Tuesday's Serial: “Lavengro” by George Borrow (in English) - XX

 

 

Chapter 39

no authority whatever—interference—wondrous farrago—brandt and struensee—what a life!—the hearse—mortal relics—great poet—fashion & fame—a difference—good for nothing

 

And now once more to my pursuits, to my Lives and Trials. However partial at first I might be to these lives and trials, it was not long before they became regular trials to me, owing to the whims and caprices of the publisher. I had not been long connected with him before I discovered that he was wonderfully fond of interfering with other people's business—at least with the business of those who were under his control. What a life did his unfortunate authors lead! He had many in his employ toiling at all kinds of subjects—I call them authors because there is something respectable in the term author, though they had little authorship in, and no authority whatever over, the works on which they were engaged. It is true the publisher interfered with some colour of reason, the plan of all and every of the works alluded to having originated with himself; and, be it observed, many of his plans were highly clever and promising, for, as I have already had occasion to say, the publisher in many points was a highly clever and sagacious person; but he ought to have been contented with planning the works originally, and have left to other people the task of executing them, instead of which he marred everything by his rage for interference. If a book of fairy tales was being compiled, he was sure to introduce some of his philosophy, explaining the fairy tale by some theory of his own. Was a book of anecdotes on hand, it was sure to be half filled with sayings and doings of himself during the time that he was common councilman of the City of London. Now, however fond the public might be of fairy tales, it by no means relished them in conjunction with the publisher's philosophy; and however fond of anecdotes in general, or even of the publisher in particular—for indeed there were a great many anecdotes in circulation about him which the public both read and listened to very readily—it took no pleasure in such anecdotes as he was disposed to relate about himself. In the compilation of my Lives and Trials I was exposed to incredible mortification, and ceaseless trouble, from this same rage for interference. It is true he could not introduce his philosophy into the work, nor was it possible for him to introduce anecdotes of himself, having never had the good or evil fortune to be tried at the bar; but he was continually introducing—what, under a less apathetic government than the one then being, would have infallibly subjected him, and perhaps myself, to a trial,—his politics; not his Oxford or pseudo politics, but the politics which he really entertained, and which were of the most republican and violent kind. But this was not all; when about a moiety of the first volume had been printed, he materially altered the plan of the work; it was no longer to be a collection of mere Newgate lives and trials, but of lives and trials of criminals in general, foreign as well as domestic. In a little time the work became a wondrous farrago, in which Königsmark the robber figured by the side of Sam Lynn, and the Marchioness de Brinvilliers was placed in contact with a Chinese outlaw. What gave me the most trouble and annoyance was the publisher's remembering some life or trial, foreign or domestic, which he wished to be inserted, and which I was forthwith to go in quest of and purchase at my own expense: some of those lives and trials were by no means easy to find. 'Where is Brandt and Struensee?' cries the publisher; 'I am sure I don't know,' I replied; whereupon the publisher falls to squealing like one of Joey's rats. 'Find me up Brandt and Struensee by next morning, or—' 'Have you found Brandt and Struensee?' cried the publisher, on my appearing before him next morning. 'No,' I reply, 'I can hear nothing about them'; whereupon the publisher falls to bellowing like Joey's bull. By dint of incredible diligence, I at length discover the dingy volume containing the lives and trials of the celebrated two who had brooded treason dangerous to the state of Denmark. I purchase the dingy volume, and bring it in triumph to the publisher, the perspiration running down my brow. The publisher takes the dingy volume in his hand, he examines it attentively, then puts it down; his countenance is calm for a moment, almost benign. Another moment and there is a gleam in the publisher's sinister eye; he snatches up the paper containing the names of the worthies which I have intended shall figure in the forthcoming volumes—he glances rapidly over it, and his countenance once more assumes a terrific expression. 'How is this?' he exclaims; 'I can scarcely believe my eyes—the most important life and trial omitted to be found in the whole criminal record—what gross, what utter negligence! Where's the life of Farmer Patch? where's the trial of Yeoman Patch?'

'What a life! what a dog's life!' I would frequently exclaim, after escaping from the presence of the publisher.

One day, after a scene with the publisher similar to that which I have described above, I found myself about noon at the bottom of Oxford Street, where it forms a right angle with the road which leads or did lead to Tottenham Court. Happening to cast my eyes around, it suddenly occurred to me that something uncommon was expected; people were standing in groups on the pavement—the upstair windows of the houses were thronged with faces, especially those of women, and many of the shops were partly, and not a few entirely, closed. What could be the reason of all this? All at once I bethought me that this street of Oxford was no other than the far-famed Tyburn way. Oh, oh, thought I, an execution; some handsome young robber is about to be executed at the farther end; just so, see how earnestly the women are peering; perhaps another Harry Simms—Gentleman Harry as they called him—is about to be carted along this street to Tyburn tree; but then I remembered that Tyburn tree had long since been cut down, and that criminals, whether young or old, good-looking or ugly, were executed before the big stone gaol, which I had looked at with a kind of shudder during my short rambles in the City. What could be the matter? Just then I heard various voices cry, 'There it comes!' and all heads were turned up Oxford Street, down which a hearse was slowly coming: nearer and nearer it drew; presently it was just opposite the place where I was standing, when, turning to the left, it proceeded slowly along Tottenham Road; immediately behind the hearse were three or four mourning coaches, full of people, some of whom, from the partial glimpse which I caught of them, appeared to be foreigners; behind these came a very long train of splendid carriages, all of which, without one exception, were empty.

'Whose body is in that hearse?' said I to a dapper-looking individual, seemingly a shopkeeper, who stood beside me on the pavement, looking at the procession.

'The mortal relics of Lord Byron,' said the dapper-looking individual, mouthing his words and smirking—'the illustrious poet, which have been just brought from Greece, and are being conveyed to the family vault in ---shire.'

'An illustrious poet, was he?' said I.

'Beyond all criticism,' said the dapper man; 'all we of the rising generation are under incalculable obligation to Byron; I myself, in particular, have reason to say so; in all my correspondence my style is formed on the Byronic model.'

