Hungarian bishops, alienated from the people, entirely dependent on the government, out of touch with the parish clergy, aloof from the hopes and aspirations of their people.

This church system fell when the monarchy fell. When the personal state of Franz Joseph disappeared, one of the most dangerous phases of the oppression of Church by State ended. We shall learn later what a tremendous advantage this is to be for the Vatican and for Catholicism. It is my purpose to discuss only the ecclesiastical results of the disappearance of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and not the political results. The fragments of that empire have been incorporated in new or enlarged states, which are peopled, however, by ancient nations, each striving to find itself in the world.

First, there is the Czechoslovak Republic - one of the most happy outcomes of the war. The great national historian of the people, Palacky, has written: 'Bohemia is older than Austria, and will outlive Austria.' The prophecy has been realized. Catholicism faced here a particularly delicate task. In the #fifteenth century Bohemia separated itself from the Church in order to keep clear of Germany. The Czechs attach little importance to John Huss as a Protestant, but great importance to him as their national hero. They claim that the German Emperor, Sigismond, influenced the decision of the church council which condemned Huss and his followers, and that this was not because he was a promoter of heresy, but because he was a great Slav apostle and the hero of Bohemian independence. He had defied the Hapsburgs. The bloody wars led by men like John Ziska and Procopos, were national wars. The rites and doctrines of their own church became symbolical of the struggle for Bohemian independence. When finally the Hussites succumbed, Bohemian

independence disappeared with them. Bohemia returned to Catholicism and to the yoke of the Hapsburgs after the battle of White Mountain, fought in 1620. Ever thereafter, the Catholic Church has been at a disadvantage on account of this memory. Roman Catholicism was in the eyes of Czech patriots a tool of Austrian oppression, and the doctrine of Huss was to them an assertion of national independence. His church was a national Czech Catholic Church. One used to see in the homes of Czech peasants, a figure of John Huss between the figure of Christ and of Franz Joseph. The Bishop, and particularly the Archbishop of Prague, were generally chosen from among the members of the German aristocracy in Bohemia, or from noble Czech families who had become allies of the Hapsburgs. Under such conditions, how could they exercise influence over the lower clergy and the common people? They lived in their palaces like high and rich officials, but they had no contact with the nation's soul.

During the war, the leaders of the movement in favor of independence deliberated as to whether they ought not to organize a national church, following the teachings of Huss. They had before them the example of other Slav nations, who nearly all have a national Church. Furthermore, the hate for the Hapsburgs extended to the Holy See which protected them. So the Czechs were disposed to rally to the cry of: 'Away from Rome.' However, in 1900, the Germans of Bohemia, the bitterest enemies of the Czechs, had also adopted this battle-cry, and the memory of that helped to keep the people faithful to Catholicism. When the monarchy fell, and Bohemia proclaimed its independence, the Archbishop of Prague followed the dynasty into exile, and it became a live question whether the dissenting religion would not become the

official Church. However, nothing of that sort occurred. While the educated classes of Bohemia are, for the most part, agnostics and, to be frank, anticlerical, the common people are devoutly attached to their religion. This is even more true in Moravia. Furthermore, the union of Slovakia and Bohemia, which had been separated ever since the year 1020, required delicate treatment. Some two-thirds of the Slovaks are fervent Catholics, and one third are Protestant. In order to win the support of the common people, nothing must be done to wound Catholic sentiment. President Masaryk was wise enough to send a representative to the Holy See and to receive a papal nuncio at Prague in order to prevent a proMagyar movement in Slovakia. The Holy See handled the situation with prudence and adroitness. It consented to replace the former Archbishop of Prague by a patriotic Czech bishop, and it substituted three Slav bishops for the three Magyar bishops in Slovakia. Thereby it forestalled the danger that Czechoslovakia might break away from the Church. Even now that danger has not been completely eliminated. A section of the priesthood demands a return to the teachings of John Huss, a national church, and the right of the priests to marry. The government, meantime, has drafted a law to separate Church and State, which is severe on the Church but is inspired with an honest desire to promote religious peace. The recent visit of Mr. Benès, the distinguished foreign minister of the republic, to Benedict XV and his cardinal secretary of state, is sufficient proof of this. In Bohemia, and especially in Moravia and Slovakia, the Catholics are organizing along national lines. The danger of a schism will probably not reappear, unless the Hapsburgs should be restored at Vienna or Budapest. The Czech government appreciates that Bo

hemia, having secured its recognition by Europe as an independent government, needs no longer resort to artificial methods to isolate itself from neighboring nationalities; but, on the contrary, that it has an interest in preserving a religion which unites it with the West, and may become an important agency for internal unification, so long as the Slovaks are still reluctant to admit their brotherhood with the Czechs.

