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Rh

 'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter,
 * 'You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?'
 * But answer came there none—

And this was scarcely odd, because
 * They'd eaten every one."

 "I like the Walrus best," said Alice: "because you see he was a little sorry for the poor oysters."

"He ate more than the Carpenter, though," said Tweedledee. "You see he held his handkerchief in front, so that the Carpenter couldn't count how many he took: contrariwise."

"That was mean!" Alice said indignantly. "Then I like the Carpenter bestif he didn't eat so many as the Walrus."

"But he ate as many as he could get," said Tweedledum.

This was a puzzler. After a pause, Alice began, "Well! They were both very unpleasant characters" Here she checked herself in some alarm, at hearing something that sounded to

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Author:Joseph Pohle

Contributions to the Catholic Encyclopedia

 * , subarticles Actual Grace and Sanctifying Grace
 * , subarticles Actual Grace and Sanctifying Grace

title: Author:Joseph Pohle


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80 her like the puffing of a large steam-engine in the wood near them, though she feared it was more likely to be a wild beast. "Are there any lions or tigers about here?" she asked timidly.

"It's only the Red King snoring," said Tweedledee.

"Come and look at him!" the brothers cried, and they each took one of Alice's hands, and led her up to where the King was sleeping.

"Isn't he a lovely sight" said Tweedledum.

Alice couldn't say honestly that he was. He had a tall red night-cap on, with a tassel, and


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Rh he was lying crumpled up into a sort of untidy heap, and snoring loud"fit to snore his head off!" as Tweedledum remarked.

"I'm afraid he'll catch cold with lying on the damp grass," said Alice, who was a very thoughtful little girl.

"He's dreaming now," said Tweedledee; "and what do you think he's dreaming about?"

Alice said "Nobody can guess that."

"Why, about you!" Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. "And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you'd be?"

"Where I am now, of course," said Alice.

"Not you!" Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. "You'd be nowhere. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream!"

"If that there King was to wake," added Tweedledum, "you'd go outbang!just like a candle!"

"I shouldn't!" Alice exclaimed indignantly.


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82 "Besides, if I'm only a sort of thing in his dream, what are you, I should like to know?"

"Ditto," said Tweedledum.

"Ditto, ditto!" cried Tweedledee.

He shouted this so loud that Alice couldn't help saying, "Hush! You'll be waking him, I'm afraid, if you make so much noise."

"Well, it's no use your talking about waking him," said Tweedledum, "when you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real."

"I am real!" said Alice, and began to cry.

"You won't make yourself a bit realler by crying," Tweedledee remarked: "there's nothing to cry about."

"If I wasn't real," Alice said—half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—"I shouldn't be able to cry."

"I hope you don't suppose those are real tears?" Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.

"I know they're talking nonsense," Alice


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Rh thought to herself: "and it's foolish to cry about it." So she brushed away her tears, and went on as cheerfully as she could, "At any rate I'd better be getting out of the wood, for really it's coming on very dark. Do you think it's going to rain?"

Tweedledum spread a large umbrella over himself and his brother, and looked up into it.

"No, I don't think it is," he said: "at least not under here. Nohow."

"But it may rain outside?"

"It mayif it chooses," said Tweedledee: "we've no objection. Contrariwise."

"Selfish things!" thought Alice, and she was just going to say "Good-night" and leave them, when Tweedledum sprang out from under the umbrella, and seized her by the wrist.

"Do you see that?" he said, in a voice choking with passion, and his eyes grew large and yellow all in a moment, as he pointed with a trembling finger at a small white thing lying under the tree.


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84 "It's only a rattle," Alice said, after a careful examination of the little white thing. "Not a rattle-snake, you know," she added hastily, thinking that he was frightened: "only an old rattlequite old and broken."

"I knew it was!" cried Tweedledum, beginning to stamp about wildly and tear his hair. "It's spoilt, of course!" Here he looked at Tweedledee, who immediately sat down on the ground, and tried to hide himself under the umbrella.


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Rh Alice laid her hand upon his arm, and said in a soothing tone, "You needn't be so angry about an old rattle."

"But it isn't old!" Tweedledum cried, in a greater fury than ever. "It's new, I tell youI bought it yesterdaymy nice RATTLE!" and his voice rose to a perfect scream.

All this time Tweedledee was trying his best to fold up the umbrella, with himself in it: which was such an extraordinary thing to do, that it quite took off Alice's attention from the angry brother. But he couldn't quite succeed, and it ended in his rolling over, bundled up in the umbrella, with only his head out: and there he lay, opening and shutting his mouth and his large eyes"looking more like a fish than anything else," Alice thought.

"Of course you agree to have a battle?" Tweedledum said in a calmer tone.

"I suppose so," the other sulkily replied, as he crawled out of the umbrella: "only she must help us to dress up, you know."


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86 So the two brothers went off hand-in-hand into the wood, and returned in a minute with their arms full of things such as bolsters, blankets, hearth-rugs, table-cloths, dish-covers, and coal-scuttles. "I hope you're a good hand at pinning and tying strings?" Tweedledum remarked. "Every one of these things has got to go on, somehow or other."

Alice said afterwards she had never seen such a fuss made about anything in all her lifethe way those two bustled aboutand the quantity of things they put onand the trouble they gave her in tying strings and fastening buttons"Really they'll be more like bundles of old clothes than anything else, by the time they're ready!" she said to herself, as she arranged a bolster round the neck of Tweedledee, "to keep his head from being cut off," as he said.

"You know," he added very gravely, "it's one of the most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a battleto get one's head cut off."


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Rh Alice laughed loud: but she managed to turn it into a cough, for fear of hurting his feelings.

"Do I look very pale?" said Tweedledum, coming up to have his helmet tied on. (He called it a helmet, though it certainly looked much more like a saucepan.)

"Wellyesa little," Alice replied gently.

"I'm very brave generally," he went on in a low voice: "only to-day I happen to have a headache."


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88 "And I've got a toothache!" said Tweedledee, who had overheard the remark. "I'm far worse than you!"

"Then you'd better not fight to-day," said Alice, thinking it a good opportunity to make peace.

"We must have a bit of a fight, but I don't care about going on long," said Tweedledum. "What's the time now?"

Tweedledee looked at his watch, and said "Half-past four."

"Let's fight till six, and then have dinner," said Tweedledum.

"Very well," the other said, rather sadly: "and she can watch usonly you'd better not come very close," he added: "I generally hit everything I can seewhen I get really excited."

"And I hit every thing within reach," cried Tweedledum, "whether I can see it or not!"

Alice laughed. "You must hit the trees pretty often, I should think," she said.


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Rh Tweedledum looked round him with a satisfied smile. "I don't suppose," he said, "there'll be a tree left standing, for ever so far round, by the time we've finished!"

"And all about a rattle!" said Alice, still hoping to make them a little ashamed of fighting for such a trifle.

"I shouldn't have minded it so much," said Tweedledum, "if it hadn't been a new one."

"I wish the monstrous crow would come!" thought Alice.

"There's only one sword, you know," Tweedledum said to his brother: "but you can have the umbrellait's quite as sharp. Only we must begin quick. It's getting as dark as it can."

"And darker," said Tweedledee.

It was getting dark so suddenly that Alice thought there must be a thunderstorm coming on. "What a thick black cloud that is!" she said. "And how fast it comes! Why, I do believe it's got wings!"