I looked at the individual for a moment, who smiled and smirked to himself applause, and then I turned my eyes upon the hearse proceeding slowly up the almost endless street. This man, this Byron, had for many years past been the demigod of England, and his verses the daily food of those who read, from the peer to the draper's assistant; all were admirers, or rather worshippers, of Byron, and all doated on his verses; and then I thought of those who, with genius as high as his, or higher, had lived and died neglected. I thought of Milton abandoned to poverty and blindness; of witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs; and starving Otway: they had lived neglected and despised, and, when they died, a few poor mourners only had followed them to the grave; but this Byron had been made a half god of when living, and now that he was dead he was followed by worshipping crowds, and the very sun seemed to come out on purpose to grace his funeral. And, indeed, the sun, which for many days past had hidden its face in clouds, shone out that morn with wonderful brilliancy, flaming upon the black hearse and its tall ostrich plumes, the mourning coaches, and the long train of aristocratic carriages which followed behind.

'Great poet, sir,' said the dapper-looking man, 'great poet, but unhappy.'

Unhappy? yes, I had heard that he had been unhappy; that he had roamed about a fevered, distempered man, taking pleasure in nothing—that I had heard; but was it true? was he really unhappy? was not this unhappiness assumed, with the view of increasing the interest which the world took in him? and yet who could say? He might be unhappy, and with reason. Was he a real poet after all? might he not doubt himself? might he not have a lurking consciousness that he was undeserving of the homage which he was receiving? that it could not last? that he was rather at the top of fashion than of fame? He was a lordling, a glittering, gorgeous lordling: and he might have had a consciousness that he owed much of his celebrity to being so; he might have felt that he was rather at the top of fashion than of fame. Fashion soon changes, thought I, eagerly to myself—a time will come, and that speedily, when he will be no longer in the fashion; when this idiotic admirer of his, who is still grinning at my side, shall have ceased to mould his style on Byron's; and this aristocracy, squirearchy, and what not, who now send their empty carriages to pay respect to the fashionable corpse, shall have transferred their empty worship to some other animate or inanimate thing. Well, perhaps after all it was better to have been mighty Milton in his poverty and blindness—witty and ingenious Butler consigned to the tender mercies of bailiffs, and starving Otway; they might enjoy more real pleasure than this lordling; they must have been aware that the world would one day do them justice—fame after death is better than the top of fashion in life. They have left a fame behind them which shall never die, whilst this lordling—a time will come when he will be out of fashion and forgotten. And yet I don't know; didn't he write Childe Harold and that ode? Yes, he wrote Childe Harold and that ode. Then a time will scarcely come when he will be forgotten. Lords, squires, and cockneys may pass away, but a time will scarcely come when Childe Harold and that ode will be forgotten. He was a poet, after all, and he must have known it; a real poet, equal to—to—what a destiny! Rank, beauty, fashion, immortality,—he could not be unhappy; what a difference in the fate of men—I wish I could think he was unhappy . . .

I turned away.

'Great poet, sir,' said the dapper man, turning away too, 'but unhappy—fate of genius, sir. I, too, am frequently unhappy.'

Hurrying down a street to the right, I encountered Francis Ardry.

'What means the multitude yonder?' he demanded.

'They are looking after the hearse which is carrying the remains of Byron up Tottenham Road.'

'I have seen the man,' said my friend, as he turned back the way he had come, 'so I can dispense with seeing the hearse—I saw the living man at Venice—ah, a great poet.'

'Yes,' said I, 'a great poet, it must be so, everybody says so—what a destiny! What a difference in the fate of men; but 'tis said he was unhappy; you have seen him, how did he look?'

'Oh, beautiful!'

'But did he look happy?'

'Why, I can't say he looked very unhappy; I saw him with two . . . very fair ladies; but what is it to you whether the man was unhappy or not? Come, where shall we go—to Joey's? His hugest bear—'

'Oh, I have had enough of bears, I have just been worried by one.'

'The publisher?'

'Yes.'

'Then come to Joey's, three dogs are to be launched at his bear: as they pin him, imagine him to be the publisher.'

'No,' said I, 'I am good for nothing; I think I shall stroll to London Bridge.'

'That's too far for me—farewell.'

 

 

Chapter 40

london bridge—why not?—every heart has its bitters—wicked boys—give me my book—a fright

 

So I went to London Bridge, and again took my station on the spot by the booth where I had stood on the former occasion. The booth, however, was empty; neither the apple-woman nor her stall was to be seen. I looked over the balustrade upon the river; the tide was now, as before, rolling beneath the arch with frightful impetuosity. As I gazed upon the eddies of the whirlpool, I thought within myself how soon human life would become extinct there; a plunge, a convulsive flounder, and all would be over. When I last stood over that abyss I had felt a kind of impulse—a fascination; I had resisted it—I did not plunge into it. At present I felt a kind of impulse to plunge; but the impulse was of a different kind; it proceeded from a loathing of life. I looked wistfully at the eddies—what had I to live for?—what, indeed! I thought of Brandt and Struensee, and Yeoman Patch—should I yield to the impulse—why not? My eyes were fixed on the eddies. All of a sudden I shuddered; I thought I saw heads in the pool; human bodies wallowing confusedly; eyes turned up to heaven with hopeless horror; was that water or—? Where was the impulse now? I raised my eyes from the pool, I looked no more upon it—I looked forward, far down the stream in the far distance. Ha! what is that? I thought I saw a kind of Fata Morgana, green meadows, waving groves, a rustic home; but in the far distance—I stared—I stared—a Fata Morgana—it was gone. . . .

I left the balustrade and walked to the farther end of the bridge, where I stood for some time contemplating the crowd; I then passed over to the other side with an intention of returning home; just half-way over the bridge, in a booth immediately opposite to the one in which I had formerly beheld her, sat my friend, the old apple-woman, huddled up behind her stall.

'Well, mother,' said I, 'how are you?' The old woman lifted her head with a startled look.

'Don't you know me?' said I.

'Yes, I think I do. Ah, yes,' said she, as her features beamed with recollection. 'I know you, dear; you are the young lad that gave me the tanner. Well, child, got anything to sell?'

'Nothing at all,' said I.

'Bad luck?'

'Yes,' said I, 'bad enough, and ill usage.'

