The Duchesse De Langeais
To Franz Liszt In a Spanish city on an island in the Mediterranean, there stands a convent of the Order of Barefoot Carmelites, where the rule instituted by St. Theresa is still preserved with all the first rigor of the reformation brought about by that illustrious woman. Extraordinary as this may seem, it is none the less true. Almost every religious house in the Peninsula, or in Europe for that matter, was either destroyed or disorganized by the outbreak of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars; but as this island was protected through those times by the English fleet, its wealthy convent and peaceable inhabitants were secure from the general trouble and spoliation. The storms of many kinds which shook the first fifteen years of the nineteenth century spent their force before they reached those cliffs at so short a distance from the coast of Andalusia. If the rumour of the Emperor's name so much as reached the shore of the island, it is doubtful whether the holy women kneeling in
labyrinth of errors, from which it will be difficult to extricate
themselves. Let the young, in all their religious investigations,
hesitate not to appeal continually to the highest and noblest
capacity of their nature, and give all due weight to its decisions.
Freely, abundantly, your Maker has bestowed a reasoning capacity
upon you. Freely, unhesitatingly, always should you appeal to its
directing light.
Whoever counsel the young against the exercise of reason in regard
to religion--whoever warn them to beware of its decisions on a
topic so momentous--lay themselves open to a just and legitimate
suspicion, of being the abettors of error. Is not this self-evident?
Error is born in ignorance. It burrows in darkness, and draws all
its vitality from stupid credulity. Enlightened reason strips away
the false garbs by which it deceives the thoughtless, reveals its
deformities, and holds up its absurdities naked and repulsive, to
the gaze of the passer-by. In view of such an unwelcome office, it
is natural that error should dread the eye of reason, should shrink
away at its approach, and cry out mightily against its scrutiny.
Not so is it with truth. It cultivates no apprehension of reason. It
courts, invites its approach, and smiles in conscious strength at
its most critical investigations. Truth has everything to gain, and
nothing to lose from the researches of reason. The clearer and
keener the eye of the one, the more beautiful the appearance of the
other. Truth and Reason are twin sisters, born of God, and
To Franz Liszt In a Spanish city on an island in the Mediterranean, there stands a convent of the Order of Barefoot Carmelites, where the rule instituted by St. Theresa is still preserved with all the first rigor of the reformation brought about by that illustrious woman. Extraordinary as this may seem, it is none the less true. Almost every religious house in the Peninsula, or in Europe for that matter, was either destroyed or disorganized by the outbreak of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars; but as this island was protected through those times by the English fleet, its wealthy convent and peaceable inhabitants were secure from the general trouble and spoliation. The storms of many kinds which shook the first fifteen years of the nineteenth century spent their force before they reached those cliffs at so short a distance from the coast of Andalusia. If the rumour of the Emperor's name so much as reached the shore of the island, it is doubtful whether the holy women kneeling in