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138 celestial mechanism, that the silver horned moon will not describe eternally the same circle round our globe, and that causes now in operation will, by dint of repetition, change its course. You may safely predict that the sun will become darkened, and will no longer appear except a shrunken globe over our icy seas, unless there should come to it in the interval some new alimentation, a thing quite within the possibilities, for the sun is capable of catching swarms of asteroids, just as a spider does flies. It is, however, safe to predict that it will become extinguished, and that the dislocated figures of the constellations will vanish star by star in the darkness of space. But what does the death of a star amount to? To the fading away of a spark. Let all the stars in the heavens die out just as the grasses of the field wither, what matters it to universal life, so long as the infinitely tiny elements composing them shall have retained within themselves the force which makes and unmakes worlds? It is safe to predict an even more complete end of the universe, the end of the atom, the dissociation of the last elements of matter, the times when protyle, when the amorphous fog will have reconquered its illimitable empire over the ruins of all things. And this will form but a breathing-spell in God's respiration. All will begin anew.

"The worlds will again be born to life. They

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/Variation in Man and Woman

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/The Engineering Mind


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/Post-Graduate Degrees in Absentia


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/Mental and Moral Heredity in Royalty VI


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Rh will live again to die. Life and death will succeed each other for all eternity. All sorts of combinations will become facts in the infinity of space and time, and we shall find ourselves seated once more on the flank of the Forum in ruins. But as we shall not know that we are ourselves, it will not be us."

M. Goubin wiped his eye-glass.

"Such ideas are disheartening," he remarked.

"What then do you hope for, Monsieur Goubin," asked Nicole Langelier, "to gratify your wishes? Do you aspire to preserve of yourself and of the world an eternal consciousness? Why do you wish to remember for all time that you are Monsieur Goubin? I will not conceal it from you: the present universe, which is far from nearing its end, does not seem to possess the property of satisfying you in this respect. Do not place any more store in those which are to follow, for they will doubtless be of the same kind. Do not, however, abandon all hope. It is possible that after an indefinite succession of universes, you shall be born anew, Monsieur Goubin, with a recollection of your previous existences. Renan has said that it was a risk to be taken, and that at all events it would not be long in coming. The successions of universe will take place for us within less than a second. Time does not count for the dead."

"Are you cognisant," asked Hippolyte Dufresne

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/Mendel's Law


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/January 1903/The Progress of Science


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140 of the astronomical dreams of Blanqui? The aged Blanqui, a prisoner in the Mont-Saint-Michel, could get but a glimpse of the sky through his stopped-up window, and had the stars for his only neighbours. This made of him an astronomer, and he based on the unity of matter and the laws ruling it a strange theory in regard to the identity of the worlds. I have read a sixty-page pamphlet of his wherein he sets forth that form and life are developed in exactly the same manner in a large number of worlds. According to him, a multitude of suns, all similar to our own, have, do, or will shed light upon planets in every respect similar to the planets of our own system. There is, was, and will be, ad infinitum, Venuses, Mars, Saturns, and Jupiters, quite the counterpart of our Saturn, Mars, and Venus, and worlds similar to our own. These worlds produce exactly what our world produces, and bear fruits, animals, and men resembling in all respects terrestrial plants, animals, and human beings. The evolution of life in them is the same as that on our globe. Consequently, thought the aged prisoner, there is, was and shall be throughout the infinite space myriads of Monts-Saint-Michel, each containing a Blanqui."

"We know but little of the worlds whose suns shine upon our nights," resumed Langelier. "We perceive, however, that subjected to the same

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Science of Astronomy


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Rh mechanical and chemical laws, they differ from our own world and among themselves in extent and form, and that the substances burning in them are not distributed among all of them in the same proportions. These differences must produce an infinity of others which we do not suspect. A pebble is sufficient to change the fate of an Empire. Who knows? Perchance, Monsieur Goubin, many times multiplied and disseminated through myriads of worlds, has wiped, wipes, and shall eternally wipe clean his eye-glass."

Joséphin Leclerc did not suffer his friends to expatiate any further on astronomical dreams.

"I am," he said, "like Monsieur Goubin, of the opinion that all this would be heartrending were it not too far from us to affect us. What is of paramount interest for us, what we are curious to know is the fate of those who will come immediately after us in this world."

"There is no doubt," said Langelier, "that the succession of worlds only fills us with sad astonishment. We should welcome with a more fraternal and friendly eye the future of civilisation, and the immediate destiny of our fellow men. The closer at hand the future, the more we are concerned about it. Unfortunately, moral and political sciences are inaccurate, and full of uncertainty. They have but an imperfect knowledge of the so far accomplished

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Evolution of Sex in Plants


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Economic Importance of Forestry


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/Mental and Moral Heredity in Royalty VII


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Smithsonian Institution


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/Recent Jewish Immigration to the United States


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142 developments of human evolution, and can therefore not instruct us concerning the developments which remain to be completed. Equipped with hardly any memory, they have little or no presentiment. This is why scientific minds feel an insurmountable repugnance to attempt investigations, the uselessness of which they know, and they dare not even confess to a curiosity which they entertain no hope of satisfying. Willingly would the task be undertaken to discover what would happen, were men to become wiser. Plato, Sir Thomas More, Campanella, Fénelon, Cabet, and Paul Adam have reconstructed their particular city in Atlantis, in the Island of Utopia, in the Sun, at Salentinum, in Icaria, in Malaya, and established there an abstract social administration. Others, like the philosopher Sébastien Mercier, and the socialist-poet William Morris, dived into a far-off future. But they took their system of morals with them. They discovered a new Atlantis, and it is a city of dreamland which they have harmoniously built there. Shall I also quote Maurice Spronck? He shows us the French Republic conquered by the Moors, in the 230th year of its foundation. He argues thus, in