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34 To a certain extent-and would that for the sake of kind but injudicious mothers it were further than it is—the mere conviction of this love existing in the mother's heart will ensure a corresponding degree of influence. But no sooner do children begin to think, to compare, and to judge for themselves—and they are sometimes better judges than we suppose—no sooner do they begin to form an estimate of their mother's mind, of her sense or her want of sense, than these ideas mix themselves with that of her affection, and her influence is then submitted to a new, an infinitely more trying test.

Children seldom love long those whom they are unable to respect, and thus a fond and foolish mother invariably brings upon herself the neglect, and often the contempt of her family. I knew a fine boy, just emerging from childhood, who whispered to a little playmate the discovery he had made, that his mother was, to use his own expression, "quite a simpleton." The mingling of tenderness with shame, in the manner in which he communicated this lamentable fact, did honor both to his head and heart; and could the mother have known or understood the melancholy blank which succeeded to the warmest admiration in the mind of her boy, and the hard struggles he had afterward to wage betwixt his affection and his contempt, she would surely have regretted, even if she had done nothing more, the many opportunities which had been wasted in early life, for cultivating her understanding, and rendering her talents more worthy of respect.

There must then be a blending of confidence with esteem in the feelings of the child, in order to ensure a lasting influence to the mother— of confidence founded upon a conviction of her sympathy and love, and of esteem for her own character, both in an intellectual and moral point of view.

On the subject of example, much more remains to be said, when that of religious influence shall come under consideration; but it is, perhaps, most in keeping with the observations already made, to remind the reader here, that there is a bad, as well as a good influence—that influence there must be, of one kind or other, arising out of the close connexion and constant association of the mother and the

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90 "It's the crow!" Tweedledum cried out in a shrill voice of alarm: and the two brothers took to their heels and were out of sight in a moment.

Alice ran a little way into the wood, and stopped under a large tree. "It can never get at me here," she thought: "it's far too large to squeeze itself in among the trees. But I wish it wouldn't flap its wings soit makes quite a hurricane in the woodhere's somebody's shawl being blown away!"


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Rh child; and that where good sense and good principle are wanting in the mother's conduct, the absence of these essentials to good influence, especially the latter, will, in all probability, tell upon the characters of her children in after life to an alarming extent. In vain might such a mother train her children according to the most-approved and best-established rules. In vain might she admonish them, though in the language of sincerity and love. In vain might she lay down for them a system of the purest morals, or even preach to them a holier law derived from the Bible itself. The unsophisticated mind, and clear discriminating eye of childhood, are not to be thus deceived. Long before a child knows how to make use of the words consistency and truth, it possesses a discerning spirit, to perceive where consistency is deviated from, where truth is violated; and when this is the case in the conduct of the mother, what hold can she possibly have upon the confidence and esteem of her children?

We should remember, too, that impressions are with children the data from which they afterward reason; and long before they are capable of what may be strictly denominated conviction, they have in all probability received impressions never to be effaced. Could we look into the mind of a child, and examine the tablet of its memory, we should see by that faithful record, that each day had produced a particular set of impressions, even at a very early age. We discover this from their prattle in their waking hours, and often from the image which evidently flits before their mental vision, when they lie down to sleep. It is, therefore, by impressions chiefly, that the mother has to work; and well is it for her, and for all who have to do with the management of children, if, while delivering lectures to them upon what is right and wrong, they do not receive the impression that it is very tedious and very disagreeable to be instructed how to be good. Well, too, if, while the mother is most careful to instil into their minds by verbal instruction, all manner of good principles, they do not, from her conduct, receive the impression that these things may be well enough for little boys and girls, but that one of the great privileges of men and women is to be able to do without them. Yet, if such be the power of influence

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1533.] be cited equally in other causes at the Pope's pleasure; and the free kingdoms of Europe would be converted into dependent provinces of the See of Rome. It concerned alike the interest and the honour of all sovereigns to resist encroachments which pointed to such an issue; and, therefore, Henry said he hoped that his good brother would use the Pope as he had deserved, 'doing him to understand his folly, and [that] unless he had first made amends, he could not find in his heart to have further amity with him.'

If notwithstanding, the instructions concluded, 'all these persuasions cannot have place to let the said meeting, and the French King shall say it is expedient for him to have in his hands the duchess, under pretence of marriage for his son, which he cannot obtain but by this means, ye shall say that ye remember ye heard him say once he would never conclude that marriage but to do us good, which is now infaisible; and now in the voice of the world shall do us both more hurt in the diminution of the reputation of our amity than it should do otherwise profit. Nevertheless, [if] ye cannot let his precise determination, [ye] can but lament and bewail your own chance to depart home in this sort; and that yet of the two inconvenients, it is to you more tolerable to return to us nothing done, than to be present at the interview and to be compelled to look patiently upon your master's enemy.'

After having entered thus their protest against the


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Rh her bed, her nerves are still quite upset; she can't bear to see her sisters now; and it sometimes sends her almost out of her mind. I have never seen her like it before. And we are all of us, all of us, Constance, very, very sorry."

"Bertha, those two old women only yelled out at the top of their voices, as deaf people do, what the rest of you thought in your hearts."

"Come, Constance, don't be so bitter. You are hard and unjust. I swear that you are mistaken. It is not as you think. Let me show it to you in the future, let me prove it to you . . . and please speak to Van der Welcke and write and tell me a day when we shall find you at home, so that Van Naghel can shake hands with Van der Welcke. He is not a young man, Constance, and your husband is under forty. It's true, Van der Welcke has apologized and Van Naghel appreciates it, but that doesn't prevent him from wishing to shake hands with Van der Welcke."

"I'll tell my husband, Bertha. But I don't know that he will think it so necessary to shake hands, any more than I do. We live very quietly now, Bertha, and people, Hague people, no longer concern us. And Van Naghel only wants to shake hands because of people."

"And because of the old friendship."

"Very well, Bertha," said Constance, coldly, "because of the old friendship: a vague term that says

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22 French King's conduct, the embassy was to return to England, leaving a parting intimation of the single condition under which Henry would consent to treat. If the Pope would declare that 'the matrimony with the Lady Catherine was and is nought, he should do somewhat not to be refused;' except with this preliminary, no offer whatever could be entertained.

This communication, as Henry anticipated, was not more effectual than the former in respect of its immediate object. At the meeting of Calais the interests of Francis had united him with England, and in pursuing the objects of Henry he was then pursuing his own. The Pope and the Emperor had dissolved the coalition by concessions on the least dangerous side. The interests of Francis lay now in the other direction, and there are few instances in history in which Governments have adhered to obligations against their advantage from a spirit of honour, when the purposes with which they contracted those obligations have been otherwise obtained. The English envoys returned as they were ordered; the French Court pursued their way to Marseilles; not quarrelling with England; intending to abide by the alliance, and to give all proofs of amity which did not involve inconvenient sacrifices; but producing on the world at large by their conduct the precise effect which Henry had foretold. The world at large, looking at acts rather than to words, regarded the interview as a contrivance to reconcile Francis and the Emperor


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1533.] through the intervention of the Pope, as a preliminary for a packed council, and for a holy war against the Lutherans —a combination of ominous augury to Christendom, from the consequences of which, if Germany was to be the first sufferer, England would be inevitably the second.