Another group of former subjects of the Hapsburgs, the Croats, Dalmatians and Slovenes, have now been joined to Serbia. Before the war, Serbia was a little government with an independent orthodox church and practically no real religious life. But it had an intuition of its future. After 1913, when it annexed several thousand Catholic subjects as a result of the Balkan war, it foresaw the prospect of uniting eventually all YugoSlavs, whether orthodox or catholic, under a single government. So the cabinet at Belgrade wisely decided to conclude a concordat with the Holy See. This was signed against the violent opposition of Austria. It was regarded at Vienna as a threat against the Hapsburgs. From that time, the Croats, Slovenes and Dalmatians and the catholic minority in Bosnia and Herzegovina were assured in advance that their religious rights would be respected if they joined Serbia. To-day, the Catholics form a strong minority in the new state. They are more highly educated and more highly civilized than their orthodox fellow citizens; for they have lived for centuries with their eyes turned toward Vienna and Rome, at a time when the military yoke of the Turks, and the religious yoke of the Greek patriarch weighed heavily on the Serbs. Naturally, therefore, the Roman Catholic element will be called upon to play an important rôle in the affairs of the South Slavs, because it is the element best prepared to deal with mod

ern political and economic problems. The Greek Orthodox Church is a political and national organization, but the Yugo-Slav State is no longer solely an Orthodox state. While the former na#tional church, which never represented

a powerful religious force but served mainly patriotic purposes, seems on the decline, the religious life of Croatia and Slovenia is vigorous. A Croat priest, Krijanic, preached two centuries ago, a great religious future for the Slav nations. A great Croat archbishop, Strossmeyer, aroused the people of Croatia to consciousness of their brotherhood with the South Slavs, and prepared the way for the union brought about by the war. A great state will result if the Serbs do not prevent it by too narrowly national a policy.

It is well to take Bulgaria into consideration whenever we discuss YugoSlavia. Sooner than we expect, perhaps, that country will associate itself by an alliance, or even by a federal union, with the South-Slav government. Just at present, Bulgaria is seeking friends to the eastward, and its eagerness to be divided from the Greeks, whom it detests, inspires it with friendliness to Catholic influence. This, however, is a matter for the future.

Rumania affords the same picture as Serbia, in respect to church affiliations. Its people too, are equally divided between the Roman and the Orthodox churches. Greater Rumania is now a nation of fifteen or sixteen million souls. Of its new subjects in Transylvania and Bukovina, at least twothirds are Uniate Catholics, and about one million — mostly Hungarians — are Roman Catholics. As in the case of Serbia, the new element is more highly civilized, more stable, and better prepared for the responsibility of government than the primitive original population. Here also Catholicism means association with Western Europe. Ru

mania thus assumes a new aspect. It is no longer the exclusively oriental and Balkan power which it formerly was. It has become a Central European power. One of the first acts of the government, after the enlargement of the state, was to send a diplomatic representative to the Holy See.

Merely a word will suffice with regard to present Austria, reduced to six million people, and present Hungary, reduced to seven million. They remain Catholic governments and continue their diplomatic relations with the Holy See. In Austria, the Christian Socialists, who have inherited the democratic and reformist doctrines of certain liberal Catholic leaders, are as numerous as the regular Socialists whom they defeated at the elections last October. This is the only party which endorses the Entente policy of an independent Austria. In Hungary likewise, the Christian Socialists have increased in strength since the overthrow of the monarchy, and they are taking an important part in the reconstruction of the country.

Last of all, a large fragment of the former Austrian state, Polish-Galicia, has been united with Prussian Poland and Russian Poland to form the new Polish kingdom, which has been one of the fruits of the Entente victory. Neither the Papacy nor the Western Catholics have ever resigned themselves to accepting as final, the criminal partition of Poland. Montalambert truly said: 'Since this partition, Europe remains in a state of mortal sin.' Poland is the only Slav nation of Eastern Europe - where national religions prevail - which has preserved both its Roman Catholicism and national patriotism under three different dominations, for more than a century. In Prussian Poland, the Catholic clergy took the lead in resisting Prussia's usurpations, its laws for Germanizing the schools, and its measures for colonizing

the land with Germans. It was their religion which mainly separated the Russian Poles from their conquerors and enabled them to resist being Russianized. The resurrection of Poland, the presence of a Polish minister at Rome, and of Polish cardinals in church councils are a source of immense satisfaction and hope for the Vatican. Henceforth, a new government has been erected-Poland-separating Prussia, the dominant state of Protestant Germany, from Russia, the great schismatic nation. Perhaps this is what explains the bitter enmity which prevails against Poland and the repeated prophecies that it will not survive. Indeed,

it will be a most difficult task to fuse into one the long-separated sections of this martyred nation, to unify its three great fragments and its numerous smaller acquisitions, and forge them into a single homogeneous state. That will take time, and the active aid of the Entente.