'Ah, I suppose they caught ye; well, child, never mind, better luck next time; I am glad to see you.'

'Thank you,' said I, sitting down on the stone bench; 'I thought you had left the bridge—why have you changed your side?'

The old woman shook.

'What is the matter with you,' said I; 'are you ill?'

'No, child, no; only—'

'Only what? Any bad news of your son?'

'No, child, no; nothing about my son. Only low, child—every heart has its bitters.'

'That's true,' said I; 'well, I don't want to know your sorrows; come, where's the book?'

The apple-woman shook more violently than before, bent herself down, and drew her cloak more closely about her than before. 'Book, child, what book?'

'Why, blessed Mary, to be sure.'

'Oh, that; I ha'n't got it, child—I have lost it, have left it at home.'

'Lost it,' said I; 'left it at home—what do you mean? Come, let me have it.'

'I ha'n't got it, child.'

'I believe you have got it under your cloak.'

'Don't tell any one, dear; don't—don't,' and the apple-woman burst into tears.

'What's the matter with you?' said I, staring at her.

'You want to take my book from me?'

'Not I, I care nothing about it; keep it, if you like, only tell me what's the matter?'

'Why, all about that book.'

'The book?'

'Yes, they wanted to take it from me.'

'Who did?'

'Why, some wicked boys. I'll tell you all about it. Eight or ten days ago, I sat behind my stall, reading my book; all of a sudden I felt it snatched from my hand, up I started, and see three rascals of boys grinning at me; one of them held the book in his hand. "What book is this?" said he, grinning at it. "What do you want with my book?" said I, clutching at it over my stall; "give me my book." "What do you want a book for?" said he, holding it back; "I have a good mind to fling it into the Thames." "Give me my book," I shrieked; and, snatching at it, I fell over my stall, and all my fruit was scattered about. Off ran the boys—off ran the rascal with my book. Oh dear, I thought I should have died; up I got, however, and ran after them as well as I could; I thought of my fruit, but I thought more of my book. I left my fruit and ran after my book. "My book! my book!" I shrieked, "murder! theft! robbery!" I was near being crushed under the wheels of a cart; but I didn't care—I followed the rascals. "Stop them! stop them!" I ran nearly as fast as they—they couldn't run very fast on account of the crowd. At last some one stopped the rascal, whereupon he turned round, and flinging the book at me, it fell into the mud; well, I picked it up and kissed it, all muddy as it was. "Has he robbed you?" said the man. "Robbed me, indeed; why he had got my book." "Oh, your book," said the man, and laughed, and let the rascal go. Ah, he might laugh, but—'

'Well, go on.'

'My heart beats so. Well, I went back to my booth and picked up my stall and my fruits, what I could find of them. I couldn't keep my stall for two days I got such a fright, and when I got round I couldn't bide the booth where the thing had happened, so I came over to the other side. Oh, the rascals, if I could but see them hanged.'

'For what?'

'Why, for stealing my book.'

'I thought you didn't dislike stealing,—that you were ready to buy things—there was your son, you know—'

'Yes, to be sure.'

'He took things.'

'To be sure he did.'

'But you don't like a thing of yours to be taken.'

'No, that's quite a different thing; what's stealing handkerchiefs, and that kind of thing, to do with taking my book? there's a wide difference—don't you see?'

'Yes, I see.'

'Do you, dear? well, bless your heart, I'm glad you do. Would you like to look at the book?'

'Well, I think I should.'

'Honour bright?' said the apple-woman, looking me in the eyes.

'Honour bright,' said I, looking the apple-woman in the eyes.

'Well then, dear, here it is,' said she, taking it from under her cloak; 'read it as long as you like, only get a little farther into the booth—Don't sit so near the edge—you might—'

I went deep into the booth, and the apple-woman, bringing her chair round, almost confronted me. I commenced reading the book, and was soon engrossed by it; hours passed away, once or twice I lifted up my eyes, the apple-woman was still confronting me: at last my eyes began to ache, whereupon I returned the book to the apple-woman, and, giving her another tanner, walked away.

Monday's Illustrated Word: "The March of Crime!" by unknown writer (in English)

art by Mort Meskin, George Roussos - Adventure Comics #120 - DC Comics, September 1947.

Saturday's Good Reading: Kansas City Chiefs graduation speech by Harrison Butker (in English)

 

Ladies and gentlemen of the Class of 2024:  I would like to start off by congratulating all of you for successfully making it to this achievement today. I'm sure your high school graduation was not what you had imagined, and most likely, neither was your first couple years of college.

By making it to this moment through all the adversity thrown your way from COVID, I hope you learned the important lessons that suffering in this life is only temporary. As a group, you witnessed firsthand how bad leaders who don't stay in their lane can have a negative impact on society. It is through this lens that I want to take stock of how we got to where we are, and where we want to go as citizens and, yes, as Catholics. One last thing before I begin, I want to be sure to thank President Minnis and the board for their invitation to speak.

When President Minnis first reached out a couple of months ago, I had originally said No. You see, last year I gave the commencement address at my alma mater, Georgia Tech, and I felt that one graduation speech was more than enough, especially for someone who isn't a professional speaker. But of course, President Minnis used his gift of persuasion. [Laughter] It spoke to the many challenges you all faced throughout the COVID fiasco ,and how you missed out on so many milestones the rest of us older people have taken for granted. While COVID might have played a large role throughout your formative years, it is not unique. Bad policies and poor leadership have negatively impacted major life issues. Things like abortion, IVF, surrogacy, euthanasia, as well as a growing support for degenerate cultural values in media, all stem from the pervasiveness of disorder.

Our own nation is led by a man who publicly and proudly proclaims his Catholic faith, but at the same time is delusional enough to make the Sign of the Cross during a pro- abortion rally. He has been so vocal in his support for the murder of innocent babies that I'm sure to many people it appears that you can be both Catholic and pro-choice.

He is not alone. From the man behind the COVID lockdowns to the people pushing dangerous gender ideologies onto the youth of America, they all have a glaring thing in common. They are Catholic. This is an important reminder that being Catholic alone doesn't cut it.

