to herself, in compensation for her 
 want of courage in interfering with the greater. 
 It is unnecessary for us to enter into this long- 
 ended argument ; but there are many things in 
 the speech which return u|)on the reader s ear 
 with a strange echo after all the events of the 
 late few years, which, happily for himself, Mon- 
 talembert did not live to see. When he protests 
 eloquently against the change of allegiance pro- 
 posed, demanding " from the height of this 
 tribune so much delay as may suffice to consult 
 the wishes of the people, the wishes of three 
 hundred thousand souls, who are your brothers, 
 your neighbours, who, in one word, are men, 
 and have a right to be otherwise treated than 
 thus to be bartered and sold like cattle ; " when 
 he trembles for the effect which may be produced, 
 '' in our eastern provinces, upon the patriotic 
 
348 MARRIAGE. 
 
 population of Lorraine and Alsace by that army 
 assembled on their frontier, by the sight of their 
 neighbours, their brothers, delivered up to Prus- 
 sian bayonets ; " — what strange, confused, half- 
 prophetic sentiment of the future breathes 
 through the words which are now so much more 
 sadly and painfully significant! The whole 
 discussion trembles with unforeseen issues ; no 
 one of all these men, wise in their statesman- 
 ship, but short-sighted by reason of their human- 
 ity, had any insight into that future which lies 
 so darkly before us. " Do not imagine," cries 
 the generous defender of all oppressed countries, 
 " that I sigh for war, for conquest, for the exten- 
 sion of our borders, for the frontier of the Rhine. 
 No ; I declare loudly I desire for my country 
 neither war nor conquest, nor the addition of a 
 single village, of a single inch of territory ; but 
 there are other victories, moral conquests — and 
 it is these which I desire for my country. I 
 wish it to be known everywhere on our fron- 
 tiers, in every cabin, that France is a peaceful 
 neighbour, faithful to every pledge, the friend 
 of justice, of true freedom, of genuine order, 
 ready to maintain these against all comers, and 
 under whose protection the humblest may rest 
 in peace. These are the only conquests which 
 I desire." 
 
 It is curious, too, to note the different aspect 
 
MAERIAGE. 349 
 
 under wMcli Belgium and her affairs then ap- 
 peared to the mind of Europe. We of this later 
 generation have been trained in the belief that 
 England is the natural protector of that prudent 
 and sensible little country; and indeed, the 
 possible invasion or partition of Belgium has 
 become almost the only question which kindles 
 in their ashes something of our ancient fires ; 
 but fort}' years ago this would not seem to have 
 been so. The Government of July felt itself 
 almost the parent of the nation which had 
 secured its independent being by a revolution 
 immediately following that of France. " How 
 can the interest of Enoiand in Bekium be for a 
 moment compared to ours ? " as^s Montalembert. 
 " The interest of Enoiand is to maintain the 
 kino'dom of the Netherlands, for that was her 
 erection — it is her favourite work ; and certainly 
 to take any step in another direction was an 
 immense concession on her part to the French 
 alliance. Is there between her and Belgium, as 
 between Belgium and us, identity of revolution, 
 or of language, or of customs, or of religion ? 
 Nothing of the kind. England may have given 
 up Belgium, but is that a reason why we in our 
 turn should give her up 1" 
 
 This throws a curious light upon the position 
 of the nations. King Leopold was the son-in- 
 law of the French king, and France no doubt 
 
S50 MARRIAGE. 
 
 had a great many more reasons to be interested 
 in her little but useful neighbour than we could 
 have. But nothing can more clearly show 
 how far the France of the Empire was separated 
 from the France of the house of Orleans than 
 this discussion, read in the light of that famous 
 Secret Treaty against the independence of Bel- 
 gium, which to our English understandings 
 almost read like an assault upon ourselves. 
 
 In the year 1839 Montalembert paid a short 
 and melancholy visit to England, to the death- 
 bed of his mother ; a visit of which few traces 
 are to be found. He appeared at a meeting of 
 the Friends of Poland held in London on the 
 15th of June, at which the Duke of Sussex was 
 in the chair, and where in a short and somewhat 
 embarrassed speech (for was it not his habit, and 
 that of all France, to speak of Ireland as another 
 Poland ?) he recommended the cause of the Poles 
 to English sympathy, describing it as one of the 
 chief bonds between our country and his, "the 
 best guarantee of the alliance between France 
 and England;'' and picturing to his hearers " the 
 two first nations of the world " marching to the 
 succour of that oppressed nationality, with the 
 words of '^ the inspired poet of Ireland " on their 
 lips — 
 
 " The friends we've tried are by us, 
 And the foe we hate before ns." 
 
MAPtRIAGE. 351 
 
 On this visit Montalembert was accompanied 
 by his wife and brother-in-law, Count Werner 
 de Merode, but the melancholy occasion of it 
 prevented them from entering into society in 
 London ; the only exceptions they made, as M. 
 Eio informs us, being in favour of "a young 
 member of Parliament, destined to the greatest 
 political position of our time '' — to wit, Mr Glad- 
 stone ; and old Samuel Eogers, then one of the 
 most notable personages in society. The effect 
 produced upon this veteran by the visit of the 
 Catholic enthusiast was of a curious kind, and 
 one does not know whether to smile or to be 
 touched by M. Eio's naive account of his old 
 friend's emotion, and the cause he assigned 
 for it. 
 
 "When I found myself alone with Eogers 
 (after the departure of Montalembert and his 
 party), the exjDression of his countenance, which 
 up to that moment had been smiling and ani- 
 mated, changed so suddenly that I feared I had 
 offended him by some word of doubtful meaning 
 which I might not altogether have understood. 
 He paced about the room without saying any- 
 thing, and I did not know whether I might 
 venture to break this incomprehensible silence. 
 At last he broke it himself, and then I under- 
 stood that our recent conversation and the sight 
 
352' MARRIAGE. 
 
 of the young pair so perfectly happy in the 
 unanimity of their faith had touched a chord 
 which vibrated to the depths of his being. When 
 I returned home I wrote the following words in 
 my journal on this subject : ' After the three 
 others had gone, Eogers said to me that if he 
 had the power of putting himself in the place of 
 another, he would choose that of Montalembert, 
 not on account of his youth and his beautiful 
 wife, but because he possessed that immovable 
 and cloudless faith which seemed to himself the 
 most enviable of all gifts.' 
 
 } }} 
 
 This is not the aspect under which we are 
 accustomed to consider the man who was so 
 long a kind of grandfather of English literature, 
 though his own claims to poetic fame are of so 
 mild a nature ; but probably it represents a side 
 of his character jvhich he r^i^ vq^ reveal to the 
 common eye.7.,'^j^_^^^.j^j;X 
 
 ^JRRARY 
 
 END OF THE FIESt Vt)LUME. 
 
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