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Behaviour of Blind Animals


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/Preventive Medicine


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/A Statistical Study of Eminent Men


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/Scientific Literature


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/February 1903/The Progress of Science


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/Hitherto Unpublished Letters of Charles Darwin


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Rh order to induce us to hand over the government to the Conservatives whom alone he considers capable of warding off so great a disaster. Meanwhile Camille Mauclair, trusting in humanity to come, reads in the future the victorious resistance, of Socialistic Europe against Mussulman Asia. Daniel Halévy dreads not the Moors, but, with greater show of reason, the Russians. He narrates, in his Histoire de quatre ans, the foundation, in 2001, of the United States of Europe. But he seeks to show us more especially that the moral equilibrium of nations is unstable, and that a facility suddenly introduced into the conditions of life may suffice to let loose on a multitude of men the worst scourges and the most cruel sufferings.

"Few are those who have sought to know the future, out of pure curiosity, and without moral intention or optimistic designs. I know no other than H. G. Wells who, journeying through future ages, has discovered for humanity a fate he did not, according to every indication, expect; for the institution of an anthropophagous proletariat and an edible aristocracy is a cruel solution of social questions. Yet such is the fate H. G. Wells assigns to posterity. All the other prophets of whom I have any

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144 knowledge content themselves with entrusting to future centuries the realisation of their dreams. They do not unveil the future, being satisfied with conjuring it up.

"The truth is that men do not look so far ahead without fright. Many consider that such an investigation is not only useless, but pernicious; while those most ready to believe that future events are discoverable are those who would most dread to discover them. This fear is doubtless based on profound reasons. All morals, all religions, embody a revelation of humanity's destiny. The greater part of men, whether they admit it to, or conceal it from, themselves, would recoil from investigating these august revelations, to discover the emptiness of their anticipations. They are accustomed to endure the idea of manners totally different from their own, if once those manners are buried in the past. Thereupon they congratulate themselves on the progress made by morality. But, as their morality is in the main governed by their manners, or rather by what they allow one to see of them, they dare not confess to themselves that morality, which has continually changed with manners, up to their own day, will undergo a further change when they have passed out of this life, and that future men are liable to conceive an idea entirely at variance with their own as to what is permissible or not. It would go against the

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Rh grain with them to admit that their virtues are merely transitory, and their gods decrepit. And, although the past is there to point out to them ever-changing and shifting rights and duties, they would look upon themselves as dupes were they to foresee that future humanity is to create for itself new rights, duties and gods. Finally, they fear disgracing themselves in the eyes of their contemporaries, in assuming the horrible immorality which future morality stands for. Such are the obstacles to a quest of the future. Look at Gallio and his friends; they would not have dared to foresee the equality of classes in the matter of marriage, the abolition of slavery, the rout of the legions, the fall of the Empire, the end of Rome, nor even the death of those very gods in whom they had all but ceased to believe."

"'Tis possible," said Joséphin Leclerc, "but it is time for us to dine."

And, leaving the Forum bathed in the calm light of the moon, they wended their way through the populous streets of the city towards a famed but cheap eating-house in the Via Condotti.

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text: Page:The White Stone.djvu/150

title: Page:The White Stone.djvu/150


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/The Vienna Academy of Science


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HE room was small, and hung with a smoke-stained paper dating from the pontificate of Pio Nono. Ancient lithographs were dependent from the walls, representing Cavour with his tortoise-shell-framed spectacles and collar-like beard, the leonine visage of Garibaldi, the stupendous moustaches of Victor Emanuel, a classic placing side by side of the combined symbols of the revolution and of the supreme power, a popular testimony to the Italian spirit which excels in juxtapositions, and in whose midst, in our own day, in Rome, the fulminating Pope and the excommunicated King daily exchange assurances of good-neighbourship, with an exquisite grasp of politics, and not without a certain flavour of delicate comedy. The mahogany sideboard was laden with plated chafing-dishes and alabaster goblets. The establishment affected for new things a contempt appropriate to long-standing renown.

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text: The White Stone/Chapter 3

title: The White Stone/Chapter 3


text: Page:The White Stone.djvu/186

title: Page:The White Stone.djvu/186


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/Mental and Moral Heredity in Royalty VIII


text: Page:The White Stone.djvu/240

title: Page:The White Stone.djvu/240


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/High-Grade Men: in College and Out


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/The Source of Nitrogen in Forest Soil


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/Education for Professions


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/Science versus Art-Appreciation


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/The Fossil Man of Lansing, Kansas


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/March 1903/The Progress of Science


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/On the Origin of Species


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/Mental and Moral Heredity in Royalty IX


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Great Auk in Art


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Making of Biologists


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Relation of Malaria to Agriculture and Other Industries of the South


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Habits of the Giant Salamander


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Carnegie Institution and the National University


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/Biography in the Schools


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/A Visit to the Quarry-Caves of Jerusalem


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Nile Dams and Reservoir


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/Scientific Literature


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/April 1903/The Progress of Science


text:
Author:Auguste Joseph Alphonse Gratry

Works

 * Souvenirs de ma Jeunesse. (1872)

title: Author:Auguste Joseph Alphonse Gratry


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/Index

title: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 62/Index


text:
Author:Étienne-Jean-Baptiste-Pierre-Ignace Pivert de Sénancour

Works

 * Obermann (1804)
 * Libres Méditations d'un Solitaire Inconnu (1819)

Works about de Sénancour

 * "Stanzas in Memory of the Author of Obermann" and "Obermann Once More" by Matthew Arnold


text:
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 meaning. The deadness with which custom invests the familiar vanishes, and existence as a whole appears transfigured. The state of a mind thus awakened from torpor is well expressed in these words, which I take from a friend's letter:―

Sometimes this realization that facts are of divine sending, instead of being habitual, is casual, like a mystical experience. Father Gratry gives this instance from his youthful melancholy period:―

In Sénancour's novel of Obermann a similar transient lifting of the veil is recorded. In Paris streets, on a March day, he comes across a flower in bloom, a jonquil:


text:
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Rh you have spoken of for more than a year? Considering that you are free of the planet, and can please yourself whether you ever do anything more or not, you seem to me to work a good deal."

