A WALK in the direction of the gloomy though now as ever fashionable Faubourg St. Germain is not exactly one that a non-fashionable person would ordinarily choose; nor does the Rue de Sèvres in that quarter hold out any particular inducement for a foot-passenger to traverse it.

However, it was to the Rue de Sèvres that, on the 18th of January, 1873, I bent my steps; for at one o'clock precisely I had an appointment to keep there with a Father of the Compagnie de Jésus; and No. 35 in that street is the society's headquarters.

I crossed the Seine at the Pont Royale, and soon found myself in the main artery of the faubourg-the well-known Rue du Bac. I splashed along with omnibuses that seemed determined to do their best to destroy the roughly macadamized carriageroad; by huge gaps in the façade, where the petroleuse had been at work, and where the dull-red walls looked as if the destroying element were still lurking about them; by blue-coated and blue-hooded policemen, who scrutinized one to an extent that made you debate within your mind whether you had or had not picked the pocket of a passer-by, or lately become affiliated to the Internationale. On, by the "Maison Petit St. Thomas"a large dry-goods establishment, the name of which may bring back perhaps to some of our lady readers the pleasant season passed a few years since in Paris, with its gay fêtes and agreeable shopping excursions. On, till the plate-glass of the store windows becomes less costly,

and the fish and the charcuterie, or ham and sausage shops, become more plentiful. On, till at last, to right and left, "Rue de Sèvres," in bold white letters on a blue ground, tells me that I have reached my destination. To save time, I thought it necessary to ask some one where the particular house that I wanted was situated. I looked at a sergent de ville, but his glances repelled me. I turned towards a cabman, but I fancied he expected something more than I was prepared to give him; and then, not in despair, but in the natural order of things, I had recourse to the inevitable Parisian chestnut-man, who (I having taken the precaution of buying two sous' worth of damply-warm chestnuts) willingly gave me all the information that I required.

The exterior of No. 35 Rue de Sèvres is as much like that of any other house in Paris as you can well imagine. There is a certain number of feet of stucco, relieved by oblong windows; and there are two large portes cochères, or folding-doors, far apart from one another, and looking incapable either of being opened or closed; although, in point of fact, the one leads to the church, and the other to the convent.

I entered, of course, by the lastnamed portal, and, passing through the usual French courtyard, knocked at a glass door, from whence it was evident that a brother porter within held communication with the world without.

I presented my letter of introduction to him, and, while he was making arrangements for the transmis

sion of it to the rightful owner, because it was raining heavily, and because I saw only one door open, I entered by that door, and found myself uninvited and unwittingly in the conciergerie, or porter's lodge, itself.

The concierge and his occupation afforded me a good deal of amusement, or, to speak less lightly, a good deal of room for thought during part of the three-quarters of an hour that I was destined to wait for the arrival of the priest with whom I had the engagement. He has under his control the management of ten brown wooden handles, attached to ten wires, which wires are connected with ten different doors in different parts of the establishment.

If a person want a confessor, he pulls the wire connected with the church. If a lady desires advice, another pull opens the parlors to her. If a priest wishes to come from the convent, another pull in another direction is necessary. And as these pulls (except in the last case) are invariably followed by a message sent through a speaking-tube by the same brother porter, to inform the priest of the fact that he is wanted; and as through the beforementioned glass door and otherwise he receives all letters, and answers all queries, both from within and without, he has, I take it, a pretty hard time of it.

I had been too much absorbed at first to observe what was taking place around me; but, after a little, I began to remark that the priests, in passing to and fro through the conciergerie, bestowed upon me more glances of earnest inquiry than I thought my personal appearance actually warranted. At last the mystery was solved by one father being so good as to tell me that seculars generally waited in the parlors. I

bowed, thanked him gratefully, and went; but not before I had discovered that, if the pigeon-holes for letters be a true test, there were fourteen or more priests resident in the Rue de Sèvres at that particular time.

I was not sorry for the exchange of place. It was strangely interesting to be sitting in those rooms where, so short a time since, the Communists, under the command of an energetic young gentleman named Citoyen Lagrange, took prisoner the good Superior Father Olivaint and his Père Procureur, M. Caubert.

Strange to sit in those parlors, and gaze upon the large and well-photographed portraits of those two men and martyrs, and to notice the remarkable likeness existing between them. How both had the same square forehead and firmly set, powerful mouth; and how both looked-as they were-soldiers ready to die under the banner for which they fought.

