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Lea diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthodo. rrata to peiure. n A □ 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 % SAI e, 0( rva /' **Ab aatfqoe ■■■■ qaa [MM D. & J. £ s ^^f, THE LIFE SAINT ELIZABETH, or HUNOART, ft ST TBS COUNT DB MONTALEMBERT, TBANSLATID BT MABT BAOIflT. rwa tlTTBODUCTtON TMdNBLATMB BT MM9, J, BABltM^, * Ab BBtiqao Kriptte MB eoBlMtw, ipM qao^im teriiitc^rtre tneepi, noa at Miwllui ■Mun qua p«iie nulla Mt, propoiierMn; cM at raa abwonditM, qua in stra* varitaUt iM^Mt, eonT«ll«rMi ia laona."— OMBtiM Iblmuk. i» Out. Meg., r«l. U., ifU D. & J. SADLIER & CO] wmali EST COPYRIGHT, D. & J. SADLIER & CO.. 1884 ^\ COUNT DE HONTALEMBERT, rai ILLVITBIOUS CHAMPIOll OP RBLIOIOM AVD LIBIBfff VHBOUOHOUT THB WOBLD, CM> 8««iurtitfMi OP UIB •HISTOIBB DE SAINTE BLISABR^* D nSCRIBBD, Win SBMTDIBinB OP HBABTPB.T ADMIBAnOV AMO PBOPODBB BBBPBOr POB mS HOBLB CHABACTIF, iUD BTBB lABHSn STHPATIIT IH BBHAUT OV OUSHPBOnA FREFAOB to THB SECOND AMBBICAW KDITIOH. Count de Montalembebt^ lAfe of St, EHzabetk qf ^miga/iry has been now some years before the public, %nd, itbongli more recently translarted into English, its ineritB are not In preparing this second edition for the press, I have carefully compared ihd whole work vrith th^ original, and I trust it will be fomid comparatively free from the typographical aud other erron which disfigured the former edition. MonuAK, ^tk. IMI. \i CONTENTS. i>,h 9&m Ibtrodnollon f L How Duke Hemuinn nlfnad to Tborlnnfas and King Andraw la IIiui> garj, Mid bow the deer 8t BIlBobetb wm born et Priaboarf; end wm brooglit to Elaeneeb 106 IL How Uie dew BU Elisabetb henourwl Ood In her Cbildhood lit III. How the deer St Eliiabeth bad to suffer ft>r God 1ft lY. How tiie young Louie wee reltbAil to tbe dear St Eliaabetb, and bow be married ber IM v. How Uie Duke Louli, bueband of tbe dear St Elliabatb, waa afreeable to God and man Ut TL How the Duke LouU and tbe dear Bt Biisabeth UTed togetber before God in tbe holy state of marriage 140 VII. How tlie dear St EliiabeUi praetiaed the Tirtne of mortiflcation 144 ▼III. or the great charity of the dear St Elisabetb, and of her love of povertj 151 IX. Of the great devotion and humility of the dear St Elisabetb Ill Z. How the dear St Elisabeth was known and cherished by tbe glorions St Franci^ and bow abe bad tor spiritaal dlreetur Maater Conrad of Marbourg IM ZI. How tbe Lord waa pleaaad to waalfeat bia graee in tbo person of tbe dear St Elisabeth , 180 ZIL Hew tbe DukeLoui« yrsteeted bia poorpeopio 180 ZIII. How a great famine devaatated TburUigia, and tiow tbo Jear St Elisa- betb practised all the worka of merey 104 ZIY. How Doke Louia returned to bia wife, and bow ho nandered tme jnatioe , toliisdoar monks of Key nbaitibruna 901 ZY* How the good Duke Louis took up the Crooa, and of tbe great grief wherewith he bade (krewell to bis IHenda, bis family, and the dear St Elisabetb SOf ZYL How Duke Louis died on bis way to the Holy Land 394 ZYII. How tbe dear St Elisabeth heard of tbo death of ber hosband, and of her great agony and tribuUtion SYIIL How the dear St Elisabetb was driven oat of her castle with ber Uttlo ehildren, and reduced to extreme misery, and of the great ingratltodo tf mon towardi XIX XX XXI XXII. XXUl. ZXIV. xxy. ZXYL XXVII. XXVIII. XZIX. XXX. ZXXL ZXXIL CXXIIL IZXIT. OONTIVTt. • ffew tk» All-m<^lftil Jmo* oenMltd tb« tUar 8t Klis*b«th la hm loa^ Uneti Md niUi-ry, •ml bow th« awMt Mid moM ot«u«nt Vtrgio Mary CMS* to Inntruct and fortiry li«r Mi Uow tht dear 8t Klliabwth rvfuMd to tnarr/ a Moond tlUM, and b«w •he oonaacratMl li«r w«ddliig gannanta to Jaaui^ tba apouio vi bar •oul Ml How the dear St. EJUabatl» raaclvad tba lanalM of bar buaband, k^A bow Ui«jr wera InUrMd at Bajraliartabfttaa tM How tha Tburinglan kulgliU mailit Duka Uanry repent ofhla wlcbed- nci^ and ina«le lilm render ample Jiutlee to Uie dear St. Klliabetb . . ITf Uow tlie dear 8U Ullaabutb renounced tbe worldly life, and, retiring to Marbourg, aaaunad tbera tba liabit of tba Order of tba gturtoitf 8t FranoU %U or tba great poverty In whlob tba dear St. Elizabeth lived, and k*ir •be advanced in biunlllijt and loaroy towarda all cr e a> u ra»4 SSS How tba dear St EUiabaUi reftwed to lotura ta bar lithar'a UnfdoU, In order that abe might mora sorely enter tba kingdom of Heaven. Ml Uow tbe deer St Klliabetb dUtrtbuted all bar property amoagat tba poor 801 How tha doar St. Xliaabeth learned fVom Maatar Oonrad, bow In ill thingi ta deaCroy ••l^wl^ 801 How tbe Lord exerclited bla power and mercy at tba iataroaaaiun of tha dear Bt. Blbaibeth, and of the marvelloua aflcaay of bar prayer*. 811 Hnw the dear St Elisabeth, when aged twenty-lbnr yeara, waa aum* moned to tbe eternal wttddlngfSiaat 881 How the doar St Elixabotb waa buried In tba eburob near bar Uoa- pital, and bow avan tha Itttla Urda of baavan oelabratad bar oba^ quiea 841 Of tba wooderAU mlraeloa obtained flrom Ood by tbe tateroeaalon^ tba dear St^ Blliabetb, and how aazioualy bar brotber-ln •Ion of (ha exaltation of her relies at Marbouiv 868 Of what baeama of tba ehlldiea aadrahittvaa of tba dear s^ BUaabatb after ber deatK and of tba great aalnta that apmng fh>m ber raaa. . . 184 Of the noble Cbnrob that waa oreetad at Marbauif In braoor of tha daar Bt. EUaabatb ; aad bow her prodooi talka vava ppafcoed; •laaUiaaoaahMlasaf tktoblMMjr .... INTRODUCTION. On the 10th of November, 1883, a traveller arrived at llarbourg, a city of Electoral Hesse, situated on the pleasant banks of the Labn. He stopped there in order to stody the Oothic Church which it contains, celebrated not only for itf rare and perfect beauty, but also because it was the firnt iu Oermaay wherein the ogee prevailed over the full arch, in the great revival of art in the IStb century. This basilic bears the name of St.' Elizabeth, and it happened that the traveller in question arrived on the very day of her feast. In the ohurch, — now Lutheran, like all the country around,~- there was seen no mark of solemnity ; only, in honour of the day, it was open, contrary to the practice of Protestants, and children were amusing themselves by jumping on the tomb- stones. The stranger passed along its vast naves, all deserted and dismantled, yet still young ia their lightness and elegance. He eaw resting against a pillar the statue of a young woman in a widow's dress, her face calm and resigned, one hand hold- ing the model of a choroh, and the other giving alms to an unhappy cripple ; further on, on bare and naked altars, from which no priestly hand ever wiped the dust, he carefully aiaanned some ancient painting on wood, half effaced, and ■culptures in relievo^ sadly mutilated, yet all profoundly im* pressed with the simple and tender charm of Christian art. In these representations, he distinguished a yonng woman ia 10 INTRODUCTIOH. great trepidation, showing to a crowned wnrrior the skirt of her cloak filled with roses ; in another place, that same knight angrily drew the covering from his bod, and beheld Christ stretched on the cross ; a little farther, the knight aifd the Itidy were reluctantly tearing tbemselTes asander after a fond embrace ; then again was seeu the young woman, fairer thnn ever; extended on her bed of death, surrounded by priests and weeping nuns ; in the last place, bishops were taking up from a vault a coffin on which an Emperor was placing his crown. The traveller was told that these were incidents in the history of St. Elizabeth, one of the sovereigns of that country, who died just six hundred years ago, in that same city of Marbourg, and was buried in that same church. In the corner of an obscure sacristy, he was shown the silver shrine, richly sculptured, which had contained the relics of the Saint, down to the time when one of her descendants, havinar become a Protestant, tore them oat mnd flung them to the winds. Under the stone canopy wBich formerly overhang the shrine, he saw that every step was deeply hollowed, and he was told that these were the traces of the innumerable pilgrims who came of old to pray at the shrine, but none within the last three hundred years. He knew that there were in that city some few of the faithful and a Catholic priest ; but neither Mass nor any other visible commemora* tion of the Saint to whom that day was consecrated. The stranger kissed the stone hallowed by the knees df faithfnl generations, and resumed his solitary course ; but he was ever after haunted by a sad yet sweet remembran<^ of that forsaken Saint, whose forgotten festival he had unwit- tingly come to celebrate. He set about studying her life;* h« successively ransacked those rich depositories of ancient lito^ * TUm* resesrohM bare stnee been completed hj others In ▼srions llbcwto 4 tiaif Md FUaden, eepeebllj te the VetleiUB lad the LMueattak. IMTRODDCTtOV. 11 ratore which aboond in Oermany. Charmed more and mort every day by what be learned of her, that thought gpradoally became the guiding star of his wanderings. After haTing drawn all he could from books and chronicles, and consulted manoscripts the most neglected, he wished, after the example of the first historian of the Saint, to examine places and popular traditions. He went, then, from city to city, from castle to castle, from church to church, seeking everywhere traces of her who has always been known in Catholic Ger- many as the dear Saint Elizabeth. He tried in vain to vi^iit her birth-place, Presburg, in farther Hungary ; but he was, at least, able to make some stay at that famous castle of Wartbourg, whither she came a child, where her girlish days were spent, and where she married a husband as pious and as .oving as herself ; he could climb the rough paths by which she went on her errands of charity to her beloved friends, the ,ppor ; he followed her to Creuzburg, where she first became a mother ; to the monastery of Reinhartsbrunn, where at twenty years of age she had to part with her beloved hus- band, who went to die for the Holy Sepulchre ; to Bamberg, where she found an asylum from the most cruel persecu- tions: to the holy mountain of Andechs, the cradle of her fam'ly, where she made an offering of her wedding-robe when the cherished wife had become a homeless and exiled widow. At Erfurth he touched with his lips the glass which she left the humble nuns as a memento of her visit. Finally, ha returned to Marbonrg, where she consecrated the last days of her life to the most heroic works of charity, and where she died at twenty-four — to pray at her desecrated tomb, and to gather with difficulty some few traditi^^v^^Rpoogst a people who, with the faith of their father^ to their sweet patroness. The result of these protractc pilgrimages, is contained b thii jr 'devotion loaf 13 INTROOUCTIOir. Often, when wandering through our plMtercd-up c'tf«f, or our rnral districts, despoiled uf their ancient ornaments, and fast losing all traces of ancestral life, the sight of a ruin which has escaped the spoilers, — of a statue lying in the grass, — an arched door-way, — a staved rosace, will arouse the imagine tion ; the mind is struck, as well as the eye ; our curiosity ii evcited ; we ask ourselves what part did that ftugment play hi the whole ; we unconsciously fall into contemplation : by degrees, the entire fabric rises befor . our mental vision, and when the work of interior reconstruction is completed, we behold the Abbey, the Church, fhe Cathedral, towering aloft in all its majestic beauty ; we see the sweep of its vaulted roof, and mingle in the crowd of its faithful people, amid the symbolic pomp and ineffable harmony of ancient worship. Thus it is that the writer of this book, having travelled long in foreign countries, and pondered much on past ages, has picked up this fragment, which he offers to those who have the same faith and the same sympathies as bimself, to aid them in reconstructing in their mind the sublime edifice of the Catholic ages. Thanks to the many invaluable L^onnmenta 6f the Kfe of St. Elizabeth, which are found in tbe great historical coHeo* tions of Germany as well aa in the manuscripts of its librae rtes ; thanks to the numerous and minute details transmitted to us by biographers, some of them pontemporaries of St. Elizabeth, and others attracted by the charm which her char* acter and her destiny are so well calculated to exercise over every Catholic mind ; thanks to this singular combination of tfuspicious circumstances, we are able to effect a double pui^ pose in writing this life While closely adbering to the (bib taaental idea of juch a work, viz., to give the life of a Saint, It legend of the ages of Faiih, we may also hope to furnish a ftiithfiil picture of the manners and customs of society at a pericd when the empire of t&e Church and of chivalry wae al ■X. nrTRODvoTtor. 18 tin height. It has long been f^lt that eren the purely profan* history of an ' *> so important for the destinies of mankind, might gain n h in depth, and in accmracy, from particular researches on the object of the most fervent faith and dearcsl affectitcs of the men of those times. We may Tentaro to say that, in the history of the middle ages, there afc fi^tr biogr* phies 60 well adapted to carry out that Tiew, aj the history of St. Elizabeth. On the other hand, before we say more of this Saint, and the ideas which she represents, it seems to us that we should give a sketch of the state of Christianity at the time in which she lived, for her life would be totally inexplicable to those who neither knew nor could appreciate her age. Not only is it that her destiny, her family, and her name, are connected, n\pre or less, with a host of the events of those times, but that her character is* so analogous to what the world then Saw on a grander scale, that it becomes indispensably neces- sary for the reader to recall, as he goes along, the principal features of the social state wherein her name holds such a dis- tinguished place. We must, therefore, be allowed to turn aside for a moment, before commencing the life of St. Eliza- beth, in order to depict her contemporaries and her times. St. Elizabeth was born in 1207, and died in 1231, so that her bnef career occurs during that first half of the 18th century, which is, perhaps, of all other periods, the most im- portant, the most complete, and the most rcsplehdent, in the history of Catholic society. It would be, it seems to us, diflS* cult to find, in the glorious annals of the Church, a time when her influence over the world and over mankind, in all its de> velopments, was more vast, more prolific, more incontestible. Never, perhaps, had the Spouse of Christ reigned with soch absolate dominion over the mind and heart of nations ; she saw aH the ancient elements, against which she had so long struggled, at length subdued and prostrate at her feet ; tke 14 IVTRODUOTIOir. I ! I entire West Wowed with respectful lore onder her holy law In the loan; rA*nggle which she had had to sustain, eren from her divine crigin, against the passions and repngnanoes of fallen hanianity, nerer had she more successfully fought, nor more vigorously pinioned down her enemies. It is true, her fictory was far from being, and could not be, complete, since vhe is here below only to fight, and expects to triumph only in heaven ; bnt certain it is that then, more than at any other moment of that protracted warfare, the love of her children, their boundless devotion, their numbers and their daily increasing courage, the Saints whom she every day saw coming to light amongst them^ gave to that immortal mother strength and consolation, of which she has since been but too cruelly deprived. The thirteenth century is the more remarkable, on thii point, inasmuch as the close of the. twelfth was far from being auspicious. In fact, the echo of St. Bernard's voice, which seems to have wholly filled that age, had grown feeble ■towards its end, and with it failed the exterior force of the Gatholic thought. The disastrous battle of Tiberiad, the loss of the true Cross, and the taking of Jerusalem by Saladin, (1187,) had showq the West overcome by the East, on the sacred soil which the Crusades had redeemed. The debauch- ery and tyranny of Henry II. of England, the murder of St. Thomas a Becket, the captivity of Richard CcRtir de Xton, the violence exercised by Philip Augustus towards his wife Ingerburge, the atrocious cruelties of the Emperor Henry VII. in Sicily— all these triumphs of brute force indicated, l>ut too plainly, a certain diminution of Catholic strength ; whilst the progress of the Waldensian and Albigensian heresies, with the universal complaints of the relaxation of the clergy and the religious orders, disclosed a dangerouf evil in the very bosom of the Church. But a glorious reaction ^WM soon to set iu. In the last years ;f that century (1198,) IVTROOUOTIOir. u Ihc chair of St. Peter was ascended by a man in the prime of life, who, under the name of Innocent III. was to struggle with invincible courage against the enemies of justice and the Church, and to give to the world perhaps the most accoai» plished model of a Sovereign Pontiff, the type, by excellence, of the vicar of God. As this grand figure stands out in bold relief from all that t,ge wbch he himself inaugurated, we must be allowed to give a sketch of his character. Gracious and benign in his manners — endowed with uncommon personal beauty — warm and confiding in his friendships — liberal to excess in his alms and in his foundations — an eloquent and persuasive orator — a learned and ascetic writer* — a poet even, as we see by his fine prose. Vent, Sanete Spiritus, and the Stabal Mater, that sublime elegy composed by him — a great and profound jurisconsult, as it behoved the supreme judge of Christendom to be — the zealous protector of science and of Ohristian literature — a stem disciplinarian, vigorously enforcing the laws and the discipline of the Church — he had every quality that might make his memory illustrious, had he been charged with the government of the Church at a calm and settled period, or if that government had then been con< fined to the exclusive care of spiritual things. But another mission was reserved for him. Before he ascended the sacer- dotal throne, he had understood, and even published in his works, the end and destiny of the supreme Pontificate, not only for the salvation of souls and the preservation of Catholic truth, but for the good government of Cliristiau society Nevertheless, feeling no confidence in himself, scarcely is he elected when he earnestly demands of all the priests of the Catholic world their special prayers that God might enlighten find fortify him ; God heard that universal prayer, and gave • Bm hit SlfTHMfM «id V* treatiiM Ita o#iil«mla MMmA; •■* tk* Am» flMif t$HUalP*aimt, . M tVTBODUOTIOV. v hiu ciful towards the vanquished and the feeble — stern and inflexible towards the proud and the mighty~-e very where and always the protector of the oppressed, of weakness, and of equity, against force triumphant and unjust. Thus it was that he was seen resolutely defending the sanctity of the marriage tie, as the key stone of society and of Christian life. No outraged wife ever implored his powerful intervention in vain. The world beheld him with admiration struggling for fifteen years against his friend and ally, Philip Augustus, ill defence of the rights of that hapless Ingerbnrge who had come from remote Denmark to be the object of that monarch's contempt. Deserted by all, shut up in prison without one friend in that foreign land, she was not forgotten by the Pontiff, who at length succeeded in reseating her on her husband's throne, amid the acclamations of the people, who exulted in the thought that there was, even in this world, equal justice for all. It was in the same spirit that he watched, with paternal solicitude, over the fate of royal orphans, the lawful heirs of crowns, and that even in countries the niost remote. We see that he knew how to maintain the rights and preserre the patrimony of the princes of Norway, of llolland, and of Armenia, (1199,) the Infantas of Portugal, the young king Ladislaus of Hungary, and even to the sons of the enemiei f»f the Church, such as James of Arragon, whose father had been killed fighting for the heretics, and who, being himself the prisoner of the Catholic army, was liberated by order of Innocent ; such, also, as Frederic II., sole heir of the imperial race of Qohenstaufen, the most formidable rival of the Holj IHTKODUOTIOV. Ti Boe, .'at who, being left an orphan, to the care of Innocent^ if brought up, instructed, defended by him, and maintained in his patrimony with the affectionate deyotion, not only of a guardian, but of a father. But still more admirable does bo appear to us, when offering an asylum, near his throne, to the aged Bnymond de Toulouse, the old and infeterate > enemy of Catholicity, with his young son ; when he himself pleads their cause against the Prelates and the Tictorioos Crusaders ; when, after enriching the young prince with his wise and loving counsels, after seeking in vain to soften his conquerors, he assigned to him, notwithstanding their mur- murs, the Earldom of Provence, in order that the innocent son of a guilty father might not be left without some inherit- ance. Is it, then, surprising that, at a period when faith was regarded as the basis of ail thrones, and when justice, thus personified, was seated on the chair of St. Peter, kings should seek to unite tliemselves to it as closely bb they could ? If the valiant Peter of Arragon thought he could not better secure the young independence of his crown than by crossing the sea to lay it at the feet of Innocent, and to receive it as > a vassal from his hand — if John of England, pursued by the just indignation of his people, also proclaims himself the vassal of that Church which he had so cruelly persecuted, sure of finding there that refuge and that pardon which men denied him — or if, besides those two kingdoms, those of Navarre, of Portugal, of Scotland, 'S>^ Hungary, and of Den- mark, gloried in belonging, in some measure, to the Holy See by a special bond of protection ? It was known to all that Innocent respected the rights of kings, in regard to the Church, as he did those of the Church herself against kings Like hia illustrious predecessors, he united to his love of- eqnity a lofty and sagacious policy. Like them, by opposing the heirship of the empire in the house of Suabia, by main* laining the (freedom of elections in Germany, he saved that 10 urmoouOTioii. toble country from monarchical centraliiatUm, which wonM have chADgcd its whole nature, and stifled the germs of that prodigious intellectaal fecundity of which she is justly proud. Like them, by re-establishing and steadfastly defending tha temporal aiitlrarity of the Holy See, he preserved tbj independence of Italy, as well as that of the Church. lb formed, by his precepts and his example, a whole generation of Pontifls, equally devoted to that independence, and worthy of being his auxiliaries. Such were Stephen Langton in England, Henry of Gnesen in Poland, and Roderick of Toledo in Spain, Fonlquet of Toulonse, in the midst of here* tics ; or worthy of dying for that holy canse^ like St. Peter Parentice, and Peter de Castelneaa.* The glorious life oC Innocent III. terminates with the famons Council of LateraOi (1215,) which he conducted and presided over ; in which aH the relations of the Church were made fast ; in which the judgment of Qod^ having degenerated into an abuse of force, were definitely abolished ; in which the paschal communion was prescribed ; in which was established that criminal pro> cessf which has served as a model for all secular tribnnals ; finally, wherein were introdnced, so to speak, to the Chrlstiatt world, those two great orders of St. Dominick and St. Francis, which were to infuse into it a new life. Innocent had tha glory and the consolation of seeing both these illustrioiM orders spring up under bis Pontificate. | The successors of this great Pope were not unworthy of him, and exhibited^ for upwards of half a century, the sublime spectacle of a struggle sustained, with faith and justice alone, I I * KWed bj the beretlos, tbe fonner at Orvtoto, In 119t ; the latter In T|«rt"t^i*H . t Id the eighth canon of this eoaneil. X It is well known that M. Hurter a Proteatant writer, has, by hts tAf« of Intuit »*ni in. WAi hit ConimtporoHM, raised a monument to tbe glorj ot that Vtetlff a«d tbe Cbarob, and merits tbe gratitnde of vfwj Mend oftntk IKTRODUCTIOW. 