These are the sorts of things we are told in polite society to not bring up. You know, the difficult and unpleasant things. But if we are going to be men and women for this time in history, we need to stop pretending that the "Church of Nice" is a winning proposition. We must always speak and act in charity, but never mistake charity for cowardice.

It is safe to say that over the past few years, I have gained quite the reputation for speaking my mind. I never envisioned myself, nor wanted, to have this sort of a platform, but God has given it to me, so I have no other choice but to embrace it and preach more hard truths about accepting your lane and staying in it.

As members of the Church founded by Jesus Christ, it is our duty and ultimately privilege to be authentically and unapologetically Catholic. Don't be mistaken, even within the Church, people in polite Catholic circles will try to persuade you to remain silent. There even was an award-winning film called Silence, made by a fellow Catholic, wherein one of the main characters, a Jesuit priest, abandoned the Church, and as an apostate when he died is seen grasping a crucifix, quiet and unknown to anyone but God. As a friend of Benedictine College, His Excellency Bishop Robert Barron, said in his review of the film, it was exactly what the cultural elite want to see in Christianity -- private, hidden away, and harmless.

Our Catholic faith has always been countercultural. Our Lord, along with countless followers, were all put to death for their adherence to her teachings. The world around us says that we should keep our beliefs to ourselves whenever they go against the tyranny of diversity, equity, and inclusion. We fear speaking truth, because now, unfortunately, truth is in the minority. Congress just passed a bill where stating something as basic as the biblical teaching of who killed Jesus could land you in jail.

But make no mistake, before we even attempt to fix any of the issues plaguing society, we must first get our own house in order, and it starts with our leaders. The bishops and priests appointed by God as our spiritual fathers must be rightly ordered. There is not enough time today for me to list all the stories of priests and bishops misleading their flocks, but none of us can blame ignorance anymore and just blindly proclaim that “That's what Father said.” Because sadly, many priests we are looking to for leadership are the same ones who prioritize their hobbies or even photos with their dogs and matching outfits for the parish directory.

It's easy for us laymen and women to think that in order for us to be holy, that we must be active in our parish and try to fix it. Yes, we absolutely should be involved in supporting our parishes, but we cannot be the source for our parish priests to lean on to help with their problems. Just as we look at the relationship between a father and his son, so too should we look at the relationship between a priest and his people. It would not be appropriate for me to always be looking to my son for help when it is my job as his father to lead him.

St. Josemaría Escrivá states that priests are ordained to serve, and should not yield to temptation to imitate laypeople, but to be priests through and through. Tragically, so many priests revolve much of their happiness from the adulation they receive from their parishioners, and in searching for this, they let their guard down and become overly familiar. This undue familiarity will prove to be problematic every time, because as my teammate's girlfriend says, familiarity breeds contempt. [Laughter]

Saint Josemaría continues that some want to see the priest as just another man. That is not so. They want to find in the priest those virtues proper to every Christian, and indeed every honorable man:  understanding, justice, a life of work — priestly work, in this instance — and good manners. It is not prudent as the laity for us to consume ourselves in becoming amateur theologians so that we can decipher this or that theological teaching — unless, of course, you are a theology major. We must be intentional with our focus on our state in life and our own vocation. And for most of us, that's as married men and women. Still, we have so many great resources at our fingertips that it doesn't take long to find traditional and timeless teachings that haven't been ambiguously reworded for our times. Plus, there are still many good and holy priests, and it's up to us to seek them out.

The chaos of the world is unfortunately reflected in the chaos in our parishes, and sadly, in our cathedrals too. As we saw during the pandemic, too many bishops were not leaders at all. They were motivated by fear, fear of being sued, fear of being removed, fear of being disliked. They showed by their actions, intentional or unintentional, that the sacraments don't actually matter. Because of this, countless people died alone, without access to the sacraments, and it's a tragedy we must never forget. As Catholics, we can look to so many examples of heroic shepherds who gave their lives for their people, and ultimately, the Church. We cannot buy into the lie that the things we experienced during COVID were appropriate. Over the centuries, there have been great wars, great famines, and yes, even great diseases, all that came with a level of lethality and danger. But in each of those examples, Church leaders leaned into their vocations and ensured that their people received the sacraments.

Great saints like St. Damien of Molokai, who knew the dangers of his ministry, stayed for 11 years as a spiritual leader to the leper colonies of Hawaii. His heroism is looked at today as something set apart and unique, when ideally it should not be unique at all. For as a father loves his child, so a shepherd should love his spiritual children, too.

That goes even more so for our bishops, these men who are present-day apostles. Our bishops once had adoring crowds of people kissing their rings and taking in their every word, but now relegate themselves to a position of inconsequential existence. Now, when a bishop of a diocese or the bishop's conference as a whole puts out an important document on this matter or that, nobody even takes a moment to read it, let alone follow it.

No. Today, our shepherds are far more concerned with keeping the doors open to the chancery than they are with saying the difficult stuff out loud. It seems that the only time you hear from your bishops is when it's time for the annual appeal, whereas we need our bishops to be vocal about the teachings of the Church, setting aside their own personal comfort and embracing their cross. Our bishops are not politicians but shepherds, so instead of fitting in the world by going along to get along, they too need to stay in their lane and lead.

I say all of this not from a place of anger, as we get the leaders we deserve. But this does make me reflect on staying in my lane and focusing on my own vocation and how I can be a better father and husband and live in the world but not be of it. Focusing on my vocation while praying and fasting for these men will do more for the Church than me complaining about her leaders.

Because there seems to be so much confusion coming from our leaders, there needs to be concrete examples for people to look to in places like Benedictine, a little Kansas college built high on a bluff above the Missouri River, are showing the world how an ordered, Christ-centered existence is the recipe for success. You need to look no further than the examples all around this campus, where over the past 20 years, enrollment has doubled, construction and revitalization are a constant part of life, and people, the students, the faculty and staff, are thriving. This didn't happen by chance. In a deliberate movement to embrace traditional Catholic values, Benedictine has gone from just another liberal arts school with nothing to set it apart to a thriving beacon of light and a reminder to us all that when you embrace tradition, success — worldly and spiritual — will follow.

