Fabiola : or, The church of the catacombs - Digital Repository Services

mire the magnificent panorama which lay stretched at the foot
.;. town
of the sacred bill. From this eminence oould >
of Lyons, v,i;h i's beautiful it-t qua.-s, old c .urches, its num-
berless bridges, its two riv.-rs, and the vast square
CAf'TMX HH'ARD.
of Belle-
cour, ornamented wit.h the equestrian i.tutuo of Louis XIV.;
then the rich plain of (iivnolile, sown with elegant villas, and
divided by the high-road to Danphino ; iu the distmce the
Alps, whose summits, covered with eternal snows, serve as a
barometer to the inhabitants of the city.
When our ex-c:iv Iry offic r had sufficiently satisfied his
curiosity, he mechanically entered the holy chapel. It was a
day consecrated to the Holy Virgin, and there was a great
crowd at the foot, of the privileged altar, from whence the
celestial Mother of the divine Redeemer watches incessantly
over the children of her beloved c.t -. The altar was decked
with flowers ;
clothed in
t.e image of the Immaculate Virgin,
gold vestments, wa-< illuminat d by the light of a thousand
tapers and au old ; priest, whose forehead was encircled
by a crown of silver hair, recounted from the pulpit the
praises of Mary. At this name, Bicard felt his soul moved for
the first time ; for the first time, perhaps, e comprehended
all there was of consolation and hope in 1 10 cultus of the
Mother of God ;
aud for the first time, he secretly dared, in
the bottom of his heart, to establish a comparison between the
two religions, which certainly was not in favor of his own.
There was so much serenity shed on the calm foreheads of
the worshippers of ! Mary
prayerful lips, that he could not prevent himself from pronoun
ing a name that his mother had never taught him a
name, sweeter than the sweetest honey. On the morrow
Kicard again went to Notre-Dame-de Foarvieres, and like
the day before experienced emotions of which he could not
account was it ; grace beginning to work in his so 1 ? We
so much ineffable sweetness on their
k: ow not ; we only know that when he left Lyons, he several
times put his head out of the diligence window, to see the
little white steeple planted on the hill of Notre-Dame-de-
Fourvieres, like a light-house of heaven.
mercy between earth and
III.
When he arrived in Paris, the ex-officer went to the priest
of Saiut-Boch, from whom he was to obtain the address of his
tr veiling companion. It was given to him as had been promised.
The good father was living at the Hotel du Bon Lafontaine,
Kue de Grenelle Saint-Germain. Bicard took a hackney-coach,
and ordered the coachman to drive thither. The
ecclesiastic was just gone out. Bicard inquired when he
would return.
" Very late," he was informed, " for he was to
pr, ach at six o'clock. " The captain looked at his watch ; it was
half-past five.
"Could you tell me where I can find him at this moment ?"
"At the sacristy of Saint Sulpice, without doubt ; but it
will be d.fflcult to see him before he has finished his sermon.'"
" How long does his discourse last ?"
" That depends ; an hour, perhaps an hour and a halftwo
hours, even. "
" Two hours ! that is a long time," said Bicard. "Never
mind, I will go to St. Sulpice, and wait for him."
The sacred orator had just mounted the pulpit. From the
animation of his voice and actions, one might see he was completely
engrossed with his subject. He had chosen for his text
this proposition : " The divinity of the Catholic religion
proved by
Bicard leant against the angle of a pillar, and listened to a
its works. "
language hitherto unknown to him. After having graphically
sketched the first ages of Christianity, so wonderfully sstab-
lished by twe.ve poor fishermen on the ruins of the old world,
the orator spoke of the cross shiuiug on the darkness
of the middle ages, and shedJiug its glorious light over
the new world. He passed in review the phalanx of doctors,
philosophers and saints laboring with generous hands to develope
the civiliz.ition hidden in the writings of barbarism, and
uce and slavery ; then fol-
lowing from century to century those sublime benefactors of
humanity, always iiiii-liiin.'jcable in ing in
their unity (tha', divine characteristic of <
;, 1m
proved, in the second phi -e, that the Catlu
been the initiator of all great ideas ; th:,t from I er alone came
the amelioration of human ty, and tlio merit of the- nu.i
works set on foot for the benefit of the human race. Frederic
Bicard, half hidden behind the pillar, listened to the preacher
with the most lively attention. Beviewing, on his side, the dissensio..s
of the numerous Protestant sects, worshipping iu as
many different forms, he comprehended that truth could
only be one, invariable, immut ible, as the God from whom it
proceeds ; and he saw that the CathoLc religion alone posses ed
thin character, which was therefore an irrefragable pro< if of the
divinity of its origin. The orator finished his discourse by a
short peroration, showing the .necessity of following the Catholic
faith, not only in order to attain the facilities of another
world, but to enjoy in this that peace of soul which is the most
certain indication of true happiness.
The preacher descended from the >
ulpit, and returned to the
sacristy. Bicard followed, and embracing him, said, "Your
voice has touched my soul, my dear Abbe"."
The Abbe" replied, " I shall thank God for it, if it has opened
the way to that light which penetrates and conveits."
" "
We shall see. Do you preach often ?
"Three times a week. Why do "
you ask ?
" To arrange that I may come and hear you each time."
In fact, our brave ex-officer did not miss one sermon of his
new friend, whose enlightened and devoted zeal for the salvation
of his brethren, changed the regard he had felt on their
first meeting into the warmest affection. In fact, to be nearer
him, Bieard had quitted the Bue Saint Honore, and taken furnished
apartments in the Faubourg Saint Germain. The
worthy priest avoided all that could resemble a wish to convert;
he wished to leave the result to time, and the more efficacious
influence of divine grace. On his part, Bicard equally avoided
speaking of the progress which grace was really effecting in his
heart. The festival of Easter was approaching, and Bicard hud
not said a single word of the mental struggle he was undergoing.
The Abbe 1
began to fear that indifference was the cause
of his unaccountably prolonged silence, when he one morning
received the following letter :
"Mr DEAB ABBE :
" During fifteen days, two irreconcilable adversaries have
chosen my heart for their battle-field. They have struggled
with a perseverance which has had in it something superhu-
man, but which has not yet ended in a decisive result.
'
Truth
is in Catholicism,' said one; ' be a Catholic.' 'To change
'
'
one's religion, replies the other, is to be a coward. ' ' To
persevere in an acknowledged error is '
folly," said oue. At all
'
times apostasy has been considered a shameful and mean thing,
said the other.
' In all ages conversion has been ackuow i
as praiseworthy in the eyes of faithful men, aud meritorious ia
'
the eyes of God,' said one. All religions ore good why wish
to change?' said the other. 'Enter the bosom ot this
Church, which offers all the chances of salvation, and as thesole
depository of unity contests the truth with all others; bo a
'
Catholic,' said one. Bemam a Protestant for if ; you
the faith of your fathers, what will your brothers and friends
say ?' replied the other. 'It is not to deny the faith ol' your
fathers, but only to return to that of your grandfathers. The
unhappy one who is carried away by the torrent of eriv 1
1
justly and reasonably in seizing the branch of safety which truth
offers him from the friendly shore. '
"As the sole witness of this struggle between two such con-
trary influences, my heart hovers, hesitates, and trembles ;
come to my help, dear Abbe" conie this evening at nine o'o
I shall be at home."
You may be sure, dear reader, the good Abbe" went as r -
quested. His presence on the field completely change
state of tha combat, the evil genius, turned out of his entrench-