p. 267Obstacles to True Manliness

In all things, a man must beware of so conforming himself, as to crush his nature and forego the purpose of his being. We must look to other standards than what men may say or think. We must not abjectly bow down before rulers and usages; but must refer to principles and purposes.

HELPS.

There is one enemy of true manhood, whether viewed in the light of reason or of the Christian revelation, against whose tyrannical and degrading influence the soul can only be preserved by grounding it early in the fear of God, and in that secure and lofty independence which springs from conscientious, deep-seated attachment to Duty. The cowardly fear of a false and depraved public opinion, as is but too well known, is to-day and has ever been in the past, the deadliest foe of truth and morality. The opinion, however, of which we would speak here, is not that of the world in the wide sense attached to the term “public opinion.” It is the judgment of a much narrower circle of men. We might limit its meaning to the opinion prevalent in the immediate society in which we live, to that of the men of our own profession, nay, to the standard of thought and action upheld by the persons with whom we daily come in contact, even within our own home, or within the establishment to which we happen to belong.

“Human respect” has, nevertheless, even a narrower sense than this; it is the fear entertained of what the low-lived or the low-bred, persons of low views or low tastes, but of determined will and character, may think or say of their betters. There are, among such people, in every social circle, in every walk of life, some who have the terrible faculty of sneering at whatever is superior to themselves or their own low standard of life. They make the lash of their ridicule more dreadful to the sense of their weaker and less cynical associates than any bodily torture or temporal loss.

“With some unfortunate people,” says Sir Arthur Helps,—“the much dreaded world shrinks into one person of more mental power than their own, or, perhaps, merely of coarser nature; and the fancy as to what this person will say about anything they do, sits them like a nightmare.”

It is against this abject and slavish fear of what others,—and these, too, men utterly unworthy of all respect,—may think, judge, say of us, that we wish to warn and arm our readers.

We have seen men led, step by step, to forego the fulfillment of the most urgent and sacred duties, and commit actions and contract habits most abhorrent to their nature,—lest they should be sneered at, or deemed unmanly by their acquaintance. This seems monstrous and incredible when considered by calm reason, or when mentioned to one who has had but little experience of men. To most of our readers,—of our young readers even,—it will recall the all too frequent realities of every-day life.

“There have been Catholics,” says Digby, “who appear to take a pride in imitating the adversaries of their holy religion, and in being associated in friendship with them; no one so dear to them as he who had most daringly reviled their holy faith; men who were ashamed of everything but what they had solemnly renounced in their baptismal vows; ashamed of serving God only without regard to the opinion of the world; ashamed of the Cross; unwilling that a crucifix should be seen in their apartments; afraid to sign themselves like all faithful Christians at the accustomed time; and afraid or disdainful of all the exercises of a penitential life; as if they could gain anything by professing to believe with Catholics, and living after the manner of the Gentiles; ashamed of some or all of the beautiful practices prescribed by religion, which are dear to those who love the Church of Jesus Christ: and harassed with continual fear, lest they should not always be seen invested with the livery of the world, and ready to concede to it the sentiments of a Christian, and even the noble qualities of youth.”

“The spirit of chivalry in religion would despise and abhor this ungenerous and servile disposition, under whatever name it might be recommended, whether extolled as liberality, moderation, or prudence: it is a disposition not only essentially opposed to divine charity, but also to every sentiment of human honor; it denotes a want of faith; it is wholly of the world, and characteristic of those who are of the world. It is deceived too in all its wisdom. It was afraid of being despised, and lo! its endeavor to avoid contempt is the secret scorn of the very world that it would propitiate; whereas those who despised the ridicule or censure of the world while they were guided by the discipline of the Church, who laughed at its charge of superstition or idolatry, are seen invested with an heroic dignity that is able to intimidate even the base assailants, whose front of brass is never proof against the power of holy innocence.”¹1“Godefridus,” pp. 98, 99.

Who has not read of the great O’Connell’s courageous and uncompromising piety, when, at public dinners in London, in presence of the most bitter assailants of his faith and the most irreconcilable enemies of Ireland, he would stand up modestly and manfully to sign himself with the cross before taking his place at table?