3h wonU 8 of that 17 proud, iding tbt rved tbj rch. lit eneratioa d worthy mgton in lerick of b of here* St. Peter 18 life of Lateran, wliioh aH rhich th« ) of force, )mmiiiiioii ninal pro* ;ribaiial8 ; Ghristiaa >. Franela, , had the illustrioui rorihy of e sublime ;ice alone, of that iBtk •gainst all the resourccM uf gcniiw and of human power, eon ceiitratcd in the Euipcror Frederic II., and employed for tht •uc«3«88 of material force. Ilonorlus III. has first to contend with that ungrateful ward of the Holy See. Mild and patient, he seemi placed between two titern and inflexibk combatants, Innocent III. and Gregory IX., as if to show how far Ai)08tolical meekness may go. He preached to kings his own gentleneas ; he exhaU8ted his ti'easury to furnish the expenses of the Crusade. He had the happiness of con< firming the tliree holy orders which were, in some manner, to revive the fire of charity and faith in tlie heart of Christian nations; the Dominicans (1226), the Franciscans (1223), and the Carmelites (1226). Notwithstanding his mildness, he was forced to place the Emperor for the first time under the ban of the Church, leaving Gregory IX. to carry on the contest. The latter, who was eighty yeara old when his brow was encircled with the tiara (1227), showed, during his reign of fifteen years, the most indomitable enei;gy, as though he grew young again in becoming the depository of the delegated power of the Eternal. He it was who was the friend and protector of that St. Elizabeth who has brought us to the stndy of this age ; he made her acquainted with St. Francis of Assisium, whose heroic virtue she well knew how to imi- tate ; he protected her in her widowhood and cruel desertion ; and when God had called her to Himself, he proclaimed her right to the perpetual veneration of the faithful, and placed her name upon the calendar. But he was, also, the protector of the helpless and the oppressed in every rank of life ; and, wliilst he gave his support to the royal widow of Thuringia, oe extended his paternal solicitude over the meanest serfs oC :3niotest Christendom, as shown by his letter to the Polish uobles, wherein he bitterly reproaches them for wearing away tlie life of their vassals, redeemed and ennobled by the blood »f Christ, in training falcons or birdd of prey. The zeakMM mrRoouoTioir. ftriend of true science, he founds the Unirenity of ToulooM^ and has that of I'aris re-eMtablishcd by St. Louis, not without a wise protest agauist the encroachments of profane philoso phy on theology. By the collection of the Decrees, he ha» the glory of giving the Church her code, wliich was then tliaf of Hociety at large. The worthy nephew of Innocent III., he always know how to unite justice and firmness ; being recon- ciled with Frederic II., after having at one time excommuni- cated him, he sustained him with noble impartiality against the revolt of his son, Henry (1235), and even against the exacting demands of the Lombard cities, though they were the most faithful allies of the Church (1237). When the Emperor subsequently violates his most solemn engagements, and that he is once more obliged to excommunicate him, how lae autifn i it In tu see that old m a n, almo s t a n hon dred-y»are and ha i » onoe nio i e ub'. i g e d tu exfomimiuiuat e hinr—how beautiful it is to see that old man, almost an hundred yean old, bracing himself up for a desperate struggle, yet charging V be most careful of the prisoners ; then, when conquered and abandoned by all, besieged in Rome by Frederic, leagued with the Romans themselves against him, he finds at that terrible moment, and In the bo^om of human weakness, that strength which belongs but to things divine. Taking forth the relics of the holy Apostles, he has them carried in procession through the city, and demands of the Romans whether they 'vill permit that sacred deposit to perish before their eyes, since he could no longer defend them without their assis^ ance ; immediately their heart is touched - thoy vwear t« conquer or die for their holy Pontiff — ^the Eir 'erv » ' pulsed, and the Chnrch delivered. After him came Innocent IV., (1242,) who, though ip to ih-i viTy moment of his election a friend and .partisan of Fred^v!0. is no sooner elected than he sacrifices all his former lie* to the »v^a«t mj^ion confided to him, and that admirable iMTIOOUOTlOlf. ToulooM^ ot withoat Be philosa ;e8, he ha> tbeii tltaf Dt in., he ling recoil- Kcomrouni* ity against gainst the they were When the ;agemeiitP I him, how Elfet strength 1 the relics procession jther tliey their eyes, eir assist- •wear t« ^ rt'pnlsec!, hongh vip artisan of bis former admirabit unity of pnrpote which hml for two hundred yenrii aninnnt^ all hit predocoMors. Pui^'outed, tnenacud, Mhut np between (' d Imperial coliimnn width, fnrn rierinnny in the north, and Sicily in the aouth, gather u. 'Ufid tli« J^^^oincd city which ia now his pHAOu. lie must ftideavOxtf to em^ape. Where i^ h« to find an asylum f Every sovereign in Kurope, even St, Louis, refuses to receive him. Happily, Lyon^ is fiO(% ana iK'longs only to an independent Aruhbi«l, p. Tli re Innocent ■KscmMca all the Bishops who could oscn]^> from the tyrant, nnl }ib venerable brotliers, the Cardinals; to the latter he L'^ives the scarlet hat, to denote that they should always be roady to shed their blood for the Church ; an I then, ftroin that supreme tribunal which Frederic had himself invoked uiid recognised, and before which his advocates came sol- eumly to plead his cause, the fugitive Pontiff 1 ilminates, against the most powerful sovereign of that time, the sen- tence of deposition, as the oppressor of religious liberty, the spoiler of the Chnrch, a heretic and a tyrant. Glorii ns and ever-memorable triumph, of right over might — of faith over material interest ! — The third act of that sacred urama, wherein St. Gregory VII. and Alexander III. had already trampled under foot the rebellions element, amid the accla* mations of saints and men t We all know how Proviaence took upon itself the ratification of this sentence ; we are familiar with the fall of Frederic and his latter years, the premature death of his son, and the total ruin of that formi* dable race;. As an admirable proof of the entire confidence placed in the integrity of the Holy See, it is worthy of remark that, as Frederic himself was left, when an orphan, in his cr»> die, to the care of Innocent III., so the friends and allies of his granfison, Conradine, the last of the bouse of Snabift, would not iutrnst him to any other guardian than the very Pontif who had deposed his grandaire ; and who managed IflTBODUOTIOS. bis trast loyally and well, till it was torn from liifl grafp h§ ike perfidious Mainfroy. The straggle continues against the latter, and all the othei enemies of the Church, carried on with the same intrepidity, the same perseverance, under Alexander lY., (1254,) a worthy descendant of that family of Conti, which had already given to the world Innocent III. and Gregory IX.; and after him, under Urban IT., (1261,) that shoemaker's son who, far from being ashamed of his origin, had his father painted on the church windows of Troyes, working at his trade ; who had the honour of providing a new aliment for Catholic piety by instituting the Feast of the Most Holy Sacrament (1264) ; and who, unshaken in the midst of the gieatest dangers, dies, not knowing where to rest his head, but leaving to the Church the protection of the brother of St. Louis, and a French monarchy in the Sicilies. This conquest is completed under Clement lY., who^sues in vain for the life of Couradine, the innocent and expiatory victim of the crimes of his family. And thus ends for a while that noble war of the Church against State oppression, which was to be renewed with far different results, but not less gloriously, under Boniface YIII. It must not be forgotten that, whilst these great Pontiffs were carrying on this warfare to the very utmost, far from being wholly engrossed by it, they gave to the internal organi- zation of the Church, and of society, as much attention as though they were in a state of profound peace. They con- tinued, one after another, with invincible perseverance, the colossal work wherewith they were charged since the fall of the Roman empire — the work of grinding and kneading together all the divers elements of those Germanic and north- em tribes who had overrun and conquered Europe, distin- guishing therein all that was good, pure, and salutary, in order to sanctify and civilize it, and rejecting all that wai tralf barbarous At the Mune time, and with the lamv ^od IVTROOOOTIOV. grafp by \\1 the othei intrepidity, l,)awortbj ready given d after him, in who, far painted on trade ; who btholic piety ent(1264); angers, dies, ins: to the ouiB, and a 8 completed ' Couradine, ' his family, the Chnrch ed with far lifaceVIII at Pontiffs it, far from rnal organi- ttention as They con- erance, the the fall of kneading and north- ope, distin- ialntary, in 1 that wai same itancy, did they propagate science and learning, placing tb«v within reach of all ; they consecrated the natural equality ot the human race, calling to th| highest dignities of the CharcL men born ii the lowest classes, for whatever little learning 00 virtue they might have ; they fabricated and promnlgaied the magnificent code of ecclesiastical legislation, and that clerical jurisdiction, the benefits of which were the more sen* sibly felt, inasmuch as it alone knew neither torture nor any cruel punishment, and that it alone made no exception of persons amongst Christians. It is true that, in the bosom of the Church which had such chiefs, many human miseries were found mixed up witk 80 much greatness and sanctity ; it will always be so whilsi things divine are intrusted to mortal hands ; but we may be allowed to doubt whether there was less at any other period^ and whether the rights of Qod and those of humanity were defended with nobler courage, or by more illustrious chanv* ■pions. In front of that majestic Church arose the second power, before which the men of those times bent in homage ; thai Holy Roman Empire, from which all secondary royaltiot eeemed to flow. Unhappily, since the end of the Saxon dynasty, in the eleventh century, it had passed into the hand! of two families, in whom the great and pious spirit of Chari lemagne was gradually extinguished — those of Franconia and Suabia. These substituted a new spirit, impatient of all spiritual restraint, glorying only in the force of arms and the feudal system, and always aiming at the amalgamation of the two powers, absorbing the Church in the Empire. That fatal purpose, defeated by St. Gregory VII., in the person of Henry IV., and by Alexander III. in that of Frederick l^arbarossa, made a new effort in Frederick II.; but he, too^ found his conquerors on the chair of St. Peter. This Frede- rick II. occupied all that half-centnry which hii reign ahaMMl 3 16 IXTRODUCTIOV. wholly embraces.* It seems to os impossible, even Tor th« mostprcjndiced mind, not to be struck by the immense differ- ence between the commencement of his reign, in the dnya when he was faithful to the Roman Church, which had so carefully watched over his minority,t and the last twenty years of his life, during which the glory of his earlier ycani was tarnished and their high promise cruelly blighted. No> thing could be more splendid, more poetical, more grand, than that imperial court presided over by a young and gallant prince, endowed with every noble quality both of mind and body — an enthusiastic lover of the arts, of poetry, and of literature ; himself acquainted with six languages, and well versed in many of the sciences ; bestowing on the kingdom of Sicily, whilst the Pope crowned him in Rome, (1220,) a code of laws the wisest and best framed, and altogether re- markable for their perfection ; and subsequently, after his first reconciliation with the Holy See, publishing at Mayence the first laws that Germany had had in its own tongue ; gatli- ering around him the flower of the chivalry of his vast domin* ions, giving them the example of valour and poetic genius in the royal halls of Sicily, wherein were brought together the divers elements of Germanic, Italian and Eastern civilization. It was this very mixture that caused his ruin. He would have been, says a chronicler of those times, without an equal on earth, had he hut loved his own soul, but he had an unfor- tunate predilection for Eastern life. He who was at one time thought of as a husband for St. Elizabeth, when she was left a widow, and who was actually a suitor for the hand of St. .Agnes of Bohemia,! soon after shut himself up in a disgraceful • King of Sicily in 1198; Emperor in 1815; died In 12S0. t Innocent IH., Ilonorius III., and Gregory IX., liad, all three, & share in '\it\af- iBf him up -the first as Pope, and the other two as Cardinals. X She refiised liim in order to become a Fmnciscan nun; the Bmperer, •» hawing it, said: "If she haairad to tlie OooBitf wUdi bimMlf bad demanded. t8 iffif* IVf BODUCTXO*. 8).e saw the power of the Wittelsbachs grow in Bavaria ; ^he admired the splcndoar of the Aastrian priaces, — Frederii; the Victorious, and Leopold the Qlorioos, whv) was said to Im) brave 09 a lion^ and modesf^as a young virgin; she extolled the Tirluos of the house of Thoringia, under the father-in-law and the husband of St. Elizabeth; she saw in the Archbishop Eogelbert of Cologne a martyr to justice and public safety, whom the Church hastened to enrol amongst her Saints. licr (Hties, like those of the Low Countries, were developing theui- selves with a mighty and a fruitful individuality; Cologne and Lubeck were at the height of their influence, and the famous Hanse league was beginning to be formed. Her legislation was grandly developed under the two dynasties of Saxony and Suabia, together with a number of other local codes, all based on respect for established rights and ancient liberties, and breathing such a noble mixture of the Christian thought with the elements of old Germanic right, yet unaltered by the Ghibeliae importation of the Roman right. In fine, she already reckoned amongst her knights a true Christian mon- arch ; for, under the shadow of the throne of the Hoheu- staufeus, there was silently springing up, in the person of Elodolph of Hapsburgh, a prince worthy to be the founder of an imperial race, since he saved his country from anarchy, and displayed to the world a fitting representative of Charle- magne. It is easy to guess what his reign must be, when, at his consecration, finding no sceptre, he seized the crucifix on the altar, and exclaimed, " Behold my sceptre I I want no other." If the Empire seemed to have departed fiom its natural course, it was in some measure replaced by France, who took from her that character of sanctity and grandeur which was to shed so much lustre on the Most Christian monarchy. Yet ihe herself contained within her bosom a deep wound which must be healed at any cost, if she would maintain her unity, IVTROOfJOTlOV. Mkl dairy ont her high destiny. We a.lade to tliat nest of heresies both anti-social and anti-religioas which disgraced the soath, and had its seat amongst those rwrupt masses known to history as the Albigenses. The world is now well acquainted with the character and the doctrines of those men, who were worthily represented by princes whose debaucheries make ni shadder, and who have been so long extolled by lying historians at the expense of religion and trath. It is well known that they were at least as much persecutors as they were persecuted; and that they were the aggressors against the common law of society at that time. Not only France, bat even Spain and Italy, would have been then lost to faith and tme civilization, if the Crusade had not been victoriously preached against that iniquitous centre of Pagan and Oriental doctrines. There it no doubt that, in putting down that rebellion against Ghrii^ tianity, means were too often employed which Christian charic) could not approve, and which were censured by the Holy See even at the height <^ l^at fierce contest. But it is now icknowledged that tliose cruelties were, at least, reciprocal; and no one has yet, as far as we know, devised the means of making war, and especially religions war, with mildness and lenity. It is tnie that Simon de Montfort, who was, during that terrible struggle, the champion of Catholicity, did some- what tarnish his glory by a too great ambition and a severity which we cannot excuse ; bat enough remains to warrant Catholics in publishing his praise. There are few characters in history so great as his, whether in energy, perseverance, courage, or contempt of death; and when we think of the fervour and humility of his piety, the inviolable purity of hii morals, with that inflexible devotion to ecclesiastical authority, which made him retire alone from the camp of the Crusaders' before Zara, because the Pope had forbidden him to make war on Christians, we may then make allowance for his feelingi towards those who disturbed the peace of Gonscienoes an/ 80 IMTBODUOTIOV. overtorned all the barriera of morality. His own charactH and that of his age are conjointly depicted in the words which he pronounced when aboot to undertake an unequal contest "The whole Church prays for me — I cannot fail.'' And again, when pursued by the enemy, and having, with bis cavalry, crossed a river which the infantry could not pass, he went back again with five men only, crying out: ** The little onef of Christ are exposed to death, and shall I remain in safety f Let Qod's will be done — I must certainly stay with them." The decisive battle of Muret (1212), which secured the triumph of faith, likewise shows the nature of that struggle, by the contrast of the two leaders; on the one side, de Mont- brt, at the head of a handful of men, seeking in prayer and jhe sacraments the right of demanding a victory, which could only come by miracle; on the other, Peter of Arragon, coming there, enfeebled by debauchery, to fight and be slain in the midst of his numerous army. Whilst this struggle was drawing to a close, and preparing for the direct reunion of the conquered provinces with the crown of France, a king worthy of his surname — Philip Au- gustus — was investing that crown with the first rays of that glory and that moral influence, " based on religion," which it was so long to maintain. While still young, he was asked what it was that occupied his mind during his long and fre- quent reveries? "I am thinking,'' he replied, "of the meani of restoring to France the power and the glory which she had under Charlemagne,'^ and during his long and glorious reign be never ceased to show himself faithful to that great thought. The reunion of Normandy and the provinces, wrested away by «the unprincipled John Lackland, laid the first foundation of the power of the French monarchs. After having done hia best for th'^ cause of Christ in the Crusades, he showed him* jelf, during his whole life, the friend and faithful supporter of the Church; and he proved it by the most pamful aacrifice^ IWTRODCCTIOir. 31 [ charactM ords wbich al contest A.nd again, is cavalry, s, he went little onef in safety f 1 them." ecured the ,t straggle, J, de Mont- prayer and rhich could ;on, coming lain in the [ preparing s with the Philip An- lys of that " which it was asked ig and fre- the meang eh she had rious reign it thought, d away by [idation of done hie owed him* pporter of Bacrificci hi OTercoming his rooted aversion for the wife whom Romt imposed upon him. Reconciled with his people through his reconciliation with her, he soon after received his reward fh>m heaven, in the great victory of i5on vines (1215;) a victory as much religious as national, obtained over the enemies of the Church as over those of France. This is sufficiently proved by all that historians have transmitted to us, regarding the impious projects of the confederates, who were all excommu- nicated — by the fervent prayers of the priests during the bat- tle, and by the noble words of Philip to his soldiers — "The Church prays for us: I am going to fight for her, for France, and for you." Around him fought all the heroes of French chivalry — ^Matthieu de Montmorency, Enguerrand de Coucy, Quillaume dcs Barres, and Guerin de Senlis, at the same time pontiff, minister, and warrior. The enemy being defeated, they joined their king in founding, in honour of the Blessed Virgin, the abbey of Notre Dame de la Yictoire, intended to consecrate, by the name of the Virgin, the memory of a triumph which had saved the independence of France. The greatness of the French Monarchy, and its sway over the southern provinces which it was finally to absorb, contin- ued to increase under the short but prosperons reign of Louis VIII., and under the brilliant regency of Blanche of Castile — that most tender mother and wise sovereign — who said she would rather see all her children dead than to know them, to be guilty of one mortal sin, and who was tot less solicitous for their temporal than their spiritual welfare, Blanche, the worthy object of the romantic love of Thibaut de Champagne, the poet-king, and who had such a tender devotion for our St Elizabeth. Tiiis regency worthily announces the reign of St Louis, that model of kings, to whom the historian's mind re*' verts as, perhaps, the most accomplished personage of modem times, whilst the Christian venerates him as having possessed svery v trtuo that can merit heaven. While reading the history INIftODUCTIOV. of that life, at once so touching and so soblime, we ask if evef the King of heaven liad on earth a more faithful servant thaa that angel, crowned for a time with a mortal crown, in order to show the world how man can transfigure himself by charitj and faith. What Christian heart is there that does not throb with admiration, while considering the character of St Louis? — that sense of duty so strong and so pure, that lofty and most scrupulous love of justice, that exquisite delicacy of conscience, which iuduced him to repudiate t\e unlawful acqui'^itions of hii predecessors, even at the expense of the public safety, and tlie aflfection of his subjects — that unbounded love of his neigh- bour, which filled his whole heart; which, after pouring itself out on his beloved wife, his mother and his brothers, whose death he so bitterly mourned, extended itself to all classes of his subjects,, inspired him with a tender solicitude for the soula, of others, and conducted him in his leisure moments to the cottage of the poor, whom he himself relieved! Yet, with all these saintly virtues, he was brave even to rashness; he was at. once the best knight and the best Christian in France, as ho showed at Tailleboui*g and at Massoure. It was because death had no terrors for him, whose life was devoted to the service of God and his justice; who spared not even his own brother when he violated its holy rules; who was not ashamed, before, his departure for the Holy Land, to send mendicant monki throaghout his kingdom, in order to inquire of the meanest of his subjects if any wrong had been done them in the king^i name, and if so, to repair it immediately at his expense. Hence, tm though he were the impersonation of supreme justice, he is chosen as the arbitrator in all the greatest questions of his time — between the Pope and the Emperor — between the English barons and their king — a captive in the hands of the infidels, he is still taken as judge. Drawn twice by his love of Christ to the land of the barbarians, he first meets cap* ilvity, aad theu death — ^aepecies of martyrdom it was— the IVTBODUOTIOV. OD!y martyrdom he eoold have obtained — the only deati that was worthy of him. On his death-bed he dictates to k i aon his memorable instmctioos, the finest words erer spot by the month of a king. Jast before he expired, he was heard to mormor -"O Jerusalem 1 Jerusalem P Was it the hearenly or the e /thly Jerusalem that he thns apostrophised in regret, or in s* blime iiope ? He would not enter the latter by treaty, and w thcMt ills army, lest his example should authorize other Ch' istlan kings to -^o the same. But they did better: not one went there , c< 4 him. He was the last of the Crusader ki igs— > the truly Christian kings — the last, and assuredly the greatest. He has left as two immortal monuments — his oratory and hia tomb — the Holy Chapel and St. Denis— both of them pure, simple, and pointing heavenward like himself But he left ont still fairer and more lasting in the memory of the nations — the oak of Yincennes. In England, the perverse race of the Norman kings — all oppressors of their people, and furious oppressors of the Church — had only to oppose to Philippe Angu^te the infamous John Sans Terre (Lack-land), and to St. Louis only the pale and feeble Henry III. But if royalty is there at its lowest ebb, the Church shiiies in all her splendour^ and the nation sue* eessfully defends her mest important rights. The Church had been happily blessed in England with a succession of great men in the primatial see of Canterbury, perhaps nnequar.ed in her annals. Stephen Langton was, under the reign of John, the worthy representative of Innocent III., and the worthy Kuccossot of St. Dnnstan, de Lanf^anc, St. Ansclm, and St. Tliomos a Becket. After having courageously defended the elcsiastical privileges, he places himself at the head of th* insurgent barons, and raised an army for Ood and the hol^ Church, which forced from the king that famous Magnm Charta — ^the basis of that English constitution which th« M IVTBODUOTIOV. uodenui hare so much admired, forg;etting, doobtleas, that it wu bat tho effect of feudal organization, and that tiiis fery charter, far from being an innovation, was only the re-establisli- ment of the laws of St. Edward, a confirmation of the public right in Europe at that time, founded on the maintenance of all ancient and indiTidual rights. Under Henry III., who was oiiiy kept on his tottering throne by tiie power of tho Holy See pre?euting the reunion with France, which would hare followed the conquest of the son of Philip Augustus, the Church had then, too, her courageous defenders, and her noble victims, in St. Edmund of Canterbury, who died in exile in 1242, and St. Richard of Winchester; and the nation ac* complished the achievement of her liberties, under Ihe leader^ ship of the noble son of Simon do Montfort, brave and pious as his father, who was defeated and killed at the end of hii career, but not before he had made that popular war a Crusade, and introduced the delegates of the people into the first political assembly which bore that name, since so glorious — the British Parliament — (1258.) About the same time, there was Cf^en in Scotland the pious King William, an ally of Innocent III., commanding that all labourers should rest from their toil on the after- noon of every Saturday; this in order to testify his love of God and the Blessed Virgin— (1202.) In the Scan- dinavian kingdoms, the thirteenth century commences under the great Archbishop Absolom de Lund (1201) — an intrepid warrior and a holy ponti£f— the benefactor and civilizer of those northern tribes. Sweden was progressing under the grandson of St. Eric; and Norway, which had retained the most traces of the old Germanic constitution, was enjoying nnwonted peace, under Haquin Y. (1217-1208), her princi* pal legislator. Waldemar the Yictorions (1202-1252), tho giost illustrious of the kings of Denmark, extended his empire oter all the ■outhcrn coasts of the Baltic, and preluding the INTRODUCTIOir. onioa of Calmar, conceived, and was on the point of execii> ting, the grand project of uniting, under one chief, all tb« countries bordering on the Baltic, when the battle of Bom* hoveden (1227) gave the Germanic tribes the Hupremacj over the Scandinavians. But, throughout all his conquests, hh never lost sight of the conversion of heathen nations, of which he was constantly reminded by the Holy See. His exertions for the propagation of the faith in Livonia were seconded by those of the order of Porte-OIaius, founded solely for thai purpose in 1203, and afterwards by those of the Teutonic knights. The removal of the chief strength of this lost order into Prusfia, iu order to implant Christianity there (1234), is an immense fact in the history of religion aud of the civili* Eation of Northern Europe. If human passions found their way all too soon into that Crusade, which lasted for two ceo- turies, we still must bear in mind that it was only through it that Christianity found its way amongst those obstinate and self-willed tribes, while, at the same time, we must admire what the Popes did to soften the rule of the coiiqnerors.* Casting our eye along the same geographical line, we see Poland already manifesting the foundations of the orthodoa fnnffdom.