Meanwhile, as the French alliance threatened to fail, the English Government found themselves driven at last to look for a connection among those powers from whom they had hitherto most anxiously disconnected themselves. At such a time Protestant Germany, not Catholic France, was England's natural friend. The Reformation, was essentially a Teutonic movement; the Germans, the English, the Scotch, the Swedes, the Hollanders, all were struggling on their various roads towards an end essentially the same. The same dangers threatened them, the same inspiration moved them; and in the eyes of the orthodox Catholics they were united in a black communion of heresy. Unhappily, though this identity was obvious to their enemies, it was far from obvious to themselves. The odium


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24 is ever hotter between sections of the same party which are divided by trifling differences, than between the open representatives of antagonist principles; and Anglicans and Lutherans, instead of joining hands across the Channel, endeavoured only to secure each a recognition of themselves at the expense of the other. The English plumed themselves on their orthodoxy. They were 'not as those publicans,' heretics, despisers of the keys, disobedient to authority; they desired only the independence of their National Church, and they proved their zeal for the established faith with all the warmth of persecution. To the Germans national freedom was of wholly minor moment, in comparison with the freedom of the soul; the orthodoxy of England was as distasteful to the disciples of Luther as the orthodoxy of Rome—and the interests of Europe were sacrificed on both sides to this foolish and fatal disunion. Circumstances indeed would not permit the division to remain in its first intensity, and their common danger compelled the two nations into a partial understanding. Yet the reconciliation, imperfect to the last, was at the outset all but impossible. Their relations were already embittered by many reciprocal acts of hostility. Henry VIII. had won his spurs as a theologian by an attack on Luther. Luther had replied by a hailstorm of invectives. The Lutheran books had been proscribed, the Lutherans themselves had been burnt by Henry's bishops. The Protestant divines in Germany had attempted to conciliate the Emperor by supporting the cause of Catherine; and Luther himself had spoken


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1533.] loudly in condemnation of the King. The elements of disunion were so many and so powerful, that there was little hope of contending against them successfully. Nevertheless, as Henry saw, the coalition of Francis and the Emperor, if the Pope succeeded in cementing it, was a most serious danger, to which;an opposite alliance would alone be an adequate counterpoise; and the experiment might at least be tried whether such an alliance was possible. At the beginning of August, therefore, Stephen Vaughan was sent on a tentative mission to the Elector of Saxe, John Frederick, at Weimar. He was the bearer of letters containing a proposal for a resident English ambassador and if the Elector gave his consent, he was to proceed with similar offers to the Courts of the Landgrave of Hesse and the Duke of Lunenberg. Vaughan arrived in due time at the Elector's Court, was admitted to audience and delivered his letters. The prince read them, and in the evening of the same day returned for answer a polite but wholly absolute refusal. Being but a prince elector, he said, he might not aspire to so high an honour as to be favoured with the presence of an English ambassador. It was not the custom in Germany, and he feared that if he consented he should displease the Emperor. The meaning of such a reply delivered


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26 in a few hours was not to be mistaken, however disguised in courteous language. The English emissary saw that he was an unwelcome visitor, and that he must depart with the utmost celerity. 'The Elector,' he wrote, 'thirsted to have me gone from him, which I right well perceived by evident tokens which declared unto me the same.' He had no anxiety to expose to hazard the toleration which the Protestant dukedoms as yet enjoyed from the Emperor, by committing himself to a connection with a prince with whose present policy he had no sympathy, and whose conversion to the cause of the Reformation, he had as yet no reason to believe sincere.

The reception which Vaughan met with at Weimar satisfied him that he need go no further; neither the Landgrave nor the Duke of Lunenberg would be likely to venture on a course which the Elector so obviously feared. He, therefore, gave up his mission, and returned to England.


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1533.] The first overtures in this direction issued in complete failure, nor was the result wholly to be regretted. It taught Henry (or it was a first commencement of the lesson) that so long as he pursued a merely English policy he might not expect that other nations would embroil themselves in his defence. He must allow the Reformation a wider scope, he must permit it to comprehend within its possible consequences the breaking of the chains by which his subjects' minds were bound—not merely a change of jailers. Then perhaps the German princes might return some other answer.

The disappointment, however, fell lightly; for before the account of the failure had reached England, an event had happened, which, poor as the King might bein foreign alliances, had added most material strength to his position in England. The full moment of that event he had no means of knowing. In its immediate bearing it was matter for most abundant satisfaction. On the seventh of September, between three and four in the afternoon, at the palace of Greenwich, was born a princess, named three days later in her baptism, after the King's mother, Elizabeth. A son had been hoped for. The child was a daughter only; yet at least Providence had not pronounced against the marriage by a sentence of barrenness; at least there was now an heir whose legitimacy the nation had agreed to accept. Te Deums were sung in all the churches; again the river decked itself in splendour;


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28 again all London steeples were musical with bells. A font of gold was presented for the christening. Francis in compensation for his backslidings, had consented to be godfather; and the infant, who was soon to find hear country so rude a stepmother, was received with all the outward signs of exulting welcome. To Catherine's friends the offspring of the rival marriage was not welcome, but was an object rather of bitter hatred; and the black cloud of a sister's jealousy gathered over the cradle whose innocent occupant had robbed her of her title and her expectations. To the King, to the Parliament, to the healthy heart of England, she was an object of eager hope and an occasion for thankful gratitude; but the seeds were sown with her birth of those misfortunes which were soon to overshadow her, and to form the school of the singular nature which in its maturity would exercise so vast an influence on the destinies of the world.

Leaving Elizabeth for the present, we return to the continent, and to the long-promised interview, which was now at last approaching. Henry made no further attempt to remonstrate with Francis; and Francis assured him, and with all sincerity, that he would use his best efforts to move the Pope to make the necessary concessions. The English embassy meanwhile was withdrawn. The excommunication had been received as an act of hostility, of which Henry would not even condescend to complain; and it was to be understood distinctly that in any exertions which might be made by the French King, the latter was acting


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1533.] commission on his own responsibility. The intercession was to be the spontaneous act of a mutual friend, who, for the interests of Christendom, desired to heal a dangerous wound; but neither directly nor indirectly was it to be interpreted as an expression of a desire for reconciliation on the English side.

It was determined further, on the recall of the Duke of Norfolk, that the opportunity of the meeting should be taken to give a notice to the Pope of the King's appeal to the council; and for this purpose, Bennet and Bonner were directed to follow the Papal Court from Rome. Bennet never accomplished this journey, dying on the route, worn out with much service. His death delayed Bonner, and the conferences had opened for many days before his arrival. Clement had reached Marseilles by ship from Genoa, about the 20th of October. As if pointedly to irritate Henry, he had placed himself under the conduct of the Duke of Albany. He was followed two days later by his fair niece, Catherine de Medici; and the preparations for the marriage were commenced with the utmost swiftness and secrecy. The conditions of the contract were not allowed to transpire, but they were concluded in three days; and on the


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30 25th of October the Pope bestowed his precious present on the Duke of Orleans, he himself performing the nuptial ceremony, and accompanying it with his paternal benediction on the young pair, and on the happy country which was to possess them for its king and queen. France being thus securely riveted to Rome, other matters could be talked of more easily. Francis made all decent overtures to the Pope in behalf of Henry; if the Pope was to be believed, indeed, he was vehemently urgent. Clement in turn made suggestions for terms of alliance between Francis and Charles, 'to the advantage of the Most Christian King;' and thus parried the remonstrances. The only point positively clear to the observers, was the perfect understanding which existed between the King of France and his spiritual father. Unusual activity was remarked in the dockyards; Italian soldiers of fortune were about the Court in unusual numbers, and apparently in favour. An invasion of Lombardy was talked of among the palace retinue; and the Emperor was said to distrust the intentions of the conference. Possibly experience had taught all parties to doubt each other's faith. Possibly they were all in some degree waiting upon events, and had not yet resolved upon their conduct.


