The Catholic World

A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science

Vol. XX.

October 1874 to March 1875

The Catholic Publication House.

New York

1875

Contents

Contents.

Anglicanism, The Present State of, [41].

Annals of the Moss Troopers, [222].

Another General Convention of the P. E. Church, [465].

Are you my Wife? [596], [738].

Assunta Howard, [62], [234], [332], [474].

Bit of Modern Thought on Matter, A, [786].

Blind Student, The, [802].

Burke and the Revolution, [823].

Bussierre's A Legend of Alsace, [91], [260].

Christmas in the Thirteenth Century, [502].

Church Authority, etc., [578].

Church Chant vs. Church Music, [145], [317].

Civilization of Ancient Ireland, [506].

Colonization of New South Wales by Great Britain, [650], [759].

Congress of the Catholic Germans at Mayence, [109].

Craven's Veil Withdrawn, [15], [193], [297], [446], [630], [767].

Discussion with an Infidel, A, [73], [175], [405].

Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-Four, [561].

English and Scotch Scenes, [529].

Fac-Similes of Irish National MSS., [102], [213].

Future of the Russian Church, The, [544], [703], [810].

German Empire, The Persecution of the Church in the, [289], [433].

Ice-Wigwam of Minnehaha, The, [424].

Infidel, A Discussion with an, [73], [175], [405].

Ireland, The Civilization of Ancient, [506].

Irish National MSS., [102], [213].

Italian Documents of Freemasonry, [721].

Izdubar, The Poem of, [138].

La Salle, Robert Cavelier de, [690], [833].

Legend of Alsace, A, [91], [260].

Log Chapel on the Rappahannock, The, [847].

Lucerne, [123], [245].

Matter, [1], [272], [487], [666].

Matter, A Bit of Modern Thought on, [786].

Minnehaha, The Ice-Wigwam of, [424].

Moss Troopers, Annals of the, [222].

New South Wales, The Colonization of, [650], [759].

On the Wing, [158].

Ontologism and Psychologism, [360].

Persecution of the Church in the German Empire, The, [289], [433].

Personal Responsibility, [578].

Poem of Izdubar, The, [138].

Present State of Anglicanism, The, [41].

Protestant Episcopal Church, General Convention of the, [465].

Religion and State in our Republic, [615].

Reminiscences of a Tile Field, [374].

Rigi, The, [388].

Robert Cavelier de La Salle, [690], [833].

Robespierre, [519], [680].

Russian Church, The Future of the, [544], [703].

Russian Sister of Charity, A, [428].

Scotch Scenes, [529].

Southern Flight, A, [158].

Summer in Rome, A, [658].

Swinburne and De Vere, [346].

Switzerland in 1873, [123], [245].

Tile Field, Reminiscences of a, [374].

Tondini's A Russian Sister of Charity, [428].

Tondini's Russian Church, [544], [703], [810].

Veil Withdrawn, The, [15], [193], [297], [446], [630], [767].

Year of our Lord 1874, The, [561].

Poetry.

Antar and Zara, [55].

Better Christmas, The, [528].

Bells of Prayer, The, [713].

Birth-Days, [702].

Brooklet, The, [649].

Church in F——, The, [595].

Christmas Tide, [443].

Church Song, [404].

Crown Jewels, [737].

Destiny, [192].

Episode in the Career of Pres. MacMahon, [557].

Hope, [14].

Ingenious Device, The, [387].

Inscription on the Bell Gabrielle at S. Mary's of the Lake, Lake George, [244].

Leap for Life, The, [557].

Release, [629].

Requies Mea, [359].

Roger the Rich, [135].

September—Sabbath Rest, [40].

Three Edens, The, [174].

Turning from Darwin to Thomas Aquinas, [809].

Vision, A, [157].

Wind and Tide, [271].

New Publications.

Alzog's Universal History, [287].

Anecdote Biographies of Thackeray and Dickens, [143].

Augustine, S., The Works of, [575].

Avancinus' Meditations, [714].

Bateman's Ierne of Armorica, [720].

Bric-a-Brac Series, [143], [576].

Caddell's Summer Talk about Lourdes, [288].

Catholic Family Almanac for 1875, [429].

Characteristics from the Writings of John Henry Newman, [860].

Charteris, [288].

Complete Office of Holy Week, The, [860].

Cumplido's The Perfect Lay-Brother, [859].

Curtius' History of Greece, [288].

Didiot's The Religious State, [859].

Dodge's Rhymes and Jingles, [576].

Excerpta ex Rituali Romano, [716].

Father Eudes and his Foundations, [839].

Fleuriot's Eagle and Dove, [575].

Greenleaf's Testimony of the Evangelists Examined, [718].

Harper's Peace through the Truth, [860].

Hewit's King's Highway, [574].

History of Greece, [288].

History of the Catholic Church in Scotland, [287].

Holland's Mistress of the Manse, [430].

Holy Week, The Complete Office of, [860].

Ierne of Armorica, [720].

Illustrated Catholic Almanac for 1875, [429].

Katherine Earle, [288].

King's Highway, [574].

Leguay's The Mistress of Novices, [859].

Lessons in Bible History, [715].

Letters of Mr. Gladstone and others, [716].

Letter to the Duke of Norfolk on Gladstone's Expostulation, [857].

Library of the Sacred Heart, [576].

Life of Anne Catherine Emmerich, [142].

Margaret Roper, [860].

Maria Monk's Daughter, [430].

Marvin's Philosophy of Spiritualism, [860].

Meditations on the Life and Doctrine of Jesus Christ, [714].

Meline's Charteris, [288].

Mill's Three Essays on Religion, [575].

Milwaukee Catholic Magazine, [720].

Mistress of Novices, The, [859].

Mistress of the Manse, [430].

Montgomery's On the Wing, [860].

Montzey's Father Eudes, etc., [859].

Morris' Prisoners of the Temple, [714].

Murray's Manual of Mythology, [287].

Newman's Characteristics, [860].

Newman's Letter, etc., [857].

Nobleman of '89, The, [714].

Notes on the Second Plenary Council of Baltimore, [430].

On the Wing, [860].

Ordo Divini Officii Recitandi Missæque Celebrandæ, juxta Rubricas Breviarii ac Missalis Romani, Anno 1875, [719].

Oriental and Linguistic Studies, [573].

Outlines of Astronomy, [717].

Peace through the Truth, [860].

Perfect Lay-Brother, The, [859].

Personal Reminiscences by Barham, Harness, and Hodder, [576].

Philosophy of Spiritualism, The, [860].

Prisoners of the Temple, The, [714].

Protestant Journalism, [288].

Purgatory Surveyed, [715].

Quinton's The Nobleman of '89, [714].

Ram's Life of Anne Catherine Emmerich, [142].

Réglement Ecclesiastique de Pierre Le Grand, [719].

Religious State, The, etc., [859].