-f Archbishop Henry of Gnesen, the legate of Inno- cent III., restored discipline and ecclesiastical freedom, despite the opposition of Duke Ladislaus : St. Hedwige, aunt of our Elizabeth, seated on the Polish throne, gave the example of the most austere virtues, and offered up, as a holocaust, her son, who died a martyr for the faith, fighting against the Tartars. Poland, presenting an impassable barrier agaioit the advance of those terrible hordes, who had enslaved Ros* flia, and overrun Hungary, poured out rivers of her best blood * Id 1119, t legita from th« Pope went to ProMla, to tMoro to lb* pnepio the freedom of marrUige end soeeeufcme, 4e. t Tb* UtU iliMe flTM b7 tlie r^pee to PolMd. ItfAODVOTIOV. daring all that ceatory — thus preparing to become, what the haa ever since been, the glorious martyr of Christendom. Desconding once more towards the soath of Europe, and oontewplating that Italy which was wont to be the most brilliant and the most active of the Christian nations, the soul Is at found pi>)iiician, an eloquent preacher, a faithful historian, and a bountiful almoner. This king and his primate were the heroes of the sublime achievement of las Navas de Toloeo (16th July, 1212,) when Spain did for Europe what France bad done ubder Charles Martel, and what Poland afterwards did under John Sobieski, when she saved her from the irrup* tion of four hundred thousand Mussulmans, coming on her from the rear. The sway of the Crescent was broken in that glorious engi»^ement — ^the true type of a Christian battle — consecrated Uk the memory of the people by many a miracu- lous tradition, and which the great Pope Innocent III. could not worthily relebrate but by instituting the feast of the Triumph of th« Cross, Wiiich is even now solemnised on that day in Spain. Alphonso was succeeded by St. Ferdinand, — a contemporary 4nd cousin-german of St. Louis, — who was no disgrace to his illustrious kindred, for, like St. Louis, he united all the nterits of the Christian warrior to all the vir* tues of the Saint, and the most tender love for his people with the moht ard<.ut love for God« He would never consent to load his people with new taxes : " Qod will otherwise pro> vide for our defenc*;,^' said he, " I am more afraid of the curse of one poor w^oman than of all the Moorish host/' And yet he carries on, with unequalled success, the work of national enfranchisement ; he takes Cordova, the seat of the Caliphate of the West, and after having dedicated the principal mosque to the Blessed Virgin, he brings back to Compostella, on the shoulders of the Moors, the bells which the Caliph Almanzor aad forced the Christians to carry away from it. Conquering the kingdom of Murcia in 1240, that of Jaen in 1246, of Se- ville again in 1248, he left the Moors only Qrenada : but humble in the midst of all his glcry, and extended on his bed of death, he weeping ezcUimf : — ".0 my lord I. Thou h«flt 10 XJfrTllODVOTIOir. ■utfered so mdch for lore of me ! and I — ^nuhappj that I tnl —what have I done for love of thee T' Spain had her permanent crusade on her own soil ; the rest of Europe went afar to seek it, either northward against the barbarians, or soathward against the heretics, or east- ward against the profaners of the Holy Sepulchre. That great thought prevailed from time to time over all local ques- tions, all personal passions, and absorbed them all into one. It expired only with 8t. Louis ; and was still in all its vigour during the first half of the thirteenth century. In its opening years, Foulquea of Nenilly — the rival of Peter the Hermit and of St. Bernard, in eloquence and power of persuasion — going from tournament to tournament, makes all the French chivalry take up the Cross. An army of barons embarks di Venice, and in passing overthrows the empire of Byzantium, as the first stage to Jerusalem. Notwithstanding the disap* proval of Innocent III., founded on strict equity, we cannot dispute the grandeur of this astonishing conquest, nor even the Christian sentiment by which it was inspired. We always see the French knights laying down, as the basis of their ne- gotiations, the reunion of the Greek Church with Rome, and making it the first result of their victory. Thi«U data* mo rimul ImiMriali, qaod t»m f uneterum onfttw et crpqt ".^'-^Mtarum,^ A*. IlTTRODUCTtOir. fupported either by an Italiaa friar or a poor Spanish priest Behold him ! — 1)ehold that priest descending from the Pyre* nees into the south of France, overran by heretics — going barefoot through briers and thorns lo preach to them. It ii the great St. Dominic de Gusman,* whom his mother saw, before his birth, nnder the form of a dog carrying a blazing torch in his month — ^prophetic emblem of his rlgilance and burning zeal for the Church ; a radftint star was shining on his brow when he was presented for l^aptism ; he grew np in holiness and parity, having no other love than that divine Virgin whose mantle seemed to him to cover all the heavenly country; his hands exhale a perfume wnich inspire chastity in all who approach him; he is mild, afikble, and humble towards ail ; he has the gift of tears in great abundance ; he sells even the books of his libraiy to relieve the poor ; he would e«en sell himself to redeem a captive from the heretics. Bat» in order to save all t&e soqIs who were exposed to such im- minent peril, he conceives the idea of a religions order, no longer cloistered and sedentary, bat wandering all over the world seeking impiety to confound it ; an order to act as preachers of the faith. He goes to Rome, in order to have his saving project confirmed ; and, on the first night after his arrival, he has a dream, in which he sees Christ preparing t^ strike the goilty world ; but Mary interferes, and, in order to appease her son, presents to him Dominick himself and another person nnknown to him. Next day, going into a church, he sees there a man in tattered garments, whom he recognises as the companion who had been given him by the Mother of the Redeemer. He instantly throws himself into his arms: " Thou art my brother,*' said he, ** and dost run the same conrso with me; let 08 work together, and no man can prevail against as.'' And from that moment, the two had but one heart and out la mO; Upm to piwel to 1100; dto4 to 1«. nrTRODUOTioir. a M>u1. fhat mendicant was St. FVancis of Aaaisium, " Um glotio J begpfar of Christ" He, too, had conceived the idea of re-conqnering the world by humility and love, by becoming the minor— the leaat of all men. ^e undertakes to restore her spouse to that diviAilV poverty, i^idowed since the death of Christ. At the age of> twenty-five, he breaks asunder all the ties of family, of honour, of propriety, and descends from his mountain of Assisium to offer to the world the most perfect example of the folly of the Cross which it had seen since the planting of that Cross on Calvary. But, far from repelling tlie world by that folly, he overcomes it. Tlie mor^ that sublime fool de* ^ades himself voluntarily — to the end that, by his humility «nd contempt of men, he may be worthy of becoming the vessel of love — the more his greatness shines fcrth and pene- trates afa. off, — the more eagerly all men press on in his foot* steps ; some ambitious to strip themselves of all like him, others anxious, at least, to hear his inspired words. In vain does he go to seek martyrdom in Egypt ; the East sends him back to the West, which he is to fructify, not with his blood, but with that river of love which escaped from his heart, and with those five wounds which had been impressed upon bi6 pnre body by Him who loved the world even unto death. Franciin, too, embraced the whole world in his fervent love ; 6rst, all mankind, whom he loved to excess : • ' If I did not give," said he, as he stripped off his only garment to cover * poor man — " If I did not give what I wear to him who waft in more need of it than myself, I should be accused of robberf by the Great Almoner in heaven.^ Then all nature, animate ■nd inanimate, — every creature, is to him as a brother or t sister, o whom he prtvshes the Word of their common Father, whom he would fain deliver fh>m the oppression of man, and whose pains he would, if possible, relieve. " Why,* Mid he to a butcher, " nhy io yon h^ng and tortvre mf 49 IVTmODUOTIOV. brethren, the lambs ?^ And to captiye birds . " Ye dore^ my dear little siRters, simple, innocent and pure, why did yoQ allow yourselves to be caught thus V* " He knew/' says his biographer, a Saint, like himself, " that all creatures had the same origin as he ; and he proved, by uis tenderness towards them, as well as by their miraculous obedience towards him what man, victorious over sin and restored to his natural con- nection ^'ith God, can do for that nature which is only de- graded on his account and looks to him for its restoration. Jesus and Mary open to him themselves all the treasuries of the Church in that mean chapel of the Portiuncule, which remains to us as a preciOwS relic of that poverty whose " desperate lover" he was, accnrJing to Bossnet ;* tho Pope confirms these celestial favours on beholding the red and white roses which Francis presents to him in the midst of winter. He then ascends the heights of Alvemo to receive the triumphant stigmasf which were to complete his con- formity with the Saviour, and to make him, in the eyes of Christian nations, the true Cross-bearer — the standard-bearer of Christ, whilst the Holy See, three centuries after, styled him the Angel of the East marked with the sign of the living God. At sight of these two men, the world nnderstood that it was saved — that new blood was to be infused into its veins. Innumerable disciples hastened to range themselves under their all-conquering banners. A long cry of enthusiasm and of sympathy arose, and was prolonged for ages, resounding •Torywhere, from the constitutions of the sovereign Pontiffs to the songs of the Poets. ** When the reigning Emperor," • Bitppj, • thoQMnd times bnppj, Is tiut hamble Fhuidn, th« most wdf at, tbt BiMt passionate, and, if I maj ro speak, the most desperate lover of porefty thil ferhaps ever was in the Church. — Bossuar, Paniffyriqu« d« SL /Vonfol*. t Oorpore sac Cbilst* trlumplialla stlpMatft pmfereatl««-Bvu. «r JLtaoAmm If ^ Bmigna, IIITRODOOTIOH. pays Dnnte, "woold lave his army from a dangerous position, he sent these tw(» chairpions to his wife's assistance : their words, their inflneacct brought the people hack to reason." " These two orders,** sayp. tiixtus IV., in 1479, after two cen- turies and a half of experience, " like the two first rivers of the terrestrial Paradise, have watered the soil of the universal < 'hnrch by their doctrine, their virtnes, and their merits, and render it every day more fruitful ; they are, as it were, two fieraphim, who, raised on the wings of snblime contemplation and angelic loTe above all earthly things, by the assiduous singing of the divine praises, by the manifestation of the immense favours conferred on man by the Supreme Artificer, do unceasingly gather into the granaries of the Holy Church abundant sheaves from the pure harvest of souls redeemed by the precious blood of Jesus Christ. They are the two trum- pets whereof the Lord makes use to invite the nations to the banquet of His holy Gospel.'* Scarcely were |hese orders in existence, when their power and their propagation became one of the most important his- torical facts of tl.^ period. The Church suddenly finds herself mistress of two numerous armies, moveable and always avail- able, ready at any mcsscnt to invade the world. In 1277, half u century after the death of St. Dominick, his order had already four hundred and seventeen convents in Europe. St. Francis, in his own life-time, assembles five thousand of his monks at Assisium ; and, thirty-five years after, in numbering the forces of the Seraphic Order at Narbonne, it is found that, in thirty-three provinces, it already reckons eight hun- dred monasteries, and at least twenty thousand religious. A century later, its numbers were computed at one hundred and fifty thousand. The conversion of pagan nations is renewed : Franciscans, 'jeni by Innocent lY. and St. Louis, penetrate to Morocco, to Damascus, and even amongst the Mongols ; i>Gt t?ieir chief care ii to overcome the passions of pi^nifiD 48 IVtmODVOTtOV* Id the heart of Christian nations. They spread abroad OTer Italy, ion asani^er by internal diasensioni, seeking; e?ery where to reo)ncile opposite parties, t^ nproot errors, acting as supreme arbiters, accordii^ ts the law of charity. They were seen, in 1283, trarersing the whole Italian peninsula, with crosses, incense, and olire-branches, singing and preach- ing peace, reproaching cities, princes, and eren the chiefs of the Church, with their faults and their enmities. The nations submit, at least for a time, to that sublime mediation ; the nobles and the people of Plaisance are reconciled at the bidding of a Franciscan ; Pisa and Yisconti, at that of a Dominican ; and on the plain of Yerona two hundred thou- sand souls are seen crowding around the blessed John of Vicenza, a preaching friar sent by the Pope to quiet the disturbance in Tuscany, in Romagna, and in the Trevisan March. On this solemn occasion he takes for his text the woods, " My peace I leave you ; my peace I give unto you ;** and, before he ends, an outburst of tears ajnd sobs shows that eyeiy heart is touched, and the chiefs of the rival houses of Este and Romano, embracing each other, ^ive the signal for a general reconciliation It is tioe that these happy results did not last long ; but the evil was, at least, yigorously opposed — the sap of Christianity was revived in the souls of men — a gigantic struggle was everywhere and always carried on in the name of equity against the dead letter of the law — in the name of charity against the perverse inclinations of man — in the Bane of grace and foith against the dryness and the paucity of scientific reasoning. Nothing escaped thir iiew influence ; it moved the scattered inhabitants of the rural d'atricts ; it shared the sway of the universities ; it even affected the king on his throne. Joinville tells us how, at the first place where he landed on hfs return from th( Orusade, St. Louis was welcomed by a Fianciscan, who tolc* Um that " nev<^r was kingdom lost, saTe for want of ioslioe IVTBOnUOTIOH. and that he mast bd carefal to adminiiter Justice promptly and willingly to hifl people ; and that every one waa miiidfal of the king.'' It is well known how he sought to steal away from his dearly beloTed wife, his friends, and coansellors, to re- nounce the crown which he so gloriously wore, and go himself to beg his bread like St. Francis. But he was obliged to con- tent himself with becoming a penitent of the third order ; for in •heir all-conquering army they had a suitable place for every one. Together with these battalions of monks, numerous monasteries were opened for virgins who aspired to the honour of immolating themselvec for Christ, and the vasi affiliations known under the name of third ordert offered a place for princes, warriors, married people, fhthers of families, in a word, to all the faithful of both sexes who wished to associate themselves, at least indirectly, in the great work of regenerating Christendom. Ti .dition relates that the two glorious patriarchs of that regeneration ha 1 at one time an idea of uniting their efforts and their orders^ apparently so much alike ; but the celestial inspiration on which they acted revealed to them that there jfM room for two different powers — for two kinds of war against the invasion of evil. They seem to have divided their sublime mission, and also the moral world, in order to bring back charity and knowledge to the bosom of the Church, and to reconcile those two g^at rivals which cannot exist one without the other. This reconciliation was effected by them aa it had never been before. Whilst the love that consumed and absorbed the soul of St. Francis has ever gained for him in the Clhnrch the name of the Seraph of Assisium, it would not be rash, perhaps, with Dante, to attribute to St. Dominick the power and the light of the Cherubim. Their children showed themselves faithful to this distinct tendency, which ended in the same eternal unity, and with some few notable exceptions, it may be said th«t^ INTBODUCTIOV. dating from that period of the Church's hifltorj, the pnrt which \\M CHpccially fallen to the Sornphic Order wor the diHtilliiig and diffuHion of the treasures of luve, the mysterious Joys of sacrifice ; whilst that of the Preachers was, as tlicir unuic iuipliet<, to propagate, defend, and establish the truth. Neither one nor the other failed in its mission ; and both in tlioir adolescence, and in the course of the half century of which we speak, gave to the Church, perhaps, more Saints and Doiictors than she had ever possessed In so short an interval, from the first ages of her existence. Following closely in the footsteps of St. Dominick — that holy champion of the faith — that coadjutor of the Eternal Labourer — comes all at once the Brother Jourdain, worthy of being his first successor, and general of his or ler ; then St. Peter of Verona, tionoured with the title of the martyr as if by excellence, and who, assassinated by the heretics, wrote on the ground, with the blood from his wounds, the first words of the Creed whose truth he maintained at the expense of his life ; then St. Hyacinth, and Ceslas his brother, those young PoUsn nobles, who, meeting St. Dominick in Rome, were induced to renounce all worldly greatness, in order to carry that pew light to their own country, whence it was to spread with lightning rapidity through Lithuania, Muscovy, and Prussia ; (hen, St. Raymond de Penafort, chosen by Gregory IX. to assist in framing the legislation of the Church, the author of the Decrees^ and successor of St. Dominick ; finally, that Theobald Visconti, who was to preside over the affairs of the Church under the MMne of Gregory X., before he becauie eternally entitled t^ its prayers, as Beatified in Heaven. Abreast of these mes vhose sanctity th? Church has conse* crated a host of oikers urere distinguished for their talents nnd learning. Albe - the Great, that colossus of learning, tlie propagator of Aristotle ind the master of St. Thomas : Vincent de iteaavais author of the great encyclopsdia of tht IITTIIODrCTIOir. M fnuldle afrei ; Cardinal Hogaet de Saint-Ctier, who mado th« first concordance of the Scriptares ; Cardinal Henri de Snion, author of La Summe Doret ; and above all, in saoctltj as in knowledge, the great St. Tliomas d'Aqninas, the Angelic Doctor^ the gigantic thinker, in whom there Kcems to Iw ■umined np all the science of the ages of faith, and wIiom magnificent synthesis has never since been equalled ; who, with all his rapt abstraction, is still an admirable poet, and merits to be chosen as the intimate friend and counsellor of St. Louis in the most intricate affairs of his kingdom. "Tlion host written well of me," said Christ to him one day ; "what reward dost thou ask V* " Yoarself," replied the Saint That word comprises his whole life and times. The army of St. Francis marched to battle nnder chiefs no less glorious than those of the Dominicans ; during his own lifetime, twelve of his first disciples went to gather th« palms of martyrdom amongst the heathen. B. Bernard, B. Egidins, and B. Guy of Cortonn, all of that company oi Saints who were companions and disciples of the holy founder, survived him, ond preserved the inviolable deposit of that spirit of love and b iioiility wherewith be had been transported Scarcely had ♦iie Seraph taken his place before the throne of God, when hb pio ^e in the veneration of the world is occupied by him whom all proclaim as his first-born- - St. Anthony of Padua, L^bratf i, like his spiritual father, for that control over natnrv, whi':h won for him the name of Thanmatnrgns ; he who wan named by Gregory IX. the Ark of the Two Cowerumls ; «rho had the gift of tongaes, like the Apostles ; who, after hating edified France and Sicily, spends his lait years in pr2fx:bing peace and anion to the Lombard cities, oblaims from the Padnans the privilege of the cession of funds for unhappy debtors, ventures also to upbraid the ferocious Eccelin with bis tyranny, makes the nithless oppressor treni> blc, 08 he hunself confewes, and diet at thirty-six, in the lamt 63 tHTH004T0TI0ir. year with St. Elizabeth. Somewhat later, Roger Bacon* reinstates and sanctifies the stadj of nature, classifies all the icicnecs, and foresees, if he does not even eflfect, the greatest discoveries of modern times. Duns Scotos disputes with St Tiiomas the empire of the schools ; and that great genins findi a rival and a friend in St. Bonaventure, the Seraphic Doctor^ who being asked by his iUnstrions rival, the Angelic Doctor^ from what books he derived his amazing knowledge, pointed in silence to his crucifix, and who was found washing th« dishes in his convent when the Cardinal's hat was brought him. But it is chiefly through women that the order of St Francis sheds anequalled splendour on that age. That sex, emancipated by Christianity, and rising in the esteem of Christian nations, according as the devotion to the Blessed Virgin increased, could not fail to take an active part in the new developments of the power to which it owed its freedom. Thus, St. Dominick had introduced a fruitful reform into the rule of the spouses of Christ, and opened a new career to their virtues. But it. was not until long after, that in Margaret of Hungary, Agnes of Monte-Pulciano, and Catherine* of Sienna, this branch of the Dominican tree was to bring forth those prodigies of sanctity which have since been so numerous Francis, more fortunate in this regard, finds at the outset a sister, an ally worthy of him. Whilst he, a merchant's son, commenced his work with some other humble citizens of Afisisium, in that same city, Clara Sciffi, the daughter oS a powerful Count, felt hersi^lf inspired with a similar seal. She ^ only eighteen years of age, when, on a Palm-Sunday, whilst the palms borne by others are withered and faded, hers suddenly blooms anew. It is for her a precept and t warning from on high. That very night, she *flies from her • Bora In 1814 To bira to attributed th« diseoyery <^ gonpowder, the fe. It is known that he presented to Clement IV. that plati ofseforaiof lb* •m, whldi w« afterward* adopted bf Oregorj XIEL .fVIRODUOTIO*. tt father's hoose, penetrates to tSe Portiuneula, kneels at the feet 0^ St. Francis, receives from his hands the cord and the coarse woollen habit, and devotes herself like him to evangel lc«.i poverty. In vain do her parents persccote her ; she li joined by her sister and many other virgins, who vie with her in their austerities and privations. In vain do the Sovereign Pontiffs entreat her to moderate her zeal, to accept some fixed rnle, since her strict seclusion forbade her to go, like the Friars Minora, to solicit charity from the faithful, and rednced her to depend on chance assistance. She obsti- nately resists, and Innocent lY. finally grants her the privi- lege of perpetual poverty, the only one, he said, that none had ever asked of him. " But He,'' he added, " who feeds the )Irds of the air, who clothes the earth with flowers and rer- dure, can well feed and clothe you till the day when He shall give Himself for your eternal aliment — when He will cTsbrace you with His victorious arm in the fnlnesi of His glory and beatitude." Three Popes and a multitude of other saintly and noble personages came to seek light and consols tim from that humble virgin. In a few years she sees a whole army of pioni women, with queens and princesses at their head, rising and encamping in Europe, under the rnle of Francis of Assisiara, living under her direction and called from her Poor Claree, But in the midst of this spiritual empire, her modesty is so great that she is never seen to raise her eyes but once, viz., when she asked the Pope's blessing. The Saracens come to besiege her monastery ; sick and bed-ridden she arises, takes the ostensory in her hand, walks forth to meet them, and tliey immediately take to flight. After fourteen years of a holy union with St. Francis, she loses him ; then, having long endured the most grievous infirmity, she dies after having dictated a most sublime testament ; and the Sovereign Poti* tiff, who had witnessed her death, proposes her at once to th« leueration of the £aithfol, proelaimlng her the resplendeol M IHTRODUOTIOV. light of the temple of God, the princess of poverty, and the duchess of humility. As St. Franci» found a friend and sister in St Clare, so did St. Anthony of Padua in the blessed Helena Ensimel!