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The Son? and the Singer.
It was during the early days of the
great Revolution: of 1789, in the year
1792, when a young officer in delicate
health took up his quarters in the city
of Marseilles for the six months of his
leave of absence. It seemed strange
retirement for a young man, for in this
town he knew no one, and in the depth
of winter Marseilles was no tempting
residence. The officer lived in a garret
looking out upon the street, which had
for its sole furniture a harpsichord, a
bed, a table, and a chair. Little but
paper ever entered that apartment,
•where food and fuel both were scarce;
and yet the young man generally re
mained in doors all day assiduously
writing, or rather doing something on
paper, an occupation he alternated with
music.
I Thus passed many months. Tne
Lvouug man grew thinner and paler, and
r’ ve of absenoe appeared likely to
no convalescence. But he was
■■dsome and interesting, despite his
■Mow hue. Long hair, full beaming
Bs that spoke of intelligence, and
Hn genius, frankness of manner, all
Repossessed in his favor, and many a
and look of kindness came to him
Bom beautiful eyes that he noticed not
■or cared to notice. In fact he rarely
wvent out but at night, and then to
•walk down by the boom ing sea, which
r made a kind of music he seemed to love.
Sometimes, it is true, he would hang
about tho theatre door when operas
were about to be played, and look with
longing eye, within; but he never enter
ed: either his purse or his inclination
••fciled him. But he always examined
with care the nanje of the piece and its
author, and then walked away to the
sea-shore, to muse and meditate.
Shortly after his arrival in Marseilles,
he visited,‘one after another, all the
music-sellers, and publishers in the town
with a bundle of manuscripts in his
i hand; but his reception was apparently
’..not, very favorable, for he left them all
’with a frowning air, and still with his
trundle of manuscripts. Some had de
tained him a long time, as if estimating
thV" value of the goods he offered for
sale; but these were no more tempted
than the others to try the saleable char
acter of the commodity. The house
he lodged in-had attached to it a large
garden. By’ permission of the landlord,
the young man often selected it for his
evening walks, and, despite the cold,
would sometimes siiaud muse in a rude
faded bouaiSfltakrthe wall at one I
seeming to listen. The
man at length noticed this.
‘Pardon lady,’said he one evening;
perhaps I disturb you ?”
‘Not at all,’ she replied; ‘I am fond
of music, very fond, and the airs you
hum are new to me. Pray, if not a
rude question, whoso are they ?’
‘Citoyenne,’ he replied, diffidently,
‘they are my own.’
‘lndeed!’ cried the lady with anima
tion; ‘and you have never published
them?’
T shall never try — again,’ he murmur
ed, uttering the last word in a low and
despairing tone, which, however, reach
ed the ears of the young woman.
‘Good-night, citoyen,’ said she, and
she closed her window. The composer
sighed, rose and went out to take his
usual walk by the sea-beach; there be
fore the grandeur and sublimity of the
Ocean, and amid the murmur of its bel
lowing waves, to forget the cares of
the world, his poverty, and his crushed
visions of glory and renown—the day
dream of all superior minds—a dream
far oftener a punishment than a reward;
for of those who sigh for fame, few, in
deed, are successful.
Scarcely had he left the house than a
lady, habited in a cloak and hood, enter
ed it; and after a somewhat lengthened
conference with his concierge ascended
to his room, and remained there about
an hour. At the end of that time she
vanished. It was midnight when the
composer returned. He entered with
difficulty, the Oeberus of the lodge be
ing asleep, and ascended to his wretched
room. He had left it littered and dirty,
without light, tire or food. To his sur
prise a cheerful blaze sent its fys beneath
tlie door. He opened it, not without
alarm, and found his apartment neatly
ordered, a tire burning, a lamp, and on
the table a supper. The young man
frowned, and looked sternly at the
scene.
‘Who dares thus insult my poverty ?
Is it not enough that I am starving with
cold and hunger, that lam rejected by
the world as a useless and wretched
thing, incapable of wielding either
sword or pen, but I must be insulted by
charity ? Fire, light, and food, all sent
to me by one who knows my necessity!
And yet, who knows? Perhaps My mother
may have discovered my retreat. Who
else should have acted thus ? my mother
I bless thee both for your action an'd
for respecting my concealment!’
And the invalid officer sat down to the
most hearty meal he had eaten for weeks.