Rhymes and Jingles, [576].

Sadliers' Catholic Directory for 1875, [720].

Searle's Outlines of Astronomy, [717].

Sins of the Tongue, [718].

Smith's Notes on the Council of Baltimore, [430].

Stewart's Margaret Roper, [860].

Summer Talk about Lourdes, [288].

Testimony of the Evangelists Examined, etc., [713].

Three Essays on Religion, [575].

Tondini's Réglement Ecclesiastique de Pierre Le Grand, [719].

Torrey's Theory of True Art, [288].

Trafton's Katherine Earle, [288].

Universal Church History, [289].

Valiant Woman, The, [718].

Walsh's History of the Catholic Church in Scotland, [287].

Whitney's Oriental and Linguistic Studies, [573].

Works of Aurelius Augustine, [575].

Young Catholic's Illustrated School Series, [143].

The Catholic World. Vol. XX., No. 115.—October, 1874.

Matter. III.

The plain philosophical and scientific proofs by which we have established the actio in distans, although sufficient, in our judgment, to convince every unbiassed reader of the truth of the view we have maintained, may nevertheless prove inadequate to remove the prejudice of those who regard the time-honored doctrine of action by material contact as axiomatic and unassailable. It is true that they cannot upset our arguments; but they oppose to us other arguments, which they confidently believe to be unanswerable. It is therefore necessary for us to supplement our previous demonstration by a careful analysis of the objections which can be made against it, and to show the intrinsic unsoundness of the reasonings by which they are supported. This is what we intend to do in the present article.

A first objection.—The first and chief argument advanced against the possibility of actio in distans without a material medium of communication is thus developed in the Popular Science Monthly for November, 1873 (p. 94), by J. B. Stallo:

“How is the mutual action of atoms existing by themselves in complete insulation, and wholly without contact, to be realized in thought? We are here in presence of the old difficulties respecting the possibility of actio in distans which presented themselves to the minds of the physicists in Newton's time, and constituted one of the topics of the famous discussion between Leibnitz and Clarke, in the course of which Clarke made the remarkable admission that ‘if one body attracted another without an intervening body, that would be not a miracle, but a contradiction; for it would be to suppose that a body acts where it is not’—otherwise [pg 002] expressed: Inasmuch as action is but a mode of being, the assertion that a body can act where it is not would be tantamount to the assertion that a body can be where it is not. This admission was entirely in consonance with Newton's own opinion; indeed, Clarke's words are but a paraphrase of the celebrated passage in one of Newton's letters to Bentley, cited by John Stuart Mill in his System of Logic, which runs as follows: ‘It is inconceivable that inanimate brute matter should, without the mediation of something else which is not material, operate upon and affect other matter without mutual contact.... That gravity should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so that one body may act on another, at a distance, through a vacuum, without the mediation of anything else by and through which their action and force be conveyed from one to the other, is to me so great an absurdity that I believe no man, who in philosophical matters has a competent faculty of thinking, can ever fall into it.’ ”

Before we enter into the discussion of this objection we must remark that it is scarcely fair to allege Newton's view as contrary to actio in distans. For he neither requires a material contact of matter with matter nor a material medium of communication; he says, on the contrary, that the inanimate brute matter needs the mediation of something else which is not material; which amounts to saying that his inanimate brute matter must have all around a non-material sphere of power, without which it would never reach any distant matter. This assertion, far from being a denial of actio in distans, seems rather to be a remote endeavor towards its explanation; and it may be surmised that, had Newton been as well acquainted with the metaphysical doctrine about the essential constituents of substance as he was with the mathematical formulas of mechanics, he would have recognized in his “inanimate brute matter” the potential constituent of material substance, and in his “something else which is not material” the formal constituent of the same substance and the principle of its operation. The only objectionable phrase we find in the passage now under consideration is that in which he describes action and force as conveyed from matter to matter. But, as he explicitly maintains that this convection requires no material medium, the phrase, whatever may be its verbal inaccuracy, is not scientifically wrong, and cannot be brought to bear against the actio in distans. We therefore dismiss this part of the objection as preposterous, and shall at once turn our attention to Clarke's argument, which may be reduced to the syllogistic form thus:

“A body cannot act where it is not present either by itself or by its power. But actio in distans is an action which would be exerted where the body is not present by itself, as is evident; and where the body is not present by its power, as there is no medium of communication. Therefore the actio in distans is an impossibility.”

The objection, though extremely plausible, is based on a false assumption—that is, on the supposition that there can be distance from the active power of one element to the matter of another. The truth is that, however far matter may be distant from matter, no active power can ever be distant from it. For no distance in space is conceivable without two formal [pg 003] ubications. Now, a material element has undoubtedly a formal ubication in space by reason of its matter, which is the centre of its sphere of activity, but not by reason of its active power. Distances, in fact, are always measured from a point to a point, and never from a point to an active power, nor from an active power to a point. The matter of a primitive element marks out a point in space, and from this point we take the direction of its exertions; but the power of an element, as contradistinguished from its matter, is not a point in space, nor does it mark a point in space, nor is it conceivable as a term of distance. And therefore to suppose that there may be a distance from the active power of an element to the point where another element is ubicated, is to make a false supposition. The active power transcends the predicament ubi, and has no place within which we can confine it; it is not circumscribed like matter, and is not transmissible, as the objection supposes, from place to place through any material medium; it is ready, on the contrary, to act directly and immediately upon any matter existing in its indefinite[1] sphere, while its own matter is circumscriptively ubicated in that single point[2] which is the centre of the same sphere. Prof. Faraday explicitly affirmed that “each atom extends, so to say, throughout the whole of the solar system, yet always retains its own centre of force”;[3] which, in metaphysical language, means that while the matter of a primitive element occupies a single point, the form constitutes around it an indefinite sphere of power. And for this reason it was Faraday's opinion that the words actio in distans should not be employed in science. For although the matter of one body is distant from the matter of another, yet the power that acts is not distant; and therefore, although there is no contact of matter with matter, there is a contactus virtutis, or a contact of power with matter, which alone is required for the production of the effect.