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Catholic Encyclopedia (1913)/Early Symbols of the Eucharist

Eucharist, .— Among the symbols employed by the Christians of the first ages in decorating their tombs, those which relate to the Eucharist hold a place of the first importance. The monuments of greatest consequence on which these symbols are depicted exist, principally, in the subterranean cemeteries of early Christian Rome, better known as the Roman catacombs (see Roman Catacombs; Cemetery). Their discovery and reopening in the latter half of the nineteenth century have thrown great light on more or less obscure allusions in early Christian literature. In this way Catholic theology now possesses supplementary information of appreciable value bearing on the belief in, and the manner of celebrating, the Eucharist in the sub-Apostolic age. According to Wilpert, an expert scholar in this field of Christian archaeology, the symbolic representations of the catacombs which refer to the Eucharist form three groups, inspired by three of Christ's miracles, namely the miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fishes, the banquet of the seven Disciples by the Sea of Galilee after the Resurrection, and the miracle of Cana. It is to the first two of these miracles, probably, that we owe the famous fish symbol, which briefly summed up the chief articles of the Christian belief (see Symbolism of the Fish). The earliest and always the favorite symbol of the Eucharist in the monuments was that inspired by the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes; the banquet of the seven Disciples appears only in one (second-century) catacomb scene; the miracle of Cana in two, one of which is of the early third, the other of the fourth, century.

I. THE MIRACLE OF THE MULTIPLICATION.—On two occasions Christ fed with loaves and fishes, miraculously multiplied, a large concourse of people who had followed Him into the desert. On the first of these occasions, recorded by all four Evangelists, five loaves and two fishes supplied the needs of five thousand people, while on the second occasion, mentioned only by St. Matthew (xv, 32 sq.), seven loaves and a "few" fishes more than sufficed for four thousand persons. In accordance with the practice of depicting only those features which were necessary to convey the meaning of a symbol, the Christian artists of the catacombs represented the miraculous multiplication as a banquet, in which the guests are seen partaking of a repast of loaves and fishes. In frescoes of this category, the source of the artist's inspiration is clearly indicated by the baskets of fragments on the right and left of the banquet scene. The number of baskets represented is not always historical, this being regarded as a matter of indifference so far as the symbol was concerned; six Eucharistic frescoes show each seven baskets, but in three others the number is two, eight, and twelve, respectively. The number of guests in all symbolical repasts of the Eucharist is invariably seven, a peculiarity which Wilpert regards as due to the early Christian fondness for the symbolism of numbers. According to St. Augustine (Tract. cxxiii, in Joan.), the number seven represented the totality of the Christian world. The most ancient representations of the Eucharist in the catacombs is the fresco known as the "Fractio Panis", an ornament of the Capella Greca, in the cemetery of St. Priscilla. Wilpert attributes this, with other paintings of that chapel, to the early part of the second century, and his opinion is generally accepted. The scene represents seven persons at table, reclining on a semi-circular divan, and is depicted on the wall above the apse of this little underground chapel, consequently in close proximity to the place where once stood the altar. One of the banqueters is a woman. The place of honor, to the right (in cornu dextro), is occupied by the "president of the Brethren" (described about 150-155 by Justin Martyr in his account of the Christian worship), i.e. the bishop, or a priest deputed in his place for the occasion (Apol., I, lxvi). The "president" (proestos), a venerable, bearded personage is depicted performing the function described in the Acts of the Apostles (ii, 42, 46; xx, 7) as "breaking bread"; hence the name "Fractio Panis" (he klasis tou artou), appropriately given to the fresco by its discoverer. It is to be noted that these words are frequently used in the earliest non-inspired Christian literature as a synonym for the Eucharist (for the texts see Wilpert, Fractio Panis, Freiburg, 1895). The moment represented, therefore, is that immediately before the Communion, when the celebrant, then as now, divided the Sacred Host. And, as though to exclude all doubt as to the character of his subject, the artist added a detail found in no other representation of the Eucharist; in front of the celebrant he placed a two-handled cup, evidently the chalice (calix ministerialis) of the second century. Such is the earliest representation in Christian art of the offering of the Mass. A recent writer regards the scene as representing the celebration of the Eucharist in connection with the funeral agape on the anniversary of some person interred in the chapel. The guests partaking of the banquet, in this view, represent the relations of the deceased assisting at an anniversary Mass (sacrificium pro dormitione) for the repose of his soul (Wieland, Mensa and Confessio, p. 139). In addition to these unique details showing a real celebration of the Mass in the early second century, the author of this fresco depicted, side by side with the reality, a symbol of the Eucharist. In the center of the table are two plates, one containing five loaves, the other two fishes, while on the right and left of the divan seven baskets of bread are distributed symmetrically.

After the "Fractio Panis" the most remarkable frescoes in which the miraculous multiplication is employed as a symbol of the Eucharist are two in the crypt of Lucina, the most ancient part of the catacomb of St. Callistus. Each consists of a fish and a basket of bread on a green field. At first view it would seem as though the fishes were represented each carrying a basket of bread, in the act of swimming. A closer examination of the frescoes made by Wilpert, however, has shown that the baskets are placed very close to, but not on, the fishes, and that the supposed blue surface is really green. The subject, therefore, is the miraculous multiplication, the green surface representing a field. As a symbol these pictures are particularly striking from the introduction of two glasses, containing a red substance, into the baskets. Evidently the artist in this detail had in mind the Eucharistic matter of wine. Consequently, the frescoes as a whole conveyed to an onlooker in the second century a meaning somewhat as follows: the miraculously multiplied bread, together with wine, formed the matter of the Eucharist, which, in turn, by a still greater miracle, became the substance of the Body and Blood of the Divine Ichthys, Jesus Christ.

The various Eucharistic banquet scenes of the catacombs appropriately symbolized the reception of Holy Communion. In one early instance the artist portrayed, besides a representation of this character, a new symbol having special reference to the Consecration. This consists of a scene showing two persons beside a tripod, on which are placed a loaf and fish. One of the figures is clad in the tunic and pallium reserved in early Christian art to persons of sacred character, while the other, at the opposite side of the tripod, stands in the attitude of an orans. The sacred personage holds his hands extended over the loaf and the fish, somewhat after the manner of a priest holding his hands over the chalice before the Consecration. Wilpert's interpretation of the scene is that the figure with extended hands represents Christ performing the miracle of the multiplication, which act, in the intention of the artist, is symbolic of the Consecration. The orans, on the other hand, is a symbol of the deceased, who, through the reception of Holy Communion, has obtained eternal happiness: "He that eateth this bread shall live forever" (St. John, vi, 59). The representation described forms one of a series comprising three subjects, all relating to the Eucharist. The second of the series is the usual banquet of seven persons, symbolizing Communion, while the third depicts Abraham and Isaac in the orans attitude. In the symbolism of the time Isaac was regarded as a figure of Christ, whence the inference that this representation of Abraham's sacrifice was figurative of the Sacrifice of the Cross.