I am certain the reporters at the AP could not have imagined that their attempt to rebuke and embarrass places and people like those here at Benedictine wouldn't be met with anger, but instead met with excitement and pride. Not the deadly sin sort of pride that has an entire month dedicated to it, but the true God-centered pride that is cooperating with the Holy Ghost to glorify him. Reading that article now shared all over the world, we see that in the complete surrender of self and a turning towards Christ, you will find happiness. Right here in a little town in Kansas, we find many inspiring laypeople using their talents.

President Minnis, Dr. [Andrew] Swafford, and Dr. [Jared] Zimmerer are a few great examples right here on this very campus that will keep the light of Christ burning bright for generations to come. Being locked in with your vocation and staying in your lane is going to be the surest way for you to find true happiness and peace in this life.

It is essential that we focus on our own state in life, whether that be as a layperson, a priest, or religious. Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2024, you are sitting at the edge of the rest of your lives. Each of you has the potential to leave a legacy that transcends yourselves and this era of human existence. In the small ways, by living out your vocation, you will ensure that God's Church continues and the world is enlightened by your example.

For the ladies present today, congratulations on an amazing accomplishment. You should be proud of all that you have achieved to this point in your young lives. I want to speak directly to you briefly because I think it is you, the women, who have had the most diabolical lies told to you. How many of you are sitting here now about to cross this stage and are thinking about all the promotions and titles you are going to get in your career? Some of you may go on to lead successful careers in the world, but I would venture to guess that the majority of you are most excited about your marriage and the children you will bring into this world.

I can tell you that my beautiful wife, Isabelle, would be the first to say that her life truly started when she began living her vocation as a wife and as a mother. I'm on the stage today and able to be the man I am because I have a wife who leans into her vocation. I'm beyond blessed with the many talents God has given me, but it cannot be overstated that all of my success is made possible because a girl I met in band class back in middle school would convert to the faith, become my wife, and embrace one of the most important titles of all: homemaker.

 

[Applause lasting 18 seconds]

 

She is a primary educator to our children. She is the one who ensures I never let football or my business become a distraction from that of a husband and father. She is the person that knows me best at my core, and it is through our marriage that, Lord willing, we will both attain salvation.

I say all of this to you because I have seen it firsthand how much happier someone can be when they disregard the outside noise and move closer and closer to God's will in their life. Isabelle's dream of having a career might not have come true, but if you asked her today if she has any regrets on her decision, she would laugh out loud, without hesitation, and say, “Heck, No.”

As a man who gets a lot of praise and has been given a platform to speak to audiences like this one today, I pray that I always use my voice for God and not for myself. Everything I am saying to you is not from a place of wisdom, but rather a place of experience. I am hopeful that these words will be seen as those from a man, not much older than you, who feels it is imperative that this class, this generation, and this time in our society must stop pretending that the things we see around us are normal.

Heterodox ideas abound even within Catholic circles. But let's be honest, there is nothing good about playing God with having children — whether that be your ideal number or the perfect time to conceive. No matter how you spin it, there is nothing natural about Catholic birth control.

It is only in the past few years that I have grown encouraged to speak more boldly and directly because, as I mentioned earlier, I have leaned into my vocation as a husband and father, and as a man.

To the gentlemen here today: Part of what plagues our society is this lie that has been told to you that men are not necessary in the home or in our communities. As men, we set the tone of the culture, and when that is absent, disorder, dysfunction, and chaos set in. This absence of men in the home is what plays a large role in the violence we see all around the nation. Other countries do not have nearly the same absentee father rates as we find here in the U.S., and a correlation could be made in their drastically lower violence rates, as well.

Be unapologetic in your masculinity, fighting against the cultural emasculation of men. Do hard things. Never settle for what is easy. You might have a talent that you don't necessarily enjoy, but if it glorifies God, maybe you should lean into that over something that you might think suits you better. I speak from experience as an introvert who now finds myself as an amateur public speaker and an entrepreneur, something I never thought I'd be when I received my industrial engineering degree.

The road ahead is bright. Things are changing. Society is shifting. And people, young and old, are embracing tradition. Not only has it been my vocation that has helped me and those closest to me, but not surprising to many of you, should be my outspoken embrace of the traditional Latin Mass. I've been very vocal in my love and devotion to the TLM and its necessity for our lives. But what I think gets misunderstood is that people who attend the TLM do so out of pride or preference. I can speak to my own experience, but for most people I have come across within these communities this simply is not true. I do not attend the TLM because I think I am better than others, or for the smells and bells, or even for the love of Latin. I attend the TLM because I believe, just as the God of the Old Testament was pretty particular in how he wanted to be worshipped, the same holds true for us today. It is through the TLM that I encountered order, and began to pursue it in my own life. Aside from the TLM itself, too many of our sacred traditions have been relegated to things of the past, when in my parish, things such as ember days, days when we fast and pray for vocations and for our priests, are still adhered to. The TLM is so essential that I would challenge each of you to pick a place to move where it is readily available.

A lot of people have complaints about the parish or the community, but we should not sacrifice the Mass for community. I prioritize the TLM even if the parish isn't beautiful, the priest isn't great, or the community isn't amazing. I still go to the TLM because I believe the holy sacrifice of the Mass is more important than anything else. I say this knowing full well that when each of you rekindle your knowledge and adherence to many of the church's greatest traditions, you will see how much more colorful and alive your life can and should be.

As you move on from this place and enter into the world, know that you will face many challenges. Sadly, I'm sure many of you know of the countless stories of good and active members of this community who, after graduation and moving away from the Benedictine bubble, have ended up moving in with their boyfriend or girlfriend prior to marriage. Some even leave the Church and abandon God. It is always heartbreaking to hear these stories, and there is a desire to know what happened and what went wrong.

What you must remember is that life is about doing the small things well, setting yourself up for success, and surrounding yourself with people who continually push you to be the best version of you. I say this all the time, that iron sharpens iron. It's a great reminder that those closest to us should be making us better. If you are dating someone who doesn't even share your faith, how do you expect that person to help you become a saint? If your friend group is filled with people who only think about what you're doing next weekend and are not willing to have those difficult conversations, how can they help sharpen you?

As you prepare to enter into the workforce, it is extremely important that you actually think about the places you are moving to. Who is the bishop? What kind of parishes are there? Do they offer the TLM and have priests who embrace their priestly vocation? Cost of living must not be the only arbiter of your choices, for a life without God is not a life at all, and the cost of salvation is worth more than any career.