We are far from supposing that the adversaries of the actio in distans will be silenced by the preceding answer; as it is very probable that the answer itself will be to many of them a source of new difficulties. Still, many things are true which are difficult to be understood; and it would be against reason to deny truths sufficiently inferred from facts, only on account of the difficulty which we experience in giving a popular explanation of them. Those who, to avoid such a difficulty, deny action at a distance, expose themselves to other difficulties which are much more real, as admitting of no possible solution; and if they reject actions at a distance because their explanation appears to be difficult, they are also bound to reject even more decidedly all actions by material contact; for these indeed admit of no explanation whatever, as we have already shown.[4]

To understand and explain how material elements can act at any distance is difficult, for this one radical reason: that our intellectual work is never purely intellectual, [pg 004] but is always accompanied by the working of that other very useful, but sometimes mischievous, power which we call imagination; and because, when we are trying to understand something that transcends imagination, and of which no sensible image can be formed, our intellect finds itself under the necessity of working without the assistance of suitable sensible representations. Our imagination, however, cannot remain inactive, and therefore it strives continually to supply the intellect with new images; but as these, unhappily, are not calculated to afford any exact representation of intellectual things, the intellect, instead of receiving help from the imagination, is rather embarrassed and led astray by it. On the other hand, the words which we are generally obliged to use in speaking of intellectual objects are more or less immediately drawn from sensible things, and have still a certain connection with sensible images. With such words, our explanations must, of course, be metaphorical in some degree, and represent the intelligible through the sensible, even when the latter is incompatible with the former. This is one of the reasons why, in some cases, men fail to express intelligibly and in an unobjectionable manner their most intellectual thoughts. True it is that the metaphysicians, by the definite form of their terminology, have greatly diminished this last difficulty; but, as their language is little known outside of the philosophical world, our use of it will scarcely help the common reader to understand what it conveys. On the contrary, the greater the exactness of our expressions, the more strange and absurd our style will appear to him who knows of no other language than that of his senses, his imagination, and popular prejudice.

These general remarks apply most particularly to actio in distans. It is objected that a cause cannot act where it is not, and where its power is not conveyed through a material medium. Now, this proposition is to be ranked among those which nothing but popular prejudice, incompleteness of conception, and imperfection of language cause to be received as axiomatic. We have pointed out that no material medium exists through which power can be conveyed; but as the objection is presented in popular terms and appeals to imagination, whilst our answer has no such advantage, it is very probable that the objection will keep its ground as long as men will be led by imagination more than by intellect. To avoid this danger, Faraday preferred to say that “the atom [primitive element] of matter is everywhere present,” and therefore can act everywhere. But by this answer the learned professor, while trying to avoid Scylla, struck against Charybdis. For, if the element of matter is everywhere present, then Westminster Abbey, for instance, is everywhere present; which cannot be true in the ordinary sense of the words. In fact, we are accustomed to say that a body is present, not in that place where its action is felt, but in that from which the direction of the action proceeds, and since such a direction proceeds from the centres of power, to these centres alone we refer when we point out the place occupied by a body. Prof. Faraday, on the contrary, refers to the active powers when he says that matter is everywhere present; for he considers the elements as [pg 005] consisting of power alone.[5] But this way of speaking is irreconcilable with the notions we have of determinate places, distances, etc., and creates a chaotic confusion in all our ideas of material things. He speaks more correctly in the passage which we have already mentioned, where he states that “each atom [element] extends, so to say, throughout the whole of the solar system, yet always retaining its own centre of force.” Here the words “so to say” tell us clearly that the author, having found no proper terms to express himself, makes use of a metaphor, and attributes extension to the material elements in a sense which is not yet adopted in common use. He clearly wishes to say that “each element extends virtually throughout space, though it materially occupies only the central point from which its action is directed.”

This latter answer is very good. But people are not likely to realize its full meaning; for in speaking of material substance men frequently confound that which belongs to it by reason of its matter with that which belongs to it by reason of its substantial form. It is evident, however, that if the substance had no matter, it would not mark out a point in space; it is, therefore, only on account of its matter that a substance is formally ubicated.

As to the substantial form (which is the principle of activity), although it is said to have a kind of ubication on account of the matter to which it is terminated, nevertheless, of itself, it has no capability of formal ubication, as we have already shown. Hence the extent to which the active power of an element can be applied is not to be measured by the ubication of its matter; and although no cause can act where it is not virtually by its power, yet a cause can act where it is not present by its matter.

The direct answer to the argument proposed would, therefore, be as follows:

“A body cannot act where it is not present either by itself or by its power.” Granted.

“But actio in distans is an action which would be exerted where the body is not present by itself, as is evident.” Granted. “And where the body is not present by its power.” False.

To the reason adduced, that “there is no medium of communication,” we simply reply that such a medium is not required, as the active power constitutes an indefinite sphere, and is already present after its own manner (that is, virtually) wherever it is to be exerted; and therefore it has no need of being transmitted through a medium.

This is the radical solution of the difficulty proposed. But the notion of an indefinite sphere of activity, on which this solution is grounded, is, in the eyes of our opponents, only a whimsical invention, inconsistent, as they think, with the received principles of philosophy. We must therefore vindicate our preceding answer against their other objections.

A second objection.—A sphere of power, they say, is a mere absurdity. [pg 006] For how can the active power be there, where its matter is not? The matter is the first subject of its form; and therefore the form must be in the matter, and not outside of it. But in a primitive substance the active power is entitatively the same thing with the substantial form; accordingly, the active power of a primitive substance must be entirely in its matter, and not outside of it. And the same conclusion is to be applied to the powers of all material compounds; for in all cases the form must be supported by the matter. How is it, then, possible to admit a sphere of power outside of its matter, and so distant from its matter as is the sun from the planets?

This objection, which we have often heard from men who should have known better, is wholly grounded on a false conception of the relation between the matter and the form of a primitive being. It is false, in fact, that the matter supports the substantial form, and it is false that the substantial form exists in the matter as in a subject. The accidental act requires a subject already existing; but the substantial act requires only a potential term to which it has to give the first existence. This is evident; because if the substantial act ought to be supported by a real subject, this real subject would be an actual substance before receiving the same substantial act; which is a contradiction in terms. And therefore the form is not supported by the matter, but only terminated to it; and the matter is not the subject of the form, though it is so called by many, but is only the substantial term, to which the substantial form gives existence. “Properly speaking,” says S. Thomas, “that which is potential in regard to some accidental actuality is called subject. For the subject gives actuality to the accident, as the accident has no actuality except through its subject; and for this reason we say that accidents are in a subject, whereas we do not say that the substantial form is in a subject. ‘Matter,’ therefore, and ‘subject,’ differ in this: that ‘subject’ means something which does not receive its actuality by the accession of anything else, but exists by itself and possesses a complete actuality (as, for example, a white man does not receive his being from his whiteness). ‘Matter,’ on the contrary, means something which receives its actuality from that which is given to it; because matter has, of itself, only an incomplete being, or rather no being at all, as the Commentator says. Hence, to speak properly, the form gives existence to the matter; whereas the accident gives no existence to the subject, as it is the subject that gives existence to the accident. Yet ‘matter’ is sometimes confounded with ‘subject,’ and vice versa.”[6]

From this doctrine it is manifest that the matter is not the subject of the substantial form, and consequently that the form, or the principle of activity, is in no need of being supported by its matter. It is rather the matter itself that needs to be supported—that is, kept in existence—by its form; as it has no being except from it. The matter is potency, and the form is act; now, all act is nobler than its corresponding potency. It is not, therefore, the potency that determines the conditions of existence of its act, but the act itself determines the conditions of existence [pg 007] of its potency. And thus it is not the matter that determines the range of its form, but it is the form that determines the being of its own matter, in the same manner as the form of a body determines its centre of gravity. These considerations, which will hereafter receive a greater development, suffice to show that the range of the elementary power is not determined or circumscribed by its material term. And thus the objection is substantially destroyed.