*

Ne pleurez pas sur moi, cried Father Olivaint to the solitary group of sympathizers whom he met on his way to the Préfecture de Police.

No! mon père, we weep not, but rather thank God that the grand old spirit of martyrdom has not yet died. out among us!

Besides the thoughts which the past suggested to me, it was interesting to note the living occupants of the rooms. One silver-haired old gentleman, whom I afterwards found out to be the self-same Père Alexis Lefebvre whom Lagrange left in charge of the house, telling him to keep it au nom de la Commune, was holding a very serious conversation. with two or three gentlemen, the red ribbons in whose button-holes de

"Weep not for me."

clared them to be chevaliers de la Legion d'Honneur. Another father was having quite a small reception of middle-aged married ladies, who probably had, or desired to have, sons either at the College of Vaugirard or at that of S. Geneviève. Another but stay! here is my particular father, to whose kindness I owe it that I have been enabled to write this paper.

The Society of Jesus is so well known to the citizens of New York that it would be superfluous for me to give any lengthened description of the general principles of government upon which the order is based. Suffice it to say, for the benefit of the uninitiated, that, in common with other religious, they have a head resident at the Roman court; provincials under him, among whom the supervision of the different stations. is divided; and superiors of individual houses.

It is peculiar, however, to the Society of Jesus that each provincial has attendant upon him an officer called socius, whose care it is to look after the pecuniary business of the province, and in many kindred ways to assist his chief; but this office, I am informed, does not confer any additional rank upon the holder.

The case is different, however, with some other officials of the society, called "consulters," who, as their name implies, are chosen from among the number of the elder and more experienced brethren.

The house in the Rue de Sèvres was reopened in the year 1853, after having been considerably enlarged.

The main building consists of a plainly-built quadrangle, on the north side of which, and in immediate connection with it, stands the church, dedicated to the sacred name of Jesus. Running along all the inner

sides of the quadrangle, both on the ground and the other two floors, is a lofty, well-ventilated corridor or cloister, adorned here and there, after the usual manner of convents, with religious paintings.

The piece of ground forming the natural centre of the quadrangle is laid out with shrubbery, though without pretension to anything more than neatness.

On the ground floor are situated the refectory, the kitchens, and other offices; while the first and second floors are devoted exclusively to the use of the fathers. The cells, like the corridors, are lofty and well ventilated, but so simple in their arrangement as to require no description.

The priests, in the true monastic spirit, sweep and keep clean their own rooms and even the cloisters; and, from the general air of cleanliness and order that pervades the place, it is evident that the work is well done. This walk through the cloisters of the Jesuit house in Paris would be uninteresting were it not for the remembrance of one ne'er-tobe-forgotten room; and for the sake of the names printed upon the cell doors, bringing back as they do to one's mind the recollection of past times and weary troubles; and the near presence of men so many of whom have distinguished themselves in working for the cause of holy church.

Tread softly, and be silent now, as ye approach yonder door that bears no printed name; for the key that turns the jealous lock will disclose that to thy gaze which should excite thy intensest feelings of humility!

It is the "Martyrs' Room," where are kept the relics of the five heroic men, each one of whom "pro lege Dei sui certavit usque ad mortem et

a verbis impiorum non timuit; fundatus enim erat supra firmam petram."*

Anatole de Beugy was arrested with the Père Ducoudray.

"Voilà un nom à vous faire couper le cou," cried the officer in charge of the party of arrest.

"Oh! j'espère," replied the father calmly; "que vous ne me ferez pas couper le cou à cause de mon nom." I imagine that the officer did not think more highly of F. de Beugy after this. In fact, all through the time of his imprisonment, his captors seem not to have liked him or his indomitable sang froid. His coat His coat is there, in this "Martyrs' Room" (a secular one, by the bye), and it is pierced with seventy-two Communist bullets-truly, a very palpable proof of his enemies' animosity.

When the Père Olivaint was on his way to execution, as he descended the stairs of the prison of La Roquette, he found-how naturally!that he had his breviary tightly grasped in his hand. "They have me," perhaps he thought, "but they need not have this"; and he presented the book to the concierge of the prison, who had shown him some kindness. God knows what motives the man had, but an officer of the National Guard snatched it from his hand, and threw it into the flames of a fire near by.

The concierge recovered the breviary, or what remained of it, and it is now in the "Martyrs' Room."

He who can look upon this relic without emotion must have a very hard heart indeed!