I'm excited for the future, and I pray that something I have said will resonate as you move on to the next chapter of your life.

Never be afraid to profess the one holy, Catholic, and apostolic Church, for this is the Church that Jesus Christ established, through which we receive sanctifying grace.

I know that my message today had a little less fluff than is expected for these speeches, but I believe that this audience and this venue is the best place to speak openly and honestly about who we are and where we all want to go, which is Heaven.

I thank God for Benedictine College and for the example it provides the world. I thank God for men like President Minnis, who are doing their part for the Kingdom. Come to find out you can have an authentically Catholic college and a thriving football program. [Laughter and applause]

Make no mistake: You are entering into mission territory in a post-God world, but you were made for this. And with God by your side and a constant striving for virtue within your vocation, you too can be a saint.

 

Christ is King.

To the Heights.

Friday's Sung Word: "Voltaste" by Cândido das Neves (in Portuguese)

Voltaste, mas voltaste no momento
em que tudo é esquecimento, é solidão
Voltaste agora que impuro
eu sei que tenho o coração
Eu acho até que nem devemos relembrar
aqueles beijos que trocamos ao luar
Repara dentro em mim, mas sem assombro
as ruínas, os escombros e a algidez
que causou-me esta saudade
Esta saudade que tanto mal me fez

E agora porque vens bater à porta
de uma alma quase morta, no extertor?
Tu que um dia abandonaste
tanto afeto, tanto amor!
Talvez devido a tanta ingratidão
marmorizou-se meu coração

Voltaste, mas voltaste infelizmente
pois meu coração descrente enlouqueceu
e hoje é um devasso
É um coração igual ao teu!

 

You can listen  "Voltaste" sung by Vicente Celestino here.

Thursday's Serial: "Babes in Toyland" by Glen MacDonough (in English) - III

 

ACT II: SCENE: The Christmas Tree Grove in Toyland.

TOYLAND FAIR WALTZ (at the end of the number Barnaby and Widow Piper enter from arch up L.C. Hilda from down R)

Barnaby - (to Hilda) Mary's in Toyland, I'm sure of that, and we'll not go home again till we find her.

Widow - A fine dance she has lead us for three weeks!

Barnaby - (sentimentally) A love-chase for me.

Widow - Never mind, we'll make her Mrs. Barnaby yet.

Barnaby - With the aid of Isnpector Marmaduke!

Hilda - Who's he?

(Marmaduke enters from arch, unseen by others)

Barnaby - The leading detective of Toyland.

Marmaduke - (melodramatically) You have sent for Marmaduke and he is here!

Barnaby - Can you find Contrary Mary?

Marmaduke - You have sent for me because you cannot find her yourself!

Widow - (to Hilda) He's a regular mind-reader!

Barnaby - Do you think you can run her down?

Marmaduke - (With dignity) A well-bred detective never runs a lady down.

Widow - Mary was the apple of my eye. She has lips like cherries and cheeks like peaches.

Marmaduke - (Writing in note-book) Wanted--a female with a face like a fruit store. Would you like to take her dead or alive?

Barnaby - Alive for choice. She's to be my wife, you know.

Marmaduke - Must she marry you?

Barnaby & Widow - She must!

Marmaduke - (going L.) And does she know it?

Barnaby & Widow - She does.

Marmaduke - We'll begin with looking in the river. (exit down L. with Widow and Barnaby)

(Tom Tom enters from arch)

Tom - Ah, Hilda!

Hilda - Tom Tom! (they embrace) My, but your Ma's mad at you and Mary!

Tom - (surprised) Where is mother? Not here in Toyland?

Hilda - Here with your brothers and sisters and old Barnaby.

Tom - Don't say you've seen me.

Hilda - Never fear.

Tom - I'm employed as Court Crier to the Court Royal, and Mary is a doll's dressmaker at the Master Toymaker's workshop, under the name of Mlle. Elisette.

Hilda - Who's the Master Toymaker?

Tom - A great person here. He sets the fashion in dolls and toys for all the world.

Hilda - Barnaby has just engaged Inspector Marmaduke to hunt for Mary.

Tom - Follow me, we'll go to her and warn her! (both exeunt up L.)

(Marmaduke re-enters down R; Jake and Alan enter from arch)

Marmaduke - Strangers! Where did you come from?

Alan - We know where we come from, but we don't where we've got to. We were lost in a forest at our home, and after many adventures, reached a strange sea coast. A passing vessel brought us here, and we don't care how soon another takes us away.

Marmaduke - This is Toyland.

Alan - (to Marmaduke) Toyland? Were you made in Germany or Connecticut?

Marmaduke - (indignantly) I'm not a dummy. I'm a detective.

Alan - What's the difference?

Marmaduke - Do you know Contrary Mary, I'm looking for her? (Jake & Alan nod) Tell me what she wore the last time you saw her. (produces note book)

Jane - A blue and white polka-dot dress.

Marmaduke - Ah, a clue!

Alan - You'll be sure to find her now.

Marmaduke - Why?

Alan - A polka-dot dress is always spotted.

Marmaduke - Bah!

Jane - If I could only find Tom Tom, I wouldn't care. (to Marmaduke) Do you know Tom Tom?

Marmaduke - Is it anything like Contract?

Jane - No, he's a young man - very very handsome...and he has the grandest eyes and teeth and the most sensitive ears --

Marmaduke - I'm not in the least interested.

Jane - Of course everybody doesn't call him Tom Tom.

Alan - No, especially those who don't know him.

Jane - His family name was Piper, so to strangers he is Mr. Piper, but he is very very handsome, and he has the grandest eyes and teeth, and the most sensitive ears.

Marmaduke - But I haven't sensitive ears. (rushes off under arch.)

(girls begin to enter during preceding speech)

Jane - Wait, I want to tell you more about Tom Tom.

1st Girl - (looking at Jane and Alan) My dear, what fine looking things the parade has brought to town!

2nd Girl - What perfect frights, they must have fallen out of the moon.

1st Girl - Tell us where you came from?