He had left home because his friends
wholly disapproved of his making music
a profession, and wished him to employ
his leave of absence in learning another
occupation. His mother so pressed him,
that he saw no resources but a soldier’s
last chance—a retreat. For two months
no trace of the fugitive had been seen—
two months spent in vain efforts to make
his chosen career support him; and now,
doubtless hismether had found him out,
and had taken this delicate way of re
specting his secrecy and punishing his
pride.
Next morning the young man awoke
with an appetite unknown to him of lata
The generous food of the previous night
had restored his system, and brought
him to a natural state. Luckily, suffi
cient wine and bread remained to satis
fy his craving, and then he sat down to
think All his efforts to get his music
sung, or played, or published had been
vain. Singers knew him not, publish
ers declared him unknown, and the
public seemed doomed never to hear
him, because they never have heard him;
a logical consequence very injurious to
young beginners in literature, poesy,
music, and all the liberal arts. But he
was determined to have one more trial
Having eaten, he dressed and went out
in the direction of the shop of the Cito
yen Dupont, a worthy and excellent man
who in his day had published more mu
sic, bad and good, than a musician
could have played in a lifetime.
‘You have something new, then, cito
yen, ?’. said Dupont, after the usual pre
liminaries, and after apologizing to a
lady within his office for leaving her
awhile. ‘As my time is precious, pray
play it at once, and sing it if you win.’
The young man sat himself at the harp
ischord which adorned the shop, and
began at once tho ‘Song *>f the Army of
the Rhine.’ The music publisher listen
ed with the knowing air of one who is
not to be deceived, and shook his head
as the composer ended.
‘Rough—crude—but clever. Young
man, you will, I doubt not, do some
thing good one of these days; but at
present, I am sorry to shy, your efforts
want finish, polish.’
The singer rose, and bowing, left the
shop, despair at liis heart. He had not
a sou in the world; his rent was in ar
rear. He knew not how to dine that
evening, unless, indeed, his mother came
again to his aid—and aid he was very
unwilling to receive. His soul repugned
from it, for he had parted from her in
anger. His mother. was a royalist, lie
was a republican; and she had said bit
ter things to him, at parting. But most'
of all the com under felt one flung; /the.
Aits a’.Aa TD*‘}wlge'
Jiun/Tieverbe able to decide if he ever
had or had not merit; and this was the
bitterest grief of all.
fcwould occftsion
of
irs
nd o w
That day was spent in moody thought
The evening came, and no sigu again
of his secret friend, whether mother or
unknown sympathizer. Towards night
the pangs of hunger became intolerable,
and after numerous parleys with himself,
tho young man ascended to .his room
with a heavy parcel. His eye
was wild, his cheek pale, his whole
mien uu earthly. As he passed the door
he was handed a ticket for the opera by
his concierge.
‘Go thyself,’ said the composer, in low,
husky voice, and he went up stairs.
Having gained the room, the unhappy
and misguided young man sat silent and
motionless for some hours, until at length
hunger, despair, and his dreamy vision o ,
had driven every calm and good thought
from his head, and then he dared quietly
proceed to carry out his dreadful and des
perate intent. He closed carefully the win
dow, stuffed his mattress up the chimney
and with a paper stopped every aperture
where air could enter. Then ho drew
forth from his parcel charcoal and a
burner, and lit it. Thus had this wretch
ed man determined to end his sufferings.
He had made one last effort, and now in
that solitary, dismal garret, he laid him
down to die; and poverty and misery,
genius and death, were huddled close
together.
Meanwhile, amid a blaze of light, the
evening’s amusement had begun at the
theatre. Anew opera from Paris was to
be played, and the prima donna was the
young, lovely, and worshiped Claudine,
the Jenny Lind of that time and place.
The house was crowded, and the first
act succeeding beyond all expectation,
the audience were in ecstncy.
‘She is a jewel;’ said M. Dupont, who,
froin a private box, admired the great
supporter of his theatre. A roar of ap
plause from the pit delighted at this
instant the good man’s ears. Claudine,
called before t,he curtain, was bowing to
the audince. But what is this ? Instead
of going off, she has just signed to the
orchestra to play. She is about to show
her gratitude to the audience in verse.
M. Dupont rubs his hands, and repeats
twice between has teeth, ‘She is a jewel!’
But with ease aud rapidity the band has
commenced playing an unknown air,
and the next instant M. Dupont is
standing up with a strange and wild
look. Hushed and still was every breath:
the audience look at each other: not a
word of communication takes place: men
shudder, or rather tremble with emotion.