II.—THE BANQUET OF THE SEVEN DISCIPLES.—The repast of the seven Disciples by the Sea of Galilee is recorded by the Evangelist St. John (xxi, 9 sqq.). St. Peter and his fellow-fishermen, seven altogether, after taking the miraculous draught of fishes, drew their boats on shore, where they found "hot coals lying, and a fish laid thereon, and bread". The risen Savior then invited them to eat, "and none of them... durst ask him: Who art thou? knowing that it was the Lord". The incident thus recorded was just as appropriate a symbol of the Eucharist as the miracle of the multiplication, and as such it is once depicted in a painting of the second century. In this, as in all Eucharistic frescoes, the symbol of Communion appears in close proximity with a baptismal symbol. The banquet scene itself at first view seems in no wise different from the category of Eucharistic representations already described: seven persons are partaking of food, which consists of loaves and fishes. Two details, however, differentiate this particular picture (Sacrament Chapel A 2, cemetery of Callistus), from the symbolic banquets based on the miraculous multiplication. The first of these details is the absence of the basket of fragments always present in frescoes inspired by the latter subject, and the second consists in the fact that the seven banqueters are depicted nude, the manner in which fishermen were invariably represented in classic art. The author of this fresco, we may safely conclude, drew his inspiration from the repast by the Sea of Galilee, which he depicted as a symbol of the Eucharist. St. Augustine alludes to this symbol when he speaks of the "roasted fish" on the hot coals as representing Christ crucified (Piscis assus Christus est passus, Tract. cxxiii, in Joan.).

During the first and second centuries, with the one exception noted, the only symbol of the Eucharist adopted in Christian art was that inspired by the miraculous multiplication. The mode of representing the symbol; also, during this period scarcely varied; seven guests partake of the symbolic loaves and fishes, while baskets of bread are distributed at the sides. In one instance, however, the guests are omitted, and only a tripod with loaves and fishes and the baskets of bread are depicted. This fresco, which occupies a lunette of the Sacrament Chapel containing the symbol of the seven Disciples, Wilpert regards as a sort of compendium of the two symbols of the Consecration and the Communion described above. In the third century a new mode of representing the favorite Eucharistic symbol was adopted in a number of frescoes. This consisted in a scene showing Christ performing the miracle of multiplication by touching with a rod one of several baskets of bread placed before Him. In the loaves, also, incisions, sometimes made in the form of a cross, are seen. Paintings of this class were symbols of the Consecration. One of them (chamber III in the catacomb of St. Domitilla) is of more than ordinary interest. Unfortunately it has suffered serious injury at the hands of collectors. By the aid of a design made for Bosio, Wilpert has been able to reproduce the picture. It consists of three scenes. In the center Christ is performing the miracle of multiplication with a rod. To the right of this He is again represented, His right hand raised in the oratorical gesture, while within the folds of His pallium five loaves marked with a cross are visible. Balancing this figure on the left is the Samaritan woman drawing water from the well of Jacob. According to the general principles underlying early Christian art, some relationship was here intended between the three groups. Ordinarily the Samaritan woman was a symbol of the refrigerium (refreshment) petitioned for in the Memento for the Dead at Mass. In the present instance Wilpert regards it as more probable that she is intended as a symbol of the soul in the enjoyment of eternal happiness; the Eucharist, like the fountain of water (John, iv, 14) "springing up into life everlasting", being a pledge of immortality. In the catacomb of St. Callistus there is a fourth painting of the miracle of the multiplication which conforms more closely to historical narrative than the representations of an earlier date; Christ is here depicted with both hands held over the loaves and fishes presented to Him by two Apostles. It may be added that more than thirty frescoes of the miraculous multiplication still exist in the Roman catacombs. For an exact and reliable reproduction of them see Wilpert, "Le Pitture delle catacombe Romane", Rome, 1903.

III.—THE WEDDING AT CANA.—The Custom introduced in the third century of representing the multiplication of the loaves to the exclusion of the fishes is thought to have been indirectly instrumental in bringing about a new and beautiful symbol of the Eucharist in early Christian painting. Previous to this time only two frescoes contained any allusions to the Eucharistic wine: the chalice of the "Fractio Panis" and the red substance in the baskets of the crypt of Lucina. But the epitomizing of the multiplication symbol by the omission of the fishes (leaving only bread, one of the two species required for the Eucharist) probably suggested the idea of a special symbol for the Eucharistic wine. No more appropriate symbol for this purpose was to be desired than the miracle of Cana (John, ii, 1-11), which was actually adopted. As Christ at the marriage feast changed water into wine, so on another occasion He changed wine into His blood. Quite apropos in this relation is a statement of St. Cyril of Jerusalem to the effect that, since the Lord "in Cana of Galilee changed water into wine, which is akin to blood", why should it be regarded as "incredible that He should have changed wine into blood?" (Cat., XXII, 2.) Two frescoes representing the miracle of Cana exist in the Roman catacomb of Sts. Peter and Marcellinus. The more ancient of these, which dates from the middle of the third century, represents four men and three women partaking of a repast. Before the couch on which they are reclining is a table, while on the left a servant is carrying a dish to the person occupying the post of honor at the right extremity. The servant's hands are covered by a cloth. On the right Christ is seen touching with a rod one of six water pots that stand in front of Him. Taken as a whole, there can scarcely be any doubt that here we have a Eucharistic scene, with the symbol of wine substituted for the symbol of bread. The number of guests is the invariable number in Eucharistic representations. The servant with veiled hands is the bearer of some sacred object (elsewhere St. Peter receiving the Law from Christ has his hands similarly veiled). Finally, as in all other Eucharistic frescoes, the Sacraments of Baptism and Holy Communion are brought into close relationship; on the right of the scene described is the fountain of Moses and on the left a representation of the administration of baptism. In the center of the vault also a veiled orans is an allusion to the effects of Communion (a pledge of eternal life).

The second fresco of this subject belongs to the middle of the fourth century. Here Christ is twice represented, once multiplying the loaves, and a second time changing water into wine. A banquet scene, which has suffered serious injury, occupies the lunette; five of the seven participants can still be recognized as men. The discovery in 1864 at Alexandria of an ancient Christian subterranean cemetery similar in some respects to the catacombs of Rome, brought to light a fresco in which two Eucharistic symbols of the first Christian age are reproduced in a new and striking manner. The picture occupies the frieze of the apse in a small cemeterial basilica and is, consequently, above the place formerly occupied by the altar. The stone bench for the clergy in the sanctuary is still in place. Three scenes, separated by trees, are represented. The central subject is the miraculous multiplication; Christ, identified by the nimbus, is seated on a throne and is in the act of blessing loaves and fishes presented by St. Peter and St. Andrew (identified by inscriptions). At his feet twelve baskets of bread are distributed symmetrically. To the right and left of this picture were two banquet scenes. The former is almost wholly destroyed, but a Greek inscription gives a clue to the subject. This reads: "Those partaking of the eulogia of Christ". Eulogia is the term used by St. Paul (I Cor., x, 16) in reference to the Eucharist: "the chalice of eulogia [benediction] which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ?" The application of this term, therefore, to the food set before the banqueters, points to the inference that here was depicted a Eucharistic scene in which the guests partook of the symbolic loaves and fishes. The scene on the right, we learn from inscriptions ("Jesus", "Mary", "Servants"), represented the miracle of Cana. The author of this fresco, who was well acquainted with the symbolism of the first centuries, evidently reproduced (I) the favorite symbol of the Eucharist, i.e. the miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fishes, and (2) the later symbol of the Eucharistic wine, inspired by the miracle at the wedding feast.

