z's

gustinia

oly dead, consecrated by the presence of her living Head, I scarcely think religion

inds manifests itself in such diffe

idays and dramatic entertainments, than as the solemn and sacred festivals we consider them in Saxony. This morning, for instance, I heard

last year! Every one said she was heavenly. If the priests do not arrange it

ambino last Christmas? Such lace! and the cradle of tortoise-shell, fit for an emperor, as it should be! And then

. A certain lady who was powerful at the late Holy Father's court, is said to have present

come a peni

f penitence would purchase indulgences an

ns, with their glorious skies and the rich colouring of their beautiful land requir

more especially to behold the Holy Father sitting on a fair palfrey, bearing the sacred Host.

ould call the Vicar of Christ an earthly dignitary! I

an before the Holy Sacrament,-the Holy Father submits to sitting enthroned in the church, and r

e person. It is difficult enough for us. But for the human spirit not y

solitude before God, his self-abasement is as much deeper t

Brother Martin and I spoke in the Black Forest; to whom the homage of the universe is no burden, because it is not mere prostra

ibute, Holy One, who hast loved and given thi

e,

d offered prayers at every altar at which especial

(whom he dearly loves) were dead, that he might avail himself of the

s the office so slowly. I heard one of them say, contemptuously, he had accomplished thirty masses whi

ndance; but when the ceremony itself begins, to which all the pomp of music, and processions of cavaliers, and richly-robed priests, and costly shrines, ar

t. These are the splendours of fa

eronica presented to him to wipe his brow, bowed under the weight of the cross. We had looked forw

at moment was over, the glimpse of the sacred thing on which hung the fate of seven thousand years! For some time Brother Martin and I did not speak of it. I feared there had been some imperfe

uch the appearance of being carved in wood. But in the crowd we could not approach

ould scarcely be termed a holy relic. I wonder who preserved it, when so many other

marrow of these ceremonies-the exhibition of the holy relics. They seem more

done us by our own thoughts and feelings, but

alk over the heaps of shapeless ruin, so many feet beneath which lies buried the grandeur of the old imperial city; or when I wander among the broken arches of the gi

," who was beheaded here. Or, again, in the ancient Pantheon, when the music of Christian chants rises among the shadowy forms of the old vanquished gods painted on the walls, and the li

church of my patron, St. Sebastian, without

ook refuge from persecution: there she laid her martyrs; and there, over their tombs, she chanted hymns of triumph, and held communion with Him for whom they died. In that church I spend hours. I have no wish to descend into those sacred s

and wondered why the wicked triumph, and

em, and had not been born in times when we see Satan appear

n Rome, alas, who can speak! of the shameless sin, t

ttle moss on a great rock which cannot be shaken-the rock of God's providence and love. In the busy city, I feel tossed hither and thither on a sea which seems to rage and heave at its own wild will, without aim or meaning-a sea of human passion.

de, and try to remember that the benefits of these ceremonies and exhibitions are only to be u

nd others, flow from so many Paternosters and Aves recited at certain altars, or from seeing the Vero

jest at all that is most sacred. Some avowed their disbelief in one portion of the faith, and some in others; but all in a light and laughing way, as if it mattered little to any of them. One present related how they sometimes

clare, that if there be a hell, Rome i

ncte vultis, d

icent, non licet

places and holy character thus disjoined! How overwhelming the doubts that rush back on the spirit again and again, as to the very ex

, Au

tail of the prescribed round of devotions, belie

m as, on his knees, he slowly mounted step after step of the hard stone, worn into hollows, by the knees of penitents and pilgrims. An indulgence for a thousand years-indulgence from penance-is attached t

nd it was not until some time afterwards that he told

d to whisper to him the old, well-known words, which had been his bat

r step; but, rising from his knees, he stood upright, like a man suddenly loosed from bonds and f

st,

with many wounds. But no one seems to think much of it. Such things are constantly occurring,

monks whisper: "one of the late Pope'

venge you see human nature in ruins; yet in the ruins you can trace something of the ancient dignity. But in this jesting, scornful spirit, which mocks at sacredn

agna, and feel a refreshment in its desolate space

ndly in contrast. In the Campagna we see the ruins of Imperial Rome; but in Rome we see the ruin of our race and natur

ich I dare not dwell too much, it seems at times as if the

, Au

is slowly winding its way among the intricacies of the Roman courts, is t

great benefit, moreover, of hearing lectures f

e through these men,-one in the far distanc

oblest lineages as mushrooms of a day. I had no conception that underneath the misery and the obsequious demeanour of the Jews such lofty feelings existed. And, yet, what wonder is it! Before Rome w

except the roll of the Law, which was reverently taken out of a sacred treasury and read aloud. Yet there seemed something sublime in

tar?" I asked once

in the city and on the hill of our God. But," he continued, in a low, bitter tone, "when our altar

n since. But were they not blasp

r the first time that a Church exists in the East, as ancient as the Church of Western Europe, and as exten

or I thought at Eisenach. May not God's kin

and, with slight variations, the language of Homer, our Germany seems in its infancy indeed. Would to God it were in

me on whose brow rests, not the perishable crown of e

tem

is nearly accomplished. We shall soon-we may at

we gained by o

umble the heart in expanding the mind. Bitter knowledge! illusions dispelled, aspirations crushed. We have learned that the heart of Christendom is a moral plague-spot; that

can turn as a sanctuary, if by a sanctuary we mean not merely a r

anctuary of the world! It seems as if half the

n, treachery, avarice, a spirit of universal mockery, which seems only the foam over

evert to Rome as a holy place. She has indeed built,

of the city,-too far for traffickers in sacred bones to disturb them,-am

e among her dead. Among the living al

ce and words of mockery necessarily make more noise in the world than prayers? How do I know how many humble hearts there are in those co

ough his word, by the voice of Brother Martin in the Black Forest, Rome might too easily have made me an infidel. And it is certainly true, that

ed all the shrines; we have recited as many as possible of the priv

st result to us f

rd at Rome? Spiritual? Scarcely; if by spiritual we are to understand a devout mind, joy in God, and nearness to him. When, since that

enses. And what are these ecclesiastical benefits? Pardon? But is it not written that God gives this free

not the Lamb of God, dying for us on the cross, bear our sins there, and blot them out? What then remains, which the indulgences can deliver from? Penance and purgatory. What then are penance and purgatory? Has penance in itself no curative effec

time to time, and I find no reply. If

sten to them. They are vain and presumptuous questio

h to lock them again, when

erate seriousness. It is probably owing to your long winters and the heaviness of

y to take death "with desperate seriousness," and judgment and eternity, although there will be no

ims; we have performed every prescribed duty, and availed ourselves of every proffered privilege. And yet it is not beca

am tempted in my heart to feel as if Germany, and not Rome, were the Holy Place, a