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gard principally the disposal of time, and the order of the psalms, the duties of the two principal officers of the abbey, and the practice of hospitality. It enjoins manual labour, and presupposes the existence of a library in each monastery. Much is left to the discretion of the Superior ; particularly the dress, in which the prudent founder recoinmends plainness, and cautions against singularity. The truth is, that in their hours, their habit, their diet, and their employments, the first monks nearly resembled the better sort of peasants. The cowl, a long black gown or toga intended to cover their working dress, and to give them a decent appearance in church, was, at first, the only external distinction. In process of time, the general promotion of the monks to holy orders, their application to literature, and, above all, their adherence to the forms, the hours, and the manners of the age of their institution, made the distinction more striking, and at length marked them out as a peculiar and se

parate tribe.

• It would be unjust to pass over in silence, two circumstances highly creditable to this Order. In the first place, the Benedictins have ever been averse to innovations, and have endeavoured to retain, in the liturgy, and in the public service of the Church, the forms and the order that prevailed in the times of their founder; and thus, by discouraging petty practices and whimsical modes or expressions of devotion, invented by persons of more piety than prudence, they have in a certain degree preserved, unadulterated and Undegraded, the purer and more majestic ceremonial of the ancients. In the next place, in political struggles, the monks have either observed a charitable neutrality, befriending the distressed, and allaying the animosities of both parties ; or, if forced to declare themselves, they have generally joined the cause, if in such cases either could claim to be the cause, of their country and of justice. In scholastic debates, which have not unfrequently been conducted with great rancour and some mischief, they have acted with the coolness of spectators unconcerned in the result, and seem occan sionally to have laughed in secret at the furious zeal with which the contending parties supported or attacked air-built theories and visionary systems. Even in the more important contests on religious articles, which sometimes burst forth before the Reformation, and have raged with lesser or greater, but always with most malevolent animosity, ever since that event; in contests which have ruffled the smoothest minds, and soured the sweetest tempers, the Benedictins alone seem to have been exempt from the common frenzy, lave preserved their usual calmness in the midst of the general tempest, and have kept strictly within the bounds of christian charity and moderation. Among them we find no inquisitors, no persecutors. Though plundered, stripped, insulted, in most reformed countries, they seem rather to have deplored in silence, what they must have considered as the errors and t!re madness of the times, than invcig!-ed against it in public; and, content with the testimony of their own consciences, they appear to have renounced, with manly piety, the pleasure of complaint and of invective.' II. 539-547.

Of the mendicant orders of friars, our author speaks very differently. After enumerating several of their classes, he says,

• All these, and others of less note, were originally intended to act as assistants to the clergy in the discharge of their parochial duties; but in process of time, the auxiliaries became more numerous than the main body, and not unfrequently excited its jealousy and hatred by trenching upon its prerogatives, and by usurping part of its credit and of its functions. In fact, they had contrived, first, by pontifical exemptions, to shake off the legal authority of their respective bishops; next, by similar concessions, to acquire some share of their apostolical powers; and, lastly, by certain privileges annexed to their oratories, to gather congregations, and to draw the people away from the regular parochial service. These were great abuses, and in towns, where the Friars had numerous convents, tended not a little to divert the attention of the public from the spi. rit and the simplicity of the ancient liturgy, to shows, images, and exhibitions. However, to compensate, if any compensation can be made for such evils, the mendicant Orders produced several great men : each, in its time, had roused the age from a lethargy of ig. norance, and had awakened, partially at least, a spirit of inquiry and of improvement. Besides, in small towns, in numerous villages, and in lonely or distant provinces, they still continue to fulfil their original object, and, as I have hinted above, to afford a necessary assistance to the ordinary pastors. They are, in general, considered as too numerous; and from the frequency with which they meet the eye in certain capitals, I am inclined to admit this conclusion. But, as the population of Italy is very great, amounting to eighteen millions at least, and as all that immense population prosesses the same religion, the surplus may not be so excessive as is usually imagined. At all events, this evil is daily diminishing, and the succeeding generations in Italy, as in most other countries, will probably have reason to lament the want, rather than complain of the number, of religious ministers.' II. p. 550, 551.