* ; bjit, by a marvellous effect of divine grace, it is especially amongst the daughters of kings that the mendicant order finds its most eminent saints ; whether they enter upon the strict observance of the Poor Clares^ or, restrained in the bonds of marriage, can only adopt the rule of the third order. The first in date and in renown is that Elizabeth of Hang \\jy (died in 1222); St. Zita, who lived and died an humble serv^ant in Lncca, and who was chosen as the patroness of that powerful republic ; then in Germany, St. Gertrude (bom ill 1222), and her sister St. Mecthilda, who held in the thir» teenth century the same place that St. Hildegnrde did in the twelfth and St. Catherine of Sienna in the fourteenth, amongst those vireius to whom the Lord has revealed the inner ligfata of hie holv Uw. fO IHTRODUOTIOV. Lastly, we most not forget, amongst the wonders of Elizas beth's time, that work which every succeeding |ige has pro* oounced unequalled, The Imitation of Christ, whose author has never been clearly ascertained, tit its presumed author, John Gersen, abbot of Yerceil, lived at that time, and lived in the most perfect conformity with the spirit of that divine book. It is the most complete and sublime formula of ardeu i piety towards Christ, written at a period which had already brought forth the Rosary and the Scapular in honour of Mary, and which closed magnificently with the institution of the feast of the Holy Sacrament, which was first proposed by a poor Ciste^ian nun (bt. Juliana, of Liege), confirmed by the miracle of Bolsena,* and song by St. Thomas of Aquinas.f We have no apprehensions of being censured for dwelling too long on t?ils enumeration of the Saints and religious insti> ttttions of a period which it is our wish fiiUy to represent ; Any man who had made a careful study of the middle ages, must know per\ct!y well that those are the true pivots on which society 111 en turned ; that the creation of a new ordot Was then univei&\itly considered as of greater importance than the formation of r new kingdom or the promulgation of a new code; that Saintt \-'ere then the true heroes, and that they en- grossed nearly all Mi*) popularity of the time. It is only when one has appreciated ^h^. part which prayer and miracles played tn public opinion, an^ ttudled and comprehended the career of a St. Francis and a .S( DiuLMck, that he can account for the presence and the ac^-icx A an Innocent III. and a S% Louis. • The fbstlTal was instttated In ISM, b> Tt^tc IF., a* i^« M aik tf *bi UrXy '^oceoM mA bt recognised as author f the pnae Latidu Sitt A'Uk tlk k MKH^nk'e j»v ^ a '0 IVTBODUOTIOV. •I u Bat it was not only the political world that was controlled Gatuolic faith aad Catholic thought: in its majestic auttj, ^raced all the hniQaa mind, and associated or employed all its developments. Ilence its power and its glory art profoundly impressed on all the productious of art and poetry of that period, whilst, far from restraining, it sanctified and consecrated the progress of science. Wherefore we find thai this thirteenth century, so prolific for the faith, was not mor« barren for science. We have already mentioned Roger Bacon and Vincent de Beauvais ; their names are synonymous with the study of nature, purified and ennobled by religion, as also the iLtroductiou of the spirit of classification and generalisa- tion in directing the intellectual wealth of men. We have named St. Thomas and his contemporaries in thb Mendicant Orders ; his name recalls the most glorious era ot theology^- the first of sciences. The Angelic Doctor and the Seraphic Doctor criticised at will the famous Peter Lombard, the i/o^ ter of SenttnceH, who had so long controlled the schools ; nor must we forget either Allan de Lille, the Universal Doctor^ who was still living in the first years of that century, nor Guillaume Durand, who illustrated its cluse, and gave th» most complete Liturgical code in his Mationale, Most of these great men embraced at once theology, philosophy and law, and their names belong equally to those three sciences. Raymond Lulle, entitled by his holy life to the distinctioQ of Blessedf belongs more especially to philosophy. The trans* lation of the works of Aristotle, undertaken through the Influence of Frederick II., and which attained such rapid popularity, opened before the latter science new and untrod- den fields, which were only opening on the world at the pe- riod of which we write. Legislation was never in a more prosperous condition. On one side, the Popes, supreme or* ^ns both of faith and right, developed the canon law ai became that magnificent bulwark of Christian civilisatioii, pi» IVTKODVOTIOf . •ided as Jndges with excmplarj aitidiiity,* pabliahed imiDenM collect ioiiB, and foiiDded oumenius schools. On the other hand, were seen springing^ up roost of the national codes of Kurope, the great mirrors of Suablft and Saxony, the first laws published in German by Frederic IL at the diet of Maycnce, the code given by him to Sicily; in France, tho establishments of St. Louis, together witV. tne Common Law of Peter des Fontaines, and that of Beauvoisis by Philip do Beaumanoir ; Anally, the French version of the Sessions of JerumUm, wherein is formed the most complete summary of Christian and chivalric law. All these precious monnmenta of the ancient Christian orgiknisation of the world, have come down to us even in the Teroacnlar tongues, and arc still less distinguished by that mark, than by their generous and pious spirit, from that fatal Roman law, whose progress was soon to change all the principles of Catholic society. Hand in hand with these intellectual sciences, medicine flourished in its capitals; Montpellier and Salerno, still influenced by, and in alliance with, the Church : and Pope John XXI., before he ascended the |)ontifical throne, found leisure to compose the Treasure of the Poor— -or Manual of the Art of Healing. The introduction of algebra and of Arabic figares,f the inven* tion, or at least the general adoption of the Mariner's Com- pass, also signalise that period as one of the most important in the history of man. But it is still more in art that the creative genius of that age is manifested : for it was the period which saw the devel« opment of that sweet and majestic power of Christian art, whose splendour was only to pale under the Medici, at the * Innocent Ilf . ut In Judgment three thnee e week ; Gregory IX., Innoeenl IT^ end Bonilkce YIIL, were fiunous Uwyerib We have already ^ken nf St. B»f mood dA Penafort and Gardlnal Henry Suaon, placed hy Dante in his ParadiM, t It took place in Italy, aador Frederick 11^ by Leooard Tlbonaed, and la under Sb LmIbi IVriODUOTIOV. ii lime of wLai is called the JUwivai^ being nothing else *liaB the revival of pngan idoiatrj in arts and Uftten.* It it this thirteenth century that commcncea with Cimubue an^ tlie CutheUral of CologuOf that long series of spiectlour which Mmit but with Ittphael and the dome of Milan. Architecture, the firat of arts in duration, popularity, and religious sanction, was also to be the first subjected to the new iiiduenuo dev«*l oped among Christian nations, the first to illustrate theil great and holy thoughts. It seems that that immenMe move- ment of souls represented by St. Dorainick, St Francis, and St. Louis, could have no other expression than those gigantic cathedrals, which appear as though they would bear to heaven, on the summit of their spires, the universal homage of the love and the victorious faith of Christians. The vast basilica of the preceding ages seemed to them too bare, too heavy, too ampty, for the new emotions of their piety, for the renovated fervonr of their faith. That ^ivid flame of faith required the means of transforming itself into stone, and thus bequeathing itself to posterity. Pontiffs and artists sought some new com* bination which might lead and adapt itself to all the new treasures of the Catholic spirit ; they found it in followinj^ those columns which arise, opposite each other in the Chris- tian basilic, like prayers which, meeting before Qod, bend and embrace like sisters : in that embrace they found the ogee. By its appearance, which only became general in the thirteenth century, all is modified, not in the inner and mysterious menn< ing of religions edifices, but in their exterior form. Instead of extending over the ground like vast roofs destined for the ihelter of the faithful, all begins then to dart upwards towards AtfaMMHirTI- oa ) * Most people are ^qnalnted with the *xe)«inat{ca of Pope AImmmmTI., ■rrivtng In Rome, after the death of Len X., at alfrlit of all the ancient statnes whkk had been dit^interred : Proh! idola barbaroruml It waa certainly dictated a* nach bjr a Jnat senttmMl «tf Ohrlatiao art m bj tbf ptooB amotloa of tha bead of Um OMbolk Church. 1^ IVTBODUOMOV* • tlie Most nigh. The horlxontal line gradoally diMppeoni, in the pruralent idea of elevation, the hcareDward tendency of the age. Dating from this momentf no more crypts^ no mora iobterraneous churches, the geniu of Christianity baring nothing more to fear, will tnUj manifest itself before tho world. " Qod wills no longer,'' says the Titunl^ tho greateel poem of tho time, and furnishing the most perfect theory of Christian architecture — " Qod wills no longer that bis chosen people should assemble in a timid and disgraceful manner in boles and caverns.'' As they chose to shed their blood for Qod in the Crusades, that choun people will now give their toil, their imagination, their poesy, to raise up suitable palaces for the same Qod. Innumerable beanties everywhere abound in that sprouting of the earth fructified by Catholicity, and which seems reproduced in every church by the marvelloit foliage of the capitals, windows and small steeples. It would lead us much too far were we to ent«r upon the detail of tho grandeur and poetry given to the world by that architectural transformation of the thirteenth century. We shall confine ourselves to the demonstration of the fact that the first and most complete production — at least in Qermany — of the Gothic or offival style of architecture was the church built over the tomb of ih« dear St. Elizabeth* with tb« olferings of the numberless pilgrims who crowded thither. We must also give a passing glance at some of the immortal cathedrals which rose at the same time in every part of Chris- tian Europe, and which, if not all finished then, hod their plan drawn by the hand of men of genius, who disdained to leare us their name ; the;y loved Qod and their brethren too much to love glory. There was in Qermany, besides Mar* tourg, Cologne, (1246) the model church, where the trott of falthfnl generations has been betrayed by their posteritji- II .■ ■ I I ii» • M. Moller, • flunons Qcrmaa waUtoet ^ vu tmn timMt, hM fnMhibiS ¥ ftMr tiriaoM •zdoiiv*)/ on this ehuroli. (fi— ah. xmxI of oar bistory.) tXTAODUCTlOy. «i bat which, nipeudol io Ita glorj, i% as It wcr«, a clwllcafi to modem impoteoce ; Cologne, which foruu with Strasbiirg and Friburg, the magoiftccnt Uothic trilogy of the Rhine. In France, Chartret, dedicated in 12C0, after a century and a iialf of patient perseverance; Bhekna (1232,) the Cathedra* of the monarchy; Auxerre (18L5;) Amiens (1228;) Beanvaif (1250,) La Sainte Chapelle and St. Dcuis; tlie front of Notr« Dame (1223;) in Belgiuni, St. Qudule of BriisRels (1226,) and the church of the Downs {DuMt,) built by four hundred monks in fifty years (1214-1262;) in Rnglaud, Salisbury, the fittest of all, (1220;)half of York Minster, (1227-1260;) the choir of that of Ely (1235;) the nav« of Durham, (12x2,) and the national abbey of Westminster, (1247:) in Spain, Burgos and Toledo, founded by St. Ferdinand, (122b;) and Jmost .J these colossal works undertaken and accomplished by vud single city or chapter, whilst the moat powerful k'ncrdoms of our time wonld be unable, with all their fiseality, t« achiere even one such glorious and consoling victory of humanity and faith over incredulous pride: a victory which even then aston- ished simple souls, and drew from a monk that cry of noble surprise — " How is it that in hearts so humble there is &• proud a genius V* Christian sculpture could not but share in the progresf of architecture, and it then commenced to bear its finest fruits. Those goodly rows of Saints and Angels which adorn the fafades of the cathedrals, then (chf^^^ forth from stone. Then was introduced the uae of those tombs whereon we see — recFming in the calm sleep of tbe just-^the husband and wife together, their hands sometimes joined in death as they bad been in life — where the mother still lay in the midst of her children ; these statues so grave, so pious, so touching, impressed with all the serenity of Christian death ; the head supported by little aagets^ who seem to ha^e received th« lateit sigh ; the legs crossed, if the warrior had been to tlii 60 XNTRODUCTIOir. Crusades. The relics of Saints brought in such numbers from conquered Byzantium, or incessantly furnished by the beatifi- cation of contemporary virtue, gave perpetual employment for the Catholic sculptor and goldsmith. The gorgeously-deco- rated shrine of St. Elizabeth is a monument of the fecundity of those arts, then inspired by fervent piety. The shrine of St. Qenevieve won for its author, Ralph the goldsmith, the first letters of nobility giren in France; and thus it was tha-t, in Christian society, art prevailed, before riches, over the inequality of birth. With regard to painting, although it was only in its in- fancy, it already gave tokens of its future glory. The large windows, which just then came into general use, opened a new field for its operations by shedding on all the ceremonies of religion a new and mysterious light. The surprising Mass- hook miniatures of St. Louis and of the Miracles of th» Blessed Virgin^ by Qauthier de Coinsy, which are seen in the royal Library, show what Christian inspiration could already produce. In Germany began already to dawn that school of the Lower Rhine, so pure, so mystical, which was, in a pecu- liar manner, to unite the charm and purity of expression with the splendour of colouring. The popularity of this rising art was already so great, that the ideal of beauty was no longer sought in fallen nature, but in those deep and mysterious types the secret of which had been found by humble artists in their pious meditations.* Italy we have not yet named, because she merits a separate place in this rapid enumeration. In fact, that eternal inherit- ance of beauty preceded and surpassed all the rest of the world in the culture of Christian art ; Pisa and Sienna, even * WolfVata d'Esehonbaeh, oira of the most eolebnitad poots of Qermanj irt that pitriod (1380X In order ■jo give tn Idee uf the beeaty of one of liis boroea, u.j% thai Ihepaitters of Cologne or of Meeetrioht eould not have made him flilrai;— >PaHaTaBl 7MA«iins fli rtr a rd on palntinf and general art, tnd Mpedanj on tba lnflu«ne« of St Franola, Is established and eloqnentlf developed In M. Rfo^s Intok, •ntltleol, Df la pHnUirn ChreZffnnt en JHntU (Christian paintln; In Italy). That work has already effected a salutary revolation in the study and appreclatloa of m I Mb la Frahoa and Ita^. ivvBODiroTiev^ Iphere of activitj tU fresh for its thoogbt, wherein the Dational geains might redeem itself at will. Prose wa^ formed for history, and there were soon seen chronicles made for the people, and often by themselves, taking^ their |^ce beside those Latin chronicles, so long despised, and yet containing so much eloquence, so many beauties quite unknown to classic Latin.* Yet still poetry long maintained the supremacy arising from its right of primogenitnre. It was then seen td assume, in almost every country of Europe, those forms which Pagan or modern civilization attribute to themselves. The Epic, the Ode, the Elegy, the Satire, — ^nay, the Drama itself, were all as familiar to the poets of that age as to those of the time of Augustus and of Louis XI V. And when their works are read with the sympathy arising from a religions faith identical with theirs, with an impartial estimate of a society wherein soul prevails sO far over matter, with a very natural indifference for the rales of modern versification, we ask ourselves what then has been invented by the writers of Bucceeding ages ? We seek to ascertain what thought and imagination have gained in exchange for the pure treasures they have lost. For, be it known, that every subject worthy of literary attention was sung by those unknown poets, and by them brought under the notice of their cotemporaries ; God and heaven, nature, love, glory, country, great men- nothing escaped them. There is not a recess of the soiil vbich they did not disclose, not a vein of feelmg wbk;h they did not explore, not a fibre of the hdman heart which thoy did not stir, not a chord of that immortal lyre from which they drew aot forth delicious harmony. i y * We oonid cite no better ezMnple than the life of St. EUsabeth by Theodorie of I Thiiiingta; the fV«qnent qaotntions which we rihall make ft-otn it in the ootme of «mff ■arrative will give the reader some idea of what it is. Amongst the principal Lalia historios of tliat time we must elte Saxo Qrammaticns, for the Scandinavian kinf> I loms ; Father Ylnecttt KadhiUk, fbr Pdaod, iM. OMrdlJiil iMfiles d« Yttrr, «r tht OriuadM^ fO IMTBODUOTIOV. To begin with France ; not only had its langaage, forni i by the bards of the preceding century, and perhaps by tha B&rmons of St. Bernard, become a national treasure, but it gained under St. Louis that European ascendancy which it has never since \mi Whilst Dante's master, Brunetto Latini, wrote his Tesoro^ n species of encyclopaedia, in French, be- cause it was, ac?<>rd ag to him, the most common language of the West, St. Francis sung hymns in French along the streets.* French prose, which was to be the weapon of St. Bernard and of Bossnet, opened with Yillehardouin and Joluville the series of those great models whom no nation has ever surpassed ; but in France, as in all other countries, poesy was then much more prolific and more highly relished. We shall say nothing of the Proyen9al literature of the Troubadours, although it has withstood the test of modern criticism, and although it was still in all its splendour in the thirteenth century. We pass it over because we think it contains no Catholic element — because it rarely, if ever, soars higher than the worship of material beauty, and represents, with some exceptions, tb» materialistic and immoral tendency of the southern heresies of those times. In the north of France, on the contrary, together with some fables and certain metrical works which approached too near the licentious character of the Trouba- dours, the national and Catholic epic appeared in all its lustre. The two great cycles wherein is concentrated the highest poetry of the Catholic ages — that of the Carlovingian epics, and that of the Round Table and St. Oraal, initiated in the preceding century by Chrestlen of Troyes, with those Romans (Romances) whose popularity was immense. The Roman dt Ronfevaux, as we now possess it, those of Oerard de Neven, of Partenopex de Blots, of Bertha witJi the long foot^ of Renara * It Ib eTCB Mid Utai his dmim of Fruiofai (FranfoU), was given Mm, Iintw4 «C ■Is Iktbcr'ft nsuok boMuss of bis grsak oommuid uf th« Frsocli laagusfk XHTBODUOTIOV. ft ie Jfontauban, of the /bur atmt of Aymon^ those transfigura- tioM of French traditions are all of that period; as also those of Renari and la Boatj which have longer maintained a certain repate. More than two handred poets, whose works naTe come down to us, floorished in that age :* one daj, per- haps Catholics will take it into their heads to go seek iu their works some of the most charming productions of the Chris* tian muse, instead of believing, on the word of the sycophant Boilean, that poetry only came into France with Malherbe. We mnst also name amongst these poets Tbibanlt, King of Navarre, who sang the Crosade and the Blessed Virgin with sach pure enthusiasm, who won the praises of Daute, and, when dying, left his heart to the poor Clares whom he had founded at Provins ; his friend, Auboin de Sezanne, Raoul do Coucy, whose name at least is still popular, killed at Mas* soura, under the eyes of St. Louis ; the prior Gauthier da Coinsy, who raised so fair a monument to Mary in his Mira ties ; then that woman of unknown origin, but whose talentii and national success have woe for her the honourable title of Mary of France ; finally Rutebeuf, who thought he could find no heroine more illustrious to celebrate than our Elizabeth. At the same time Stephen Langton, whom we have already . mentioned as Primate of England and author of the Magna Gharta, intermingled his sermons with verse, and wrote the . first drama known by the moderns, ^he scene of which is ia heaven, where Truth, Justice, Mercy, and Peace discuss the fate of Adam after his fall, and are reconciled by Jesus Christ.f We here only glance over a period when poetry * Sm their ennmention In th« lAterary BUtory of Framoe^ t ztL tad zvll.; Bequefort, State of Frtneh Poetry; P. Paris, l» Boman^wro Franeatt, i Detorne, Arob.'voltgia, t xiiL Jean Bodel of Arres is regarded as the mail dlsMngiilshed dramatie poet of that period ; his fine drama entitled Jeu ds SaiM I Jficotatt luM been mad* Iumwb to q» by M. Oneabne Loroy, in Ua worlt Mt tte Hritoriec t% |>l»TJl09V«TI0*r was so popular ani\0D)i*9t the French that St. Louia discUteed not to admit to bi8 royal table minstrels, or itinerant poets, and that those very men coald free themselves from all toll by mean? of a song. In Germany, tbe thirteenth century is the most luatroai period of this admirable medieval poeti^. Bucli is tb& nnar^l* mous opinion of the nomerous literati who l.iu\e .<»'j'jce( led frr a time in rendering it once more popular 8^>eot, wc opened the volumes wtiere this marvellona beuuty fJeeps unnoticed 1 With what surprise and admiration did we behold all that gface, refinement, melancholy, which would seem reserved fDr the world's maturity, united to the artless simplicity, the ardent and grave piety, of the primitive ages \ Whilst the epic of purely Qermanic and Scandinavian origin develops itself there in the train of the Niebelungen,* that magnificent Iliad of the Germanic tribes, the doable French and Breton oyde, of wbich we have spoken above, finds sublime interpreters there in poets who well knew how, while preserving the subject ma^tter of foreign traditions, to ■tamp their woito with incontestible nationality. Their names an still almost unknown in France, as were those of Schiller and Goethe thirty years ago ; but. perchance, they may not always remain so. The greatest of these, Wolfram d'Eschen- oach, gave to his country an admirable version of the Parceval, * This Mtekmted' poMi, M w Htlrteenth centoiy. or«M laTBODUOTIOV. n moat lugtfoai and tue onlj one that is oow extant of the Tiiurti, tkat masterpiece of Catholic genius which we may not fear to place, in the enumeration of its glories, immediately after the Divine Comedy. Contemporaneously with it, Qodefroi of Strasburg published the Tristan, wherein are summed up the ideas of the chivalric f^es on love, together with the fairest legends of the Round Table ; and Hartmonn de I'Aue the Twain, at the same time as the exquisite legend of pauvre Henri, wherein that knightly poet takes for his heroine a poor peasant girl, and delights to centre in her all the noblest inspirations of devotion and sacrifice that the faith and the habits of his time could give — the contempt of life and its fleeting goods, the love of heaven and heavenly things. How many other religious and national epics were then com- posed which it would now be superfluous even to name \* Nor was the lyric genius less prolific than the epic on that rich Q-erman soil. The ignorant and pedantic criticism of the unbelieving ages has not been able to efface the national remembrance of that brilliant and numerous phalanx of love* singers {Minnesoenger)^ which came forth between 1180 and 1250 from the ranks of German chivalry, having at its head, in rankj the Emperor Henry YI., but in genius, Walter de Yogelweide, whose writings are, as it were, the transcript of all the emotions of his time, and the most complete summary of that delightful poetry. None of his rivals and contempo- raries united in a higher degree earthly affections, Eealous and * Sneh are Ura lhgalol», \iy WMt 4e OnrenlMrg; 4 tmmI of SIttalwthY gnmili Aither, and who Mefl!mp«nt«<1 ber hosband to the Orinadm; OwiUditme fOrmnffti, wliich was asked of Wolfram d'EscIienbaeh by Eliiabcth's father>ln-Uw; FlotmH BUmchAfleur, by Connul de Fleeke ; the ChanJt d« Roland^ by the prieat Cojirad ; BarUuMH H Jwiiphat, by Reddpfa de Hehenens, Ae. t The principal cullection of their works is In the Boyal library in Paria, In tk* ■unascript called dt MdnMne. It contains th« poems of otie hundred and ttiH{|r> «to peats. ProfcMor Hagan, ef B^i\ln^ haa Jul pobUahed aa asMlkBt edMaa ol Ik with soma most valuable addiUona. u XHTftODDCTIOir. watchful patriotism, enthusiastic love for holy things ; for th« Crusade, in which he had hhnself fought ; and, above all, for the Virgin-Mother, whose mercy and whose mortal dolours he Bang with unequalled tenderness. We clearly see that, in him, it wan not only human love, but also celestial lore with all its treasures which won for him and his confreres their title of love-singers. Mary, everywhere the Queen of Cliristiaii |)oetry, was especially so in Germany; and we cannot help naming amongst those who have offered her the purest in- cense of «ong, Conrad de Wurtzburg, who, in his Golden Forge, seems to have concentrated all the rays of tenderness and beauty wherewith she had been invested by the venera- tion of the Christian world. And, as though to remind us that everything in that age was to be more or less connected with St. Elizabeth, we dee the seven chiefs of those epic poets and love-singers assemble by solemn appointment at the court of Thuringia, under their special protector, the Landgrave Hermann, father-in-law of our Saint, at the very time of her birth ; the songs which were the produce of the meeting of this brilliant constellation, form, under the name of the Wir of Wartburg, one of the most splendid manifestations of the German genius, and one of the most abundant treasures of the legendary mysticism of the middle ages, as well as a poetic wreath for the cradle of Elizabeth. Crowned heads are everywhere seen amongst the poets of that age ; but in the Iberian peninsula it is kings who guide the first steps of poetry. Peter of Arragon is the most ancient Troubadour of Spain. Al^^honsus the Learned, son of St. Ferdinand, who merited, long before Francis I., the title of father of letters — a historian and a philosopher, waa also a poet ; there are but few Spanish verses more ancient than his hymns to the Virgin, and his touching account of hia father's miraeulous cure, written in the Gallician language. Denis I., King of Portugal, is the first known poet of bii IlTTROOUCTIOir. n kingdom. .In Spain began, with the moet lively energy, that admirable effosion of Christian splendour, which was there Iccpt np much longer than in any other conntry, nor began to wane till after Calderon. Whilst legendary poetry shed its mild radiance in the works of the Benedictine Gonzalo de Bercoo, a poet who was truly inspired by Mary and the Saints of his nation, we see the Spanish epic making itt appearance in thnse famous Romances* which are the peculiar glory of Spain, and one which no nation could ever dispute with her ; wherein are chronicled all the struggles and all the beauties of her history; which have endowed the people with immortal remembrances, and have reflected all the proud prestige of Moorish pomp and elegance, without ever losing that severe Catholic character which consecrated in Spain, more than anywhere else, the dignity of man, the loyalty of the subject, and the faith of the Christian. In Italy, it was only at the close of the period under review that Dante appeared, (born 1265) but his advent was nobly ushered in. Poetry, less precocious than in France or Germany, was but beginning to bear fruit, but she did so with prodigious abundance. In every quarter of that noble and fertile land, schools of poets arose, as schools of artists were soon after to do. In Sicily, the Italian muse had her cradle jf there she appeared, pure, animated, a lover of nature, delicate, nearly akin to the French genius, — which was twice to make Sicily its appanage, — but still and ever profoundly Catholic.^ In Pisa and Sienna, it is more grave, more solemn, as we see by the fine monuments which thofie * Those of the Cidy regnrded m the most eneient, eonid not have been eompoaed oeftrethe thirteenth century, eooording to the best Judges, t Any one who supposes that Italian poetry began with Dante, would do well ta ■ee the collection entitled Poeti dtl primo aseoto, that is to My, of the thirteentk MBtury, whieh oootains some masterpleees of the poetic art. X Sueb, at least, is the opiaion of Daate, D0 Vulg. JBog^ I, If ; tad of 7t INTROOOOTIOV. Cities have preferred. Id Plorence ftnd the n«ighl)onriBf citiefl it is tender, ubundaut, pious — worthy in all respects of its birtbplnce.