MAURICE M. HASSETT


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Catholic Encyclopedia (1913)/Eucharistic Congresses

Eucharistic Congresses are gatherings of ecclesiastics and laymen for the purpose of celebrating and glorifying the Holy Eucharist and of seeking the best means to spread its knowledge and love throughout the world. The Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist is one of the principal dogmas of the Catholic Faith and is therefore of paramount importance as the most precious treasure that Christ has left to His Church as the center of Catholic worship and as the source of Christian piety. The main advantages of these congresses have been in the concentration of the thoughts of the faithful upon the mystery of the altar, and in making known to them the means by which devotion towards the Holy Eucharist may be promoted and implanted in the hearts of the people. The promoters of Eucharistic congresses believe that, if during recent years devotion to the Holy Eucharist has become more widespread, if works of adoration, Confraternities of the Blessed Sacrament, and the practice of frequent Communion have spread rapidly and extensively, it must be ascribed in great part to these gatherings.

The first congress owed its inspiration to Bishop Gaston de Ségur, and was held at Lille, France, June 21, 1881. The idea at first was merely local and met with few adherents, but it grew from year to year with an ever-increasing importance. The second gathering was at Avignon, in 1882, and the third at Liège, in the following year. When from the 9th to the 13th of September, 1885, the fourth congress met at Fribourg in Switzerland, under the presidency of the famous Msgr. Mermillod, Bishop of Lausanne and Geneva, his influence and example drew to the platform members of the Cantonal Government, officials of the municipality of Fribourg, officers of the army, judges of the courts, while thousands of Catholics from all over Europe joined in the formal procession. Toulouse, in the South of France, was the place of meeting of the fifth congress, from the 20th to the 25th of June, 1886, and about 1500 ecclesiastics and 30,000 laymen were present at the closing exercises.

The sixth congress met in Paris, 2-July 6, 1888, and the great memorial church of the Sacred Heart on Monmartre was the center of the proceedings. Antwerp, in Belgium, entertained the next congress, 15-August 21, 1890; an immense altar of repose was erected in the Place de Meir, and it was estimated that 150,000 persons were gathered about it when Cardinal Goossens, Archbishop of Mechlin, gave the solemn Benediction. Bishop Doutreloux of Liège was then president of the Permanent Committee for the Organization of Eucharistic Congresses, the body which has charge of the details of these meetings.

Special importance was attached to the eighth congress, which went to Jerusalem to hold its sessions from the 14th to the 21st of May, 1893. Pope Leo XIII sent as legate Cardinal Langenieux, Archbishop of Reims. Here the reunion of the Orient was advocated, and an adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was preached on the very spot where tradition says the Agony in the Garden took place. Next year the congress was held at Reims, July 25-29, and the different churches of the East were largely represented. A place was given in the deliberations for the first time to the study of social questions affecting the working classes. Paray-le-Monial, the city of the Sacred Heart, 20-September 24, 1897, was the scene of the tenth congress; and the eleventh, the best organized and most numerously attended of the series, met at Brussels, 13-July 17, 1898. Cardinal Langenieux was again the pope's legate at the twelfth congress which had Lourdes, the city of Eucharistic miracles, as its meeting place, 7-August 11, 1899. This gathering was notable for the number of priests who took part in the procession. When the thirteenth congress met at Angers, 4-September 8, 1901, a special section was formed for young men to read and discuss papers having reference to such works as young men ought to undertake for the promotion of devotion to the Holy Eucharist and the solution of social questions. Namur, Belgium, 3-September 7, 1902, was chosen as the location for the fourteenth congress, and the fifteenth, 20-July 24, 1904, went to Angouleme, where the operations of French law forbade the usual procession of the Blessed Sacrament.

Pope Pius X having expressed a wish that the Eucharistic Congress should be held in Rome, the delegates met there, 1-June 6, 1905. He added to the solemnity of the occasion by celebrating Mass, at the opening of the sessions, by giving a special audience to the delegates, and by being present at the procession that closed the proceedings. It was the dawn of the movement that led to his decree, "Tridentina Synodus", December 20, 1905, advising daily communions.

Tournai, in Belgium, saw the seventeenth congress, 15-August 19, 1906; and the next one went to Metz, in Lorraine, 7-August 11, 1907. Cardinal Vincenzo Vannutelli was the pope's legate, and the German Government suspended the law of 1870, forbidding processions, in order that the usual solemn procession of the Blessed Sacrament might be held. Each year the congress had become more and more definitely international, and at the invitation of Archbishop Bourne of Westminster it was decided to hold the nineteenth congress in London, the first under the auspices of, and among, English-speaking members of the Church.

In addition to these general congresses there had also grown up, in all countries where Catholics were numerous, local gatherings of the Eucharistic leagues which were potent factors in the spread of the devotion. These were held in France, Germany, Belgium, Spain, Italy, England, Canada, Australia, and the United States. The first of these in the United States was at St. Louis, in September, 1901; the second at New York, in 1905; and the third at Pittsburg, in 1907. The presidents of the Permanent Committee of the International Eucharistic Congresses, under whose direction all this progress was made were: Bishop Gaston de Ségur, of Lille; Archbishop de La Bouillerie, titular of Perga and coadjutor of Bordeaux; Archbishop Duquesnay of Cambrai; Cardinal Mermillod, Bishop of Lausanne and Geneva; Bishop Doutreloux of Liège, and Bishop Thomas Heylen of Namur, Belgium. After each congress this committee prepared and published a volume giving a report of all the papers read and the discussions on them in the various sections of the meeting, the sermons preached, the addresses made at the public meetings, and the details of all that transpired.

As the most representative and important of all the congresses, the whole Catholic world was at once interested in the nineteenth, which was held in London, 9-September 13, 1908, and regarded as the greatest religious triumph of its generation. In an affectionate letter voicing anew his interest in these congresses, the pope once more designated Cardinal Vincenzo Vannutelli as his legate to attend the sessions. More than three hundred and fifty years had elapsed since a legate from the pope had been seen in England. With him were six other cardinals, fourteen archbishops, seventy bishops and a host of priests. No such gathering of ecclesiastics had ever been seen outside of Rome in modern times, and English Catholics prepared to make it locally even more memorable. The seeds of "the Second Spring", one of them aptly said, awakened by the tears and blood of persecution, and strengthened by the prayers of the remnant of the faithful in the dreary years of the penal laws, bore flower and fruit.

A distinguished escort met Cardinal Vannutelli when he landed at Dover, and an enormous crowd assembled to witness the arrival of a papal legate in London for the first time in more than three centuries. On the next day, September 9, the congress was solemnly opened in the cathedral at Westminster, by the legate, supported by Cardinals Gibbons of Baltimore, Logue of Ireland, Sancha y Hervas of Toledo, Ferrari of Milan, Mathieu of France, and Mercier of Belgium. Bishops, priests, and laymen from all quarters of the globe were about them. The regular sessions began on September 10, Archbishop Amette of Paris celebrating the Mass. Two sectional meetings in English and one in French then listened to the papers and discussions. In the evening there was a great meeting of 15,000 people at the Albert Hall, to greet the papal legate, at which meeting resolutions pledging all to promote devotion to the Eucharist and unalterable fidelity to the Holy See were passed. The speakers included Archbishops Carr of Melbourne and Bruchesi of Montreal. On September 11 Archbishop Van der Wetering, of Utrecht, was the celebrant of the Mass, and the next day Mass was celebrated according to the Byzantine Rite by the Very Reverend Arsenius Atiych, archimandrite of the church of Saint-Julienle-Pauvre of Paris, assisted by several Greek Assumptionist priests from Constantinople. The Mass on Sunday, September 13, celebrated by the papal legate, and at which Cardinal Gibbons preached, closed the series of splendid ceremonies that marked the congress. Vespers followed, and then the solemn procession took place.