And in a former passage of his book, we find language on this subject, strong enough to satisfy even our strong Presbyterian antipathies. The mendicant orders, he says, (vol. II. p. 245), • are every where remarkable for absurd practices, childish forms • of devotion, and pious trumpery of every kind, to amuse the

populace, and attract them to their churches.

The Appendix, as we have already observed, contains the most curious particulars of the Romish hierarchy to be met with in this work. Indeed we know not that any book on the subject lets us so much into the secret, especially of the papal court. Our limits will only allow of one extract, relating to this singular subject; and, with this, we reluctantly close these volumes, once more expressing our unfeigned respect towards the author, and our gratitude for the pleasure he has afforded us.

• Whenever he (the Pope) appears in public, or is approached even in private, his person is encircled with reverence and with majesty. In public, a large silver cross raised on high is carried before him, as a sacred banner, the church bells ring as he passes, and all kneel in his sight. When he officiates at the patriarchal Basilicæ he is carried from his apartments in the adjoining palace to the church in a chair of state, though in the chancel his throne is merely an ancient episcopal chair, raised only a few steps above the seats of the cardinals or clergy. In private, as the pontifical palaces are vast and magnificent, there are perhaps more apartments to be traversed, and greater appearances of splendour in the approach to his person, than in an introduction to any other Sovereign. In his antichamber, a prelate in full robes is always in waiting, and when the bell rings, the door of the pontifical apartment opens, and the Pope is seen in a chair of state with a little table before him. The person presented kneels once at the threshold, again in the middle of the room, and lastly, at the feet of the Pontiff, who, according to circumstances, allows him to kiss the cross embroidered on his shoes, or presents his hand to raise him. The Pontiff then converses with him a short time, and dismisses him with some slight present of beads, or medals; as a memorial. The ceremony of genuflection is again repeated, and the doors close.

• The pomp which environs the Pontiff in public, and attracts the attention so forcibly, may perhaps appear to many, a glorious and enviable distinction ; but there are few, I believe, who would not, if accompanied by it in all the details of ordinary life, feel it an intolerable burthen. Other sovereigns have their hours of relaxa. tion; they act their part in public, and then throw off their robes, and mix in the domestic circle with their family or their confidants. The Pope has no hours of relaxation ; always encumbered with the same robes, surrounded by the same attendants, and confined within the magic circle of etiquette, he labours for ever under the weight of his dignity, and may, if influenced by ordinary feelings, often sigh in vain, for the leisure and the insignificance of the college or the cloister. A morning of business and application closes with a solitary meal; a walk in the gardens of the Quirinal or the Vatican, a visit to a church or an hospital, are his only exercises. Devotion and business, the duties of the Pontiff and of the Prince, successively occupy his hours, and leave no vacant interval for the indul. gence of the taste, or the arrangement of the affairs of the individual. What honours can compensate for a life of such restraint and confinement !

• I have said, a solitary meal,- for the Pope never dines in company, so that to him a repast is no recreation ; it is consequently short and frugal. Sixtus Quintus is reported to have confined the expenses of

YOL. XXI. NO. 42.