* Tliey were indeed a \t^\on of poets, wiiose chiefs were tlie Emperor Frederick II., tii'e Icinp Euzio and Mainfroy, his sons, and his Chancellor, Peter de Viij^iies ; then Goittone d'Arezzo, a poet so profound, and sometimes so eloquent, and so touching, warmly praised by Petrarch and imituted by him; finally, Guido Guinicelli, whom Dante uiv- liesitatingly proclaimed as his master. But nil these were preceded and surpasseii by St. Francis of AKKisium ;t his influence was to enliven art, his example to inflame poets. While reforming the world, God permitted him to use the first of tliat poetry which was to bring forth Dante aud Pe- trarch. As it was his soul alone that inspired his verses, and that he followed no rule in their composition, he had them corrected by the Brother Pacific, who became his disciple, after having been poet-laureate to the Emperor Frederick II.; and tlien both together went along the highways, singing to the people those new hymns, saying that they were God's min- strels, and required no other reward than the repentance of sinners. We still have those joyous canticles wherein the poor mendicant celebrated the wonders of God's love, in the veroaonlar tongue, and so passionately that ^e himself appre* headed lest he might be accused of folly. 1^0, never did that love, which was, as we have seen, fail; whole life, send forth a cry so enthusiastic, so tru)y celestial^ BO wholly detached from the earth ; hence it is that succeed- ing ages have not only failed to equal it, but even to under- * Wfl must enpeciftlly mentton th« oharining strains of Boti^o d*01trHr&o,(t24(Qk , ^f. tfe Ibund in Crescimbeni and the Rime aniiehe. t W« muat here ntfer to the floe work of M. Gorres, entitled St. FrattfoU d^Aspt alse Troubadour, tmnslated into the European Jtevimo of 1S8S. Tiiere are m% IMm vtrsfls wboM date wc bv Used with oortaiAty before ihos« of 8U Fl^eU W« hmw alNBdj ipokea ni the beMttlfol poemi of St. Bonft^ttatai^ |JITROOVGIiai|. Oltrwno (124(0k , itand It. HU fiirooai canticle to h» broihtr iht mn U bettar known ; it was comi)o«c>d uitcr nn ecstocy wherein he had received the oertointy of his salvation. Scarcely hail it et-* caped from his heart when he goes out to sing it in the strcels of A^'^iHium, where the Bishop and the mttKistrate wore in o\^\ warfare. But at the accents of that divine lyre, hatred wixs cxtiugnished in all hearts, enemies shed tears as they eiB" brae^d each other, and concord reappeared at the cull of poitry and sanctity. Finally, the highest and fairest branch of poetry, the littirgy, produced in that age some of its most popular master- pieces, and if St. Thomas of Aquinas gives it \e Lauda Sion, and all the admirable office of the Blessed Sacrament, it is a disciple of St. Francis — Thomas de Cclano— who leaves ns the Dies IrcB^ that cry of sublime terror ; and another, the Brother Jacopone, who disputes with Innocent III. the glory of having composed, in the Stabat Mater, the most beautiful tribute to the purest and most touching of sorrows. This brings us back to St. Francis, and it may be observed that this period, whose most prominent features we have en- deavoured to sketch, may be wholly summed up in the two great figures of St. Francis of Assisium, and St. Louis of France. The one, a man of the people, and who did more for the people than any one had yet done, raising poverty to the bb- premc dignity, making it his choice and his protection, and giving it a new influence over the things of heayen and earth; invested with that supernatural life of Christif^nity which has so often conferred spiritaal sovereignty on the lowest of its childrea ; regarded by his contemporaries a^ the closest imi- tator of Christ ; enervated during his whole lifb with divine love; and by the all-powerful virtue of that Iotc, a poet, ao uctor, a lawgiver, a conqueror. The other a layman, a knight, a pilgrim, a cmsader, • kiag crowned with the first Ohristiaa diadem, brave even le 1 78 iifTmoDUOTrov. ruhncsR, m willinp^ to ri^k his life as to ber*^ }i\» ^nad befoft Ood ; a lover of danger, of hnmiliation, of p*.>^auce; the inde- fatigable champion of jnstice, of the weak and the opprcwcd; the sublime personification of Christian chiralrj in all Its purity, nnd of true royalty in all its august grnndenr. Both grerdy for martyrdom, and for sacrifice ; both continually Intent on the salvation of their neighl)oar; both marked with the cross of Christ. Francis in the glorious wounds which he had in common with the crucified ; and Louis in that inmott heart where love lies. These two men, so similar in their nature and in their ten dency, so well fitted to appreciate each other, never met oc earth. There is a pious and a touching tradition that St. Louis went on a pilgrimage to the tomb of his glorious con- temporary, and tiiat he there found a worthy snccejsor of St Francis in one of his chosen disciples, brother ^gidins. The account of their meeting is too characteristic of the age whereof we treat, for us to omit giving it a place. St. Lonis being come, then, from Assisium to the Convent of Peronsa, where iBgidius dwelt, sent him word that a poor pilgrim wished to speak with him. But an interior vision instantly revealed to the friar that the pilgrim was no other than the holy king of France. He ran out to meet him, and as soon as they beheld each other, although it was for the first time, they both fell on their knees at the same moment, and ten- derly embracing, they remained long thus 'ithoot exchanging a single word. At length they separated, arose and went tLeir way — the king to his kingdom, the monk to his cell. But the other brothers of the convent, having discovered that it was the king, began to reproach .^gidius. " How,** said they, " couldst thou have been so rude, as not to speak a sin- gle word to such a holy prince, he coming all the way from France on purpose to see thee ?" " Ah I my beloved bretb* ren,'' replied the holy man, " be not surprised that neither ht iJlVMODVOflOir. 79 in head befort tioi I ^oaM speuk; for, irhiliit we embraced each other, tho Ugb« vf divine wiiklom levealeJ his heart to me and mine to liim; aiid tlius, looking into each othcr^s heart, we knew each other fur tiettor than if we had spoken, and witli mucli greatei vouMolatiou th.iii if we had given Tent to our feelingH in words, •o incapal)ie is the human tongue of expressing the secret uiyHteries of Qod I" A touching and an admirable Ryuit)ol of tltat Hccret intelligence, of that victorious harmony which then united lofty and holy souls, as a sublime and eterual compact. It may also be said that those two great sonls meet and are completely united in that of one woman— St. Elizabeth — whose name has already ooourred so often in this work. That burning love of poverty which inflamed the seraph of A»> sisiuiu, that luxury of suffering and humiliation, that supreme worship of obedience is suddenly enkindled in the heart of a young princess, who, from the heart of Qermany, recognises him as her model and her father. That boundless sympathy for the Passion of a God made man, which sent St. Louis, Imrefoot, at twenty-four, to visit the holy Crowu of thorns, — which impelled him to go twice under the standard of the Cross to seek death and captivity in Africa ; that longing for a better life which made him struggle against his friends and family to abdicate the crown and hide his royalty under the monastic habit ; that respect for poverty which made him kiss the hand of every one to whom he gave alms ; his abun- dant tears, his sweet familiarity with Joinville, and even his conjugal tenderness : all that is found again in the life of St. Elizabeth, who was no less his sister by feeling and by syiD- pa thy, than by their common engagement under the role of St. Francis. It has been established, in our own days, that the thir- teenth century was remarkable for the increasing influence of kromcn in the social and political world; that thoy gaided I 80 IVTft JDVOTIOH. the helm of gorenimeiit in sereral large states,* and thai fresh homage was daily offered to them both in pablic and private life. This was the inevitable consequence of that de- Totion to the Blessed Virgin, the progress of which we have already noticed. ''It must be accredited to all women,"* says a poet of that age, " that the mother of Qod wus a womsni."f How, in fact, could kings and nationg constantly take her for mediatrix between her Sou and them, place all their works under her sanction, choose her for the special object of their most ardent devotion, without giving a share of that venerdtion to the sex whose representative she was with God, as also its most perfect type ? Since woman was 80 powerful in heaven, she must needs be so on earth. But, whilst other princesses learned to share with kings the right of supreme command, the daughter of the King of Hungary, — the issue of a race of saints, and whose example was to produce so many others, — showed that there was still, for women, a royalty of soul far above all earthly pomp ; and it was by exercising it, unwittingly and unknown, that she gained her place in history. Her Hfe, short though it be, presents, perhaps, the only assemblage of the most varied phases, the most attractive, and yet the most austere features which can mark the life of a Christian, a princess and a Saint. Still, during the twenty years which elapse from the day when she was brought to her betrothed in a silver cradle, till that wlien she expired on the hospital pallet, which she chose for her death-bed, there are two Tery distinct parts, if not in her character, at least in her exterior life. Tlie first is all chivalric, all poetic, calculated as muoh to enchain the imagination as to inspire piety. From * BIs&Qhe of Oftstn*; ImWIIa de la MaMh«, who eontrollod tbo ontlM poliej of King John Lack-land, her husbanl : Jan*, Countesa of Flanders, who clalmad Um Clfht of assintin^ as a poor of France, at the consecration of St. Looilw t JVniiMntofrt * poem 9f the thirtMath eontuix. IHTRODUOTIOir. 81 th(; interior of Hungry, tliat land half nnknotm, half east- frn, — the frontier of Christendom, which presented to the modiseval ages a grand and mjsterions aspect,* she arrivei at the Conrt of Thuringia, tne most brilliant and the most poetical in all Germany. Daring her childhood, her proco clous virtue is overlooked, her piety despised ; some were for > sending her back disgracefally to her father ; bat her be- trothed remains ever falthfal to her, consoles her for the per- secution of the wicked, and as soon as he is master of his States, hastens to marry her. The holy love of a sister min- gles in her heart with the ardent love of a wife for him who was first the companion of her childhood and then her hus- band, and who vies with herself in piety and fervour ; a charming freedom, a sweet and artless confidence presides over their union. Daring all the time of their wedded life, they certainly offer the most touching and edifying example of a Christian marriage ; and we dare affirm that, amongst all the Saints, none has presented in the same degree as Eliz- abeth, the type of the Christian wife. But, amidst all the happiness of this life, — the joys of maternity, — the homage and the splendour of a chivalrous court, her soul tends al- ready towards the eternal source of love, by mortification, humility and the most fervent devotion; and the germs of that more perfect life, implanted within her, grow and expand in boundless charity, and indefatigable solicitude for the miseries of the poor. Meanwhile, the irresistible call of the Crusado, the supreme duty of freeing the Holy Sepulchre, draws away her young husband after seven years of the most tender union; he dares not reveal to her his still secret project, but she dis- covers it in a moment of tender familiarity. She knows not how to resign herself to this hard destiny; ahe follows and I n M • !%« fiuBons Berth* the Good, wifs of Pepin, and mother of Oharieim«ne, the principal heroine of the cycle of the Cerlovingian epioe, wm alao iao^ter of a king 9l Hungary. m INTRODUCTION. accompanies him far beyond the confines of their country; she cannot tear herself from his arms. lu the anguish which rends her lieart at this parting, and again when she hears of the untimely death of her beloved husband, we behold all the energy and tenderness of that young heart ; precious 'ind invincible energy, worthy of being consecrated to the conquest of heaven ; profound and insatiable tenderness which God alone could reward and satisfy. Thus, this separation once consummated, her whole life is changed, and God alone engrosses the affection of her soul. Misfortune comes on fast and heavy ; she is brutally expelled from her royal dwelling ; slie wanders through the streets with her infant children, a prey to cold and hunger, she who had fed and comforted so many ! no asylum can she find, she who had so often sheltered others ! But, even when her wrongs are repaired, she is no longer inclined to a worldly life. Left a widow at the age of twenty, she rejects the hand of the most powerful princes ; she is sick of the world ; the ties of mortal love once broken, she feels herself moved with divine love ; her heart, like the sacred censor, is closed to all earthly things, and is open only to heaven. She contracts with Christ a second and indissoluble union ; she seeks Him and serves Him in the person of the wretched ; after distributing all her treasures, all her por.sessions, when she has nothing more to give, she then gives herself; she becomes poor, the better to understand and to relieve the misery of the poor ; she consecrates her life to render Ihem even the most repulsive services. In vain does her father, the King of Hungary, send embassadors to bring her back to him ; they find her at her wheel ; resolved on preferring the kingdom of heaven to the royal splendour of her father's court. In tXCiange for her austerities, her voluntary poverty, the yoke of obedience under which she daily bends, her Divine Spouse endows her with supernatural joy and supernatural INTRODUCTION. n% power. In the midst of calumnies, privations, and the most cruel mortifications, she knows not a shade of sadness ; a look, a prayer of hers suffices to heal the diseases of her fellow- creatures. In tlie bloom of youth, she is ripe for eternity ; and she dies in the act of singing a hymn of joy which the angels above are heard to repeat in welcome to her victorious soul. Thus, in the twenty-four years of her life, we see her in sncoession, a lonely and persecuted orphan, — a sweet and modest betrothed bride, a wife unequalled for tenderness and trust, a loving and devoted mother, a sovereign more powerful by her benefits than by her rank ; then a widow cruelly oppressed, a penitent without sin, an austere nun, a Sister of Charity, a fervent and favoured spouse of the God who glorifies licr by miracles before he calls lier to Himself ; and, in all the vicissitudes of life, ever faithful to her original character, to that perfect simplicity which is the sweetest fruit of faith and tlie most fragrant perfume of charity, and which transformed lier entire life into that heavenly childishness to which Jesua Las promised the kingdom of heaven. So many charms — so much interest in the brief mortal existence of this young woman, are neither the creation of tlie poet's fancy, nor the fruit of piety exaggerated by dis- tance; they are, on the contrary, verified by all the authority of history. The profound impression which the destiny and the heroic virtues of Elizabeth made on uer age, is manifested by the tender and scrupulous care wherewith men have gath- ered and transmitted from generation to generation the most trifling actions of her life, the least words that she uttered, with a thousand incidents which throw light on the innermost recesses of that pure and artless soul. We are thns enabled, at the distance of six centuries, to give an account of that blessed life, with all the familiar and minute details which w« little expect to find save in memoirs recently written — and with u IVTK0DV0T10V. cirecmstftnces so poetic, we would ftlmosi say so romantio— that we can scarcely help rcgardiDi^ them at first as the resnlts of nn excited imagination taktag [dcasure in embcHixhing with all itti charois a heroine of romance. And yrt the historical authenticity of most of these details camiot be suspected, l)eiMg collected at the same time as her miracles, and verified by solemn investigations immediately after her death, and registered by grave hlstortaus in the national and coBtem* poraneoiis annals which record the other events of the time. in the eyes of those pious annalists, who wrote, as the people of those days acted, under the exclusive empire of faith, so fair a victory for Christ — so much charity and solicitude for the poor, with such shining manifestations of the i)Ower of God, wrought by a creature so fragile and so young, appeared as a sweet place of rest amid the storm of battles, wars, and political revolutions. And not only is this life-^o poetical and, at the same time, so edifying— -certified by history, but it hos received an otherwise high sanction; it has been invested with a splendour before which the mere products of imaginition, worldly re- nown, and the popidarity given by historians and orators, must all wax dim. It has been adorned with the fairest crown that is known to man, that of the saint. It has been glorified by tho homage of the Christian world. It has re- ceived tliat popularity of prayer, the only one that is eternal, universal^— the on?y one that is decreed at once by the learned and the rich — by the poor, the wretched, the ignorant*— by that immense muss of mankind who have neither time nor inclination to busy thetnaelves with human glories. And for those who are infiueneed by imagination, what happiness to feel that so much poetry, so many charming incidents, illoa- trative of all that is freshest and purest in the human beait, may he remembered, extolled — ^not, indeed, in the pages of a poiaanc«. or on the boards of a theatre, but under the Taulted l«TS0»00f lOV. roofs of oar churches^ at the foot of the holj altars, in the effusion of the Christian soul before its God! It may be that, blinded by that inYolontnry partiality which we feel for that which has been the object of a study and an attachment of several yearti, we exagg«ratf^ >i«e beauty and the im{)0Ft8>nce of our snbjeet. We doubt iiot that, even apart from aU the inaperfection of our work, intiny may find out tlMtt an age so remote has nothing in coiAmon with this of ours; that this biography so minute, that this description of customs so long exploded can present no profitable and positive result to the religions ideas of our time. The simple and pious souls, for whom alone we write, shall be our judge. The author of this book has made a graver objection to him- self. Seduced, at first, by the poetical, legendary, and even romantic character which the life of St. Elizabeth presents to a cursory view, he found himself as it were, according as he advanced, engaged in the study of an admirable development of the ascetic streilgth engendered by faith — with the revela- tion of tlie most profound mysteries of Christian iuitiation. He then asked himself whether he had a right to underiake such a work; whether the sublime triumphs of religion were not to be reserved for writers who could do honour to religio*, or who, at least, might be exclusively devoted to it. He could not but feel that he had no mission for such a work, and it was with tremulous apprehension that be accomplished a task which seems so unsuited to his weakness, his age, and his lay character. Nevertheless, after long hesitation, he yielded to the im- pulsive idea of giving son>e connection to studies so protraeted and so conscientious, together with the desire ci presenting to the friends of religion and of historical truth the faithful and complete pktore of the life of a saint of former days — of one of those beings who summed up within themselves all tho Ai'th and all the pore affectioae of the Christian ages; lo m 1:1 86 tVTHODUOTTOV. paint them, as mach as possible, in the hoes of their time, and to show them in all the splendour of that perfect beaoty wherewith they presented themselves to the minds oi men in the middle ages. We are well aware that, to reproduce such a life in all its Integrity, it is necessary to place ourselves face to face with a whole order of facts and of ideas long since struck with repro- bation by the vagne religiosity of latter times, and which a timorous though sincere piety has too often excluded from religious history. We allude to the supernatural phenomena 60 abundant in the lives of the Saints, consecrated by faith under the name of miracles, and eschewed by worldly wisdom under the name of "legends," "popular superstitions," "fabu- lous traditions." Many such are found in the life of St. Eliza- beth. These we have endeavoured to reproduce with the same scrupulous exactness which we have used in all the rest of the narrative. The very thought of omitting, or even of extenuating them, — interpreting them with prudent modera- tion, would have been revolting to us. It would have ap- peared to us a sacrilege to gloss over or conceal what we believe to be true, to pander to the proud reason of our age; it would have been a culpable error, too, for th<^se miracles are related by the same authors, established by t. e same author- ity, as are all the other events of our biography. Nor could we well have fixed any rule whereby to admit their veracity m some cases and reject it in others ; in short, it would have bten nothing bettr i than hypocrisy, for we candidly acknow- ledge that we firmly believe all that has ever been recorded as most miraculous of the Saints of God in general, and of St. Elizabeth in particular. Nor does this imply any sort of victory over our own weak reason ; for nothing appeared to m more reasonable, more simple for a Christian, than to bend in gratitude before the Lord's mercy, when he sees it suspend or modify the natural laws which it alone has created, to secur« INTRODUOTIOH. 17 «Dd enhance the triumph of the still higher laws of the moral and religions order. Is it not both sweet and easy to con- ceive how soals like those of St. Elizabeth and her contempo* rnries, exalted by faith and humility far above the cold rea- Bcning of this world, pnrified by every sacrifice and every virtue, accastomed to live beforehand in heaven, presented to the goodness of God a theatre ever prepared ; how much, too, the fervent and simple faith of the people called forth, and, if we may venture to say so, justified the frequent and fumiliar intervention of tliat Almighty power rejected ani denied by the insensate pride of our days ! Hence it is with a mixture of love and respect that w<3 have long studied those innumerable traditions of faithful g-cneratious, wherein faith and Christian poesy, — the highest lessons of religion and the most delightful creations of the imagination are blended in a union so intimate that it cnn bv no means be dissolved. But even if we had not the happi< ness of believing with entire simplicity in the wondei-s of divine power, which they relate, never could we venture to despise the innocent belief which has moved and delighted millions of our brethren for so many ages ; all that is paerile in them is elevated and sanctified to us, by having been the object of our fathers' faith — of our fathers who were nearer Christ than we are. We have not the heart to despise what tliey believed with so much fervour, loved with so mnch con- stiincy. Far from that: we will freely confess that we have often found in them both help and consolation, and in this we are not alo le; for if they are everywhere despised by people who call themselves leanied and enlightened, there are still places where these sweet traditions have remained dear to the poof and the simple. We have found them cherished in Ireland, in the Tyrol, and especially in Italy, and in more than one of the French provinces ; we have gathered them from the words of the people, and the tears which flowed firom their i I': IVTRODUOTIOir. ejef ; they hafe still an altar in the fairest of all t^mples-^ the hearts of the people. We will even venture to say that ■omething is wanting to the human glory of those Saints who have not been invested with this touching popularity— ' who have not received, with the homage of the Church, that tribute of humble love and familiar confidence which is paid under the cottage-roof, by the evening hearth, from the mouth aad heart of the unlettered poor. Elizabeth, endowed by heaven with such absolute simplicity, and who, in the midst of royal splendour, preferred to all other society that of the poor and the miserable ; Elieabeth, the friend, the mother, the servant of the poor, could not be forgotten by them; and in that sweet remembrance do we find the secret of the charm- ing incidents which we shall have to relate. But this ii3 not the place to discuss that grave question df the credence due to the miracles in the lives of the Saints ; it fniffices for us to have declared our own point of view ; even had it been different, it would not have prevented us from writing the life of St. Elizabeth, from showing lUl that Oatho- Sics believed of her, and giving an acconnt of the glory and the influence which her miracles have obtained for her amongst the faithful. In all mediaeval study, the implicit faith of the people, the unanimity of public opinion, give, to the popalar traditions inspired by religion, a force wh'ch the historian cannot but appreciate. So that even independent of their theological value, one cannot, Without blindness, overlook the part which they have at all times played in poetry and in history. With regard to poetry, it would be diffienU to deny that they contain an inexhaustible mine ; a fact which will be every day recognised more and more, according as the human mind returns to the source of true beautyi Even were we forced to regard these legends but as the Christian mythic Im^y, according to the contemptaoos exprMiioa of the great IlfTRODUOTItfV. pliilosopherB of our days, still we should find in them a sourot of )>oetry infinitely BicM'e pure, abundant, and origioaii, than tbo worn-out mythology <^ Olympus. But how can wo b« sur* prised that they hare been so long refused ail right to poetio influence ? Tho idolatrous generations who had com^eutrated Mil their enthusiasni on the monttuients and institutions of pa* l^^tinisra, and tho imploaa generations who hare digniAed with tho name of poetry the filthy effosiioiis of the last ocntury, could neither of them give eren a name to that exquisite fVuit of Catholic faith; t^ey could offer it only one kind of homage^ viz. that of scoffing aud insuH, — this they have done. In a purely hifi4;orical point of view, popular traditions, and especially those which belong to religion, if they have not a mathematical certainty — if they are not what are called positive facts, tliey are, at least, quite as powerful, and ha?