"Perhaps the 'Freedom' may mean freedom to work. I take it as such, and I am sure that if I sunk into a state of ignoble idleness and self-indulgence you would be the first to condemn me. Look at Grayson, he has the badge, and he works as hard as ever spite his fifty years."

"That is all very well," said Helen, "but you know what all work and no play means. Generally we have plenty of play here, and surely when our modicum of work is finished we may play without feeling that any moral law is thereby infringed. Just look over our day's programme. At the club this afternoon we have a lecture on 'prehistoric history' of the earth. Our friend Phillips is going to people again those Asiatic cities that were full of life when the world was young. Then to-night we have one of Shakespeare's plays, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' I will not miss that. At the Equatorial you have an opera, and there are about two hundred other entertainments inside the Urban radius all for to-night. We are fond of amusements and a fair modicum of instruction, and who can say that we are less happy or less virtuous on that account?"

"I am afraid that we push amusement too far, and that we are in danger of making our lives a little too empty. Too much play is as bad as too much work."

"Well you are in no danger anyway; too much, play has not hurt you so far."

"I grant that," said Charles, "and it is really my intention to share in a grand excursion up the Sidon, I invite you and your brother. My father and Emma will go, and perhaps mother."

"Oh, well you know Harry will go wherever there is a chance of Emma's company; as for me I will stay at home and keep mother company. There will be plenty of you for a very nice party." Helen went on with this kind of conversation for some time, showing how well they could enjoy themselves, and picturing herself at home helping mother, and doing up some neglected duties and attending to some studies that had fallen a little behind. She pretended not to see the look of absolute distress that pained the face of her companion.

"I shall be very sorry if you cannot go," said Charles; "your absence will take all the brightness out of the trip. You see we have been companions and friends so long. I have grown quite used to you. It is strange that a similar feeling has not sprung up in you."

"Oh, well, we'll see what mother says; perhaps she will spare me. At any rate you can count upon me for a visit to the Observatory. We will turn back now, if you please, and go to the Club. I want to read the Shakespearian play before seeing the performance to-night."

title: Page:Melbourne and Mars.djvu/95


text: Melbourne and Mars/Chapter 15

title: Melbourne and Mars/Chapter 15


text:
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148 Seated around a table bedecked with roses, and with flasks of Chianti before them, the five continued their philosophic discourse.

"It is quite true," said Nicole Langelier, "that the heart fails in the case of many men, when gazing into the abyss of future events. It is moreover certain that our all too imperfect knowledge of facts past and gone does not supply us with the elements required to enable us to determine accurately what is to succeed them. However, since the past of human social organisations is in part known to us, the future of those societies, a continuation and consequence of their past, is not wholly beyond our ken. It is not impossible to observe certain social phenomena, and to define from the conditions under which they have already occurred, the conditions under which they will reappear. We are not barred, when witnessing the commencement of an order of facts, from comparing it with a past order of analogous facts, and from deducing from the completion of the second a like completion of the first. By way of example: when observing that the forms of labour are changeable, that serfdom has succeeded slavery, salaried labour, serfdom, new methods of production may be anticipated; when it is shown that industrial capital has for barely a century taken the place of the small artisans and peasant property, one is led to ponder over the form which is to succeed capital;

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Rh when studying the manner in which was carried out the redemption of the feudal burdens and conditions of servitude, one is enabled to conceive how the redemption of the means of production nowadays constituting private ownership may some day be carried out. By studying the great Services of the State now in operation, it is possible to form a conception of future socialistic methods of production; and, after having thus investigated in several respects the present and the past of human industry, we shall, lacking certainties, determine by aid of probabilities whether collectivism is to be realised some day, not because it is just, for there is no reason for believing in the triumph of justice, but because it is the necessary sequel to the present state of things, and the fatal consequence of capitalistic evolution.

"Let us, if you like, take another example: we possess some experience of the life and death of religions. The end of Roman polytheism in particular, is familiar to us. Its lamentable end enables us to imagine that of Christianity, whose decline we are witnessing.

"We may similarly seek to find out whether future humanity will be bellicose or peaceful."

"I am curious to learn," said Joséphin Leclerc, "how to set about it."

M. Goubin shook his head, saying:

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150 "Such a quest is useless. We know its result beforehand. War will last as long as the world."

"There is nothing to prove it," replied Langelier, "and a consideration of the past leads one to believe, on the contrary, that war is not one of the essential conditions of social life."

And Langelier, while waiting for the minestra (soup) which was long in making its appearance, developed the foregoing idea, without, however, departing from the moderation characterising his mind.

"Although the early periods of the human race," he said, "are lost to us in impenetrable darkness, it is certain that men were not always warlike. They were not so during the long ages of the pastoral life; the memory of which survives only in a small number of words common to all Indo-European languages, and which reveal innocent manners. And there are reasons for believing that these peaceful pastoral centuries had a far longer duration than the agricultural, industrial, and commercial periods which, following them in a necessary progress, brought about between tribes and nations a state of all but constant war.