his table to about sixpence; Innocent XI. did not exceed half-acrown ; and the present Pontiff, considering the different valuation of money, equals them both in frugality, as his table never exceeds five shillings a day. These unsocial repasts may have their utility in removing all temptations to luxurious indulgence, and all opportunities of unguarded conversation ; two evils to which convivial entertainments are confessedly liable. Yet, when we consider on the one side the sobriety and the reserve of the Italians, particularly when in conspicuous situations, and on the other the number of men of talents and information that are to be found at all times in the Roman court, and in the college of cardinals, we feel ourselves disposed to condemn an etiquette which deprives the Pontiff of such conversation as might not only afford a rational amusement, but oftentimes be made the vehicle of useful hints and suggestions. Another advantage might result from a freer communication. The smiles of greatness call forth genius ; admission to the table of the Pontiff might revive that ardor for literary glory, which distinguish. ed the era of Leo X., and might again perhaps fill Rome with Ora. tors, Poets, and Philosophers. And though we applaud the exclu- . sion of buffoons and pantomimes, and the suppression of shows and pageantry, yet we may be allowed to wish that the halls of the Va. tican again resounded with the voice of the orator, and with the lyre of the poet ; with the approbation of the Court, and with the plaudits of the multitude. But can Rome flatter herself with the hopes of a third Augustan age ?

. On the whole, the person and conduct of the Pope, whether in public or in private, are under perpetual restraint and constant inspection. The least deviation from strict propriety; or even from customary forms, would be immediately noticed, published, and censured in pasquinades. Leo X. loved shooting; and by the change of dress necessary for that amusement, gave scandal. Clement XIV. (Ganganelli) was advised by his physicians to ride : he rode in the neighbourhood of his Alban Villa ; and it is said, offended the people of the country not a little by that supposed levity. Bene. dict XIV. wished to see the interior arrangement of a new theatre, and visited it before it was opened to the public. The next morning an inscription appeared over the door by which he had entered, Porta santa ; plenary indulgence to all who enter. These anecdotes suffice to show the joyless uniformity of the papal court, as well as the strict decorum that pervades every department immediately connected with the person of the Pontiff.' II. p. 621-625.

Ant. VIII. Reflexions sur le Suicide. Par Madame la Baronne

de Staël-Holstein. London. 1813.

He appearance of a dissertation on a subject which has al-

ready produced so many volumes of commonplace, is in itself alarming. But the name of a celebrated writer dispels this natural apprehension, and excites an expectation of more than ordinary originality, which is the only good reason for the reviving a question apparently exhausted. In fact, it may require as vigorous an effort to dig through the rubbish with which mediocrity has been for ages loading a truth, as it did originally to conquer the obstacles which obstructed the first thinkers in their way to it.

It must however be owned, that the present publication is chiefly remarkable as an event in the life of the author. The persecution of Madame de Staël will be remembered among the distinctions of female talent. It is honourable to the sex, that the independent spirit of one woman of genius has disturbed the triumph of the Conqueror of Europe. * All this • availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sit• ting at the King's gate.' This almost solitary example of an independence not to be intimidated by power, nor subdued by renown, has very strikingly displayed the inferiority of Napoleon's character to his genius. That he is disquieted by the disapprobation of a powerful mind, may indeed be considered as a proof that he has not lost all the sentiments which ought to accompany a great understanding, and that power and flattery have not yet obliterated all sense of what constitutes the true value of praise. But this disquiet has driven him into a persecution so little both in its principle and its means, as to form a characteristical incident in the life of this extraordinary man. He appears to havecuriously sought out the most susceptible parts of her mind, and the most vulnerable points of her situation, that he might inflict his wounds with more ingenious cruelty, He has harassed her by successive mutilations of those works of which he professed to allow the publication. He has banished her from the societies where the terror of his power could not silence the admiration of her genius, and where the blended intercourse of friendship, reason, wit and eloquence, formed a gratification which a refined enemy would have thought it honourable to spare. Every suffering was through some kind affection, or some elegant taste. Every wound was aimed at a noble part. In her escape from his dominions, she found one of his generals become the actual sovereign of the country of her husband; and to him she dedicates this little volume, from which we learn, with singular interest, and with scarcely any surprise, that there were moments in which misfortune made ber seek the aid of meditation to compose and strengthen her mind, and that she now offers to her fellow sufferers the medicine which has quieted her own agitations. From the time of Rousseau to the rebound of public opinion

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