« exercised a flar greater power over the passions and morals of the people than fafHs the romt inoontestible for human reason. On this account they assuredly merit the respect and atteo* tion of every serious historian and profound critic. So it ought to be with every man who is interested in th« supremacy of spiritualism in the progress of the human race ; who places the worship of moral beauty above the exclosivo domination of material interests and inelinatiwis. For it muni not be forgotten that, at the basis of all beliefs, even the most puerile, and superstitions the most absurd that have prerailed at any time amongst Christian people, there was always ft formal recognition of supernatural power, a generous declara* tion in favour of the dignity of mau-^flallen indeed— but nol irretrievably. Everywhere and olways there was stamped on tliese popular convictions the victory of mind over matter, of tlu^ invisibip over the visible, of the IniioecMit glory of mao ovir his misfortunii, of the primitive purity of nature over 04 corruption. The most tiH fling ditholio hpnd has gained more hearts to those inmurtti (ruths tlioa alt ine disaorta^ rj m .14.1 IHTRODUCTIOV. tions of philoftophcni. It is always the sentiment of timt i;f\v- rious sympathy between the Creator and the crcaturif, l»c- Iwoen heaven ind earth, which beams upon us througli tite mists of »ges ; but whilst pagan antiquity sta^nmered out this idea, giving its gods all the vices of humanity, Christian ngos here pri)claimed it, elevatinj; humanity and the world regene- rated by faith, to the very height of heaven. In the ages of which we speak, such apology as these would have been superfluous. No one in Christ .,1 society doubted the tcuth and the ineffable sweetness of these pions traditions. Men lived in a sort of tender and intimate famili- arity with those amongst their fathers whom God had mani- festly called to himself, and whose sanctity the Church had proclaimed. That Church, who had placed them on her altars, certainly could not blame her children if they tltronged, with indefatigable tenderness, to lay the flowers of their mir^d and their imagination before those witnesses of eternal truth. They had already received the palm of victory ; those who vere still doing battle delighted to congratulate them, and to lenrn from them how to conquer. Ineffable affections, salu- tary coiiiicrtions, were thus formed between the Saints of the Church triumphant and the humble combatants of the Church militant. Each one chose from that glorious company a father — a mother — a friend — under whose protection he walked with greater confidence and security towards the eternal liglit From the king and the pontiff down to the poorest artisan, each had a special thoaglit in heaven ; in the midst of war- fare, in the dangers and sorrows of life, these holy friendships exercised their strengthening and consoling influence. St. Louis, dying beyond the seas for the Cross, fervently invoked the humble shepherdess who was the protectress of his capital. The brave Spaniards, overpowered by the Moors, beheld St, James, their patron, in the midst of their ranks, and, return iog to the charge, speedily turned the scale of victory. The IKTROOVCTIOll •1 kiii'^^lits and nobleo had for their patrons St. Michael and St (icufge ; for their patroncHSoei, St. Catharine and St. Mar* u'iiret ; and if they hap|)ened to die as prisoners and martyn fc the faith, they invoked St. Agues, who had bent lier young and virginal head beneath the axe. The labourer saw in the (Jliurches the image of St. Isidore with his pIou<;h, and of St. Nothbarga, the poor Tyrolesc servant, with her sickle. The (MK)r, in general, — the lowly and tl hard-working, met at every step that gigantic St. Chri' - ' ending under the weight of the child Jesus, and fuui itc model of thai hard life of toil whose harvest i. Qerraany was peculiarly fertile in such pious practice , as we now clearly perceive while studying its pure and artless spirit, so totally void of the sarcasm, the scoffing sneer which blights all poetry — while studying its language, so rich and so expres- sive. It would be an endless task to specify all the inno- tnerable bonds which thus connected heaven and earth ; to ptMietrate into that vast region, where all the affections and all the duties of mortal life were mingled and intertwined with immortal protection ; where souls, even the most neglected and the most solitary, found a world of interest and consola^ tion exempt from all mundano disappointments. Men thu^ exercised themselves in loving in this world those whom they were to love in the other ; they calculated on finding beyond the grave the holy protectors of their infancy, the sweet friends of their childhood, the faithful guardians of their whole existence ; there was but one vast love which united the two lives of man, and which, commenced amid the storms of time, was prolonged throughout the glories of eternity. But all that faith, and all that tender aflfection, which bonnd to heaven the hearts of the men of those times, met and settled down on one supreme image. All these pions traditions, some local, others personal, were eclipsed and en* grossed by those which the entire world told of Mary. Qaeei m ^ ^ ^ x^^ .0^. \^^^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 ItilM 125 i50 *^^" jjjj^^H S^ 1^ |2.0 HIM ■UUb L25 l|!14 11.6 1.1 6" -^ Hiotographic ScMices Corporation «' ^\ S? «^ ^^^^ Vii"^ ;\ 23 WKT MAIN STMfT WEBSTIR.N.Y. USM (716)t72-4S03 '^ Oft iirT«oB0oyfaw. of th« enrth oi well as of heaven, whilst efcfy brow and every bli- cil^ and ikith. Now^ as every one kaows and says; tbey hara disappeared from the maas of society ; the former, eqMoiai}y, has been eompletely eitiipated», not only from pnbKe Jife^ but alao from poetry, from private and domestic life, from> ttie few asylums where the other has remained. It was not witii- ont coDBommate MSX that the atheistic science and impioas philosophy of modern times pronounced their divorce before condemaiag them* to die. When once their holy and sweet aifiance had been broken up, those two celestial sisters could only meet in some few obsciira sonli^ amongst soma soattend gnd oigleeled people; ud Uws tkty wiUoad iapArtlilj to d«atli. It is uDneeim!:,r7 to ny, bowefw, that this dtolh wm onlj apptrent — only exile. They kept in the beeoM of the imperishable Cbarch, the cratie whence tbey weat forth to people aad decorate the werU. All nea may find them there ; all men nay likewise trace their coarse by the iia- mortal relicB which they scattered as they went^ and which Dooe hare yet succeeded in annihilating. Their number is so great, their besnty so striking, that one might be tempted to believe that God had designedly permitted all the elterior charms of Catholicity to fall a moment into obliyion, so ai that those who remained feithfal to it throogh all the proba- tions of modem times might have the ineffable happiaess of finding them ont and revealing them anew. There, then, lies a whole world to regain for history and ^try. Even piety will find new treasures in it. Let none reproach us with stirring vBp ashes for ever extinguished, or searching amid hreparable ruins; that which would be trot of human institutions has no application to the sul^ect before as — at least, as Catholics believe—- for, if it be true that the Church is undying, it follows that nothing that her hand has ODce touched, her breath inspired, can die for ever. It suffices that she has deposited there a germ of her own principle^ a ray of the fadeless and immutable beauty which she received with her lifSfc. If it has once been so, it is in vain that the elottds darken around, that the snows of winter are heaped above it ; it is always time to dig ont the root, to shake off lome modem dost, to break asonder some factitious bonds, to repkint it in some genial soil, aad restore to the iower the htoom akid the perfume of former dayrn We should not like to have it inferrw^, from the ideas which we have pat forward, that we are hind admirers o2 the middle •^m^ thiit we ale ki (beni «very tiling admirably 5 1. V I r •8 ISTftOlVOTIOW. •Dfiable tnd irreproachftble, and that, in oor own age, wt consider the nationi wholly incurable. Far be it from ns to waste onr energies in Tain regrets and our sight in useless tears over the grave of generations passed awajr. We know tliat the Son of God died on the cross to save humanity, not for fi?e or six centuries, but for the whole period of the world's existence. We think not that the Word of Qod has failed or that his arm is shortened. The mission of pure man remains the same; the Christian has still his salvation to work out, and his neighbour to serve. We regret not, then — though we admire them — any of the human institutions which have perished according to the lot of human things, but we do bitterly regret the soul, the divine breath whereby they were animated, and which has departed firom those that have replaced them. We preach not, then, either the barren con- temptation of the past, or a contempt for and base desettion of the present. Once more we repeat, far be such a thought from our minds. But as the exile, banished from his native land for having remained faithfbl to the eternal laws, sends many a loving thought back to those who have loved him, and who await his return to his native land ; as the soldier fighting on distant shores is inflamed at the recital of the victories gained there by bis fathers ; so it is permitted us, whom our faith renders as exiles amid modem society, to raise our hearts and eyes towards the blessed inhabitants of our heavenly home, and, humble soldiers as we are of the cause which has glorified them, to gather courage also firom the remembrance of their ftmggles and their victories. We know but too well what crimes and sufferings and eomplaints there were in the ages which we have studied ; as there always were, and always shall be, so long as the earth k peopled with fallen and sinfbl men. But we think that be- tween the evils of those ages and those of our own times then are two ineatenlable dUfereiicei. In the first place, the energy ffVTftODirOTIOW. of erfl waf eferjwhere met bj an energy of good which seemed to iucreaie bj being provoked to the combat, and by which ft was incessantly and manifeatly overcome. Thia glorioas re- sistance had its origin in the force of convictions which were rrcognised in their inflaence over the entire life ; to say thai this force has not diminished according ai faith and religions practice have departed fh>m sonls, wonld assuredly be In con- tradiction to the experience of history and the world's memory We are far from dispnting the splendid progress that is made under certain relations, but we will say with an eloquent writer of the present time, whose own words will acquit him of any partiality for by-gone ages : " Morality is, undoubt- edly, more enlightened in these days ; bat is it stronger ? Where is the heart that does not thrill with delight, seeing the triumph of equality ?♦♦*♦! only fear that in talcing so just a view of his rights, man may have lost some- what of the sense of his duties. It is truly painful to seo that, in this progress of all things, moral foice has not in- creased." Those evils from which the world then suffered and of which it justly complained, were all physical, all material Person, property, bodily freedom, were exposed, outraged, trampled on more than they'now are, in certain countries ; this we are free to admit. But then the soul, the conbuience, the heart, were sound, pure, untainted, freb trim that fright- ful inward disease by which they are now gnawvd. Each one knew what he had to believe, what he might learn, what ne was to think of all those problems of human life and human destiny, which are now so many sources of torment for the souls whom they huve again succeeded in paganising. Misfortune, poverty, oppression, which are now no more extirpated than they formerly were, stood not up before the man of thosa times as a dread fatality of which he was the innocent victim. He sufiTered from them, but he understood them : he might 1^ }icm. be oTtnrbeliDed bj tbem, but be nerer deepi^'ted ; for •till romalned to bim, and man coald laterrkpi none of tbe mcaiiB of comnnnicatioo between the prison of his body aad the home of bis soul. There was a sound and robust ntoral health which nentraiiied all the diseases of the social body, opposiug to them an all-powerful antidote, — a positife, a oni* versal, a perpetual consolation— faith. That foith which had penetrated the world, wbioh dahued all men without excep- tion, which had infused itself into all the pores of societj like a beneficent sap, offering to all infirmities a simple and a9 effectual remedj, the same for all, within reach of all, ande^ flood by all, accepted by alL Now, the evil is still there ; it Is not only presert, bat known, studied, analysed with extreme care ; its dissection would be perfect, its autopsy exact ; bat where are the reme- dies to prevent that vast body from becoming a corpse ? Its new leeches have spent lour hundred years in drying it up, in tucking out that divine and salutary sap which conatitnted its life. What substitute are they going to give ? It is now time to judge of the course which they have led humanity to pursue. Christian nations have allowed their mother to be dethroned ; those tender and powerful hands which bad a awocd ever ready to avenge their wrongs^ s balm to heal all their wounds, they havd seen loaded with chains ; the wreath of flowers has been Ux-n from her brow, and soaked in the acid of tmsom till every leaf fell off, withered and lost Philosophy, deq^iotism and anarehy led her captive before men loading her with insult axid contumely ; then they ehut her up in a dungeon which thoy called hor tomb, and »t its door all three keipt watch^ And yet she has left in the world a void which nothing av^r can fill; not only is it that idl faithful hearts deplore ber misfortunes; that every sopl that is not yet contaminated ^h$ ftf^r a pqrer «ir tj^ t^t pf th^ world which her i|^ ivrmouuvtioVf im MDM Ui BMdt pestiferooi ; tliat aII thoM who b«f e not yel Lost tht Motimciii of their dignity aad of thtir immorUU on* gin demand to be brooght bttck to her fold ; bat, abof e all, thoee aflUoted ■oaU, who leek eferjrwhere, bat In ?ain, a remedy for their aorrowi, an explanation of their dreary lo^ who find nowhere anght aa? e the empty and moaraful pUot of ancient faith, theie who will not and cannot be consoled, Well 1 wa firmly beliefe that a day will come when ho- manity will aeek to emerge from the deaert which haa been made aroond her; she will ask for the songs that soothed her childhood, she will sigh to breathe again the perfumes of her yoath, to moisten her parched lips at her mother's breast, and to taste once more before she dies that pure, fresh milk which nourished her infancy. And the gates of thart mother's prison shall be broken by the shook of so many soflering souls ; and she will go forth fairer, stronger, more benign than ever. 8he will no longer wear the fresh and simple beanty of her early years, when she had just escaped from the first bloody persecutions ; hers will then be the grave and majestic loveli* ness of the strong woman, who has read over the histories of martyrs and confessors, and added thereto her own page, la h(T eyes shall be seen the traces of tears, and on her brow the dc>ep farrows made by sniEering ; die will only appear more worthy the homage and adoratkm of those who have soifered like herselt She will resome her new and glorioos coarse, the end wliereof is only known to Qod ; bat while awaiting the time when the world will again solicit her to preside over its af- fairs, her faithful children know that they can every day receive from her infinite help and consolation. Hence it is that they — the children of light— need not fear what a faitV less world calls her decay ; amidst the darkness which thai world gathers around them, they will neither be daaded Mf IM IVTBODVOTIOV. !od utnj by Mj of the Mm meteon of tlie glooiiij nlgbt Culm and confident, they reoiain with their eyes fixed ii ptfHulfaft hope on that etenul Eut which nerer ceaaee to •kine for them, and where generations, leated in the shadow of death, shall also one day behold the only tme and lacrcd Bon ready to orerpower with hli triumphant iplendoar the ingratitude of men. In conclasion, far be it from na to attempt iof?ing what is csHed " the problem of the age,* or gfving a key to all the conflicting intelligence of oor days. Our ideas are not so am- bttioos. We are rather of opinion that all sach presnmptaoni projects are stmck with radical sterility. All the vast and most progpressiye systems which human wisdom has brought forth, as substitutes for religion, have never succeeded in Interesting any but the learned, the ambitious, or, at most, the prosperous and happy. But the great majority of man- kind can nerer come under these categories. The great ma- jority of men are suiTcring, and suffering from moral as well as physical evils. Man's first bread is g^ef, and his first want is consolation. Now, which of these systems has ever consoled an afBicted heart or re-peopled a lonely one ? Which of their teachers has ever shown men how to wipe away a tear ? Christianity alone has, from the beginning, promised to console man in the sorrows incidental to life, by purifying the inclinations of his heart; and she alone has kept her promise. Thus, let us bear in mind that, before we think of replacing her, we should commence by clearing the earth of pain and sorrow. . Such are the thoughts which animated us while writing the life of Elizabeth of Hungary, who loved much and suf- fered much, but whose affections were all purified by religion, and her sufferings all consoled. We offer to our brethren b the faith a book differing in its subject and in its form from the spirit of the age in which we live. But simplicity, h nmli IVTBODUOTIOV. lot itjr and charit/, whose wooden we are abooi to relate, art, liku the God who inipirca them, abofe all timet and placet. We oiil/ ask that thia work may bear to some simple or tor* rowful souls a reflection of the sweet emotiont wnlch we baft enjoyed while writing itl May it Mccud to the Ettmtl Throne as an hamble and timid spark from that did Ctlfcoll flame which it not yet extinct in all hcartt I Mat In, ISIt, \ .S'te' ST. ELIZABETH, OF HUNGART, ^ LDXT0HSS3 OF THXTRINQIA OHAPTBR L now DUKB HXRMAVIT REfCRnO) Hff THUROrOIibi HID KIKO AHDRI W n nuNOABY, AND HOW THB DEAB 8T. BLIZABBtB WAS BOB» At PRBSBOOBa, AHD WAS BBOUVBT TO BBBMACft Qaaal itelk nutiitlM In medio iwbnia.— Sedat. L i '* Etlttfteth tat fln« d'ang nobto roy, et tat aobto da Hgnaga; mats alia Ait flm noble par fey at rallgloii; at m traa noble Ngna* alia I'annoblit par azampla; ala I'dsdairohtt per mirado; aUa rambaUtt par grao* da aaiatiti.**— «/iHM Xav^f^ Amu* de Ifaimvi, L xItI. Amongst the princes who reigned in Germany at the com- niencement of the thirteenth isentnry, there was not one more powerfd or more renowned than Hermann, Lan<%raTe^ er Duke of Tharingi% and Cooat Pidatino of Saxony. The courage and talents which be hod inherited with the possea- Bions of hit illastriona father, Lonis Le Ferr6, one of the most remarkable prhncea of the middle ages — {he special pr»* tcctlon of Pope Innocent III. — ^hii near relationship to the emperor Frederic Barbarossa, whose nephew ha wa&^hm trieudahip with king Ottooar of Bohemia, and the hoasei of Saxoaji Ba^ariai and Aoatria— tha poiition of hie faat 10« tiri OF 0T. KLXZABXTB, estates in the centre of Germany, extending from the Lah« to the Elbe — all combined to confer on bim considerable political importance. Though he was not one of the seven electors of the Holy Roman empire, it was nevertheless his influence which deter- mined their choice, and his alliance was decisive of the suc- cess of any pretender to the imperial crowu. He was thus more than once the arbiter of the destiny of the empire. '* When a king is found wanting in the proper exercise of his power, or is known to exceed its limits," says a contemporary poet, " the Lord of Thurlngia takes away his crown, and gives it to whom he wills." It was principally to this inflo- euce that the celebrated emperor Frederic II. owed his election in tiie year 1211. It was not alone the power of Hermann that attracted to him the respect of all Germany ; he was still more distin- guished for his boundless generosity, learning, and piety. He never retired to rest withont having heard or read a lesson from the Holy Scriptures. In his youth he had studied at Paris, which was then the sanctuary of all learning, sacred and profane ; he had au arlent love of poetry ; during his reign he collected carefully the heroic poems of the ancient Germans, and employed a number of writers to transcribe the songs of the old masters. Living at the epoch in which Catholic and chivalroas poetry shed its purest ray on Germany, he comprehended all its immortal beauty, though he could not, like the emperrT Henry YI. and a number of the princes and nobles of his time, take his place amongst the bards of love (Minnesinger) and hear, like them, his verses chaunted in the baron's hall and peasant's hut ; yet none of them coold surpass him ic admiration of the gai savoir, or in mnnificence and affection towards all poets ; they composed his society, and were the ol^iects of his most tender soUcitnde. His court we« a home OF aUHOART. 101 U) cTery child of song, and to the end of his itormy life he prescrTed this >rcdilccti n of his early years. His glory and his virtues h ^ been well commemorated, for his name ii mentioned iu the " Titurel," the " Parci/oi;' and in all the most popular monuments of national poetry. Thus Walthcr Vcn der Yogelweide, the greatest poet of that period, hai Ruid of him, " Other princes are most clement, but none is so (renerous as he. He was so, and is still. Ko one suffers from 'lis caprice. The flower of Thnringia blooms in the midst of the snow; the summer and the winter of its glory are as mild and beautiful as was its spring.'' It happened in the year 1206, that Duke Hermann being nt his Castle of Wartbourg, situated on a height above the town of Eisenach, assembled at his court six of the most rmowned poets of Germany, viz : Hernrich Schrieber, Wal- ther Von der Vogelweide, Wolfram D'Eschenback, Reinhart de Zwetzen, all four knights of ancient lineage ; Bitterolf, comptroller of the household, and Heinrich D'Ofterdingen, A simple burgess of Eisenach. A violent rivalry was soon declared between the five poets of noble birth, and the poof Heinrich, who was at least their equal in talent and popu- Inrity. Tradition accuses them of having sought his life, and relates that one day the five rushed upon him, and would hare killed him, but that he escaped, and took refuge with the Duchess Sophia, who hid him under the folds of her mantle. When this occurred the duke was engaged in hunting. To put an end to their differences, they agreed to meet iH a public and final combat before the Duke and his court; they also required the presence of the executioner, rope in hand, ind he was to hang, during the sitting of the assembly, him V hose verses should be declared inferior to those of his rivals, lius showing that in their eyes glory and life were insepa* a))le. The Duke consented, and pre ided himself at this olemn strife, the fame whereof was spread throoghout Ger Mi IXVI OV IT. BIICABBTH, Banj, and at which asBembled a crowd of knights and nobles. The combatants sang by tnrns, and in the most Tailed forms, the ealogiums of their fayoarite princes — the great mysteries of religion — the mysterions marriage of the soul with the body at the resurrection— -the inezhaostible clemency of God — the efficacy of repentance— the empire of the cross — and, above all, the glories of Mary, the beloved of God, more beantiful than mercy, more brilliant than the san. These songs, preserved by the aadience, are still extant, nuder the title of " The War of Wartbourg." This collection forms at the present day one of the most important monuments of Germanic literature, being at once a treasury of ancient and popular traditions, and serving to show what an influence poetry exercised on the society, learn- ing, and faith of that age. It was impossible to decide the merits of the rival minstrels, and it was agreed that Heinrich D'Ofterdingen should set out for Transylvania, there to seek the renowned master, Kling- sohr, so celebrated for his knowledge of the seven liberal arts, and for his proficiency in astronomy and necromancy ; tradition says that even spirits were forced to obey him, and, to secure his great services, the king of Hungary granted him a pension of 3,000 marks of silver. A delay of one year Was granted to Heinrich to perform this journey, and at the appointed day he returned to Eisenach, accompanied by Klingsohr. Whilst all the chivalry of Germany Were engaged in debating on the merits of this combat, the fame of which was to descend to posterity, the Lord, always careful of the glory of his elect, ordained that it should surround with a halo of poesy and popular glory the cradle of one of His most humble Mrvants. KiiiigBoltf being anrived at Eiseiacb, sojourned at Urn OF BVVOAtr. 