We have not forgotten the example of the late Chief Justice Morin of Quebec, who, while he was prime minister, would go publicly every Friday to perform the Way of the Cross at Notre Dame, Montreal, absolutely unconscious, in his simple-minded piety, of the sneers and contemptuous looks of the crowd of Protestant visitors who pushed their way rudely through the aisles, intent only on sight-seeing.

Noble Examples of Moral Courage

And how can we ever forget the edifying and heart-stirring spectacle presented each morning by the Catholic churches of London, where renowned barristers; members of Parliament, titled nobles, high officers of the army and navy, were to be seen not only hearing mass with rapt devotion, or receiving the Bread of Life with the adoring faith of seraphs, but serving the priest at the altar together with some little boy, whose soul was formed to Christian manliness and heroism by such examples? And what is not to be hoped for in a land where the highest, the most honored, the most learned, and the best, thus exalt themselves by honoring the faith of their fathers?

There, as the tide of a false liberalism or of avowed radical infidelity rises daily, threatening the institutions of the old Catholic ages,—shall still be found the chivalrous spirit of lofty faith embodied in the legends of King Arthur and his knights. Every true Christian youth treading in the footsteps of his generous father can say to his mother, in the words of the modern poet:

This tyranny of human respect is to be found first at school and in college,—long before it has to be faced and beaten down in the walks of public life. The boy and the youth must be trained to trample under foot the despicable fear of the evil-minded and the evil-tongued, so as to be prepared to despise it in ripe manhood.

“The social spirit of a large school,” says the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Petre, “is for the most part swayed by the crudest and baldest of boyish minds. At the period when muscle is strongest, what are the natural tastes, ideals, aspirations of the individual man? Are they not rather of the brutal kind, exhibiting themselves in a grossly physical standard of excellence, in feats of agility and strength, in the pleasures of a rude good-fellowship? It has been to us ever a pathetic spectacle to behold the struggles of minds sensitive and receptive by nature and early influence, struggling unconsciously against a power which they cannot resist.”³3“Remarks on the Present Condition of Catholic Liberal Education,” by Hon. and Rev. W. Petre, p. 16. None of our schools, we would fain believe, was ever subject to the despotic sway of such anti-christian, impious prejudices as governed the great French establishments since the suppression of the Jesuits (1764), and more especially since the great French Revolution (1789). Foremost in rampant intolerance was the Polytechnic School, which, since its foundation (1795), has been the nursery of the most distinguished men in military and civil professions. Down to a comparatively recent date, the pupils would barely lend themselves to a few occasional religious ceremonies that bore an official character. But woe to the man who dared in presence of his fellow-students to profess a cordial adherence to the tenets of Christianity, and still more to him who ventured to follow any of its practices within the walls of the institution!

An Heroic Student

One day, however, the atrocious tyranny which prevented and mercilessly repressed any outward act of religious faith was heroically resisted and conquered by one true-hearted youth. He was preeminent for his talent as well as for his bravery, had brought with him from his admirable mother’s home, enshrined in his heart of hearts, a love of purity which made him proof against all the awful temptations that surrounded his school-days, and a courageous piety derived from the examples much more than the teachings of both his parents. His talents, on his entrance into the Polytechnic School, won the admiration of his companions, while his frank, joyous, generous, and manly character, conciliated the affection of not a few.

He had made up his mind to do there openly what he had uniformly done at college, go to confession and communion. No student, since the memorable 25th of May, 1795, when the school was first inaugurated, had ever been seen at the Communion Table within their chapel. It was whispered that this proscriptive tradition was now about to be set aside, and the boldest and worst of the school conspired to prevent it. They resolved to stop at no excess either of outrage or of violence which might effectually deter any one from ever again following such an example.

Of this our young hero was perfectly aware. But he was determined to do quietly and publicly what he conceived to be his duty to God and to his misguided associates. So he went to confession, and, on the following morning,—some great yearly festival, when all were obliged to assist at mass,—he modestly and devoutly received the Holy Communion, and then withdrew to his place in the ranks, where he remained kneeling at the end of the service, while the students marched out past him.

The head conspirator, as he passed by the kneeling youth, whose eyes were cast on the ground and his arms folded across his breast,—spat on the face of the latter, who moved not, winced not under the insult. Another, and another, and yet another repeated the dastardly outrage; but the kneeling youth contented himself with removing the filth from his face, without ever raising his eyes from the ground. The more generous of those who witnessed the scene murmured aloud at the indignity, and the murmur soon became pretty general, as one after the other of the many friends of the victim, remonstrated in no gentle terms. The climax came when the last of the unmanly crew, not content with spitting into the young man’s face, struck him on the cheek.

