On a Picture of Nazareth [pp. 757-758]

On a Pfrture of Nazareti~. 757
ther of Louis XIV., and not even a this lugubrious enigma~ and we fear M.
son born clandestinely of the queen, Maurice Topin has failed to solve it.
but the superintendent, Fouquet him- But let us give him his meed of
sdE praise for having consecrated his nights
But the Iron Mask has in turn been to seeking for documents, comparing
believed to be Fouquet, Marchiali, dates, a~nd confronting the evidence
Arwediks, and other people who dis- of the most celebrated writers on the
appeared about that time. subject.
He, however, who was called Mar- Honor to the brave historian whom
chiali, and who entered the Bastille the night of time does not intimidate,
the i8th of September, 1698, died and who is willing to grope among
there suddenly the i9th of November, the shades of the past for what is hid1703. den, and above all a secret of the
Very singular precautions were ta- state!
ken after his decease. Among all the victims of the old
The body and face were mutilated, regimes, The Man with the Iron Mask
and every thing composing his furni- was the most interesting.
ture was burned; even the doors and This popular story was in every
windows of his bedroom. The silver mouth the day of the taking of the
he used was melted. The walls of Bastille.
his apartment were scraped and re- If he had lived until 1789, would
whitened. it have been a pretender to the crown,
He was buried the 20th of Novem- or simply a suspected prisoner, that
ber, 1703, in the Church of St. Paul, the people would have delivered?
under the name of Marchiali. We wait for M. Topin to answer.
Time has not given the answer to
ON A PICTURE OF NAZARETH.
-IN dreams no longer, but revealed to sight,
Comes o'er us, like a vision after death,
That shrine of tenderest worship-that delight
Of loftiest contemplation-Nazareth.
Fair-throned as when creation's King and Queen
Abode within its walls, it looks around
As scorning time and change; though these have been
The ruthless masters of its hallowed ground.
Still smiling as of old, it catches still
As fresh a morning; basks in such a noon;
Hears evening's voice as sweetly softly thrill;
In glory sleeps beneath a gushing moon.