Those who make this objection suppose that the activity of a material element is entitatively enclosed, embedded, and merged in the matter as in a physical recipient by which it must be circumscribed. This supposition is a gross philosophical blunder. The matter of a primitive element is not a physical recipient of the substantial form; for it is nothing physically before it is actuated. The substantial form gives to the matter its first being; and therefore it cannot be related to it as the enclosed to the encloser or the supported to the supporter, but only as the determiner to the determinable. This is an obvious metaphysical truth that cannot be questioned. Moreover, the form can determine the existence of a material point in space without being itself confined to that point. This is very clearly inferred from the fact already established, viz., that a material point acts all around itself in accordance with the Newtonian law; for this fact compels the conception of a material element as a virtual sphere, of which the matter is the central point, while its virtual sphericity must be traced to the special character of the form. Now, although the centre of a sphere borrows all its centric reality from the sphericity of which it is the intrinsic term, yet the sphericity itself cannot be confined within its own centre; which shows that, although the matter of an element borrows all its reality from the substantial form of which it is the essential term, yet the substantial form itself, on account of its known spherical character, must virtually extend all around its matter, and constitute, so to say, an atmosphere of power expanding as far, at least, from the central point as is necessary for the production of the phenomena of universal gravitation.

Nor can this be a sufficient ground for inferring, as the objection does, that in such a case the form would be distant from its matter as much as the sun is from the planets. The form, as such, cannot be considered as a term of the relation of distance; for, as we have already remarked, there is no distance without two formal ubications. Now, the form, as such, has no formal ubication, but is reduced to the predicament ubi only by the ubication of its own matter. Hence it is impossible rationally to conceive a distance between the matter and its form, however great may be the sphere of activity of the material element. When the substantial form is regarded as a principle of accidental actions, we may indeed consider it, if not as composed of, at least as equivalent to, a continuous series of concentric spherical forms overlying one another throughout the whole range of activity; and we may thus conceive every one of them as virtually distant from the material centre, its virtual distance being measured by its radius. But, strictly speaking, the radius measures the distance between the agent and the [pg 008] patient, not between the agent and its own power; and, on the other hand, as the imagined series of concentric sphericities continues uninterruptedly up to the very centre of the sphere, we can easily perceive that the substantial form, even as a principle of action, is immediately and intrinsically terminated to its own matter.

A third objection.—What conception can we form of an indefinite sphere? For a sphere without a spherical surface is inconceivable. But an indefinite sphere is a sphere without a spherical surface; for if there were a surface, there would be a limit; and if there were a limit, the sphere would not extend indefinitely. It is therefore impossible to conceive an indefinite sphere of activity.

This objection is easily answered. A sphere without a spherical form is indeed inconceivable; but it is not necessary that the spherical form should be a limiting surface, as the objection assumes. We may imagine an indefinite sphere of matter; that is, a body having a density continually decreasing in the inverse ratio of the squared distances from a central point. Its sphericity would consist in the spherical decrease of its density; which means that the body would be a sphere, not on account of an exterior spherical limit, but on account of its interior constitution. Now, what we say of an indefinite sphere of matter applies, by strict analogy, to an indefinite sphere of power. Only, in passing from the former to the latter, the word density should be replaced by intensity; for intensity is to power what density is to matter. And thus an indefinite sphere of power may have its spherical character within itself without borrowing it from a limiting surface. We may, therefore, consider this third objection as solved.

Let us add that in our sphere of power not only all the conditions are fulfilled which the law of gravitation requires, but, what is still more satisfactory, all the conditions also which befit the metaphysical constitution of a primitive substance. We have a centre (matter), the existence of which essentially depends on the existence of a principle of activity (form) constituting a virtual sphere. Take away the substantial form, and the matter will cease to have existence. Take away the virtual sphericity, and the centre will be no more. But let the spherical form be created; the centre will immediately be called into existence as the essential and intrinsic term of sphericity, it being impossible for a real sphericity not to give existence to a real centre. And although this spherical form possesses an intensity of power decreasing in proportion as the sphere expands, still it has everywhere the same property of giving existence to its centre, since it has everywhere an intrinsic spherical character essentially connected with a central point as its indispensable term. Whence we see that the substantial form, though virtually extending into an indefinite sphere, is everywhere terminated to its own matter. Thus the Newtonian law and the actio in distans, far from being opposed to the known metaphysical law of the constitution of things, serve rather to make it more evident by affording us the means of representing to ourselves in an intelligible and almost tangible manner the ontologic relation of matter and form in the primitive substance.

A fourth objection.—A power [pg 009] which virtually extends throughout an indefinite sphere must possess an infinite intensity. But no material element possesses a power of infinite intensity. Therefore no element extends its power throughout an indefinite sphere. The major of this syllogism is proved thus: In an indefinite sphere we can conceive an infinite multitude of concentric spherical surfaces, to every one of which the active power of the element can be applied for the production of a finite effect. But the finite taken an infinite number of times gives infinity. Therefore the total action of an element in its sphere will be infinite; which requires a power of infinite intensity.

The answer to this objection is not difficult. From the fact that the active powers virtually extend through an indefinite sphere and act everywhere in accordance with the Newtonian law, it is impossible to prove that material elements possess a power of infinite intensity. We concede, of course, that in an indefinite sphere “an infinite multitude of concentric spherical surfaces can be conceived, to every one of which the active power of the element can be applied for the production of a finite effect.” We also concede that “the finite taken an infinite number of times gives infinity.” But when it is argued that therefore “the total action of an element in its sphere will be infinite,” we must distinguish. The total action will be infinite in this sense: that it would reach an infinite multitude of terms, if they existed in its sphere, and produce in each of them a determinate effect, according to their distance—this we concede. The total action will be infinite—that is, the total effort of the element will be infinitely intense; this we deny. The schoolmen would briefly answer that the action will be infinite terminative, but not intensive. This distinction, which entirely upsets the objection, needs a few words of explanation.

In the action of one element upon another the power of the agent, while exerted on the patient, is not prevented from exerting itself at the very same time upon any other element existing in its sphere of activity. This is a well-known physical law. Hence the same element can emit a thousand actions simultaneously, without possessing a thousand powers or a thousandfold power, by the simultaneous application of its single power to a thousand different terms. The actions of an agent are therefore indefinitely multiplied by the mere multiplication of the terms, with no multiplication of the active power; and accordingly an active power of finite intensity may have an infinite applicability. This is true of all created powers. Our intellect, for instance, is substantially finite, and yet it can investigate and understand any number of intelligible objects. This amounts to saying that, if there is no limit to possible intellectual conceptions, there is no limit to the number of intelligible terms; but from this fact it would be absurd to infer that a created intellect has a power of infinite intensity. In like manner, the motive power of a material element is substantially finite, and yet it can be applied to the production of a number of movements which has no limit but the number of the terms capable of receiving the motion. The infinity of the total action is therefore grounded on an assumed infinity of terms, not on an infinite intensity of the power.