But the first stanza is ended: and then a
TH E 80 U T)H EB N 0B O SMS,.
frantic shout, Affgrting of all to their
feet, a wild sfcKk of delight, a cry of a
thousand voice)* thundering the chorus,
shows how the song has electrified
M. Dupont froWned; for the air and
the song were hot hew to him; it was
the “Song of the Army of the Rhine” he
had refused tliitf rhorning! But Oaud
ine proceeds J Again the audience is
hushed in deethjike silence, while the
musicians, rotfßf to an unusual degree
of admirably, and
Claudine stiUjD|ing with all the purity,
feeling, of her admirable
voice, plunged hfSeyes into every cor
ner of the* hoi|M-—in vain. At each
couplet the enthtp|asm of the people
became greater, the anxiety of the singer
more intense, she concluded,
and never did-Applause more hearty,
more tremendous, more uproarious,
greet the voice of a public songstress.
The excitable population of Marseilles
seemed’nnjd.
When silence was restored Claudine
spoke- '; t
‘Citoyens and citoyennes!’ she exclaim
ed, ‘thus song is both written and
composed.by a young and unknown man,
who has in vain sought to put his com
positions before the public. Everybody
has refused them. For myself, I thought
this the greatest musical effort of modern
times; and as such I practiced it to day;
and, unknown to the manager or author,
I and this band prepared this surprise.
But the author is not here. Poor and
despairing, he is at home lamenting his
unappreciated efforts! Let us awake
him; let him dsSWD* that the generous
people of Marseilles can understand and
feel great music. Come, let all who
have hearts follow me, and chant the
mighty song as we go.’
And Claudine, stepping across the
orchestra, landed in the pit, bareheaded,
light-dressed as she was, rushed towards
the door, followed by every spectator,
,aud by the musicians, who, however,
put on their hats, and even threw a
cloak and cap on the excited and gi’er
ous young songstress.
Meanwhile the composer's dreadful
resolve was bejpg carried out. The
horrid fumes of the charcoal filled the
room; soon thSy began to consume and
exhaust the pure air, and the wretched
youth began to fgpl ;ill the pangs of com
ing death. Hunger, exhaustion, and de
spair kindled a lund of madness hi his
brain: wild shapes''danced around him:
his many songs •jjfVued sung altogether
by coarse, huslwwAices, that made their
sound a then the blasted
atmosphere chest, dark
les
i (r ... -7" rr~
;ed beings. he closed his
eyes, and soft n'morv stealing in upon
him, showed him happy visions of his
youth, of his mother, of love, and hope,
and joy; of green-fields, and the mur
muring brooks which had first revealed
melody into his soul; and the young man
thought that death must be come, and
that he was on the threshold of a better
world. But an awful shout, a tremen
dous clamor, burst on his ear: a thous
and voices roar beneath his window.
The young man starts from his dream
what is this he hears ?
“Aux armes! oitoyens,
Formes vos bat&iUous,” &o.
‘What is this ?’ he cries. ‘My Song
of the Rhine!’ He listens. A beauti
ful and clear voice is singing: it is still
his song, and then the terrible chorus
is taken up by the people; and the
poor composer’s first wish is gained: he
feels that he is famous.
But he is dying, choked, stifled with
charcoal. He lies senseless, fainting on
his bed; but hope and joy give him
strength. He rises,' falls rather than
darts across the room, his sword in hand.
One blow shivers the panes of his
window to atoms; the broken glass lets
in the cool sea-breeze and the splendid
song. Both give life to the young man;
and when Claudine entered the room,
the composer was able to stand. In ten
minutes he had supped in the porter’s
lodge, dressed, and come out, to be born
in triumph back to the theatre, where
that uight he heard, amid renewed ap
plause, his glorious song sung between
every act, and each time gaining re
newed laurels. .
Ten days later Rbuget de L’lsle was
married to Claudine, the prima donna
of Marseilles; and the young composer,
in gratitude to her and her countryman,
changed the name of his song, and call
ed it by the name it is still known by—
‘The Marseillaise f
CATHOLIC NOTES.
On February 21, in the chapel of the
Convent of Mercy, Batavia, N. Y., Miss
Catherine Carroll—in religion Sister
Mary Alexis—made her religious profes
sion.
Two Episcopal oonsecrations are to
take place to- morrow, the feast of St.
Joseph, Bishop Tuigg, as Bishop of
Pittsburg, and Bishop Galberry, of Hart
ford, Conn.