"It was by force of arms that it was most frequently sought to acquire property, lands, women, slaves, and cattle. At first, wars were waged between village and village. Next, the vanquished, joining hands with the victors, formed a nation, and wars

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Rh occurred between nation and nation. Each of these peoples, in order to retain possession of the acquired riches, or to make further acquisitions, contended with neighbouring peoples for the possession of strongholds securing the command of roads, mountain passes, river courses, and the seashore. In the end, nations formed confederations, and contracted alliances. Thus it came about that men banded together; as they increased in strength, instead of contending for the goods of the earth, formally bartered them. The community of sentiments and interests gradually became broadened. A day came when Rome imagined she had established it the world over. Augustus thought he had inaugurated the era of universal peace.

"We know how this illusion was gradually and savagely dissipated, and how the barbarian hordes overwhelmed the Roman peace. These barbarians, who had settled within the Empire, cut one another's throats on its ruins, for a space of fourteen centuries, and founded in carnage countries baptized in blood. Of such was the life of nations in the Middle Ages, and the constitution of the great European monarchies.

"In those days, a state of war was alone possible and conceivable. All the forces of the world were organised solely for the purpose of maintaining it.

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text:
User talk:Mohamad61.20

— billinghurst  sDrewth  11:56, 18 December 2012 (UTC)

Multiple issues Al-Sahifa al-Sajjadiyya
Hi, thanks for the work, however, for us to host it we are going to need to have you provide more information and to do some editing.

If you have any questions, then either ask at WS:Scriptorium or ask me. — billinghurst  sDrewth  12:02, 18 December 2012 (UTC)
 * 1) The Arabic language version is not required at English Wikisource, instead that should be at Arabic Wikisource.  The interwikis will work fine to get to the other version and to allow side by side display (if the formatting is aligned)
 * 2) We need a source for the English language version of the work, where and when was it published, who was the translator.  While it may be a religious text, the translation would still be covered by copyright law.  For text only contributions, we would usually put the source information on the talk page inside textinfo, and have edition place in the notes section of the article header.

More info
Mohamad, this notice was placed on the webpage listed by you as the source of this work, and I listed it on the page of the work you contributed:

 * Published by the Muhammadi Trust of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 17 Beverley Way, West Wimbledon, London SW20 0AW, England. First published in 1988. Copyright Muhammadi Trust 1988. ISBN 0-946079-51-X ISBN 0-946079-56-O. This book is copyright. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced by any process without the prior written permission of the Muhammadi Trust. View the Muhammadi Trust online at http://www.al-islam.org/publishers/mtrust/.

I also wrote this work was "nominated for speedy deletion as an obvious violation of English Wikisource's copyright policy, and will be deleted in two weeks after the time stated in the edit record of this announcement unless a license is procured from the stated copyright holder, or a license request to the copyright holder is stated to have begun on the discussion page, or a different source is claimed for the origin of the text."

It occurred to me that the page of the work being altered and the link to the work on New Texts being removed may be recognizable as a notice to regular users, but for more irregular users, this may not be adequate. That is why I am serving notice here as well, where you as a signed-in user would be automatically directed. I will also restart the two weeks time for you to act back to today, so you have two weeks from today to fulfill the licensing requirements in one of the ways described in the previous paragraph. ResScholar (talk) 10:07, 9 January 2013 (UTC)

title: User talk:Mohamad61.20


text:
Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/443

 no doubt that its exuberant richness in the 16th century derives its inspiration from the latter, and especially so in patios or courts found in every class of building, ecclesiastical as well as civil. There is still, however, another characteristic in the early Renaissance of Spain, which is not found in Italy or France, and which again owes its source to Moorish work, where the external walls and towers consist of simple plain masonry, and the rich decoration, generally in stucco brilliantly coloured and gilded, is confined to the courts and to the interiors of their magnificent halls. The Italian method of decorating the external front of the palaces with flat pilasters of the various orders placed at regular intervals, the windows and doors forming features of second-rate importance, was not followed by the architects of the Spanish Renaissance, who retained the simple plain masonry and reserved their decorations for the entrance doorways and windows, emphasizing therefore these features, and by contrast increasing their value and interest.

Instead also of the huge cornicione which the Italians employed to give the shadows required to emphasize the crowning features of their palaces, the Spanish architects preferred to obtain a similar effect by an open arcaded upper storey, which, as Fergusson remarks, “forms one of the most pleasing architectural features that can be applied to palatial architecture, giving lightness combined with shadow exactly where wanted for effect and where they can be applied without any apparent interference with solidity.” These galleries would seem to have been provided to serve as promenades to the occupants of the palace, and more especially for the ladies when it would have been unwise or imprudent for them to venture into the streets. There is one well-known example in France, in the château of Blois, which is so attractive a feature that it is singular it has not been more often adopted.

Instead also of the monotonous balustrade, which is invariably found in Italy, the Spanish architects introduced richly carved crestings, with finials at regular intervals, a feature probably borrowed from Flamboyant Gothic and Moorish.

The three periods into which the architectural phases of the Renaissance style in Spain are divided are:—(1) The Plateresque or Silversmiths’ work, from the conquest of Granada to the reign of Philip II. (2) The purer Italian style, called by the Spanish the Greco-Roman, though it has no Greek elements in its design, being based on the work of Palladio and Vignola. This style prevailed until the end of the 17th century. (3) The Rococo or Churrigueresque style, so called from the name of the architect, José Churriguera (d. 1725), the chief leader of the movement, which lasted for about 100 years.