109 mrned at tlw hostel of Heiiiy Hellgref, at the left side of Si CMrgi^ Gate, descended on the evening of his arriTal into the garden of his hosty wherein were seferal of the nobles of He«e and Thnringia, come expressly to Tisit him ; there were there also officers of the Ducal ooart, and a namber of the honest towMiaen of Eisenach, who, according to an ancient and stilt existing costom in Germany, came there to drink the erening cap. These good people surronnded the sage, and asked him to tell them something new ; upon which he began to con* template the stars attentively for a long time. At length ha said to them, " I will tell yon something both new and joyous. I see a beautiful star rising in Hungary, the rays of which extend to Marbourg, and from Marbourg over all tha world. Know even that on this night there is born to my lord, the king of Hungary, a daughter, who shall be named Elizabeth. She shall be given in marriage to ths'son of your prince, she shall become a saint, and her sanctity shall rejoica and console all Christendom.'' The bystanders heard these words with great joy, and next morning the knights returned to Wartbonrg, to tell tha news to the Landgrave, whom they met as he was going to mass. Not wishing to distract his attention, they waited until after the celebration of the holy sacrifiee, and then they related to him all that had occurred on the previous evening. It was a matter of surprise to the prince, and to the whola court, and, calling for his horse, the Landgrave went with a numerous escort to visit Klingsohr, and to entreat hha to return with him to Wartbonrg. Thera he Waa treated with the highest honour, and tho "priests paid him the sama reverence that they wonid to a bishop,'' says a contemporary writer.. The Landgrave made him dine at the royal table, and after the repast they conversed for a long time. Hermann, whose paternal soixiety was already awakened, asked him aaay 10 LIFR OF ST. BLfSABITR, qoeftioM relative to the affairM of Hongary, whether the kicg was engaged ia many undertakings, whether he was at peace with the infidels, or whether the war iiad re-oommonoed, Klingsohr satisfied his cnrioaity by entering into all these details ; after which he engaged himself in the great cause which had brought him to Eisenach. He presided at the new contest of the poets, and succeeded in allaying the hatred which tlie noble rivals entertained against Heinrieh, and made them publicly recognise his merit. He then returned to Hungary as he came, and that was, according to popular tradition, in a single night. Now, Hungary was governed by king Andrew II., whose reign was agreeable to God and to the people. Illustrious by his wars against the pagan nations that surrounded his dominions, he was still more so by his earnest piety and generosity to the Church and to the poor. Some of the vast gold mines which still enrich Hungary were discovered during his reign, and his faithful people saw in that circumstance a reward granted by God on account of his many virtues. The miners came one day to relate to the king that as they dug into the side of a mountain they heard a voice desiring them to proceed courageously, for that it contained a vast amount of gold, destined by the Almighty as a recompense for An- drew's virtues. The king rejoiced at this mark of the Divine fav . .7, and profited of it to build churches, found convents, and to increase his alms to the poor. Andrew's queen was Gertrude of Merania, or Andechs one of the most illnstrions houses of the empire in the thir teenth century. She was a descendant in a direct line from Charlemagne, and possessed the most beautiful prorinces in the south of Germany. Gertrude's father, Berchtold III,, was Duke of Merania and Carinthia, margrave of Istria, and sovereign of the Tyrol Her brother, Berchtold lY., in 1198 itfaied the imperial crown, which was tendered ananimoosiy Of ■uvoAmr. in bj the electing princee. One of her sisters, afterwordi canonised, was Hedwige, dachess of Silesia and Poland ; another, Agnes, so celebrated for her l)eantj and misfortnnes, was wife to Philip Aagnstns, king of France. Gertmdo eqnalled her husband in piety ; historians speak of her coarage, and her mascalinc soul. The most tender loTO united this noble couple. In the year 1207, on the day and at the hour announced by Rlingsohr at Eisenach, Queen Gertrude being then at Presburg, gave birth to a daughter, who at the font received the name of Elizabeth. The cere- monies of her baptism were conducted with great magniii- ccnce ; the royal babe was carried to the church under a canopy of the richest stuffs that could be procured at Boda» which was then one of the principal marts of Oriental luxury. From the cradle, this child gave proo& of the sublime destiny for which God reserved her. The names consecrated by religion were the first sounds that attracted her attention, and the first words uttered by her infant lips. She paid a wonderful attention to the rudiments of faith ; already an interior light aided her to comprehend these holy truths. At the ag^ of three years, according to the historian, she expressed her compassion for the poor, and sought to alleviate their misery by gifts. The virtues of her future life were thus prefigured in her infancy ; her first act was an alms* deed, her first word a prayer. Immediately after her birth, the wars in which Hungary was engaged, ceased — the interior dissensions of the kingdom were calmed down. This tran- quillity soon penetrated from pnblic into private life. Tiola* tioDS of the law of God, curses, and blasphemies, became less frequent, and Andrew saw fulfilled all the desires that a Christian king could form Simple and pious souls remarked (he coincidence of this sudden peace and prosperity with the birth of the child, whose piety was so precocious ; and when afkenrards they saw so brilliantly realised the promised IIS Liri.ef IT. aLiM'STH, 1 Tivtuet of h«r early yean, the Hanfatians levMl |e my, t|«l ii»f er did royal infaat bring M oiany biettings to her country. Meanwhiio, Duke Hermaoft left uo means untned to fiqd out it the predictions of Klingsokr had ooiue to pass, #M whether a princess was bom in Hiuigary on the day be knf* told. And when he learned, not only her birth, but stHl more the marks of devotion she already efineed, and the happiness that she seemed to have brougbt from heaven to her country, he conceiTed the most ardent desire to see the prediction entirely afXKNnpUshed, and his young son espoused to SIHzabeth. The travellers that arrived, fhm time to time, from Hub* gary, which was then scarcely more isolated than it is at present from the rest of Europe, often brought him sonw •oconnt of the daughter of king Andrew. One day parti- enlarly, a monk who came from Hungary related to the Dnkt that, having been blind from the age of fdur years, he wafi suddenly cured by the touch of the young princess. " AH Hungary,^ said he, " rejoices in this child, for she has broughi peace with her.** This was sufllciefit to decide Hennanu to send an embassy composed of lords and noble ladies, to the king of Hungary, to demand aS him, in the name of the young Louis, the hand of Elisabeth, and, if possible, to bring her with them to Thuringia. He selected for this mission Ooont Reinhard de Mulhbcrg, Oauthier de YarOa, bis cup-bearer, and the Lady Bertha, widow of Egilolf de BeindelibaD, who was, accord ing tp the Gbroniclers, famed for her wisdom and modesty, besides being beautiful, pious, and honourable m all thin^i. She had, as companions, two noble and beauteous raudeni^ aud two esc^uires. The ambassadors had at least thirty horses in their train. Along their route, they were received by the princes and prelates tibrongh whose estates they passed, with the disHnelioii die to their faah and tbot of thek Loid 0^ «nii«A»v. lU Happily «rrif ftd at Pratborg, Ui«j w«i6 •BtortatMd widi royal hoapitalityt and ft gfet^ numW of llama war* oflEarad ip on tha moniiog aftar Uiair aoUranoa to that oity. Wban tbaj opooed W Ung Andra«r tha objeat aC thalr misaioD, ba apaemUail bia epuocU lo dabbarala an tba damaiMi of tbe Dako of Thutfingia. Elingsobr upheld it Warmly, and in a diaoouna wbiob aervet aa a pietve of ThnriBgia at tbat period, he abowed forth the richea and power of Hermann; ba ennmerated tba twelve Connta, who ware bi» vaaaala, not to apeak of knigbfi and barona; ba praiaed hia fertile and well-cnitivated coon- try; be also told of ha fine foreata and well-stored fiah- |X)nd8, and how oomfertable the people were, "drinking Btrong beer, and eating good white bread.** He llien enkv gised the personal character of the Duke, and added, thai the yonng L^nia appeared to him to posaess all the good qualities that eonld be expected at his age. Queen Gertrude also approved of the Teqoest of Hermann, and Andrew, yielding to her influence^ agreed to part with hia beloyed child. But before he would permit her to aet out, ba wished to celebrate a feast in her honour, and having a^ sembled all the noblea and their ladies, he ordered brilliant re* joicings. The games, dances, music, and the songs of the min- strels, lasted three days, after which the Thuringian anibassadoia took leave of the king. The attendants brought with them tba littlo Elizabeth, tbcQ aj^d four years, and, covering her with a silken robe embroidered with gold, laid her in a cradle of mM* live silver, and tbns gave her into the care of the ThuringianSi Hie king said to the Lord de Yarila — ^ I confide to thy knightly honour my sweetest, consolation.'' The Q^een, alao, came weeping and, racommeoding her child to bis^ care. Tba knight answ^d tbeoi tbna — *^I will willingly take ohargt of her, and 9^^ alwaya ba bar f^/tiiiak aarvaot*' Ha kepi IM &IFI Of ST. ILIIABITK, I * I' * f hfe word, as w« tball henwhn mo. Before learing Pre» burg, the ambaieadors reoeiTed from the king and ^een presents of immense ralne, tome for themselres, and some to be carried to Duke Hermann, as the dower of the princena OoDtemporary narratiTea enamerate in detail these presents, faying, that never were seen in Thoringia things io precioas and beantifuL Hence we may oonclnde, that this marriage serred to in* trodaoe into Germany a new defelopment of the Inznry of the East, which, at so distant a period, mnst have been of importance in the history of Germanic art and industry. Queen Gertrude added to these gifts a thousand marlis of silver, and promised that, if she lived, she would double the imn from her privy purse. The ambassadors at last set out. They had conie witli two carriages, and returned with thirteen, so greatly had their baggage increased. King Andrew confided to them thirteen noble Hungarian maidens, as companions to his daughter, all of whom Duke Hermann dowered and mar- ried in Thuringia. The journey homeward was performed without delay ; as soon as Duke Hermann and the Duchess Sophia received news of their approach, and of the success of their mission, they knelt and blessed God for having listened to their prayers. Then they descended from Wart* bourg to Eisenach, in order to receive their ambassadors, whom God had so well guided. If we are to believe one of the official chroniclers of the eourt, the joy of having received the young princess almost let their senses astray. The whole party entered the Hostel of Hellgref, where Elingsohr had made the prediction, and which was then the best in the town. There the Landgrave took the little Elizabeth in his arms, and, pressing her to hii bosom, thanked God for h&ving granted her to him. He then returned to Wartbourg to prepare for her recep .a 115 tlon, bnt the DucbeM remained all night with the child The next morning, she conducted her to the castle, where the Dnke hnd assembled all his court, and to which a nnmber of the citizens of Eisenach and their wives were inrited, to set the ehild that Qod and the king of Hungary had sent them. The princess, aged fonr years, was solemnly affianced to the Doke Loais, who was then elcTen ; and, according to custom, they were laid side by side ib one bed. Then there wore, as at Presburg, snmptncns banquets and festivals, at which poetry, the principal magnificence of the court of Thnrin^'a, shone with its accustomed brilliancy. Dating from this time, Elizabeth never left him who waa to be her husband, and whom she then called her brother. A touching and salutary custom existed in Catholic ages and families — to bring up together those whose after lives were destined to be united ; a blessed inspiration, which mingled in the mind of man the pure name of sister with the sacred name of wife, 80 that none of the young heart's fireshness was lost, hat the fond and yarying emotions of brotherhood served to prepare for the grave and arduous duties of marriage. Thus, all that was ardent and impetuous in the soul was calmed down and sanctified ; thus the purest and closest relations of life were from childhodH joined in an earnest and only love, providing for after years the reiMmbrsooe of the iweetMl and moat holy tMecUom, tte LIfl Of fT. BLtlABITB« CHAPTER U tn 0IAB Mnrr baa: ■oNouBiv ooD ni I* •*Clni| MM ftvalt d*««« dr«H Mnto TMMaos !• DWv •ImAa^ Li an* !• Bol d'HMifri*. Qiunt • btMi ftilra ooaumtnaa.** " i?tff«6«Hr if'&t ^Iftt J»r* TM^ In the bosom of the feniHj from which Providence thni •eparated the little Eliiabeth^ two cameB contributed to de velop in her lotil those Tirttet that were recognised in her even from the cradle. She had, in the first place, an illus* trioos example of the union of all Christian virtues with sovereign nu^esty, in the person of her maternal aunt, Hed* wige^ Duchess of rolsnd, who in after years merited the veneration of the faithful^ and whose austere and fervent piety contrilmted even then to the glory of her family, and waa A sabject of edification' which Eliifttbeth well know how to andentand and to imitate. But, besides the infinence of thfc exampiO, God permitted that unforeseen misfortune shooftl throw a shade of sadness over her youth, and teach her thus early the frailty of earthly grandeur. Two years after she had been brought from Hungary io Tiiri ingia, her mother, Queen Gertrude, suffered a moe' < ;ji i^ath, huving been assassinated by the subjects of her husband. The cause of her death is uncertain ; according to some, she was immo> lated by the sovereign of Croatia and Dalmatia, who wished tbir. to revenge the honour of his wife, outraged by Berch- icid, b. "f?tir to the queen ; according to others, she sras the or irtftAftr. in rfctim of • plot formed Agatntt the Rfe of iMr hofbtad, and (hat, in order to gire him iime to escape, she doHTered he^ w)f «p to the blows of th() conspirators. Tills fatal news soon rpsrhsd Bliaabeth, and an hiBtorfMur agree in regarding it as one of the principal soarces of th« gr»f r thooght and profound pietj which were manif'^fted in aft her childish actions. < On Rliaibeth*S arriral In Thoringia^ tiie Landgratr ne- terted to bo her companions, seren maidens 01* the most no. io liomes of his dominions, amongst whot, was hi own danghtcf Arnes; all were about the age of th* young princess, and .V ub brought up with her. One of thes( , Quta, who was fi?e yours old, being a year older than Elizabeth, remained in he? seryice until a short time before her death. And when Ood called her to himself, and when the report of her sanctity, noised abroad, attracted the attention of the ecclesiastical authorities, this same Guta, being [«nbllcly intG^ rogated, related the recollections of her chiIdho«Kl. It is to her depositions, carefully preserved and transmitted to the Holy See, that we o^e the knowledge of the del lils we are aboat to g^fe of the occupations of the first ye its of our Elizabeth. From this tender age all her thoughts and feelings seemed to be centred in the desire of senring Ood, and of meriting Iheayen. Whenever au opportunity offered, she went to the I Castle Chapel, and there, lying at the foot of the Altar, she would open before her a large psalter, though as yet she knew not how to read ; then foldhig her little hands, and raising Iter eyes to heaven, she gave herself up with wonde^ |fal recollection to meditation and prayer. At play with her companions, for instance, in hopping ilong, she led so that all were obliged to follow her to the |Chf»|iil, and wheu she found it shut, she wonld fervently- (Ifis til* lock, door, and walls, out of love Ibr the Lord who [resided wltfaio it, concealed under the sacramental veilL 118 Liri OF IT. ILIZABITR, In all her sports, in whioh there were games of chanco ■he was governed by the thought of Qod. She loped tcl gain for Him ; for all her winnings were distribated amongst poor girls, on whom she imposed the duty of reciting a ce^| tain number of "Paters^ and " AvesJ* She continually sought occasions of anion with God ; and I when any obstacle prevented her saying as many prayers or making as many genuflexions as she would wish, she would say to her little companions, " Let us lie upon the ground to measure which of U3 is the tallest." Then stretching her- self successively by the side of each little girl, she would proGt of the moment to humble herself before God, and to repeat an "^yf." When afterwards a wife and mother, she used to take a pleasure in relating these innocent wiles of her childhood. She often conducted her friends to the cemetery, and would say to them, "Remember that one day we shall bo nothing but dust." Then arriving at the charnel house, she would continue thus, "Behold the bones of the dead ; these people were once living as we now are, and are dead as we shall be. For this reason we must love God ; kneel and say with me, Lord, by your cruel death, and by your dear| Mother Mary, deliver these poor souls from their sufferings ! Lord, by your five sacred wounds, grant that we may be I saved." " These," says an old writer, " were her dances and her sports." The children repeated these prayers after her ; and, soon dazzled by the ascendancy which she acquired over them, they would relate that the infant Jesus often came to lier, and saluting her tenderly, would play with her; but she| strictly forbade them to say such things. After her recreation she tried to learn as many prayers as possible. All who would speak to her of God and His holy law became dear to her. She assigned to herself a certain number of prayers to repeat daily, and when hindered from fulftlliug this voluntary obligation, and obliged by her attend- OF BUNOART. lit intfl (o go to bed, sh^ never failed to acquit liene!f of hei devotions whilst tbey thought that she slept Thus, lika David, she ** remembered the Lord upon her couch.^ She already appreciated the value of that pure modesty, which is to be observed by Christian virgins, and always arranged her veil so as that the least possible portion of her infantine fear ^ turcs could only be seen. The boundless charity, which was at a later period iden- tified with her life, already inflamed , her predestined soaU She distributed all the money that she received, or could, on any pretence, obtain from her adopted parents, amongst the poor. She would go into the offices and kitchens of the castle to try and gather remains of victuals, and these ahe used care- fully to carry to starving creatures. This soon awakened against her the displeasure of the officers of the dncal honse. According as she grew np, she increased in virtue and in piety ; she lived more to herself, recollected in the presence of God, who was graciously pleased henceforth to adorn her with His most rare and precious graces. One of the customs existing at this period, was that every princess and maiden of the highest rank should choose, by lot, one from amongst the holy Apostles to be her especial patron. Elizabeth, who had previously chosen the Blessed Virgin for her patroness and especial advocate, had also a veneration, an old manuscript says, a particular friendship, for St John the Evangelist which she entertained on account of the virginal purity of which this holy Apostle was the type. She began to pray earnestly to our Lord, that He wou4d assign to her St. John as her patron ; after which she humbly went with her companions to the election. For this purpose twelve tapers, each being inscribed with the name of an Apostle, were laid npon the Altar, and each postnlant ad* fMced and took the first that chance presented to her. Tht S!l ,l:i ISO Liri Of ftT. iLIIABlTH, taper wliicli bore the naine of Bt. John was taken up %j liH> ■abcth, biit iiot content with tids coincidence with her wiriiei ahe twice renewed the trial, and bad each time the Bame success. Believing herself reeommeoded to the beloved Apostle by a special manifestation of Providence, she felt her devotion towards him increase, and during all her life she faithftdly venerated him ; she never refused anything that was asked of her in St. John^s name, whetht^r it was to pardon an injury or to confer a benefit. Placed under this sacred patronage the pious child found therein a new motive to reader herself wo^ thy of Heaven. She therefore redoubled her efiforts to attain all Christian virtues, and augmented the number of her voluii- tary privations. She never neglected to sanctify the name of the Lord by a great reserve in her words. On Sundays and festivals sha used to lay aside some portion of her jewels, preferring to honour God rather by hnmility of the heart and exterior, thaA by splendour of dress. Outa tells us, that on these occasions she woold not {ml on gloves or laced ruffles, antil after Mass. Every day she sought opportunities of conquering bet ■elf-will in little things, in order to prepare for making greater sacrifices. In her games, when she won, and thai auccess made her quite joyous, she would suddenly stop^ laying, '* Now tliat I have been so fortunate, I will give ap for the love of God.'' She loved dancing, according to tha •niversal custom of the country wherein she was bom, and of that in which she was reared ; but when she had danced sue figure, she would say, " It is enough to give one turn for the world. I will deprive myself of the others, in honour of Jesus Christ.'^ Meanwhile the young Lonis, her betrothed, was contin» ally with her, and she leU girtat pleatore in being near bilk St dt miwknr. HI Hhe called him "Jfy dear Brother;^ and h« was wont to address her thus : "My dear friend — my tweet Sitter." Tbos passed the earlj days of this young girl ; the Lord who reserved her for so pure and so brilliant a destiny, had counted the number of hcor jeafB, and willing soon to summon her to take her place in heaven, He opened to her thus early the treasury of his grace. Her life was destined to be too short for any of those great iaterior roTolatiom which have distinguished the lirei and eoiiTersiona of amam of tbe most illustrious saints. No storm of the heart was to darken the celestial ray that lighted her from the eradle to the tomb t All was to correspond in her Uessed career. She was not the only servant of God, who in early life rendered testineony to His mercy and power ; and certainly there is ftot for Christian eyes a sweeter mghi, than the dawning of those great lights that are destined to iUnauiie 1m*? ea and earth. ft . ' , ;r i isa i f LIFI 07 ff. SLIS41iaV«, CHAPTER lit ■OW Tm DEAR SAINT BUZABKTB HAD TO SUmCB FOR ''BaatM IbMit et Mwiit mlttoatM Mmlin toa.** ** T«lait« atttom vealaat earn aznltattoo* portaatM maalpolw P9. ajEZT. T, 8. Elizabeth had scarcely attained her ninth year when the fiither of her betrothed, the Landgra?e Hermann, died, in 1216. One night he dreamed that skeletons of criminals exposed at the place of execution outside the gates of Eisenach, were suddenly transformed into white-robed virgins ; that these virgins came towards his bed, headed by our Lady and St Catherine, towards whom he felt a particular devotion, and that they addressed him thus : " Thou must upon this spot build us a house, thou art to place therein consecrated virgins, and then, after a little while, we shall take thee to us.'' The Duke faithfully executed this command. He founded in the place indicated to him a convent of nuns under the invocation of St. Catherine, and installed there as first abbess a young widow, Imagina, Duchess of Brabant, and designed this lanctuary for his own burial place, and that of his descendants. After this he died, and was interred as he had ordered. The young Louis, then scarcely sixteen years old, was hla heir, being his eldest son ; the two younger brothers, Henry Raspon and Conrad, each received an appanage, with the title of Count, and shared in the government of part of the dominions of the Landgrave, according to the custom of the house of Thuringia. The death of Hermann was a misfortune to Elizabeth. ThaX illustrioiu and pions prince had continued to love her OF BuvoAmr. 12S on accoont of her precocious piety. He had always treated li'T as his own daughter, and daring bis life no one dared to taterfere in her religions practices. But after his death it was no longer so. Though LouIa, whom she looked upon as her betrothed and her lord, bad occome sovereign of the country, his extreme yontli made tiim in some measure dependent on his mother, the Duchess Bophia, daughter of the celebrated Otto de Wittlesbach, Duke of Bavaria. This princess saw with displeasure Elizabeth's great devotion, and showed her discontent at it. The younjf Agnes, sister of Louis, who was brought up with her futuro sister-in-law, and whose dazzling beanty had rendered he? more liable to be seduced by the vanities of the world, used to reproach her incessantly on her humble and retiring habits. She was wont to tell her plainly that she was only tit to be a waiting-maid or a servant. The other young girls of the court, companions to the two princesses, seeing that every day Elizabeth took less share in their games, dances, and gay and frivolous life, used to repeat what they heard Agnes say, and would openly mock her. Even tk3 most influential officers of the ducal court, forgetful of the respect due to her royal birth, her sex, and extreme youtb, blushed not to pursue her with derision and public insults. AH agreed in saying that in nothing did she resemble a princess. Indeed Elizabeth showed a kind of distaste for the society of the young countesses and noble ladies who bad been appointed as her companix>ns. She preferred that of the humble daughters of some of the citizens of Eisenach, and even that of the girls in her service. Above all, she loved t6 surround herself with the children of the women among whom she distributed her alms. The insults of which she was the object, y^rved to render this society more sweet and dear to her. i^t^ neycr allowed i: i m LIFE O^W CT. »|.II4B1TB, pride, or woonded selMoTe, or 6f«a impatience, Co dwell Ii her heart. Til is first experience of the iDJostice of men, and of tlie miseries of the world, became^ as it were, a new linlc uniting her to Qod. She gathered therefrom new strength to loTe and serve Him. " As the lily among thorns,'' sajs one of her historian^ " the itmocent Elizabeth budded and bloomed in the midst of bitterness, and spread all around ner the sweet and fragrant perfume of patience and humilitjr.'' She gave at this time an example of that humility, whidi all the narrators of her life ha^e carefully preserved. It was the feast of the Assumption, a day on which there were great indulgences in the churches consecrated to the Blessed Vir gin, and on which it was customary with the people to make an offering of the fruits and crops of the year. The Duchess Sophia said to Agnes and Elizabeth, " Let us go down to Eisenach to the church of our dear Lady, to hear the High Mass of the Teutonic knights, who honour her specially; perhaps we may also hear a sermon in her praise. Put on your richest robes and golden crowns.