A Catholic missionary in North
Carolina, a brother of Rev. Dr. O’Con
'nell, of Brooklyn, has a congregation
every member of which is a convert to
the Catholic faith.
A meeting of, the Young Men’s Catho
lic Union of New York City was
held March 13, to make arrangements
for attending the National Convention
of Young Men’s Catholic Associations,
which is to be held in Philadelphia,
July, 1.
Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans,
who, as already stated, is at present in
Rome, has asked tho Pope to appoint
a coadjutor to him, alleging, as a reason,
his great age and political occupations;
and the demand appears to have been
favorably received.
It is said that the Rev. Father Varsi,
of Santa Clara College, has been offered
by a number of capitalists six hundred
acres of land and a bonus of SIOO,OOO to
build a college, with accommodations
for both boarding and day scholars, at
Mento Park, San Francisco. — Monitor.
On Wednesday, Feb. 23d, at St. Xavier’s
Convent, Bangor, Me., a religious recep
tion took place. Miss Ellen Bnlger, of
Boston; Miss Lillie Wilkinson, Port
land, took the white veil; taking the
names of Mary Frances Ignatius and
Mary Agnes. Rt, Rev. James A. Healey,
D. D., of Portland, officiated.
Twelve postulants, or novices of the or
der of St. Francis Assissium were recently
admitted to the cloisters in the chapel
of Santa Clara, Lytle street, Cincinnati.
The new Sisters are destined chiefly for
hospitals of the Franciscan Order, in
New York and New Jersey. The poor
sick are the special objects of their care.
Like these they are of different nation
alities, but especially Irish and German.
It is expected that prominent mem
bers of the society from France, Eng
land, and Ireland will be present
many have signified their intention to visit
the Centennial Exhibition this year. Ar
rangements will be made by the Phil
adelphia Council for their reception.
Arrangements are also being perfected
for rooms where strangers from abroad
can register their names and ascertain !
the location of the churches, and the
hours of the Masses thereat, also where
confessions in French, German, Span
ish, etc., can be made.
A convention of the St. Vincent de
Paul Society, of the United States is
being arranged by the Superior Coun
cil of New York.
It is arranged to have the convention
meet in Philadelphia on Thursday, July
6. Communion Mass will be celebrated
at the Cathedral at 8 a. m. The con
vention will meet at 11 a. m., and remain
in session for two days, the exercises
closing by solemngl'.enediction on the
~'sf|finJiy T ANARUS Cf lja
Archbishop of Philadelphia, who has
promised to do all in his power to make
the occasion an impressive one.
Bachelor parsons are becoming ob
jects of profound suspicion in the Church
of England. Of those who go over to
Rome nine out of ten are unmarried.
They alone are safe and unalterable in
their loyalty who are anchored with
women. A limited celibacy has been
hinted at, applicable only to deacons
and to endure for five years. This
measure would supply with resident
pastors parishes too poor to support a
family. But the young gentlemen
reply with force and justice, “why im
pose a yoke on us which neither we
nor our fathers could bear.” Clergy
men of the Anglican Church are costly
when wedded, and shaky when without a
wife.
Mgr. Bernard, Prefect Apostolic of
Norway is about to erect a church ded
icated to the Sacred Heart, at Trond
jheim, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, and
formerly the metropolis of the Normans.
This church is needed for the little
Catholic community recently organized
there. “The population of the district
of Trondjheim, which numbers some
280,000 souls,” says the Mission Catho
liques, “have for the last three hundred
years been entirely Lutheran; they do
not, however, manifest any hostility to
the truth, but seem rather to remember
that their forefathers were Catholics.
The missionary has full access to the
people, and the tolerance of the Norwe
gian government warrants the hope that
his apostolate will not be entirely devoid
of fruit. It is to help the reaction that
is now taking place that Mgr. Bernard
is anxious to erect a suitable church, but i
as he cannot depend upon any local as
sistance, as a Frenchman he appeals to
his Catholic countrymen, and has sent
one of his missionaries to France for
that purpose. — N. Y. Freemans Journal.