Ecclesiastical Architecture.—The cathedral of Granada, built from the designs of Diego de Siloé, is the earliest example of the Renaissance in Spain, and in some respects the most remarkable, not only for its plan, in which there is an entirely new feature, but for the scheme adopted in the vaulting, which covers the whole church, and shows that its architect had studied the earlier Gothic churches, and was well acquainted with the principles of thrust and counter-thrust developed in them. The cathedral is 400 ft. long by 230 ft. wide, and therefore of the first class as far as size is concerned. The western portion consists of nave and double aisles on each side, the outer aisle being carried round the whole church and giving access to the chapels which enclose the building. The principal feature of the cathedral is at the east end, where the place of the ordinary apse is occupied by a great circular area, 70 ft. in diameter, crowned by a lofty dome, in the centre of which in a flood of light stands the high altar. The vista from the nave through the great arch (37 ft. 6 in. wide and 97 ft. high) is extremely fine, and it is strange that it should be the only example of its kind. The west front was completed at a later date; the only feature of it belonging to the original church being the north-west tower, which, in its design, resembles the south-west tower of the church at Gisors in France. There are two other important Renaissance cathedrals at Jaen and Valladolid. The latter was built from a design of Juan de Badajoz in 1585 but never completed. On the south side of the cathedral is the chapel in which the Catholic kings lie buried, where there are two fine marble tombs enclosed by the reja or wrought-iron screen partly gilt, forged in 1522 by Maestre Bartholomé. The sagrario or parish church, also on the south side, is a small version of the scheme of design employed in the cathedral.

In Spain, as in France, magnificent portals have been added to cathedrals and churches, and these are amongst the finest works of the Renaissance period. The more remarkable of these are the portals of the cathedral of Malaga, a deeply recessed porch, enriched with slender shafts and niches between; of Santa Engracia at Saragossa; and of Santo Domingo and the cathedral at Salamanca. Externally the Renaissance domes over the crossings of Spanish cathedrals are poor, but this is compensated for by the lofty steeples which form striking features. The western towers of the cathedral at Valladolid; the tower of the Seo in Saragossa, which bears some resemblance to Wren’s steeples in the setting back of the several storeys and the crowning with octagonal lanterns; the tower of the cathedral Del Pilar at Saragossa, and that at Santiago, are all interesting examples of the Spanish Renaissance.

One of the most beautiful features of the Spanish Renaissance is found in the magnificent rejas or wrought-iron grilles, richly gilt, which form the enclosures of the chapels. Besides the example at Granada, others are found at Seville, where is the masterpiece of Sancho Muñoz (1528); at Palencia (1582); Cuenca (1557), where there are three fine examples; Toledo; Salamanca; and other cathedrals. The iron pulpit at Avila, the eagle lectern at Cuenca and the staircase railing at Burgos are all remarkable works in metal.

Secular Architecture.—With the exception of the magnificent portals, the finest works of the Renaissance in Spain as in France are to be found in the secular buildings, but with this difference, that the best examples in France are those built in the country or in comparatively small provincial towns, whereas in Spain they are all in the midst of the larger towns, and further they are not confined to palaces and châteaux; monasteries and universities coming in for an equal share in the great architectural development.

The characteristic style of the Spanish architecture of the Renaissance period is due probably to the influence of the earlier Moorish work, where the value of the rich Alhambresque decorations in the entrance doorways and windows, and the patios or courts, is enhanced by contrast with the plain masonry of their walls and towers. This influence had already been felt in the Spanish flamboyant Gothic panelling and tracery; when translated into Renaissance, and probably, at first, executed by Italian artists, it displayed a variety and beauty in its design scarcely inferior to some of the best work in Italy. And this development, taking place at a time when Spain was overflowing with wealth, resulted in that exuberant richness we find in the entrance doorways and windows, the external galleries of the upper storey, and the rich cresting surmounting the cornice.

Comparison with the contemporary and even earlier work in Italy, where the principal thought of the architect would seem to have been to break the wall surface by an unmeaning series of flat pilasters, and then fill in the windows as features of secondary importance, will show that the Spanish architect recognized more fully the true principle of design, and although, in the profiles of their mouldings, and the execution of the sculpture decorating their pilasters and friezes, Spanish work in contrast with Italian looks somewhat coarse, in general picturesqueness it is far in advance of the palaces of Rome, Florence, and even Venice, and has not yet received the recognition which it deserves.

The earliest palace built in the Renaissance style is that which adjoins the Alhambra at Granada, and was begun by the emperor Charles V. for his own residence in 1527, but never completed. The building is nearly an exact square of 205 ft., with a great circular court in the centre, nearly 100 ft. in diameter. This central court was enclosed by a colonnade with Doric columns, and an upper storey with columns of the Ionic order. From the unfinished condition of the palace and the absence of roofs, it is difficult to decide what the form of the latter might have been. But the design, begun by Pedro Machuca and continued by Alonso Berruguete (1480–1561), is so remarkable that it ought to be better known. Its proximity to the Alhambra, however, deprives it of the attention which otherwise it deserves for the purity of its details and for its good proportion.

A second palace, the Alcazar at Toledo, was begun in 1540 by Charles II., but little else than the bare walls remain, as it was destroyed by fire in 1886, after having been twice rebuilt. In its design it belongs to the true Spanish type of the Renaissance, with the simple ashlar masonry of its walls and the accentuation of the principal entrance doorway and the windows. In this palace also the plan is square, about 110 ft., with a square courtyard (240 ft.).