Nor can this be a matter of surprise. For, as the motive power is not transmitted from the agent to the patient, it remains whole and entire in the agent, however much it may be exerted in all directions. It is not absorbed, or exhausted, or weakened by its exertions, and, while acting on any number of terms, is yet ready to act on any number of other terms as intensely as it would on each of them separately. If ten new planets were now created, the sun would need no increase of power to attract them all; its actual power would suffice to govern their course without the least interference with the gravitation of the other existing planets. And the reason of this is that the power of all material elements is naturally determined to act, and therefore needs no other condition for its exertion than the presence of the movable terms within the reach of its activity. The number of such terms is therefore at every instant the measure of the number of the real actions.

We have said that the active power is not weakened by its exertions. In fact, a cause is never weakened by the mere production of its connatural effects, but only because, while producing its effects, it is subjected to the action of other agents which tends to alter and break up its natural constitution. Now, to be altered and impaired may be the lot of those causes whose causality arises from the conspiration of many active principles, as is the case with all the physical compounds. But primitive causes, such as the first elements of matter, are altogether unalterable and incorruptible with respect to their substantial being, and can never be impaired. When we burn a piece of paper, the paper with its composition is destroyed, but we know that its first components remain unaltered, and preserve still the same active powers which they possessed when they were all united in the piece of paper.

This incontrovertible fact maybe confirmed à priori by reflecting that the active principle, or the substantial form, of a primitive element, is not exposed to the influence of any natural agent capable of impairing it. Everything that is impaired is impaired by its contrary. Now, the active principle has no contrary. The only thing which might be imagined to be contrary to a motive power would be a motive power of an opposite nature, such as the repulsive against the attractive. Motive powers, however, do not act on one another, but on their matter only, as matter alone is passive. On the other hand, even if one power could act on another, its motive action would only produce an accidental determination to local movement, which determination surely would not alter in the least the substance of a primitive being. Hence, although two opposite actions, when terminated to the same subject, can neutralize each other, yet two opposite motive powers can never exercise any influence on each other by their natural actions; and therefore, in spite of their finite entity, they are never impaired or weakened, and are applicable to the production of an unlimited number of actions.

A fifth objection.—An action of infinite intensity cannot but proceed from a power of infinite intensity. But, according to the Newtonian law, two elements, when their distance has become infinitely small, act on one another with an intensity infinitely great. Therefore, if the Newtonian law hold good even to the very centre of the element, the [pg 011] elementary power possesses infinite intensity.

To this we reply that the mathematical expression of the intensity of the action, in the case of infinitesimal distances, does not become infinite, except when the action is supposed to last for a finite unit of time. But the action continued for a finite unit of time is not the actual action of an element; it is the integral of all the actions exerted in the infinite series of infinitesimal instants which makes up the finite unit of time. To judge of the true intensity of the actual exertion, it is necessary to exclude from the calculation the whole of the past or future actions, and to take into account the only action which corresponds to the infinitesimal present. In other terms, the actual action is expressed, not by an integral, but by a differential. In fact, the elements act when they are, not when they have been, or when they will be; they act in their present, not in their future or in their past; and the present, the now, is only an instant, which, though connecting the past with the future, has in itself neither past nor future, and therefore has a rigorously infinitesimal duration. It is this instant, and not the finite unit of time, that measures the actual effort of the elements. Accordingly, the action as actually proceeding from the elements, when at infinitesimal distance, is infinitely less than the integral calculated for a finite unit of time; which shows that the argument proposed has no foundation.

This answer serves also to complete our solution of the preceding objection. It was there objected that the active power of an element can be applied to the production of an infinite multitude of finite effects; to which we answered that a finite power was competent to do this by being applied simultaneously to an infinite multitude of terms. But now we add that none of those effects acquire a finite intensity, except by the continuation of the action during a finite unit of time, and therefore that the true effect produced in every instant of time is infinitesimal. Hence the infinite multitude of such effects, as related to the instant of their actual production, is an infinite multitude of infinitesimals, and the total effort of a primitive element in every instant of time is therefore finite, not infinite.

A sixth objection.—If we admit that a material element has an indefinite sphere of power, we must also admit that the element has a kind of immensity. For the active power must evidently be present entitatively in all the parts of space where it is ready to act. Accordingly, as by the hypothesis it is ready to act everywhere, its sphere being unlimited, it must be present everywhere and extend without limit. In other words, the elementary power would share with God the attribute of immensity—which is impossible.

This objection, which, in spite of its apparent strength, contains only an appeal to imagination instead of intellect, might be answered from S. Thomas in two different ways. The first answer is suggested by the following passage: “The phrase, A thing is everywhere and in all times, can be understood in two manners: First, as meaning that the thing possesses in its entity the reason of its extending to every place and to every time; and in this manner it is proper of God to be everywhere and for ever. Secondly, as meaning that the thing has nothing in itself by which it be [pg 012] determined to a certain place or time.”[7] According to this doctrine, a thing can be conceived to be everywhere, either by a positive intrinsic determination to fill all space, or by the absence of any determination implying a special relation to place. We might therefore admit that the elementary power is everywhere in this second manner; for although the matter of an element marks out a point in space, we have seen that its power, as such, has no determination by which it can be confined to a limited space. And yet nothing would oblige us to concede that the active power of an element, by its manner of being everywhere, “shares in God's immensity”; for it is evident that an absence of determination has nothing common with a positive determination, and is not a share of it.

The second answer is suggested by a passage in which the holy doctor inquires “whether to be everywhere be an attribute of God alone,” and in which he proposes to himself the objection that “universals are everywhere; so also the first matter, as existing in all bodies, is everywhere; and therefore something is everywhere besides God.” To which he very briefly replies: “Universals and the first matter are indeed everywhere, but they have not everywhere the same being.”[8] This answer can be applied to the active power of primitive elements with as much reason, to say the least, as it is to the first matter. The active power may therefore be admitted to be everywhere, not indeed like God, who is everywhere formally, and “has everywhere the same being,” but in a quite different manner—that is, by extending everywhere virtually, and by possessing everywhere a different degree of virtual being. We know, in fact, that this is the case, as the exertions of such a power become weaker and weaker in proportion as the object acted on is more and more distant from the centre of activity.