Jane - First, I want to find out something about the place I am in! Pardon me while I go sight seeing! (exits down R)

1st Girl - And who are you?

Alan - I'm nothing yet, but when I grow up, I want to be a radio star.

1st Girl - What could you do on the radio?

Alan - I could be Uncle Don Crosby. That's something new, isn't it? Giving advice to the children in song form.

1st Girl - You mean a sort of lullaby?

Alan - Yes, just what!

SONG: Alan and chorus: "ROCK A BYE BABY" (Alan and others exeunt on number)

(Piper children enter from L. side of stage, they are playfully pulling the master toymaker after them, each child drags or carries on a toy. Possible dance here with baby dolls...or a cakewalk)

Toymaker - There! There! You have me quite out of breath, my dears. I must rest a moment. (sits on large toy block, which two of the children place C. for him)

Bo Peep - When we find Mother, she'll pay you for these lovely play- things.

Toymaker - There's nothing to pay. I am the world's master toymaker and I want to give these toys to you. Just a little rememberance in the heart of a child is more to me than anything else in the world. (a general murmur "Thank you" etc)

Bo Peep - Haven't you any little boys and girls of your own?

Toymaker - No. That's why I'm free to love all children, and to try and make them love me.

Red Hiding Hood - Do you make toys that talk?

Toymaker - Aye, talk and walk and do everything but think. I can give them everything but a soul, and some day I may give them even that. (He reads the underlined phrase, so tragically, that all the children shrink from him. Noticing their notion he immediately returns to his amiable manner) But I must go. I have work to do. (to Children) Come to my work-shop, and see all the other toys that I have there. (exits down L. Enter Widow from arch)

Widow - Ah here are my angels!

Bo Peep - See what the Master Toymaker has given us. (children show toys, Barnaby enters up L., holding Tom Tom by the wrist)

Barnaby - Here's Tom-Tom. Just caught him in the crowd. (cries of "Hello Tom Tom", "Hello, brother", from the children)

Widow - Naughty boy, where's your sister?

Tom - (defiantly) - I don't know. I don't know anything about her.

Barnaby - Tell the truth, you rascal! You ran away together.

Tom - No, we didn't. I don't know where Mary is at all!

Widow - (to children) Come, all of you, look for her. Scatter and be quick about it! Tom tom, you go with us. (Widow exits quickly with Tom Tom)

Barnaby - (to children) Hurry up! Find your sister! Be off with you!

Bo Peep - Find her for you? Not much. (The children rush off stage; Jill remains on the stage playing with the doll the Toymaker gave her, Barnaby turns and sees Jill busy with doll, sitting on the stage down R)

Barnaby - (sharply) Jill, why don't you do as you're told? (sneeringly) Precious Pet-mother's ownest! Just wait till I'M your brother-in-law!

Jill - (guying him) I could faint with joy at the prospect!

Barnaby - Badness, where do you expect to go when you die?

Jill - If it's any place where you ain't, I'll be happy.

Barnaby - (shaking his cane at her, furiously) If you were only mine! How I could box your ears! if you were only mine!

Jill - (with mock sentiment) It's hopeless! I can never be yours! (Barnaby seizes Jill's doll, strikes it, then kicks it about the stage) Help! Help! A lady's being struck -give me my doll!

(Grumio enters at top of runway over arch. Hears Jill's cries, stumbles and rolls down runway to stage)

Grumio - (picking up doll and facing Barnaby) Hold! How dare you strike a helpless female in the face!

Jill - Bless you! You have saved my child! (faints in Grumio's arms)

Barnaby - You'll hear from me later. (exits angrily under arch)

Grumio - (calling after him) Yes, do write, even if it's just a post-card. Courage, beautiful stranger--your child has only lost an ear.

Jill - My name is Jill. What's yours?

Grumio - Grumio. I'm the Master Toymaker's apprentice. What do you do?

Jill - Oh, I live a life of leisure, but I'm going to leave society and go to work. Perhaps I'll even be on relief.

Grumio - I had trouble at home too. Mother kept a butler, who objected to my wearing his evening clothes.

Jill - But didn't you ever have any other ambitions?

Grumio - Yes, I wanted to be a politician. It's the only business where you can sit down and run at the same time!

Jill - Is there any chance of landing a job here.

Grumio - Come to my master's workshop. They're shorthanded there and I can get you a place.

Jill - Can you fix my doll there?

Grumio - (holding doll so sawdust pours out) Yes, better hurry up, she may have a sawdust hemmorhage.

Jill - What'll you charge?

Grumio - My charge will be just one kiss.

Jill - All right, you send the bill to mother.

Grumio - But after I've seen mother's face, I may not want to collect it. Give me one kiss and I'll be satisfied.

Jill - No.

Grumio - You won't give me one kiss.

Jill - Yes, but you won't be satisified. (he starts to kiss her)

(Pantomine, possibly a dance speciality.)

(He is just about to kiss her, but enter the Widow and Barnaby.)

Widow - Brute! (leads JILL down stage grasping her by the ear, and Barnaby chases Grumio off stage thru arch.) You're too young to be kissing strangers!

Jill - I just wanted to find out what a kiss was.

Widow - A kiss is nothing divided by two. You got that kissing idea from the movies... from now on you'll see nothing but travelogues. (leads Jill off L.)

Toymaker - (enters with Man reading document.) You may report to me in the toyshop, in an hour!

Barnaby - (enters from arch, to Toymaker) You're the King-pin of all the toymakers, I've heard. I'd like to hire you to make a few toys for me.

Toymaker - Ah, then you love the children too?

Barnaby - Oh, I simply dote on them!

Toymaker - What would you like me to make for them?

Barnaby - A lot of dangerous toys. Toys that a child would eagerly accept. That would destroy them, and even kill them, in some clever way. (Jane enters under arch, overhears)

Toymaker - Why do you hate the children so bitterly?

Barnaby - My late sister left her two vicious bad-tempered children Alan and Jane for me to look after. What a life they've led me! Even their fortune, which will be mine in another week, could hardly repay me for the trouble they have caused me.

Toymaker - Are they dead?

Barnaby - Yes, they were lost in the forest, I've seen the last of them! (JANE exits silently) A thousand dollars, if you'll take the order. Twelve hundred! Fifteen hundred!