The third palace built, the Escorial, some 20 m. to the north-east of Madrid, is the most renowned—more, however, on account of its immense size than for its design. It was built for Philip II. and begun in 1563 from the designs of Juan Bautista de Toledo, being completed by his pupil, Juan de Herrera, in 1584. The principal front is 680 ft. in width, the depth of the palace 540 ft., with the king’s residence in the rear. The plan is a fine conception, and consists of a large entrance court in the centre, with the church in the rear, having on the right the Colegio and on the left the monastery, with numerous courts in each case. The church is 320 ft. long by 220 ft. wide, the principal portion being the intersection of the nave and transept, which is covered by a dome. The coro is placed above the entrance vestibule, which is 100 ft. long and 27 ft. high, imperfectly lighted, but by contrast emphasizing the dimensions and the splendour of the church beyond. Externally the grouping is fine; the lofty towers at the angles, the central composition of the main front, and at the rear of the court the front of the church

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Rh nation that it failed to draw any tears from me. … There appeared to be in me then, as I find it to be in me now, such an entire loss of what regards myself, that any of my own interests gave me little pain or pleasure; ever wanting to will or wish for myself only the very thing which God does." In another place she writes: "We all of us came near perishing in a river which we found it necessary to pass. The carriage sank in the quicksand. Others who were with us threw themselves out in excessive fright. But I found my thoughts so much taken up with God that I had no distinct sense of danger. It is true that the thought of being drowned passed across my mind, but it cost no other sensation or reflection in me than this—that I felt quite contented and willing it were so, if it were my heavenly Father's choice." Sailing from Nice to Genoa, a storm keeps her eleven days at sea. "As the irritated waves dashed round us," she writes, "I could not help experiencing a certain degree of satisfaction in my mind. I pleased myself with thinking that those mutinous billows, under the command of Him who does all things rightly, might probably furnish me with a watery grave. Perhaps I carried the point too far, in the pleasure which I took in thus seeing myself beaten and bandied by the swelling waters. Those who were with me took notice of my intrepidity."

The contempt of danger which religious enthusiasm produces may be even more buoyant still. I take an example from that charming recent autobiography, "With Christ at Sea," by Frank Bullen. A couple of days after he went through the conversion on shipboard of which he there gives an account,—

"It was blowing stiffly," he writes, "and we were carrying a press of canvas to get north out of the bad weather. Shortly after four bells we hauled down the flying-jib, and I sprang out astride the boom to furl it. I was sitting astride the boom when suddenly it gave way with me. The sail slipped through my fingers, and I fell backwards, hanging head downwards


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Rh cries.' And how should I have cried, since I was swooning with happiness within?"

The transition from tenseness, self-responsibility, and worry, to equanimity, receptivity, and peace, is the most wonderful of all those shiftings of inner equilibrium, those changes of the personal centre of energy, which I have analyzed so often; and the chief wonder of it is that it so often comes about, not by doing, but by simply relaxing and throwing the burden down. This abandonment of self-responsibility seems to be the fundamental act in specifically religious, as distinguished from moral practice. It antedates theologies and is independent of philosophies. Mind-cure, theosophy, stoicism, ordinary neurological hygiene, insist on it as emphatically as Christianity does, and it is capable of entering into closest marriage with every speculative creed. Christians who have it strongly live in what is called 'recollection,' and are never anxious about the future, nor worry over the outcome of the day. Of Saint Catharine of Genoa it is said that "she took cognizance of things, only as they were presented to her in succession, moment by moment." To her holy soul, "the divine moment was the present moment, … and when the present moment was estimated in itself and in its relations, and when the duty that was involved in it was accomplished, it was permitted to pass away as if it had never been, and to give way to the facts and duties of the moment which came after."


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292 that these conventional customs were a lie and a sham, and the whole body of his followers thereupon renounced them, as a sacrifice to truth, and so that their acts and the spirit they professed might be more in accord.

In the autobiography of Thomas Elwood, an early Quaker, who at one time was secretary to John Milton, we find an exquisitely quaint and candid account of the trials he underwent both at home and abroad, in following Fox's canons of sincerity. The anecdotes are too lengthy for citation; but Elwood sets down his manner of feeling


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Rh shared with a younger brother. The furniture of the latter might have answered for the cell of an anchorite, and consisted of a hard mattress on a cot-bedstead, plain wooden chairs and table, with matting on the floor. It was without fire, and to cold he was throughout life extremely sensitive; but he never complained or appeared in any way to be conscious of inconvenience. 'I recollect,' says his brother, 'after one most severe night, that in the morning he sportively thus alluded to his suffering: "If my bed were my country, I should be somewhat like Bonaparte: I have no control except over the part which I occupy; the instant I move, frost takes possession."' In sickness only would he change for the time his apartment and accept a few comforts. The dress too that he habitually adopted was of most inferior quality; and garments were constantly worn which the world would call mean, though an almost feminine neatness preserved him from the least appearance of neglect."

Channing's asceticism, such as it was, was evidently a compound of hardihood and love of purity. The democracy which is an offshoot of the enthusiasm of humanity, and of which I will speak later under the head of the cult of poverty, doubtless bore also a share. Certainly there was no pessimistic element in his case. In the next case we have a strongly pessimistic element, so that it belongs under head 4. John Cennick was Methodism's first lay preacher. In 1735 he was convicted of sin, while walking in Cheapside,—

"And at once left off song-singing, card-playing, and attending theatres. Sometimes he wished to go to a popish monastery, to spend his life in devout retirement. At other times he longed to live in a cave, sleeping on fallen leaves, and feeding on forest fruits. He fasted long and often, and prayed nine times a day. … Fancying dry bread too great an indulgence for so great a sinner as himself, he began to feed on potatoes, acorns, crabs, and grass; and often wished that he could live on roots


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Rh himself against it. During a very severe winter, one of his missionaries contrived a false floor to his confessional and placed a metal case of hot water beneath. The trick succeeded, and the Saint was deceived: 'God is very good,' he said with emotion. 'This year, through all the cold, my feet have always been warm.'"

