This little book is the only one which deals with the present position of the Catholic Church in Russia, and it is a good book, well-written, and filled with valuable information which is not to be found elsewhere.

Miss Almedingen is a young Russian lady, a graduate of Petrograd University, and a convert to Catholicism from Orthodoxy. She was received into the Church by the late Mgr. Budkiewicz; and the touching story she tells in Appendix II is probably the story of her own conversion. Otherwise there is an utter absence of the personal note, and perhaps this is just as well; but some day, I hope, the authoress will be persuaded to tell the story of her own life in Russia during the Red Terror: if she does tell it, I can promise the English reader that it will surpass in interest most of the fiction that has been written for years.

Miss Almedingen gives a short but very interesting account of the Catholic churches in Petrograd and Moscow, and especially of Mgr. Budkiewicz’s church of St. Catherine on the Nevsky Prospect. St. Catherine’s was built for the Dominicans at the end of the eighteenth century, but afterwards passed into the hands of the Jesuits, who collected in the great library attached to the church (and which still contains a magnificent full-length portrait of the Angelic Doctor) over two hundred thousand books, many of them extremely valuable.

Under the title, The Inquisition, Mr. Hoffman Nickerson has written a book which has very little direct bearing on the Inquisition itself: it does something much more useful than a direct treatise could do : it describes the formation of the temper of mind that brought the Inquisition into being. Add to this that the book has a preface by Mr. Hilaire Belloc, and you have a sufficiently good understanding of its tone and spirit. Indeed, it is almost uncanny to notice the many sympathies of idea, of style, and of phrase between the writer of the preface and the writer of the book. We feel convinced that it would be easy to quote passages from the book, so choice, so determined, so much in the grand manner as to deceive even devoted followers of Mr. Belloc into thinking him the author of what are only the charming creations of Mr. Nickerson.

Furthermore, you must know that Mr. Nickerson is an American. You think at once of the immense tomes of Henry C. Lea on the iniquities of the Inquisition and you wonder what there can be in so grim and venerable a tribunal to attract the attention of Americans. What has attracted Mr. Lea in the subject we can guess, but we are not left to guesswork to discover why Mr. Nickerson has devoted himself unremittingly to this particular task.

A latin country which is not Catholic is an anomaly; but Rumania, proud of her Roman descent, language, and traditions, got her Christianity from Byzantium, and was, together with the rest of Eastern Europe, drawn into the Byzantian schism. The Rumanians trace their origin to Trajan, who transformed this fertile land of Dacia into a Roman colony that maintained its racial distinctiveness from the third century to the present day. Transylvania was the cradle of the race, but through the usual vicissitudes entailed by invading hordes and changing alien domination, Dacia was broken up and had a chequered history like her Slav neighbours, with whom she never merged. The capital of ancient Dacia was Alba Julia, situated in Transylvania, and it was in this historic village instead of in modern Bucarest, actual capital of Rumania, that the Rumanian sovereigns were lately crowned. Thus was accentuated the re-union of the three provinces, Moldavia, Valachia and Transylvania, once more into a single State. The ceremony naturally gave offence to Hungary, who had held Transylvania for centuries, and the Hungarian citizens that dwell in these regions viewed the proceedings with disfavour.

Yet Hungary had never been successful in her attempt to Magyarize the persistent Latins who form the majority of the population. King Hermann, who was forced by his nobles to grant the Golden Bull, Hungary’s Magna Charta, took little count of the cowed natives, but invited the Saxons to settle in the land in order to counterpoise the turbulent feudal chiefs.

In the palmy days of the fourteenth century, when Can Grande ruled at Verona, there lay between the Adige and the Brenta a little town called Borgo Sant’ Ignoto. Being mainly Ghibelline in sympathy, it shared in all the triumphs of the conquering Veronesi; and its citizens did considerably more than look on when Can Grande beat the Paduans (who held for the Pope) near Vicenza, and changed the colour of all the neighbouring rivers from jade-green to red.

Borgo Sant’ Ignoto, though it was only a little place, waxed quite fat on the spoils; and the monastery of Sant’ Ignoto himself—which, though the principal shrine of the town, was perched on an abrupt little hill just above it—was fairly set ablaze by the candles of the survivors and endowed (it was hoped in perpetuity) by the broad lands of the slain. Moreover, the captains of the people, anxious to prove that they were none the less devout for supporting the Emperor, voted a handsome gift to the Saint who had seen them (after a few prudent tergiversations) safely through on the winning side. This gift took the form of a mighty terrace, quarried out of the solid rock to the right of the shrine and encircled with a parapet of stone. From this vantage point, the ascended pilgrim, either before or after his devotions to Sant’ Ignoto, might survey the full extent of the territory captured by Can Grande and watch—if the peace lasted long enough—the ensanguined rivers of Vicenza resuming their natural green.

The publisher’s announcement of this work lays some stress on the fact that its author, Mr. M. J. Nicolson, is ‘the son of the well-known writer of the “Indian Love Lyrics,” “The Garden of Kama,” etc.,’ and that ‘if heredity counts for anything, (he) stands a chance of possessing literary gifts.’ Many critics will be inclined to hesitate before granting that the popularity of the ‘The Indian Love Lyrics’ is due to their literary merit. Their appeal is based to a minor extent upon their exotic flavour and Eastern fragrance. They appeal rather to sensuality than sense. It was only when a few of them were exalted into a song-cycle that they won popular esteem, and this, surely, for the charm of the musical setting, rather than for any literary quality of their own. So that on the grounds of heredity alone, Mr. Nicolson’s claim to ‘literary gifts’ would appear to be extremely doubtful. He certainly does possess these gifts. But they are not just those ascribed to the ‘Garden of Kama.’

The only cumbrous thing about his lyrical drama is its title. Presumably it would have been against the interests of the play to have called it simply ‘The Death of Prince Hassan.’ But that is what its title should have been, as it will be in the minds of those who have read it. The argument that it would have ‘given the show away’ is more commercial than artistic. It is often more interesting to see a man die than live. As a compromise, with ‘Julius Cæsar’ in mind, ‘Prince Hassan’ might have been sufficient.

If there is one truth which comes home to a convert with special force it is this, aut pati aut mori, we must either suffer or perish. Every spiritual writer and every convert must often echo the great truth, ‘no cross, no crown.’ Per crucem ad lucem, la bonne souffrance, durch Leiden Freude—it runs through the tongues of Christendom. Our Blessed Lady thus spoke to St. Bridget ‘To alleviate the first of your troubles. I offer you three subjects of consolation : firstly, the necessity of suffering, imposed upon all who dwell upon earth. Consider that the animals, who, when they die, become extinct, are themselves subject to great sufferings, but your soul will live for ever.’