Toymaker - No, no!

Barnaby - Eighteen hundred!

Toymaker - No, no, don't tempt me. Eighteen hundred dollars for toys, that would kill and destroy!

(starts off L.)

Barnaby - I'll make it two thousand dollars! Just let me see you alone in your work shop, and we'll close the bargain. (both exeunt L)

(Jane and Alan enter under arch much excited)

Alan - And if we're not home in a week, Uncle Barnaby gets our fortune!

Jane - Yes, that's what I heard him say!

Alan - Now I understand Uncle Barnaby now I know him. He's as easy to see thru as a cellophane wrapper.

Jane - I'm sure he had us lost in the woods.

Alan - And lost at sea the same way. Oh, he's been playing a losing game with every way.

Jane - We must get home--we haven't a penny, what's to be done?

Alan - Or, who's to be done?

Jane - First let us change these clothes. Nobody else in Toyland dresses like this, and Uncle Barnaby will surely hear about us.

Alan - That's a risk we can't afford. We must shift our wardrobe, but how?

(Jill enters L)

Jill - Can it be? Alan and Jane!

Jane - Jill!

Jill - And a runaway just like you two!

Alan - I hope you've run away with a tailor!

Jane - Or a dressmaker.

Jill - Neither, but I've just been engaged to dress the dolls at the Master Toymaker's.

Alan - Do you think you could find anything there to fit us? We don't want to be captured.

Jill - Perhaps, some of the Toymaker's dolls are nearly as big as you.

Jane - Where are they?

Jill - (melodramatically) Follow me! (they exeunt under arch)

(Bo Peep & Boy Blue enter under arch; other Piper Children re-enter)

Bo Peep - I wonder what's become of Mary?

Boy Blue - Maybe she's married a title, and has had to go to work to support him.

(Mary enters under arch with small milliner's box under arm)

Bo Peep, Boy Blue etc. - It's Mary! (general embrace)

Bo Peep - What in the world are you doing in Toyland? (Marmaduke enters under arch)

Mary - Oh, I'm making dolls for the master Toymaker and my alias is Mam'sell Elisette.

Marmaduke - Hold in the name of the law! Stand up where you are! Hold, I say!

Mary - (ignoring Marmaduke, coming down with the group) I want to hear all the news from home. Are all the guinea pigs well, and how is the new donkey?

Marmaduke - I am here!

Mary - (looking over her shoulder) But you're not the one I was speaking of.

Marmaduke - Listen to me for a moment! Do any of you know a girl named Mary? Don't answer if it may incriminate you.

Mary - Who are you?

Marmaduke - I am the world's most famous inspector!

Mary - What of boilers?

Marmaduke - No, of the police! Describe Contrary Mary to me.

Mary - She has long bobbed hair, a lovely speaking voice, but very loud. And she cries so much her cheeks are streamlined.

Marmaduke - (taking notes) Complexion?

Mary - Fair. Just fair, and I believe at that I'm exaggerating.

Marmaduke - How was she dressed when you saw her last?

Mary - She was wearing a white fish net over black satin.... the satin was white at one time. The neck line was high with a Freddie Bartholomew collar...The back was low, sweet and lo, - there were little cream puff sleeves... with blue ribbon on the side...

Marmaduke - I don't believe --

Mary - The dress was straight to the knees, where it was gored by 8 champagne inserts to give it a waltz swing...a sort of Champagne Waltz!

Marmaduke - I don't believe I'm getting anywhere....but I am getting anywhere--anywhere away from you! (dashes off under arch)

Bo Peep - Well, you certainly tired him out!

Mary - You don't know how glad I am to see you all, but I wish Tom Tom were here....

Boy Blue - And what about Alan? Don't you miss him?

Mary - Of course I do. Oh, if you only knew how heavy my heart is.

SONG: MARY. (Mary and Children exeunt on number)

(Grumio enters from arch, carrying the head of a toy captain)

Grumio - The toy captain is busted, and now the parade is spoiled.

(Jill enters L.)

Jill - What's the matter, Grumio?

Grumio - (pointing to head) I'll be put in jail for this. This was the wooden soldier that was to head the wooden regiment he presents to the City today... I had charge on him, and when I went to wind him up, I found someone had stolen his clothes. Let me find out who did it! That's all!

Jill - (melodramatically) Twas I Grumio! (falls on knees)

Grumio - You?

Jill - Strike and avenge yourself! I took the clothes to help two old friends...

Grumio - Ah! To help old friends you ruin me! Be gone, female, and leave me to the sorrow you have brought upon me! (throws her to the ground and steps over her)

(JANE & ALAN enter in the doll costumes and exchange surprised glances and military salutes

with the other two)

Alan - (noting Grumio's red hair, aside to Jane) Looks like a bottle of Chili sauce. (aloud) Who are you?

Grumio - The Toymaker's apprentice, who is responsible for the toys that you have broken. (points to wooden captain's broken head)

Alan - The wooden captain? (to Jill) The toy I broke when I took these clothes off of him!

Grumio - The same. It's time for the parade, but I can't start without the wooden captain.

Alan - Well, I can't do without his clothes.

Grumio - (with sudden inspiration) Then by the way of paying for them, you might lead the parade yourself.

Alan - (surprised) What - me?

Grumio - That will get me out of the trouble that you have got me into. Do you think you could act like a toy soldier?

Jane - (to Alan) Of course -- just be yourself.

Alan - Jane, I'll lead the parade, and you can look for Tom Tom.

Jane - I'm sure Tom Tom isn't here.

Alan - (to Grumio) One word more, my one cylinder brained friend! If I get you out of this trouble, will you help us to get out of the country?

Grumio - Come to the work shop after the parade, and I'll arrange it!

Jane and Alan - How?

Grumio - Leave that to me! Just join the wooden grenadiers, they're ready to march!

Alan - (takes Jane's hand) Come on, we're off! (exeunt up L.; bugle call.)

Jill - Oh, the parade must have started.

Grumio - Come with me and I'll get you a seat in the reviewing stand! (Jill and Grumio exeunt)

THE TOY MARCH: (Big number and dance and black cut and change to Street scene.)