There was forthwith an uproar, and more than one of those who had remonstrated, now took up the quarrel as a personal one. As everybody knows, the Polytechnic pupils are allowed to wear arms, and the law of dueling is rigidly enforced. One must either fight or leave the school. All admitted the bravery of our hero and his great superiority as a swordsman. Already, however, and before the latter had quitted the chapel, a large number had sided with him, not because they shared his convictions or his piety, but because they resented such a proceeding as an act of downright cowardice and unwarrantable intolerance. So, the authorities of the institution and the Minister of War himself peremptorily interfered to prevent any hostilities.

The noble youth himself, when he came forth from the chapel, professed himself ready to answer any one who should challenge his courage or impugn his honor, while many of his companions came forward to grasp his hand warmly, and to congratulate him on his manly assertion of independence.

It was a complete revolution. Our hero was not again molested when he deemed it proper to profess thus openly his reverence for the faith of his fathers; and more than one of his fellows took courage and imitated his example.

Since then the little band of Polytechnicians who practice their religion without disguise or reserve has been yearly on the increase, thanks to the numerous accessions of strength from the great Jesuit preparatory schools of St. Genevieve in Paris and St. Clement in Metz, as well as such other glorious schools as that of the late Monseigneur Cruice (École des Carmes).

Is this not,—only in a far higher form,—the heroic spirit which led the boy Gareth, in order to become one of Arthur’s knights, to consent to serve a whole year as a scullion in Arthur’s kitchen, concealing from all but his own mother, Queen Bellicent, his rank and his name, and subjecting himself to the brutalities heaped on him by the Seneschal, Sir Kay,

Not so the bravest of all the Table Round, the peerless Lancelot: with the instinct with which brave hearts detect each other as surely as magnet draws magnet, Lancelot divines the boy’s quality and worth, reproving the mean-spirited Kay.

This is the right-royal spirit of the children of God, who understand the priceless value of their birthright, who cherish that lofty spirit of freedom bestowed on them by their father, Christ, beyond and above all earthly honors, and whose soul can never stoop to be the slave of human opinion.

Not unfrequently in the little world of the school,—as in the broader and bolder world where Human Respect reigns supreme in court, and shop, in army and navy, by the fire-side, in the ball-room, and reception-room, those who are bent on “following the KING,” will hear themselves, in their most heroic hour, addressed as Gareth was by the Lady Lynette:

And, what is to be the demeanor of the true knightly Christian under the outrage?

Even where Human Respect would damp the ardor of beginners by putting over them such tyrants as Kay, or giving them for guides in their quest of all true excellence purblind souls or unworthy models, whose lives, even more strongly than their words, would drive God’s servant from the right road and all holy enterprise,—the spirit of God within boy and man would reply:

And who can tell what may be, in God’s purpose, the blessed, soul-saving influence of men who have, like the mountain pine or oak or the cedars of Lebanon, grown up and waxed strong amid solitude, sterility, and storm?

Other Noble Examples

We could, as we write these words, point to one man brought up amid the soul-struggles of that same Polytechnic School, become, as a soldier, the close companion of royalty itself on the battle-fields of Africa,—and now the head and the saintly guide of the chiefest training-school in America of one of our great religious orders.

We know of another, the near relative, almost the brother in age as he was in closest friendship, of Ireland’s purest novelist, who living abroad in the world, while his uncle sought rest and refuge in the cloister, was always and everywhere, before and above all else, the professed and devoted Christian. Once called to the Capital on legislative business with a gentleman from Boston, a Unitarian, he charmed the other all along their journey by his bright joyous spirit and most interesting conversation. They shared the same room at the hotel, the Catholic gentleman before he retired, performing unobtrusively, but at full length, his customary devotions.

For weeks they continued to live and labor together, surrounded by an atmosphere which was anything but an atmosphere of purity and integrity, witnessing the sayings and doings of men,—and of Catholic men among these,—who were neither edifying, nor honorable, nor honest. Meanwhile, though forced to mix with persons of every official rank, it was the boast of the generous and candid-minded Unitarian that he had never seen anything in his companion’s acts, or heard a single word from his lips, that was not most worthy of the thorough gentleman and the thorough Christian.

