not believe there are Catholics who, sincerely and intelligently, believe that Rome is right and that Döllinger is wrong.'

When the distinction between exoteric and esoteric is pressed to this point, the notion of unity, which lies at the heart of Catholicism, disappears. The weakness of Modernism, in many respects so characteristic a product of the modern mind, is its refusal to face this fact. The attempt to evade it gives a certain impression of insincerity, an impression which the all but universal acceptance of the anti-Modernist oath by persons whose opinions are notorious, has done much to confirm. There are exceptions. Benecke, like Father Tyrrell, was true to conscience. But at what a price!

6.66

"You see a man dying of hunger and thirst! He cannot cheat himself with fine words. He starves!"

'She stared at him, startled-partly understanding.

"For forty-two years," he said, in a low pathetic voice, "have I received my Lord-day after day-without a break. And now they have taken Him away-and I know not where they have laid Him."' ('Eleanor,' p. 389.)

Superficial solutions of the difficulty have been offered. "The North will never understand the South-never! You can't understand our à peu près. You think Catholicism is a tyranny, and we must either let the priests oppress us, or throw everything over-board. But it is nothing of the kind. We take what we want of it, and leave the rest. But you !— if you come over to us, that is another matter! You have to swallow it all. You must begin even with Adam and Eve!"' (Ib. p. 307.)

This view of the matter is found at times in unexpected quarters. There is a current seminary story to the effect that two priests, who had been in the habit of discussing theological questions, agreed that the first to die should, if possible, return to give his friend the benefit of his enlarged outlook. He appeared, telling the other to put his questions shortly, as he could not stay long. 'Quid de moribus?' Taliter qualiter,' was the answer. 'Quid de dogmatibus?' 'Omnino aliter,' he replied emphatically, and disappeared. It is a timely corrective to over-certainty. But it suggests Bishop Blougram rather than St Paul.

* Letters of Lord Acton to Mary Gladstone,' p. lv.

The second distinction will not take us very far. The standards of the Church are the same for all. They may be enforced more rigorously on priests than on laymen, and taken more literally by converts than by born Catholics. But a belief which rests on the loose thinking and indifference of its adherents is in an evil way. Nor will a popular policy, were such to be adopted-and under the present Pontificate the tide sets strongly in the other direction-save the situation.

'La plus sage des politiques, la plus généreuse sollicitude pour les classes populaires n'assureraient pas . . l'avenir du catholicisme, si le catholicisme, qui, étant une religion, est d'abord une foi, se présentait sous les apparences d'une doctrine et d'une discipline opposées au libre essor de l'esprit humain, déjà minées par la science, isolées et isolantes au milieu du monde qui veut vivre, s'instruire et progresser en tout.' (Loisy, 'Autour d'un petit livre,' p. xxv.)

'Richard Meynell' is a romance of Anglican Liberalism. It is of the nature of a prophecy; and prophecy is moulded by the personality of the prophet. In the 'Dawn of All' a popular Roman Catholic writer has sketched the future of the world as Catholics, presumably, wish to see it. There is little in common between this work and 'Richard Meynell.' But it is probable that in each case the writer has seen what he was desirous of seeing; the vision goes beyond what is warranted by the facts. Whatever may be the case with the large outlines, it is doubtful whether the details of Mrs Ward's ideal reconstruction of the English Church will commend themselves to Liberal Churchmen, or at least to such of them as possess the historical sense. The question of Prayer-book revision is urgent-how urgent those who have practical experience of the existing services know. But the wise architect retains as far as possible the distinctive features of the old structure. This was the principle on which the compilers of the liturgy proceeded; it is the principle, it may be hoped, on which its revisers will proceed. Mrs Ward's description of the new service book (p. 45) recalls a well-known Congregational chapel in which the minister reads selections from the New Testament in Dr Weymouth's translation.' Dr Weymouth's translation may be, and no doubt is,

In

excellent; but his name is incongruous, and taken in conjunction with the names of the Evangelists and that of St Paul, strikes a jarring note. The Liberal clergy will not break the law-this would be to adopt the platform of their opponents-nor will they innovate. spite of here and there a dark corner and an inconvenient passage, most of us would rather live in an historical house-into which, however, we should introduce bathrooms and electric light-than exchange it for a villa run up by a speculative builder, and fitted with every modern convenience. So in religion. The traditional element is not to be dismissed out of hand. It is often better to explain than to expurgate, and to interpret than to change.

Both in Richard Meynell' and in 'Robert Elsmere Mrs Ward does less than justice to the historical Broad Church party. It had, and has, its limitations. It was academic; it had a certain aridity; its work was to a great extent indirect. But it kept knowledge alive; and knowledge, after all, is a necessary condition of theology and, in the long run, of religion, take what shape it will. The Liberal English Churchman stands in a great succession. He differs in two vital respects from the Catholic Modernist; the ground on which he stands is solid, and his hands are free. He may have faith in the future; for the stream on which he is launched flows to no inland bay or land-locked channel, but to the open sea. There the venture of life awaits him. The position cannot be better stated than in Mrs Ward's words.