Yet a third answer, which may prove to be the best, can be drawn from the direct comparison of the pretended immensity of the elementary power with the real immensity of the divine substance. God's immensity is an infinite attribute, which contains in itself the formal reason of the existence of space, and therefore eminently contains in itself all possible ubications. By his immensity God is essentially everywhere with his whole substance, and is as infinite and entire in any one point of space as he is in the whole of the universe and outside of it. On the other hand, what is the pretended immensity of the elementary power? It is unnecessary to remark that an indefinite sphere of power does not give existence to space, as it presupposes it; but it is important to notice that, however great may be the expansion of that virtual sphere, the essence and the substance of the element are absolutely confined to that single point, where its form is terminated to its matter. Both matter and form are included in the essence of an element; hence there only can the element be with its essence and substance where its matter and its form are together. [pg 013] But they are not together, except in a single point. Therefore the element, however great may be the virtual expansion of its sphere of power, is essentially and substantially present only in a single point.

From this every one will see that there is no danger of confounding the virtual ubiquity of created power with God's immensity. Divine immensity has been ingeniously, though somewhat strangely, defined by a philosopher to be “a sphere of which the centre is everywhere.” The power of an element, on the contrary, is “a sphere of which the centre is ubicated in a single point.” If this does not preclude the notion that the element “shares in God's immensity,” we fail to see why every creature should not share also in God's eternity, by its existence in each successive moment of time. The objection is therefore insignificant. As to the virtual sphere itself, we must bear in mind that its power loses continually in intensity as the virtual expansion is increased, till millions of millions of elements are required to produce the least appreciable effect. Hence the virtuality of elementary powers tends continually towards zero as its limit, although it never reaches it. And as a decreasing series, though implying an infinity of terms, may have a finite value, as mathematicians know, so the virtuality of the elementary powers, although extending after its own manner beyond any finite limit, represents only a finite property of a finite being.

From what we have said in these pages the intelligent reader will realize, we hope, that the much-maligned actio in distans, as explained by us according to Faraday's conception, can bear any amount of philosophical scrutiny. The principles which have formed the basis of our preceding answers are the three following:

1st. Motive powers have no other formal ubication than that from which their exertions proceed;

2d. Motive powers are never distant from any matter;

3d. Motive powers are not merged or embedded in the matter to which they belong, but constitute a virtual sphere around it.

That actio in distans not only is possible, but is the only action possible with the material agents, has been proved in our preceding article. The embarrassment we experience in its explanation arises, not from our reason, but from our habit of relying too much on our imagination. “Imagination,” says S. Thomas, “cannot rise above space and time.” We depict to ourselves intellectual relations as local relations. The idea that a material point situated on the earth can exert its power on the polar star suggests to us the thought that the active power of that element must share the ubication of the polar star, and be locally present to it. Yet the true relation of the power to the star is not a local relation, and the exertion of the power is not terminated to the place where the star is, but to the star itself as to its proper subject; and therefore the relation is a relation of act to potency, not a relation of local presence.

There is nothing local in the principle of activity, except the central point from which its action is directed; and there is nothing local in its action, except the direction from that central point to the subject to which the action is terminated. True it is that we speak of a sphere of power, which seems to imply local relations. But such a sphere [pg 014] is not locally determined by the power, which has no ubication, but by the matter to which that power is to be applied. For the necessity of admitting a sphere of power arises from the fact that all the matter placed at equal distance from the centre of activity is equally acted on. It is only from matter to matter that distance can be conceived; and thus it is only from matter to matter, and not from matter to power, that the radius of a sphere can be traced. Abstract geometry deals with imaginary points, but physical geometry requires real points of matter.

Power is above geometry, and therefore it transcends space; hence the difficulty of understanding its nature and of explaining the mode of its operation. Nevertheless, power and matter are made for one another, and must have a mutual co-ordination, since they necessarily conspire into unity of essence. Hence whatever can be predicated potentially of the matter can be virtually predicated of the power; and, as the matter of an element, though actuated in a single point of space, is everywhere potentially—viz., can be moved to any distant place—so also the principle of activity, though formally terminated to a single point, is everywhere virtually—that is, it can impart motion to matter at any distance. Thus actio in distans might directly be inferred, as a necessary result, from the ontological correlation of the essential principles of matter. But we have no need of à priori arguments, as, in questions of fact, the best arguments are those which arise from the analysis of the facts themselves. These arguments we have already given; and, so long as they are not refuted, we maintain that nothing but actio in distans offers a philosophical explanation of natural facts.

To Be Continued.

Hope.

Youthful hope around thee lingers;

Soon its transient lines will fly:

Time and Death with frosty fingers

Touch its blossoms, and they die.

Yet rejoice while hope is keeping

Watch upon her emerald throne.

Ere thy cheek is pale with weeping,

Ere thy dreams of love have flown.

The Veil Withdrawn.

Translated, By Permission, From The French Of Madame Craven, Author Of “A Sister's Story,” “Fleurange,” Etc.

XVI.

As soon as I rose from my place I perceived the young lady who had been collecting money in the morning not far off. She was going by with her mother without observing me, and I followed in the crowd that was making its way to the door. But a pouring rain was falling from the clouds which were so threatening two hours before, and a great many who were going out suddenly stopped and came back to remain under shelter during the shower. In consequence of this I all at once found myself beside the young lady, who was diligently seeking her mother, from whom she had been separated by the crowd. She observed me this time, and with a child-like smile and a tone of mingled terror and confidence that were equally touching, said:

“Excuse me, madame, but, as you are taller than I, please tell me if you see my mother—a lady in black with a gray hat.”

“Yes,” I replied, “I see her, and she is looking for you also. I will aid you in reaching her.”

We had some trouble in opening a passage, but after some time succeeded in getting to the place where her mother had been pushed by the crowd at some distance from the door of the church. She was looking anxiously in every direction, and when she saw us her face lighted up, and she thanked me with equal simplicity and grace of manner for the service I had rendered her daughter. We conversed together for some minutes, during which I learned that though I had met them twice that day in the same church, it was not the one they usually attended, their home being in another quarter of the city. The daughter had been invited to collect money at S. Roch's that day, and wishing, for some reason, to be at home by four o'clock, they had returned for the afternoon service, which ends an hour earlier there than anywhere else. This variation from their usual custom had probably caused a misunderstanding about the carriage which should have been at the door, and they felt embarrassed about getting to the Rue St. Dominique, where they resided, as the violent rain prevented them from going on foot. Glad to be able to extricate them from their embarrassment, I at once offered to take them home in my carriage, which was at the door. They accepted the offer with gratitude. Their manners and language would have left no doubt as to their rank, even if I had not met them in society. And I soon learned more than enough to satisfy me on this point.

As soon as we were seated in the carriage the elder of the two ladies said: “I know whom I have to thank for the favor you have done me, madame, for no one can forget [pg 016] the Duchessa di Valenzano who has ever seen her, even but once, and no one can be ignorant of her name, which is in every mouth. But it is not the same with us. Allow me, therefore, to say that I am the Comtesse de Kergy, and this is my daughter Diana, ... who is very happy, I assure you, as well as surprised, at the accident that has brought her in contact with one she has talked incessantly about ever since she had the happiness of seeing you first.”