“I had never till then,”—he afterward was wont to say,—“seen any gentlemen kneel while saying his night prayers: indeed I had never known of an instance where a gentleman alone with another thought of saying any such prayers. So, what was my astonishment when I first saw my friend, whose learning, wisdom, and integrity I had learned to prize so highly, kneeling quietly down by his bedside, in the almost total darkness of the room, and when he thought me fast asleep, and pouring forth his soul in adoration and praise to God, with a fervor that struck on my interior sense like the first notes of a strange but most sweet music!”

“I watched him thenceforward, night after night and day after day, to assure myself that all was consistent in his conduct, and my respect and admiration grew daily and hourly. For years our acquaintance continued, ripening at last into friendship. The lessons I learned in his life and in his home, were to me lessons of a new religion,—which I was impelled to study, to admire, and to embrace.”

“If I am a Catholic to-day with all my family, we owe that inestimable grace, under God, to the light of my dear friend’s example.”

How many others in our day, as in the first ages of the Church, have been led into the household of the faith by the irresistible example of Catholics who knew not Human Respect, showed themselves openly, in public and in private, what they were, true to God and fearless of human opinion? We heard from the Lady Lothian, whose saintly life was a blessing to all London, and whose saintly death filled all Rome with its fragrance,—the touching story of her own conversion; how curiosity or a kindly interest in her Catholic servants induced her to visit the place where they went to worship on Sundays; how she found a poor garret in a private house thronged with a promiscuous crowd, among whom a priest busied himself in hearing confessions. Then came the mass, celebrated on a poor temporary altar, while the rapt devotion of the kneeling crowd of worshipers, and all the poverty and nakedness of the place, reminded the high-born lady of the Stable of Bethlehem and the throng of Shepherds bidden to adore the new-born Messiah.

The example which we are about to adduce, if it have its consoling, its heroic, its most glorious side, teaches also this lesson, that the Divine Majesty exacts from highly privileged souls a terrible expiation for yielding even a momentary and secret consent to some one of those public sins which are the ruin of the proud and the rash.

At the head of the Young Men’s Sodality, attached to the church and college of St. Francis Xavier, Saint Louis, was, just when our great civil war broke out, an officer of the United States army, distinguished alike for his birth, his talents and bravery, and still more for his enlightened and active piety. He was the pride and the model of the Catholic youth of his native city.

Unfortunately, as it ever happens in civil contests, the question of allegiance to the Federal Government as against the rights of the individual States, was discussed with fierce passionateness, neighbor taking part against neighbor, friend against friend, and brother against brother within the bosom of families hitherto most united. It so happened that a brother officer, a former schoolmate at the Military Academy, took openly sides with the seceding States, entering into a warm controversy with our friend, who as openly professed himself bound by his oath of allegiance to the flag of the Union. The dispute found its way into the public prints, and the former friend deeming that an imputation had been cast upon his honor, sent his adversary a challenge.

The terms in which it was conveyed, the taunt of disloyalty to the South, and the imputation of unworthy motives were such as must gall beyond endurance even the most phlegmatic. Colonel G——was, like all his family, a man of proud, sensitive, and wrathful temper. Much as he had learned to conquer himself, the reception and reading of the missive found nature off its guard. He resolved to accept the challenge thus cast in his teeth. It was but the act of a moment, known only to Him who reads the secrets of hearts,—and disclosed to no human being save his confessor. It was,—we have said,—only a momentary consent yielded by natural passion, but recalled the next moment under the impulse of divine grace with heartfelt sorrow.

The noble and pure soul could not brook that even this secret stain should long remain upon it; so Colonel G——sought his confessor, and implored the divine forgiveness on his sin. The next morning he knelt contrite and purified at the Table of the Lamb, pouring forth his grief at the feet of his divine Guest, and making there heroic resolves for the future.

Just as he rose from the audience with the King of Kings, and was about leaving the church, he was met by a member of the Ladies’ Sodality, a woman of humble station but revered as a Saint by all who knew her. “I have a message for you, Colonel,” she said, in her gentle tones, while her face shone with a light that was not of earth. “Our Lord has been deeply offended that one so dear to His heart as you are, so favored by Him, and bound by your place to give such high example to others, should have consented, even for a moment, to risk your own life or take that of another in a duel. God, however, has accepted your sincere sorrow; your sin is forgiven. But I am bidden to tell you, that, in expiation of your guilt, you shall forfeit your life in the first great battle in which you are engaged.”