In this case the spontaneous impulse to make sacrifices for the pure love of God was probably the uppermost conscious motive. We may class it, then, under our head 3. Some authors think that the impulse to sacrifice is the main religious phenomenon. It is a prominent, a universal phenomenon certainly, and lies deeper than any special creed. Here, for instance, is what seems to be a spontaneous example of it, simply expressing what seemed right at the time between the individual and his Maker. Cotton Mather, the New England Puritan divine, is generally reputed a rather grotesque pedant; yet what is more touchingly simple than his relation of what happened when his wife came to die?


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304 Father Vianney's asceticism taken in its totality was simply the result of a permanent flood of high spiritual enthusiasm, longing to make proof of itself. The Roman Church has, in its incomparable fashion, collected all the motives towards asceticism together, and so codified them that any one wishing to pursue Christian perfection may find a practical system mapped out for him in any one of a number of ready-made manuals. The dominant Church notion of perfection is of course the negative one of avoidance of sin. Sin proceeds from concupiscence, and concupiscence from our carnal passions and temptations, chief of which are pride, sensuality in all its forms, and the loves of worldly excitement and possession. All these sources of sin must be resisted; and discipline and austerities are a most efficacious mode of meeting them. Hence there are always in these books chapters on self-mortification. But whenever a procedure is codified, the more delicate spirit of it evaporates, and if we wish the undiluted ascetic spirit,—the passion of self-contempt wreaking itself on the poor flesh, the divine irrationality of devotion making a sacrificial gift of all it has (its sensibilities, namely) to the object of its adoration,—we must go to autobiographies, or other individual documents.

Saint John of the Cross, a Spanish mystic who flourished—or rather who existed, for there was little that suggested flourishing about him—in the sixteenth century, will supply a passage suitable for our purpose.

"First of all, carefully excite in yourself an habitual affectionate will in all things to imitate Jesus Christ. If anything agreeable offers itself to your senses, yet does not at the same


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310 I spare you the recital of poor Suso's self-inflicted tortures from thirst. It is pleasant to know that after his fortieth year, God showed him by a series of visions that he had sufficiently broken down the natural man, and that he might leave these exercises off. His case is distinctly pathological, but he does not seem to have had the alleviation, which some ascetics have enjoyed, of an alteration of sensibility capable of actually turning torment into a perverse kind of pleasure. Of the founder of the Sacred Heart order, for example, we read that

So much for the phenomena to which the ascetic impulse will in certain persons give rise. In the ecclesiastically consecrated character three minor branches of self-mortification have been recognized as indispensable pathways to perfection. I refer to the chastity, obedience, and poverty which the monk vows to observe; and upon the heads of obedience and poverty I will make a few remarks.

First, of Obedience. The secular life of our twentieth century opens with this virtue held in no high esteem. The duty of the individual to determine his own conduct and profit or suffer by the consequences seems, on the


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Rh contrary, to be one of our best rooted contemporary Protestant social ideals. So much so that it is difficult even imaginatively to comprehend how men possessed of an inner life of their own could ever have come to think the subjection of its will to that of other finite creatures recommendable. I confess that to myself it seems something of a mystery. Yet it evidently corresponds to a profound interior need of many persons, and we must do our best to understand it.

On the lowest possible plane, one sees how the expediency of obedience in a firm ecclesiastical organization must have led to its being viewed as meritorious. Next, experience shows that there are times in every one's life when one can be better counseled by others than by one's self. Inability to decide is one of the commonest symptoms of fatigued nerves; friends who see our troubles more broadly, often see them more wisely than we do; so it is frequently an act of excellent virtue to consult and obey a doctor, a partner, or a wife. But, leaving these lower prudential regions, we find, in the nature of some of the spiritual excitements which we have been studying, good reasons for idealizing obedience. Obedience may spring from the general religious phenomenon of inner softening and self-surrender and throwing one's self on higher powers. So saving are these attitudes felt to be that in themselves, apart from utility, they become ideally consecrated; and in obeying a man whose fallibility we see through thoroughly, we, nevertheless, may feel much as we do when we resign our will to that of infinite wisdom. Add self-despair and the passion of self-crucifixion to this, and obedience becomes an ascetic sacrifice, agreeable quite irrespective of whatever prudential uses it might have.

It is as a sacrifice, a mode of 'mortification,' that


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 about four in the morning, taking nothing but one penny to buy bread for that day. And it being said to her in the going out, ''Where is thy faith? in a penny?'' she threw it away, begging pardon of God for her fault, and saying, 'No, Lord, my faith is not in a penny, but in thee alone.' Thus she went away wholly delivered from the heavy burthen of the cares and good things of this world, and found her soul so satisfied that she no longer wished for anything upon earth, resting entirely upon God, with this only fear lest she should be discovered and be obliged to return home; for she felt already more content in this poverty than she had done for all her life in all the delights of the world."

The penny was a small financial safeguard, but an effective spiritual obstacle. Not till it was thrown away could the character settle into the new equilibrium completely.