Her daughter blushed at these words, but did not turn away her eyes, which were fastened on me with a sympathetic expression of charming naïveté that inspired an irresistible attraction towards her in return. The name of Kergy was a well-known one. I had heard it more than once, and was trying to recall when and where I heard it for the first time, when, as we were crossing the Place du Carrousel, the young Diana, looking at the clock on the Tuileries, suddenly exclaimed:

“It is just going to strike four. We ought to feel greatly obliged to madame, mamma for, had it not been for her, we should have been extremely late, and Gilbert would have been surprised and anxious at our not arriving punctually.”

Gilbert!... This name refreshed my memory. Gilbert de Kergy was the name of the young traveller whom I had once seen at the large dinner-party. He must be the very person in question.... Before I had time to ask, Mme. de Kergy put an end to my uncertainty on the subject.

“My son,” said she, “has recently made an interesting tour in the Southern States of America, and it is with respect to this journey there is to be a discussion to-day which we promised to attend. I have given up my large salon for the purpose, on condition (a condition Diana proposed) that the meeting should end with a small collection in behalf of the orphan asylum for which she was soliciting contributions this morning—a work in which she is greatly interested.”

“My husband, who has also travelled a great deal,” I replied, “had, I believe, the pleasure of meeting M. de Kergy on one occasion, and conversing with him.”

“Gilbert has not forgotten the conversation,” exclaimed the young Diana with animation. “He often speaks of it. He told us about you also, madame, and described you so accurately that I knew you at once as soon as I saw you, before any one told me your name.”

I made no reply, and we remained silent till, having crossed the bridge, we approached the Rue St. Dominique, when Diana, suddenly leaning towards her mother, whispered a few words in her ear. Mme. de Kergy began to laugh.

“Really,” said she, “this child takes everything for granted; but you are so kind, I will allow her to repeat aloud what she has just said to me.”

“Well,” said the young girl, “I said the discussion would certainly be interesting, for Gilbert is to take a part in it, as well as several other good speakers, and those who attend will at the close aid in a good work. I added that I should be very much pleased, madame, if you would attend.”

I was by no means prepared for this invitation, and at first did not know what reply to make, but quickly bethought myself that there would be more than an hour before Lorenzo's return. I knew, moreover, that, even according to his ideas, I should [pg 017] be in very good society, and it could not displease him in the least if I attended a discussion at the Hôtel de Kergy under the auspices of the countess and her daughter. Besides, on my part, I felt a good deal of curiosity, never having attended anything like a public discussion. In short, I decided, without much hesitation, to accept the invitation, and the young Diana clapped her hands with joy. We were just entering the open porte-cochère of a large court, where we found quite a number of equipages and footmen. The carriage stopped before the steps and in five minutes I was seated between Diana and her mother near a platform at one end of a drawing-room large enough to contain one hundred and fifty or two hundred persons.

I cannot now give a particular account of this meeting, though it was an event in my life. The principal subject discussed was, I think, the condition of the blacks, not yet emancipated, in the Southern States of America. An American of the North, who could express himself very readily in French, first spoke, and after him a missionary priest, who considered the question from a no less elevated point of view, though quite different from that of the philanthropist, and the discussion had already grown quite animated before it became Gilbert de Kergy's turn to speak. When he rose, there was a movement in the whole assembly, and his first words excited involuntary attention, which soon grew to intense interest, and for the first time in my life I felt the power of language and the effect that eloquence can produce.

It was strange, but he began with a brief, brilliant sketch of places that seemed familiar to me; for Lorenzo had visited them, and he had such an aptness for description that I felt as if I had seen them in his company. My first thought was to regret his absence. Why was he not here with me now to listen to this discussion, to become interested in it, and perhaps take a part in it?... I had a vague feeling that this reunion was of a nature to render him as he appeared to me during the first days of our wedded life, when his extensive travels and noble traits made me admire his courage and recognize his genius, the prestige of which was only surpassed in my eyes by that of his tenderness!... But another motive intensified this desire and regret. The boldness, the intelligence, and the adventurous spirit of the young traveller were, of course, traits familiar to me, and which I was happy and proud to recognize; but, alas! the resemblance ceased when, quitting the field of observation and descriptions of nature, and all that memory and intelligence can glean, the orator soared to loftier regions, and linked these facts themselves with questions of a higher nature and wider scope than those of mere earthly interest. He did this with simplicity, earnestness, and consummate ability, and while he was speaking I felt that my mind rose without difficulty to the level of his, and expanded suddenly as if it had wings! It was a moment of keen enjoyment, but likewise of keen suffering; for I felt the difference that the greater or less elevation of the soul can produce in two minds that are equally gifted! I clearly saw what was wanting in Lorenzo's. I recognized the cause of the something lacking which had so often troubled me, and I felt more intensely and profoundly pained than I had that very morning.

While listening to Gilbert I only thought of Lorenzo, and, if I reluctantly acknowledged the superiority of the former, I felt at the same time that there was nothing to prevent the latter from becoming his equal; for, I again said to myself, Lorenzo was not merely a man of the world, leading a frivolous, aimless life, as might seem from his present habits. Love of labor and love of nature and art do not characterize such a man, and he possessed these traits in a high degree. He had therefore to be merely detached from other influences. This was my task, my duty, and it should also be my happiness; for I had no positive love for the world, whose pleasures I knew so well. No, I did not love it. I loved what was higher and better than that. I felt an immense void within that great things alone could fill. And I seemed to-day to have entered into the sphere of these great things; but I was there alone, and this was torture. All my actual impressions were therefore centred in an ardent desire to put an end to this solitude by drawing into that higher region him from whom I was at the moment doubly separated.

This was assuredly a pure and legitimate desire, but I did not believe myself capable of obtaining its realization without difficulty, and sufficiently calculating the price I must pay for such a victory and the efforts by which it must often be merited....

While these thoughts were succeeding each other in my mind I almost forgot to listen to the end of the discourse, which terminated the meeting in the midst of the applause of the entire audience. The vast hall of discussion was instantly changed into a salon again, where everybody seemed to be acquainted, and where I found the élite of those I had met in other places. But assembled together for so legitimate an object, they at once inspired me with interest, respect, and a feeling of attraction. It was Paris under quite a new aspect, and it seemed to me, if I had lived in a world like this, I should never have experienced the terrible distress which I have spoken of, and which the various emotions of the day had alone succeeded in dissipating.

The charming young Diana, light and active, had ascended the platform, and was now talking to her brother. Gilbert started with surprise at her first words, and his eyes turned towards the place where I was standing. Then I almost instantly saw them descend from the platform and come towards me. Diana looked triumphant.