Do any of us ever think that the spirit of penance-corporal penance -is dying out amongst us? There are instruments of self-mortification

"For the law of his God strove even unto death, and took no fear from the words of the impious; for he was founded upon a firm rock."

in this "Martyrs' Room" that will convince us to the contrary.

It is not a miracle-unless the world and life be all a miracle-if, when men die wondrous deaths, wonderful things should follow upon those deaths; and when we see a marble tablet in this "Martyrs' Room" telling how, not eighteen months ago, at Mass-time, when the priest invoked the saints whose relics lay beneath the altars in the church, a child was healed of a grievous disease, we must not be surprised.

"Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus usque ad consummationem sæculi."*

The beds from La Roquette are here-pieces of sacking, stretched out by a contrivance something similar to that made use of in the formation of camp-stools.

Here are the little silver cases in which the fathers concealed the Blessed Sacrament, to be at last, as each anticipated, his viaticum. But enough.

The church, as I before stated, is situated on the north side of the quadrangle. It is Gothic, and of fair proportions, consisting of a choir and two aisles. The only side chapel worthy of note is that where repose the bodies of the PP. Olivaint, Ducoudray, Clerc, Caubert, and De Beugy, murdered on the 24th and 26th of May, 1871, by the Communists of Paris. The walls, the floor, the whole chapel, in fact, is literally covered with wreaths of blood-red immortelles; while in front of what, in the event of their canonization, will be the "Martyrs' Altar," are five white marble slabs, bearing upon them the names of the five victims, together with the incidents and date of their deaths.

My kind guide-the priest whom I

"Behold, I am with you all days, even to the end of the world."

have elsewhere described as being "my particular father"-having now shown me all that was necessary of the house and chapel, returned with me to his cell, and, in some very interesting conversations then and on my succeeding visits, soon gave me an idea of the important works undertaken by his society in Paris.

"We are," said he, "quite a military order. Fighting is as much our business as it is the soldier's; and I will even go so far as to say that he is no true Jesuit who does not fight. Of enemies, as you may imagine, there is no lack whatever; but, undoubtedly, here our bête noire is social. ism; for you know in Paris, as indeed elsewhere, it has ever been our aim to undertake, if possible, the education of the male portion of society. And this, unfortunately, happens to be the favorite work of the socialists also; for, however faulty their code of moral philosophy may be in other respects, they have at least grasped the fact that to educate the affluent youth of a country is to form the intellect of a rising generation. However," concluded my instructor laughingly, "we have never been very popular in European society."

"No," I answered abstractedly; for I was thinking just then of the sacred name which the order bearsof him who was "Virum dolorum et scientem infirmitatem ";* and my thoughts reverted to the martyr shrine that I had so lately seen in the chapel. "But perhaps you, who have in such a special manner enrolled yourselves under the banner of the sacred name of Jesus, have received of him a greater share than others of the shame of the cross."

The father's reply was a very practical one. "My dear sir," said he, "nothing of the kind. The world

"A man of sorrows, and acquainted with Infirmity."

OL. XVII.-45

dislikes us because we persist in teaching, and because it knows perfectly well that all our teaching is impregnated to the core with that particular kind of Catholicity which it hates— the Catholicity, I mean, whose first principle is devotion and implici obedience to the Holy See."

It will be seen, therefore, from the foregoing fragment of conversation, that the Jesuits' work in Paris is for the most part the Catholic education of the upper classes.

The fathers in the Rue de Sèvres do, in one way and another, a good deal of work, although but little, perhaps, of a character that directly identifies itself with the peculiar animus of the order to which I have alluded. They are popular as confessors, and this involves a good deal of labor.

They direct two confraternities of men, each numbering respectively upwards of two hundred members. One is for the fathers of families, and the other for young men. Each society meets in the chapel upon alternate Thursdays for Mass and instruction. Again, the Jesuits render every assistance that lies in their power to the parochial clergy; and thus the fathers become, now conductors of missions, and now Lenten or Advent preachers.

At the Rue de Sèvres are given retreats, not only to their own brethren and the secular clergy, but also, and on a large scale, to private individuals-men whom care has driven to seek refuge in the contemplation of the treasures laid up for them in heaven.

Jesuits, whose duty calls them to places en route to which Paris becomes a natural resting-place, find a haven in the Rue de Sèvres. The provincial resides here when he is in Paris; and, finally, a few men who, at a moment's notice, are available