It had been intended to carry the Blessed Sacrament through the streets, but, owing to a protest and public clamor against this, made by the societies composing the Protestant Alliance, the Prime Minister, Mr. Asquith, sent a formal request to Archbishop Bourne on the part of "His Majesty's Government", for the abandonment of this program, and this was complied with. The legate, attended by a guard of honor headed by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of England, and made up of eleven English noblemen and the Duke of Orleans and the Comte d'Eu and some members of the French Chamber of Deputies, after passing over the route, gave solemn benediction from the balcony of the cathedral to the multitude below. Telegraphing after the ceremony to Rome, Cardinal Vannutelli said to the Cardinal Secretary of State: "The Congress concluded with a great triumph today when the procession passed through the streets of London packed with crowds raising continuous cheers for the cardinal legate and the other cardinals and prelates. The Sacred Host was not carried in the procession, but I gave a final benediction with the Sacrament to the crowd from three open balconies on the facade of the cathedral. Members of the House of Lords formed an escort of honor for me. Perfect order was kept."

The pope sent a special letter to the Archbishop of Westminster after the congress concluded, stating that, though it was the first of its kind in England, it must be looked on as the greatest of all, for its concourse of illustrious men, for the weight of its deliberations, for its display of faith, and for the magnificence of its religious functions. He thanked the archbishop and all who had taken any part in the proceedings. Before it closed the congress decided to have the session of 1909 meet at Cologne, and that of 1910 at Montreal.

Francois Désiré, Cardinal Mathieu, Archbishop of Toulouse, France, who had attended the Congress, was stricken with an illness that necessitated an operation shortly after his arrival in London. He died in London from the effects of this on the 25th of October following. Another great dignitary of the Church who was called to his reward shortly after assisting at this memorable congress was Ciriaco Maria, Cardinal Sancha y Hervàs, Archbishop of Toledo and Patriarch of the West Indies, who died at Toledo, February 25, 1909, in the seventy-first year of his age.

THOMAS F. MEEHAN


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 CHAPTER VI

A CRITICISM OF BLEULER’S “THEORY OF SCHIZOPHRENIC NEGATIVISM.”

work contains a noteworthy clinical analysis of “Negativism.” Besides giving a very precise and discerning summary of the various manifestations of negativism, the author presents us with a new psychological conception well worthy of attention, viz. the concept of ambivalency and of ambitendency, thus formulating the psychological axiom that every tendency is balanced by its opposite tendency (to this must be added that positive action is produced by a comparatively small leaning to one side of the scale). Similarly all other tendencies, under the stress of emotions, are balanced by their opposites—thus giving an ambivalent character to their expression. This theory rests on clinical observation of katatonic negativism, which more than proves the existence of contrasting tendencies and values. These facts are well known to psychoanalysis, where they are summed up under the concept of resistance. But this must not be taken as meaning that every positive psychic action simply calls up its opposite. One may easily gain the impression from Bleuler’s work that his standpoint is that, cum grano salis the conception, or the tendency of the Schizophrenic is always accompanied by its opposite. For instance, Bleuler says:—

1. “Disposing causes of negativistic phenomena are: the ambitendency by which every impulse is accompanied by its opposite.”

2. “Ambivalency, which gives two opposed emotional expressions to the same idea, and would regard that idea as positive and negative at the same time.”


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 * An Anarchist, a story by Joseph Conrad
 * The Anarchist, a story by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
 * The Anarchist, a story by Gilbert Keith Chesterton

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Aquarium

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36 on the side of bad example, what must it be where there exists a perfect harmony between the character and conduct of the mother, and the lessons she endeavors to inculcate; or rather, where the lessons themselves, few, and short, and perfectly adapted to the understanding of childhood, are but a commentary upon her own life, and that of her husband?

So much has been said, and so beautifully, on the subject of female influence, in a work entitled "Woman's Mission," that were I to yield to the temptation of quoting from its eloquent pages, I might easily be led on to transcribe the whole. I will, however, content myself with a passage from Aimé Martin, whose authority is frequently referred to in that volume, where he says, "It is of the utmost consequence to remark, that in children, sentiment precedes intelligence; the first answer to the maternal smile is the first dawn of intelligence; the first sensation is the responding caress. Comprehension begins in feeling; hence, to her who first arouses the feelings, who first awakens the tenderness, must belong the happiest influences. She is not, however, to teach virtue, but to inspire it. This is peculiarly the province of woman. What she wishes us to be, she begins by making us love, and love begets unconscious imitation. What is a child in relation to a tutor? An ignorant being whom he is called upon to instruct. What is a child in relation to a mother? An immortal being, whose soul it is her business to train for immortality. Good schoolmasters make good scholars,—good mothers make good men; here is the difference of their missions."

Few subjects are more hackneyed, or more common to all writers, than that of maternal influence. Perhaps it it may be one of those, which, admitting of no question, and incapable of arousing systematic opposition, wants the interest of perpetual excitement, which party feeling gives to so many others less worthy of regard. It is not, like too much of the religion of the world, kept alive by the activity of contention for those points upon which it is possible to disagree, and only dormant with regard to others upon which all are of one mind; for on the subject of maternal influence, nature, reason, and religion, speak ever the same language, and would equally disown a violation of this great

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 מורה נבוכים שא שלומי עם שלום כל יודעי דעת ופי סכלות בלום. מכיר בערכו שור בטורי יהלם. סורר ומורה סור ואל תקרב הלום: [Brit. Mus. MSS. Add. 27,038.]

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Rh moral law. Yet as a strange anomaly presented by human life, there are women, and kind and well-meaning women too, who seem not to be aware that the sacred name of mother entails upon them an amount of responsibility proportioned to the influence which it places in their hands. There are mothers, and not a few, who appear to consider themselves called upon to do anything, rather than attendto the training of their children; who find time for morning calls, when they have none for the nursery or the school-room; and even make the dresses of their infants, rather than answer questions dictated by their opening minds.

It has often been said that no man, however depraved or vicious, need be utterly despaired of, with whom his mother's influence still lingers on the side of virtue. On the couch of sickness, the battle-field, and even the gloomy scaffold, it is the image of his mother which still haunts the memory of the dying man; and in the hour of strong temptation, when guilty comrades urge the treacherous or the bloody deed, it is to forget the warning of his mother's voice, that the half-persuaded victim drinks^ a deeper draught.

If in scenes like these a mother's influence is the last preserving link, how sweetly does it operate when life is new, and experience yet unsullied by any deep or lasting stains! How sweetly does it operate, like a kind of second conscience, more tender, more forgiving, yet still more appealing than the first, in all those minor perplexities and trials of human life, where judgment, bribed by inclination, would persuade the unpractised traveller, that the most flowery path must surely be the best! It is in the beginning and the end of evil, that this power, though often unseen, and purely spiritual, operates with a potency peculiarly its own—in the beginning, to win us back by that simple and habitual reference of a child to what would have been its mother's choice; and in the end, by that last lingering of expiring hope—that hovering, as it were, around our pillow, of some kind angel, reminding us at once of the tenderness of earthly love, and of the efficacy of that which is divine.