“This is my brother Gilbert, madame,” said she, her eyes sparkling. “And it is I who have the honor of presenting him to you, as he seems to have waited for his little sister to do it.”

He addressed me some words of salutation, to which I responded. As he stood near me, I again observed his calm, thoughtful, intelligent face, which had struck me so much the only time I remembered to have seen him before. While speaking a few moments previous his face was animated, and his eyes flashed with a fire that added more than once to the effect of his clear, penetrating voice, which was always well modulated. His gestures also, though not numerous or studied, had a natural grace and the dignity which strength of conviction, joined to brilliant eloquence, gives to the entire form of an orator. His manner was now so simple that I felt perfectly at ease with him, and told him without any hesitation how [pg 019] happy I was at the double good-fortune that had brought me in contact with his sister, and had resulted in my coming to this meeting where I had been permitted to hear him speak.

“This day will be a memorable one for me as well as for her, madame,” he replied, “and I shall never forget it.”

There was not the least inflection in his voice to make me regard his words as anything more than mere politeness, but their evident sincerity caused me a momentary embarrassment. He seemed to attach too much importance to this meeting, but it passed away. He inspired me with almost as much confidence as if he had been a friend. I compared him with Landolfo, and wondered what effect so different an influence would have on Lorenzo, and I could not help wishing he were his friend also....

I continued silent, and he soon resumed: “The Duca di Valenzano is not here?”

“No; he will be sorry, and I regret it for his sake.”

“The presence of such a traveller would have been a great honor to us.”

“He was very happy to have an opportunity of conversing with you on one occasion.”

“It was a conversation I have never forgotten. It would have been for my advantage to renew it, but I never go into society—at Paris.”

“And elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere it is a different thing,” said he, smiling. “I am as social while travelling as I am uncivilized at my return.”

“We must not expect, then, to meet you again in Paris; but if you ever go to Italy, may we not hope you will come to see us?”

“If you will allow me to do so,” said he eagerly.

“Yes, certainly. I think I can promise that the well-known hospitality of the Neapolitans will not be wanting towards the Comte Gilbert de Kergy.”

After a moment's silence he resumed: “You must have been absent when I was at Naples. That was two years ago.”

“I was not married then, and I am not a Neapolitan.”

“And not an Italian, perhaps.”

“Do you say so on account of the color of my hair? That would be astonishing on the part of so observant a traveller, for you must have noticed that our great masters had almost as many blondes as brunettes for their models. However, I am neither English nor German, as perhaps you are tempted to think. I am a Sicilian.”

“I have never seen in Sicily or anywhere else a person who resembled you.”

These words implied a compliment, and probably such an one as I had never received; and, I need not repeat, I was not fond of compliments. But this was said without the least smile or the slightest look that indicated any desire to flatter or please me. Was not this a more subtle flattery than I had been accustomed to receive?... And did it not awaken unawares the vanity I had long thought rooted out of the bottom of my heart? I can affirm nothing positive as to this, for there is always something lacking in the knowledge of one's self, however thoroughly we may think we have acquired it. But I am certain it never occurred to me at the time to analyze the effect of this meeting on me. I was wholly absorbed in the regret and hope it awakened.

As I was on the point of leaving, Mme. de Kergy asked permission to call on me with her daughter the next day at four o'clock—a permission I joyfully granted—and Diana accompanied me to the very foot of the steps. I kissed her smiling face, as I took leave, and gave my hand to her brother, who had come with us to help me in getting into the carriage.

XVII.

All the way from the Rue St. Dominique to the Rue de Rivoli I abandoned myself to the pleasant thoughts excited by the events of the day. For within a few hours I had successively experienced the inward sweetness of prayer, the charm of congenial society, and the pleasure of enthusiasm. A new life seemed to be infused into my heart, soul, and mind, which had grown frivolous in the atmosphere of the world, and I felt, as it were, entranced. Those who have felt themselves thus die and rise again to a new life will understand the feeling of joy I experienced. In all the blessings hitherto vouchsafed me, even in the love itself that had been, so to speak, the sun of my happiness, there had been one element wanting, without which everything seemed dark, unsatisfactory, wearisome, and depressing—an element which my soul had an imperious, irresistible, undeniable need of! Yes, I realized this, and while thus taking a clearer view of my state I also felt that this need was reasonable and just, and might be supplied without much difficulty. Was not Lorenzo gifted with a noble nature, and capable of the highest things? Had he not chosen me, and loved me to such a degree as to make me an object of idolatry? Well, I would point out to him the loftier heights he ought to attain. I, in my turn, would open to him a new world!...

Such were the thoughts, aspirations, and dreams my heart was filled with on my way home. As I approached the Rue de Rivoli, however, I began to feel uneasy at being out so much later than I had anticipated, lest Lorenzo should have returned and been anxious about my absence. I was pleased to learn, therefore, on descending from the carriage, that he had not yet come home, and I joyfully ascended the staircase, perfectly satisfied with the way in which I had spent the morning.

I took off my hat, smoothed my hair, and then proceeded to arrange the salon according to his taste and my own. I arranged the flowers, as well as the books and other things, and endeavored to give the room, though in a hotel, an appearance of comfort and elegance that would entice him to remain at home; for I had formed the project of trying to induce him to spend the evening with me. I seemed to have so many things to say to him, and longed to communicate all the impressions I had received! With this object in view I took a bold step, but one that was authorized by the intimacy that existed between us and the friends whose guests we were to have been that day—I sent them an excuse, not only for myself, but my husband, hoping to find means afterwards of overcoming his displeasure, should he manifest any.

Having made these arrangements, I was beginning to wonder at his [pg 021] continued absence when a letter was brought me which served to divert my mind for a time from every other thought. It was a letter from Livia which I had been impatiently awaiting. We had corresponded regularly since our separation, and I had begun to be surprised at a silence of unusual length on her part. It was not dated at Messina, but at Naples, and I read the first page, which was in answer to the contents of my letter, without finding any explanation of this. Finally I came to what follows:

“I told you in my last letter that I had obtained my father's consent, but on one condition—that he should have the choice of the monastery I must enter on leaving home. What difference did it make? As to this I was, and am, wholly indifferent. I should make the same vows everywhere, and in them all I should go to God by the same path. In them all I should be separated from the world and united to him alone. And this was all I sought. The convent my father chose is not in Sicily. It is a house known and venerated by every one in Naples. I shall be received on the second of September. Meanwhile, I have come here under Ottavia's escort, and am staying with our aunt, Donna Clelia, who has established herself here for the winter with her daughters. So everything is arranged, Gina. The future seems plain. I see distinctly before me my life and death, my joys and sorrows, my labors and my duty. I am done with all that is called happiness in the world, as well as with its misfortunes, its trials, its conflicting troubles, its numberless disappointments, and its poignant woes.