So the former Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, which broke to pieces along its ancient lines of ethnic fracture, has left behind it a group of new or enlarged governments where Catholicism, disembarrassed of the incubus of Franz Joseph's patrimonial policies, freed from stifling tutelage to an archaic monarchy, will take on a new lease of life.

I

OUR Speedometer indicates sixty kilometers; hills and valleys sway past in quick succession. The woods are already tinged with the colors of early spring. Mounds of mine-waste and débris rise ahead of us, like a miniature mountain range. Along its summit runs a cable-way, over which little pendent cars are creeping, like spiders hanging to a web. They constantly empty and disappear behind some obstruction. Smoky chimneys spring into view in all directions. We are at our destination, the potash district.

I am looking for L a former aviation captain, who is employed at the mines. That is all I know. Is he manager, or foreman?

He proves to be nothing like that. I find him down one of the shafts. It seems a strange contrast for a man formerly so fond of scaling to the heights of the dawn-tinged morning clouds. He must be a common laborer, down there in the depths of the earth. That is indeed a strange fall from the skies! We enter a cage and are lowered into the depths. Red and violet signal lights shoot past us, like a many-colored thread. Down, down we go, hundreds

of meters into the bosom of the earth. We are led through a long passage. We hear the sound of picks in all directions. Little push-cars are creeping through the labyrinths, laden with whitish, yellowish, reddish salts, and pushed by perspiring men.

Eventually, we reach my friend's working-place. He wears the same laboring clothes as his comrades. He has a pick in his hand. At first he does n't recognize me. When he does, he is as happy as a boy. We have come just at the breakfast intermission. The miners are sitting around on blocks of salt, or on the sides of cars, or on upturned baskets. We withdraw to one side. L seems in the best of spirits. He is particularly pleased to be called Captain. His fellow laborers address him: Du Löus. He shows us, laughingly, his calloused palms. His hands have become coarse and black and chapped — the hands of a laborer. I recall in the old days his nails were always polished and manicured. He drags out something to sit on, and talks to us as eagerly as though he had been living in enforced silence. What does he talk of? He tells how well he is getting along. How satisfactory he finds his new occupation. He intends to make his way and get ahead in the business. But this affectation of contentment and hope gradually wears off as we converse. Something else wells up from his real heart. His voice changes and becomes deeper and more melancholy. He talks of the old days at the front. There is a note of homesickness in his voice—not only homesickness for the clouds and bright sunshine above but, deeper than that, homesickness for his own ego. We call his attention to his comrades, who are eating their morning meal on a big piece of rock where he had been sitting. They pick up his soldier's canteen, uncork it, smell of the contents, shake their heads and whisper. He laughs, "They thought

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I had liquor in there instead of coffee. They cannot puzzle out who I am. I am a little too cordial toward them. It takes time for a man to act perfectly natural in a new part. They suspect I am a laborer-spy or a fugitive from the law.'

We take Captain Lwith us for a short motor ride before we go. He is abnormally talkative after his long spiritual solitude. Yet he is living fairly well and has struck up friendship with a butcher, a farmer, and a shopkeeper. I noticed he had become a little shy at meeting people of better rank. He quite naturally put on his aviator's coat and cap for our short motor trip, though it was not worth the trouble. The air was mild and the distance was short. He merely wanted to recall the past a little more vividly. Indeed, our unexpected visit to the inferno to which he had vanished had really intoxicated the brave, boyish chap, as though there had been 'real liquor' in his coffee flask.

II

Freiherr von C. was a captain in his better days. He was a 'Hun,' with fists as big as hams; with shoulders as broad as a small mountain; with a combative Hamburg skull, and with flashing eyes which glared defiantly at his enemies. During the War, he was commissioned a lieutenant, promoted to be first lieutenant, and at last made a captain. In spite of his gigantic stature, his daredevil exploits in the trenches, and his venturesome raids on the enemy's lines for information - which he regarded as sport-death refused to accept his challenge, and spared him. Peace, however, deprived him of a profession and left him idle and destitute. What should he do? He had no qualifications for any other professional career. He could not endure the thought of office life. He called an office a jail and, loving the