Over and above the mystery of self-surrender, there are in the cult of poverty other religious mysteries. There is


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Rh was so ordered by my Superiors, God will ask for no other excuse. As a passenger in a good vessel with a good pilot need give himself no farther concern, but may go to sleep in peace, because the pilot has charge over all, and 'watches for him'; so a religious person who lives under the yoke of obedience goes to heaven as if while sleeping, that is, while leaning entirely on the conduct of his Superiors, who are the pilots of his vessel, and keep watch for him continually. It is no small thing, of a truth, to be able to cross the stormy sea of life on the shoulders and in the arms of another, yet that is just the grace which God accords to those who live under the yoke of obedience. Their Superior bears all their burdens. … A certain grave doctor said that he would rather spend his life in picking up straws by obedience, than by his own responsible choice busy himself with the loftiest works of charity, because one is certain of following the will of God in whatever one may do from obedience, but never certain in the same degree of anything which we may do of our own proper movement."

One should read the letters in which Ignatius Loyola recommends obedience as the backbone of his order, if one would gain insight into the full spirit of its cult. They are too long to quote; but Ignatius's belief is so vividly expressed in a couple of sayings reported by companions that, though they have been so often cited, I will ask your permission to copy them once more:—

"I ought," an early biographer reports him as saying, "on entering religion, and thereafter, to place myself entirely in the hands of God, and of him who takes His place by His authority. I ought to desire that my Superior should oblige me to give up my own judgment, and conquer my own mind. I ought to set up no difference between one Superior and another, … but recognize them all as equal before God, whose place they fill. For if I distinguish persons, I weaken the spirit of obedience.


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314 In the hands of my Superior, I must be a soft wax, a thing, from which he is to require whatever pleases him, be it to write or receive letters, to speak or not to speak to such a person, or the like; and I must put all my fervor in executing zealously and exactly what I am ordered. I must consider myself as a corpse which has neither intelligence nor will; be like a mass of matter which without resistance lets itself be placed wherever it may please any one; like a stick in the hand of an old man, who uses it according to his needs and places it where it suits him. So must I be under the hands of the Order, to serve it in the way it judges most useful.

"I must never ask of the Superior to be sent to a particular place, to be employed in a particular duty. … I must consider nothing as belonging to me personally, and as regards the things I use, be like a statue which lets itself be stripped and never opposes resistance."

The other saying is reported by Rodriguez in the chapter from which I a moment ago made quotations. When speaking of the Pope's authority, Rodriguez writes:—

With a solitary concrete example of the extravagance to which the virtue we are considering has been carried, I will pass to the topic next in order.

"Sister Marie Claire [of Port Royal] had been greatly imbued with the holiness and excellence of M. de Langres. This prelate, soon after he came to Port Royal, said to her one day, seeing her so tenderly attached to Mother Angélique, that it


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Rh would perhaps be better not to speak to her again. Marie Claire, greedy of obedience, took this inconsiderate word for an oracle of God, and from that day forward remained for several years without once speaking to her sister."

Our next topic shall be Poverty, felt at all times and under all creeds as one adornment of a saintly life. Since the instinct of ownership is fundamental in man's nature, this is one more example of the ascetic paradox. Yet it appears no paradox at all, but perfectly reasonable, the moment one recollects how easily higher excitements hold lower cupidities in check. Having just quoted the Jesuit Rodriguez on the subject of obedience, I will, to give immediately a concrete turn to our discussion of poverty, also read you a page from his chapter on this latter virtue. You must remember that he is writing instructions for monks of his own order, and bases them all on the text, "Blessed are the poor in spirit."

"If any one of you," he says, "will know whether or not he is really poor in spirit, let him consider whether he loves the ordinary consequences and effects of poverty, which are hunger, thirst, cold, fatigue, and the denudation of all conveniences. See if you are glad to wear a worn-out habit full of patches. See if you are glad when something is lacking to your meal, when you are passed by in serving it, when what you receive is distasteful to you, when your cell is out of repair. If you are not glad of these things, if instead of loving them you avoid them, then there is proof that you have not attained the perfection of poverty of spirit." Rodriguez then goes on to describe the practice of poverty in more detail. "The first point is that which Saint Ignatius proposes in his constitutions, when he says, 'Let no one use anything as if it were his private possession.' 'A religious person,' he says, 'ought in respect to all the things that he uses, to be like a statue which one may drape with clothing, but which feels no grief and makes no resistance when one


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Rh nor any sort of cabinet or bureau of any elegance. Neither is it allowed us to keep anything to eat, either for ourselves or for those who may come to visit us. We must ask permission to go to the refectory even for a glass of water; and finally we may not keep a book in which we can write a line, or which we may take away with us. One cannot deny that thus we are in great poverty. But this poverty is at the same time a great repose and a great perfection. For it would be inevitable, in case a religious person were allowed to own superfluous possessions, that these things would greatly occupy his mind, be it to acquire them, to preserve them, or to increase them; so that in not permitting us at all to own them, all these inconveniences are remedied. Among the various good reasons why the company forbids secular persons to enter our cells, the principal one is that thus we may the easier be kept in poverty. After all, we are all men, and if we were to receive people of the world into our rooms, we should not have the strength to remain within the bounds prescribed, but should at least wish to adorn them with some books to give the visitors a better opinion of our scholarship."

Since Hindu fakirs, Buddhist monks, and Mohammedan dervishes unite with Jesuits and Franciscans in idealizing poverty as the loftiest individual state, it is worth while to examine into the spiritual grounds for such a seemingly unnatural opinion. And first, of those which lie closest to common human nature.

The opposition between the men who have and the men who are is immemorial. Though the gentleman, in the old-fashioned sense of the man who is well born, has usually in point of fact been predaceous and reveled in lands and goods, yet he has never identified his essence with these possessions, but rather with the personal superiorities, the courage, generosity, and pride supposed to be his birthright. To certain huckstering kinds of