The Express.
London, England, 1862-06-12 00:00:00

LATEST INTELLIGENCE.

ROME.
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE MORTARA
CHILD.

The gide of to-day contains a letter from Rome,
of the 7th, in which the writer describes the
particulars of an interview which he has had with
the Mortara child, or rather with his tutor, for
nearly an hour. The writer had heard that the
unfortunate child was at a particular convent
in the city, where once a week he appears
as one of the choristers at the mass, and, with
some ingenuity, managed to get admission into the
cloister where the child, with five or six others, was
taking exercise after the service. The other chil-
dren were dressed in white, the little Mortars in a
black cassock. He describes the child, who is ten
years and four months old, as timid, bashful, and
almost melancholy, and having quite the Jewish
cast of features. The writer contrived to get into
conversation with the tutor •on the subject of a
fresco on the wall, and, being mistaken for an
Italian, soon succeeded in turning the conversation
on the pupils. He continues :

" Who," rid I, "is that child sitting there upon the
edge of the well'." "Oh, you have often heard of him ; it
is the little Jew Mortara, baptised at Bologna." "Indeed !"
"Come here, Edgar." The child rose slowly, took of his
rap, and stood before us with his eyes on the ground. "Has
he good health !" " Exultant, although a little delicate. In
the three years that be has been here he has only had onealight
illness." "He has • low forehead—that is not a priori a
sign of intelligence." "Nevertheless, he is very intelligent ;
he learns all that he likes, and especially Intl; for which
be seems to have • marked inclination."JM did not wish' to
play in anything the part of • Wee brother, therefore I
limited myself to putting one question to the child while
drawing him towards me, and taking him by the hands.
" Well," said I, " are you content to be here !
Are you well ?' " Yes," said the child. This is
all that it wu possible to extract frees him. As soon as he
could get away the returned, and sweated himself with •
led expression on the edge of the well, under the shade of
an enormous fig tree. " How is it," rid Ito the canon,

"that the name of Edgar was given to him in baptism "
"We did not give him that name, it is the one that he
had before being baptised." "And his parents, do
they often come to see him ?" "Once, in 1859.
The father came without the mother in 1860, but he did
not ask to see him. He entered the church, and we were
warned to keep ourselves on guard, for he intended, it was
said, to carry him away." " When will he have the power
of leaving'" "At seventeen ; but he has a marked calling for
the ecclesiastical state." " Does he often speak of his
father and mother!" "No ; he appears to have forgotten
them. However, he writes to than twice a year,
imploring them to become converted.' The parent. make
no reply to his letters." (I thought to myself that
such letters, written by this unhappy child from a copy
made by the priests, could poorly satisfy the parents. More•
over, they know very well that a reply would not reach the
Child.) "The mother, they tell me," said he, "is a goof
woman, who would willingly become converted, but the
father is a hardened sinner. It was be who went to °avow
at Turin, and was the CAMS of all the fun that was made
on account of the carrying away of this child. Henceforth
the child belongs to God. He will have his first commuoiou
next week, and will receive the holy sacrament from the
hen& of a French bishop."
I could report to you several other details of this interest-
ing conversation, but my space fails me. I will only say
that I shall never forget the accent with which the priest to
whom the young Mortara is confided said to me these words,
0 They talk much of the rights of the father amid of nature
respecting the carrying away of the child, but divine rights,
supernatural rights, override the rights of the father —of the
family. A baptised child is our property."
I was tab Ito leave. Slowly I descended the step, of
the cloister which led to the church, and took a last look at
that poor Israelite, passing his infancy amidst those black
robes. Entering the church, I came across a group of
devotees, who were kissing the chains ot St. Peter. They
offered them to me to kiss ; but, thinking of the poor child,
I turned away my head, saying to myself that resignation
could never reach such depth with me as to embrace the,
emblems of such a hoer servitude.