^' The young priii<> cesses, being adorned as she had ordered, descended with her to the eity, and entering the church, knelt on a faldstool before the great crucifix. At the sight of the image of the dying Saviour, Elizabeth took off her crown, and laying it on a bench, prostrated herself, without other ornament on her head than her hair. The duchess seeing her thus, said rudely to her, " What ails you. Lady Elizabeth, what new whim is this, do you wish that every one should laugh at you ? Young ladies should hold themselves erect, and not throw themselves upon the ground like fools or old women. Can you not do as we dcT, instead of behaving like an ill-reared ciiild ? Is your crown too heavy f Why do you remain thus stooped like a peasant T Elisabeth fisiqg, humbly answi^ved \m OV BVKAARt* lift Dother-in-law, " Door ladjr, do not blAme me ; behold befort my eyes mj God and mj King, the sweet and merdfhl Jeana, crowned with ■h«rp thorns, and can I, who am bat a rile creature, remain before him wearing pearls, gold, and jewels? My coronet would be a mockery of His thorny wreath!" And she began to weep bitterly, for ahready the lofe of Christ had' woniided her tender heart. She tlien knelt humbly as before, leaving Sophia and Agnes to speak mneb UK they pleased, and continued to pray with such fervour that, having placed a fold of her mantle before her eyes, it became saturated with her tears. The other two princesses, in order to avoid a contrast so disadvantageous to them ill the eyes of the people, were obliged to imitate her, and to draw their veils over their faces, " which it would havo been much more pleafiing to them not to do/^ adds the chro* nicler. Such traits served but to iacreast the hatred with which profaue souls were inflamed against her. According as sha grew up this feeling seemed to be propagated more and more, aiul when she had attained a marriageable age, there was a general explosion of persecutions and insults against her, throoghout the whole court of Thuringia. The relatives of the Landgrave, his oouncillors and principal vassals, all do- clured themselves averse to such an union. They clamoured loudly and said that she should be seat back to her father, >uid restore her troth-plight. That such a BtguiM was noib fit for their prince— that he should have a spouse, noble, rich. Well-connected, and of truly ro}al manners— that he would do much better to marry the daughter of a neighbouring prince who could give him help in his need. Whereas Eliza- )jL til's father lived too far away fcT that, or even to revengt llie insults ofl^ed to his daqghter if he felt them, and further- more that he seemed to have forgotten her akeady, and had iot sent Ui^ ^qwMlider of the iowry promised by ber mothif [:i ia« LIFB Of ST. ■LIIABITR, The intimate companioni of the young duke seized every 9/ portaiiity of iudaciag him to gire ap Eiisabetb, and to send her back to Hangary, becaoae she was too timid and reserved. The Dachess-mother used every effort to oblige Eiizabctli tc take the veil in some convent. Agnes assailed her with contempt and insult — she incessantly told her that she had mistaken her vocation in not becoming a servant. "My Lady Elizabeth," said she to her one day, " if you imagine that our lord, my brother, virill marry you, you mistake very much ; or if he doea. you must become quite a dififerent per- son from what you wow are.'' Such was the treatment which she had to endure every day — she deeply felt the unbappioess oT her position — there was she, still a child and already with- «Mro«. t. M, ML 4ns Mttlmt The jnst God who had received the prayers and tears of his child, Elizabeth, did not delay to reward her submission and patience. Alone in the midst of his court, the yoang Duke Louis was not prejudiced against her, and, deceiving the hopes and wishes of all, he remained faithful to her who from his child- hood he had regarded as his bride. His love for her iucreaoed every day, and though, probably out of regard for his mother, he did not think proper to manif st it publicly, nevertheless, this pare and holy affectioii was de* ply planted in his heart. On this point he was as deaf tc the exhortations and sar- casms of his mother, as to the counsels of his false friends niA the voice of his passions. He regarded with joy and admira- tion what attracted to Elizabeth the insults of the world,— her extreme modesty, the absence of all pomp in her dress, her piety, charity, — and he thought ho^/ happy he would feel in learning from her these virtues. Hi chaplain, Berchtold, who has written his life, doubted not but that God, by a secret inspiration, turned his heart towards the royal exile. For it was not only as the woman who was to be his wife, with a human or conjugal love, that he regarded her, but ua a sister in tfesus Christ, with an affect! n that seemed to ha^e been instilled into his heart by the baud of the Most High. The more the wicked surroonded him with perfidious cou» OV UVMQktLti II lolfl, the more did he feel his soal penetrated with ^ ielrt^ aiiil tenderncM for this iuooccnt struiiger; according us ht Raw her hated by others on account of iier ?irtoc8, the greaUT iK>(e8.sit7 did he feel for loving and defending iicr. Loaia proiited of every opportunity, when, witliont offending hla mother, he could go secretly to console Elizabeth in her m<^ inriits of sadness. In this solitude, without ^thcr witness thai; Qod, who had already blessed their ho!y nnion, they 8|)oke of their secret and mutual love, and the prince sought by tender and encouraging words to heal the wounds which otlicrs infllcied on this young soul. Thus she experienced from these meetings unspeakable consolatioa. Whenever Louis went on distant hunting parties, or when he passed through trading cities, he used to purchase some article that Appeared to him rare and precious, to present to his betrothed. Never did he return empty-handed ; he used to bring either a rosary of coral, a little crucifix, a pious picture, or a knife, a purse, gloves, brooches, golden chains, or pins, or something that he knew she had not before. At his return she used joyously to salute him ; he would tenderly embrace her, and present i;er with whatever he had brought, as a love-gift, and a sign that be had thought of her during his absence. On one occasion, when the Duke was accompanied to the chase by several strange lords, who did not leave him until his return, he omitted to bring the accustomed present to Elizabeth. The princess, rendered distrustful by persecution and injustice, felt this forgetfulness deeply ; it was remarked by her enemies with joy, and tliey boasted of it as a symptom of a change in Louis's feelings. Having met Lord Gaultier •le Varila, the great cup-bearer, who had bronght her from Hungary, to whose care her father had specially confided her, and who fought for her, to the best of his power, against the intrigues of the other courtiers, Elizabeth confided her grief to this old friend The good knight sympathised in liti r i\ ISO tin OF IT. ILTIABITH, afllictioii, on«l proroiiicd to njpotk of it to his lord. He ioos had an ojtporiunity, for Louia took liim on a hantin)^ P<^rtf in the noigbt)ourhood of Wartbourf^. As they rfA'lined to- gether on tho f^raHfl in a certain wood, whence cun iw aeen ill the foreground Inacllierg, the hi)?heat mountain of Tiiuriuf^iii, I Duke havir«f( ai coinitlifilied hU eighteenth year, wan, with «itvcral youn^ rortis, nniied as a koi^ht, in the Church of Rt. Qeor^ at Ki1ice in a crime which I may be called upon to judge and )unish every day." So rare and courageous a virtue could }iave for its foundation only an active and practical faith in ill the duties imposed by the Church. Every day the holy mysteries were celebrated in his pres- ence, and he assisted at them with exemplary devotion. Tie tis a zealous defender of the rights of the Church and ths ri ■ ■ ■ ■ 1 130 Liri OF 8T. XLIZABSTfl, ' f monasteries, but he well knew how to distinguish between these rights and the personal interests of some prelates, aa we have seen by his war against the Archbishop of Mayence. But when the brutal injustice and avidity of some '^f his lay vassals troubled the peaceful and benevolent lives of tlie ministers of the Lord, he mounted horse, and went with lance in hand to fight for the cause of God and the poor people. The society iu which he took most pleasure was that of religions men, and the usual termination of his rides in the time of peace was the Benedictine Abbey of Keinhartsbrunn, where he had chosen his burial place. His first visit on arriving there was to the guest-house for the poor and pilgrims, which was an essential part of every monastery. He tried to console the sick and infirm by his presence and gentle words, and always left them, as alms, part of his rich costume, or some other present. When returned to his castle, he endeavoured to endure some of the privations of which he saw the example in the religious life. Through a spirit of penance he never eat salted or spiced meats- -this contrasted strongly with the existing customs of the German princes- be never drank beer, and used wine only when he was ill. This simple and constant fidelity to the most rigorous duties of a Christian life served to exhibit more brilliantly the qualities of a true knight, and of a wise and amiable prince. No sovereign of bis time surpassed him in courage, nor •▼en in physical strength and agility iu the exercises of the body. He displayed this couiage on an occasion which the! historians have carefully commemorated. The emperor made bim a present of a lion, and one morning the duke, lightly clad, and entirely without armour, was walking in the court* vard ; he saw the lion, who had escaped from his den, running lowtuxls him roaring. Without being at all f ightenad, hi 07 HUNOART. 1J81 ftood firmly, clenched his hands, and menaced him with his voice, trusting in God. The lion came immediately waging hi3 tail, and. lay at his feet. A sentinel who was on the rAmpirts, attracted by the roaring of the lion, perceived the danper of his master, and called for help. The lion allowed liimself to be chained without any resistance, and many porsons saw in this power exercised over ferocious animals an ( vidciit pledge of celestial favour, merited by the piety of the )>riiice, and the sanctity of the young Elizabeth. To this courage, of which, in the continuation erf this history, we will find many other proofs, he joined in a high degree that noble conit<»sy which St. Francis of Assisium, his snblime contem porary, named "The Sister of Charity. ^^ He bore towards hll women a respect full of modesty. He was to every one, and particularly to his inferiors, unchangeably benevolent and affable. He loved to give pleasure to others, end never repulsed any one by pride or coldness. A sweet and frank gaiety, an amiable familiarity, marked all his domestic life. His knights and esquires praised his great generosity, the counts and lords who came to his court were treated with the highest respect, and with all the honours due to their rank. To these chivalrous virtues he added all those of a Chris* tiun sovereign. The only vehement passion that all his historians remark in him was that for justice. He loved it with intense devotion ; and this love gave him strength snffi cicnt to punish the violators of the laws. He banished from his court, and oeprived of their employments, all those who were haughty to the poor, as well as persons who allowed themselvco to be carried into committing a^ts of violence, and tiiose who brought him false and malicious tales. Blasphemers and men who blushed not to speak impnrc words, were cod- dcmned to wear, daring a certain time, in public, a mark o( i;;Dominy. ■m I; m itvi or ST. Inflexible towards those wlio outra^d the law of God, \\t was indulgent and patient to those who failed in the obsop ▼ance of his own enactments. When some of his servanta would foFj^et themselves befure him, he would gently say, " Dear children, act not thus, for yoii afflict my heart/' To all his deliberations he bronght a tried prudeiicc — his military expeditions and political actions show a skill and foresight that do not appear easily reconcileablo with hid extreme yonth and the simplicity of his character. He occupied himself with a zeal and assidnity in all tlie labours that the government of bis dominions imposed upon him. His regard for truth was so great that his least word inspired the same security as would the most solemn oatb of another. " One could build upon his word as upon a rock.** Full of mercy and generosity for the poor, he showed a lively solicitude for all classes of his people. A.11 who were injured, no matter by whom, came to him with confidence, and never in vain; more than once he took the field to avenge wrongs inflicted on his meanest subjects. Under such a prince, the moral and material prosperity of Thuringia could not but increase ; the chroniclers of the country have celebrated with enthusiasm the happiness that it enjoyed during his too short reign, and the fruit which was derived from the example of the virtues of the Sovereign. The nobility imitated their head, and no long<;r were vassals heard complaining of the warlike and oppressive habits of tboir lords. The people were obedient and tranquil ; union, peace, and safety reigned throughout the country — all with one common voice joined in proclaiming the happiness that Thuringia owed to the wisdom of Duke Louis. in a word, all his character and life are contained in the poble motto which be had chosen from his earliest yea» '^Pietyt Choitity^ Justice towards aU^ he showed a A.11 who were th confidence, ield to aTenge OF HUSOAItr. 1M He realised more than any other, the glorious belief of Catholic ages, which established a fundamental analogy be- tween Chivalry and the Saceiuotal character, for true knighti were priests armed with justice and faith, as the prietU wert the knighta of the Word ud of pnjet. >':i I 'ial prosperity jniclers of the lappiness that :ait which was he Sovereign. T were vassals sive habits of Ei,nqail ; union, ntry — all with liappiness that »ntained in the earliest yea» 140 LIPI or BT. BLIZABKTBi CHAPTER yi. BO\r TO! DUKE LOUIS AND THE DEAR ST. ELIZABKTII I.TTKD GETIIEK BEFORE ODD IN THE HOLY STATE OF MAKRIAGK. Pan bona, miiUer bona, In parte tlmentiam Deum dabitar vtro pro flict!» bonk iVop. xxvL 8. Yulnerastl oor meam loror mea sponsa.— (7an<. Ir. 9. A PRINCE who was so perfect a model of a true Christian, couid not receive a sweeter recompense in this vorld than the loTe of a saint. We have seen how our Elizabeth retained as her only connecting link with the worldly life, this love which she associated with such religious feelings. On his part, Louis failed not to preserve the tender fidelity of his eariy years. Elizabeth was gifted with all that could touch and win a young heart. Adorned before God with piety an 1 humility, in the eyes of men she possessed all personal attractions. The historians who have preserved her portrait represent her beauty as most regular and perfect; her conrplexion was clear brown, her hair black, her figure of unrivalled grace and elegance — ^her deportment grave, noble and majestic- above all, her eyes beamed with tenderness, charity and mercy. It is easy to imagine that this exterior beauty reflected thus dazzlingly the interior perfections of her soul. It was not on the ephemeral feelings of pnrely hnman admiration that these young people founded the unalterable nnion of theur hearts — ^but it was on a common faith, and on the strict practice of the virtoes that this faith teaches, and the duties it imposes. Notwithstanding her youth and the almost child-like Yiva> OF HUWOAAT. HI city of her love for her hosUand, Elizabeth ncTcr forfrot timi iic was ber lead, as Jesus Christ is liead of the Church, and that she should be obedient to him in all things as tiio Churr'h is to Jcsns Ciirist. Shn joined then to her ardent love for him a great respect — »(ie hastily obeyed his least sign or word, niul had a scrupulous care that by none of her words or actiona he should be annoyed or receive the slightest grounds for im- piitience. The yoke to which she submitted was in all things ns the Church wishes it should be, a bond of love and peace, fur Louis gave her full liberty to perform the works that in- terested her most — those of piety and mercy. lie even ejicouraged and sustained her in these holy exer^ ciscs with a pious care, and only put a stop to them when it seemed to him that her zeal would carry her too far ; this he did by addressing to her words dictated by affectionate pru- dence and always listened to with docility. Every night the young wife, proGting of the real or apparent sleep of her husband, would get out of bed, and kneeling by its side would pray earnestly, thinking of the holy crib at Bethlehem^ and thanking the Lord that Ue had deigned to be born at midnight for her salvation and that of the human race. Her husband often awoke, and fearing that she was too delicate co endure such penances, he would beg of her to givd over. "Cease, dear sister," he would say, "and take thy rest"- then taking her hand he would hold it until she was agai^t by his side, or until he would fall asleep leaving his linnd in hers — then she used to bathe in tears of pious fei^ vour that beloved hand that seemed to al!y her to earth Louis never employed any constraint to oblige her to discon- tinue her pious wcrks, they rejoiced him and gladdened his he.-irt. Ysentrude. one of Elizabeth^s most confidential at- tendants, related to the ecclesiastical juoges a circumstance that proved Louisas indulgence. The Duchess, in older not to oversleep hei'self nor to disturb her hudband, ordered one of 143 liri or ST. BLIEABITR, her maidfl of honour to Awake her at a certain honr by oat(*htng her foot — it hapi)encd on one occasion that Ysentrude conght the Dnke's foot, he awoke saddenly, but gnesning the canse of the dii^turbance, he lay down again without sliowing the least lign of impatience. " He saw," njs the historian, " tliat Hlie loved Gofi with her whole heart, and that thought comforted him ; and flhe confiding in the pietj and windom of her hus- band did not conceal from him any of her penitential exercises, well knowing that he woald never interfere between her and her Saviour." To the frequent proofs of their mutual tenderness both added gentle exhortations to advance together in the way of perfection; this holy emulation fortified and preserved them in the service of God — by it they learned to draw even from the ardent affection which united them, the charm and feeling of the Supreme Love. The grave and pure character of their mutual devotion was revealed by the touching custom which they preserved even after marriage, of calling each other brother and «>/er, as it were to perpetuate the remembrance of their childhood, and make their whole lives oae unbroken attachment. The happiness of being together was indispensable to them ; so powerful were the chaste attractions of each, so entirrt was the union of their souls, that they could ill endure being separated even for the shortest time. Thus when the Duke's hunting excursions were not too distant he always took his dear Elizabeth with him — and she was happy to ac- eom])any him, even though she had to travel over rugged roads and dangerous paths, and to brave storms ; but neither H^n 00^ snow, nor floods, nor excessive heats, could hinder her from going, so anxious was she to be near him who hever kept her from God. Nevertheless, it sometimes happened that Louis was obliged by his duties as a Sovereign to unde^ lake long joorneys, even oat of his own dominions, Where ht •V BVVOART. tm \ri \ I roiil'l not bring liU wife ; then m soon as he set out, ohe uxiM lay aside her royal robes, and covering her he^l wiiii a , would put on the costume of a widow. Tliuy she would !ii till during hifl absence, awaiting his return iu prujers, A\< and severe mortifications. I lilt n.s soon as the approach of Louis was annonuced, ^he ii.. (1 to hastily adorn herself with nil the care and maguili* . . IK i" her rank required. " It is not," she would sny to litf I ;ti lie poets has traced of a celestial marriage : L» lor eonooHto e I lor H«ti sembhinlik e mamTiglte o doloe ■goardo^ >t otfion do'ponster nuitl ^fi^ PmraS. o. A •■it 144 &!#■ Of ST. ILIIABBTa, CHAPTER VII. r mom ni oiar it. EuzABrrn practised thi fnvra m MORTIFICATION. Or to daiTM aiiMl tmo, Et lie M vie H fnit ewn, Por I'trtne dcffondre et oonrrtr^ Kt por saint i'vadU ouvrir. Bkhoij) then our young princess in possession of all th« happiness of early y.-ars, of the sweet joys of the morning of life that no after pleasures can replace, that no grief can banish from the memory ; those joys whose absence darkcni life, whose romemhrance suffices to alleviate the deepest woe ThuH God often grants this consolation (like tlie dew of morn) to his creatures, that they may be better able to endure the " labours of the day and the heats." But Elizabeth, whose mind was fixed on heaven, though accepting this happiness with a joyful submission, understood its danger, and for this predestined soul it was a trial over which she was bonnd to triumph. Bhe felt that the grace which God had granted her in oniting her to him she loved so much, obliged her to a more ceaioufl 6nM>liuf^ doctrine of the Chnrch, for the iAiiit<< of Qod • brilliant glory, and for the faithful a rich treii!, I believe that if you endure patiently this hell which God tends you in this world, you shall be saved from tho pains o! the other, and that is a great gain.** Having one day met oua of those unfortunates, who suffered besides from a malady in the head, and whose appearance was repulsive in the high« st degree, she led him to a retired part of tho orchard, cut off liin matted hair, laid his head on her knees, and washed ana cleansed it; her maids of honour having surprised her at tiiis strange occupation, she smiled, but said nothing. One Holy Thursday she assembled a great number of lepeiis washed their hands and feet, and, kneeling humbly befuie them, kissed their sores and ulcers. Another time, the Landgrave having gone to spend some lays at his castle of Naumburg, which was situated in tlie tentre of his southern possessions, and near Saxony, Eliza* beth remained at Wartburg and employed herself during her husband^s absCice in redoubling her zeal and care tor the sick and poor, in washing and clothing them with garments, (he work of her own hands, notwithstanding the discontent testified by the Duchess-mother, Sophia, who had remained with her son since the death of her husband. But the young DuChess did not heed the complaints of her motheria* law. Amongst the sick there was a poor little leper named Helias, ixdioec condition was so deplorable that no one would take chai]|ne of him. Elizabeth, seeing him thus abandoned • f BUVaABT. !»• hf ntl, felt hfivclf bonnd to do more for him than for any oth(r; she took and bathed him hertelf, anointed him with a heuliiii; bnhn, and then laid him in the hud, even that which ihc ylinrcd with her royal husband. Now, it happened that tlif I > lice retnrned to the castle whilst Elizabeth was thus occn]iicd. His mother ran out immcdiatelj to meet him, and when he alij^hted she said, " Come with me, dear sou, and I will show thee a pretty doing of thy Elizabeth." "What does this mean?'' said the Duke. "Only come,'' said she, "nnd thou wilt see one she loTes mnth better than thee." Thoii taking him by the hand, she led him to his chamber and to his bed, and said to him, " Now look, dear son, thy wife puts lepers in thy bed, without my being able to pre- vent her. She wishes to give thee the leprosy; thou seest it tliyself.'' On hearing these words, the Duke could not ro] tress a certain degree of irritation, and he quickly raised the coverings of his bed ; but at the same moment, accord- ing,^ to the beautiful expression of the historian, " The Most High unsealed the eyes of his soul, and in place of the leper he saw the figure of Jesus Christ crucified extended on hia bed." At this sight he remained motionless, as did his mother, and began to shed abundant tears without being ahle nt first to utter a word. Tlien turning round, he saw his wife, who hod gently followed in order to calm his wrath against the leper. "Elizabeth,'' said he, "my dear good Bister, I pray thee often to give my bed to such guests. I shall always thank thee for this, and be not hindered by any one in the exercise of thy virtues." Then he knelt, and prayed thus to God: — "Lord, have mercy ol me, a poor sinner ; I am not worthy to see nil these wonders I ac- knowledge thy almighty power : aid me, I pray thee, to become a man accor(}ing to thy own heart, and according to thy Divine will.'* Elizabeth profited of the profound imprea- •ior vhich this scene made upon tne Duke, to obtain bia per 168 Liri Of ST. BLIlABETif, misttioo to erect aa alnubouse midway ap tbe rorky llei^ht crowned bj the cattle of Wartburg, on tbe site since oi< o- piud by a convent of Frauciiicans. Slie therein uiaiutaiiud, from tliut time, twenty-eight sick or infirm poor periioiii, chosen from amongst those who were too feeble to ascend to the castle. Evgry day she went to Tisit Uiem, and carrii vl with her meat and drink for their use. Living thus with the poor and for tlieni, it is not astonishing that Qod should have inspired her with that holy love of poverty which hug rendered tlio souls richest in Uis grace illuttrious. Whilst f^om amongst the people, Francis of Assisium opened to the world as a new sanctuary, whereto rushed all those who Were eager for self-denial and sacrifice, Ood raised in the midst of the chivalry of Germany this daughter of a king, who, at the age of fifteen years, already felt her heart \mri\ with the love of evangelical poverty, and who confounded the pride and pomp of her peers by a sovereign contempt of earthly grandeur. Her place seemed already marked out io the veneration of the Church and the love of the people, bj the side of the Seraph of Assisium. In the flower of her youth and beauty, she had weaned her soul from all thoughts of earthly glory. " She,'' says an old writer, " who was in sovereign glory, sought tbe state of poverty, that the world might have no part in her, and that she might be poor as Jesus Christ had been.'' She could not avoid associating her beloved husband in ill her secret and holy reveiies, and in the aspirations of hef child-like heart for a life at once more simple and more con- formable to evangelical perfection. One night, as they lay in bed, but sleepless, she said to him — '* Sire, if it will not tire you, I will tell you of a thought I have hod on the kind of life we should lead in order to serve God better." ^ Sny It then, sweet friend," replied her husband; **what is your thought on this subject?" "I wish, then," said she^ **thut or RVVOABT. iU Ko had bat one farm, which would afford oa onon^h to IWf oil, and aboat two hundred sheep ; then jou could cultivutt tlir ^^rooiid, lend the horsofl, and endure these laboun for (i Oil's suke ; and I would take care of the sheep and shear till m.*' The Lnnd^rare smiled at the simplicity of his wife, and replied, " Well, dear sister, if we had so much lanf* and 80 many sheep, I think we would be no lougcr poor, and iiiaiiy iH>ople would find us still too rich/' At other times, when with her maidens, who were all her friends, she would apeak of the joys of poverty ; and often, ill lier familiar discour-es with them, the yonnji^ priucLSS, as iiitnti A child in heart as in age, sough* to realise, at least ill iinagiimtion, her pious desires. Removing iier royal rolx's, she would clothe herself in a poor mantle of a grey )iir, such us was worn by the wretched and mean ; .;he idim would cover her head with a torn veil, and, walking ^ lore her companions, would feign to beg her brearj r and, as if warned by celestial inspiration of the fate f