There seems to be connected with the human mind, and almost essential to its wants in this probationary state, an idea of the protection of some guardian spirit always near.

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 3. “The schizophrenic splitting of the psyche which prevents any final summing up of the conflicting and corresponding psychisms, so that the unsuitable impulse can be realised just as much as the right one, and the negative thought substituted for the right one.“ “On this theory, negative manifestations may directly arise, since non-selected positive and negative psychisms may stand for one another,” and so on.

If we investigate psychoanalytically a case of obvious ambivalency, i.e. of a more or less unexpected negative instead of a positive reaction, we find that there is a strict sequence of psychological causes conditioning negative reaction. The tendency of this sequence is to disturb the intention of the contrasting or opposite series, that is to say, it is resistance set up by a complex. This fact, which has not yet been refuted by any other observations, seems to me to contradict the above-mentioned formulae. (For confirmation, see my “Pyschology of Dementia Præcox,” p. 108.) Psychoanalysis has proved conclusively that a resistance always has an intention and a meaning; that there is no such thing as a capricious playing with contrasts. The systematic character of resistance holds good, as I believe I have proved, even in schizophrenia. So long as this position, founded upon a great variety of experience, is not disproved by any other observations, the theory of negativism must adapt itself to it. Bleuler in a sense supports this when he says: “For the most part the negative reaction does not simply appear as accidental, but is actually preferred to the right one.” This admits that negativism is of the nature of resistance. Once admit this, and the primary importance of ambivalency disappears so far as negativism is concerned. The tendency to resistance remains as the only fundamental principle. Ambivalency can in no sense be put on all fours with the “schizophrenic splitting of the psyche,” but must be regarded as a concept which gives expression to the universal and ever-present inner association of pairs of opposites. (One of the most remarkable examples of this is the “contrary meaning of root-words.” See Freud’s


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38 whose peculiar care we have the happiness to be; and the closest resemblance we find in reality to this consoling and delightful thought, is the influence of a mother, often felt more powerfully when absent, than when under the inspection of her ever-watchful eye. Nor can change of scene or lapse of time obliterate the impression, simply because it was the first, and made at a time when the heart was a tender and willing recipient to the impress of affection. Thus it visits the rude sailor on the stormy deep, in the long watches of the night; it travels with the pilgrim through the desert, and cheers him in the stranger's home; and if it does not check the man of worldly calculations when tempted to defraud, it sometimes brings him, on his couch of nightly rest, to question whether he has done right. It gives music to the voice of fame, when it echoes on a mother's ear; sweetness to the bridal wreath, when a mother binds it on a daughter's brow; honor to the dignity, a mother showed us how to wear; and value to the wealth, a mother taught us how to use.

I speak not from experience, for to me the precious link was broken before I felt its power, or could appreciate its worth; but if an aching want of that which nature pines for, if a dim vision of unseen beauty haunting perpetually the path of life, if a standard of perfect though unknown excellence imparting stability and form to the hope of its existence on earth;—if all these give a title to describe the value of a mother's influence, then, from the recollections of a desolate childhood, uncherished by maternal tenderness, surely I may speak, and not in vain.

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xviii The results of umlaut may be tabulated thus:

(a) Thus, æ into ę: hęre (< stem *hærjo), army; lęcgan (< *lægjan), to lay; sęllan (< *sæljan), to give; męte (stem *mæti), meat.

(b) ǫ into ę: dat. sg. męn(n) (< *mǫnni), nom. (acc.) pl. męn(n) (< *mǫnniz), man; ðęnc(e)an (< *ðǫncian), to think; węndan (< *wǫndian), to turn.

(c) ā and ǣ into ǣ: dǣl (stem *dāli; Goth. dails), portion; dǣlan (< *dālian; Goth. dailjan), to share; hǣlan (< *hālian; Goth. hailjan), to heal; dǣd (stem *dǣdi; Goth. -dēds), deed; lǣce (stem *lǣcio; Goth. lēkeis), leech.

(d) o, ō into e, ē: morgen (< *morgan). but mergen (< *morgin; Goth. maurgins), morrow; dat. sg. dehter (< *dohtri), daughter; dēman (< *dōmian), to judge; fēt, tēð, gēs, dat. sg. and nom. (acc.) pl. of fōt, foot, tōð (8, Note), tooth, gōs, goose.


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Collapsing Cosmoses

AM Bor glued each of his six eyes to the lenses of the cosmoscope. His nasal tentacles were orange with fear, and his antennae buzzed hoarsely as he dictated his report to the operator behind him. “It has come!” he cried. “That blur in the ether can be nothing less than a fleet from outside the space-time continuum we know. Nothing like this has ever appeared before. It must be an enemy. Give the alarm to the Inter-Cosmic Chamber of Commerce. There’s no time to lose—at this rate they’ll be upon us in less than six centuries. Hak Ni must have a chance to get the fleet in action at once.”

I glanced up from the Windy City Grab-Bag, which had beguiled my inactive peace-time days in the Super-Galactic Patrol. The handsome young vegetable, with whom I shared my bowl of caterpillar custard since earliest infancy, and with whom I had been thrown out of every joint in the intra-dimensional city of Kastor-Ya, had really a worried look upon his lavender face. After he had given the alarm we jumped on our ether-bikes and hastened across to the outer planet on which the Chamber held its sessions.

Within the Great Council Chamber, which measured twenty-eight square feet (with quite a high ceiling), were gathered delegates from all the thirty-seven galaxies of our immediate universe. Oll Stof, President of the Chamber and representative of the Milliner’s Soviet, raised his eyeless snout with dignity and prepared to address the assembled multitude. He was a highly developed protozoan organism from Nov-Kas, and spoke by emitting alternate waves of heat and cold.

“Gentlemen,” he radiated, “a terrible peril has come upon us which I feel I must bring to your attention.”

Everybody applauded riotously, as a wave of excitement rippled through the variegated audience; those who were handless slithering their tentacles together. He continued: “Hak Ni, crawl upon the dais!”

There was a thunderous silence, during which a faint prompting was heard from the dizzy summit of the platform. Hak Ni, the yellow-furred and valorous commander of our ranks through numerous installments, ascended to the towering peak inches above the floor.

“My friends—” he began, with an eloquent scraping of his posterior limbs, “these treasured walls and pillars shall not mourn on my account … ” At this point, one of his numerous relatives cheered. “Well do I remember when … ”

Oll Stof interrupted him. “You have anticipated my thoughts and orders. Go forth and win for dear old Inter-Cosmic.”

Two paragraphs later found us soaring out past innumerable stars toward where a faint blur half a million light-years long marked the presence of the hated enemy, whom we had not seen. What monsters of malformed grotesqueness seethed out there among the moons of infinity, we really didn’t know, but there was a malign menace in the glow that steadily increased until it spanned the entire heavens. Very soon we made out separate objects in the blur. Before all my horror-stricken vision-areas there spread an endless array of scissors-shaped space-ships of totally unfamiliar form.

Then from the direction of the enemy there came a terrifying sound, which I soon recognised as a hail and a challenge. An answering thrill crept through me as I met with uplifted antennae this threat of battle with a monstrous intrusion upon our fair system from unknown outside abysses.

At the sound, which was something like that of a rusty sewing-machine, only more horrible, Hak Ni too raised his snout in defiance, radiating a masterful order to the captains of the fleet. Instantly the huge space-ships swung into battle formation, with only a hundred or two of them many light-years out of line.

title: Collapsing Cosmoses