t; little by little, I fell
back into the habits of a stagnant, passive, mechanical life, governed
by a pitiless power with mechanical precision, just like the inanimate
works of a watch."

"But order, submission and regularity are the first foundations of our
Company, my dear son."

"Alas, father! it was death, not life, that I found thus organized. In
the midst of this destruction of every generous principle, I devoted
myself to scholastic and theological studies--gloomy studies--a wily,
menacing, and hostile science which, always awake to ideas of peril,
contest, and war, is opposed to all those of peace, progress, and
liberty."

"Theology, my dear son," said Father d'Aigrigny, sternly, "is at once
a buckler and a sword; a buckler, to protect and cover the Catholic
faith--a sword, to attack and combat heresy."

"And yet, father, Christ and His apostles knew not this subtle science:
their simple and touching words regenerated mankind, and set freedom
over slavery. Does not the divine code of the Gospel suffice to teach
men to love one another? But, alas! far from speaking to us this
language, our attention was too often occupied with wars of religion,
and the rivers of blood that had flowed in honor of the Lord, and for
the destruction of heresy. These terrible lessons made our life still
more melancholy. As we grew near to manhood, our relations at the
seminary assumed a growing character of bitterness, jealousy and
suspicion. The habit of tale bearing against each other, applied to more
serious subjects, engendered silent hate and profound resentments. I
was neither better nor worse than the others. All of us, bowed down
for years beneath the iron yoke of passive obedience, unaccustomed to
reflection or free-will, humble and trembling before our superiors, had
the same pale, dull, colorless disposition. At last I took orders; once
a priest, you invited me, father, to enter the Company of Jesus, or
rather I found myself insensibly brought to this determination. How,
I do not know. For a long time before, my will was not my own. I went
through all my proofs; the most terrible was decisive; for some months,
I lived in the silence of my cell, practicing with resignation the
strange and mechanical exercises that you ordered me. With the exception
of your reverence, nobody approached me during that long space of time;
no human voice but yours sounded in my ear. Sometimes, in the night,
I felt vague terrors; my mind,