From an excellent article in the last
number of the Catholic World, entitled
“The friends of Education,” we extract
the following, which is just to the point:
“When Catholics stand before the Ameri
can people and state the reasons why
they do not consider the present educa
tional system to be either wise or just,
they are not beggars in any sense. They
ask no favor. They demand an equita
ble system of disbursing the funds raised
for education * * * that no class of citi
zens shall be deprived of that for which
they are forced to contribute. They
would arrange it so that none could
justly complain. As Catholics, we must
have religion and morality (which, what
ever others may think, are to us insepar-
March 2jth, ißj6.
able,) taught in the schools to which we
send our children. No time or place
will ever alter our convictions on this
point * * * We not only ask our
fellow-citizens, will you stand by and see
us taxed for a system of education of
which we cannot conscientiously avail
ourselves ? but we further ask, can you,
as honest men, disregard what Catholics
are doing for education ? Do you want
them not only to educate their own
children, thereby saving you the cost,
but to pay for educating yours also ?"
A Benedictine Father of the monastery
of Bescron, who is now in exile, writes*
as follows: “Volteks, December 22d, 1875,
I give the pleasing news that the Servite
monastery here has become a refuge for
the greater part of our members, especial
ly for the scholasticate and the noviti
ate. We have here six lay brothers and
sixteen professed members. Yesterday
our Rt Rev. Abbot, Dr. Walters, arrived
here. We are leading a happy life. With
the two Servite priests here we are living
in fraternal and Christian harmony. The
two old gentlemen are very good, and
deprive themselves of many things to
accommodate us. May God reward them
for it! They may perhaps at first have
been surprised to witness the arrival of
thirty-five strangers at their silent abode.
The monastery was erected about two
hundred years ago, for the Servite Order.
* * * And the people here (in Tyrol)
seem to be so manly, so pious, and so
open-hearted. Everywhere we notice
many external signs of piety, such as
field crosses and carved images of saints,
so that we feel ourselves in the midst of
a Catholic spirit. The air of Catholic
devotion we are everywhere inhaling
gladdens our hearts, and is a balm for
the painful feeling of being so far from
our dear native land.”
Statistics of Illiteracy.
By the last census the number of per
sons over ten years of age in the United
States who cannot write, is 5,658,000.
The number of those who cannot read is
put at more than a million less; but the
higher number is undoubtedly nearer
the true measure of the illiteracy of the
country. For obvious reasons, heads of
families are not disposed to report to
the census-taker more ignorance in the
family than really exists. It may be
safely assumed that they would some
times be tempted to report less. Hence,
the opinion ias been held by eminent
statisticians, that to obtain the true
number of illiterate in any State, thirty
per cent, should be added to the num
ber found in the census tables. It is
that iqeu admit inabili
ty* to readily*thjtn maqiTftV to
read. We are quite safe then in
taking 5,658,000 as the real number of
the illiterate in the United States. Of
the whole number of illiterate 2,790,000
are colored—being the largest single
element. The number of native white
illiterate is nearly three-fourths as large
as this—amounting to about 2,087,000.
Should we, at any time, be tempted to
become boastful in regard to our in
telligence, we have only to remember
the more than two millions of illit
erate of our native white race. Our
orators sometimes speak of the danger
which threatens our institutions from
the influx of “ignorant foreigners.”
Itmay be well to remind these
gentlemen that our foreign born
illiterate are only 778,000 —a number
only a little more than one-third as large
as our native born white of the same
class and a little more than one-fourth
of the whole number of illiterate whites.
Our total white illiterate is 2,452,000 —
a number larger than the total colored
by 62,000.
There is another view of facts which is
of deep interest. Of our ilhterate,
1,943,000 are between the ages of ten
and twenty-one years. Of these, ebout
half are below fifteen and about half
above that age. For the latter, some
thing might still be done; for the for
mer, much, if prompt and efficient meas
ures could be taken to instruct, them.
Again, of our ilhterate, 1,619,000 are
male adults. Of these, it is estimated that
one million and a half are legal voters.
This is nearly one-fourth of the whole
number of persons who voted at the
Presidential election of 1872, and is
believed to be more than one-fifth ol
all the voters in the United States when
the census was taken. It can not be
doubted, that at least one-fifth of all
who will vote at the Presidential election
this year, will be persons unable to read
or write.— Hon. James Monroe.
The Gnostics, an obscene sect, of
Syrian and Egyptian origin, repudiated
by all Christendom for fourteen centu
ries, is renewed in the sects of Advanced
Thinkers of to-day. They called them
selves the “Knowing ones,” to distin
guish themselves from the “Believing
ones,” or the vulgar multitude of men.
Does not that remind you of the Rev.
Moncure D. Conway’s lecture “On the
Devil.”
Our progress depends not on the mul
tiplicity of our actions, but on the fervor
of holy charity. One good action per
formed with great fervor is more agree
able to God than many performed with
tepidity and remissness.