'Suddenly, as a shaft of light from the descending sun fled ghostlike across the plain, touching trees and fields and farms in its path, two noble towers emerged among the shadowscharacters, as it were, that gave a meaning to the scroll of nature. They were the towers of Markborough Cathedral. Meynell pointed to them as he turned to his companion, his face still quivering under the strain of feeling.

"Take the omen! It is for them, in a sense-a spiritual sense-we are fighting. They belong not to any body of men that may chance to-day to call itself the English Church. They belong to England-in her aspect of faith-and to the English people!" (Richard Meynell,' p. 73.)

ALFREDI FAWKES.

Art. 2.-THE RUSSIAN STAGE.

1. Dina Glank. A drama in four acts. By Semyon Yushkievitch. Stuttgart: Dietz, 1906.

2. Vassa Zheleznova; scenes. Ladyschnikow, 1910.

By Maxim Gorky. Berlin :

3. The Works of Anton Tchekhof. Vols 7 and 11. St Petersburg: Marks, 1908.

4. The Axle of the Earth; tales and dramatic scenes. By Valery Brusof. Moscow: 'Scorpion,' 1907.

5. Alma; a tragedy of contemporary life, in three acts. By N. M. Minsky. St Petersburg: Northern Press, 1900. 6. Collected Writings of Theodore Sologub.

Vol. 8 (dramatic works). St Petersburg: 'Shipovnik,' 1911. 7. Rings; a drama in three acts. By L. D. ZinovyevaAnnibal. St Petersburg: 'Scorpion,' 1904.

8. Lyrical Dramas. By Alexander Blok. burg: 'Shipovnik,' 1908.

And other works.

St Peters

If we want to learn the inner secrets of Russian thought during the national crisis of the last few years, the heartsearchings, the aspirations, there is hardly a better, more intimate way of doing it than by the discriminating study of their drama. Little, of course, can be gathered from the works of the popular playwrights, the entertainers, who bulk biggest in the daily programme. In every art there are these necessary and delightful by-products; but they reflect nothing, they reveal nothing; they have no place in the history of intellectual forces. We must take care also not to be taken in by that intermediate sort of purveyor, who flourishes everywhere nowadaysthe playwright who strives to be artist and entertainer at the same time; to represent new phases of thought, and yet to please the many; to be true if he can, but always to be effective; the writer who is interested' in 'intellectual' questions, and has an air of probing their secrets, without giving offence by penetrating further than his public has gone before him. He reflects only the surface of things, the after-ripples.

The perfect type in Russia of this intermediate sort is Leonid Andreyef, a gifted and versatile craftsman, famous already in England, while the work of better

playwrights is still unknown. He can turn his hand to anything; he is ready to do you the realistic, the mystic, the modern, the antique, the biblical, the medievalwhatever you please. Tragedy or comedy, it is all one to him; he will give you hope if you want it, or despair if you prefer it. If he has a talent more peculiarly his own, it is the big symbolical' bow-wow.' In 'The Ocean' (1911), in 'Anathema' (1909)-lately translated into Americanin 'The Life of Man' (1907)-excellently described by Mr Maurice Baring in his 'Russian Essays and Stories' (1908) - everything is on the large symbolical scale, with symbolical seas and mountains and walls and gates, and tall figures of mysterious Hims' and 'Its' that stand silent, with their hats pulled over their eyes. His writing is like Bilibin's painting, rich, astonishing, ingenious, hollow, and insincere.

But the quality which won Russian literature the position it holds in European esteem was pre-eminently its restless, probing sincerity, impelled by that 'sick conscience,' that sense of the disharmony of life and the desire to overcome it,' which Bulgakof says has always been the inspiration of typical Russian writers. We turn naturally to the realists; for it is in the guise of realism that we are accustomed to Russian sincerity. The younger generation has not escaped the danger that lies in wait for realists-the painting of things in too sombre colours. The type is too well fixed to be avoided; it is a sort of tragédie de mœurs; a poor but intellectual middle-class family, living in a small provincial town (how realists everywhere delight in small provincial towns!), inspired by hearty dislike for their nearest relatives, and practising the marriage customs of the early Stone Age. As for form and construction, 'pas de sous-intrigue, pas de thèse, pas de contrastes, pas de leçons; mais une réalité implacable, et une unité féroce' -the ideal of Antoine's Théâtre Libre.*

This sort of drama is pursued with great success by certain Jewish writers-a new element this, by the by, in Russian literature-pre-eminently by Yushkievitch, a clear-headed and vivid dramatist, not quite original, but endowed with a fine sense of humour. His chief play in

* As formulated by Filon, 'De Dumas à Rostand' (1898), p. 81.