The Christian gentleman bowed down every power of his soul before this manifestation of that adorable Will so merciful and tender even in the decrees of its justice. He could have no doubt, he had none, as to the awful truth of the communication thus made to him. To his brother only did he, on the eve of his departure for active warfare, disclose his impending fate, and its cause. The certainty of the event gave to his whole conduct thenceforward a character of unspeakable moral beauty. With his whole heart and soul he devoted himself to the cause of the Union, watching over his every thought, and word, and deed, as one should who had already half entered beyond the veil, and on whom the light of the Divine Judgment had already fallen. There was in his whole bearing a calm, unruffled serenity, a firm and steady gentleness, a charity and forbearance toward others, a helpful and brotherly kindness toward his subordinates, an unwearied devotion to the sick, the suffering, and the wounded, that were only half understood and appreciated when he was no more. A thousand graceful acts were then told of him by the men who had witnessed his chivalrous bearing in life, and wept at the remembrance of his glorious death.

He was made chief of staff to his friend, General Rosecrans. They were of the same religious faith; indeed, if we remember aright, the General owed his conversion in great part to the beautiful life of his loved companion in arms. Side by side throughout the autumn of 1862, the two soldier-friends labored to organize a large and effective army. The very last day of the year found them before Murfreesborough at the head of about 50,000, and confronted by a force equal in numbers and in bravery. Rosecrans as well as his chief of staff knew that on the battle to be fought on that memorable 31st of December, depended in a great measure the success of the cause to which both his friend and himself had devoted their lives.

Long before the dawn the general-in-chief had the Holy Sacrifice celebrated in his tent, Catholic officers and men devoutly assisting thereat, and Colonel G——taking to himself the honor of serving the priest. The two friends received with touching fervor the divine Gift,—the bond of that most sacred union of souls, which the impending death of one of them could not interrupt. Many a brave man knelt at that tent-door, in the cold and gloom of the December morning, or partook of that Bread of the Strong, who beheld not the dawn of the new year.

Throughout the first part of that eventful day, Colonel G——displayed a calm joyousness which his chief alone could perfectly understand. He seemed to multiply his presence over the vast field of action as his horse bore him like the wind to communicate orders to the various divisional commanders. And, it is said, when the worsted Union forces paused to reform their line and renew the struggle, he profited by the lull to withdraw to a quiet corner near a fence, and there to kneel unobserved,—as he thought himself,—to renew the offering of his life.

He had passed unharmed through the terrible scenes of the morning and the early afternoon. As the victorious enemy were concentrating all their strength for the final shock, he knew with unquestioning certainty that his last hour was come. Again and again as the Federal right were driven from position to position, General Rosecrans had cheered his brave men with the assurance that “this battle must and shall be won!” Did his generous chief of staff, as he made his last prayer, offer up his young life to the God of battles for the triumph of the Union arms? We know not.

But when he rose, a new light was on his face, as he took his place by the side of his commander; his voice had a tone of triumph as he bore the final orders along the line. And when the advance sounded, his sword leaped from its scabbard, as he prepared to quit the side of Rosecrans and lead the charge in person. At that moment, and while waving his sword, a cannon ball struck off his head, the blood covering the person of his devoted friend and general.

Yes,—the fortune of battle was retrieved; but in the deep sadness which tempered the joy of generals and soldiers, all recalled the chivalrous figure of G——as it had shone over that bloody field, and had been stricken down with the cheer of victory ringing from his lips.

They only knew and admired the blameless life, the unshaken attachment to duty, the heroic devotion to principle, the untiring and ingenious charity,—the accomplished gentleman and the dauntless soldier. God and His angels alone knew of the one momentary stain on the beautiful soul atoned for by this early and tragic death,—as that purified Spirit was greeted on high with the “Well done!” from His lips who is the sole Lord of Eternity. In him was what we commend to the study of our cultivated youth, the Altum quiddam et excelsum, nihil timens, nemini cedens, semper invictum.⁴4“A something (heart) elevated and sublime, which feared nothing, yielded to no (wicked) one, evermore unconquered.”—CICERO, De Finibus, ii. 14.